Tap & Gown

by Diana Peterfreund

  “Then promise me you’ll think about it. Really think.”

  And then, no doubt, come to the decision he and the rest of my friends advocated. “Think” didn’t mean think. It meant realize that our way is best. But I wasn’t the multitasker that some of them were. I’d think about it, all right. After I had my life in order.

  I tilted up my chin and met his eyes. “I promise.”

  He breathed deeply and wound his fingers through my hair to cup my face. “I love you, Amy.”

  Every cell in my body spun in place. A thousand thousand seconds seemed to pass before I could find my voice.

  Jamie leaned his forehead against mine, squeezed his eyes shut. “That was the gimlet talking.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” he agreed. “And now I do have to go.”

  To run away? After that bombshell? Fat chance. “Can I come with you?” My hands went inside his jacket to rest on his hips.

  The sound he made was halfway between a laugh and a groan. “No, because I have work. And I—”

  “Don’t think you could work if I came with you.”

  “Exactly.” He met my eyes again. “But soon.” And then he kissed me until my cells started spinning again.

  After he was gone, I staggered back toward the bar, wondering if my face was the color of a 312. He loved me? He loved me.

  “Kinda intense, isn’t he?” said Odile. She and Clarissa stood by the wall, smoking.

  Oh, God. Now my cheeks did burn. I got as near as my lungs and sense of humility would allow.

  Odile flicked some ash off the end of her cigarette. “How does that, you know, translate? In bed.”

  “Odile,” Clarissa said with a roll of her eyes and a drag on her cigarette.

  “Oh, please,” said Odile. “We know all the dirty stuff about every single one of us. Amy doesn’t get out of sharing time just because her C.B. was early on.” She dropped her cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with the pointy toe of her designer boots. “And I have to admit, I’ve always been kind of curious. Does he like it kinky?”

  “Odile!” I said, and looked at Clarissa for support.

  But Clarissa’s expression had turned thoughtful. “Yeah,” she said. “Come to think of it, he kind of screams bondage fetish, doesn’t he?”

  “Exactly,” said Odile.

  “Guys!” I cried. “I just had an incredibly romantic moment and you’re ruining it. And, for your information, I wouldn’t know what kind of fetishes Jamie has, because we haven’t slept together.”

  They blinked at me.

  “What are you waiting for?” Clarissa asked.

  Odile’s mouth formed a perfect little O. “He’s not, like, one of those abstinence people, is he?”

  “Or gay,” Clarissa suggested. “He could be gay.”

  “He’s not gay, and he’s not abstinent,” I said wearily. “It just hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Huh.” Clarissa lifted her cigarette to her lips. “So what was the romantic moment?”

  He said he loved me. He said he loved me. He said he loved me. “That,” I replied coyly, “is a secret.”

  Back inside, the crew had wisely decided to move on to other topics than Darren, and even more wisely had chosen to order food. The nachos and cheese fries had arrived, but Demetria was still waiting on her goat cheese and spinach pizza when George approached the table with his sophomore squeeze in tow.

  “Oh,” he said, looking around at the group. “I thought this was a barbarian thing—”

  “It is,” I replied, pointing at Lydia with a cheese fry. “There just aren’t many.”

  “Great.” George smiled that devastating grin of his and ushered the sophomore forward. “This is Devon. Devon, meet Amy, from Prescott.”

  “Oh, hi,” the girl said. “I know I’ve seen you around.”

  I knew I’d seen her, too. And she was still on George’s radar? Interesting. And he’d brought her to our bar? Even more interesting. “Nice to meet you, at last.”

  George cleared his throat. “Where’s Jamie?”

  “Working.” My tone was even, my expression guileless. George could parade half a dozen conquests around the Diggers tonight. Jamie loved me.

  “And that’s Lydia,” George was saying, “Amy’s roommate, and Lydia’s boyfriend, Josh. And these are, uh, some other friends. Clarissa, Greg, Demetria, Ben, Jenny, Harun—”

  Devon sat down next to me. “I’m sorry. I’m never going to remember all your names.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” said Jenny. “We’ll never see you again anyway.”

  George’s face fell and I glared across the table at Jenny.

  “I mean, because we’re graduating in a month,” Jenny amended.

  “Yeah,” murmured Demetria. “That’s the reason.” She smiled at Devon. “Want a drink?”

  “Yes, please!” answered Devon, though I was almost positive she was underage. “What’s that red stuff in the pitcher?”

  I very nearly didn’t have lunch with Michelle. If she couldn’t do me the courtesy of joining my secret society while I was making concessions all over the place so that she could, why should I fight for her barbarian friendship? I had work to do, a thesis to edit, a boyfriend—who loved me—I’d probably be leaving along with everything else at Eli at the end of the year, college friends to spend some last bits of time with before graduation, a stalker to thwart, and oh, yeah, a whole class of knights to find and tap—a task she’d just made that much harder.

  And yet, I couldn’t stanch my morbid curiosity. I needed to find out why she was so paranoid about her phone number. I wanted to know what had really happened to her last year. And—I couldn’t help it—I was dying to hear more about her and Jamie.

  Besides, having lunch with Michelle kept me out of my suite, which meant that Lydia and Josh would not be burdened with my uncomfortable company and I would not be tempted to throttle my roommate for her indiscretion. Everyone wins.

  The Geology lecture continued the professor’s Antarctic theme from section the week before, and as soon as class was over, Michelle beelined in my direction. “Lunch?”

  I flipped my notebook closed. “Indubitably.”

  Since the Biology Tower lunchroom was closed that day (due to elevator repairs), we hiked down the hill to Eli Commons for lunch, talking all about atmospheric chemistry and not at all about the other issues on my mind. Cue chatter about Antarctica. Cue discussion of ice cores and living arrangements at McMurdo Station. Cue another vegetarian meal.1*

  “So,” Michelle said as we settled into a table away from the Commons lunch crowd. “I hope I didn’t cause a fight with Jamie the other night.”

  “What?” I lied. At last, a real topic. “No!”

  She toyed with her spoon. “Because you two looked a little stormy when I left.”

  “It’s fine.” It was a lot more fine than, say, the fact that she’d flaked on the society interview. And Jamie and I were so much more than fine. It had taken all my willpower not to give in and go to his place, all my strength not to booty call him once I was alone in my room. He said wait, so I’d wait. For a little while. Long enough, at least, to figure out how to respond the next time he dropped the L-word into conversation.

  “He, um, told you, right?”

  “Yes.” Maybe this was a pudding-first kind of day. I dug in, wondering how to steer the conversation to the secret things I knew about her.

  “Oh.” Michelle dissected her rice, which was already well under bite-sized. “I hope he didn’t tell you I was some kind of bitch.”

  “Why, because you briefly dated him two years ago and had a perfectly friendly conversation with him at a party? We’ll live.” She wanted to see tangled, meet George. She wanted to know why I was less than happy with her? Well, that part was more complicated, and involved breaking a couple of oaths.

  “No, I mean, because of the way I treated him.”

  I stopped shoveling pudding down my gu
llet. “Huh?”

  Michelle’s mouth snapped shut. “Nothing.”

  “No, not nothing.” I pointed my spoon at her like a gun. “Spill.”

  “I really don’t feel comfortable …”

  So help me Persephone, if Jamie lied to me about the two of them I’d string him up by the ties on his society robe. “Look, sister, you’re going to tell me what you’re talking about or things are going to turn very ugly here with the pudding.”

  Michelle put down her fork and folded her hands in her lap. Her head fell forward, shielding her face with brown hair. “I, um, was kind of seeing two guys that year. And when Jamie found out—he just stopped speaking to me.”

  Curious. Had he concocted that story about choosing the society over Michelle so I wouldn’t know he’d been rejected for another guy? Had he told it to me because he knew that, last year, I’d chosen the society over Brandon and gotten dumped for it?

  How many more mysteries did this chick have to unload?

  She took in my confused expression. “I know. I almost would have felt better if he’d gotten mad or something. But he never said a word. I hardly even saw him until the following year, and when I did, he acted like nothing had ever happened between us. I guess I should be grateful that he didn’t hold a grudge or anything. He’s way too good for that.”

  No, he wasn’t. Had she met this man? Jamie was the High King of Grudges. If someone screwed him over, they were toast. Our campaign against Micah Price last semester (after he’d screwed over the Diggers, generally, and Jenny, specifically), or even Felicity’s Dragon’s Head wrath, was nothing compared with what Poe would have wrought in Rose & Grave. I exhaled in relief. There was no lie. Jamie’s version was what he understood. And there was no reason I should disabuse him of his belief.

  Michelle bit her lip. “And I gotta tell you, I chose way wrong on that occasion. Looking back, I can’t believe how big of a mistake I made. Jamie’s a good guy. You should hold on to him.” She sighed. “So, now you think I’m a bitch, huh?”

  Part of me wanted to. Fooling around on my Jamie. Even if she had shown up to the interview, I think this might have been the final nail in her coffin—or the final nail keeping her out of the coffin, in this case. It would be contrary to our oaths to tap a person I knew for a fact had done wrong by one of my brothers. Even my fellow knights would agree; they might not be huge fans of Jamie, but he was a Digger, and we were bound to abide by those rules.

  “Amy?” Michelle was waving her hand in front of my face. “You do think I’m a bitch, don’t you?”

  “I’m just curious how you were seeing two guys at once,” I said, which was the truth, if not the whole truth.

  “Well, Jamie and me—it didn’t really go anywhere. He was always off doing something or other. My roommates all joked that he was actually a spy. And I kind of wanted a commitment. The other guy—that’s what he offered. Live and learn, right?”

  More than she knew. “I’m, uh, kind of the opposite. I wasn’t really looking for a relationship, but Jamie …” I trailed off as I noticed Michelle’s eyes twitch a little. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to point out that Jamie had gone out of his way to commit himself to me while he pulled regular disappearing acts on her. “If it helps, I can tell you that he doesn’t know about the other guy. He thinks you both just got busy. So there’s no hard feelings there.”

  Her face softened. “That’s good, I guess.”

  “So.” Time to change the subject. “What was going on with your phone yesterday?”

  She laughed. “Oh, yeah, sorry to get all paranoid on you. I was getting all these weird prank calls, and I had no idea what to make of them. But it turns out they were nothing.”

  Nothing? “Did you find out who was calling?”

  “That’s the best part!” Michelle said, leaning forward. “It was some random secret society. They wanted to interview me for membership. Can you believe it? I thought I was past my prime for that kind of thing.”

  “Wow.” I toyed with my spoon. “How did you figure it out?”

  “Well, apparently that’s how they do it: call you into some weird impromptu meeting. That’s what a friend explained to me anyway. Talk about spies! And now’s the time they start tapping juniors, right? I guess, officially, I’m still a junior. I just didn’t think they’d be interested in someone like me.”

  “Why not?”

  Michelle shrugged. “I’m just not really the secret society type, you know?”

  Yes, I knew that very well. It was precisely why I wanted her. I weighed my next words. Oh, what the hell. “Do I look like the secret society type?”

  She blinked at me. “Oh. Oh. Amy, I didn’t mean—”

  I gave her my best innocent face. “Didn’t mean what?”

  “If you—”

  “If I what?” More with the innocence. At this rate, I could pose as the Virgin Mary.

  Michelle looked at me for a moment, lips pursed, then started again. “Are you in a secret society?”

  I scooped up a spoonful of pudding. “I can’t talk about that.”

  But Michelle hadn’t become a Westinghouse Scholar and gotten into Eli and practically published before she was twenty by being a fool.2* “Are you, by any chance, in the secret society that was phoning me yesterday?”

  “I can’t talk about that, either.”

  Michelle’s mouth was open, her eyes wide. “Is that why you’re in my class?” she whispered. “Is that why you never show up? So I’d be forced to track you down?”

  I blinked. Wow. That was giving me—all of Rose & Grave, really—a lot of credit. I registered for a class and for her section with the express purpose of acting irresponsible enough to test her scholarly commitment and leadership? “Um …”

  “Is that—oh my God—” she clapped a hand over her mouth “—is that what that party was last weekend? Is Jamie in it, too? Are you really—” Her voice dropped again. “Are you really dating him?”

  “Yes, I’m dating him,” I said, relieved that she’d finally asked a question I could answer. “We’re intensely and eagerly dating.”

  “Okay, TMI.” Michelle held up her hand. “But—that other stuff—is it true?”

  “I told you, I can neither confirm nor deny—”

  “Which one is it?” Michelle asked.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  “How can I, when you won’t tell me anything?” She bounced a bit in her seat. “Okay, you’re not a science major, so it can’t be the Prometheus Society.”

  “Let’s not play this game.” I tugged on the hem of my shirt, making sure the Rose & Grave pin pushed through my belt loop was sufficiently covered.

  “And my grades sure aren’t good enough for Book & Key.”

  “Michelle!” I snapped at her. “Focus.” She looked at me. “What you may not realize is that even if there was a society courting you, it’s over. You didn’t go to the interview. You blew them off.”

  “Oh.” Michelle frowned. “So they don’t tell you who they are, then they punish you for not jumping at their command? That’s a really stupid system, don’t you think?”

  Yes. But what I said, like a good little Digger, was: “It’s tradition—”

  “It’s dumb. No offense.” She shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t like that whole society scene. Keeping secrets, pulling strings? No thank you.”

  “I imagine it’s easier to like when they are pulling strings on your behalf,” I said.

  “You imagine?”

  I kept my chin up, though really, what was the point? “Yes.”

  “Huh.” She cocked her head and examined me. “Have you pulled strings on anyone’s behalf?”

  Aside from Michelle’s herself? Yes. Once, with Darren. And it was still sticking in my craw.

  “I—need to get more pudding.”

  As I scurried away, my mind raced. What did that say about Rose & Grave that my only potential tap who actually wanted to join was Topher Cox? Were we rea
lly the crack team of future power players we believed ourselves to be? Or were we just the Eli students who weren’t offended by centuries-old elitism?

  Was a better outfit for us than black robes and hoods beaver coats and straw hats? Were we a relic, no more relevant to current campus life than the clay pipes they traditionally handed out at graduation to a class of ninety percent non-smokers?

  “Dammit!” I slammed my hand against the soda machine.

  “Now, now, Amy,” said a voice at my back. “What did the Sprite ever do to you?”

  I turned around. Brandon Weare stood before me, holding his lunch tray and making a “tsking” noise at my outburst.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Fine.” Last time I’d spoken to Brandon face-to-face, he’d told me he’d dump Felicity and be my boyfriend. Then Felicity had informed me that she and her secret society had been doing everything in their power to mess me up, and that her final achievement was to convince Brandon that she would pick him over her society (which I had not when I’d been given a similar chance) and that she would leave me alone if he stopped seeing me.

  After that, I’d gotten a Dear Jane letter. He didn’t even have the balls to tell me in person.

  “And you?” I added shortly.

  “Trying to figure out what’s got you so riled up.”

  “Well, that’s none of your business anymore, now, is it?” I turned on my heel to go.

  “Amy,” he called to my back. “Felicity and I broke up.”

  My steps faltered for a split second.

  Tempting Responses

  1) A frosty “How nice for you.”

  2) Same, but can the frosty.

  3) “How ironic. I myself have a boyfriend now.”

  But I kept walking, perhaps a shade more quickly, until I rejoined Michelle at the table. She looked up, startled, as I sat down.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she said. “So, we still friends?”

  Friends? Yes. Potential society brothers? Not so much. “Sure.”

  She looked relieved. “Good, because I have a huge favor to ask you.” She leaned over the table and lowered her voice. “See that guy at three o’clock? The one in the blue shirt?”