Page 1 of The Debutantes
LILY
DECEMBER 30, 12:00 A.M.
Growing up in New Orleans, the first thing you have to learn is that we’re all going to be underwater one day. Not just flooded, like we’ve been plenty of times before. I’m talkingunderwater,gone, like the map of America from one of those dystopian books I used to devour before I realized it was embarrassing. And people choose to live here anyway. Which shouldn’t surprise me, because the second thing you have to learn is that if the hurricanes don’t get to us first, there’s plenty of other things that will.
I clutch my keys tightly, the sharp ends poking out from between my knuckles like claws. It’s one of the things Mom taught me to do to protect myself, like never walking with my AirPods in at night, never making eye contact with men on the street. This is what we have to do to stay safe, she says, because this city isn’t safe, not even our wealthy street in its tunnel of oak trees. Life isn’t safe, so it’s on us. We have to protect ourselves.
I know that now. More than ever.
The wind picks up, cutting through my hoodie. It’s cold.Colder than it should be in Louisiana in December, made worse by the humidity. That’s what happens, I guess, when you build a city on the edge of a river that wants to swallow it up. I bury my hands in my sleeves, pressing them to my face for warmth. Even though I changed out of the ball gown a few hours ago, I can still feel the ghost of it on my skin, a red rash already formed from the tight corset.
My phone lights up with a message.
Where are you?
I let my fingers hover over the keyboard before changing my mind.
The Den rises in front of me behind its tall iron gate. It’s just off the highway, in one of those run-down neighborhoods that makes my parents double-check the car locks when we drive through. Which is funny, considering what’s inside: the Krewe of Deus home base, where the parade floats are built, gilded, and stored until they make their magnificent ride on Mardi Gras Day. Nothing inside is all that valuable—plastic beads and doubloons, wooden floats with papier-mâché decorations—but it’s not about the things. It’s what they represent. New Orleans royalty, locked behind a four-digit passcode.
I check over my shoulder out of habit, like Dad always does when he brings me here to visit. The coast is clear, nothing but the dark road disappearing into the night. I punch in the code and step through the gate, quickly walking up to the warehouse door.
Cracked open. Someone else already inside.
My heart starts to pound now, even though I’m technically supposed to be safe here, protected from the dangers outside.But that’s the thing I’ve learned about iron gates: they lock the danger in just as often as they keep it out.
The warehouse is cold and dark, casting the floats and their creatures in shadow. Jesters and kings, monsters, a whole kingdom made of paper and gold leaf. It isn’t real, any of it—and still, in this light, it’s terrifying.
It hits me how alone I am, how bad an idea this is. I squeeze my keys tighter. Suddenly, they seem like a ridiculous way to protect myself, no better than one of the wooden feathered spears they throw in the parades. What damage can I really do here, all by myself?
Enough, I think. And that has to be worth something.
I breathe out and send one last text.
Here
LES MASQUES CELEBRATES 60TH ANNUAL BALL
Society & Culture|Published Friday, December 29
Time to dust off your white gloves, ladies—the Les Masques Ball will proceed most merrily this evening at the Uptown Country Club. In grand Carnival tradition, the 60th Annual Ball will honor ten Maids and this year’s Queen, Lily LeBlanc, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. George LeBlanc II.
A senior at Edward T. Beaumont School, Ms. LeBlanc is no stranger to the Les Masques tradition: her mother, Alice, reigned as Queen at the 30th Annual Ball, and her paternal grandfather, George LeBlanc Sr., is approaching the 10th anniversary of his rule as King of Deus in the annual parade.
For those fortunate enough to secure an invitation, the royal presentation will begin promptly at 8:00P.M., followed by dancing and merriment.
A longstanding tribute to the elegance, gaiety, and culture of New Orleans, this year’s Ball is particularly meaningful: tonight’s festivities are dedicated to the memory of last year’s Queen, Margot Landry.
Though some wondered whether the Ball would proceed in light of this tragic loss, Les Masques has decided to forge ahead. In the words of Ladies’ Krewe Liaison Genevieve Johnson (Maid, 30th Annual Ball): “Like the city we call home, the Krewe of Les Masques will always persevere in the face of tragedy.” And thankfully so—this year’s Ball boasts a crop of young women worth celebrating.
1APRIL
DECEMBER 29, 8:15P.M.
I’m one breath away from losing a zipper. It wouldn’t even have to be a deep one—just a normal-sized breath, which I can barely manage in this glorified torture device of a ball gown. With every inhale, the boning cuts into my skin like teeth, reminding me of two universal truths. One: debutantes aren’t supposed to indulge, including in oxygen. And two: I’m pretty sure these dresses are designed to keep us from running away.
“Uh.” Milford, my appointed escort, looks up from the phone he snuck into his suit pocket. “Are you gonna be sick or something?”
Heat rushes to my face as I realize I’m death-gripping my magnolia bouquet. Milford doesn’t look especially worried, only disturbed, but my face gets hotter as I start to worry that he thinks I’m blushing because I have a crush on him. I don’t—but does worrying about this anyway make me a narcissist or just socially anxious? Or both? Suddenly I’m layers deep in a nesting doll of anxiety, worrying about my worrying, and all I can do is force out “I’m fine.”
