by Katie Nelson
This was my last lead. My last chance of finding him. I wasn’t going to back down that easily. “Look, I know that’s not true. You have to have some way of contacting him. I’m not a cop or anyone trying to collect anything. I’m his debate partner. And his friend. He’s been gone for almost three days. I need to know if he’s okay.”
Jimmy, or whoever this woman was, pressed her lips together and shook her head slightly. A cloud drifted in front of the sun, casting a shadow over her porch, and I pushed my hands deep into the pockets of my hoodie to chase away the chill. When she finally spoke, her voice was gentler, like she was speaking to a little kid. Which I guess, in that moment, I was.
“Swear to God, I don’t know where he is. But don’t worry. That kid’s like a cat. Always lands on his feet.”
She stepped inside and closed the screen door. “If you hear anything,” I shouted, “Will you tell him to call me? I’m Tanner.”
She nodded. I didn’t know if that meant anything, but I was done. Out of options, I climbed back into my truck and drove back to the dorm. I wanted to believe her—to believe that he was okay—but what kind of friend would that make me if he wasn’t? If he had been abducted or assaulted or was somewhere in serious trouble? What if it was because of me and Rick and the tests and the pills? What if it was my fault that he was in trouble and nobody was even looking for him because they had no idea what he’d been involved in?
What was I supposed to do now? Go home and eat soggy gluten-free pasta from the dining hall and stay up late doing my chem lab? While he was who knows where? What kind of friend would do that?
But if we were friends—real friends—wouldn’t I have some clue how to find him?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I COULDN’T SLEEP THAT NIGHT. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the Duke. His face bruised, blood trickling out of his nose, unconscious. So much for Jimmy’s reassurances, for Occam’s razor. I’d seen way too many movies to be rational.
Because I was selfish and I couldn’t take it anymore, I walked downstairs to the empty laundry room, the only place in the whole building where I could be alone, and I called my mom. It was two-thirty in the morning.
She answered on the second ring. “Tanner?”
I’d been biting my bottom lip to keep from crying, but the sound of her voice broke me. I wiped my snot with the back of my hand and swallowed huge gulps of air, but I had to get the words out. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry. I took Sam’s meds. It’s my fault.”
Her voice was tired, but calm. “I know. I was planning on driving down this weekend so we could have a chat.”
I couldn’t speak for a minute. I just sat on the concrete floor with the phone pressed to my ear, trying to breathe.
“How many have you taken? How long has this been going on?”
I could hear the worry in her voice, and I hated that on top of everything else, she’d been carrying this, too.
“I haven’t taken any. I didn’t steal them for me.”
“Tanner, don’t.”
“Mom, I swear. I know you have no reason to believe me, but it’s the truth. I gave them to this guy, Rick. I thought it would get me out of trouble. It was stupid. I’ve been really stupid.”
She let out a long breath. She fumbled with something in the background, then finally said, “I’m making myself some tea. Tell me what’s been going on. The whole story. We’ll figure something out.”
So I leaned against the washing machine. And I talked.
The next day, when everyone else was in American lit, I was in the Hollister police station. With my mom seated in the chair next to me, and some guy she’d known in high school who was now a lawyer next to her, I made a statement.
When it was all out there, and the detective read it back to me before sliding the paper across the table for me to sign, I saw everything we’d done in a new light. It wasn’t an epic heist. It wasn’t a brilliant plan. It didn’t even involve much danger or an adrenaline rush. It was just cheating and stealing and trying to get something without working for it. It was pathetic.
While I signed my name with the scratchy blue pen, the lawyer said, “What’s the next step for Tanner?”
The detective shrugged. “We’ll be in touch with the school and the local police department. We’ll do what we can to find your friend. But if he’s eighteen and doesn’t want to be found, there’s not a lot we can do.”
“After hearing him out,” the lawyer asked, “what kind of charges do you think Tanner’s looking at?”
“Tough to say. It depends on the school. Potentially possession of a controlled substance, breaking and entering, petty theft.”
My mom flinched. I could hear everything the detective was saying, but it didn’t feel real. Like when I was little, and I’d lie in the bathtub with my ears under the water. I’d know my mom was calling me and telling me to get out, but I’d float there and, for just that moment, nothing around me was really happening.
The detective’s chair screeched across the floor as he rose, and then we were all standing, shaking hands, and my mom had her hand on my back and we were walking down the hall, past the coffee machine, and through the doors.
“I wish I could take you to lunch,” she said, digging her sunglasses out of her purse. “But I have to get back to Sam.”
“How is he?”
“He’s going to be okay.”
I couldn’t respond. It should have been reassuring, hearing that he was all right. But I couldn’t think about Sam without thinking about what I’d done to him. I wondered if I ever would be able to.
My mom pushed a twenty into my hand and told me to stop and get something to eat. She thanked the lawyer guy, who promised they’d talk soon. I stood in the parking lot watching the people in the cars as they waited for the stoplight. A few looked over at me and I wondered what they were thinking, if they suspected why I was there, what I’d done.
And though I knew it was irrational, I couldn’t help searching. In each sedan, SUV, even the minivans, I looked for his floppy blond hair, his cocky smile.
Then the light turned green, and they were gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
FOUR DAYS TURNED INTO A week. Then a week turned into two. And still, not a word from the Duke. He’d vanished. It was all anybody could talk about.
Mr. Simpson said that he was spending time with his family and might be back later. The school had received an email from his mother, but they didn’t have any more information. The administration seemed satisfied with that. Someone pinned a world map onto his door, and people stuck pins in the spots they thought he was. Everyone had a theory about what had happened, and they loved sharing their stories and talking about him.
I refused.
I don’t know why. Maybe it was because I was still afraid that something had really happened to him. Maybe, on some level, I still believed he was coming back. Or maybe I didn’t want to believe that he could disappear like that. Throw everything away. Not just the school year, but the state tournament, and Nationals. We’d worked too hard to get where we were.
The Monday that he’d been gone for three weeks, Watterson asked me to stay after class. I waited while everyone filed out. Watterson picked up his laptop and walked over to the wall of windows. He pulled two chairs up and motioned me over.
Using his tie tack, Watterson unscrewed the safety latch that prevented the windows from opening. While he waited for the file to load on his laptop, he sat down, pulled out his cigarettes, tapped one against the box, then lit up, blowing the smoke outside.
“We need to talk about Districts,” he said, knocking some ash off on the window frame. “I want you to compete in Extemp.”
But not Policy Debate. How could I? I didn’t have a partner. I stared out the window while it all hit me. The District tournament was the qualifier for Nationals. I’d only ever been average in Extemp. Never good enough to qualify.
“Who will take the Policy Debate spot?”
<
br /> Watterson shrugged. “Tran and Jason.”
I shook my head. “They won’t win.”
“I know. But the Duke’s not here. And it wouldn’t be fair to split one of the teams up to give you a spot.”
“What if he comes back?”
Watterson took a long drag before answering. “We both know that’s not going to happen.”
“How?” I slammed my fist on the windowsill. “How do we know that? He up and left one day. Who’s to say he won’t waltz back in tomorrow? That’s how he operates.”
Watterson leaned forward, right into my personal space, but I wouldn’t look at him. I focused on my folded arms as I squeezed my hands into fists. My nails bit into my palms, but I didn’t let go.
“All of this is off the record, okay? I know about what you told the police. Everything you two did. When they tried to track him down, the police and the administration found some, let’s call them ‘discrepancies’ in the Duke’s background.”
My head jerked up. Watterson leaned back in his chair and took another drag. “We’re pretty sure Andrew Tate is an alias. His transcripts were forged. And his last tuition payment? Wired from a corporate account in Louisville that never authorized the transfer and has never heard of Andrew Tate. I think it’s safe to say that he won’t be back.”
I turned and looked out the window again. The day was overcast and gray, making it hard to tell the difference between the sky and the clouds. Across the quad, students were in motion—leaving the library, walking back to the dorms, pushing their way into the dining hall. In all my time here, I’d never felt so apart from them. So different. I’d spent the last eight months at this school, and for what? Nothing.
“So that’s it?”
“Bannerman is under a microscope. Garrett’s dad’s company created all of the software we use here, including the phone tracking and student fingerprint scanners. They’re about to go public. If it gets out that their system was hacked by a high school student, they’d lose millions. The school doesn’t want a scandal. You got lucky.”
“You call that lucky?”
“What do you want, Tanner? To go to juvie? Or get kicked out? Have that on your permanent record when you apply to colleges next year?”
“I want justice. I want someone to care.”
Watterson shook his head, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. “It’s like you want to be the martyr. Do you think that will make up for it? Do you think that will make you feel any better? It won’t. It won’t change a damn thing.”
Watterson finished his cigarette and ground it out on the window frame. With one hand, he popped the corner of the screen out and dropped the butt into the flowerbed below. I watched it fall and noticed several white stubs in the dirt. One more rule nobody followed.
“Here are your consequences.” He turned the laptop to face me. There was an email open on the screen. “Read it. I petitioned the State Speech Association to let you pick a different partner and compete at State. They won’t allow it. I’m sorry. But you’re still competing in Extemp.”
I pushed the laptop closed. “You think I care about Extemp? I only compete in it because I have to. Forget it. I’m not going.”
I stood to leave, but Watterson grabbed my arm, pulling me back into the chair. “No. We’re not doing this. I refuse to let this turn into a Tanner McKay pity party. You and the Duke? You played with fire. You know that. And guess what? You got burned. But you’re going to spend the next three-and-a-half weeks working your ass off. On Extemp. And you are going to compete at State. And if you do, there’s a spot on my team for you next year. Full scholarship. If you’re not willing to do that, start packing. I won’t have any victims on my team.”
I didn’t respond. My hands hurt and my mouth was dry and my jaw was sore where I’d been clenching it—for how long, I didn’t know. Finally, after what felt like hours of stifling silence, Watterson stood. “You can go.”
I went straight to my room and slammed the door. Luckily, Huang was gone. In the corner, in front of my closet, were the blue totes containing most of our files. I kicked the bottom one, over and over, until it was dented and the top two came crashing down. The lids flew off and papers scattered everywhere. File folders and typed pages and yellow legal pads, filled with notes. A whole year’s worth of work, useless now.
I couldn’t look at it for one second more.
I grabbed my keys and my wallet and left. I had no idea where I was going. I just needed to be somewhere else.
Three hours later, when I came back to the room right before curfew, it was still there. Huang had kicked everything onto my side and was snoring in his Ambien-induced coma.
In the darkness of the room, those papers could have been anything. Old quizzes. Papers I’d written. Flyers about room inspections or coupons for 20 percent off an oil change. I shoved it all back into the totes and hauled them down to the Dumpster. I shoved them in and the lid slammed shut, the clang loud enough to wake the whole school.
I hoped the Duke heard it, wherever he was.
My phone buzzed and jumped on my desk.
I took my headphones off and looked at the screen. There was a text from Kelsey. Car won’t start. Need a jump. Meet me in parking lot?
I texted back, On my way.
Peering through the blinds, I saw Kelsey down below. She had her hood open. When she saw me, she held up her hands in defeat. I grabbed my keys and wallet and headed down.
As I approached, she slammed the hood closed. “False alarm. It’s working now. Let’s go get something to eat.”
Garrett’s SUV was parked a few spots down. Peyton waved from the front seat. It looked like there were people in the back, too. I’d been avoiding them all since my chat with Watterson, but I’d underestimated Kelsey.
“I’m not hungry.” I turned to go back to my room, but she grabbed my hand.
“Come on. We knew you wouldn’t come if we just asked.”
I looked at her hand, still clutching mine. Her nails had been chewed to jagged stubs. My eyes moved up her arm, until they rested on her face. She looked tired. And worried.
“Please,” she said, not breaking eye contact. “It’s vegetable curry night. Don’t put me through that.”
I didn’t have enough energy to fight her. “Fine. I’ll go. But I don’t want to talk about him. Or any of it.”
Kelsey pulled me toward her. “Deal.”
We wound up talking about him.
Peyton asked what I was going to do at State, so I had to explain everything. One thing led to another, and then we were sitting around talking about the Duke. And though I’d avoided the topic for the last three-and-a-half weeks, in a way it felt good.
“He hates this song,” Kelsey said, as a whiny country/pop-crossover ballad came on the stereo.
Peyton shook her head. “No way. He has a soul. He loves it.”
When everyone started taking sides and debating about the song, Jason interrupted. “Remember his grand theft auto? At State last year?” Everyone started laughing.
“What?” I asked. I’d been at State last year, but I hadn’t been part of the Bannerman team then.
“You know the coach from South Presidio? Big guy, slicked back hair, nasty goatee that he hasn’t groomed in the last decade?” Peyton said.
“Who’s always got food stuck in his beard?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Everyone laughed.
Garrett took up the story. “Well, he’s a total lush. I mean, there aren’t enough steps in AA to get that guy sober. So the Duke sees him drinking in the hotel bar Saturday night after prelims. He finds this skeezy woman and gives her a hundred dollars on the condition that she has to have a drink with the guy.”
Jason broke in. “And then, while Mr. Chewbacca look-alike is enjoying his martini, the Duke hits up the front desk. Gives the girl working there some sob story about how he left his cell in his coach’s room and he has to call and check in with his mom, but his coach hasn’t had a date in
five years since his wife died, and he doesn’t have the heart to interrupt when he’s talking to such a pretty girl.”
Garrett leaned forward over the table. “And the chick at the desk buys it. Gives him a keycard and makes him promise to bring it back to her in five minutes.”
Peyton began talking over both of them, eager to tell the best part. “So he breaks into the guy’s room and steals his keys. Then he moves their team van into the underground parking lot of the hotel across the street. He takes the keycard back to the front desk. Ten minutes later, he walks into the bar, talks to the skank, and slips the keys into wookie’s pocket without him noticing.”
Everyone at the table was grinning. I shook my head in amazement.
“The next day,” Jason said, “in his hungover condition, Coach can’t find the van. He reports it stolen. Everyone is in a panic, because who would steal a beat-up school van? Four hours later, the police find it. And the best part? I overheard him telling Watterson that he must have moved it in the night and not remembered.”
We laughed, then fell silent.
“He got away with everything,” Garrett finally said. “The guy was a criminal mastermind. Some of the stuff he pulled …”
I shook my head.
“I’m serious Tanner. I know he was your hero, or whatever. But the Duke was totally crooked. He had dirt on everybody. It wasn’t just blackmailing. He ran a cheating ring. Brokered drugs. He even fixed the Cal/Stanford game. Major gambler. What do you think he was doing all those times, when he’d disappear or be on his phone at all hours of the night?”
“Did you ever see it?” I demanded.
“Of course not,” Garrett said, taking a sip of his Coke. “He wasn’t stupid.”
Kelsey changed the subject. I slumped back in the booth and tried not to think of all the places I wanted to stab Garrett with my fork. He didn’t know the Duke. He had no idea what he was really like. He was just saying this stuff because the Duke wasn’t here to defend himself. We all knew he idolized the Duke more than anyone.