The Casquette Girls (Book 1)

1. On The Road

October 9th

The day had finally come.

Elation coursed through my head, my chest, my stomach—until the tips of my fingers tingled, as if the sensation were trying to escape the confines of my nervous system.

My father and I were finally on our way home.

Trying not to let the anticipation drive me crazy, I leaned back in the passenger seat and took deep breaths, inhaling the scents of worn black leather and bubble gum. The combination reminded me of sitting in the front seat as a child. I'd always been up for a ride in my father's prized possession because I knew there'd be a sugary pink stick waiting for me in the glove box.

The city wasn't exactly encouraging people to come home yet, but my father had always been a bit of a rebel. This fact, topped with endless nights of me begging and pleading, had finally made those four little words slip out of his mouth: "Okay, let's go home."

As soon as he caved, I fled the Parisian boarding school where my French mother had dumped me while my father and I were "displaced." She didn't tell me good-bye, and I never looked back.

I landed in Miami late last night, and we were on the road by six this morning. I didn't want to give my father the chance to renege.

Ten hours later, we were still purring down the interstate in his 1981 BMW.

But I didn't mind the long drive. In my sixteen years, I'd never been away from my father for that long. I'd never been away from New Orleans for that long either. It felt like years since the mandatory evacuation, but in reality it had only been two months—two months, two days, and nine hours since the Storm had touched ground.

The Storm was the largest hurricane in US history. Scientists were still debating whether it should even be considered a hurricane because it had smashed all previous classification parameters. They didn't even name it. Everyone simply referred to it as "the Storm." Economists were predicting it would end up being the greatest natural disaster in the Western world, and there were even rumors flying around that the federal government was considering constituting the area uninhabitable and not rebuilding the city. That idea was incomprehensible to me.

The media was all over the place about the devastation. We'd heard such conflicting stories there was really no telling what would be awaiting us (or not awaiting us) upon our arrival. Had our home been damaged, flooded, ransacked, robbed—or any combination of those things? Was it now just rotting away? I fiddled with the sun-shaped charm hanging from the silver necklace that nearly reached my waist, wrapping and unwrapping the thin chain around my fingers.

My phone buzzed.

Brooke 3:42 p.m. Are you close? Text me as soon as you get home. I want to know everything, ASAP! xoxo.

I quickly pecked,

Adele 3:43 p.m. I will! How's La-La land? <3

I didn't exactly have a laundry list of close friends, but Brooke Jones and I had been attached at the hip since the second grade. The Joneses had been stuck in Los Angeles since the evacuation, and Brooke was freaking out on a daily basis because her parents were adjusting to the West Coast lifestyle at an alarming rate. Even the thought that her parents might permanently relocate to California made me cringe.

"Waffle House?" my father asked as we sped past the Florida state line into Alabama. He proceeded down the exit ramp before I could respond.

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