Under the Rose

by Diana Peterfreund

  I nodded once. Yes, Brandon was number five on my Hit List. And Josh knew it. Josh knew everything about me, and I knew everything about him. Including the fact that, even now, he was probably plotting to cheat on my best friend, the woman he’d left giggling back in her bedroom. And one wonders why I have little faith in relationships.

  “So we were doomed,” I said, my voice flat.

  Brandon chuckled. “Yes. Doomed. That’s suitably dramatic.”

  Ouch. “How’s Felicity?” I asked, because as long as you’re going to indulge in pain, you might as well get it all over with at once. But even as I said it, a little part of my brain crossed its non-existent fingers and prayed, Please say “Felicity who?”

  “She’s good.” He started in on another plane. “You’d like her, Amy.”

  I snorted. “I wouldn’t like her.”

  But he didn’t ask me why not, and so I never got the chance to tell him I would never like his girlfriend because she was the living embodiment of how I’d disappointed him, of how I couldn’t be the girl he wanted me to be, and how I couldn’t love him the way she clearly did.

  I hoped she loved him. I’ve never known a man so worthy of being loved. I thought I’d kill Josh if he hurt Lydia the way I feared he would. I knew I’d kill Felicity if she broke Brandon’s heart. Only I got to do that and live.

  What he did say was “Are you seeing anyone?”

  I broke into a weak laugh. “No. I don’t see people. Learned my lesson on that one, I think. I’m not the girlfriend kind of girl.”

  He studied me. “I don’t think you know what kind of girl you are.”

  Oh, please. I know and he knows, and apparently George knows, too. I don’t do relationships. If I did, there would never have been a Felicity. “And you’re the one who always says I think about that too much!”

  Josh returned, and his second intrusion seemed to kick-start Brandon. “I’m going to stop by the Lit office with some coffees,” he said. “Want to go with me and deliver them?” It was a tradition at the Eli Literary Magazine. The old editors (like Brandon and me) would bring the new editors coffees when they were heading into crunch time. “Ari said they’d be in this afternoon.”

  So he did have some pretense to visit. “Sure. Let me go change.” I went into my room, and as I closed the door behind me, it struck me that I was shutting out a man who’d already seen me naked plenty of times. The world would be ideal if ex-boyfriends disappeared like puffs of smoke, and you never had to run errands with them again.

  So I got dressed. I wore my nicer (read: tighter) pair of jeans, my push-uppiest push-up bra, and a bright pink sweater with a deep V-neck. Of course, there was the usual carriwitchet over the placement of my pin. Strap of my bag, where Brandon had once before spotted it? Belt loop, where it would be nice and subtle?

  “Screw it,” I said to the mirror, and attached the damn thing to the sweater’s neckline. I pulled on my ankle boots, grabbed my wallet/key/cell phone-on-a-carabiner combo, and marched out the door. “Ready?”

  He looked from my neckline to my face and shook his head, a smile flickering over his mouth. “Sure.”

  Do you know what I dislike? Aside from the obvious thing where I walk down the street with my ex-boyfriend on a spurious coffee-procuring trip? The thing where said ex-boyfriend is an utter genius who is not only completely over me, but also can see through absolutely every attempt I make to look fabulous and carefree about how much he’s over me. And doesn’t give a fig that I am a Digger, and therefore a member of a super-cool club he could never hope to penetrate.

  So there I was, in line at the coffee place, listening to Brandon rattle off the very specific orders of the new Lit Mag editors. (Frankly, if you’re going to go with some sort of caramel mocha confection, you’re kidding yourself by making it with fat-free soy. It’s like ordering a Big Mac, large fries, and a small Diet Coke.) We moved down from the ordering section to the waiting-for-coffee section, and it’s there I saw Jenny. She was standing with that blond kid from the freshman bazaar. Her head was thrown back, laughing, she was practically beaming at him, and the look in her eyes was one I’d only seen on her face in the glow of a computer screen. I’d known Jenny for a good half a year now, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen her laugh like this.

  Gone was the air of wariness and derision I was so accustomed to. There was no Ms. Hyde present this morning. Granted, we’ve all had our rough times in the tomb, but I should at least be able to recognize a fellow Digger’s expression of joy, should have seen it at least once—during a good song, a good lobster tail, a last-minute Kaboodle Ball victory? I’d observed our resident snorter, Nikolos, looking happier to be hanging out with the other Diggers than Jenny ever had.

  And that’s when I realized it: Jennifer Santos was miserable being a Digger. She hated it. I made the command decision not to go up and talk to her because, in this moment, she was really happy, with the kind of elation I’d never once witnessed inside the tomb. And now I knew those dirty looks she always gave me when I ran into her outside were actually her begging me not to remind her of how we knew each other.

  The real attrition threat was not Nikolos. It was Jenny. How could I have missed this?

  I began to back away very slowly, hoping the bright fuchsia of my make-Brandon-miss-me sweater wouldn’t attract the attention of my fellow knight, and slammed right into Brandon. For a moment we stood frozen, half falling, shoulder to shoulder, back to chest, butt to things very much not butt.

  “Ouch!” He put his hands on my waist and held me. Held me for a whole, unnecessary second after I was completely steady on my feet again. And then his hands were gone, leaving behind them a whispered imprint, a ghostly pressure and warmth so vivid I swear I thought I could feel every whorl on his fingertip. Even through my sweater.

  Of course, his outburst and that second of hesitation were all it took to gain the attention of every eye in the place, including Jenny’s. I watched her face fall into its usual dour expression and bit my lip. Behind her, the blond guy’s gaze dropped to my neckline and he frowned.

  “Hi, Jenny,” I said.

  “Hi, Amy.” Behind her, I saw the guy give me a once-over, and his lips curved into a slow, contemptuous smile. My psychic powers must have been on in that coffee shop, for I came to my second blinding flash of insight for the morning—Jennifer Santos had broken her oath of secrecy and told this person about my C.B.

  And no, I wasn’t simply overreacting because of my uncomfortable situation with Brandon and all the leftover stress I’d been feeling about my report and how the other Diggers would take it. Honestly, I knew without a doubt this was the case. I knew it. This guy’s expression couldn’t have been any clearer if he’d been holding up a neon sign saying “I know who you did.”

  “Who’s your friend?” I asked, straightening and looking him right in the eye. Have you told him what sluts you think we all are?

  “This is Micah Price,” she said. “Micah runs the prayer group I’m in. Micah, this is Amy Haskel. I tutor her in fractals.”

  I don’t know a fractal from a fraction, but sure. “Nice to meet you,” I said, and held out my hand.

  He didn’t take it. Of course, last time I ran into Micah Price, he’d practically pummeled Josh into the pavement. Thinking back on it, perhaps I should have let him. Would have saved me from all that through-the-wall giggling.

  Brandon stepped forward. “Hi, I’m Brandon.” He pumped Jenny’s hand and then gave Micah a little punch on the shoulder. Jenny raised an eyebrow in my direction but I was in no mood to play nice. She’d told her boyfriend about me. I was fighting my better instincts to keep my oath, knowing it may well break my best friend’s heart, and Jenny had told her snobby blond boyfriend all about me. For what? A funny anecdote? Bragging rights about all the cool stuff she’d heard in the Rose & Grave tomb? My throat began to burn. She wasn’t just any Digger. She was a Diggirl. Didn’t that mean anything to her?

  “Well, we should go
,” Jenny said quickly, as the laser-powered glares I was shooting in her direction finally hit their mark. “See you later.”

  “You bet,” I replied, my voice like ice.

  I leaned against the counter and watched them leave. Brandon stood beside me. “You know that guy?” When I shrugged, he went on. “He’s bad news.”

  “How bad can he be? Super-Christian, runs a campus prayer group?”

  Brandon shook his head. “It’s not a prayer group so much as a cult. He lived across the entryway from me freshman year. Sometimes I would hear him talking in there. Nothing he was saying sounded very Christian to me.”

  “So, like what? Intolerance and stuff?”

  Our coffee order came up and Brandon began fitting the cups into the cardboard carrier. “Yes, that, and…other stuff. Don’t get me wrong; I love a good prayer group.” Who doesn’t? “But he didn’t seem to be so much about God or the Bible as he was about himself. About following him on his…crusade. I don’t know. Tell your tutor to be careful around him.”

  “She’s not my tutor.”

  He handed me a coffee cup. “Amy, don’t you think I know you’ve never taken fractals in your life? I’m a math major. If you needed help, you’d ask me.” He stopped. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Not this semester.”

  We headed toward the entrance, and though Brandon was balancing way more coffee than me, he held the door open as I stepped through. “I’d like to change that, if I can.”

  I swallowed, trying to clear my throat of all the sentences threatening to rush out at once. I don’t think that’s a good idea, and Why are you doing this to me now? and Where the hell can all this lead except to make me feel miserable that I gave you up and Aren’t you smug that finally you’ve gotten me pining for you?

  I was still trying to formulate an appropriate response when Brandon grabbed my elbow and pulled me back under the awning. “Wait,” he whispered.

  Oh, God. No. I may not be the best person in this relationship, but I could take the high road when the situation demanded. Brandon was happy with Felicity, and I would not be the one to let him jeopardize that in some moment of weakness brought on by tight jeans and a tighter sweater. “Brandon, I don’t think—”

  “Shh.” He peeked around the entrance. “They’re still out there. Can you hear?”

  Oh. As soon as I paid attention to something other than my heartbeat and my ex’s proximity, I could.

  “Micah, no! It’s not like that,” Jenny was saying, practically…sobbing?

  “This is what we agreed on, Jen.” His voice was perfectly even, as if he were discussing the weather. “I fail to see how anything has changed. You were the one that told me—”

  “Not here, please. And not now. Seriously, it’s not right.”

  “You promised me you would. You swore it. Were you lying? Were you lying to me?” And there was a hint of emotion in his voice, a carefully reined anger that slipped a bit on the “me.”

  “No, of course not. It’s just so hard. So much harder than I thought it would be. I’m not sure I want to do it anymore.”

  “I don’t understand. I love you, Jen. Don’t you know that? I trust you.”

  “I know. I know you do.” Her voice broke on her words.

  “And you love me…don’t you? Don’t you love me? If you love me, then why is it so hard to do what I want?”

  Enough! “That bastard,” I hissed and would have stormed out of the foyer, but Brandon put his hand in front of me.

  “You’ll humiliate her.”

  “I plan to eviscerate him.” Betrayal or not, she was my Diggirl, and I was going to show my support. I’d teach this budding sexual predator that “no” meant no. I’d sic the full force of the Eli Women’s Center on his ass. But Brandon held me firm, and I didn’t move.

  Jenny spoke again. “I can’t talk to you about this now.”

  “When, then?” Micah said. “No more waiting. You’ve been putting this off forever.”

  “It’s not forever. I’m just not ready.”

  There was a long pause, and then he said, “Well, I’m ready, so I don’t care if you are or not.”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” said Brandon, and his hand formed a fist. “Get him.”

  We spilled out of the entrance and Jenny looked up. Her cheeks were stained with tears. She looked at me for one second, her eyes burning with hatred, then turned and sprinted off.

  Micah smirked at Brandon, and also departed posthaste. The jerk was probably well aware Brandon Weare would not fight him on a crowded city street.

  “Should I go after her?” I asked him.

  Brandon’s jaw was clenched tight. “If you think she’ll talk to you. I don’t think she will.” He watched Micah walk away. “But I’ll tell you what I do suggest. Get your people—and I know you have them—get your people to do that guy some damage. Soon.” He took the coffee from my hand. “I’m going to go deliver this to the Lit office. Chase down that girl, or find your friends, or something. I’ll see you later.”

  No! That’s what he’d said to me last time, and it had been a month and a half before I saw him again. “When?” I couldn’t help but blurt out.

  He looked down at the coffees. “I don’t know, Amy. Maybe when you call me?”

  I power-walked back to Prescott College, cell phone in full gear. Jenny’s phone rang and rang, but Brandon had been right. She clearly didn’t want to talk to me. Maybe she’d take a call from another Diggirl. But that route dead-ended as well. Clarissa’s phones sent me to voice mail, Odile’s message said she’d be out of town until Wednesday, and Demetria’s land line (she refused to sign her soul away to a Cingular contract) had a busy signal. (Seriously, who doesn’t do call-waiting these days?)

  Okay, no problem. I’d wait until Jenny calmed down somewhat and try her again. Or maybe I’d even give Josh a heads-up on the issue. He may not be a Diggirl, but he was close enough, and I was sure he’d love any excuse to give Micah a little smackdown. But when I got back home, it was to find Lydia alone on the couch, chewing the end of her highlighter and smiling dreamily into her Locke.

  “Where’s Josh?” I asked.

  “Eleven-thirty lecture,” she murmured, and proceeded to highlight a line I’m sure she’d had memorized since freshman year. She glanced up at me. “Anything wrong?”

  Nothing that couldn’t wait until the next time I saw Jenny. I schooled my features into a more casual expression. “No. Why?”

  “I thought Brandon was here.”

  “Oh, that. He was. It was fine.”

  Lydia nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. I hope you guys can move on and be friends.”

  “Sadly, I think that’s up to him. I’m the one who hurt him, so I’m pretty much consigned to taking whatever friendship he’s willing to let me have.”

  Lydia pursed her lips. “Brandon’s a good guy. I’m sure he wants to be your friend.”

  “I don’t know if I can be his friend—not really. I doubt we were ever just friends. There was always the tension, and then the outright flirting, then all the naked stuff. And then we were kind of together. I don’t know how to be friends with him without the sexual element. Maybe I just don’t do the boy friend thing.”

  “Especially not at your current pace with Monsieur Prescott, mon ami.”

  “You ain’t just whistlin’ ‘La Vie en Rose.’” I plopped down on the couch next to her. “But that’s a whole other headache. I think I’m having a day where I wish all men would simply spontaneously combust and leave our planet alone.” Starting with Micah.

  “Mmmm,” Lydia sighed. “I’m not.” She stretched out her feet and wiggled her toes. “Josh is…sublime.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “No, really, Amy, if only you knew.” Ha. If only she knew. “I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, and yes, rationally I know it’s my brain exulting over the whole pair-bonding thing and going nuts, but I don’t think I’ve ever known a guy like him before. We can lie
around for hours and talk about nonsense or issues and it feels so comfortable. I don’t worry if he’ll think I’m an idiot if the subject matter changes from what we should do in the Middle East to whether the new Star Wars movies are any good. Which, you know, they’re not.”

  “Right.”

  “But it’s amazing. I feel as if I can tell him things I’ve never told anyone.” Her eyes widened. “Except you, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  She broke into a smile. “And it’s so weird, but I feel as if he can tell me things he’s never told anyone, too.”

  Except me. Of course.

  “That’s great, Lydia,” I said, and meant it. Or hoped I did. “I’m really really happy for you. I hope this works out.”

  “Thanks, hon. I know the last thing you probably want to hear about right now are my romantic adventures.”

  “No, actually, it’s nice to think there is a purpose to all of this.” And nicer to hope that maybe this time Josh would hold himself in check.

  Lydia dropped her head on my shoulder. “I think there is. Right now anyway. Ask me again when I’m single.” I chuckled, dislodging her from her perch. “Okay, back to 17th-century political theory.”

  The phone rang and Lydia grabbed the receiver. “Lydia and Amy’s Den of Sin.”

  Great. When she said stuff like that it was always my mom. We were sitting so close, I could hear the person speak on the other end.

  “Lydia, it’s Josh.”

  “Oh, hey there, cutie.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Um, no, Amy’s right here.” There was a click. “Josh?” She looked at me. “That was weird.”

  And then my cell phone rang. I answered it, careful to hold it up to the ear facing away from Lydia. “Hello?”

  “Firefly Room. Now.” And then the line went dead.

  I hereby confess:

  I am my brother’s kept woman.

  7.

  Connubial Bliss

  Within fifteen minutes, Soze had managed to collect most of us in the tomb’s Firefly Room. Lucky was there, looking a little puffy around the eyes and absolutely refusing to recognize my presence, and so was Puck, who had his feet upon an antique hutch in the corner. He’d tracked down Thorndike despite her lack of cell phone, and Bond, Big Demon, Frodo, Juno, and Graverobber rounded out the party.