Page 3 of The Debutantes
Lily LeBlanc glides forward in her white ball gown, and somehow, despite all this, the pageantry, the absurdity, the room holds a collective breath. She’s the picture of everything a Queen should be. Regal spine, sparkling crown balanced perfectly on her white-blond updo, two careful coils falling out toframe her heart-shaped face. Wyatt Johnson, Lily’s boyfriend and Piper’s twin brother, is escorting her, but he might as well be invisible, a golden shadow serving only to complement her glow. Everything about Lily sparkles, from her blue eyes and bright smile to her ridiculous scepter and heavy beaded cape.
But I know what the rest of them don’t: it’s a rhinestone glow, so convincing that you almost think it’s real. Real enough that you don’t know you’ve been fooled until it’s too late.
The trumpet croons, punctuated by jazzy drum hits, as Lily and Wyatt parade to the throne at the center of the stage. He holds her gloved hand in his as she ascends the dais, watching her like he can’t believe he gets the honor of helping her up three whole steps. When she makes it to the top, Lily gives Wyatt an adoring smile, and it’s like a premonition of the wedding they’ll no doubt have before Lily turns twenty-five—old-maid status, by Southern standards—only the weird funhouse version where she towers above him on her throne.
With a bow, Wyatt turns and goes offstage with the other guys, and Lily is alone to rule her kingdom. Just before she sits, she steps forward, eyes up, unafraid of tripping over her cape. Her focus seems soft, but then I realize she’s looking at her parents, sitting front and center. Lily’s mom smiles perfectly, looking every bit the mother of a Queen in purple satin. Her dad is proud, eyes glinting the same steel color as the Krewe of Deus medallion around his neck.
I wonder if they’re thinking what I’m thinking, the terrible thought that just drifted into my head like one of the piano’s glissandos: “La Vie en rose” is the song Margot entered to last year. They’ve used it for every Queen’s entrance since god knows when, but some part of me thought maybe they’d change it. Now it feels cursed.
But if it’s crossed Lily’s mind, she doesn’t show it. She lifts her scepter, and slowly, just like she rehearsed, she moves it over the crowd, one side to the other, like she’s casting a spell. One that seems to be working. Time stops, the room enraptured. Then, in the last few measures of the song, she takes her seat, and the spell breaks. The applause is deafening.
I can’t believe these assholes fell for it.
The clapping fades, and so does the music, as we all wait for the next part of the program. I try to hide my cringe at what I know is coming.
“And now,” Mrs. Johnson announces, “presenting the Les Masques Jesters!”
If this whole thing wasn’t already weird enough,thisis the cherry on top of the Southern-bullshit sundae. The Dukes stumble onstage like a nightmare, now disguised as “Jesters” in the literal horror show we’ve normalized as Mardi Gras costumes: sparkly medieval-style outfits, jingly hats, and worst of all, peach-colored masks with painted red lips, obscuring everything but their eyes, which peek through two holes in the plastic.
The band starts up a circus-style number, and the boys launch into their unchoreographed dance—bouncing, thrusting, TikTok dances of varying skill level—while Lily looks on, laughing with a glove over her mouth. It’s a tradition, the guys dancing around for the Queen, and everyone seems to think it’s cute.I,however, would rather eat my own bouquet than watch two more minutes of this.
The band rolls into their big finish, and the boys hit their final pose, a bow to their Queen. I let out a breath. Finally, it’s done. Only a few more minutes and I can leave this stage for good.
And then the lights go out.
There’s a breath of shocked silence before the murmuring starts. I strain through the darkness to look at the Maids next to me, but they’re all confused, too. We didn’t rehearse this. My heart pounds against my dress.
“Everyone, stay calm.” Mrs. Johnson’s voice, swallowed now by the din of the crowd. Her microphone must not be working. Wait, why isn’t it working?
And suddenly, light.Click.A projector shines from somewhere in the back of the darkened ballroom, its glow aimed right at Lily, making her shield her eyes. At first, I can’t tell what it is. Moving images of some kind.
When I realize, my stomach plunges.
Margot. Photos, videos dancing across the throne. Margot at school, smiling, laughing, giving the camera the finger. Margot as Queen, her crown crooked on her dark-blond curls like a messier, realer version of Lily. Her ghost. The videos are all silent, but I can still hear her laugh echoing in my memory. I feel around for something to grab onto, but there’s nothing but the limp flowers in my hands.
Through the panic, I try to be logical. Maybe this is some kind of tribute. They said tonight’s ball was dedicated to Margot, didn’t they? But then I see Lily’s face, the strange look in her eyes. Something like confusion.
Something like fear.
The projection cuts off, shrouding the ballroom and Lily in darkness. For a second, there’s nothing.
And then the room lights up. Bright red glows everywhere— on Lily’s pale face and the deep velvet curtains behind us, aimed from somewhere up high, at me and all the Maids. I back awayfrom the light, nearly tripping over my dress, and then I see it: movement near the throne. An arc of red, splashing against Lily’s dress, her face.
Blood.
For a moment, there’s stillness. Lily brings a gloved hand to her face, too stunned to scream, frozen like a photograph with crimson dripping down her gown.
And then, chaos.
2VIVIAN
DECEMBER 29, 8:25P.M.
I don’t think. I move.
Balling my giant skirt in my fists, I run to the middle of the stage, only one thought in my head: my best friend is covered in blood.
But I’ve barely made it a few strides before the lights turn back on and I realize I was wrong. It isn’t blood. Lily’s dress is ruined, but the stain is too bright to be real. Paint, maybe. And suddenly, I feel a little stupid.
