Keaton School 01: Escape Theory (33 page)

“How did you know …?” she began.

Grant shook his head. He was still breathing heavily. “Maya told me you were down here. I didn’t trust Eric.” Grant spotted the notebook on the bench. “You were really going to hand those over?”

“What do you think?” Devon said, trying to smile despite the pain. Grant flipped the notebook open. The Four Seasons room service menu was inside. Grant smiled.

“Nicely played, Miss Mackintosh.” He smoothed back a strand of hair from Devon’s cheek.

“Devon?” Raven’s voice called from behind the Palace. “You down there?”

Devon mustered a tentative, exhausted smile. “The cavalry,” she said.

Raven and Bodhi ran down the hill, flashlight beams waving. “We’re fine,” Devon called.

Raven crouched next to Devon and examined her wrist while Bodhi stood over Eric. “I think you’ll live,” Raven said.

Devon looked at Eric lying near her feet coming back from his
knockout. “We get it?” Raven pointed to a corner of the Palace bunker. A small camera was wedged in the corner.

“We got it. Good work, Counselor. Oh, and I should tell you. You know how we jammed the camera in your therapy room? Yeah, well, we didn’t really jam it, we just re-routed the feed to our monitors at Reed’s.”

“You got all my sessions?”

“Yeah, fascinating stuff.” Raven shrugged.

Grant rubbed Devon’s shoulder. “Looks like I’m not the only one screwing with your confidentiality around here.” He stood up and helped Bodhi zip-tie Eric’s wrists together.

“This is for you, by the way.” Raven pulled a thumb drive from her jacket. “Copy of the confession. Might want to give it to Maya. She can hear it from Eric this way. Figured she deserved to know.”

Devon looked at the small drive. The adrenaline was still coursing through her body. She felt tears running down her cheeks. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Being here with him made me think about Hutch. He was just trying to do the right thing.”

Raven sat in the dirt and wrapped an arm around Devon. Despite her bloody wrist, Devon buried her head in Raven’s shoulder and sobbed. The tears came in a pulsing wave. “I miss him,” she said.

“Me too,” Raven said, holding her tight.

Monday morning. The zillionth of how many zillions of Mondays? When Devon walked into the dining hall, students were shuffling through the food line, standing at the door chugging a glass of milk, or scarfing their morning cereal. The same old sea of sweatpants and unwashed hair. But this morning it felt different. For the first time Devon saw the Keaton world for what it was. It didn’t feel like a factory for the Ivy League anymore, a sci-fi colony breeding The Perfect Student, organs and all. For the first time, Devon didn’t feel like an outsider. She was a piece of this world. Keaton had been here for her this whole time, but she’d needed to strip away the lies and fakery around Hutch’s death to see it. It was murder. Hutch wasn’t a “troubled young man” with problems “beyond our control.” He was complicated and sweet and rash and tried to do the right thing, and his own brother had killed him for it.

“Yo, Whore-issa Explains it All.” Presley sidled up to her. She
chewed on a piece of toast and held out another piece out for Devon. “I put raspberry jelly on it, just like you like.”

Devon took the piece of toast. “Thanks.”

“Um, so I’m sorry and stuff.” Presley shrugged. “I know you want to smack me. I want to smack me. You were following your instinct and it paid off. I’m sure somewhere Hutch is glad you believed in him.”

Devon swallowed and smiled. “I hope he is. But, I had to do it for me, too. To prove he was the guy I knew too.”

“What was the deal with you two, anyway? I didn’t know you were so tight.” Devon took another bite of her toast. “Oh, I get it. You think you can keep a seeeecret. That’s not going to last.” Presley smacked her on the butt and walked away. “I gotta get to Chem. See ya later, hater.”

Name: Devon Mackintosh

Session Date: Oct. 15

Session #4

Reason for Session: Peer Counselor Review

M
R
. R
OBINS SIPPED FROM
a white ceramic mug, stolen from the dining hall no doubt. The
Santa Cruz Sentinel
, with Eric Hutchins’s mug shot splashed on the front page, sat on his desk between him and Devon.

“The truth about what Eric may or may not have done has yet to be determined,” Mr. Robins began. Devon looked at her hands. Why had he called her here if he was just going to lecture her? “But, you did a brave thing. I shouldn’t have put you in session with something this difficult. The good news is, now, everything else in counseling will probably seem easy in comparison.” He laughed a little, and Devon looked up.
Okay, he was trying to be nice
. “Isla told me what was happening, with her, with Matt. You were keeping secrets, Devon, you shouldn’t have had to keep. And as much as some of your choices went against policy, you showed a lot of strength. Your subjects were lucky to have you.”

“Are you going to keep doing sessions with them? Matt and Cleo?”

“Matt left school last night.”

“What?” Devon stiffened. “What do you mean ‘left?’ Like he just decided to walk away? How does that happen?”

“He wrote Headmaster Wyler a resignation letter of sorts. Said he was leaving school to clear his head.” Mr. Robins took another sip of coffee and leaned back in his chair. “But the question you’re here to answer, Devon, is what do we do with our program?”

“Our program? I thought it was
your
program at this point.”

“Yes, well, in light of recent events I may have come to that decision too hastily. I’d like us to try again. And you’ve got more experience this time.” Mr. Robins scrunched his nose, pushing his glasses up.

Devon wanted to gloat, but she forced her expression to remain neutral.
It’s your session
, she thought. “Well, that’s a nice offer, Mr. Robins. I appreciate it. A couple of things might have to be added to the Training Guide going forward. I’ll help you with that. Whether I’m interested in sitting in that chair again? I’ll let you know next semester.”

Mr. Robins’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Well, I’m sure there’s room for discussion.”

“If that’s all you needed to see me about …?” Devon reached for her backpack.

“Actually, I just wanted to tell you that you did a good job. You’d make a good therapist one day. If you still want to be one, that is.” Mr. Robins stood up and held out a hand to Devon. It took her a minute to understand. He wasn’t asking her to hand him something or reaching for something across his desk, he wanted to shake it. Devon put her hand in his, and Mr. Robins’s grip tightened around hers. “You stuck to your beliefs, Devon, and I respect that.”

The smile flickered and she allowed it. “Thanks.”

W
HEN THE DORMS CLEARED
out for afternoon sports, Devon still hadn’t gotten Matt out of her head. He seemed happy when she had seen him in the library. Maybe Isla’s departure was harder for him than he expected? She still felt like he could show up any moment running to the soccer field or hosing down his wet suit outside Fell House. She had to know for sure. The shower was running at the end of the Fell House hallway. Hutch’s door was still adorned with graffiti, but the words
Eric=Traitor
were scrawled in a thick black pen across the top. Matt’s door was closed. His room looked as if he had never been there. Amazing how that happened so quickly. Stripped mattress, empty walls; the closet door hung open, also barren. As Devon closed his door behind her, white letters caught her eye.
MAVERICKS OR BUST!
scrawled in a thick, white paint on the wooden door. Devin smiled. The maintenance crew hadn’t reported this one to the headmaster yet. Surely Matt’s family would be billed for a new door. Not like they would care. Devon ran her hands over the writing, still sticky as it dried. As sad as it was that Matt was gone, he had gone surfing to the place where he and Hutch had wanted to live out their days. Maybe Matt would come back to Keaton, maybe not, but Devon knew he was honoring Hutch and figuring his own stuff out the best way he knew how: on the water. That was Matt’s version of therapy, his Nutter Butters.

Devon noticed his desk had dust outlines around his books, computer, pencil holder. But there was a CD in a blank case sitting in the middle. It looked like it had been left deliberately.

Devon picked it up and saw the handwriting on the CD. Her throat caught.
Devon’s Prom Mix
.

September 10, 2010

Freshman Year

“C
OME ON
,
COME ON
, come on.” Hutch wedged the butter knife in the door against the lock. “No, no, no, ahhh.” The knife came out
bent, the lock still in place. “If I get this open will you talk to me then?” He threw the knife in the sink next to the other failed lock picking devices. A spatula, a wooden spoon, a broken glass, a can opener … all busts.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you open the door and find out.” Devon placed another plastic glass on her growing tower of glasses.

“I’m going to open this thing. I just need something else. Strong but thin.” Hutch opened drawers, scanned shelves around the kitchen. “No, no … oh,” he held up a cake cutter. “Maybe.”

“Have you tried a credit card? That always works in movies.” Devon didn’t take her eyes off her tower.

“Do you have a credit card on you?”

“No.”

“Then thanks for the suggestion, idiot.” He said the last part quietly under his breath.

“Did you just call me an idiot?”

“No.”

“You totally did.” She put another glass on the tower and it toppled to the floor with a loud clank.

“Nice job, idiot.” Hutch was turned around watching her. “Oh yeah, I said it that time.”

If Devon wasn’t so tired she might have had a good comeback to that. She might have bothered to be upset but the only response her body had left was to laugh. All she could do was laugh. Laugh loud and hard and without reason. Reason had slipped out the kitchen under the locked door while they were making pancakes. Tears sprung to her eyes as if the force of her laughter pushed them out.

Hutch started laughing, too. He doubled over, steadying himself on his knee while still clutching the cake cutter. His laugh slowed to a slow drip, steady but further apart.

“You know, there are two kinds of people in this world,” she said. “The ones that carry credit cards, and the ones that carry cake cutters.”

Hutch held up the metal cutter for inspection. “You doubting my cake-cutting skills?”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely doubting your cake-cutting skills.” She took a step closer, the triangle blade of the metal caught the light outside. Hutch was smiling at her. He reached his hand out for her and she took it. Hutch pulled her close and let her hands fall on his shoulders. They stood there, her face at his neck and his breath hitting her forehead. Hutch’s hands wrapped around her waist. Devon tried not to exhale. Her over-analytical mind told her to pull away, not to give in just yet. But, his hands around her, his eyes looking down at her, she couldn’t move. It felt too good right here.

Slowly he shifted from one foot to the other, Devon leaned with him, and then they were swaying together as if music were playing. Hutch hummed a tune and Devon leaned her head onto his shoulder, relaxing into his grasp. With the outside yellow light cutting lines through the dim kitchen, they could have been at a school dance or in a dark club. Hutch slid a hand along her arm and held her hand aloft in his like they were dancing the Waltz. He hummed louder.

“Are you singing ‘At Last?’ ” she asked.

“No,” Hutch said, and kept dancing. “I’m humming it. But I can sing it.”

“Let’s hear it,” she said.

Suddenly Hutch spun Devon under his arm, her hand reaching up and over her head. “And life is like a song,” Hutch sang. His cheeks scrunched up and his head bobbed with each note. “Oh yeah, yeah, At last … can’t beat Etta James, huh?”

“Did you grow up in a juke box or something?”

“I just like old music. I don’t know; there’s more feeling in it. Maybe it’s listening to it on records at my grandfather’s. Love songs sound better on vinyl.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Yeah, it’s a thing.” Devon could feel Hutch smile as he spoke.
He leaned back, looking at her now. “I think there should be another thing. This. Us dancing. It needs to happen again. Want to make a deal?”

“What kind of deal?” Devon felt herself blush.

“Senior year. No matter who we’re with, whatever happens until then, go to prom with me. I don’t want to leave Keaton and not have another night with you. This way at least we’ll have one guaranteed.”

“You sure you want to commit to a long-term deal like that? I mean, we do have four more years here together.”

“I know we do,” he said with a smile. He leaned down and kissed her. And kept kissing her. Devon stood on her toes again to kiss him back, her hands wrapped around his neck. Out the window behind Hutch, Devon noticed the sky was shifting from black to a glowing gray.