Page 45 of The Debutantes
“Sorry,” the girl calls again. “Almost done.”
She looks back at us, but before she can tell us again to get lost, Vivian asks, “Was Lily here? Lily LeBlanc.”
The girl frowns. “I don’t think I know the name, sorry.” Then something flickers on her face. “Wait, there was another girl who came around here a couple weeks ago, asking about Margot. She was young, too. Blond, blue-eyed, real tiny?”
“That’s her,” Vivian says, even though she doesn’t need to. I can feel us all holding our breath.
Lily was here, too. She was here because of Margot.
I have so many more questions, but this girl has made an impeccable point: we need to get the hell out of here.
As if to remind us, the knob starts to rattle, someone twisting from the outside.
“Not to cut this lovely chat short,” I say. “But can we circle back to the whole getting-out-of-here thing?”
The girl’s eyes dart to the lone bathroom window. Quickly, she pushes the thick curtains aside and then curls her fingers under the bottom, pulling. With a scraping sound, the window opens. She sticks her head out and then turns back to us.
“How do y’all feel about balcony-hopping?”
“I’m sorry,what?” I crane my head to look outside. There’s a small balcony, clearly not well used: the painted wooden floor is chipped, the railing rusty. Directly to the right is another balcony, part of the next building over. They’re pressed together in that classic French Quarter style, almost close enough to…
“No,” I say. “Negative. Absolutely not.”
“Do we have any other options right now?” Vivian asks.
“Better than falling to ourdeath?”
Another bang on the door.
“Just a second!” the girl calls, giving us atime is of the essencelook.
“We’re only on the second story, right?” Vivian whispers, but she doesn’t sound too convinced.
The girl nods. “I’ve done it before. It’s not that bad.”
I take another look outside. The balconiesarebasically touching, the railings low enough that we could swing a foot from one to the other, but I don’t like it. I’m about to argue again, but Vivian is already pushing past me and crawling out onto the balcony. She bunches up her dress and slides one foot over the railing, testing her weight and then pushing herself up. For a moment, my heart is in my throat, and I’m convinced I’m about to watch her fall to her death. But then she leaps over to the other balcony.
“See?” Vivian says. “Not dead.”
“Good.” Behind me, the girl exhales, relieved. “Because I’ve never actually done that before.”
I turn to gape at her, but April’s already climbing out onto the balcony. She hauls herself over the first railing safely, and I know I have no other choice.
I swallow my fear and put on my best Johnson face, chin up, as I maneuver through the window. Once I’m out, I turn back to the girl.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Anytime.” She reaches to close the window behind me. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t come back.”
She slides it shut. I risk a glance down, and my stomach lurches. We’re only two stories up, but the asphalt looks impossibly hard and far away.
“Hello?” Vivian waves. “Any day now.”
April’s already on the other balcony, too, but I’m suddenly frozen.
Vivian crosses her arms. “Piper, you got into a school thataccepts less than ten percent of people who apply. I’m pretty sure the chances of you falling are, like, a fraction of that.”
I swallow, trying not to look at the ground below. “It’s five point six percent.”
