9. Vivian

9

VIVIAN

DECEMBER 31, 8:15 P.M.

By the time Sav and I are standing on the porch of the Johnsons' big white house on State Street, I'm already regretting it. I can tell Sav is, too, from the way she's staring at the golden Deus sign on the front door like it might be a portal to hell.

"This is going to suck, right?" she says.

A weirdly relieved laugh rushes out of me, maybe just because it's nice to hear her say what I've been thinking all day.

"Probably," I say.

Normally, the Johnsons' big holiday parties are the best. Mrs. Johnson is stuffy, for sure, but she's at least a little more relaxed once she gets a couple glasses of wine in. Most importantly, there's always an open bar, and even the stuffiest of New Orleans parents tend to be pretty chill with the whole underage-drinking thing.

But tonight, for obvious reasons, I don't think anyone will be having fun.

"I just…" Sav hesitates. "I really thought she'd be back by now."

My shoulders tense. It's been almost forty-eight hours. Any one who's ever watched a crime show knows that's pretty much the end of the window where missing girls get found.

But I force that down. If I think too hard about it, there's no way I'll make it through this door, much less the night.

"Yeah," I say. "Me, too."

"Maybe we give it an hour, and if it's terrible, we leave?" She smiles a little. "We look too good not to at least show it off."

I smile back, smoothing out my black jumpsuit. It's an old staple of my closet, nothing as new or exciting as the gold sparkly dress Sav is rocking, but I like how I feel in it, the way it hugs my curves. I try to let it give me the confidence I don't have that tonight will be okay. That maybe Piper was right, and if we try, we might even learn something that could help us find Lily.

"Deal."

We ring the doorbell. It echoes over the noise of the party, polite conversation and clinking glasses. Piper swings the door open, wearing a navy dress that looks better suited for a Model UN conference than a party, even if she did pair it with dangling silver shooting-star earrings.

"Hi," she says, with a look that screams, You're fifteen minutes late, Vivian, and you will not be hearing the end of this. "Welcome. So nice of y'all to come. Refreshments are in the dining room." As we step inside, she grabs my elbow tight enough to leave a mark. "Vivian, can I steal you for a sec?" She shoots Sav an apologetic smile. "We're about to take an official Les Masques Maids photo. Mom insisted. Try the bacon-wrapped dates, they're amazing."

Without waiting for an answer, Piper drags me away from Sav and into another room off the foyer. Her dad's office, I'm guessing, from the big wooden desk and shelves of psychology books. April's already here, legs dangling from an armchair like she's waiting to see the principal, her camera still slung over her shoulder.

Piper closes the door behind us and stares me down. "You're late."

"Fifteen minutes."

"Which is late, by most definitions."

I sigh. "Can you explain why we're being held hostage, so I can get back to the friend I just abandoned?"

"We need to make a game plan," Piper says. "I think we should split up to maximize efficiency. We'll each take one of the Dukes. I can talk to Aiden."

Maybe I'm just annoyed by the immediate attack of Piper-ness, or maybe I can't pass up the chance to push her buttons. Either way, I lean against the closed door with a smirk. "Y'all are, like, a thing, right?"

Instantly, she's almost as red as April gets whenever she speaks.

"No."

"Could've fooled me." I shrug, and you know what? Maybe I like watching her squirm. "I saw y'all argue about Pride and Prejudice in class one time, and the tension…" I mime fanning myself. "Way more entertaining than Jane Austen."

She scowls. "Well, clearly you only read the SparkNotes of Pride and Prejudice, because one: it's very entertaining, and two: we are not and will never be a ‘thing,' so can we please stay on track here?"

I did only read the SparkNotes, but I'm not about to admit it. A slow smile spreads on April's face, instantly disappearing when Piper catches it.

I grin. "Fine."

"As I was going to say"—Piper gives me a pointed look—"I think it makes sense for each of us to take our assigned Dukes. So I'll talk to Aiden, you'll talk to Jason, and April can take Milford."

Now April looks like she might be sick.

"I, um—I'm not the best at talking."

Piper sighs. "Fine. I can talk to Milford, too. But you have to be our eyes and ears, then. Keep watch of everyone and listen for anything useful."

April breathes out, relieved. "Okay."

"Good. So our goal is to find out what they saw onstage and if they know who threw the blood. Got it?"

Like it's as simple as that. But I guess it's the only plan we have.

"Got it," I echo.

"All right," Piper says. "Everyone, stay sharp."

With that, she turns and marches out of the office, leaving me and April behind. She's still sitting in the chair, looking so out of place with that giant camera, and something about it makes me sad. Piper has her little squad of AP girls to hang out with, even if none of them seem to like each other that much. But as far as I can tell, April doesn't have any friends at Beaumont. I can't imagine what that's like, going through high school without people like Sav and Lily to make it bearable. Especially if she did have a friend, only to lose her.

I think about asking if she wants to hang out with me and Sav, but before I can, April springs out of the chair.

"I guess we should…"

"Yeah," I finish, picking up on how much she clearly wants to get out of here. "Let's go."

We split up in the foyer, April heading for the dining room and me off to find Sav. I spot her in the living room with Jason, who's already swigging champagne. Wyatt is there, too, his fist tight around a beer.

My nerves jump, but I try to force them down as I make my way over. Head up, Atkins, I tell myself. Everything's fine. But just like it has been for the past few months, it feels like a lie.

"Hey," I say. "Sorry, Piper dragged me away." I glance at Wyatt. "Your sister is intense about group photos."

His eyes flick to mine, making me too aware of the exposed skin of my collarbone, the way my hair is falling around my cheeks. I pulled a few strands out of my ponytail to frame my face, and it's not until now that I realize it's almost exactly how Lily wore her hair to the ball.

"She's intense about a lot of things," Wyatt mumbles over his beer, looking away.

"Atkins!" Jason booms, his glass sloshing as he gives me a side-hug. "What is up, my dude?"

"Your blood-alcohol content, apparently," I tease, but I'm actually kind of glad to see him. At least he's another friendly face, even if I am supposed to be grilling him about the ball. Which, I'm realizing, I have no idea how to start.

"I'm getting another beer," Wyatt mumbles, setting his empty bottle down on the nearest table and sulking away.

"Damn," Jason says. "He's in a mood."

Sav's jaw tightens, and I feel mine doing the same. Wyatt must not have even told Jason about Lily yet. I watch as he broad-shoulders his way toward the bar, and suddenly, it's obvious that Jason isn't the one I should be mining for info.

"Be right back," I tell them, following Wyatt down the hall before I lose the nerve.

I catch up with him in the kitchen, where he's fishing an other beer out of the fridge. It's mostly empty in here, besides a few extra trays of hors d'oeuvres. All the other food is arranged in an Instagram-worthy spread in the dining room or being swept around the house by uniformed caterers.

"Hey," I say. "Can we talk?"

Wyatt turns to face me, the beer dripping in his hand. "About what?"

He's going for his usual surly tough-guy crap, but it's hard for him to get away with it when he's facing me head-on. Wyatt towers over Lily, but he's only got a few inches on me.

"Last night," I say. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Lily was texting someone, right? Who was it?"

His grip tightens on the beer. "How do you know that?"

"I saw a message pop up on her phone," I tell him, figuring I'll leave out the part where his sister narced on him. "And y'all were both being weird. I know something was up."

"Why do you care?"

"Are you serious?"

He tries to sidestep me, but he's pissing me off, and I know a thing or two about playing defense.

"I care because she's missing," I snap, blocking his way. "And I don't know about you, but I want to find her."

"You think I don't?"

I'm opening my mouth to fire back when Jason appears in the kitchen doorway.

"Whoa," he says in a break-it-up tone. "Wyatt, my man, what's—"

Wyatt shoves him hard enough that Jason stumbles back.

"What the hell?" Jason laughs, shocked, like maybe he thinks Wyatt is kidding. He glances over at me. "Is everything—"

But he doesn't get to the okay, because Wyatt grips him by the collar so fast it makes my stomach drop.

"Mind your own fucking business," he says through gritted teeth. "Or I'll—"

"Hey, what's going on here?"

The tone is unmistakable: authoritative but somehow still totally chill. Coach.

Instantly, Wyatt releases Jason. "Nothing."

Coach gives Jason a look. "You good, man?"

"Yes, sir." Jason nods quickly, fixing his collar.

That's one of my favorite things about Coach: even though girls' soccer is about as undervalued at Beaumont as any sport besides football, he still knows how to silence a quarterback and a linebacker at the drop of a hat.

"How about y'all cool off, yeah? Take a breath, have a cheese puff," Coach says, his Texas accent slipping in. "From what I can tell, your mom worked real hard on tonight, and I'd hate for it to be ruined by a whole lot of nothing. " He gives Wyatt a clap on the shoulder.

Wyatt scowls, but he grumbles a "Yes, sir." He stalks deeper into the house, and Jason scurries off behind him.

Coach sighs when they're gone. "Glad we nipped that in the bud before Mrs. Johnson caught wind. Don't tell anyone I said so, but I think she's just about ready to stab somebody with an oyster fork."

"Piper might beat her to it," I add, even though I'm not totally sure that's an exaggeration.

Coach smiles, but it fades quickly. He runs a hand through his dark curls, which the team always jokes makes him look like a long-lost Jonas Brother. "I, uh… I heard about Lily."

I tense.

"Elle heard it from some of the other Deus ladies, I guess." He nods through the kitchen doorway at his pretty girlfriend, who's in the next room, chatting with some other women near a tray of canapés.

My throat squeezes. "Word travels fast."

"You okay?" Coach asks. "I know it must be tough, all this. I can only imagine."

It hits me that he's the first adult who's actually asked me how I'm doing. Even Mom: she's trying her best to stay positive, like anything less hopeful than "Don't worry, Viv, everything's going to be okay" is bad luck. Dad, I haven't even seen since the ball, and he hasn't checked in, either. Since the divorce, anything but Les Masques, school, or soccer seems like dangerous territory for us.

"Yeah," I say. "It sucks."

Coach nods, and I'm glad he doesn't try to offer some "everything happens for a reason" platitude. It's nice to just let it sucks be the truth.

"What's your take on all this?" he asks, gesturing at two side-by-side frames on the wall: Piper's Les Masques invitation, and her mom's invitation to be a Maid in the Deus ball thirty years ago. There's an empty space above them, where Piper's Deus invitation will no doubt go in a few years.

"The deb stuff?" I shrug. "It's not really my thing. But my brother was a Duke a couple years back, and my parents are into it, so."

"Elle loves it." Coach laughs. "She's still got her Deus Maid dress in her closet. Her Les Masques one, too, from all the way back in high school. I guess I get the tradition of it all, but I don't know. I've been feeling like a real fish out of water."

"Well, you didn't exactly get the best introduction last night."

Coach winces. "I guess not. But between you and me…" He glances at me sideways. "Not really my thing, either."

In the other room, Elle catches Coach's eye.

"Reed," she says, waving him over.

"Duty calls," he tells me, giving her a little salute. "But hey, if you ever need somebody to talk to, you know where to find me."

"Thanks." I smile. "But I think mostly I could use a practice that really kicks my ass next week."

Coach laughs. "You got it, Atkins."

He goes, leaving me alone with the framed invitations. I think again of the one we found in the darkroom, just like these, except with the creepy clown logo and a much scarier message.

We all know how hard it is to keep a body underground in this city.

I turn, suddenly itching to get away from here. Not just the invitations, but this entire night, everyone drinking and stuffing their faces and pretending everything's okay. And the way Wyatt blew up just now…

As I step back into the other room, I catch him standing alone, still clutching his beer by the neck. For a second, he meets my eyes. Then he stomps away.

Forty-eight hours, and the only lead I've got is that Wyatt was probably the last person to see Lily before she went missing.

That, and the part where it might be my fault.