I paused, but no one seemed ready to chime in. I looked at Clarissa, who now had her head buried in her arms. Her slim shoulders were shaking with sobs.

“And she really, really loves Rose & Grave. More than any of the other taps in my class, she’s understood what it means to be a Digger. Because you taught it to her. Aren’t you proud of that? And she couldn’t wait to show all of us. A few months ago, we’d never even acknowledge one another on the street, but now, in Rose & Grave, we have the chance to get to know one another, and to actually belong to something really big. And Clarissa embraced it. This means the world to her, can’t you see that? She worked her butt off in school, and she was tapped by the Diggers, and maybe, just maybe, she finally did something that would make you proud. Something that would make you respect her the way you so clearly don’t. Because you give your respect to the Diggers, and not to your daughter. Have you thought of that?”

Mr. Cuthbert swallowed.

“No, you haven’t. You’ve forgotten entirely that the Diggers are supposed to be a family, because you can’t even treat your family with the respect you’d give a stranger on the street. That’s what being a Digger is? That’s the kind of person who ‘deserves’ to be in the society? That’s what you mean by a loyal, fraternal order? That’s bullshit. Even Poe”—I pointed at him. Even that double-crossing, two-timing, malicious, sexist pig—“even Poe told me that he’d support his brothers, even if he disliked their decision, because they were his brothers, and Diggers stick together. And you somehow talked him out of that. Talked him into breaking his oath of constancy. So now who is forsworn? I’ll give you a hint: It’s not us.”

Everyone just stared at me. Poe looked—well, if possible, he looked paler than usual. Utterly thunderstruck, in point of fact. Good. After all, for someone so society-obsessed as Poe, it must suck to be forsworn.

I barreled on, ignoring his little revelation and subsequent breakdown. Cry me a river, you arrogant ass-wipe. “And it’s not the seniors, either. And it’s not the patriarchs who helped them with the initiation. Are you hunting them all down, too? Mr. Prescott? The others? There are patriarchs on our side. You’re going to have to overhaul the entire alumni to weed us all out.” The patriarch beside me shifted slightly in his seat, and I took a deep breath. “I admit that I don’t understand how all of this works,” I said, and cast another glance at Poe, who was staring down at his own trembling hands, “but I would like to know how many of the patriarchs actually agree with this board.”

“Sit down, Miss Haskel,” said the Chief of Staff to the President of the United States, and that stopped me cold. I collected my chair and fell into it, breathing hard.

What the fuck had I just done?

Poe looked up, tightening his hands into fists. “She’s right,” he said simply.

Kurt Gehry placed a reassuring hand on Poe’s arm. “Son…”

“No, she’s very right.” He looked at Malcolm. “I’m so sorry, Lance.” He looked near tears. “I lied to you. I can’t believe I did that. You’re my brother.”

“It’s okay,” Malcolm said.

But my diarrhea of the mouth was obviously contagious. “No, it’s not. Don’t you see? You don’t even have to be here.”

“Poe, shut up,” Gehry said, this time with steel behind his words.

“And I should have told you,” Poe blabbed on. “But I didn’t want to piss them off. And I agreed with them. I thought the girls were such a bad idea. I told you so, too. Girls—well…” He ducked his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” said another patriarch. “It’s a date-rape case just waiting to happen.” He eyed Odile warily as if she were about to cry sexual assault there at the table. The other patriarchs were still in shock from Mr. Cuthbert’s outburst. Mr. Cuthbert himself looked like a deflated red balloon. Clarissa still hadn’t lifted her head from the table.

“But I kept you in the dark.” Poe’s voice trembled, but he pushed through. Every sentence fell like a gavel. To him it must have been more like the blade of a guillotine. “All this week, when you were planning, I’ve been telling them everything, and not telling you the one thing you needed to know—”

“Stop talking.” Gehry’s voice had gone high-pitched and desperate.

“Because the thing is, this board—”

“Stop. Now.”

“They’re just the board.”

“Stop talking, Poe.”

“If you’re looking for permission, you don’t need theirs. You need the trustees at large. And every single alumnus, every patriarch on the planet, is a trustee of Rose & Grave.”

Gehry’s face turned a lovely shade of magenta that almost matched Demetria’s hair. “Shut up this instant or I swear on Persephone that I’ll make you pay.”

But Poe’s resolve had reached terminal velocity. “And we can ask them directly. Do a mail-in vote. Hell, do a call-in. I have all the info back in my room at Eli. If they vote us in, if they vote in women, there’s not a damn thing the board can do about it.” Poe paused, looking around the room at the taps gathered there, as if seeing them for the first time. His eyes settled on mine for the briefest of instants before turning back to Malcolm. “And Lance, I think they will.”

The patriarch beside me slid his legal pad in my direction. I looked down at the message scrawled there.

Good job, Bugaboo. Well played.

From there, the meeting degenerated into chaos. Kurt Gehry went hysterical. He was shaking his fist in the air, swearing on everything that was holy that we “little girls” would rue the day we took him on. His face was the color of a ripe eggplant. I wish CNN had been there to capture it. It was hilarious. At last, three patriarchs had to haul him bodily from the room.

Mr. Cuthbert proceeded to get sick into a large potted ficus plant, and George and Odile decided that it was the perfect time to dance a tarantella on the top of the conference-room table. (I didn’t know it was a tarantella at the time. Odile had to explain it to me later. I have no idea how George knew the steps.) Jennifer grabbed a box of tissues from the corner and began comforting Clarissa, who appeared to be making a speedy recovery (especially after watching her dad lose his lunch). Malcolm and Poe hugged for a long time, long enough to make me start wondering what exactly it was that Poe had against girls, and the patriarch Little Demon, wringing his hands and looking quite out of sorts, finally kicked us all out.

We whooped and hollered all the way down to the ground floor of the Eli Club and exploded onto Manhattan en masse.

Malcolm and Poe excused themselves from the group almost immediately and caught a Metro North commuter back to Eli in order to get started on the patriarch vote. “We’ll do pro/con arguments,” Malcolm said to me, and I had no doubt who’d be providing the “con” perspective. “There are about 800 alums, though, so it might take a bit of time. I’m calling the guys who never did show up and telling them to get their asses back to school to help.”

I wondered idly if they’d get the tomb reopened before my Russian Novel final in two weeks.

Clarissa treated us all to a lavish dinner at an uptown steak house on her father’s AmEx gold card. “Use it before I lose it,” she said, signaling for another bottle of bubbly. It’s safe to say that no one felt the least bit guilty ordering the surf n’ turf.

“I have to make a phone call,” Jennifer blurted out before the sliced tomatoes arrived. She rushed off, and when she returned, ten minutes later, it looked as if she’d been crying. However, no one could get her to open up.

“Tender nerves all around,” Demetria said, patting her on the shoulder. Jennifer took a deep breath and actually directed a smile in Demetria’s direction.

“It’s been a long day,” she admitted. “And I feel like…everything’s changed.”