Raegan
13 years old
“Welcome to eighth grade, y’all. Now almost everybody here knows each other already but we have a new student this year. If you don’t mind, step forward and introduce yourself, son.” Old Coach Thibodaux nods looking down at his clipboard. He tugs at the waistband of his polyester blend shorts, adjusting them higher on his hips.
“Hi y’all. I’m Jeremy Chennewitt,” the tall, skinny, cute boy with one dimpled cheek says. I smile at him and give a small wave.
“Do what?” Coach says with his Cajun accent really underscoring his words. He tilts his head and kind of leans forward like he’s hard of hearing and I think I’ve heard Momma say that he is from his time in Vietnam.
“Jeremy Chennewitt,” the boy clarifies through a laugh. He repeats himself, annunciating his odd last name a little more. Most everyone here in Palmetto is a Landry or a Thibodaux or a Le Blanc or Fontenot or some other common Cajun last name.
“Son, I don’t reckon I can say this,” Coach sighs glancing down at his clipboard again.
“Chin-uh-wit,” the boy says, slowly breaking down his last name.
“Yeah, okay, then,” coach nods still frowning. “Sounds like chicken nugget. Chicken nugget, then,” he says resolutely, scribbling something on his clipboard.
“All right then,” Chicken Nugget says smiling. The rest of us giggle at the nickname our old gym teacher has assigned to the new kid. Credit to him for smiling and taking it in stride. Sylas Broussard grins at the new kid and bumps his shoulder against Chicken Nugget’s.
Leave it to Sylas to be the first to strike up a friendship with the new guy. It doesn’t shock me. Everyone is a friend of Sy’s. Everyone loves Sy. Everyone except me of course. It’s not that I don’t like Sy. I like him okay I guess, but he never leaves me alone. The problem is Sy’s mom Audrey and my mom are best friends, so I get forced into spending more time with Sy than anyone else at our school. He’s either at my house for some holiday, party, barbeque or Sunday dinner, or my family is at his house for the same. He’s always smiling and laughing and cracking jokes. It’s dumb. And annoying too. Sucks for me that there is no escaping him.
If it weren’t for the iPod, I would avoid him much more than I already do. Gym class passes in usual fashion. The girls group up and giggle and gossip like it’s a sport. The boys horse around and act like cavemen. The nerds read. The misfits sit aside and… do whatever misfits feel like doing. Me, I visit with all of them. Except Sylas. The bell rings and we all grab our backpacks and begin filing out the door. It takes Sy all of twenty seconds to find me in the crowded hallway.
“My turn. What did ya listen to last night?” he asks with his hand thrust toward me expectantly. I swing my pack around and dig into the recesses for the iPod and headphones.
“Um… The Beatles, The Supremes, Simon and Garfunkel,” I mutter. “I’m so tired of the same old music on this thing,” I whine slapping it down in his hand. He squeezes my hand, trapping it in his for a second then lets me go.
“I know we said I would ask my mom and dad for a laptop for my birthday this year so we can add more music to the playlist but don’t you think we should just ask both our parents and let them know we can just share it?”
“Uh-uh. No way am I sharing anything else with you, Sy. Sharing the iPod is bad enough.” I shake my head hard sending my long ponytail over my shoulder.
“Aw, c’mon, Rae, I ain’t that bad.” He smirks.
“You’re literally the worst,” I insist as we bump shoulders on our trek through the crowded hallway.
“Take it back,” he demands in a disgruntled kind of voice.
“Not a chance. It’s the truth.” I hold my head high and keep my eyes locked on his, refusing to back down or show weakness. Teddy said I should show no fear. Of course Teddy also said the reason Sy picks on me is that he likes me… like that, so I take my big brother’s advice with a grain of salt.
“Fine,” he says smugly then fast as lightning his lips are on my skin in the spot just below my ear and his arms around me like we are together. The whole hallway which is filled with classmates, erupts. They’re all cackling and laughing and oh’ing and ah’ing. My stomach dips, my cheeks burn and I shove him back, glaring at him.
“Not so bad,” he says in a way that I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement. He smirks arrogantly then turns to walk away, high-fiving Chicken Nugget on his way. I can already see those two conspiring to get into trouble together.
Ugh!
The main highway coming into town seems all at once familiar and foreign. It’s been a decade since I’ve driven these roads. The tall grass along the roadside still sways smoothly in the breeze as though it’s underwater. The buildings downtown are all accounted for as I drive past them. Red’s Garage is on the left, Lovely Locks hair salon where the “purple-haired’s” as daddy calls the old ladies in town—go to get their hair rolled and set every week is on my right. I smile. The town florist, Palmetto Grove Growers has a fresh look on their storefront but the marquee is the same. Old Bayou Diner, a place I ate countless meals with Sylas. I swallow hard and press my foot down on the accelerator, eager to get to my parent’s house and away from memory lane.
The minute the lime green nightmare pulls into my parents’ gravel driveway, relatives begin filing out waving from the front porch like Forrest Gump waving to Lieutenant Dan on the dock.
“Jesus fuck, Bubba Gump Shrimp Company and crew,” I whisper as I wave back, a stiff smile plastered on. I put the car in neutral and pull the e-brake behind dad’s pickup, the Gold Star sticker in the back window of his Ford not going unnoticed. A stab of pain pierces my chest at the sight of the Gold Star no family wants attached to them. I take a fortifying breath, forcing away all thoughts of Gold Stars and how people acquire them before facing my relatives. I swing the door open and the hugging and petting begins.
“Oh, hon’ you made it! Look at you,” my mom says like it’s a miracle and yeah, okay… perhaps it is. It’s no secret I am not keen on being back home. She hugs me then holds me back from her by my upper arms, the blue eyes that match mine surveying me in that way mothers do.
“Hey, Momma.”
“You’re like a celebrity, Rae! My goodness this dress,” she beams touching the fabric like it’s a foreign substance, and to her I suppose it is. My mom’s closet contains nothing designer and why would it? This is Palmetto Grove. High fashion doesn’t even get their attention. It’s not what blows their hair back around here. What does blow their hair back is Friday night football games and Homecoming and Mardi Gras and crawfish season and the annual July fourth celebration downtown. Shopping for the hottest new pieces from all the trending designers is a small vice of mine, and while it provides me with a sense of catharsis Gucci, Tom Ford, Givenchy and all their expensive comrades are irrelevant to people here. Mom steps aside, making room for my dad to retrieve his hug. He’s already pulled my suitcase from the pregnant roller skate.
“So glad you made it honey. You look even better in person than on the TV,” he says in his gentle voice, his blue-green eyes sparkling down at me.