“Thanks for the help with the tie and all,” he said.
Devon nodded. She took Matt’s hand and led him through the glass doors, tucking the crinkled green paper into her pocket.
“Let’s make him proud,” she whispered.
THE CROWD OUTSIDE THE Keaton Chapel was even bigger than Devon had expected. Seniors, juniors, most of the sophomores, and even a few freshmen lingered on the grass outside, still wet from the morning dew. Mr. Robins chatted with a circle of students, his red tie sticking out in an ocean of black. Devon quickly dropped her hand from Matt’s before he spotted her.
“I gotta say hi to the family,” Matt said to Devon. “See ya in there.”
He wandered to the chapel entrance where Hutch’s parents stood side by side with Hutch’s older brother, Eric. At Family Weekend events over the past two years Devon remembered seeing Hutch’s mom, Mitzi, always at the side of his father, Bill. Mitzi wore a black pencil skirt with matching black blazer, probably Chanel. Everything was fitted to highlight her small frame, Pilates-sized within an ounce of perfection. Her hair was a deep walnut color, too deep and dark to be natural for a woman in her fifties. Devon fought to push the judgmental thoughts out of her head. Mitzi was at her son’s funeral. She wondered what it must have been like for Mitzi to get dressed for this morning. Bill, too, for that matter. Mitzi gripped her husband’s arm while Headmaster Wyler approached to console them.
“You’re doing morning sessions now?” a voice called.
Devon whirled around to see Grant running to catch up with her. His blond hair was wet and slicked back. For once, he wasn’t wearing his signature white hat. But he still looked sporty and casual: a gray suit and white shirt with no tie. For some reason the lack of tie bugged Devon, like it was rude of him not to dress more formally.
“Morning sessions?” she asked.
“You and Matt seemed awfully … intimate.” He said the last word with a bite to it.
Devon stopped walking. She wanted to be mad. But she felt the paper in her pocket, poking against her thigh and knew she wasn’t riding high on morality at the moment either. She sighed, changing her tone. “Today’s pretty difficult for everyone. I was just helping, okay?”
Grant reached out and took her hands in his. “Sorry. I saw you two holding hands.” He pulled her into his chest for a long hug. He swayed a little from side to side. Devon closed her eyes, letting herself be lulled into him. “Let’s just get through this,” he whispered with his cheek pressed to her head. Then he leaned back and faced her. His blue eyes caught the sunlight. “I want to see you later. Think we both need a little distraction? What do you say?”
Devon took his hand and turned toward the organ music emanating from the chapel. “Like you said, let’s just get through this first.”
Inside the chapel doors, Eric Hutchins was the first to greet the mourners. This was a Keaton legend, right in front of her. So many rumors and stories. The best: Headmaster Wyler had lost a bet to Eric, and had to run a lap around campus in nothing but his running shoes and underwear. But here now, Eric was just someone who’d lost his brother. He was tall like Hutch, with long brown hair that was gelled back and tucked behind his ears. His eyes had the puffy, swollen look of someone who has been crying. Still, he was classically good-looking, like Hutch would have been. Devon noticed his cheek twitching at the top of his jaw, clenching like Hutch’s used to. What could he possibly be feeling right now? She resisted the urge to hug him.
Grant gave Eric a one-armed hug. “I’m so sorry, bro,” he murmured.
“Thanks, man. Hey listen, will you be a pallbearer? My knee’s still busted and can’t take the weight.” He plucked the white rose from his lapel and tucked it into Grant’s. “Thanks.”
“Of course. Anything you need. Oh, this is Devon.” Grant said.
Devon stepped forward and shook hands with Eric. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m so sorry. Hutch, I mean, Jason, was.…” She stammered looking for the right word.
“Don’t worry. I know. Hutch was Hutch.” Eric gave Devon a reassuring pat on her shoulder and turned to the next guest in the receiving line.
Devon snuck a glance over her shoulder, then another. It was Maya, looking stunning in a black cocktail dress.
“I wasn’t sure.…” Eric started.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Maya cut in before Eric could finish. She continued inside without shaking Mr. and Mrs. Hutchins’ hands. Eric stared at Maya as she slid into a pew. Devon tried to stop staring, herself, but couldn’t. Was Eric really checking Maya out? At his brother’s funeral?
The Keaton chapel was small, built for no more than two hundred people, packed tightly into narrow wooden pews—and far beyond full capacity today. The entire wall at the front was made up of windows facing the North, so the sun was always bright but never direct. Normally, the effect was uplifting and almost otherworldly—but with the glossy closed coffin up front near the altar, Devon found herself wanting to turn away. The coffin was strewn with white roses and draped with the green Keaton flag. Next to it sat an easel with a blown-up picture of Hutch in a boat: smiling, tan, happy.
Devon forced back tears. She clenched her jaw. Who decided to put the Keaton flag on his coffin? It almost made sense. The venue usually reserved for chorus recitals, poetry readings, and holiday services was now a funeral home. But it would have bugged Hutch. He refused to wear clothes with visible labels. The flag was like an overbearing corporate sponsor: Hutch’s Funeral, brought to you by The Keaton School! Keeping track of your kids, dead or alive!
But it all came down to money. No doubt Headmaster Wyler was making a big showing about Hutch since there weren’t any future Hutchins kids coming up the pipeline to fill his ranks and keep the donations coming in. Wyler was an expert at reminding the parents that the school was basically raising their kids and turning them into productive adults. Or trying.
Whispering thinned into silence as Headmaster Wyler stepped up to the podium. After he welcomed the Hutchins family and Keaton community, he turned the floor over to seniors Thomas Anders and Becca Linden for a musical interlude. Naturally: Thomas and Becca were stars of the music program. (Even though, of course, they’d probably spent less time with Hutch than Devon had.) Thomas was considered a piano genius; Becca, a shoo-in for Julliard or American Idol or both with her angelic voice. And Devon had to admit, when Becca took to the front of the room, her backlit blonde braid almost looked like a halo.
Thomas sat down at the piano and started playing. Devon wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or barf. “In the Arms of an Angel,” by Sarah McLachlan. This was Hutch’s nightmare, come true. He wasn’t here to defend it, to wake up from the bad dream, or have anyone in his family protest. Devon remembered hearing somewhere once: “Funerals aren’t for the dead, they are for the living.” That made perfect sense now. This display was all about Hutch’s parents. They had to hold their heads up high.
Devon looked around the chapel. Two pews in front and to her left Presley sat with Pete, their heads were lowered, but Devon could see they were passing notes on the program back and forth. Sasha Harris was a few rows in front of Devon, trembling slightly. Maya sat near the front with her head bowed. She used a tissue to dab at her eyes every few minutes. Devon spotted Cleo standing in the back, looking bored. But where was Isla?
Matt sat in the front row next to Eric. The song came to a close (mercifully!) and Devon noticed Eric pass a few white index cards to Matt, who then stepped up to the dais. Devon sat up a little straighter, nervous for Matt, and congratulating herself for a good job on his tie. Grant patted her thigh, and she slipped her hand under his. It probably caught him off guard to see her holding hands with Matt, especially considering she and Matt weren’t friends publicly. She shouldn’t have been annoyed. Besides, it wasn’t as if she could ever tell Grant that Matt was in Peer Counseling with her, even though it was easy enough to assume.
Matt cleared his throat and read his index cards. The audience sh
uffled in their seats, blew noses, and dried their eyes. “The Hutchins family asked me to say a few words about Jason, Hutch to those of us who knew him best.” Matt projected his voice nicely to the back of the room, made good eye contact with the audience, but the cards shook in his hands. Devon held her breath for him to be able to finish this speech without breaking down. Matt exhaled slowly before continuing. Everywhere he went, Hutch made it his mission to make people happy.”
OUTSIDE THE CHAPEL, DEVON watched as the pallbearers loaded Hutch’s coffin into the waiting black hearse. The crowd started to dwindle. Students slowly walked uphill to the dining hall to get a late breakfast … when Devon heard something. Was it singing? A man’s voice … a thumping, like hooves … and that’s when she saw him: An old man in a cowboy hat, galloping downhill on horseback, singing out loud.
Reed Hutchins.
Devon blinked. She wasn’t hallucinating. This was really happening. She looked for Hutch’s parents. They stood by the limos near the hearse, mouths agape. That’s when Devon heard the words clearly, “Kodachrome. You give us those nice bright colors. You give us the greens of summers. Makes you think all the world’s a sunny day, oh yeah!”
Devon’s throat tightened. She almost laughed. At least someone was representing Hutch as he would have wanted. Reed slowed to a stop by Hutch’s father, Bill: his son. Devon couldn’t hear what Bill said, but she saw taut lips and the bulge of a pounding jaw. Reed simply shook his head and smiled. “Kodachrome,” he hollered, then started coughing. Bill stepped forward and grabbed the horse’s reins. He pointed sharply down the hill, but Reed kept singing in a raspy voice. “Mama don’t you take my Kodachrome away!”
Bill let go and stalked into the nearest limo. Eric and Mitzy followed. The old man on his horse followed the somber procession, singing the whole way as they drew closer to Devon, following the road that would take them off campus. “I got my Nikon camera. I love to take a photograph. So Mama, don’t take my Kodachrome away.…”
“That’s Grandpa Reed,” a girl said.
Devon turned. She hadn’t even noticed, but Raven and Bodhi were standing next to her. Bodhi looked almost comical in a dark suit with his blond dreads in a knot at the top of his head, like a toddler forced to dress up for a grown-up occasion. Raven wore a long black flowing dress, which complemented the black hair in clumps around her shoulders. Devon turned back to Reed. He was fewer than twenty feet away now, plodding along behind the blackened faceless cars.
The old man saluted with two fingers from the top of his hat to Raven and Bodhi as he passed, still singing. Bodhi and Raven saluted him back. He nodded at Devon. Reflexively, she saluted, as well. It seemed like the polite thing to do. She wanted him to know that she knew he wasn’t a scary homeless guy. Crazy, yes: clearly. Although what was crazier, taking a nap in her bed or arriving late—in full cowboy regalia, singing and on horseback, no less—to his grandson’s funeral? And why was he in her room? She still had no idea.
The hearse and limos continued down the dirt road. Grandpa Reed followed on his horse. Raven sobbed next to Devon and Bodhi put a comforting arm around her, letting her cry into his chest.
“That guy loved Hutch more than anyone,” Bodhi said to no one in particular. “Bill and Mitzi think Reed has gone off his rocker. They’ve practically disowned the guy. But if you ask me he is the only sane one in the bunch. Hutch thought so too.”
“They disowned him because he’s crazy?” Devon asked.
“Because they’re a bunch of money-grubbing a-holes,” Raven said between sobs.
“Hutch’s parents,” Bodhi said to Devon over Raven’s head. “They’re going up to Reed’s land right now. Athena is buried up there too. At least Hutch will be with his grandmother on the vineyard.” He hugged his sister tightly.
“Saw the coroner this morning,” he added, still looking across the hillside.
“And?” Devon asked.
“He confirmed it was Oxy in Hutch’s system. A lot of it. But he said the weird thing was, usually with overdoses you find a few pills undigested in the stomach. Not with Hutch. The Oxy must have been crushed up before he took it. The only reason someone does that is if they plan on never waking up.”
Raven sniffed and stopped crying. She glanced up at her brother.
“Or, if they don’t know they were taking it,” Devon said.
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 asshole, 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.
Keaton School 01: Escape Theory Page 11