“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.
Gehry’s absence during the investigation has dismayed his supporters in Congress, as well as those within the GOP. A representative for Governor Jacob Cabot said, “This resignation and the White House’s reaction was handled in a secretive and unfortunate manner that gives the wrong impression to the people of the country. I hope we will all soon receive the answers we deserve from our nation’s leaders.” Cabot recently dropped out of the presidential race, citing family obligations.
White House spokesman Bob Gibson responded to the statement from the Cabot camp with a thorough defense of the Chief of Staff. “Kurt Gehry’s wife and children have been unreasonably scrutinized in the last few weeks by the inside-the-Beltway media machine. As far as I know, they are currently enjoying a short family vacation.”
Administrators at the National Cathedral School for Girls and St. Albans have confirmed that neither Darren nor Isabelle Gehry is an enrolled student for the spring quarter.
Was I really going to be spending my Spring Break with Kurt “Grade A-Asshole” Gehry? And his spawn? After our last dramatic run-in, when my entire club disavowed him as a patriarch, I figured any future meetings would be awkward at best.
“Great,” Odile said with a huff. “Way to start a vacation. Maybe I’m glad to be skipping out.”
“Forewarned is forearmed,” Demetria replied.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Jenny said. “How can the family be on Cavador Key? The wife and the kids aren’t Diggers.” I was relieved that she’d asked it, since I was usually the knight with the most questions about the way the society worked.
“No,” said Clarissa. “You can take your family there if you want. They can’t go to any meetings or ceremonies, and obviously they aren’t supposed to know what the place is—though everyone does—but they can be there.”
“Did you ever go with your dad?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Why? We’ve got a great house in the Hamptons.”
Twenty-four hours later, I wondered if the Hamptons might have been a better idea. I stood on the pier, duffle bag in hand, and goggled.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, backing up a few steps. “There is no way I’m getting on that.”
“How did you think we were going to get to Cavador, Amy?” George asked, swinging his suitcase out of the airport limo’s trunk. “It’s not like there’s enough traffic to warrant building a bridge.”
“And it’s not exactly on the ferry route,” Jenny added.
I backed up a few more steps, watching my fellow knights strip off their winter coats and don sunglasses, caps, and even (in the case of fair Clarissa) sunscreen. No one else seemed concerned that our transport to the island looked like little more than a toy boat.
A captain and a teenaged boy emerged from the pygmy cabin on the deck and smiled at the new arrivals. “Ready to get going?” the man asked.
Everyone else grabbed their luggage and hopped aboard. I watched as the tiny craft pitched and bobbed under the onslaught of all that extra weight. Waves splashed up and down the side of the craft, and some water even spilled on the dock.
“What’s the holdup, young lady?” the man said.
“I was wondering,” I said, “what’s the weight limit on that thing?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Plenty enough for you and your bag. Now hop on. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”
I hesitated, then handed my bag over to the man. But I couldn’t bring myself to climb aboard. “Is there a lifeboat or something?” I asked.
“A lifeboat?” George said from the deck. He laughed. “What do you think this is, Amy? The Titanic?”
It had better not be. I must have looked even more scandalized, because the captain snorted and shook his head at me.
“Will you feel better if I fix you up with a life jacket? I think I have one or two on board.” He lifted his head. “Kid!” he cried, and the teenager looked up from where he was fiddling with some ropes on the deck. “Get Miss—” He looked at me. “What’s your name, girl?”
“Amy Haskel.”
“Get Miss Amy Haskel a life vest.”
The kid shot me a quick, incredulous look and ducked into the cabin. Great. Now I was an object of mockery to an adolescent.
Even knowing that I was about to be stuffed into some neon nylon-and-polyurethane fashion disaster/safety device, I didn’t want to get on board. Everyone was starting to make impatient noises. I looked up at them, standing above me on the raised deck of the boat, superior and smug because they had no problem with the bobbing and the splashing and the unfathomable depths of the ocean. I peered over the edge of the dock and caught a glimpse of seabed about four feet below the surface. Okay, well, maybe not unfathomable, but still.
The teenager emerged again and tossed me a cornea-searing orange vest held together with bright yellow straps. “That do?” he asked.
I slipped it over my head. The vest was made of two squares of foam sewn together at the shoulders, with a hole for my head. The straps went beneath my arms and attached in front with a big plastic buckle. I snapped myself in, feeling stupider by the second. And then I steeled my nerves and climbed aboard.
Okay, this wasn’t so bad. Nice, even, what with the gentle rock and sway. I stood for a moment in the middle of the deck, hands splayed for balance. The spring sunlight flickered out from behind a cloud and spilled onto the skin of my arms.