What Happens After Midnight, page 13
“Nah.” He shook his head. “Better your fingerprints on the wheel than mine.”
“True, forensics doesn’t have a file on me yet,” I deadpanned, knowing someone would eventually discover the golf cart wherever we chose to ditch it tonight. And since Ames refused to institute a forensics lab in the science department, it would be impossible to trace the robbery back to Bonnie and Clyde.
Unless we got caught.
I slid into the driver’s seat and flipped on the headlights, then second-guessed myself and flicked them off. We didn’t want to attract any attention. Instead, I propped my phone up in the cupholder; its glow would have to be enough to guide us.
But before I even shifted into drive and hit the golf cart’s gas pedal, sirens sounded. My heart lurched. Had raising the garage door set off some kind of alarm?
Then I realized it wasn’t sirens. Tag’s insulin pump was beeping.
“What’s it saying?” I asked, even though I already had an idea and felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. Tag’s profuse sweating and clamminess weren’t entirely due to nerves; it was because he was…
“Low,” he finished for me, silencing the notification. “Blood sugar’s low.”
My grip on the steering wheel tightened while Tag unzipped the front pocket of his backpack, and I watched him pull out a packet of Welch’s fruit snacks. “How much have you eaten today?” I whispered as he chewed and swallowed the gummies.
I remembered him and Alex talking before we set off on our journey to the sculpture sanctuary, murmuring about Tag drowning his meatloaf in ketchup earlier. What time had he had dinner? 6:00?
“Not as much as I should’ve,” Tag admitted, then crumpled up the empty plastic packet. He nodded at the whorl of darkness in front of us. “Onward.”
“But, Tag—”
“Onward!” he repeated, this time hopping up in his seat. The golf cart shook under his weight, and he pointed outside as if he were a sea captain shouting, Land ho!
“Use your magic words,” I singsonged.
“Onward, please!”
“Oh, right away.” I fumbled with the gearshift like the fool in a fifties movie. “Right away!”
And then we laughed as I pressed down on the gas.
FIFTEEN
My pulse set the pace on our way to the boathouse. Instead of creeping along at a snail-like speed, I quickly turned onto the gravel driveway, soon flew over a speed bump. Our golf cart caught some serious air. “I swear you just took us to outer space,” Tag said through his laughter. The fruit snacks seemed to have done the trick. “We went to the moon; we went to Saturn…”
I smirked and took one hand off the wheel. You’re funny, I said by knocking my knuckles twice against his knee. Our old code again.
Tag shifted in his seat.
We couldn’t see it in the dark, but Ames’s boathouse was beautiful. “Traditional,” our school brochures liked to say, “with a modern twist.” Its faded cedar exterior was classic, but the glass statement wall that let you see the sailboats and surfboards systematically stored inside was brand new. A glass-sided overlook had also been recently added; there was no better view for a regatta.
Ocean waves swishing and swirling, I sucked in a deep breath of salt air after parking the golf cart. Tonight’s wind really ripped this close to the water; I had to keep a hand clamped down on my baseball hat so it wasn’t suddenly stolen away and flung out to sea.
My mom didn’t have a key to the boathouse, but that was okay because Tag knew the garage door’s code. “Once a sailor, always a sailor,” he said, because Ames’s sailing coach never changed the keypad’s passcode. It was the same as when Tag had been on the team. Nothing creative, just the last year Ames had won Nationals…way too long ago. “It all comes down to coaching,” Josh once insisted, a comment my mom deciphered to mean he wanted to take over the team. “Josh, you don’t know the first thing about coaching sailing,” she said, to which he casually responded, “I can learn.”
Once the door had groaned to a stop and Tag and I crossed the threshold, overhead lights flickered on, courtesy of a motion sensor. Surfboard racks lined the walls and various victory flags hung from the ceiling. NATIONAL CHAMPIONS 2010 was the most prominent, but its colors were beginning to fade.
“Hello, old friend,” Tag said, and I turned to see him by one of the sailboats. He held his duct tape and the next clue but was lovingly looking at the boat. I immediately knew it was the one he used to sail with Daniel, the one Daniel now sailed with my fellow fac brat Anthony DeLuca. Even though swimming was more important, I’d never quite understood why Tag had given up sailing. “This won’t hurt, I promise.”
“Wait,” I said as he dropped into a crouch. It looked like he was going to tape the clue inside the hull. “I want to read the riddle.”
“Ah,” he replied. “I already licked the envelope.”
“Then unlick it,” I said, moving toward him. There was no way I was missing a clue. Because while their scansion would probably make a poet laureate cry, they were perfect for the prank’s scavenger hunt. Jesters made fun of their kingdoms.
Ames was a kingdom of sorts.
Tag stilled when I held out my hand for the envelope. After a few beats, he stiffly handed it over, but the serious expression on his face…
My stomach sank. “You sealed this on purpose,” I guessed. “Whatever’s in here…” I sighed. “You don’t want me reading it. Just like you didn’t want me reading the clue about you and Blair.”
Let’s talk about sex, baby, echoed in my mind.
Tag didn’t correct me. “Of course you can read it” was all he said. So without thinking twice, I did. The envelope’s seal was still damp from Tag’s saliva, and I had to finesse the flap back open, taking care so it wouldn’t tear. The cardstock was covered in its familiar jumble of letters, and I couldn’t read the clue fast enough:
Roses are red,
The ocean is blue,
Go to the Hoppers’ mailbox…
Where clue six waits for you!
“Oh my god…” I said, shock shooting up my spine. “What is this?”
Tag didn’t say anything. I waited for him to again reassure me that the riddle was ridiculous—that all the riddles were ridiculous—but he didn’t.
Blood thumped through my ears. “What is this, Tag?” I repeated sharply. “What the hell kind of clue is this? Some shitty Valentine?”
He rose from his crouch. “Lily—”
“You said this prank wasn’t a dig against Daniel,” I cut him off before he could begin. “But it is—it totally is!” I gestured to the sailboat. “This, for example. Every team member and clue location is connected to him.”
“Yes,” Tag said simply.
“What?” I blinked, having expected the Jester to put up more of an argument.
“This prank revolves around Rivera’s ties to Ames,” he continued. “You called me on it while we were moving the Almanacs.” His voice was level. “None of this is new information, and I maintain that if Alex were president, we would be hiding a clue in the commentator’s box in the ice rink right now.”
“But Alex isn’t president,” I countered. “Daniel is.”
“So?” Tag said through gritted teeth. “He’s just your prom date, Lily. It’s not like you’re the First Lady.”
Just your prom date.
I didn’t know why the words made me so angry, but they did. Maybe because once upon a time, prom meant so much to Tag and now it meant nothing. My pulse pounded so hard that I lost control over what I said next. “For some reason, you have it out for Daniel, and fine, we’re helping you on this mission. But putting a clue in my mailbox makes this much more personal to me, Tag! I will be your Jester’s fool but not your pawn.”
He didn’t react at first; there were at least five beats before Tag said, “Why are you always defending him? He’s such an asshole.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s not that bad.”
“Oh, really?” Tag said airily, but I noticed the tips of his ears redden. “Frying my pump isn’t that bad?” He nodded to himself. “Okay, yeah, thanks for the perspective.”
My heart slid into my stomach. “What are you talking about?”
“Sailing last spring.”
“Yeah, Alex told me you were retiring after the season to focus on swimming…” I trailed off when Tag’s gray-green eyes fixed on mine. “What happened?” I asked, suddenly anxious. “Something happened, didn’t it?”
“It was the last practice before the Bexley regatta,” he said. “We were doing a run-through, and I hadn’t removed my pump beforehand—my levels had been up and down that day, which I told him. He knew I was still wearing it. But later we got into an argument that ended with him knocking me overboard. I hit the water hard.”
I opened my mouth, but Tag shook his head.
“I lost it. I fucking shouted that he needed to help me, but he didn’t listen, even though he knew my pump wasn’t waterproof.” Tag’s face twisted like a grotesque gargoyle. “He watched me panic and then laughed while I pulled myself back onto the boat. I was so out of it that it took me three tries.”
My lungs beat like a bird’s wings, almost unable to breathe. How dare Daniel? How dare he let Tag struggle like that?
Tag rubbed his eyes as mine began to sting. “I was fine, but my pump…the battery was completely soaked.” He sighed. “And to make matters worse, my replacement pump got lost in the mail, so I was stuck with finger pricks and backup shots for a while.”
I winced. Tag hated needles, but it was the only other way to monitor his levels and inject insulin when needed.
“After we finally got back to shore, he clapped me on the shoulder and said I had no reason to be so dramatic.” He paused. “I advised he find a new sailing partner before shoving him off the dock.”
“How dramatic of you,” I attempted over the lump in my throat. I let a beat pass. “Did you get in trouble?”
He shook his head. “Not really. Coach Burns pulled my prefect recommendation, but that’s it.”
My stomach stirred. Tag had applied for prefect.
“Oh, and my parents reached out to ensure I knew how irresponsible I’d been.”
“That’s sickening,” I said softly. “I want to vomit.”
“Be my guest,” he croaked as he dropped back down to his knees and grabbed the duct tape off the concrete floor. “Like I said, Daniel’s an asshole.”
I blinked away my tears. It all made sense now, the motivation behind tonight’s prank. But still, somehow, I heard myself say, “Please don’t use that clue.”
Tag closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “You’re kidding me. You still don’t think—”
“No, I just don’t want to be associated,” I cut in quickly. “You’re right; he’s a dickhead and deserves this, but I don’t want to be associated beyond being an anonymous fool.”
“But you need to be,” he countered. “Everyone has been taken off the suspect list, Lily. I called myself—and Blair—out in a clue, Maya is in the infirmary, Alex lit up and gave some twisted TED talk to six witnesses, Manik’s literally with Daniel trying to find said witnesses…and, let’s face it, Zoe’s just a badass. As of now, everyone’s name will be crossed off in red ink.” He gave me a look. “Except yours.”
“Except mine?” I gave him a look right back. “Come on. I was never on the list to begin with, Tag.” I shook my head, thinking of my angel-on-top-of-the-Christmas-tree image. “Jeez.”
“You will be when Daniel really thinks about it, and so will the rest of campus, because there’s a chance he is going to share the clues.” Tag held up the envelope. “Lily, if we don’t hide this one, which I do admit is middle school-level mean—”
“Translation: pure evil.”
“Yes, the purest of strains,” Tag agreed with a nod. “Which means if we use it, Ames will never nail you as the Jester. Daniel’s your prom date. Why would you ever write something like this?” He let out a breath. “But if we skip it and reconfigure things…” He grimaced. “Hops, I worry you’re fucked.”
I crouched down next to him, feeling like a complete idiot. Why? Why would I be fucked? What would give my involvement away?
“Building access,” Tag murmured. “No Jester has ever pulled an indoor prank before because student IDs are powerless after sundown. The only student who still has approval is our commander in chief, but he’s the one solving the puzzle. And while that freshman stole his keys, I think pegging him as the prank mastermind would be a stretch.” He sighed. “We both know those obnoxious alarms go off if doors are open for too long and how Campo never misses them. And there won’t be any signs of forced entry. If we’re lucky, a few classroom windows were accidentally left open, but we didn’t exactly break any for shits and giggles. The only other logical explanation is a faculty ID.”
“And that means me,” I muttered bitterly, then swore. “Shitballs.”
Tag was right; we needed to use the casually cruel Valentine’s Day card. Daniel would recognize that it didn’t sound like me at all, and if the clues went public, I doubted anyone else would point fingers. They’d wonder how the culprits successfully got into Hubbard and the observatory, but because of my reputation, they’d probably conclude that a daring daytime heist was more likely than recruiting me to provide a faculty ID.
Lily Hopper would never! I could imagine Blair saying.
I held the envelope in place while Tag taped it to the boat’s hull, and then he quickly zipped up his backpack before we silently said goodbye to the sailboats and surfboards. Neither of us spoke until the boathouse’s door had been fully lowered. “There are other reasons why Ames would think you’re the Jester,” Tag said. “It’s not just because of Leda’s golden ticket.”
“Okay, yeah.” I snorted, starting toward our golf cart. “Sure.”
But Tag’s sudden hand on my arm stopped me in my tracks. He was already speaking, already rattling off adjectives at a speed that suggested he was extremely nervous. I barely caught any of them thanks to the roaring ocean. “I told Alex after I was chosen!” I finally heard him shout. “It was at the very end of last year, and we pretty much laughed the entire summer about the ensuing madness when it was my turn. I refused to do any concrete brainstorming, of course.”
I gave him a single nod. “Of course.”
“Because I wanted to talk to you, Hopscotch. It was you I wanted to scheme with…” He dropped off, the wind whipping his hair. “I procrastinated playing Jester for months, because I didn’t trust myself not to walk over to your house, knock on your door, and ask you to write in a stupid spiral notebook with me. I know prank collaboration goes against code, but I didn’t care about painting by the numbers. All I wanted was to make bullet-pointed lists and annotate campus maps and write ridiculous riddles with you.” He sighed. “If Alex hadn’t locked me in our room one weekend to work out the logistics, I don’t know if we’d be here right now. Nothing about being the Jester seemed worth it if you couldn’t be my partner in crime.”
He was shaking by the time he’d finished speaking, and while part of me wanted to throw myself into his arms, the other part told me to stay put and say, “Yet somehow I wasn’t good enough for you.”
Maybe it had been a mistake, to dig up our relationship’s grave, but…
So it goes, I thought.
Tag’s eyes widened. “What? What are you talking about?”
“You would’ve come over if I was good enough for you,” I said, gathering as much courage as I could. “Tag, you would’ve walked into my house and grinned as you presented me with a brand new notebook after giving the greatest hello hug. You would’ve chased me up the stairs, and we would’ve put on our invisible jester hats and made some magic.”
God, I could see it. I could see it so easily, right down to the way he would’ve flopped down on my unmade bed and how I would’ve tackled him once he revealed his secret.
“But I already knew I wasn’t good enough for you,” I said, nodding resolutely. “So it’s cool. Totally and completely—”
“Why would you think that?” Tag blurted. “Why would you ever think you weren’t enough?”
“Because of Blair!” I screamed over the ocean’s rushing waves. “Because you decided to go out with the gorgeous and glamorous and intellectually superior Blair Greenberg!”
“But you dumped me,” Tag stated matter-of-factly. “After two months of pushing me away—”
“I did not!” I said.
“You did too!” he said back. “You started hanging at home on Saturday nights instead of coming to dances, and whenever I also wanted to skip, you told me not to worry about it—to just go have fun with Alex.” His throat bobbed. “It’s like you didn’t want to spend any time with me. You’d always be doing homework when I came over for Josh’s neighborhood brunch the next morning, and then you invited friends to go to the movies with us later. Sunday matinée showings were ours, Lily. They were our tradition.”
“Yeah.” I glanced at the ground. “Until you stood me up for one.”
Tag released a long breath. “I did that on purpose,” he eventually said. “I’m not proud of it, but I wanted to see if you’d care.” He shrugged. “You didn’t.”
Tears pooled in my eyes. “That’s not true.” I swallowed hard, remembering. “I sat in my room and stared at my phone for almost the whole afternoon, wondering if I should call you.”
“Why didn’t you?” he asked.
“Because I thought you’d found something better to do,” I admitted. “Something better to do with someone better than me.”
Tag put down his backpack, and my breath caught when he moved closer to pop my flannel’s collar. “What could be better,” he said, “than spending my entire afternoon seeing some strange foreign film…” His fingertips fiddled with the shirt’s cuff, so close to my bare wrist. Something began building up in my chest, as if water were filling my lungs. “With approximately four senior citizens and my one and only—”
