“It’s possible.”

Oh, Poe. If only he knew how impossible it would be.

7. Escape

Two days later (two days!), Brandon finally grew the cojones to e-mail me.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Things

Dear Amy,

Even after deciding that it had to be via e-mail, I still went through a dozen drafts of this letter. I apologize in advance for anything I fail to say, but I eventually realized that it was a far worse sin to not contact you than it would be to send you an imperfect version.

I can’t imagine what you think of me right now, or what you have been imagining this past week. I am so sorry for the silence, and for everything I’m about to say.

We can’t see each other anymore. (But you already knew that, didn’t you?) I allowed myself to go to a bad place this month—why, I can’t say—and I dragged you into it. I don’t know what is to blame: the horrific winter weather? The nostalgia prompted by our imminent graduation? The fact that our “anniversary” (if you can call it that) was passing? I don’t know. But I know that it’s my fault. You and I have been over for a long time. I understand that now. And I do want to thank you for being there for me these past few weeks and for humoring me while I worked out my issues.

I wish you the best of luck with your applications. I know you’ll do great.

Your friend,

Brandon

“He’s so full of shit” was Lydia’s pronouncement upon viewing.

“Agreed,” Jenny said, digging into the family-sized pack of gumdrops on the bed. “Now explain again how the Gumdrop Drops work?” Lydia came over with a shot glass and perched near my pillow to show the Diggers’ newest twenty-one-year-old our suite’s signature drinking game.

Demetria, stomach squashing my corduroy husband, slammed back her third shot of vodka and rolled her eyes. (She’d decided to forgo the candy chasers.) “This is five classes of rhetoric and as many ounces of Absolut speaking, but that is one fine piece of work there. The way he seems to take all the blame upon himself while simultaneously practically calling you a slut? And ‘your friend.’ Unbelievable! Pièce de résistance, girl. Be glad you didn’t fuck him this time around.”

Jenny jabbed her in the ribs. “You’re not helping.”

“Are we even sure he wrote it himself?” Odile asked, swooping in. The tips of her red hair brushed the keyboard as she bent over the computer screen and scrutinized the letter. “Maybe that bitch did it.”

“She’s not a bitch,” Clarissa said from her position on the windowsill. Everyone else shot her eye-daggers and she put up her hands. “Hey! I said I was Team Haskel here, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to commit character assassination. I can put Amy above all others without demonizing my barb—other friends.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, handed Jenny a shot, and took off for points common room. “Gotta pack,” she called back by means of an excuse. Rose & Grave was once again the elephant that lived, unremarked-upon, in our suite.

“I think Brandon wrote this himself,” I said. “Let’s not go all Sense and Sensibility here.”

“Especially given that the names are all backward,” Clarissa agreed.

I glanced at the e-mail again, my finger hovering over the Delete button. No, Brandon had written it, and I’d bet a fellowship spot little Miss Dragon’s Head didn’t even know about it. There was no reason to make him write me after her declaration of victory last night.

“Good riddance, I say.” Odile poured herself another drink. “Shake him off, pack up your bikini, and blow this joint for a while.”

My bikini was packed, but it was purely decorative. I’m no swimmer.

“She’s right,” Jenny said. “If it helps, focus on all the good we’re going to do building the house with Habitat.”

“I only wish I could go with you,” Odile went on, “but I can’t pass up this role.” The starlet had, just last night, canceled her plans to go to Cavador Key. But since the movie she was supposedly shooting didn’t seem to have a title, we all suspected she either had a hot new fling or a VIP pass to some glamorous club opening. “One Spring Break à la Dumas, and you wouldn’t even remember this prick’s name.”

“He’s not a prick,” I said stoutly.

“Amy,” Jenny said, shaking her head knowingly. “He didn’t pick you. That’s total p-you-know-what territory.” She paused. “At least for the moment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Clarissa turned to Jenny. “Don’t tell me you’ve started having tender feelings for Micah again.” Micah Price had convinced Jenny to expose our society for the coven of devil worshippers he believed it was. When she refused to keep passing on secrets to a paranoid conspiracy theorist website, because, well, we weren’t worshipping the devil, the jerk had broken her heart.[2]

The younger girl’s eyes widened. “No. That’s over. But until you forgive, how can you move on?” Forgiveness was a top priority for Saint Jenny.

“Move on?” Clarissa pounced. “So there’s someone else? Has a rebound man stolen our little hacker’s heart?”

Jenny blushed and tipped her head forward, though her stylish new pixie cut (complete with Eli-blue streaks through her black hair) did little to hide her expression.

“You can’t keep secrets from us, you know,” Demetria warned.

Jenny cast a knowing glance after Lydia, out in the common room. “I’m under no obligation.” And considering that her C.B. had been back in December, we might never know. Jenny, as I’d learned last semester, had more secrets than any society.

“Just a little hint, then?” Clarissa was well into wheedling mode. “A student? A senior? What college?”

“Just tell me he’s a barbarian,” said Demetria. “We’ve had plenty enough society incest in this club.”

I clicked back to my e-mail, hoping no one could see my face. George and I had done our best to keep our interludes a secret, but I guess we hadn’t been as successful at fooling the other knights as we’d thought. Still, Demetria might have been talking about her own short-lived (and still only alleged) indiscretion with Odile, though both of them acted like it had never even happened. I wish George and I were so laissez-faire.

Jenny said nothing. Not even a flat denial.

Interesting.

Clarissa, clearly glad to be off the subject of Felicity, drew back the curtain and peered at the gray drizzle beyond. “Get me to Florida. Stat. When does our flight leave tomorrow?”

“Not soon enough,” said Jenny.

“Speak for yourself,” Demetria said. “I’m not sure I feel like intruding on the Gehry family’s leisure time.”

Four faces turned to her, mouths agape. “The what?”

“Gehry family,” Demetria said with a shrug. “Didn’t you hear? Our man Kurt left town last night to join his family ‘abroad,’ only he can’t actually leave the country while he’s under investigation. I don’t think the wife and kids are in Europe at all. I think they’re in Florida. And I’m not the only one.” She rolled off the pillow, and commandeered my keyboard. A few clicks later, we were looking at an old photograph of my patriarch nemesis, standing with his wife and two children in front of a podium.

ATLANTA, Georgia (CNN)—Embattled ex–White House Chief of Staff Kurt Gehry has left the capital in the wake of his resignation and ongoing investigation into the possibility that he employed several illegal immigrants in his Potomac residence.

There is much speculation as to the current whereabouts of the President’s most influential advisor, including an exclusive resort in the Florida Keys reserved for members of Rose & Grave, a two-century-old secret society on the campus of Gehry’s alma mater, Eli University. The Chief of Staff has never confirmed his membership in the organization.