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 collectionof 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’rethe 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 areso…”
“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, Iknewsomething 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?
