Keaton School 01: Escape Theory (21 page)

C
HEMISTRY WAS KILLING HER
. Devon let her pencil drop to her desk and rubbed her eyes.
One more molecular equation might cause blindness
. She stood up and stretched her back out. Her eyes drifted to the single rose resting in a water bottle near her bed. Yellow petals with blood red tips. The makeshift card that came with it; a piece of green Keaton paper scrawled with “I’m sorry. Let’s start over. —G” in one line across the bottom.

When Devon had returned to her room from classes, she found the rose and note lying on her pillow. Grant was trying to make peace with her. Devon knew she should accept it. He had gotten mad when she asked him about knowing Eric Hutchins. Who could blame him? Hutch’s death affected everyone here, and in a million different ways. She had to stop treating all her friends like they were subjects ready to be dissected. Grant was just trying to be supportive. Maybe she should have been the one delivering apologies.

“Hey, George Whore-well,” Presley called out, throwing herself on Devon’s bed. “How was your weekend?”

Devon slumped in her armchair. “The Queen returns,” she said, relieved at the distraction. “My weekend was blah, I want to hear about yours. I’m sure it was
much
more interesting.”

“It was. Pete’s parents were great. They took us out for dinner. His mom and I played tennis.”

“Blah, blah, boring. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Let’s just say there are two kinds of people in this world, the ones who are on the pill, and the ones who aren’t. And some are having way more fuuuu-n.”

But Devon’s hearing was stuck on ‘
two kinds of people in this world.’
The supposed-tos and the not-supposed-tos. The ones who like peanut butter and the ones who don’t. Devon had a new distinction to add to the list now: the ones who’d slept with Hutch, and the ones who hadn’t. Which one did Presley fall into?

Presley threw a tube of hand lotion at Devon. “Yo, J.D. Slutinger, you hear me? Besides, you make something happen with Grant yet?”

“Yeah, I mean, no. I don’t know.” Devon walked to her mirror and tried to figure out what to do with her hair. “Pres, you didn’t hook up with anyone when you and Pete were broken up, did you?”

Presley furrowed her brow, still smiling. “No, why?”

Devon tried to sound casual as she brushed her hair. “Just wondering. Cause you weren’t on the pill until recently, so it’s possible—”

“Dev, cut the shit. I know that weird tone in your voice, what are you getting at?”

She sighed, turning to face Presley. “You didn’t hook up with Hutch did you? I know it sounds out there, but you two were on the newspaper together, you were barfing. You didn’t get pregnant did you?”

Presley’s face softened. She shook her head, got up from the bed, and stood behind Devon at the mirror. They looked at each
other in the reflection. Then Presley’s lips tightened. She ran her fingers through Devon’s hair and started to pull it into a loose braid. “Devon, I’m saying this because I love you, because you’re my best friend, and you don’t talk to ton of other people. So someone has to say it. You have got to get over this Hutch thing. No, I never slept with Hutch. Never even kissed the guy. Thought about it, yes. Did anything about it, no. But you? You’re obsessing. It’s annoying. But more than that, it’s disturbing. Go find Grant. Go make out with that hot boy and forget about the dead one. You hear me? This is for your own good.” Presley finished the braid and gave Devon a supportive smile in the mirror. “King Slut-ankhamun,” Presley added, and slapped Devon on the butt, then ran from the room with a laugh.

“William Slutspeare!” Devon called down the hall.

Presley poked her head out of her door. “That one sucked.”

Devon turned to the mirror again. Presley had a point. Devon didn’t think she could stop thinking about Hutch, or his possible murder, but Grant wanted nothing more than to take her mind off things. Maybe she should let him.

A
FTER THREE KNOCKS SHE
opened the door to Grant’s room. No one there. A huge American flag was tacked to one wall, and a large iPod dock took up most of the remaining space on his book-strewn desk. His bed was still unmade and dirty clothes formed a trail from the bed to closet.

She’d try to find him later.

Down the hall, Devon passed a door that stood out from the rest. Carved, inked, painted, scribbled all over it were messages to Hutch.
RIP. We’ll miss you, bro. Always in our hearts. Keaton forever, Hutch! Wish You Were Here
. And on and on, covering almost every inch of the dark wood. Devon ran her hands over the writing, the deep grooves in the wood, the gloppy white-out hearts and stars around his name. When her hand brushed against the metal doorknob she couldn’t resist. The door was unlocked. She would
just look and get it out of her system. This wasn’t obsessing; it was closure.

Devon ducked into Hutch’s room, quietly closing the door behind her. The mattress was bare and wire hangers hung in the empty closet. The poster from
The Godfather
still tacked to one wall and ripped corners of photos on another were the only sad remnants of the boy who’d lived here. Surely another student would be claiming this room at some point—someone thrilled to be taken off the waiting list, to be given the chance to attend the prestigious The Keaton School, only to discover they’d be sleeping in a dead student’s bed. The wait list might not look so bad then.

Devon reached for the light switch, but stopped. She could almost feel the weight of Hutch’s hand and his whisper in her ear,
“No lights. It will give away our position.”
Devon inhaled, trying to find a scent of Hutch, but the air only smelled of dust and floor disinfectant. She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she spotted letters carved into the underside of a shelf behind the bed. She scooted closer, the words seemed out of order, and then she realized:
miles to go before I sleep
written backward. Next to the words was a circle with what looked like three branches stemming from it. She ran her hands over Hutch’s carvings, brittle slivers of wood dropped away at the touch. Her breathing got shallow and quick and she felt her ears burning. Anger was creeping in and taking over. She had to get out of here.

O
N A CLEAR DAY
, with the sunset over the Pacific Ocean, the Palace had one of the best views on campus. Deep shades of orange and pink bled into purple as the sun vanished, and the ocean turned a dark blue as if pulling a comforter around itself to sleep for the night. But now the vista was ruined. The decaying concrete bunker was sectioned off by
police tape—do not cross
. Bright yellow and rippling in the wind, it threatened to snap off and drift down the mountain any second. The gravel and broken glass crunched under
Devon’s shoes. Again, she wasn’t obsessing; she just wanted to see where it had happened. Returning to the scene of the crime—out of curiosity alone.

Devon sat on the bench wedged in the back of the bunker, with the graffiti-smothered walls all around her and nothing but the view below. Here was where he’d drawn his last breath. But for Hutch to be murdered, someone else had to have been here with him that night too. What were they doing? What brought Hutch out here? Matt said Hutch got a phone call that night. Could someone have called him to meet at the Palace? The police found a body and pills so they assumed suicide, which meant they probably hadn’t looked beyond this spot.

Devon walked behind the bunker. Only a single narrow trail through overgrown plants led to this spot. Anybody going to the Palace had to come through the Keaton campus and down the hillside. She walked up the trail, tucking her arms close to avoid getting scratched by the dried branches. The top of the trail opened to a gravel driveway where the school left outdated landscaping equipment. The driveway then eased into the lawn, where 100 yards up the hill, the gray rooftop of Spring House appeared. Devon stood in the gravel driveway. It must have been dark when Hutch had come here.

The sun was getting lower over the ocean, a half circle of golden orange light casting long shadows through the trees. If Hutch was angry about a phone call he got that night, did he come down here to blow off steam? But why
here
? Did he want to smoke a cigarette? Pot? Drink? It had to be something illicit to take him away from his dorm after hours. To Devon’s left she noticed an old tractor, rusted, tucked away by the hillside.
Where Keaton farm tools go to die
, Devon thought.

Something else caught her eye. Her feet crunched in the gravel as she walked toward the tractor. Three small green bottles were lined up next to the dirt-encrusted wheel. They looked oddly clean. Devon picked one up; it was small and round in her hand, not lean
like a soda or beer bottle. She sniffed; the sharp smell of stale alcohol hit her. She studied the front of the bottle. The label was peeled off; only streaks of white paper remained. Was it possible Hutch drank from these bottles? Or better yet, his murderer? She tucked the bottle up her sleeve. Even getting caught with an empty was an offense punishable by suspension. She would have to hide it well back in her room.

Behind the tractor Devon saw a metal bottle cap: dark green with the ridges poking out and a white G printed on the top. It fit her bottle. Now she just had to figure out what the G stood for. It was possible other students had snuck to the Palace and had a beer or two in Hutch’s honor, but these were too far away.

Devon peered around the tractor to the hillside behind it. A wide patch of dirt cut a path down through the scrub brush—marked with fresh tire tracks. Is this how the tractor maintained the hillside? Devon glanced back at the wide, zigzag tires. The pattern didn’t match, and she doubted the tractor had actually moved from that spot in months. Could a car have driven up here? The tracks disappeared around a bend in the mountain. While anyone going to Keaton had always used the paved main road leading up the hill, Devon wondered if this was a secret fire road only certain people knew of. The opposite mountainside was draped in grapevines extending long shadows, like an army of scarecrows guarding their fortress. Grandpa Hutchins’s vines. He had ridden a horse up the hillside to Hutch’s funeral, and he had somehow left Devon’s room without taking the main road.…

It was getting dark. Devon knew she would have to be checked into her dorm for study hours soon. With her green bottle and metal cap, she trekked back up the hill. So, who besides Grandpa Hutchins might have access to that fire road? Hutch, Raven, and Bodhi probably knew about it too. A car door slamming in the parking lot near Spring House snapped Devon back to attention. It was that same silver BMW she had seen idling there before, Maya was walking away from
it. Actually, more like stomping away from it. Devon saw her swipe at her cheeks, as if wiping away tears.

“Maya, come on! It’s not that big a deal.” A familiar-sounding guy with brown hair tucked behind his ears was yelling after Maya from the driver’s seat. He yelled again, “Maya!” but she didn’t turn around. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel, then turned, noticing Devon walking by.

She locked eyes with Eric Hutchins.

September 10, 2010

Freshman Year

“Want another?” Hutch dipped a Nutter Butter into the gallon of molten chocolate and careful to catch the drips, he fed the cookie to Devon. “Amazing, right?”

“Reh. Ah-mreh-zrhing,” was all Devon could muster in between chews. Hutch smiled, watching her chew. He wiped at a drizzle of chocolate on her lip and leaned in and kissed her.

“Chocolate,” he explained.

Devon self-consciously wiped a hand across her chin. “I’m probably a total mess right now.” She hopped off the counter and started washing her hands in the sink. If only there was a mirror in here, she could at least fix her hair. It was probably too dark to see her reflection anyways.
Please, don’t let me have cookie and chocolate all over my face
.

“Hey, I need your help,” Hutch said. Devon turned and saw
Hutch had a glob of chocolate on one cheek. “I think I got some chocolate on me, could you tell me where?”

Devon laughed. “Right there.” She pointed to her own cheek.

“Here?” Hutch put a glob on his other cheek. Devon laughed more.

“No, here,” she wiped at her own cheek again.

“Oh, I get it. Here,” Hutch left a streak of chocolate across his mouth.

She kept laughing. “Nope, that’s not it.”

“I need you to show me then,” he said. He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her against him.

Devon used the paper towel in her hand and wiped at Hutch’s cheek. “Right here,” she kissed his cheek. She wiped the chocolate off his other cheek and kissed that spot too. “Right there.” She wiped the towel across his lips. “And right here.” He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. She lifted onto her tiptoes to meet his kiss again. But this time, both of his hands were around her waist, the small of her back, pulling her up against him.
Now this is making out
, Devon thought. Goosebumps ran down her arms. She felt his fingers slip under her bra strap.

“Whoa, wait a sec,” Devon said pulling away. “What if someone comes in?”

“I’m sorry. Do you want to stop?” Hutch ran his fingers along Devon’s cheekbone, her jaw, over her shoulders.

“No, I mean, it’s just.…”

“It’s fine. I get it.” Hutch smiled softly, his eyes inches from her own.

“You don’t think I’m like some prude now, do you?”

“Devon, there’s a lot of things I think about you, but that is not one of them, okay?”

“A lot of things? Really?”

“Really.”

“Just from tonight?”

“Not just from tonight. You sat in front of me in that Orientation assembly.”

“You kept kicking my seat.”

“You got bitchy about it.”

Devon laughed and felt her cheeks go red. “I did, didn’t I? But you were pretty annoying, you have to admit.”

He shrugged, his arms still around her waist. “Hey, I would have hated me too.”