Rites of Spring by Diana Peterfreund

because you were too much of a loser to get a date.”
    “That, too,” I mumbled. I looked up at him. “What brings you here tonight? You’ve been MIA since—” since his recent brush with concussion “—all semester.”
    “Miss me?” he snarked.
    “Hardly,” I snarked back. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
    He flashed a ghost of a smile. “Because it’s none of your business.”
    “My tomb, my society, my”—I pointed at the black book he held in the crook of his arm—“archives.”
    “As well as mine. And trust me, this is nothing that concerns you.”
    “Why?”
    “Because it concerns me .”
    Or maybe because I’d screwed up the last caper. “Right. The Bugaboo.”
    He rolled his eyes. “Okay. What’s your opinion on current domestic policy?”
    “Huh?”
    “Exactly.” He said nothing for a moment, just stood there, observing me in the unnerving way he had. “If this Dragon’s Head thing is really bothering you, then give in,” he said. “Tell those losers where we hid their precious hunk of metal.”
    I blinked in astonishment. Poe was telling me to put my needs above the Diggers’? Perhaps he’d hit his head harder than we thought. “Excuse me?”
    “I’m serious. You don’t have much time left. Don’t waste your last few months on a battle that’s not going to be worth it in the long run. If you’re miserable, let it go and just…enjoy being a senior. Rose & Grave will survive a little more humiliation this year.”
    Oh, I got it now. “You don’t think I can take it.”
    “No, I’m saying you shouldn’t have to. It’s misplaced pride.”
    “I can’t believe you of all people would say that to me.” I put my hands on my hips. “What happened to all that bull you spout about our oaths coming before anything?”
    “I almost can’t believe it myself.” He shrugged. “But I’ve been there, remember? I have huge regrets about the things I didn’t do when I was an undergrad. This is it, Bugaboo. This is your last chance. You don’t have any more semesters, any more ‘wait and sees.’ Don’t let it slip by while you ride this out. Trust me on this. It’s not worth thinking about.”
    Now he sounded like Brandon, whose similar advice had tipped me toward joining Rose & Grave in the first place. Funny, I couldn’t name two people less alike. Brandon was warm, where Poe was cold; Brandon friendly and open, where Poe was distant and unforgiving. Brandon had loved me, whereas the most I’d ever expected from Poe was a reluctant truce. Brandon was honest and forthright where Poe was—okay, he was honest, too, but he tended to say things I didn’t want to hear. And he never spoke like this. Kind counsel wasn’t Poe’s usual style. I didn’t know how to respond.
    “Anyway,” he said at last, “I should probably head home.” He made for the door, then paused for a moment. “Of course,” he said, “if you do roll over, don’t expect me to let you live it down.”
    “Of course.” That was the Poe I knew.
    I spent the next few hours studying and musing over Poe’s words. And in the end, I understood it wasn’t snowball fights or even Winter Balls that I was missing, and that it wasn’t Dragon’s Head that was keeping me from it, either. I’d been afraid my junior year when I’d told Brandon that I didn’t want anything more than a friendship-with-benefits. I’d been afraid last semester when I’d had my no-strings-attached fling with George Harrison Prescott. I was wallowing in fear every time I made fun of Josh and Lydia, or beat myself up over what Felicity had been able to create with Brandon. I’d been afraid of it for years, and I was about to graduate from college, still terrified of the idea of being in love.
    Pathetic, huh? They teach us a lot here at Eli, but evidently not much about human nature. We’re all so awash in our own ambition that we can’t spare any attention for the ambitions of another. We can’t afford to invest