The Dolls Read Online Free PDF

and undoubtedly fake smile. “Our mothers will be thrilled we ran into you. They’ll want to see you immediately.”
    With that, she whirls on her stiletto heel and whisks away.
    “Well, welcome home,” says Chloe, giving me an odd look before following Peregrine. The other two girls skitter after them, while the three guys take turns sizing me up as I stand self-consciously glued to the spot. The first guy, who has floppy hair and hazel eyes, waits only a moment before running after the others and grabbing Chloe’s hand. The second, who’s smarmily handsome in a Clark Gable kind of way, shoots me a knowing look before turning. But the blue-eyed guy stands as rooted to the ground as I am before Peregrine calls for him. He looks back once with a confused expression on his face before following after the rest of the Dolls.
    “Well, that was bizarre.” I feel strangely breathless after they’re gone.
    Beside me, Drew snorts. “Welcome to Carrefour.”
    We walk back to the house in silence as I think about the perplexing reaction of the girls I remember vaguely from childhood. I’d expected a weird welcome, since I’m sure everyone in town knows the tragic story of my mom, but they’d stared as if I were a movie star—or a murderer. There must be something I’m not getting.
    “You want to sit outside for a bit?” I ask once we’ve climbed over my back wall. Drew agrees, so I dash inside to grab two Cokes from the refrigerator before leading him out to the garden. Boniface is there trimming rosebushes and humming to himself, but when he sees us, he says hello, winks at me, then makes himself scarce.
    “Well, that’s about the welcome home I’d expect from that group,” Drew says once we’re alone.
    “I thought they might judge me for what happened to my mom,” I say as we sit down on the edge of one of the rose planters. “But that felt like an overreaction, right?”
    “They’re just weird. It’s not about your mom’s death as much as it’s about them thinking they’re better than everyone. They’re only giving you a hard time because you’re new here and they can.”
    “Well, they sound delightful,” I reply. “This school year should be great.”
    Drew laughs. “Hey, Carrefour’s not all bad. Wait until you come out for a day in the Périphérie.” He pauses. “In fact, how about Sunday? There’s a crawfish boil at my buddy’s place.”
    He launches into an elaborate explanation about how it’s a big Louisiana tradition, and although it’s early in the season for fresh crawfish, he has a friend who flash-freezes them each year so he can host big blowout parties in the winter. “There’s corn, potatoes, onions, sausages, hot sauce . . .” He keeps going, but I tune out when he begins listing beers.
    I find myself thinking instead about the cute guy from the funeral and feel immediately foolish when I interrupt Drew’s story to ask, “Who was that guy, anyway?”
    Drew stops mid-sentence and looks at me. “What guy?”
    I swallow hard. “Sorry,” I say. “Just the one from the funeral who was looking at me funny.”
    “Eveny, they were all looking at you funny.”
    “But I mean the one with the blue eyes,” I mumble.
    “The light-skinned black dude?” Drew asks.
    I hesitate, not quite liking the face he makes as he says it.
    Drew rolls his eyes. “Oh, that’s Caleb Shaw,” he continues. “He’s, like, a genius at school or something. I heard he got a perfect score on his PSAT in the fall, but he’s a little . . . odd.”
    “Meaning what?”
    “I don’t know. Like he’s always leaving town for a few days at a time, which is pretty unusual. Most people in Carrefour only leave once or twice a year, if at all. But it’s like Caleb thinks Carrefour isn’t good enough for him.” I think Drew’s being critical until he adds, “Though I kind of admire the guy for realizing there’s more out there than what this town has to offer.”
    “Do you know where he