by Katie Nelson
There was a knock, three hollow thuds that echoed throughout the house. The Duke jumped off the sofa. “He’s early. I’ll be right back.”
He left the room and I could hear his footsteps on the tile, then the sound of the front door opening. There were two voices, both loud and angry, though I couldn’t hear what was being said, and I wondered what I should do. Get up and follow? Or stay there? I hesitated. Then the Duke’s voice, calm and in control. “I’ll take care of it.”
I stood and walked to the window, hoping I’d see something: a car, or maybe onto the porch. The view was amazing—it was a clear day and I could see the steel gray ocean beyond the bluff—but the driveway was empty and the thick shrubs blocked my view of the front porch.
The door closed a moment later, and though I knew he’d be back any second, I waited by the window.
“Everything okay?”
I turned and saw him standing in the doorway. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
The Duke shrugged. “Some guys I know. They needed a favor.”
“You do a lot of favors.”
It sounded harsher than I’d intended. Like an accusation. I waited there with my back to the window, for some kind of reaction, an acknowledgment of who he was or what he was doing. It felt like the moment went on forever, but it was probably only a few seconds.
Then he flashed his perfect smile. “Of course,” he said. “Enough stalling. We really need to get back to work.”
I rolled my eyes and sat down in front of my laptop.
And we did get some work done for the next hour or so.
My phone beeped. I ignored it. A minute later it beeped again. I dug it out of my backpack and glanced at the screen. I couldn’t believe what I was reading.
“Who is it?”
I shook my head and typed out my reply. Before I could put it away, it beeped again.
“Kelsey’s pretty persistent. She must be really into you.”
I wasn’t in the mood for his teasing. “It’s not Kelsey. It’s Abby. Seems you guys have big plans tonight.”
I stared at the screen in my hand and tried to figure out what to do. I didn’t see any way that this would end well. It wasn’t my job to babysit the Duke or Abby, and I doubted either one of them would listen, even if I tried.
“Apparently, Abby’s on her way to Bannerman. She told Blake and my mom that she was hanging out with me and wouldn’t be home until late. Her boyfriend is getting suspicious and she wants me to cover for her. And you. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Eyes wide, lips pressed together, the Duke was silent for a moment. He stood, walked across the room, and looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“I guess it explains a lot. Why you haven’t been around. Why you’ve completely blown off Peyton. Why you’ve been bailing on all the work we have to do.
“I’ll figure something out. To get Watterson off our case.”
“Don’t bother.”
I saved the file and stared at the screen while I waited for my laptop to shut down, trying to keep it together. I wanted to be mad at him—and I was—but this was a total Abby move. She always expected everyone else to drop what they were doing for her, and the sad thing was, everyone did. Including me. I stuffed my laptop and papers into my backpack. “Take me back. Apparently, I’ll be finishing this by myself. Again.”
“Will you do it? Cover for us, I mean. Abby’s pretty sure Blake will call you tonight. Maybe even show up at the dorm.”
I pulled my backpack on as he turned to face me. There were so many things I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him that he couldn’t buy his way out of this, hire someone to write some briefs, and make everything better. And I wanted to tell him that he was a greedy, selfish person, and what he was doing wasn’t fair—to Peyton, to Blake, and even to Abby.
I let out a frustrated sigh. “He’ll kill you, you know. She’s my cousin and probably the best friend I’ve ever had. I can’t stand him, either, but she chose him. And she doesn’t seem capable of ending it. When he finds out about the two of you, he will hunt you down and kill you.”
The Duke cocked his head, flipping his hair out of his eyes, and smiled his stupid grin. Yes, I would do it. He’d known I would. They both did.
“I’ll be all right, mate.” Pulling his keys out of his pocket, he asked, “So, where do you want me to take you?”
“Back to the dorm. She’ll be waiting there. For you.”
Clapping me on the shoulder, he said, “I owe you one. We both do.”
I couldn’t look at him the whole way home. Not because I hated him, though I did.
But I hated myself even more.
I didn’t see the Duke at breakfast the next day, or at lunch. But when I walked into debate, he was already there. Our files were spread across the table, and he and Watterson were sharing some sushi, hashing out our entire case.
“Tanner. We’ve got it. We’ve figured out how to beat the solvency attacks.” The Duke grinned, pushing a California roll into his mouth while Watterson finished the last of his latte.
I dropped my backpack onto the floor and sat down in the front row. “Great.” I refused to join him, to walk over there and pretend that it didn’t matter that he’d had this huge power lunch without me, after I was the one who had done everything this year. After I’d spent the last two months working my ass off, while he couldn’t even exert himself enough to pretend to care. I opened up The Scarlet Letter and tried to read.
Watterson was talking behind me, but I didn’t turn around. “This card, right here. This is your secret weapon. Save it for the 2AC.”
“Sure, right,” he said. “Tanner can cut it. His speech is running a little long anyway.”
I turned around. “My speech doesn’t need cutting.” The Duke could exclude me from his strategy sessions all he wanted, but I was not his trained monkey. I wrote my own speeches. I’d use whatever evidence I thought was best.
The room was getting louder as more people trickled in from lunch. Watterson stood, ignoring a girl who wanted him to look over her Dramatic Interp script, and walked past my seat. His back to me, he said, “Cut the Clinton quote. It’s pandering, and you don’t need it. Save the DOJ study for the second constructive.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “Save it for the round. I’m right about this. You’ll see.”
Class started and I sat away from the Duke, from Kelsey, from everyone. As Watterson began to lecture, he dimmed the lights and showed video clips from past tournaments, pausing to ask for our analysis of each speech. Staring at my table, at the scratches in the wood made years ago, I wondered if it would be me in a few years. If I’d be reduced to one of Watterson’s clips. If some chump would raise his hand and tell everyone that my transitions were abrupt, that my voice was too monotone, and that, at best, my speech was just average.
The bell rang and I jumped up, shoved open the door, and took off down the hallway. I was the first person in American Lit, and I sat slumped in my chair, my tablet on, playing Tetris to avoid everyone.
Before class began, Garrett slid into the seat next to me. Leaning over, he kicked my outstretched feet. “So? You coming tonight?”
I didn’t look up. “Where?”
“Check your phone. The Duke got us tickets to Twenty One Pilots tonight.”
“What?” I dug my phone out of my backpack and turned it on, careful to hide it between my tablet and the novel, so Ms. Wallace wouldn’t confiscate it. Official school policy was no phones visible during class. Which just meant that we tried not to get caught.
The screen came to life and, sure enough, I had four messages. Two of them were from the Duke. The first one was his invite to the concert. The second was an invitation to lunch with Watterson—his treat—to suck up and go over our case. My stomach clenched as I slid my phone into my pocket. I was a jerk.
Garrett kicked the leg of my chair. Glancing over my shoulder, I nodded. “Concert sounds am
azing.”
Garrett’s smile seeped across his face. “You have no idea. The Duke told the dean we’re going to the ballet. He was so impressed, he excused us from evening chores and gave us permission to be out until midnight. Limo leaves at seven. Don’t be late or we’ll give your ticket to someone else.”
When our mandatory sports period was finally over, I went looking for the Duke. Though I’d replied to his text about the concert, I knew that I needed to talk to him in person to see if we were okay. When he wasn’t back at the dorm or the dining hall or the library, I began getting nervous. Thinking that maybe I should look for him off campus, I headed to the parking lot, but stopped when I saw a pair of warm-up pants and tennis shoes poking out between the back tires of his car.
“Need some help?” I asked.
The Duke wiggled out from underneath the car, grease smeared on his forehead, arms, and T-shirt. He smelled like he’d been swimming in gas, and I was pretty sure that if there was a bit of static electricity in the air, we’d both go up in flames.
“Can’t get her started,” he said, lifting the panel on the back of the car to reveal the engine. We both took it in for a few minutes, the jumble of wires and metal and black rubber tubes.
I turned to him. “Do you know anything about cars?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
I laughed. “Me, either. But I know someone who does.”
I grabbed my phone and called my friend, Ben, who answered on the first ring.
“I must be delusional,” Ben said. “Because my phone says it’s Tanner McKay. And Tanner’s either been abducted by aliens or he’s sitting in some Mexican prison. He doesn’t have access to a phone or he would have called his friends at some point in the last month.”
“I know. I’m a loser,” I said. “I’ve just been busy.”
“Of course. Plotting world domination with your new best friends.”
“More like up to my eyeballs in research and homework. It’s not glamorous. I swear.”
“Whatever you say.”
There was hurt in his voice, though Ben would never admit it, and I felt like a tool. I hadn’t meant to blow him off, but I’d been so busy, I hadn’t gotten around to responding to the last few texts he’d sent. If I was being honest, I didn’t have a lot to say to him. I couldn’t tell him how hard the classes were here without insulting my old school. And Ben had made up his mind about the people at Bannerman months ago. I’d assumed Ben and I were still friends. I’d need to try harder.
I apologized and told Ben I needed his help, and tried to explain what was up with the Duke’s car. After about two minutes of relaying his questions, I finally handed my phone to the Duke so he could describe the problem. After a few minutes, he handed it back to me.
“Do you know what’s wrong?” I asked Ben.
“Best guess? It’s probably flooded. Or the contacts could be bad. I told him to give it a few hours, then try again.”
“But what do you know, right?”
“Apparently more than you, smart one.”
“I bow to your vast automotive knowledge.”
“That’s better,” Ben said. “Are you coming home for Halloween? Morgan Winters is throwing a party.”
“That would be cool. I’ll text you.”
“Sure you will,” Ben said, before he hung up.
The Duke was shutting the engine compartment, getting grease on everything he touched. “Do you need a ride somewhere?” I asked. “He said you have to wait a while before you can drive it.”
“Nah. It’s fine. We’ll have to make a stop on our way out of town. You’re coming, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, of course. How did you get tickets? I heard they sold out months ago.”
The Duke shrugged and smiled. Stuffing his keys into his pocket, he started walking back to the dorm. I followed.
“Sorry about lunch. I didn’t get your text until after class. I would’ve been there, if I’d known.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
We reached the dorm and had to step aside as a group of freshmen came running out, heading toward the dining hall. When they’d passed, I followed him up the stairs. Passing the second-floor landing, I knew I had to say it now before I chickened out. “Listen, I know I’ve been pissed off lately. But you’ve got to work with me, okay? At the very least, be honest. I get that I care about debate way more than you do. Just don’t jerk me around, okay?”
He was ahead of me, three steps away from our floor, when he stopped and turned, looking at me for the first time like he actually cared. Gone was his cocky grin. Gone was his I’ve-got-everything-under-control attitude. He paused, staring at me for a long time, then nodded. “Fair enough.”
“It’s—” I stopped. How could I explain without sounding like a complete loser? “This is my one chance. To go somewhere. To do something with my life. I can’t screw this up.”
We stood there for a long moment, then he turned and climbed the last three steps. As he reached the landing, he said, “I know what you mean.”
Before I could question him, before he could say any more, he opened the third-floor door to shouts and high fives, and disappeared down the hallway.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THINGS WERE BETTER WITH US, after that. I knew the Duke was still messing around with Abby, and Abby was still seeing Blake. When I tried to talk to either of them about it, they shut me down. So I stopped. It wasn’t that I didn’t care. There was just nothing I could do about it.
But those weeks—the end of October and beginning of November? Un. Freaking. Believable. We owned our next two tournaments. Undefeated. And our celebrations were epic. All orchestrated by the Duke—his treat. I still have the ticket stub from the World Series, where the Giants killed the Yankees. We were so close to the dugout, that I swear I could smell the sweat off the players. Garrett wouldn’t shut up about how much the Duke had paid for the tickets, so Peyton took his and tried to scalp it outside the BART station. I seriously thought he was going to cry.
After we won the Bakersfield invitational, we went down to Fisherman’s Wharf, and the Duke rented us six Segways for the day. Tomas whined that his had some kind of speed regulator. I think he was embarrassed that the girls were flying past him down those crooked streets. We probably looked like total dorks racing around Golden Gate Park, but we didn’t care. It was awesome.
I was feeling pretty good the night of the Duke’s second party. The showers in the dorm had been running nonstop, so by the time it was my turn the water was freezing. I finished as fast as I could and hoped that with some deodorant and cologne I’d be okay. Hair still wet, I brushed my teeth in my room, stuffed my wallet and phone into my pockets, and frantically looked for my keys.
Huang walked in as I was digging through my dirty clothes. Rolling his eyes, he set his stuff down on his desk and shoved open our window.
“It’s the middle of November,” I said, moving over to my desk to check my backpack. “You’re gonna freeze with that open all night.”
“I’d rather freeze than breathe any more of those nasty cologne vapors you seem to have showered in.”
At the bottom of my backpack I found my keys. “Whatever.” I was free of Huang’s bitterness and ready to blow off some steam. My hand was on the door when he called out.
“That girl called. Again. Not that you care, but I told her I’d tell you, and I keep my promises.”
I turned around. “What are you talking about?”
“That girl. Abby. She called again. Something about meeting you at the party. I know that’s where you’re going. Even if you told Mr. Simpson you were going to the movies.”
I shook my head. Abby and I hadn’t made plans. I hadn’t even heard from her since the night Blake had checked up on her. And she had my cell if she wanted to reach me. I didn’t know why she’d call the room, but I didn’t care enough to worry about it. “Thanks for the message,” I said as I walked out of the room.
&nbs
p; I reached the RA’s office before I remembered. The Duke had asked me to do him a favor. There was a small flash drive on my key ring, and I twisted it off while I waited for Rick, the RA, to acknowledge me. He was seated behind his computer, headset on, and I could’ve bet a hundred bucks that he was playing World of Warcraft. The RAs were college students, but it took a special breed to live in the dorms and babysit high school students. At the beginning of the year, they’d all been pretty strict, inspecting our rooms, nagging us about the dress code, writing up anyone who was even a minute late. As the year wore on, however, they’d all calmed down. Or just gotten lazy. Especially when the teachers who served as dorm parents had the night off. We could always tell when Mr. Simpson was gone by the frantic gaming going on in that office.
I put my index finger on the sensor by the desk. My picture came up on the screen, showing my off-campus privileges and a reminder to check back in before midnight.
Eager get on the road, I knocked on the doorframe and peered into the office. Finally Rick looked up. “What do you want?”
I held the flash drive out. “The Duke asked me to give this to you. Said that you were expecting it.”
Rick’s shoulders dropped, and he let out a loud breath. Pushing himself up, he threw the headset on the desk and walked over to where I stood. I wasn’t sure how old he was, probably nineteen or twenty, but in that moment, he looked like a sad little kid. “You, too? I don’t know why I’m surprised. Did you look at it?”
“No.”
“So you have no idea what’s on this?”
I didn’t answer. I had an idea. Whatever it was, it was enough to keep Rick quiet. To get him to “forget” to report us when we weren’t back on time, or whatever he did that kept us out of trouble. I hadn’t wanted to think about how damning the evidence was. It was easier not to know.
For a moment, Rick stared at the flash drive, then snatched it from my hand and muttered, “I really hate that guy.”