about half of them are in maroon and beige letter jackets that I assume are from Carrefour Secondary. Most of the girls are in cowboy hats and jeans or denim miniskirts. The only piece of my outfit that fits with this crowd are the cowboy boots Meredith insisted I wear.
There’s a bonfire blazing in the middle of the yard with a few dozen people clustered around it, talking, laughing, and occasionally sloshing their drinks out of red Solo cups. On the side of the house, two huge pots at least three feet high and three feet across are simmering on big propane burners, sending giant puffs of steam shooting skyward.
“What are those?” I ask, pointing at the pots.
“That’s where they cook the crawfish.”
Just then, a guy with green eyes, freckles, and a cleft chin, all shaded by a giant cowboy hat, materializes next to us. “It ain’t crawfish season yet, but we got a whole load of those daddies in the freezer from last year’s catch, and we got to use them up before we can start getting ’em fresh again. That’s why I’m calling this my Clean Out the Freezer Crawfish Boil.” He sticks out his hand and adds, “You must be Eveny. Real pretty name. I’m Teddy. Welcome to Freezer Night.”
I laugh, shake his hand, and thank him for inviting me.
“Thank this guy,” he says, clapping Drew on the back. “He’s been raving about you since you got back into town. We’ve all been dying to meet you. So this is your first crawfish boil?”
“It is.” I can’t help but grin at him. He’s a ball of happy energy.
“Sweet! So what’ll you have? We got beer, or there’s something my girl Sara over there made called Swamp Punch. No idea what’s in it.”
“I’ll stick with the beer.”
“Smart girl,” he says with a wink. “I’ll be right back. You want a beer too?” he asks Drew.
“Just one. I gotta get this girl home safe.”
“He seems nice,” I say to Drew as we watch Teddy bound off toward the back deck, which is lined with three rusted-looking kegs. “He goes to Pointe Laveau too?” I’m already imagining a new life where I hang out with the down-to-earth people from the Périphérie even if I go to school at Snob Central.
“Nah,” Drew says, kicking the dirt and looking down. “Pointe Laveau is kinda reserved for your kind .”
“Excuse me?”
“The people who live in the privileged part of town. People with money. Out here, none of us can afford the tuition, so every year six merit-based scholarships per grade are awarded to Périphérie kids. I guess it’s some kind of philanthropic gesture.”
I’m quiet for a moment. “Just so you know, my aunt Bea and I weren’t rich when we lived in New York.”
“Eveny, you live in a mansion. Your family founded this town. You’re probably one of the richest people in Louisiana.”
I don’t know what to say.
Finally, Drew sighs. “Maybe your aunt was trying to raise you with some values. Most of those spoiled rich kids don’t have any.”
I swallow the urge to defend the Dolls. In a strange way, I feel as much a part of them as this life out here, because even if we’re polar opposites now, we share a past. I don’t know whether I’m rich or poor, refined or casual, city or country. But I have the uneasy feeling that living in two worlds isn’t going to be easy for long.
The crawfish boil turns out to be a blast.
Even though I worried I wouldn’t belong, everyone is being really nice. Drew leads me around the sprawling yard, his hand lightly resting on the small of my back, and he introduces me to so many people that I start forgetting names. There’s a raucous game of cornhole—which apparently involves throwing beanbags into a board with holes cut out—going on near the bayou, and in the yard another group is playing beer pong. There’s country music blasting from speakers on the back deck, which has turned into a dance floor.
Everyone shrieks with excitement when Teddy announces the crawfish are ready to boil,
There’s a bonfire blazing in the middle of the yard with a few dozen people clustered around it, talking, laughing, and occasionally sloshing their drinks out of red Solo cups. On the side of the house, two huge pots at least three feet high and three feet across are simmering on big propane burners, sending giant puffs of steam shooting skyward.
“What are those?” I ask, pointing at the pots.
“That’s where they cook the crawfish.”
Just then, a guy with green eyes, freckles, and a cleft chin, all shaded by a giant cowboy hat, materializes next to us. “It ain’t crawfish season yet, but we got a whole load of those daddies in the freezer from last year’s catch, and we got to use them up before we can start getting ’em fresh again. That’s why I’m calling this my Clean Out the Freezer Crawfish Boil.” He sticks out his hand and adds, “You must be Eveny. Real pretty name. I’m Teddy. Welcome to Freezer Night.”
I laugh, shake his hand, and thank him for inviting me.
“Thank this guy,” he says, clapping Drew on the back. “He’s been raving about you since you got back into town. We’ve all been dying to meet you. So this is your first crawfish boil?”
“It is.” I can’t help but grin at him. He’s a ball of happy energy.
“Sweet! So what’ll you have? We got beer, or there’s something my girl Sara over there made called Swamp Punch. No idea what’s in it.”
“I’ll stick with the beer.”
“Smart girl,” he says with a wink. “I’ll be right back. You want a beer too?” he asks Drew.
“Just one. I gotta get this girl home safe.”
“He seems nice,” I say to Drew as we watch Teddy bound off toward the back deck, which is lined with three rusted-looking kegs. “He goes to Pointe Laveau too?” I’m already imagining a new life where I hang out with the down-to-earth people from the Périphérie even if I go to school at Snob Central.
“Nah,” Drew says, kicking the dirt and looking down. “Pointe Laveau is kinda reserved for your kind .”
“Excuse me?”
“The people who live in the privileged part of town. People with money. Out here, none of us can afford the tuition, so every year six merit-based scholarships per grade are awarded to Périphérie kids. I guess it’s some kind of philanthropic gesture.”
I’m quiet for a moment. “Just so you know, my aunt Bea and I weren’t rich when we lived in New York.”
“Eveny, you live in a mansion. Your family founded this town. You’re probably one of the richest people in Louisiana.”
I don’t know what to say.
Finally, Drew sighs. “Maybe your aunt was trying to raise you with some values. Most of those spoiled rich kids don’t have any.”
I swallow the urge to defend the Dolls. In a strange way, I feel as much a part of them as this life out here, because even if we’re polar opposites now, we share a past. I don’t know whether I’m rich or poor, refined or casual, city or country. But I have the uneasy feeling that living in two worlds isn’t going to be easy for long.
The crawfish boil turns out to be a blast.
Even though I worried I wouldn’t belong, everyone is being really nice. Drew leads me around the sprawling yard, his hand lightly resting on the small of my back, and he introduces me to so many people that I start forgetting names. There’s a raucous game of cornhole—which apparently involves throwing beanbags into a board with holes cut out—going on near the bayou, and in the yard another group is playing beer pong. There’s country music blasting from speakers on the back deck, which has turned into a dance floor.
Everyone shrieks with excitement when Teddy announces the crawfish are ready to boil,
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