Ana of California (17 page)

“Hi,” he said from across the small shop.

“Hi,” Ana said, remaining still. “Bye.” She turned to walk out, but he yelled at her to wait as the long-haired man behind the counter glared at them through round glasses.

“Your hair is different?”

“Perceptive. I cut it.”

“It suits you.”

“Almost as much as my
curls
?”

“Look, I didn't mean to freak you out in the bookstore,” he said. “I thought you would have put it all together.”

“Put what together?”

“Where we first saw each other,” he said. “It was about a month ago on the road in front of Garber Farm. You were standing by a truck out in the fields with a bunch of men. You were wearing your Hex T-shirt, and I was riding by on a motorcycle with my little sister. It was the Kinetic Sculpture parade. You waved at us.”

“What?”

“You waved, in slow motion, as my sister and I rode by . . .”

“That was you?”

“Yeah,” Cole said, looking down and not directly at her as he had in the bookstore.

“How would I have known it was you if you had a helmet on?”

“Good point. Anyway, you're the only person who waved at us. My sister wanted us to turn around and talk to you. I probably should have.”

“Why?”

“Because we wouldn't be having this conversation right now.”

“What makes you think I would have wanted a conversation then?”

He smiled the same lopsided smile.

“I think you better go,” he said. “Abbie's out there looking for you. Wouldn't want you to get in trouble being seen with me.”

“Why would I—”

“Guess I'll see you in school.”

“I guess,” Ana said.

“Looking forward to
it.”

T
hey were supposed to ring a bell. Instead, there was a waving of hands and frantic yelling from the other side of the fields. Ana knew immediately that she was late—again. Manny assured her the morning of the first day of school would be light on the dirty work and just the usual early morning chores. But they hadn't foreseen a rain shower the night before, so she'd been sent to the green bean trellises to hurriedly pick the remaining beans, her shoes becoming soaked in the process.

She and Manny were working on the overgrown plants together, both with small buckets strapped to their waists. He taught her how to hold each stem lightly under the leaves, so as not to break them, and pull each bean one by one.

“Why can't I just pull six beans from the same branch if they all need to be picked?”

“Rushing can damage them, so take your time, little by little,” Manny said.

Ana couldn't think about beans at a time like this. She needed to get ready, double-check her backpack, and help Abbie pack a lunch. Also, there was breakfast, not that she was hungry.

“Worried about your first day?” Manny asked, clueing in to her mood.

“Can you tell? Just nerves, I guess.”

“It's always tough on the first day. Remember your first day here? From blackberry killer to—”

“Bean slayer?”

“I was going to say expert weeder and worm handler in training, but you've come so far,
mija
. It'll be the same with school.”

“Taste it first, right?”

“
Exactamente
. And don't forget to speak up, not that you have trouble doing that here.”

The very moment Ana stopped thinking about school was the moment she shouldn't have. She heard Abbie's voice in the distance as well as the sound of a whistle. She had no choice but to drop everything and run.

“We have to leave,” Abbie said when Ana arrived on the front porch, hat askew and panting. “I thought they'd have sent you in by now.”

“I have to change—”

“No time. I packed you a lunch, and we can eat breakfast on the way.”

“But I can't go like this . . .”

“I've got your new boots, which you left downstairs. Throw those on in the van and roll up your jeans. It'll help cover the splatters of mud.”

“Honestly, I
can't
go looking like this. I haven't even showered.”

“No choice. We're going.”

“I look like a farmhand,” Ana said, catching her reflection in the passenger window.

“You are a farmhand, hon. Keep the hat. It's a look.”

Ana climbed into the front seat while Abbie continued to load the back of the van. Ana changed her shoes and pulled the brown work shirt tied around her waist over the same faded T-shirt and jeans she'd been wearing for months. It was enough to pass for a normal high school outfit, on a sloppy day, she thought. She remembered how her abuela had worn the same handmade dresses for years, and how she'd changed up her look with different purses or a delicate string of faux pearls. It had never bothered her that she didn't have the money to buy something new. She had always looked dignified simply by the way she carried herself.

Ana rolled up her sleeves and put on some lavender lotion she found in the glove compartment of the van. She nibbled Abbie's oatmeal-flax banana bread and sipped from a thermos of carrot apple juice. Her old backpack was at her feet and full of books and new supplies.

“How are you feeling?” Abbie asked.

“Nervous, I guess. Like I could spew my spleen at any moment.”

“You'll be fine,” Abbie said. “I put together quite the brown bag lunch. You've got a roasted veggie sandwich on that rosemary bread I made last night, some kale chips—don't knock 'em, they're a tryout recipe—a pear, a granola bar if you need another snack, and a thermos of frozen lemonade.”

“Wow.”

“There's enough to share.”

They drove toward town, sunshine machine-gunning
through the pines. Ana closed her eyes and let the light ricochet off her forehead.

“Gorgeous day,” Abbie said.

“I've lived in perfect weather all my life—doesn't fool me for a second,” Ana replied.

They turned down Common Street, and Ana's stomach lurched. When they stopped at the intersection at Main, she knew the school was just another few blocks down the road. Abbie idled at the stop sign, glancing over at Will Carson's café.

“The paper's off the windows!” she shouted, startling them both.

They both squinted and stared. The lights were off, but there were new light fixtures and bar stools along the long counter. A piece of brown paper taped to the window read
CAFÉ OPEN SOON
in bold block letters.

They both jumped at a loud honk behind them. Abbie accelerated through the intersection, looking particularly shaken, joining the line of cars making its way to Hadley High.

“How's Will?” Ana asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When was the last time you were over there?”

“Last week, same as always, for a delivery.”

“He seems to buy a ton for a restaurant that isn't open yet.”

“He's testing recipes with a few people he hired. He mentioned something about a sous-chef coming up from Berkeley. He wants to try my cider, but it's more for friends and not something I think I should sell.”

“Why not?” Ana said, catching her breath as the cars in front of them rolled forward and the fence around the school came into view.

“He's so serious about everything I make, it's a bit off-putting.”

“Maybe because he's serious about you.”

“What?”

“About your abilities. I mean, let's get real; you're an amazing cook. The new spicy carrot pickles you're making? They're insane, like beyond restaurant amazing. Speaking of which, should they be Vic & Rolo's Spicy Carrots? I've been trying to come up with a label.”

The van jerked to a stop.

“First-day traffic jam,” Abbie said.

“I can get out and walk if that's easier.”

“We need to park. The main lot is in front, so we'll pull over there. I promise not to cramp your style or give you too much of a pep talk.”

Ana pulled her hat down low, peering from underneath it the way Emmett did when he didn't want to be disturbed. Students began jumping out of cars and waving good-bye to their rides. Ana wasn't the only one with an oversize backpack. Some carried their books along with just a purse or tote. There was a lot of enthusiasm, kids shouting or embracing as if they hadn't seen one another in years.

As they got closer to the school, Ana took in the green grass edging the track and football field, which was larger than she had imagined, and pristine. Beyond it stood the school, a low brick behemoth with small windows and a hanging banner that read
WELCOME
BACK
,
STUDENTS
!
There was a steady stream of them making their way through the double doors. More than a few girls were wearing first-day dresses. Ana was surprised not to see metal detectors at the entrance as she had at her two previous schools.

“Here we are,” Abbie said, pulling into the crowded lot.

“Rye said she'd meet me here.”

“I know Charlie's dropping her off on his way to the store. Did you specify a place?”

“No, I guess we didn't.”

“You'll find each other inside.”

Ana watched as one mother ran around to the other side of a parked car to hug a kid who looked barely old enough for high school. He had a burlap sack presumably containing his books slung over one shoulder, and was wearing an ill-fitting blazer, jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots.

“Nora! Brady! Hello, you two!” Abbie chirped out the window. Both the mother and son waved as Abbie parked alongside their beat-up pickup truck. “That's Nora and Brady Lawson. He's a smarty pants, that one, and I bet his mother wouldn't mind if you walked him in on his first day.”

There was nothing Ana could say, and in truth, she was glad not to have to walk in alone. She gave the thumbs-up and hoisted her backpack out of the front seat. Abbie said her hellos before thrusting open the back doors of the van, revealing heaps of flowers ready for the morning delivery rounds.

“I saved this little bunch for you,” she said, handing Ana a delicate bouquet, which Ana tucked into the brim of her hat in keeping with her summer habit.

“Still look like a farmhand?” she asked.

“Not even remotely.” Abbie winked.

Ana squashed the lunch bag into her backpack and took a deep breath. Everywhere around them students were rushing toward the school. No one seemed to be hanging out in the parking lot or smoking alongside the fence. She debated whether to articulate the tickle in her stomach, as thrilling as it was foreboding.

“We're going to shake on this,” Ana said, turning to Abbie.

“Okay . . .”

“I may be at the loser table by lunch,” Ana said, “but I just wanted to say thanks for letting me stay. You're one of the reasons why I hoped I could.”

Before Abbie had a moment to register the unfamiliar snag in the back of her throat, a bell buzzed loud and low over the parking lot.

“That dreaded sound,” Abbie said. “Takes me back. You should probably get on in there. Nora! Ana will walk with Brady.”

“How old is he, by the way?” Ana whispered.

“Younger than he's supposed to be and from one of the oldest farming families around. Spends most of his time indoors reading or puffing on an inhaler,” Abbie whispered back.

“Gotcha.”

As Abbie and Ana approached, the woman hugged the kid again, wiping away tears and genuinely inflicting a sense of terror into her otherwise determined-looking child.

“Hey, I'm Ana,” she said, extending a hand toward Brady. “I'm new too. We should do this thing together, right?”

“Are you a senior?”

“Not quite. Junior.”

“I can work with that. I'm Brady and I'm a freshman, even though I should probably be a sophomore. Cool backpack.”

“Ditto,” Ana said. “You know, I started school a little early too. It's always good to have a pal on your first day, right? I say that more on my behalf because you'll be ruling this place in no time.”

Brady saluted his mother, who already had one of Abbie's
protective arms wrapped around her shaking shoulders. Ana followed his lead and saluted Abbie, who winked back.

“Get going before you're late,” Abbie said. “I'm serious.”

“Wanna race?” Ana asked.

“He can't run! He
cannot
run!” Nora shouted, her eyes bulging with hysteria.

“We'll walk, Mom,” Brady said. “And if we're late, I'll just take Ana to the nurse and get us both free passes.”

He turned away from the car and began walking, so Ana followed with a quick reassuring wave to the women they were leaving behind.

“She's the most embarrassing woman on the planet,” Brady said, moving the sack from one shoulder to the other. “Your mom's way cooler.”

“She's not my mom.”

“Oh, yeah, duh. They only have a dog and chickens at Garber Farm. So, how are you—”

“Abbie's kind of my guardian, I guess.”

“You're lucky.”

“Trust me,” Ana said, taking his sack from him and slinging it over her shoulder. “You're luckier than you think.”

“Where's your homeroom?” Brady asked.

“I missed orientation, so I'm supposed to go to the office first. What about you?”

“Same. But I need my stuff back before we go in—don't want to look like I can't handle this.”

Ana handed Brady his sack as they approached the front doors.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Are you kidding? I was born for this.”

Ana couldn't help but laugh as Brady strutted into the lobby of the school, which was teeming with roaring voices
and slamming lockers in the rush to class. They followed the main hallway sign pointing to the office, aware of all the curious eyeballs suddenly turned toward them. Rye Moon was nowhere in sight. As they walked, Ana realized she still had her hat on. She imagined they made an interesting duo, kind of like the pair in
Midnight Cowboy
, one of the movies she'd watched on the recommendation of her friend at the library. “You're probably not supposed to watch this, but it's necessary if you ever need to find your Miami,” he'd said, quoting the film.

They walked through the door of the office and up to a dark countertop guarded by a plant with a ribbon around it and a metal lamp that looked like it had been sitting there since Abbie and Emmett's era. A woman in glasses with delicate chains hanging alongside her rouged cheeks, her hair piled into a time-machine beehive, gave them both a glance before answering a phone that didn't appear to be ringing.

“One sec,” she said. “They're here, George.”

She put the phone down and gave them a once-over.

“There are no hats allowed in Hadley High,” she said. “You can store it in your locker until after school.”

Ana took her hat off, shaking out her new haircut, checking to make sure the collar of her work shirt was covering the back of her neck. A wooden door opened and a man in a brown suit, wide-striped tie, and thick mustache walked out.

“Welcome to Hadley High.” He beamed. “You must be Brady and Anna.”

“It's Ana,” Brady said, “Ana like you're turning
on
a light. You must be Principal Tucker. Pleasure to meet ya. Heard a lot about you from my pop.”

“I heard a lot about
you
from your pop. Did you both get your locker assignments and schedule?”

“Not even a tour,” Brady said.

“Well, Helen will see to that,” the man said, clearing his throat. “That's Mrs. Molloy to you both.”