“You’re late,” said Clarissa, scooting over in the booth and taking her crinkle-plastic cup full of diet pop with her. “I got your usual small Greek salad. I don’t know how you can deal with all that fat.” (“Small” was a misnomer when it came to the Greek salad at Normandy Pizza. It was roughly the size and shape of a football and drenched in feta cheese bits, olives, and dressing.)

“Yum,” I said, sliding into the booth. “Anyone know where Jenny is?”

Demetria shrugged. “This isn’t the first time she’s wimped out on us. Girl doesn’t have her priorities straight.”

Clarissa nodded her agreement. “Have any of you ever seen her tattoo? I think she didn’t get one.”

Mara shuddered delicately. “Can I express once more how happy I am I joined your merry band after the whole tattoo phase? Staining one’s skin is a sign of barbarism.”

The other four of us looked at one another and smiled. “In this case,” I said, “it’s exactly the opposite.”

“I hope she shows up,” said Clarissa. “But I’m not going to hold my breath. We’ve got a lot to talk about, so let’s get started and she can catch up. This whole leak situation really has the patriarchs rattled. Frankly, you’d think they’d be nicer, considering we’re the ones protecting their secrets.”

“Spoken like someone who would sell secrets just to get back at them for being jerks,” Demetria said with a smile. “But have you seen that website? Come on. I refuse to let myself get up in arms over something with a flashing tiled background and animated gifs. Real firebrands would go for something professional-looking.”

“The issue isn’t the website,” Clarissa said. “It’s who the website turns on to the story. Josh says—”

I rolled my eyes. “Josh says an awful lot, but just because he’s the Secretary doesn’t mean he’s the boss of us. To listen to him talk, sometimes you’d think we should each be strip-searched upon entering or leaving the tomb!”

“Tell me about it,” said Odile. “You should have heard the interrogation I got when I came back from New York last month. Some timing, huh? And he was all, ‘Terribly convenient for you to be absent the day the leak is broadcast, Lil’ Demon.’ Right. As if I’d be selling my services to some conspiracy-theorist website the same weekend I’m hosting Saturday Night Live. Why the hell would I do something like that when I had a much larger audience just waiting for me to spill some Eli goss? I swear the only thing Lorne ever wants me to talk about is the seedy underbelly of this school.” And then she coughed.

Were this a Dickens novel, this would be a signal that Odile had contracted consumption, and would die within a few chapters. But in my world, it meant something else entirely. Mara and I started in our seats and then, for the first time in our relationship, our eyes met in understanding. We looked from Demetria to Odile, and back again.

“What?” said Clarissa as Demetria ducked her head. Realization slowly dawned on Miss High Society. “Ohhhh.”

“Did you two hook up?” Mara said with a gasp.

“No!” Demetria protested…too much.

Odile shot her an incredulous glance.

“Eww,” said Clarissa. “Society incest. Bad idea.”

“It is?” I asked, then occupied myself with my salad. Shut up, Amy, or the cat will really be out of the coffin.

“Duh, of course!” Clarissa said.

“I don’t think so,” said Odile.

Demetria snorted. “Of course you’d say that. You’re not really the type to concern yourself with taboos, are you? A regular George Prescott, but without the dick.”

“I didn’t see you complaining,” Odile snapped.

Clarissa sliced her hand down between them. “Whoa there, ladies.”

“Forget about it,” said Demetria. “It was silly.” She caught Odile’s eye. “No offense, but admit it, it was silly.”

Odile shrugged, Mara was looking more scandalized than I’d ever seen her (which is saying something), and I was constructing a little tower of lettuce, feta, olives, and tomatoes on my fork. A regular George Prescott?

On the one hand, I was wild to hear more about the juiciest Rose & Grave gossip in months. On the other, it seemed a bit hypocritical for me to indulge, since I was currently engaged in my own society affair. Best to downplay whatever had transpired between Demetria and Odile, lest the scrutiny turn into speculation about who else in the club had hooked up.

Of course, George had yet to give his C.B., which meant if he planned to adhere to his oaths (always up in the air with a guy like George), then everything we’d done would be fair game. Clearly, Josh knew at least part of the story already. Maybe I should admit it to the Diggirls, so as not to send them into shock when they heard it through official channels. They wouldn’t judge me, right? I mean, the guy was gorgeous and sexy and infamous and I bet all of them, even the female-focused Demetria, had wondered at least once if all the rumors were true. Besides, we were Diggers, and we were supposed to love and support one another and stuff.

Though maybe I hadn’t been doing that recently with one of my fellow knights.

“Girls…” I began. But just then, our waitress, another Eli institution (she’d been working at the restaurant longer than our freshman counselors’ freshman counselors could remember) stopped by with her little black leather portfolio.

“We’re not ready for the check,” Clarissa said.

The waitress put her hands up, palms out. “I don’t get involved with you people.” And then she departed.

Clarissa furrowed her brow and flipped open the folder. There, on a slip of receipt paper, were scrawled three words:

It Went Live.

10. Disappeared

I hereby confess:

I wish I were wrong.

Before he graduated, Malcolm told me that it was a good thing I had my grade point average in shape before I joined Rose & Grave, because my society commitments would begin to commandeer a lot of my time. No joke. I don’t think I thought about schoolwork for a moment after that fake check arrived at our table. No, it was all angry e-mails, emergency meetings, spin summits, and of course the horrific and constant scrutiny the entire student body suddenly focused on the tomb on High Street.

The campus tabloid, The Ruckus, jumped on the story first, printing a special one-page issue alerting the campus to the conspiracy website and all of the secrets it spilled. (No doubt they still harbored some bitterness over the World Clock fiasco.) Naturally, the political bloggers scented blood in the air, and from that point, the race was on to be the first major 24-hour news cycle outlet to report the story. Print media, from the Eli Daily News and the New Haven Register to the New York Daily News, the New York Post, the Washington Post, and the New York Times were actually a bit late to the ball game, given the hassle of working with an actual printed press. It wasn’t safe to approach the tomb, what with Channel 8 News and CNN camped outside, waiting to get an exclusive interview with an actual, live Digger.

What did they expect, that the President was about to come up to New Haven and just stroll inside?

Luckily, any media outlet controlled by actual, live Diggers (and there were several) stayed as far away from this little news nugget as possible. And what, pray tell, did the traitor say? Detailed analysis of all our initiation rites, membership lists of certain clubs, and teases about juicier info…to come next week. Apparently, the individual was giving the patriarchs and their adolescent exploits one week’s reprieve (the better to build expectation—and extortion—with, my dear).