Ana of California by Andi Teran Page A

carnival of twisting roots and branches upon which numerous stories took her to distant universes. She was lost in one such daydream when Emmett approached.
    â€œCortez,” he said. “I’m going to put you on weed duty for the rest of the morning. Vic and Rolo will finish up here.”
    Both men nodded and continued working. Ana stood there holding her gloved hands in the air.
    â€œJust leave the gloves on the ground along with your cans. The guys will take your haul in and have it sorted for you.”
    Ana did as she was told. The work shirt tied around her waist and her favorite white Hex T-shirt were covered in dirt and tiny speckles of juice. She followed Emmett back down the path.
    â€œThe parsley’s a mess,” Emmett said. “I’m going to have you weed it.”
    They passed a row of tiny plants shooting up from the ground. They reminded Ana of miniature palm trees only with much more interesting fronds. She had never thought to ask what they were.
    â€œWhat are these?”
    â€œKale,” Emmett said, quickening his pace.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œKale?” he said, exhaling a little too sharply, as if this were something she should know. “It’s a type of brassica.”
    â€œA what?”
    â€œLike broccoli or cauliflower.”
    â€œOh,” Ana said. “Appetizing.”
    â€œYou’re from Los Angeles and you’ve never heard of kale?”
    â€œNo. I never saw the ocean until the day I flew here, either. Shocking, isn’t it?” Ana reminded herself to control her tone. “My abuela always wanted to take me, and I think my parents might have driven me to Long Beach or something when I was super little, but I don’t remember. So how do you eat this stuff?”
    â€œKale?”
    â€œYeah, brassica. Much better name if you ask me. Like a forgotten orchestra section.”
    â€œYou steam it or sauté it, I guess. You can also eat it raw. Abbie’s always going on about how it’s full of nutrients—customers love it. You’ve
never
heard of kale?”
    â€œI’ve. Never. Heard. Of. Kale.” She enunciated each word for emphasis, and Emmett went silent. Before she gave herself any time to ponder whether or not she was about to be fired for lack of vegetable knowledge, Emmett stopped in front of a long row of thick green bushes.
    â€œYou know what parsley is, don’t you?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s the curly green stuff sprinkled on nondescript Italian dishes, only it’s kind of inedible.”
    â€œYes, but we grow flat-leaf parsley, which is the opposite of the curly-leaf kind.” He seemed impatient, Ana noticed, and didn’t elaborate in the way Manny did. “Do you know what a weed is?”
    â€œA type of plant . . . ?” Ana asked, not knowing which definition he was referring to and worried she’d choose the one that would get her arrested.
    â€œYup. It’s basically anything you don’t want growing in your fields.”
    â€œBut it’s a plant.”
    â€œYes, it’s a plant, one that inhibits the growth of other plants, so we have to get rid of weeds sometimes. They’re taking over our parsley.”
    â€œEven though they’re just growing where they want to grow?”
    â€œYes,” Emmett said.
    Ana wondered why anyone would plant parsley in the first place, if it didn’t even taste good. She was on the weeds’ side, for sure.
    â€œYou know what parsley looks like, right?” Emmett continued, somewhere between mystified and frustrated. “It’s the opposite of the flat leaves, so pick those and throw them into the middle of the row. The parsley’s not ready forpicking until tomorrow morning, right before Abbie heads out to the farmers’ market, got it?”
    â€œPick the weeds, toss them into the middle of the row.”
    â€œExactly,” Emmett said, nodding his head.
    Ana