Page 59 of The Debutantes
“You’re one of the Beaumont girls.”
“No,” I say, clinging to the possibility that if I walk fast enough, I might develop the power of teleportation.
I don’t know how she’s so quick in those boots, but in a matter of seconds, she’s at my side, her mouth turned down into a scowl.
“What are you doing here?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you stalking me?”
“No.”
“Do you use words with more than two syllables?”
“Y—” I clamp my mouth shut, face burning. “Occasionally.”
She laughs, surprisingly genuine. We’re stopped under the bead tree, and I hope that, by some miracle, the shade hides how red and sweaty I must look. I don’t think it does, though, because now that she’s really looking at me, it’s with something like concern, maybe even pity.
“What are you doing here?” she repeats.
It hits me again how close we must be in age. She’s too self-assured to be a freshman, I think, but if I had to bet, there’s no way she’s older than a sophomore.
“I need to talk to you,” I tell her.
“Well, you’re not doing a very good job.”
Her tone is flat, but the corner of her mouth twitches into a slight smile, and somehow, I find the courage to tell her my name.
“I’m April.”
She watches me like she’s not sure if she should trust me with hers.
“Renee,” she says finally. “Look, if you’re going to ask me about the other night—”
“You knew Margot.” I’m surprised by the ease with which my voice comes now—maybe because I’m desperate. Or maybe because Renee reminds me of her, with her sort-of-raspy voice and tired wisdom, like she’s already got the world all figured out and she’s sorry to be the one to tell you it sucks.
She chews her lip, not confirming. Waiting.
“You saw Lily, too,” I press. “Lily LeBlanc. The blond girl who was asking about Margot. She’s missing.”
Renee lets out a breath.
“I know,” she says. “I looked her up after y’all told me her name. Saw a news report.”
“Then you know how important this is. She could be in danger, and Margot—I think something might have happened to her. I know the reports all said she overdosed, but I think someone at the Pierrot—”
At the mention of it, Renee’s gaze darts over her shoulder, and I tense. I don’t want to put her at risk, but I have to know, and I’m worried I’ve already scared her off.
Her eyes meet mine. Bright green and probing.
“You were her friend?” she asks finally. “Margot’s?”
I nod.
Renee sighs.
“Come on,” she says.
