A/N: I've been working on this story for a while. I've been drawing and redrawing the family tree forever, just because I couldn't get all the characters straight, and I wanted them perfect.
Disclaimer: If I owned this manhwa series, would I be writing fanfics?
Just to tell you, this first chapter takes place in a peach grove. Just because I'm obsessed.
The main characters are Amara, Mitch, Bunbun, Rafael, and Satan. Their little adventures and tales in a peach grove. Making friends. Falling in love. Growing up.
Key:
*= 'older brother'
*= 'older sister'
*= 'are you okay?'
So… Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you:
Life in Peaches.
Enjoy!
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Amara's window was wide and broad, with a window seat for sitting in and a view of the garden her "sister" had planted years ago. Irakene had spent tons of money on fancy latticework, gazebos, and exotic breeds of roses-and then left her creation to the kudzu. She had fostered Amara into the world in much the same way she had fostered the garden. She'd insisted on homes chooling her because "you never know what kind of trash they're teaching in public schools." She'd insisted on art lessons, French language, and cello, though Amara wasn't interested in any of the above.
The only thing Amara was ever interested in was home. There was nothing Amara loved more than to curl up in her window seat and watch the orchard. She knew what animals burrowed where, and what flowers bloomed when, and what trees produced the best fruit. She listened to the farm's rhythms through the screen like the beat of the heart of someone she loved.
Irakene had installed the fancy latticework in her daughter's life and then driven away with her dog. Near dawn, Ira'd been spotted by Amara's neighbor, Rafeku, driving their 1988 green Jaguar onto the onramp to Route 25 north. According to Rafeku, Irakene wore a scarf in her hair and a Toonsis, a Burberry collar that had seen better days.
According to Rafeku, she'd been smiling.
She'd left a letter on the table.
Luke,
The dog is coming with me.
I debated taking him from you, obba*, but you know Monet and I have a special bond. Crazy as it may seem, I took him to a pet psychic in Perry three weeks ago, when you were away selling the camper. As I suspected, he shares my sentiment about your blessed peaches. Monet and I are both tired of the smell, we're tired of the fuzz sticking under our fingernails, and we're tired of playing second fiddle to fruit.
Tell Amara I'll call her. I'll be sending for her at the end of summer, when I'm back from New York. I don't want to unsettle her quite yet, but of course it'll have to happen before school starts in the fall.
Don't fight me on this, obba. We both know Amara needs a woman's guidance at this, her most delicate and impressionable age. High school can be hell.
Yours,
Irakene
The first thing Luke had done when he'd realized his "sister" had left was to go out and buy Amara two papillon pups, the breed Ira had always said she wanted, as an invisible "screw you". At least, that was what she was saying now.
Amara had the cordless up to her ear, pinning herself against the molding of her window as if it was connected to a long curling cord. Conversations with her mom made her feel like that. Trapped.
"He's just rubbing them in my face."
Amara had thought of it another way. She'd thought Luke had given her the dogs to cheer her up. But Irakene was already on to another topic.
"A prison. That's what that place is." Ira was talking about the orchard now. "I started hating it the year we moved in."
"But you moved in the year you found me, unni*," Amara pointed out.
"That's right. I remember the dirt in that place, scrubbing those floors; that was before Ryoko*, you know," Irakene said, referring to the housekeeper. "And then the peach work was endless. You know we only had fourteen hands that year. I thought my fingers were going to fall out from all that work."
"I didn't know it was so hard for you," Amara offered, feeling guilty somehow. As if her being dropped off in front of Luke's house was her fault.
"My friend Yuri said you were my little bad luck charm," Ira went on. "Of course that's not true, honey. It's just the timing was so bad with you and the orchard, and I really just stopped thinking of Luke as an older brother that year. Felt like I was a complete stranger. Poof."
"Wow." That was all Amara could think to say. Her ear had started to itch. Really bad. "Unni, I gotta go."
Ira got quiet on the other end. "I'm sorry, honey. I know it's not fair for me to tell you these things. I just…"
"That's okay. Ryoko's calling me."
"Okay. Bye, sweetie."
"Bye."
"Sweetie?"
Silence.
"I love you."
Amara held the phone between tight fingers. "Love you too."
Amara laid the phone down and leaned her head back against the molding. She sighed, then reached out and stroked her dog Honey Babe behind her butterfly-wing ears. Majestic stuck her nose in for a pet too and licked Amara's fingers. She smiled weakly.
Amara looked at her bookshelf. Most of it was filled with things other than books- three porcelain clown dolls, a collection of fairy figurines, a plush Tinkerbell from Disney Land, a trillion seashells, and a couple of books people had given her.
She stood up, the pups leaping off the window seat and following her heels. She looked at the Tinkerbell, then looked at herself in the mirror. Why was she so chubby? She scowled at herself in the mirror.
()-()-()-()-()-()-()
"What're you doing lazing around in here all day?"
Amara was lying on her bed in a cookiefied stupor watching TV. There was a fascinating show about eighties hair bands.
"Nothing," Amara said, sitting up and wincing at Ryoko in a pathetic attempt at a smile. Ryoko had started working at the house as a cleaning woman some fifteen years ago when she'd come from Mexico to pack peaches, shortly after Amara was born, but now she mostl cooked and had Amara clean instead. If Ira was the neglectful gardener in Amara's life, Ryoko was the kudzu. She was hearty and she had staying power.
"You know we don't have nearly enough help and you're in here alone," Ryoko laughed, thrusting out a bucket. "What do you think mean witch Ryoko'll make you do?" With this, she smiled. "Get down there to the cider house and start cleaning up the press. You'll feel better."
Amara smiled, slid off the bed, and took the bucket obediently from Ryoko's hands. Ryoko gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder.
()-()-()-()-()-()-()
On the porch, Amara bumped into Rafeku, who took off his hate and smiled with straight white teeth.
"Hi, Amara."
"Hello, Rafeku."
Rafeku was Luke's only neighbor. He owned a science lab next door with things that always exploded, and nobody knew his last name. He was probably the only person Amara had ever met that she hadn't exactly warmed up to yet. She didn't know if he was for the better or for the worse.
"Can I help you?"
"Oh, just calling on your dad."
Amara knew Luke's patented responses to Rafeku- he was busy. "He's checking over the-"
"Rafeku." Luke stepped onto the porch behind Amara. He smiled warmly at both Amara and Rafeku, patting Amara on the back. "It's nice of you to show up. Ryoko's missed you."
Amara looked at her guardian, then at Rafeku. Ryoko? "Be my guest and come inside."
Rafeku turned back to Amara. "Thanks, 'Mari."
Amara watched them, boggled, as both men disappeared into the darkness of the house. She stared at the closed door for a minute. And then she walked down the porch stairs.
Amara lit out across the clearing and over the hill toward the cider house, trying to shake Rafeku out of her head, the bucket knocking against the side of her ample right thigh. Maybe Luke wanted a friend since Ira had left. Amara sure did.
After a few minutes the movement and the air lifted her mood. She loved the smell of spring. She could predict how and when everything would start blooming. The magnolia by the cider house always unrolled its prehistoric petals later then the ones on top of the hill. Piles and piles of blackberry bushes would flower at the far back of the property near the bridge and ripen around the third week of June, when Amara would trek across the acreage and go pick them for Ryoko to make pie.
Amara could see a few of the newly arrived workers crisscrossing the grounds, and this made her smile and give them little waves. Spring meant the return of all of the workers, who were old friends to Amara and her guardian. She looked forward to seeing them all roll in the way people might look forward to visits from relatives. They were so much family that Amara couldn't imagine life without them.
Every year the orchard produced batches of cider to distribute to farm stands in the area and batches to distribute to wineries that would turn the juice into wine. Amara had been handed the job of supervising the press two years ago as her first major responsibility. Now it was just one of her many duties.
When she got to the cider house, tugging at the leaves of the nearby magnolia as she passed it, she could hear clanking inside, and she slowed down, wondering if a possum had gotten in. She held the bucket back over her shoulder like a weapon, prepared to throw it if she needed to.
She peered around the corner of the door. But there was no possum in sight. Instead a man leaned over the press with his profile to her.
What a view.
He had a perfect, straight-bridged nose, silky long black hair, and skin so pale it looked see-through.
Crap. Amara would have preferred the possum.
Amara's hands immediately flew to her sloppy braids. She hated talking to strangers. Especially guys. Especially good looking guys. Living in an orchard and being home schooled, she had the social prowess of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
"Um," Amara began, preparing to say hi, and introduce herself, and ask him if he was the new cider guy. But instead she took one step forward and splat. Amara went flying, her feet sliding forward and up into the air and her back landing with a thud, followed by her head. A banana splurt of goo came flying out of nowhere into her face. Another soaked its way through her shorts and onto her butt cheeks.
Amara had a straight view of the ceiling for a moment before the guy's face appeared above her, his black eyes staring straight at her, his eyebrows knit in concern, and his mouth pursued in an "ouch" expression. He had beautiful eyes. Damn. He looked brilliant.
Amara remained lying with her eyes on the ceiling, too mortified to stand up and a surge of heat racing through her stomach. "I'm okay. I'm okay." She wanted to wait till the red ran out of her cheeks. But she felt his hands on her should and he was pulling her up, and she felt herself go redder.
Amara looked around her. She was sitting in a pile of old moldy peach sludge.
"Lo siento*," he said.
"It's okay. Not my fault." He looked at her quizzically. "I mean, not your fault. Totally my fault," she gushed, trying to climb onto her feet.
"You speak English?"
"Huh? Oh! Oh, oh yes, I do…" She felt herself (if it was possible) go redder. "I'm Amara," she continued, reaching out a hand.
He took her floppy, halfhearted hand in his long, slim one and shook once, his cold palms brushing against hers.
"Scar," he said with a light accent.
"What?"
"My name's Scar."
"Oh!" Idiot! You're such an idiot, Amara! "Oh, nice to meet you!"
He smiled, flashing pearly white teeth. "The pleasure's all mine."
She blushed. "Okay, well, I just brought a bucket down… If you need one. Um, if you need anything else…"
Scar was looking at Amara with a strange smile. She lost her train of thought. Her voice stuck in her throat and she swallowed.
Slowly, almost dreamily, he reached up to her forehead with his long, slender fingers and rubbed it. Even though his fingers were cold, everywhere his finger tips touched felt like it was on fire.
"You have peach goo on your forehead."
And once again, redder.
"Oh, um, thank you! And well…if you need anything, just let me know… I think Luke's busy…"
She couldn't believe her luck. She was talking almost naturally with one of the most beautiful men in existence. She stepped onto the threshold, wanting to quit before she ruined the moment again. "Good bye!"
Amara turned to walk out of the door, then turned back to give Scar a little wave. As she turned, her feet caught each other wrong, and she fell backward into the grass.
…So much for luck.
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Oh, where the review button is? It's right down there. It says 'review this story/chapter'. Yeah, no problem. I'll help you find it anytime.
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