Tap & Gown (17 page)

She slumped against the back of the couch. “That’s the answer I got, too.”

And she’d rocked her test. Wow, maybe I missed my calling. Wonder what I’d get on the LSAT. “So why Stanford?”

“Because I think we’re more likely to stay together there.”

Logic problems never took into account matters of the heart. Either way, I envied her. Two amazing choices: a top school with the love of her life, or a top school—her dream school—without him. I slumped next to her on the couch and together we stared across the room. Lydia munched her sandwich.

“What are you thinking?” she asked me after a minute.

“I’m trying to imagine a circumstance under which I’d make a choice about my life goals in relation to someone I’m dating,” I said. “Every fiber of my being rebels against the idea.”

“Hmm,” Lydia said. “In your hypothetical, are you in love?”

“How do you know you’re in love?” I asked her. “Because if it’s determined by how willing you are to give up everything for the other person, I think it’s a flawed system.”

“On that note,” she said, “how’s Jamie?”

Now it was my turn to say nothing. But turning the subject to me seemed like an awfully cheap trick.

“I’ve heard a few things from Josh that have me worried.” Lydia busied herself with her food.

“About Jamie?”

“About you and Jamie, yes.”

Oh, this ought to be good. Relationship advice from the girl who couldn’t even tell her boyfriend she’d gotten into her dream school. “My only problem is that he likes keeping secrets from me and I find it frustrating. Mark that, Miss Eli Law.”

“Josh said you two were, like, mortal enemies or something.”

I couldn’t deny that.

“He told me that everyone”—she waved her hand vaguely into the distance to symbolize the Diggers of D177—“thinks he’s kind of a jerk.”

“Not kind of,” I said. “Full-out jerk.”

“Is he?”

“He’s …” I struggled for a word. “Prickly.”

Page 80

“Huh.” She polished off her sandwich. “I wish I knew him better, so I could make my own judgment.”

Join the club, sister.

She turned toward me. “That’s a hint, Ames.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to arrange a double date for you to put him on trial? You don’t have those judge’s robes yet.”

“Okay.” She hesitated a moment. “Just reassure me that you’re not dating him because things went south with Brandon.”

“Is that what Josh said?”

“No.” She took a deep breath. “He thinks you’re dating him because you’re scarred by—what happened to you.”

I studied my hands. “We were together before that.”

“Yeah.” She nodded slowly. “After you fell off the boat on the way to the island and he saved your life.”

“No.” I snapped my head up to face her. “It’s not like that, Lydia.”

I braced myself for more arguments.
Then what is it like? Why are you dating him? If he keeps
secrets and he’s “prickly” and your friends all hate him and you’re leaving Eli in a few months
anyway? Why are you spending time with him rather than the people you supposedly love?

But they didn’t come.

“Okay.” She sighed. “I want you to be happy, Amy. But know that your happiness does not need to come with a boy attached.”

I gave her a tiny smile. “Neither does yours.”

The apartment was decorated, the champagne was chilled, the hors were d’oeuvred, and I was waiting for Michelle on the corner so we could walk to Clarissa’s together.

That I’d just left Clarissa’s was a fact I intended my T.A friend to remain ignorant of. But I still hadn’t worked out how to reclaim the jeans and T-shirt I’d worn to set up. I’d changed into my current black pencil skirt and boatneck knit top in Clarissa’s guest bedroom (yeah, she has a guest bedroom, which even Jenny, who owns a spare apartment in New York City, thought was overkill). The black was a strategic maneuver on the part of the society members. All in black, we’d subtly stand out from the partygoers. We’d look elegant and aloof. In addition, it would be harder to remember us in nondescript clothes.

“Nondescript” was quite the byword in Rose & Grave after a certain yellow sneaker incident at the beginning of the semester. Today, I had on plain black pumps.

I stood in the shadows and watched the potentials arrive. Most came clutching envelopes in their hands,
Page 81

looking about nervously, as if unsure exactly what the evening held in store. I didn’t blame them. Legends about our initiation were elaborate and often gory. But we were still miles from Initiation Night. We were still miles from Tap Night, too.

A few came linked with knights, who brushed their chins with their thumbs as they passed me on the street, signifying that their companions were the top choice on their lists of potential taps.

I saw Topher approach the corner, dressed all in black, the pompous ass. He waved at me, smiling broadly. “See you inside?”

I gave him a slight nod. Well, if he knew enough about the proceedings to wear black, maybe he also knew what it meant that I wasn’t walking him through that door. Let him ponder that one for a bit.

“Hey there, Amy,” Michelle said, popping up next to me as I watched Topher buzz the entrance to Clarissa’s building. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. It’s kind of a hike to this side of campus.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, giving her a sly once-over. Good. Khaki A-line skirt, green sweater, hair freshly done. I looked down at her feet. Green ballet slippers. They’d do. The Diggers would like her. “Want to go in?”

Unfortunately, Topher was still standing in front of the door to the elevator inside the lobby, so we three rode up together. He and Michelle exchanged not a single word, but their mutual glares said plenty. I remembered what Arielle had told me about his way with women—or lack thereof. Was I about to tap two people into a society who already had reasons to hate each other? I’d have to add this to the list of questions I needed Jenny to answer for me.

Too late to do anything about it for the time being. We arrived at Clarissa’s door and she answered it, resplendent as usual, in a black shift dress that shimmered like scales whenever she moved. As she had promised me while I helped her set up for the party, she raised not an eyebrow at my last-minute addition to the guest list.

“It’s great to meet you!” she hostessed, shaking Michelle’s hand in true Upper East Side fashion. “Any friend of Amy’s is a friend of mine.”

“That’s how it works, you know, Shelly,” Topher said, and wandered off to the champagne. Michelle lifted her chin.

I spotted Arielle across the room, talking to Demetria and one of her guests, excused myself to Michelle, and headed over.

“Hey, Amy,” said Arielle. She was holding a plate piled high with munchies. “I see you brought Topher.”

Arielle, apparently, was similarly aware of the inner workings of this event.

“He was in the elevator with me,” I replied.

She shrugged and bit into another canapé. The other junior must be Demetria’s front-runner, Tamar Adamo, the leader of the Eli Women’s Center. She was a tall, thin girl with a very freckled face and a buzz cut.

Demetria, dressed in black silk cargo pants and a black wife-beater, was grinning broadly. “So, we
Page 82

having fun yet?” She surveyed the room. “I think the problem with this party is that at least half of the people here are already acting like they are at their Fortune 500 company’s holiday bash.”

“Now, why would they be doing that?” Tamar asked in a facetious tone.

Apparently we all knew exactly what we were doing here.

“Do you ever wonder,” Demetria said suddenly, “what the purpose is to keeping the existence of a society secret?”

Arielle gasped at her. “Aren’t you not supposed to talk about that?”

“Secret societies?” she said. “Why not? I can talk about them all day long.”

“In general, of course,” I said, shooting her a warning glare. Just because they knew didn’t mean we should go about breaking all our oaths.
Just play the game, Demetria
.

But my fellow knight forged ahead. “I don’t know if I mentioned this to you earlier, Amy, but I’ve decided to take a new approach to this whole endeavor.”

“No,” I said through clenched teeth, “you hadn’t mentioned it.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Oops. Yeah, probably because I figured that you and our other friends wouldn’t be keen on the plan.”

“Which is?”

She took a sip from her champagne and smiled serenely. “Glasnost.”

I grabbed her arm, almost sloshing champagne on Arielle. “Excuse us for a second,” I said, and pulled Demetria away. “What are you doing?” I hissed to her.

Demetria’s back was straight, her expression firm. “Ushering in a new era. I am the bearer of the light and the truth. Old Eli would be proud.”

“Old Persephone wouldn’t,” I said. “Obey your oaths. Stick to the script.”

“Bullshit. There’s not a person in this room who doesn’t know what we’re doing here. Why pretend?”

“Because—” I floundered for a reason. “Because that’s what we do.” I searched around in desperation for someone to back me up. Where was Jamie?

Across the room, talking to … Michelle.

“Hold that thought, and don’t do anything you’ll regret,” I hissed to Demetria.

“You mean anything the powers that be will make me regret?” she said in a snide tone as I walked away.

Michelle glanced over as I arrived. “Hi! I never realized the boyfriend you are always talking about was Jamie, here.”

Page 83

“You … know each other?” I asked. Jamie was very resolutely not looking at me. I took in his black dress shirt with a subtle black pinstripe and what had to be new black dress pants. Both looked great with his dark hair and gray eyes. Not Johnny Cash but possibly Joaquin Phoenix doing Johnny Cash.

“Sure, from Strathmore,” Michelle said.

“Of course.” I tried to read Jamie’s expression. Nothing.

“I had no idea Amy was bringing you this evening,” he said smoothly. Now he looked at me. Yep, pissed. Because I was the one deviating from the established Digger script by bringing a non-vetted guest
not
on my short list to this party.

“What a funny coincidence,” Michelle said.

“Hilarious.” Jamie took a sip of his champagne. “So, how have you been?” Well, at least he was planning to be polite.

“Oh, you know …” The two of them launched into a conversation about Strathmore College residents I couldn’t quite follow, not recognizing half the names. I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and tried to pretend both interest and comprehension I didn’t feel. Here was information I’d been looking for since we’d started dating—Jamie’s friends outside the society, Jamie’s past. But knowing that he’d once played—rather pathetically, he insisted, but Michelle denied—for the intramural Ultimate Frisbee team wasn’t exactly giving me the insight into his character I desired. He made no more sense to me now than he had before.

However, at least he wasn’t making any more caustic comments in my direction. If anything, he and Michelle seemed to be getting along great.

Still, Jamie disapproved. Anything that wasn’t established Digger behavior rubbed him the wrong way.

And I bet I couldn’t get his advice on the Demetria problem without prompting a lecture that my behavior was every bit as unorthodox. He probably thought I should just suck it up and tap Topher.

Speaking of, where was the little turd? I surveyed the room and spotted him in a knot of people by the buffet table.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” I said brightly. Jamie’s brow furrowed as I flitted off.

My fellow knight Greg Dorian was holding court by the sushi platter with all three of the members of his short list as well as both Arielle and Topher. Greg was a poet and a Linguistics major headed back to his native England after graduation for an advanced degree at Oxford. The knot of people next to the tuna rolls was probably the most concentrated group of literati in the Eli junior class.

I insinuated myself into the conversation, which appeared to be about famous books with scenes at Eli—which were numerous—and whether there should be a course dedicated to the subject.

“Take
Franny and Zoë
, for example,” Topher was saying.

“Zooey” Arielle took a sip of her champagne.

Topher glared at her. “It’s Zoë. Zooey is not a name.”

Page 84

“You’re correct, it’s not.” Arielle glared back. “It’s a nickname for Zachary.”

“The chick was Zoë.”

“The
chick
,” Arielle drawled, “was Franny. Frances Glass. And you give Lit majors a bad name.” She fixed me with a look, as the others whistled and trailed off to refresh their drinks. “Are you kidding me with this shit?” She polished off the glass and handed it to Topher. “See you.”

Topher look flummoxed, and for a second I could have kissed Arielle. But she was hightailing it to the door.

“Wait!” I hurried after her, heedless of the stares we were probably getting from a guest list that would never dream of ditching the party, lest it reflect badly on them and decrease their chances of being tapped.