Keaton School 01: Escape Theory

by Margaux Froley

  “Pres, come on. I wanna sleep,” Devon said. She rolled over.

  “Devon. Get up.” Presley wasn’t whispering anymore. “There’s a thing for Hutch at the Nest. You should be there.”

  Now Devon was awake. She squinted up at Presley. “What?”

  “Just put on your damn shoes.” Presley flicked off the flashlight and tossed one Converse at a time onto Devon.

  THE FIRE WAS THE first thing Devon noticed once they’d cleared the weed-entangled path to the Nest—the other Keaton hideaway for bad behavior, on the opposite side of the hill from the Palace. Funny, in all her time at Keaton, she’d never been here. It was nothing more than a tiny clearing with a metal trashcan at its center, now roaring with flames.

  Devon could only see the dark outlines of other students until she wedged herself in the circle around the fire. Presley slid next to Pete, who wrapped a blanket around both of them. Allison Rice, Greta Lewis, and Taylor Pierce—all contributors to The Keaton Hawk, like Presley and Hutch—were writing on small pads of paper. These three had been on the newspaper since freshman year, and seemed to always have an article about something in the works. Devon was amazed that in such a small community, where the same things happened all the time, they still found new things to write about. Well, maybe this year was an exception. Taylor handed Devon a pad of paper and a pencil.

  “Here,” she said. “We’re all writing notes to Hutch. You know, for closure.”

  “Um, okay.” Devon looked down at the blank page. Across the fire Allison ripped a page off the front of her pad and dropped it into the fire. Her eyes filled with water and reflected the flames as she watched her paper burn. Greta rubbed her back in a supportive gesture. Allison wiped the tears from her cheek. Another subculture that Hutch was a key member in, and yet once again Devon didn’t get the invite. At least Presley knew Devon would have wanted to be there.

  “I got one,” Taylor said. She unfolded her piece of paper and read aloud, “Dear Hutch, I remember the first day you walked into the Hawk and wanted to join. You were so excited to interview other students. Your love of writing a good story, or learning something new about someone was infectious. With you gone, I will try to spread your enthusiasm to the rest of us. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. With the utmost respect and love, Taylor.”

  She let her paper flit in a loopy spiral down into the fire.

  Presley cleared her throat. The fire made her curly hair and pale round cheeks glow like honey. “I’m not writing this one down.” She smiled at Devon across the flames. “Last year I almost got busted buying vodka in Monte Vista. I was at the register and Hutch was outside. Mrs. Ascher was about to walk in, and Hutch distracted her so I could get out before she saw. Thanks, Hutch, for having my back.”

  She ripped a piece of paper from a pad and watched it burn.

  “Amen, sister,” Pete chimed in.

  “Amen, God bless America, and word up, homeboys.”

  A deep voice slurred its way into their circle. Someone was stumbling toward them through the brush. Matt? Devon tucked her chin to her chest and tried to be invisible. He might not like seeing her at Hutch’s secret memorial. He could make a case that Devon was a narc. If he did, everyone would see her that way—probably until well after they’d all graduated.

  “What’s up, children,” Matt’s glistening eyes skimmed past everyone and stopped on Devon. She looked back at the fire, hoping he would move on. “Seems like a pretty crappy showing for the Man of the Hour.”

  Greta tried to coax Matt into the group.

  “We were all just writing letters to Hutch about the things we wished we could have told him. So he knows how much he’s missed, you know, in spirit.”

  Taylor and Allison traded looks. Presley stared at the fire. Devon held her breath.

  Matt took a swig from a leather-encased flask. “Oh right, in spirit. I get it.” He laughed a little and then poured the rest of his flask into the fire. “Here ya go, buddy. Drink up.”

  “Matt? Is there anything you want to tell Hutch?” Allison asked.

  “I dunno,” Matt began. “I want to know what Devon has to tell Hutch.”

  All eyes flashed over the fire to Devon.

  She swallowed hard. “I’d rather write it down, if that’s okay,” she said.

  “Nah, come on. We’d love to know. What would you tell Hutch if you could? Something you’ve always wanted to say.…” Matt’s smile curled up on one edge, twisting his charm into a devilish grin. “Come on, Devon. We’re just here to talk, aren’t we?” Devon’s eyes flicked back to Presley for help, but Presley seemed to be waiting for an answer, too.

  Great. This is how Matt gets to humiliate me.

  “Okay, that’s cool. Something I want to tell Hutch.” That I know about his secret lovechild? His illicit PharmClub? That I can’t see a Nutter Butter without thinking of him? “It’s like Presley said. Hutch always looked out for everyone. I feel like we kind of dropped the ball on being there for him. So, I guess I would tell him that I’ve got his back. Better late than never.”

  Devon flashed to that first day of school this year when they spoke across the parking lot. She wished she could rewind to that moment and this time she’d press Play and tell him that she’d love to have pancakes with him; that those damn pancakes freshman year were always in the back of her mind. She’d tell him that what they felt that night in the kitchen wasn’t just because of the moment; it was the moment and it was real, they could be real together.

  Better late than never.

  Devon closed her eyes and pulled her tears back into hiding. She saw Allison wipe her cheek again. Matt’s grin faded across the fire.

  Next to Presley, Pete pulled his sweatshirt over his head and dropped it into the can.

  “Pete!” Presley squealed and backed away. The sweatshirt caught on fire in a mushroom cloud of smoke. Everyone else took a few steps back but Pete stayed put, his pale chest red in the light of the flames. “The shirt off my back. We all know Hutch would have given anything to anyone, including the shirt off his back. So, here, dude. It’s yours.”

  Matt laughed. “Now we’re having fun. Here ya go, Hutchins. The shirt off my back.” He unzipped his crisp Patagonia jacket and tossed it into the fire. His white tank top followed into the growing cloud of smoke. The blue trimmed flames cast dancing shadows across Matt and Pete’s bare chests. The Newspaper Squad traded shocked looks.

  “Screw it,” Presley said. She pulled her ratty Keaton hoodie over her head and dropped it into the fire. She stood there next to Pete in her purple bra. “The shirt off my back, Hutch.”

  “Nice,” Pete said and kissed Presley’s neck.

  “Hot,” Matt said as he ogled Presley’s chest.

  Everyone eyed everyone else.

  What the hell? Devon pulled her sweatshirt off and tossed it into the fire. “The shirt off my back,” she said, and then wrapped her arms across her chest. At least she had thrown on a sports bra from her floor before Presley dragged her here. It may not be the sexiest look, but she’d take unsexy over bare-chested in front of this crowd any day.

  Matt raised an eyebrow at her. She shyly smiled back. If taking off her shirt proved to Matt how much she cared about Hutch, maybe she should have taken it off sooner.

  * “Section II: Encouraging: Let the subject tell the story. Don’t fill in the blanks for them.” —Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT

  † “It is up to the Peer Counselor to determine if the subject is a danger to themselves or others.”—Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT

  ‡ “If the subject goes off track, it is up to the Peer Counselor to stop them and shift their focus to the task at hand.”—Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT

  CHAPTER 8

  Name: Cleo Lambert

  Session Date: Sept. 21

  Session #2

  “So? She totally deserved it.” Cleo crossed
her arms and glared at Devon. Her florescent pink nails were a stark contrast to her all-black uniform. “Besides, not like what she did to me was cool at all. I’m still debating about ratting her out to Wyler.”

  “Okay, let’s talk that out.* You put the pregnancy test on Isla’s bed, which, I think it’s safe to say, hit a nerve with her. Isla retaliated by slipping an Ambien into your bedside water, causing you to fall asleep in a class. So, what are the pros and cons of telling Wyler what Isla did?” Devon waited, ballpoint pen poised above her notebook. She wanted Cleo to get a good look at her crappy replacement pen before asking about her missing Mont Blanc.

  Cleo licked her lips, debating whether to jump in or not. “Fine, I’ll play. Pro. I get to watch the bitch suffer. Con. I’m already on thin ice with Wyler, so why call more attention to myself?”

  “Okay, sounds good so far.”

  “Con. The school’s already freaking out about Hutch overdosing. If another pharmaceutical thing comes up you know there’s going to be a crackdown.”

  “How would that affect you?”

  “It wouldn’t really. I don’t do drugs, legal or illegal. But, it would certainly lead to a lot of kids freaking out, and I just can’t be bothered with everyone in a constant state of PMS. It’s bad enough already.”

  “How is it bad?”

  “You haven’t heard? People are getting cracked out around here. C’est fou.”

  Devon blinked and wrote the words in her notebook. “That means crazy, right?”

  “Freakin’ Sasha Harris of all people comes into Calc yesterday. She’s five minutes late, so of course, Mr. Lee calls her out on it. Sasha goes nuts, starts yelling at Lee like, ‘I did your homework, what else do you want from me?’ She threw her notebook across the room and then went to the board and wrote down all these insane equations. She wouldn’t stop writing on the board and Lee totally didn’t know how to handle it. Matt and Omar had to drag her out of the classroom and take her to Nurse Reilly. Totally crazy.”

  “Is she all right?” Devon wanted to know more. Was Sasha’s meltdown because of her pill use? Was she having a bad reaction to something? Could it just be stress? Of course, none of this had to do with counseling Cleo. Stay on target, Devon.

  “I heard Matt got royally pissed at her,” Cleo went on. “Like she would draw too much attention to the pills, which could lead back to Matt. Any of his people freak out, you know that’s going to bite him in the ass.” She laughed. “Although, it is a hot ass.”

  Devon pushed the bangs out of her face and crossed her legs again. “You like Matt? That way, I mean?”

  “Hells no. It’s just an observation. Matt’s staying busy anyways.”

  “Busy? With a girlfriend, busy?”

  “Who knows if girlfriend’s the right word? I just saw him walking back to Fell the other night close to curfew with a blanket over his shoulders, and we know what that means.”

  “The late night hook-up uniform.” Matt’s probably hooking up with some unsuspecting freshman, Devon convinced herself. Although, now it was going to nag at her until she knew whom it was.

  “The thing that’s weird about it is that Matt’s keeping a low profile. Usually he’s the biggest bragger of all the guys. But this one, this one he wants to keep quiet.” Cleo gave Devon that smug smile of hers.

  She’s doing it again. Pulling me into the gossip circle.

  “Well, I’m sure that’s Matt’s business,” Devon said. “Let’s get back to you. It seems like the cons outweigh the pros in reporting Isla to the Headmaster, right?”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t really make sense to rat her out. C’est la vie.” Cleo shrugged. “You know who else has been on something lately? Maya.”

  “Maya? Really? On drugs? But, she’s like so quiet.”†

  “It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it? I caught her the other night taking a shower at like two A.M. Scared the hell out of her I think, too. She wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the bathroom then.” Devon thought about seeing Maya in her robe around midnight the other night, too. But, Maya and drugs somehow didn’t seem like the right fit. “She must be on a bender,” Cleo continued, “because I’ve got first period with her, and she’s fallen asleep in class almost every day this week, if she shows up at all.”

  “Let’s try to get back to the subject at hand. Do we‡ want to talk about why you stole that nail polish in Monte Vista? I’m not sure we got to that last week.”

  “I love all this ‘we’ talk, when it’s not your soul that’s being poked and prodded.”

  “Is it possible that stealing was about getting attention? Or maybe just for the thrill of it?”

  Cleo looked out the small window. “Not sure. You know the first time I stole something it was in France. When I was growing up there with my mom, we were in Lyon. I remember she took me to this little soap shop. It was, like, quintessential French. Everything was handmade and wrapped in wax paper. Petites paquettes my mom called them. Little packages. My mom wasn’t paying attention but I knew I just had to have one of them. She was talking to the clerk and no one suspected me, so I just grabbed one and put it in my pocket. I still remember it, pink hand soap in the shape of a rose with a cream colored ribbon around the wax paper.” Cleo now looked back to Devon, challenging her. “So, you tell me, Counselor: attention or thrill?”

  Devon dropped her notebook on the floor next to her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “That’s a very interesting story. I didn’t know you grew up in France.”

  Cleo tossed her head back and laughed. “Mmmm.” She nodded yes.

  “Because,” Devon continued, “I thought you said last week that you grew up in San Francisco going to the same golf club as the Hutchins family. Maybe I’m confused.”

  Cleo’s eyes darted back to Devon. “No, that wasn’t what I said. I said my parents belonged to the club, but we never went.”

  “Oh, but you weren’t there with the Hutchins? Growing up with them?”

  “No, I, we.…”

  “Why do you feel you have to lie to me?” Devon kept her eyes glued to Cleo’s face, not letting her off the hook.

  “I wasn’t lying. Okay, maybe I didn’t grow up in France. But I spent time there.” She sounded pissed off.

  “That’s the thing about lying. I mean, no one’s perfect, we all do it from time to time. But it makes it hard to trust someone. If this is going to work at all, we have to trust each other.”

  “Whatever. That’s like assuming that we’re doing real therapy in here, which, let’s be honest, we’re not,” Cleo said.

  Devon ignored the sting. “But why not try to make it work? You were let off the hook for shoplifting in Monte Vista, and the only condition is that you complete five sessions with me.”

  “So?”

  “So, it’s kind of a waste of both of our time for you to sit here and lie to me for an hour. What if we end a little early today and next week, and for the two sessions after that, you come back with the truth?”

  Cleo chewed on the side of her lip. “And what I say in here doesn’t get out?”

  “Not to anyone,” Devon confirmed.

  “Fine. I’ll try.” Cleo stood up with a sigh. “You know, I didn’t know you could be such a ballbuster.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m really not trying to be a bitch here. But—”

  “No, that’s a compliment. You kind of needed to grow a backbone. Here.” Cleo pulled Devon’s Mont Blanc pen from the inside of her boot and tossed it to Devon. “Sorry about that.”

  Devon turned the silver pen over in her hand. It looked unharmed, plus Cleo offered the pen as opposed to making Devon ask for it. That was progress, right?

  “Hey, I might have a favor to ask you.” Cleo turned, her back leaning against the door, waiting. “If you wanted to make it up to me, that is.”

  “Depends. What is it?” Cleo asked.

  Devon paused for a split second. She had to ask someone, and preferably someone she wasn’t that close to. Devon
pulled the folded green piece of Keaton paper from her notebook. Her Oxy order for Matt. “Would you give this to Matt for me? It’s not for me, I swear. I just need to research something.”

  She tentatively held the paper out. Cleo studied Devon, debating this new facet of their relationship. She took the paper and opened it.

  “No, you don’t have to—” Devon tried to stop Cleo from reading, but it was too late.

  “Got it. Consider it done.” Without the expected smirk, without the usual French exclamation, Cleo folded the paper and put it in her pocket. For a second, she looked completely unaffected. “See you next week.”

  “RIGHT ONE’S YOURS.”

  Devon caught the right speaker just as it tumbled off the dashboard. Raven’s Volvo sped down the Keaton hill, taking the curves above the recommend speed limit.

  “Got it,” Devon yelled over the music. She wedged her speaker back into its place on the dashboard, and wiped off the layer of sand already sticking to her palm. “Thanks for the ride. I was dying to get off campus today.”

  Raven adjusted the speaker on her side threatening to slide out of position. Her black hair swirled in all directions as the wind whipped through the car. “No problem. Waiting for the van must suck.”

  “No kidding.” Devon leaned her head against her seat and let the wind dance over her. Outside the pine trees fluttered in the breeze, making the green needles flicker and flash different sun-drenched shades of green. She could smell the dust from the road and the comforting smell of the pine.

  “I gotta make a quick stop first, hope that’s okay. Reed’s computer is acting up and I’m his personal geek squad it seems.” Raven looked both ways at the end of the Keaton road and took a left, away from Monte Vista.

  “No problem. I’m just enjoying the ride.” Devon closed her eyes again. It was true: She was happy to be moving, period, to feel the engine revving under her seat, to be away from school. The car twisted and turned, kicking up dust and spitting gravel out behind it. After what seemed like a very short time later, it lurched to a stop.