“What’s my favorite color?” he called back, but before I could answer, he added, “Yours is pink.” He chuckled. “Remember that furry pink coat freshman year?”
“Yes, the teddy bear coat,” I replied, a little dazed he remembered. Tag and I’d gotten together at the end of spring term; we’d spent most of the year smiling at—then shying away from—each other. “It was originally my mom’s,” I told him, grabbing the next ladder rung and pulling myself upward. “Your favorite color is gold, because of the autumn leaves…” I fleetingly thought of my freshman formal dress. “And the late afternoon light, when campus is painted gold—it’s your favorite time to take pictures.”
It didn’t matter if it was his Nikon or his Polaroid or some antique camera that only he knew how to use, but Tag always walked around with a camera slung over his shoulder. So many of his photos were still on my bedroom wall. He’d tack up a new one without saying anything, instead waiting for me to notice. I swallowed hard.
“What’s my favorite drink, Mr. Diet Coke?” I asked.
“Ginger ale with a slice of lemon and sprig of mint. You love flipping through Josh’s cocktail book and trying to make mocktails out of them.” He paused; I climbed. “Most prized possession?”
“I don’t have one,” I said honestly, even though I’d kept our Chicago Marathon champagne bottle. It had returned to Rhode Island with me and now sat on my bookshelf. “Andyou…I can’t decide if it’s still your cameras, or now Stevie the cat, or just ketchup.”
“Oh,obviouslyketchup,” he said, and I swore I heard his stomach grumble from a million feet below me. “Ketchup elevates every culinary experience.” A beat, and then, “Something that scares you?”
I felt a pang in my chest. Something that scared me? The question was too loaded; there was too much to unpack. From getting caught tonight to giving my currently nonexistent salutatorian speech to going away to college, my list was long.
So I tried to make a joke. “This!” I knocked my fist against the tree house’s aluminum ladder. “Right here, right now!”
Tag didn’t laugh. “You’re almost there,” he said instead.
“What about you?” I asked. “What scares you?”
“Never talking to you again,” he answered.
Just.
Like.
That.
“The Jester didn’t tap you to get Leda’s keys,” he continued as my heart twinged. His cadence was hurried—nervously so. I forced myself to keep climbing. “We never talk anymore, Lily. I know I should be used to it by now, but I’m not, so I wanted to see if we could be…”
Blood pumped through my ears.Don’t say friends, I thought.Wecan’tbe friends.
Because there were only two options when it came toTaggart Swell: loving him with every bone in my body and beat of my heart or cutting ties with him completely. For me, we were everything or we were nothing. I couldn’t fathom how he thought we could meet somewhere in the middle.
“Fuck!” I exclaimed when my head banged against something, otherwise known as the Hideout’s trapdoor. “Fucking hell!”
Tag didn’t laugh or cheer or anything; instead, he shifted back into Jester mode. “There should be a four-digit combination lock on the door.”
“Affirmative,” I replied, reaching for the lock. “Did Maya get those magic numbers?”
I remembered much earlier in the evening before we’d left Hubbard Hall. Tag had reminded Maya to text him the lock combination because rumor was the senior RCI chose it.
Tag sighed. “She sent me some ideas,” he said. “I would’ve preferred the facts, but she’s confident one of these is right. Unlike her, Daniel’s not that creative a person.”
I snorted. Maya could be brutal. “Okay, well, what’s first on list?”
“The year Ames was founded.” He didn’t specify, knowing I was good with dates.
1-8-0-3.
After inputting the numbers, I gave the lock an unrelenting tug. “Incorrect!”
“Okay, the twins’ birthday,” he said, and after that didn’twork, he gave me the Rivera family’s street address and our graduation year. We even tried what was allegedly Daniel’s debit card PIN, but to no avail.
Both of us were silent once we’d tried all Maya’s guesses. Then Tag groaned and dropped a couple choice words. I was right there with him. Ames believed they were rewarding Daniel for all his hard work butcome on. He’d amassed more power than a student should ever possess. Full-on ID access as president, prefect status, and senior RCI perks? Choosing the lock combination for the tree house?
My heart suddenly jumped into my throat. “Wait, he didn’t choose it!” I nearly squealed, excited. “Daniel might be theseniorRCI, but he’s outranked by thefacultyRCI.” I smiled. “And I doubt she’d let him forget it.”
