The Ballad of Corey Robichaux
By Shane Hebert
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 Shane Hebert
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information, contact Shane Hebert at lunaregnum@mobiletel.com or at:
113 Industrial Park Road, Larose, LA, 70373
Cover design by Shane Hebert
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Contents
Chapter 5 – Doris and the Robichauxs
Chapter 7 – New Year’s Eve 1987
Chapter 11 – Tarpons, Mikey Steel, and Madonna
Chapter 12 – The Andrew Eschette Incident
Chapter 14 – Because of Taylor Dayne
Chapter 15 – Corey’s Girlfriend
Chapter 22 – The End of Tom Pitre
Chapter 25 – Corey’s Second Choice
Chapter 1 -- November 1987
Blue corduroy FFA jackets were everywhere in the halls of Larose-Cut Off Junior High school on Tuesday. The Future Farmers of America members had received their jackets yesterday and literally every FFA member at school was wearing his or her jacket this morning. Only ninth grade students were allowed to join FFA and roughly one quarter of the student body sported FFA jackets today. The large FFA emblem on the back of the jackets showed an eagle behind an American shield clutching arrows and olive branches while perched atop a gold flower. The center of the flower displayed a red sun rising over a rowed field in which a white-faced owl sat on a plow. The words “Agricultural Education” circled the perimeter of the flower’s center while the letters FFA hung above the rising sun, all written in blue. Gold embroidered script spelled out the name of the student on the left breast of the jacket.
Corey Robichaux wore his jacket over a gray sweatshirt. The name on his jacket was above the words Vice President, identifying the office he held in the LCO FFA club. He opened his gray locker and took out a math textbook and a blue three-subject notebook.
At fourteen years old, Corey stood 5’8” tall and weighed around 180 pounds, a tall heavy ninth grade boy. He had always been a bigger boy compared to his classmates. Some big boys end up the butt of jokes and an object of ridicule, but Corey was likeable and, as far as he was aware, had never been teased about his size by his classmates. He was aware of how much heavier he was than most of the other boys, so he tried to make up for this by dressing as neatly as he could. Corey’s shirts were never wrinkled and his sneakers were as clean as possible. Corey’s family had a housekeeper that cleaned their home while his parents worked, so he was used to having his clothing ironed and put away for him. He was also used to having their home clean, and this domestic order eventually turned him into a meticulously neat boy. His dark brown hair was worn parted on the left and was trimmed every three weeks when he and his younger brother Dirk accompanied his dad to Mr. Leo Verret’s barber shop.
Athletics weren’t his thing, which he discovered early on in his struggles during P.E. classes. Dribbling basketballs or catching footballs were difficult tasks for him. Corey was a good student, though. He was a straight A boy, a perennial honor roller, and his grandmother Maw Maw Robichaux saved the honor roll listings from The Larose Gazette for him. But academics weren’t his passion. The answers came naturally to him, and he found that listening in class was usually enough study time. The only class that he really enjoyed was agriculture. His sharp mind made him a favorite with the Ag teacher Mr. Paul Rogers. His likeability made him a unanimous decision for Ag vice president.
As Corey closed the locker door, a hand biffed him behind the head. Looking to his right, he saw Matt Pierce grinning at him while walking into Mrs. Theriot’s classroom.
Matt was Corey’s best friend, and was Corey’s height but weighed around 115 pounds. The boys had known each other since kindergarten, when they had started school at Holy Rosary Catholic School. Matt and Corey’s mothers were third cousins, and their families began to spend more time together after discovering that their sons were now classmates. Spending time with each other at school and out of school, Matt and Corey became best friends, even when their families drifted away from each other.
Corey followed Matt into the classroom and smiled at Mrs. Theriot who was sitting at her desk at the front of the classroom.
“Good morning, Corey,” Mrs. Theriot greeted him.
“Good morning, Miss Theriot,” Corey responded. It was seldom that you heard someone use the term Mrs. in everyday conversation. All men were Mister and all women were Miss, and except for school teachers and administration, everyone was referred to by their first names. Corey called Matt’s mother Miss Debra and Corey’s mom was Miss Linda to Matt.
“Good morning, Miss Theriot,” Matt mocked Corey in a high-pitched voice as he slouched in his desk, his own FFA jacket draped over the back of his seat.
“Shut up,” Corey kicked Matt in the shin with the side of his shoe. Corey sat in a metal and wood desk on Matt’s right. Dropping his textbook and notebook onto the desktop, Corey sat at the desk and reached into the metal cubbyhole beneath the wooden seat. He pulled out a pencil and placed it into the pencil notch carved into the desktop. Matt laughed and put his feet on the seat of the desk in front of him.
Angela Talbot and her mother Doris had moved to Larose from Thibodaux after Angela’s father had died. Angela’s father was a staff sergeant in the Army, and he had been killed in a motor pool explosion. Angela didn’t know the details of the explosion, only that she would never see her father again. Doris Talbot now had to raise her daughter on her own, which meant she had to get a job. She found work in Larose as a bookkeeper for Chiasson’s Supermarket. Doris had gone to college for two years at St. Gabriel University before she had quit to become a mother and a wife. A handful of math and accounting classes and a sympathetic Lorraine Chiasson helped Doris land the bookkeeping position.
She found a small decent rent house that she and Angela could call home, and they made the migration from their apartment in Thibodaux to the house in Larose five months after her husband died. Doris would have preferred to stay in Thibodaux, but the 45 minute drive to Larose and the 45 minute drive back to Thibodaux was just too much time away from her daughter. Angela was only fourteen years old and Doris didn’t feel right leaving her daughter alone for so long.
Doris Kinchen was originally from Broussard, Louisiana, and didn’t have any blood relatives in Lafourche Parish besides her daughter. She had met her husband while she was attending college at St. Gabriel. Paul Talbot was a young private in the Army, and was home on leave in Thibodaux when he met Doris at a party. After Paul returned to duty, Doris wrote to him regularly and a relationship formed between the two. The next time Paul was on leave, he returned to Thibodaux and his relationship with Doris became more serious and romantic. A few months later, Doris was pregnant and Paul eagerly proposed to her.
Doris left college and returned home to Broussard for the duration of her pregnancy while Paul remained stationed at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. With Paul on leave, she gave birth to Angela Renee Talbot, but her labor was difficult and an emergency hysterectomy was performed on Doris. After Paul was sure that his wife and new daughter were both safe and healthy, he returned to duty in Oklahoma.
When Paul was assigned to a new duty post at Fort Lewis, Washington, Doris and Angela went with him, and the Talbot family began a nomadic life across the United States. When Angela approached her fourth birthday, Paul and Doris wanted their daughter to have more stability now that she would be starting school. They decided that Doris and Angela would move back to Thibodaux to be near Paul’s family. Moving to Broussard wasn’t a real option because Doris’ father had passed away two years ago, and her mother had to be placed into a psychiatric facility, unable to function normally after her husband had died.
Doris and Angela moved into an apartment along Audubon Drive. The plan was to have them stay there for a few months until they could afford a house. The few months stretched into years, but the little family was happy. Paul would visit them every chance he got but Doris was never perfectly comfortable in Thibodaux. Paul’s mother Lydia never warmed to Doris, and believed that the young woman had trapped her son into marriage. The rest of Paul’s family treated Doris decently, but Doris always felt like an outsider.
Angela seemed to thrive in Thibodaux, and she grew from a gangly scarecrow into a tall lovely girl. Doris kept Angela’s rich red hair long, and Angela was the apple of her father’s and grandfather’s eyes. Doris enrolled Angela in a number of after-school activities to keep her daughter busy, including dancing, swimming, and art lessons. The majority of her cousins were boys so Angela played sports early in her life. As she grew tall and strong, her athletic ability emerged and she became a member of the East Thibodaux Junior High girls basketball team and track team in the eighth grade.
There wasn’t a romantic life for Angela, though. By the time she had reached eighth grade, she was already six feet tall. Growing quickly as girls so often do, her size intimidated most boys and she had never gone on a date or had a boyfriend. Paul was delighted at his daughter’s height, hoping that she would grow even taller and become a great basketball player. Angela, though, despised her height and size, wishing that she were a petite girl, not a giant. She kept this fact quiet, though, not wanting to upset her daddy.
Although Paul was excited about his daughter’s athletic prowess, she was still his little girl. He spoiled Angela as much as he could while tramping across the nation as a soldier, and he sent her and Doris gifts as often as he could. Angela’s favorite gifts from her daddy were the photos he would take when he was assigned to a new post. Paul would have a photo of himself taken standing or kneeling near the fort’s entrance sign. He always smiled brightly in the photos and he sent them to Angela in a picture frame. She had these framed pictures hung above her bed and she kissed each one before she went to bed each night when her father was away.
Angela hung a small glass rosary from the latest photo of her daddy standing near the entrance sign of his current post. Her grandmother Lydia had told her that saying the rosary would call the Virgin Mary to help answer your prayers. She placed the rosary on her daddy’s photo so that the Virgin Mary would keep her daddy safe while he was gone.
When the news arrived of Paul’s death, Angela was devastated. The night she learned that her daddy was dead, she ran into her room, took the rosary from the photo, and ripped it apart, the glass beads spilling onto her bedroom floor. She had removed every one of her daddy’s pictures from the wall, placed them on her bed around her, and cried.
Doris tried to comfort her daughter but she was shocked, too, at the news of Paul’s death. In her daughter’s presence, she fought to stay calm, and the only time she cried around Angela was that first night when they had received the horrible news. Paul’s mother, distraught at her son’s death, blamed Doris, telling her that if Paul would have never married her, he would still be alive today. Lydia’s condemnation hit Doris hard because she was already feeling some guilt in Paul’s death, and that irreparably damaged her relationship with Lydia.
To Paul’s father’s protest, Doris moved to Larose once she had found a job there. She explained to him that she needed to get away and that Lydia’s attitude towards her was more than she could take now. She extended an open invitation to him to visit Angela whenever he chose.
For Angela’s part, she followed her mother’s example and kept her grief private. Her cousins Michelle and Ross helped her pack her things and unpack them once they had arrived at the house in Larose. Paul’s brother Daniel helped Doris and Angela move, hauling furniture and boxes. After everything had been put into the house, Doris and Angela stood on their new front porch and waved at their departing family, Michelle and Ross staring sadly from the bed of the truck. Although Thibodaux was less than an hour’s ride from Larose, Angela felt lonely and afraid, as if she and her mother had just been deposited on another planet. When Uncle Daniel’s truck had disappeared, they walked into their new home and began unpacking their new life.
Angela and her mother had moved into their new home on a Friday. They used the weekend to arrange their furniture and unpack most of their boxes. The house was a small white wooden house standing on cinder blocks within a small fenced lot along Canal Place. Two cracked concrete ruts just wide enough for a vehicle’s wheelbase connected a tin-roofed carport to the street.
The house was a long rectangle, painted white and trimmed in gray. It had the same type of tin roof that the carport had, and the roofline ran the length of the center of the house, the sheets of tin stretching down to each side of the house. The front porch stretched the width of the house and was made of wood planking painted gray. The house had two bedrooms and a bathroom, and was just big enough for Doris and Angela.
The Monday after Angela moved in to her new home, her mom registered her for school at LCO. Angela didn’t feel ready to face new kids at a new school, so Doris told her she didn’t have to start school until Tuesday. They both knew that one day wouldn’t make a real difference, but it would give Angela some more time to prepare herself. Angela knew that being the new kid and being a big kid would make her an exhibit for a while. She decided that she would do everything she could to remain anonymous and not attract any attention.
Doris had spoken to a neighbor Carolyn Gaubert and found out that the school bus for LCO stopped in front of Carolyn’s house to pick up her daughter Suzanne. Carolyn said that Angela was welcome to catch the bus in front of the Gaubert house.
When Angela had gone to the bus stop on Tuesday morning carrying a single notebook, Suzanne’s reaction was not a surprise. Suzanne was a short plump girl with short blonde hair and she looked at Angela as if she were Godzilla.
“Hey,” Angela told Suzanne. “I’m Angela.”
Suzanne squeaked out “Hi” and added, “I’m Suzanne.” The two girls spent the next five minutes in silence until bus 71 stopped in front of Suzanne’s house. They climbed aboard and Angela told the driver that she was new to the neighborhood and that she would be taking the bus here. The driver nodded silently and Angela dipped her head as she searched for a seat. There weren’t many kids on the bus and Angela sat in an empty rear seat. Angela waved to her mom who was standing on their front porch waving at Angela.
As the bus moved on, Angela slid over the green seat and leaned her back against the side wall of the bus, bringing her left foot up and placing it flat on the seat, her knee bent. She placed her notebook on the seat beneath her crooked leg and turned her head to the left, looking out the rear window, her left arm stretched along the back of the seat, her right arm resting between her legs. She noticed that she and Suzanne were some of the earliest kids to be picked up by bus 71. Suzanne was sitting closer to the front of the bus and another chunky girl sat with her. Angela saw the two girls look back at her, Suzanne’s lips moving, and then Suzanne faced the front again, her friend’s stare lingering on Angela for a couple more seconds. Some older boys boarded the bus and hurried to the back where they found Angela. One boy looked as if he were going to say something but Angela stared him down and he chose to sit in the seat in front of her. A few more kids reacted similarly during the bus ride but Angela managed to stay silent and to be the last student to exit the bus once it had reached LCO.
Once off the bus, Angela tapped Suzanne’s shoulder and asked where the front office was. Suzanne led her through a pair of double-doors and through a locker-lined hallway until the two girls had walked the length of the school. A bright windowed lobby had some doors to the left that Angela could see led to the gym. She had been in the LCO gym last year for a basketball game when she played for East Thibodaux. Suzanne pointed Angela to a single door that had a brown plaque with white letters that read “Front Office.” Angela thanked Suzanne and entered the office.
Mrs. Theriot rose from her desk chair and walked to the classroom door. She reached out to grasp the doorknob and pulled it shut as she smiled at the class. Marilyn Theriot was a thirty-five year old woman with short sandy brown hair who stood about five and a half feet tall. Time and pregnancies had transformed her slim figure into a less flattering pear shape. Marilyn didn’t wear makeup and wore loose-fitting clothing to camouflage her body. She had been teaching math at LCO for ten years and probably would do so for another ten years.
“Ok, y’all, pass your homework to the front,” Mrs. Theriot said as she walked back towards her desk. Soft murmuring and rustling accompanied the homework papers as they were passed hand to hand up the five rows of desks.
“Miss Theriot,” Becky Borne called out, “I don’t have my homework.” Becky grinned as Mrs. Theriot walked across the classroom picking up the piles of homework at the front of each row.
“I’m sure you have an excellent reason for that, Becky,” Mrs. Theriot said in a slightly sarcastic tone.
“Oh, I do,” Becky answered. “I was on a date last night and didn’t get home till late.” Two girls near Becky giggled, a few other girls on the opposite side of the room rolled their eyes, and more than a couple of boys nodded and grinned. Corey looked at Matt and both boys sneered and shook their heads.
Becky Borne thrived on her sexual reputation. Tight sweaters and tighter camel-toe jeans were her usual wardrobe, meant to showcase a body which hadn’t yet fully developed. Her dull brown hair was long and teased high, framing a face which was plastered with makeup. Becky’s dark brown eyes were small and smoldering, heavy with mascara and eyeliner, conveying either lust or loathing in scathing amounts. Whether she was as promiscuous as her reputation suggested didn’t matter; the suggestion was strong and her reputation was secured.
“Your father must be so proud,” Mrs. Theriot answered, her voice coated with sarcasm.
Becky’s dark painted eyes blasted Mrs. Theriot’s back with hate as her lips twisted and she whispered words equally hateful. A smattering of snickering broke out at Mrs. Theriot’s comment and Becky sulked at her desk.
An old lady was sitting behind a desk and Angela walked up to it. The old lady had short wavy gray hair and a nameplate on the desk read “Louise Arcement.” After a few seconds of the lady not looking up from the paper she was writing on, Angela cleared her throat and the lady looked up. She smiled and said, “Yes, Ma’am. Can I help you?”
“I’m new here,” Angela told her.
“Ok,” the lady said. “Do you need to register a child?”
Angela blinked and shook her head. “No, I’m a new student.”
It was the old lady’s turn to blink. “Oh, I’m sorry, sha” the lady apologized. “I thought you were a parent. What’s your name?”
“Angela Talbot,” Angela responded.
The lady nodded. “Oh, your momma was here yesterday to register you, wasn’t she? I have your schedule right here.” She shuffled through some papers in a plastic paper divider on her desk and handed Angela a slip of paper.
“Here is your schedule, sha,” she said as she stood up and came around the desk. Stretching up her arm, she pointed to the paper in Angela’s hand, and Angela lowered the paper closer to the lady’s face. “The teacher’s name is in this column and the class room number is in this one,” she showed Angela. “100 numbered rooms are on the first floor and 200 numbered room are on the second floor. You don’t have any classes in the annex and you can see that P.E. is in the gym which is right outside the office door. Oh, and I wrote your locker number on your schedule, too.” The lady pointed to the number 289A written neatly in blue ink on the paper. “That’s an upstairs locker.”
Angela smiled at the old lady and nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Arcement.”
The lady patted Angela’s arm and said, “Call me Miss Louise, sha. Now you’d better be getting up to Miss Theriot’s class.” Angela nodded and left the office, steeling herself for her first class at LCO.
There was a loud knock on the wooden classroom door and Mrs. Theriot walked over to the door then pushed it open. Corey could see the teacher look up as she spoke to someone. She accepted a slip of paper from The Someone which she read. Smiling, Mrs. Theriot nodded and stepped back into the classroom, allowing The Someone to enter. Corey stared and his mouth opened slightly as the tallest girl he had ever seen walked into Mrs. Theriot’s algebra class.
The girl had long wavy dark red hair which was lush and vibrant. She wore the sides pulled back and held with a barrette at the back of her head. Her eyes were emerald green and looked out over the class bravely. The skin of her face was smooth, her lips pink and plump. She wore a faded denim jacket over a black Guns N’ Roses t-shirt. The band’s emblem of two pistols entwined with two roses was stretched over what seemed to be a massive pair of breasts, although it was difficult to tell for sure with the jacket on. The shirt hung over a pair of faded blue denim jeans which she filled out very well. Her thighs were muscular and tapered down to strong calves. On her feet was a pair of white Reebok sneakers.
“Class, this is Angela Talbot,” Mrs. Theriot announced. “She’s new here at LCO and will be joining us here in algebra class. Angela, you can sit in the desk in front of Matt.”
Mrs. Theriot pointed to the empty desk in front of Matt and the girl passed in front of the teacher, eclipsing Mrs. Theriot with her body. Corey watched her as she walked down the row and stopped at the desk, looking down at the pair of sneakered feet on the seat. The girl moved her gaze to Matt’s grinning face then kicked both of his feet off the seat with her left foot. Matt’s feet slapped onto the tile floor and he slid down a bit in his seat, forcing him to pull himself up into an upright sitting position. Corey smiled as Matt blushed and the girl sat down on her conquered seat. Corey took note of her well-rounded butt as she sat and placed a red single-subject notebook on her desktop.
“Stacy, pass this back to Angela please,” Mrs. Theriot asked as she handed an algebra text book to Stacy LeBlanc who sat at the front of Matt and Angela’s row. Stacy was a short brown haired petite girl, pretty in a little girl way. She turned and placed the book into Angela’s outstretched hand that looked as large as Stacy’s face. Stacy flashed a quick smile at Angela who smiled back at the smaller girl. Angela took the textbook and laid it on the desk to the left of her notebook.
“Let’s turn to page 135 and get started,” instructed Mrs. Theriot. There was another outbreak of rustling as the students opened textbooks and notebooks. Corey opened his books and glanced at Angela who was doing the same. She stretched her legs out in front of her, placing her feet on either side of Stacy’s desk, heels on the gray tiled floor and toes up. As Mrs. Theriot began lecturing on the chapter of linear equations, Corey unknowingly began a new chapter in his life as he watched Angela Talbot sit in a desk that was too small for her, and fell in love with her.
Chapter 2 -- The Tutor
“That’s one big chick,” Matt said as he and Corey walked out of Mrs. Theriot’s class. Corey looked over his shoulder back into the classroom. He saw Mrs. Theriot talking to the new girl, looking up at her as the girl nodded in response to the teacher. The girl turned her head and looked towards the door, her gaze meeting with Corey’s. He smiled at her and, to his surprise and excitement, the girl smiled back. It was a quick closed mouth smile but to Corey it seemed to last for minutes. Her mouth lengthened and the corners lifted, plumping her cheeks and softening the hard set of her face. “Yeah,” Corey agreed, “she sure is.”
As Corey watched, Becky appeared on Angela’s right side, walking around her. Becky blatantly bumped into Angela, giving her a shove with her left elbow and saying something. Corey could see a look of mean arrogance on Becky’s face that quickly turned into an expression of surprise as Angela shot out her right hand against Becky’s left shoulder. Becky cried out as she tumbled over Stacy LeBlanc’s now vacant desk. Becky’s books and purse flew from her as she flailed her arms, trying to break her fall. She crashed into Angela’s desk behind Stacy’s then bumped against the hard floor. Mrs. Theriot jumped at the sounds of Becky’s cry and the desks falling over.
“Check it out!” Corey slapped Matt on the shoulder, pointing back into the classroom. Matt turned his head and a grin broke across his face. “What happened?” Matt asked.
“Becky shoved Angela then Angela pushed her over the desks,” Corey told him, his eyes still on Angela. “Dude, she didn’t even turn around, she just pushed Becky down like she was nothing.”
A small group of students had been watching as Becky fell to the floor then dispersed when it was apparent there wasn’t going to be any further action. Mitzi Richoux, one of Becky’s friends, stooped to help Becky. She pulled Becky up and helped her gather her things off the floor.
Mrs. Theriot stepped towards Becky. “Becky, are you ok?” The teacher held out her hand to Becky but the girl stood up with Mitzi’s help. Becky took her purse and books from Mitzi and straightened her clothes. She looked up at Angela who was glaring down at her.
“I’m ok, Miss Theriot,” Becky answered, nodding up at Angela. “She just…,” but Becky stopped mid-sentence. Angela’s face had gone dark, her green eyes malevolent. Becky Borne, bitch extraordinaire, cowered and felt her nerve wither beneath Angela Talbot’s gaze.
Mrs. Theriot looked questioningly from Becky to Angela. “She just what, Becky?” Mrs. Theriot asked.
Becky swallowed, held by Angela’s stare, then turned to face the teacher. “She just was in my way and when I tried to move past her, I fell over the desk.” She walked away from Angela and Mrs. Theriot, red-faced and simmering. Mitzi followed Becky out of the classroom like the good little toadie she was.
Matt’s grin split his face from cheek to cheek as Becky pushed past him and Corey. The two boys walked into the hallway and parted ways as they headed to their second class of the day, Matt to physical science with Mr. Navarre and Corey to civics with Mrs. Thomassie. After Corey had taken his seat in civics class, a grin wider than Matt’s split his own face when he saw Angela walk into the classroom and hand Mrs. Thomassie the same slip of paper she had handed Mrs. Theriot. Corey sat in the second seat on the row nearest the door because Mrs. Thomassie preferred her students to sit in alphabetical order by last name.
Her last name is Talbot, Corey thought. She’ll be sitting behind me.
Mrs. Thomassie gestured to Corey’s row, pointing behind Corey. As Angela approached, Corey smiled and said boldly, “Hey, Angela.” She looked at Corey with a little bit of surprise then smirked. “Nice jacket,” she responded to him, and walked to her seat behind him. He grinned and Corey discovered throughout the day that she shared two other classes with him, but for now he was satisfied with being, as far as he knew, the first student at LCO Junior High that had spoken to Angela Talbot.
A week after she arrived at LCO, Angela Talbot spoke to Jeff Naquin.
Jeff Naquin had failed the ninth grade the year before, and had to repeat the grade at LCO. He had been held back in the first grade because his teacher and parents believed he would have a tough time with the schoolwork in second grade. As the years passed, it became obvious that Jeff was both lazy and stupid. He would become frustrated with his schoolwork because he couldn’t understand it, and his frustration was expressed in anger. Confrontations with teachers and fights with students were common for Jeff, and he developed into a bully. When he reached junior high, he was just under six feet tall and outweighed most of the boys by thirty or forty pounds. Coach Vincent Johns would have loved a monster like Jeff on the football team but Jeff had neither the discipline nor the desire to play any sport. Jeff Naquin’s goal was to reach the age where he could drop out of school and, in the meantime, he enjoyed himself by causing as much trouble as he could.
Jeff was in Corey and Angela’s English class that was taught by Mrs. Annette Eymard. Angela had been assigned a desk in front of Harry Chouest, one of Jeff’s followers. That Tuesday afternoon, before Mrs. Eymard entered the classroom, Jeff ordered Harry out of his desk and Jeff sat in Harry’s place. Angela was already sitting in her desk and was leaning back, her long hair hanging down behind her.
“That’s some pretty hair you got there,” Jeff murmured, and reached out and took a lock of her hair in his fingers, twirling it. Angela stood up and turned around in a flash. She reached out and grabbed Jeff by his shirt, pulling him up out of Harry’s desk. Jeff, surprised by her reaction and quickness, stared at her in shock. Angela released her right hand from his shirt, still holding him with the left, and cocked her right arm back, the hand balled into a fist. A wet crack sounded as Angela’s fist smashed into Jeff’s left cheek, driving him onto the floor and out of the grip of her left hand.
Corey looked around when he heard the commotion of the crack and of Jeff collapsing to the floor. Jeff’s large body was lying on the floor, writhing slowly, and a couple of desks had slid aside.
“Don’t ever touch me again,” Angela growled as she stood above Jeff, the boy’s hands covering his face. She seemed to regard him for a moment or two, or maybe she was making sure Jeff wouldn’t get up and attack her, but there was no chance of that. Angela had almost knocked out Jeff Naquin, and every student in Mrs. Eymard’s English class that day learned not to touch Angela Talbot.
Jeff got back to his feet and stumbled to his own desk near the windows. He laid his head on the desk and stayed that way for the entire class. When Mrs. Eymard returned to class, there was no sign of a fight, if it could be called that. If Mrs. Eymard noticed Jeff sleeping or passed out at his desk, she ignored it and gave a lesson on Beowulf. She provided an overview of the first part of the story, where the monster Grendel terrorizes and murders men and then meets the hero Beowulf who slays the monster.
When the class ended and they walked to the cafeteria for lunch, low conversations about Angela and Jeff broke out amongst Mrs. Eymard’s students. Jeff was in a particularly sour mood and threatened three boys during the time it took to leave class and march to the cafeteria. Jeff and Harry sat together at a lunch table as they normally did and spoke low together, but not once did Jeff look at Angela.
Things had changed for Angela. She sat towards the end of the table, a buffer zone of three chairs between her and the nearest student. She was new and unknown, but now a little more was known about her. They knew she was dangerous, a girl who put down LCO’s biggest bully. Had she deposed Jeff and become the new bully? Was she a heroine for conquering LCO’s version of Grendel? In the days following her vanquishing of Jeff, opinion was split into three camps. Girls saw Angela as either a manly dyke or a role model. Boys saw her as either a manly dyke or a sexy Amazon. No one, though, seemed willing to become friends with her. No one wanted to make the first move and risk being destroyed. And, for all her aggression, Angela was shy when it came to socializing. This was why Angela spent her first month at LCO ostracized, friendless, and miserable.
Nine weeks tests were approaching and there were some students in Mrs. Theriot’s algebra class that were getting nervous. Corey wasn’t too concerned because algebra was his best subject…well, second best to agriculture. Matt wasn’t concerned because he didn’t care much about his grades. Why worry about making an A if a D got you to the same place? He was more interested in basketball and played on LCO’s boys’ team.
Angela was a typical student as far as her involvement in class. She didn’t voluntarily answer questions, but answered them as best she could when called upon. Corey hadn’t seen her talking to anyone in class, not even when Mrs. Theriot had stepped out and the class took their opportunity to chat and gossip. During these free speech times, Angela would sit in her desk and look at her book. Whether she was reading or just staring, Corey couldn’t tell.
In the other three classes he shared with Angela (civics, English, and physical science), her behavior was much the same as in algebra. He had picked up the habit of telling her “Hey, Angela” when she passed by his desk in civics, and she always had a short polite answer of “Hey” for him. The sound of that one word in her voice stayed with him for the rest of the day.
Mrs. Theriot announced that they would be reviewing for their nine weeks test. The class was fairly quiet as they worked on the worksheets Mrs. Theriot handed out. A few students asked her for help, but most were silent, either scribbling madly or staring hopelessly. Corey was one of the mad scribblers, easily working through the problems on the worksheet. He finished with fifteen minutes left before the bell rang for second period. Standing up, he walked to Mrs. Theriot’s desk and placed his worksheet on it. He sat down in his desk again and spent the next fifteen minutes with his head down on his desk, snoozing lightly until the bell rang.
When the bell did ring, Corey grabbed his textbook and notebook and left the room. Matt caught up with him at his locker.
“You know I’m gonna bomb this test, right?” Matt asked Corey.
“Yeah, I know,” Corey laughed. “But you don’t really care, do you?”
Matt shrugged. “Nope.”
Corey was about to laugh again when his mouth froze open.
“Uh, Corey?” Angela was standing behind Matt and had just spoken to Corey.
Matt turned his head to see the tall girl behind him, turned his head back to face Corey, and opened his eyes wide, his mouth open in a mock silent scream.
“I’ll see you later, dude,” Matt told Corey and walked away towards his next class.
Corey looked at Angela. She had the sides of her hair pulled back as usual and she was clutching her notebook and textbook to her chest. That stance struck Corey as a protective position and she seemed wary. She was wearing jeans with a black t-shirt tucked into the jeans, and a blue and white plaid flannel shirt worn unbuttoned over the t-shirt. Corey could see writing on the t-shirt but couldn’t make out what it was.
“Hey, Angela,” Corey said nervously. “What’s up?”
“I heard you and Matt talking about the algebra test,” Angela said.
Corey nodded. “Oh, yeah. He doesn’t care much about it.”
She took a step closer as more students began traveling the hall. Corey had to move his eyes up a little more to look into her face.
“You seemed to have gotten through the worksheet pretty quick,” she said, sounding accusatory.
He shrugged and tilted his head to one side. “Algebra comes pretty easy to me. I guess I’m a math person.” He smiled weakly.
She flashed a small smile and the foreboding face was gone, replaced by a warm friendly one. Angela seemed to take notice of the students hurrying past and said, “We’d better get to civics.”
“Yeah” was all he could reply as he closed his locker. When he turned back around, she was still standing there, waiting. “Let’s go,” she told him, and she began to walk and he hurried to move in step beside her. What did she want?
Angela stood four inches taller than Corey, and he was one of the taller boys in the ninth grade. Her arms had moved from her chest and she now carried her books in her left hand, hanging at her side.
“I need to stop at my locker right here,” she told him and he moved out her way so she could put her books in her locker and fetch the ones she needed for civics. As she stood at the locker, facing away from him, Corey looked at her long hair streaming down her back and his gaze took him down to the back of her long legs. His mouth was watering.
Her locker clanged shut and she turned around, making him swallow the spit in his mouth. She walked away and he followed after her, falling into step beside her again.
“My other school wasn’t as far along as y’all are in algebra,” Angela began. “I’m having some trouble keeping up.” She didn’t look at him, but he was looking up at her. She was blushing.
“Have you talked to Mrs. Theriot?” he asked. “I’m sure she’d help.”
Angela shook her head, a stubborn look on her face. “I don’t want any special treatment.”
Corey smiled. She was proud. Another thing to like about her.
“Well,” he told her timidly, “I guess I could help you. If you’re ok with that.”
She turned her head and looked down at him. Corey had made a mistake. She had just told him that she didn’t want any special treatment, and he had blundered ahead and offered to help her. When she smiled at him, he was so relieved that he felt his shoulders relax and droop.
“That’s really cool of you, Corey,” Angela said. “Thanks.”
The bell rang announcing the beginning of second period and they walked into Mrs. Thomassie’s classroom. Angela walked in first and Corey followed, a huge smile on his face. When he sat in his desk with Angela behind him, he couldn’t have been any happier. She had spoken to him, asked him for help, and…the topper…had called him cool. Mrs. Thomassie walked in, closed the door, looked at Corey’s smiling face, and smiled back at him.
Corey felt a tap on his shoulder and turned his head to his left, looking back over his shoulder. Angela’s hand was holding a piece of paper near his face.
“Call me,” she said, and Corey took the paper from her, seeing numbers written on it. His heart jumped. She had given him her telephone number. He nodded and her hand slid away.
He had been wrong. He could be happier, and now he was, as Mrs. Thomassie paced the front of the classroom. Corey didn’t hear a word of Mrs. Thomassie’s lesson that day, lost in daydreams of Angela and being cool.
Matt was almost as excited as Corey about Angela wanting Corey to tutor her in algebra. Matt was a member of the Angela the Sexy Amazon camp, and he was full of suggestions for Corey on how to make out with her.
After listening to a couple of Matt’s schemes, Corey told him, “Are you crazy? If I try that on her, she’ll beat the crap out of me!”
Matt said it might be worth it.
“What’s going on, y’all?” a happy voice called out to the two boys. Both of them turned and smiled at the approaching figure of Blake St. Pierre. Blake was shorter than Corey and Matt but had the same general slim build as Matt. He wore his dirty blonde hair in a mullet, short in the front and sides but long in the back.
“Corey got Angela Talbot’s phone number,” Matt announced. Corey looked at Matt in annoyance, but was curious as to what Blake’s reaction would be. Corey had known Blake since last year in the eighth grade, when Corey had left Holy Rosary and began public school at LCO.
“How’d you do that?” Blake asked Corey, walking to the bus area with the boys.
“She asked me to help her with algebra,” Corey explained. “Well, I offered, really. Then, she handed me her number in class.”
“Wicked,” Blake nodded. “You gonna call her?”
“Well, yeah, I’m gonna call her,” Corey looked at Blake. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Blake shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said slowly, smiling over at Matt. “Remember when Michelle Guidry asked you to call her?”
Matt chuckled as he pushed the metal double doors open and the three boys walked out the hall and onto the concrete sidewalk that led to the bus area.
Corey snorted, his lips curling into a sneer. “She was messing with me. After she told me that, her and her friends were giggling like crazy.”
He turned to Blake, pointing at his chest. “And she never gave me her number.”
Matt gave Corey a dull look. “She lives three houses away from you, dude. You could have looked up her number in the phone book.”
Ignoring Matt’s comment, Corey looked for bus number 22 among the yellow and black school buses lined up along the covered sidewalk. Corey hadn’t called Michelle because he believed she was teasing him, and because he was timid. Thinking about that now, he wondered the same thing Blake had wondered. Would he have the guts to call Angela?
798-5683. Corey had the number memorized by the time he got home that afternoon. He held on to the scrap of paper Angela had given him, though. He might forget the number and he didn’t want to tell her he had lost it and have to ask for her number. Plus, she had written it to him. The scrap of paper was folded neatly and stashed in a pocket of his blue eel-skin wallet.
When do I call? he thought. Will it seem too desperate if I call today?
Corey heard the bus rumbling towards Larose in the background as he walked down the driveway to his home. Corey’s home was a two-story red brick house on a concrete foundation with a high peaked black shingle roof. The lot the house sat on stretched from LA 1 to the Forty Arpent Canal, and the back three quarters of the lot was forested. The house was situated about fifty yards from the highway and a concrete driveway snaked from the road to a two-car garage on the backside of the house. A single live oak dominated the well-manicured front lawn and a wooden bench swing hung by two chains that were wrapped around one of the oak’s massive branches.
The house was a large square with a smaller rectangle jutting from the up-the-bayou side, sitting atop a grassy mound that lifted it above the surrounding land and drained water away from the house. Two red brick chimneys pierced the roof that was edged in black gutters.
Sharing the back side of the house with the garage was a screen porch floored in red brick and surrounded on two sides by low brick walls and large screened windows separated by brick columns. A large fireplace stood against the left hand wall, and the Robichauxs used it to barbecue or to keep them warm during the winter while relaxing on the porch. There was an in-ground swimming pool installed on the screen porch, and the fireplace made it possible to sometimes swim here year round.
Following the driveway into the garage, Corey entered the house through the garage door leading to the kitchen, as usual. He looked at the phone on the wall behind the door.
Will she be expecting me to call today? Corey wondered. Nine weeks tests were next week and Corey wasn’t sure how much help Angela would need. He went upstairs and dropped his school books on the desk in his bedroom. Taking off his FFA jacket, he hung it between his jackets and long sleeved shirts in his closet so that it faced to the right on the hanger, just like his other jackets, coats, and shirts hanging in the closet. Beginning from the left on the galvanized steel bar mounted in his closet, there were coats, jackets, long sleeved shirts, short sleeved shirts, slacks, and finally jeans all the way to the right. The hanging pants were folded in half and draped on the hanger with their tops hanging to the right. On the floor of the closet were two silver metallic shoe racks. The rack to the left held dress shoes and boots. The rack to the right held his sneakers. He closed the white louvered accordion folding doors of the closet and lay down on his bed.
Tomorrow was Friday so there weren’t many days they could study. He had to call her today so that they had time to plan a meeting. The weekends might not be good for her to study, so tomorrow might be the only chance. Getting out of bed, Corey headed downstairs and went to the kitchen. He grabbed the telephone receiver, heard the dial tone, took a deep breath, and punched in Angela’s number. Turning around, he leaned against the kitchen counter and listened to the buzzing ringing tone on the line, then a second one, and a third.
No one’s there, Corey realized, then, right before the fourth ring, he heard a click and the line cleared. A sweet feminine voice tentatively said, “Hello?”
It was her. It was Angela, even though the voice was much softer on the phone.
Corey smiled, “Angela? It’s Corey Robichaux, from school.”
“Hey, Corey,” Angela said, her voice gaining more roughness.
He waited but she didn’t say anything else so he went on. “I was calling because you gave me your number.” He closed his eyes, knowing how lame that statement was. Trying to regroup, he blurted, “You said you needed some help with algebra?” Making it a question left her with a responsibility to respond.
“Yeah,” she answered. “I do.” Not much for elaboration, was she?
The kitchen door swung open and the door knob crashed into Corey’s right elbow, making him cry out in pain and drop the telephone receiver, which smacked the tiled floor. Dirk walked in and looked behind the door with an inquisitive frown. Dirk was three years younger than Corey and attended Larose Middle School.
“What are you doing there?” Dirk asked.
Corey practically dove to the floor, scrambling to pick up the receiver, his elbow and upper arm throbbing from where the door knob had struck his funny bone. He moaned on his hands and knees, the sleek plastic receiver hidden between the open door and the cabinet.
“Move!” Corey shouted at Dirk as the older boy pushed the door away from the cabinet. The curly plastic wire that connected the receiver to the base of the telephone slapped Corey in the face a couple times before he could get his sweaty hands on the receiver.
“What’s wrong with you, dickweed?” Dirk shot at Corey.
He had to use both hands to lift the receiver. Corey then brought the receiver up to his left ear with his left hand, his right upper arm still pulsing. “Hello?” he said. Nothing.
“Angela?” Corey asked into the phone. “You still there?”
“Angela?” Dirk asked humorously. “You’re talking to a girl?”
“Get out of here!” Corey roared at Dirk and kicked him in the butt with the side of his right foot. Dirk left the kitchen, laughing as he went upstairs.
“Angela?” Corey asked again, but he knew she wasn’t on the line anymore.
“I’m here,” her voice answered. “What happened? Are you ok?”
Corey sighed in relief.
“It’s nothing,” he told her. “Just my little brother coming in from school.”
“Oh, ok,” she said, sounding a bit hesitant. “You two don’t get along?”
Corey had stood up and was leaning against the counter again, stretching his right arm out to close the kitchen door.
“Typical pain-in-the-butt little brother,” he replied. “We get along fine when he minds his own business.”
“Dickweed, huh?” she asked.
Corey froze, his eyes widening, and he felt the sweat pool in his armpits. He tried to swallow but couldn’t. He had no idea what to say but his face felt as if it would explode from the building heat. Dirk, you are SO dead, he thought.
He heard Angela laugh, not a mocking laugh, but more like a soft chuckle. “I haven’t heard that one before. I’ll have to remember it.”
A weak laugh leaked from his mouth and he was able to swallow now. “Yeah, Dirk’s a real genius,” he was finally able to mutter.
“When do you want to get together to study?” she asked.
“Well,” Corey said, thinking out loud, glad she had changed the subject, “nine weeks tests are next week so we don’t have a lot of time. Pretty much just Friday.”
“You’re busy on the weekend?” Angela asked.
“No, I don’t have any plans, really,” Corey replied, a little surprised. “Just have a little yard work to do.” Although most of the mowing and other outdoor maintenance work was done by employees of his dad’s business, there were some tasks that were Corey’s responsibility. This weekend, his dad wanted him to gather fallen branches and leaves and burn them.
“Well, Friday afternoon is good for me,” she offered. “And the weekend if you have time.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I’ll have time on the weekend, too. The yard work won’t take that long.”
“Cool,” she told him. “Where do you want to study?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Your place or my place is fine with me.”
“How about your place then?” she offered. “If that’s ok.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s cool,” he answered. “Can your mom or dad bring you over tomorrow?”
“My mom works,” she told him, then a slight pause, “and my dad’s dead.”
Corey closed his eyes, shook his head, and moaned to himself. I AM a dickweed, he thought. Not knowing how to apologize for that question, he stumbled on.
“I could ask one of my parents to pick you up at your place,” he suggested. “Then they could bring you home when we were finished.”
A couple silent moments then Angela said, “Why don’t I ride the bus to your house tomorrow afternoon? My mom could pick me up after work. Is that ok?”
Ride the bus home with him? Hell, yeah, that was ok.
“Sure, that’s cool,” he agreed.
“I’ll ask my mom to make sure it’s ok and you can ask your parents,” she went on. “I’ll call you back tonight after I talk to my mom.”
“Ok,” Corey said. “Talk to you then. Bye.”
Before he could hang up the phone, he heard her say a bit loudly, “Corey! Wait!” He brought the receiver back to his ear.
“What?” Corey asked.
“I can’t call you back if I don’t know your number,” Angela explained.
Good God, I’m an idiot, he thought, closing his eyes again. “Sorry,” he apologized. “My number is 693-2667.” He waited, making sure she got it right.
“Got it,” she said. “I’ll call you later.”
“Ok,” Corey responded. “Bye.”
“Bye,” she answered, and Corey waited to hear her hang up before he placed the receiver back on the base. She was coming to his house. Not only that, but she was taking the bus home with him. He smiled, thinking what Matt’s reaction would be. Looking at the digital clock on the microwave, Corey saw that it was 4:03 PM. His parents wouldn’t be home until closer to 5:30.
Man, almost an hour and a half, Corey thought impatiently. Oh well, there’s something to take care of. He stalked out the kitchen and climbed the stairs, calling out, “Dirk! I’m coming for you, you little shit!”
Chapter 3 -- Dinner Disturbed
Jets of water cascaded down the long narrow single-paned window. Turning back and forth in short quick arcs in his tall-backed navy blue leather chair, Barry Robichaux watched the water slide down the window, his left index finger against his upper lip while his left elbow was propped on the arm of the chair. He wasn’t really watching the window or the water, although his gaze was locked onto that vertical slot of sunlight. Barry was in his mind, examining the latest problem that faced Blockade Consolidated from every vantage point he could.
Barry was president of Blockade Consolidated, a corporation that included four businesses. While each of the four businesses had their own general manager, they all answered to Barry ultimately. The current general managers were capable men, and Barry didn’t concern himself with the day-to-day management of any one single company. His responsibility was to make sure that the businesses could all operate properly and safely. Barry’s interest in smooth operations went further than professional pride; it was a matter of family. The businesses of Blockade were inherited by Barry from his father, except for Lafourche Publishing, which was inherited from his father-in-law.
As Barry turned the problem over and over with his mind’s tentacles, he could only see one resolution. Not liking what he saw, he continued to twist it like a Rubik’s Cube but knew, as with the Rubik’s Cube, there was only one possible outcome. A knock on his office door made him slip back into his office, leaving the problem solved on the floor of his mind, all six sides of the cube displaying its own unique color.
“Come in, Marie,” he answered the knock.
The thick dark brown wooden door, which had eight depressed panels carved into both sides, opened and Marie Comeaux walked into the office. She left the door open and walked to stand in front of Barry’s desk. Barry looked at the woman who stood 5’2” tall, not having to incline his head to look into her face. Her dyed blonde hair was worn in a bun at the top of her head, with some wisps of yellow floating around her neck and ears. Marie’s neck was plump and she had a couple of chins beneath a face that was average-looking. Makeup gave her skin a lovely color and helped to decorate her brown eyes. Two large golden hoop earrings dangled from her earlobes and her lips were colored maroon today. Below Marie’s neck was a body that matched her neck’s plumpness, although her wardrobe always did as much as it could to mask her size. She rarely wore pants, skirts and dresses making up the majority of her work attire.