Escape Theory

CHAPTER 6




Name: Matt Dolgens

Session Date: Sept. 17

Session #2



“You did a nice job with the eulogy,” Devon started. Matt sat across from her in the leather chair, studying his fingernails. Another morning session and Matt had wet hair, fresh off the surf van again. He shrugged.

“I guess. The whole thing is kind of a blur,” he said, eyes still on his fingers. He zeroed in on a particularly long cuticle and picked at it.

“A blur because it was Hutch’s funeral or because it wasn’t your speech?”

Matt looked up at her finally. “What’s your point?”

“No point, really. I just noticed that Eric had your speech prepared.”

“So what? The whole suicide thing looks really bad for the family. The least I could do is say a few words to help them out.”

“Of course, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with helping the family out during a difficult time. I just want to know where you come into all of this. How do you feel about it? In your words, not Eric’s.”*

Matt turned his head at Devon, eyeing her up and down. “Look, I appreciate you helping me with my tie yesterday and all, but feelings? Really?” He drummed his fingers on his thigh, filling the silence in the room with his tapping.

Devon put her notebook down. Time to change tactics. “Fine, no feelings. We’re just here to talk. So, anything you want to talk about. Anything.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Matt bobbed his head to the beat of his finger drumming. He blinked at the walls, avoiding her eyes. He was revved up.

“You know, after Hutch, Robins really stressed that I report anyone abusing drugs, pharmaceuticals included.”

Matt stopped drumming his fingers. “There are so many things wrong with that sentence I don’t know where to begin. Let’s see, first, you’re a narc. Second, you’re a narc. And third—oh, right, I covered that. I’m not staying here to be lectured by you.” He stood up.

“Just tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’ve got a prescription and you get it from Nurse Reilly every morning like you’re supposed to.” Devon pressed on. “Or, what if I wanted some Adderall? Just a few pills to get me through the Chem homework this week. All I need is a piece of green paper, right?”

Matt’s eyes darkened. “You’re an a*shole, Dev.” He reached for the door.

“If I figured it out that easily, don’t you think someone else will too?” Devon called after him. Her words stopped him at the door. “Matt, I really don’t want you to get in trouble. I just want to help.”

Matt pushed his wet hair behind his ears. “Yeah? How are you going to help me?”

“Will you sit down?”

“Fine.” He plopped back down in the leather cushion. His lips twisted into an uncomfortable smirk. “You haven’t told anyone?”

“No, and I’m not going to tell anyone. Not even Robins. Okay?”

“Okay.” Matt chewed on his cuticle again.

“I know you give the orders to Bodhi in Monte Vista,” Devon continued. Matt stopped chewing. She had is full attention now. “Can you tell me how the whole thing started?”†

“I.…” His fingers started drumming again.

“Matt? Please. I think it’s an important piece of what happened to Hutch.”

Matt sighed and folded his arms. He wouldn’t look at Devon, but at least he started talking. “Bodhi used to have a friend that worked at the Monte Vista Pharmacy, like years ago. I don’t even know his name. At the time, Eric was at Keaton taking all sorts of stuff for depression, anxiety, ADD, so he had all the prescriptions anyone at school could have wanted. The guy at the pharmacy would slip Eric a few extra pills here and there and Eric hooked up other students from time to time. That’s kind of why he was so good at chemistry. It wasn’t a class; it was like a way of life for him. But then Eric graduated, went all pre-med, and went off the pharmaceuticals.”

“So when Bodhi got the job at the pharmacy, he and Hutch started it up again?”

Matt shrugged. “Bodhi’s guy left the pharmacy, and Bodhi and Eric went to college. But Bodhi dropped out of MIT and came back to live in Monte Vista because of his dad. Since he was back, he got the gig at the pharmacy, so he called Eric. Eric introduced him to Hutch sophomore year, and the whole thing started up again. PharmClub Version 2.0.”

“But why would they sell the pills? Hutch and Eric didn’t need the money. You don’t either, right?”

“It’s not about the money. I don’t know why Bodhi and Eric started in the first place, probably just to see if they could get away with it. That’s kind of Eric’s thing, pushing against the rules to see how far he can bend them before they snap. Bodhi, I don’t get. He’s pretty chill. I guess when he started up again with Hutch he wanted to stick it to the Keaton powers that be, make a little extra cash, something like that.”

“Okay, but what about you? Hutch is gone, why not just end it?”

“It’s not that easy. Do you know how many people depend on me?” Matt finally stopped twitching and looked at Devon.

The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. It was amazing to think how different their worlds were, even though they lived in the same community with the same 300 people. Matt was talking like most of the school bought from him. Did they? Was she really that much out of the loop? Keaton didn’t have easy-to-define cliques, of course; the whole vibe was more free-flowing; computer nerds could be jocks; cheerleaders could be drama geeks; they were often the same people, just flexing different talents. But a few kids did rule, just like at every school. Hutch had been one of them. And Matt still was. And The PharmClub, if that’s what it was called, seemed to cover everyone. The only requirement was people that were willing to do or take anything to be better than the rest. Or maybe it was another example of Keaton students in the habit of bending rules in their favor. Either way, Devon still felt the sting of being left out—yet again.

“Don’t you think this is bigger than your social standing at Keaton?” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not judging—”

“Yes, you are.”

“Okay, sorry. I’m judging a little. But, do you know what would happen if you got caught doing this?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’d get kicked out, easy. Whatever. I’m sure Boulder will still take me next year.”

“Kicked out is the least of it. You could end up in jail.”

Matt laughed shortly. “Doubtful. I just want to enjoy the moment. People need me right now, and that’s kind of cool. Like you, you must get off on this therapy stuff a little bit.”

“I don’t know that ‘get off’ is how I’d describe it. But, yeah, okay, I get it. It does feel good to be needed.”

“See? We’re speaking the same language.” Matt smiled at her and smoothed back his hair. Devon flipped the page in her notebook to buy herself a moment to think. Did I somehow just condone the fact that he’s selling drugs?‡ Mr. Robins would make her do push-ups until she graduated if he found out. Or worse.

“Before you got involved, Hutch was doing this with Bodhi on his own?”

“Yeah, this summer he called and wanted me to take over this year. He wanted out.”

“You don’t think anyone would have wanted to hurt Hutch because of this? Maybe they were mad he stopped, or he was going to rat someone out?”

“Rat someone out? Did you watch The Sopranos over the summer? Seriously.”

“I know it sounds a little weird, but you were kind of saying the same thing the other day. Hutch overdosed on Oxy, yet he apparently never took the stuff. Maybe someone wanted him out of the picture. Like, Bodhi? They were partners. Maybe Bodhi felt betrayed.”

“As cute as this little detective act you’ve got going on is, I’ve already played it from every angle. Trust me. Hutch had no enemies; he was a good guy to a sickening degree. I think he just had more demons than any of us knew.”

“Is that how you really feel? You think Hutch chose to end his life?”

“Devon, seriously. Don’t become that obsessed chick. He’s gone. None of this changes anything.”

She swallowed. First Presley, now Matt, telling her to back off for the same reason. Was she obsessing? “But it does change everything. If someone … someone.…”

“Murder? You’re going to say that someone murdered Hutch? Come on, Devon. Stick to your counseling and straight As. You’re not Nancy Drew. Just.…” His voice softened again. “Just keep all this between us, will you?”

“Of course.” Devon slumped deeper into her chair.

“Our time’s up,” Matt said, standing. “See ya next week, Doc.” He walked out the door, leaving Devon staring at his empty chair.

Murder. It sounded much more dramatic when Matt said it. But Matt was right. As long as Devon and Raven refused to believe that Hutch took those pills on purpose, or that he accidentally took too much of a drug he apparently never touched, they were looking for a murderer. With all the drugs circulating around campus, there was one obvious place to start.

THE LIGHTS WERE STILL on in the Health Center when Devon stopped in. A knitted strand of bells hanging from the door announced her arrival.

“In here,” Nurse Reilly called from her cramped office. Devon moved toward the voice. Nurse Reilly was just putting her Sudoku book down on her desk next to a steaming cup of tea. Mint, like always. With tight white curls in her hair, her round face with rosy, wrinkled cheeks and her small half-moon glasses, the Keaton joke was that Nurse Reilly missed her calling as the mascot for a cookie company. Devon remembered when she had strep throat last year and Nurse Reilly had taught her how to knit to pass the time. Even though Devon had more than enough homework to keep her busy, knitting with Nurse Reilly was probably the closest she’d ever come to hanging out with a grandmother. A grandmother who always wore brightly-colored scrubs and matching Crocs, but a grandmother nonetheless.

And here was Devon, working up a lie to tell her. It was wrong. It actually did make her feel sick.

“Devon? Are you alright, sweetheart? What can I help you with?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that … um … cramps. They’ve been really bad this month and I’m out of Aleve. Do you have anything I could take?” It sounded pitiful, but what else was she going to say? Hi, Nurse Reilly. I really need to see the medical files of my subjects, and while we’re invading people’s privacy, could I see a list of the entire school’s prescriptions?

“Sure, I can help you with that. Give me a sec.”

Nurse Reilly pushed herself out of her chair with an oomph! and walked past Devon to the exam room. Her orange Crocs squeaked on the checkered linoleum floor. Devon’s eyes flitted over the “When Mama Ain’t Happy, Ain’t Nobody Happy” needlepoint framed on the wall behind her desk. Next to it, a thin curtain covered the one window in the room. Other than this window and the front door, these were Devon’s only ways into the Health Center later. Devon quickly darted across the small office and unlatched the lock on the window. Breaking in was her only option, wasn’t it? Nurse Reilly would never let her look at the files or prescriptions. Devon would have to come back tonight when Nurse Reilly was tucked away in her apartment. Hopefully that mint tea would lull her into a deep sleep.

“Here you go,” Nurse Reilly chimed as she returned. A small paper cup held two blue pills.

“Thanks so much. I’m sure these will help.”

“You okay otherwise? I haven’t seen you since you were in here with Isla a few weeks ago. I heard you’ve been an exemplary Peer Counselor.”

“You heard that? Thanks. I’m trying. It’s more work than I thought.” Devon smiled weakly. (Like unexpected late night break-ins.) “But I like it. Feels good to help.”

“Well, that’s the most important thing. Now, you should be getting back to your dorm. It’s almost curfew. Nurse Reilly clicked off her desk lamp and grabbed her mug of tea, walking Devon toward the door. “I’m headed off to bed myself.”



AS DEVON TRUDGED UPHILL to her dorm, she saw a few guys with lacrosse sticks playing catch on Raiter Lawn. A white baseball hat glowed in the faint moonlight. Grant. She had ducked out to the Health Center the second study hours were over at 9:30 P.M. to try to avoid him and now she had to cross the lawn to get to Bay House.

She hung back for a moment on the dimly lit path. To her left a silver BMW idled in the day student parking lot. The interior lights were on, highlighting a figure in the driver’s seat with a phone pressed to his ear. Devon didn’t remember any day students driving BMWs. Someone’s father must be picking them up after study hours. How nice that would be, if someone showed up to whisk her away to a cozy home somewhere, just for one night.

It’s not that she was really avoiding Grant. But she had other things on her mind than making out in the bushes with him. And at 9:30 P.M., she knew that’s what he probably wanted to do. She watched him toss the ball, his back still turned. There were other places to play a game of catch; she wondered if Grant parked his game here on purpose. The dirty yellow ball came whizzing toward her, and Grant ran for it. His lacrosse stick reached out and swooped up the ball into its net before it could reach Devon.

“Bam!” He grinned and twirled the ball in the net. “Where you been, Miss Mackintosh?”

“Chatting with Nurse Reilly.” The curfew bell would ring any minute. She squinted across the lawn at the guy with the waiting lacrosse stick: Raj Kahn. Grant lobbed the ball back to him. Devon barely knew Raj, other than that he was a junior with Indian parents who’d moved to Dallas, and had one of the more confusing accents at Keaton. She wondered if he were part of PharmClub 2.0. Chances were more likely than not.

“We missed you, Devon,” Raj teased across the lawn. “I mean, Grant missed you.” He cackled.

“Hey Raj, aren’t you missing a date with your right hand?” Grant said, rolling his eyes. Raj waved his middle finger back, and made his way toward his dorm for the night.

“But I did miss you,” Grant murmured. He pulled Devon’s hair off her shoulder and kissed her neck. “I thought we were gonna hang.” Devon’s eyes fluttered. For a second she wondered why chatting with the school nurse was more pressing than sneaking off with Grant. She looked up at him and ran her fingers across the brim of his hat. He just wanted to be with her. So why did that make her so nervous?

The curfew bell rang.

“Tomorrow, we’ll hang,” she promised. She gave him one quick kiss and hurried off to Bay House.

“YO, LINDSAY WHORE-HAN,” PRESLEY yelled as soon as Devon entered Bay House. She stood at Devon’s door, wearing oversized purple pajama pants and a flowered pink bra, drawing a very explicit graphic representation of the male anatomy on the dry erase board. “Where you been? And more importantly, were you there with Graaaaant?”

Devon ran her hand across Presley’s drawing, wiping it out. She immediately took off her shoes and started clearing books off her bed.

“What’s up, Whore-den Caulfield?” Presley hung in her doorway, waiting. “Seriously, cough it up.”

Devon collapsed face-down on the covers. Presley took this as an invitation to settle in for a chat and plopped in the armchair. Devon couldn’t help but smile. “I saw him,” she started, “But, I don’t know, I just don’t want it to be like we have to hang out every night. Is that weird?”

Presley threw her legs over the arm of the chair. “I don’t get how you two are not like bunnies right now. He’s hot, you’re hot, these all equate to good sex whenever you want it. Kind of a no-brainer if you ask me. Do we have to have the birds and the bees talk?”

“No, I got that covered, thank-you-very-much.”

Presley frowned. “But, you’ve still got your V card? I thought you took care of that last year. Last summer at least.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t.” Devon rolled over in bed. “Nothing ever really seemed right, like, would I want to think about this person for the rest of my life as the person I gave my V card to? No one really fit the bill.”

“Until Graaaaant.”

Devon laughed. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Well, if it matters, from what I’ve heard, he won’t disappoint.” Presley stood up.

“Wait, what do you mean?”

But Presley was already running down the hallway, laughing.

“Slut!” Devon yelled after her.

There was a tap on her shoulder. Devon whirled around.

“I assume you did not mean me,” Mrs. Sosa said with a smile.

“Sorry, no, that was for Presley.” Devon slunk back into bed. Mrs. Sosa hung in the doorway a minute longer.

“Maybe instead of me punishing you for using that language, you two come up with more, Como se dice, appropriate nicknames?”

“We can do that,” Devon replied. “Night.”

“Buenas noches,” Mrs. Sosa said and closed Devon’s door.

ONE HOUR AND THREE chapters of The Birth of America for her AP History homework later, Devon pulled open her sliding glass door. The campus was dark. The fog had rolled in, which meant the stars and moon couldn’t help light the way. Devon grabbed a small flashlight from her desk drawer.

Just as she stepped onto her outside patio, the payphone in the hallway rang.

Devon froze. Late night calls were rare, especially since the students weren’t allowed to be out of their rooms past curfew. Only family emergencies or secret boyfriends could justify the risk of getting caught on the phone in the dorm hallway. Plus, if it was a secret late night call, why not just call on a cell? Maybe it was a wrong number. Devon waited, listening for footsteps. The phone rang again. And again. Hurrying back through her room, she poked her head into the hallway. Maya, in a bathrobe and towel wrapped in a turban on her head opened the door to the phone booth. She said a few words that Devon couldn’t hear, then slammed the phone down and went back to her room in a huff.

The phone started ringing again.

Let Maya handle it. I’ve got a break-in to attend to.

GETTING THROUGH THE WINDOW was no problem.

As she hoisted herself up, a red light glowed in the distance. The day student parking lot again. Brake lights. The fog made everything blur together. Could it be the same BMW from before? The engine kicked into gear with a deep hum and peeled out, gravel churning.

Would the car wake up Nurse Reilly? If the light went on, Devon would have to abandon her mission. She sat there, halfway through the window, the word mission hanging in her brain. Only when Hutch was involved did she find herself taking on secret missions.

Ten seconds passed. Then another ten.

The night settled back into a constant cricket chirping. Nurse Reilly hadn’t stirred from her apartment.

Devon’s tennis shoes whispered softly as hopped down and padded to the filing cabinets. Nurse Reilly refused to update the school system to a computer database: “Cards have served this school since its founding.” The result was a room full of putty-colored metal file cabinets with the medical history of every student that had ever attended Keaton.

Devon used her flashlight to locate the file drawer marked C-D. Dolgens, Matt. A note about a broken finger his freshman year. Devon remembered him sitting on the lacrosse bench that season with a cast on his arm and a grumpy look glued to his face. The flu freshman year. Chlamydia sophomore year. Ha! Being that good-looking and constantly hooking up with girls did have its downside. Nothing whatsoever about prescriptions for anything, which meant that any pharmaceutical Matt took, he was taking illegally. Abusing a substance is how the Keaton Companion would look at it. Rule #2a.

Devon’s head swam with how many other students could possibly be in the same boat as Matt. Did Hutch get his Oxy illegally? Despite almost everyone’s insistence that he wouldn’t take the stuff, what if he had a prescription for some unknown reason? Her fingers walked to the G-H drawer. She put her hand on the metal handle, but stopped and closed her eyes. What if she opened this drawer and found out that Hutch did have a prescription for Oxy? What if his file mentioned bouts of depression, or bi-polar disorder? She promised herself: If any of that were in his file she would drop this whole murder theory and begin to accept that Hutch did indeed commit suicide. But she needed proof.

She opened the drawer and scanned the files. Harris, Sasha. Harrington, Joel. Heyman, Alexa. Hoth, David. Hutchins, Eric. Hyde, Grace.…

No ‘Hutchins, Jason’? She ran through the drawer once more. No. She pulled Eric’s file, maybe something in there would help. Stomach flu, sophomore year. Torn ACL junior year. And that was it.

Devon closed the drawer as quietly as she could. Why would Hutch’s file be missing? Would the police or coroner have needed it? Nurse Reilly would have made copies for them rather than let any of her files out of this office. There had to be a reasonable explanation, except that the gnawing pit in her stomach was acting up again, telling her there was nothing reasonable about any of this.

What about Isla? Matt had said Isla was the one with the problem, not to mention, Isla had actually given Devon Oxy to hold on to. What secrets was her file keeping?

Martin, Isla.

Wow: a regular in the Health Center. Freshman year; the flu and panic attacks that followed with a prescription for Xanax. A chest infection, sore throat, and severe cramps. Sophomore year: a cold, severe cough, sinus infection, prescription for Z-Pak. Then she had a bruised tailbone, for which a small dose of Vicodin was prescribed. Complaints of depression, followed by a prescription for Paxil. As of junior year she started the year with a prescription for Xanax, 10 mg. No Oxy or Adderall. But the line between abusing pharmaceuticals and using pharmaceuticals was starting to seem pretty thin.

Devon’s eye caught the flash of Mackintosh, Devon, as she started to close the drawer. Well, she had already broken into the Health Center. One little peek at her own file wouldn’t hurt. Mackintosh, Devon. Freshman year, height, weight. Sophomore year, jeez, they weren’t kidding about the Freshman 15.

Blood type: AB.



Mother’s Blood Type: B



Father’s Blood Type: A (10/11)



That’s weird. Why would her father’s blood type be listed? Was that a date next to it? As far as Devon knew, her father was a sperm donor. Did her mom even know the blood type of the donor? Maybe the school had asked for it and her mom had to go back to the sperm bank to find out? Wait, why did this matter now? My blood type is not why I broke into the Health Center in the middle of the night. Stick to the game plan, Devon.

She had to think about Hutch’s death scientifically. The files didn’t point to anything helpful. What would she need to prove that it wasn’t suicide? If everyone’s prescriptions were registered and stored here, that meant that Hutch’s Oxy might still be here if it was legally administered to him. A stretch, but at least Devon could cross Hutch’s possible legitimate need for Oxy off her list. But where were the meds stored in here?

The one locked cabinet in Nurse Reilly’s office was a giveaway. Why attempt the security unless it was something worth securing? Devon tried to imagine where she would keep the key if she were Nurse Reilly. Opening and closing the drawers on Nurse Reilly’s desk would be loud, and she didn’t want to waste time guessing.

The top of the desk was clean. Nurse Reilly had to open that cabinet every day when students came to take their medication in the mornings, so she would want easy access. Devon patted her hand along the bottom of the cabinet, along the sides … nothing. The “When Mama Ain’t Happy, Ain’t Nobody Happy” needlepoint hung on the wall, mocking her struggle. Did the needlepoint know something she didn’t? Devon slipped the frame off the wall, careful not to let it make any noise. A sliver of gold fell to the floor with a slight clink!

With trembling fingers, Devon unlocked the cabinet.

Her eyes widened at row after row of labeled orange pharmaceutical canisters—easily over a hundred. This didn’t even account for the kids taking pills that didn’t have prescriptions. There had to be a system to this cabinet, otherwise it would take Nurse Reilly all day to find everyone’s designated meds. Devon scanned the labels; they appeared to be organized by student last name. The first row, A-D. Nothing, just a lot of Ritalin and Adderall. E-K. More of the same. An asthma inhaler or two. L-R. Asthma medicine. Eczema cream. Valtrex. Devon made a note never to make out with Park, Robert. The last shelf, S-Z had more Adderall than the other shelves, insulin pills, and … nothing. No Oxy. No prescriptions for Hutch sitting unused.

It seemed the only Oxy at school was hiding from Isla in Devon’s dresser drawer.


* “Giving the subject the opportunity to connect with his/her own feelings is crucial.”—Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT

† “A Peer Counselor should never encourage the subject to discuss a tangential topic.”—Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT

‡ “As convincing as your subject may be, do not take sides with or against your subject.” —Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT