The Duke of Bannerman Prep

by Katie Nelson

  Kelsey shook her head. “It’s okay. You startled me.”

  She walked toward the quad and I followed. “How’d it go?”

  “Is that why you’re here? Checking out your competition?”

  I furrowed my brow and she shook her head. “Do you even check the individual event postings? There’s more to this tournament than just Policy Debate, Tanner.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Well, thanks for the self-esteem boost. We’re tied for first in Extemp. But, unlike you, I’m actually trying.”

  I nudged her with my shoulder. “You’ve got it in the bag, then. I bombed that last round.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “On purpose? I don’t need your pity.” She stopped, in the middle of the hall, waiting for my answer.

  I shook my head and let out a tired breath. “No, not on purpose. I just, I don’t know, couldn’t think straight in there. It was a stupid topic anyway. ‘Judicial activism and the Supreme Court.’”

  She glared at me for a minute, then started walking again. “That’s, like, one of the most important issues of our day. Do you know the cases on the Supreme Court’s docket this year? How many serious issues they’ll decide? Gun control, abortion, affirmative action, climate change—”

  “Are you still mad at me about that girl at Dairy Queen? Because I swear, it was nothing. She said a grand total of maybe a dozen words to me the whole night. End of story.”

  Kelsey adjusted her bag. When she spoke again, her voice was flat, void of the emotion she’d been unleashing on me moments before. “I’m not upset about her. I never was. I’m upset about you. I thought you were different from Garrett and Jason and Tomas and those other guys. I thought you were above all that stupid stuff. But lately you drop everything and everyone any time the Duke calls. And the fact that you think you can send him to talk to me and that will fix everything?”

  My frustration rushed back. “What was I supposed to do? You wouldn’t answer my calls. Or respond to my texts.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You couldn’t possibly talk to me in person? ’Cause I’m so hard to find in a school of two hundred students?”

  Her eyes bored into mine, and I could tell she was hurt. And I’d done it. Not by sitting in a booth next to some random girl, but by not caring enough to talk to her myself. At the time, I’d thought it was the right thing to do. My stomach turned. I hated that I’d made her feel this way and hated even more that she was seeing the worst side of me, all of my mistakes, and I had nobody to blame but myself.

  My voice was low when I said, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to, but I keep screwing everything up. I … I don’t know.”

  We heard voices, then saw a sea of students converging on the quad. The postings must have gone up while we were arguing.

  When Kelsey responded, her voice was less angry. Just resigned. “Look. It’s not the end of the world. We can talk more after the next round. I don’t want to keep you from your moment of glory. You guys win today and you get the auto-qual to State, right?” A sad smile spread across her face. It was all I was going to get.

  Kelsey and I walked over to the postings together. She stopped in front of Lincoln/Douglas. I moved over to the Policy section. There were tons of people milling around, but as I got closer, they all seemed to move out of my way. Two pieces of copy paper were taped to the window: second-round results and third-round assignments. I saw our code at the top of the third round pairings. We were negative. My pen in hand, I scribbled our room number on my palm. Then I moved to the second-round results.

  In bold black letters, I read our speaker code. Next to the letter L.

  We’d lost.

  The bus pulled up in front of the school, swaying like a boat at sea, and I was out of my seat before it even stopped. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I was sick of their pity. Sick of the insults disguised as jokes. I thought you were incapable of losing. Maybe they should rename their case “Tanner McKay’s Kryptonite.” Are you going to call the devil and ask for your soul back now?

  I didn’t even bother to unload our boxes of evidence. Why should I? By Monday, I’d be expelled, possibly facing a judge for who even knew how many felonies. I doubted juvenile hall had a debate team. I wanted to get back to my room, collapse on my bed, and never get up again.

  The dorm was deserted when I walked in, but I could see the glow of a computer screen coming from the RA’s office. Just the sight of that office and my throat started to close up. I threw open the door to the stairwell and ran to my room breathing heavily.

  When I opened the door, Huang was there, sitting up in bed, doing his nightly reading. Stacked on my bed were several cardboard boxes.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  Huang didn’t look up. “Rick brought them over. Said you needed them.”

  Right then, it was all too much. Losing the round. Screwing things up with Kelsey. Knowing that soon a stupid mistake would ruin my life and bored, spoiled rich kids would laugh about it. I kicked the boxes, sending one flying against the window. I kicked again, and my foot got stuck. When I finally shook it free, it flew across the room and hit Huang’s desk, knocking over his cup full of pens.

  “What is wrong with you?” he shouted.

  I turned and saw that I hadn’t closed the door and a crowd had gathered in the hall. Some guys were laughing, others whispering to one another. I picked up a stray box and threw it at them. It wasn’t heavy, and it wouldn’t have hurt anyone, but the gawkers scampered like cockroaches down the hall. I couldn’t stay here. My keys in my fist, I pushed my way downstairs and headed straight for the parking lot.

  My hands were shaking and I almost scratched the paint trying to get my key in the lock. Finally inside, I slammed the door and leaned my head back against the seat, closed my eyes, and tried to breathe. Squeezing my fist around my keys, I could feel the cold metal digging into my skin. I sat in the darkness of the parking lot until the fight leeched out of my pores and I had nothing left.

  My phone was still in my backpack upstairs, so I had no idea what time it was. I could’ve started my car and checked the clock, but I didn’t. Off in the distance, I could see the lights go off in the dorm—first one or two, then more and more. I knew our light had been off for a while. and I thought, Well, at least Huang will be happy when I’m gone and he has the room to himself.

  There was a knock on the window. I jumped.

  It was the Duke. He was standing outside the passenger door, two cans of soda in his hands. I unlocked the door and he climbed in and handed me a Dr. Pepper.

  “Thanks.” I flipped the top and took a sip.

  “Need something a little harder?”

  The Duke had pulled out a silver flask.

  I shook my head. “It wouldn’t help.”

  He tucked the flask back into his pocket and took another sip of his Coke. I waited, staring out the windshield at the lamppost in front of me. It was drizzled with bird poop. The Duke shifted in his seat, leaning back and resting one ankle on the opposite knee. I knew he wanted me to say something.

  When the last of his Coke was gone, he finally broke the silence. “Listen, mate. I can put a muzzle on Rick. But it’s going to cost us.”

  I scoffed. “You got a mouse in your pocket? Is that why you’re saying ‘us’? Because you know I don’t have more than seventy bucks to my name.”

  He shook his head. “If only it were that easy.”

  I turned in my seat to face him. “Only people who’ve always had money think it’s the easy part.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He flipped the pop-top on his Coke can back and forth. With a clink, it came off. He shoved it into the empty can and set it down on the console.

  “So this is the deal,” he said, speaking quickly, before I had a chance to interrupt. “Rick is an imbecile. A pill-popping stooge. Completely addicted to Oxycontin, Vicodin, you name it. I can shut him up. But I have to give him what he wants. By tomorrow night.”

  I wasn�
�t exactly sure what he was saying. It sounded too easy. The Duke could make a trade? A few pills for Rick’s silence?

  “So can you get some then?”

  The Duke shook his head. “But you can.”

  For a second there, I was sure he was confused. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Garrett? Or Jason? Or Tran? Someone with an ATM card and an unlimited allowance? Do you think because I’m from a crappy armpit of a town that I have my own drug dealer on speed dial? Do you know me at all? You’re better off finding out whose mom recently had plastic surgery. Chances are she’ll have a medicine cabinet full of pain pills.”

  Then I stopped abruptly, picturing my own medicine cabinet at home in the bathroom I shared with my mom and Sam.

  The Duke knew. He must have checked when he was there on New Year’s Eve. There was a bottle there. For Sam. For his fits.

  I shook my head. “No way.” The words were out before I could even think about it. “I can’t. I won’t.”

  The Duke looked straight out the windshield, at the darkened buildings. He didn’t protest. I think he knew what I’d say before he even asked. After several minutes of silence, he put his hand on the door handle. “I get it. I wish there was another way. But I understand.”

  So that was it then. We were screwed. Rick would go to the administration first thing on Monday. I’d signed the code of conduct. I knew Bannerman had a zero-tolerance policy.

  It made me sick to think about it, but I had to ask. “What will they do to us?”

  “The good news is you’re under eighteen. You won’t be going to prison.”

  Why didn’t that make me feel better? The Duke opened the passenger door and stepped outside. And I suddenly understood what he was saying.

  “Wait,” I called out. “You’re eighteen?”

  Before closing the door, he leaned back in. “Yeah. December twenty-ninth. Happy Birthday to me.” The door slammed shut and he walked away.

  I glanced at the dorm. Only the security lights were on. I’d broken curfew and this time I didn’t think the Duke had ‘taken care of it.’ Oh well. Add it to the list of my infractions. It didn’t matter now, anyway.

  I got out of my truck and followed the Duke back inside. I had the rest of my life to sleep in my car.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I RAN INTO KELSEY IN the parking lot the next morning. Well, technically it wasn’t morning. I’d slept until noon and was going on a donut run since I couldn’t stomach the thought of healthy, organic dining hall food, or maybe just the presence of all those people.

  Kelsey had her door open, her stuff thrown into the passenger seat, but stopped when she saw me coming. I could tell by the way she was watching me that she was trying to read my mood to see if I needed a cheerleader or a drill sergeant. I stopped behind her car, nodding hello.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  My hands stuffed in my pockets, I shrugged. “Fine. We lost one round. It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

  But it felt like it was. And I think she could tell.

  “I’m late for my piano lesson at Stanford, but let’s get dinner together somewhere. My treat. I’m not touching that disgusting tofu stir fry they’re serving at the dining hall.” There was hope in her expression, but also something more.

  I had to look away. I wished I could give her what she needed. But I wasn’t the guy she thought I was. “I don’t know if I’ll be back in time. I’m headed home.”

  I hadn’t realized I was going home until I said the words out loud. As soon as they were out there, I felt sure. I’d made up my mind, even if it was a crappy, cowardly thing to do.

  “Okay.” Kelsey climbed into the driver’s seat, but didn’t shut her door. “If you make it back, let me know.”

  I nodded.

  “And say hi to Sam for me.” She squinted in the bright sunlight and, for a minute, I thought about telling her. About spilling all the details out in the parking lot on a Sunday afternoon, letting her digest them, and hoping that, somehow, she’d have a solution.

  I couldn’t.

  I knew I didn’t deserve her, but I still wasn’t ready to let her go.

  If she found out what I was going to do—what I’d already done—she’d look at me the same way she looked at Garrett and Tomas and even the Duke. As the embodiment of every pathetic cliché, the fulfillment of all her expectations about guys—that in one way or another, we were always a disappointment.

  Kelsey and I both smiled. I waved goodbye and watched as she pulled out of the parking lot, stopped at the corner to let a jogger cross the street, then headed south toward Stanford.

  Before I could change my mind, I climbed into my truck and drove home.

  There was a douchey car parked in the driveway where my mom’s car usually sat. One of those yellow Nissans or Mazdas that were usually owned by drivers who saw passing me on the freeway as confirmation of their superiority.

  I parked my Bronco on the street and stomped up to the front door.

  The TV was on so loud that nobody heard me. Walking down the hall, I could smell my mom’s chicken enchiladas.

  I poked my head around the corner, prepared to surprise her, when I saw Abby and Blake snuggled on the sofa watching NASCAR. Mystery of the yellow car solved. Blake’s dad owned a used car lot and he was always driving something different.

  “Where’s my mom?”

  Abby jumped, craning her neck to look over her shoulder at me. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s my house. I can be here whenever I want.”

  “Your mom had to cover a shift. So Abby had to babysit. Again,” Blake said, his hand on the remote, eyes never leaving the TV.

  I glanced over at Abby, who’d started collecting the dirty plates and silverware they’d left all over the coffee table.

  “So where is he?”

  She looked up quickly. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head slightly, a warning. Of course she assumed I was talking about the Duke. Can you say guilty conscience?

  I rolled my eyes. “Sam. Where is Sam? If you’re babysitting, where is he?”

  She relaxed. “In his room. He didn’t want to watch with us.”

  I left them alone and walked down the hall. Sam’s door was closed, but I pushed it open. He was sitting on the floor with his back to me, pushing his trucks over a rug that had roads and buildings laid out on it. I watched him. He looked good. I wondered how long it had been since his last episode. Squatting down, I touched his shoulder. “Hey buddy. You cruising for babes?”

  Sam turned, and when he saw me, it was like I’d handed him the keys to Willy Wonka’s factory. He held up his hand, waiting for me to slap it. “What’s up, man?”

  I gave him five, then messed up his hair. “I came by to surprise you guys. You’re hiding in here? Smart move.”

  He shook his head, wagging one long finger in my face. “That Blake. I don’t like him. He likes to make fun of me.”

  “You want me to beat the crap out of him?”

  He grinned. “Yeah.”

  “But then Abby would be mad, and she wouldn’t come over and hang out with you, and that would make Mom mad….” I sat on the rug next to him while he considered that. “Tell you what?” I said, leaning in closer. “You have to promise not to tell, okay?” He nodded, and I smiled. “Before I leave, I’ll take the air out of his tires.”

  Sam’s eyes went wide. “He’d need a tow truck?”

  I laughed. Of course that would be the most exciting part for him. “Yeah. You’ll get a tow truck and one of Blake’s tantrums, all in the same night. But you can’t tell anyone it was me, okay?”

  Sam put his fingers to his lips. I smiled again. “Okay, buddy. I’ve got to use the bathroom.”

  I went inside and locked the door. Pressing my palms onto the sticky countertop, I took a deep breath, then opened the medicine cabinet. The bottle was right there. I picked it up. It was almost full. There weren’t any more refills left on the prescripti
on. Sam would have to see his doctor before he could get more. That could take weeks. Rick wouldn’t believe they were the real deal without the bottle. I had to take it. They wouldn’t even realize it was gone until Sam was lying on the floor, writhing in pain. I couldn’t do it. I put the bottle back and went in to the kitchen.

  Abby was in there doing dishes. My stomach growled as I brushed past her. “Where are the enchiladas?”

  She kept scrubbing, and the steam from the water fogged up the chrome faucet. I peered into the sink, seeing the dirty pan at the bottom.

  “You guys ate them all?” My voice was loud, angry.

  Abby shut off the water and turned, waving the wet scrub brush in my face. “It’s not like we knew you were coming. God, Tanner. The whole world doesn’t revolve around you.”

  “No, it clearly revolves around you. Exhibit A: the tool sitting on the sofa. I thought you were breaking up with him?”

  Abby went back to the dishes. I could barely hear her when she answered, “It’s complicated.”

  “You make it complicated. If you were honest with them, it wouldn’t be this hard.”

  As the words left my lips, I realized how hypocritical I was being. It was still the truth.

  “I know you think Blake is your ticket out of here, but you don’t need him, Abby. You’re smart. You’re so good with Sam. You could be a special-ed teacher, or a nurse.”

  She scoffed. “Yeah, because that’s worked out so well for your mom? No thanks.”

  “Then pick something else. Take the SATs. Make a little effort—”

  “Don’t lecture me,” She spun around, the water still running, steam rising behind her. “You got to leave, but I’m still here. And nobody’s beating down my door, offering me scholarships or anything else. So you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  “Babe,” Blake called out. “Can you bring me a soda?”

  Abby shut the water off and wiped her hands on a dish towel.

  My stomach growled and my head started to throb. I needed to get out of there. “Fine. Do what you want. I don’t care who you date. But pick one, okay? I won’t cover for you anymore. From here on out, you’re on your own.”