by Katie Nelson
“Hey. Wait up, mate.” The Duke grabbed my sleeve and I turned. He was smiling, the perfect host, and I couldn’t stand to look at him.
“I owe you one,” he said, flashing me a conspiratorial smile, “for, you know, covering for us back there.” He stood there across from me, hands in his pockets, his eyes bright with the thrill of what he’d gotten away with, and I realized that this was all it would take. We could be friends. And with his acceptance, everyone else would follow.
But I didn’t want it. Not like that.
“I didn’t do it for you.”
I turned and walked back to my car.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE DAY AFTER THE PARTY, I didn’t have anyone to hang out with or anywhere to go, so I went back to school to get some work done in the library. Sundays were pretty casual at Bannerman. On Saturdays, we had community service, field trips, or enrichment classes, but on Sundays the faculty left us alone. I think the staff needed the break as much as we did. Walt had the day off. The few people in the library were chatting away.
I walked past the fish tank, checking to see if Kelsey was at our table. The table we had shared once, which I was now referring to as ours. I was taking pathetic to a whole new level.
She wasn’t there.
I sat down anyway and pulled out my pre-calculus homework. When a group of girls walked by talking about the party like it had been the VMAs, I took out my phone and earbuds. With Imagine Dragons drowning out everyone around me, I ducked my head and focused on something I understood: graphing functions of tangents and cosines.
I nearly jumped when someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Emma from debate. She had a thick textbook in her arms, and was trying to talk to me.
After pulling my earbuds out, I finally understood her.
“Have you seen Kelsey?”
“No.” I looked around, wondering if I’d missed her.
“She’s supposed to meet me here. Help me with Spanish.” Apparently, Kelsey was taking her big sister responsibility seriously.
I tried to look indifferent. “I’m sure she’s coming then. Sit down.”
After Emma took a seat, I tried to go back to my homework, but each time I started to solve an equation, I made some careless mistake and messed up. After checking my answer, and finding it wrong for the third time, I dragged my eraser over my solution and the paper ripped. I let out a frustrated sigh.
“I hope you aren’t expecting me to tutor you, too. I suck at math.” Kelsey stood across the table, her messenger bag hanging from her shoulder, arms loaded down with books. She dropped the stack onto the table; it shook, and the thud echoed across the reference section.
“I know,” I said. “You’re in my chemistry class. Can’t even balance an equation.”
She looked at me and I couldn’t tell if she was mad about last night. Finally, she pulled out a chair and sat down, turning to Emma and ignoring me.
“Sorry I’m late. I could not get out of bed this morning.”
I tried to work on my problem set, but I couldn’t help listening in.
Emma leaned in closer to Kelsey. A smile spread across her face. “The party was that good?”
Kelsey twisted her hair into a bun and shoved a pencil through it. “It was okay. Tanner couldn’t wait to get out of there. He left without saying goodbye.”
“I couldn’t find you.”
She shrugged. “I guess you weren’t looking. For me.” She opened Emma’s textbook and began turning pages.
Kelsey was halfway through her explanation of the preterite tense in español when I interrupted them. “I’m really sorry. There was this thing. With my cousin. And her boyfriend. Then I had to go.”
She looked across the table, her eyes meeting mine, and I could see her hesitation, her doubt. I sat there, willing her to trust me. After what felt like hours, she pressed her lips into a thin smile and nodded. “I’ll have to humiliate you at pool next time.”
We stayed like that for the rest of the hour. I finished my pre-calc and started on my reading for history. Abby worked with Emma. It was alarming how awful Emma was. How anyone could live in California and not be able to count to ten in Spanish was beyond me. Didn’t she ever watch Dora the Explorer? Or Taco Bell commercials?
I was grabbing a highlighter from my backpack under the table when Emma paused. “Hey, Cinco. That’s your nickname, huh? Why do they call you that?”
Though I desperately wanted to hear Kelsey’s answer, I didn’t dare look up. I didn’t want to look too eager. I could hear the exasperation in her voice when she responded. “Short answer. Because they’re idiots.”
“What’s the long answer?” Emma was leaning forward, her elbows resting on the table, desperate to be in on the secret.
Kelsey looked at me—I thought she was blushing just a little—before she set her pencil on the table. She let out a loud sigh. “Long story? It’s a tradition that a group of senior guys compile a list every fall. Top ten hottest freshman girls. I was number five.”
“No way!” Emma exclaimed. “Do they still do it?”
Kelsey nodded.
“So, wow, that’s like some kind of honor, right?”
Kelsey glared at Emma. “It’s an annoyance. I couldn’t walk around campus without some walking hormone making a comment. Or thinking he had the right to touch me. And every time they had a party, I was the one they drunk dialed. Trust me, you don’t want that kind of attention.”
We kept working without speaking, until the alarm on Emma’s phone went off and she hurried to get to another study group.
Then it was just Kelsey and me, and the table felt smaller. I was conscious of everything, even the sound of my breathing. I finally got up my nerve. “I heard a rumor about you,” I said, flipping my pen back and forth in my fingers, my eyes glued to my notebook.
Kelsey sighed. “Not surprising. There are plenty floating around.”
I glanced up. She wasn’t looking at me. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or just uninterested. “It wasn’t anything bad. Just that you have a bunch of rules about dating.”
She had her fingers marking three sections of her book, and flipped between them and the notebook in front of her. “Not a bunch of rules. One. Strictly friends with anyone on the team.”
I hardly knew her, but it stung. It wasn’t like she was rejecting me personally, but it felt like it.
I didn’t want her to know that. “I think that’s smart,” I said as I copied a map into my notes. “On my old team, there was this couple. They’d been together for months. Then she broke up with him right before Districts. It was pretty ugly.”
“Exactly,” she said. “High school relationships never last. We’ve all got to work together until we graduate. It’s better this way. For everyone.”
“I’m surprised Watterson hasn’t made it one of his rules. Five bucks for flirting. Twenty for kissing.”
Kelsey laughed. “Wouldn’t matter.”
I thought about Peyton flirting with the Duke at every meal, about Tomas and the hours he spent primping. She was right.
Kelsey gathered up her books and stood to leave. “See you at dinner,” she said, as a paperback fell off the stack in her hands. I bent down and picked it up. The Great Gatsby. Those funky eyes in the picture on the cover stared at me, daring me, questioning me. I handed it back to her.
“Thanks,” she said, without looking at me. Stuffing the book into her bag, she turned and walked out of the library.
As I watched her leave, I had the feeling, again, that I’d done something wrong. I wanted to fix it this time. But I had no idea how.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from the Duke the next day. Would he be mad at me for the way I’d left the party? Or would he try to explain? The hard truth that I learned on Monday afternoon was that those reactions required a certain amount of concern. And though almost everybody considered the Duke their friend, there were few people he actually cared about.
He walked into de
bate, late as usual, without acknowledging my presence. When Watterson split us up to work on our cases for the tournament that was only a few days away, the Duke leaned back in his chair, waiting for me to come to him. We talked about our case—his pathetic, bleeding heart education one—and he didn’t seem to care that I’d added some new arguments and replaced his weaker pieces of evidence. I made a list of everything that we needed to do by Saturday, dividing it, taking the most important tasks myself, and handed it to him.
“So I’ve got homework?”
“Look, I already took all of the case attacks. If you want to trade—”
He cocked his head and smiled. “No. It’s fine. I’ll see how much I can get done.”
My blood began to boil. I glared at him. “All of it. You need to get all of it done. By Saturday morning.”
He laughed. “You’re too serious. We’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, we will. Because you’re going to get all of that done.”
The bell rang, and he stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Peyton walked over to return a sweatshirt that she’d apparently borrowed at the party. Before I could get an answer out of him, his hand was on the small of her back and he was telling her that she looked much better in the sweatshirt than he did.
I knew it was hopeless.
The rest of the week was pretty much the same. Any free time I had, I spent camped out in the library, photocopying or scanning everything I thought we might possibly need, color-coding the briefs that I’d written, labeling and filing like some deranged secretary. Which I guess I was. I told myself it would be worth it when we won.
Kelsey had been around off and on, but she didn’t say much. When we were both in the library at the same time, she either had her earbuds in or had brought a friend, who she talked to the whole time. I nodded and smiled and asked if she knew where I could find the most recent Census reports, and nothing changed.
On Friday, I walked into my room before dinner and found the Duke sitting in my chair, his feet resting on my desk, staring at the pictures I’d tacked on the bulletin board. “Your mom is pretty,” he said, pointing.
“How did you get in here?” I dropped my backpack on the floor and glared at him.
“Your roommate let me in.” The Duke leaned forward, squinting at the picture of Sam and me at Disneyland. He’d changed into a clean shirt and dark jeans. Jeans were only allowed in the dining hall on Saturdays and Sunday mornings. He was planning something.
“What do you want?” The words came out harsher than I’d intended, but I was hungry, and tired, both a result of the hours I’d spent working. Hours he’d been gone.
The Duke swung his feet to the floor. There was a stack of files on my desk. He pushed them toward me. “Thought you wanted this. Or should I have just brought it tomorrow morning?”
I stared at the files, and for once, I had nothing to say. I couldn’t believe he’d actually come through. I’d spent the last week hating everything about him. And sitting on my desk was the evidence of what a massive jerk I was.
I reached forward and took the first file. It was a spending disadvantage. I opened it and read through the analysis, then the evidence. It was solid. I turned the page, looking for some indication that it had been downloaded off the Internet, or copied out of a handbook he’d purchased. I couldn’t see anything.
“This looks good,” I said, still thumbing through the folder, unwilling to look at him. “I’ll get these filed in the totes.” I nodded at the blue plastic containers in front of my closet, containing all of the work we’d done.
He handed me a flash drive. “Here’re the digital copies.”
I took it and squeezed it in my palm. We could use our laptops at some tournaments, but not all, so it was important to have both. I shouldn’t have been, but I was surprised the Duke had been so thorough.
“Sure…. Hey, listen. I was looking at these pictures. Was your cousin wearing this sweater at my party?”
I walked over and looked at the photo he was pointing to. It was Abby, Sam, and me at the zoo last spring. Sam was petting a goat while Abby had her lips puckered like she was going to kiss its hairy face. It was one of those rare moments when she was just Abby, not caring about what anyone would think, not trying to be someone else.
I shook my head. “I have no idea. You spent a lot more time with her than I did.”
The Duke ignored my tone. “See, I found a sweater exactly like this when I was cleaning up downstairs. Is it hers?”
I couldn’t care less if Abby got her sweater back, but I didn’t want to give him Abby’s number either. I could tell he was fishing for it. I also didn’t want to piss him off. Not right before our first tournament. Not after he’d just come through.
“I’ll text her and ask.” I pulled out my phone and sent a quick message. “She’s probably getting ready to cheer. She might not respond for a while.”
My phone beeped. I read the response. “She says she might have. Wants to know what it looks like.”
The Duke grinned. “Tell her it’s a little pink number. With buttons in all the right places.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ew. I’m not writing that.” I hit reply and typed Pink.
She responded right away. Have to see it to know for sure. Tell him to send me a pic.
There was no getting around this. If she wanted to cheat on Blake, I couldn’t stop her. K. “She wants you to send her a picture. Give me your phone. I’ll add her number.”
The Duke stood and pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was a sleek new model I’d never seen before. He tapped the screen and handed it to me. He’d listed her as Laffy Taffy. I rolled my eyes and typed her number. “She has a boyfriend,” I said, handing the phone back.
He slid it into his pocket as my stomach grumbled again. “Hey, a couple of us are going into the city to get something to eat. Maybe hit up a few of the clubs. Wanna come?”
“The city? As in San Francisco?”
The Duke nodded. “You in?”
All the remorse I’d felt for judging him unfairly flew out the window. “Are you crazy? We have a tournament tomorrow. We’re loading the buses at 6:00 a.m.”
“So?”
“You can’t go.”
The Duke stuffed his hands into his pockets. “No big deal. If you want to stay here and get all this”—he gestured toward the file boxes—“done, that’s fine.” He took a couple steps toward the door.
“No,” I stepped between him and the door. “You can not go out partying before our first tournament. This is important. We need to make a strong showing. The Stanford and Cal coaches will be there.”
We stood there, a couple feet away from each other, neither of us moving. I was a few inches taller, but the Duke was broader and probably stronger if it came down to it. His eyes locked onto mine, his shaggy hair flopped to one side, but he didn’t budge. I could tell he had no intention of backing down.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and he pushed past me. “See you tomorrow,” he said as he walked out the door.
I picked up my phone and read the text. It was from my mom. Good luck tomorrow!
I threw it down on my bed. I’d need more than luck.
CHAPTER NINE
THE BUS LURCHED AND SIGHED, the hydraulics hissing as the driver cut the idling engine, opened the doors, and walked down the steps. Coach Watterson was on his third Marlboro, pacing the sidewalk with his tie blown over his shoulder. The driver said something, probably whining about traffic or timetables, but Watterson ignored him, glancing at the Rolex on his wrist, then back at the double doors of the dorm.
Tran came down the aisle, stopping at my seat. He slung his arm over the back as he looked out my window. “What are you gonna do if he doesn’t show?”
I glanced outside, then went back to the file I’d been studying. “Coach sent Garrett in to get him.”
“He’s pissed. You two had better place today. That, or you’ll have the shortest career of any student he
re.”
“I’m not here to babysit some rich kid who’s too hungover to get out of bed.”
“He’s your partner. Your problem.”
I turned and stared out the window, watching the wind whip the branches of the ancient palm trees that stalked the school grounds. Drooping fronds thrashed back and forth, brittle green claws in a concrete sky. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. 6:53. It would take an hour to get to Berkeley with no traffic.
There was always traffic.
The bus shook as the driver climbed the steps, settling back onto his perch. I looked out the window again and saw two guys moving across the lawn: Garrett balancing a leather messenger bag on his shoulder, and the Duke, eyes shaded by dark aviators, his shirt untucked, knotting his tie around his neck. Watterson took a long drag on his cigarette, dropped it in the gutter, and boarded the bus.
Tomas stood and began clapping as the Duke came down the aisle. About half of the team joined in as the Duke walked by, one corner of his mouth curling into a smile.
“Sit down and shut up!” Watterson yelled.
The Duke dropped into the seat across from me, leaned against the window frame, and pretended to sleep. Our first tournament of the year was starting in a little over an hour. The way I performed—starting today—would determine whether I was recruited by college teams or completely ignored. I was stuck with a partner I didn’t want and a case I didn’t believe in. But there he sat, slumped against the metal window frame, so confident that everything would work out. I hated him for that.
Winding through town, the bus made its way to the freeway, bouncing and jostling the files on my lap as I tried to read. Highlighter in hand, I tried to focus on what we’d need for today, but the statistics and case studies and interviews felt all wrong. My stomach began to slosh and moan. I snapped the file shut and slid open my window, closing my eyes against the rush of cool air.
“Would you shut the bloody window? I’m freezing.”
“Do you want me to hurl all over your shoes?” I said, staring out at the passing cars.
“Here’s a tip, mate. If you don’t want to get sick, don’t read the Congressional Record on the bus.”