this wouldn’t have happened. It just wouldn’t.” Isla sighed heavily. “What are we supposed to do now? How come he gets to check out and leave the rest of us to pick up the pieces? It just doesn’t seem fair. What about me? How could he do this to me?”
“I don’t know,” Devon said. I really don’t know. But I have to keep swimming.
DEVON WAS WRITING ABOUT Isla’s deteriorating physical condition. It would be good to keep track of if she got better or worse: The red scratches, the low weight—
Her door flew open.
She straightened her back against the wall. Sitting cross-legged on her bed was always a more comfortable place to study, as long as she remembered to stand up every now and then.
“Yo, bitch, did you steal my Origins mask again?” Presley demanded, barging into the room. She started rooting through the bottles of lotions on the bedside table. “It’s made of volcanic ash and you know that doesn’t come cheap.”
Devon tucked the session notes under her pillow. “So the ‘Quiet, studying’ note on the door wasn’t clear enough, I see. Good to know.”
“Please, you know that doesn’t apply to me,” Presley was already opening and smelling different bottles. “Whore-ella Deville, cough it up, where’s my volcanic ash?”
“Bitch, please, I have my own volcanic ash. Why would I need yours?” Devon smiled. As much as she loved quiet privacy, Presley’s reliable interruptions insured that Devon would laugh her ass off every once in a while, like a normal human being.
Presley rubbed a glob of lotion into her palms. “You don’t have any like Pepto or something do you? My stomach’s been kicking my ass. I totally barfed up dinner.”
“Eww. That might have just ruined taco night for me.”
Presley threw the hand lotion bottle at Devon. “If the mystery meat hasn’t ruined taco night for you yet, then I just did you a favor.”
“Good point.” Devon sighed. “But, I don’t have anything for your stomach.”
Presley checked herself out in Devon’s mirror. She was wearing her typical dorm uniform, flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt, and her curly blonde hair in a loose knot on the top of her head. “I hope I’m not like sick, sick. That would totally blow. Oh, speaking of blowing, b-t-dubs, what’s up with you and Gaa-raant! Roar. Someone worked out over the suuuh-mmer.” Presley liked to sing words for emphasis. She reveled in her terrible voice, an invisible karaoke mic on at all times.
Devon stretched out on her bed. “Pres, this whole Hutch thing.…”
“What?
“I just—I don’t know. I don’t want to gossip about how hot Grant is.”
Presley turned to her. Her blue eyes softened for a second. “Sweetie, the Hutch situation totally sucks. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to have a little fun.” Presley smelled her hands. “Mmmm, lemon. I like that one. You should get more of that.”
Devon had to laugh again. “How are you not more, like, in shock about all this? You and Hutch were on the newspaper together.”
“Look, I’m not like some heartless jerk. I get it.” Presley applied some of Devon’s mascara as she spoke, her mouth curled into an ‘O’ as she forced her eyes open. “But listen: The whole school moping around isn’t going to change the fact that Hutch is dead and gone, and that it was his decision. I mean, I feel bad for his family and all, but writing poems in my journal or contemplating life over tacos isn’t going to change anything. Hutch was clearly in a shitty place. I just hope he’s happier now. You need more mascara.”
Devon blinked. She felt like she was being counseled now. Hearing these cliché condolences wasn’t helpful; it was just annoying—even coming from Presley, whom Devon loved precisely because she never, ever engaged in bullshit. But the fact remained: Devon didn’t believe Hutch really meant to kill himself. Now she understood Isla’s irritation at everyone’s fake frowns and false hugs. They all felt like futile attempts to remedy something that could never be fixed. No matter what anyone said, Hutch was gone. The emptiness left behind sucked up each stupid platitude (“He will be missed.”) like a vacuum, leaving behind what you started with. Nothing.
“Oh come on, is this counseling thing going to make you a downer all year? Cause, if I gotta find a new best friend who actually likes to have fun, tell me now.” Presley had a goofy grin on her face. She waited for Devon to pick up the cue.