Peaches

possible, Uncle Walter looked even older than he had in April, the gray at his temples having grown up the sides of his head like fungus.
    Standing up on the porch beside Walter, Birdie looked the opposite—she looked fresher, a little thinner, and excited. Her eyes scanned the group in front of the porch frenetically. Leeda looked behind her to see who Birdie might be looking for. Instead, her gaze landed on Murphy, skulking in the back, dark circles under her eyes and her arms crossed around her waist.
    Leeda turned back around, pulling her fine-mesh sun hat tighter down over her eyes to keep the glare from giving her a migraine.
    “We’ll be picking Empress, Sunbright, Springprince, and Candor for the next two weeks,” Walter droned flatly, “then we’ll move on to Goldprince, Summerprince, Gala, and Rubyprince. Birdie will take you out and show you where to get started. We’ll harvest the trees in three rounds—please be careful about picking only the ripe peaches on each round.”
    Leeda felt like he was speaking Greek. Coming out of his mouth, the colorful names of the peaches sounded like a joke.
    “Pick up your harnesses by the supply barn. That’s also where the bins are and where some of the women have already set up their tables to start sorting. Dump your peaches there andPoopie will give you your tokens to mark how many bushels you’ve done.”
    Walter paused for a moment, looking uncomfortable. “Thank you to all of you who helped with the fires in April. We’ll be checking the peaches as they come in for signs of brown rot. If this harvest is successful, it will be thanks to everybody’s hard work.” Leeda picked at her nails, uncomfortable with the memory of the night of the fires. It hadn’t been one of her shining moments. She didn’t really have shining moments. Walter’s mouth turned down slightly, and the rest of him turned and walked back into the house.
    Birdie looked around. “This way,” she said, so low Leeda had to lip-read to make out what she’d said. But everyone followed anyway.
    Leeda, uncomfortable in the crowd, walked up beside Birdie.
    “You’re supposed to go work at the sorting tables,” Birdie said. Just as she did, Murphy caught up.
    “Hey, Birdie, what do the tokens mean? Does that mean I have a quota I have to pick?”
    “Murphy, you too. Most of the women are at the sorting tables because it’s easier. The stronger women pick if they want. Poopie’ll explain everything to you if you go over there.”
    “Walter doesn’t think I’m a stronger woman?” Murphy demanded, her curly dark hair flying around her ears as she walked.
    “Well.” Birdie looked wide-eyed and nervous again. “You’re small. ”
    “Whatever. I’m picking peaches.”
    “Murphy…”
    “It’s my choice, right?”
    “Yeah, but…”
    “I’m picking.”
    Leeda looked between the two of them, tensing up. “Well, if Murphy’s picking, I’m picking.”
    Suddenly Birdie stopped in her tracks and gave both of them a death glare. It was the first time Leeda had ever seen such a look from Birdie, and it surprised her so much she stumbled back a foot.
    “Fine. Whatever.” Birdie threw up her hands, then walked on ahead of them, leaving both of them to follow her.
    Murphy looked at Leeda. “See, you pissed her off. Your cousin’s a total powder keg.”
    Leeda scowled at her back as she walked on ahead. Birdie wasn’t a powder keg. She wasn’t even a firecracker. She was maybe, at most, a sparkler.

    It was past nightfall by the time Birdie started toward Camp B, her last stop of the day. She strapped on her Tevas and stepped off her porch and onto the front lawn, swiping her arm across her face to rub off some of the sweat that had gathered on every bare inch of skin, making her feel like a salamander. Honey Babe and Majestic nipped along behind her, catching bugs in their teeth.
    The crickets chirped at her from the trees as she dragged across the grass, more exhausted than she’d ever been in her life, and also more drained. Her mom had always done so much with the workers—getting them settled in, getting them supplies for picking, keeping an eye on the different areas to see if everythingwas running smoothly. Birdie was sure she was a poor substitute. She hadn’t spoken to Enrico once, one-on-one, since he’d arrived back at the farm. He’d been part of the group she’d led to pick the Springprinces, but they’d barely met eyes. And Birdie had been so