Salt poured another cup of water for our invalids, who were lolling about on the porch steps, clutching their stomachs. Harun returned from the kitchen with a packet of crackers and started doling them out ( Jenny first). Poe clomped down the porch steps to where I knelt patting George comfortingly (yet gingerly) on the shoulder.
“Hey,” I said softly as he passed. “Don’t listen to him.”
“Why not?” he snapped, loud enough for everyone to hear. “He’s right. You guys are pathetic, ungrateful brats. Those two were trying to be nice to you and you spat all over them.”
“To be fair,” Demetria said, “we vomited. There was very little spitting.”
“We were somehow supposed to help ourselves?” Ben said. “We got food poisoning. It wasn’t their fault, but it happened.”
“I suppose you expect us to swallow it, lest we appear ungrateful?” George said.
“Food poisoning, my ass,” Poe said. “You’re all just drunk.”
“Leave them alone!” I said, standing and facing Poe. “Haven’t they been through enough?”
Poe shook his head. “I ate as much lobster as the next person and I’m fine. Malcolm’s fine. The Myers are fine.”
“Lucky you,” Jenny said.
“So what are you saying, that we did this to you?” Poe said in a low, dangerous tone.
“No!” I said quickly. Dude, what was with the misplaced guilt? “It was an accident. It was just a really, really sucky accident. Everyone thinks so—right, guys?” I nudged Demetria with my toe and she nodded, weakly.
“So why did you jump down their throats?” Poe asked.
“Because it was their seafood, man,” Ben said. “Your seafood. You caught it.”
“But we didn’t do anything to it!” Malcolm said.
“No one is saying you did!” I tossed up my hands. “That’s the definition of ‘accident.’”
“It wasn’t the food,” Poe insisted.
“Well, it wasn’t the alcohol,” I said. “We were all drinking.”
“Not all of us quite as much, though,” Poe said. “It’s not possible that you all just happened to get bad lobster and no one else did.”
“Dude,” Demetria croaked, “I don’t feel drunk.”
“What you did manage to accomplish, however,” said Poe, in vintage frost, “was to alienate yet another of the patriarchs with your groundless accusations.”
“That’s uncalled for,” I said. “No one is accusing anyone of anything here. And when we did, we had plenty of grounds.”
“You just told the Myers they tried to poison you.”
“No, we informed them that we were poisoned. Agency unknown.”
“By their olive branch.”
“If the shoe fits…” I said.
“Jesus, you two,” George groaned from the porch steps. “Get a room already.”
Poe stiffened and addressed the assemblage (while I did a quick check to see if anyone else had noted George’s comment). “I’m getting a little sick of cleaning up your messes.”
“Don’t go into the woods, then,” Jenny said.
“It’s not our fault that they took it too personally,” I cried. “Don’t you think it’s the people rolling around on the ground here who are the real injured party?”
Poe looked away, and I reached for his arm.
“Look, I know you spent time mending fences today, and it’s appreciated. But this? This is all a misunderstanding—I’ll go explain it to Frank if you want.”
He shook me off. “Go tend to your wounded, Amy.”
I bit my lip, torn between snapping back at him and just letting it go. It was clear where Poe’s loyalty lay. He’d protect any slight against the society, even a perceived one. The shaky truce he’d engineered between the Myers and D177 had backfired, big-time, and he’d decided it was somehow our fault. Poe brushed past me and he and Malcolm retreated to the boys’ cabin.
Kadie appeared at the base of the path. “Darren isn’t feeling well, either,” she reported. “He apparently went to bed early.”
George dropped his head into his hands, no doubt remembering the flask he’d handed over. Alcohol certainly couldn’t have helped matters if Darren, too, had been victim to the food poisoning. Demetria staggered to her feet and approached Kadie.
“Hey,” she said, her voice strangely subdued. “Thanks for checking on him for us. I’m sorry if anything we said came across as confrontational. We know you only meant well when you offered us dinner.”
Kadie narrowed her eyes. “Whatever,” she said, lifting her chin in the air. But as she brushed past Demetria, she paused. “You know, Frank lives in this dream world that no one in his life knows what’s going on. But I know everything. The very idea that he and the rest of you all can bring barbarians to this island belies that. Your secrets aren’t really what make you interesting. It’s your dedication to this organization—the one you make for life. The one you make for the good of everyone that came before you. But that’s not something I see in your class.”
“No,” Clarissa said. “When we stand, it’s with one another. And you would, too, if you’d been through what we have.”
“Oh, boo hoo,” Kadie said. “The rebel Diggers. Disavowing patriarchs right and left for every slight—whether real or imagined. You don’t even know what you’ve done, do you? At first, you had every patriarch in the country terrified that you’d repeat the process on them, but now they just don’t give a shit. You people don’t matter. You’re not playing the game, you’re not part of the team, and you’re missing out on the whole point of joining a society. Aren’t you supposed to be networking for the future? All you’re doing is burning bridges. In another month or so, you’ll have tapped a new class and then it will be you who are disavowed, from everyone.” She shook her head and looked us over. “Just a little friendly advice.” And then she was gone.
Afterward, we all sat there in silence for several long moments, and then George said, “Way to kick us when we’re down, bitch.”
Demetria snorted. “Can I go beat her up now?”
A few chuckled, but Clarissa still looked worried. “Do you think what she’s saying is true? Maybe that’s why no one seemed to be particularly concerned when our cabin was broken into. Because they all hate us and don’t take us seriously.”
At least one patriarch took it seriously, though. Poe.
“I don’t care,” George said.
“Easy for you to say,” Kevin said. “Your dad is always going to be on your side.”
“And I’m always going to be on yours,” George said. “If getting patriarch support means kissing the asses of Frank Myer or Kurt Gehry, then I don’t need it. I never needed this society, and I can’t think of another person here who does, either. We’ve all got our jobs, we’ve all got our graduate schools. Fuck them.”
Clarissa looked down and let her long hair fall around her face.
“You’re right,” said Odile. “We don’t need it—not now anyway.”
“Not you anyway,” Clarissa muttered.
“But we’ve apparently gotten a reputation—and I don’t think it’s just among people like Gehry and Myer,” Odile went on.
I thought back. When was the last time I’d spoken to Gus, who’d given me my internship last summer? Had we really been neglecting patriarch relations—even the friendly ones? If only Josh weren’t in Spain. He’d have a much clearer picture of how things were actually going.