The Dolls

by Kiki Sullivan

  “Girl, for all you know this Caleb guy is gay. He could have been staring at Drew,” Meredith points out. “Go for the guy who’s already into you. How cool will you be if you start at a new school already having a boyfriend?”

  I shrug before realizing she can’t see me. “I don’t even know if he’s interested. Besides, the girls I was telling you about don’t seem to like him.”

  “Well, they sound like snobby little rhymes-with-witches,” Meredith sniffs. “So who cares?”

  “I guess you’re right. But they’re from my past too. Everything feels totally complicated here.”

  “Or maybe you’ve just been reading too many angsty novels,” Meredith says. “You don’t need to have every step planned out. Just do this crawfish boil, have a good time, go with it, and make out with the Drew guy if you want to.”

  I swallow hard. I wish it were that easy. I wish I weren’t thinking about Caleb. I wish I hadn’t spent the last twenty-four hours daydreaming about being pressed up against the solid chest I’d collided with outside the library.

  The doorbell rings, snapping me out of it. “That’s him. I’ve got to go.”

  “Have fun!” she replies. She makes some kissy-kissy sounds, then I hear the phone click and she’s gone.

  “Eveny!” Aunt Bea’s voice wafts up from the front hallway. “Drew’s at the door!”

  “I’ll be right down!” I take one last look in the mirror, spiral my fingers through a few errant curls, and head for the stairs.

  On the drive over to the crawfish boil in Drew’s pickup truck, I once again note that the Périphérie is practically the polar opposite of central Carrefour. In my part of town, every building sports a fresh coat of paint, every neighborhood looks like it could have been lifted from Better Homes and Gardens, and every person strolling by looks like they’ve been styled for a photo shoot.

  But as soon as we make it through the thick tangle of trees that surrounds the center of town, it’s like we’ve driven into a new universe.

  “It’s so different out here,” I say, hoping that I don’t sound like a snob.

  Drew looks amused. “Poor, you mean.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” I say quickly. “It actually seems like it has character.”

  “I think you mean decay.”

  “Not at all. It’s just odd that there’d be such a big divide between the two sides of town.”

  Drew raises an eyebrow. “You have a lot to learn about this place.”

  “Even the weather is different,” I add. Indeed, outside Drew’s pickup, clouds swirl against a dark, ominous sky, and it feels like the temperature has dropped twenty degrees since we emerged from the trees. I shiver and roll my window up.

  “I heard once that the temperature variation between the two areas has something to do with water vapor from the bayou,” Drew replies. “I’m no meteorologist, but it never made much sense to me.”

  We arrive at Drew’s friend Teddy’s house a few minutes after six. Most of the guys are wearing sweatshirts and jeans, and 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, and Drew excuses himself to go help. I stand alone and clap along with everyone as Drew, Teddy, and two other guys dump huge cases of crawfish into the boiling pots, which are already simmering with red potatoes, corn, and spices like garlic powder, onion powder, and cayenne pepper. The air smells sweet and spicy, and I find myself getting hungrier and hungrier.

  “Thirty minutes till we eat!” Teddy announces. “Y’all better work up your appetites!”

  The crowd cheers, and the dancing on the deck gets more frenzied. When Drew comes to find me a minute later, his cheeks are flushed and he’s grinning. “Man, I love a good crawfish boil,” he says. “Want to go take a quick walk down the bayou while we wait for the food?”

  “Sure.” His enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself smiling too.

  We grab a flashlight from the deck and stroll toward the back of the yard, where it dissolves into a mess of dying cypress trees, brown Spanish moss, and darkness. When Drew grabs my hand, I don’t pull away.

  It only takes a few minutes for
the noise of the party to vanish behind us. Out here, the night is thick, and the buzz of mosquitoes is a steady soundtrack.

  “So,” he says after we sit down in the grass, “do you remember the time you and your mom came out to visit us and my mom made her special gumbo?”

  I shake my head sadly. “I wish I did. I think maybe I blocked out most of my memories of being a kid here.”

  “But you remember your mom?”

  “Yeah. I still think about her a lot.” I pause. “She died a long time ago, though. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me for not moving on.”

  “Eveny! That’s crazy! She was your mother. Of course you’re still thinking about her.”

  I look out in the blackness. There’s rustling in the trees and splashing in the water, and although I don’t know what’s out there, I realize I feel safe with Drew.

  “She’s just on my mind a lot more since we’ve moved back. I think—” I hesitate. “I think I still can’t wrap my head around the idea that she took her own life.”

  Drew studies me for a long time and then pulls me into a hug. “I’m so sorry you went through all that, Eveny.”

  I’m relieved that he understands and grateful when he abruptly changes the subject, chattering about a science project he’s working on until we’re called to eat.

  As we stroll back to Teddy’s house, he tells me all about his band, which is called Little Brother and plays something called bayou fusion rock music.

  “Bayou fusion rock?” I repeat.

  He laughs and says it’s their own form of banjo-driven rock ’n’ roll. “Like if the Eagles, the Avett Brothers, and a New Orleans jazz band got together and had a music baby. I play the guitar,” he adds. “Teddy’s our drummer; he thinks we’ll get a record deal if we can just get in front of the right people.”

  “Is that what you want to do with your life, go into music?” I ask.

  “Who wouldn’t want to be a rock star, right? But I’m not a total idiot; I know those things don’t always work out. I’m going to go to college too, so I have a backup plan.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “LSU,” he says instantly. “No doubt. But I’ll have to get a scholarship or take out a bunch of student loans. It’s not like my parents have the money for something like that anymore.”

  “Anymore?”

  He shakes his head. “Let’s not talk money right now. Too much of a downer. So how about you? Planning to go to college?”

  “Yeah, NYU,” I answer without hesitation.

  “You want to go back to New York?” he asks in surprise.

  “No offense, but this isn’t home. New York is.”

  “Well,” Drew says, “we’ll see about that. This town has a funny way of sinking its teeth into you.”

  Ten minutes later, I’m standing in Teddy’s backyard again, watching as the guys pull giant metal strainers out of the huge pots, shake them dry, and dump them on long picnic tables covered in newspaper. A sea of what look like miniature lobsters pours out alongside hundreds of potatoes and ears of bright yellow corn that have been cut into thirds.

  “Dig in!” Drew shouts at me across the yard as he carries one of the strainers toward the back deck, where Teddy’s already hosing them off.

  I laugh as the crowd descends on the tables, piling big handfuls of crawfish, corn, and potatoes onto Styrofoam plates. Drew arrives at my side a moment later and leads me over to scoop up my own dinner, then we retreat to a quiet corner of the yard, where we sit down, leaning our backs against a big oak tree. Drew teaches me how to eat the crawfish, which is kind of a gross process: you twist them in half, suck the heads, and then squeeze the tails to get the meat out.

  “You’re a natural,” Drew marvels after I’ve decapitated my fourth crawfish.

  “Maybe I belong here after all.”

  “I guess we’ll see,” he says, suddenly serious. “You’ve got some potato on your face.” He reaches over to gently brush a speck off my chin, and from the way he pauses and looks at me, I have the uneasy feeling he’s going to make a move. But then he pulls back and looks down. “Glad you liked everything,” he says. “I’d better get you home once we’re done eating before your aunt skins me alive.”

  7

  I’m nervous the next morning as I get ready for my first day at Pointe Laveau. Even with Aunt Bea’s tailoring, my uniform looks terrible. My white oxford shirt is boxy, my maroon plaid skirt comes down just past my knees, and my white socks and black oxfords make me look suspiciously like a seventy-five-year-old orthopedic patient.

  “You sure these are the shoes we have to wear?” I ask Aunt Bea as I round the corner into the kitchen.

  “That’s what the school guidebook said,” she tells me apologetically. “For what it’s worth, I think you look cute in a retro kind of way.”

  I text a photo of my uniform to Meredith, hoping she’ll make me feel better, but she doesn’t reply. It takes me a few minutes to remember that Louisiana is an hour behind New York, so she’s probably already at school with her phone off.

  At breakfast, Aunt Bea seems even more nervous than I do. She spills her coffee, knocks over her juice, and drops her toast on the floor twice.

  “You’re going to have a great first day!” she tells me with a smile that looks as fake as it probably is.

  “You’re acting a little weird,” I say. “Everything okay with the bakery?” Her grand opening party is scheduled for Wednesday night, and the closer it gets, the more scatterbrained she’s becoming.

  “It’s you I’m concerned about; I remember how tough first days are. But you’re going to do great.”

  “Sure I am,” I reply drily. “What could possibly go wrong in a school full of beautiful rich people?”

  “Stop worrying,” she says, but she’s chewing her lip the way she always does when she’s uneasy. I’m relieved when she drops me off in front of the school twenty minutes later because her nerves are rubbing off on me.

  Pointe Laveau Academy must have been built right around the same time as my house, because it has the same kind of dramatic, neo-Gothic construction. The main building has narrow, arched windows, steep gables, and a bell tower, and the outlying buildings, which are clustered around a green space I can barely see from the street, are flatter versions of the same design. The complex looks like a cross between a church and an old prison. I shudder as I walk up the front steps and lose the sunlight.

  Just before I enter the building, my phone dings with a text message. It’s from Drew.

  Sorry, he says, but I won’t be at school. Woke up sick this morning. Hope you didn’t get my germs. Have a good first day!

  My heart sinks. He’s my only friend here, and now I’ll have to brave my debut alone. I text him back, Aw, feel better!, then I switch my phone to silent and head inside to start my new life.

  “Eveny Cheval,” the pudgy school secretary says flatly as I enter the front office, which is decked out in regal-looking furniture with eggplant-colored cushions.

  I nod, wondering how she knew it was me.

  “We never get new students here,” she remarks, answering the question I haven’t asked. She fluffs her bleached-blond curls and purses her bright pink lips at me. “Except scholarship kids from out in the Périphérie once in a while. But I know all of them in advance.”

  “Oh, do you live out there, in the Périphérie?” I ask, trying to be polite.

  “Are you being smart with me?” She glares back.

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “Well, last time I checked, I wasn’t sitting on a mountain of gold coins in a mansion like you people,” she says. “But I’m certainly not from out there.” I just stare at her, wondering how I’ve managed to piss off the first person I’ve encountered. “Now go on,” she says, handing over my class schedule. “Your books are in your locker.”

  I take a deep breath and head into the main hallway, which is teeming with students. The first thing I notice
is that although all the girls are wearing the same uniform I am, every single one of them is pulling it off way better. None of them are in clunky loafers; they seem to be wearing everything from ballet flats to cowboy boots to strappy heels. My heart sinks as I realize the first impression I make here will be one of dorkiness.

  The guys are all wearing pressed khakis and pale purple oxford shirts with the initials of the school emblazoned on their left breast pockets. They, too, seem to have skipped anything resembling an official dress code. I spot a few purple and gold letter jackets, but most of the guys are dressed in pieces that smack a bit more of individuality—leather bombers, a few blazers, a handful of hoodies.

  Everyone is streaming by in a hurry, and nearly all of them are shooting me curious glances, but no one stops to help. I look down at the schedule again. It says on the top that I’ve been assigned to locker 445.

  Yet I have no idea where locker 445 might be, or how I’ll find my first class. I look around, hoping I’ll spot Peregrine or Chloe or another one of the Dolls, because at least they’re not complete strangers.

  That’s when I notice that the hallway is draped in black crepe ribbons. Signs that say We love you, Glory and We’ll miss you, Glory are taped on walls, and I spot a few photographs on a pin board nearby, framed in black. I step closer and see Glory Jones’s face smiling out at me.

  “You look lost.” A voice comes from the right, startling me, and I turn to see a slender girl with a heart-shaped face, big brown eyes, and thick dark hair. She’s wearing a purple tissue-weight cardigan and faded purple Converse high-tops with her uniform, almost as if she’s trying to look anti-glamorous. I like her instantly.

  “Yeah. It’s my first day, and I have no idea how to get to my locker,” I admit. “Or my first class. And I’m beginning to feel like an idiot.”

  “It was super rude of Mrs. Perkins to send you off without telling you where to go. I’d blame it on all that tacky hair bleach going to her head, but around here, if you’re not one of the chosen ones, you can forget about anyone giving a crap about you.”