by Katie Nelson
I thought about following him. I thought about waking up Watterson and making him go look for him. But what good would that do? If the Duke got disqualified for breaking the rules, so would I. We’d been shackled together, and no matter how much I hated it, there was nothing I could do. I lay back down in bed and watched the clock.
2:53
3:25
4:17
A little before five, a keycard beeped in the door. Resolving not to let him see that I cared, I rolled over and pretended to sleep. His backpack hit the floor, followed by his shoes. He reeked of cigar smoke, and it was all I could do to stifle a cough. Soon the fan cycled on and blew a clump of hair onto my forehead. I lay there, perfectly still, waiting for the sounds of the Duke settling into his bed.
I felt the weight of the comforter on my arms, my back, my legs. He’d covered me up.
His bed creaked a little when he got in. After adjusting the pillows and tossing around for a few minutes, his breathing slowed. Then he was asleep. And I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing, dreading what the morning would bring.
At some point, I fell asleep. The next thing I was aware of was the Duke’s alarm, but I didn’t move. When he walked past me, into the shower, I peeked at the clock. 6:45. We were supposed to be in the lobby, breakfast finished, ready to leave, at 7:30. My head was pounding and my shoulder ached.
I stayed in bed, my arm flung over my eyes, trying to find the energy to get up. The Duke’s phone beeped somewhere on the floor next to his bed, and I startled. The shower was running. As quietly as I could, I climbed out of bed and picked up his phone. When I tapped the screen, the prompt for his password came up. I set the phone back down and dropped onto my bed.
Then I saw his backpack.
I unzipped it slowly. It was almost empty, but deep in the bottom, I found two things: an orange key on a small bungee cord—the type that opens an amusement park locker—and an amber bottle, no label, full of white capsules. The water in the bathroom shut off and I stuffed everything inside, zipped the backpack up, and walked over to my duffle bag.
The Duke came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, his hair wet and slicked back. “Hey,” he said, nodding.
I nodded in reply.
Gathering my stuff from my bag, I didn’t look at him. “You done in there?”
“Yeah. That shower is crap. No water pressure.”
“Figures.” I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. I set my stuff down and leaned onto the counter, staring at myself in the foggy mirror. Was that it? He was on some kind of drugs? It felt so cliché. And I was supposed to be the friend that staged the intervention or something? No way. I couldn’t deal with this today. I had the most important round of my life in just over an hour, and I didn’t have room in my head for anything else. I turned on the shower and decided I didn’t care.
When I came out of the bathroom, the Duke was dressed, crisp white shirt, tie neatly knotted, his blazer slung over the armchair. He was holding a stack of papers.
“I’m going to grab some breakfast. You’ll want to look at this. I’ll bring you back something.”
He held the papers out to me, but I didn’t take them. “What is that?” I asked.
He waved them in my face. “Look it over. Trust me.” He flashed his fake smile and pushed the papers toward me.
I grabbed them and began to read. He was almost to the door when I called out. “Where did you get this? If anyone finds out—”
He left before I could finish.
As the door slammed shut, I dropped onto the bed, still wearing my towel. A drop of water from my wet hair rolled down my face and fell onto the papers in my hand, smearing the ink. It was an affirmative case. And I’d bet my life that it was stolen from the team we’d face in quarterfinals, a little less than an hour away now.
I dropped the case onto the bed, stood, and began to dress. No way. I wasn’t going to read any more. I wanted to win, but I didn’t want to cheat. And if we got caught, it would all be over. We’d be suspended from competition for the rest of this year. I could kiss Stanford and a scholarship goodbye. I’d have to find a way to destroy it before we left.
But once I was dressed, as I stood in front of the mirror and rubbed gel into my hair, I felt sick. Watterson’s voice was in my head, telling me that the Stanford coach would be observing us today. Probably this morning. If I stood up there, fumbling over my words, using generic arguments and random pieces of evidence, it would be the last time I’d see him. He wasn’t looking for good. He wanted the best.
I didn’t have much time. I hurried back into the bedroom and grabbed a legal pad. In a few minutes, I’d read through the case. It was good. The evidence was solid. For a minute, I had no idea how we’d beat it.
Throwing the plastic lid on the ground, I began to rummage through our totes. I pulled files, scanning the headings and first lines of each, then stuffing them back when they didn’t help. Anything that might work went into a small pile on the floor. I checked the clock every few minutes. There wasn’t enough time. My headache was getting worse.
In desperation, I picked up the case the Duke had given me. I read it again, more slowly this time, stopping when I reached their contention three. They argued that their plan would work based on the success of a pilot program done in inner-city Chicago. I wondered. Was it the same one?
I found my copy of this week’s U.S. News & World Report at the bottom of my backpack, crumpled and reeking of beef jerky. After shaking the crumbs out, I opened it and found the article. It was only a couple of pages, hidden between an article about the president’s health care reforms and an ad for some new blood pressure drug. I read it, taking as much time as I could so I wouldn’t miss anything.
I couldn’t believe it. I stood, magazine in hand, and paced across the small room while I reread the article. I was already deciding how I would use it. Which parts to read in my speech, which questions to ask in cross-examination. If someone had handed me a backpack full of hundred-dollar bills, I couldn’t have been happier than I was at that moment.
This was it. We would win with this. And I never would have found it if the Duke hadn’t handed me their case.
The Duke came back in as I was finishing my notes. Balancing a couple of muffins and a container of orange juice, he edged the door open with his foot. Garrett, Tran, and Jason followed, and I quickly stashed the stolen case inside a notebook before they could see anything.
“It’s not much, but better than a Rockstar and a Snickers bar,” the Duke said, handing me the food.
“Thanks,” I said, as I started packing up all of the files that I’d pulled.
Garrett leaned over to read my notes, but I grabbed it and stuffed it in my backpack. “Relax,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m already out, remember?”
The Duke slid his arms into his blazer. “But you’ve got a big mouth,” he said, smiling at me. I didn’t respond. I got what the Duke was trying to say. Nobody else knew. I wanted to keep it that way as much as he did.
“Fine.” Garrett stood up to leave. He was the only one in the room in jeans—the only one not competing in finals. Though he acted like he didn’t care, he was a terrible liar. “Carry your stuff down by yourselves. You’ve got five minutes.” Tran and Jason followed him out.
When the door was shut, I finally spoke. “I don’t want to know how, or where you got that—”
The Duke cut me off. “I wouldn’t tell you, even if you did.”
I nodded, adding the muffins and juice to my backpack.
In the lobby, the rest of our team was waiting to board the bus, a mixture of nervous energy, excitement, and total panic. Kelsey was flipping through a stack of index cards, her hair twisted into some kind of flight attendant hairstyle. She met my eye and smiled, but immediately went back to her notes.
Then the bus pulled up, and Watterson barked at us to get our stuff and get on board, counting to make sure everyone was there. The Duke climbed on, smili
ng and joking. I followed him up the steps—like I always did—but sat toward the front and pulled out the food he’d brought me.
I should have been a complete wreck. I should have been poring over my notes, or reviewing briefs. I should have been worried about the outcome of this debate. Instead, I gazed out the window and broke off pieces of muffin, chewing without tasting them, washing the mush down with thick, pulpy juice. When the bus pulled into the parking lot, I had finished the muffins but I could still feel them in the back of my throat, clumped in a mass in my stomach. I’d have to find a water fountain before the round, though I knew it wouldn’t really help.
By the time we arrived, the dance had been going for at least half an hour. It was one of the perks of this invitational—kind of an afterparty, where competitors could blow off steam while we waited for the tournament officials to tabulate the results and hold the awards ceremony. Of course, after the parties at the Duke’s house, this was just a discount DJ and a bunch of sweaty high school kids crammed into a hotel ballroom. In spite of that, everyone seemed to be having a good time.
The Duke and I had been in the last round to finish. We’d made it to finals, easily defeating the team from Vegas, whose case the Duke had stolen, and barely beating a team from Portland in a split decision. Our final round could have gone either way. Instead of my usual end-of-tournament feeling of release and excitement, I just felt tired.
We’d only cheated in the one round, but it had tainted everything that followed. I loved the rush of debate. As soon as the round started, that fight-or-flight reflex would kick in, and it was as intense as any football game or track meet or wrestling match could ever be. Standing in front of a judge, listening to the other team ask questions, trying to figure out in the briefest moment not only what the answer to their question was, but how they would use that answer against me, had always made my heart race. And then in rebuttals, after only a minute or two to prepare, that moment when I could read a quote or cite a study that proved my analysis was correct. It was impossible not to get caught up in that. To feel the strength of the words I spoke, to know that these ideas that we were arguing about—that they could work, that we could come up with better solutions, that somehow we could make the world a better place. It was power. A feeling like nothing else in the world.
Tonight, I hadn’t felt any of that. And I wondered if I ever would again.
I hadn’t wanted to come to the dance. But Watterson hadn’t cared what I wanted.
The Duke and I had shared a cab, changing out of our dress clothes in the bathroom. We entered the ballroom to find the music pumping and a mob of bodies pressed against each other, awkward and nervous and alive with anticipation.
Tran was the first to see us come in. Standing next to a table with sodas and water bottles, he waved and motioned us over. As we crossed the room, the Duke took stock of the space, nodding to people, smiling at some of the girls. I pushed ahead, meeting Tran first.
“So?” he asked. “How did it go?”
I picked up a bottle of water. Twisting the cap off, I shrugged. “Hard to say. It will probably be a split decision.”
“What case were they running?”
“Entitlement reform. Mostly food stamps.”
He nodded.
“You’re not dancing?”
“No way,” Tran shook his head. “This music sucks.”
Looking across the floor, I saw Kelsey and Peyton with a group of guys I didn’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say they were sophomores. They seemed excited to be dancing near the girls, but didn’t know how to talk to them, let alone touch them. Kelsey met my eye, smiling when she saw me, and motioned for me to come over. I shook my head and took another drink of water.
Tran kept complaining about the DJ, but I ignored him. Then Garrett and Jason joined us, both eager to hear about the round. A short redhead was all over the Duke, so I was left to fill them in as he opened her Diet Coke and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. I saw Ben across the room and nodded. We’d talked only briefly earlier, when he congratulated me on making it to finals. Now he mouthed the words, “How’d it go?” I shrugged in response. I was about to head over and talk with him, when the song ended and Kelsey appeared. She grabbed my hand and I let her lead me onto the dance floor.
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
“Five, ten minutes?”
“And your round?”
“Could’ve gone either way.”
She nodded. “Why didn’t you come dance with us?”
“I didn’t want to upset your new boyfriends.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. They’re sweet.” She bumped her hip against mine, singing along to the music, some cheesy pop song by a former Disney Channel star.
“I don’t know what’s more alarming,” I said. “Your moves or the fact that you know all the lyrics to this song.”
“For your information, I took three years of hip-hop classes.” She pumped her fists in the air, head bobbing to the music, circling me as she danced.
I leaned in so she could hear me. “Maybe you should have taken three more.”
She hit me on the shoulder, harder than I thought her capable of, then pulled me to the center of the dance floor with her. I was stiff at first, barely dancing, just moving my body to the beat. But as I watched Kelsey’s exaggerated facial expressions, as she grabbed my hands and pulled me along with her, I was swept away. We were a few feet away from the speakers and I couldn’t hear a word she was saying, but we were moving together, jostling against each other in a crowded room. For the first time all day, I felt like me. Here, in the Cascade Ballroom of the Long Beach Hilton, I could surrender to the music and the crowd and I didn’t have to think, I didn’t have to worry about what came next. I just danced.
About twenty minutes later, we were both sweaty, gasping for breath as the DJ switched to a country song. I tilted my head toward the double doors. “Let’s go get some air.”
Kelsey nodded, weaving her way through the crowd until we were in the hallway of the hotel. We followed the signs around the corner and down another hallway until we were outside on the patio. We walked past the tables and chairs to a raised wood deck overlooking the harbor.
We could still hear the thump of the bass out here in the dark, though the sound was muffled and it no longer reverberated up and down my spine. I leaned back, elbows against the railing, and drew the cool night air deep into my lungs.
I could feel Kelsey beside me, her breathing shallow and quick. She was sitting on the railing, legs crossed at the ankles, swinging in time to the beat of the music, her shoes hanging from her toes. Her hair was up, twisted into a sloppy ponytail that revealed a dark, wet clump along her hairline. She smelled like lavender and sweat and that citrusy gum that she was always trying to share. The fog was beginning to roll in, low and heavy, and in the dim light, it was getting harder and harder to see the details.
“You cold?” I asked.
She shook her head. “You don’t always have to be such a gentleman, Tanner.”
Her eyes were bright. Did she have any idea how much time I’d spent staring at her, tracing the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the tiny cleft in her chin?
“Girls always say they like nice guys, but they go out with jerks. Then they complain to their friends about how awful guys are.”
She shook her head, a thin strand of hair falling into her face. “It’s not that. We like the nice guys. We just get tired of waiting for them.”
I pushed myself up off the railing, my heart pounding, and took a step closer. With my whole body facing her, I set my hand on top of hers, wrapping my fingers all the way around the railing, until they enveloped hers. “Your hands are cold.”
Her mouth close enough that I could feel her breath warm against my face, she replied, “Not anymore.”
With my right hand, I tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers sliding down her cheek, tracing the contour of her
jaw. She held her breath, didn’t move, as our eyes locked and my finger stopped under her chin.
Her lips parted, she leaned forward, tilted her head to the side, and I kissed her. Her lips were soft and slick, and she tasted like oranges and Dr. Pepper and waxy lip balm. I dropped my hand, pulled away to breathe, but she wound her hand around the back of my neck, drawing me even closer.
I kissed her harder this time, my chest rising and falling to take in whatever air it could, pressed tight against her. My arms pulled her toward me, and my hands moved against her back, feeling the clasp of her bra under her shirt. Our tongues moved back and forth in each other’s mouths, slowly at first, then jumbled together, in an awkward rhythm.
I pulled away first, resting my forehead against hers, my breath coming now in shallow gasps. “Not bad, for a nice guy,” she whispered.
Turning my head slightly, I kissed her cheek, then the tip of her nose. She closed her eyes as my lips traced her jaw, moving slowly to the spot beneath her earlobe. I kissed her softly, felt her take a sharp breath as my lips hovered in front of her ear. “You have no idea what kind of guy I am.”
Digging her fingers into my hair, she pulled me closer and I kissed her neck, her earlobe, then found her lips again. We moved together, her back arching, my hands tracing her shoulder blades, feeling the vertebrae in her neck, smoothing her hair against my palm.
A door opened behind us, spilling music out into the night, and I jumped back, scanning the deck. Kelsey laughed, hand covering her mouth, ponytail bobbing. I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing, too.
“It’s not breaking and entering, Tanner. Just kissing.”
A hotel employee walked toward us. “You kids from the tournament? Awards ceremony is starting.”
We nodded and he walked back inside.
Kelsey hopped off the banister, pushed her feet all the way into her shoes, and grabbed my hand.
“Come on. Our adoring public awaits.”
As we walked through the doors, I didn’t think about if we’d won or not.