“See you after school?” Lena waited for his nod of confirmation. “Cool, thanks. And thanks for not being a dick like my real brothers.”
She slid out of the Beetle, slinging her backpack over one shoulder.
Dal rolled out of the parking lot, heading back to the Cecchino farm. He watched Lena in his rear view mirror until she was out of sight.
Chapter 2Apples
FUCKING UNGRATEFUL punk. Leo glared at the hump of Dal’s blue Beetle and its plume of dust. One of these days, Anton would get what was coming to him. After senior year he’d have to finally have to grow up. Like Leo had to grow up after their mom died.
He shouldered the canvas apple bag Nonna made for him. It resembled a backpack, except it was worn with the opening in the front. It could hold up to fifty pounds of apples. The design made it easy for the Cecchino family to drop apples into it while standing on the ladder.
Mr. Cecchino hustled by him, a wooden ladder under one arm. He whistled as he went.
His good cheer soured Leo even further. His bad mood was compounded as he stared out at the long rows of apple trees. Two-hundred and ninety-six acres of apples, to be exact.
Leo stomped down to the far end of a row, rubber boots swishing in the wet grass. It was not even seven-thirty in the morning, yet already humid. It was going to be hot today.
West County, California, was known for the Gravenstein apple. Most of the Cecchino apples were sold to a local cider mill. The rest of them went to local markets and restaurants. Sometimes, if they had a heavy crop, Mr. Cecchino drove to San Francisco and sold apples out of the back of his truck to tourists.
Looking up at the branches laden with red-and-green speckled fruit, Leo had a feeling a San Francisco street corner was in his future.
He picked a tree at the very end of the row and settled his wooden ladder into place. Then he scaled to the top of the tree and began to pick.
Apple picking was a skill. For starters, you never picked just one apple at a time—at least, not if you actually wanted to finish before all the fruit rotted on the tree. You always picked two or three per hand.
Over the years, Leo had developed an adept eye for picking. He could survey a section of the tree and instinctively know the fastest way to remove all the apples. The trick was to lean against the ladder with the lower part of the body and leave the hands free. That made it possible to pick with both hands, instead of just one.
He’d nearly finished two trees when Dal returned from town. His best friend joined him at the far end of the orchard with a cheerful smile.
“The mustard still has a few weeks left,” Dal said, gesturing to the tall clusters of yellow flowers scattered around the edge of the orchard. “I’ll have to try and remember to pick some for Nonna later.” Nonna loved mustard flowers.
Leo was still in a dark mood. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” Dal settled his ladder into place.
“Aren’t you sick of them?”
“Sick of what?” Dal’s rubber boots thudded against the ladder as he climbed to the top of the tree with his apple bag.
“Apples. Aren’t you sick of them? I mean, we’ve been doing this shit since we were kids.”
Dal plunged his arms into the top boughs of the tree. “I like being outside.”
What Leo really wanted was a good old-fashioned bitch fest. He should have known Dal wouldn’t take the bait. Dal wasn’t one for complaining. Not even when his old man beat the shit out of him.
Maybe that’s why he was perpetually pleasant. He didn’t live with his old man and his bat-shit crazy mom anymore. Compared to the hell Dal had grown up in, the apple orchard was fucking paradise.
Maybe that was Leo’s problem. His life had been too good. So good that the simple fate of an apple farmer felt like a curse.
He should be playing ball at UC Berkley. He should be partying at frat houses with Jennifer in his arms. Instead, she was off enjoying a perfect life at UC Riverside, while he was stuck on an apple farm.
Even knowing his so-called injury had been the best thing for the family did nothing to improve his mood. It was Anton’s fault. The little punk had no idea how good he had it.
“Careful, son.” Leo had been so engrossed in his own bad mood that he hadn’t heard his dad walking down the row. “You shouldn’t be lifting your bad arm over your head like that. Doctor Cain said there’s still a chance for it to heal if you don’t strain it.”
Even Dal paused at the comment. His head popped out of dark leaves of the tree.
“Sorry, Dad,” Leo muttered.
The proud smile on his dad’s face made him want to hit something. Why the hell his dad was proud of a son who did nothing but pick apples was beyond Leo.
“I’ll be one row over. Just leave the ones too hard for your arm to reach.”
“Okay, Dad.” Leo had no intention of leaving any apples on his trees, but it was better to play along and preserve the carefully constructed illusion.
Over the top of Mr. Cecchino’s wide straw hat, Leo’s eyes met Dal’s.
He knew the truth. Leo was pretty sure of it. Dal had never spoken of it, but his friend missed very little. And the way he looked at Leo at times like this made him think Dal had figured him out. Leo was grateful Dal never confronted him on it. Putting his decision into words made Leo want to break things.
Mr. Cecchino shouldered his ladder and disappeared through a gap in the trees.
“Where’s the hunting party from?” Dal changed the subject, resuming
