We head toward the peach orchard,the one we found midsummerat the edge of town, past the honking hornsand the lot where that kid cracked his skullat the county fair last year — the same nightmy parents fought and my mother's favorite vaseshattered and my father slammed the front doorand didn't come back. We scalethe barbed wire fence to pilfer fruit —no mind the rust rimming our callusesnor the way we're breakingand entering. We trample through the dirt,losing ourselves in rows of trees, limblessin the August heat, infinite nowthat school is done for goodand we're fleeing this tiny town.I watc