Sweet Unrest Read Online Free Page A

together.
    “I’m here to rescue you for the day,” she told me, never breaking her smile, her eyes shining impishly with delight.
    “Rescue?”
    “It’s my day off, and I’m heading into the city. I thought maybe you’d want to come.”
    I looked up at my dad. Heading off to the city sounded wonderful. I’d never been to New Orleans, and after the night and morning I’d had, I wanted to get away from the plantation. But that wasn’t the deal—I expected to start working that day. Surely my dad would want me to start cataloging things with my new boss, and I had every intention of fulfilling his requests to the letter. It was my ticket home.
    That’s why it surprised me when he smiled and said, “Well, you girls have fun.” He kissed the top of my head and walked off.
    “Quick,” I told Chloe. “Get me out of here before he changes his mind.”
    She laughed, a musical sound that reminded me once again of her mother. We took off for her car, and I resisted the urge to look back.

Four
    Our drive into New Orleans was a study in contrasts. One minute, we were traveling through a landscape overgrown with tangled trees shading hidden bayous, and then suddenly we were crossing the wide breadth of the Mississippi with a modern city rising before us. From the interstate, New Orleans looked like any other moderate-sized city: big buildings loomed over the horizon and told the story of progress. As we drew closer, the worn-out houses peppering the view along the highway showed the effects of such progress on everyday lives.
    Once Chloe turned off the interstate, she drove into an area that looked vaguely European. It reminded me of some of the historic places my parents had taken me to for one family vacation after another, places like Charleston, Williamsburg, and Annapolis. The narrowness of the streets and alleys reminded me that this was an old city, not one built for cars and busses. The buildings seemed to tumble over one another, evidence of years and years of growth and development butting up against what was already there.
    I loved it instantly, in the same way I secretly loved the old towns I’ve been dragged to every summer. I always pretend to want to be at a beach or an amusement park, but the truth is those old places speak to me. They always have. I love the way I can walk down certain streets and leave the modern world behind. They’ve always felt like places where time has been standing still, waiting for me to catch up. New Orleans had that feeling, too.
    Chloe knew the French Quarter as well as I knew the Loop. She navigated easily through the twists and turns of the narrow streets, giving me the lay of the land as she pointed out important tourist spots. If she was at all irritated about having to play tour guide for the new girl, she didn’t show it. Instead, she seemed genuinely happy to have someone new to talk with, and I could tell in an instant she was one of those people that others gravitated to. You couldn’t help it. With her wide smile and easy demeanor, Chloe’s friendly nature was infectious. In the worn seat of her ancient blue Chevy, I found myself relaxing.
    Finally, we turned down Decatur Street, and she wedged her boat of a car into a small spot near the French Market. As we wandered down the crowded sidewalk, Chloe told me about growing up in the area and pointed out her favorite shops. She was chattering happily, when suddenly she squealed and took off running.
    I watched, unsure of what to do, as she flung herself at a tall, dark-skinned man, kissing him with more enthusiasm than was maybe entirely necessary in the middle of a crowded sidewalk.
    The man, who towered over her, immediately wrapped her in his arms and lifted her up, as easily as he might lift a child. His head was shaved smooth, and his right arm was tattooed down to his wrist in an intricate sleeve of primitive-looking designs. He looked like some sort of warrior clad in a lemon-yellow polo shirt. The two