rough patches where he had started shaving. “Looks like someone’s not used to breaking the rules,” he whispered, smiling at her.
She pulled her hand away and looked down at the floor. “No, that’s not it.”
But Hutch tilted her face back up toward him. “It’s okay if it is. It’s kind of cute actually.”
Devon smiled slightly and let Hutch’s hand linger on her chin.
“I almost forgot,” Hutch whispered. “Never leave evidence behind.” He reached his hand up and over onto the table, and slowly, careful not to make the plastic crunch, he brought the bag of Nutter Butters down to their hiding spot.
“My hero,” Devon whispered back. “How would I survive without you?”
“Without me, you and your cookies would be toast,” Hutch whispered a little too loudly.
Devon pressed her lips together, holding back her laughter. Hutch frowned. Devon bit her lip and Hutch shook his head at her. Laughing was not an option. Her chest heaved from the pent-up air trying to escape.
A key slid into the door. Hutch’s eyebrows rose into two wide arcs over his eyes. Devon’s right hand started shaking once more. Hutch reached for it, and kissed her palm again. He held her hand between his and nodded slightly. Everything’s gonna be all right, he seemed to be telling her. This place isn’t as bad as it seems.
She believed him.
And then the key turned and the lock clicked into place.
CHAPTER 1
September 5, 2012
Junior Year
Devon’s eye caught the harsh glare of the setting sun. She blinked and looked down, realizing she was rubbing her right palm where Hutch had kissed her years before.
“Devon? Are you sure you can handle this?”
She looked up at Mr. Robins. The sunlight suffused the wooden blinds behind him, highlighting the chaos of his curly brown hair. He scrunched his flabby cheeks, pushing his thick, black-rimmed glasses further up his nose. A bushy eyebrow flickered. He wanted an answer.
“Devon? If it’s too much—”
“No, Mr. Robins. It’s fine. I can handle it,” she said.
He leaned back in his chair. “Good. You’re certain?”
“I’m certain,” she said. Her voice tightened.
“And remember from the training guide, you don’t need to have all the answers. You just need to listen. That’s the most important thing you can do for them right now.”
The backlighting found the details in Mr. Robins’s tired face: the end-of-day stubble around his chin and upper lip, the wrinkles that were beginning to make a home at the edge of his eyes. He looked as exhausted as she felt. “Your fellow students are really going to need you.”
“Whoever you think needs a session, I’m here to help,” she said.
“Whomever,” he corrected her.
“Sorry, whomever,” she said through gritted teeth.
“You don’t have to do the push-ups this time,” he offered.
“Thanks,” Devon seethed. Could he really be thinking about grammar right now? Mistaking ‘who’ and ‘whom’ in front of Mr. Robins actually resulted in push-ups. Sometimes the whole class would have to do them for one person’s mistake. But, no, even he had no interest in these Keaton-isms today. He studied his fingernails.
“Imagine if my program had been around earlier. Maybe Jason would have sought refuge in a peer instead of turning his anger inward.…”
“Yeah, imagine.”
“I realize we’ve only been through a basic amount of training over the summer, but we’ll do the best we can, hmm?” He flashed Devon a tight-lipped smile. It was at once a supportive gesture combined with a hint of I’m watching you.
Devon nodded. What do you mean ‘we?’ You’re not the one being thrown into the lion’s den, she wanted to say.
“Like I said, I’m here to help. So, if we’re good here.…” she let the words drag out, but Mr. Robins didn’t get the hint. He was still pondering the mystery of his fingernails.
“You know, if you and Jason were close we can arrange—”
“Hutch. And no, not really. We talked a bit freshman year, but that was like once, ages ago … no, I’m fine. These things happen.” Devon took a deep breath to keep her rising thoughts from spilling out. These things happen. Like getting locked in an off-limits kitchen with a guy after curfew. Sure, that happens all the time. Those damn Nutter Butters. That night in the kitchen. Their night in the kitchen.
Mr. Robins started shuffling through papers on his desk. “You should get yourself some dinner.”
Devon jumped up. As she swung her worn-in backpack over a shoulder she caught a glimpse of her own haggard reflection in the window. She’d grown a few inches since freshman year. That