Peaches

brown rot.”
    “Oh.” Leeda guessed that meant the farm wasn’t yet out of the woods.
    Following the others occasionally with her eyes, she started sorting the peaches, moving slow, looking them over, then rolling them to the proper area—occasionally pulling one back from one pile when she felt she’d made a mistake, and assigning it to the other. After a while the rest of the workers tapered offfor quitting time, but Leeda remained with Birdie and Poopie, lost in the repetition of the sorting. Eventually Murphy walked up with her final basket full of peaches, dropping them gently into the bin.
    “Hey, Murphy,” Birdie chirped. Murphy looked at her vacantly for a second, like Birdie was a different creature than the one she expected her to be.
    “Hey.” She looked at Leeda. “You tired, princess?”
    “Shut up,” Leeda said sarcastically. She followed Murphy’s eyes to where they’d rested behind her. Poopie was staring at Leeda’s hands, shaking her head.
    “What?” Leeda asked, examining her fingers, which were covered in juice and peach fuzz, her nails ragged.
    “Well, I’ve never seen a girl more useless with peaches. Look, you’ve thrown several good ones into the flawed pile. What’s wrong with this one?” Poopie leaned over the table and pulled one back, holding it out to Leeda.
    “It’s too pointy on the bottom.”
    Murphy let out a guffaw, and that made Birdie giggle.
    Leeda looked at both of them, frowning.
    Murphy scooted in beside Birdie, and Poopie sank down beside Leeda, so slowly Leeda thought she could hear her bones creaking.
    “Honey, this is the perfect peach.”
    Leeda looked at it. “It looks like all the other ones.”
    Poopie held it up. The peach was completely round except for the little curved point at the bottom. It was flushed red all over with just a little hint of yellow. Poopie traced the cleft that led down to the point with her pinky.
    “Poopie, should we leave you alone with that peach?” Murphy asked.
    Birdie snorted. Poopie gave her a wry smile and smacked her on the knee.
    “Have you ever eaten a perfect peach?”
    “I’m not much of a fruit person,” Leeda answered tightly.
    Poopie rubbed the peach against her dirty shirt and held it out to Leeda, her brown eyes dancing. “Darlington Orchard has the most delicious peaches anywhere on this earth. Try it.”
    Leeda raised her eyebrows, looked at Poopie’s shirt, then took the peach and rubbed it on her own shirt. She bit into the peach, her teeth sinking into the flesh and the fuzzy skin running up between her two front teeth like a sail. She dug it out with her fingernail and swallowed quickly without chewing. The juice ran down her fingers. Leeda stuck them in her mouth meticulously so it wouldn’t run down her wrist, and sucked it off, then tried another bite, cleaner and neater.
    “Oh, you girls don’t know anything. You don’t know how to enjoy. ” Poopie shot up from the table, muttering in Spanish. She pounded away, talking to herself, leaving all three girls staring after her.
    “Here,” Murphy said, looking for a peach from the flawed pile. This one actually did have a little brown mark on it. “Watch the master.” Murphy made sure to bite into that area first. The juice dripped right down her chin, landing on her shirt just above her right breast. “I call these babies my juice catchers,” she said through slurping.
    “That’s disgusting,” Leeda said, dropping her chin on one hand.
    Murphy ignored her. “I think this is the best peach I’ve ever had.”
    “Of course it is.” Birdie grabbed one and gnawed on it. “Some peaches taste flat. Or they get too stringy. Or oversweet. The fuzz gets too thick. Our peaches are the best. I’ve already had seven today,” she murmured. She too let the juice drip all over.
    Leeda eyed the round circle where she’d bitten hers twice. She pushed it back into her mouth and took a ragged, uneven bite, the front of her teeth scraping against the pit. The juice and the flesh of the peach tore and filled her mouth, and she flattened it down with the roof of her mouth, really trying to taste it, like she had never done with anything, like she was getting to know it. It tasted somehow like orange and green and dizzyingly sweet, but like Birdie had said, not too sweet. The taste was so rich it made her lips purse. It was different on different parts of her tongue—the tartness hit the tip, the sweetness tingled at the sides and at the