Page 55 of The Debutantes
“Bullshit,” I say. “You’re tellingmeI’m coming up with explanations that don’t make sense? You’re the one who wants so badly to believe there’s nothing wrong with Les Masques and Deus and all of the debutante shit that you won’t even look at what’s right in front of you. You’re fucking indoctrinated.”
On any other day, the look in Piper’s eyes would be enough to make me shrivel, but I won’t back down. Not now. She shakes her head slightly, a cross between pity and disbelief on her face.
“Does it make you feel better?” she asks. “Hating everyoneand everything? Acting all aloof and artsy with your camera so you don’t have to stoop so low as to actually care about something?”
The question strikes a chord in my chest. One I recognize.
“Okay, seriously, y’all,” Vivian says. “Stop it.”
Piper holds up her hands. “I’m genuinely asking.”
“Fuck off, Piper,” I mumble.
“Gladly. But one question first. If the debutante tradition is so evil, then how come your parents are still a part of it? How comeyou’rea part of it?”
It hangs in the air, dredging up memories of another conversation, of the night everything fell apart. And I know I can’t stay here. That if I do, I’ll fall apart, too.
I turn and walk down the levee.
“Wait,” Vivian calls after me. “We can talk this out. If we’re going to keep doing this, we need to work together.”
I stop, lasering on Piper.
“Yeah,” I say. “Well, maybe I don’t want to be a fucking Maid anymore.”
19VIVIAN
JANUARY 2, 11:45A.M.
My last first day at Beaumont is even worse than I thought it would be. I was already dreading coming back to a class full of early-decision kids, all rocking their college merch just so everyone knows they got it all figured out by January, while I’m stuck with the slackers who have no idea where we’ll be in the fall, or where we evenwantto be. Because maybe some of us aren’t so ready to leave our best friends and everything we’ve ever known to ship off to a campus we’ve only seen once.
The only good thing was going to be that I wouldn’t have to do it alone. Sav still has to audition for all the big theater schools, and now that Lily didn’t get into Vanderbilt, we were all in the same boat. We were supposed to get through this as a team.
It wasn’t supposed to be anything like this.
“It’s official,” Sav says, catching up with me on the way to lunch. “I’m pretending to be sick and wallowing at home for the rest of the day. Care to join?”
“But it’s meat-pie day,” I deadpan. “How could we miss that?”
Sav snorts. Beaumont is always bragging about how fancy our lunches are, and I guess they have a point. Our dining roomhas oak paneling, white tablecloths, and actual nonplastic silverware. But for all of Chef Bryan’s greatest hits, like seafood gumbo or fried chicken, he has a few major duds that he won’t retire out of an intense commitment to tradition. Like the meat pies, which Lily refuses to even touch, and which get Sav singingSweeney Toddall lunch period.
“I’m not exactly feeling up to my fabulous rendition of ‘The Worst Pies in London’ today,” she teases, but her face falls. “It’s been almost four days, Viv. That’s—”
“I know,” I say, because I can’t let either of us say what it really means. We both know the statistics.
We go silent as we walk, and for a second, I can feel it all about to spill out: the Pierrot, the Jester, his threats. I’ve been keeping so much from Sav, and it would feel so good to let it out that I almost do.
But then we’re almost at the dining room, and it’s too crowded. Too late.
Anyway, it’s not Sav’s mess to clean up. It’s mine—and Piper’s and April’s, even though neither of them has spoken to me since yesterday on the levee.
And deep down, I know there’s another reason why I can’t tell Sav everything: because then she’d know what I’ve really been hiding, what I’m afraid the Jester knows.
What I’ve really done.
When Sav and I make it to the dining-room entrance, Mr. Pierce is walking in, too. He holds the door open for us.
“Ladies first,” he says with a polite smile, but it looks strained. Maybe the second missing student in two years is really taking its toll, I think, with a bitter taste in my mouth.
