• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 361 0

her telling me what to do while I tried to control our little brothers and sisters. At school Amy constantly watched out for me, which meant something because she was way more popular than I could ever hope to be. With every passing year, the age gap between us seemed to grow. Unfortunately, she had stopped wanting to be outside much and almost seemed embarrassed sometimes that she lived down a dirt road. I knew I couldn't call what we had to do in the orchard "farming" because she would immediately refuse. I would try explaining how much money we would make—she was always complaining about not having any. Maybe I'd even beg. I was willing to try anything, really.

***

The day after my latest visit with Mrs. Nelson, I followed Amy home from school and told her I had to ask her something in private. She smiled, looked around, and said, "Okay, let's go to my room," as if we were about to swap secret passwords. I knew she thought it was either about a girl I liked or, better yet, about a boy she liked.

Her room was newly decorated with Michael Jackson posters. Once inside, she stopped in front of her mirror to comb and admire her hair. She used to wear it in ponytails but had cut it short at the beginning of the school year, right about the time she started watching MTV. We didn't get it where we lived, but Amy had some friends in Farmington and she would stay over at their houses for all-night MTV marathons.

"Okay, so what did you want to tell me?" she asked excitedly once she was satisfied with her hair.

I didn't want to seem like I didn't have any interesting information and I wanted to make sure she was in a positive state of mind, so I said, "Someone asked me about you and wants to know if you're going with anyone or not."

"Really? Who was it?"

"I promised I wouldn't tell you that he told me."

"Bobby? Jason? Umm ... Troy?" she asked, starting to giggle.

"I can't say, but I think you might already like him."

I was amazed at how readily she believed me. I guess it was because she wanted to. A blush came across her cheeks. She explained to me exactly what I was supposed to say back to the person and what I was supposed to look for in his facial expressions when I told him.

After thirty minutes she was still giggling and had moved to sitting on her bed while I sat cross-legged on the floor. I decided it was time. I'd start by talking about money.

"So do you remember that one summer when we saw that show about shipwrecks and then dug up our yards looking for gold?"

"Yeah, sure. Why?" she asked with a suspicious look coming over her face.

"I don't know. I just thought it was funny because it would be nice to have money like that for clothes or even a car someday."

"Paige Manning's dad says he's going to buy her a car when she turns sixteen. Probably a new one. I bet I have to get rides to school when I'm sixteen."

"So would you rather be rich and have the nicest car in the world, or be the cutest girl in school?"

"Definitely the cutest, because you can always get a job for things like a car."

"So where would you work, then?"

"I don't know. It's like you need a car first to drive anywhere."

"I know, I know," I said, acting like I was deep in thought. I looked up at her and stared into her eyes.

"What are you staring at?" she asked nervously.

"That summer we were doing all the digging was when you broke your mom's music box. Remember how I took the blame because you said she wouldn't be able to punish me as much."

"Yeah, yeah. So what does that have to do with anything?"

"You promised that you'd owe me some huge favor in the future if I kept quiet and let her be mad at me."

"I did? Are you sure?" She laughed nervously, afraid of the answer.

"Definitely sure. And I need that favor now. But it's also a way to earn money without a car."

"I'm not sure a promise like that counts when you're only nine or however old we were."

"Oh, it counts. It definitely counts."

She looked at me anxiously.

"It's not like I'm going to ask you to do something illegal—I just need your help. And you'd get paid," I said, trying