“And that’s from someone who doesn’t even eat it right,” says Derek, picking up one of the bright red creepers, twisting it, and—oh God, is he sucking something right out of the shell?

“Drinking the juice is so gross.” Brea wrinkles her nose. “Keisha eats it the normal way.”

“The juice is the best part!” Jasmine protests, and it’s dizzying watching them all attack the pile with different methods. There’s twisting and pulling and cracking and drinking and biting and loud savoring, but I can’t follow any of it; I help myself to the clams instead.

Clearly, I’m not very subtle. “Are you not even gonna try them?” Jasmine asks, eyeing my plate as if it’s got nothing but plain white rice on it.

“I’m good,” I say. I’m not about to admit that I don’t know how to eat them.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of them like your mom.”

“Hey, leave my mom out of this.” I wave a hand dismissively. “The clams and sausage are delicious.”

Brea sighs. “Sugar, you’re from New York. There’s no crime in being a Yankee who doesn’t know how to eat crawfish. Just admit it.”

My face flames, but the others smirk and eat another one each, building the pile of shells in the bowl in front of us.

Jasmine laughs. “Come on, I’ll show you. Pick one up.”

I watch her fingers as she carefully pries the shell from the fish, mint polish catching the sunlight. I grab one and try to replicate her movements, but I end up squishing it in my hands and shrieking in surprise.

Everyone else cracks up, but Jasmine grins and says, “Okay, let’s at least make sure you get to taste it.” She tips the shell holding the juice into my mouth, and I’m determined not to be grossed out. It actually is good, in fact, especially followed by the fish itself, which she frees and holds for me to eat from her fingertips.

“Fine, that’s good,” I concede, “but I’m clearly not up to cracking them open myself.”

“I’ve got you covered.” Jasmine opens another and feeds it to me the same way, and we laugh as I manage to spill on myself. After a while, we get into a messy rhythm, and I can’t even count how many the five of us eat as the sun sinks below the horizon.