last night.”
“What?” Devon stiffened. “What do you mean ‘left?’ Like he just decided to walk away? How does that happen?”
“He wrote Headmaster Wyler a resignation letter of sorts. Said he was leaving school to clear his head.” Mr. Robins took another sip of coffee and leaned back in his chair. “But the question you’re here to answer, Devon, is what do we do with our program?”
“Our program? I thought it was your program at this point.”
“Yes, well, in light of recent events I may have come to that decision too hastily. I’d like us to try again. And you’ve got more experience this time.” Mr. Robins scrunched his nose, pushing his glasses up.
Devon wanted to gloat, but she forced her expression to remain neutral. It’s your session, she thought. “Well, that’s a nice offer, Mr. Robins. I appreciate it. A couple of things might have to be added to the Training Guide going forward. I’ll help you with that. Whether I’m interested in sitting in that chair again? I’ll let you know next semester.”
Mr. Robins’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Well, I’m sure there’s room for discussion.”
“If that’s all you needed to see me about …?” Devon reached for her backpack.
“Actually, I just wanted to tell you that you did a good job. You’d make a good therapist one day. If you still want to be one, that is.” Mr. Robins stood up and held out a hand to Devon. It took her a minute to understand. He wasn’t asking her to hand him something or reaching for something across his desk, he wanted to shake it. Devon put her hand in his, and Mr. Robins’s grip tightened around hers. “You stuck to your beliefs, Devon, and I respect that.”
The smile flickered and she allowed it. “Thanks.”
WHEN THE DORMS CLEARED out for afternoon sports, Devon still hadn’t gotten Matt out of her head. He seemed happy when she had seen him in the library. Maybe Isla’s departure was harder for him than he expected? She still felt like he could show up any moment running to the soccer field or hosing down his wet suit outside Fell House. She had to know for sure. The shower was running at the end of the Fell House hallway. Hutch’s door was still adorned with graffiti, but the words Eric=Traitor were scrawled in a thick black pen across the top. Matt’s door was closed. His room looked as if he had never been there. Amazing how that happened so quickly. Stripped mattress, empty walls; the closet door hung open, also barren. As Devon closed his door behind her, white letters caught her eye. MAVERICKS OR BUST! scrawled in a thick, white paint on the wooden door. Devin smiled. The maintenance crew hadn’t reported this one to the headmaster yet. Surely Matt’s family would be billed for a new door. Not like they would care. Devon ran her hands over the writing, still sticky as it dried. As sad as it was that Matt was gone, he had gone surfing to the place where he and Hutch had wanted to live out their days. Maybe Matt would come back to Keaton, maybe not, but Devon knew he was honoring Hutch and figuring his own stuff out the best way he knew how: on the water. That was Matt’s version of therapy, his Nutter Butters.
Devon noticed his desk had dust outlines around his books, computer, pencil holder. But there was a CD in a blank case sitting in the middle. It looked like it had been left deliberately.
Devon picked it up and saw the handwriting on the CD. Her throat caught. Devon’s Prom Mix.
September 10, 2010
Freshman Year
“COME ON, COME ON, come on.” Hutch wedged the butter knife in the door against the lock. “No, no, no, ahhh.” The knife came out bent, the lock still in place. “If I get this open will you talk to me then?” He threw the knife in the sink next to the other failed lock picking devices. A spatula, a wooden spoon, a broken glass, a can opener … all busts.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you open the door and find out.” Devon placed another plastic glass on her growing tower of glasses.
“I’m going to open this thing. I just need something else. Strong but thin.” Hutch opened drawers, scanned shelves around the kitchen. “No, no … oh,” he held up a cake cutter. “Maybe.”
“Have you tried a credit card? That always works in movies.” Devon didn’t take her eyes off