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blocked off. See what other stuff they’ve got going on. Then we can head back, find the bar they’re in.”
    â€œSounds like a plan.”
    â€œI’m known for my plans.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œOh yeah. That’s what architects do. Draw up plans.”
    He gave me a smile that seemed to say I was part of those plans. Or maybe I was just reading things into his expression that I wanted to be there. Maybe he was really talking aboutblueprints. Although part of me was hoping for the more personal meaning. We were having a good time. And I suddenly wanted to have a good time. A really good time. Show Drew that I was finished moping about him. Have Jenna post a hundred of those pictures for him to see.
    Tank came out of the bar with a yellow frozen drink. “Banana,” he said, boldly offering it to Jenna.
    She took it without hesitating.
    We started walking up the street again.
    â€œMore?” Brady asked, holding the strawberry daiquiri toward me.
    â€œUh, no, but thanks.”
    I felt like a total downer, but my parents had let me come here because they trusted me not to get into trouble. Trust was a heavy burden, a double-edged sword. Too many clichés to name. But I didn’t want to do something the first night that would have me back home the second.
    Brady finished the daiquiri, crumpled up the plastic cup—why do guys always feel a need to crumple whatever they’ve been drinking outof?—and tossed it in a nearby trash can.
    â€œWe need to get you some beads,” he said.
    I was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about buying me any that were hanging in the windows of the many shops.
    Guys stood on balconies, dangling beads, and yelling at girls walking by. Whenever a girl lifted her top, a guy would toss her a strand or two. Unless he was totally wasted, in which case the beads landed on nearby trees or shrubbery. Beads were pretty much all over the place.
    â€œI’ve decided not to do everything the first night,” I said. “I want to leave something for later in the summer.”
    Brady chuckled, leaned near my ear, and whispered, “Chicken.”
    Okay, maybe I was. I’d never even lifted my shirt for Drew.
    â€œDon’t look so serious,” Brady said. “I’m just teasing.”
    â€œI guess I don’t know you well enough—”
    â€œTo share what’s underneath that tee?”
    â€œTo know when you’re teasing,” I corrected.
    â€œThere is that.”
    He released his hold on me, which I realized felt strange. Not to have him holding me. I almost felt bereft. But that didn’t make sense. I’d just met the guy.
    He moved so he was standing near a balcony. Waving his arms, he was yelling up at the people leaning over the railing. I’d seen only guys on the balconies, but this one had girls, too. Probably in college. When Brady got their attention, he laughed and pulled his T-shirt up and over his head, then he swung it around like a lasso.
    Someone bumped against me. I barely noticed.
    Brady was buff. Nothing at all like Drew.
    I’d tried to interest Drew in various charity runs. He’d always been willing to sponsor me if I was participating, which I’d thought was nice, but I had a feeling that Brady actually ran. And worked out, and engaged in outdoor activities. Based on the bronzed darkness of his back, I had a feeling he spent most of his time in the sun.
    I watched as dozens of beads droppedthrough the air. Brady snagged them. He was hamming it up, dancing around, strutting his stuff. The party girls were whistling, dropping more beads, inviting him up.
    Brady was being crazy, dancing around, having fun, not caring what anyone thought.
    I started laughing. He hadn’t struck me as being quite so uninhibited, but it was all in the spirit of New Orleans. I think everyone around him was having as much fun as he was.
    I was really, really glad that I was there,