The Duke of Bannerman Prep

by Katie Nelson

  But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if Garrett and I were the same. We both believed what we wanted to about the Duke. We both thought our truth was the real one. And we were both probably wrong.

  Huang was in rare form.

  We’d managed to fall into a system of mutual avoidance. I’d come home after he was in bed snoring. He’d get up at some ungodly hour and I’d try to sleep through his morning routine. Then, as he was returning from breakfast, I’d hit the showers and run to class with wet hair, grabbing something from the vending machine on the way. It was domestic bliss. Maybe I should become a marriage counselor.

  But when I walked into my room three days before State, I was surprised to find Huang still awake.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded.

  “Are you my mother now?”

  He scoffed. “Maybe then you’d learn some manners!”

  “What are you even talking about?”

  He threw a FedEx envelope at me, hitting me in the chest.

  The envelope was addressed to me in the same slanted block printing I’d read in every round this year. My pulse ramped up. Huang was staring at me, waiting.

  “It’s from him, isn’t it?” Huang asked. “I know that handwriting.” I didn’t think the Duke had said more than ten words to Huang this whole year, but it didn’t matter. Everyone had been sucked into his orbit.

  I had no idea what was in the envelope, but there was no way I was opening it in front of my roommate. I grabbed my keys and the envelope and left.

  There were still a few people on the quad, so I walked into the parking lot. Sitting on a concrete curb under one of the streetlights, I pulled the tab and tore open the envelope.

  It had to be some kind of joke. There was no way.

  Inside was one small slip of paper—an official document from the state of California. The title. To the Duke’s car. In the corner of the crumpled envelope were two loose keys.

  I stared at it, reading the little boxes at the top where the Duke had entered my name and address as the new owner. Then he’d filled out the date—two days ago. Underneath that, on a red line, was his signature. Andrew Tate.

  I had no idea what this meant. So I called the only person on campus I trusted.

  Kelsey answered on the first ring.

  “Okay. Thanks. Love you, too! Bye.”

  Kelsey ended the call and tucked her phone back into her purse. We were sitting on the sidewalk, feet in the gutter, under the street light about fifty feet away from the Duke’s car, which may have actually been my car now.

  The waiting was killing me.

  “My dad says it sounds legit. All you need to do is take it to the DMV, pay the taxes and registration, and it’s yours.”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t believe it. Why would he give me his car?”

  Kelsey shrugged. “Maybe it’s a peace offering. He knows he let you down. This is his way of trying to make things right.”

  “He can’t. I’m screwed. I can’t compete this weekend. That means I can kiss Stanford goodbye. And anywhere else that’s halfway decent. But hey, who needs a college education when you have an old Porsche?”

  Kelsey rolled her eyes and started typing something on her phone. Under her breath, she said, “I hate it when you’re such a drama queen.”

  I spun around so I wouldn’t have to look at her and stared at the car, which was sitting in the same spot where the Duke had left it almost a month ago. I thought about all the times I’d ridden in that old heap. Sure, it was unique, and if I was being fair, it was pretty cool. And it was a Porsche. But it was actually really small and not that comfortable to ride in. And it was a convertible. With no top. Completely impractical.

  Kelsey gasped. She covered her mouth with one hand, holding her phone in the other.

  “What?”

  “Tanner, do you know anything about the Duke’s car? Your new car?”

  “Yeah. It’s a 1950-something Porsche. The same car James Dean died in. My mom told me that my first day here.”

  “And do you know how much it’s worth?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Six or seven thousand?” I was guessing. Hoping, really. That was a lot of money. I tried to shake the thought from my mind.

  “Nope. Wrong again, Mr. McKay. Try forty-two thousand. You still saying you don’t want it?”

  I grabbed the phone out of her hand. She must have read that wrong, probably added an extra zero. I clicked on the screen to enlarge the type. There it was. In black and white. At least forty-two thousand dollars. I went back to the search engine and clicked through all the links, still unable to speak.

  Finally, I handed the phone back to Kelsey. “Wow.”

  “Wow.”

  “But doesn’t he … ? Why would he … ?”

  Kelsey shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I mean, it’s not four years of Stanford tuition, but at least it’s enough for a couple of years somewhere else. This is a game changer for me.” I buried my head in my hands. “I can’t believe he would do this.”

  Kelsey rubbed her hand across my back, scratching with her nails like my mom used to do when I was a little kid. I could feel the tears building in my eyes, but I bit my tongue, trying to focus on the pain.

  “I think it’s his way of saying thank you,” Kelsey finally said. “And that he’s sorry. And that he’s okay. Even though you’ll probably never see him again.”

  She kept rubbing my back, making little circles under my shoulder blades. “Maybe it’s time to let it go,” she said.

  In the distance, there was a police siren. My muscles contracted, my breath caught in my chest. Slowly, the siren faded, and Kelsey’s arm wrapped around my shoulder, pulling me close to her. “You know what I read on one of those websites?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “James Dean’s motto: ‘Live Fast, Die Young.’”

  I sat up and looked at her, resting my elbows on my knees. “‘Live Fast, Die Young’? Do you think that’s what he’s going for?”

  Kelsey shoved her hands into her pockets. “No. It may be what he wanted everyone to believe. But that isn’t who he is.”

  “What do you mean? The Duke partied more than anyone I ever met.”

  She shrugged. “Sure, he was always throwing parties. But did you ever see him drunk? Was he ever high? Think about it. He may have had a cup in his hand, but he was never out of control. Not once.”

  I tried to prepare my rebuttal, but with each example I thought up, I became more and more convinced that she was right. I’d been so quick to assume he was into the party scene as much as everyone else. I’d believed that about him. He’d made it so easy. He wanted us to believe it.

  So where did that leave me?

  I’d spent more time with him over the last eight months than anyone. I knew that he always ordered his burgers without tomatoes, that he chewed his lower lip when he was concentrating, that he always misspelled the word “privilege,” and that he couldn’t whistle to save his life. But what did I know, really know, about him?

  What was the point of all those hours we spent together if, after all that, all he ended up being was a jumble of favorite things that nobody could agree on?

  Here, when I thought I’d figured him out—when I thought I knew him better than Garrett or Watterson or Kelsey—he went and gave me his car. It turned out I didn’t know Andrew Tate at all.

  But he knew me. Knew exactly what I needed. And he made sure I got it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  WHEEE EEEEEEEEEEEE. THE FEEDBACK FROM the microphone on stage filled the room, smothering a thousand different conversations. I put my hands over my ears, wincing. After a few seconds, Kelsey reached over and pulled my hand away.

  “They fixed it. You can quit acting like such a baby.”

  “Hey, I have sensitive ears.”

  She gave me a knowing smile. “I remember.”

  My face flushed, trying not to think about the feel o
f her lips against my ears. I glanced at the rows of trophies on the stage, arranged like those little Russian nesting dolls, the biggest ones in the back glinting in the harsh lighting of the auditorium.

  I wouldn’t be taking one home today. Though I’d done okay in my individual event, it hadn’t been enough to qualify me for semis or finals. So today, I’d hung out in my shorts and T-shirt and spent the day watching Kelsey.

  She’d been amazing. Full of confidence, but not arrogant. She’d debated flawlessly. Her logic was compelling, her delivery smooth and persuasive. She was never rattled, even in cross-examination. She was in control of each debate from the moment it started. I’d spent so much time in Policy Debate, reciting statistics and presenting studies, that I’d forgotten how powerful it was sometimes to slow down and connect with the judges or spectators.

  But somehow, she’d lost in the semi-finals, so sitting there next to me, waiting for the awards ceremony to start, her nerves were calm. She knew she’d placed either third or fourth, and she was content.

  “Tanner?” A woman waved at me. “You have my card?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. I look forward to hearing from you.”

  When she was out of range, Kelsey leaned closer. “Who was that?”

  I dug into my pocket and pulled out a business card. “Pam Montoya,” I said, when I’d located hers. “She’s one of the Baylor coaches.”

  “Really? I can’t see you in Texas.”

  I shrugged, staring at the yellow and green logo. “Me, neither.”

  It had been a strange weekend. The first two days of the tournament, I hadn’t heard a word from any of the college coaches. Even the Stanford coach, who’d been interested earlier, had ignored me. But once prelims were over, there were a few that were willing to talk. Baylor. San Diego State. UC Davis. No promises of scholarships—just a “let’s see what happens next fall.”

  For the first time in my life, I was okay with that.

  I looked at the cards for a second before stuffing them back into my pocket. “Yeah, well, I have some time to figure it out. I’ll be able to think about it a lot this summer while I’m wearing an orange vest and picking up trash on the highway.”

  “Think of the sexy farmer’s tan you’ll get.”

  I laughed. Only Kelsey could make the prospect of three months of community service seem like it wasn’t complete hell. I knew I was lucky that the judge had been lenient. It could have been much worse. The school wasn’t willing to risk negative publicity, and I did have a clean record, so I’d entered a guilty plea in exchange for an easier sentence. As long as I stayed out of trouble during the next year, my involvement would stay on my juvenile record, which would be sealed. Hopefully, I’d be able to put this whole thing behind me.

  My phone buzzed. It was a text from Sam. I’d sent him a video earlier of a dog falling down a hill and he replied with a laughing emoji. Things had been different with Sam, since the hospital, but I was trying. I’d even joined a summer bowling league with him. I hoped that with time, I could make things right between us.

  The guys we’d beat at Long Beach sat down in the row in front of us. I never did find out how the Duke got a copy of their case. I didn’t want to. They’d been in the final round, and as I watched them compete earlier, I couldn’t help but think of the arguments I would have made, the questions the Duke would have asked them. We could have beaten them. Without cheating.

  But I’d never know now.

  I lifted my chin in greeting. “Great round,” I said.

  “Yeah. Thanks,” the taller guy said. “It was a close one. We’ll have to see which way the judges went.”

  “I’d have given it to you guys.”

  His partner smiled. “So what’s up with you? Will you be up there next year?”

  I shrugged, but I couldn’t keep the smirk off my face. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stop my mind from going there, from picturing me in that round, me on that stage. And as I sat there, I knew that it wasn’t even a question. I’d be back. Debate was the only thing I’d ever been really good at. The only place I’d ever felt I really belonged. I wasn’t ready to give it up yet.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I will.”

  Both guys laughed. “Well, we might have something to say about that. Good luck.”

  “You, too,” I said, leaning back in my chair.

  Kelsey elbowed me. “So this means you’re coming back to Bannerman?”

  “Yeah. For your sake. I wouldn’t want you to sink into a deep depression because I was gone.”

  “How considerate of you.”

  She waited, then started to smile. “Do you think your mom will let you out at all this summer?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Not even on June twenty-eighth? Around seven?”

  “What’s on June twenty-eighth at seven?”

  “Miss Napa Valley,” she said, blushing a little. “You could meet my parents.”

  “You’re doing it? And you’re okay with it?”

  “I am, actually. I mean, I still find the whole thing completely anti-feminist, but my parents don’t really ask that much of me, you know? And if it helps their business, that helps me, too. I figured if I’m going to objectify myself in front of an auditorium full of people, you might as well be there.”

  “You want me there?” I asked.

  Lips pressed together, she nodded her head slowly. “Yeah, I really would. I mean, I broke my rule for you. We’ve got one more year at Bannerman. Don’t screw this up.”

  As the tournament official began the ceremony, Kelsey squeezed my hand. The auditorium filled with noise as students walked down the aisle to take their places on stage to the soundtrack of their teammates’ cheering. The official at the mic tried to quiet everyone down, but I hadn’t taken my eyes off of Kelsey. “I promise.” I said. “I won’t screw it up.”

  I leaned over and kissed her, for all the times I’d wanted to, but hadn’t been able to. I kissed her for the time she’d lectured me about our patriarchal society and I’d egged her on to get her to keep talking, the time she’d made fun of my tie and asked who the eighty-year-old man was that I’d stolen it from, the time she’d almost tripped getting out of my truck, then bowed like an Olympic gymnast who’d flipped off the balance beam.

  We were interrupted by a contestant returning with his trophy, walking past our seats. And then they announced the Lincoln/Douglas awards, and she squeezed my hand one more time as she stood, then dropped it and walked to the stage. The judge called her name, and I stood up, clapping and cheering with everything I had. She held her trophy, eyes locked on me the whole time, and I could feel it. A new dream, just beginning to take shape. I didn’t know how far it would go, but she was in it.

  They announced Policy Debate. The four finalists stood on one side of the stage, waiting nervously. I remembered being on that stage last year. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  I thought about the Duke. We should have been up there. We would have won. I knew that, as surely as I knew my own name. And I wanted it, but not just for me. I wanted it for him.

  I didn’t know who the Duke really was. I didn’t even know his real name. But I did know something.

  I knew he was smart. Smarter than me. Probably smarter than anyone in the room. He had to be, to pull off what he’d done. And he knew he was smart, too.

  But he was more than that. He was funny and kind and strong. So strong. But I wasn’t sure that he knew he was any of those things.

  If he had, would he have tried so hard to pretend? Would he have left the way he did?

  I’d never know.

  As the last trophy was presented and the applause built in the auditorium, we all rose. A few people were whistling, others were cheering, but I clapped. My ears rang and my hands stung, but I clapped. I clapped for the Duke.

  I knew that next year I’d be up on that stage receiving a trophy. I didn’t know where he was now, much less where he’d be in a year, but I knew
that when I won, when I gripped the trophy and raised it above my head, I’d be thinking of him.

  The dean, Stan Shackleford, even Coach Watterson all believed that Bannerman was my ticket. My one way trip to a better life. My one shot at a glorious future.

  But the Duke had shown me they were wrong.

  Sure, Bannerman was a great school. I’d learned a lot already, more even than they’d probably intended.

  But my future?

  That was up to me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

  IT IS MY NAME ON the cover of this book, but so many people made this dream of mine possible. I owe them all a huge debt of gratitude:

  To my agent, Kirsten Carleton, who was enthusiastic enough about this story to read my full manuscript overnight, and has never wavered in her belief in it or in me. Thank you for answering all of my frantic emails, for your encouraging words when I needed them, and for your great sense of humor. Most of all, thank you for making this dream of mine a reality.

  To my editor, Alison Weiss, who understood my characters and the story I was trying to tell from the very beginning. Thank you for helping me to dig deeper, for calling me out when I was being lazy, and for finding the heart of this story and helping me tell it in the best possible way. You are amazing, and I’m so grateful to have had the chance to work with you.

  To the team at Sky Pony, who took my clunky Word document and made it into a thing of beauty. Thank you to Sammy Yuen for the gorgeous cover that made me cry when I saw it. Thank you to Will Morningstar for your thoughtful copy editing. Thank you to Ming Liu, Molly Dexter, and Jennifer Chan for helping to get this book into the hands of readers. Thank you to Joshua Barnaby for typesetting and keeping everything on track. Thank you to Bethany Buck for championing this book. I appreciate each one of you.

  To Stephanie Garber and Katie Zachariou, thank you for the years of friendship and support. If not for you two, my laptop would be sitting at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, and this book would not exist. I am so grateful you both came into my life.

  To Suzi Guina, Laurie Bayramian, and Julene Kinser, thank you for your enthusiastic support and encouragement. You are all immensely talented and I learn so much from each one of you.