Page 47 of Snowballed

He waves me off. “Thanks, but it was two years ago. Anyway, he really loved the farm. My mom kind of tolerated it. Dad always did most of the work, and now Zoe does it.”

Meysy sighs and then eats more chicken. “The biggest pain now is that my mom and Zoe fight about the farm.”

“What kind of fights?” If they still fight, it’s not in front of me. Maybe I’m being too nosey, but the farm feels like the key to understanding Zoe.

“The farm loses money. When you add up the feed, the maintenance, the mortgage, all that crap, if my mom wasn’t working full-time, we couldn’t manage.”

“What exactly is a hobby farm?” I ask.

“That’s our farm. It’s a farm that’s not making money.”

Wags leans over to chime in. “Lots of people own hobby farms. Rich people who want to live in the country or maybe keep horses or animals for their kids. They enjoy the farm property as a weekend lifestyle. Like a second home.”

I can tell from his voice that he doesn’t approve. “You don’t like that though?”

“When I was a kid, our neighbors were other farmers. People like us. Not someone who sashays over and complains about the smell of cow shit. When you move in next to a dairy farm, what do you expect?”

“Why do farmers sell to people like that?” I say.

Wags shrugs. “Farming is tough. Kids don’t want to take over their parents’ farms. Why do you think so many are for sale?”

To be honest, I never thought much about farms. When I was a kid, we’d drive up north to visit farm stands. Farms seemed fun but until I got here, I never thought about all the work.

“My mom would love to sell,” Meysy says.

“Wouldn’t she have a tough time too?” I ask.

“Nah. The guy next-door, Rusty Cooper, really wants it. He owns the acreage on both sides of us, so having our property would make things that much easier. Plus he gets the barn and the house. He’s got two sons, so one of them could live in our house.” Derek snickers. “Of course, Bobby’s hoping the house includes Zoe.”

A prickle goes up my back. “What do you mean?”

“He and Zoe dated for a couple of years. Guess he figures they’ll get back together. After all, it’s not like she’s going out with anyone else.” Derek uncaps his water bottle and takes a big glug.

Zoe is the least flirtatious woman I’ve ever met. Maybe that’s part of her appeal—she’s defiantly herself and doesn’t put up a fake front. And there seem to be other guys that appreciate her honesty.

We split our games on the road trip. I still miss getting critiqued after each game. The most I’ve heard is a “good game” from Coach G. We get home around noon on Sunday, and I head back to the farm. Something’s going on. There’s a big pickup truck in the driveway, and a young guy leaning against the fence.

I grab my bag and get out of the car.

“Who the hell are you?” the guy asks me.

He’s my age, wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, and a green trucker cap. There’s a large hairy goat in the pen behind him. Something stinks here. I can’t figure out if it’s the guy, the goat, or both of them.

“I’m Noah Goodwin. Who are you?”

He squints at me. “Are you the new boarder?”

I nod.

“Heard you don’t know your ass from the side of a barn.”

There doesn’t seem to be a right answer to this. But now I know who he is. “You must be Bobby Cooper.”

He grins. “Yeah. Has Zoe been talking about me?”

“Not a word. Derek told me.”

His smile fades, and his eyes narrow. He folds his arms and puffs his chest out. Fuck. Am I going to get challenged to a fight? I haven’t been in a fight since I was sixteen, and that was more of an on-ice shoving match.

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