Escape Theory

CHAPTER 4




Name: Devon Mackintosh

Session Date: Sept. 15

Referred by: Mr. Robins

Reason for Session: Peer Counselor Review



“We just want to make sure this doesn’t escalate from here,” Mr. Robins said. He used his teeth to rip off the top of a disposable lens wipe packet. The silver wrapping crinkled, and the alcohol-soaked paper instantly assaulted Devon’s nose. She squeezed her nose to stifle the rising sneeze. “Suicide clusters tend to happen in smaller communities. And when you add a personality like Jason’s, well, we just want to make sure no one follows in his footsteps.” Devon nodded.

Mr. Robins took off his glasses and wiped them down. In four precise moves his glasses were clean and back on his face. “So? How do you think we’re doing?” He looked up at her.

“Um.…” Devon couldn’t get past “suicide clusters.” Really? That’s what was worrying Mr. Robins? The huge amount of prescription pill abuse, rampant under the faculty’s nose, was maybe a better place to start. But Devon couldn’t tell him that. Suicide Clusters? It sounded so serious, so blown out of proportion. And when things were blown out of proportion that meant one thing at Keaton: parents. Of course. The parents must have been calling in droves, panicked that whatever had happened to Hutch could happen to their kid.

“I think we’re doing well,” she finally said. “Matt and Isla were the closest to Hutch, and I don’t think suicide is in their immediate plans.” Devon wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. What if she was wrong? Could she be sure Isla wasn’t going to take a handful of pills? I hope not. Was that really enough to rely on right now? “I’m not seeing any red flag behavior.”*

“How is Isla doing? She was quite visibly upset the other day.”

“Isla’s okay. She’s sad, of course, but I’m checking in with her a lot. She had a bit of an anxiety attack before our first session, but I, um.…” Devon’s thoughts drowned out her voice. Isla had all those pills. The alias to get more pills. Devon could turn her over to Mr. Robins right now and let him worry about her. But she knew that Isla trusted her.

“But you?” He opened his notebook and scribbled something Devon couldn’t see.

“Huh? Oh, but, she and Hutch already broke up over the summer so she wasn’t technically his girlfriend when he died. Just in case that mattered for your notes.” Devon took a deep breath and opened her own notebook. “I was wondering, do you have any suggestions for what to say when anyone asks about how much training I’ve had? That one’s been a little tough to answer.”

“Well, that’s part of this experiment. You’re their peer, you’re not meant to be a professional. They can come to me if they want a professional. That’s why I have the MFT after my name, see?” He pulled a business card from his blazer to prove the obvious point. Again, Devon contained the urge to roll her eyes. “When they ask I would say it’s fair to tell them that you are a concerned peer. You’ve been taught everything required to give them adequate support.”

“Thanks, I’ll try that.” Yeah, like that will work when Cleo Lambert is staring me down. It was like Mr. Robins didn’t speak Human properly. Or maybe he just failed in Teenager.

“Sounds good so far,” he said. “We’ll keep a close eye on Miss Martin, make sure she works through the grief process properly. And I’ll review your notes before your next session with Matt.” Mr. Robins wrote a few more things in his notebook. Devon couldn’t read upside down, his writing was messy and loose across the page. She did see her and Isla’s names written a few times.

“My notes?” Devon played dumb.

“Well, yes, your records are our records. This is a trial program, remember.” Mr. Robins scrunched his nose to adjust his glasses. He leveled his eyes at her to drive home the point.

“Right, yeah, of course. Except, the thing is, my notes are really sloppy right now. You know how it is when you’re writing fast. Let me just type them up for you so it’s easier to read.”

“All right. I’ll expect them next week.” He turned the page in his notebook and kept writing. “I hope you’re keeping your clinical distance, Devon.”

“Of course. I know that’s important. Being impartial helps me see their overall picture better.”†

“Good, I glad you remembered that. That’s good for today, unless there’s anything else you want to discuss?” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. She chewed her lip. Mr. Robins was acting as a mentor, so maybe he would come through for her now. She had to find out more than the student rumor mill knew.

“I guess I can’t stop thinking about it. Hutch. Are they really sure it was suicide? I was researching OxyContin and the possibility for an accidental overdose is pretty high. And Hutch didn’t fit the profile. He wasn’t depressed, he wasn’t an outcast.… I guess I’m still having a hard time accepting it. I know that’s just another stage in the grief process, but I’m not sure this should pass. Shouldn’t we find out more? Isn’t someone looking into it? They should be, you know.”

Mr. Robins cleared his throat. “I know this isn’t easy. One of the hardest things about becoming an adult is accepting that we can’t change the past. All we can do is focus on what’s in front of us, having learned what we should learn. The grief will pass, I promise.”‡

“Yeah, but—”

“Jason Hutchins had his own troubles,” he interrupted in a clipped voice. “We all have to accept that.”

“I’m not in denial, if that’s what you’re thinking. I want to know more, that’s all. It’s a little tough calming people down when I don’t have any information to back up my position. Isn’t there something more you can tell me? Was there an autopsy?”

He sighed. “Devon, this isn’t a crime show or case that needs to be solved. Especially not by a student. It’s done. Now, tomorrow the Hutchins family will be on campus for Jason’s memorial service. I expect you to continue to counsel your fellow students, be respectful of what this family is going through, and to drop any theories you might have. Am I understood?” Mr. Robins pushed his glasses up his nose again and leveled his eyes at Devon.

“Understood.”

“I think that’s good for today.” Mr. Robins stood up and Devon followed suit. “I know Stanford is going to love seeing all your success with this program on your application next year. Keep up the good work.” He gave Devon a thin-lipped smile.

“Thanks,” Devon said, smiling tightly in return. She understood completely.

BROWN OXFORDS STUCK OUT from underneath the stall door—the only one closed, at the end of the row. Devon noticed that they were attached to small feet and tan legs. The gagging sound was quickly followed by the contents of someone’s stomach filling the toilet.

Devon finished drying her wet hands.

After a few seconds, a flush; a minute after that, Maya emerged. She looked like she’d just been washed up ashore after a shipwreck. Her face was pale, sweaty, and strands of her hair stuck to her cheeks and forehead.

“Presley had the same thing,” Devon said as gently as she could. She pretended to look at herself in the mirror. “I’m going into town. Want me to get you anything? Ginger ale? Saltines? Nyquil?”

Maya leaned over the sink next to Devon. She smoothed her hair into a slick ponytail and fished a tube of lipstick from the pocket of her purse. She drew the coral red onto her lips. Devon realized she was staring at Maya’s reflection.

“Thanks. I was going to go later.” Maya spoke to Devon’s reflection with a tired smile. She turned on the faucet and used some water to tame her flyaway hairs. Devon took another look at her own hair. It was still in the braid she slept in. Behind her, Maya burped, loudly and very unladylike. She steadied herself over the sink while the wave of nausea passed.

“You sure?” Devon asked. “It’s really no problem.”

Maya nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. “A six-pack of Sprite or something would be cool if you see it. Just until my stomach calms down.”

“Sure, I’ll grab it. And don’t worry. Presley said it was just a twenty-four-hour thing.”

THE KEATON VAN DROPPED students off in Monte Vista every hour on the weekends. It was only a ten-minute drive up or down the hill. With a deli, a pharmacy, and outdated video store, Monte Vista wasn’t much of a town to brag about. But for Keaton students it was the perfect escape from their overscheduled lives. The local beaches were what put Monte Vista on the map and brought a constant flow of surfers. Surfing defined the town; surfboard wax was sold next to packs of gum at every cash register.

Devon crossed the street to the Monte Vista pharmacy. As she cut across the parking lot, a rusted red Volvo with two surfboards on a roof rack peeled around the corner and nearly took off Devon’s toes. The car parked and the driver popped out: a girl a little younger than Devon wearing a red bikini. Devon noticed her black hair in a thick pile on the top of her head.

Raven. Here she was, right in front of Devon, again. Devon thought she had seen that Volvo in the student parking lot before. Yes, it must be Raven.

She shot a brief blank stare at Devon before walking away.

SHAMPOO AND CONDITIONER (COMBINED for better time efficiency): check. Deodorant: check. Sprite for Maya: check. Devon crossed item after item off her shopping list until she drifted past the shelves of pregnancy tests. She stopped to take a closer look. Early Response. Accu-Test. Positive Plus. Paternity test kits. Who was Hutch stealing the test for? And why not just buy it?

She glanced up at the angled mirrors leering over the aisles. The dirty linoleum floor and shelves full of dizzying colors reflected back from the ceiling. And at the other end of the store, the pharmacy counter glowed white. Devon spotted a guy in a white lab coat with blond dreadlocks tied at the nape of his neck, organizing bottles on the shelves. Bodhi, she realized: the former Keaton student Cleo mentioned. He looked familiar. Of course, she must have seen him around Monte Vista. In her memory he blurred into all the other surfers around town, but that was before he had a name.

Cleo had mentioned that Bodhi was Hutch’s Get Out Of Jail Free card that day. Devon watched in the mirrors as Bodhi passed a tray of filled prescription bottles across the counter. So, he was a pharmacist: a convenient partner for the school’s prescription pill supplier. Hutch probably helped Bodhi make a fair amount of money off Keaton students who wouldn’t bat an eyelash at paying $20 for a dose of Vicodin to liven up (or deaden) a Saturday night stuck on campus.

She thought about approaching him, when Bodhi suddenly took off his white lab coat and ducked out a side door. Maybe he was just taking a break? Devon left her basket in front of the pregnancy tests and hurried out to the parking lot.

THE TOWN OF MONTE Vista was full of secrets that only Keaton students found valuable. The Monte Vista Deli would sell cigarettes without carding for one. The grocery store always carded, but the gas station would sell liquor to the fakest of IDs. Presley had once used her gym membership card from home to buy vodka, and the clerk never questioned it. They knew that as long as the cameras caught them showing something to the clerk, no one would get in trouble. Devon figured it was because Keaton students lived by so many rules on campus, rules in real life were just another set of boundaries to be pushed and worked around. Working around rules was the true cornerstone of the Keaton education, the one no one ever discussed.

The three dumpsters behind Monte Vista Pharmacy hid another secret: They formed a half circle that shielded any illicit activities from the outside world. Students bought pot from local Monte Vista surfers, shoulder-tapped older locals to buy booze, and even sometimes went dumpster-diving for rejected pharmacy items.

Knowing all that, Devon was still shocked when she spotted Bodhi giving Matt a bro hug within the dumpsters’ safe confines. She crouched low and peered through a crack between two of them. She could see Matt and Bodhi clearly, passing a joint back and forth and talking quietly about something. Hutch probably, but who knew what else these two had in common? Matt reached into his jeans pocket. Devon only saw the flash of green before it hit her: The same green paper Sasha Harris had passed Matt in the dining hall. Now he was passing it to Bodhi. She sat on the hot asphalt to absorb this new information. It was all quite clear. Matt was getting his pharmaceuticals from Bodhi. Which also confirmed that Hutch and Bodhi had been doing the same thing before Hutch overdosed.

Devon still couldn’t picture Hutch as a drug dealer. But clearly she was the only one who couldn’t. Why would he get himself tangled in this world?

We can’t change the past. All we can do is focus on what’s in front of us. Mr. Robins’s words floated to the front of Devon’s mind.

She peeked between the dumpsters again. Matt was giving Bodhi another half-hug/half-handshake. Then he walked away, disappearing around the far corner of the building. Devon stood up and wiped the dirt off her jeans. Somehow she had to get Bodhi to talk to her.

Summoning her courage, she rounded the dumpsters. “Hey. You’re Bodhi, right?”

He turned and shoved his hands in his pocket of his low-hanging plaid shorts. His black-and-white-checkered Vans bore the telltale scuffs of a skater. Without the white coat he’d worn inside, Bodhi looked like just another local surf bum.

“Who’s asking?” His eyes flickered behind her, as if he expected a handful of cops to appear.

“I’m Devon. Devon Mackintosh. I go to Keaton.”

Bodhi laughed. “No shit.”

“That obvious, huh?” She smiled and kept a safe distance. It was just like counseling: Make him comfortable, don’t be threatening.

“I’ve seen you in town before. What’s up? I don’t have anything, you know. Somebody gave you old information.” Bodhi checked his frayed, Velcro watch.

“Do you have a minute to talk about Hutch?”

“Jason? Yeah, I read about it. Shame, right? That kid seemed to have everything going on.” Bodhi looked past Devon again. He shifted from one foot to the other.

“Yeah, shame,” Devon said.

Bodhi turned to go. “I didn’t really know the kid, so I don’t—”

“Was it yours?” Devon interrupted.

He whirled to face her. The sunlight picked up blond whiskers sprouting on his chin. He was only a few inches taller than Devon, but his broad shoulders made him seem bigger, more powerful than most of the scrawny guys at Keaton. Hutch had shoulders like that. So did Matt. Devon had to admit, surfing came with an automatic sex appeal.

“What are you talking about?” Bodhi’s hands went back in his pockets.

“The Oxy that Hutch took. Did it come from you?” Devon could hear her voice; it sounded much sharper and more stable than she felt. She knew she had no right to talk to a stranger this way.

Bodhi cleared his throat and spat on the ground next to him. “Look, I heard it was an overdose too, but that doesn’t mean shit. He could have gotten that from anywhere. Hutch was resourceful like that.” Bodhi stared hard back at Devon. “And I don’t appreciate the accusation. You should watch yourself. No need for a girl like you to get into trouble.”

“I don’t think it was suicide,” Devon blurted out.

“That doesn’t change the fact that he’s still dead.”

She moved closer to him. “I know he was here that day. He stole something and you helped him.”

He shook his head. “That didn’t happen,” he said. She was now close enough she could see where the tan line started at the base of his throat.

“Was he here with anyone that day?” she pressed.

“Why are you digging all this up?” Bodhi demanded.

She held his steely gaze. “Hutch is going to be remembered as the boy who killed himself. The troubled teen that OD’d. And I don’t think he did it. Don’t you think we owe it to him to dig a little deeper? He’d do it for you.”

Bodhi looked at his watch again and drummed his hands against his thighs. “I can tell you this; he didn’t get it from me. That’s a controlled substance; I wouldn’t be handing it out. And besides, Hutch hated that shit. Wouldn’t even take cough medicine anymore because he didn’t trust it. If he really wanted to kill himself, it wouldn’t have been with pills, let alone Oxy. But judging from the look on your face, you’ve figured that out already. Now I gotta go.” Bodhi started for the back door, then hesitated. “You know, the coroner is in town from Santa Cruz. He surfs. Maybe I’ll see him on the water.”

Devon smiled. “And maybe you’ll let me know if you find anything out?”

“Maybe,” Bodhi said back. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”

BY THE TIME DEVON finished her shopping, the Keaton Van was pulling out of the pharmacy parking lot. She waved after it, but the van didn’t stop. Great, I’ve got an hour to kill. She let her canvas shopping bags slip onto the ground. Maya’s Sprite cans clinked against each other.

Spotting a shady corner across the parking lot, she set up camp. She pulled a copy of Chekhov: The Essential Plays out of one of her bags. At least she could catch up on some homework while she waited. She’d only read a few lines when a car honked.

“Get in,” a hoarse voice commanded.

Devon looked up to see the beat-up red Volvo from earlier. The black-haired girl was smoking a rolled cigarette, her hand dangling out the window. She was still wearing her red bikini.

“You’re Raven, right?” Devon asked.

“Yeah, duh. Get in. My brother said I should give you a ride back up the hill. Saw you miss the van.” The girl started scrolling through an iPod.

Better than sitting on this curb for the next hour, Devon thought. “Cool, thanks. A ride would be great.” She stuffed herself and the bags into the passenger seat.

“Nice to meet you officially,” the girl said. She held out a hand for Devon to shake. A thick row of hemp bracelets dangled from her wrist.

“You, too. I’m Devon.”

“I wasn’t stalking you, I swear. Or was I?” Raven gave Devon a wide-eyed crazy look and then laughed. “I’m just screwing with you. Bodhi said you were a little uptight.” She plugged the iPod into a mini set of speakers precariously perched on either side of the dashboard. There seemed to be a thin layer of sand over everything in the car. Devon saw a pile of beach towels in the back seat. “You got the right one.”

“The right what?”

Raven pressed on the gas. The right speaker slid forward. Devon caught it just before it fell into her lap. She wedged it back in place onto a sticky spot on the dashboard. Ah, the right one.

She suddenly noticed Raven’s iPod sitting in a homemade-looking dock, with a tangle of wires attached to an outdated tape deck.

“You, ah, make your own iPod adapter thing?” Devon asked, amazed.

“Yeah, it’s easier than you think. Pretty basic wiring.” Raven kept driving.

Yeah, basic wiring for you, Devon thought. The most sophisticated wiring Devon had accomplished was a second-grade science experiment involving a battery and an anemic light bulb.

Raven turned onto Via Montana Road. Devon counted the bracelets on Raven’s right arm. One, two, three, four, five … hand-woven, wet, with frayed edges. One of them had a small shell looped through the string. It reminded Devon of the necklace Hutch had made for Isla. Guess hemp was the cool thing these days. She must have missed the memo, as Isla would have said. Raven’s hair was still wet, but the sticky smell of saltwater was inescapable.

“Bodhi said you wanted to know about Hutch,” Raven said. She kept her eyes on the road ahead.

“So, Bodhi’s your brother? Sorry, I didn’t see the family resemblance.” Devon tried to avert her eyes from the rat nest of hair. She saw that Raven was driving barefoot. At least she was wearing jean shorts.

“The black hair did it? Yeah, the whole family is scarily blond, had to rebel somehow, ya know.” She shrugged. But she did have the same piercing green eyes as Bodhi, and a batch of freckles dusted her cheeks and nose. “So, what’d you talk about?”

“I was asking if Bodhi had seen Hutch before he died. Sorry, this all must be a lot of boring talk about someone you didn’t even know. Crappy way to start your freshman year I’ll bet.…” Devon’s voice trailed off.

Raven was crying. A tear dripped from her lashes

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Devon said gently.

Raven kept her eyes on the road. Her lips pressed tightly together. The surfboards rattling in their rack overhead. Neighborhood streets were getting farther and farther apart the closer they got to the mountain, replaced with pine trees and boulders. The carved wooden The Keaton School sign loomed ahead. Devon glanced at Raven again, but she seemed oblivious to the approaching turn.

“You can drop me at the bottom of the hill if that’s easier?” Devon tried. Raven didn’t acknowledge her or the sign. The Volvo sped right past where Devon needed to go. Raven used her bracelet-laden hand to wipe the tears off her cheeks.

“Or, if you want to take me back to Monte Vista? I can wait for the next bus.” Devon realized she didn’t know this girl at all. Really, Raven could be anyone: a crazy girl scooping up stray Keaton students and taking them on joyrides. Bodhi could have turned this lunatic onto Devon out of spite. Had she pissed him off enough to deserve this? “Raven?”

“Hang on,” Raven said.

She turned a quick left onto a dirt road. Once again, Devon caught her speaker as it slid across the dashboard. Once that was back in place she gripped the sides of her seat. The Volvo kicked up a cloud of dust and the decade-old shocks lurched at every bump as they climbed up the gravely hillside. The dense trees gave way to grapevines tied to stakes. Row after row, the grapevines stood tall in perfect precision. Devon felt the cans of Sprite jostle around her feet; she’d have to remember to tell Maya not to open those immediately. If she ever got them to Maya. Where the hell were they going?

Out the window the vines seemed endless, stitched across the hillside. To her left a row of pines seemed to demarcate the property line. Devon caught a glimpse of the Keaton flag waving proud at the top of the hill in the distance; they were on the mountainside behind school. The car took a right turn and suddenly Devon was sitting in a circular driveway in front of a small craftsman house. They lurched to a stop.

Raven killed the engine.

“This property belongs to Reed Hutchins, Hutch’s grandfather. This is the Athena Vineyard, named after Reed’s wife. Reed hired Bodhi and me to work here over the summer. Hutch came down in July and lived here in the guest house.”

Reed Hutchins. The name rattled in her head. He’d gone to Devon’s dorm room and now here she was on his property. What was the connection?

Raven nodded toward the battered wooden door. She turned to Devon, fresh tears brimming from her eyes. “Every day Hutch.…” She exhaled slowly, collecting herself. “Every day he brought me lunch. No matter where I was on the property, he made sure I didn’t work through lunch. It was just a stupid peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but he never missed a day.” Raven looked out the window toward the vines.

She’s looking for him, Devon thought. She recognized that look, that searching, like Hutch could still be hanging out where you last left him.

“You know, he said there were two kinds of people in this world.” Raven said.

“Those that like peanut butter and those that don’t,” Devon responded without thinking. She could almost see Hutch in the vineyard, walking through the dirt in his hiking boots, bringing Raven a sandwich on the vineyard. He probably made a game out of it.

Raven’s mouth fell open.

“I heard him say that once, too,” Devon said. “He was a peanut butter person.”

“Yeah, he was.” Raven smiled, but her chin quivered. She leaned across Devon and flipped open the glove compartment. She pulled out a small pouch of tobacco and rolled herself a cigarette. “Want one?”

“Um, no thanks. I don’t smoke.”

“Of course you don’t.” Raven licked her cigarette and lit it. After a long smoky exhale, “It wasn’t suicide, Devon.”

“You and I are the only ones that seem to think so,” Devon said. She found herself heaving a shaky sigh of relief. Raven was no psychopath. Raven was a girl in pain, just like she was. True: No matter what she thought, Hutch was still gone. But here was Raven, fighting just as hard as Devon to keep her memories of Hutch fresh. Devon wasn’t alone in her beliefs anymore. “Maybe, it’s up to us to prove it.”


* “Drug use, sudden weight loss, and fluctuating emotions are all potential red flag behaviors.”

—Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT

† “Working with Feelings” —Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT

‡ “List of Don’ts: Don’t make promises based on a subject’s emotions.”—Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT