High School Duke

High School Duke:

I looked away from my physics midterm when the knock on the door occurred. Mr. Poole, my sharp as a razor teacher when it comes to science but dumb as a newborn when it comes to relaying his knowledge to his students, got up and waddled to the door.

The girl revealed by the door's opening was Penelope Sanders. She was a cute girl, shoulder length blonde curly hair with a pink headband, blue eyes partially hidden by a pair of black rimmed glasses, dimples, a button nose, and to complete her cuteness were a string of freckles on both her cheeks. But she was out of my league. Not that she was a part of the in crowd; she wasn't, as she was shy and studious like me. It's just all girls were out of my league. I turned my attention back to my exam... as if I did anything to get called down to the office.

'If a rifle fires a bullet straight up with a muzzle speed of 300 m/s, how high will the bullet rise? (Ignore air resistance)'

I quickly started my calculations.

"Dean Franklin," Mr. Poole announced, "you are to report to the Vice Principal's office."

I looked up in amazement. I was never called to the principal's office, vice or otherwise. I never did anything to warrant such a request of my time. I was at the top of my class in grades and never socialized with anyone. Besides, I was in the middle of acing an exam that would cement my 'A' in this class for the first half of the year.

"Come on, grab your stuff and get moving."

I shook my head, glanced at my test, and wrote my answer.

4590m

I grabbed my paper and flung my book bag over my shoulder. I handed Mr. Poole my exam. "Do I get a makeup date?"

"Don't worry about it," Mr. Poole set the paper to the side. "You haven't gotten less than an 'A' in anything I've given you yet. Just don't tell anybody."

At least there was some good news; not that I would have failed anyway.

I headed down the hall, several steps behind Penelope. 'Just don't tell anybody,' yeah right. Who do I talk to? I am too involved with academics to have friends. I study constantly and not just school classes either; everything from Anatomy to Zoology. I decided at an early age I was going to live my life like a monk. I lock myself into my bedroom and study. It's better than the alternative of getting beat and talked down to by my adoptive mother. Maybe that's why I have such a fear of the opposite sex... I swear the only reason she got me was for the extra money the state sends. I can't even ask the girl in front of me what this is about. My gynophobia hard at work.

I entered the office and sat across from Vice Principal Carpenter. While sitting, his balding grey hair and beady eyes gave the impression that he is one that could be manipulated easily. But I knew better. Once he stood, a person becomes aware of his height and muscular physique and his oratory skills match that of the latter; strong, tough, and no nonsense. Don't even dare crack a smile in this man's presence.

"It says in your file you were an orphan. That you were adopted a few days after your mother died during child birth." A female voice came from behind and it had an English accent to it. "Do you know anything about your mother?"

I turned to the voice to see a woman who was in her mid-twenties wearing a black suit and skirt with her blouse a deep red. Her long red hair was in a ponytail but still fell to her mid back. She was a few inches shorter than normal in stature, but the heels she wore evened it out. "She gave birth to me," I answered sarcastically. I know she wanted more information but I wasn't going to divulge anything without any knowledge of why. Of course, I was only defiant because Vice Principal Carpenter was in the room.

Her eyes narrowed before looking at Vice Principal Carpenter. "I need to speak to this gentleman in private please."

Damn.

"Anything you need to say in my office can be said with me in it." Vice Principal Carpenter crossed his arms in defiance.

Yeah, you tell her.

It was a duel. They were staring each other down as if they were in the old west. Seconds ticked by slowly, but the Vice Principal was steadfast. The woman tilted her head at him, showing her annoyance, "Do I need to remind you that your government gave the British embassy assurances that I would be able to complete my task and you were notified by your superiors to give me your full cooperation?"

Vice Principal Carpenter slammed his hands on his desk and it jarred the phone from the receiver. He did not like being kicked out of his own office. After replacing the handset, he excused himself and the nonverbal exchange between the two combatants as he passed the woman was strained to say the least. When he exited, I heard him mutter, "Principal Larson takes a personal leave and I have to deal with this shit."

Please don't go, Sir. I'll do anything you ask; wash your car, wash the football team's jock straps...

The woman shut the door and moved in front of me leaning on the desk. "Now tell me about your mother."

I was now nervous. This woman got rid of Vice Principal Carpenter way too easily and now I'm her next target. I would have caved immediately if something I heard briefly in her speech pattern didn't bother me. "Who are you?"

"You do not need to know that." The woman reopened my file, her eyes darting from line to line searching for whatever truth she sought.

Moments passed and silence filled the room. I had no intention of being cooperative after hearing what I was certain I heard. Give me liberty or give me death.

Finally, she glanced at me over the manila envelope. "Fine... It is Abigail Parker. Now about your mother."

I was going to press her on why she wanted to know, but relented after remembering how she handled Vice Principal Carpenter, my gynophobia taking the best of me... again. "My mother died during child birth, her name was Jane Abbott, and she was from Cedar Falls, Iowa. She was twenty-three when she had me and I was told she didn't have any family. That is all the information the adoption agency had and from my understanding they only got that from the hospital I was born at," I spoke it all in a hurried breath.

You win. Now please don't hurt me.

"My search is over then." A smile pursed over Abigail's lips.

"Pardon me?" I was certain she was going to kill me now.

"I found you."

"Funny, I didn't know I was lost." I didn't mean to say that out loud. My sarcasm now became a stall tactic as I analyzed the room in case I needed to make a quick escape.

Abigail laughed at that... at me. At least she didn't pull out a gun. "Let me explain, I worked for a man named Nigel Andrews."

"Worked? I noticed that was past tense. So who do you work for now?"

"You."

"What?"

A deer in headlights come to mind.

"Mr. Andrews was the Duke of Sutherland. He was also your father. When he passed, he had no legitimate heirs, but he did mention that he had an affair with an aspiring author who was an American girl named Jane Abbott from Cedar Falls, Iowa right before his wedding. She was in England for the summer looking for inspiration and from that union, she became pregnant. But your mother knew the situation with your father and went back to the United States. On his deathbed, he assumed you were still with her and gave me explicit instructions to find you and encourage you to come take your rightful place. After a few failed possibilities, I am here. You would live in his mansion and have access to his wealth as you carry on with the duties of being a Duke."

I sat motionless, unsure of what to think or say. I buried my head in my hands, coming to grips with reality. "I must be dreaming." More like a nightmare.

"Your Grace, the Duke of Sutherland, Dean Franklin." I looked through my fingers to see that Abigail had bowed to me. "Tell me Your Grace, do you have a girlfriend?"

"Why?" The word escaped my lips with a disbelieving chuckle. She could ask the pope the same question and it would be more plausible.

"Because arrangements would be made for her to come with you. We would not want our new Duke to be homesick for any reason."

"No, I don't." I took a couple deep breaths to try to get my stress under control. "I don't know about this."

"That is all right. We have time. Given your age, the powers that be are going to allow your completion of High School here. You have until graduation to decide whether you forfeit your title or move to England and enroll at the University of Cambridge. They have your place reserved for you."

"If I accept, what will I have to do?"

"You handle your businesses concerns and you have political influence in the Dukedom of Sutherland. Your father held a seat at the House of Lords, but that does not fall to you. In laments terms, it is similar to a politically motivated member of the upper class here in the United States, but you have the title of Duke."

What, no princesses bowing at my feet? "That's it?"

"A marriage would be appropriate sometime in the future. It can be someone you meet or it can be arranged."

I guess I thought too soon. "Marriage?" That word was the epitome of all evil. It meant being with a female.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And if I refuse?"

"Well, you would get a small sum of your inheritance, the rest would go to severance packages for those losing their jobs, and you would also lose the title." Abigail placed her hand on my shoulder. "Should we adjourn from our present location?"

People's jobs are on the line? Obviously, there's no pressure.

School had let out twenty minutes ago, but as we stepped out of the office, there were several people still there. An English teacher, the older kind hearted Mrs. Roberts, the girls Physical Education teacher, the fresh out of college Ms. Barnes, a middle age math teacher, Mr. Cole, the Vice Principal and his secretary, the decrepit Mrs. Johnson, Penelope, and the second student office assistant, Kimberly Meyers. She had auburn hair, brown eyes, and a body that seemed sculpted by Michelangelo himself. She was literally a pain in my ass and she made sure that everyone she encountered had the impression she was better than them... all because she had no problem undercutting you with gossip. Abigail and I walked through and I swear they were all staring at me. I kept my head lowered as was my customary walking position. Exiting the building, there was a limousine waiting.

Could this get any worse? The attention this will cause if someone sees me get in will be as subtle as a sledgehammer upside one's skull.

The chauffer, a well-built man who appeared to be in his late forties with peppered hair dressed in a black suit opened the door. Abigail let me in first and then she followed. Once seated, she remarked, "To the Dunesbury Hotel, Smythe," as the driver shut the door.

"Why the hotel and not my home?"

"Because you don't like your home and there probably isn't enough room for me there anyway. If you want, we can take you there instead, but to waste a suite at the Dunesbury would almost be sacrilegious."

No arguments there, but how did she know me so intimately? "The hotel will be fine." I gazed out the tinted window. "How did you know I hated my home life?"

"Because I am very good at my job, Your Grace. I watched you for a couple days before I made contact. If you were an addict or something else, I would have went back and told them I failed. I will not let something as trivial as a drug user tarnish your father's name. Turns out, you are just a recluse. And yes, you pay me well for my services." I gave her a look that meant I understood before turning my attention back to the window. "Can you tell me why you don't like your home, or is that subject off limits?"

I explained the beatings and the constant verbal abuse. I think it bothered her that I was able to speak so nonchalantly about it.

"I apologize you had to suffer so."

I heard it again. It was quick, faint, and it was barely audible, but there was no mistaking it; Abigail was not British. I was hesitant to mention it. I only know what she told me and that could all be lies just to get me to go with her. However, I also knew it was too late. Whatever she wanted to do with me, she could. I was already in her clutches so I pressed my knowledge. "I have no regrets. There are people out in the world that have it more difficult than I do in life. I also have no qualms about explaining my life either. The truth can only hurt you if you let it," I hoped that was enough of a set up to get her to open up to me. "So, are you willing to share yours?"

"Not much to say, really," a look of curiosity adorned Abigail's face as she was trying to ascertain why I was asking. "I have worked for your father for three years now and I have become his most trusted assistant. Enough so that he requested me to handle the estate and find you after his death."

"Yes, but why the fake accent?"

A true sense of shock showed on Abigail's face before a slight smile appeared. "You are an intelligent young man and the first to catch on. How did you know?"

"I've studied linguistics. Behind your fake accent is an Irish one. Now tell me, what is your actual name?"

"Aislinn O'Connor. I knew your father when I was younger. For a short time, I went to school with one of his housekeepers children. When I went to play with her at the mansion, we were told to stay in certain areas. We didn't and the two of us ended up barging in on your father. He was so nice to us; he didn't care that we interrupted him. Soon after, I transferred from that boarding school to a public one back home because my father died. I went to a bad place and found myself knee deep in the Irish Republican Army. I was well trained and soon the plan was for me to blow up a business center in Dublin. Your father was there for a meeting, spotted me, and then made me his assistant. He saved me from a life that was certainly going to bring me death... All because he remembered one little incident with me bursting in his office," Abigail was fighting a battle with her tears. "Please Your Grace, no one knows and if they found out, I would be shipped back to Ireland, possibly in a body bag."

Maybe it was the look of resignation on her face when she told her story or perhaps the twinge of fear in her eyes when she mentioned her possible death. I don't know why, but I believed her. "I promise your secret is safe with me."

Abigail looked at me slightly different from what she had. It was softer, feminine. "Then I swear my loyalty to you as I did with your father."

The hotel was nice. I opened the suite and immediately used the phone to notify my family I would no longer have any ties to them. They didn't even protest. Secretly, I'm sure they were relieved. Since I am now eighteen, they didn't receive any more checks for me from the state. Assholes. When I finished, I actually became aware I was only in one of several rooms. This place was bigger than my house. Abigail went to work on her computer and was on the phone quite a bit. Despite knowing I had free reign, I simply found a corner and started studying.

Old habits die hard.

"What are you doing?" My concentration was broken when Abigail's voice addressed me which was quickly followed with her shadow creeping onto my page. "You are young. You should be out having a good time, celebrating that your last midterm is over, hooking up with a girl and going out for a night on the town... Anything but sitting here with your face in a book. When I watched you for the couple of days, I only thought you were studying so much because of your exams."

"Nope. This is what I do for fun," I finally peeled my eyes away from my text book, "You're young too and doing the same thing."

"But I am working."

"Well, females and I aren't actually on speaking terms." I used air quotes for the last two words.

"You mean you're afraid to talk to girls?"

"Precisely," I flipped the page.

"But you're talking to me."

"From my understanding, I am paying you to talk to me."

Abigail let out a slight giggle. She obviously didn't understand the severity of my condition. She focused on me and realized I was being serious. She knelt down and put her hand over mine.

I shivered and patiently waited for her to remove her hand.

"You are paying me to do a lot of things, but talking to you is not one of them. Come on, I am taking you out. You need some new clothes anyway."

I rolled my eyes. Of all things to do during a "night on the town" as she put it, shopping wasn't exactly... anywhere on my list.

We went for a couple hours and I got a plethora of new outfits. Most were elegant; you know the ones where a tailor is feeling you up to get ten different measurements. At least it wasn't a girl. The rest were more me, polo shirts and jeans.

The remainder of the weekend went fairly normal, well, normal for me anyway. Abigail told me about the several businesses I now had in my control; most were in the pharmaceutical industry. She thought I might be overwhelmed, but I viewed it as another subject to study. She also forced me to leave the hotel each day, taking me to dinner each night after coming to the conclusion I wasn't going to leave on my own volition, no matter what. With the students being off of school until Tuesday so the teachers can have a record day; it just meant I had three days of being out with a woman. It surprisingly wasn't that bad.

Inevitably, it was time to go back to school. Apparently, the more 'me' type of clothes weren't appropriate for school and would only be used for lounging around... Oh the joy! I arrived at my usual time, an hour and forty minutes early, right when they opened the doors to the library. That early, it was as quiet as a tomb and I really enjoyed the serenity that came before the chaos struck. I was heavily involved with a macroeconomics book when the oddest thing happened: someone sat at my table. And not just at my table, but right next to me.

"You're Dean Franklin, right?"

I glanced up and saw the buxom brunette Becky Hargrove, the captain of the cheerleaders, giving me an impressive smile. Those four words she said are also the first words she has spoken to me since our freshman Biology class in which she said "Just make sure I get an A" when we were teamed up to dissect a frog. Honestly, I felt completely inundated with panic and I felt my body start to tremble. I tried to answer, I really did, but all that came out was, "Uh." I swear drool was beginning to descend from the right side of my mouth.

"Ah, you're so sweet." Becky seemed unfazed by my bashfulness, which made me even more uneasy. I was really expecting her to taunt me. "So I was wondering if we could go together to the Pizza Shack for lunch today. What do you say?" She then lightly placed her hand a top mine.

At contact, I ran. I left everything and charged for the nearest men's room. I flew into the last stall, locked it, and collapsed into a heap on the floor, panting. I ran because I was scared. I wasn't afraid of the touch, but the words she used. Okay, well, the touch too... But she was asking me out and I didn't understand it. Even I know she has a boyfriend - a big muscle bound football player boyfriend. Accepting her offer probably meant death for me. I stayed in that stall until I knew the coast was clear: ten minutes after the bell rang. I went back to the library, collected my things, and made my way to class.

I took a deep breath and opened the door, instantly receiving a dirty look from Mrs. Harris. As I sat in my seat, I could feel all eyes were on me instead of the teacher. I glanced around the room and realized my suspicions were correct. What was truly odd was that almost every girl I made eye contact with smiled, waved, or winked at me. The guys were either shaking their heads, pointing, or mouthed "Seriously" or "Is it true" at me. I felt as if I was in the Twilight Zone. Nothing about today was making sense so I decided to lose myself into Mrs. Harris' calculus lecture.