Peaches

fridge for something crunchy to take out her aggression on. The only thing they had was a bag of carrots. No cookies in the freezer. No nothing. When had she stopped buying snacks?
    “Your father wants you to take some papers to Mr. Balmeade tomorrow,” Poopie said behind her, but all Birdie heard was “your” and she assumed Poopie was still getting on her about forgetting. She whirled around, slamming the fridge door behind her.
    “Who cares about the goddamn berries!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.
    Poopie’s face twisted to a look of comic shock. She shook her head and gazed up toward heaven. And then she went out for the berries herself, tapping Saint Jude on her way down the porch.

    “I don’t even know why I’m going with you. I can’t stand the sight of this guy.”
    “You’re going because you can’t stand the sight of the guy. So you can make fun of him once we get there,” Leeda replied to Murphy, who was trailing behind her and now stuck out her tongue.
    “You can read me like a book,” Murphy said, deadpan.
    Birdie tossed the manila packet of papers over the fence that separated the Balmeade Country Club from the orchard, then began to climb, sticking her toes between the metal squares, swaying slightly, and slipped over effortlessly, bouncing on her feet as she hit the ground. She wore an uncharacteristically pissed-off look, one she’d had on all day. And the minute she landed on the Balmeade grass, it seemed to Leeda to settle harder onto her features.
    “Hey, Birdie, you’re having a skinny day,” Murphy said, sounding like she noticed the look too. Leeda always cringed when Murphy said things so bluntly, but Birdie smiled distractedly.
    “Thanks.”
    Birdie was actually in short overalls and a flowy orange top. And she did look skinny. But she also looked miserable. She had told them about her incident with Enrico in the cider house. And now they were headed into enemy territory. Birdie shuffled her feet, waiting for them like a person standing on a deserted alley at night rather than on a bland lawn in the middle of the day. She looked distinctly threatened.
    “Thanks for coming with me, you guys,” she said, her face softening for a moment.
    Walter, Birdie had said, had asked her to bring the packet ofpapers to Horatio Balmeade, who was supposed to be in his office to receive them at two o’clock. He had asked her to go alone. He had also asked her to walk in through the front entrance like a civilized human being. But Birdie was taking Leeda and Murphy with her and—thanks to Murphy’s needling—she was going over the fence.
    “What’s in the envelope?” Murphy asked.
    Birdie shrugged.
    “Aren’t you curious? Maybe it’s naked pictures of Mrs. Balmeade.”
    Birdie didn’t even crack a smile at the joke. “I don’t think I should look. It’s private.” She let out a soft, distressed sigh. “You guys are going to behave yourselves, right?” she asked Murphy diplomatically.
    “Tweety Bird,” Murphy answered, gnawing on a peach she’d pulled out of her pocket, “Leeda will do her best.”
    Leeda had stopped at the fence, not quite sure how she was going to get over. Since they were going to the country club, she’d worn a skirt. And Leeda had never climbed a fence in her life, except the time her friend Alicia’s party got busted and she ended up with a huge bruise from when Rex had pulled her over.
    “Go on, Lee,” Murphy said, catching up.
    Leeda looked at the fence, then stuck a foot in one of the gaps in the wire. It hurt. Her toes jammed together. She pulled her foot out and put it down.
    “Just climb it,” Murphy ordered.
    “I’m wearing a skirt.” She knew as she said it that Murphy wouldn’t let it drop. Which made her feel embarrassed and annoyed.
    Sure enough, Murphy looked at her like she was an alien. “Oh my God. Birdie, I can’t believe we brought Leeda all this way so we could see her undies, and now our plan’s not going to work!” Leeda blinked at her, confused, but Birdie giggled halfheartedly. Murphy turned a duh face on Leeda. “Who cares ? It’s just Birdie and me.”
    “It’s a thong,” Leeda said tightly.
    Murphy fish-eyed her.
    Finally, frustrated, Leeda made Murphy wait on one side and Birdie on the other to catch her in case she fell. She climbed over, her thong showing itself in all of its baby pink glory, and came down with a soft thud on the other side. They started across the grass, which was short