seen something in her room with her name on it. Devon ran down the stairs and found her dorm head, Mrs. Sosa, already running toward the screams.
“There’s a stranger—strange man.…” Devon stammered.
Mrs. Sosa ran to Devon’s room with Devon close behind. The sliding door was open and Grant was on the patio. The man was already gone.
“Where’d he go?” Devon asked.
“Took off down the hill. He looked like he was about to pass out at the end there. Must have wandered up here off some back roads.” Grant squinted toward the trees at the edge of the school property.
Mrs. Sosa gently placed a maternal arm around Devon. “You okay?” she asked, with the trace of a Spanish accent. Her long black hair was tied into a braid down her back, and she wore jeans and a flowing peasant blouse. She was in her early thirties, teaching at Keaton this year through a teacher’s exchange program.
“I think so,” Devon said automatically.
“I’ll tell security and we’ll keep the doors locked tonight, mmm?” Mrs. Sosa asked.
Devon nodded in agreement. The bell rang for the end of visiting hours. Mrs. Sosa nodded at Grant but left the two alone to say their goodbyes. Devon leaned against her door.
Grant put a hand on both shoulders. “You’re going to be okay. That was just a totally freakish random thing.”
“If you weren’t here. What do you think …?” Devon didn’t want to think about it. What was the old man capable of? He said he came here for her. To kill her? To rape her? To help with her calculus homework? Did he really know who she was?
“Hey, I can see the wheels turning in there.” Grant ran a finger down her jawline, stopping at her chin. Suddenly his lips were on hers. The thoughts in Devon’s head stopped in their tracks and redirected everything to her lips. What was happening? She was kissing Grant. His lips were soft and strong at the same time. His hands moved down her back and pulled her closer to him. His chest heaved into hers, and she felt herself breathing in rhythm with him so as his chest swelled, hers condensed.
“Who’s got AP bio?” someone shouted down the hallway, bringing her back.
She pulled away.
“You have to go.” At least that’s what she hoped she said. What she was thinking was, Don’t go.
“I’ll come by after study hours, okay?” Grant brushed Devon’s bangs to the side. His eyes moved, taking in every inch of Devon’s face. A smile twitched on his lips.
“Okay,” she whispered.
He squeezed her hand, then hurried out the door. No doubt he would have to explain his tardiness to his dorm head, but his excuse would be campus-wide news in minutes over texts and emails. Strangers wandering onto their hill? In three years at Keaton, a few random townspeople had heckled students, but always outside the gates.
She went to the door, just to make sure Grant was safe on his way home. Her eyes fell to the guest sign-in ledger. Grant’s name was at the top, but below it a large swirling signature she hadn’t seen before. And Devon’s name was written next to the signature. She stepped closer. The old man had signed into her room. How did he know to do that? The name made the blood drain from her cheeks, Reed Hutchins.
NIGHT HAD LONG SINCE fallen, but Devon was still wide awake. She lay in bed, staring at the shadowy ceiling. Reed Hutchins. Somehow the old man was related to Hutch. His grandfather maybe? The name was definitely familiar; she’d heard it around campus. She closed her eyes, trying to calm the out-of-tune orchestra playing in her head. Her thoughts wandered to Grant’s kiss. What did this mean now? Was he officially out of the Friend Zone? And then Cleo’s story about Hutch and the pregnancy test surged back to the forefront of her mind.
Her eyes flew open. The shelf above her bed, like every other shelf at Keaton, was carved with etchings from the past: “Misha was here” and “Class of 2002 rulz,” dug into the wood. A newer carving stuck out, darker than the rest, even in the shadows. Devon ran her fingers over the scratched words, “We’re half-awake in a fake empire. —K. Bell.”
Devon remembered a senior had this room last year. Kaylyn Bell. Not a stand-out student. No awards as a senior, not a sports or academic star, and she got into some middle grade university. Something good, but not flashy;