Reesie slipped into a window booth to catch her breath. The air conditioning blasted like an icy wind. Across the small dining room, Orlando was taking orders from a table where the only four customers were seated. She settled back to watch him, her urgent hair appointment fading to the back of her mind.
Orlando had worked at his uncle’s place since he was ten. At first he had just cleaned up, but he’d turned thirteen already and now he was training to be a waiter. His shoulders looked muscular in a navy polo—Blue Moon’s uniform—and his wavy hair was braided into a skinny rattail. Uncle Jimmy had warned him to cut it, but Orlando just flashed that bright white grin. And he did have eyes that crinkled when he laughed, like he was doing right now with the customers. Reesie blinked. Why was she thinking about Orlando like he was a boy? He was just Orlando. His knees were knobby and his feet were big, and …
Suddenly he looked up at her.
“Peanut Butter!” Orlando yelled across the dining room, and started in her direction.
Reesie cut her eyes at him and sucked her teeth. How could anybody think he was cute? Well, you just kind of did, she told herself.
“Why do you embarrass me like that, calling me by that second-grade nickname in public?” she asked as Orlando made it to her table.
“How come you didn’t answer my text?” He had on some kind of cologne. Orlando was trying to be manly!
“I did! Besides, I was going to get my hair done.” Reesie smoothed her ponytail.
Orlando leaned on the back of the booth across from her. “You know, we do killer po’ boys here, but we don’t do hair,” he said with a grin. “You hungry?”
He pulled out his order pad and pretended to write, because Uncle Jimmy’s narrowed eyes were aimed at the back of Orlando’s head.
“For your information, no.” Reesie used her most snooty voice. She wanted to ask him why he hadn’t been in touch for two days. She wanted to ask if going to Texas meant he’d forgotten all about her birthday party. But when the kitchen door swung open and she caught the aroma of a shrimp po’ boy, her stomach gurgled, demanding food.
“Okay, okay. A po’ boy,” she said. “But make it fast. Remember, I have an appointment!” She felt silly for running all the way over, so she quickly added, “And what is this craziness about going to Texas?”
“We’re tryin’ to get outta the way of Katrina, that’s what!” he said. He sat down, looking serious and very grown-up. Maybe that was what was weird about him lately—Orlando had turned thirteen first. Did he want to leave his old friends behind? Reesie wiggled in her seat and dropped her eyes away from his, playing with sugar packets.
“I know I’m gonna miss your birthday thing,” he said. “I’m surprised your folks are lettin’ you stay here! This could be the storm to wash New Orleans clear away!”
Reesie leaned across the table. He remembered!
“But this is home,” she said. “For real, your uncle Jimmy is evacuating?” She looked across the dining room. The stools at the back counter were empty and the countertop was cleared of the usual cakes and pies in glass domes. Instead of the normal pandemonium coming from the kitchen, all she heard was the hum of a radio.
Orlando’s gaze followed hers. “Yeah. Uncle Jimmy is closing up as soon as these customers finish. He’s not even doing the Saturday night rush. He’s gonna pick up Dré, Leila, and her kids, then we’re taking the Escalade to Houston.”
Reesie stared at him. Dré and Leila were Orlando’s older brother and sister. That meant his entire family was leaving town.
“But the storm might change direction!”
Orlando shook his head hard. “Not Katrina, they say. Go on, call your daddy and get confirmation on the information. Ask him!”
Reesie hesitated. “You know I can’t call him when he’s on duty, not unless it’s an emergency.”
“Seems like an emergency to me,” Orlando said, slowly rising from the table. “One shrimp po’ boy comin’ up.”
“Extra mayo, okay?” Reesie said to the yellow crescent on Orlando’s back. She couldn’t call her father, but Junior would do. She took out her phone and dialed his number.
“Reesie!” Junior sounded as if he’d been running. “Can’t talk now—just did laps and heading to the showers. Are you watching the Weather Channel? It was blowin’ up before I left the dorm! What are y’all doing?”
“Doing?” Reesie felt Junior said the word like he meant Duhh. Aren’t you smarter than this? She tried to answer with confidence.
“Mama and I are going back to Baton Rouge with Parraine and Tee Charmaine tomorrow.”
“Finally! Mom got Daddy to be sensible and evacuate! Good. Great. Hey, gotta go. I sort of have a date. I’m really sorry about missing your birthday. I’ll come the first weekend I can, okay? Bye!”
Reesie’s insides fluttered. She looked outside. Three cars cruised by, packed with people and their stuff. They were heading for the St. Claude Avenue Bridge, which ran across the canal separating the Lower Ninth Ward from downtown, uptown, and highways out of the city. Reesie hit speed dial.
“Mama?”
“Hey, Reesie … this hospital is a madhouse. Is your hair done?”
“No, but I was talking to Junior—”
“Oops! Sorry, I have to go. I’m doing another shift because so many folks didn’t come in today. So I won’t make it home tonight, and—oh! I’m being paged. I’ll call you back later.”
“Wait!” Reesie’s squeak echoed across the empty space. The other customers had left. She could hear Orlando and his uncle in the kitchen.
How could they laugh if the situation was really so serious? Reesie slowly slipped her phone back in her pocket.
Carrying a serving tray, Orlando swung open the kitchen door and began weaving his way toward Reesie. He carefully put her setup on the table in silence: silverware rolled up neatly in a blue paper napkin. Then, with a sweep of his other arm, he put the plate in front of her.
The zing of the spicy cornmeal coating on the shrimp made Reesie’s eyes water, and she blinked, not wanting Orlando to think she was crying. Still, water leaked down her cheeks, and she had to wipe her face with the back of her hand.
“I saw you on the phone. You called your daddy?” he asked. “This ain’t no joke, right?”
“No.” She’d answered both questions at once. Orlando stood over her with his peach fuzz mustache. He seemed different. More like a man, somehow. She wasn’t sure she liked that.
“How come?” she asked him quietly.
Orlando looked puzzled. “How come what?”
“How come this whole Katrina thing is so wild?”
Orlando’s shoulders dropped, and his man face disappeared. Reesie saw little boy fear in his eyes for the first time in forever.
“I ’on’t know, Peanut Butter,” he said, suddenly turning away from her. “I’ll call you when we get to Houston, all right?”
Reesie wanted him to come back. She wanted to say that she’d be in Baton Rouge, but she didn’t say anything. She would text him tonight or in the morning. Instead she picked up the po’ boy and took a huge too-big bite.
The sandwich tasted like cardboard. Something’s wrong with the world for true, she thought. She hurried up, dropped a five on the table, and slipped away from Blue Moon.