Page 6 of The Debutantes
“Well,” Lily’s mom starts. “Maybe we should—”
“Oh!” I blurt. “Um, I just remembered I have Lily’s keys. I’ll go catch up with her.”
It’s a lie, but I don’t wait for anyone to stop me. From the look on her face, Sav knows what I’m really doing. As close as the three of us are now, Sav didn’t start at Beaumont until middle school. I’m the one who’s known Lily since we were in kindergarten, dreaming of the day we’d be tall enough to use the monkey bars on the playground. And whenever Lily has a secret, I’m the one who can pull it out of her.
Outside, it’s colder than it was when the ball started. Atleast, what passes for cold in New Orleans at the tail end of December, which is maybe fifty degrees.
Lily’s about halfway down the path that leads to the front entrance of the country club, under a bending oak tree. Her phone lights up her face, and her gloves are off and balled up in the crook of her elbow.
“Lily.”
Her head snaps up, scared, but then her shoulders loosen. “What’s up, Viv?”
At the sound of my nickname, I relax, too. I walk toward her, my ugly white heels pinching at my blistered feet.
“Ugh.” I stop, wincing. “Please tell me why I thought it was a good idea to run four miles this morning and then wear heels?”
Lily smirks. “Because you’re in love with Coach and you want to be his favorite player of all time.”
I laugh, even though the joke felt more like a dig. Too accurate. Not that I’m in love with Coach. He’s notunattractive, I guess, but also, ew? He’s, like, twenty-five. Still, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t his voice in my head when I went on my run earlier, that I wasn’t thinking he’d be proud. I want to be pissed, but then Lily grins, and I can’t do anything but let it go.
“Okay, first of all, his favorite player would beyou,” I tell her. “And you’re totally changing the subject.”
“Which is?”
I sweep an arm at the building behind us. “What the hell?”
She’s silent. I cross my arms and stare her down. Literally. I have about eight inches on her, so it’s not hard.
“Who threw the fake blood at you?”
Her hand reaches up to her collarbone. “I don’t know.”
“You’re touching your necklace.”
She drops her hand. “So?”
“I’ve played, like, a hundred games of BS with you. I know when you’re lying.”
Her mouth opens, about to argue, but then her phone lights up. A text from an unsaved number. Before I can read it, I feel Lily staring. Her face is cool, almost unreadable, but it’s obvious she caught me looking at her screen. I look away, guilty.
“Wyatt just texted,” Lily says. “He got the car. I should go meet him.”
“Okay.”
We’re quiet for a second, ignoring the truth, which is that we both know the text Lily just got wasn’t from Wyatt. I’m supposed to be the person Lily tells everything to, and for some reason, we’re both going along with this obvious lie.
Lily gathers up her skirt.
“I saw the guy leaving the room after everything happened,” I tell her. “One of the Jesters. He had a bucket.”
Lily sighs, and I can see the exhaustion on her face. I couldn’t tell on the stage, but up close, dark circles shine through her under-eye concealer. It makes me uneasy all over again. Lily never looks anything but put together. It’s her weird superpower, even in 8A.M.physics.
“It was probably one of the Dukes being dumb.” She shrugs. “Jason or someone. He seemed kind of wasted when y’all were up there.”
“Oh, believe me, I know. He went way too hard at the pregame.” I roll my eyes at the memory of him stumbling as we looped around the stage. “But I don’t think he did this.”
I can’t explain how, but I know, and I can’t deny the panic spilling through my veins like a tequila shot: Lily knows whodid this to her, or has a guess, and for some reason, she’s lying about it.
