Peaches

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    Walter,
    If you read Sunday’s paper, you’ve seen the picture of the Bridgewater High School fountain. It’s hard to get a sense from a photo, Walter, but Miss McGowen really outdid herself this time. My wife was actually the first person to see it—you know she does part-time work at the administration office. She said she nearly jumped out of her bloomers when she saw Darth Vader’s head up there on the top tier of the fountain, looking like it was just hovering, surrounded by clouds of white smoke.
    They figured out pretty quickly that it was dry ice making the smoke and Darth Vader’s head had been taken from the A/V room. I hear Veda Wilkes Teeter actually thought it was an alien. You have to admit, the girl is sharp. Not Veda. Murphy, I mean.
    Anyway, I’m writing to discuss Murphy. The school office has contacted me, and I’ve taken the liberty of contacting her mother. Seeing as the spring break arrangements seemed to work out, how about an extra pair of hands for the summer? I don’t know if Miss McGowen’s more trouble to you than not, but I thought you might be able to use the help. God knows she could use the attitude adjustment, and maybe a summer’s worth of hard labor will do the trick.
    What’s the word on your peaches?
    Let me know.
    MA
Judge Miller Abbott
Kings County District Court

Chapter Twelve
    G eorgia hadn’t had such a hot June since 1951. All over Bridgewater, you could practically hear air conditioners busting from overuse. All over the orchard, you could hear the creak-creak of the trees drooping in the sun.
    Leeda started sweating as soon as she stepped out of her car. She noticed immediately that Murphy McGowen’s beat-up yellow Volkswagen, which she’d finally connected with her in the lot at school, was parked on a swath of grass a few feet away. And the first person she saw when she rolled her huge suitcase into Camp A was Murphy herself. She was splayed out on the couch, her right leg hanging over the back, her left hand dragging on the floor. When she saw Leeda, she lifted her head slightly and just said simply, “You.”
    Leeda didn’t need to ask why she was here. Everyone in Bridgewater knew about Murphy’s prank with the fountain. After laughing their asses off, all of Leeda’s friends had started making fun of Murphy, saying what a burnout she was. Then they’d moved on to Murphy’s mom and the different stories they knew about her: She’d shown up to parent-teacherconferences in black leather shorts and a lace halter top; she’d been seen making out with some guy on the picnic table outside Toodles Honky Tonk at three in the afternoon. Then they’d speculated that Murphy McGowen was as much a hopeless case as Jodee. Leeda had felt differently. She hadn’t said it, but she’d thought the prank was pretty ingenious.
    But now, standing under Murphy’s cool green gaze, Leeda just threw back her shoulders and pasted a look of boredom onto her face. “Hey, Murphy.”
    The whole gang was already here, the same ladies from the spring, along with a few new faces. Everyone greeted Leeda with cool politeness as she yanked her suitcase up the stairs one step at a time, and down the hall.
    She stared at the empty room and felt her resolve waver. And then her pride reared up, causing red-hot tears to pop out along the edges of her eyelids. She unzipped her suitcase and dragged out all the comforts she’d brought from home—pictures of her friends, a photo of Rex in a silver Tiffany’s frame, one of her mom and dad, a Swarovski crystal swan her mom had given her for her birthday last year. Danay had picked it out.

    The next morning Leeda rolled out of bed at dawn with everybody else and stumbled out onto the lawn to await the big talk from Uncle Walter. She hadn’t noticed the night before, but the smell engulfing the orchard was heady and sweet. The trees had sprouted green, droopy leaves, and of course, peaches dangled like bubbles—bright orange and everywhere. The peaches all looked fine from where Leeda stood, but that wasn’t saying much. What meant more was that her parents had said that Walter was optimistic —two words that didn’t fit together in Leeda’s mind. Word was that the first few peaches had been culled, and that there was no sign of brown rot yet, and that the Darlingtons were planning to move forward with the summer harvest in the hopes that the rest of the peaches would follow suit.
    Still, if it was