Diana Peterfreund - Under the Rose

Besides, we were together so often that, oversexed as the boy is, I don’t think he had the time or the stamina for anyone else.

Halloween, always momentous on the Eli campus, came around again, and since it was our last, the seniors I knew went all out. Most of us Diggirls raided the tomb’s costume supply for our outfits. Lucky, of course, kept to her new policy of avoiding the rest of us and was nowhere to be found. Thorndike, who still hadn’t shaken off the latest in her series of colds, rallied in the getup of an Amazon queen, though the rest of us advised her that the skimpy costume was unlikely to protect her from the elements.

“The reason you keep getting sick,” Angel said, holding up a stunning Georgian ball gown, “is that you don’t take care of yourself. Explain again what you have against wool?”

“It’s a matter of sustainable agrarian models. Small farms are fine—” Thorndike paused to sneeze.

“The reason you keep getting sick,” Lil’ Demon interrupted, “is because you won’t take those supplements I gave you. With a vegan diet like yours—”

“I’m not taking anything that quack gave you, okay?” Thorndike snapped. “And to be honest, I don’t think you should, either. Just because it worked wonders on Jessica Simpson—”

“That may be a reason to avoid it on its own,” I added.

Thorndike continued. “I was reading up on the ingredients the other day, and I think—”

Lil’ Demon paused in her efforts to wriggle into a mermaid costume and pinched her thumb and forefinger together. “Zip it. Are you a medical professional? No. You’re not even studying the sciences. Last I checked, you were majoring in Ethnicity, Race, and Migration.”

“And what’s your major this week?” Thorndike asked. “You know you do have to declare it sometime before graduation, don’t you?”

“American Studies.” Lil’ Demon smiled sweetly. “And I think I may actually have a thesis topic. Even Errol Flynn over there will like this one.”

Juno looked up from the floor, where she was strapping on a pair of thigh-high, Three-Musketeer—style boots. A cutlass hung from her hip. She twirled her silent-screen mustache. “Oh, do tell!”

“I’m writing about the development and spread of collegiate organizations,” Lil’ Demon said. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading in our own history books, and it’s fascinating. Phi Beta Kappa gives rise to Rose & Grave, gives rise to other societies, gives rise to fraternities and sororities throughout the…” She trailed off as she took in our expressions. “What? I’m not going to tell any of the secret stuff!”

“Of course you aren’t,” Angel said, but she sounded far from convinced.

“Exactly how much research have you been doing?” I asked. My eye had landed on several pieces of faux Pilgrim wear, and I was busy constructing a wardrobe for Hester Prynne—if Hester Prynne had been a bit more of a sexpot. Long skirt, warm hooded cape, and a corset top emblazoned with the requisite “A.” “And what does our noble Secretary think of your efforts?”

A nervous giggle ran through the room.

“He’s getting more paranoid than you are,” Lil’ Demon replied to me. “It’s quite impressive, really. But I refuse to change my behavior because of all this nonsense. We start letting it affect how we run stuff in this tomb and the terrorists really have won.”

This time, the laugh was genuine.

“Seriously, though, you should see some of the stuff I’ve found. Maybe, if I have some time, I’ll do a report on the secret, historical stuff for the rest of the club.”

“That’s a great idea,” said Juno. “What kind of stuff are you talking about?”

She shrugged. “Past scandals, stuff that would make the shit that went down last spring look like child’s play. You think the patriarchs are up in arms now, you should see what kind of crap they tried to pull when clubs started tapping minorities. The factions almost tore this place apart.”

Angel pulled on a high, powdered wig. “The jury’s still out on seeing how together we’ll be by the end of the year.”

On the way out, we ran into Lucky, who appeared to be making a beeline from the Grand Library to the front door.

“Hey!” I called. “Wait up!” She stopped and turned, her expression carefully neutral. “I’m getting the impression, Lucky, that you’ve been making yourself scarce recently. Come on, let’s go get you a Halloween costume and you can come out with us.”

“I don’t participate in Halloween,” Lucky said stiffly.

“Why?”

“Why do you care?” she snapped.

I held my hands up. “Whoa, there. Chill out. I just thought it would be fun. You never hang out with us anymore—”

“It’s devil worship.” She glared at me. “So you go ahead and honor demons. I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Okay, fine. Then how about we meet up tomorrow? We can get some coffee or something.”

“I said, I’ll pass.”

The other Diggirls, clustered on the landing, began to rumble with protestations, and I leaned in closer. “Lucky, are you angry at me? I really think we should talk about this. I honestly didn’t mean to overhear what you were talking about with that guy. So if you want me to keep my nose out of it, I will, no matter how much I would rather do otherwise. But please understand I’m only trying to help.”

“Help me do what?” she cried. “Turn into the kind of people the rest of you are? No thanks.”

At that, the other girls gasped.

“Look here!” I shouted back. “I’ve never judged you, and believe me, if I wanted to, I could. I could say plenty of stuff about how narrow-minded you’re being, and how rude, and what poor decision-making skills you seem to have…”

“Oh, yes,” she replied in a voice dripping with disdain, “go ahead and attack my morals from your position in the gutter. You were looking plenty high-minded in the kitchen. ”

“Me?” I cried. “You started it. This has nothing to do with different values. I respect yours. Lucky, all I ever wanted to do was talk to you because I thought your boyfriend was pressuring you into something you didn’t want to do.”

She straightened. “You don’t know me, you clearly don’t know my boyfriend, and most of all, you haven’t the slightest idea what it is I want to do. So stay out of my life, Bugaboo.”

With that, she left. The other four joined me.

“You guys have some sort of issue I don’t know about?” said Thorndike, looking after Jenny’s retreating figure.

“Same old story from a few weeks ago,” I said. “I accidentally saw her in a fight with her boyfriend”—and she saw me getting cozy with George—“and I don’t think she’s taking it too well.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and figure the rest of us would get similar treatment?” Angel asked. “She practically tore your face off. I didn’t know she had it in her.”

“Better you than me,” said Lil’ Demon. “I’ve been in a couple of catfights in my time, but that girl? She’d have Lindsay Lohan cowering.”

“She’s not usually like that, is she?” Juno asked. “I always got the impression she was sweet and quiet.”

“Yes on the latter, not so much on the former,” I grumbled.

“Don’t worry.” Angel put a brocade-clad arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “She’ll calm down by the next meeting. You two can patch things up.”

“You think?”

“Sure. You’re Diggirls.”

We left the tomb and headed to Clarissa’s apartment to put the finishing touches on our hair and makeup (Odile is a master at eyeliner). Some of the party vibe had worn off after my altercation with Jenny, but the other girls did their best to lift my spirits. Mara, especially, seemed in a great mood, but she was probably just celebrating the fact that, for once, she wasn’t the odd Diggirl out. And yes, I have to admit Mara was growing on me. I still found her blunt opinions and truculent nature a bit irritating, but who was I to hold that against her? If the other knights could put up with my conspiracy-theorist leanings, then why couldn’t I give a free pass to the Queen of the Eli Political Union? (Also, Clarissa popped a bottle of Krug, and really, that just makes everyone friendlier.)