"I caught one!" I'm screaming and jumping as Spence patiently helps me reel the wriggling fish out of the water. "Poppy, do you see it?"

She's nodding and filming us when we pull the scaly creature out of the deep. "Now, that's a fish!"

"Holy shit, bruh." Luke peels off his baseball cap and strokes his blond hair in utter disbelief. "That thing's got to be like seven pounds."

The fish dangles above the rocky ground, flipping its short golden tail into an indignant arc and its red gills flap open in desperation. Spence reaches forward and grasps the slippery fish, freeing it from its struggle with the hook in a quick, expert movement. I drop the pole and stand next to Spence proudly flashing a smile for the camera.

"It's a smallmouth bass, all right. You wanna hold 'em?" Spence raises the gasping fish toward me, sweat beading on his brow. He's beaming with pride too.

I nod yes, and then no, but it's too late. Spence is already passing the fish to me. Slimy, wet flesh brushes against my palm and the fish's body spasms forward. A dank, muddy odor reaches my nostrils, my stomach lurches, and I scream the same bloodcurdling sound I make when a fuzzy spider climbs on the wall of my room. Involuntarily, my fingers quiver and release our catch into the air like a game of hot potato. The fish fights gravity, flopping through the air as Spence fumbles it. Then I try to catch the thing before it hits the ground, but I'm in full gross-out mode and still screaming. Spence makes one last attempt to grasp the fish, and he almost has it, but ultimately it bumps off my chest and tumbles into the water with a splash,  disappearing into the inky depths below.

I breathe a sigh of relief. That was close. But no one else seems happy the fish made it back to the water. Poppy, Spence and Luke are staring at me in awkward silence like I've spoiled all the fun. 

"Sorry." I shrug and wipe my slimy hands against my shorts. "He's a slippery little sucker'."

Poppy's serious gaze cracks at the corners of her mouth and her round, brown eyes shut tight. My curiosity grows as her turn face turns pink, then red at the cheeks. What is wrong with her? No sound comes out but her gaping mouth as her deep beige skin flushes tomato red. All at once, a burst of air spews out of Poppy's gaping lips, followed by a ragged wheeze, then comes a sound so thunderous and wild it could be a fifth force of nature. Poppy roars with laughter so fiercely Luke and Spence don't know whether to chuckle or run for the hills. I catch them exchanges glances with raised eyebrows and smushed lips, trying to size up whether there's a crazy person in their midst. 

Maybe there is. 

Suddenly, I have a wicked idea. I'm going to roar too. It's not hard because laughter is often contagious, and Poppy's full-throttled belly laughs are catching like the plague. My shoulders are shaking in fits, a snort escapes my nose, and tears sting the corners of my eyes. This only makes matters worse for Poppy, she grabs her sides, absolutely hysterical. Luke and Spence take a careful step back.

"Umm.." Spence picks up his fishing pole. "You guys okay?"

Luke clears his throat, like that will bring us back to our senses. It doesn't. "Right, so... ummm." He kicks at spot on the dirt, averting his green eyes from us. 

Luke and Spence seem embarrassed for us, but we're totally unhinged and loving it. Poppy is laughing at me, and I'm laughing right back at her so hard I might pee my pants. We've forgotten the fish and the boys entirely and are just entertaining each other with our snorts, giggles and wails for an entire minute.

"You guys are crazy." Luke teases, but he's half right. We are crazy and it's absolutely perfect. Luke looks at Spence. "So... now what?"

Spence shrugs and walks away. Luke follows him and they disappear into the trees. Poppy and I are left alone roaring like mad women in the delightful shade of the red cedars.

On the walk home, Poppy and I are silent and completely at ease under the golden glare of the August sun. We never did catch anything else, but we posted a couple videos (including the one of me catching the fish) and made plans to go back to Poppy's house. Miraculously, Mom said yes, as long as I text her with Poppy's address, and she will pick me up later. Wafting off my damp skin is the mellow scent of fresh air, sunshine and sweat, but it's not like I need to jump into the shower and scrub the outdoors off my body. I'm longing to go to the pool. 

"Where do you swim around here? Besides the creek." I ask Poppy.

"You mean a pool?" She asks. I nod. "Well, I have a pool at my house."

"Wow, Poppy. You are so lucky!" I imagine her fancy new house with a heavenly, kidney bean-shaped pool out back. A diving board sits on the edge, beckoning me. There are white chaise lounges, a stack of neatly stacked beach towels, and two glasses of ice cold lemonade waiting for us. 

"You can borrow a swim suit if you want. My mom's probably getting ready for work by now, but she won't mind."

"Really? What does your mom do?" I'm curious who would get ready for work at two o'clock on a Saturday afternoon.

"She's a nurse at an assisted living center. She works the late shift."

"What about your dad?" It seems like next logical question, but when I ask, I see Poppy's whole body harden. Her lips pull taught, hands clench into fists, back stiffens, and footsteps fall heavy. "He's out of the picture."

"Oh. I see." I don't want to pry, but I am curious. "Just you and your mom, then?"

"Yep." Poppy bites down on her lips, and they are literally sealed.

"No brothers or sisters?"

Poppy stares straight ahead, leaving my question hanging in the air, and continues her long strides toward the entrance of the new housing development. Suddenly she cuts to the right and steps off the sidewalk into the dusty ground of an open lot. "Let's take a short cut."

I follow Poppy through the field, but instead of it ending next to another sidewalk or a street filled with houses, there is an impenetrable wall of trees. Poppy marches right up to the edge where the field meets the woods and stops. At her waist is a barbed wire fence with two rows of rusted metal held by two thin steel posts on their side, with a gaping whole in between just big enough to squeeze through.

A sweet smell hits my nose and I suspect it's coming from the vine twisting itself around the fence posts. "Smells nice."

"Hold this," Poppy shoves the bucket into my hands. She plucks a yellow trumpet flower from the honeysuckle vine, tugs on the stem and pulls a string from inside the petals. A delicate bead of nectar clings to the string at the base of the flower and she brings it to her lips. "I love the taste of honeysuckle, don't you?"

"I've never tried it before." I shrug.

"Oh, girl, you are missing out." Poppy plucks another flower just for me and holds it to my mouth. "Taste it."

I stick out my tongue and the nectar is golden and sweet, just like the fragrance wafting from the vine. "I like it!"

"I knew you would." Poppy dips between the rows of barbed wire, shimmying right through with little effort. She reaches her hands out above the fence and I pass her the bucket and tackle box I'm carrying. "Your turn."

I check over my shoulder, wondering if someone will witness us trespassing on what appears to be private property. Carefully, I pick up one sneakered foot and slide it through the whole between the top and bottom row of wire. Poppy made it look so easy, but I'm growing wary because I can't remember when my last tetanus shot was.

"Come on, Violet." Poppy taps her toe and her impatience manifests in the furrow between her perfect black arched eyebrows. "Just slide through."

I duck and shimmy, like Poppy did, but the jagged fence snares my ponytail . Instead of standing up neatly on the other side of the fence, I sort of flop onto all fours and whimper like a frustrated baby learning to crawl. "Ouch! My hair is stuck."

"Hold on." Poppy sets down the fishing supplies she's carrying and untangles my hair from the clutches of the barbed wire. "All fixed."

"Thanks, you're the best." My hand smoothes over the tangled hairs as I fall into place behind Poppy. 

Her steps are rhythmic, rising and falling with her breath, and soon her exhale becomes a low, steady hum. The sound mingles with the whir of insects below and chirps of birds above. Every few steps forward Poppy releases a clear, sustained note as if she's trying to find the right pitch. With the clearing of her throat, her humming begins to take the shape of a melody that is both familiar and otherworldly, like something I heard once in a dream. I'm trying to place it, but all that comes to mind is childhood bedtime and long-forgotten lullabies.

"What song is that?" I ask as I stumble over a fallen log.

Poppy doesn't answer. She continues humming as we come to a narrow stream and leap across. The woods are thick and shaded. When I look to the left, it looks exactly the same as the view from my right. 

Is this the the path we took yesterday? I'm glad Poppy knows the way.

"Almost there." Poppy pauses her tune and turns back to grin at me. "Betcha won't believe your eyes."

Her pool must be amazing. I wonder if it has a diving board or a waterfall. Before I can decide which would be more exciting, the shape of a rusted old Volkswagon Beetle appears through an opening in the trees. We creep closer and the smell of pungent smell of the rotting interior and motor oil hangs in the humid air and my nose wrinkles. The car's windows are punctured with holes where rocks likely busted through the windshield. We step carefully around it, glass crunching beneath our feet. About five yards from the abandoned car, half hidden in a tangle of weeds, lies a weathered old fridge just thrown out to rot. 

"Sorry about all this junk." Poppy apologizes like its hers. 

I laugh it off. "What's to be sorry for? The people who live around here must own a junkyard or be a bunch of rednecks."

Poppy's head cocks to the side and studies me, a frown tugging down her lips. Then she shrugs and giggles at my joke. "Well, you're half right."

The woods thin and through a clearing in the trees I make out an old SUV with muddy tires and bumpers crusted with rust and dirt parked in front of a weathered one-story farm house. it  looks like it belongs in the background of an old-fashioned Normal Rockwell painting, complete with uneven wooden steps, a wide front porch with old two rocking chairs, wooden siding coated in peeling white paint, and a rusted metal roof. 

"It's modest, but it's home." Poppy smiles at the farmhouse with something other than pride flashing in her eyes. Something endearing.

"Home? Your home?" I stammer. "But I thought--"

"I lived in the neighborhood?" Poppy asks.

"Well, yeah. I just assumed." Suddenly, I am embarrassed. Shame spreads in a pink flush across my cheeks. My visions of a freshly-laid swimming pool and its sparkling water set among an opulent, new home clash with the image of this crumbling, although charming, old farmhouse. I spent all my life in neat, nearly-identical tract homes in a tidy development with fresh paint, paved roads and landscaped lawns. This is something different and I don't know what to say. I'm acutely aware of how spoiled and judgmental I was. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I love my house. It's where my mom was raised, and my grandma too. It's been in the family for about 80 years. And see this land?" Poppy rests the fishing poles and bucket she's carrying on the dusty soil and her right arm sweeps from horizon to horizon. "All 40 acres belong to us. Plenty of room to roam under the sun and chill under the stars."

"I think it's amazing." I really do. So much history in one place. Three generations of family tied to the land. No wonder she is such a free sprit with all these woods and fields to roam. A soft smile lifts my cheeks as I study the landscape. "It's perfect."

Poppy's nods. "Wanna see the pool?" 

She darts around the back of the house and her legs like springs again. I follow slowly behind. When I reach the spot, Poppy's already climbing a rickety metal ladder attached to a round, plastic pool about ten feet wide and four feet deep. She stands precariously on the top step in her clothes, tiptoes around to face me, wobbles, gives a quick wave, and falls backwards with into the sparkling blue water sending splashes in every direction.

I'm not surprised at all. Poppy is a force of nature. She lives her life like the wind--calm one minute then wild and unpredictable the next--and its what makes her so fun to be around. My mom might not see it that way, especially when she pulls up in her fancy Mercedes in front of this dusty, old house full of rusty nails and lead paint. My heart drops into the empty hollow of my stomach. Mom won't like this place one bit.