Adam pulls out his phone to translate. “Mangez un pénis, EHS. At least according to Google.”
Normally, I would laugh, but honestly all I care about right now is graduating and snagging a full-time gig at Boucher’s. I don’t have time for senior pages or prom or whatever else people are buzzing about.
I flip through Ruth’s Spanish notes, ignoring the two of them and just trying to absorb enough information topass. In the week and a half since Hattie’s trip to the hospital, I’ve started picking up her shifts at Boucher’s, which means I’ve been working until about eleven p.m. every night. Tommy let me start waiting tables, too, whenever he needs an extra body, so that means I’ve been getting a few tips here and there.
I haven’t quite figured out how much I need to earn to make up for Hattie being on bed rest, but what I do know is that I can barely keep my eyes open during class and whatever social life I had is becoming slowly nonexistent. I’ve even had to cut back on swimming in the mornings. I’ve been too exhausted.
“I’m gonna grab a Coke,” says Ruth. “Y’all want anything?”
I shake my head, and so does Freddie. Adam is too consumed by the blank page before him to care.
Freddie reaches across the table for my hand. “Hey, how you been holding up? How’s Hattie feeling?”
I shrug. “I’m good. Just picking up extra hours to help her out. And she’s okay.” I laugh a little to myself. “I think she’s taking bed rest a little too literally. Just freaked out about this Spanish test right now,” I say, returning to Ruth’s notes.
He clears his throat. “Hey, I didn’t want to make a big deal of this—and it’s not a big deal. But I bought you a senior page in the yearbook.”
I drop the notes I’m holding. “What?” My voice is thick with annoyance.
Freddie pulls back some, letting go of my hand. It’s not the type of response he was expecting. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”
“You shouldn’t have wasted your money.”
“It wasn’t a waste of money,” he says. “And it’s not for you to decide how Iwastemy money. I thought I’d let you know, since the deadline for rough drafts is coming up.”
“It was nice of you to think of me, but I don’t need you to buy me stuff like that. I’m not a charity case. If I wanted a senior page, I would have bought one for myself.”
“Or a thank-you would work,” he mutters.
Behind him, I can see Ruth slipping through the crowd toward us.
“I’m gonna get Ruth to quiz me outside the Spanish room.” I grab my backpack and hers and walk off without another word.
“Whoa,” says Ruth. “We’re going somewhere?”
“Yeah.” I pass off her backpack. “Let’s study some. Away from here.”
The truth is, what Freddie did was incredibly sweet and kind and sohim. If I could just take that stupid senior page and write a letter to him, I would. Because he deserves that. He deserves the kind of person who can be present and live in the moment with him. Someone who can be excited about what colleges he gets accepted to even if he’s already decided on LSU. And someone who will encourage him to swallow his pride and go to open-call tryouts for the swim team.
But those aren’t my concerns. My concerns are utilities and diapers and ER bills and whether or not the trailer is even safe enough to raise a baby in.
And this stupid baby shower.
FEBRUARY
THIRTY-FIVE
I have slaved over Hattie’s shower. At least I think I have until I show up at Agnes’s the Saturday morning of and see all the food and decorations she’s contributed. Suddenly the king cake I picked up at Stella’s Bakery and the invitations I dropped off at the post office feel trivial.
Every inch of Agnes’s house is covered in purple, green, and gold confetti, streamers, and balloons. There’s even a giant tower of diapers, which have been individually wrapped with glittering ribbon to match the rest of the decor. The mailbox out front is decorated with balloons to signify to guests that they have arrived.
Every detail is so thoughtful, it makes my eyes water. And this isn’t even my shower! I don’t know what kind of luck was on my side the day Agnes invited us to play with Freddie on the beach, but I’ll always be thankful for her.
“The decorations are amazing!” I call to Agnes in the kitchen. “Hattie is going to die. You did way too much.”
“It was nothing!” she says. “And I figure I’ll leave most of them up until Ash Wednesday anyhow.”
Mardi Gras isn’t for another week or so, but the minute the clock strikes midnight and the New Year begins, the decorations start going up. I guess people not from around here assume that Mardi Gras is all about Bourbon Street and flashing your boobs for beads, but we’ve celebrated ever since I was a little kid. We even have huge local parades with floats that shut down our streets for days. King cake, which is basically shaped like a giant doughnut and sort of tastes like coffee cake, was as common throughout my childhood as birthday cake.
