“And it was surprisingly easy to convince my boyfriend of that fact. For him to give you up, I just had to promise that I would as well. Which I have.”
“Your society won’t accept that!” I said.
“Oh, we aren’t letting go of the feud, or of our statue. The Diggers are going down, mark my words. We just won’t be after you—specifically—anymore.”
Frustration and rage bubbled inside me, cutting off rational thought, any argument. “I don’t understand! If this was a decision made between you and Brandon, why this whole parley charade? Why drag me out here in the rain?” I mean, aside from the obvious pleasure of watching me look like a drowned rat.
“How else would you know?” she asked simply. “How else would you know that I won, and how I won, and how, now that I’ve chosen him over my society, Brandon loves me even more than he did before?” She rose. “Have a good night, Amy. I hope you get in safe from the storm.” She brushed past me, and it took all my self-restraint not to pummel her into the mud. Girls like Felicity probably had years of kickboxing or Krav Maga training anyway. “Oh, and if I were you or any of the other Diggers, I’d be watching my back.”
I stood there for way too long after Felicity left, not from any desire to savor the New Haven climate. I just didn’t know what to do next.
Where do you go when everyone you know owes you a big fat I told you so? Where do you hide on a night so wretched that even Dickens wouldn’t have chosen it to illustrate his character’s desperation? Where do you run to the moment you realize that your SAT scores were a lie, your transcript obviously faked, your faculty recommendations the apparent result of a parental bribe, your acceptance letter from Eli University clearly some sort of cosmic joke, because there is no way that anyone in their right mind would mistake you for someone smart?
Someone with operational gray matter would never have let this happen to her. Someone with the intelligence of your average housefly would have put two and two together when Brandon had IM-ed her about “society nonsense.” Someone who had spent a moment examining her history, her experiences, or even the rational order of the universe would have noted at least one of the following:
1) Mr. Let’s-Define-Our-Relationship Weare had never professed any interest in discussing what we were really doing in our stolen afternoons.
2) The fact that after he told me he was going to make a decision, he never called again. Hello, clue phone.
3) Or how about the simple truth that when someone has the choice of the beautiful, polished, rich girl who has never broken his heart—the girl who would forgive his transgressions, would sacrifice her position in her society to make him happy—or the girl like me, it’s a no-brainer. Whatever else I might be tempted to say about Brandon at this moment, I’d never insult his intelligence.
Where do you go when this is made obvious to you? Other than back to Ohio? Part of me wondered if it was too late to book a flight. I wanted to be far, far from campus right now. I wanted to climb into my dad’s lap and hug my mom and act like I was still a teenager, instead of an adult who should have so known better. I wanted to hide, to flee, to pretend that I’d never even heard of Connecticut, let alone chosen it as a setting for such a humiliation. How could he love her more?
One thing was certain, I could not go back to my fellow knights yet. They were waiting for me just outside the library, but there was no way I could face anyone in my current state. There would be plenty of time to explain Dragon’s Head’s new strategy—after I dealt with my own state of mind. I pulled my coat’s hood low over my face and rushed back inside the Reading Room. Out in the main hall, I turned right, toward the back, rather than toward the front entrance. There was a back way out, near the law school.
A security guard stopped me. “Library’s closed, miss,” but as soon as he saw my face, his expression softened.
“I just want…” I gasped. “The back door.”
“Closed after midnight.”
“I just want to leave. I don’t have anything to check out…just…”
The guard relented and I rushed by him, practically sprinting on my way out the back. I shoved hard on the door and burst through into the cold alleyway beyond. I plopped against the nearest wall, heedless of the rain as it mixed with tears on my face. Great wracking sobs seemed to echo around the empty street, bouncing off stone walls and cobblestones. Yeah, there was no way I’d do this in front of the other knights. I imagined the patriarchs that had come before me weeping dignified tears over a lost comrade in war, or the death of a brother or a spouse. I couldn’t see them acting so stupid. No, this kind of behavior would be reserved for the Bugaboo of the group.
“Why?” I said to the buildings around me.
How could I question his choice? Maybe it was best. For if I did love him, if I really did, wouldn’t I have fought for him long before this? Wouldn’t I have fought for him when we tried dating last spring, or when I saw him again this fall, or even the first time he told me he still cared about me? Wouldn’t I have told him to stay with me that night, to really be with me, to tell Felicity right away that they were through for good?
If I’d really loved him, then I would have done what Felicity had. I would have picked him over Rose & Grave, I’d have put him first last spring, have shared my troubles with him rather than with the society brothers I’d only just met. I’d have called him back this fall instead of getting caught up in yet another society drama. I’d have run to him from the first moments of Dragon’s Head’s “little campaign of persuasion.” Wouldn’t I?
Eventually the tears dried, but I spent several long minutes just standing there, slumped, catching my breath, adjusting to this new reality, the one where I’d again added to my seemingly endless list of romantic mistakes. Chalk another one up, Amy. Not only are you crap at having a boyfriend, crap at having a one-night stand, and crap at having a no-strings-attached fling, you’re also crap at being the other woman. Pack it up, go home, commit to celibacy. You’re one hundred percent, unequivocally awful at being with a man.
I took a deep breath. There. Fine. Now you know. I looked up.
And saw Poe standing in the doorway across the street. I could make out little more than a glint of his gray eyes, the line of his jaw, his sharp cheekbones in his thin face, but still, I recognized him. His defiant stance, arms crossed over the chest of his worn wool jacket. I knew that pose. It was like the first time we’d met, when he’d interrogated me. Only worse, because here I was, as raw as hamburger, ready to crumble. My eyes began to burn, but whether it was a fresh batch of tears or suppressed rage, I couldn’t tell.
Why was he here? Why was he always, always, always around? Didn’t he have a life? Didn’t he have anything better to do?
“I take it the parley went poorly?” he asked, coming toward me.
“What are you doing here!” I snapped.
He rolled his eyes. “Amy, there are two exits to the library. I guessed—and rightly so—that your club would forget that, and I wanted to make sure there was no funny business on this side.”
“How did you even know this was going on?” I resisted the urge to run a hand across my no-doubt snotty nose.
“I have friends in the tomb.” Of course. He and Hale had always been buddy-buddy. He held out a small white square. A handkerchief. When I took it, he added, “I thought I’d only get involved if they tried something.”
“Otherwise you’d just sit here and spy?” I swiped at my face with the handkerchief. Of all the people to catch me at my most vulnerable, why the hell did it have to be Poe?