Hero Complex (3 page)

Devon wasn’t getting a soccer scholarship anywhere; that much was certain. No, instead of pretending that she had any inclination to be a future all-star, Devon was happy with “self-directed gym” or “Approved Slacker Hour,” as she looked at it. It had to be the easiest sports assignment in school. Only juniors and seniors were allowed to sign up. Go to the school gym for an hour and sign an attendance sheet. That was it. No teacher supervision, no uniforms. While most of the school ran laps, drills, and scored goals, Devon could pretend to do yoga or simply read a book in the corner near a weight machine. Presley, on the other hand, was actually ranked in California as a top soccer player. Colleges would be vying to give her a scholarship.

“Last Saturday before the gauntlet of crazy,” Presley explained, answering Devon’s unspoken question as she plunked her tray down on the table. “I’m about to lose all my weekends for the next four months. Can we please have a girls’ date today?”

Devon smirked. She let her remaining Corn Flakes go soggy before answering. “Depends. What does this girls’ date entail?”

“Well, first off, we get back to where we were,” Presley said. “Things haven’t been the same since last semester, and I kinda still hate myself for … you know, doubting. Hutch. Can we please get our nails done and get a picnic from the deli and eat too many carbs while ogling surfers down at the Cove?”

Perfect
. It was their favorite Saturday ritual, dating back to their freshman year. Granted, those deli sandwiches were partly to blame for both Devon and Presley gaining a few of their Freshman Fifteen, but those early weekends on the beach marked the beginning of their friendship. Who else could Devon talk to with equal intensity about the value of a good sharp cheddar cheese and the hilarity of surfers who tried to peel themselves out of soaked wetsuits and look cool at the same time?

“If those carbs are attached to a deli sandwich, then, yeah, I’m in.”

Presley clapped her hands together. “Cool! I gotta go for a run, do some laundry, but meet you for the twelve-
P.M.
bus into town. We’re gonna have some fuuuh-uuuun!” She swung her head from side to side, singing the last word.

Devon felt something hopeful stir inside. Pretty much everything with Presley was
fuuh-uuuun!
, even the way she used her hands to dip each pancake into a puddle of syrup before stuffing it into her mouth. But Devon hadn’t heard the word in a while. Hutch’s death had drawn a Before-and-After line in their friendship. Before, Devon figured that she and Presley would be inseparable. College, first jobs, boyfriends, future husbands, weddings, kids … there was Presley alongside her. After, Devon had to face the reality that maybe this friend wouldn’t have her back unconditionally. Was this an attempt to reclaim their “Before” friendship?

But that wasn’t the question that mattered, and Devon knew it. There was only one question: Was that even possible?

B
AY
H
OUSE WAS JUST
stirring to life as Devon left her room to meet Presley at the bus pickup. The sound of a lone shower running, the
chatter of girls talking in the laundry room, and a movie playing on someone’s computer trickled into the hallway. But when male voices joined the chorus, Devon slowed her pace. Where was that coming from? Boys weren’t allowed inside a girls’ dorm at this time of day. She heard the bang of drawers opening and closing. Near the end of the hall, a door was wide open.

Maya’s.

Devon peeked inside. Two movers, burly guys in matching yellow T-shirts, were taping boxes closed. The mattress was bare, the walls blank. Even the desk looked cleaned off. Maya wouldn’t be coming back to Keaton, Devon realized. She knew Maya might be taking time off because of her pregnancy, but Devon thought there was always hope of her returning. In one quiet Saturday morning Maya’s existence would be wiped out of Keaton history.

Outside Devon saw the U-Move-It van in the dorm driveway. A black Mercedes was parked next to it with a woman in the driver’s seat talking on her cell phone. Her black hair fell perfectly around her shoulders, and her deep brown eyes looked just like Maya’s. Devon recognized her instantly from the Internet and magazine articles: it was C.C. Tran, Maya’s mom and wife to pharmaceutical titan Edward Dover. They locked eyes.

Devon gave her a tight smile, which C.C. returned just as tightly. Devon couldn’t imagine what that woman must be going through: her teenage daughter pregnant, dropping out of school, and having a baby with an accused murderer, the scion of a family rival, no less.
I thought my family dinners sucked
. It seemed impolite to stare, so Devon continued up the hill to meet Presley.

A
S THE
K
EATON BUS
shifted gears on its drive down the hillside into Monte Vista, Presley turned in her seat to face Devon. “I had an idea over break. It’s kind of amazing, but you’re going to have to get your mom on board.”

“On board for what?” Devon asked. She saw where this was going—permission slips of some sort.

“What if we went on our college trip together? Maybe you and your mom and me and my mom? We could do a few schools around New York and Vermont. A little East Coast tour. Wouldn’t that be the best trip ever?” Presley’s blonde curls bounced with each word.

Every junior at Keaton was planning a productive spring break. Either they were touring college campuses, or they were doing something to boost their applications, like working in a Honduran orphanage or organizing a glitzy fundraiser to promote early cancer screenings. Just last night, Devon overheard Sima Park down the hall asking her roommate which shoes were more appropriate for hanging out with orphans, Toms or Birkenstocks. (Sima voted Toms, ultimately. Double do-gooding, she reasoned.)

Devon, meanwhile, had far overshot her goal of using the Keaton peer counselor program as an extracurricular bonus. Of course, the irony was too twisted for her to consider for very long without feeling sick. But there was no denying it; Hutch’s death would help her in terms of getting into a good college.

Beyond just bragging rights for being Keaton’s first peer counselor, she’d picked up some local notoriety for her involvement with sniffing out his murderer. The
Santa Cruz Sentinel
had run a small column about Devon as Keaton’s first peer counselor turned live-action sleuth. Devon’s problem wasn’t so much what to write about herself but how to approach the delicate subject of boosting her self-image through others’ pain. She’d long stopped Googling herself—which probably wasn’t a good thing. But what else could she do, when Hutch’s name always appeared with hers?

“Besides,” Presley continued in Devon’s protracted silence, “we totally have to scope out which school has the hottest guys. ’Cause you know I’m a sucker for a guy in a peacoat. And the one thing we can count on during spring on the East Coast? Peacoats. It’ll be like living in the fall/winter J.Crew catalog. Yummy.”

“You already live there,” Devon cracked. It was true; Presley’s dorm room walls were adorned with J.Crew catalog pages of men wearing black and blue peacoats—handsome, yet slightly chilly. This was her new type.

“So what do you say?”

“Yeah, that could be fun. I’ll talk to my mom,” Devon said.

Presley clapped again. Devon smiled but couldn’t muster up the same excitement. She had been so focused on Stanford, it hadn’t occurred to her to look elsewhere. But maybe Presley was right. Maybe Devon should keep her options open. Although she’d leave the peacoats to Presley.

T
HE SANDWICHES WERE PERFECT
. Devon hadn’t had her favorite once this entire year, the roast beef with cheddar on pumpernickel bread, which was tantamount to a crime. She and Presley had their sandwiches wrapped to go. (Presley stuck with her favorite, the turkey and cranberry “for old times’ sake.”) They walked the few blocks to the beach and found a comfortable set of boulders to lean against while they ate and watched the surfers.

“If you watch them long enough, you feel like you’re bobbing along the top of the ocean like they are,” Devon said between bites.

“What’s up with you going all surfer-centric on me?” Presley asked. “First you’re friends with the Elliots, next you’ll be joining the morning surf van.”

Devon finished chewing. “And you’re saying that’s a bad thing?”

“Hey, I didn’t say it was good or bad. You’re just different. I feel like I used to be able to read your mind, but now you seem kind of lost at sea, like you’re just drifting through everything. Or maybe it’s just me.” Presley slapped Devon’s leg. “Come on, admit it. You over me? You found someone else?”

Now Devon had to laugh. Only Presley could cut to the heart of what was happening between them. “Pres, you know you’re my first love. There’s nobody else but you. Well, you and some tasty
waves,” she added in a stoner surfer voice. “Hope that’s copacetic, dude.” She wadded up her sandwich wrapper and tossed it at Presley’s head.

“You two being Surf Betties today?”

Devon squinted up to see Raven Elliot standing in front of them in the sand. Raven’s signature dreadlocks were wrapped into a beehive shape at the top of her head. Her wetsuit hung at her waist, a black swim shirt with a Rip Curl logo across her chest, and her wax-riddled surfboard under one arm.

Devon really hoped Raven hadn’t overheard her “tasty waves” joke. “Hey, Raven! Yeah, we’re just here to make sure everyone’s behaving out there on the water.”

“Yeah, ’cause if they’re not, they’re gonna have to answer to me.” Presley held up a menacing fist.

Raven giggled. “You see Bodhi out there?”

“Wasn’t looking. But don’t think he’s out there,” Devon replied.

Raven looked at Presley and bit her lip. “You know, he wanted to talk to you. About the yacht crew from New Year’s. We found something. Well, Bodhi found it mostly. I just pulled some video files.”

Devon heard an overloud sigh next to her. Suddenly Presley was standing up. “Okay, Veronica Mars. I’ll leave you to your investigations—”

“Wait,” Devon pleaded. Presley turned, and Devon saw the look in her eyes. She didn’t want to be a part of this. There was no point in asking Presley to stay; this was the line their friendship didn’t cross. “I’m sorry, but I have to deal with this …”

Presley nodded. “I get it. You got to scratch that itch.”

“Pres,” Devon began, “this is real. Something happened, and I have to find out who’s behind it.”

“I know you do. It’s just … I miss the old you. I want that girl back, ya know?”

Devon swallowed. “I miss her, too, Presley. I’d love the old me back, but that ship has sailed. Besides, it’s not like I chose this.”

“Didn’t you?” Presley asked as she slung her backpack over her shoulder. “I’ll see you back on campus.” She carried her shoes as she walked down the beach to the parking lot.

Devon watched her go, stunned. How could her best friend not even care what had happened? Or worse, maybe she’d just lost interest.

“Let her go,” Raven said. “Most people can’t process something unless it happens to them.”

“Presley isn’t ‘most people,’ ” Devon grumbled, but there was no point in getting into that part of her Keaton life with Raven. She still had bigger problems at hand. “So what’d you find?”

“The yacht crew. When we did the first check, the numbers added up. That’s what the cops found that night, too. But when we matched the video with the numbers, one of the crewmembers didn’t match his ID badge. It’s all on our computer next time you come over to Reed’s.” She hesitated. “Didn’t exactly expect to find you here.”

“Ha. One set of friends wonders why I’ve gone surf-centric. And you guys don’t think I’m beachy enough. Can’t win, can I?”

Raven nudged Devon with her foot. “I’m going in. You want to be more beachy, try actually getting into the water at some point.” She grabbed her surfboard and wrapped the Velcro strap around her ankle, then nodded to the parking lot. “Here’s the surf king now. You know if you asked, he’d probably love to show you how to surf. Think on it.”

Devon turned to see Bodhi stepping out of his blue Volkswagen camper, his own surfboard strapped to a roof rack. The door slammed shut, and Bodhi tucked his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, then turned to check out the water. He lifted his chin in a nod to Devon and Raven.

“You’re not going in?” Devon called as he approached.

Bodhi arrived at Devon’s boulder and sat down in the sand across from her. He squinted into the glare of the sun off the water. “Nah, the waves look a little small. I’ll wait until they pick up a bit.”

“Whatever,” Raven said. She zipped her wetsuit up the back and jogged toward the ocean. Bodhi was silent as they watched Raven drop onto her board, paddling her way into the surf with ease.

“Where’s Cleo?” Devon asked.

“Probably doing whatever she wants. We’re not, like, hanging out anymore or anything, just so you know,” he added quickly.

“At least one of you is keeping me in the loop,” Devon muttered. “Cleo never said anything. Not that it matters.”

Why would it matter?
Why was Bodhi telling her this, anyway? It was none of her business. Although she did have to fight back a small smile. Cleo and Bodhi had always seemed like a poor match. But it wasn’t because Devon was jealous or anything. She just figured Bodhi would be drawn to someone a little more grounded, a little less mega-yacht.

“It’s not, like, weird or anything between us, but it probably wasn’t a good call to hook up with a Keaton student,” Bodhi clarified. “You know how word gets around.”

Devon nodded, suddenly wanting to switch topics. “So Raven said you found a weird thing with the crew on the yacht? One of their IDs didn’t match?”

“Yeah. One of the caterers, Isaac something … Isaac Green.” Bodhi tugged at one of his own dreads, which hung loose around his shoulders, his blue eyes distant. “His ID picture didn’t match up with video from the party. Don’t ask how we found that out; it’s better you don’t know. Point is, Isaac Green’s ID showed up to work that night, but Isaac didn’t.”

Devon’s stomach started to spin just at the memory of her slow-motion fall into the railing. That glimmer of the metal spyglass, twirling end over end and disappearing into the dark water. “You think that’s our guy?” she breathed.