Harmonious Hearts 2017 Page 8

  Here, with this man and his band of unwanted children, was where he belonged. Honor placed his hand in Dian’s and led him toward where their unusual little family waited, ready for the next adventure they would face together.

  “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

  GIULIA MAGGIO-TREMBLAY is a university student whose chief joys in life are reading, singing, yarn crafts, animals, beach vacations, and of course writing. Her ideal future includes working as a novel editor in addition to writing her own books. Her ideal home would have a turret, an indoor pool, a solarium, a gorgeous library, and would feature water views as well as a private beach and forest and space for a few ponies. (She has yet to come across such a place, but it shouldn’t be long.) Giulia has a definite weakness for anything matcha-green-tea-flavored and baffles the Italian side of her family by her aversion to tomato sauce. The remainder of her relatives hail from Ghana and from Québec, where Giulia lives with her parents, older brother, grandmother, cat, and beagle.

  This year Giulia will act as fiction editor for her school’s literary magazine, which is celebrating its 125th annual issue.

  Applesauce and Oatmeal

  By Claire Hekkala

  Roswell Collins dreams of escaping his parents’ Nebraska farm—and the girl named Rose, who his family is forcing him to be, even going so far as to demand he wear a dress to the Summer Festival. The only thing stopping Roswell from fleeing is the cute and kind boy next door, Jay Lee. With Jay’s help, can Roswell find a way to keep his home and still be true to himself?

  SUMMER CAME early that year on the farm. It was hot, full of insects, and I hated it.

  Katie had turned twelve the month before, and she was bright with a sense of her future. She practically flew around the house, dusting and cleaning, earning praise from Mom with every joyous step she took. Being seventeen and despondent, an older sibling with less skill and less enthusiasm than Katie, I was far from popular on the farm.

  I dragged myself out of bed each morning at what felt like the crack of dawn to me, but which my parents described as “Late!” and “You’ve got to get up before the sun is fully at its height, Rose, or you’ll never get anything done!” I then climbed into ill-fitting overalls, tried to scrape my short, ragged hair back from my face, and choked down a bowl of tasteless oatmeal before I headed outside to do my chores. By the time I watered the cows and fed the chickens, Katie was already done picking the weeds that sprouted in the yard and was skipping around Dad like an overexcited moth, begging for more work.

  The sun was swollen with power that summer. Every time I stepped outside, it targeted me with its rays, sending me into a desperate sweat in five minutes flat. And while I was greasy and covered in dust, Katie stayed radiant and joyful in her sundress, running circles around me as I labored to lift a pail of milk. She also prattled endlessly about her first Summer Festival dance, which would be happening this year, as she was now old enough to pick a partner and participate in the Festival’s main attraction.

  I was not looking forward to the Festival, of course. I hated dancing, I hated dressing up, and no one liked me enough to be my partner. As Katie whirled around me, imagining aloud how wonderful the dance would be, I only prayed that it would be over quickly this year.

  Basically, I hated farm life. In a year I would turn eighteen and graduate from the tiny high school in the tiny town of Milton, Nebraska, and my mind was buzzing with ways I could convince my parents to let me go away to college. Maybe if I promised to major in animal care—but I was bad with blood, and animals didn’t like me much. Maybe agricultural sciences? As I got splinters from trying to repair the fence in front of the barn, I began to devise a plan.

  We rarely had visitors at our farm as we were at the end of a winding dirt road with nothing beyond us. To go to school in the winter, Katie and I had to hike almost two miles through the snow, carrying our books and lunches. So it was a surprise when, three weeks before the Summer Festival, a car rattled up to our house and came to a stop.

  Katie was the first one out of the house, of course. She skipped toward the car in her red dress and brown boots, then came sliding to a stop when the doors opened. Her eyes were wide with anticipation as she waited for people to emerge.

  Next came Mom and Dad, wearing apron and dungarees respectively. I hung back, standing next to the section of fence I had just been struggling to repair.

  Three people climbed out of the car—an older man and woman, and a boy about my age. The man and woman had white hair while the boy’s was jet-black. He was wearing a T-shirt with some sort of block lettering on it and jeans. I winced as his white sneakers hit the ground. I knew the kind of dust brewed at our house did not come out of fabric.

  “Howdy!” Dad called as he approached the older couple. “I’m Mr. Collins. Nice to see someone come all the way down our road!”

  The older man chuckled. “Nice to meet you too. We were coming to introduce ourselves, actually—I’m Ron, and this is my wife Deborah and grandson Jay. We just bought the farm next to yours.” Intrigued, I approached the group. New neighbors?

  Dad and Ron shook hands. “That’s interesting to hear,” Dad said. “I thought that farm would lie vacant forever. Are you telling me old Johansson finally sold?”

  Their conversation began to fade into the background as I stopped paying attention to it. I was close enough now to get a good look at Jay, and he was interesting indeed.

  His hair was jet black and gelled into spikes. His eyes were dark brown and almond-shaped. His T-shirt sported bright white words on a black background: I’M HERE TO FARM AND GET RICH, AND I’M ALL OUT OF FARM. I squinted at it, confused, then realized I’d been caught staring. Also, I was standing right in front of Jay.

  I dragged my gaze up to Jay’s face, feeling my cheeks go hot with embarrassment. But Jay was smiling. “Don’t blame yourself, it’s a funny shirt,” he said. “I had it printed when I heard we were moving out here.” I took a breath, unsure how to respond, but then my parents’ conversation finally impinged on my consciousness.

  “This is my daughter Katie,” Mom said, and Katie beamed suitably. “And this is—”

  “Roswell,” I interrupted, suddenly really not wanting her to say “Rose.”

  Mom shot me a confused look. I didn’t return it. I just didn’t want Jay to hear the name “Rose” and think of some lovely, fainting beauty. Roswell seemed to fit me much better. Although this was the first time I’d said the name aloud, in my head I’d been toying with it for weeks.

  The moment stretched out awkwardly. Finally Jay broke the silence by sticking his hand over the wooden planks of the fence between us. “Jay,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Roswell.”

  I shook his hand, feeling as if I could sense every particle of dirt that transferred from my sweaty palm to his own cool, dry one. Then, as he retracted his hand, I waited for him to wipe it on his jeans. He didn’t. Instead he fixed me with a confused look as I stared at him. Another awkward silence followed.

  “Well!” Dad said in a loud voice. “We’ll hope to see you all again at the Summer Festival, of course, and good luck on the new farm! If you ever need to borrow a piece of equipment or an animal, come on over and ask. We don’t have a big place, but we have a lot of heart.”

  Mom, Dad, and Jay’s grandparents laughed, while I winced. “That’s cheesy,” I muttered, forgetting Jay could hear me.

  “If you haven’t spent time with my grandparents, you haven’t seen cheesy yet,” he replied quietly. I looked up in surprise. “It was cool meeting you, Roswell,” he continued, and the name left me with a warm glow in my chest. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

  “Maybe,” I said, but then Jay’s grandparents were leaving, and he followed them back to the car, casting a glance at me as he went. “Have fun getting rich,” I said belatedly, referring to his shirt, but he was already out of earshot.

  As the car puttered away, my parents returned to their work, and I trudged back to the b
roken fence, hefting the hammer in one hand.

  “Hey, Roswell!” Katie yelled. She skipped up to me and leaned on the fence, somehow not impaling herself on one of the many splinters. “What’s up with that name, anyway?” she asked, making a face. “It sounds stupid. Like a boy’s name.”

  “It is a boy’s name,” I said shortly, pounding in a nail in the hopes she’d go away.

  But she didn’t. “Ew! Why would you want to be named after a boy? Is this from one of your video games? You know Mom and Dad don’t like those.”

  “Mom and Dad don’t like anything from the modern era,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “I heard that! And I’m going to tell.”

  “Oh, come on, Katie. Don’t do that.”

  She crossed her arms and flounced adorably. “Rose is such a pretty name,” she said. “Why wouldn’t you want to be called Rose? I would take Rose over Katie any day. It’s a flower.”

  “Maybe I’m just not a flower kind of person.” I shrugged. I didn’t mention that it went deeper than that, that I’d been feeling uncomfortable with more than my name for quite a while.

  Katie looked at me for a long time and then sighed. “I don’t want to call you Roswell, okay? I like my big sister Rose better. Keep being Rose!” She poked me in the cheek and then ran away, giggling.

  Keep being Rose, I thought. I grimaced. Rose wasn’t exactly someone I liked. Roswell—even though he’d only really existed for half an hour—already seemed much better.

  THE NEXT day, immediately after my boring meal of bland oatmeal, I set out for the far side of the property. “I’m going to see if there’s any more fence that needs fixing,” I said to forestall any arguments. Mom looked doubtful, but Dad just told me to take the tool kit.

  Our farm wasn’t very big, as Dad had told Jay’s grandparents the day before. Trekking through the pasture, however, I could already feel sweat breaking out on my forehead. The hot sun was no friend of mine, that was for sure.

  I didn’t really want to check for more broken fence. What I wanted was some time away from my family to think. What I wanted was to compare Rose and Roswell on a blank slate, with nothing to distract me.

  It didn’t take me long to reach the property line between us and Jay’s grandparents. Big surprise, no broken fence. I would get in trouble later if Mom and Dad found out I wasn’t really doing any work. I’d better keep it brief, then.

  I set my tool kit down in front of the fence, then hopped up to sit on the top wooden slat. “Okay,” I said aloud after a long pause. “This is awkward, but let’s do it. Rose, Roswell, state your cases.”

  Feeling uncomfortable, I cleared my throat and began to speak as if to a panel of judges. “Hi, I’m Rose Collins. I’m seventeen years old, grubby, and not great at most things. I live on a farm, and it sucks. I’m talking out loud to myself right now and it’s pretty stupid. Oh, also I like video games.”

  I stopped. A breeze blew across my face and ruffled the tops of the grass. I swung my feet in the air, imagining that my entire life as Rose Collins was laid out in front of me for examination. Was it good, or was it time for a change? Would a new identity as Roswell bring something better to my life? “What am I doing?” I asked myself suddenly.

  “The obvious answer would be ‘talking to yourself’, but if you’d like a wittier response, just give me a minute and I’m sure I can think of one.” The voice came from behind me, and it was unmistakably Jay’s. Startled, I jumped off the fence and turned to face him.

  “Hey,” he said. His hair was immaculately gelled, just like yesterday, and he had his hands stuck in his pockets. He was wearing a different T-shirt, one with a picture of an elf holding a glowing sword.

  “Hey, I’ve played that game,” I said, pointing to his shirt. He looked down, as if surprised, then back up with a smile.

  “Oh yeah. This is an old shirt, but that’s a good game.”

  “I played it just this year,” I admitted. “My parents don’t really like video games… or anything modern, to be honest. They only let me get a PlayStation because I bought it with money I made fixing fences. I get the feeling I’m gonna be stuck on this farm forever.”

  “You don’t like farming, huh?” He pulled an apple out of his pocket and took a bite.

  I laughed. “Don’t like farming? That’s an understatement. I hate it. As soon as I turn eighteen, I’m getting the hell out of Dodge. I’m thinking if I do well on the SAT and study a lot, maybe I can get into some college in a big city like New York or LA. Anywhere with traffic and computers and people, I guess.”

  Jay nodded. “I’m going to Berkeley this fall,” he said. “It’s in California. That’s why my grandparents aren’t really making me do any work here—they know they can’t keep me.” He smirked. “I basically just hang out and eat apples.”

  “That’s the life,” I said, and we both laughed.

  “Here,” he said, holding out his apple, “Want a bite? These are super good. We bought them at the grocery store, obviously—nothing grows on this farm yet.”

  I felt suddenly uneasy looking at his outstretched hand. Is this a gesture of friendship or is he mocking me? How much did he hear me talking to myself earlier? Is he thinking of me as Rose or Roswell?

  “Uh, no thanks,” I said. “Actually, I don’t have the luxury to sit around and eat apples all day. I’ve got fences to repair.” I hefted my tool kit from where it sat in the grass and walked quickly away before I had a chance to second-guess myself.

  “Uh, okay,” I heard Jay say from behind me. “Good luck with those fences!”

  I forced myself to scowl down at my feet as I walked, because if I didn’t, I would probably be grinning.

  THE NEXT time I saw Jay was almost a week later. It was early morning, and I was sitting outside on our porch, a bowl of oatmeal resting on the knees of my overalls. I held a college magazine out in front of me and flipped through the pages as I chewed. Princeton. Harvard. Stanford. All these colleges sounded so far away from tiny Milton, Nebraska, and so unattainable. And I didn’t even know what I wanted to major in. How would I ever get away from this farm?

  There was a sound of throat clearing. I looked up and saw Jay in front of me.

  “Hey,” he said, smiling. His hands were behind his back, and his normally spiked hair was a little disheveled.

  “Hey!” I said, setting my magazine aside and jumping to my feet. Oatmeal nearly slopped out of my bowl as I lifted it, but I caught myself. “Why are you here? It’s so early.”

  “Well, yeah, I did have to cut my hair routine a little short to get here before you headed out to work,” he joked. “It’s a rat’s nest up there.”

  “Your hair looks fine,” I said, feeling a little thrill at the words. “You didn’t answer my question, though—why are you here?”

  “I have something for you guys.” He brought his hands out from behind his back, revealing a large jar full to the brim with a honey-colored paste. He handed it to me, and I took it gingerly, pretending not to notice as his fingers brushed mine.

  I held the jar up to the light. “It’s applesauce,” he said eagerly. “I know it’s not a super fancy gift, but I made it myself with some help from my grandma. I really love cooking and stuff,” he added a little shyly.

  “That’s great, Jay! Thanks.” I smiled fully at him for maybe the first time.

  The moment stretched out as I looked into his eyes. Then he shifted from one foot to the other, and I looked hurriedly away, my face turning red.

  “I’d better go,” he started to say, at the same time as I said, “Get outta here then, Applesauce.”

  He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Applesauce?”

  I felt like I was going to implode. “I just… couldn’t think of anything to say.”

  “So you called me Applesauce.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I feel like I need to retaliate, but you haven’t given me any food offerings that I can compare you to.” He looked around pointedly. />
  I frowned down at the bowl in my left hand. “I’m more like this horrid oatmeal than anything else. Gross and drab.”

  “Hey, don’t hate on oatmeal. It’s nutritious stuff,” he replied airily, beginning to walk away.

  “See you around, Jay.”

  “See you around, Oatmeal.” He winked as he turned about. I stared at his back as he continued down the dirt road away from me.

  He winked?

  I didn’t know what to make of that.

  The door slammed behind me as Katie skipped out, wearing a yellow sundress and with an ever-present grin on her face. “What’s that?” she asked, grabbing the applesauce jar from my hand.

  “Hey,” I protested, but she had already unscrewed the lid and taken a deep sniff.

  “Applesauce, huh? And what’s this?” Her elfish little fingers found a tag attached to the jar that I hadn’t noticed before. “To Roswell, from Jay? Ugh, Rose, does he still not even know your real name? Gross.” She shoved the jar back into my arms, almost making me drop my oatmeal. Again.