CHAPTER 7

Our caravan pulled to a stop in a neighborhood that still reflected the aftermath of the storm. The street had been cleared of debris, but what remained of the houses littered the yards.

No one said anything as we climbed out of the van. I thought I was prepared for this, but I wasn’t. It seemed like an impossible task, and yet I was also filled with a sense that we could make a difference. We could get this done.

“Hey!” a guy called out in a welcoming way. “Everyone over here!”

He was standing on a ladder, near the first house on the block, urging us over. He was older, much older. Probably as old as Ms. Wynder. He wore a black T-shirt with the French fleur-de-lis on the front above the words “Rebuild New Orleans.” He had curly red hair that fluffed out beneath his white cap and made him look a little like a clown. All he needed was the red nose—only his was very white, covered in zinc oxide.

Another caravan of vehicles pulled up. I found myself standing on tiptoe, trying to see if I recognized anyone from the dorm or breakfast that morning. Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. I was searching for someone I’d seen yesterday, last night to be precise. I was pathetic. I didn’t really know what I wanted. To see him again, to never see him again.

I knew he probably wouldn’t be at the site, but there was one irritating little spark of hope that wouldn’t have been disappointed if he showed up.

And then I saw someone I recognized, the very last person I’d expected to see here.

“Hey, is that—” Amber began.

“The psychic,” Jenna finished.

“Hey, Sara! Bring your group over here,” the guy on the ladder yelled.

Waving at him, she herded her little group over. Wearing jeans and a tank top, with her red hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked like a normal person. Her group was mostly guys, which was pretty understandable because she was really pretty—gorgeous actually. It took me a minute to realize that, because I was scanning the guys following her.

Okay, I was doing more than scanning. I was seriously searching for the familiar red cap, the nice smile. Which was dumb, because if I wanted to see Brady again, all I had to do was tell Jenna and she’d call Tank and he’d tell Brady and Brady could call me . . . only I didn’t know if that’s what I wanted.

But I didn’t see anyone I recognized.

“Why is she here?” Amber asked. “Is she going to do psychic readings?”

“Based on the way she’s dressed, she’s probably here for the same reason we are,” I said.

“That’s weird,” Jenna said.

“Not really,” I said. “I mean, people who live in New Orleans are working to rebuild it, too.”

“Still, a psychic,” Jenna said. “Do you think she’ll let us know if she gets bad vibes?”

Before I could respond, the guy on the ladder clapped his hands. “All right, people! I need your attention!”

Everyone stopped talking and edged up closer.

The guy clapped his hands again. “I’m John. And this house is our project.” He pointed toward the house behind him. “Working together, we’re going to gut it, then rebuild it.”

Gut it. That sounded so harsh.

“Gutting should take only a couple of days. We’re going to move everything out, put it at the edge of the street so we can haul it away. We’re going to remove the walls, the windows, the doors. The only thing we’ll leave is what remains of the frame.”

We’ll be able to do all that in a couple of days? I thought. Amazing.

“The woman who lives here is staying with her parents right now. She’s already taken all that’s salvageable, so anything else—just move it to the curb. Be sure to gear up. We have hard hats, safety goggles, and dust masks over there. Work together and be really careful because you don’t know what you’re going to find hidden beneath all this stuff.”

Hidden? A shiver went through me. Saraphina had said I’d find something hidden.

“Any questions, people?” Without hesitating a beat, he clapped his hands three times. “Then let’s go!”

“I had a question,” Amber said.

“Did you really?” I asked.

She smiled. “No, but he didn’t even give us a chance to ask one if we did.”

“Guess he’s anxious for us to get started.” I caught a glimpse of Jenna off to the side, talking on her phone. I took out the work gloves that I’d stuffed into my jeans pocket earlier. Ms. Wynder had given us tips for how we needed to prepare for this summer of labor. She’d done it last year as well, so she knew what was useful and what to expect. I tugged on the gloves, grateful that I had them. Jenna came back over. She and Amber tugged on their gloves.

Then we walked over to get the rest of our equipment. A line had already formed. Probably two dozen people were here, many already starting to walk by with their gear in place.

“Does a hard hat leave a hard-hat line around your head when you take it off?” I asked.

“What does it matter?” Jenna asked. “You’re not trying to impress anyone.”

“Still, with all the gear, we’re going to look like we’re going into a contaminated zone.”

“We probably are—with the mold and stuff,” Amber said.

Once we were properly geared up, we grabbed one of the wheelbarrows at the edge of the property and rolled it closer to the house.

“Why don’t you girls pick up some of the loose debris that’s still around the house?” John asked.

I saluted him. He grinned.

“You okay with us just tossing stuff off the porch and letting you take care of it?” he asked.

“Works for me,” I said.

“Good. I love a can-do attitude.”

He walked into the house and several people tromped in after him. Amber, Jenna, and I began gathering any broken and rotting pieces of wood that hadn’t yet been hauled to the curb. Beneath one board, we found a doll’s head, which made us sad thinking of a little girl without her doll.

John came outside and tossed what looked like molding cushions onto the ground.

“Did a little girl live here?” I asked.

He glanced over at me. “Yeah, she’s fine. There are two girls, actually. They’re with their mom.”

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Four and six, I think.”

“I guess they have new dolls now.”

“Yeah, but little girls can never have too many, right?”

I smiled at him, wondering how he knew what I was thinking. “Right. If I bought something for them, would you be able to get it to them?”

“You could give it to them yourself. When we’re finished, we’ll welcome them home. You’ll get to meet them then.”

“Oh, cool.”

I hadn’t realized we’d be doing that. I went back to work, picking things up. I was carefully placing the remains of a clay jar in the wheelbarrow when I heard, “Smile!”

I looked up. Jenna snapped a picture and then laughed.

“You look like someone doing something she shouldn’t,” she said. “Let’s try this again.”

“Why do you need a picture? I’m all scruffy looking.”

“For one—my Facebook page. But I also want to send a pic to your mom so she can see you’re hard at work and it’ll calm her worries. So smile.”

“I’m wearing a mask. You can’t even see my mouth.”

“So smile, anyway.”

Smiling while picking up trash was kind of like those people who smiled in commercials selling exercise machines. It wasn’t natural. Still, I pulled down my mask, gave a big fake smile, and a huge thumbs-up.

“That’ll do it,” Jenna said. “I’m going to see what else I can document.”

She walked away. I pulled up my mask and returned to my task. I was reaching down, wrapping my hands around what looked to be a massive table leg attached to a small section of dining table, when I heard a deep voice I recognized say, “Need help with that?”

I jerked up, stepped back. My foot landed on an old board that wobbled. I teetered and would have fallen, except strong hands wrapped around my arms, steadying me.

“Careful,” Brady said in a voice that fell between concerned and amused.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He was wearing sunglasses so I couldn’t read his eyes. Some sort of white powder was sprinkled over his burgundy T-shirt. Maybe that’s his flaw, I thought. Maybe he does drugs.

And how had he even realized it was me, with all my gear on? Had he noticed me when I’d posed for the camera?

“I told you yesterday. I came to volunteer,” he said.

“But this site?”

He shrugged. “It’s where they sent me.”

“So you’re into snow?” Wasn’t that what they called it? Or was it blow?

“Love snow. Went skiing over spring break.”

“I was referring to the powder.” I pointed to his chest, trying not to remember how nice it had looked last night without a shirt covering it.

Glancing down, he started dusting off his shirt. “Oh, that. Powdered sugar. We went to Café Du Monde for beignets. Place was packed. It’s the reason we’re late.” He looked up. “You thought it was drugs?”

I felt so silly. Talking to him through the mask. Looking at him through the goggles. Accusing him of dumb stuff.

“I was teasing.”

And if you believe that, I have some swampland I could sell you.

He grinned, like he knew I was out of control, but he was willing to tolerate it.

“You eaten there yet?” he asked, taking the conversation back to his breakfast.

“No.”

“It’s a must-do.”

“They feed us breakfast in the dorm.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to eat there.”

Why was I discouraging a hot guy from showing interest in me?

And why was he interested in me?

Why not?

I felt like the before-Drew me and the after-Drew me were on the debate team. And doing a pretty lousy job at substantiating arguments.

“Are you staying at the dorm?” I asked. It would be totally weird if he was, that everything—fate, the dating gods, whatever—was putting him in my path.

“Nah, we’ve got some cheap rooms in a small hotel in the French Quarter. Tank knew some people who knew some people.” He shrugged.

“Is he in charge of your group?”

“We’re not official, not really organized. As a matter of fact, very unorganized. Tank asked if I wanted to come to New Orleans for the summer and do some volunteer work, said he’d secured some beds, and since I had nothing better to do—here I am.” He made a grand sweeping gesture. “At your service. So let me help you with this.”

“But you’re not geared up.”

“I’ll gear up in a minute. Let’s get this done.”

Squatting, he grabbed the end of the table leg that was still attached to part of the table.

I bent over—

“It’s better for your back if you use your legs to lift stuff,” he said.

“My toes don’t hold things well.”

He laughed. “Funny. You grab with your hands, but lift with your legs. See?”

He demonstrated, his legs doing a smooth pumping action, like a piston. He had really nice thighs. Even covered in jeans, they looked firm. Very firm.

“So, you’re what? A lifting coach?” I asked.

“Nah. I worked for an overnight package deliverer over winter break. Had to watch safety videos.” He shifted the table leg so he was able to carry it by himself and drop it in the wheelbarrow.

It was only then that I noticed Tank and Jenna working together to remove a screen from a window. How it had managed to remain attached, I couldn’t imagine. Most were gone, or hanging lopsided.

“Where’s Amber?” I called out to Jenna.

“She went to talk to Sara/Saraphina. I think she wants another psychic reading.”

“Now?” I asked.

Jenna shrugged as she walked over to me. “She’s still bummed about what Saraphina told her yesterday.”

“You had a psychic reading?” Brady asked.

Now it was my turn to shrug. “It’s like eating at Café Du Monde. Something you have to do when you’re in New Orleans.”

“What did she tell you?”

“Nothing that made any sense. Do you believe in that sort of thing?”

“Not really.” He reached down, picked up a brick, and dropped it in the wheelbarrow.

Apparently, I had a new partner for the day—whether I wanted him or not.