grabbed a fact sheet from the stack on a table near the door.
“Pretty awesome, right, guys?” Connor said in a loud whisper, waving to the ladies then leading us up the creaky wooden staircase.
“Totally,” Max said.
Lance craned his neck, trying to take in every bit of the place.
“Is this French?” Sabine asked, running her hand along the curved banister. “I love all the French stuff here.” I glanced at the sheet of paper I’d taken.
“You would think either that or Spanish, given the influences when New Orleans was settled, but the architecture and styling are Italianate,” Lance said with the joy of someone unwrapping an unexpected gift.
“Former home, gifted to the city to be used as a library,” I read aloud.
“Add this one to the list, Hav. I would live here too,” Dante said. I nodded, but I was too busy listening to the harsh, hushed voices quibbling behind us. I peeked over my shoulder to see the redhead—Emma was her name—arguing with Jimmy. He still seemed on edge from this morning, and I couldn’t blame him.
“ . . . but what were you doing? ” she snapped. “Where the hell were you all night?”
“I was at the party and then, I don’t know.”
“I can’t believe you don’t even have the decency to be honest with me. Is that it? Is that how you treat me after a year?” Expletives followed, then she brushed past me, hustling up the stairs to Connor’s side. Jimmy put his head in his hands like he had just been struck with a monster migraine.
“This is sorta our headquarters,” Connor announced as we reached the second floor. “All the tutoring and counseling happen up here.”
We followed him down the worn carpeting to a room with a half-moon-shaped window looking out onto the grounds, a high ceiling with delicate moldings, and framed paintings of pale people from the Victorian era. Long folding tables and chairs were clustered in a heap at the center of the room, waiting to be set up. A bare metal bookcase on wheels sat in a corner. Connor handed us each a lengthy checklist and explained that we would be spending a few hours here every afternoon for any local kids, elementary through high school, looking for homework help. A few nights a week the room would also be used for a teen crisis hotline. And, indeed, a row of desks in the back was outfitted with a quartet of very ancient-looking phones.
“As you may have noticed, today’s a holiday—they let us in here special to set up. You folks over here”—he pointed to where I stood—“take a look at this list of books and gather a copy of each to stock our little library up here. While you guys”—he gestured to the rest—“are going to set up the workstations. Hop to it, folks!” He clapped, signaling us to start.
Our group had two others in addition to Lance, Dante, and Max. The first was a black-attired, goth-inspired girl with nose piercings named River. “Yes, it’s my real name,” she had said, rolling her eyes after introducing herself back at the house, even though no one had questioned her. The other was Drew, an earthy type in flared jeans and a weathered turquoise tunic, with the kind of wavy, sun-kissed locks that begged to be pinned with daisies.
“So, Haven and I will take science, math, and biographies,” Lance proposed. The others split up the remaining subjects, and returned downstairs in search of fiction and children’s books. I headed that way too, until Lance grabbed my arm. “Science and math are up here.” He looked over his shoulder to be sure the others were gone. “I have to tell you something.”
“Ohhhkay,” I said, following.
We climbed one more flight of stairs to find a stuffy, dark-paneled room, musty because of so many yellowed tomes.
“So, what did you see this morning, anyway?” he asked quietly as we made our way through the towering stacks, scanning for the titles we needed. We had the room entirely to ourselves.
“Just, you know, a dead body.”
“Pretty awesome, right, guys?” Connor said in a loud whisper, waving to the ladies then leading us up the creaky wooden staircase.
“Totally,” Max said.
Lance craned his neck, trying to take in every bit of the place.
“Is this French?” Sabine asked, running her hand along the curved banister. “I love all the French stuff here.” I glanced at the sheet of paper I’d taken.
“You would think either that or Spanish, given the influences when New Orleans was settled, but the architecture and styling are Italianate,” Lance said with the joy of someone unwrapping an unexpected gift.
“Former home, gifted to the city to be used as a library,” I read aloud.
“Add this one to the list, Hav. I would live here too,” Dante said. I nodded, but I was too busy listening to the harsh, hushed voices quibbling behind us. I peeked over my shoulder to see the redhead—Emma was her name—arguing with Jimmy. He still seemed on edge from this morning, and I couldn’t blame him.
“ . . . but what were you doing? ” she snapped. “Where the hell were you all night?”
“I was at the party and then, I don’t know.”
“I can’t believe you don’t even have the decency to be honest with me. Is that it? Is that how you treat me after a year?” Expletives followed, then she brushed past me, hustling up the stairs to Connor’s side. Jimmy put his head in his hands like he had just been struck with a monster migraine.
“This is sorta our headquarters,” Connor announced as we reached the second floor. “All the tutoring and counseling happen up here.”
We followed him down the worn carpeting to a room with a half-moon-shaped window looking out onto the grounds, a high ceiling with delicate moldings, and framed paintings of pale people from the Victorian era. Long folding tables and chairs were clustered in a heap at the center of the room, waiting to be set up. A bare metal bookcase on wheels sat in a corner. Connor handed us each a lengthy checklist and explained that we would be spending a few hours here every afternoon for any local kids, elementary through high school, looking for homework help. A few nights a week the room would also be used for a teen crisis hotline. And, indeed, a row of desks in the back was outfitted with a quartet of very ancient-looking phones.
“As you may have noticed, today’s a holiday—they let us in here special to set up. You folks over here”—he pointed to where I stood—“take a look at this list of books and gather a copy of each to stock our little library up here. While you guys”—he gestured to the rest—“are going to set up the workstations. Hop to it, folks!” He clapped, signaling us to start.
Our group had two others in addition to Lance, Dante, and Max. The first was a black-attired, goth-inspired girl with nose piercings named River. “Yes, it’s my real name,” she had said, rolling her eyes after introducing herself back at the house, even though no one had questioned her. The other was Drew, an earthy type in flared jeans and a weathered turquoise tunic, with the kind of wavy, sun-kissed locks that begged to be pinned with daisies.
“So, Haven and I will take science, math, and biographies,” Lance proposed. The others split up the remaining subjects, and returned downstairs in search of fiction and children’s books. I headed that way too, until Lance grabbed my arm. “Science and math are up here.” He looked over his shoulder to be sure the others were gone. “I have to tell you something.”
“Ohhhkay,” I said, following.
We climbed one more flight of stairs to find a stuffy, dark-paneled room, musty because of so many yellowed tomes.
“So, what did you see this morning, anyway?” he asked quietly as we made our way through the towering stacks, scanning for the titles we needed. We had the room entirely to ourselves.
“Just, you know, a dead body.”
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