"Welcome," he said again, "to a secret. You may have heard rumors of the Vitale Society, the oldest and most il ustrious organization of Dalcrest. This is a society often spoken of in whispers, but about which no one knows the truth. No one except its members. I am Ethan Crane, the current president of the Vitale Society, and I'm delighted that you have accepted our invitation." He paused and looked around. "You have been invited to pledge because you are the best of the best. Each of you has different strengths." He gestured to the tal , bearded guy Matt had noticed. "Stuart Covington here is the most bril iant scientific mind of the senior class, perhaps one of the most promising ones in the country. His articles on biogenetics have already been published in numerous journals."
Ethan walked into the crowd and stopped next to Matt.
This close up, Matt could see that Ethan's eyes were an almost golden hazel, ful of warmth. "Matt Honeycutt enters Dalcrest as a starting player on the footbal team after leading his high school to the state championship last year.
He could have had his choice of col ege footbal programs, and he chose to come to Dalcrest." Matt ducked his head modestly, and Ethan squeezed his shoulder before walking on to stop next to the cute round-faced girl.
"Junior Chloe Pascal is, as those of you who attended last year's campus art show know, the most talented artist on campus. Her dynamic, exciting sculptures have won her the Gershner Award for two years running." He patted Chloe on the arm as she blushed.
Ethan went on, passing from one member of their little group to another, listing accomplishments. Matt was only half listening as he looked around at the rapt expressions on the faces of the other candidates, but he got the impression of a wide range of talents, and that this was indeed a gathering of the best of the best, an assembly of campus achievers. He seemed to be the only freshman.
He felt like Ethan had lit a glowing candle inside him: he, Matt, who had been the least special of his group of friends, was being singled out.
"As you can see," Ethan said, circling back to the front of the group, "each of you has different skil s. Brains, creativity, athleticism, the ability to lead others. These qualities, when brought together, can make you the most elite and powerful group, not only on campus, but throughout life. The Vitale Society is an organization with a long history, and once you are a member of the society, you are one for life. Forever." He held up one finger in caution, his face serious. "However, this meeting is but the first step on the road to becoming a Vitale. And it is a difficult road." He smiled at them again. "I believe - we believe - that al of you have what it takes to become a Vitale. You would not have been invited to pledge if we did not think you were worthy."
Matt straightened his shoulders and held his head high.
Least remarkable member of his group of friends or not, he'd saved the world - or at least his hometown - more than once. Even if he'd just been one of a team then, he was pretty sure he could handle whatever the Vitale Society could throw at him.
Ethan smiled directly at him. "If you are prepared to pledge the Vitale Society, to keep our secrets and earn our trust, step forward now."
Without hesitating, Matt stepped forward. Chloe and the bearded guy - Stuart - stepped with him and, looking around, Matt saw that every one of the pledges had moved forward together.
Ethan came toward Matt and took hold of the lapel of his suit. "There," he said, quickly pinning something on it and letting Matt go. "Wear this at al times, but discreetly.
You must keep your involvement with the society secret.
You wil be contacted. Congratulations." He gave Matt a brief, genuine smile, and moved on to Chloe, saying the same thing to her.
Matt turned his lapel up and looked at the tiny dark blue V that Ethan had pinned to it. He'd never thought much before about fraternities, or secret societies, or any kind of organization that wasn't a sports team. But this, being the only freshman the legendary Vitale Society wanted, was different. They saw something in him, something special.
Chapter Seven
"It would have been difficult to find a group of settlers less suited to building a brand-new colony than the one hundred and five men who sailed up the river from the Chesapeake Bay in 1607 and founded Jamestown," Professor Campbel lectured from the front of Elena's class. "While there were a couple of carpenters, a mason, a blacksmith, and maybe a dozen laborers among them, they were far outnumbered by the self-proclaimed gentlemen who made up almost half the party."
He paused and smiled sardonicaly. "'Gentlemen' in this case signifies men without a profession or trade. Many of them were lazy, idle men who had joined the London Company's expedition in the hope of making a profit without realizing how much work founding a colony in the New World was realy going to entail. The settlers landed in the spring, and by the end of September, half of them were dead. By January, when Captain Newport returned with supplies and more colonists, only thirty-eight of the original settlers remained."
Lazy and clueless, Elena wrote neatly in her notebook.
Dead in less than a year.
History of the South was her very first class, and col ege was already proving to be an eye-opening experience. Her high school teachers had always stressed courage and enterprise when they talked about Virginia's early settlers, not haplessness.
"On Thursday, we'l talk about the legend of John Smith and Pocahontas. We're going to discuss the facts and how they differ from Smith's own account, as he had a tendency toward self-promotion," Professor Campbel announced.
"The reading assignment is in the syl abus, so please come prepared for a lively discussion next time." He was a plump, energetic little man, whose smal black eyes swept the class and landed unerringly on Elena as he added, "Elena Gilbert? Please stay after class for a moment. I'd like to speak with you."
She had time to wonder, nervously, how he knew which of his students she was as the rest of the class straggled out of the room, a few stopping to ask him questions. She hadn't spoken up during his lecture, and there were about fifty students in the class.
As the last of her classmates disappeared out the door, she approached his desk.
"Elena Gilbert," he said avuncularly, his bright eyes searching hers. "I do apologize for taking up your time. But when I heard your name, I had to ask." He paused, and Elena dutifuly replied, "Had to ask what, Professor?"
"I know the name Gilbert, you see," he said, "and the more I look at you, the more you remind me of someone - two someones - who were once very dear friends of mine.
Could you possibly be the daughter of Elizabeth Morrow and Thomas Gilbert?"
"Yes, I am," said Elena slowly. She ought to have expected that she might meet someone who knew her parents here at Dalcrest, but it felt weird to hear their names, al the same.