The Dolls

by Kiki Sullivan

  “The chosen ones?”

  She laughs, although it sounds a bit like a snort. “You’ll see.” She squints at my schedule and says, “All right, let’s get you to your locker.” We begin walking, and she adds, “By the way, I’m Liv.”

  “Eveny,” I reply.

  She reads my schedule as we dodge other students in the hall. “Cool, we have physics together sixth period,” she says. “Other than that, our classes don’t match up. But I’ll show you where your first period is.”

  We reach a row of lockers, and she points to one near the middle. “Here we are. Locker 445.”

  I look at the slip of paper, which tells me the combination is 16-7-13. I turn the dials, and the door pops open, revealing a neat stack of books—and a name scratched into the inside panel: Glory Jones. I freeze.

  “This was Glory Jones’s locker?” I ask.

  Liv peers inside and sees the curvy letters too. “Can’t believe they’d reassign it so soon. Then again, Glory was one of the nice ones. She’d probably want you to have it.”

  I grab my textbooks for English and trig, my first two classes. But what I’m thinking is that, nice or not, Glory would probably prefer to still be here, using her own locker.

  The bell rings. “Here we go again,” Liv mutters. She points down the hall and says, “Your English class is that way. Fifth door on the right. Mrs. Shriver. You’ll be fine.”

  I take a deep breath, clutch my books to my chest, and begin walking, relieved that I’ve now met at least one potential friend who’s not dead.

  The second bell rings a millisecond before I walk into English, which makes me officially late.

  I feel two dozen pairs of eyes on me as I hand Mrs. Shriver my schedule and mumble that I’m new here.

  “Oh yes, Eveny Cheval,” she says. “We were expecting you. You can take that empty seat in the last row.”

  “No.” I hear a languid voice from the back, and I turn to see Peregrine, decked out in thick eyeliner, dark lipstick, and a lacy black silk camisole under her standard-issue oxford shirt. The same stone necklace I noticed at the funeral dangles in her cleavage, and she’s wearing a close-fitting black quilted leather vest. “Eveny will sit right here.” She gestures daintily to an empty chair beside her.

  I hesitate, wondering if she’s just being nice to me because her mother said she had to, but she snaps her fingers, gestures to the seat, and says, “We don’t have all day, Eveny. Chop chop.”

  “Go on, take the seat, dear,” Mrs. Shriver says, seeming to recover a bit as I move down the aisle toward Peregrine.

  “Nice shoes,” Peregrine says, raising an eyebrow at me after I sit. “Did you borrow them from a nursing home?”

  “The dress code said we had to wear black loafers and knee socks,” I say, glancing down. She’s wearing strappy black platform stiletto sandals on her bare, perfectly pedicured feet. I feel ridiculous.

  “Eveny, you’ll soon learn that we don’t have to do anything,” she says. She turns away without elaborating.

  As Mrs. Shriver begins to talk about The Great Gatsby, which I read last year in my American Lit class, I spot Chloe sitting beside Peregrine, wearing a dark fur stole. She’s paired her oxford with a set of Chanel pearls featuring a diamond-encrusted, interlocking double C. Her high-heeled Mary Janes are studded with what look like diamonds, and her hair is artfully mussed.

  “Yoo-hoo, Eveny!” she says, waving at me pleasantly. “Welcome!”

  I wave back to Chloe vaguely as I realize that no one seems to be paying any attention to Mrs. Shriver. A cluster of skater-looking guys in the back of the room have pushed their desks together and are playing games on their iPhones. I recognize Arelia and Margaux sitting just behind Peregrine and Chloe, dressed in matching leopard-print cardigans and sky-high heels. There are a few guys wearing purple and gold letter jackets near the center of the room and three cheerleaders who, even in their short-skirted uniforms, look frumpy compared to the Dolls.

  I glance down and realize suddenly that Peregrine’s big, studded designer tote, which is lying half open on the floor beside her desk, appears to be moving. I let out a strangled gasp as her snake pokes its head out and blinks its beady eyes at me. Mrs. Shriver’s monotone monologue about Daisy Buchanan and Nick Carraway screeches to a halt.

  “Is there a problem, Ms. Cheval?” Mrs. Shriver asks.

  “Uh, no.” I’m pretty sure I’ve now turned as red as my skirt. “Sorry.”

  “Oh, relax, Eveny,” Peregrine says in a bored voice, examining her nails. “It’s just Audowido.” She looks up at Mrs. Shriver and says, “Don’t worry. Everything’s under control. You can resume your lecture.”

  Mrs. Shriver shrugs and begins droning again. I turn to Peregrine. “You bring the snake to school?”

  She looks at me blankly. “Of course.” She pauses and adds, “His name is Audowido, by the way. Addressing him simply as ‘the snake’ is so impersonal. He really dislikes it.”

  “Oh,” I say helplessly.

  “I accept your apology,” Peregrine says.

  I spend the remainder of the class sneaking occasional glances at Audowido, who just keeps staring at me with his unblinking little eyes.

  The rest of the morning goes by uneventfully—and thankfully without any other reptilian appearances. There’s no one I know in my fourth-period economics class, so when the bell rings and everyone begins flowing toward the cafeteria, I let myself get swept up by the current. The whole way there, I’m hoping I won’t have to eat alone.

  It’s Liv I want to run into, but I see Peregrine and Chloe first, mostly because they’re impossible to miss. Not only are they undoubtedly the most gorgeous girls in school, but they’re being trailed by a crowd of adoring-looking guys as they sweep into the cafeteria in a cloud of expensive perfume.

  “Eveny!” Peregrine exclaims, whisking over to where I’m standing in the caf line, trying to decide between the fried chicken and the gumbo. “What on earth are you doing?”

  The cafeteria seems to grind to a halt. Everyone is staring at us, and I can hear a few whispered voices asking who I am and what I’m doing talking with the Dolls.

  “Getting ready to order lunch?” I venture.

  Both girls laugh like I’ve said something hilarious. “Oh, nonsense, Eveny,” Chloe says. “You’ll eat with us in the Hickories, of course.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but Peregrine beats me to it. “Seating in the Hickories is by invitation only,” she says. “And we have a very exclusive list. Obviously you’ll want to join us.”

  It’s admittedly nice to have someone asking me to hang out with them, but not for the wrong reasons. The last thing I need is their pity. “Look, just because your moms knew my mom doesn’t mean you have to invite me to eat with you,” I say stiffly. “I’m fine on my own.”

  “Oh yes, you look like you’re already an enormous social success.” She gazes around pointedly to underscore the fact that I’m all by myself. “Well?” she prompts. “Are you coming, or are you expecting an engraved invitation?”

  “Fine. I’ll come find you after I order,” I mutter.

  “Eveny,” Chloe says slowly, looking at me like I’m a mental patient, “we don’t order our food here. Our lunch is catered. Come on.”

  Confused, I follow them up the grassy knoll behind the school, where I spot Arelia and Margaux spreading out a huge blanket in the shade of an enormous, swooping hickory tree. The grassy patch is surrounded by a dozen smaller hickories, all dripping with sun-dappled Spanish moss. I notice Pascal lounging against one and Justin standing beneath another. He gazes adoringly at Chloe as we approach. “Hey, baby doll,” he drawls, stepping out to wrap his arms around her.

  She kisses him chastely and steps back to Peregrine’s side.

  “Gin and tonic?” Arelia asks eagerly as she smoothes a corner of the blanket. It’s cashmere, I notice. “Or would you prefer champagne today?”

  I’m expecting Peregrine and Chloe to laugh like thi
s is some kind of inside joke. But Peregrine chirps, “G and T,” and Chloe says, “Same for me.”

  Arelia turns to me next, looking confused. I stare right back, trying to figure out how they’re planning to drink alcohol out in the open on school property.

  “Arelia?” Peregrine begins. “Aren’t you going to ask Eveny what she’d like?”

  “Seriously?” Arelia says. When Peregrine nods, she turns and says in a tight voice, “Eveny, would you like a gin and tonic too?”

  “Uh,” I say. Chloe nods encouragingly, so I add, “Sure, okay. Thanks.”

  Arelia makes me a drink, muttering to herself, as Justin wanders over and drapes himself over Chloe’s shoulders like a scarf.

  “I missed you today,” he says, nuzzling her ear.

  “Honestly, Justin, I just saw you three hours ago,” Chloe replies with a roll of her eyes, but her expression is delighted.

  Five minutes later, we’re all seated on the soft blanket, holding crystal tumblers full of ice, liquor, lime wedges, and what look like tiny purple verbena flowers. “Cheers to old friends returning,” Peregrine says, holding up her glass in a toast. We all raise our glasses, and everyone turns to look at me.

  “And to happy reunions?” I say.

  “Hear, hear!” Chloe says cheerfully as Justin plays with her hair. We clink glasses, and I watch as everyone takes a long sip of their drinks. I sniff mine suspiciously. Call me crazy, but it doesn’t seem like the first day at a new school is the time to start with a liquor habit.

  Fortunately, no one seems to notice I’m not drinking. I watch as Chloe wriggles free of Justin to whisper something to Peregrine. Pascal leers at them while licking his lips, and Justin watches Chloe’s every movement like his life depends on it. I’m so intrigued by the fact that Margaux and Arelia are unpacking a full lunch of tea sandwiches and salads from a giant picnic basket that I don’t notice anyone else approaching the Hickories until a shadow falls over us. I look up and my heart nearly stops.

  It’s Caleb Shaw, and in his Pointe Laveau uniform, with a charcoal gray hoodie and navy Chuck Taylors, he’s even more gorgeous than he was outside the library.

  “Oh,” is the first thing he says when he realizes I’m sitting there. I could swear that there’s some sort of accusation in his eyes as he stares at me.

  “Um,” I reply, feeling my cheeks heat up.

  “Titillating conversation, kids,” Peregrine says, looking amused.

  I try to think of something to say, but his gaze is turning my brain to mush.

  “I think I’m going to eat in the caf today,” Caleb says, refocusing on the group.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Caleb,” Peregrine says. “Or are you just being pissy because you didn’t get to go away this weekend?”

  “No, I think being pissy is your thing, not mine.”

  Peregrine rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

  “You eat with us every day,” Chloe says. “You’re not going to be rude to Eveny, are you?”

  He glances at me uncertainly.

  “Of course not.” But he avoids looking at me as he settles on the far end of the blanket.

  Peregrine must notice the same thing, because she’s looking back and forth between us with a small smile on her face. “Well, then,” she says finally, looking at Chloe.

  I cast sidelong glances at Caleb while Arelia and Margaux quickly pile sandwich quarters and spoonfuls of macaroni salad onto gold-rimmed bone china plates and hand them out.

  I’m the last to receive my food, which Arelia shoves at me. I take a bite of an egg salad sandwich, which is soft and delicious, as the others take big swigs of their cocktails.

  “So, how do you concentrate in the afternoon if you drink these at lunch?” I ask after a moment, holding up my drink.

  “We don’t have to concentrate, silly!” Chloe trills. “Besides, that’s what the verbena flower is for. It enhances concentration.”

  I look at her in confusion. When I was a kid, my mom used to make up funny bedtime stories about herbs and their magical powers—which is probably one of the things that got me so interested in botany—so I’m no stranger to superstition. But do these girls truly believe that the verbena is having some sort of effect on them? I recall the strange words of Chloe’s mom as she handed me the coffee cake last week, and I realize that maybe the answer is yes.

  I watch in silence as they continue to sip and eat. Even in the humidity of midday, everyone’s hair is perfect, and the girls’ makeup hasn’t budged. I’m sure that I, on the other hand, look like I’ve stuck my finger in a light socket, frizzing my hair and insta-melting the foundation off my face. Yet no one has said anything biting about the way I look, although I’m expecting Peregrine to be full of snide remarks.

  Margaux spoons second helpings of macaroni salad on Pascal’s plate as the conversation turns to the Mardi Gras Ball.

  “It’s the pinnacle of Carrefour social events,” Pascal says, settling down next to me as he digs into his salad. He reaches over after a moment and runs a finger up my spine, which makes me shiver. “Maybe you can be my date.”

  “Maybe,” I say noncommittally, trying to figure out why an impeccably dressed, smarmily handsome guy like Pascal would have any interest in a human frizzball like me. Perhaps because I’m new?

  As if she’s reading my mind, Peregrine smirks and says, “Pascal, maybe you can refrain from attempting to bang the new girl for at least a few days.”

  I feel eyes on me again, and this time when I look up, Caleb holds my gaze for a long moment before looking away.

  Pascal eventually scoots over to flirt with Margaux, and I see Arelia beginning to gather up the dirty dishes on her own. No one makes a move to help, so I stand, grab a few empty plates and glasses, and make my way over to the picnic basket. I’m about to ask where we wash them—I’m still confused that they eat on china and sip from crystal in the middle of school—but Arelia silences me with a dirty look.

  “Just so you know,” she says under her breath as Peregrine and Chloe chatter behind us, “it took Margaux and me years to become Dolls. So don’t make the mistake of assuming that just because you’re a Cheval, every door in the world is going to open for you. You still have to work your way up.”

  “I’m not assuming anything,” I reply. I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  As Arelia snatches the dishes from my hand, I see Caleb stand, hitch his backpack onto his shoulder, and nod good-bye to everyone. As he begins to trudge down the hill, I grab my bag too and quickly thank Peregrine and Chloe for the invitation to eat with them.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry, Eveny?” Peregrine asks knowingly.

  “Just to class.”

  “Nothing to do with the cute boy you’re chasing after?” Peregrine singsongs. I can hear them laughing as I dash down the hill to catch up with Caleb.

  “Hey,” I say, pulling up beside him.

  He turns and looks oddly nonplussed to see me. “Oh. Hey.”

  “So,” I begin awkwardly, “I’m Eveny.”

  “I know.” For a moment he looks straight ahead, and I have the feeling he’s not going to say anything else. But then, as if he’s conceding something, he adds, “The girl who thinks reading is cool.”

  “Well, it is,” I say defensively, which makes him laugh.

  But his smile is gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced with an expression that looks inexplicably frustrated. “I’m Caleb,” he says.

  “I know,” I reply. A loaded silence stretches between us. I can’t figure out why I’m feeling uneasy, or why he’s acting almost standoffish. “So, what class are you headed to?” I ask.

  “American history.”

  “Oh, me too!” But he doesn’t say a word, and we sink back into silence.

  This time, it’s Caleb who breaks it. “So you moved from New York?” His tone is reluctant, like he doesn’t want to be talking to me at all.

  “Yeah, really suddenly. It was right before my bi
rthday last week, and my aunt was just like, ‘Hey, we’re moving back to Louisiana.’ I didn’t even have time to prepare for it, you know? I mean, one second, I live in New York, the next second, I’m in the passenger seat of a car headed a thousand miles away. . . .”

  I realize I’m babbling. I clamp my mouth shut, embarrassed.

  “I’ve always wanted to go,” Caleb says a few seconds later, as if I haven’t just sounded like a rambling idiot. “To New York, I mean. It looks like it would be a pretty cool place. Millions of people. More restaurants than you could visit in a lifetime. Something for everyone.”

  I’m hit with a pang of longing. “You’d love it there.”

  “You miss it, I take it?”

  “I do. It’s home.”

  Caleb doesn’t reply right away. Finally, he turns to look at me. “I thought you’d be back in Carrefour sooner, to be honest.”

  The change of topic catches me off guard. “What do you mean? You knew who I was before I got here?”

  He half smiles at me but doesn’t elaborate. “Anyway, happy birthday,” he adds after a pause. “Seventeen’s the big one.”

  “Well, not as big as eighteen,” I say.

  “Not around here.”

  8

  Caleb sits across the classroom and doesn’t acknowledge me once during the entire fifty-minute period. When the bell rings, he strides out without looking back, and by the time I make it into the hallway, he’s completely gone. I hate that this leaves me feeling so disappointed.

  I’m relieved to find Liv, the girl from this morning, saving a seat for me in physics, my last class.

  “How was your first day?” she asks as I sit down beside her.

  “Honestly? Kind of weird.”

  “That’s pretty much every day at Pointe Laveau. I found that out last year when I transferred from Carrefour Secondary. You might as well know I’m from the Périphérie.”

  “Cool. My friend Drew lives there too. Actually, I was just out there last night with him for a crawfish boil.”

  “Drew Grady? How do you know him?”