Keaton School 01: Escape Theory (13 page)

“Hey, we’re fine, you know. This night will end at some point; it’s just that how it ends remains to be seen. All we can do is enjoy the time we have now.” Hutch wrapped a hand around Devon’s wrist and slowly pulled her fingers back, letting the cookie fall into the bowl below.

Devon looked up at him. That spiky hair, his eyes brown or hazel, she couldn’t tell in this light, but they were deep, melted chocolate, standing out in contrast to his bushy eyebrows. And the way he looked at her—calm, unflinching, solid—made her relax.

“How are you so … so … you?” Devon asked. As soon as she heard the question out loud she knew it sounded as stupid as she thought. But she didn’t know how else to ask. How did this guy, this guy who theoretically had been alive for the same amount of time as she had, come to have such a different attitude? Hutch seemed to have the kind of calm people meditated for years to find. Here he was, fourteen and already a Zen master.

Hutch laughed and reached for another cookie. “How am I me?” He used two hands to crush a cookie into the batter. “Kind of an existential question, dontcha think?”

“No, come on, you know what I mean.” Devon crumbled a cookie now too. It felt better to be doing something with her hands, a reminder that she was still breathing. Like the stories she heard about people getting stuck on desert islands; it wasn’t the elements that could kill you, it was the boredom. Or was it the solitude?
Either way, staying busy was the best way to avoid going stir-crazy, she was sure of it. “It’s like nothing fazes you.”

Hutch chuckled. “That’s my brother, Eric. Everything fazes him. He got the burden of being older and worried about what everyone thinks of him, especially our dad. That’s just not me. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I refuse to bend over backward for everyone else until I’m broken like he is. I’m broken in my own way, I guess.”

Devon noticed that as he stared into the batter bowl, the top of his jaw twitched just in front of his ears. He had an over-analytical brain, too. “Aren’t we all?” Devon said back. She sounded more cynical than she’d planned. She didn’t want to. She wanted to make Hutch comfortable, like he had for her.

“Oh yeah? How are you broken?” Hutch stopped crushing the cookies and gave Devon his full attention.

“I don’t know.” Devon thought back to a therapy session her mom made her attend over the summer: a preemptive strike against any teenage rebellion that might have been brewing. “Well, I was a sperm bank baby, so I really don’t know anything about my dad, which means I probably have daddy issues. And I’m on scholarship, which means I probably have a complex about money.” Devon stopped. Why was she telling Hutch all this?
The cookies might have brought him in, but psycho-babble would definitely send him running out the nearest door
.

“Impressive,” Hutch said as he poured the batter onto the hot frying pan. The
hiss
pulled Devon out of her inner monologue. “Sounds like someone spent a little time in therapy. What’s with the sperm bank thing? You have two moms?”

“No, just the one.”

Hutch nodded and scanned the shelves for something above them, but Devon wondered if he was avoiding eye contact.

The pancake blobs simmered in the pan. The smell of peanut butter made Devon’s mouth water. She grabbed a spatula on the shelf behind her and went to work flipping the pancakes over. Hutch stepped back, letting her slip in between him and the stove.
She could feel his eyes on the back of her head. And then his hand was on the back of her neck, gently smoothing stray strands of hair into place. Maybe she hadn’t scared him away. Maybe he was pitying her now. Maybe there was something else going on.

Stop thinking
, she thought. Devon turned around to face him.

Hutch’s lips curled into a slight smile. He stroked her hair away from her face and brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm again. Devon’s heart thudded. He reached for her chin and pulled her face toward his and kissed her. It wasn’t the usual teenage boy tongue-groping kiss she expected. He pressed his lips against hers and lingered softly. Devon closed her eyes. The electricity in her body relaxed into a warm glow.

He pulled away and Devon realized she was standing on her tiptoes. She slowly lowered her heels to the ground and opened her eyes to Hutch. He was watching her, smiling, waiting.

Devon smiled back. Hutch exhaled.

“I’ve wanted to do that all week.” Hutch reached around Devon and turned off the burner.

“All week?” The red glow pulsed through her body again.

“Since our first day assembly. You sat in front of me. Red shirt with the corner of your shoulder poking out.”

“So you’ve been planning this mission since then?” Devon laughed. The fears she had before, the tension in the air, all of it vanished. This adventure was theirs now, as if they’d planned it together all along.

“Yeah, that’s it. I willed you to arrive in the Dining Hall with cookies tonight.”

“Well, I willed you to make Nutter Butter pancakes. I guess we’re even.” Devon raised an eyebrow at Hutch. Up until now, Ariel was the one who raised her eyebrow whenever she flirted with guys. It was Ariel’s way of acknowledging she may be crossing a line, but happily crossing it anyway. Ariel reveled in kicking up trouble, the kid that can’t help splash in a rain puddle. Now it was Devon who’d splashed.

Hutch grabbed a plate from a nearby shelf, and Devon slid the pancakes from the pan onto the plate. “And the most important part of this nutritious meal.…” He wandered back into the walkin fridge. Devon hoisted herself onto the counter. “Jackpot!” Hutch reemerged from the fridge carrying two glasses of milk. “The culprit that started this whole mess.”

Devon felt herself grinning stupidly. She handed him a fork.

Hutch shoved an oversized bite of pancake in his mouth. “Dude, that is amazing. Just wait.”

Devon took her first bite. She wasn’t even thinking about pancakes, but the crunchy peanut butter cookie bits melted into the pancake flavor perfectly. “Wow, Nutter Butter pancakes. Officially a thing now.”

“See, I told you. Hold up. I think we gotta go next level.” Hutch pried open the tin of chocolate syrup and dipped a spoon into the goo, drizzling it over the plate. “NOW it’s a thing. Just needed the chocolate to call out the peanut butter, you know.”

“You think we could get the kitchen to make these again?” Devon asked.

“I’m sure if you smile that smile of yours, my guess is you could get the kitchen to do just about anything you want,” Hutch said as he stuffed an oversized bite in his mouth.

It never occurred to Devon before that she was a girl that could get guys to do things for her. What was it like to wield that kind of power? She’d seen Ariel use her feminine ways to get free coffee at coffee shops, free rides on the BART, and even free clothes. But what would happen after this? Would she and Hutch become a couple? Would Hutch be the guy she married years from now and they could say they were high-school sweethearts? What did it really mean to be someone’s “sweetheart?”
Don’t jump too far ahead—you’re still locked in a kitchen
, her over-analytical brain reminded her.

“I didn’t mean anything before, about the two moms stuff. It’s totally not my business. And no biggie if you went to therapy. My
parents made me go a lot. They were obsessed with finding the right medication for me when I was younger and ‘out of control.’ Turns out I was just a ten-year-old boy, and that’s kind of what happens.” Hutch leaned back on his elbows and kicked his shoes off.

“Well, you know what they say about an unexamined life not being worth living. I kinda always liked the idea of that.” Devon finished the last bite of pancake and dropped her fork next to Hutch’s on the plate.

“Mine’s a tie,” Hutch said.

“A tie?” Devon leaned back onto her elbows beside him.

“My philosophy. It’s a Robert Frost tie. Between ‘The Road Not Taken’ and ‘Snowy Evening.’ ”

“Oh, is that about choosing the road less traveled? I think I remember that one.”

Hutch looked up at the ceiling and recited, “ ‘Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.’ ”

He finished and looked to Devon with that crooked smile of his. She now understood that this is the face Hutch made when he was proud of himself.

“That makes sense. The not-supposed to part of you, it’s the road less traveled.”

“I just like the idea of looking back at my life and feeling like I made different choices than everyone else, you know? Most people are inherently boring if you really dig deep. They don’t want much, they don’t veer from their chosen path, and they’re generally scared of change. I don’t know, at least that’s how my grandfather tells it. I don’t want to be like fifty and realize that I was one of those people who didn’t bother to think outside the box. That’s why the other poem is tied.”

“What’s the other one about?” Devon asked, rapt.

“I won’t do the whole thing, although, I could, it’s one of my hidden talents, reciting poetry. But the part I love the most is, ‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, and
miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.’ ” Hutch closed his eyes. A small, contented smile was fixed on his lips. Devon wanted to kiss those lips again, but it seemed better to let the poem have some space. She let the last line hang in the air a moment longer.

“I really like that one,” she said. “I’m not sure I totally get it, but it’s cool.”

Hutch rolled to his side and looked at Devon, his head resting in his hand. “There’s always something else to do. Like it’d be easy to stop or be lulled into something, but there’s miles to go before I can stop doing any of it. I don’t know, that probably sounds really lame.”

“No, I get it. I think we all need that thing, whatever it is, God, family, pancakes, that keep us going even on those days when you just don’t want to get out of bed. You’ve got miles to go, and I’ve got Nutter Butters.” Devon leaned down now, level with Hutch.

Hutch’s face grew serious. His fingers intertwined with hers. “You should always have Nutter Butters,” he said, his eyes locking with hers. “Always.” Devon waited. The way Hutch bit his lip, she knew there was more to come. “This kid at my school last year. I didn’t know him. I mean, I’d seen him around, but … he committed suicide. They did this all-school memorial and the principal read some lame poem that no one listened to and then the band played that Sarah McLachlan song, ‘I Will Remember You.’ I remember thinking that this kid, wherever he was, must be laughing his ass off or hating this stupid ceremony, or both. The whole thing was royally wrong. Like you’re here one day and the next they’re playing Sarah McLachlan in your honor, and no one knew the kid well enough to play a song he would have actually liked. How could no one know what song he would have wanted?”

Devon squeezed his hand. “Okay, so what song would you want played at your stupid memorial service?”

Hutch sat back up. “First off, my memorial service wouldn’t be
stupid. I expect people to laugh at my funeral, have fun. I don’t get why funerals have to always be so sad. And ‘Kodachrome,’ for sure. That’s what I want playing at my funeral.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Paul Simon. He’s kind of awesome. My grandfather got me into it. I’ll burn it for you.”

“If we ever get out of here,” Devon said.

Hutch leaned over her, blocking out her view of the stucco ceiling.

“I’ve never told anyone that. Only you and my grandfather know I’m a secret Paul Simon fan. Can you handle that kind of secret?”

“I don’t know. Sounds like a lot of pressure.” Devon said back with a smirk.

Hutch reached out and stroked the side of her cheek. “As far as I can tell, you handle pressure well.”

Present Day, September 16

D
EVON
’
S EYES SNAPPED OPEN
. The sunlight pierced the curtains. She found herself blinking at, Kaylyn’s carved words in the bookshelf:
We’re half-awake in a fake empire
. She rolled to her side and curled into a ball. Her clock blinked 9:30
A.M.
Thirty minutes until she had to be there. Forty minutes until reality would invade. She closed her eyes again, hoping for another glimpse of Hutch.
You handle pressure well
. His words clanged around in her head.
Kodachrome
. She still hadn’t heard the song that Hutch wanted played at his funeral. Should she have told someone that it’s what Hutch would have wanted? Was it too late? Would anyone have believed her anyway?

Devon forced herself out of bed.

She ripped the tags off her black Banana Republic dress. So ironic! It was perfectly plain and boring, but her mom insisted she have a formal interview outfit on hand for her college trips this
fall break. College trips that Hutch would never take. Her fingers paused on the buttons over her stomach. There were lots of things Hutch would never do again. Make pancakes. Surf. Graduate from Keaton. Kiss a girl.

She left her dress hanging open and snapped her laptop open, searching Paul Simon. There among a list of his songs was ‘Kodachrome.’ Devon pressed play and sat back on her bed. It sounded old, a relic, but the upbeat guitar made her smile. Only Hutch would want a happy cheerful song at his funeral; this was no Sarah McLachlan anthem.

The first lyrics came out,
“When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school, it’s a wonder I can think at all.”
Devon laughed out loud. This was exactly Hutch’s sense of humor. “
Kodachrome, it give us the nice bright colors, it give us the greens of summers, makes you think all the world’s a sunny day
.…” Her cheeks were wet. She was smiling, but couldn’t stop crying at the same time. It was so simple. It was Instagram, but real. A song about old camera film that made everything look better; that’s just what Hutch did. He could make everything brighter, memories better, jokes funnier. Or maybe that was just her experience of him.

Tap, tap, tap!

Someone was knocking on her glass door. Devon wiped her cheeks and quickly finished buttoning her dress. She pulled the curtain aside, and there was Matt. Black slacks, a white button-down with a red striped tie draped open around his neck. He held his black blazer squished in one hand while his other hand shielded his eyes as he peered through Devon’s glass door. She slid the door open.