Diana Peterfreund - Ivy League 2 Under the Rose

Acknowledgments

My appreciation goes out to every reader of Secret Society Girl and Under the Rose. Your e-mails and letters have meant so much to me. I especially want to thank the amazing booksellers in the D.C. area, in Tampa Bay, and in Connecticut, who were so enthusiastic about my book and helped me set up rocking signings. Youre the best. Also, thanks to the Random House Get Lit team for choosing my book and helping to spread the word.

Lots of credit is due to those who helped this novel find its way into print: my genius editor Kerri Buckley, savvy copy editor Pam Feinstein, tireless publicist Shawn OGallgher, Brant Janeway, Cynthia Lasky, Gina Wachtel, Kelly Chian, Paolo Pepe, Lynn Andreozzi, Lynn Newmark, Tracy Devine, and, of course, Nita Taublib and Irwyn Applebaum. A special shout out to Pamela Testa, who makes a very beautiful Amy. Luanne Rice, Lauren Baratz-Logsted, and Cara Lockwood, thank you for reading advanced copies of my debut. Also, to Mike Gibson, for working so hard on my website. And I cant forget the regulars on my blogyouve made so many of my days.

More gratitude is due my agent, Deidre Knight, and her entire staff for their boundless energy and hard work. Id also like to thank the agency sistahs and the members of my writing organizations, both official and those as secret as any society: the RWA Tampa chapter and the Chick Lit Writers of the World, the Non-Bombs, and the other group with the initials NB.

To my fellow writers Marley Gibson, Cheryl Wilson, Kelly Remick, Justine Larbalestier, and Julie Leto, thank you for your advice, critiques, and support. I am so lucky to have colleagues as talented and generous as you.

I am overwhelmed by the support Ive received from my coworkers, friends, and family. I love you all. Mom and Dad, I cant tell you how much your excitement and plans have meant to me in the past two years. That party was incredible. Everyone says so. And to my future mom and dad, thank you for sharing so much with me. And to Dan, thank you for listening to every word, calling me on the crap, and making the night of my launch party utterly unforgettable (as if it wasnt already)!

Amy owes many of her turns of phrase to the classic works of literature she studies; I applaud the teachers who introduced me to them. And last, but not least, I am in debt to my fellow sons and daughters of Eli for inspiring my stories, and to my secret sources, for allowing me inside their wonderful world.

Also by Diana Peterfreund

S ECRET S OCIETY G IRL : A N I VY L EAGUE N OVEL

About the Author

DIANA PETERFREUND graduated from Yale University in 2001 with degrees in geology and literature. A former food critic, she now resides in Washington, D.C.; this is her second novel. Visit the authors website at:

http://www.dianapeterfreund.com.

Watch for

The Rites of Spring(Break)

by

Diana Peterfreund

On Sale Summer 2008

I hereby confess:

Even the secretive and the powerful

need vacations

Please turn the page for a special advance preview.

Not all tropical islands keep their treasures buried, but for those that do, no map will help. Take, for example, a tiny strip of land off the coast of Florida. It has been long understood by those who care to keep track of such things that this glorified sand bar, this unassuming key, heavily wooded and boasting only one decent beach, is actually a lush and luxurious retreat for the members of one of the most notorious secret societies in the world.

But Cavador Key is not listed on any map, whether those commissioned by the state, or the penciled sketches of shallows by a dock-bound old salt. The locals wont speak of it above a whisper. No charter company will take you thither, and when emissaries from the island come to the mainland to pick up supplies, they are silent as the grave about their employers and their employers mysterious pursuits.

What happens on Cavador Key? Rumors abound, but few have seen the rituals up close. Anyone boating near the island is given stern warnings to stay away, and if unheeded, these warnings turn into threats. The tops of several roofs peek out of the ground cover, and grainy photos reveal evidence of people scurrying from building to building, wrapped in dark hooded cloaks in spite of the warm Florida weather. Recently, access to satellite photos revealed still more: a helicopter pad, the remnants of an airstrip, and crisscrossed pathways surrounding a somber, windowless structure. Those who have made it close enough report strange sounds, and stranger lights. Those who have made it closer still are never heard from again.

So next time youre out on your boat, a little sunstruck and with way too many pia coladas on your tab, dont make a decision youll regret. Cloak-and-dagger government cabals, clandestine midnight rituals, and inexplicable disappearances arent on your spring break itinerary. Stick to sunbathing, snorkeling, and that all important spring fling. You dont want the kind of trouble an unplanned excursion like this can bring you.

But, hey, is there an offshore island paradise that doesnt hold a secret?

Trust me on this one. Some of us know the truth about Cavador Key. But were few in number, and we keep our secrets close, just as we were taught by the Order of Rose & Grave.

Dont believe me yet? Do you think, perhaps, that Im simply spouting the party line? Or maybe you suspect that even a dedicated Digger like me doesnt know everything about the organization to which Ive pledged my all, and even less about the property we call our most sacred retreat. That Im just going down there to party and get a tan.

Interesting theory. Shall we put it to the test?

I hereby confess:

We arent like other

college students.

Stragglers

It was shopping period at Eli University, and lest you think this is one of those books about fashion, let me enlighten you. The students at Eli were not shopping for Prada, but for Proust; they werent hunting for good bargains, but rather, for gut classes; and they would happily surrender Fendi at forty percent off to secure a Fractals section that wasnt all the way up on Science Hill.

As a senior, I found this shopping period especially poignant. It was my penultimate chance to discover the hidden gem seminar, the one Id look back on in the cold, post-Eli future as being one of those bright college days the song speaks of. My last chance, in many cases, to take the famous lectures given by the colleges most notorious luminaries.

What? You didnt take Herbert Branchs Shakespeare class? future employers will say with incredulity. Why, Amy Haskel, what were you doing there at Eli?

And I will not be able to tell them, because I swore an oath never to reveal the truth: that while other Literature majors were shopping the Branch class, I was crouching in the shadows on a cold stone floor, garbed in a long black hooded robe and a skull-shaped mask, rehearsing an esoteric initiation ritual that required me to lie in wait for an innocent classmate to wander by so I could leap out, pelt his face with phosphorescent dust, and yell Boo.