By Julie

It is a fair summer’s day with my best friend, climbing our favorite tree in the orchard of the field behind my house. Sunscreen was slathered on our arms, legs, and faces by my mom, fearful of us coming back with our fair skin lobster-red, and two Boston and Nebraska baseball caps are pulled down over our heads. There isn’t a worry in the world, some bird I recognize as a meadowlark sings to us.
Suddenly, pain shoots through my hand. “Ow! Marcus! You’re stepping on me!” Warm sun shines down on my back as I try to pull myself free. Marcus lifts his foot up only to grab my arm as I tip out of the tree. “Ah!” Adrenaline is still pounding through my body as my best friend reels me in to safety. “Whoa,” I say, “I owe you one, pal. You probably just saved me from a sprained ankle!” Marcus looks at me quizzically. “Really? Looked more like a broken leg to me!” We high-five and I clutch the tree trunk to stand myself up. I inch higher up the tree like a bear cub hugging the trunk, then take a seat on the highest branch I think will hold me. “Case,” Marcus calls up. “That’s too high. That branch isn’t going to hold you!” He is perched safely on the branch just out of reach from my left foot. “Worrywart. I’m fine up here!” But suddenly the branch shifts, as though the tree is alive, and knocks me around, forcing me to flail my feet around to keep balance. I accidentally smack Marcus right on his freckled, sun-browned nose. “Hey!” he shouts, rubbing his nose. “Whoa, sorry! Are you okay? I didn’t break your nose, did I?” I slip down onto his branch to try to comfort him, and suddenly a hard, round crab-apple hits me right on the back of the neck. “Ow!” I turn around to find Marcus grinning slightly (but still clutching his precious nose) under his Huskers baseball cap. I automatically pluck a small fruit from the branches of the tree and fling it at Marcus. Another apple hits me on the back of my ankle, and I watch another one bounce off the top of Marcus’s head. “Casey! I am going to get you!” Dodging unpleasantly solid crab-apples, I shimmy down the tree and my feet touch ground as I spring down from a branch like Spider man. Whoa, I thought, That was easily a five-and-a-half foot drop! I stand in awe at my stunt for a moment, but the joy is gone when a round shape strikes me right between the eyes. I slip behind another tree for a fort and let another three or four apples fly up into the branches of the other tree. A rather loud grunt lets me know that the fruits hit their target. I jump to avoid a low shot hurled at me by my opponent and bonk my head on a low branch. Marcus doesn’t stop then, he touches down to the ground and we prance around the yard, trying to avoid crab-apples while lobbing them at each other. I find a sizable apple and launch it at Marcus, a perfect shot landed on the cheek, only to find it rotten. Oops. Bitter crab-apple mush drips down his face, the skin slides off his chin. He stands in shock and spits a piece of the bruised fruit out of his mouth. Yuck. Well, at least it didn’t happen to me. The realization of the event settles in and Marcus, of course, will not let me get away with this. He wipes the yuck off of his face and sprints at me with an armful of unripe green spheres. Bonk! Thump! Ouch! Fruits pummel me from behind as I sprint off over the hill into the summer sun with Marcus chasing me. He gallops after me, throwing apple after apple for what seems like hours, until we’re both finally worn out enough to try to approach each other. His emerald-green nylon jersey glints in the summer sun, red hat barely holding sweaty hair out of his eyes. Our hair is all mussed, a stripe of dirt is brushed across Marcus’s tan cheek, my brown-blond hair is damp with sweat as well as his. “Truce?” I ask, as he moves into earshot. He nods, exhausted, and we get close enough to declare peace. I hold out my hand to him and he takes it. I realize only after he’s grabbed my hand the sneaky grin snaking across his face. He empties a glob of rotten crab-apple glop into my hand and trots off up the hill. I stand to catch my breath, fling the handful of goo to the ground, and sprint off after Marcus, pelting him with crab-apples.