by Katie Nelson
“Looks like a dillhole,” I said.
“With a trust fund,” Abby added pointedly.
He must have noticed us watching and said something, because his crowd of groupies disbanded. He shut the car off and walked over.
I spoke first. “Hey. I’m Tanner.”
He smiled, perfect white teeth and oozing with confidence, and ran his hand through his hair. “Oh, I know who you are, mate. I’m Andrew. Andrew Tate. Everyone calls me the Duke.”
Abby shot me a look, her eyes so wide they were threatening to bug out of her head.
“I’ve heard about you, too. For some reason, I thought you’d have an accent.”
He laughed. “No. But my mom lives in England, so I’m there quite a bit.” He turned and took in Abby and Sam. “And this is your move-in crew?”
“This is my mom,” I said, “My brother, Sam, and Abby, my cousin.”
He shook hands with everyone, and then Mom’s cell rang. She dug it out of her purse, and after checking the number, excused herself and walked away.
Like every other guy at Bannerman, the Duke didn’t take his eyes off Abby. “You leaving?” the Duke asked. She nodded. “Any way I can convince you to stay?”
“Afraid not,” Abby said.
“Buy her a Laffy Taffy,” Sam said. “Purple one.”
The Duke laughed. “Is that all it takes?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding proudly.
Abby was blushing. “I’m not quite that easy.”
“Well, I’m fresh out of Laffy Taffy at the moment, but I’m having a party in a couple of weeks. You should come.”
She tilted her head. “And will there be Laffy Taffy?”
“Truckloads. Just for you.” The Duke winked.
I glared at Abby, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
The Duke nodded. “Nice meeting you all.” He walked over to the sidewalk, then turned back. “See you in a couple of weeks, Abby.”
“What’s in a couple of weeks?” Mom asked, rejoining us.
Abby stared at his back. “James Dean is having a party.”
It didn’t escape my notice that my cousin, who didn’t even go to the school, had gotten an invitation, while I was completely ignored.
Mom shrugged. “I’ve got to get back. That was the hospital. I need to get a few hours of sleep so I can cover a 6:00 a.m. shift.”
Wiping the tears from below her bottom lashes, Mom wrapped me in a tight hug. I lifted her tiny body off the ground, because I could. She looked like a little kid, not the take-no-prisoners nurse that intimidated most of the doctors at the hospital. When I set her back down, I promised I’d call and text and check in as often as she wanted. Finally letting me go, she nodded, unable to speak.
I hugged Sam next. “See you soon, buddy. Don’t break too many hearts.” I held the door to the backseat while he slid in.
Then it was me and Abby, standing on the sidewalk, staring at our shoes.
“Don’t hurt yourself, you know, falling off the pyramid or whatever you cheerleaders do.”
She rolled her eyes. “I won’t.”
“Make sure Mom doesn’t fall asleep on the way home. She’s worked two doubles this week. And don’t let Sam—”
“Tanner. I know. It’ll be fine.”
She didn’t say it, but I knew what she meant. They’d be fine without me. I wanted it to be true and not true at the same time. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“And if you want to come to that party, let me know. You can even bring your Neanderthal boyfriend, if you can get him toilet-trained by then.”
“Ha ha. We’ll see,” she said. “It might be fun. I’ve never been to a nerd party before.”
I shook my head.
And then I hugged her quickly, patting her back, and she climbed into the front seat. I stood there while they drove away, watching my mom make an illegal U-turn onto El Camino, waiting until her taillights were gone.
I’ll admit it. I was nervous. But I was excited, too. It was the start of something. Something important. Something big. I looked at all the cars in the parking lot, the rows of SUVs and Audis and BMWs and the occasional Honda or Toyota. My ’96 Ford Bronco stood out like a scab on a supermodel, but I didn’t care.
I couldn’t quit staring at the Duke’s car.
It could barely seat two people, didn’t have air conditioning, cruise control, or power anything, and even though it had been fast in its day, there were other cars in the lot that had more torque and horsepower straight from the factory. None of that mattered. That car was something else—some kind of passport into a world that I didn’t know existed until that moment.
As I stood there under the darkening sky, the sounds of a hundred conversations and the same five hip-hop songs filtering down through the open dorm windows, I promised myself that someday, I’d have a car like that. I wouldn’t be one of those thirty-something lemmings lining up for the newest Lexus or Mercedes so everyone would know that I’d dropped eighty grand on a ride to haul my kid to soccer practice. No. I’d find something unique, something iconic, like he had. Even if it cost twice as much.
As I walked back to the dorm, I didn’t care how hard I’d have to work. I just knew that I wanted it.
CHAPTER TWO
MY GOAL FOR THE FIRST day of school was to get through it without making a total asshat of myself. So far, the jury was still out.
It wasn’t going well with my roommate. For some reason, when I had pictured myself at boarding school, I’d imagined getting to be pretty tight with my roommate. If the testimonials and pictures in the brochures were to be believed, this guy would become my instant best friend, we’d be inseparable for the next two years, and someday, when offering the toast as the best man at my wedding, he’d mention the fateful day we met at Bannerman.
The real version: not quite like that. It had been a super awkward night.
I’d introduced myself: “Hey! I’m Tanner. You must be Huang.”
“Figured that all out on your own? You must be a freaking genius.”
Then we’d both unpacked in silence. In about thirty minutes, I had my clothes hung up, bed made, books stacked on my desk, and shoes shoved into the closet. Huang had spent that time sticking little white labels on every hanger in his closet and pretending I didn’t exist. At one point a couple of guys had come by, but they just talked to Huang in another language, which I later discovered was Mandarin, without even acknowledging my presence.
I’d tossed and turned that first night, wondering what I had done to piss him off.
Classes started the next day, and while I managed to keep my head down in most of them, it was hard to blend in when there were only twelve to fifteen people in each. Especially because most of my classrooms had tables instead of desks, arranged so that we all faced one another and nobody could hide. It didn’t help that my stomach kept growling. I hadn’t counted on having to wait for a shower when I set my alarm the night before, so I’d missed breakfast. By lunch time I was starving.
My history teacher kept me after class, trying to talk me into joining Model UN. I barely had time to get through the lunch line before the bell rang. I stuffed a few grapes in my mouth and grabbed my organic turkey burger before following the mass exodus out of the dining hall. Still chewing, I pushed open the door to the one class I was actually looking forward to, competitive speech and debate, to find every person in the room staring at me. The buzz of conversation stopped, and I was sure they could all hear me swallow as I dropped into a seat and set my backpack on the floor.
“Did somebody die?” A door at the back of the room opened, and I recognized Mr. Watterson as he walked to the front of the room. He spotted me and nodded. “All right, since you’ve all quieted down, we can get started.” He bent over his laptop, keyboard clicking as he spoke. “Welcome back. I hope you all had a good summer. As you know, it’s now over, and you belong to me.”
A few peop
le chuckled, but most shook their heads, pulling laptops or tablets out of their backpacks. In my other classes, the teachers had at least taken roll, but it seemed like Watterson was jumping right in. I knew this class wasn’t going to be an easy A, like it had been at my old school. I got my stuff out and tried to keep up.
Watterson pulled up a schedule on the huge flat-screen monitor at the front of the room. “You all should have received this already. If you haven’t, I suggest you check your email. As you can see, our first tournament is in four weeks. That means we start mock rounds in two. So if you haven’t gotten a case together already, you are officially behind.”
The door flew open, and in walked the Duke and his cronies, talking and laughing and pushing one another into the room. He froze when he saw the look on Watterson’s face.
“You’re late, Tate.”
“Welcome back to you, too, sir,” the Duke said, dropping into a chair. “Did you miss me as much as I missed you?”
Everyone laughed.
“I cried myself to sleep every night.” Watterson’s voice was totally deadpan. “You’ve all already met Tanner. Now’s the time to get over the fact that he humiliated you in competition last year. He’s on our team, and we’re lucky to have him. Enough said.”
I stared straight at the table in front of me but could hear muffled whispers.
Watterson raised his voice, silencing everyone else. “This is a new year, so we start fresh. You will earn your speaker positions and rankings. I don’t care if you’re a freshman or a senior. I don’t care if you were our number one L/D seed last year,” Watterson glared at the Enrique Iglesias look-alike. “You’ll have to earn that spot back. Starting today.”
Watterson spent the rest of the period reviewing theory. According to the schedule, we would focus on debate events the first week, then individual speech events the next. There wasn’t much to say about Congress. It’s the easiest. You can do absolutely zero research, BS your way through a three-minute speech, and still place. Public Forum is a little more intense. Most of the topics are current events, and they change every month, so the research is never as in depth. Lincoln/Douglas is one-on-one value debating. I’d tried it my freshman year, but couldn’t handle that it was so subjective. How do you prove that liberty is better than equality or autonomy or self-actualization? I couldn’t, and I didn’t want to. I switched to Policy Debate, and never looked back.
I could explain it all in my sleep, so while I pretended to take notes, I was glancing around the room, trying to figure out who was new, who had moved up from the novice team, and who I’d seen at tournaments the last two years. Jason was sitting on the opposite side of the room, sketching in a notebook. Tran was in the center, still glaring at me despite Watterson’s little speech. I’d need to look everyone up in the online directory tonight. I knew the guys who’d hit on Abby were both seniors, but I wasn’t sure who else was. I needed to know my competition.
The two guys who’d hit on Abby had come in with the Duke. They weren’t paying attention, either—just messing around on their tablets. They were surrounded by a bunch of girls. None of the girls had competed in Policy Debate, but the brunette in the front row looked familiar. She’d probably been in Extemp, my individual event.
The bell rang, but Watterson continued talking over it. As I was closing my notebook, I heard him giving directions. “Six o’clock. Sharp. Be sure to check out with your dorm parents. We won’t be back until after nine, so you’ll need to get your evening chores done before you leave. Don’t be late.”
Then everyone was up, gathering their stuff and heading to their next class. I’d missed something big. I glanced up at the monitor, but there was nothing there. As if sensing my panic, the brunette stopped by my seat on her way out. “You look like you’re about thirty seconds away from hyperventilating.”
“I didn’t catch that last part.” I stood and threw my backpack over my shoulder. “What’s tonight at six?”
She smiled. “Team party. At Dante’s Pizza. The bus will meet us in the parking lot. Attendance is mandatory.”
“Okay. I’ll be there. Thanks.”
“No problem.” She pulled the door open, and we walked into the hall. As I turned left, toward my next class, she spun back around. “Hey, Tanner?”
She knew my name. And she wanted to talk to me. Things were definitely getting better. “Yeah?”
“You might want to wipe that ketchup off your face.”
She waved goodbye and turned, soon disappearing into the swarm of bodies pushing to their next classes.
I was the loser covered in ketchup.
Team party, my ass.
More like team get-together-and-humiliate-the-new-guy-night. For two, maybe three seconds, I thought about leaving. Just walking off the stage, straight through the double doors, not even stopping at the dorm to pick up my stuff. Then the song started—a few chords for an introduction—and in that moment I had to commit. The first line of lyrics flashed on the screen. Did I really want to be a part of all this? I thought I did. I’d watched Bannerman for the last two years. I’d told myself I’d give anything to be on this team, and I had. I’d missed homecoming, my best friend’s birthday, even my grandma’s funeral to get to this point, to have this chance.
And now I was standing on a makeshift stage in a greasy pizza parlor in a run-down strip mall, microphone in my hand and a spotlight burning my retinas, and I knew I had to do it. Let them haze me. I could take it. They’d need a whole lot more than a karaoke machine to get inside my head.
I grabbed the microphone and belted out the words, my voice cracking on the first line, but I didn’t stop. The beat was fast and I skipped a few words to get to the chorus. Beads of sweat ran into my eyes, making it harder to read the words on the screen. Someone in the crowd was whistling, and I could hear smart-ass comments, but I kept singing—even as a pizza crust hit my shoulder and somebody’s glass shattered on the ground. The music swelled and I held the last note. And then it was over.
A couple of people clapped. I didn’t look to see who. I set the mic down on top of the machine, hopped off the stage, and walked back to the table, my head high. As I pulled out my chair, I caught Coach Watterson’s eye a few tables over. He raised his glass at me, a tiny smile on his face.
The music started again. A scared looking freshman was standing on the stage, but as I looked around the table, nobody was paying attention to her. “Pay up,” Jason said, holding out his palm to the two guys who’d hit on Abby.
The blond reached in his pocket and pulled out a twenty. He handed it to Jason, glaring at me. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
I shrugged. “It’s not the first time you’ve been wrong.”
“Didn’t take him long to figure you out, Garrett,” a girl sitting next to him said. She’d been at the barbecue, one of the experts who’d been gossiping about the Duke. Tucking her blonde hair behind her ear, she said, “I’m Peyton, but you probably already knew that.”
I didn’t, but I nodded, anyway.
“Garrett acts like a jerk, but we all ignore him. You should, too.” Garrett tried to say something but she kept talking. “Tomas is a walking hormone.” She pointed to the Enrique Iglesias look-alike. “Fortunately for you, you’ve got the wrong chromosome, so you’re not his type.” She pointed across the table. “And you’ve met Jason and Kelsey, right?”
Kelsey. The brunette’s name was Kelsey.
Peyton was still talking. “People around here can be bitchy. It’s just the way it is. You’ll get used to it.” Her public service done for the night, she turned back to Garrett and Tomas and started talking about her summer in Prague. She said Prague so often that if we’d been playing a drinking game, we’d all be wasted by the time it was her turn for karaoke. Neither of the guys seemed to be listening, anyway.
Resting my elbows on the table, I asked Jason, “What’s with the karaoke? Is Watterson into public humiliation or does he not have anything better to do on
a Monday night?”
He glanced over at Watterson’s table. “Probably both.”
Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Everything Watterson does is for one reason. To make us better. The karaoke serves two purposes. One, it forces you to get over yourself and get used to being in front of people. Two, singing lyrics quickly improves your articulation, which is especially useful for you Policy Debaters. Didn’t you notice that he didn’t have any slow songs to choose from?”
I hadn’t noticed, but once she said it, it made sense. There had definitely been a weird selection of songs. “Why not call it a karaoke party, then?” I asked.
“Because”—Jason stood, his hand resting on the back of his chair, before he took his place on the stage—“seeing the petrified faces of the newbies is half the fun.”
As he walked up front, I turned to Kelsey. “I wasn’t petrified.”
“Sure you weren’t.”
Eager to change the subject, I asked, “Do you live around here? Or are you a boarder, too?”
“I’m a boarder. My parents are a couple hours north of here, in Napa.”
I nodded. Wine country. Pretty fancy town. Never been there.
“Do you guys come here a lot? For pizza?”
Kelsey laughed. “Do you like eating greasy cardboard?” I looked down at the five crusts on my plate. She saw them, too. “Never mind. I guess you do.”
I shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”
“We don’t usually leave campus on weekdays. Sports practices don’t end until four-thirty or five. Between evening chores and study groups, there isn’t much time.”
She was right. I’d barely made it to the bus on time. After running around the soccer field for an hour and a half, then taking my turn shoveling compost onto the garden, I must have set some kind of record for the fastest shower by a sixteen-year-old male. I was going to have to get a lot better at managing my time if I was going to survive.
“So what events do you do?”
Kelsey spun her straw between her thumb and index finger, staring at her cup. “Oratory, Extemp, and L/D.”