Escape Theory

CHAPTER 14




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.”

PLAYING 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.

THE 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.

“You stupid whore! I know it was you. I know it was you,” Isla growled. She slapped at Raven, pulled her hair, while Raven squirmed under her pinned to the ground.

“Isla, stop!” Devon finally came to her senses and dashed across the field. Luckily Maya swooped in and pulled Isla off Raven. Isla tried to push past her to tackle Raven again, but Maya held her back. Devon skidded to a stop just as Maya slapped Isla and pulled her close by her lacrosse shirt. “You leave her alone, Isla. It wasn’t her. Do you hear me? It wasn’t her.”

Isla took a few steps away. She glanced around, breathing heavily, her face flushed. Everyone stared at her. She looked back at Maya, confused, like she had suddenly landed in this spot, unaware of the last minute everyone else experienced. Maya repeated quietly, so only Devon and Isla could hear. “It wasn’t her, Isla.”

Devon stepped in. “Let’s get you to the Health Center, huh?” She reached a hand out to Isla, but Isla turned around and bolted—vanishing into the woods on the other side of the parking lot.

Mrs. Freeman walked Raven toward the team bench. “We still got a game, ladies,” she called, but even she sounded shaken. “Let’s get ready.”

Devon noticed Raven’s goalie pads were askew, strands of black hair stuck out of her ponytail, a red blotch was turning into a welt on her cheek. She turned back to Maya. “How did you know what she was talking about?”

“We both know it wasn’t Raven, don’t we?” Maya whispered. She brushed past Devon to the bench where Mrs. Freeman was gathering the team into a huddle. But Devon couldn’t move. We both know it wasn’t Raven.