“Wow,” Christopher said. “No offense, man, but why are you going to Dalcrest? I mean, I’m excited just to play col ege bal , but you could have gone, like, Division One.” Matt shrugged uncomfortably. “Um, I had to stay close to home.”
Christopher opened his mouth to say something else, but his mother gave a tiny shake of her head and he closed it again. Great, Matt thought. They probably thought he had family problems.
He had to admit it warmed him a little, though, to be with people who acknowledged what he’d given up. The girls and Stefan didn’t real y understand footbal . Even though Stefan had played on their high school team with him, his mind-set was stil very much that of the Renaissance European aristocrat: sports were enjoyable pastimes that kept the body fit. Stefan didn’t real y care.
But Christopher and his family—they got what it meant for Matt to pass up the chance of playing for a top- ranked col ege footbal team.
“So,” Christopher said, a little too suddenly, as if he’d been trying to think of a way to change the subject, “which bed do you want? I don’t care whether I take top or bottom.” They al looked over at the bunk beds, and that’s when Matt saw it for the first time. It must have arrived while he was downstairs helping with Christopher’s luggage. A cream-colored envelope sat on the bottom bunk, made of a fancy thick paper stock like a wedding invitation. On the front was written in cal igraphy “Matthew Honeycutt.”
“What’s that, dear?” Christopher’s mom asked curiously.
Matt shrugged, but he was beginning to feel a thrum of excitement in his chest. He’d heard something about invitations certain people at Dalcrest received, ones that just mysteriously appeared, but he’d always thought they were a myth.
Flipping the envelope over, he saw a blue wax seal bearing the impression of an ornate letter V.
Huh. After gazing at the envelope for a second, he folded it and slipped it into his back pocket. If it was what he thought it was, he was supposed to open it alone.
“I guess that’s fate tel ing us the bottom bunk’s yours,” Christopher said amiably.
“Yeah,” Matt said distractedly, his heart pounding hard.
“Excuse me for a minute, okay?”
He ducked out into the hal , took a deep breath, and opened the envelope. Inside was more thick fancy paper with cal igraphy on it and a narrow piece of black fabric. He read:
Fortis Aeturnus
For generations, the best and brightest of Dalcrest College have been chosen to join the Vitale Society. This year, you have been selected.
Should you wish to accept this honor and become one of us, come tomorrow night at eight o’clock to the main campus gate. You must be blindfolded and dressed as befits a serious occasion.
Tell no one.
The little pulse of excitement in Matt’s chest increased until he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He sank down along the wal and took a deep breath.
He’d heard stories about the Vitale Society. The handful of wel -known actors, famous writers, and great Civil War general that Dalcrest counted among their alumni were al rumored to have been members. To belong to the legendary society was supposed to ensure your success, to link you to an incredible secret network that would help you throughout your life.
More than that, there was talk of mysterious deeds, of secrets revealed only to members. And they were supposed to have amazing parties.
But they were just gossip, the stories of the Vitale Society, and no one ever straight-out admitted to belonging to it. Matt always figured the secret society was a myth. The col ege itself so vehemently denied any knowledge of the Vitale Society that Matt suspected the admissions people might have made the whole thing up, trying to make the col ege seem a little more exclusive and mysterious than it real y was.
But here—he looked down at the creamy paper clutched in his hands—was evidence that al the stories might be true. It could be a joke, he supposed, a trick someone was playing on a few of the freshmen. It didn’t feel like a joke, though. The seal, the wax, the expensive paper; it seemed like a lot of effort to go to if the invitation wasn’t genuine.
The most exclusive, most secret society at Dalcrest was real. And they wanted him.
4
“Trust Bonnie to meet a cute guy on her first day at col ege,” Elena said. She careful y drew the nail-polish brush over Meredith’s toenail, painting it a tannish pink.
They’d spent the evening at freshman orientation with the rest of their dormmates, and now al they wanted to do was relax. “Are you sure this is the color it’s supposed to be?” Elena asked Meredith. “It doesn’t look like a summer sunset to me.”
“I like it,” Meredith said, wiggling her toes.
“Careful! I don’t want polish on my new bedspread,” Elena warned.
“Zander is just gorgeous,” Bonnie said, stretching out luxuriously on her own bed on the other side of the room.
“Wait til you meet him.”
Meredith smiled at Bonnie. “Isn’t it an amazing feeling?
When you’ve just met somebody and you feel like there’s something between you, but you’re not quite sure what’s going to happen?” She gave an exaggerated sigh, rol ing her eyes up in a mock swoon. “It’s al about the anticipation, and you get a thril just seeing him. I love that first part.” Her tone was light, but there was something lonely in her face.
