Page 4 of They're Watching You

Do not mention a word of the society.

VICTORY OR DUST.

Sincerely,

The Gamemaster

I dump the envelope over and shake it. But nothing falls out. Polly must’ve used whatever was in here to get into this meeting. This meeting that was months ago.

I’ve only heard the vaguest whispers of a secret society. One with access to liquor and parties after curfew, like the fraternity over at Langford School. This must explain why Polly was so distant this past term. It even explains that trip she took to the headmaster’s office a couple months back, a trip she refused to explain to me. She must’ve gotten in with the wrong crowd—some weird club that forced her to break lots of rules.

But why wouldn’t she tellmeabout it? Sure, the fancy card says it’s a secret. But we shared everything—at least, we did back in September. Did this society really want only Polly? Or did she simply choose not to include me?

Then a thought hits me so hard I drop down onto a beanbag chair.

If Polly was spending all her time with this society, someone in it might know where she is.

Two

When you’re digging for information on a secret society, it’s good to have a lot of contacts.

I have three. First up, my lacrosse teammates, who basically count as one collective contact. They’re also a contact I’m sort of on the outs with; instead of bonding with them during Form I, I bonded with Polly. Still, the relationship is amicable and they value my offensive skills on the field. After practice that afternoon, I gather up enough courage to interrupt their conversation about Saturday night’s masquerade ball to ask them.

“Secret society?” our Form IV captain, Valeria Reyes, asks with a smirk. “Of course, there’s a secret society.”

“Well, great then—”

“And if we knew anything about it,” she adds, “it wouldn’t be secret.” She yanks off a muddy cleat and tosses it into her bag.

“So nothing?” I ask, feigning disinterest as I peel off my disgusting sock. “Not even a name?”

I’m not stupid. I know Suspect Number One is Annabelle Westerly. She must know something about this Gamemaster’s Society. Or else why would she and Polly have been so buddy-buddy?

But I can’t just waltz up to someone like Annabelle without a plan of attack. Without a plan—without leverage—she’ll deny everything.

“Not a name,” says our goalkeeper, Mari DeJong. “But when my aunt was a student here, a rumor went around that a society was responsible for the fire in the old cathedral. Like a prank gone wrong or a night of debauchery gone wrong or”—she shrugs—“something gone wrong.” Valeria giggles, but Mari stays somber. “A kid died that night.”

“That’s horrible,” I say. But it makes sense. A bunch of drunken students, hanging out in an ancient building.

It was also ages ago. I need to talk to someone who’s in the society now.

“There’s no secret society,” Larissa Gaines says, rolling her eyes. She shoves her goggles into her bag. “Unless you count those kids who play Dungeons and Dragons in the corner of the dining hall every Friday night. But that’s moreexclusivethan secret.” She waggles her brows. “You might be able to get in, though, Maren. If you practice.”

“Thank you, Larissa,” I say, giving her a tight-lipped smile and making a mental note to accidentally trip her with my lacrosse stick at tomorrow’s practice.

“Well, I heard they have this password or something about dirt,” Diana Willis offers, wiping her sweaty forehead on the hem of her practice shirt. The line from the invitation flashes through my head:Victory or Dust. “And the only way you pass the initiation is if you spend the entire night inside a casket that they literally bury—beneath the ground. If you freak out or refuse to do it, they don’t let you in.”

My breathing gets shallow at the thought. “Okay, but how do you even get invited to the initiation?”

I’m met by silence. Shrugs ripple around the group like they’re doing the wave at a sporting event. The invitation is tucked inside my lacrosse bag, and my fingers itch to whip it out. Maybe if they saw it, someone would be spurred to spill more information.

“Just give it up, Maren,” Valeria says. “How can you even think about joining a secret society with our schedule?”

“No, it’s not—I’m not trying to join. It’s more like…a friend of mine was asking.”

She slings me a dubious look and zips her bag shut.

***

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