After Peaches
After Peaches
M
ICHELLE
M
ULDER
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
Text copyright © 2009 Michelle Mulder
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Mulder, Michelle
After peaches / written by Michelle Mulder.
(Orca young readers)
ISBN 978-1-55469-176-0
I. Title.
PS8626.U435A64 2009 Â Â Â Â jC813'.6 Â Â Â Â C2009-902807-7
First published in the United States, 2009
Library of Congress Control Number
: 2009928213
Summary
: Rosario and her parents come to Canada as political refugees from Mexico. Rosario hates her heavily accented English, but she breaks the language barrier to save a migrant farm worker's life.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Typesetting by Bruce Collins
Cover artwork by Simon Ng
Author photo by Gastón Castaño
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12 11 10 09 ⢠4 3 2 1
For those with the courage to speak
Contents
CHAPTER
2 Build Your Own Adventure
CHAPTER
6 My Wonderful, Impossible Plan
“Hey, stupid!” The voice came from behind me.
I didn't need to turn around to know it was Robbie Zec, standing at the edge of the schoolyard with his buddies. They always yelled at me at the end of the day, when teachers couldn't hear and probably didn't care.
I didn't yell back anymore, just pulled myself taller and smiled at Julie as we crossed the street toward her place.
“Julie's mum's hired you to clean their house, eh?” Robbie called. “It's about time you got a job. You can't mooch off the government forever.”
I flinched, and Julie linked her arm with mine before I could bolt back to the school and knock him over. The astonished look on his face would have been worth getting in trouble for, I thought. He would never expect a girl to attack him. And I think Julie would have been secretly proud of me. She had been Robbie's victim before I arrived, because she was way smarter than anyone else in grade four. Now he picked on me because he thought I was way dumber.
“Ignore them,” Julie whispered, locking her elbow tighter with mine.
“I'm trying,” I hissed back.
Julie was the only kid I ever spoke English to. With all the other kids, I was silent, and everyone thought it was because I still spoke English like a two-year-old. That's what Robbie said when I first came to school in January, and I yelled at him in Spanish then. I used every bad word I knew, and when I ran out, I shouted the Spanish names of vegetables because he wouldn't know the difference anyway. I liked the scared look on his face, and the next day half of Georgison Elementary was whispering that I'd put a Mexican curse on Robbie's family. They never found out the truth, and only Julie knew what I'd really said. After that day in February, I decided not to talk at school anymore.
On my first day of silence, our teacher, Ms. Bower, made me stay after class to tell her why I'd stopped talking. I broke my vow just that once and told her the truthâthat I didn't want the other kids to make fun of my English. She said I shouldn't let it bother me and that practicing was the only way to improve, but she wasn't going to push me. I knew she was one of those teachers who wanted everyone to like her, and I think she was a little afraid of Robbie and his buddies too.
The next day she told the class what a brave person I was to come to Canada and learn a new language, and that everyone should help me with my English. Robbie and his friends laughed at that idea, but she ignored them and went on with our math lesson. From then on, she only ever asked me questions I could answer with “yes” or “no.”
Now it was early May, and only Julie knew that my English was getting better each day. By September, I was going to speak completely fluent Canadian English. Everyone would be amazed, and Robbie would be the one who was speechless.
“She's so dumb, she probably can't understand what we're saying,” Robbie shouted, practically in my ear. They were following close enough to step on our heels.
Julie and I kept walking arm in arm, and she talked as though nothing unusual was happening. That was the very best thing about Julie: no matter how crazy she thought I was for not speaking English at school, she always stuck by meâ¦even when people were yelling insults in our ears.
“Wait till I tell you about my plan for this summer,” Julie said. I looked at her, surprised. Neither of us liked talking about the summer. Julie was going to be with her father in a big-city skyscraper for two months, and I'd be here, working at the farm with my parents. Neither of us would have any friends close by, and once Julie left for Vancouver, I probably wouldn't speak to her until September. Even if we could have afforded the long-distance calls, I hated speaking English on the phone. It was harder to understand people if I couldn't see their faces. I couldn't tell if they were happy or sad, joking or serious. What if I misunderstood something and didn't realize until too late? I knew Julie would never laugh at me, but I hated feeling stupid.
This was the first time Julie had said the word “summer” without rolling her eyes or groaning. I was about to raise my eyebrows in a silent question when I felt a poke in my back.
I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and kept walking. Robbie and his friends made weird noises that I guess were supposed to sound like another language, but came out more like barnyard-animal noises instead.
“We can get to work on the plan as soon as we get to my place,” Julie said. “Our summers are going to be better than we thought.”
Her eyes sparkled, and she looked so excited I could hardly wait to hear what she had in mind.
When Robbie started yelling, “Hey, Rosie, where's your sombrero?” in my ear, I finally lost my patience. I whipped around, which made him run right into me. He stumbled, and I pulled myself up tall (almost exactly his height), crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him.
“Government leech,” he shouted. I put my nose right in close against his and stared some more. He twisted up his face and accused me of trying to kiss him, but he also took a step back.
And I took one forward. Uncertainty flashed in his eyes.
“Come on, guys,” he said finally. “What's the word for âcrazy' in Spanish?
Loco?
Rosario's
loco
. Let's get outta here.”
They went back the way they came, walking with a swagger, and every now and then shouting words like “freak” and “idiot.” My English wasn't perfect, but I knew what those words meant.
“At least we're rid of them for now,” I said when they turned a corner and couldn't hear me speak.
Julie was laughing. “Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you
are
a bit
loco
. Nobody stands up to Robbie like that.”
“
Loca
,” I muttered. “He said it wrong.
Loco
is for boys and men, not girls. Robbie and his friends don't even say insults properly.”
“Intelligence isn't their strong point,” Julie said, linking her arm with mine again. We turned toward her house, the blue one halfway down the block with the big green lawn and the cedar fence.
“Strong point?” I asked as we climbed the front steps.
“Something someone's good at,” she explained.
Julie knew more words than any other kid I'd ever met. She seemed happy when I asked her about them, and our teacher was always impressed when I used them in my writing. I think my good writing was another reason Ms. Bower let me be silent in class. She could tell I was learning, no matter how quiet I was.
“Being a good friend is Julie's strong point,” I said. “I use it like that?”
Her cheeks turned a bit pink. “Yes,” she said, “and thank you.”
She opened the door, and the smell of chocolate-chip cookies wafted out to meet us. Julie and her mother, Ms. Norton, had introduced me to cookies a few months earlier. In Mexico we had something similar called
galletitas,
but they were bigger and puffier and usually had coconut or nuts in them.
Now that I was coming over most days after school, Julie's mother made cookies once a week, and sometimes she even packed up some for my parents. That's how the food exchange started between our two families. Our parents couldn't speak each others' languages, but they communicated with cookies,
estofado
, pizza, lasagna and
quesadillas
. I wouldn't have known half as much about Canada if it hadn't been for Julie and her mother. I don't think they would know as much about Mexico either. Now they are even trying to learn a few words of Spanish.
I took off my shoes at the front door, like Canadians do, and shrugged off my backpack.
“Now let's get to work on the plan,” said Julie as she led me down the hall.
