My heart lurched. “What?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Blair’s parents were gone, so she let everyone crash at her house—most of her friends were plastered. Alex and I shared the sectional in her basement, and I don’t remember it well, but he shook me awake at some point. Apparently I was shivering like I was standing naked in a snowstorm, and my pump was beeping. It turned out my blood glucose was at twenty.”
Twenty?I winced. Twenty was too low,dangerouslylow.
“I didn’t have my glucagon injection kit,” Tag said, talking about his emergency meds. “It was in my suitcase, but Alex and I were out when Blair texted us, and we didn’t swing back to his apartment before going to Penn Station.” He paused. “I’m such a moron.”
I kept quiet, sensing he wasn’t finished.
“Alex is so spur-of-the-moment,” he continued, “that it sometimes makes me want to be that spontaneous too.” He chewed on his lip. “It honestly sucks when I remember that I can’t always be like that. Itdidcross my mind to go back for the kit, but racing to catch a last-second train seemed much more thrilling.”
“It doesn’t sound like Alex to let that fly,” I said, hugging my knees to my chest. “He’s basically a helicopter parent. Didn’t he ask if you had it?”
Tag nodded once, his words unsaid:I lied.
“Christ, Tag,” I whispered.
“He took care of me the whole way to the hospital,” he said. “Blair drove while he sat in the back trying to pour orange juice down my throat. Luckily the ER admitted me right away and force-fed me this disgusting glucose toothpaste before hooking me up to an IV to stabilize my levels.” He sighed. “Then Alex went on the rampage. You should’ve heard him—his voice was shot by morning.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” I said awkwardly.
Tag slid off the pool table and came to the window. “Lily, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“I’m sorry too,” I murmured. “I’m sorry I gave you the impression that all I would care about was Blair being there.” I took a breath. “It was really nice she drove you to the hospital.”
Tag didn’t respond; instead, he came closer, wrapped his arms around me, and buried his face in the crook of my neck. His skin was cool against mine, blazing from the sunshine. He smelled like his coconut shampoo with that ever-present hint of chlorine.
Smoosh, I thought as I reached to gently run my fingers through his hair before massaging the back of his neck. My body ached when I felt him press a light kiss to my collarbone. It was all still so easy, so natural, so intoxicating between us.
I hated it.
I loved it.
Only when the sun disappeared behind a cloud did I force myself to escape his embrace. “I have to go,” I whispered.
“Stay,” he whispered back. “Please stay.”
“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “Mr. Harvey’s retirement party is tonight.”
Tag waited three seconds, then released me. “I have something for him,” he said and briefly disappeared into his room to grab something. He handed me an envelope. It was white instead of the Jester’s mysterious black, withROGERwritten in Tag’s familiar block-shaped handwriting rather than magazine cutouts. My eyes prickled, knowing that once upon a time, he would’ve been invited to a party like this. Tag had been welcomed at every faculty neighborhood gathering. I almost opened my mouth to suggest he come before remembering that he couldn’t.
“I’ll come back,” I promised, even though I hadn’t moved yet. I felt frozen, still sitting on the windowsill. “I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll be here,” he said.
I whipped up my famous swirled-caramel sheet cake with chocolate fudge frosting. My mom watched me the entire time, but surprisingly it was Josh who’d swiped a spoonful of icing as I’d worked my magic. “It’s just that kind of day,” he’d said,shrugging when my mom and I had given him puzzled looks. Josh had taught me everything I knew about baking, even though he didn’t have a sweet tooth.
The Hoffmans had graciously offered to host Mr. Harvey’s party, which had spilled out on the back patio. My mom placed our gift with the others, and before following her outside, I slid Tag’s card in between two ribbon-adorned bottles of wine. “You didnot,” Mr. Harvey was saying when I found him. He, Dean DeLuca, Mr. Hoffman, and Josh stood near the firepit. Campo protégé Gabe was also there. They all held Bud Lights.
Meanwhile, Anthony was stuck sipping a Sprite.
“Yes, I swear,” Mr. Hoffman said, chuckling. “I spent the night in the atrium.”
My ears immediately pricked up. Finally, the reason Mr. Hoffman had been sleeping in Admissions the night of the prank.
But then someone’s ringtone went off, a familiar ringtone. “For god’s sake,” Josh said with a sigh. “Not again.”
“What’s up?” Dean DeLuca asked.
