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It was never a good thing to come home empty-handed, Mairin knew. Not for girls like her and Fiona. “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll give you my bushels today. I filled sixteen. I can fill another couple, real quick. That’ll make a whole bin.”

“That’s... Mair, I can’t let you give me your—” Fiona made an urping sound and clutched herself around the middle. She

leaned over the hedge and made a gagging noise.

Mairin felt helpless as she rubbed her friend’s back. Dad used to do that when Mairin was little and sick with the flu. He’d

rub her back gently, up and down, and then in circles. It didn’t help with the flu, yet his touch always made her feel better.

Her dad had been gone for five years, but she would never stop missing him. She would never stop feeling that ache inside

her, like a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

“Listen, you look really bad. I’m going to call your mom—”

“No.” Fiona’s voice was sharp. She plucked a black-and-red bandanna from her pocket and wiped her mouth. “I can walk home.”

“It’s two miles, mostly uphill,” Mairin said. “Hey, I’ll call one of your brothers to pick you up, okay?”

“I...” Fiona swayed a little “Okay, I guess Flynn could come. He’s working at the Agway store over on Sandridge.”

“You wait here.” Mairin noticed a couple of the other pickers eyeing them. “Just have a seat, and I’ll look up the number

and call, okay?”

She hurried over to the warehouse, a long, boxy building with a loading dock in back. A team of guys in T-shirts and jeans

were hoisting bins onto a waiting truck. Their sun-bronzed arms bulged with muscles. One guy, who had big shoulders and a

pack of Lucky Strikes tucked into his rolled-up sleeve, saw her staring and gave her a wink and a nod. She quickly looked

away, then went inside and paused, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light.

The sweet aroma of fresh apples mingled with the woody scent of crates and pallets. The warehouse buzzed with energy, as if

getting the fruit from the farm to the table was a matter of life and death. Workers moved swiftly and efficiently among the

bins and stacked pallets; their conversations intermingled with laughter. A portable radio was playing “Harper Valley PTA,”

and Nadine, the clerk, sang along as she checked the labels on the sorting bins on her clipboard.

Mairin could see her older brother operating a forklift, moving a stack of pallets toward the loading dock.

Liam could drive just about anything—a forklift, a tractor, and Colm’s Nash Rambler whenever Liam was able to talk their stepfather into loaning him the car.

Liam had been teaching Mairin on the sly, because she desperately wanted to pass her driving test the minute she turned sixteen.

Her mom and Colm kept saying she didn’t need to drive a car when the bus was free with her student pass, but knowing how to drive was important to her.

Driving meant freedom and independence and escape.

Sometimes she craved those things so intensely that she couldn’t sleep at night. Her chest seemed to swell with yearning.

She was filled with a bright longing for everything big—a big adventure, a big love, a big life. She wanted to make her mark.

She wanted to build something. She didn’t try to explain this to Mam, who would say she was talking nonsense. Her job was

to settle down with a good Catholic boy, preferably mere seconds after graduation. But Mairin wanted more. She wanted...

just everything.

She went over to the pay phone by the restrooms and time clock where everyone checked in for the day, and dug in her pocket

for a dime. Shoot, she only had thirty-five cents, and she’d been saving it to buy the new issue of Tiger Beat . But Fiona needed her more.

She leafed through the thin pages of the phone book and ran her finger down the columns. There was a seam of dirt under each

nail, and her hands were rough from work. Would Kevin Doyle want to hold hands with her in the movie? Maybe put his arm around

her? She shuddered at the thought, wavering between excitement and apprehension. With a will, she focused on making the call.

Fiona had four brothers, and Flynn was Mairin’s favorite.

He was the kind of handsome you saw on movie posters, with dark hair that tumbled over his forehead and eyes that were as blue as the clear September sky.

They were almost—but not quite—too pretty for a guy.

Mairin probably had a crush on him, but she knew he was out of her league, five years older and already living in a place of his own up on Huron Street.

Plus, he was dating a Protestant girl named Haley Moore, who was as exotic as a bird of paradise in her ragged-edged bell bottom jeans and Indian sandals with a loop around the toe, a fringed halter top and an embroi dered band around her forehead, and silky blond hair swinging down to her waist. She lived at something called a commune, where supposedly people hung out naked and listened to acid rock and practiced free love, whatever that was.

Mam called them dirty hippies and said Mairin wasn’t supposed to talk to them.

Fiona had confessed to Mairin that her mother was so distressed by Flynn’s girlfriend that she made the whole family say novenas

every day for nine days, and then they had to start the cycle all over again, imploring the saints to intervene and get rid

of Haley once and for all, so Flynn could settle down with a proper Catholic girl.

Mairin and Fiona and all their friends at St. Wilda’s had been told from the cradle that this was their goal in life—to be

proper Catholic girls.

“Come on,” Mairin said to Fiona, holding out her hand to help her up. “Flynn will be here in a few minutes.”

Fiona nodded, and she leaned on Mairin as they stood in the shade of a sycamore tree to wait. The late-afternoon air carried

a hint of autumn’s crispness as it rustled through the trees. All up and down the street, the leaves had started to take on

their vibrant hues of red and gold. Mairin noticed a ladybug caught in a web on the trunk of the sycamore tree. The little

thing’s legs were flailing. Even though nature was supposed to take its course, Mairin couldn’t help herself. She gently teased

the web aside until the ladybug flew free, disappearing on the breeze.

“You feeling any better?” she asked.

“Worse than ever.” Fiona lowered herself to an upended crate. “I swear, I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I can’t even

puke anymore, but I feel like I need to.”

“Put that in your pocket.” Mairin handed her a pay envelope. “Don’t puke on it.”

“Oh, Mair.” Fiona’s wide eyes were tragic. “I feel so bad taking this from you.”

“It’s fine,” Mairin said. It wasn’t fine, not exactly.

Her own mother logged every penny Mairin and Liam brought in.

But Fiona was one of nine kids. The Gallaghers’ noisy, crowded house had leaky plumbing and smelled of onion and boiled cabbage, and sometimes Fiona “forgot” to bring a lunch to school.

“Really. You can make it up to me some other time.”

“You’re the best,” Fiona said.

“Nah. Just a friend in deed. Oh, and in need.” Mairin’s pulse sped up. “I need your advice. Kevin Doyle wants to go to the

movies with me.”

“What?” Fiona offered a thin, wavering smile. “Did he ask you out? Like, on a date?”

Mairin twirled a finger around the end of her braid. “I think so. I mean, he didn’t call it a date, but he asked if I’d want

to go.”

“Well, that’s definitely a date, then. Did you say yes?”

“I said I’d check. Mam will never let me.” Mairin pulled a face.

“You’ll have to sneak out, then,” Fiona said. “Tell her you’re going to the library. Parents love it when we go to the library.”

“At night?”

“Tell her it’s open late.”

Mairin frowned. “I’ll try asking first. She said I could go to dances at the CYO once I’m sixteen, and I’ll be sixteen pretty

soon. So maybe she’ll surprise me and say yes.”

Fiona’s brother Flynn arrived in a Fiorelli’s produce supply truck with Haley Moore in the passenger seat. Haley looked like

a model with her round sunglasses and giant hoop earrings, a long, slender cigarette between her long, slender fingers. She

had her bare feet propped on the dashboard and was bobbing her shiny blond head to a song by Jefferson Airplane.

“Hiya, kiddos,” she said.

Kiddos . Haley was only eighteen, but she made Mairin feel like a baby.

Flynn jumped out and came around to help Fiona. He wore faded jeans and a white T-shirt that strained against his arm muscles.

“Hey, short stuff,” he said. “Mairin said you got sick.”

Fiona nodded forlornly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said in a small voice. “I feel awful.”

He stepped back and studied her. “Yeah, you look like death eating a cracker.”

She scowled. “Thanks.”

“Let’s get you home. Get you some ginger ale and soda crackers—Ma’s cure-all.

” He went around to the driver’s side and got in.

Haley stubbed out her cigarette and sat on a stack of fruit crates so Fiona could have the seat.

Flynn caught Mairin’s eye. “Thanks for calling me,” he said. “You need a ride?”

Mairin shook her head. “I have my bike.” She stepped up onto the running board. “Feel better, Fiona. If I don’t see you tomorrow,

I’ll come by.”

Fiona slumped in the front seat. “Ma’ll make me come to work.” She touched her pocket with the envelope. “And thanks for this.

I’ll make it up to you.”

Mairin went back to the warehouse. Since she’d given her envelope to Fiona, she knew she’d better bring something home from

the discard bin. There was Kevin Doyle, getting his tally for the day. “Twenty-four bushels,” he said with a satisfied grin.

“Impressive. Most I’ve ever picked is twenty.”

“Don’t forget to let me know about the movie,” he said. “Show starts at seven.”

She forced herself to look him in the eye, even though she felt impossibly bashful. No way would her mother let her go, but