“Well, not asawesomeas Gabe’s promotion,” he deadpanned, “but I’d still say good news.” He smirked. “I swung by the yearbook office this morning, and the Almanacs havefinallyarrived.”
I put down my soda, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean finally? Haven’t theybeenhere?” Because Ames’s yearbooks were supposed to be handed out Friday after classes…two days from now.
Daniel leaned closer to me. He wasn’t on the yearbook staff, but distributing the Almanacs was one of his final duties as student council president. “No, they haven’t,” he whispered in case of eavesdroppers. “The publisher kept delaying their printing, and after that, the shipping was a total mess. It wasn’t until Swell called FedEx last week and ripped them…” He dropped off to roll his eyes. “Well, you know how he can be.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said lightly. Tag was an Edible Arrangement of many things, and when the situation called for it, “ballsy” and “unyielding” were two of them. He was only the Almanac’s assistant photo editor, but naturally he’d been the one to get the whole clusterfuck straightened out.
Daniel kept talking about the yearbooks, about how the editor in chief was so relieved and proposed they crack open a box for a preview, but Daniel said no because…
I didn’t realize I was tapping my fingers on the table until Daniel had put his hand over mine. “Hey, what are you thinking about?” he asked.
“The piano,” I answered, blinking a few times.
Daniel cocked his head. “I didn’t know you play piano.”
“A little.” I shrugged. “But not very often, and not very well.” I wriggled my hand out from under his so I could reachfor my brownie. Tag had never stopped my mindless tapping. Instead, his left hand joined my right so that it looked like we were one person playing the invisible keys. “What’s the song?” he’d ask, grinning and trying to match my rhythm.
It usually ended with us slowing way down and trying to tap out “Hot Cross Buns” together. “You guys should take that on the road,” Alex would say dryly from across the lunch table. “Tickets would sell out inseconds.”
Then we’d all laugh, and I would tell Tag what was bothering me. I told him everything until last year, because what was bothering me then washim.
Him andthem. All the girls who woke up one day and decided they were madly in love with Taggart Matthew Swell and would stop at nothing to get him, even though he was mine. Instead of having him, I suddenly had tocompetefor him.
Or that was what it had felt like, at least.
I unwrapped the brownie and inelegantly shoved half of it into my mouth. Late-night Leda-style. Daniel circled back to the Almanacs. “But Manik and Ididend up opening one box and scanning the superlatives,” he admitted with a sly smile. “You won a few, FYI.”
“Really?” I asked through my brownie, curiosity piqued. “Which ones?”
“Favorite Fac Brat.”
I swallowed. “That’s because I’m the only senior fac brat. The male fac brat column is blank, right?”
Daniel nodded, then made everythingso much betterby saying, “Teacher’s Pet.”
“Super,” I mumbled.
“I got Teacher’s Pet too,” Daniel said, obviously thrilled about it. “You’re also Everyone’s Friend.” He chuckled. “Oh, and Best to Bring Home to Your Parents.” He gulped some soda. “Quite the roundup.”
Yeah, I thought, my blood suddenly burning through my veins.Quite.
There was no choice but to devour the other half of my brownie. It was my only option. Favorite Fac Brat? Teacher’s Pet? Everyone’s Friend? Best to Bring Home to Your Parents?
The theme was really fucking clear here. I was nice, well-liked, respected, and polite.
But I was also a goddamn Goody Two-Shoes.
After classes that afternoon, I went straight home.Won’t be back until after dinner, my mom had texted earlier.Have a department meeting and then will probably stay to draft some exams.
Meh, I replied.
Bleh, she countered, and understandably so. Writing exams was no fun, but I was relieved to have our house to myself for a while. I’d had a one-track mind since lunch withDaniel and didn’t want anything or anyone to interrupt my racing thoughts. I was so distracted that I’d accidentally left my umbrella behind in the English building and was soaking wet by the time I walked into my bedroom. It was now absolutely pouring outside. The ocean waves were churning like my stomach.
“Okay,” I said to myself as I sat down at my desk and fired up my laptop. “Okay, here we go…” I opened a new Chrome window with one hand while using the other to fumble through my desk’s top drawer. My pruned fingers tingled when they found my taped-together prank summons. The twenty-four-hour clock was rapidly winding down, and my confidence would soon do the same.
Email [email protected] with your answer, I read for the hundredth time, noting the Roman numerals. XXIII—or in other words—twenty-three. How formal, how old-fashioned. How Alex. Before dashing off a response, I logged out of [email protected] and decided to create another account—just to ensure there wouldn’t be an electronic paper trail leading back to me.
Several email creation attempts later, [email protected] was born. Alex was our Jester, and I was one of his bells and whistles. Ready and willing to help pull off his master plan, ready and willing to help himentertain.
