Read After Peaches for Free Online Page A

Red.”
    I held my breath and looked at my parents to see if they understood. They didn’t know about my decision not to speak English this summer, and they wouldn’t understand it if I told them. Sometimes, when they tried their own English with strangers, people talked to them like they were stupid or deaf. When I spoke English though, adults didn’t make fun of me the way kids did, so my parents thought my English was perfect. They were so proud to have a daughter who spoke two languages that I never told them the truth.
    I was happy my parents didn’t have any questions about the strawberries. I nodded to the teenagers and took a few buckets. We headed into the fields, following the dirt road to the far rows. I’d never picked strawberries before, but I loved eating them, and that was why I’d wanted to come to the strawberry farm. I knew we weren’t supposed to eat what we picked, but a bite or two wouldn’t hurt anyone, I thought.
    â€œOn your mark,” said Papá.
    â€œGet set,” added Mamá.
    â€œGo!” I said, and we each jumped into a row and began picking as fast as we could. We weren’t getting paid by the hour here. We’d be paid for each pound of berries we picked. If we wanted to make enough money for a good apartment in the fall, we’d have to pick fast.
    The strawberries hung heavy and low against big green leaves, and many hid deep inside the plant. Some of the berries were as wide as my little finger was long. Others were still tiny. But every one I tried was sweet. It was going to be a delicious summer.
    I glanced up at my parents. They’d been excited about strawberries too, and for weeks we’d been thinking about this first day of picking. I popped another berry in my mouth. Overhead, an eagle soared and landed in one of the trees at the edge of the field. A girl about my age was picking in the next row over, wearing purple shorts, a purple T-shirt and a purple ribbon in her black hair. Her skin was even darker than mine, and I wondered if she was from another country too. The thing about Canada was that lots of people looked like they came from somewhere else, but they were born here and spoke perfect Canadian English.
    Farther along the girl’s row, an old woman crouched, picking in fast graceful movements as if her hands were dancing. Her white hair was so long and thick that she’d twisted it up in an enormous bun at the back of her head. And most amazing of all, instead of a shirt, she wore a long piece of green fabric wrapped around her, with a stripe of skin showing at her waist. The green was bright, like new grass, against the darker green of the trees.
    They were definitely from far away, I decided. And that made me feel better, somehow. We wouldn’t speak, but we’d work here together. We’d look out for each other, without words—like Julie and I did, right at the beginning, when I couldn’t say much.
    â€œYou’re new here, aren’t you?” The girl’s perfect English interrupted my thoughts, and I couldn’t help letting out a disappointed sigh as the image of our silent friendship turned to dust.
    I wasn’t going to talk to her. She seemed friendly enough, but what if she didn’t understand me? Julie kept saying my English was almost perfect, but maybe she was just used to the way I talked.
    The girl stared at me. By now I’d taken so long to answer her question that I must have seemed really stupid. I focused on my strawberries. She shrugged and turned away.
    I should have felt relieved. After all, I’d saved myself from being embarrassed by my mistakes. Instead I felt sad, and I missed Julie more than ever. The summer stretched out ahead of me, long and lonely.

CHAPTER 8
Analía’s Letter
    The girl in purple was the only worker who talked to us all day. Most of the others were older women and men, many of them dressed in long pieces of brightly