Peaches

was little, I had, uh…these little chicken legs.” She seemed on the verge of saying more but stopped.
    “Uh-huh.” Murphy looked her up and down. Birdie was sort ofplump, definitely not chicken-y. Still Birdie but without the legs.
    “Dad asked me to come and show you where to sleep.”
    Murphy lifted her bag back over her shoulder. “Lead the way.”
    Murphy walked behind Birdie, watching the way she walked, self-consciously, like each step was carefully thought out. Yuck.
    They made their way across the grass up to the smaller of the two houses. Birdie veered toward the one with the sign at the top of the stairs that said Camp A.
    “This is the women’s dorm,” Birdie said, opening the door and leading Murphy into a tiny yellow-walled hallway bordered with a kitchen and then a common room. The whole place smelled delicious and looked like something from an old movie.
    “Everyone just had lunch,” Birdie said, hovering in the archway into the common room, which was filled with three old La-Z-Boys, a table with three legs, a worn plaid couch, and the dark-haired, dark-skinned women who occupied these seats.
    “This is Emma, Alita, Isabel, and Raeka,” Birdie said, smiling shyly at the women and then back at Murphy. “Hola,” she said softly.
    “Hola,” everyone said back absently. Birdie continued down the hallway to the bottom of a set of stairs. “They’ll be picking and packing too. They’re all nice.”
    At the top of the stairs Birdie stood back to let Murphy walk into the first bedroom on the right.
    “This is your room,” she said, standing back so Murphy could go inside. The room was bare, with an old beat-up desk and bed with a blue mattress beside a window that looked out at a row of trees. By the door was a list of rules: No smoking, noloud music, curfew 10 p.m. Murphy immediately knelt on the bed and tried to open the window. It was jammed shut.
    “This is a fire hazard,” she said, flashing her green slitted eyes at Birdie, who hovered by the doorway looking like a deer trapped in headlights. Birdie held her cheek out to be licked by one of the dogs in her arms. Her pink worm of a tongue darted along her skin twice. “I have rights. I want a window that opens. I could sue you guys.”
    “Um. But I don’t know….” Birdie trailed off, looking nervous. “It’s an old house.”
    Murphy rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She tossed her bag onto the bed and started unpacking. She’d figure out how to un-jam the window.
    “If you need anything…”
    Murphy could think of many things she needed. She needed to be getting stoned outside the Ryman auditorium. She needed a real spring break, one of the few joys of life. Now, thanks to Birdie and her dogs, she had neither.
    “Don’t you think that’s hypocritical?”
    Birdie shifted her weight. “What do you mean?”
    “Well, you’re asking me what I need, but I already told you I need a window that opens, and you can’t do that. And what I really need is to go on break like every other normal person in America, and I can’t do that either. And I have you to thank for that and you, Honey Butt.” Murphy nodded at the one dog. “And you, Ambrosia Salad.” Murphy nodded at the other.
    “It’s Honey Babe and Majestic. They’re named after peaches….”
    “I don’t know if that’s how you spend all your time, sitting around waiting to bust people’s balls because you don’t haveanything else to do. Guarding your dad’s crème de menthe.”
    “Bust balls…but we weren’t…?”
    “Yeah, bust balls. You and your fascist dogs.”
    Birdie’s bottom lip quivered. “But I didn’t…I…” Birdie blinked a few times, unsurely. Then, to Murphy’s amazement, she simply pivoted on her heel and took off down the stairs.
    Murphy came to the doorway and watched her disappear. Maybe she had hit a sore spot and Birdie really was afraid that her dogs were fascists. She imagined them giving each other little Nazi salutes with their paws.
    “Chickie,” she called with a giggle in her voice, wanting to apologize. But the sound of the screen door hissing closed announced that Birdie had already gone. Murphy walked to the end of the hall, which was marked with a big square window, and peered out to see her and her dogs rushing across the grass toward the house, still walking self-consciously with no one behind to watch her.
    “Damn.”
    Murphy’s eyes drifted over the landscape. It was a far cry from Anthill Acres, where the