Mature
Her parents must have had a good time naming her Olive Orange, the beginning of a hobby to break her, her expressions crumbling to a heap at the bottom of her face, increasing their affection, her whining symphonic evidence of their parental skills, her pleas built-in life lessons unfolding in their own living room so that when she came of age and decided not to take an alias but to love herself instead, her friends helped celebrate with a carafe of aged Tempranillo.
Fruit
Nightfall in the avocado orchard demanded she pull on a shawl, the capacious rows of trees surrounding her, hemming in the fog, making it impossible to reach the highway, where she was supposed to meet Donny at the reservoir and complete their pact.
Galaxy
The hoax went off smoothly—she smeared a Mars bar on the Saturn’s side view mirror, causing the man would open his car door and search inside for something to wipe it back to sparkling, while Bruce leaned through the passenger window and beaned him. Awed when he passed out, they took his wallet, scored. Afterwards, spaced and eating strudel in the Neptune Bakery right next to the Saturn, they observed as the guy finally came out of it, probably seeing stars, maybe better ones than they saw.