And then came the superglue incident. And the Great Cricket Invasion of January 2008 (Lydia still won’t sit on our couch). What was next, locusts to eat all my homework? I began to wonder if Rose & Grave pride was worth ruining my last semester at Eli. Nothing against taking one for the team, but it’s not as if I could explain to my thesis advisor, the dean of the Lit department, or any potential graduate schools that the reason my work took a sudden nosedive was because I was fending off a secret society hell-bent on using me as a scapegoat for all the crimes the Diggers had committed over the past centuries. And even if I did manage to make this point without forswearing my own society’s vows of silence, I doubt the faculty would believe me, or even care.

I was beginning to think our rivals didn’t even need the dragon statue as an excuse. They wanted revenge on Rose & Grave, and since they couldn’t get into the tomb, one innocent knight walking the streets of New Haven made a darn convenient target. Spring Break was still a month off, and this winter looked like it would never end.

So, in the grand tradition of stalker victims everywhere, I began to act like the hunted prey I was. I varied my schedule, turned down social engagements, took alternate and unfriendly routes around campus, and found excuses to stay home from class in the relative safety of my room. (I insisted Lydia double check all the locks every time she stepped out, and since there were still several dozen chirping insects hiding somewhere in the suite, she agreed.)

One afternoon, Prescott College held a snowball fight in the courtyard, but there was no way I’d brave the melee under the present circumstances. Who knew how many Dragon’s Head members lay in wait, disguised as innocent Prescotteers, eager to pummel me into the slush? Instead I sat at the window, watching the festivities from afar, warm and dry and bored to the beyond. There goes my last college snowball fight.

I also missed my friend Carol’s senior thesis play, and all the cajoling in the world on the part of Lydia and my other friends, barbarian or otherwise, failed to induce me to go to the Seniors’ Valentine’s Day Ball. Of course, as soon as I was left alone in the suite, it occurred to me that I’d maneuvered myself into another classic stalker-victim position—the isolated target. The only place I felt safe was in the Rose & Grave tomb’s Inner Temple, because—you’ll remember—Dragon’s Head still didn’t know how to breach our security. I packed my study materials into my bag (still mildly sticky, despite several washings) and furtively raced for the tomb, hoping my heavy winter clothing would disguise my identity from any Dragon’s Headers who’d also stayed home from the dance.

I made it safely into the sanctuary and shed my coat in the front hall. Success. Relieved to be free of the constant pressure and vigilance, I practically skipped up the stairs to the Inner Temple. I even did a little pirouette on the landing.

And then I heard the clapping. Not a full-out round of applause, just a slow, sardonic smack. I froze, and slowly turned around. So, they couldn’t make it into the Inner Temple. Didn’t mean they didn’t have access to other parts of the tomb.

“Nice, Bugaboo.” Poe stood at the base of the stairs, unsmiling (as usual). “Planning an audition?”

I sank back on my heels, relieved to see him for perhaps the first time ever. “Just reveling in my freedom.”

“From what?”

“Tyranny and terrorism.”

“I assume you aren’t talking in general terms,” he said. “Otherwise I’d have to engage you in a political lesson.”

“Dragon’s Head.” I clopped back down the stairs.

“Ah.” He nodded. “I heard.” I reached him and he leaned on the banister. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re to blame.”

“Why not?” I was truly surprised. Poe always thought I was to blame. It was the foundation upon which our relationship was built.

“I didn’t notice those sneakers.”

I laughed. Right. And if Poe, the über-Digger, didn’t notice it, then it was just a fluke they were identified at all. “I appreciate the support, but right now, it doesn’t make a difference. I’m still wearing a bull’s-eye on my back.” I shrugged. “I can’t even go to the V-Day Ball tonight.”

“Here I thought it was because you were too much of a loser to get a date.”

“That, too,” I mumbled. I looked up at him. “What brings you here tonight? You’ve been MIA since—” since his recent brush with concussion “—all semester.”

“Miss me?” he snarked.

“Hardly,” I snarked back. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

He flashed a ghost of a smile. “Because it’s none of your business.”

“My tomb, my society, my”—I pointed at the black book he held in the crook of his arm—“archives.”

“As well as mine. And trust me, this is nothing that concerns you.”

“Why?”

“Because it concerns me.”

Or maybe because I’d screwed up the last caper. “Right. The Bugaboo.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay. What’s your opinion on current domestic policy?”

“Huh?”

“Exactly.” He said nothing for a moment, just stood there, observing me in the unnerving way he had. “If this Dragon’s Head thing is really bothering you, then give in,” he said. “Tell those losers where we hid their precious hunk of metal.”

I blinked in astonishment. Poe was telling me to put my needs above the Diggers’? Perhaps he’d hit his head harder than we thought. “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious. You don’t have much time left. Don’t waste your last few months on a battle that’s not going to be worth it in the long run. If you’re miserable, let it go and just…enjoy being a senior. Rose & Grave will survive a little more humiliation this year.”

Oh, I got it now. “You don’t think I can take it.”

“No, I’m saying you shouldn’t have to. It’s misplaced pride.”

“I can’t believe you of all people would say that to me.” I put my hands on my hips. “What happened to all that bull you spout about our oaths coming before anything?”

“I almost can’t believe it myself.” He shrugged. “But I’ve been there, remember? I have huge regrets about the things I didn’t do when I was an undergrad. This is it, Bugaboo. This is your last chance. You don’t have any more semesters, any more ‘wait and sees.’ Don’t let it slip by while you ride this out. Trust me on this. It’s not worth thinking about.”

Now he sounded like Brandon, whose similar advice had tipped me toward joining Rose & Grave in the first place. Funny, I couldn’t name two people less alike. Brandon was warm, where Poe was cold; Brandon friendly and open, where Poe was distant and unforgiving. Brandon had loved me, whereas the most I’d ever expected from Poe was a reluctant truce. Brandon was honest and forthright where Poe was—okay, he was honest, too, but he tended to say things I didn’t want to hear. And he never spoke like this. Kind counsel wasn’t Poe’s usual style. I didn’t know how to respond.

“Anyway,” he said at last, “I should probably head home.” He made for the door, then paused for a moment. “Of course,” he said, “if you do roll over, don’t expect me to let you live it down.”

“Of course.” That was the Poe I knew.

I spent the next few hours studying and musing over Poe’s words. And in the end, I understood it wasn’t snowball fights or even Winter Balls that I was missing, and that it wasn’t Dragon’s Head that was keeping me from it, either. I’d been afraid my junior year when I’d told Brandon that I didn’t want anything more than a friendship-with-benefits. I’d been afraid last semester when I’d had my no-strings-attached fling with George Harrison Prescott. I was wallowing in fear every time I made fun of Josh and Lydia, or beat myself up over what Felicity had been able to create with Brandon. I’d been afraid of it for years, and I was about to graduate from college, still terrified of the idea of being in love.