Confederates Don't Wear Couture Read Free

papers triumphantly. “The Paul Revere House, the Commonwealth Museum, the Gibson House Museum. All in Boston; all still accepting internship applications!”
    â€œIf you love something, let it go,” Dev whispered. “Let it go to Alabama.”
    â€œAlabama?” Garrett asked, his brow furrowing. He may have had terrible eyesight, but he had excellent hearing.
    â€œThe thing is—” I started to say.
    â€œThe thing is I’ve found an opportunity for Libby to follow her dreams,” Dev interrupted. “To follow them all the way to a Civil War reenactment. The Olympics of living history.”
    â€œDev wants me to sell ball gowns with him at Civil War reenactments. Down south,” I explained.
    â€œOh,” Garrett said, and I could see him deflate a little bit. “That sounds pretty cool. I mean, these Boston museums are good too . . . but they’re not living history. You’d probably have to help out in the gift shop or something . . .”
    â€œBut we could be together!” Obviously, I would much rather spend my summer wearing a hoop skirt in a Civil War camp than working in a gift shop, but I’d really been looking forward to being with Garrett all summer.I’d visited him a couple of times at Tufts, and he’d come out to St. Paul on one of his breaks and had another trip planned out here for prom, but it really wasn’t the same as being together for three whole months, all day, every day. But to live in Civil War reenactments for the summer . . . The hoop skirts were swishing and swirling in front of my eyes . . . and . . . and . . .
    â€œGarrett, let me speak to you, mano a mano,” Dev sniffed, and smooshed his head against mine. “I need her. For just a few itty-bitty months. And then I’ll deliver her safe and sound to the great state of Massachusetts, where you can spend the entire academic year, slash the rest of your lives, together.”
    I elbowed him in the ribs.
    â€œI think you should go,” Garrett said decisively, folding up the brochures. “This reenactment thing sounds like something you’d really love. Plus the costume opportunities will be way better.” He smiled, and I did too. “Besides, the Paul Revere House will be here next year.”
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    â€œSure,” he said softly. “I love you, Libby.”
    â€œI love you too,” I answered.
    â€œVOMIT!” Dev shrieked, and closed the laptop.
    â€œShhh!”
the WoW nerds in the corner chorused. Dev rolled his eyes yet again.
    â€œThat was rude! I didn’t get to say goodbye!”
    â€œIt’s good to keep ’em on their toes.” Dev shrugged. “We-ell?” he asked leadingly.
    â€œI’ll do it,” I said decisively. “I’ll do it.”
    â€œYee-haw!” Dev let out a bloodcurdling Rebel yell.
    â€œShhh!”
the WoW nerds exploded. Dev shot them his fiercest glare.
    â€œBut, um, a question,” I asked. “Why are we Confederates? We’re from Minnesota. That’s about as north as you can get. Not only geographically, but also historically Northern. As in fought for the Union. Minnesota became a state right before the war, in 1858, and sent troops to Bull Run, Gettysburg, Antietam . . . all the major battles. Besides, the South
lost.
Why would we want to be on the losing side? And we haven’t even addressed the fact that their ideology was inherently corrupt!”
    â€œDuh, better outfits,” he countered. “Yankee girls were plain, plain,
plain!
I want
giant
hoop skirts and ribbons and lace! And statistically, for whatever reason, Confederate reenactors spend more on their gear. Plus there are more of them. All that ‘Lost Cause’ business really makes you shell out, apparently. Buy back the glory of Dixie!”
    â€œOkay. But not to sound racist,” I started hesitantly.
    â€œLibs, we’re talking Confederacy.