shoppingal, I think I misled you. I meant, I refuse to do an "Addison's favorite month" because it's such an obvious way to use the prompt. SOMEone will do the "yadayadayada was Addison's favorite month" drabble, and I refuse to join the multitude.
Summer
The air smells sickeningly sweet around her. It's sickly sweet and it's thick and damp, and she doesn't want to be here. She pouts as her father leads her through the apple orchard, refusing to listen to his lecture on fruit.
And suddenly she's up, lifted high above her father's head, and there's a pockmarked green apple staring her in the face. She sticks her tongue out, and carefully pulls at it, almost surprised when it falls easily into her hands.
She eats the whole thing, wondering briefly if she could go James-and-the-Giant-Peach with it, sour as it is.
Even if she's rich now, she still picks her own apples in the summer.
Reference: James and the Giant Peach, by Roald Dahl. It's been a while since I've read it, but the gist is the same.