What Happens After Midnight, page 5
Ten minutes later, I climbed the stairs with two mugs of hot tea. My mom was in bed with a book. Her phone had been plugged into its charger and rested on her bedside table. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she said and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “I love you very much.”
“And I love you very, very much,” I replied, squashing my sudden guiltiness with a sip of tea. “Sleep well.”
“You too.” She smiled, but before I left her room, she asked if I’d locked the doors and turned out all the lights downstairs. Nights were the only time we truly shut down the cottage.
“Yes,” I lied. The lights were off and the front door was locked, but I had cracked open the back door so I could sneak out later. “All good.”
She snuggled into her pillows. “Good night, Lily.”
I swallowed hard. “Good night, Mom.”
FIVE
As I sipped my tea, I realized it wasn’t escaping the faculty neighborhood that especially worried me. While boarders had strict nightly curfews and had to stay in their houses until morning, I had more leeway. People might call me a fac brat, but technically my file said I was a day student. If I wanted to claim insomnia and go on a late-night run, no one could question me. Campo didn’t drive around town to make sure the other Ames day students were tucked into their beds now, did they? Staying away from main campus was a given, but I wouldn’t get in trouble if I was caught jogging past Headmaster Bickford’s or Dean DeLuca’s house.
Around 11:15, I started getting ready. By the stroke of midnight, the email had said, but I didn’t know how long it would take me to sneak over to campus under these circumstances. I quietly changed into dark clothing—black gym shorts, black T-shirt, and a lightweight black Dri-FIT. The pullover had pockets, so I shoved my mom’s keys in one and my phone in the other. I pulled my hair into a low ponytail and then dug through my closet until I found a black baseball cap. It wasn’t ideal that CHICAGO MARATHON was stitched across the front, but it was the best I had. Tag and I had trained all summer for that race, and we’d run it together when I’d gone home with him for fall break junior year. The rest of the day had been spent soaking in a hot bath and napping in his heavenly bed.
His parents had no idea because they weren’t home. According to Tag, they were almost never home. The Swells lived right outside Chicago, but his parents commuted into the city for work. “We own a condo near their law firm,” he’d explained, “so they spend a lot of time there.”
Tag had an older sister, but she was already moved out and married, so the thought of him alone in his big house bummed me out all over again as I slowly crept down the stairs in only my socks. No wonder he spent half the summer in New York with Alex.
I would’ve liked to say I snuck out through my bedroom window and shimmied down a tree, but that was a fairy tale. The tree near my window was tall with a tire swing that my mom had hung when I was seven, but it wasn’t quite close enough to safely catch hold of a branch. Jump, then fall? Far from ideal.
The back door it was.
After slipping outside, I silently begged its hinges not to squeak when I closed the door behind me. My mom wasn’t a heavy sleeper. There was also a chance she was still awake, possibly playing Wordscapes on her phone. “I’m on level 2,700!” she’d bragged the other day.
The ocean waves crashed hard tonight, and it was chilly enough that I thought about backtracking to grab a sweatshirt, but it was too dicey. My thin pullover would have to work. “You’ll warm up,” I whispered to myself, rubbing the goose bumps from my legs before taking off into the night. Even though lights were still on in my neighbors’ houses, sprinting through the streets seemed like the smartest thing to do. In the distance, I heard the yips and yaps of a French teacher’s toy poodles—they preferred walks after dark—but I didn’t slow my pace. Madame Hoffman always wore noise-canceling headphones to listen to her podcasts. She wouldn’t hear me.
Only when I reached the covered bridge did I stop, press myself against the side, and take several deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Here was where it would get tricky. Eyes were everywhere on campus. Students might be confined to their dormitories, but only the freshmen were required to be in bed by 11:00. I had a feeling the other houses would be lit up like Christmas trees. Ames’s avenues and alleys were lined with streetlamps and of course two or three Campo sentinels would be roving around in their Priuses. I thought of veteran Mr. Harvey and Gabe, the new kid on the block. He would be hungry to catch someone.
And to top it off, there was a full moon tonight. Shining bright like a police spotlight. “We couldn’t have consulted the moon’s cycle?” I muttered, feeling sweat slide down my back. It had been warm from my run at first but had quickly turned cold.
I shivered.
One would think the “King’s Court” the Jester had summoned us to would be the Circle or student center, Ames’s top social hotspots…but it was neither. King’s Court was right outside the school chapel, where a bronze statue of Ames’s founder had been erected. Kingsley John Ames had founded our school in 1803, and the tall bust was quite regal. The pretentiously named Kingsley sat with perfect posture in a throne and held a scepter-like cane. His left foot had been worn down and rubbed shiny; it was a school tradition to give it a brush if you needed some luck. King’s Court was the closest thing campus had to holy ground.
On a normal day at a normal clip, it would’ve taken me ten minutes to reach the chapel. It was the halfway point between the two senior dorms, which were tucked away from Ames’s academic village. I had to admit that it wasn’t a bad rendezvous point.
But instead of ten minutes, it took me double that to get there. I had to stick to the shadows, avoiding the streetlights’ beams and stopping under trees to reassess my surroundings. Overhead lights and bedside lamps were still on in dorms, and I had to hide from one Campo car on patrol. If anyone could hear my hammering heartbeat, I would’ve been burnt toast.
Only one streetlamp sat outside the small, ivy-covered chapel. Fortunately, it was another memorial to our centuries-old school: an old-fashioned gas lantern that the Buildings and Grounds crew never thought to light. The moon shone faintly through the trees, so I navigated my way across the deserted cobblestone courtyard. It was 11:49; I’d managed to arrive early.
Punctuality, my friends affectionately teased, was one of my core values.
Good evening, your royal highness, I thought as I began circling dear Kingsley’s statue, staring up at his slightly scowling facial expression. Are you ready to have that frown turned upside—
I stumbled over something. Suddenly stumbled and nearly tumbled…over the Jester’s long legs. He was down on the ground, leaning back against the statue’s marble base and rocking a green-yellow-and-purple jester's hat. Bells and all, despite his email. “Christ,” I breathed. “Thanks for the warning.”
Tag scrambled up from the ground, and once the moonlight found him, a lump formed in my throat. He was just so Tag. I saw him in class and around campus in his blue blazer and chinos, but I’d always thought him more handsome out of dress code. Tonight, he was wearing a pair of scuffed Blundstone boots, dark jeans, and a black sweatshirt with a Scotch-plaid flannel over top. My lips quirked. Who did that? Wore a shirt over a sweatshirt?
He was so tall too. When we’d met at freshmen orientation, we were the same height, but after two growth spurts, he was now six foot three to my five foot six. He was this magnetic force who kept dropping times in the pool and adding muscle in the weight room. First Josh and the athletic department noticed, and then Ames’s administration, colleges, and finally the entire swimming world. “Virginia just won the lottery,” I’d told him last year, after he’d signed his letter of intent to swim for them. “I’m so proud of you, Smoosh.”
Smoosh.
We’d had such silly nicknames for each other. Tag had been “Smoosh” because he gave the best hugs, wrapping me in a warm, cozy cocoon. They lasted for what felt like a wonderful forever.
Meanwhile, more girls than ever started showing up to swim meets and saying things like, “Tag Swell is a gold medal.”
That had been a tamer one.
“Sorry,” Tag said now, turning on his iPhone flashlight. “I was—”
“I mean, what a stupid place to sit,” I blurted.
“But what a pretty place to fall,” he quipped before coughing, remembering himself.
We were off to a roaring start. One of the reasons Tag and I couldn’t be friends was because we were always in sync with each other. Here we were, already bantering. It should’ve been awkward because I’d buried our relationship, but instead I felt white-hot inside. I felt alive.
If we still did this every day, I’d never fall out of love with him.
One night, I felt myself flush. One night, and one night only.
I glanced away but caught a glimpse of him slipping something into his pocket. It looked sort of like the original iPod, but I knew it was his insulin pump. Tag had been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was six.
I resisted the urge to ask if everything was okay. “Alright, so this is how it works,” I would never forget him telling me when we were freshmen. “This monitor is connected to my body by a cannula…” He’d raised his T-shirt just enough to show me a thin cord. “And it acts as an insulin reservoir; it’s programmed to administer a certain amount per hour.” Then he patted the right side of his abdomen. “I also have a glucose sensor that is wirelessly linked to the pump. It tracks and measures my blood sugar and will notify me if it gets too high or too low…”
Now, Tag cleared his throat. “You’re early.”
I played it cool. “I could say the same about you.”
“Well, I thought I should be,” he said, lips curling into a half smile. The backs of my knees instantly betrayed me, tingling before going absolutely numb. “Since I’m running this show and all.”
“Not without a set of keys you aren’t,” I pointed out.
His smile faltered. “You got them, right?”
I let him sweat for a few seconds, then removed my fist from my pullover’s pocket and raised it as if about to perform a magic trick. When I opened it, my mom’s ID and collection of keys tumbled out, all dangling from the Red Sox lanyard. “Ta-da,” I deadpanned.
Tag exhaled. “Oh, thank god,” he said and reached to touch them. His fingers lingered on the Cubs key chain before he made eye contact with me. “Listen, Lily, I—”
“Holy hell!” someone called. “Taggart Swell, you’re the Jester?”
We turned to see Alex striding toward us in a black Adidas tracksuit. “Haha, very funny,” I said. “You knew.”
Alex widened his eyes with shock. “I did not,” he said. “Why ever didn’t you say anything, dear friend?”
“I would’ve, Alexander,” Tag replied, putting a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “but it’s against the rules. I made a vow to my predecessor.”
I melodramatically groaned. “You two are so…”
“Okay, I knew,” Alex caved. “I’ve known ever since he got the gig.” He chuckled. “But in all fairness, I have no fucking clue what we’re doing tonight.”
“Really?” I asked, doubtful.
“Really.” He elbowed Tag in the ribs. “So can you please tell us what the fuck we’re doing tonight?”
“Yes,” Tag said, but before we could get too excited, he added, “When everyone gets here.”
“How many more are we waiting on?” I asked as Alex checked the time on his phone.
“Three, but two will probably arrive together.”
“Huh?” Alex and I said, but it soon made sense.
“Lily, I knew something was off yesterday!” Zoe exclaimed after squealing at Tag and his jester's hat. She smiled, but it turned sympathetic as she squeezed her close-to-miserable-looking girlfriend’s hand. “Maya’s the one off now, though.”
Holding up his flashlight, would-be Dr. Alex Nguyen conducted an assessment. “You do look peaked, if not a little green,” he concluded. “Did you eat the meatloaf tonight?”
“No, I didn’t.” Maya Rivera waved him away. “But I’m pretty sure I have a bug,” she told Tag. “I’ve thrown up twice and feel like more’s on the way.”
“It’s coming out of both ends,” Zoe whispered to me.
Tag was quiet, contemplating. “Do you want out?” he asked.
“Not necessarily,” Maya answered. “Does the prank involve a bathroom break?”
“It must,” Zoe said supportively while I tried to make the connection here. Tag was the Jester and had tapped Alex for obvious reasons. He’d tapped me to get my mom’s keys, but why were Zoe and Maya here? They weren’t friends with him. I mean, Tag and Zoe saw each other in the gym all the time—Zoe was queen of the basketball court—but Maya practically lived in the art building, a talented metalworker and glassblower. I didn’t understand. Did she and Tag talk when he went to develop photos in the darkroom? What was I missing?
Tag’s phone alarm sounded at midnight. He’d set the sound effect to “Bell Tower.”
Alex and I made eye contact. He smirked and I smirked back. Tag was such a nerd.
But we were still missing our final crew member—our final fool.
“He has until 12:01,” Tag said, seemingly unconcerned. “I suspected he’d be last.”
“Oh, so it’s half-and-half, then?” Zoe said. “Three guys, three girls?”
Tag nodded. “You all bring something critical to the table.”
I suddenly wanted to shake him. What is on this freaking table?!
Alex sighed. “Just tell us what’s going on already, Jester.”
“Yeah—Jester! I’m here… I’m—ready!” a new but familiar voice said. Manik Patel was panting like he’d just run a marathon. More confused than ever, I watched him edge in between Alex and Zoe. He pointed at Tag and his ridiculous hat. “You were my third guess.” He turned to Alex. “You were my first.”
“Who was your second?” Zoe asked.
“Blair Greenberg.”
I couldn’t have rolled my eyes harder.
“Well, congratulations,” Alex said acerbically. “Two out of your top three are here.” He flicked one of Tag’s bells. “Jester, the floor is yours.”
“Thank you.” Tag took off his hat and stuffed it in his backpack. What happened to not wanting noise? “Alright, it’s simple,” he said. “Complex, but ultimately simple.”
His five fools leaned in, eager as ever. What were we doing that involved keys?
I held my breath as our Jester took a deep one, then said, “We’re going to steal the Almanacs.”
SIX
“What?!” everyone exclaimed before shushing one another. “Steal the Almanacs?” we said in lower voices. “You want us to steal the Almanacs?”
Tag winked. “Yes.”
No one knew how to respond except Manik, who let out a legitimate squawk…and for a fair reason. He was the yearbook’s editor in chief. If Tag wanted us to commit this crime, why had he invited one of the people it affected most?
“We don’t have time to fully unpack this,” Tag said quickly, “but think about it. The Jester’s previous pranks have always been immediate.” He subtly glanced at me. “We woke up, heard about the prank, had a good laugh, and then it was over.” He paused. “What if we were to draw things out more? Someone will notice that the Almanacs are gone when they unbox them tomorrow for distribution, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to get them back right away. It’ll spread that they’re missing, and campus will go wild.” He gave us a look. “We know how much Ames loves the Almanacs.”
Again, nobody spoke. It was true; we cherished the yearbooks, poring over their pages for days.
“I’m in,” Alex declared. “I’m totally in.”
Zoe and Maya giggled. “So we’re going to hide the Almanacs and hold them hostage?”
“In a sense,” Tag answered before explaining the second phase of his plan. Which, I had to admit, smirking a little, was mastermind-level genius. Even Alex had a dreamy grin on his face.
But again, Manik was here. Why was Manik here? “Tag, is that why you called FedEx and demanded to speak to their supervisor?” he asked. “Was it to ensure the Almanacs were delivered on time for this?”
“You asked me to handle it, Manik,” Tag reminded him coolly as something twisted in my stomach. I remembered Daniel telling me about the recent delayed delivery and how assistant photo editor Tag had been the hero.
He got the yearbooks, I thought, just to steal them.
“I’m sorry,” Manik said, adjusting his glasses, “but I don’t know if I can condone this. The Almanac…”
“…is your pride and joy,” Tag said. “The yearbook is your baby, Patel.”
He nodded. “Pretty much.”
“Then why should someone else have the honor of handing out the Almanacs?”
My heart rate sped up. This was a dig against Daniel. It was an age-old Ames tradition that the president gifted each and every yearbook to his schoolmates. Three hundred copies.
Manik gave Tag a questioning look. “Why did you choose me to help?”
“Because I don’t want you to worry when they go missing,” Tag replied. “You did so much work, so I want you to know they’re safe.” He paused. “And I trust you to keep a secret.”
We’re all linked to Daniel, I suddenly realized. Tag had said we each brought something special to the metaphorical “table,” but everyone also had some link to Daniel.
I looked around our circle. Tag had truly assembled a motivated crew. Manik was our unsung Almanac editor. Alex Nguyen had shockingly lost last year’s election to Daniel and was still peeved. Zoe Wright considered him about as interesting as a leaf of lettuce. And Maya—Maya Rivera was his fraternal twin!
“Come on, Manik,” she said now. “It’s been a while since my brother’s been humbled.”
But what am I doing here? I wondered. Daniel could be pretty pompous, but I didn’t really have anything against him. Everyone else had a vendetta while I was his prom date.
