Secret Society Girl

informed us that they would close the tomb and invalidate the membership of any Digger who supported and/or acted upon the initiation of females.”

“You sound like a lawyer,” I spluttered through my shock. He sounded so…calm!

“Thank you. I’ll be attending Eli Law come fall. At least, that’s the plan.”

(Eli Law, by the way, is rather infamous for not turning out lawyers. Supposedly the best law school in the country, but everyone on their roster either becomes professors or politicians.)

“How the hell can you be so blase about this?” I practically shouted (Malcolm would say I was being indiscreet). “You tapped us, too!”

“Indeed I did,” Poe replied, in that infuriatingly unruffled tone.

“Well, aren’t you upset about having your—your membership invalidated?”

“I’ve had a few weeks to get used to the idea.” Poe shrugged. “I’m certainly upset about the development. But I can’t say I’m surprised. In fact, I was just telling Malcolm a few moments ago—”

“That was you on the cell phone.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“And you were already here.”

“I assure you, as I’m sure you heard me assure him, my presence isn’t about to make a modicum of difference at this juncture.”

“Dammit, stop talking like that!”

His gray eyes went cold, but he obeyed. “Look, honey, I happen to agree with them. I don’t think women should be members of Rose & Grave, and I argued that point as long as my voice held out. I also held no illusions that the TTA board would ‘come around’ as soon as they saw what a great group of girls we tapped, which was the mistaken hypothesis of the rest of my club. However, when it became obvious that I was the only one of the Diggers who thought so, I decided to support my brothers.”

“Why?”

“Because the decision to tap has to be unanimous, and we were at an impasse. From that point on, I didn’t say a word. We interviewed girls, we groomed girls, we deliberated about girls, we tapped girls, and we initiated girls, and during the whole process, I never once spoke up about how I thought it was a really bad idea.”

He said “girls” like it was a dirty word. I wanted to slap him.

And still, the lecture went on. “What’s happening now is exactly what I said would happen, but I’m not going to start throwing ‘I told you so’s around. We went over the board’s head, and acted without the support of the trustees at large. We can’t take back the initiation now—you’ve been inside the tomb, inside the Inner Temple. You’ve seen everything, know everything. As far as they are concerned, we’ve committed heresy, and your class’s club is an abomination of the Order. Malcolm wants me to go down there and talk to the patriarchs because he thinks that they’ll be more likely to listen to someone who’s on their side. But because I’m on their side, I have no argument to make.”

Forget arguments to them—talk about a rimshot! I could make a dozen without breaking a sweat. “Why don’t you think women should be allowed in Rose & Grave?”

He looked at me for a long time without blinking, then stood. “Right now, the quickest answer is that tapping you has fucked up my life. They aren’t going to stop with the tomb. They’ll go after our school records. They’ll go after everything. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a resume to update. If I were you, I’d do the same.”

“You’re a sexist asshole.”

He stopped for a moment. “Maybe I’ll put that down under Skills.”

“And get a job with whom?” I snapped. “The Taliban?”

Emotions flashed so quickly across his face that I had a tough time catching them, but he finally settled on disdain. “I am not implying that women are in any way inferior to men. I am in full support of an elite women’s secret society on campus.”

I rolled my eyes. “Separate is not equal, buddy. An Eli law student should know that.”

“When Wellesley accepts my little brother, I’ll revisit the issue.” And then he took off down the steps.

At least now I was up to speed. And I also knew that I disliked Poe whatever-his-real-name-was a lot more than even Miss Clarissa “Slumming” Cuthbert. I trudged back down the steps and ran smack into Malcolm, who was redialing his cell phone.

“You can forget it,” I said. “He’s not coming.”

Malcolm looked at me. “Who?”

“Poe.”

Malcolm flinched at my use of the society name, but was all business as he grabbed my arm. “How do you know?”

“I just talked to him.”

“Here?” Malcolm searched the area with his eyes. “That sneaky bastard!”

“That’s not the adjective I’d use.”

He frowned. “You don’t really know him.”

Man, that whole oath of constancy thing really took, didn’t it? I wondered if I’d be jumping in to defend Clarissa next. “I know he doesn’t want me in the society.”

Malcolm sighed. “That’s not true. If he truly didn’t want it, it wouldn’t have happened.”

I shook my head. Malcolm might think he knew his society brother, but I’d looked the guy in the eyes. He’d wanted nothing to do with the “fairer sex.” Stone Age jerk.

“Okay, then, Amy, we’re on our own.” His hand slipped down to mine, and he began pulling me forward.

“What are you doing?” I cried as we pushed through the crowd.

“We’re going to talk to them.”

I started to dig my heels into the asphalt. “But what about…all that stuff you said?”

Malcolm looked back and winked. “Loophole, kiddo. We’re press.”

WAYS IN WHICH AMY HASKEL AND MALCOLM CABOT DIFFER FROM “PRESS”

Considering the above, you can probably guess my reaction.

“The hell I am!” I shouted, drawing the attention of more than a few interested bystanders. “Malcolm, have you ever even read the Eli Literary Magazine?”

He made a face, as if the very suggestion was anathema to all he found acceptable in his reading material. (Note to self: Include more page-turners in next issue.) “Please, Amy.” Regrouping, he yanked me along. “Look, you’ve got a media outlet at your disposal. That’s all I care about right now.”

Well, I thought, as he swung me face-to-face with a silver-haired human shield, at least this fit the theme of “Ambition.”

“Mr. Cabot,” said one of the patriarchs. “Quite a daring move, I must say. Whatever must your fellows think?”

My society big sib didn’t miss a beat. “Malcolm Cabot, Eli Daily News. May I ask what brings you to High Street today, sir? It appears you’re guarding the entrance to the Rose & Grave tomb. Is this true?” And then, leaning in, he hissed, “I think it would be better if this matter were handled in- house.”

“I’m sorry,” the patriarch replied. “But I really can’t talk about that.”

“You’re making fools of all of us,” Malcolm continued under his breath. “No one wants the society to be a laughingstock.”

“I’m sorry,” the patriarch replied. “But I’m really not allowed to talk about that.”

“Come on,” Malcolm said. “You have to open up a dialogue here. Stop treating me like some kind of bar—” He froze, then straightened, his eyes wide as the rules of the game became clear. “Barbarian. You prick.”

“You defied us. You pay the price.”

“Like hell.”

The patriarch went on. “And that’s not all. We intend to pursue this to the fullest extent. Good luck with your career, Mr. Cabot.”

A frigid cord of fear seemed to band my lungs at the man’s oh-so-casual tone, and I felt my blood rush in retaliation. Now it was my turn to be indignant. “Hey! Don’t you think that’s taking things a little too far?” I caught Malcolm’s warning glance. “Um, Amy Haskel, Eli Lit Mag.” Formalities aside, I continued in a lower voice. “Some stupid undergrad organization is one thing, but you have no right to mess with his future—”

“Amy Haskel,” the patriarch said. “Editor of the literary magazine.”

I flicked a strand of hair behind my shoulder as if I hadn’t a care in the world. “That’s what I said.”

“Prescott College.”

And he could read my T-shirt, too. Big deal.

“Hails from Cleveland, Ohio. Daughter of Carl, an accountant with Simpson Associates, and Mardie, a housewife and former Montessori school teacher. Literature major. Scheduled to begin an editorial internship at Horton Press in Manhattan on June 12.”

There seemed to be a sudden blockage in my throat and I fought the urge to swallow convulsively. Ignore him. It’s the stupid Diggers trick. Blah blah blah files on me. Whatever.

But…my parents’ names, my internship start date…Poe had said they’d go after me….

“Nice plan,” he sneered. “Good luck with your career.”

Malcolm had to hold me back.

A scream rose within my chest and somehow, I managed to keep my mouth shut, though I could feel my lungs constrict with the effort of holding it in. You wouldn’t dare! I thought, staring at the man so intently that even my non-existent powers of telepathy couldn’t fail in getting the point across. I’d never once looked at an adult with more concentrated animosity, but then again, I’d never before been in a situation where one had threatened me. No, they usually tried to help me—teach me something, write me recommendations, give me a summer job, tell me how impressed they were with my prodigious achievements and how excited they were to see what I’d be making of my future.