Peaches by Jodi Lynn Anderson Page A

tucked a tiny forkful of green beans between her lips.
    “Birdie, why don’t you make friends like Leeda does?” Walter asked.
    Birdie looked at Leeda again, mortified. “Dad, I have friends.” She didn’t add they were Honey Babe and Majestic and Poopie.
    “Five calls to your mother a day doesn’t count as socializing.”
    Birdie put her fork down. “We don’t talk five times a day.”
    Walter eyed her. “I know she complains about me.”
    Birdie swallowed. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that complaints from her mother were nothing new. Cynthia had been complaining to her for years.
    “Walter, a girl as pretty as Leeda has got friends beating down her door,” Poopie interjected, as though this was a better direction to steer the conversation.
    Birdie scowled. Was that supposed to be defending her? Birdie stood up from the table and began clearing plates.
    “Poopie, I’ll help you wash up.”
    “You go for a nice walk with your cousin,” Poopie said, rubbing Birdie’s back and squeezing her shoulder. “I need you to pick some early bloomers for me to put in the vases.” With little movements Poopie could usually tell Birdie all sorts of things, but Birdie wasn’t quite sure what this one was supposed to mean. Was it, “I’m sorry you’re so unattractive”? or, “I agree that your dad is a grumpy aloof shell of his former self”?
    Birdie gave Poopie one of her famous grimace smiles and trailed after Leeda onto the porch, then down to the grass and along the driveway. The fields were empty since most of the workers had quit for dinner. The dogs tapped out after them. Birdie eyed her cousin sideways from time to time. It was true. Leeda was pretty enough to knock down doors. And it kind of made it hard not to want to be friends with her. But she was also kind of cold and uptight. Birdie couldn’t imagine living her life all buttoned up the way Leeda’s was. But for the moment she looked at Leeda with envy. Birdie felt the weight of the orchard’s problems like a pile of stones on her chest sometimes, and now was one of those times. Leeda didn’t have to worry about anything like that.
    Birdie fiddled with the braid in her hair, taking comfort in the cool cotton of her filmy white shirt and the hemp capris her mom had bought her at Squash Blossom in Atlanta. The orchard spread out beyond the porch, looking as bright green and healthy as it ever had. But with its trees so small and so exposed, it was hard to ignore that it was also delicate. And that was what scared Birdie the most.
    “Whadda you want to do?” Leeda asked, peering at the scenery beyond the porch with a crinkle at the bridge of her nose.
    “We could go to Smoaky Lake,” Birdie suggested.
    “Um.” Leeda’s nose crinkle deepened. “How about sitting in the AC and watching a movie?”
    The rare sound of a car pulling up the drive made the dogs perk up their huge butterfly ears. A few moments later a rusted-out white El Camino came chugging around the bend, blaring twangy, peppy Latin music and leaving a stream of gray exhaust in its wake. Several people came to the front of the dorms to seewhat all the noise was about. The engine cut out, and then Enrico emerged from the driver’s side, running his hands along the top of the door and then shutting it.
    Several workers converged on the car. A couple of the women climbed in. Enrico looked slightly embarrassed. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his gray shorts and started talking to a couple of his friends. He stood a full head taller than all the guys around him.
    In the crowd one of the women noticed Birdie up on the porch and walked over, grabbing her hand.
    “Come on, Pajarita.” Small bird.
    “Oh nooooo.” Birdie pulled back, planting her feet, but Raeka overcame her, and Birdie went trailing along behind her, followed by Leeda.
    Raeka pulled her right up to the car, and when she pulled away, Raeka let her go at the same instant, and she went stumbling back