Keaton School 01: Escape Theory (11 page)

“I think we’re doing well,” she finally said. “Matt and Isla were the closest to Hutch, and I don’t think suicide is in their immediate plans.” Devon wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. What if she was wrong? Could she be sure Isla wasn’t going to take a handful of pills?
I hope not
. Was that really enough to rely on right now? “I’m not seeing any red flag behavior.”
^*

“How is Isla doing? She was quite visibly upset the other day.”

“Isla’s okay. She’s sad, of course, but I’m checking in with her a lot. She had a bit of an anxiety attack before our first session, but I, um.…” Devon’s thoughts drowned out her voice. Isla had all those pills. The alias to get more pills. Devon could turn her over to Mr. Robins right now and let him worry about her. But she knew that Isla trusted her.

“But you?” He opened his notebook and scribbled something Devon couldn’t see.

“Huh? Oh, but, she and Hutch already broke up over the summer so she wasn’t technically his girlfriend when he died. Just in case that mattered for your notes.” Devon took a deep breath and opened her own notebook. “I was wondering, do you have any suggestions for what to say when anyone asks about how much training I’ve had? That one’s been a little tough to answer.”

“Well, that’s part of this experiment. You’re their peer, you’re not meant to be a professional. They can come to me if they want a professional. That’s why I have the MFT after my name, see?” He pulled a business card from his blazer to prove the obvious point. Again, Devon contained the urge to roll her eyes. “When they ask I would say it’s fair to tell them that you are a concerned
peer. You’ve been taught everything required to give them adequate support.”

“Thanks, I’ll try that.”
Yeah, like that will work when Cleo Lambert is staring me down
. It was like Mr. Robins didn’t speak Human properly. Or maybe he just failed in Teenager.

“Sounds good so far,” he said. “We’ll keep a close eye on Miss Martin, make sure she works through the grief process properly. And I’ll review your notes before your next session with Matt.” Mr. Robins wrote a few more things in his notebook. Devon couldn’t read upside down, his writing was messy and loose across the page. She did see her and Isla’s names written a few times.

“My notes?” Devon played dumb.

“Well, yes, your records are our records. This is a trial program, remember.” Mr. Robins scrunched his nose to adjust his glasses. He leveled his eyes at her to drive home the point.

“Right, yeah, of course. Except, the thing is, my notes are really sloppy right now. You know how it is when you’re writing fast. Let me just type them up for you so it’s easier to read.”

“All right. I’ll expect them next week.” He turned the page in his notebook and kept writing. “I hope you’re keeping your clinical distance, Devon.”

“Of course. I know that’s important. Being impartial helps me see their overall picture better.”
^†

“Good, I glad you remembered that. That’s good for today, unless there’s anything else you want to discuss?” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. She chewed her lip. Mr. Robins was acting as a mentor, so maybe he would come through for her now. She had to find out more than the student rumor mill knew.

“I guess I can’t stop thinking about it. Hutch. Are they really sure it was suicide? I was researching OxyContin and the possibility for an accidental overdose is pretty high. And Hutch didn’t fit the profile. He wasn’t depressed, he wasn’t an outcast.… I guess I’m
still having a hard time accepting it. I know that’s just another stage in the grief process, but I’m not sure this should pass. Shouldn’t we find out more? Isn’t someone looking into it? They should be, you know.”

Mr. Robins cleared his throat. “I know this isn’t easy. One of the hardest things about becoming an adult is accepting that we can’t change the past. All we can do is focus on what’s in front of us, having learned what we should learn. The grief will pass, I promise.”
^‡

“Yeah, but—”

“Jason Hutchins had his own troubles,” he interrupted in a clipped voice. “We all have to accept that.”

“I’m not in denial, if that’s what you’re thinking. I want to know more, that’s all. It’s a little tough calming people down when I don’t have any information to back up my position. Isn’t there something more you can tell me? Was there an autopsy?”

He sighed. “Devon, this isn’t a crime show or case that needs to be solved. Especially not by a student. It’s done. Now, tomorrow the Hutchins family will be on campus for Jason’s memorial service. I expect you to continue to counsel your fellow students, be respectful of what this family is going through, and to drop any theories you might have. Am I understood?” Mr. Robins pushed his glasses up his nose again and leveled his eyes at Devon.

“Understood.”

“I think that’s good for today.” Mr. Robins stood up and Devon followed suit. “I know Stanford is going to love seeing all your success with this program on your application next year. Keep up the good work.” He gave Devon a thin-lipped smile.

“Thanks,” Devon said, smiling tightly in return. She understood completely.

B
ROWN OXFORDS STUCK OUT
from underneath the stall door—the only one closed, at the end of the row. Devon noticed that they
were attached to small feet and tan legs. The gagging sound was quickly followed by the contents of someone’s stomach filling the toilet.

Devon finished drying her wet hands.

After a few seconds, a flush; a minute after that, Maya emerged. She looked like she’d just been washed up ashore after a shipwreck. Her face was pale, sweaty, and strands of her hair stuck to her cheeks and forehead.

“Presley had the same thing,” Devon said as gently as she could. She pretended to look at herself in the mirror. “I’m going into town. Want me to get you anything? Ginger ale? Saltines? Nyquil?”

Maya leaned over the sink next to Devon. She smoothed her hair into a slick ponytail and fished a tube of lipstick from the pocket of her purse. She drew the coral red onto her lips. Devon realized she was staring at Maya’s reflection.

“Thanks. I was going to go later.” Maya spoke to Devon’s reflection with a tired smile. She turned on the faucet and used some water to tame her flyaway hairs. Devon took another look at her own hair. It was still in the braid she slept in. Behind her, Maya burped, loudly and very unladylike. She steadied herself over the sink while the wave of nausea passed.

“You sure?” Devon asked. “It’s really no problem.”

Maya nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. “A six-pack of Sprite or something would be cool if you see it. Just until my stomach calms down.”

“Sure, I’ll grab it. And don’t worry. Presley said it was just a twenty-four-hour thing.”

T
HE
K
EATON VAN DROPPED
students off in Monte Vista every hour on the weekends. It was only a ten-minute drive up or down the hill. With a deli, a pharmacy, and outdated video store, Monte Vista wasn’t much of a town to brag about. But for Keaton students it was the perfect escape from their overscheduled lives. The local beaches were what put Monte Vista on the map and brought
a constant flow of surfers. Surfing defined the town; surfboard wax was sold next to packs of gum at every cash register.

Devon crossed the street to the Monte Vista pharmacy. As she cut across the parking lot, a rusted red Volvo with two surfboards on a roof rack peeled around the corner and nearly took off Devon’s toes. The car parked and the driver popped out: a girl a little younger than Devon wearing a red bikini. Devon noticed her black hair in a thick pile on the top of her head.

Raven
. Here she was, right in front of Devon, again. Devon thought she had seen that Volvo in the student parking lot before. Yes, it must be Raven.

She shot a brief blank stare at Devon before walking away.

S
HAMPOO AND CONDITIONER
(
COMBINED
for better time efficiency): check. Deodorant: check. Sprite for Maya: check. Devon crossed item after item off her shopping list until she drifted past the shelves of pregnancy tests. She stopped to take a closer look. Early Response. Accu-Test. Positive Plus. Paternity test kits. Who was Hutch stealing the test for? And why not just buy it?

She glanced up at the angled mirrors leering over the aisles. The dirty linoleum floor and shelves full of dizzying colors reflected back from the ceiling. And at the other end of the store, the pharmacy counter glowed white. Devon spotted a guy in a white lab coat with blond dreadlocks tied at the nape of his neck, organizing bottles on the shelves.
Bodhi
, she realized: the former Keaton student Cleo mentioned. He looked familiar. Of course, she must have seen him around Monte Vista. In her memory he blurred into all the other surfers around town, but that was before he had a name.

Cleo had mentioned that Bodhi was Hutch’s Get Out Of Jail Free card that day. Devon watched in the mirrors as Bodhi passed a tray of filled prescription bottles across the counter. So, he was a pharmacist: a convenient partner for the school’s prescription pill supplier. Hutch probably helped Bodhi make a fair amount of money off Keaton students who wouldn’t bat an eyelash at
paying $20 for a dose of Vicodin to liven up (or deaden) a Saturday night stuck on campus.

She thought about approaching him, when Bodhi suddenly took off his white lab coat and ducked out a side door. Maybe he was just taking a break? Devon left her basket in front of the pregnancy tests and hurried out to the parking lot.

T
HE TOWN OF
M
ONTE
Vista was full of secrets that only Keaton students found valuable. The Monte Vista Deli would sell cigarettes without carding for one. The grocery store always carded, but the gas station would sell liquor to the fakest of IDs. Presley had once used her gym membership card from home to buy vodka, and the clerk never questioned it. They knew that as long as the cameras caught them showing
something
to the clerk, no one would get in trouble. Devon figured it was because Keaton students lived by so many rules on campus, rules in real life were just another set of boundaries to be pushed and worked around. Working around rules was the true cornerstone of the Keaton education, the one no one ever discussed.

The three dumpsters behind Monte Vista Pharmacy hid another secret: They formed a half circle that shielded any illicit activities from the outside world. Students bought pot from local Monte Vista surfers, shoulder-tapped older locals to buy booze, and even sometimes went dumpster-diving for rejected pharmacy items.

Knowing all that, Devon was still shocked when she spotted Bodhi giving Matt a bro hug within the dumpsters’ safe confines. She crouched low and peered through a crack between two of them. She could see Matt and Bodhi clearly, passing a joint back and forth and talking quietly about something. Hutch probably, but who knew what else these two had in common? Matt reached into his jeans pocket. Devon only saw the flash of green before it hit her: The same green paper Sasha Harris had passed Matt in the dining hall. Now he was passing it to Bodhi. She sat on the hot asphalt to absorb this new information. It was all quite clear. Matt
was getting his pharmaceuticals from Bodhi. Which also confirmed that Hutch and Bodhi had been doing the same thing before Hutch overdosed.

Devon still couldn’t picture Hutch as a drug dealer. But clearly she was the only one who couldn’t. Why would he get himself tangled in this world?

We can’t change the past. All we can do is focus on what’s in front of us
. Mr. Robins’s words floated to the front of Devon’s mind.

She peeked between the dumpsters again. Matt was giving Bodhi another half-hug/half-handshake. Then he walked away, disappearing around the far corner of the building. Devon stood up and wiped the dirt off her jeans. Somehow she had to get Bodhi to talk to her.

Summoning her courage, she rounded the dumpsters. “Hey. You’re Bodhi, right?”

He turned and shoved his hands in his pocket of his low-hanging plaid shorts. His black-and-white-checkered Vans bore the telltale scuffs of a skater. Without the white coat he’d worn inside, Bodhi looked like just another local surf bum.

“Who’s asking?” His eyes flickered behind her, as if he expected a handful of cops to appear.

“I’m Devon. Devon Mackintosh. I go to Keaton.”

Bodhi laughed. “No shit.”

“That obvious, huh?” She smiled and kept a safe distance. It was just like counseling: Make him comfortable, don’t be threatening.

“I’ve seen you in town before. What’s up? I don’t have anything, you know. Somebody gave you old information.” Bodhi checked his frayed, Velcro watch.

“Do you have a minute to talk about Hutch?”

“Jason? Yeah, I read about it. Shame, right? That kid seemed to have everything going on.” Bodhi looked past Devon again. He shifted from one foot to the other.

“Yeah, shame,” Devon said.

Bodhi turned to go. “I didn’t really know the kid, so I don’t—”

“Was it yours?” Devon interrupted.

He whirled to face her. The sunlight picked up blond whiskers sprouting on his chin. He was only a few inches taller than Devon, but his broad shoulders made him seem bigger, more powerful than most of the scrawny guys at Keaton. Hutch had shoulders like that. So did Matt. Devon had to admit, surfing came with an automatic sex appeal.

“What are you talking about?” Bodhi’s hands went back in his pockets.

“The Oxy that Hutch took. Did it come from you?” Devon could hear her voice; it sounded much sharper and more stable than she felt. She knew she had no right to talk to a stranger this way.

Bodhi cleared his throat and spat on the ground next to him. “Look, I heard it was an overdose too, but that doesn’t mean shit. He could have gotten that from anywhere. Hutch was resourceful like that.” Bodhi stared hard back at Devon. “And I don’t appreciate the accusation. You should watch yourself. No need for a girl like you to get into trouble.”

“I don’t think it was suicide,” Devon blurted out.

“That doesn’t change the fact that he’s still dead.”