What Happens After Midnight, page 2
“Yes,” I agreed. I loved these breakfasts with her. “Endlessly fascinating, for sure.”
“I don’t know if you noticed, Lily, but Blair was eyeing you like a dartboard during calc today,” my friend Pravika commented. She and I were spending our free period with Zoe in the Crescent, a rounded seashell-encrusted terrace overlooking the ocean and an extension of the greenspace aptly named “the Circle.” It was Ames’s beating heart, the place to be before, between, and after classes. White Adirondack chairs and hammocks dotted the lawn, and if one was free, you wanted to be sitting in it.
“Really? Am I bleeding?” I deadpanned. The three of us were sunning ourselves on the Crescent’s wall. “She should work on her aim.”
“Who was sitting next to you in class?” Zoe asked.
I didn’t respond. Truthfully, Blair had hit the bull's-eye.
“Lily…” my friends singsonged.
“He was late,” I explained. “There weren’t any other open spots.”
They laughed, and I tried not to think of Tag’s eyes. They had been gray instead of glinting green today, their light dimmed. “Do you mind if I sit here?” he’d whispered, and it had taken almost everything to stop myself from running my fingers through his dark brown hair and gently rubbing the back of his neck. It had been over a year since we’d been this close; we had a way of dancing around each other on campus, a dance I thought had been expertly choreographed, right down to us only exchanging a few words during class. But today Tag had missed a step and we’d had to sit together, which made me stumble as well. It ached not to feel his hand on my knee under the table. Or for him not to kiss the inside of my wrist before threading his fingers through mine…
Why? I asked myself for the millionth time. Why did you do it?
“I wonder who he’ll go to prom with now,” Zoe mused.
“No idea,” Pravika said. “Some sophomore, probably. All the jocks—”
“Can we chill on all the prom speculation?” I grumbled. “Who cares? We’ll find out soon enough.”
Zoe and Pravika were silent, because earlier this week, Daniel Rivera, our student council president, had promposed to me after classes with a beautiful bouquet of lilies. It hadn’t mattered that I was allergic to them; I could feel people’s eyes on us, so I summoned a smile and hugged them to my chest. Don’t think about any impending doom, I’d thought, knowing full-blown hives were on the horizon. You’re excited! Show everyone how excited you are!
I sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was.”
My friends nodded slowly, like they did know what it was. I felt my neck flush. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” Zoe had said the other day. “I know you haven’t broken a promise in, like, your entire life, but prom with Daniel isn’t a real promise—you didn’t pinkie swear or anything. If you aren’t excited to go with him, why actually go with him?”
Because I accepted the flowers, I’d almost said. I accepted the flowers, and I threw them in the trash as soon as I got home, so I can’t give them back.
And even if I could, I wouldn’t. A promposal might not exactly be a promise, but it was a commitment. I didn’t break my commitments.
Some clouds shrouded the sunlight. “Okay, so new topic…” Pravika ventured. “The guys in bio this morning would not shut up about the senior prank.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, about how it looks like there isn’t one this year.”
“Ooh, yes,” Zoe murmured. “I’ve been doubtful too. The Jester has been quiet.”
“Try mouth-taped-shut silent,” I said. The senior prank was another year-end tradition, but an underground one. Students were obsessed with it because the whole thing was very cloak-and-dagger. Not just any upperclassman could brainstorm a prank and put it into motion…only “the Jester” could do that. Their identity was always anonymous; only the previous Jester knew who the next Jester was, passing the “hat” off to them. And if the prank master required a crew to pull off their plan, several others were let in on the secret.
But they never told a soul.
Zoe was right; it didn’t look like there was going to be a prank this year. The order always went prank, prom, graduation. And prom was beckoning! Girls had their dresses hung in their closets and hair and makeup appointments scheduled.
“Who do you think it is?” Pravika asked. She pointed across the Circle, where Blair Greenberg held court in an Adirondack chair. “My money’s on her.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Seriously, Veeks?”
“Yeah.” Pravika nodded. “She’s more than devious enough.”
Truly in a league of her own, I thought before biting my pinkie nail. The farther I stayed away from Blair Greenberg, the better.
“Personally, I hope it’s Alex.” Zoe swayed us away from Blair. “He was my vote for the Class Clown superlative.”
“Zoe, he was everyone’s vote,” Pravika said while I failed at battling back a grin. Alex Nguyen would be the perfect Jester. He’d been devising pranks for forever.
“He will not stop,” I remembered Tag saying sophomore year. We’d been doing homework together in the library, legs entwined under our study table. “Becoming the Jester is the Alexander Nguyen equivalent of winning an Oscar.”
“But you would help,” I’d said. “If he was chosen as Jester and tapped you to help, you wouldn’t even hesitate.”
We stared at each other for a moment before Tag’s lips curled up in a mischievous smile. “No,” he replied, eyes evergreen. “I wouldn’t.”
“I’d love to see what Alex does,” Pravika giggled. “You’d know it’d be a major production, so he’d need a team.” She raised an eyebrow. “Would you guys do it?”
Zoe groaned. “Girl, don’t get my hopes up!”
Pravika turned to me. “Lily?”
“No,” I said without any hesitation.
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “For a million reasons. The first being that I would never make it out of my house undercover. You know what a night owl my mom is. She grades papers until 2:00 a.m.” I waved my hand. “Recruiting me would yield zero results.”
“Wait, so is that why there’s been no prank?” Zoe joked. “Because you can’t sneak out?” She lowered her voice. “Are you the Jester?”
I flipped her the bird.
My friends laughed.
“No, no, we know.” Pravika smiled. “It would never be you, Lily.”
“Yeah, never me.” I smiled back, hoping neither of them noticed it was forced. There was no chance I’d be the Jester, let alone ever joke with the Jester, because the Ames student body couldn’t be too sure where my loyalties lay. With them? Or with the teachers who had raised me?
As a fac brat, I was caught in the middle.
Josh was coming over to make dinner tonight, so knowing my mom would be safe from a takeout menu, I stayed on campus and ate in the dining hall with my friends. Tonight’s enchiladas made us sweat, but we persevered through their spice before sharing a slice of chocolate cake and going our separate ways. Zoe and Pravika headed back to their dorm while I made one last stop: the mail room. Students checked their mail often at Ames, and not just because of Amazon Prime’s two-day shipping. Teachers returned homework assignments, lab reports, essays, and exams through the mail instead of spending class time distributing them. Administration notices also appeared in our boxes. Tonight, I unlocked my box to find a Latin paper from Mr. Hill—the A in his signature meandering handwriting—along with a reminder from the dean of students’ office that a draft of my salutatorian speech was due three days before graduation for approval. Mrs. Epstein-Fox had only given me a B-plus on my physics lab report, but before I could read her feedback, I noticed a strange piece of paper. It was a black envelope with spelled out in colorful cutout magazine letters.
Creepy ransom note-style.
My stomach began stirring as I quickly ripped open the flap and pulled out a piece of cardstock. Again, no handwriting—only the magazine letters. It said:
The game is almost afoot.
It’s happening in forty-eight and you have twenty-four to decide.
Will you join my band of fools?
Email TheJesterXXIII@gmail.com with your answer.
If yes, be ready for further instructions.
“Oh, Alex,” I whispered to myself, staring at the card so hard that the words blurred together. It was him; I was sure it was him. The note sounded like him! “Why me?”
TWO
I tried to remain cool, calm, and collected while walking home, but I failed miserably. Thank goodness most of the boarders had retired to their dorms for the night and that Campus Safety—or “Campo”—simply smiled and waved to me from their patrol Priuses, because my stilted, stupefied, paranoid gait suggested I was campus’s newest whispered-about dealer. Pot or coke, which would you prefer? No, I don’t do Venmo. Cash only.
Before fleeing the mail room, I’d stuffed the Jester’s invitation into the deep depths of my backpack. You would have to dig through all my heavy textbooks and spiral notebooks to find it. Just get to the covered bridge, I told myself, lungs sucked in tight. Once you get over the covered bridge—
“Hey, Lily,” someone said, and I turned to see Anthony DeLuca falling into step with me. He was the only other current fac brat on campus, a junior and Daniel’s sailing partner. He’d taken Tag’s place after Tag had dropped sailing to swim on a local club team.
I willed my heart to slow down. Everything was fine. “Hey, Anthony,” I said casually. “Good day?”
“Long day,” he replied as we crossed the bridge together. “Finals are gonna be a total nightmare.” He groaned. “You’re so lucky you’re a senior.”
I laughed. Seniors didn’t have spring exams at Ames. We’d already gotten into college, so what was the point? The last two weeks of school were simply a formality; we still had assignments to complete but didn’t do much in class. My “Reinventing Shakespeare” elective now spent each period watching various movie adaptations. We’d finished Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet today.
Anthony and I walked through the neighborhood together until we reached his house. It had a sprawling porch and was much bigger than mine since his father was the Dean of Students. The windows were open, so I could hear wisps of whatever Disney show his younger sisters were watching. “Do you have Vaseline?” he asked by way of a goodbye.
“Uh, yeah, at home.” My eyebrows knitted together. “Why?”
He gestured to my ballet flats. “You’ve been walking all weird. If you have blisters, Vaseline does the trick. Or helps, at least.”
“Okay, thanks.” I swallowed, realizing that my heels were screaming in pain. I’d just been a little too preoccupied to notice. “Night, Anthony.”
“Night, Lily.”
All the cottage’s lights had been turned on, a lighthouse to guide me in the dark. Josh’s Ford Explorer sat in the driveway, and I grinned, happy he was still here. In addition to running the Hub and coaching swimming, he was the freshmen boys’ housemaster and lived in an apartment in their dorm.
He must not be on study hall duty tonight, I thought. Otherwise, he’d have left hours ago to go supervise his young charges.
“Hi!” I called as I banged through the front door. “I’m home!”
“Lily!” a chorus of voices responded. Not just my mom and Josh.
I closed my eyes and stood in the doorway for a moment. Would I trade living at Ames for anything? No, absolutely not. But was it difficult that my teachers were also my neighbors and friends? Yes, sometimes. I could never truly leave school.
One, two, three, I counted, then walked into the family room smiling sunnily. “Mmm, something smells yummy,” I said. “What was for dinner?”
“Carrot-ginger soup and garlic bread.” Josh jumped up from the couch. “Do you want me to heat up a bowl? We saved you some.” He smirked. “Your mother loved it.”
“I did as well,” Bunker Hill, my Latin teacher, remarked from the purple velvet armchair near the bookcase. “At first I thought it sounded a bit too autumnal for late May, but Mr. Bauer here proved me wrong.” He toasted Josh with his whiskey-filled tumbler before focusing on my mother. “Leda,” he said, “I’ve always been a Scotch man, but this bourbon is quite smooth.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “The brand is Bulleit. Bulleit Bourbon.”
“Well, I must say you might’ve made me a convert tonight.”
My mom laughed. “I’ll get you a bottle,” she said. “Or my guy will take care of it.”
“You mean me?” Josh called from the kitchen.
“That depends!” my mom called back. “You know I have a lot of guys!”
Bunker Hill was one of them, her mentor. He had been teaching at Ames for who knew how long and was my mom’s de facto father, grandfather, and eccentric uncle all rolled into one. Some people said he’d been here two decades, others said half a century. Maybe as long as the Circle’s massive maple tree had been alive?
I always kept my lips zipped when pressed by my classmates, not wanting to spoil campus lore for them. The old man deserved to remain an enigma. “Just tell us his actual name!” Tag and Alex used to plead. “Because Bunker cannot be his real one. It’s way too cool!”
The family room was pretty crowded for a Monday night. Several other faculty members and their significant others had turned my mom and Josh’s casual dinner for two into a party. My mom always let neighbors wander into our cottage. She was one of those people who left the door unlocked.
I socialized for a while, but once I’d finished my soup and hunk of garlic bread, I rose from my spot at the driftwood coffee table. My mom must’ve cleaned it because there was no clutter. Our old issues of Vogue, Cosmopolitan, and People were gone. “This was delicious,” I told Josh, holding up the empty bowl. “I’d give it a VFG.”
We always rated Josh’s recipes. VFG, or “very fucking good,” was the top honor.
Then I said a grand farewell to everyone, announcing that I had to start on homework. Josh followed me into the kitchen. “Take me with you,” he whispered as I loaded my bowl and water glass into the dishwasher. “Please.”
“Only if you do my homework,” I replied.
Josh let out a deep sigh. “I am so ready for summer vacation.”
Most of the faculty vacated Ames for long breaks. Housing on campus was free, so a lot of teachers owned homes elsewhere. Josh had an amazing cabin in Montana.
“Twelve days,” I emphasized before winking and disappearing upstairs to my room. It was small with peach-pink walls, the color I’d chosen when I was little. And all these years later, the room was even more of a statement thanks to all the photos and my collection of National Park posters. My mom and I had vowed to visit each and every one before I started college. This summer, we were concluding our tour in Alaska.
I flicked on my fairy lights and lit a floral-scented candle before changing into a pair of sweats and a Georgetown T-shirt. Then I wove my hair into a messy braid and went to work on my blisters after grabbing Vaseline and Band-Aids from the bathroom. Even my pinkie toes were swollen. “Much better,” I said to myself after a couple minutes. A nurse I was not, but I had confidence I would survive.
Now, self-imposed study hall. I let a moan loose, unzipping and unloading my backpack. Laptop, books, and overstuffed pencil case. Ugh. I really wasn’t in the mood for homework tonight, even senior spring homework. Some students at Ames never studied at night; instead, they woke up absurdly early to study. “You’re nuts,” I’d told Pravika after she’d started routinely waking up at 4:00 a.m. “I’d rather stay up until 4:00 a.m.”
My brows furrowed as I rustled around in the bottom of my bag. Okay, where’s my gum? I thought. Because whether I was at home or in the library, Orbit Sweet Mint was forever a necessity. It helped me focus.
Once I finally located the squashed pack of gum, my heart leapt…but it plunged to the floor when I also found something else.
The Jester’s bid. With half the neighborhood over for dinner, I’d managed to forget about it, but it hadn’t forgotten about me. I bit my pinkie nail and read Alex’s note again.
Will you join my band of fools? it asked, and I swore I heard a clock ticking. Less than twenty-four hours—I had less than twenty-four hours to decide whether to join the fun.
Would it be fun? part of me wondered, but the other part quickly nipped the thought in the bud. No, it would be risky.
Too risky. What if we got caught?
My mother would murder me.
I tore the envelope in half and buried it in my wastebasket, then popped in some gum and opened my textbook to start on physics.
But before I finished, I’d dug out the invitation and carefully taped its pieces back together.
Maybe, I thought as I climbed into bed later. Just maybe.
I would talk to Alex tomorrow.
THREE
Approaching Alex was not as easy as I’d imagined. Instead of going to the Hub for breakfast the next morning, I made egg white omelets that my mom and I wolfed down before driving to campus. It was a gray rainy day. “I better play some music in class so no one nods off,” she said while maneuvering our car into her faculty parking spot outside the English building. “It’s perfect sleeping weather.”
I laugh-yawned in agreement before opening my umbrella and heading off to history. My teacher was a big fan of cold-calling students, so I knew none of my classmates would be falling asleep. They’d come equipped with coffee or energy drinks to save themselves the embarrassment. Pravika was never without a dirty chai latte. Whatever that was.
Later, during midmorning student-teacher consultation, I booked it over to the student center, suspecting Alex would be there. No seniors would be hanging out in the Circle; the rain was too heavy. “Please be here, please be here,” I chanted as I pulled open Hubbard Hall’s wide front door.
The first floor was unsurprisingly flooded with students, but after taking a slippery lap, there he was: Alex Nguyen chilling on one of the couches with Tag and their other friends.
