Chapter 1 :

Esther Rosemary Keeny hated a lot of things.

In fact, she hated so many things that in her private thoughts she separated them between what annoyed her, what she disliked and what she well and truly despised. Among the things that annoyed her, there were normal occurrences like having to walk through the rain when she forgot her umbrella home, those damned birds that woke her up far too early, or her mother's boyfriend who kept trying to stuff her with cheesy pizzas although she was lactose intolerant.

She disliked herself, her scraggly somewhat red-ish blond hair, the sharp angles of her skinny frame, her old-fashioned name, second-hand clothes, terrible acne that resisted treatments, clown feet and the constant embarrassment that clung to her every pore whenever she tried to talk to anyone. To make matters worse, she was already taller than some of her teachers despite being only eleven. She was a disaster for the eyes and occasionally for the ears, if she tried to stutter her way through a conversation. Karen, her mother, might strive to convince her that things would get better over time, but she didn't believe her. When she was her age, she'd already been cute and popular; Rosemary had seen it on the pictures.

But what she truly hated, of a hatred as deep as it was justified, was the disinterested attitude of adults and the vile one of her peers. She hated her locker, it never opened without a struggle and it made everyone around her laugh. She hated the cafeteria because no one would let her sit at their table : she ended up stuck in place while not one person ever came to her rescue. Rosemary had long since learned her lesson and brought her own lunch, still it was humiliating to know that there were places at school she couldn't go. The toilets were another example, being at the same time pestilential but always full to the brim for reasons that evaded her, and the garden behind the main building was her bullies' territory, so she couldn't step a foot there without some sort of insult. Try as she might, she didn't understand how she was more disgusting than the idiots who'd pick up rubbish to throw at her in the trash, so she guessed that in middle school hygiene was relative. When someone pointed out her latest pimple, it didn't matter that the one doing it had greasy hair and darkened nails, she was always in the wrong.

And finally, she thought, she really freaking hated group projects.

If she ever caught the moron who thought it was a bright idea to force middle schoolers to work together, she was going to tan his hide. Or maybe not, she'd have to speak up to do that after all. But still ! It was a nightmare from start to finish : first of all they only wanted to be paired up with their friends, to the point that some girls would cry big fat crocodile tears to get their way and, of course, no one wanted to be seen with her so the teachers had to assign her a partner. Then, either all the work was piled onto one person – usually it was her – or no one did anything except for chatting between themselves. In the end, the class devolved into a giant mess, the teachers got angry, and you'd wasted an hour so you got twice the amount of homework for next week.

Right now, it was even worse. Not only did she have to sit next to some guy who refused to move a finger to help, but the group on her right didn't feel like studying either. They'd taken to throwing papers into her bag, cackling, squealing and giggling among themselves like a mischief of giant rats. It wasn't the first time they did that, so you'd thing she'd gotten used to it, yet she was blushing. That damned ginger skin made her look like some odd, pink creature with orange polka dots, which made them snicker even harder. Their squeaky little shrieks were insufferable.

Losing patience, she snapped her backpack shut to make them stop, but they just wouldn't. One of them even had to cover his mouth to keep from bursting out loud. He really shouldn't have bothered considering the menagerie their English class had turned into. Anyway, Rosemary was busy crouching over her paper to protect it from the spitballs they were now throwing. She made a face when she saw a long trace of spit splatter onto her paper, messing up her ink. Miss Babcock was going to kill her, that old hypocrite. She was a tyrant and yet she still made them pair up sometimes. However on these days she completely gave up any attempt at keeping them quiet and would instead sit at her office with earplugs on and grade papers the whole time. Rosemary wrote her sentence again beneath the stain, ignoring the bullies or the poor shmuck in front of her who'd curled upon himself when they told him he should try groping the nerd, to make her less of a hopeless dyke.

A sharp pain in her back made her jump and she drew a long line all the way onto the table. She took a deep, shuddering breath as the girl behind her stabbed her again with the pointy end of her compass between the shoulder blades. She raised her head and closed her eyes to keep from crying in public. Why were they so horrible with her ? She had good grades, but was not first in every class, she was athletic, she was always clean and she never got in the way ! Was it really her fault if she was ugly, poor and a bit too uptight ? Couldn't they leave her alone instead of jeering and betting she was about to cry ?

When the bell rang, her relief was so intense she almost started sobbing on the spot. She sprang out of her chair, slapped her paper onto Miss Babcock's desk and ran out. Behind her, the gritty voice of the old harpy called her, telling her to come back and clean the mess she'd made. She only stopped for a second. She didn't want to do it. The others were going to laugh at her again and throw things at her to make her punishment last and she just refused to face that longer than she had to. Cheeks burning and stomach sinking, she first stepped a foot in front of her slowly before darting through the hallway when she felt someone brush against her.

No.

NO WAY IN HELL ! NO WAY !

She would not do it, she would not let them do this to her this time ! And anyway ... Anyway there were only a couple weeks left before summer break so they wouldn't have the time to suspend her very long ! Rosemary had never gotten suspended and the thought made her run a little faster but... Yeah, well, screw it, if they weren't going to do their jobs as adults and keep the others from harassing her, why should she be a model student ?

Leaving the main road for the smaller dirt lane leading home, she slowed down, exhausted and crying. She wiped the stream of snot and tears with her sleeve. She was right though ! No one ever told them off, so why was she the one ending up with more work when all she did was defending herself ? Teachers told her that she was too emotional ad that she ought to ignore them, but she did not think it was her fault. In her opinion, that was because their parents came to all the meetings and drove them to school and back home rather than letting them walk for an hour. Because their parents cared, and her mother didn't care enough.

Sniffling, she raised her eyes to the walls of maize bordering the road. They were so tall now, she couldn't see past. Some found it claustrophobic, but Rosemary loved the corn. Once, the others had tried chasing her through the field, they'd given up quickly when they'd realized how sharp the vibrant green leaves were. Here, she was safe. The soles of her sneakers rubbed against the ground as she dragged her feet home. There was no need to rush, no one was waiting for her. Karen was a greeter at a motel near the interstate and she would not come back before ten. Her current boyfriend, Lionel, owned a small pizzeria and took two days off in the beginning of the week because he had too many client on the weekends so she might see him, but she didn't feel like seeing him. He was a creep. She couldn't exactly pinpoint why but... Yeah, he was creepy. He felt creepy. He kept baking her cheesy pizzas that made her sick and wouldn't make anything else even though he clearly saw she got sick every damn time, and she couldn't refuse to eat because her mom would say she was aggressive with her potential step-dad again, so she'd end up puking her insides and would have to make it as discreet as possible, otherwise Karen would say she was being dramatic.

Oh screw it ! If she could tell her teacher to sod off, she could say the same thing to her mom ! Served her right. Or at least it would, if anyone even realized she wasn't there since she spent most of the time holed up in her bedroom. Okay, maybe she was a bit moody, so what ? It was a free country, she could do what she wanted. And that included sulking in the maize until death came and took her.

And so she parted the long stalks, her feet hitting the ground harder than necessary perhaps, something she would have never done in public, until she found a good spot. There she sat, wiping the her last tears with the hem of her shirt. Lying on the warm soil, she gaze at the sky, frame by the leaves protecting the golden years. Being eleven was so lame. So, so lame. She sighed. There was one thing that could possibly get her spirits up, but it could just as well make her feel down for the next couple days. Deciding that she couldn't sink any lower, she took out her one-of-a-kind smartphone that her mother did know about and dialed the only number she knew. Calling him was always double-or-nothing : either he'd pick up and she'd feel better or he wouldn't and she cry all night, worried that he might be dead. After an excruciating wait that almost had her weeping, she breathed when she heard his deep, rocky voice on the other end.

Good evening Rosemary.

"Heya Jonathan."

"Good evening Rosemary."

She rolled her eyes.

"Good evening Jonathan."

"That's better thank you." She let out a strained giggle. "Is there something wrong ?"

How did he... Oh yeah, when she called him right after school, that was because she felt hurt and hoped he'd comfort her. She bit her tongue, hesitating about her question. After a good minute, she whispered :

"Did mom want me ?"

He clicked his tongue against his palate. "Ah." He said. She bit her lips. When he did that, it meant that the answer was complicated and she wouldn't like it. At least he took the time to explain it. He sighed and she didn't need to see him to know he was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"To be honest I have no idea, and I'm sorry but all I can offer you is an educated guess. "

She loved the serious, soothing tone he used to explain things. It was the one he used last year to guide her through her first period. When the blood had started pouring out she'd been a bit hysterical, it was so painful, and everyone had told her it was supposed to be mildly unpleasant at most, she was sure there was something wrong and she just had to talk to him before she tried to reach her mom at work and embarrass herself for life. Karen still nagged her about the one time when she was four and she'd fallen in a cow turd after trying to climb an electric fence every time someone came by.

Every. Damn. Time.

"Can you tell me though ? Please ?" She begged in a small voice.

"Well first of all, I already know she didn't want me since she abandoned me, so you'll have to excuse me for being very skeptical of her ability to raise children."

Even though he couldn't see her she nodded. He'd told her how abusive their great-grandmother had been after Kare had left him there, knowing how the crone was. He'd showed her the scars littering his forearms when she was seven and she hadn't been able to sleep for days, fearing that the old Mary Keeny would raise from the grave and sick enraged crows on her too. Jonathan had explained that what hurt the most wasn't that she'd abandoned him, she was a lost teenager who wasn't fit to raise an infant, but he couldn't forgive her for leaving him in a place where they hated him so much, without ever turning back.

Rosemary had never looked at her mother the same way again.

"But it was different with you. She was older, she could have used contraceptives, or even aborted."

She nodded. He'd also had to explain how all that worked last year.

" You weren't an accident like me, she must have wanted a child. The problem is... How can I say that... It's rather... Delicate."

He sighed.

"We have the same father. You remember that ?"

She'd never even seen a picture of him but Jon and her looked so alike, it had to be true. Besides, she trusted Jonathan.

"Yeah ?"

" Well, when she went back to him twenty-two years after they had me, he was married with two daughters."

She opened her eyes wide, opened her mouth and let and embarrassing squeak slip past her lips. He'd never told her that. She felt a ball in her throat, making it hard to swallow. He started talking again, without leaving her the time to think.

"Karen wasn't rich and she was in a difficult situation." He said slowly. " However Gerald Crane owned a construction company and he was ... Rather unfaithful. They had an affair, during which I suppose she had you to pressure him to file for a divorce or pay for alimony. It didn't work and instead she married a man called Charlie Jarvis some time after your birth."

She frowned. It was awful and she didn't like it but ... It made sense. And she couldn't her but remember that the name "Jarvis" was still engraved on the mailbox, even though it was faded now.

"Where's that guy ? Charlie Jervis I mean ? It was his house right ? Why's he gone ?"

She heard a soft snort on the other end.

"That's a long story, I'll tell you some other time if you want."

"Alright." She answered softly, still winded by the revelations.

And yet, it wasn't that surprising. No one wanted to talk about her father, Jonathan included, and Karen always seemed annoyed whenever she asked. Moreover, it wasn't as if her mom suffocated her with her motherly love, leaving her unattended for days on end even though they kept talking about murder and kidnappig on the television, never helping for her homework, never coming to meetings and club representations, never spending time with her or... Or...

Under the burning Georgia sun, hidden in a sea of dry leaves, Esther Rosemary Keeny curled upon herself and cried, her phone stuck to her ear, letting the soft voice of the scarecrow poison her mind.


Translating French into English is truly a thankless job. This used to be 3400 words long.

Translation is Treason.

Anyhow, I've now left college and it's been a while since I've written or translated anything in English, so as a way to practice I'm going to translate Georgia on My Mind, a 70 000 words fanfiction/continuation of Year One : Scarecrow about little Rosemary's trials and tribulations through surviving her family, into something that'll probably amount to 20 000 words in English.

Beta readers / American slang pickers are very very welcome.