Diana Peterfreund - Rites of Spring (Break)

Eventually the tears dried, but I spent several long minutes just standing there, slumped, catching my breath, adjusting to this new reality, the one where I’d again added to my seemingly endless list of romantic mistakes. Chalk another one up, Amy. Not only are you crap at having a boyfriend, crap at having a one-night stand, and crap at having a no-strings-attached fling, you’re also crap at being the other woman. Pack it up, go home, commit to celibacy. You’re one hundred percent, unequivocally awful at being with a man.

I took a deep breath. There. Fine. Now you know. I looked up.

And saw Poe standing in the doorway across the street. I could make out little more than a glint of his gray eyes, the line of his jaw, his sharp cheekbones in his thin face, but still, I recognized him. His defiant stance, arms crossed over the chest of his worn wool jacket. I knew that pose. It was like the first time we’d met, when he’d interrogated me. Only worse, because here I was, as raw as hamburger, ready to crumble. My eyes began to burn, but whether it was a fresh batch of tears or suppressed rage, I couldn’t tell.

Why was he here? Why was he always, always, always around? Didn’t he have a life? Didn’t he have anything better to do?

“I take it the parley went poorly?” he asked, coming toward me.

“What are you doing here!” I snapped.

He rolled his eyes. “Amy, there are two exits to the library. I guessed—and rightly so—that your club would forget that, and I wanted to make sure there was no funny business on this side.”

“How did you even know this was going on?” I resisted the urge to run a hand across my no-doubt snotty nose.

“I have friends in the tomb.” Of course. He and Hale had always been buddy-buddy. He held out a small white square. A handkerchief. When I took it, he added, “I thought I’d only get involved if they tried something.”

“Otherwise you’d just sit here and spy?” I swiped at my face with the handkerchief. Of all the people to catch me at my most vulnerable, why the hell did it have to be Poe?

“I was afraid to interrupt you by moving. Seemed the lesser of two evils.” He stood there for a moment, hands in pockets.

“The greater being?”

“Leaving you here alone.”

“Well, you can go now,” I said, then realized how ungrateful that sounded. Even if he’d been sneaking around.

“That’s the thing. I can’t.” Hands still in pockets, eyes still downcast. “Malcolm would probably kill me if I didn’t, um, see to his little sib in her time of need.”

“Then don’t tell him.” Malcolm was in Alaska and hadn’t written me in a month. So much for big-sib solicitation.

“And then there’s that whole pesky oath of constancy I took. I’m supposed to stand by you.”

“You would think of that.”

He looked up, met my eyes with his serious, gray stare. “So would you, Amy.”

What a time to remind me. I hated my society oaths in this moment. I felt fresh tears and made use of the handkerchief again. I sensed his hand on my shoulder, and suddenly we were crossing the street to the alcove at the law school, and sitting on a sheltered bench, and he was… patting me, or something, landing awkward little strokes along my upper arm that were no doubt meant to be comforting.

“Calm down,” Poe said. “The parley was supposed to make things better. What did they say?”

“That it’s over,” I sniffed.

“In exchange for what?”

I shook my head in misery. “Nothing.”

“That’s not true.” He peered at me through the shadows. “What did you have to give them?”

“Nothing!” I repeated. “They got what they wanted without my help.”

“They found the statue?”

“No. It had nothing to do with the statue.” I hung my head. “You’ll be happy to know that I’ve been acting like the brain donor you always say I am.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he said. “A troublemaker, yes, but that’s different.” He let his arm drop to his side.

Well, I’d been causing trouble for Brandon and Felicity, that was for sure.

Poe cleared his throat. “Am I better off not knowing?”

Everyone in the world was. It was too humiliating. “Yes.”

“Those attacks were…personal.”

“Yes.”

“I thought as much. It’s not the usual society feud M.O. Was it an academic or romantic rival?”

Right. Because it was always school or love for an Eli student. Were our troubles as simple as that? I took a deep breath. “I thought I was heading toward something important with this guy, and I was wrong, and Dragon’s Head used it to get to me. That’s all.” It was enough.

“George?” The word exploded out of his mouth.

“Does everyone know about that?” Guess it was silly of George to think that leaving it out of the C.B. would accomplish anything.

“We didn’t become Diggers due to a lack of perception, Amy.”

“Well, you aren’t experts, either. That’s been over for months.” And while it had been going on, I knew exactly what I’d been doing. My heart stayed clear of entanglements with Eli’s most notorious playboy. No, when I decided to get my heart broken, I took the road less traveled.

“Oh,” Poe said. “Forgive me if I’ve failed to keep up with the latest in your love life.”

“No one asked you to,” I snapped, then instantly regretted it. He’d been attempting a wee bit of civility, which was pretty much a miracle when it came to Poe. I shouldn’t wreck it. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m a little sensitive at the moment.”

“At the moment?”

I bit my tongue. “It’s just been demonstrated to me, yet again, that I’m doomed when it comes to romance. I’ve got to prepare for a life alone.”

Poe took a deep breath. “Listen, I have severe doubts that this is any of my business, but in the interest of fulfilling my duty, can I give you some advice?”

Advice from Poe. Romantic advice… from Poe. Okay. If nothing else, it would be entertaining. I nodded.

“I don’t think that the way college dating works has any bearing on the real world. If you don’t have a good experience for these four years, it doesn’t mean you should start fitting yourself for a habit and enter a convent. I didn’t have a girlfriend in college, and I turned out okay.” He paused. “Okay, you don’t think I turned out okay…”

I laughed in spite of myself. “I think you turned out fine,” I said, mostly because etiquette demanded a denial. Mostly. Because really, who was the one in real trouble here? The guy who seemed comfortable with his desire to hang out alone, in the dark, in secret, or the girl standing in the rain, sobbing?

He shrugged. “Thank you for saying so, at least.”

He looked down at my hands, which were currently twisting the life out of his handkerchief. I didn’t know anyone our age who used handkerchiefs. And, oddly enough, rather than seeming like another example of his weirdness, it suddenly felt to me like something grand, old-fashioned, a little refined. As that thought occurred to me, I stopped wringing it, lest it tear in my fists. I held it up.

“Uh, keep it,” he said.

“That’s nice of you,” I said.

“Not really,” he said. “It’s covered with your snot.”

Did I say refined? I meant rude. Rude.

And that thought must have shown in my posture, because he backtracked. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Though it’s true.”

“Yes.” He looked at me. “You get offended by some things that blow my mind, and then, sometimes, when I’m trying to offend you, you don’t even notice.”

“I notice. You can tell, because I bite back.”