Diana Peterfreund - Under the Rose

“How much relevance do we have sitting here, in a 1930s rip-off of a medieval cathedral, surrounded by card catalogs?” She smiled. “Those are simply the trappings. The real tradition is us—the latest in the long line of students with the privilege of receiving our education at one of the greatest universities in the nation. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not here to look pretty. The tradition I’m interested in upholding is the pursuit of academic excellence. Therefore, it follows that it may be a great honor to be tapped into Rose & Grave, but it’s an even bigger honor to be granted the responsibility of keeping it going.”

“Spoken like a woman who really belongs in a society.”

“You don’t think you belong?”

“It’s not the best time to ask me that.”

“Fine. I’ll ask you this: What do you think of the others? You don’t have to tell me if you think it will wreck your secrecy or anything. But think about it. I know Josh is in it, and you know how I feel about him. And I’m pretty sure that Clarissa chick is, too. If there were no tomb, no whatever marvelous mysteries you’ve been granted, whatever silver platter they’ve handed you—what would you be in it for?”

Lydia was right, of course. And it was the same argument Ben, Jenny, Mara, and Harun had been making, and even, to some extent, the same as I’d been making to George. What did being a Digger mean? The problem wasn’t all the nonsense of underground rooms and money and rituals and secrets leaked to the press. The problem was, we’d been so busy thinking about the society as an entity, we’d forgotten about Rose & Grave as an experience. Hostility and competition between members was no way to run a society of people who were supposed to be brothers.

When we dropped all the politics, we did have an awesome time. Like the other morning, just sitting in the Library, drinking tea and talking. Or all the pickup Kaboodle Ball games. Or the political debates, even if most of the topics went way over my head. Even my so-called enemies evoked memories that had nothing to do with our arguments. Nikolos cataloged our art collection, Kevin rewrote the Digger anthems to hip-hop songs, Omar and Ben staged Kaboodle Ball death matches, and George…George made a good time happen wherever he went. Whether it was setting up an impromptu chess tournament or reciting from his litany of dirty limericks (as if there’s any other kind), he was our resident activity director, and he charmed the pants off everyone who knew him. Usually literally.

I belonged in that Rose & Grave, the one where no one thought it odd that your fellow knights went running off to New York City if they thought you were in trouble. The question was, could the knights of D177 ever be those Diggers?

It was Wednesday before I received the first hint that such a thing was possible. Josh—who was practically a resident by this time—Lydia, and I were having lunch in the Prescott College Dining Hall and I was enjoying a surprisingly good rendition of apple-pumpkin soup (go, dining hall chefs!) when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry for bothering you at lunch, but can I talk to you?”

I looked up to see the (gorgeous, of course) arm attached to that hand, and beyond it, the rest of its owner, looking exceptionally scrumptious in a blue wool V-neck. I swear, autumn is made for boys as pretty as George. Handsome men look seventeen times more devastating when outfitted in L.L. Bean. You just want them to roll you in hay and have done with it.

Focus, Amy. “I’m not really ready to talk to you,” I said, and returned to my soup. Which was when I noticed that George’s other hand was resting on Josh’s shoulder.

“It’s about that Greek project,” he continued.

Greek. As in, more Thucydides, less Persian barbarian. Josh and I exchanged glances, and Lydia began kicking me under the table.

“Sure,” Josh said. “Lydia, would you excuse us for a minute?”

George led us out of the dining hall and up the stairs to the Prescott College Library. New Haven had taken pity on us today and bathed our campus in the type of sunlight that only exists in the autumn. Everything was brighter, as if both sun and brave surviving plants were throwing a last-ditch effort at existence. They’d fail, of course, but it was pretty while it lasted. The golden wood paneling and whitewashed accents practically glittered in the clear yellow light. Odile was squinting on the couch.

“The coast is clear,” she said, as George shut the door behind us.

“What’s this about?” Josh asked.

“We come with a proposal.”

“ We do?” I asked, looking from George to Odile and back again. “Did I miss the team draft?”

Odile came forward, her arms full of papers. “I’m the architect of peace.” She dropped the load on the table before us. “I’m here to do what it takes to get us back on track. And I think this is the right way to do it.”

“We’ve all had time to think now,” said George. “And most of the other Elysians and I agree we made a mistake. We’d like to disband Elysion and work to rebuild the unity of our club.”

“ Most of you?”

George ignored my crack. “But we also realize that treachery can’t just be swept under the rug. If an act of disloyalty has the power to dissolve our bonds and threaten the order, then an act of extreme loyalty should have the power to renew them.” He pulled forward one file. “And that goes for all of the knights. Even the—uh—traitors who weren’t in Elysion.”

Jenny. I raised an eyebrow at him. “What kind of act?”

“From our conversations with Jenny,” Odile began, “we’ve come to the conclusion that there are certain factions—”

George coughed a bit.

“Fine. Certain people who claim to be enemies of the order.”

They were talking to Jenny? Wow, maybe I had underestimated them.

“And we plan,” said George, “to show this person what it really means to be an enemy of Rose & Grave. To give him a taste of what will happen if he ever tells anyone the things he may know of our C.B.’s.”

“No way,” said Josh. “I think I’ve had enough of conspiracies and crimes to last one semester.”

“This is, like, barely a crime,” Odile said, squeezing her thumb and forefinger together. “Total misdemeanor territory.”

“Out of curiosity,” I said to George, “how many people do you have going along with this scheme so far?”

He hesitated, then turned to Odile. “Well, Jenny, of course, and Ben and Harun, too. If we get the two of you in, that’s seven.”

“Fifty percent?”

“We have high hopes,” said Odile. “We’re really lobbying. I feel very sure that before tomorrow’s meeting—”

“The fact is,” George interrupted, fixing me with his copper eyes, “I think the holdouts are waiting to hear what you think.”

“Me? Are you kidding? Why?”

“Because you made it all happen. You found Jenny. You uncovered Elysion.”

I rolled my eyes. “Jenny uncovered Elysion, and I doubt most of the Elysians are happy about it.” I noticed that Omar, Kevin, and Nikolos weren’t part of the present support group.

Josh cut in. “Jenny doesn’t count, though. She’s in more trouble than anyone. After all your effort last week, Amy, it makes sense.”

“Ah, that reminds me,” said Odile. “The plan takes care of Jenny, too. See, according to my research, all the stuff she allegedly ‘leaked’—”

“There’s nothing alleged about it,” I said. “She pleaded guilty.”

“—had already been leaked in 1972 in an article in Harper’s, in 1983 in an article in Esquire, and in 1990 in an exposé by the BBC. Certain details of our initiation rituals are no secret, and haven’t been for quite some time.”