I write down everything at Marrow Lane. Rain. Whose here. Which plots are thriving. Every morning same routine. But this morning something feels OFF and I can't look away from it. It takes me maybe ten seconds to see what my brain already knows is wrong. And then it hits me. The pumpkin. Mr. Okafor's pumpkin. It's not where he left it.

Mr. Okafor is already at the gate when I turn around. Just standing there. Staring at his empty plot. His hands are in his pockets. He hasn't noticed the pumpkin's gone yet. Or maybe he has and he's trying to work out what it means.

He's standing right behind me. 'I have been growing that pumpkin for eight months.' His voice is so quiet I almost miss it. Quiet is scarier than yelling. Quiet means he's calculating. Quiet means he's scared.

'I have to call the police.' Mr. Okafor's hands are shaking. I've never seen Mr. Okafor scared. But he is now. He is absolutely terrified. His thumb hovers over his phone. He's deciding right now if this is real enough for the police.