Diana Peterfreund - Under the Rose

Jenny spoke again. “I can’t talk to you about this now.”

“When, then?” Micah said. “No more waiting. You’ve been putting this off forever.”

“It’s not forever. I’m just not ready.”

There was a long pause, and then he said, “Well, I’m ready, so I don’t care if you are or not.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Brandon, and his hand formed a fist. “Get him.”

We spilled out of the entrance and Jenny looked up. Her cheeks were stained with tears. She looked at me for one second, her eyes burning with hatred, then turned and sprinted off.

Micah smirked at Brandon, and also departed posthaste. The jerk was probably well aware Brandon Weare would not fight him on a crowded city street.

“Should I go after her?” I asked him.

Brandon’s jaw was clenched tight. “If you think she’ll talk to you. I don’t think she will.” He watched Micah walk away. “But I’ll tell you what I do suggest. Get your people —and I know you have them—get your people to do that guy some damage. Soon.” He took the coffee from my hand. “I’m going to go deliver this to the Lit office. Chase down that girl, or find your friends, or something. I’ll see you later.”

No! That’s what he’d said to me last time, and it had been a month and a half before I saw him again. “When?” I couldn’t help but blurt out.

He looked down at the coffees. “I don’t know, Amy. Maybe when you call me?”

I power-walked back to Prescott College, cell phone in full gear. Jenny’s phone rang and rang, but Brandon had been right. She clearly didn’t want to talk to me. Maybe she’d take a call from another Diggirl. But that route dead-ended as well. Clarissa’s phones sent me to voice mail, Odile’s message said she’d be out of town until Wednesday, and Demetria’s land line (she refused to sign her soul away to a Cingular contract) had a busy signal. (Seriously, who doesn’t do call-waiting these days?)

Okay, no problem. I’d wait until Jenny calmed down somewhat and try her again. Or maybe I’d even give Josh a heads-up on the issue. He may not be a Diggirl, but he was close enough, and I was sure he’d love any excuse to give Micah a little smackdown. But when I got back home, it was to find Lydia alone on the couch, chewing the end of her highlighter and smiling dreamily into her Locke.

“Where’s Josh?” I asked.

“Eleven-thirty lecture,” she murmured, and proceeded to highlight a line I’m sure she’d had memorized since freshman year. She glanced up at me. “Anything wrong?”

Nothing that couldn’t wait until the next time I saw Jenny. I schooled my features into a more casual expression. “No. Why?”

“I thought Brandon was here.”

“Oh, that. He was. It was fine.”

Lydia nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. I hope you guys can move on and be friends.”

“Sadly, I think that’s up to him. I’m the one who hurt him, so I’m pretty much consigned to taking whatever friendship he’s willing to let me have.”

Lydia pursed her lips. “Brandon’s a good guy. I’m sure he wants to be your friend.”

“I don’t know if I can be his friend—not really. I doubt we were ever just friends. There was always the tension, and then the outright flirting, then all the naked stuff. And then we were kind of together. I don’t know how to be friends with him without the sexual element. Maybe I just don’t do the boy friend thing.”

“Especially not at your current pace with Monsieur Prescott, mon ami. ”

“You ain’t just whistlin’ ‘La Vie en Rose.’” I plopped down on the couch next to her. “But that’s a whole other headache. I think I’m having a day where I wish all men would simply spontaneously combust and leave our planet alone.” Starting with Micah.

“Mmmm,” Lydia sighed. “I’m not.” She stretched out her feet and wiggled her toes. “Josh is…sublime.”

I rolled my eyes.

“No, really, Amy, if only you knew.” Ha. If only she knew. “I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, and yes, rationally I know it’s my brain exulting over the whole pair-bonding thing and going nuts, but I don’t think I’ve ever known a guy like him before. We can lie around for hours and talk about nonsense or issues and it feels so comfortable. I don’t worry if he’ll think I’m an idiot if the subject matter changes from what we should do in the Middle East to whether the new Star Wars movies are any good. Which, you know, they’re not.”

“Right.”

“But it’s amazing. I feel as if I can tell him things I’ve never told anyone.” Her eyes widened. “Except you, of course.”

“Of course.”

She broke into a smile. “And it’s so weird, but I feel as if he can tell me things he’s never told anyone, too.”

Except me. Of course.

“That’s great, Lydia,” I said, and meant it. Or hoped I did. “I’m really really happy for you. I hope this works out.”

“Thanks, hon. I know the last thing you probably want to hear about right now are my romantic adventures.”

“No, actually, it’s nice to think there is a purpose to all of this.” And nicer to hope that maybe this time Josh would hold himself in check.

Lydia dropped her head on my shoulder. “I think there is. Right now anyway. Ask me again when I’m single.” I chuckled, dislodging her from her perch. “Okay, back to 17th-century political theory.”

The phone rang and Lydia grabbed the receiver. “Lydia and Amy’s Den of Sin.”

Great. When she said stuff like that it was always my mom. We were sitting so close, I could hear the person speak on the other end.

“Lydia, it’s Josh.”

“Oh, hey there, cutie.”

“Are you alone?”

“Um, no, Amy’s right here.” There was a click. “Josh?” She looked at me. “That was weird.”

And then my cell phone rang. I answered it, careful to hold it up to the ear facing away from Lydia. “Hello?”

“Firefly Room. Now.” And then the line went dead.

I hereby confess:

I am my brother’s kept woman.

Within fifteen minutes, Soze had managed to collect most of us in the tomb’s Firefly Room. Lucky was there, looking a little puffy around the eyes and absolutely refusing to recognize my presence, and so was Puck, who had his feet upon an antique hutch in the corner. He’d tracked down Thorndike despite her lack of cell phone, and Bond, Big Demon, Frodo, Juno, and Graverobber rounded out the party.

“Okay, I’m not going to mince words or waste any time calling us to order. Hope you guys will forgive me for dispensing with tradition.” Soze laid his cell phone open in the middle of the table. “But we’re here to talk about this.” He pressed a button.

The tinny, static-filled voice of Kurt Gehry burbled out. “ …absolutely unacceptable…would never have stood for it back when Rose & Grave actually meant something to its members…last straw. If you think the patriarchs of this organization are going to stand idly by while you and your pathetic excuse for a club sell off our traditions to some idiot off his medication, then you are not worthy to bear the title of knight. We hold you completely responsible for this fiasco, and if you do not root out this traitor and stop them before they cause any more harm, then we will do it for you. By any means necessary. ”

The patriarch’s voice cut out, replaced by the recorded options on Soze’s voice mail for save, replay, and delete.