“Cool room.” “Are you Via’s boyfriend?” Auggie asked mischievously, and his sister pulled his cap down over his face.
“What’s in your case?” I said. “A machine gun?” “Ha!” answered the boyfriend.
“That’s funny. No, it’s a, uh... fiddle.”
“Justin’s a fiddler,” said Via. “He’s in a zydeco band.”
“What the heck is a zydeco band?” said Auggie, looking at me.
“It’s a type of music,” said Justin. “Like Creole music.”
“What’s Creole?” I said.
“You should tell people that’s a machine gun,” said Auggie. “Nobody would ever mess with you.”
“Ha, I guess you’re right,” Justin said, nodding and tucking his hair behind his ears.
“Creole’s the kind of music they play in Louisiana,” he said to me. “Are you from Louisiana?” I asked.
“No, um,” he answered, pushing up his glasses. “I’m from Brooklyn.”
I don’t know why this made me want to laugh.
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