Then we were called before the judge, and the sheriff’s deputy stood up, and between us we were charged with criminal mischief, trespassing, resisting arrest, and drunk and disorderly conduct. The deputy wiped his face, looked me up and down. “I wouldn’t stay mixed up with a guy like this, nice girl like you, no priors,” he said.

“I’m not a girl, and I’m not mixed up,” I said. Aldi Birch and Rudy laughed at that until the judge called for order, and I’ll admit I was warm with pleasure to find myself back in the fold.

We were released on our own recognizance and told to report back in a week.

“Don’t worry too much,” Aldi said on our way out. “Not all those charges are going to stick. I doubt they can prove you were drunk and resisting. Plead, pay a fine, do some community service, it’ll go away in one year, maybe two.”

“What counts as community service?” asked Rudy. “Does planting fruit trees count?”

“I wouldn’t push it,” said Aldi Birch. They laughed again.

“That white oak out front of your place still need pruning?” Rudy asked. “I don’t think it has another winter in it, not without crushing you.”

“The answer’s still no,” Aldi said. “Hands off that oak.”

“Now, don’t get defensive,” Rudy said. “Call me up if you ever feel like seeing another living soul.”

We swiped some thin coffee on the way out and walked back through the morning neighborhoods to retrieve Rudy’s truck.

The principal’s yard was empty, the six fruit trees gone, the holes filled back in, Rudy’s defiant boot marks swept away. The principal, that hard worker, had even sprinkled new grass seed, though it wasn’t yet noon. Rudy shook his head, and we sat in the truck with the radio on, drinking our coffee while the kids across the street screamed and beat one another, launched themselves from monkey bars onto their fellows, aimed rubber balls at one another’s heads. That was if you were included.

“At least we came out ahead,” said Rudy.

“How can you say that?” I asked. “Did you hear all those charges? Besides, most people got rid of the trees we planted.”

“Most but not all,” said Rudy. “There are now five more apple trees, three pears, and six cherry trees gracing this godforsaken town. And they’re doing well. They’re probably going to make it.” He took a sip of coffee. “I don’t know about you, but I could use something stronger. What time is it? Want to hit the bar?”

“I still have my standards, Rudy,” I said.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ve got to remember to look up bourgeoisie in the dictionary more often.”