What Happens After Midnight, page 11
The Hideout was a tricked-out tree house where the senior RCIs conducted meetings and stored all their personal climbing equipment. I’d never been up there, but I’d heard enough to know it was a great hangout space. Three walls were decorated with past RCIs’ signatures while the fourth was lined with five sacred equipment stalls.
My guess was the next clue was going straight into Daniel’s stall. “Oh my god,” I couldn’t help but blurt. “This is absurd!”
“What’s absurd?” Tag asked. “Planting it in the Hideout?”
“No!” I exclaimed. “This!” I flung an arm at nothing in particular. “The fact that he’s president, a prefect, and a senior RCI? I mean…” I trailed off, flummoxed. “How is that even remotely fair?”
Tag shrugged, but there was a tightness in his voice when he spoke. “The faculty considered him best suited for the positions. The student body too. They elected him president.”
I shook my head. “You should’ve applied to be a Mack prefect,” I said. “I’m sorry, but you should’ve. Tag, you would’ve been brilliant.”
“How do you know I didn’t apply?” he asked.
“Because Josh…” I started before realizing Josh had never gone into detail about his applicants. He just said why he’d chosen Manik and Daniel.
Had Tag actually applied?
And if he did, why wouldn’t Josh have appointed him? They were so close. He was Tag’s swim coach, and we’d shared so many dinners together at my house. It made no sense.
We reached the base of the tree house, and I assessed the narrow metal ladder leading up to the Hideout’s trapdoor entrance. My stomach turned at the height. “I hope Zoe gets here soon,” I said.
“Yeah,” Tag replied, “since this stunner wasn’t cheap.”
I glanced away from the ladder to see him pull a goofy-looking headlamp out of his backpack. “Holy shitballs,” I breathed. “That crown is befitting of a queen.”
“Right?” Tag giggled, really giggled like a little boy. “I know we could’ve used it earlier, but I thought it should be saved for a special occasion.”
“Zoe’s going to flip,” I said, smiling. “Before making you take about a thousand photos.”
“I’ll agree to the requisite three,” Tag said. “We don’t have time for a thousand.” He sighed. “I wish she’d get here too.”
“May I read the next clue?” I asked when Zoe didn’t magically appear.
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Tag handed me the envelope. “My bad, I thought you already had…” He yawned. Someone was getting tired. “Remember, I’m no poet.”
I smirked. It was true, but I couldn’t begin to imagine coming up with these clues myself. This piece of cardstock had a jumble of blue-and-white letters and read:
Trim the sails and take the helm
You are comfortable in this realm
O’ Captain, starboard ho!
Remember to lock up before you go.
“Nice,” I said. “Boathouse?”
“Yep.” Tag clenched his jaw. “I thought we’d throw him an easy one.”
I slid the cardstock back into its envelope. “Beach side isn’t so simple, you know.” We needed to cross Campo’s favorite patrol road to get to the ocean.
“Well, he’ll figure it out,” Tag said. “Just like we’ll figure it out.” He paused. “At least I’m not making him climb anything else.”
I laughed. From Bunker’s hill to the telescope balcony’s locked gate to the Hideout’s ladder, Daniel would need to channel his inner monkey.
We kept waiting for Zoe, this time in silence. Two minutes, five minutes, maybe even ten. “I’ll text her,” I said when we were nearing fifteen. We couldn’t spend much more time here. Our deadline was sunrise, and it would arrive soon.
Tag & I are here, I wrote. Where are you?
Her iPhone’s typing dots instantly appeared, and after a blink, so did her reply. You’ll never believe this, she said. I’m literally in the hydrangea bush outside Leda’s classroom!
More dots.
I hid after seeing a Campo headlight, but instead of cruising by, the car ran into the fire hydrant. Not bad, only a graze, but I think it’s because the driver got distracted? Maybe he saw me? They stopped the car and are now inspecting the damage. It’s Mr. Harvey and the guy from the guardhouse.
I grimaced and showed the text to Tag, who sighed. “Why would Harvey let Gabe drive on his first shift?”
“Because Gabe probably said, ‘pretty please with cherries on top,’” I deadpanned as Zoe’s third message appeared: I’m so sorry, Lily, but I can’t leave until they do.
No, of course, I typed. Stay safe!
Zoe promised she would be back in touch, and I shot her a heart emoji before shoving my phone back in my pocket. “So,” I said to Tag.
“So,” he said back.
We both knew what was coming.
“Have you heard from Alex?” I asked as a last-ditch effort.
He shook his head. “I told him not to text until he was free. The more he has his phone out, the sketchier it’ll seem.”
I sighed. “Where’s Manik when you need him?”
Tag ran an unsteady hand through his hair, and my stomach felt like it was about to drop like an EDM song. Neither of us wanted to make this climb. Getting on Tag’s shoulders was one thing, but this…this was fifteen fucking feet.
“Should we flip a coin?” I asked.
“Do you have one to flip?” he answered.
I shook my head.
“Lily, I don’t think I can do it,” he said, looking at the ground but then looking back up with a pale face. “The thought is actually making me dizzy.” He rubbed his eyes. “I, um, never made it up to the high swing that day. Right before I found…”
Me, I thought with bittersweetness. Right before you found me.
“Give me the crown,” I said, holding out my hand for the headlamp. “Give me the clue and the crown so I can ascend and achieve everlasting glory.”
I told Tag no commentary while I climbed. That had been one of the worst parts of climbing as a freshman. While the Keep going, Lily! and Yay, Lily! cheers were meant to be encouraging, I also couldn’t help but feel like I was being peer pressured. “I’m ready,” I’d said at one point on the rock wall, feeling bile rise in my throat. “I’m ready to come down!”
“No, you aren’t!” my RCI had called back. “You haven’t reached the top and rung the bell yet!”
I’m going to vomit all over her, I’d thought.
Tag stayed silent as I stepped up to the ladder, closed my eyes, and inhaled a deep breath of the crisp night air before grabbing the first cold, metal rung. Then I began to climb. One rung, two rungs, three rungs. I forced myself to stare straight ahead, refusing to look up or down, and only when my lungs started screaming did I exhale. But soon, fear paralyzed me—I froze. How long had I been climbing? How much farther?
Do not look down, I told myself. Do not look down…
But unfortunately, I looked up and saw that I had a long way to go.
“Commentary!” I called to Tag. “I need some commentary—or a distraction. Yeah, I need a distraction!”
“What’s my favorite color?” he called back, but before I could answer, he added, “Yours is pink.” He chuckled. “Remember that furry pink coat freshman year?”
“Yes, the teddy bear coat,” I replied, a little dazed he remembered. Tag and I’d gotten together at the end of spring term; we’d spent most of the year smiling at—then shying away from—each other. “It was originally my mom’s,” I told him, grabbing the next ladder rung and pulling myself upward. “Your favorite color is gold, because of the autumn leaves…” I fleetingly thought of my freshman formal dress. “And the late afternoon light, when campus is painted gold—it’s your favorite time to take pictures.”
It didn’t matter if it was his Nikon or his Polaroid or some antique camera that only he knew how to use, but Tag always walked around with a camera slung over his shoulder. So many of his photos were still on my bedroom wall. He’d tack up a new one without saying anything, instead waiting for me to notice. I swallowed hard.
“What’s my favorite drink, Mr. Diet Coke?” I asked.
“Ginger ale with a slice of lemon and sprig of mint. You love flipping through Josh’s cocktail book and trying to make mocktails out of them.” He paused; I climbed. “Most prized possession?”
“I don’t have one,” I said honestly, even though I’d kept our Chicago Marathon champagne bottle. It had returned to Rhode Island with me and now sat on my bookshelf. “And you…I can’t decide if it’s still your cameras, or now Stevie the cat, or just ketchup.”
“Oh, obviously ketchup,” he said, and I swore I heard his stomach grumble from a million feet below me. “Ketchup elevates every culinary experience.” A beat, and then, “Something that scares you?”
I felt a pang in my chest. Something that scared me? The question was too loaded; there was too much to unpack. From getting caught tonight to giving my currently nonexistent salutatorian speech to going away to college, my list was long.
So I tried to make a joke. “This!” I knocked my fist against the tree house’s aluminum ladder. “Right here, right now!”
Tag didn’t laugh. “You’re almost there,” he said instead.
“What about you?” I asked. “What scares you?”
“Never talking to you again,” he answered.
Just.
Like.
That.
“The Jester didn’t tap you to get Leda’s keys,” he continued as my heart twinged. His cadence was hurried—nervously so. I forced myself to keep climbing. “We never talk anymore, Lily. I know I should be used to it by now, but I’m not, so I wanted to see if we could be…”
Blood pumped through my ears. Don’t say friends, I thought. We can’t be friends.
Because there were only two options when it came to Taggart Swell: loving him with every bone in my body and beat of my heart or cutting ties with him completely. For me, we were everything or we were nothing. I couldn’t fathom how he thought we could meet somewhere in the middle.
“Fuck!” I exclaimed when my head banged against something, otherwise known as the Hideout’s trapdoor. “Fucking hell!”
Tag didn’t laugh or cheer or anything; instead, he shifted back into Jester mode. “There should be a four-digit combination lock on the door.”
“Affirmative,” I replied, reaching for the lock. “Did Maya get those magic numbers?”
I remembered much earlier in the evening before we’d left Hubbard Hall. Tag had reminded Maya to text him the lock combination because rumor was the senior RCI chose it.
Tag sighed. “She sent me some ideas,” he said. “I would’ve preferred the facts, but she’s confident one of these is right. Unlike her, Daniel’s not that creative a person.”
I snorted. Maya could be brutal. “Okay, well, what’s first on list?”
“The year Ames was founded.” He didn’t specify, knowing I was good with dates.
1-8-0-3.
After inputting the numbers, I gave the lock an unrelenting tug. “Incorrect!”
“Okay, the twins’ birthday,” he said, and after that didn’t work, he gave me the Rivera family’s street address and our graduation year. We even tried what was allegedly Daniel’s debit card PIN, but to no avail.
Both of us were silent once we’d tried all Maya’s guesses. Then Tag groaned and dropped a couple choice words. I was right there with him. Ames believed they were rewarding Daniel for all his hard work but come on. He’d amassed more power than a student should ever possess. Full-on ID access as president, prefect status, and senior RCI perks? Choosing the lock combination for the tree house?
My heart suddenly jumped into my throat. “Wait, he didn’t choose it!” I nearly squealed, excited. “Daniel might be the senior RCI, but he’s outranked by the faculty RCI.” I smiled. “And I doubt she’d let him forget it.”
Tag cheered. “Leda!”
I nodded. My mother with all her special keys and combinations. I should’ve known better. She’d once made an offhanded comment that Daniel was her most capable RCI, but that didn’t mean he needed to know everything about the ropes course.
Quickly, I tried various dates. Her birthday, my birthday, the year we came to Ames. No, no, and no!
What is it? I wondered, rubbing my temples as if to summon the answer. My mom’s comment about Daniel not knowing everything about the ropes course—it was true in the sense that he didn’t know the lock’s code but also that he didn’t know all that had happened here. Nobody ever would, but my mom knew one special thing that did.
“Any luck?” Tag called up to me.
My fingers trembled as I reset the dials and then immediately input: 1-0-2-5.
October 25th, the day the course closed to students for the fall.
October 25th, the day she and Josh went on their annual climbing date.
Please, I thought before shutting my eyes and tugging the lock.
This time, there was no resistance. It willingly popped open for me.
“I’m in!” I shouted as I unhooked the lock and shoved it in my pocket before pushing the trapdoor upward. Its squeaky hinges drowned out Tag’s reaction.
After hoisting myself into the darkened Hideout, I aimed my headlamp straight at the far locker-lined wall. Because of the lock trouble, there wasn’t time to see the sights or check out how comfy the couch was. I needed to hide the clue and then scramble back down the ladder. Hopefully Alex would be waiting with Tag at the bottom. Had the freshmen boys gone home to Mack?
Sure enough, each equipment stall had a weathered brass nameplate. D. RIVERA, the one in the middle read. I rolled my eyes before pulling the clue from the back of my shorts and tucking it on the stall’s top shelf, under Daniel’s red climbing helmet.
Goodbye, little one.
Then I retreated to the trapdoor and tediously lowered myself down through the hole, taking care not to lock up behind me. It was probably best to throw Daniel a bone.
Because he would never guess that code.
THIRTEEN
Tag was ecstatic once my feet were safely back on the ground. “You did it!” he whooped and then lost it when I celebrated a victory the only way I knew how: playing an invisible game of hopscotch. The headlamp beam danced up and down as I bounced, heart rate riding my rhythm. Tag laughed. “Hopscotch,” he said, voice almost hoarse. “Hopscotch for the win!”
I grinned, but before we could share it, he hugged me. A congratulatory hug, not a romantic one. Tag clapped me on the back like we’d won a swim meet, although I imagined most of his teammates shook off the slap after a second or two.
Not me. Even through a couple layers of fabric, his handprint branded itself on my back. I felt it there, burning red. “Take off your sweatshirt,” I said.
Tag abruptly pulled back. “What?”
Shit, I thought. It’s “Man, I’ve missed your mouth” all over again.
“You’re hot,” I told him, then cringed. “I mean, you’re sweaty.” I backed up to see him in my headlamp. His face, ears, and neck were flushed. “Do you feel okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” Tag nodded. “I was just really nervous that the code couldn’t be cracked, so that’s why—”
“But your pump went off,” I suddenly remembered. “It beeped back in the sculpture sanctuary. What did the notification say?”
Tag gave me a lopsided smile. “It was kindly asking for a BG calibration,” he said, putting a hand to his heart. “Impeccable manners, as ever.”
I smiled back in relief. Tag’s pump just needed a blood glucose reading to ensure he was receiving the right amount of insulin. Nothing was up with his blood sugar, and even if he got an alert later, I’d wager his backpack contained at least one Gatorade and some snacks.
He was always so prepared.
My phone pinged in my pocket—hopefully a status update from Zoe or Alex—but I ignored it, watching Tag shrug off his sweatshirt. The headlamp must’ve looked like a stage spotlight, but he didn’t say anything—actually, he was having trouble. His T-shirt clung to the sweatshirt; my legs went weak when a slice of bare skin was exposed, that swimmer’s six-pack. “Where is Tag Swell?” I’d once said, when it was clear all those gym sessions were doing the trick. His second growth spurt too. “Where is my Bambi boyfriend?”
He’d blushed. “Yeah, I don’t really look like myself anymore, do I?” He ran an awkward hand through his hair. “Do you still like me like this?”
“Smoosh, that’s the most absurd question I’ve ever heard,” I replied. “You’re the next Sexiest Man Alive.”
Tag pretended to groan. “Please don’t put me in People magazine.”
I’d laughed and stretched to kiss him. “Too late.”
Eventually he managed to shuck off the sweatshirt and pull his T-shirt back down, and that was when I caught it on his bicep: the tattoo. A lump formed in my throat. Alex had said Tag had gotten it on his eighteenth birthday this past summer. Blair wasn’t shy about expressing her distaste for it while old Bunker thought it was the best thing ever. AUT VIAM INVENIAM AUT FACIUM, it said in Tag’s concise block-letter handwriting.
Latin for “I shall either find a way or make one.”
The words were bracketed by an ivy wreath, which had been sketched by…well, me. Sophomore year in history class, I’d been doodling and gave him the sheet of loose-leaf paper afterward. Maybe the saying was Roman general Hannibal Barca’s maxim, but it sounded like Tag. Strong, smart, determined.
Although I never imagined he would someday ink it on his skin.
Tag tied his sweatshirt around his waist and then glanced up to find me looking at him. My heart quickened when he tilted his head, but the moment didn’t last long. “Hey!” someone called, but before Tag and I could bolt, Zoe jogged out of the darkness and into my ray of light. “You didn’t answer my text.”
“Sorry!” I blurted. “I’m sorry. We, um, well…” I trailed off when she hugged me, a tighter one than normal. She was shaken up, so I squeezed her back.
