“And you will be abandoning it if not,” Tag said dryly as hebattled with his backpack’s zipper. It looked like it kept getting stuck.
“Here, let me try,” I said right before he won the war, but I joined him at the table anyway. He’d started rubbing his forehead, and when I put my hand on his back, his skin radiated heat. I could feel it even though his sweatshirt. My stomach stirred. “What can I do?” I asked.
“Clue,” he said. “We need the clue envelope, and the tape—the duct tape.” He sighed heavily. “I should’ve brought scissors. I’m so sick of ripping duct tape, Lily.”
I nodded and pulled both the manila folder and roll of duct tape from his overstuffed backpack. “Heads up, Nguyen,” I said, tossing the tape to Alex. “Use your teeth if you must.”
“Are you going to read it?” Tag asked when I’d flipped the clue envelope to seal it. “Don’t you want to read the riddle?”
“Yes,” I answered honestly, “but there isn’t time.” I licked the flap and handed the clue off to Alex. “Why don’t you perform it spoken word-style while Alex hides it?”
Tag opened his mouth, but only two words came out: “I couldn’t.”
“Don’t be modest, Taggart,” Alex said as he crawled under the table. “Spoken word poetry definitely puts you in a vulnerable position, but this is a safe space.”
“And you memorized all the clues,” I added. “Advantageous, remember?”
Tag ran a hand through his hair, then nodded. “Yeah, yeah,no, I got it,” he said, his laugh sounding more Jester than Tag. “Let me just…I need a stage…”
And before I could even grab his sweatshirt hood to stop him, he’d climbed onto the conference table. His legs wobbled a little like Bambi’s once he stood tall above me. Alex crawled back out from underneath just in time to see Tag grin and sing:
Burgers, fries, milkshakes, oh my!
Ready to know where the Almanacs lie?
Well, say hello to the Hub,
Behind where everyone gets their grub…
Alex and I were both on the table before Tag could take a bow. Something was wrong. His opening stanza had been charmingly charismatic, but by the end of the poem, it was like a haze had engulfed him.
Alex took both of Tag’s hands. “He’s trembling,” He said. “Lily, tell me why he’s trembling!”
“Don’t yell at her,” Tag said sharply.
“I’mnotyelling at her,” Alex said while I tried to work Tag’s soaked sweatshirt over his head. He was no longer warm but sopping wet with cold sweat. “I’d just like to review any recent medical history.” He looked at me. “Please.”
I told him everything, and his eyes widened when I mentioned the bolus. “But what’s wrong with that?” I asked, heart lurching. “He does it regularly. He said he automated an accurate amount…”
“Well, being accurate is tricky,” Alex said, unzipping his backpack. His hands were shaking too. “When you aren’t carb-counting what you eat or drink, being accurate can be really fuckingtricky.” He rifled through his bag. “I’m sure he tried to be accurate, Lily, but I’m evenmoresure he overdid it. He gave himself too much insulin and now he’s crashing.”
Tag swayed on his feet, so I quickly wrapped my arms around his waist to steady him. “Is this true?” I asked, because as much as Alex sounded like a doctor, he wasn’t one. And nobody knew Tag’s diabetes better than Tag. “Did you overshoot?”
“I shouldn’t have done it in front of Anthony,” he said by way of an answer. “I wasn’t fully focusing…I was nervous he was going to put the pieces together and confront us about the prank.” He groaned. “Can we leave? This room is so hot. I feel like I’m in a…a place with lava.” His throat bobbed. “A volcano.”
I held Tag tighter, realizing that he’d gone from a cold sweat to a hot flash. Haywire temperatures couldn’t be good. “Alex, how do we fix this?”
“I’m finding him something to drink to boost him back to normal,” Alex said, head basicallyinhis backpack. “I know I dumped a Gatorade in here, but Zoe…”
“Tag, how about we sit down?” I suggested. He was fully leaning on me. “There are chairs—”
“Hops, it’s really hot in here,” Tag whispered. “Can we please go outside?”
“Goddamn it!” Alex cast his backpack aside. “Zoedidsteal that Gatorade!”
My heart throbbed.No Gatorade, no Gatorade, no Gatorade.
“Wait, he has a Capri Sun,” I exclaimed, remembering. “I packed it before we left my house. Alex, it’s in his backpack.”
