I hereby confess:
Discretion is the better
part of vice.
I was running late the next morning, and as I scurried over to my entryway and up into our first-floor suite, there wasn’t anything on my mind except for: toothbrush, change of underwear, hair comb, check face for stray sparkles from my costume (which was currently balled up in the corner of George’s bedroom). I flew blindly through the common room and made a beeline for my bedroom door.
“Good morning, Amy,” said a male voice at my back. I whirled to find Josh sitting on our couch, laptop on his lap. He closed the cover and set it aside. “We need to talk.”
“Crap. Yes, we do, I have something to tell you, but I’m running so late—”
“You have enough time for this. Sit down.”
I blinked at him. Excuse me? Sit down? This man was my age, in my common room, on my couch, and he was telling me to sit down like he was my father? “Where’s Lydia?” I planted my feet.
“At class.”
“Well, much as I love having you here, Josh, I really do have to run. However, I want to talk to you. I think Jenny’s the leak.”
He looked incredulous. “No, she’s not. Trust me. We’ve been working pretty closely on this and she’s put a lot of effort into tracking this guy down. No one would be trying so hard if she were secretly involved.”
“Are you sure it’s not a cover?” I said. “Keep talking while I change really quick.” I ducked into my room and tore off my clothes. “I have reason to think she’s been telling her boyfriend about everything that happens in the tomb, breaking the oath of secrecy.”
“You have proof of this?” Josh’s voice floated in.
I scrubbed at my face with a toner cloth, but the sparkles stuck. “No, but the day after my C.B., he looked at me as if he knew all of my dirty secrets. Plus, I saw him lurking outside the tomb last night.”
“Where outside the tomb?”
“By the Art History arch.”
Josh laughed. “Okay, that’s technically outside the tomb—the same way this room is. This is that prayer-group guy we’re talking about? He probably hates you for no reason. That’s his gig, remember?” He kept talking as I threw on new clothes and pulled my hair up with a clip. “Look, I know how you tend to over…um, how you attribute certain…” He apparently thought better of his sentence, for it soon changed directions completely. “Believe me when I say it can’t be Jenny. We’ve spent hours on this leak situation. Hours. You can’t prevaricate that long. She’s incredibly intense. I promise you’re mistaken.”
Great. Now I was the Boy Who Cried Wolf because I was always calling “Conspiracy.” I emerged from my room. “Okay, but I’m not wrong about her telling Micah about my C.B. And I’m going to confront her about it.” I crossed to the door. “Good talking to you.”
“Wait a second! I listened to you, now you listen to me.”
“Yeah, you listened to me good. Look, I have to run….” I turned the knob.
“What are you doing with George?”
I froze and turned to him. “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me, Amy. You’re sleeping with him.”
I laughed. “Like that’s any of your business?”
“As Secretary of D177, it is my business.”
I crossed my arms. “I don’t think so. This has nothing to do with what happens in Rose & Grave.”
“I know for a fact it has everything to do with what happens in our tomb.” He met my eyes full-on, and my breath hitched. Was the Inner Temple bugged all along? Oh, God, how embarrassing. “I don’t understand why you would choose this time, when everything is so fragile, to weaken us further.”
“Are you kidding? Weaken the society? It’s barbarian matters. What George and I—George and I, not Puck and Bugaboo—choose to do won’t affect you.”
“We both know that’s not true. You don’t expect this little fling of yours to go on forever, do you? You know George. And when it’s over, someone is going to be hurt, and the Diggers will be the ones to suffer for it. Society incest is a terrible idea.”
You know George? Yes, I did, and I knew the man in front of me, too. “I’m going to say this once, and since you’re a smart guy who managed to snag himself not only a slot in Phi Beta Kappa, but also a PBK honey, I’m sure you’ll be able to understand it. I’ll fuck whom I want to, and neither you nor any other Digger gets to tell me otherwise. Unlike you, George and I are being perfectly honest about what we’re looking for in our relationship.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Josh stood now.
“Exactly what you think it does. How dare you accuse me of being the type to break my oaths for personal reasons? If that were true, I’d have told Lydia about you a long time ago.” I put my hand on the door. “But hey, maybe you’re right. Maybe I should. I don’t know about George and me, but I know your relationship isn’t going to last forever, either. I promise you, if you hurt my best friend, and I stood idly by and watched it happen like a good little Digger, I will break my oaths. I’ll do my best to ruin your life, and I don’t care what kind of vows I took.”
Suffice it to say Josh and I weren’t exactly friendly after that. It bothered me more than I’d expected it to. After all, we were supposed to lean on one another in times of trouble, and instead I’d alienated one of my favorite brothers. Jenny wasn’t returning my phone calls or e-mails, and George didn’t want to talk about any of it. Due to the chilly, uncomfortable, and frustrating atmosphere, I was understandably relieved when Clarissa and Demetria called a meeting of the Diggirls the day before our next society meeting. I looked forward to the chance to chill with some of my friendlier compatriots (my suite had turned into a Cold War zone) and finally have it out with Jenny.
Except when I arrived at the campus pizza joint where the Diggirls were supposed to meet, there were only four knights waiting for me: Clarissa, Demetria, Mara, and Odile. The little sneak had opted out. Well, no matter. I’d share my suspicions with the girls and see if they took me more seriously than Josh had.
“You’re late,” said Clarissa, scooting over in the booth and taking her crinkle-plastic cup full of diet pop with her. “I got your usual small Greek salad. I don’t know how you can deal with all that fat.” (“Small” was a misnomer when it came to the Greek salad at Normandy Pizza. It was roughly the size and shape of a football and drenched in feta cheese bits, olives, and dressing.)
“Yum,” I said, sliding into the booth. “Anyone know where Jenny is?”
Demetria shrugged. “This isn’t the first time she’s wimped out on us. Girl doesn’t have her priorities straight.”
Clarissa nodded her agreement. “Have any of you ever seen her tattoo? I think she didn’t get one.”
Mara shuddered delicately. “Can I express once more how happy I am I joined your merry band after the whole tattoo phase? Staining one’s skin is a sign of barbarism.”
The other four of us looked at one another and smiled. “In this case,” I said, “it’s exactly the opposite.”
“I hope she shows up,” said Clarissa. “But I’m not going to hold my breath. We’ve got a lot to talk about, so let’s get started and she can catch up. This whole leak situation really has the patriarchs rattled. Frankly, you’d think they’d be nicer, considering we’re the ones protecting their secrets.”
“Spoken like someone who would sell secrets just to get back at them for being jerks,” Demetria said with a smile. “But have you seen that website? Come on. I refuse to let myself get up in arms over something with a flashing tiled background and animated gifs. Real firebrands would go for something professional-looking.”
“The issue isn’t the website,” Clarissa said. “It’s who the website turns on to the story. Josh says—”
I rolled my eyes. “Josh says an awful lot, but just because he’s the Secretary doesn’t mean he’s the boss of us. To listen to him talk, sometimes you’d think we should each be strip-searched upon entering or leaving the tomb!”
“Tell me about it,” said Odile. “You should have heard the interrogation I got when I came back from New York last month. Some timing, huh? And he was all, ‘Terribly convenient for you to be absent the day the leak is broadcast, Lil’ Demon.’ Right. As if I’d be selling my services to some conspiracy-theorist website the same weekend I’m hosting Saturday Night Live. Why the hell would I do something like that when I had a much larger audience just waiting for me to spill some Eli goss? I swear the only thing Lorne ever wants me to talk about is the seedy underbelly of this school.” And then she coughed.
Were this a Dickens novel, this would be a signal that Odile had contracted consumption, and would die within a few chapters. But in my world, it meant something else entirely. Mara and I started in our seats and then, for the first time in our relationship, our eyes met in understanding. We looked from Demetria to Odile, and back again.
“What?” said Clarissa as Demetria ducked her head. Realization slowly dawned on Miss High Society. “Ohhhh.”
“Did you two hook up?” Mara said with a gasp.
“No!” Demetria protested…too much.
Odile shot her an incredulous glance.
“Eww,” said Clarissa. “Society incest. Bad idea.”
“It is?” I asked, then occupied myself with my salad. Shut up, Amy, or the cat will really be out of the coffin.
“Duh, of course!” Clarissa said.
“I don’t think so,” said Odile.
Demetria snorted. “Of course you’d say that. You’re not really the type to concern yourself with taboos, are you? A regular George Prescott, but without the dick.”
“I didn’t see you complaining,” Odile snapped.
Clarissa sliced her hand down between them. “Whoa there, ladies.”
“Forget about it,” said Demetria. “It was silly.” She caught Odile’s eye. “No offense, but admit it, it was silly.”
Odile shrugged, Mara was looking more scandalized than I’d ever seen her (which is saying something), and I was constructing a little tower of lettuce, feta, olives, and tomatoes on my fork. A regular George Prescott?
On the one hand, I was wild to hear more about the juiciest Rose & Grave gossip in months. On the other, it seemed a bit hypocritical for me to indulge, since I was currently engaged in my own society affair. Best to downplay whatever had transpired between Demetria and Odile, lest the scrutiny turn into speculation about who else in the club had hooked up.
Of course, George had yet to give his C.B., which meant if he planned to adhere to his oaths (always up in the air with a guy like George), then everything we’d done would be fair game. Clearly, Josh knew at least part of the story already. Maybe I should admit it to the Diggirls, so as not to send them into shock when they heard it through official channels. They wouldn’t judge me, right? I mean, the guy was gorgeous and sexy and infamous and I bet all of them, even the female-focused Demetria, had wondered at least once if all the rumors were true. Besides, we were Diggers, and we were supposed to love and support one another and stuff.
Though maybe I hadn’t been doing that recently with one of my fellow knights.
“Girls…” I began. But just then, our waitress, another Eli institution (she’d been working at the restaurant longer than our freshman counselors’ freshman counselors could remember) stopped by with her little black leather portfolio.
“We’re not ready for the check,” Clarissa said.
The waitress put her hands up, palms out. “I don’t get involved with you people.” And then she departed.
Clarissa furrowed her brow and flipped open the folder. There, on a slip of receipt paper, were scrawled three words:
It Went Live.