Sisters in the Wind(54)

Each teen wrote their name next to their chosen indoor and outdoor chores. Since we went in order based on seniority, I ended up with the least desirable tasks: cleaning the boys’ bathroom and washing up after dinner. I didn’t mind the dinner chore and would’ve selected it anyway. The bathroom chore was not fun, but I played by the rules. The indoor chores were the same each week, except for seasonal or monthly tasks like steam cleaning the area rugs or oiling the maple butcher block worktable.

The outdoor chores depended on the gardening calendar and, sometimes, the weather. I liked being outdoors and didn’t shy away from labor-intensive tasks. I quickly earned respect for my work ethic. In addition to hauling and stacking firewood, I was part of the painting crew. We were paid minimum wage for the outdoor chores but not the indoor ones—which were expected as our contribution to the household.

In the warmer months, during our afternoon break, which everyone called siesta time, I hammocked with the others in the grove of trees along one side of the long drive to the house. Tonya filled a round, orange five-gallon cooler with ice-cold water from the drinking well and hauled it to the hammock grove on a golf cart. She also brought fruit, cheese, and fresh bread.

Boyd liked the hammock next to mine. He’d put his cowboy hat over his face and two minutes later be snoring softly. I always read after the siesta snacks. Even a decrepit library had treasures.

It rained that afternoon, but lightly, so as not to ruin my birthday. Nobody felt the need to cut our siesta short. As I tucked The Count of Monte Cristo at my side, I realized Boyd wasn’t snoring. He smiled at me with a mouthful of misaligned teeth that made his face even more beautiful. He didn’t waste effort trying to conceal the imperfection.

In that moment I knew I liked him.

“I love the smell of rain.” Emily always saw the good in every situation.

“Yeah, that … earthiness,” a boy named Otto said.

“It’s called petrichor,” I said without assessing risk and reward.

“Petrichor,” Emily echoed.

“Sounds like a prince’s name,” Boyd said.

“Chef Boyardee got a new nickname,” my roommate Tonya said. “Prince Petrichor.”

Emily and Diego occupied the double hammock. She’d arrived in January already pregnant. Diego doted on her as if he were the baby’s dad, just like Joseph with Mary and Jesus. I pictured him as Maximilien Morrel from The Count of Monte Cristo, an honorable young man in love. Emily basked in the attention she received from everyone at Hoppy Farm, but especially from shy and kind Diego.

“You’re really smart, Sweet Sixteen,” Boyd commented. “Will you go to Alpena for high school? It’s bigger than the one nearby.”

“We get a choice?” Since I’d arrived in April, Jennifer had arranged for me to do homeschooling. I assumed I’d join everyone at the local high school in the fall.

“Sure do. Alpena’s one of those schools that takes kids who don’t live in the school district. Last year two kids went because of all the AP classes.” He grinned and laughed before adding, “I wasn’t one of them.”

I asked about the high school nearest to the farm.

“It’s okay.” He didn’t sound like a fan.

Before I could dig deeper, Boyd maneuvered the perfect roll out of the hammock. Then he adjusted his jeans and put his long-sleeve work shirt over his white T-shirt. He took his time with his cowboy hat, pretending he didn’t know I was watching him.

“I hate school. Can’t wait to take the GED test now that I’m sixteen,” he said.

“Well, I like school,” I replied.

“Well”—he imitated me but fluttered his eyelids and cupped his chin—“I like earning money. Once I get my GED, I can work full-time all year long.” He motioned toward the farmhouse. “Missus won’t let us work more than twenty hours a week as long as we’re still in school. Soon as I save enough, Allen’s gonna sell me his truck.”

Boyd offered a hand to help me out of my hammock, but I imitated his smooth move and rolled myself out. We went to help Emily, whose belly made maneuvering an exit difficult. Diego remained in place to stabilize her as four of us surrounded the hammock and coordinated our movements to hoist her back onto solid ground.

“This was my last hammock nap,” Emily declared.

“But you’re not due until the end of the month,” a brown girl named Lexi said.

Emily rubbed her belly.

“I swear this baby’s adding a pound every day. Can you imagine y’all lifting me out of that contraption the heavier I get?” She laughed in the easy way she had.

“No. I can’t imagine,” Tonya said dryly.

My roommate was the only person who wouldn’t go out of their way to pamper Emily.

Lexi, who’d been at the farm the longest, used to have the third bedroom with the private bathroom. Upon Emily’s arrival, Lexi relocated to a shared bedroom without complaint.

“No way I’d give up the single bedroom for the pregnant girl,” Tonya said when telling me about each foster sibling. “Lexi’s in with Joy, and that tattooed bitch’s farts smell like dog dookie.”

I couldn’t argue about the farts, but Joy was a lot of fun. I liked her tattoos. Each one had a story behind it. She reminded me of Devery that way.