Page 86 of The Debutantes
It was the day before the early-decision deadline, and I knew I had to do something,ruinsomething—because it was suddenly so obvious, how stupid I’d been. Vanderbilt was everything I’d worked my whole life for, and here I was, helping Lily LeBlanc waltz in and snatch it up without breaking a sweat.
In the end, it was even easier than writing the essay. Lily had given me the password to her Common App account. All I had to do was log in, delete my essay, and copy and paste her old one. And just my luck, she hadn’t submitted yet—that’s what you get for being a procrastinator, I told myself. With one click of a button, it was done.
Now tears sting my eyes as I look at Mom, awash in shame and disappointment.
“She didn’t even notice,” I say. “She didn’t check the application after I submitted it. That’s how little she cared.”
Wyatt stands abruptly. “This has been a great family chat, but I’m going to bed.”
“Wyatt—” Mom starts, but he cuts her off.
“Sorry, but I just—” He chokes up, tightening his jaw. “Lily is stillmissing,and all Piper cares about is the stupid essay, and I can’t, okay? I’m done.”
He sulks off toward the stairs. Mom just watches, and maybe Wyatt has a point, maybe I’m a robotic, college-obsessed freak, but still, the anger builds and builds until it explodes.
“Why does he always get away with it?” I shout, turning to Mom. “He cheated on her, and I’m the only one who gets a lecture? No, forget the cheating. He beat a guy within an inch of hislife, and you’re just letting him walk off. Why does he always get someone else to clean up his messes?”
“Because that’s what families do.” Mom’s voice breaks, and something in it breaks me, too, enough to make me go completely silent.
“I don’t mean to let him get away with things,” she says after a moment. “But what else are we supposed to do? When your kid screws up, you protect them. You fix what you can and pray they learn from their mistakes, because you love them like your own heart outside your body, and what person in their right mind can look at their heart and watch it get crushed?”
My throat tightens, but I feel too guilty to cry. Mom reaches for her drink before changing her mind, setting it back down.
“And maybe—” She pauses again. “Maybe it seems like we’re only cleaning up Wyatt’s messes because he’s the one who makes them. You’re always so smart and so together, Pipes. But it isn’t fair of me and your dad to assume you’ve always got it covered. And I know I’m hard on you—maybe because some part of me thinks I’m preparing you. Because the terrible fact of it is that young women, bright women like you… when you slip up, youdon’tget away with it.” She shakes her head. “But it’s wrong. You deserve better.”
Quiet tears slide down her cheeks, and all of the anger inside me shrivels up like a dying petal. Because I understand. Mom is teaching me to survive the only way she knows how: by being the best. The brightest. Saying “please” and “thank you” and leaving no room for error, hiding your thirst for blood behind a sweet Southern smile. We both deserve better.
I walk over to the sofa and wrap my arms around her, let her cry. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” She squeezes my hand. “Never be sorry.”
“Is Dad okay?” I ask, and I’m crying now, too.
She sniffs, nodding. “You know him. He was already joking about how thrilled he’ll be to have time to read, for once.”
I laugh, but it fades into a hollow pit in my stomach. “How long does he have to stay there?” I ask. “Can’t we post bail?”
“They haven’t set it yet. But we will.” Mom squeezes me tighter. “We’ll be okay, Pipes. Johnsons are always okay.”
And it’s only now that a new piece slots into place. A question I’m almost afraid to ask out loud.
“If you know about the deal with the Pierrot,” I start, “then do you know what they wanted from Dad in return? Why they needed him to join?”
Something in Mom changes, like a small electric jolt. Then she smooths out her expression.
“I really don’t.” She shrugs. “Maybe they thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a psychiatrist on board—you know, to get access to some easy prescriptions, or get their kids extra time on the ACT even when they obviously don’t need it.”
She gives a small laugh, like it’s just a dark little joke, but I saw it, the slip of her mask. I felt the shift.
“Mom…”
Her hand finds my cheek, cold against my skin.
“You’re so smart, Pipes,” she says gently. “And you’re smart enough to know that some questions, you’re better off not asking.”
32APRIL
JANUARY 2, 11:00P.M.
