Keaton School 01: Escape Theory (27 page)

She had to lie on her back on the mattress to see Hutch’s writing underneath the shelf. But it was dark. She didn’t want to turn on the light; she couldn’t risk attracting attention to the room. Next to the closet was a mirror mounted to the wall, held to the wall with plastic clips. Maybe there was a way to get the mirror to reflect enough outside light to see what Devon needed.

These dorm room basics had passed through years of students, so it was no surprise that the clips didn’t put up an argument when she pulled the mirror off. Devon lay on the bed again and she tilted the glass until she caught the light from outside. She saw the words Hutch had written on the underside of the shelf backward—
miles to go before I sleep
—now plain to read in the reflection. And next to them: the logo she had seen in the library. The circle with three trees, a variation on the Keaton logo. Could it also be the same logo from Reed Hutchins’s belt buckle? It had to be, although why and how, Devon did not know. She also saw now that
Tres Abbatis
and the three-tree logo was scratched into the black mirror backing. Was this carving also from Hutch? The scrawl of the logos matched too well not to be from Hutch. What was he trying to communicate? Devon repeated the works to herself. “Tres abbatis, tres abbatis,” probably Latin, meaning three of something. She’d look up
abbatis
back in her room.

As Devon slid the mirror back into the clips on the wall she heard muffled voices in the room next door. “Matt, you’re being paranoid,” a girl’s voice was saying.

She held her breath, listening.

“I’m being paranoid? You need to be a little more paranoid if you ask me. You’re certainly taking the pills for it. He knows I have it, Isla.”

“Calm down, you’ve kept it on the DL. He thinks everything went down in flames with Hutch.”

“If anyone finds this do you know how busted I’ll be? I’m not going down for this. You know what? Hutch isn’t here anymore, he can take the heat.”

Devon heard the door squeak open. There were footsteps in the hall—and the handle on Hutch’s door turned. She barely had enough time to pull the closet door shut before Matt stormed into the room. She couldn’t see what he did, but she heard a squeak of bedsprings. Then Hutch’s door closed again. Devon took a deep breath. She counted to twenty, praying she wouldn’t faint. She was alone. Hutch’s mattress was still empty, the shelves still bare. She lifted the mattress and saw a small black moleskin journal like Hutch used to carry. Devon flipped it open to find pages and pages of initials with numbers and letters next to them.

Hutch’s records of the pharmaceuticals. Cleo mentioned he was good at keeping track of how much people had. That’s because he kept a notebook of everything. No wonder Matt wanted to hide this. He and Isla sounded worried about someone finding this notebook. Reed and Raven and Bodhi were right; they
were
hiding something. Maybe they knew where the Oxy came from that had killed Hutch. Maybe this book had that answer. Devon felt her hands clenching into fists. She tucked the
book into the back of her pants and got the hell out of Fell House as fast as she could.

D
EVON
’
S DOOR WAS OPEN
. Funny, she’d left it closed before going to the library. Seething, she picked up her pace down the hallway. If Grant thought he could sneak in without her noticing, he was sorely mistaken. Devon would love to catch him red-handed. Would she turn him in right away? Or enjoy letting him simmer in his guilt for a day or two, knowing that he could be called to the headmaster’s office at any time?

She burst in, taking a breath to yell “Caught you!” but instead of Grant, she found Presley sitting on her bed next to Mrs. Sosa. They both looked worried, sad—guilty, even. “Pres? What’s up?” Devon asked. She dropped her backpack on the ground and noticed her dresser drawer was open. The drawer with the green bottles. Mrs. Sosa spoke as the dread snaked its way down Devon’s back.

Oh, God, no
.

“Devon? We need to have a talk. Have a seat.” Mrs. Sosa said, slowly and quietly.

“Dev, I’m sorry. I thought you had my hoodie. I looked in your drawer and I saw the bottles.”

Mrs. Sosa pulled the plastic bag of the three green bottles onto her lap. Inside the bag was also the small bottle of Oxy from Isla and the stray blue Adderall pills she had taken from Isla’s dresser. When the photo of Isla and Hutch poked through behind the bottles, Devon thought she was going to throw up. How was she going to explain this? The book she had taken from Hutch’s room was still wedged into the back of her jeans. She could feel it press against her, getting sticky against her skin as she breathed. Presley had warned her to stop obsessing. Matt had said it, too. And now, here she was, looking so obviously like a complete psycho with even more damning evidence tucked in her pants! She would be sent to see … who exactly?

“I’ve already called Mr. Robins.…” Mrs. Sosa began. Oh yes, that’s exactly who they would send her to.

Name: Devon Mackintosh

Session Date: Oct. 6

Session #3

Campus was typically quiet on a Saturday morning. A thick fog had settled around the Keaton hill. Devon couldn’t even see the adjacent mountainside from her window. She had bundled up in her thickest sweatshirt and sweats, and fluffy Uggs. Somehow looking presentable at this meeting didn’t seem like a priority. She had accepted her fate and knew the school would not look kindly upon any student hoarding items like she was. She also knew that the presence of Hutch’s photo in her stash made it worse. It made her a stalker, an obsessive, everything Presley had accused her of being.

Inside Mr. Robins’s office she found him sipping from a silver travel mug of coffee. His curly hair was still wet from a shower, but stubble formed a thin carpet along his chin and cheeks. Devon and Mr. Robins had something in common; they both knew this meeting was going to suck and hadn’t put on false airs for it.

“I don’t understand how this happened,” Mr. Robins began,
without even bothering to say hello. He shoved his black-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose, only to have them slip down again. “You seemed to embrace the training. Your comprehension seemed well above what I had hoped.”

“I tried to follow the training guide as much as possible,” Devon added.

“I should have seen how much you were affected by Jason’s death. The denial. The anger.” He seemed to be talking to himself more than to her. “I just never expected it to go this far. The drinking, the pills.…”

“Mr. Robins. I told Mrs. Sosa. I didn’t drink from those bottles. I found them. Isla gave me those pills to protect herself. Well, not all of them, but I wasn’t taking them.”

He shook his head. “We have to shut the program down, Devon. We tried, but it’s not working. It was taking too much of an emotional toll on you. Plus, the video footage never amounted to anything. Bad connection or something.”

Even though she was being convicted of crimes she hadn’t committed, Devon still found herself feeling bad for Mr. Robins. His vision of this program had vanished into the bottom of a teenager’s found beer bottle. At least Devon knew that Raven’s video scrambler worked. She had protected the privacy of Matt and Isla and Cleo. That was something. “I don’t know if you were drinking, or if you were taking these pills. I can’t prove that, and I’m inclined to believe you here. But, you were still found with these items in your possession. I’ve already spoken to Headmaster Wyler and we’d prefer not to make the failure of the program public knowledge. You were clearly not prepared for such a demanding position in light of Jason’s death. You won’t be suspended.” He took a deep breath, letting the reprieve sink in. “The headmaster and I thought that twenty hours of yard work and the rest of the year under probation would be a sufficient consequence. And with that decided we can begin to put this business behind us.”

Devon’s cheeks burned. She knew he expected her to be
relieved, grateful even. Instead, she was pissed off. She wasn’t some delicate flower, a basket case who’d fallen apart. She’d adhered to his training. Anything else was
his
fault. Except, none of that mattered now. Devon had gone too far. Hell, maybe she should have turned her notes over to Mr. Robins after their first sessions instead of thinking she could solve everything. Matt’s control issues, Isla’s addiction, Hutch’s murder.… But looking at Mr. Robins slurp coffee, she knew she was in a better position to help than he’d ever be.

“What happens with Matt, Isla, and Cleo?” She hated the idea of him trying to get Cleo to be happy, or to convince Isla that she didn’t need the drugs. They wouldn’t confide in him. It was that simple.

“I’ll continue the individual counseling,” Mr. Robins said. “Now’s the time to tell me anything I need to know about your subjects for their sessions. Anything you may have been hesitant to share before. It’s for the good of your subjects.”

She tried to make her face blank. If he wanted to paint her as incompetent, then that’s what she would be. But inside her head was a whirring factory that kept churning out more and more things she couldn’t tell Mr. Robins. Down the assembly line they went, little packages full of secrets: Matt was dealing drugs, Hutch had gotten someone pregnant, Isla and Matt were probably abusing pharmaceuticals together, Cleo was an obsessive gossip, the Health Center was far too easy to break in to, Mr. Robins’s camera did work if only she hadn’t intentionally messed with it.… Devon wished a bell would ring and the factory could shut down for the night. “I guess they’ll tell you everything you need to know,” she said as politely as she could.

“Now, I think you and I should schedule a few weekly sessions. Clearly you have not recovered from Jason’s suicide—”

“Murder,” she interrupted without thinking. It was not something she should have said out loud, but she refused to believe
suicide
was appropriate anymore.

“Suicide,” Mr. Robins came back. “This tells me where we need
to start in therapy. You know, Devon, denial can be more powerful than we realize.”

“Hutch was murdered, Mr. Robins. And I’m going to prove it.”

“Devon, this is very disconcerting. This murder mystery you’ve invented is the clearest sign of your inability to move on from Jason’s death. It’s time to let him go. Would a trip home for a few days help? Maybe a check in with your mom?” Mr. Robins eyes studied every inch of Devon’s face. Was he looking for clues to how crazy she was?

Devon stood up. “I think our time is up, Mr. Robins. I’ll see you next week.”

P
LAYING A LACROSSE GAME
was not how Devon wanted to spend her Saturday afternoon. Crying alone in her room was her first choice. Not because she was watching everything she’d done as Peer Counselor go down the drain. No, there was also being blamed for the failure of the program itself. Taking the bus into Monte Vista and getting a double thick strawberry milkshake at the deli was a close second. Playing lacrosse didn’t even make the list.

“Hey, Ryan Slut-crest, you coming to the game?” Presley asked, her voice quieter than usual. She leaned in Devon’s doorway as Devon finished tying her cleats.

She pulled her laces tight with a terse, “On my way.”

Presley hesitated. “How’d it go with Robins?”

“It was great. We talked the whole thing out, ordered brunch, then told knock-knock jokes.” Devon shot Presley a glare just in case she had missed her sarcasm. She grabbed her stick and marched out her sliding glass door.

“Dev, you know I’m sorry, right? I didn’t know what else to do,” Presley pleaded, catching up with her. “You would have done the same thing, you know it.” Presley walked sideways to look at Devon.

“I wouldn’t, though, Presley. That’s the thing,” Devon stopped walking. “If it was you, I would have come to you first. When Pete
cheated on you last year, I told you. I didn’t wait to find out if he would or wouldn’t tell you the truth, I told you because you deserved to know. Just like I deserved to know if you were gonna rat me out to Mrs. Sosa.” Devon could hear her voice cracking. Being in trouble with Keaton stung enough, but having that perfect record shattered because her best friend turned her in … there would be no quick fix or easy forgiveness.

Presley bit her lip. “I tried, Devon. I tried to talk to you. But you don’t know how it’s been watching you. You’ve become totally obsessed with Hutch, while everyone else is trying really hard to move on.”

“I can’t, Pres. It’s not that easy.”

“You think it’s easy for any of us? We all miss him. But he’s gone and we have to keep living. You weren’t listening to me, you were off in your world that seemed to revolve around Hutch, and then I found that stuff in your drawer. Don’t hate me, seriously. I’m the only one that cared enough to do anything.”

Devon shifted her weight on her plastic cleats. “Yeah, well, I care, too. Still do.” She ran off toward the field. Maybe she was a nightmare to deal with right now. But she had her reasons. And she would prove them to Keaton.

T
HE BLEACHERS WERE LESS
packed at this game. Either the thrill of the season opener had died down, or the arrest at the last game freaked everyone out.

Raven was tucked into her goal, defending warm-up shots from the Keaton team. Isla charged and took a fierce shot, aiming right for Raven’s chest. Raven deflected. Devon smiled.
Good for her
. Isla scooped up another ball and launched another shot over her shoulder. This one whizzed toward Raven in a blur with a
splat!
as it ricocheted off Raven’s chest plate.

“Ease up. It’s just a practice run,” Raven yelled. She rubbed at her padding; she was probably going to have a bruise from that shot. Isla didn’t hear her, or maybe she didn’t care. She lobbed
another ball toward Raven’s shoulder. Raven managed to deflect again, but hobbled back. With a scream, Isla suddenly threw down her stick and charged. Devon’s jaw fell open. She could only stare, too shocked to react, as Isla tackled Raven to the ground. She ripped off Raven’s goalie mask.