Blueberries

Margaret:

I hugged my arms as a chilly breeze blew through the air. The mornings were still cold, even though it was almost summer. I quickened my pace.

The path to the boarding house was uneven and strewn with rocks. It was a miracle I didn’t roll an ankle. You’d think that with twenty three boys regularly using this path, someone might put some effort into caring for it.

You’d be wrong.

I rapped on the door.

It swung open, revealing the face of a redheaded boy who couldn't have been much older than me.

He smiled, “You’re here for that little orphaned alley rat again, aren’t you?”

I flushed, “Don’t call him that, Briton.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Just stop.”

“Don’t mind him.”

Wes stood behind Briton. A smile on his face. He stepped past Briton and closed the door.

One of his eyes was a light, almost yellow brown, the other he kept hidden by his light blond hair. After all, he didn’t want to be seen as a freak. Right below his uncovered eye was an ugly green and purple bruise.

He didn’t mention it.

I didn’t ask.

“Shall we walk?”

“Yes we shall.”

We headed east, towards my home.

The cool air made me shiver.

“Here. Take my coat.”

Wes slipped off that patched red coat he always wore, and handed it to me.

His arms were lined with bruises.

He didn’t mention them.

I didn’t ask, though my heart seemed to twist in my chest.

“You sure you won’t be too cold?”

Wes shrugged, “I don’t get cold.”

I shoved my arms through the too-long sleeves of the coat. The inside was soft and warm, and it smelled of sawdust and pine sap and warm days spent lying in meadows staring at the clouds. It smelled of Wes.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, Buttercup.”

Wes:

The gardens of the Petros household were beautiful. Trees lined the stone walkway, their branches carrying the burden of thousands of fluffy, violet leaves. It seemed to be the height of flowering season for these trees, as little indigo flowers were scattered abundantly throughout the leaves. Vines twined around the trunks of the trees, spearhead shaped leaves catching the sunlight on their golden veins.

The girl walking beside me was equally beautiful. More so, really.

Buttercup walked with a lightness to her, as if she were floating. Her cheeks were flushed from the cool air, a smile lighting up her soft brown eyes. The front of her hair was braided back from her face, the rest of it cascading down her back in waves. My jacket fit loosely on her, the arms just a bit too long, but that didn’t matter. Everything looked good on her.

“So, do you prefer bread or noodles?”

The question came out of nowhere, but that was just how Buttercup worked. I liked that about her.

“Why choose? Both are delicious.”

“But if you had to choose, which would you rather have?”

“Noodles.”

“Why is that?”

I shrugged, “Noodles cost less than bread right now. What would you choose?”

“I’d choose noodles too.”

Suddenly, the breeze picked up, and I found myself covered in something…powdery. I swiped my hand across my cheek–careful to avoid my bruise. My hand came away with a streak of purple. I looked to Buttercup, and saw that she, too, was covered in purple.

Buttercup giggled–gosh, I loved her laugh, “You look like a blueberry.”

“Hate to break it to you, but blueberries aren’t purple.”

She grinned, “You’re sure about that?”

“I’m pretty sure. They’re blue…aren’t they?”

Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t like I’d ever had any.

“They can be purple too.”

“Uh huh.” Even I could hear the skepticism in my voice.

“It’s true!”

A strand of hair fell in front of her face, pulled free from her braid by the wind.

I reached over to tuck it behind her ear, “I don’t doubt it.”

Margaret: Four hours later

The market was crowded with merchants and street vendors. They shouted about their silks and spices and birds. I crossed the crowd, headed for the fruits alley. Scanning the abundance of jicama, apples, watermelon, bananas, and other various fruits, I spotted them.

Blueberries.

I walked over to the vendor, and after the general haggling that you would expect in the market, I had acquired my berries.

Five hours later:

I offered the basket of berries to him, “See? Purple.”

“I’ll admit it, you were right.” His tone was cheerful, but his voice was tired.

“You should try some.”

He hesitated, a hint of something I didn’t recognize flashing in his eyes. Was that…fear? No. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Wes was never afraid.

Right?

“I…I shouldn’t .”

“Wes, that’s nonsense. I bought these for you. Just take some.”

Slowly–tentatively? Wes took a blueberry from the basket and popped it into his mouth.

Wes:

I bit down on the forbidden, purple-ish berry. It burst in my mouth with a taste that was both tart and sweet. Like a pomegranate, but also not? It was delicious.

“Do you like it?”

I nodded, “I do.”

“Want some more?”

“I–”

“Here.”

Buttercup put the basket in my hands. Then she kissed me on the cheek and left, her green skirts swishing as she walked away. I ate the rest of the blueberries quickly, still finding them delicious. Then I decided to keep the little basket. Maybe I’d find a use for it.

“Huh, so you don’t plan on sharing with me?”

I turned as someone dropped from the tree behind me. He was short, with tightly braided hair. His glasses glinted in the sunlight.

Akuchi.

This could be bad.

“I have nothing to share with you.”

Akuchi stepped forward, he may have been older than me, but he was shorter. That didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

“What about those blueberries? Surely, you weren’t eating them. That would be against the law, that would would make trouble. And you’re no troublemaker. Oh wait.”

He pointedly glanced down at my arms, and I felt suddenly exposed. Buttercup still had my coat.

“Shut up.”

“Perhaps I should tell Kolman about this. He’d like that, wouldn’t he?”

My fists clenched.

“You know, he’s been looking for excuses to get rid of you. Not sure why he hasn’t, anyone can see how useless you are.”

He stepped closer to me.

“I suppose it’s because murder is frowned upon. Noone likes to see a corpse.”

Akuchi closed the distance between us, and we were almost standing nose to nose.

“Of course, you might be an exception to that rule.”