Hero Complex (14 page)

As the next taxi pulled up, Devon raced from her spot and cut
off an older woman about to get in the car. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “Emergency!”

The woman stared, slack-jawed, as the cab peeled away from the curb.

Devon kept her eyes on Khaki Guy. He cut the woman off, too, and hopped in the next cab that should have also rightfully been hers.

“Excuse me, miss,” the driver said, “where to?”

Devon spun in the seat. Her eyes met his in the rearview mirror; he was an elderly Hispanic man who looked long past retirement age.

“Downtown,” she gasped. “Telegraph and Bancroft.” She felt dizzy.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic
. She hunched down in her seat as the taxi pulled into traffic. Her breath stuttered in her chest. She was safe here for the moment.

She tried her cell phone. If her mom was home, she would go there. If not, she’d stay public. Her mom’s cell went to voicemail. No help there. Her mom’s hospital was closer to Oakland, and Devon didn’t have the money to make it there.

The cab turned down Telegraph Avenue. The meter was already at $12.50. Devon had a twenty tucked in her wallet. She’d stay here until her money ran out. But after staring at the meter for another few minutes, she finally succumbed to fear. Cleo. She had to call Cleo. She’d know what to do.

Cleo picked up after the first ring. “Dev, you okay? I was worried about you.”

“I think someone’s following me.” Devon looked behind her. She could see a white
TAXI
sign on top of a car about three cars back, but there was no way to see anyone inside. The residential section of the street gave way to the streetlights and crowds next to the UC Berkeley campus. She ducked back down in the seat. Her meter was at $16.25 now.

“Seriously? Shit. Okay, where are you? Can you get to a safe place? Is it the waiter guy?”

“It’s some guy I’ve never seen before. I was leaving Isaac’s apartment. I noticed him in the Mission, and then he was at the Berkeley station when I got off the BART. And now he’s in a cab behind me.”

“Who’s Isaac?” Cleo asked.

Devon cringed. “He’s … he’s …”

“Forget it. That’s not important. Um, what are you supposed to do with stuff like this? Okay, okay. Go to a public place.”

“Yeah, I figured that much out.” Devon poked her head up in time to see the cab passing Amoeba Records. “Stop! Stop right here.”

The cab pulled over with the meter at $18.40. Devon dropped the twenty onto the front seat and jumped out, slamming the door.

“Don’t hang up, Dev,” Cleo said.

Devon clutched the phone tightly. She turned and saw the other cab slow to the curb, but Khaki didn’t get out. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere. I want him to know I’m on the phone. I’m going into Amoeba. I think I can lose him in there if I have to. Will you come get me? I’ll send you a pin of where I am.”

Cleo hesitated. “On it.”

Devon navigated her way through a group of panhandlers sitting among the free weekly newspapers. Posters for various bands and gigs wallpapered the front windows.
MOUNTAIN MEN AT JUPITER. SATURDAY AT
8
P.M. MIDNIGHT
’
S SHADOW. TOXIC DUMP
. It seemed luxurious to think of having enough time to care about someone’s crappy college band. She snuck a glance over her shoulder as she entered.

Khaki Guy was exiting the cab.

Devon’s knees felt wobbly. At least it was crowded inside, the counters lined with bored-looking employees. A girl with a half-shaved head, the other half stringy purple hair, glared at the incoming customers as if to pass judgment.
You’re not nearly cool enough to be here
. Below her a sign read
CHECK YOUR BAGS
. Behind her were cubbies crammed with bags and purses.

The girl eyed the messenger bag slung over Devon’s shoulder.

Good, let them come after me
.

Devon plowed forward. Record store security seemed a much friendlier option than her khaki man. She heard a high-pitched whistle behind her, but she pushed on. She turned a quick right at the Classic Rock, Used CDs section and tucked herself behind a black-lit wall full of Bob Marley posters. A security guard in a tight black T-shirt, his biceps stretching the sleeves, turned the same corner a few seconds later.

“Miss? I’m sorry, but we need you to check your bag at the front.” He extended an arm to guide Devon from her hiding place.

Khaki was near the entrance, surveying the store.

Almost on instinct Devon grabbed one of the guard’s rock-solid biceps. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I, uh, I need my bag.” She looked up at him and realized she must really look wide-eyed and frantic. But this was no act.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, then,” he said tersely.

He wrenched his arm free, but placed his free hand on Devon’s back to steer her out. She picked up the sharp, menthol-y smell of his deodorant as they drew close to Khaki. He was as tall as the guard, but a lot less bulky.
Go on the offensive
, Devon thought. She locked eyes with Khaki, curled her lips into a faint smile, and brought them to the guard’s ear.

“See that guy there?” she whispered. “He has two stolen CDs in his jacket.”

The guard frowned but stepped away and headed straight toward Khaki, closing the distance between them. “Sir, do you mind coming with me?”

The man’s nostrils flared as he glared at Devon. But the guard was between them now, blocking his path. That was all Devon needed. She bolted out the door and didn’t stop. Outside she crossed Telegraph. She almost burst into tears when she noticed the dingy red-and-white striped awning over Moe’s Books. She knew
Moe’s. Multiple floors of bookshelves she could hide behind. She shot a glance behind her as she dashed inside—but Khaki hadn’t managed to exit. The guard still had him. There was no way he’d seen her come in here.

On shaky legs, Devon clambered up the narrow staircase to the second floor, slid to the floor behind the Classics section, and sent a pin to Cleo. Hopefully Cleo would find her before Khaki could.

I’m not paranoid
, she kept repeating to herself, over and over during the endless wait for her friend.
I’m not paranoid
.

I
T TOOK SOME CONVINCING
on Cleo’s part to get Devon to come down the steps, let alone leave the bookstore. Oz was circling the block in her car.

“What if he’s out there? He’ll see me. I don’t want him to know where I live,” Devon said. She gripped the bookshelf in front of her, suddenly convinced that staying in the bookstore was her best option.

“You can’t stay here, Dev,” Cleo said as gently as possible. “I’m trying to help.” So funny and ironic, wasn’t it? Cleo was using the same damn patronizing peer counseling-speak Devon had used on her only three months earlier during their sessions. “You’re starting to freak out the bookshop people. Come on.”

A wary employee, a plump middle-aged guy, was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Devon tried to muster an apology as Cleo escorted her past him, but the words never made it out. Instead, Devon made sure to look in every direction. No sign of the khaki guy, but she knew that wasn’t the end of it. She’d been followed. There was no denying it. Someone was trying to scare her, or worse.

Cleo opened the passenger door to her mother’s new Tesla, and Devon quickly sank as low as her seat would allow.

Oz smiled at her from the driver’s seat. “You had us worried there, Dev,” he said.

Cleo scooted into the backseat. His smile dropped when he
traded looks with her in the rearview mirror. “Just drive, Oz,” she muttered. “Let’s just go up MLK for a little bit. Put some distance between us and this place.” She sighed loudly. “
Merde, merde, merde
…”

“No,” Devon said. She sat up straight. “I want to go home. I need to be home.”

Oz traded looks with Cleo again in the rearview mirror. What had they been saying about her after she’d abandoned them at Huntington House? Who cared? If they thought she was crazy, they’d keep her safe. That was her strategy, after all.

“Dev, you sure you don’t want to stay in the city with us tonight?” he offered, “We’ll go back to Keaton first thing tomorrow morning. It’ll be good for you to be around friends.”

“Friends?” she snapped. “We’ve known each other, what, thirty-six hours, Oz? You’re not really in a position to decide what’s good for me or not, huh?” Devon slid her left hand over her seat belt buckle. On second thought, screw safe. She could hop out at the next red light.

Cleo glared at her. “Dev, chill out. Oz is just trying to help. Remember, he’s the one that got us into Huntington House.”

Devon closed her eyes. Cleo was right. Being a bitch wasn’t helping, either. “I know. Really, Oz, I appreciate what you’re doing, especially since we really do barely know each other. I’m sorry. I just need to be home.”

D
EVON HAD NEVER FELT
such relief as she did when she spotted her mom’s car in the driveway. Cleo made a point to walk Devon to the door. Her mom answered quickly.

“Is everything all right? I didn’t think I’d see you until tomorrow,” she said.

Devon smiled weakly and stepped inside. She was too exhausted to answer.

“It was a rough day,” Cleo explained. “Dev will tell you, but
she wanted to stay here. You’re going to be here tonight, aren’t you?” Cleo lowered her voice. “I think she just needs some mom time tonight.”

“I can hear you, okay?” Devon croaked. She whirled around. “I’m not a damn toddler. And Dr. Hsu is right; I’m clearly in shock or suffering post-traumatic stress or something. But there are a few things I can say that are true. Period. Someone followed me today. And Eli is working at Oz’s sister’s club where Dr. Hsu—yes, that same well-meaning Dr. Hsu—was having lunch with Maya’s evil mom. That’s not a fucking coincidence. How am I the crazy one here? Doesn’t anyone else see it?”

Neither Cleo nor her mom responded. Oz appeared in the doorway, grinning uncomfortably.
Jesus
, Devon thought. Where did he come from, anyway?

“Oh, baby, we see it. We just want to help.” Her mom crossed the room and wrapped Devon into a warm hug.

It was only then that Devon finally allowed herself to cry.

Once the tears stopped coming, once Cleo and Oz had awkwardly departed, once her mom had finally let her go, Devon trudged upstairs and fell into bed. She’d fall asleep with her clothes on, no doubt. But first she’d check her phone. No missed calls, no friendly messages. She didn’t really feel like talking to anyone, anyways, except one person who might be able to make her feel better.

She texted Bodhi:
hi. Can u talk?

There was no reply.

“So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to call this Dr. Hsu and get her side of the story about this Vericyl thing. But if she makes a convincing argument, then this is something we should really consider. I’m worried about you carrying an inordinate amount of stress on your shoulders.”

Devon nodded in the passenger seat of her mom’s idling car, her eyes on Cleo’s house and the town car in the driveway. She realized that this was the very last place she wanted to be. But given that it was Sunday morning and she needed a ride back to Keaton, she didn’t have a choice.

“Honey?” her mom prodded.

“I would say it’s probably the right amount of stress considering everything.”

Mom sighed. “There’s a woman at work whose husband is a
cop. I’m going to ask her if I can ask him a few questions. See if there is any way the police can help. Until then, I’m sure you’re safe at Keaton.” She kissed Devon’s forehead and smiled, her eyes searching Devon’s for an equal response.

Devon swallowed the lump in her throat. “Okay, thanks.”

“I love you, Dev.”

“You, too,” Devon answered. But the words were empty, a reflex. She hopped out and headed toward the waiting town car, not even bothering to wave as her mom sped off.

Oz jumped when Devon opened the back door. “Shit,” he said so quickly it sounded like a sneeze. He laughed as Devon scooted into the soft cushions. “Sorry, just didn’t hear you pull up.”

“I get it. It’s been a jumpy weekend.” Devon smiled at Oz, a peace offering.

He opened his mouth but was interrupted by his phone. He frowned at the caller ID and clicked the ringer off. Streaks of red worked their way up his neck and onto his cheeks. He was blushing about something. The phone buzzed again, and this time, Devon sneaked a peek at the caller ID. Nikki, a cute blonde. Oz shoved the phone back in his pocket.

“Your mom or dad?” Devon asked, pretending to stare out the window. “Welcome to Keaton. The Sunday-morning parent call cannot be escaped. Even when you’re off campus.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Right.” Oz laughed clumsily.

Devon resisted the temptation to laugh out loud. So Oz
was
too good to be true. And he
was
hiding a secret. A very typical, stupid, new-hot-guy-at-school secret. No wonder he was being extra chivalrous with his latest conquest. She wondered if Cleo knew about Nikki. But this was not her business. Besides, after the way Devon bitched at Oz yesterday, she was sure Cleo wasn’t interested in hearing Devon’s theories on the Oz-secret front.

Devon checked her own phone. Still nothing from Bodhi. She
tried to hide her disappointment. She had reached out to him last night in a moment of weakness, hoping that he would at least respond with a basic
hi
back. It seemed he was purposely creating space between them.
That’s fine
, she thought.
But I’m not going to call him, text him, email, anything when I get back
. She’d wait for him to contact her first.

No matter how much she wanted to tell him about her discoveries this weekend.

It took Cleo another twenty minutes before she finally finished packing and had their driver load the car. She managed to bring back to school at least three times as much as she left with for the weekend. New clothes, shoes, hats that had been buried in her closet at home, makeup samples from her mom’s gift bag collection—all of it had to be smashed and wedged into the trunk.