We both laughed. “So pretty brutal, huh?” I asked, thinkingof my prior English finals. Five very tricky multiple-choice questions, a handful of short answers, and then two essays.
Yikes.
“They’ll be fine,” my mom said. “Or at leastmystudents will be. It was decided that the content should be the same across classes, but…” She sighed. “Mr. Rudnick doesn’t like Arthur Miller, so he never spends much time onDeath of a Salesman.”
“And that’s the big essay topic,” I guessed.
She smirked. “If anyone asks, you knownothing.”
I nodded solemnly before resting my head on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mom,” I murmured, feeling my eyelids flutter closed. Today had beena lot. “I am a vault.”
But was I?
The next day—the day of the Jester’s mysterious prank—I felt like I was being eaten alive by anxiety. “Do you feel okay, Lily?” Zoe asked me at lunch. “Because no offense, but you seem a little off…”
I said I had a headache, which was true. Last night I’d tossed and turned, unsure whether I wanted to play a part in the prank anymore now that I knew Tag was the Jester.Do I dare spend a whole night with him?I wondered.
I only fell asleep for good when I realized the answer wasyes. Because I’d already committed…and because I was curious. Alex had brainstormed so many schemes over the years, so what did Tag have up his sleeve?
Whatever it was, I wanted to watch it come together. Tag Swell had a Midas touch.
That didn’t make me any less restless, though. During the day, I avoided Tag and Alex at all costs. Sometimes we crossed paths, but I would crack if I saw them today.What are you waiting for?I imagined publicly interrogating Tag.Where is this promised “further information”?
There had been no word from his Jester email account, and I knew he wasn’t procrastinating or stalling; no, he wastiming. Tag had this all figured out. If I hadn’t gotten a message from him yet, it was for a reason.
That reason revealed itself at 4:00 p.m. while I was trying to draft a salutatorian speech at the huge oak table in my mother’s classroom. It was a true marvel, looking like you’d time traveled back to a 1920s Parisian writing salon. Persian rugs covered the floor, and the walls were a deep plum and decorated with more framed oil paintings than possible. I always smiled at the one of dogs playing poker. Books were also everywhere, tucked into tall bookcases and piled on low shelves. A record player sat near one stack, but instead of Cole Porter, Leda Hopper preferred Dave Matthews. “You haven’t worked in here in a while,” she commented as I typedDRAFT 1at the top of a blank Word document.
“Well, the underclassmen have all moved into the library,” I said. “There isn’t one free study carrel, and the upperclassmen…” I trailed off to glance out the classroom’s big casement window. The Circle and Crescent looked like a circus with my fellow seniors everywhere. Some were darting around playing Frisbee, others balancing on the slackline set up between trees, and most relaxing in the Adirondack chairs. None of them had a care in the world.
“They look like they’re having fun,” my mom said, smiling.
“Because they aren’t the salutatorian,” I mumbled before sighing. “Mom, my speech is seriously going to be a flaming pile of—”
My computer suddenly pinged with an email notification. “Ooh, a love letter from a not-so-secret admirer?” my mom teased. She’d said anyone with eyes knew how Daniel felt about me and that I was putting up a pretty good front about feeling the same way.
She also kept advising me to tell him the truth.
“No, just a reminder that Anthropologie’s having a sale,” I lied quickly. Anthropologie was always having a sale. Their clothes went from outrageously expensive to reasonably expensive.
“Mmm, let me know if there’s anything that must move into our closets…” My mom’s voice drifted up to the classroom’s ceiling. I looked over to see that she was wrapped up in skimming a book with a highlighter in hand.
So I stole the chance to open the Jester’s email, hoping its message wouldn’t trigger a fainting spell.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Tonight
Dear Lily,
They say good things come in threes, so…
Please be at King’s Court by the stroke of midnight.
Please wear all black.
Pretty please with cherries on top bring Leda’s keys.
