We stood in a standoff for several seconds before I dug my mom’s keys from my pocket. “Okay, partner,” I said, swinging around the heavy lanyard like a lasso. “Let’s ride.”
Predictably, Ames’s squadron of golf carts awaited us once Tag and I weaved our way through the Buildings and Grounds offices and reached the small hangar. Each golf cart was white with Ames’s insignia on its hood. Tag tut-tutted like a disapproving grandmother because the fleet was used only three times a year and never for golf. During Alumni Weekend’s festivities three weeks ago, student council had circulated in the golf carts to answer any questions and get older alums off their feet.
“There’s only one problem,” I said while Tag inspected the carts. He stopped and looked at me with a questioning brow. “We don’t have any keys.”
“Oh…” Tag said, dragging out the word before swipingsomething from the golf cart’s cupholder. “You mean keys like these?”
I rolled my eyes, then stalked away to hit the button that raised the garage door. Now with a golf cart, we couldn’t exactly exit the way we’d entered. My phone pinged in my pocket as the door rose, and I unlocked it to see an update from Zoe:I’ve collected the package. He was in the middle of a Q&A session about acing English exams when I got there.
So?Alex replied. We were in a new group chat that didn’t include Manik.At least I stopped their prank! (Long-winded summaries of each book/play/poem they read, btw.)
I couldn’t help it; I shook my head and smiled, knowing my mom was worried some freshmen wouldn’t be ready for their exam. Just maybe, Alex’s improvised lecture would give them a boost.
Even if he was a bit high.
We’re now camouflaged in some bushes, Zoe wrote.The boys are gone, but Daniel and Manik are stomping around nearby.
I’m so getting poison ivy, Alex said.
You have my greatest sympathies, Alexander, Tag typed.Circle back to the ropes course when you can.
Both Zoe and Alex:???
They won’t check there twice, I responded. The boathouse was too far for them to meet us.Hang tight.
Tag had made himself comfortable in the passenger seat by the time I made it over to his cart of choice, the enginealready rumbling. “You don’t want to drive?” I asked, surprised. One of the things Tag actually missed about home was cruising around town in his beloved Grand Cherokee. When you lived at boarding school, you never drove. Some kids joked that when they went home for breaks, they had to relearn how to drive.
“Nah.” He shook his head. “Better your fingerprints on the wheel than mine.”
“True, forensics doesn’t have a file on me yet,” I deadpanned, knowing someone would eventually discover the golf cart wherever we chose to ditch it tonight. And since Amesrefusedto institute a forensics lab in the science department, it would be impossible to trace the robbery back to Bonnie and Clyde.
Unless we got caught.
I slid into the driver’s seat and flipped on the headlights, then second-guessed myself and flicked them off. We didn’t want to attract any attention. Instead, I propped my phone up in the cupholder; its glow would have to be enough to guide us.
But before I even shifted into drive and hit the golf cart’s gas pedal, sirens sounded. My heart lurched. Had raising the garage door set off some kind of alarm?
Then I realized it wasn’t sirens. Tag’s insulin pump was beeping.
“What’s it saying?” I asked, even though I already had an idea and felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. Tag’s profuse sweating and clamminess weren’t entirely due to nerves; it was because he was…
“Low,” he finished for me, silencing the notification. “Blood sugar’s low.”
My grip on the steering wheel tightened while Tag unzipped the front pocket of his backpack, and I watched him pull out a packet of Welch’s fruit snacks. “How much have you eaten today?” I whispered as he chewed and swallowed the gummies.
I remembered him and Alex talking before we set off on our journey to the sculpture sanctuary, murmuring about Tag drowning his meatloaf in ketchup earlier. What time had he had dinner? 6:00?
“Not as much as I should’ve,” Tag admitted, then crumpled up the empty plastic packet. He nodded at the whorl of darkness in front of us. “Onward.”
“But, Tag—”
“Onward!” he repeated, this time hopping up in his seat. The golf cart shook under his weight, and he pointed outside as if he were a sea captain shouting,Land ho!
“Use your magic words,” I singsonged.
“Onward,please!”
“Oh, right away.” I fumbled with the gearshift like the fool in a fifties movie. “Right away!”
