Ana of California (19 page)

“How old were you when the album came out?”

“Technically, I was eleven,” Will said, which made Abbie cough. “It was my older brother's, but it was my favorite. I was obsessed with it all through my teenage years onward.”

Will continued staring and shaking his head. “This is so surreal.”

“You're telling me,” Abbie said. “It was a darker period in my life, one I don't care to remember.”

“Sorry if I kicked up—”

“No, it's fine,” Abbie said, waving her hand. “I was young and on my own in L.A., running from boredom like every other groupie. I happened to be in the right nightclub at the right time, I guess, and I was up for any kind of adventure, so . . . I used to call them my ‘yes' years, not that they didn't devolve into a gigantic no.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

“So, we'll have parsnips and persimmons soon,” she
said. “I should have batches of cider next time too. Same time, next week?”

“Absolutely. Yes.”

 • • • 

A
na followed the crowd of people heading out the back doors for lunch. She had no idea where Rye's locker was, so she looked for her outside. There were crowded picnic tables strewn along the back of the building as well as people tucked into the bleachers above the football field. Most of the tables were occupied or seemed reserved for previously established groups. Quite a few kids were wearing Lions jackets and T-shirts, Ana noticed. She'd thought that school pride was a thing Hollywood had invented. At the far end of the row, near several trash cans, Rye Moon sat in the middle of an empty table. She waved Ana over.

“Roar,” said a voice.

“How goes it, Big B?” Ana said to Brady, who was carrying a brown paper lunch bag significantly smaller and emptier than her own. “Shall we have lunch together on our first day?”

“Been waiting all morning.”

“How did it go?” Ana asked, walking them slowly toward the far table.

“Pretty awesome. My math teacher made a big deal about me, but everyone was nice about it. Science is going to be a snap, but English was weird. The school is bigger than I thought. Did you get lost?”

“No, but I got stared at a lot.”

“Me too. It's 'cause we've got it going on.”

They approached the table. Rye was eating an apple and flipping through a fashion magazine.

“Mind if we join?” Ana asked.

“Please. I've been waiting for you forevs,” Rye said. “Who's your friend with the boots?”

“I'm Brady. The boots used to be my dad's, and they've been to a rodeo. Once.”

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Old enough for sophomore-level algebra even though they're keeping me in freshman. Almost old enough for you.”

“I see.”

“You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen,” he said, causing Rye's maroon lips to smirk upward. “I would say the same about Ana, but we have an understanding.”

“Do you?”

“We're friends, kind of like life support for the first day and everything.”

“Why aren't you sitting with the rest of the freshies in the cafeteria?”

“Because he's fine out here,” Ana interjected with a wink.

“Of course, I just thought he might like to be around the rest of the kids in his class. They have their own weirdo table too.”

“Wait, is this the official weirdo table?” Ana asked, making a joke and not realizing Rye was serious.

“Sorry to break it to you, but we're not part of the bouncy ponytail, milk and shortbread cookies crowd.”

Brady gleefully sat next to Rye. Ana squeezed in across the table. She could tell something was bothering Rye and that she didn't want to talk about it.

“What's for lunch?” Rye asked.

Ana pulled out the parchment-wrapped sandwich. It was a two-handed situation, as usual, and noticing Brady's
measly lunch of peanut butter and jelly with carrot sticks and a juice box, Ana handed him half her sandwich.

“Like I said, Abbie's zee best of zee best. What'd you get?” Rye asked.

“Mozzarella and roasted vegetable.”

“I got a dull hummus sandwich, an apple, and some spelt cookies. Moms love to make lunches for the first day, huh? I mean—sorry.”

“No biggie,” Ana said, pretending, just for a moment, that it was true. She continued to chew, sliding the bag of kale chips in Brady's and Rye's direction.

“I don't eat anything green,” he said.

Rye pulled them in front of her. “Do you mind?” she asked, dipping into the bag.

“Go for it,” Ana said.

She popped a chip into her mouth before pushing the bag away and abruptly looking down at the table.

“Hey,
Ryan . . .
I mean Rye,” a guy in a Lions T-shirt called as he walked to the trash cans with a group of friends. “Like the haircut. That your new girlfriend?”

Rye didn't say anything.

“And who's this little dude?” the guy continued, to which his friends laughed. “Your plaything?”

“We haven't played yet, no,” Brady said.

“Be careful, little bro,” the guy said, leaning in to whisper. “I bet these two like it rough.”

“What's your problem?” Ana said.

“What's
your
problem,” he answered to another round of laughter. “You're the new girl from Hell-A, right?”

Ana hoped her look alone would silence the topic, but she could feel Rye's anger and Brady's confusion, and no one else was saying anything.

“Yeah, so what?”

“So, welcome to Hadley, bitch. Or is that ‘Butch'?”

The group walked away, but not without making rude gestures. Brady looked terrified, and Rye's gaze was locked on the table.

“Unbelievable,” Ana said.

“See what I mean about needing to get the hell out of here?” Rye mumbled. “It's the milkiest, most backward place in the universe. I say that literally and metaphorically with deliberate shade thrown at the amount of dairies in this town.”

“My dad has a dairy farm,” Brady said.

“Your dad is excluded,” Ana said.

“This town practically killed off both my parents' ancestors. Why they stay here remains a mystery, especially when San Francisco seems like a much better option—I admit that selfishly—but it isn't like it hasn't changed in one hundred fifty years. None of us has ever been welcome and we were born here.”

“I don't know what to say,” Ana said.

“You wouldn't understand. You grew up in a sprawling metropolis full of diversity and Disneyland, and it isn't like you advertise your serape on your sleeve. Honestly, with your smattering of freckles and doe eyes, it's no wonder you're already palsy with Cole Brannan. You fit in better than anyone at this table.”

“What about me?” Brady said. “I'm awesome!”

“Honestly,” Ana began, taking a second to think before speaking. “Those guys will be jerks regardless of their background or yours. Ignorance can be mean. I've dodged bullets like that all my life, and it never gets easier. I've dodged real ones too.”

The table behind them turned toward her. Ana hadn't realized their conversation had other listeners.

“They're just words,” Ana continued. “Those idiots have no idea that the weirdo table is the most interesting one, and that's their loss. Personally, I'm glad to even have a table.”

The bell rang.

“Gotta run to gym,” Brady said, easing out of the table quickly. “Thanks for lunch! See you after school!” He crumpled his lunch bag and scampered toward the doors, along with everyone else sitting nearby.

“What they said . . . ,” Rye said before stopping herself.

“Who cares? Let it roll off your amazing new hair, but don't come anywhere near mine.”

“We should get to class,” Rye said. “We can go together.”

“To independent study?”

“My mom said you were supposed to be in my art class. . . .”

“They switched me out of it.”

“Typical.”

“
Bastardos
.”

“
Bastardos.
”

A
bbie Garber hung up the telephone and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Hell on a hot plate!” she shouted to the various jars and bowls taking over the counter space. “
Two hours?
Who does she think she is?”

She went to the stove with her tongs and lifted the jars of peach preserves out of their boiling bath, then set them on a towel to cool. She'd dealt with last-minute orders before, but never one in such a short amount of time. Still, surprised as she was to get the call, new clients were a necessity, even if the client was Nadine Brannan. Abbie wondered if there was a motive behind it. The Brannans had never been friendly, even though they owned part of the forest behind Garber Farm, but their recent history—more specifically, the unfortunate ties binding Nadine and Emmett—gave Abbie pause. She'd said yes to the order partially
because she couldn't say no, but also because she was curious as to why she'd been asked in the first place.

“Right,” she said to the cupboards. “Zucchini bread, Earl Grey peach preserves, which I already have, and a pickle sampler. Easy enough.”

She rushed around the kitchen simultaneously cleaning up and gathering her baking ingredients. And though it had been a while, she switched on the stereo and cranked the sound to energize her less-than-pleased mood.

Abbie smiled at the song, however bittersweet the sound. She hadn't realized how long it had been since she'd listened to music in the house, but hearing Josie's mix CD brought her back to the last time she ever saw her best friend. They'd been up late drinking red wine and baking, laughing about Emmett—who was in the barn watching a baseball game—and talking about their best kisses. Embarrassed at the memory, Abbie recounted a clandestine moment drunk at a hotel on the Sunset Strip. Josie was particularly wrapped up in her own story, which remained vague in location but rapturous in the description of “a week-long kiss.” Abbie gagged at what she could only imagine was Emmett in his much younger years.

Abbie turned the music up, cracked a few eggs into the mixing bowl, and began whisking away. She wondered how long it had been since she'd had a kiss like that. She hadn't been on a proper date in years. “Probably not since ‘Barracuda' was on the radio. Jesus,” she thought to herself. And though she'd already blocked this particular daydream more than a few times before, her mind wandered all the way down the road and through the open doors of Will Carson's café. She wished Josie were sitting in the kitchen with her
so they could dish about the new chef in town, dissecting his looks and gasping at his age, while swooning at the prospect of his availability. And because she knew her friend hadn't meant to destroy their friendship the way she did, Abbie indulged her imagination for a moment, pretending Josie was at the table listening anyway.

“
You gonna burn, burn, burn, burn it to the wick, aren't you, Barracuda?
”

She sang along while sifting her dry ingredients into the egg mixture, dancing around while beating it all together, enjoying the release. When she turned around to grab the grated zucchini, she screamed—there was someone sitting at the table. Minerva Shaw smiled and put up her hands as if to say, “Please continue.” Abbie dropped the zucchini and turned off the mixer.

“Didn't mean to interrupt,” Minerva said over the music. “Thought I'd wait to make my presence known until after you finish doing whatever it is that you're doing.”

“Did you let yourself in?” Abbie said, switching off the stereo.

“Of course I did—rang several times, but there's no way you're going to hear me over that noise, my dear. I could hear it plain as day from the front porch. But I apologize for interrupting this moment. Lord knows we've all turned to Heart at some point or another during our middle-age crises. More of a Linda Ronstadt fan myself.”

“What do you need, Minerva?” Abbie said. She wiped flour across her brow. “I'm right in the middle of a last-minute order.”

“Working overtime for that strapping new chef in town? Don't blame you. Word's out, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there's no hiding it. You're over there every week and, I mean, look at the guy. Best to do what you can until the can is gone.”

“He's a client,” Abbie said, grabbing her loaf pans and making a point to set them down hard on the counter.

“He's calling the place The Bracken; the sign went up today. It's sure to raise many an eyebrow in these parts, let me tell you . . .”

“Are you here for cider or preserves?”

“Both. And there's another matter . . .” Minerva looked down. “That girl you have living with you. The Mexican girl.”

“Yes. Ana.”

“I think I might have misunderstood when she was over at the mansion that one time. Apparently, there is such a thing as Mexican Coke.”

“There is indeed. I can't speak for her myself, but she was very sorry for the way she spoke to you.”

“Well, I share the same sentiment and am here to make it known. You do realize I've hardly seen you since then? I fear the little misunderstanding has somehow soured our friendship, Abigail.”

Abbie sighed. She didn't have time for this, but she thought it amusing that Minerva considered them friends, especially because Minerva spent her side of the relationship meddling and passing judgment. But Abbie knew, even after all of their squabbles, their years-long acquaintance was more than that. Minerva had been kind to both her and Emmett after their father died. And she'd known their mother too. “Besides,” she thought, “who else do I have left?”

“So this girl, Anna—”

“
Ana
,” Abbie said. “Oh my goodness, Ana! What time is it?”

“Just fixing to turn three o'clock.”

“You're kidding.”

“I'm not.”

“Barracuda!”

 • • • 

A
na waited in front of the school, watching the steady stream of students filter around her in the race toward home. She remembered all the bus rides, long walks, or long waits of her past.

Ana looked for Rye on the way out of the building but realized she still didn't know where Rye's locker was. She watched the door periodically and scanned the parking lot, waiting for her to emerge. The time continued to pass—still no Rye and no Abbie, who was supposed to pick her up—so Ana concentrated on the mundane details surrounding her, hoping for tiny miracles shown only to those willing to see them. A hand in a jacket pocket pulling out a lollipop, a snapped broom discarded next to a trash can, a boy nuzzling the neck of a girl in a Jeep with a license plate spelling out
DAIRYQN
.

She put her hat back on and leaned against the low wall next to the flagpole, wishing Brady's mother hadn't picked him up already. She felt the same stares and kept her head dipped into her notebook, double-checking the homework she'd already finished. It was the first time she truly looked forward to her farm chores and to the ride back to the farm. It was the first time she didn't worry about looking over her shoulder.

“Nice hat.”

“Of course it's Cole. Of course he's with his friends. Of
course I'm gnawing on a granola bar at this very moment,” Ana thought.

“Need a ride?” he asked.

“No, thanks.”

“Just hanging out by the flagpole?”

“Looks like it, doesn't it?”

“I like your backpack. Did you draw all that yourself?”

“Uh, yes, who else would have?”

“I don't know, I don't know you that well. Yet.”

“No, you don't.”

He continued to stand there, looking at her.

“My buddy Jim's got his pickup . . . we can drop you anywhere you need to go,” Cole said as three guys in Lions jackets came into view, the very same ones she'd encountered at lunch. “There's room in the back. I'll sit with you.”

“No offense, but that sounds like a death sentence—literally and metaphorically. Your friends are the worst.”

“Have you even met them?” he said, taken aback.

“It's one thing to jab at the new girl, which is unoriginal at best, but making fun of—”

“I don't know what happened, but—”

“Ask them,” she said, looking over at all three of the guys who were making a point of ignoring that she was even there. “Rye didn't deserve it. No one ever does.”

“They said something about Rye?” Cole asked, concerned.

“You can discuss it during your joyride. I need to get back to my homework, thanks.”

There was a honk. Manny pulled up to the curb in Emmett's truck, Vic and Rolo waving in the back.

“That your dad?” said the guy Ana assumed was Jim. “Or do you pay them by the hour?”

Ana shut her notebook and slung her bag onto her
shoulder. “The
worst
,” she said to Cole before heading to the truck. She jumped into the front seat as Manny maneuvered around the parking lot traffic and Cole walked away with a shake of the head. His backpack was just as worn and scribbled on as her own, she noticed. He seemed to know everyone he passed, exchanging nods and high fives with a select few. Though he didn't engage with his friends, he followed them through the parking lot to an oversize pickup truck with obnoxiously tall wheels. The girl in the blue dress emerged from a car parked nearby. She encircled her long arms around his neck. They exchanged a few words before Cole climbed into the passenger seat of the truck.

“Everything okay?” Manny asked.

“Everything's fine.”

“Those boys bothering you?”

“Nothing I can't handle. Where's Abbie?” she asked.

“Ran into some trouble prepping a last-minute delivery, so she sent me. Sorry I'm late. The tractor broke earlier, so Emmett said we're done for the day. I'm dropping off the guys on the way back to the farm.”

“I'm not working this afternoon?”

“You're off. Not bad for the first day, no? How did it go?”

“To echo your words, ‘Not bad.' Not great, either. I didn't get into the art class I wanted to take.”

“Why not?”

“Because Em—. It was full.”

“I'm sorry to hear it. I know how much you were looking forward to it,
mija
.”

“I have independent study, which means I get to study in the library.” She sighed. “The universe keeps throwing me into libraries, Manny. Not much has changed there.”

“It's funny. I remember visiting my brother down in Chula
Vista. My nephew always wanted to go to the library instead of the beach, said it was more fun. Always had his face in a book; real curious, loved to learn. Reminds me of you.”

“I've still never been to the beach.”

“We've got one, you know. Ask Abbie to take you. It's just down the road, borders the end of the forest.”

The ride back to Garber Farm was a pleasant one, Ana thought. It was a cool, crisp afternoon and what she imagined autumn should feel like. Before Manny dropped them off, Vic and Rolo opened the window behind Ana's seat to ask her about her first day. They, in turn, told her about the tractor problem and Emmett's subsequent meltdown.

“Reminds me,” Manny said as they got nearer to the farm, “Emmett wants you to take Dolly for a walk before he gets back.”

“Where did he go?”

“Up to Keyserville to pick up some parts for the tractor; said he'd be back around dinnertime. I don't know if Abbie's still there with Minerva, but I know she's leaving to make the delivery.”

“Minerva Shaw is there?” Ana said, wishing she'd never climbed into the truck.

“She is. I'm late getting home, so I'm going to drop you at the gate if that's okay.”

“I always forget you have a family. I don't mean it like that. . . . I just hope I didn't make you late.”

“Never. Uncle Manny's here to help whenever you need him.”

 • • • 

A
na took her time walking down the field road to the farmhouse. If there was one person she didn't want to see, it was
Minerva Shaw. She stopped to pick the remaining in-season blueberries as a quick snack, hoping no one was watching her from the window. When she got to the barn, she jingled the keys at Emmett's door, making Dolly bark before she let her out to run in circles in the dirt. She grabbed a leash from inside and peeked into Emmett's darkened living room. It was spare and cleaner than she imagined, with a small couch and leather chair next to a stone fireplace, a television in the corner. She tiptoed out as if it were occupied.

“C'mon, Dolls,” Ana said, putting the dog's leash on and walking her through the garden to the back door of the farmhouse. She bent down to rub Dolly's head as she looked past the gardening shed to the entrance of the forest in the distance. “Stay,” she said to Dolly. She went inside to unload her backpack, expecting to see Abbie and Minerva Shaw, but neither one of them was there. In their place was a bottle of Mexican Coke sitting on the counter with a note attached that read “With apologies—Minerva F. Shaw.”

“No way,” Ana said. She picked up the bottle not believing it was real. Though a part of her didn't want to accept it on principle, she believed the apology was sincere.

She ran upstairs, pulled the map out of the Frida book, and switched her boots to sneakers before running back down again. She unloaded half of her backpack in the kitchen, keeping her sketchbook and tossing some dog treats into it. The Coke sat there still demanding her attention, so she tossed it into her bag as well and headed outside.

“Adventure time, El Perro de Peril.”

Ana had studied the map of Hadley enough to know the woods behind Garber Farm were protected lands shared with Alder Kinman and one other property much farther away over the hills. She also knew, per the map and Manny,
that the forest edged out along the ocean. Dolly kept to her side as Ana made her way past the shed and closer to the entrance where there was a visible path, worn yet slightly overgrown. She stepped over some branches, Dolly sniffing behind her, and followed it in.