Peaches

generosity, provided one.
    “I can’t wait to get back to my life.”
    Leeda blinked a few times. “Me too.”
    Murphy tried not to feel jealous of anyone, but sometimes she still did. She was jealous, right now, that Leeda had a mom who neither dated high schoolers nor very married men. That Leeda could go home and not have to wonder if Richard from Pep Boys was going to be parked on her couch. That Leeda had friends to go home to, where Murphy only had guys who would leave her lying on train tracks for Walter Darlington. And that Leeda actually did look forward to going home, while Murphy was only lying.
    “Poor Birdie,” Leeda offered.
    “Yeah.” Leeda looked so thoughtful, her eyelashes doing the fluttery thing again, and it made Murphy regret how snotty she’d acted the day before. She shifted on her bed awkwardly.
    “Well, I wonder if they’ll make us do much work tomorrow,” Leeda said, standing up.
    “Probably not if all the trees are dead,” Murphy joked.
    Leeda half-laughed obligingly. “Rex says it’ll be a while before they know if the frost has done any damage.”
    “I guess he knows everything.”
    Leeda’s mouth tightened. “He’s a great guy.”
    “I’m sure he is,” Murphy said. She didn’t know why she’d said what she’d said. She couldn’t stop herself sometimes.
    Leeda stretched her long, pale arms over her head. “I’m gonna try to get some sleep. See you.”
    “See you.”
    The whole thing had the air of a final good-bye to it, though they would see each other Monday in AP Bio. Leeda disappeared through the doorway.
    Murphy listened to her radio for another hour, doodling in a book she’d brought by Nietzsche. When she moved across the room to turn off the light, she froze. Her breath drifted out in front of her in a tiny white cloud.
    Murphy’s heart sank. She turned out the light and crawled under the covers thinking of poor Birdie and how life just kicked people when they were down.
    A few minutes later she was staring at the ceiling that she couldn’t see in the dark when an orange flicker sped its way across the wall. Murphy thought she was imagining it until it happened two more times. The third time she sat up and looked out the window, and her heart stood still.
    There was Birdie Darlington, dragging something huge and heavy out of the supply barn and down between the trees, where she heaved her whole body forward, plunging whatever it was on top of an enormous fire. Lit by the firelight, Murphy could see that Birdie’s face was tear streaked and red. Murphy watched, entranced. Birdie had lost it and she was burning down all the trees.
    Birdie stared at the flames for a minute, then launched into arun again toward the barn, emerging a few seconds later with a broken wooden chair. She dragged it to the next row of trees, looking back and forth, trying to gauge the distance.
    Murphy realized she was wrong. Birdie wasn’t trying to burn the trees down. She was trying to keep them warm.
    Murphy was paralyzed. It was perhaps the saddest thing she’d ever seen in her life. Birdie’s body was graceless as she hauled and dragged whatever she could carry into the rows of trees. It was pure survival and clearly a losing battle. From Murphy’s high window Birdie looked small and foolish and awkward, and Murphy knew there was no use searching herself for the cynicism that would make it seem distant and dark instead of raw and terrible. Birdie was trying to save her home single-handedly, and there was no way she could.
    Murphy sank against the window, her forehead pressing against the glass, and tried to let it go, the way she let it go when she drove past an abandoned dog or saw a news spot about something she couldn’t do anything about. She imagined everyone else in the dorms was doing the same thing.
    And then a figure appeared beside Birdie—taller, leaner, and more muscular. When he got close to one of the fires, Murphy saw that he was one of the guys from the men’s camp. He said something to Birdie and then raced into the barn, and then Murphy could hear feet pounding down the hall outside her door.
    Murphy opened the door and watched the women rush past and disappear down the stairs. The screen door below slammed. Leeda stood in the doorway opposite her, looking confused.
    “They’re trying to save the orchard,” Murphy said, at a loss. Leeda didn’t say anything back.
    Murphy walked into her room and to her window. The workers had poured out into