Okay, she totally knew about me and Brandon, so she was just doing that to be a bitch. As soon as he saw the focus of my gaze, Brandon caught her hand and pulled it down.

(I’m not ashamed to admit he’s a far better person than I am. Had he treated me the way I’d treated him, I would have basked in showing off my new, drop-dead-gorgeous, rich-as-Pluto significant other in front of him.)

“No dates for me this summer,” Clarissa said, oddly oblivious to the tension. “After Mom found Dad in flagrante with the dog-walker, she went on this whole I-am-woman-hear-me-purr kick. Completely cut the Y chromosome out of her existence. Except for the divorce lawyer, of course.”

“What happened to your dad?” I asked. There was no love lost between Mr. Cuthbert and me, not after the way he and his Rose & Grave patriarch cronies had sabotaged our tap class. Of course, he’d sabotaged his daughter at the same time. I wondered exactly how daddy dearest and his dog-walker had gotten caught.

“Considering the heinous details of the case,” Clarissa began, then shot me a look reminding me, as if I needed it, never to get on the bad side of the Digger named Angel, “we suffered obvious emotional trauma such that…well, let’s just say my father readily arranged to keep us both in the manner to which we’d become accustomed.” She stopped the latest server. “Beluga, anyone?”

“Actually, we’d better get going,” Brandon said, slipping an arm around Felicity’s waist. “It was nice meeting you, Clarissa.” He nodded at me. “See you later, Amy.”

And then they were gone, before I had time to figure out whether it was a see you around kind of “see you later” or an I’m going to call you so we can discuss this kind of “see you later.” I wasn’t given much chance to ponder it either, as we were immediately set upon by the Prescott College contingent—George and Lydia.

“Well?” Lydia asked.

“He looks different, he smells different, and he’s dating a girl named Felicity.” Still quite the hugger, though.

Comprehension dawned chez Clarissa. “So you know that guy pretty well?”

“Biblically.”

She groaned (though George was grinning). “Total social faux pas. So sorry, Amy.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

“Felicity?” Lydia cocked an eyebrow.

I glared at her in warning. “I said I’m fine.”

“Which is more than I can say for some of my other guests.” Clarissa gestured to Jenny Santos, who was sitting on a white couch looking disdainful. I don’t know what that girl’s deal is. If you’re going to take part in something, shouldn’t you commit yourself? She’d skipped out on our rehearsal earlier, and now she was acting too good for a fellow Digger’s party. And while I could dismiss the former as merely overextending her activities, I’m not quite sure what motivated the latter. If she didn’t want champagne, Clarissa no doubt had plenty of fancy French spring water.

“She’s been hiding out all evening,” Clarissa said. “George, want to come with me and get her circulating?”

George began to edge toward the sideboard. “I think I’ll pass. That girl has always looked at me like she’s Salome and I’m John the Baptist.”

If he used lines like that more often, Jenny would probably like him better. Clarissa went off to cheer up our resident party-pooping Digger, and Lydia and I found space to perch on the edge of a wingback chair.

“So what do you think was up with George’s parents?” Lydia asked over the din of the party. “His dad acted like he knew you.”

“I think we met move-in day freshman year,” I lied smoothly. “Or maybe he got me mixed up with one of the billion girls always dangling off his son.” I knew all about George’s divorced parents’ long-term love-hate (or at least lust-hate) relationship, but George had told me that in confidence, Digger to Digger. The report wasn’t for Lydia’s barbarian ears, or even, as far as I was concerned, for other Diggers until George felt like sharing it himself. Had I not spent last spring keeping the secret of my society big sib Malcolm’s sexual identity?

Malcolm’s e-mail made him sound so lonely up there in Alaska. I understood his desire to take a gap year before starting business school, especially given the trauma of coming out to his ultra-conservative governor father, but did he have to do it in such an isolated locale? That reminded me, I didn’t finish reading his e-mail.

Or figure out who had sent me the other one. I looked over at Clarissa and Jenny, whose company had grown. “Excuse me for a minute,” I said to Lydia, who was already waving to a fellow Debate Team member near the cheese fondue, and crossed the room.

The knot of girls on Jenny’s couch had only two things in common:

1) A small tattoo of a rose inside an elongated hexagon somewhere on their bodies.

2) The fact that they’d once taken on a group of powerful and vicious men and lived to tell the tale.

Other than that, we didn’t look as if we’d be friends at all, and I wondered if—extreme circumstances aside—we really were. Sure, we’d bonded as taps and at various society events over the summer, but once we got into the schedule of classes and regular meetings, what would we have to talk about? A club of Diggers was supposed to offer one another support and advice. But what did a Hollywood starlet like Odile Dumas have to say to a computer whiz like Jenny Santos? What kind of support could a radical activist like Demetria offer to a socialite like Clarissa Cuthbert?

Still, you’d think I was the only one questioning stuff if you saw the enthusiasm with which they greeted me. “Hey, chica!” Odile called, pulling me down next to her. “We were talking about Mara. One more girl for our little revolution, eh?”

“I saw her this afternoon,” I said. “She’s kind of intense.”

“She’s a classist bitch.” Demetria sniffed. “Did you read her column in The Ivory Tower about how they never should have let women into Eli?”

“Sounds like a girl the patriarchs would like,” I said. “Did she really write that?” The Ivory Tower is this crazy conservative paper on campus.

“Yes. Said the school was at its height before they sullied the student population with an excess of estrogen. Wonder what she thinks of breaking the gender barrier at our club?”

“I wonder why she even accepted the tap,” Clarissa said.

“You expect a hypocrite to act rationally?” Jenny asked. “She thinks women shouldn’t be at Eli, but she’s a student here. If she really believed we don’t belong here, wouldn’t she be cooling her heels at Wellesley or someplace?” She toyed with the end of her long, dark braid and tucked her chin into her chest, as if the outburst had sapped all of her socializing strength. “Sounds less as if she’s saying what she really means than that she’s parroting the words of her cronies.” And then she clammed up completely, as if afraid to say more on the subject.

“I don’t know,” I said. “She didn’t seem the submissive type in class today. Took on Professor Branch and everything.”

“Well, we’ll get the scoop tomorrow,” Clarissa said.

I twirled the glass in my hand. “Hey, guys?” I said, tentatively. “I have to tell you something. Before I came here tonight, I was checking my D-mail, and there was this message….”

They all froze. They all looked down at their drinks. And then Jenny said, “So, you got it, too?”