Page 30 of Enemy Crush
“Yes,” she said with a wide smile. “It’s Quinn, isn’t it?”
I dipped my head in surprise that she knew me, considering I didn’t take any art subjects.
“Um, yes,” I murmured.
“Are you here to sign up for the after school Art Club?”
“Um, no.” I shook my head and lowered my voice. “Is this where you sign up for the Potato Harvest?”
Mrs. Burbank’s eyebrows jumped up to her hairline. “Spud Harvest?” she asked as if I’d inquired about a field trip to the moon. “Are you sure?”
I momentarily froze. No, I was definitely not sure. I was probably highly incompetent when it came to harvesting potatoes, but I needed some money and at the present time I’d rather be anywhere but school. Hopefully, mean girls weren’t keen on farm work.
A smile graced Mrs. Burbank’s lips and she stepped forward to close the door. “Why don’t you take a seat, Quinn?”
I panicked. Mrs. Burbank was going to tell me I wasn’t suitable for the Spud Harvest. Like Coach McLean, she’d say I wasn’t a team player. And the Spud Harvest needed team players.
“Thank you,” I said, realizing I had to fake some confidence. “Yes, I’d like to sign up.”
“You’ve transferred from Brizendine Prep, haven’t you?” Mrs. Burbank asked, returning to her side of the desk and sitting opposite me.
I nodded, not quite able to look her in the eye. Maybe Coach had told all the staff that Quinn Devereaux was not a team player and she was about to reject me.
“And you’re interested in the Spud Harvest?”
I nodded again, now worried that it involved filling in a college-like application form and interview.
“How are you settling in here at Snow Ridge High?” Mrs. Burbank asked, picking up a pen.
“Good.” My voice deserted me at the worst moment, coming out in a croak. Mrs. Burbank waited as I coughed into my hand, my throat parched like I was dying of thirst. Ironic, when a glass of water was all I’d had this morning. “Um, I thought it wouldbe good to try something different and I heard it’s a Snow Ridge High tradition,” I said, quoting the boys at the bulletin board.
“Oh, absolutely,” Mrs. Burbank said, “yes, of course.” She opened a folder and set a sheet of paper before me. “This explains about the harvest, how it all works. It’s hard work but we have a lot of fun.”
“You do it too?” I asked in surprise.
“Oh yes, this is my sixth year, but it gets harder and harder to recruit every year,” Mrs. Burbank said. “Kids these days don’t want to put in the effort. Getting up early and working all day is a big commitment. But there’s a lot to be gained from it. We have a tremendous partnership with the farm and it builds such a community bond. Like you said, it’s a tradition and the students who participate really benefit from it. We work long days but it’s rewarding to know you’re providing a service and contributing to our town’s economy. And earning your own money.” Her eyes scrunched up like that last comment didn’t apply to me.
“I think it would boost my college applications,” I said, keen to keep the financial aspect out of it.
“Of course,” Mrs. Burbank gushed and continued on about the program at full throttle as I filled in my details on a sign-up form. I passed it to her, but she gave it back to me. “Just get your parents to sign the back of it,” she said, “and bring it to me tomorrow. From what I’ve heard, it will be an early harvest this year.”
I faked a smile as I shoved the form into my bag, my new dilemma how to tell Mom I was working at a potato farm.
Chapter 11
QUINN
The snide comments about not making the soccer team had carried on for a week and then remarkably stopped after the team lost to West View High by 8-0. Livvy and Tori were in my Biology class and suddenly had nothing to say to me after daily shoves and whispered hisses ofLoser.It seemed the Sonics were the losers and having the worst start to a season in the history of the team.
I kept my joy locked away inside, because there was nothing to be gained from being smug and my secret was still a potential weapon to be used against me.
I was busying myself with other things. Due to Mrs.Burbank’s persuasive manner, I’d joined the after school Art Club.
Dad digitally signed the permission slip for the Spud Harvest after I told him it was a Snow Ridge High tradition. He was happy that I was settling in at my new school. He said he missed me and that he’d visit me soon, but didn’t say when. I took the form back to Mrs. Burbank and she’d mentioned the Art Club again, and hoping it might improve my chances of getting selected for the harvest, I’d caved.
Two afternoons a week I’d been painting backdrops for the upcoming Halloween Bash. Blanche Coburn was in the club and we’d got to talking. She recognized me from the Country Club and knew some kids from Brizendine Prep, the sporty ones. She was big into skiing, which I wasn’t, so there was no dangerof hanging out. When Mrs. Burbank asked if anyone might be going to Pine Ridge in the weekend and could pick up some special craft supplies, Blanche eagerly volunteered. Then she’d asked if I wanted to join her. I had a moment of panic—I didn’t want to be rude and turn her down—but I also had the brilliant idea of meeting up with Celeste and Naomi. It would be perfect. I could help Blanche, surprise my friends and then get a ride home later with Celeste. Maybe even stay for a sleepover. It would be like old times.
The days I didn’t have Art Club, I’d been catching the bus home and doing chores. It had been a kind of revelation to find that I liked cleaning. I’d developed a methodical approach of working on one room at a time. I’d dust, vacuum, wipe windows, tidy and sometimes rearrange furniture. My room had taken two days as I’d removed every Squishmallow, every figurine, every doll and every book to completely dust each shelf.
