fair to tell them that you are a concerned peer. You’ve been taught everything required to give them adequate support.”
“Thanks, I’ll try that.” Yeah, like that will work when Cleo Lambert is staring me down. It was like Mr. Robins didn’t speak Human properly. Or maybe he just failed in Teenager.
“Sounds good so far,” he said. “We’ll keep a close eye on Miss Martin, make sure she works through the grief process properly. And I’ll review your notes before your next session with Matt.” Mr. Robins wrote a few more things in his notebook. Devon couldn’t read upside down, his writing was messy and loose across the page. She did see her and Isla’s names written a few times.
“My notes?” Devon played dumb.
“Well, yes, your records are our records. This is a trial program, remember.” Mr. Robins scrunched his nose to adjust his glasses. He leveled his eyes at her to drive home the point.
“Right, yeah, of course. Except, the thing is, my notes are really sloppy right now. You know how it is when you’re writing fast. Let me just type them up for you so it’s easier to read.”
“All right. I’ll expect them next week.” He turned the page in his notebook and kept writing. “I hope you’re keeping your clinical distance, Devon.”
“Of course. I know that’s important. Being impartial helps me see their overall picture better.”†
“Good, I glad you remembered that. That’s good for today, unless there’s anything else you want to discuss?” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. She chewed her lip. Mr. Robins was acting as a mentor, so maybe he would come through for her now. She had to find out more than the student rumor mill knew.
“I guess I can’t stop thinking about it. Hutch. Are they really sure it was suicide? I was researching OxyContin and the possibility for an accidental overdose is pretty high. And Hutch didn’t fit the profile. He wasn’t depressed, he wasn’t an outcast.… I guess I’m still having a hard time accepting it. I know that’s just another stage in the grief process, but I’m not sure this should pass. Shouldn’t we find out more? Isn’t someone looking into it? They should be, you know.”
Mr. Robins cleared his throat. “I know this isn’t easy. One of the hardest things about becoming an adult is accepting that we can’t change the past. All we can do is focus on what’s in front of us, having learned what we should learn. The grief will pass, I promise.”‡
“Yeah, but—”
“Jason Hutchins had his own troubles,” he interrupted in a clipped voice. “We all have to accept that.”
“I’m not in denial, if that’s what you’re thinking. I want to know more, that’s all. It’s a little tough calming people down when I don’t have any information to back up my position. Isn’t there something more you can tell me? Was there an autopsy?”
He sighed. “Devon, this isn’t a crime show or case that needs to be solved. Especially not by a student. It’s done. Now, tomorrow the Hutchins family will be on campus for Jason’s memorial service. I expect you to continue to counsel your fellow students, be respectful of what this family is going through, and to drop any theories you might have. Am I understood?” Mr. Robins pushed his glasses up his nose again and leveled his eyes at Devon.
“Understood.”
“I think that’s good for today.” Mr. Robins stood up and Devon followed suit. “I know Stanford is going to love seeing all your success with this program on your application next year. Keep up the good work.” He gave Devon a thin-lipped smile.
“Thanks,” Devon said, smiling tightly in return. She understood completely.
BROWN OXFORDS STUCK OUT from underneath the stall door—the only one closed, at the end of the row. Devon noticed that they were attached to small feet and tan legs. The gagging sound was quickly followed by the contents of someone’s stomach filling the toilet.
Devon finished drying her wet hands.
After a few seconds, a flush; a minute after that, Maya emerged. She looked like she’d just been washed up ashore after a shipwreck. Her face was pale, sweaty, and strands of her hair stuck to her cheeks and forehead.
“Presley had the same thing,” Devon said as gently as she could. She pretended to look at herself in the mirror. “I’m going into town. Want me to get you anything? Ginger ale? Saltines? Nyquil?”
Maya leaned over the sink next to Devon. She smoothed her hair into a slick