After Peaches by Michelle Mulder Page A

speaking English on the phone. It was harder to understand people if I couldn’t see their faces. I couldn’t tell if they were happy or sad, joking or serious. What if I misunderstood something and didn’t realize until too late? I knew Julie would never laugh at me, but I hated feeling stupid.
    This was the first time Julie had said the word “summer” without rolling her eyes or groaning. I was about to raise my eyebrows in a silent question when I felt a poke in my back.
    I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and kept walking. Robbie and his friends made weird noises that I guess were supposed to sound like another language, but came out more like barnyard-animal noises instead.
    â€œWe can get to work on the plan as soon as we get to my place,” Julie said. “Our summers are going to be better than we thought.”
    Her eyes sparkled, and she looked so excited I could hardly wait to hear what she had in mind.
    When Robbie started yelling, “Hey, Rosie, where’s your sombrero?” in my ear, I finally lost my patience. I whipped around, which made him run right into me. He stumbled, and I pulled myself up tall (almost exactly his height), crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him.
    â€œGovernment leech,” he shouted. I put my nose right in close against his and stared some more. He twisted up his face and accused me of trying to kiss him, but he also took a step back.
    And I took one forward. Uncertainty flashed in his eyes.
    â€œCome on, guys,” he said finally. “What’s the word for ‘crazy’ in Spanish? Loco? Rosario’s loco . Let’s get outta here.”
    They went back the way they came, walking with a swagger, and every now and then shouting words like “freak” and “idiot.” My English wasn’t perfect, but I knew what those words meant.
    â€œAt least we’re rid of them for now,” I said when they turned a corner and couldn’t hear me speak.
    Julie was laughing. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you are a bit loco . Nobody stands up to Robbie like that.”
    â€œ Loca ,” I muttered. “He said it wrong. Loco is for boys and men, not girls. Robbie and his friends don’t even say insults properly.”
    â€œIntelligence isn’t their strong point,” Julie said, linking her arm with mine again. We turned toward her house, the blue one halfway down the block with the big green lawn and the cedar fence.
    â€œStrong point?” I asked as we climbed the front steps.
    â€œSomething someone’s good at,” she explained.
    Julie knew more words than any other kid I’d ever met. She seemed happy when I asked her about them, and our teacher was always impressed when I used them in my writing. I think my good writing was another reason Ms. Bower let me be silent in class. She could tell I was learning, no matter how quiet I was.
    â€œBeing a good friend is Julie’s strong point,” I said. “I use it like that?”
    Her cheeks turned a bit pink. “Yes,” she said, “and thank you.”
    She opened the door, and the smell of chocolate-chip cookies wafted out to meet us. Julie and her mother, Ms. Norton, had introduced me to cookies a few months earlier. In Mexico we had something similar called galletitas, but they were bigger and puffier and usually had coconut or nuts in them.
    Now that I was coming over most days after school, Julie’s mother made cookies once a week, and sometimes she even packed up some for my parents. That’s how the food exchange started between our two families. Our parents couldn’t speak each others’ languages, but they communicated with cookies, estofado , pizza, lasagna and quesadillas . I wouldn’t have known half as much about Canada if it hadn’t been for Julie and her mother. I don’t think they would know as much about Mexico either. Now they are even trying to learn