Junior Year
FALL
Autumn
I peer down at my watch, tempted to clock in for Ezra. He’s never late. But then, Dessie and Don are forgiving, and I can’t lie to them. I just hate the idea of that being on his record—even the metaphorical kind that no one will see. I know he’ll feel terrible.
Of course… he’d probably feel more terrible if I clocked in for him and he was paid for more work than he actually completed.
I’m working with pesticides—my least favorite job on the farm, but the trees near the parking lot are the ones that need to be treated. I’ll be able to see him the minute he drives up.
Speak of the angel—because Ezra Bennett is no devil—his little black car pulls into view. He’s almost got enough money to buy that truck he’s been saving for. That junkie clunker wouldn’t make it past the state line, and I think I’ve almost convinced Ezra that we need to go far away for college. We’re juniors now. It’s time to figure it out. I am determined to get him to college and away from his dad.
So—cash for the truck and loans for college. At least, that’s what I keep telling him. It’ll all pay off when Ezra’s got a big fancy architect job.
Now… to convince Ezra.
I’ve got one eye on the tree I’m treating and the other watching for Ezra to exit his car. I stand when he does and brush my dirty hands over the thighs of my jeans.
I watch as he runs into the office to clock in. I knew he’d make it. He’s never missed a day. He hurries back out again and when he starts toward me, I abandon my work altogether and jog toward him.
The sun in the sky shines down and ten steps into my jog, it glints over Ezra’s face. A bluish mark rings beneath his left eye. My vision zones in on the mark; it must be the sun. But the closer I get, the more pronounced it becomes.
“Ezra,” I say, my voice small.
“Hey.” He grins, greeting me as if it were any other day. “Whew. I was afraid I’d never make it. But I sped—don’t tell your dad—and I’m here. Only ten minutes late.”
"Ezra," I growl. He's acting as if everything is normal and clearly, it isn't.
I lift my hand to his face and trace the blue moon below his eye. “What happened?”
He latches onto my wrist and pulls it down, lacing his fingers through mine. “Pesticide? Really? You couldn’t have picked something else for us today?”
Taking a step and then another, Ezra leads me back to where I’ve been working on the tallest trees on the farm.
“Ezra!” I yank my hand from his.
He groans. “It looks a lot worse than it is. Okay?”
“Mav,” I say, my brain connecting all the dots.
Ezra shrugs one shoulder as if this isn’t an astronomical deal. “You know what he’s like.”
My breaths pick up speed, and for a second I think I’m going to have to breathe into the pesticide bag to keep from hyperventilating—that would be a very bad idea. “I knew he yelled at you. I knew he called you names. I knew he didn’t help with bills or the house or the cooking. I didn’t know he—” I shake my head, unsure if I can even say the words. I lift my hand to Ezra’s face once more, brushing it softly as if he may break.
“Believe me, the names hurt a lot more than the bruises,” he says.
“Bruises? As in plural?”
"Autumn," Ezra huffs out like I'm a tiring child and he needs a break. "It doesn't happen often. But occasionally he does get out of that recliner chair and when he does…" His forehead wrinkles. "It's not fun."
“You need to get out of here.”
“I’m getting out. My friend has an intensive life plan for me, remember?” He grins and I soften a little.
“You’ll go, then?”
“Wherever you want me, Green. Just let me know before we leave.”
My chest deflates. He’ll go. We’ll get out of here. Together.
Ezra just has to make it through this year and the next.