Page 9 of The Big Easy & Other Lies
“Cat food?” Livvie asked.
“Ha ha,” I said, too tired to fire back an insult. I’d been up late looking for Delphine’s stupid owl picture. “The worst part is that even after we finish all the yogurt, it’s not like I can clear the containers out. They’ll just go in one of her random collections.”
“Collections, huh?” Bran asked. “She still doesn’t believe that’s not a synonym for piles of junk?”
Livvie laughed. “Bless her heart, but she iscrazy.”
I nodded. “Bless her heart, she really is.”
Bran looked back and forth between us. “Why do y’all do that? The second a Louisiana girl says ‘Bless her heart,’ an insult is coming out next. Blessing someone’s heart doesn’t make it less insulting.”
“It totally works,” I argued. “Bless your heart, you are an ignorant boy.”
“You’re right. I hardly noticed you call me ignorant because the invisible angel you summoned to bless my heart made me feel so warm and fuzzy inside.”
“Hang on until Monday,” Livvie said. “Then you can eat as many of Miss Annie’s leftover boudin balls as you want.”
“So good they make you want to jump up and slap your mama,” Bran and I chimed in unison, echoing Miss Annie’s catchphrase.
“I don’t know why someone would do that,” Bran added. “Slap their mama, I mean. My mama would lay me out if I did.”
“Yeah, she would,” Livvie agreed. “Your mama is scary.”
He grinned. “Only if you act a fool.”
That sent Livvie and I into giggles. In Miss Nedra’s book, the worst thing you could do was act a fool. It was funny to see Bran’s petite mom shaking her finger up at her towering son when she caught him drinking straight from the milk carton or wearing the same basketball shorts two days in a row. Her dark eyes would flash in her gorgeous brown face, and suddenly six-foot-four Bran would hunch over like he’d been cut down by half while he mumbled his apologies. It was pretty sweet, actually.
He was more like his dad, who was opposite of Miss Nedra in every way. White to her Black, tall to her tiny, quiet to her chattering. Bran had inherited his dad’s mellowness, but with a streak of mischief.
“Can you sneak out for the football game tonight?” he asked.
“No. She’s got me on some ridiculous scavenger hunt.”
Livvie turned onto Eighth Street and pulled up in front of Bran’s house, a huge home in classic Garden District style. His mom was college dean and his dad made bank as a petrochemical engineer, the kind of bank that could buy estates like this, with hundred-year-old architecture, oaks touching over the driveway. “I’m not going, either. TheTop Modelmarathon starts tonight. Try not to get too bored in your mansion without us.”
“Ha. I’ll be at the game not thinking of you two hermits at all.” He untangled his legs and climbed out of the car. “Say hi to Tyra for me. Maybe I’ll come watch it with you tomorrow night.”
“Nope. Got a date tomorrow night. That leaves one hermit.” She pointed at me.
“See you Monday,” he said, and hitched his backpack over his shoulder before strolling inside.
“Are we the only girls in the whole school who wouldn’t kill to hang out with him on a Saturday night?” I wondered.
“Yep. That’s why he likes us.”
“You should have a crush on him again,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “Give up your flavor-of-the-month club.”
She snorted. “I have four brothers, so I know a fifth one when I see him. Now shut up and sing,” Livvie said before blasting the stereo.
So I did.
Chapter 4
There was no such thing as sneaking into my house. Humidity had warped the ancient front and back doors of Delphine’s aging Palmer Avenue digs, and it took muscle and at least two swear words to get them to open or shut.
Still, when Livvie dropped me off before tooling off to her own house, I sent a wish winging up past the live oaks lining the neighborhood street.Please let Delphine be asleep,I begged whoever was in charge of lost causes. At the front door, I took a deep breath and pushed, wincing when it scraped against the door frame.
“Camille?” Delphine yelled.
