What Happens After Midnight

by K.L. Walther

“Excuse me, but endlessly exasperating?” my mom said once her boyfriend had disappeared into the kitchen. “I’d say he finds us endlessly fascinating.” “Yes,” I agreed. I loved these breakfasts with her. “Endlessly fascinating, for sure.”

Students were obsessed with it because the whole thing was very cloak-and-dagger. Not just any upperclassman could brainstorm a prank and put it into motion…only “the Jester” could do that. Their identity was always anonymous; only the previous Jester knew who the next Jester was, passing the “hat” off to them. And if the prank master required a crew to pull off their plan, several others were let in on the secret. But they never told a soul.

Zoe was right; it didn’t look like there was going to be a prank this year. The order always went prank, prom, graduation. And prom was beckoning! Girls had their dresses hung in their closets and hair and makeup appointments scheduled.

but before I could read her feedback, I noticed a strange piece of paper. It was a black envelope with spelled out in colorful cutout magazine letters. Creepy ransom note-style. My stomach began stirring as I quickly ripped open the flap and pulled out a piece of cardstock. Again, no handwriting—only the magazine letters. It said: The game is almost afoot. It’s happening in forty-eight and you have twenty-four to decide. Will you join my band of fools? Email TheJesterXXIII@gmail.com with your answer. If yes, be ready for further instructions. “Oh, Alex,” I whispered to myself, staring at the card so hard that the words blurred together. It was him; I was sure it was him. The note sounded like him! “Why me?”

Okay, where’s my gum? I thought. Because whether I was at home or in the library, Orbit Sweet Mint was forever a necessity. It helped me focus. Once I finally located the squashed pack of gum, my heart leapt…but it plunged to the floor when I also found something else. The Jester’s bid. With half the neighborhood over for dinner, I’d managed to forget about it, but it hadn’t forgotten about me. I bit my pinkie nail and read Alex’s note again.

Alex isn’t the Jester, I realized. It was someone else. Pulse pounding, I took a few steps back from the stove to lean against the kitchen’s small butcher-block island. I hate you, I wrote to see if my inkling was right. I used to tell Tag I hated him all the time and he always had the same comeback. I don’t believe you, read the next email. Tears prickled in the corners of my eyes. Why not? The minute that passed after I pressed Send might as well have taken an entire day. Twenty-four hours. My heart lurched when an answer finally appeared. Because you’ve got my favorite smile on your face, Tag had written. Tag. Taggart Swell, this year’s Jester.

“Do you trust me?” I whispered to Tag. A heartbeat later, he’d threaded his fingers through mine. The movement was so smooth and effortless that I needed to pull away and stretch my tingling hand before finding his fingers again. My eyelids fluttered. The moment took me back to a different time—a better time. We took several steps toward the cottage. “Yes, it’s me, Mr. Hill,” I said as if I weren’t shaking in my sneakers. I lifted an arm in greeting, and once Tag and I reached the base of the porch, I noticed our teacher’s disheveled white hair and the red rings around his weathered eyes. “Now, Lily…” he began before he raised an intrigued brow at who was at my side. I moved closer to Tag, and Bunker let a small smile slip. “I know that young love has a mind of its own,” he said, bemused, “but don’t you think it’s a bit late for you and Mr. Swell to be taking in the moonlight together?”

We were about to find out. The Prius was getting closer, its engine growing louder, and its headlights now shining bright. The moment it caught a nearby patch of grass in its beams, I spun. This tree trunk wasn’t big enough to conceal us side by side, so I twirled to press myself up against Tag. He inhaled a sharp breath, but I tried to soften it. “Hey there, cowboy,” I whispered casually. “You on the run from the law or something?” “Depends on who’s asking,” Tag whispered back, and when the Prius rolled up, I hid my face in his chest as he slid his arms around my waist to pull me closer. His touch was achingly familiar, so intoxicating that it made my heart throb.

Because while their scansion would probably make a poet laureate cry, they were perfect for the prank’s scavenger hunt. Jesters made fun of their kingdoms. Ames was a kingdom of sorts.

Nothing about being the Jester seemed worth it if you couldn’t be my partner in crime.”

“Please stop worrying so much.” Please stop giving me reasons to,

My friends and I had all gone to Ames’s dance dressed as female Pixar characters, and of course I’d been Jessie from Toy Story because of my red hair.

Raymond gasped. “You and Leda are finally engaged?” “You are not setting one paw in my diner,” Josh told the cat, then looked at Raymond. “Yes, we are—have been, actually—but it’s not public yet. We agreed to wait until after graduation.” He smiled. “This is Lily’s year.” Oh, Josh, I thought, my heart flaring with love for him. Ever since Josh had proposed in October, my mom had been saying they were waiting for the right time to tell people, and I kept wondering why it hadn’t come around yet. Now I knew.

“But at least I didn’t get a strike.” “No, although I believe a strike would’ve been less of a punishment,” he mused. “Instead, she has stolen all the end-of-year joys you deserve to experience.” “Don’t you mean deserved?” I asked. “Tag and I didn’t follow your advice; I didn’t go home last night. We don’t deserve anything.” Bunker chuckled. “Oh, my dear Lily,” he said, “even though you and Taggart discarded my suggestion yesterday and didn’t pay a cent of attention to my lecture, you both deserve each and every joy life has to offer.” He smiled knowingly. “I suspect one of them was last night.”

“Well, I now know why you said no to me,” she’d harped, to which he simply nodded and said, “Yes, you do.”

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.

Alex lowered his voice. “You dropped his heart, Lily,” he said. “You dropped it and shattered it. And I tried to pick up the pieces and put them back into his chest, but one is missing and the others won’t work without it.”

Tag’s and my communication skills were terrible. We had to stop skirting around the truth, no matter how scary it was. I couldn’t let another night pass without telling him.

I was yours, Hops. Yours to the point where, even if you weren’t in the room, I could still feel you all over me.” His voice dropped. “You will always be all over me.”

Because the magazines—Mom, Tag used the magazines to create clues. Scavenger hunt clues! We stole the Almanacs and then scattered all these clues across campus. Tag crafted them using individual letters he cut out of the magazines. They look like—” “Creepy ransom notes,” my mom concluded. There was a hint of a smile as she shook her head. “I will never cease to be charmed by his cleverness.” “Each clue is a riddle,” I added. “There are seven total, and the last one leads to the Almanacs. They took a while to hide, and there were, um, complications. The biggest one being…” I trailed off because she already knew. The biggest one being Tag’s hypoglycemic attack. My mom sipped her Red Bull. “Did you memorize the clues?” I stuck my tongue out at her. Naturally I knew the clues by heart; I was an actress. Memorization was one of my sharpest skills. “Alright, well, take me through the night,” she said.

Alex was not impressed with my prom attire. “Lily, you couldn’t have dressed up even a little?” He gestured to my worn J. Crew shorts, Tag’s favorite Dave Matthews Band T-shirt, and my striped espadrilles. “I mean…” “Why does it matter?” I asked as I snapped a photo of Zoe and Maya. My friend’s white jumpsuit was to die for, and Maya looked amazing in her deep turquoise dress. “I’m behind the scenes today.” I looked up from the camera lens. “Who cares?” “I care,” Alex said. “It’s not professional. You look like we booked you as our photographer only fifteen minutes ago.”

Lastly, to the St. George’s School Class of 1982: I’m sorry you didn’t get answers until your tenth reunion, but in the end, wasn’t it worth it?