by Mia Sheridan
This is where I came to dream. And to escape.
And now, I’d just have to stay here forever. There was no way I could face anyone ever again with hair like this. I wondered how long it’d take to grow out and if I could sustain myself that long by sneaking into the rows of vegetables and eating in the dark of night like an orange-haired Peter Rabbit. I knew the layout of the rows as well as anyone—knew just the path to take if I wanted a big, juicy tomato or a sweet, crisp carrot.
My mama had worked here years ago, doing picking work with the other migrant workers who farmed the land. She didn’t do farm work anymore though. It was the strawberries that had ruined her back—those low-to-the-ground berries that had her bent over all day long under the sweltering sun. La fruta del diablo, she called them. The devil’s fruit. I couldn’t even look at a strawberry without feeling a sympathy twinge in my shoulder muscles and lower back.
That had been my introduction to Sawyer Farm, tagging along behind the shape of my hunched-over mama as she’d pushed a wobbly, one-wheeled cart down the rows, packing strawberries into plastic containers so they fit just right. Eventually, I’d wandered farther away from her and that’s how I’d met Preston and Cole. We’d played together and I’d come to love going to work with my mama, come to love the land and the peaceful feeling of just being near it.
It was why I still came back even though my mama now worked in a nasty little motel off the highway. I pushed the thought of that place away, feeling a little shiver of disgust. My mama had been hired to clean the rooms, and I helped her sometimes when her back was really bad, but no matter what you did, you could never get that place truly clean.
I tilted my face up, letting go of the image of the filthiness of the motel and filling my mind instead with the clean, pure blue of the open sky. The sun slanted through the leaves of the tree, forming shapes of light on the bare skin of my arm as I held it in front of me, turning it back and forth slowly to watch them dance.
The day grew hotter, then slightly cooler as clouds drifted lazily by—a sad dog, then a parrot, then the three-toed foot of a giant.
I watched as a chain of ants moved a seed down the line, wondering what it felt like to have that many family members all working together, and questioning whether ants felt love.
A small sound surprised me from my half-dazed state. Peeking around the tree trunk, I expected to see a chipmunk or a bird, and not the boys walking across their yard unhurriedly toward me. My heart lurched, my first reaction to grin at the sight of their identical faces.
I turned around, beginning to stand, and suddenly remembered my destroyed hair. Oh no. I groaned, realizing there was no chance to get away now. I’d just have to hope they didn’t notice. Standing, I pulled the bandana low over my forehead and came out from behind the tree, tilting my head and smiling as they approached.
Cole was grinning in that way of his that always made me think he had some big secret, and Preston looked serious as usual. “What are you guys doing here?”
“We live here, remember?” Cole’s grin was slow and easy as he leaned his arms against the split rail. “We were up on the tractor and saw something red behind the tree. We thought it might be you sitting out here.” Oh. Well, that was a stroke of bad luck. I didn’t think anyone would spot me hidden behind the large tree trunk.
We still played together once in a while if I walked by and they were outside in their yard, but I knew their mom didn’t approve of me, and there’d been less opportunity since my mama had stopped working on their farm. It wasn’t as if I could just go up to their door and knock. Tell that little Mexican girl with the dirty feet to run along home now, I’d heard Mrs. Sawyer say, and it had made me ashamed and sad and so very, very small.
Lately I’d felt too old to play hide ‘n’ seek and the other games we used to play and I figured they must, too, since they were three years older than I was. So I’d been spending more time just sitting alone at the edge of their property, close enough to enjoy it, but far enough that I thought I’d be alone.
“What’s with the bandana?” Cole asked, swinging himself easily over the fence.
I shrugged as Preston joined us. I pulled the thin piece of material wrapped around my head down over the ear on the side Cole was standing on, making sure not to allow him to see the back of my head where my orange hair was visible. “Just trying out a new look,” I answered, attempting to keep the nervousness out of my voice.
“Hmm,” Cole said, seeming to consider it, “well, it’s kinda dumb. You look better without it.” He reached up and pulled the bandana off my head. I let out a little yelp, lifting my hands to my head in an effort to grab it back, but was too late. I heard both boys suck in a breath.
My eyes moved slowly from the flimsy piece of material in Cole’s hand to his face to see a look of wide-eyed shock. Humiliation climbed up my neck and settled hotly in my cheeks.
He simply gaped for a minute before he pointed at my hair. “That’s . . . what happened to you?” I narrowed my eyes and looked over at Preston who was still gawking at me, his eyes fixed on my hair.
I felt tears burning the backs of my eyes, and before I started crying in front of them, I grabbed the bandana out of Cole’s hand and stomped away through the crunchy, brown grass.
“Annalia,” Preston said. He grabbed my arm and I turned toward him, ready to tell him to leave me alone. “Wait.”
I tried to conjure up some anger, but the concerned look on Preston’s face caused a huge lump to move from my chest to my throat and I choked slightly, a small hiccup giving me away. The tears I’d attempted to hold at bay sprung to my eyes and I turned quickly, walking away again. “Hey, hey, wait,” Preston said again, catching up to me. “How’d that happen?”
I stopped. “I did it, okay?” I threw my arms up in the air and let them fall. “I tried,” I glanced at Cole who was walking toward us, “I tried to go blonde and it didn’t work, all right?”
Cole snorted softly and Preston shot him a nasty look before turning his eyes back to me. “Why would you want to be blonde, Lia?” He looked so completely baffled, and it made me feel stupid and even more alone. They would never understand what it felt like to wish they were someone else. They had everything—a huge, beautiful house, two parents who loved them and didn’t pray every day that they’d never been born. They loved going home as much as I loved leaving mine. The truth was, I spent more time outside my house than in it because I could hardly bear to be there at all.
I sighed and shrugged. I didn’t have the words to explain it to Preston and even if I did, I wouldn’t have used them. “I don’t know.”
He sighed, too, and then stared at me for a few long moments. “You like it?”
“No.”
He nodded once, chewing at his bottom lip, his braces glinting in the sun, and then took my hand in his, pulling me along behind him. “What—?”
“Just come on. We’ve gotta fix that.”
“Hey, where are you guys going?” Cole called.
“We’re gonna fix Lia’s hair,” Preston said back. I stumbled over a rock on the ground and Preston’s hand tightened, gripping me so I didn’t fall.
“Why? We could put some clown makeup on you and go scare some people.”
I shot Cole a glare over my shoulder and then turned back quickly.
“Aw, Annalia, I was just kidding around,” he shouted. “Preston, we’re supposed to help Dad.”
“Cover for me,” Preston called. He picked up his pace, causing me to have to jog beside him, his expression determined. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Cole had hopped back over the fence and was jogging in the opposite direction, off to do whatever they were supposed to be doing for their dad.
“What are you gonna do?” I asked Preston.
“Wait here,” he said, letting go of my hand and leaving me near the side of his house by a pretty row of lilac bushes that filled the air with sweetness. He ran toward the back door, going inside and closing the sc
reen quietly behind him. I tied the bandana on, tucking my hair inside once again. A few minutes later he was back out and he nodded his head again for me to follow him.
“Where are we going?”
“Into town. My mom’s hairdresser, Deirdre, works right on Main Street.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“I do.” He patted his pocket.
“I’m not going to let you pay to fix my hair, Preston Sawyer.” The very idea filled me with shame.
He picked up his bike and nodded his head at the handlebars. “It’s not really for you. It’s a selfless gift to the residents of Linmoor.” His lip quirked up slightly and his eyes squinted.
Despite myself, I laughed a small laugh.
His eyes moved to my upturned lips and his grin widened. I was so unaccustomed to seeing Preston grin that way that for a moment it stunned me and made me forget what we’d been talking about. “Hop on,” he repeated softly, swinging his leg over the bike.
I looked suspiciously at the bike wondering where he wanted me to sit. He patted the space between the handlebars and though I hesitated, I trusted Preston. I finally climbed up, squeezing my butt into place. I’d never ridden a bike by myself, much less balanced on one as someone else pedaled. Preston teetered a little as we started off, and I let out an alarmed laugh, but then he picked up some speed and began pedaling quickly.
We turned out of his driveway onto the dirt road that led to the main road, the dry, hot wind blowing in my face. I felt like I was flying. I leaned my head back and laughed up at the wide blue sky. My bandana flew off and I let out a yell as I looked behind Preston’s bike, watching it blow down the road and off to the side. I sighed, turning back around and tipping my head up again, this time feeling my orange hair streaming behind me.
Preston left his bike leaning against a tree outside the hair salon on Main Street and I followed him into the shop. A small bell jangled over the door and the smell of chemicals and various hair products wafted in the air. A woman in a pink smock was sweeping hair into a dustpan and looked up when she heard us enter. I stood slightly behind Preston.
“Well, hi there.”
“Ma’am.”
She smiled at Preston as she straightened up. “You can call me Deirdre, honey. And tell me which one you are. I never can tell you handsome Sawyer boys apart.”
“Preston.”
“Well, hi there, Preston. What can I help you with?” she asked with another wide smile.
“This is Annalia.” He pushed me in front of him and her eyes grew wide when she saw my hair.
She walked toward me and picked up a frizzy strand. “Well, child, what have you done to yourself?”
“I tried to go blonde.”
“Huh. Honey, you didn’t even get in the ballpark of blonde.”
I looked down, biting my lip in embarrassment.
“What’s the real color of your hair?”
“Black.”
“With highlights that glint sort of coppery under the sun,” Preston said and then cleared his throat. His cheeks reddened as if he was embarrassed, too. Of what I wasn’t sure.
Deirdre glanced over at him and her eyes seemed to soften, her lips turning up into a warm smile. She pulled my hand. “Well, come on then, let’s get you fixed up. Just so happens I have an opening.”
She plopped me in the chair and then went to the back where I heard her humming. Preston sat down in a chair by the front window and picked up a Time magazine.
A minute later Deirdre was back, mixing something in a white dish as she stood behind me, taking me in in the mirror in front of us. “Now why in the world would you want to be blonde, child? With skin like yours and those eyes.” She made a chuffing sound.
“I don’t know. I just thought it would . . . be better.” Make me better. I thought it would make me look like Alicia. She went to a different school, but I’d seen her in town, surrounded by friends, beautiful and laughing and carefree. I thought it would make me feel pretty, help me to blend in with all those girls at my school who giggled together in the yard at recess, the ones who lived in big houses like the Sawyers. The ones who brought lunch boxes to school filled with cups of Jell-O and bags of ruffled chips and sandwiches cut into little triangles. Maybe if I at least looked more like them, I’d blend in and they wouldn’t notice my old clothes and the free lunch I was given because my mama couldn’t afford to feed me three meals a day.
I’d gone with my mama to work one Saturday to help clean and someone had left a perfectly good hair-color kit in a beautiful shade of Champagne Blonde right at the top of the trash. I’d pulled it out, and snuck it into my backpack. I’d even loved the name. Champagne Blonde. Rich and classy. You couldn’t be anything but beautiful with hair that color, even if you lived in a small shack and only owned one pair of shoes. Or so I’d thought . . .
Deirdre continued to run her fingers through my hair as she gazed at me in the mirror. It made me feel exposed like she saw something about me I couldn’t see in myself. I wondered if she saw the same badness my mama saw and I looked away, focusing my gaze on the assortment of instruments—a curling iron, straight iron, various combs—on the small counter under the mirror.
As Deirdre clipped my hair into sections and started painting on the color in the dish she’d brought out from the back, she said, “You know, honey, God gives us the things he wants us to have. And well, we gotta work within those parameters. You know what parameters are?”
I shook my head very slightly.
“It’s like a limit or a boundary. Like with your black hair, you can add more red highlights or even a few warm caramel tones, but blonde is not for you, honey. It’s outside the parameters God set. See?”
I did see and I didn’t like it. No, I didn’t like the parameters He’d given me at all. But the thing was, I didn’t think God paid a whole lot of attention anyway. Not to my mama who prayed daily and definitely not to me. So maybe when he wasn’t looking, I could slip right through those parameters before He even noticed.
When the color was done, Deirdre blew my hair dry and used her curling iron to add even more curls to my already curly hair. I tilted my head, looking at it in the mirror. It seemed darker somehow than my natural hair had been, or maybe flatter. It was pretty close and at least my mama wouldn’t notice, especially if I wore it in a ponytail for a while.
I smiled at Deirdre, so happy and relieved that I couldn’t help but to throw my arms around her. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you so much.”
She laughed and hugged me back and it felt so good to be held that I didn’t want to let go, but I forced myself to anyway.
Preston, who’d sat quietly reading the same Time magazine the entire time, reached in his pocket and pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill and held it toward Deirdre. “Is this enough?” he asked.
Deirdre got that same gooey look on her face again and pushed his hand away. “This one’s on me, honey bunches.”
Preston hesitated, but finally put the money back in his pocket. “Are you sure, ma’am? Deirdre?”
“Oh yes.”
He nodded. “If you could, uh, keep this between us.”
A look of understanding came into Deirdre’s eyes before she nodded and winked. “Client confidentiality,” she said. “Now you go buy this pretty girl an ice cream or something, okay?”
Preston’s cheeks turned red and he looked at me. I smiled at him and he blinked, looking surprised. I frowned, reaching my hand up and running it over my hair. Maybe it wasn’t quite as natural looking as I thought.
We started to leave the shop and there was a strange awkwardness between us. I was so grateful to him, and even though he hadn’t had to part with his money in order to help me, I still felt mildly ashamed that he’d been willing to. I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Preston. It was really nice of you to help me like this.”
Preston nodded. I went up on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. He smelled sort of salty or maybe dusty but defin
itely all boy, and I liked it, though I couldn’t say why. I lingered for a moment and when I leaned back, his eyes were filled with so much seriousness that I stared at him for a moment, wondering what he was thinking. “You . . . ready?” I asked, nodding my head to the bike.
The words seemed to snap him out of the trance he’d been in and he nodded, gripping the handlebars so I could climb up. I laughed as he started to ride, pedaling toward the ice cream shop a couple of blocks away.
Later, we sat on the edge of the fountain in the town square, laughing and licking ice cream cones.
“Hey, Lia,” Preston said, pausing for a second. “I hope you don’t try to change yourself again.” He didn’t meet my eyes and I stared at his profile, taking in the ways he’d changed just recently, the way his cheeks were slimmer, and I could see tiny hairs growing on his upper lip. And more than that, he seemed to look at me in a different way, too. I didn’t know if it was just him that was changing or if the shift I felt between us was something else. I sensed it there, just off in the distance, like the shadow of something in the darkness that you can’t quite define and aren’t sure is safe.
Preston cleared his throat. “I don’t think you need to. You’re . . . well, you’re pretty just the way you are.”
I smiled a small smile, taking a long lick of the ice cream cone and swallowing the cold, creamy sweetness, and taking his words inside me, too. You’re pretty just the way you are. The sentiment flowed through me along with a small shiver, and I hoped he thought it was only the ice cream that had affected me that way. Preston thought I was pretty? No one had ever told me I was pretty before. I tilted my head and answered softly, “Okay.”
CHAPTER TWO
Preston – Seventeen Years Old
The water was cool and refreshing, and it felt great sliding down my skin as I emerged from the creek and sat down on a rock at the edge. I chuckled softly as Cole came out of the water and shook himself like a dog, shiny droplets spraying off him. He grinned and flopped down next to me. It was a beautiful eighty-degree day in November—a little warm for the season, even in California, but we weren’t complaining. It wasn’t so great for farm work, but it was perfect for a dip in the creek.