Keaton School 01: Escape Theory (34 page)

“The sun’s coming up soon,” she said.

“I’m going to get us out of here,” he said.

Hutch went back to work on the door, and this time Devon stood behind watching. He wedged the metal in between the door and the frame. It fit. Wiggling his cutter side to side he pushed it deeper in place. It clinked against something. “The lock.” Hutch’s face contorted as he twisted and dug the metal knife further. With a push they both heard the lock click back into the door. They looked at each other, frozen.

“Was that …?”

Hutch gritted his teeth and pushed the handle of the door. It opened. The cool air of the night blew into the kitchen. They could see a streak of pink spreading through the gray sky.

“We’re out,” Devon said.

“Told you I’d get us out.” Hutch held the door open for her.

Devon stepped outside absorbing everything. The gravel driveway seemed new, almost exotic. The air was cool and fresh, waking her up. She turned back to Hutch. “You did,” she said. “We’re free.”

He nodded, but still hung in the doorway. “I hope you don’t hate me. It was a stupid idea that backfired. But I’m glad it did.”

“I don’t hate you. I think this was the first real fun I’ve had since getting here.”

“Do you ever have those moments where you feel like you’re in the middle of making a really good memory? One that you’re going to remember when you get old? I think we just lived one of those moments.”

“You really think when you’re like fifty and have a wife and two kids and the house and fancy career, you’ll really remember this one little night?”

He didn’t so much as blink. “I’m going to remember this night until I die. Maybe even after that.”

“Me, too.” Devon’s feet were moving before she could think about it. Her lips were against his before she could talk herself out of it. She pulled him back into the kitchen and closed the door behind them. Hutch spun her around against the door and kissed her. His hand in the small of her back pulled her up to him, helped keep her from letting her body melt into the floor. Finally she pulled herself away and looked up into his brown eyes. Those thick eyebrows and big ears.

“Good night, Hutch,” she whispered.

Hutch kissed her palm again, folding her fingers around his imaginary kiss. “Good night, Devon.”

Present Day

October 16

T
HE BLACK LIMO
,
THE
Town Car, and the silver Mercedes took up most of the parking spaces in Reed’s driveway as Raven’s Volvo pulled in.

“Blending right in,” Raven said.

“Who are all these people?” Devon asked as she got out of the car.

“The peanut gallery, as Reed calls them. Bill, Mitzi, some
lawyer or three. It’s a shitstorm around here these days. Come on, there’s a better view from the guest house.” Raven’s flip-flops shuffled on the gravel as she walked down the hill. Devon followed her, kicking off her shoes as they headed straight down the stairs into the office hub. Bodhi was at the desk watching the monitors.

“Oh hey,” he said.

Cleo was reading a magazine on the nearby couch. “Hey, Dev. You here for the weekend, too?” She stood up and wrapped her arms around Bodhi at his chair.

“Just for a quick visit,” Devon said. “Reed wanted to see me.”

“Good luck,” Cleo said. She nodded toward the monitors where Bill Hutchins was arguing with two lawyers. “Turn it up, babe. She should hear this.”

Bodhi spun a volume knob.

“She tricked him into a relationship. He was under stress. Why is this so hard to understand?”
Bill was yelling and throwing his hands into the air.

“Bill, you have to understand. That does not mitigate the physical evidence against him. The girl is pregnant. She’s dropping out of school.”
The lawyers were also throwing up their hands in the air: a chorus of overdramatic exasperation.

“Is this happening right now up at the house?” Devon asked.

“Yep. Reed wanted records of everything said around here. You never know where this thing is going to go.” Raven lay on the sofa and closed her eyes. She suddenly perked up and checked her cell phone. “Reed’s waiting for you at the Mount.”

“The Mount?” Devon asked.

“The highest point of the vineyard. It’s where Athena and Hutch are buried. Just walk out the front door, turn right, and follow the trail up hill. I’ll take you back to school when you’re done.”

Everyone was watching Devon. She nodded and then walked out. What was she walking into?

The trail was well-worn and led directly to the rows of grapes
below the guest house. She spied a familiar cowboy hat silhouette at the top of the hill.

Reed took off his hat to greet her when she arrived at his spot.

Two simple stone headstones lay side by side at his feet. The valley of grapevines extending to the ocean was the view below.

“It’s a great view, isn’t it?” Reed said. “This way they can enjoy it, too.”

Devon noticed Hutch’s gravestone.

JASON REED HUTCHINS
(1996–2012)
THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED
.

She felt her eyes sting upon reading the inscription. The Frost poem. Devon took a seat on the stone bench next to Reed. He looked at the hillside below.

“There’s going to be a fight over this land. And Eric and this baby with Maya is just the beginning. Francis Keaton put the school here for a reason, and I intend to protect it from the likes of Edward Dover. But, I need your help.”

“Does this have something to do with the
Tres Abbitas
?”

Reed ran the brim of his hat along his fingers. “Keaton, Dover, and Hutchins. The three trees. This was our mountain.”

“What happened?” Devon thought back to the newspaper picture. Reed and Edward smiling as Francis broke ground on the school.

“Power, money. It has a way of poisoning men.”

“But weren’t you all friends?” Devon searched Reed’s face. He was looking at Athena’s gravestone.

ATHENA SCOTT HUTCHINS
(1926–1968)
BELOVED WIFE & MOTHER

Reed turned to Devon, a sad smile on his face. She could tell there was pain behind that smile.

“There’s a reason Hutch picked you. He lost himself with Isla and wanted to keep his feet on the ground this time. I told him to find the person he trusted. The person who no matter what, no matter how much he changed, would always recognize the real Jason Hutchins underneath everything else. He said that was you. You were the only one that really got him.” Devon looked at her open palm, then slowly, like Hutch had done, closed her fingers around his imaginary kiss. “Whether you want to be or not, you’re a part of this now.”

Devon looked at Grandpa Reed. His weathered, wrinkled skin around his eyes. She saw Hutch’s warmth in his face and knew that Reed knew how she felt about Hutch. And that was okay. Reed wouldn’t be around much longer to guide her way. She would do whatever needed to be done.

This book would not exist without the trust, guidance, and extreme patience of the great and powerful Oz Daniel Ehrenhaft: Soho Teen guru, editor extraordinaire, taskmaster, fellow boarding school delinquent, and an all-around very cool dude. Thank you for your faith in me.

Many thanks to the rest of the gang at Soho Press: Queen Bee and kickass author, Bronwen Hruska; publicity maven Meredith Barnes; and the amazing help from Simona Blat; Paul Oliver; Rudy Martinez; Janine Agro; Juliet Grames; Mark Doten; Katie Hoffman; and Rachel Kowal. There are not enough Nutter Butters in the world to thank all of you properly.

The wonderful and inspired Keaton School logo is all due to the creative ingenuity and generosity of Sita Raiter and the gang at Yeti Creative Boutique in Vietnam.

To Julie Kane-Ritsch, Jeff Portnoy, and everyone else at the Gotham Group; thank you for your enthusiasm for this project and all of its iterations.

Octavia Spencer, Jennifer Niven, McCormick Templeman, and Sara Shepard: thank you ladies for your votes of confidence. I feel incredibly blessed to be in your orbit.

Lexa Hillyear, Lauren Oliver, and Stephen Barbara: your wisdom helped me turn the possibility of writing a YA series into a reality. Thank you.

Joel “Kodachrome” Dovev: thank you for your Hutchian inspiration, Nutter Butter pancake experiment, and your limitless love and support.

Julia Cohen and Jason Martin, a.k.a my Brooklyn family: thank you for the brainstorming, edits, dinners, and rosé—not necessarily in that order.

Lots of love to my family for your support, polite suggestions, related articles, and endless cheerleading. And Dad, thanks for comparing me to Hemingway as only you could.

Many thanks to Cate School and The Thatcher School for your help in my research.

To my high school friends from California and England: the secret missions, the crushes, the pranks, the heartbreak, the school spirit, the work crews, the roommate drama, the food fights, the bus rides, the senior pages, everything that was wrong and everything that was right about boarding school … I thank you for all of it.

Margaux Froley grew up in Santa Barbara, California, and attended not one, but two boarding schools during her high school years in California and Oxford, England. She studied film at University of Southern California, and has worked for such television networks as: TLC, CMT, Travel, MTV, and the CW.

She currently lives in Los Angeles and still loves Nutter Butters.

Escape Theory
is her first novel.

You can visit her at
www.margauxfroley.com
.