Chapter 12
12
M y grandfather forbade me from attending Oxford University—he’d strictly wanted me to attend a state school. Levelheaded, utilitarian, practical. He’d told my parents he’d only help me with college if I didn’t go abroad anywhere, and specifically, not Oxford. So of course, for as long as I could remember, I’d been secretly obsessed with Oxford. First, because it was forbidden, and then much later because I decided I wanted to study International Relations, become an ambassador, and then someday an educational pundit. When I’d learned that both Margaret Dusberry and Zelman Brandis—the notable Australian thinker, winner of a Pulitzer Peace prize, and educational advocate—had graduated from and would teach at Oxford for the next five years? It felt like fate was finally calling me to be somebody. I follow Nobel Laureates and political pundits the way some of my classmates follow boy bands. I wanted to be someone who advocated for equal access and quality of education across race, gender, and geography. Secretly? I want to sit on the Presidential cabinet, as Secretary of Education. Or Secretary of State. Something huge and meaningful. Jaqueline constantly referred to me as a “less cheerful Leslie Knope”, because of my conviction that the right people in higher government would make all the difference for the citizens of our country.
And it’s all tied up together, in my memories of my grandfather. He sat on the city counsel for our small city. I watched him in the chambers, seconding motions or arguing with salient points against things that could harm our community. He’d been the linchpin vote keeping an asphalt plant from being built next to the elementary school in our community. He gave our little area of the world his all. His incredible intellect. His dedication to all animals and people having good, safe, healthy lives and access to nature. And he made a difference. People respected him, came to him with problems outside of his official duties. I know several times there were men who pulled up alongside his beat up farm truck and tried to talk him into running for state office, mayor, or governor. I’d heard my Dad talk to my mom, about how he’d flatly declined every time. And I remember wondering how someone could see the impact they made on a small scale and not want to expand their influence for good. It’s what launched my dream for…more. To take that influence my grandfather had on our corner of the world, the seeds he’d sown in me to do right by others, and broaden its impact. To fight greed and corruption. To earn everything myself with the hard work of my own hands.
In direct juxtaposition, here I am applying makeup so that I can go to my Secret Society meeting. At Oxford. Where I’m accepting money for something I don’t fully understand. Something that has included being drugged and kissed by a man I consider my sworn enemy. This is the stuff that political opponents will delight in discovering and smearing across tabloids. This is where I have to wonder if I’m helping my cause or hurting it by participating. And yet. I’d looked it up. Fourteen U.S. Presidents had been Freemasons. The Bush family famously attended the Skull and Bones society at Yale. I wouldn’t be the first, and I feel like it’s enough mooring to keep me on the path.
There’s a knock at my door, and I pull it open. Clara stands there, regal in a black sheath dress. My own more colorful dress now seems overdone. I sigh.
“Are you ready to go?” She checks her watch.
“Almost.” I dab a little more mascara on, and run my hands through my best attempt at the sleek hair Li gave me last Friday. I give myself a B+. I shoulder my purse and lock my door behind me. “Let’s go see what fresh bullshit they’re going to hit us with.”
Clara frowns. “Aren’t you excited? We get another term here. And the money . This is great .”
I shoot her a look. Clearly, she hasn’t been sitting with her conscience like I have. “Don’t you think the idea of these tests is…unethical? Questionable at the very least?”
Her judgmental gaze rakes mine as we cross the street, headed for All Souls Cathedral. “ I did nothing unethical for my first test.”
Heat tips my ears, and I go on the defensive. “I didn’t do anything unethical either.” I leave out the part where I made out—hated out?—with her ex-boyfriend. “But the very idea of having secret tests. I’m just saying it’s shady.”
She studies me. It’s like she knows what Kendall and I did. I clear my throat. “Plus, um, I think maybe Kendall gave me something so he could ask me personal questions. Like some sort of drug. Wasn’t that your test?”
Her gaze turns guarded, and maybe a little guilty, before she looks straight ahead. “Yes.”
“Okay, well, drugging people just to get them to talk to you seems shady. Are you okay with being rufied?”
She sniffs. “Kendall didn’t need to drug me . I answered willingly.”
I. Bet. She. Did. I roll my eyes and shake my head. “He probably needed a way to confirm our truthfulness, especially for those who haven’t been in a relationship with him before. He drugged me, Clara. With a drink. As a test for our scholarship. You saw me in the garden, that wasn’t just drunk.”
She presses her lips together. “Okay, yeah, fine. This whole thing is weird.”
We push through the large arched door in the stone wall, marking the entrance to the All Souls quad. Above us, spires of the church rise and the faint sounds of choir music greet my ears.
I take a deep breath, something inside of me quieting as the faint music washes over me. “I love it here,” I say as we approach the chapel. Clara is silent, so I look over at her. “At Oxford. Do you?”
She shrugs. “This isn’t exactly what I had pictured for my first year of college. It’s the biggest thing I’ve ever done. My parents were shocked. I’m the baby of the family, and never make big decisions. Everyone expected me to get married right out of school, or maybe get an boring degree, but I’ve just never been ambitious or brave before this. I like Oxford but…”
“But you thought you and Kendall would be back together if you came here.” I have a pang of guilt, thinking about how I made out with Kendall, even though she and I aren’t close, and I never plan on repeating it. Her admission goes along with everything I gleaned about her. Pretty. Polite. Wholesome but not frumpy. Intelligent but not brainy. On paper, the quintessential Prom Queen. Respectable family. Probably voted Most Likely To End Up Arm Candy to a Celebrity or a Miss America finalist.
We pause outside the chapel door. And she sighs and nods. “It just felt like it made sense. Like it was the logical next step. I’m so stupid. When he broke up with me, he said it was because long distance didn’t work. I thought he’d see distance wasn’t an issue now and things would go back to how they were.” She presses her lips for a moment, and then snaps her eyes up to meet mine. “But now that I’m here, I just can’t shake the feeling that this is the reason he never could commit. That he’s been so sure all the way through high school that we wouldn’t date in college, he planned for it, and just didn’t tell me.” She’s quiet a moment and then swipes at her eye. “I guess now I feel like I was a placeholder for him, but totally oblivious about it. I was stupid in thinking he wanted to make it work. I thought he really loved me.”
“I think he cared about you. But it makes sense. He knew he would go to Oxford, which would break you up, so he wasn’t fully in it.” It makes sense, but it seems a weird thing to skip telling your long-time, serious girlfriend.
She frowns. “It’s more than that. He seems angry about me being here. But more angry on my behalf, instead of angry that I’m crashing his freshman year. Yes. He does still seems to c are about me, which makes it all really confusing .” She runs her hands over her perfectly smooth hair. “Sorry. I don’t make any sense.”
My mind flashes back to Kendall’s words while he “questioned” me. He’s pissed I’m here too. But why ?
“It’s not just you, there are a lot of things that don’t make sense,” I mutter as we push open the door of the chapel.
“Augustine told me just to be patient, and that Kendall will come around, but I’m not so sure.”
I pause. “Wait. You talked to Kendall’s dad about this?”
Before she can respond, the door opens of its own accord, revealing the Prince o’ Darkness himself, Kendall. “Through there,” he says tersely, pointing at a dark wooden door.
I wonder if he heard us talking about him. Maybe it’s just my eyes adjusting to the light, but Clara pales. I’m not prepared for what seeing him again does to me. My stomach takes a quick trip to my heels and back up to my throat. Blood pounds in my ears.
Clara starts to say something. “I?—”
“Thanks,” I say, grabbing her arm and hauling her through the door. I hiss in her ear as I drag her down the dark stone hallway. “Do not show your jugular to that creature. Who cares if he heard us talking? We’re allowed.” I don’t tell her that, mostly? I want to get away from his violent electric charge. It messes with my body on a visceral level.
Our path—the hallway Kendall pointed us down—winds around until I gather from the sounds that we’re beside the main choir chamber. The hallway ends in a closed wooden door, so I knock.
We’re admitted by none other than Kendall’s father. “Ah, Helena. Clara. Come in.” I don’t like the way he looks at us. It’s a smug appraisal. Like he’s won some contest by having us attend the meeting.
Honest to God candle light flickers inside the stone room. With the tapestries on the wall, and no visible second exit, I have to question the safety of being closed in this room. The air inside is close, with a faintly spicy smell. Cardamom, maybe? It reminds me of chai masala. Peppery. A lectern fills the front of the room, and a row of pews marches down the center of the remainder. Maybe half the people from the first meeting fill the pews. Clara and I slide in behind the pair of boys in rowing shirts. Behind us the door opens and closes again. Everyone turns to inspect a striking girl—willowy with long blond hair and flashing blue eyes.
“Irina,” she says to Kendall’s father in a deep Slovak accent before walking straight to the front pew and sitting down.
It’s quiet as, well, a church.
Several others filter in before Kendall’s father approaches the lectern. “Welcome Pledges, everyone is accounted for so we can begin. Congratulations on passing the first test. We must only induct those with the highest moral values. Transparency is of utmost importance to us.”
I cough to cover my snort of irritation. Kendall drugged me. That’s hardly transparency. No one else makes a move, and Clara stomps on my foot. Hard. Kendall’s father turns his icy eyes on me, and I quiet. It’s clear my outburst is unwelcome. For the sake of finding out what is going on—what is coming next—I sit stock still. “Excuse me,” I say after a beat.
“As I was saying, we only admit the best of the best. You’ve cleared the first gate, but your behavior must be beyond reproach for the entirety of this process. We assure our fraternity that we have a stringent selection process and that we will only present the best and most sterling candidates.”
This sounds more Draconian by the moment.
“Before you leave tonight, you must sign this code of conduct. It will stand until your induction agreement and is a binding contract, so take care in understanding everything I distribute.” Glossy acrylic clipboards pass through the benches. "You will also find a QR code on the back of the signature page. Please use it to download our app, it will help you track and register your required activities.”
“They have an app?” Clara mouths at me. Draconian, but in the 21st century, I guess.
Since we’re in the front, we start reading first and I’m most of the way through the first page before I hear the murmurs behind me. This code of conduct. It’s… intense. We’re expected to attend all classes on time and to achieve passing marks in every single subject. All functions for our college are mandatory, no skipping formal dinners. We will pick one approved volunteer activity from an attached list and donate a minimum of ten hours to the cause. Full attendance to any event at any time required by All Saints. They will provide us with a personal trainer and expect us to complete a minimum of five workouts a week. Our app will track our location, and heart rate. I assume it can also be used to record audio, though it doesn’t mention it. And that’s just the first page. The second page is the personal conduct. A one drink maximum in all social situations where it would be impolite to decline. No partying. No recreational drugs. No smoking. No casual hookups. No dating . No sexual activity. We are to limit our first time exposures to things—no new sports, no new unapproved activities or major life experiences. No tattoos, no piercings, no activities at all that would reflect badly on the Initiate class or the fraternity. We are to be paragons of virtue. Beyond reproach. Pristine in thought and action.
Jesus. I’m altruistic, but this is…extra.
Beyond extra.
“What does it mean no dating ?” Clara mutters beside me.
I shoot her a look. “Um, I think it means…no…dating.”
“No dates at all? Or no serious boyfriends?”
My brow furrows. “I mean, given we have a one drink limit even in private , I’m going to go with no dates at all? I’m shocked they’re not handing us a wooden ruler and requiring that we sit twelve inches from anyone of the opposite sex.” I don’t mention that I have my suspicions that our app will be used to make sure we’re not spending the night in other people’s rooms or going to bars.
“This is bullshit.” Her cheeks are red, and I catch her glance over at Kendall. He’s sitting in the corner behind his father, staring at the same sheets of paper we are. She sees him sign the paper, and I swear she deflates next to me. He hadn’t even hesitated. Part of me wonders if, as our prefect, he knew about the strict rules before all of us. If it’s the true reason he broke things off with Clara, or hasn’t tried to get back together with her. He knew he’d have to follow these rules—rules like staying pure and virtuous, able to sign a contract not to date anyone. Something having a serious girlfriend or falling in love would complicate.
And then with the force of a sledgehammer, I’m thrown back to the moment he’d pinned me against the stone wall, his knee coming up between my thighs. How he’d growled about how he shouldn’t be doing this. Is this what he’d meant? Had he been aware we were breaking the agreement we had yet to sign? It had certainly been a whole set of firsts for me. The first time a boy has touched me like that, under my bra, up my legs. The first time I’d felt that restless, relentless heat building inside of me, under my skin. Certainly my first time feeling absolutely out of control like that. I’d thought he meant he shouldn’t be kissing me because he hated me, but maybe Kendall knew. Maybe he knows everything. My eyes can’t help but find him, lit by candlelight. As if he can sense my gaze, his jaw tightens, and I swear he’s looking down at his paper with more intensity than required. Ignoring me.
Beside me, Clara stares at Kendall too. He’d broken the rules with me, but not with her. It makes no logical sense. And now, they cannot date. “This is barbaric,” she whispers as a tear drips from her eye and splashes onto the paper. “How can they require this level of commitment? What is the point ?”
“Do you want to leave?” I ask.
“No.” She sniffs. “I’d have to go home and admit that my mother was right. Plus…this contract isn’t forever. He just said it’s just until we’re initiated.” I feel her desperate hope that being around Kendall will somehow change things. That she just has to wait it out. God, this girl has it bad.
I waste no time signing my paper and turn my eyes back up to Kendall’s father. He lifts an eyebrow, impressed or surprised at my speed. I raise my eyebrow back at him. It amuses him. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and I look away. Something deep inside me tells me I do not want to be on this man’s radar. Clara takes a deep, steadying breath and lets it out. She sits up straighter. When a person comes back up the aisle to collect our sheets, she hands it over without a second glance.
Clara is keeping it together, but my girl-sense says it will crumble at the first whiff of resistance. Clutching our list of approved volunteer opportunities to our chests, we bolt for the door. Gone is the jovial sense of excited camaraderie, replaced by the hushed anxiety of wondering what comes next.
This isn’t your average scholarship do-good committee. There’s something deep and dark beneath all of this. As we walk back through the stone hallway, the choir sings something poignant and lonely. Something speaking to loss. To martyrdom.
It is All Souls, after all. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m here to barter something. To give away something essential in exchange for belonging.
All Souls , indeed.
I just hope they’re not out for mine.