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matter how heated the debate grew, and he declined to offer advice about any of our lists or suggestions, despite the frequency with which the other Diggers and I looked to him for an opinion—even a tacit one.
    I would have called him on it, but a public squabble with my new society-incest boyfriend was hardly going to lessen the tension within the tomb. Besides, I knew enough by now to figure out that when Poe bothered to keep his opinions to himself, it was because he was armed with a weapon of mass destruction. Whatever he said would likely devastate us. “Walk softly and carry a big stick” was practically engraved over his heart.
    He must really think we’re hopeless.
    The only things we’d resolved by the end of the meeting were that we should really try to get a “science tap” to fill Howard’s open slot, and that if any two knights so desired, they could “switch marbles” in order to get a tap who may not be of the right gender, but otherwise fit their requirements. This latter move put Topher Cox back into play for me. If anyone wanted a girl, that is.
    When the meeting ended, Poe walked me back to Prescott, chattering away about everything but the Page 25

    one subject I was interested in—what he thought of our process. Instead, he talked about whether or not he wanted to apply to the Eli law journal.
    “On one hand, it’s incredibly prestigious,” he was saying.
    “Well, that sounds about right for you.”
    If he picked up on my sarcasm, he didn’t show it. Or maybe he simply agreed with me. “But on the other, it’s a huge commitment. I might prefer a really good clinic or maybe greater freedom in my schedule. In case something comes up.”
    I looked away from the path, finally engaging in the conversation. “Like what?”
    He shrugged. “I don’t know. Other opportunities. A research gig for a professor. A job.”
    “Then staying flexible seems like a wise choice.” I laughed ruefully. “Look at me. I’m the epitome of flexible.”
    He slipped an arm around my shoulders. “Do you have any idea when you’ll be hearing back on those applications? Fellowship or grad school?”
    “I’ve already heard from a few,” I admitted, though I was loath to. “A whole mess of ‘thanks, but no thanks’ so far. Maybe I was kidding myself with the idea that I should veer from my plan. My resume looks great for an assistant at a literary agency or a publishing house. It isn’t designed to impress anyone outside of that.”
    Beside me, Jamie was silent. I figured he knew the truth of that better than anyone—after all, he’d studied my C.V.
    “ Of course not, Amy ,” I prompted him. “ Don’t be silly. Someone is bound to jump all over your application .”
    “And if they don’t?” he asked instead, bypassing my comforting-boyfriend script. “Is your alternative no longer desirable? Go to New York, work in publishing?”
    “No. I could probably still get a decent job there—could probably start looking even this summer if I wanted. They don’t hire in advance like consulting firms. They hire when there’s an opening, and people look all the time. But …” But what? It wasn’t what I wanted anymore? Or worse, I didn’t know what I wanted at all? A hundred thousand dollars in debt for a degree and I had no idea what to do with it. Eli diploma or no, Rose & Grave pin or no, it still spelled failure.
    “What you do next isn’t your life, Amy,” Jamie said.
    “Easy perspective to take, 1L at Eli Law. Besides, you were plenty bitter when you wound up landscaping last summer.”
    “I made the mistake of not having a good Plan B,” he said. “It’s one I’d like you not to make. There’s nothing wrong with Plan B. Play it right, and no one will even know it wasn’t your first choice.”
    Spoken like a true secret-keeper.
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    “Because it matters so much what people think,” I mocked.
    “It does,” Jamie said. “And you know it. Malcolm runs off to Alaska to go