in this world.’ The supposed-tos and the not-supposed-tos. The ones who like peanut butter and the ones who don’t. Devon had a new distinction to add to the list now: the ones who’d slept with Hutch, and the ones who hadn’t. Which one did Presley fall into?
Presley threw a tube of hand lotion at Devon. “Yo, J.D. Slutinger, you hear me? Besides, you make something happen with Grant yet?”
“Yeah, I mean, no. I don’t know.” Devon walked to her mirror and tried to figure out what to do with her hair. “Pres, you didn’t hook up with anyone when you and Pete were broken up, did you?”
Presley furrowed her brow, still smiling. “No, why?”
Devon tried to sound casual as she brushed her hair. “Just wondering. Cause you weren’t on the pill until recently, so it’s possible—”
“Dev, cut the shit. I know that weird tone in your voice, what are you getting at?”
She sighed, turning to face Presley. “You didn’t hook up with Hutch did you? I know it sounds out there, but you two were on the newspaper together, you were barfing. You didn’t get pregnant did you?”
Presley’s face softened. She shook her head, got up from the bed, and stood behind Devon at the mirror. They looked at each other in the reflection. Then Presley’s lips tightened. She ran her fingers through Devon’s hair and started to pull it into a loose braid. “Devon, I’m saying this because I love you, because you’re my best friend, and you don’t talk to ton of other people. So someone has to say it. You have got to get over this Hutch thing. No, I never slept with Hutch. Never even kissed the guy. Thought about it, yes. Did anything about it, no. But you? You’re obsessing. It’s annoying. But more than that, it’s disturbing. Go find Grant. Go make out with that hot boy and forget about the dead one. You hear me? This is for your own good.” Presley finished the braid and gave Devon a supportive smile in the mirror. “King Slut-ankhamun,” Presley added, and slapped Devon on the butt, then ran from the room with a laugh.
“William Slutspeare!” Devon called down the hall.
Presley poked her head out of her door. “That one sucked.”
Devon turned to the mirror again. Presley had a point. Devon didn’t think she could stop thinking about Hutch, or his possible murder, but Grant wanted nothing more than to take her mind off things. Maybe she should let him.
AFTER THREE KNOCKS SHE opened the door to Grant’s room. No one there. A huge American flag was tacked to one wall, and a large iPod dock took up most of the remaining space on his book-strewn desk. His bed was still unmade and dirty clothes formed a trail from the bed to closet.
She’d try to find him later.
Down the hall, Devon passed a door that stood out from the rest. Carved, inked, painted, scribbled all over it were messages to Hutch. RIP. We’ll miss you, bro. Always in our hearts. Keaton forever, Hutch! Wish You Were Here. And on and on, covering almost every inch of the dark wood. Devon ran her hands over the writing, the deep grooves in the wood, the gloppy white-out hearts and stars around his name. When her hand brushed against the metal doorknob she couldn’t resist. The door was unlocked. She would just look and get it out of her system. This wasn’t obsessing; it was closure.
Devon ducked into Hutch’s room, quietly closing the door behind her. The mattress was bare and wire hangers hung in the empty closet. The poster from The Godfather still tacked to one wall and ripped corners of photos on another were the only sad remnants of the boy who’d lived here. Surely another student would be claiming this room at some point—someone thrilled to be taken off the waiting list, to be given the chance to attend the prestigious The Keaton School, only to discover they’d be sleeping in a dead student’s bed. The wait list might not look so bad then.
Devon reached for the light switch, but stopped. She could almost feel the weight of Hutch’s hand and his whisper in her ear, “No lights. It will give away our position.” Devon inhaled, trying to find a scent of Hutch, but the air only smelled of dust and floor disinfectant. She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she spotted letters carved into the