to paint her as incompetent, then that’s what she would be. But inside her head was a whirring factory that kept churning out more and more things she couldn’t tell Mr. Robins. Down the assembly line they went, little packages full of secrets: Matt was dealing drugs, Hutch had gotten someone pregnant, Isla and Matt were probably abusing pharmaceuticals together, Cleo was an obsessive gossip, the Health Center was far too easy to break in to, Mr. Robins’s camera did work if only she hadn’t intentionally messed with it.… Devon wished a bell would ring and the factory could shut down for the night. “I guess they’ll tell you everything you need to know,” she said as politely as she could.
“Now, I think you and I should schedule a few weekly sessions. Clearly you have not recovered from Jason’s suicide—”
“Murder,” she interrupted without thinking. It was not something she should have said out loud, but she refused to believe suicide was appropriate anymore.
“Suicide,” Mr. Robins came back. “This tells me where we need to start in therapy. You know, Devon, denial can be more powerful than we realize.”
“Hutch was murdered, Mr. Robins. And I’m going to prove it.”
“Devon, this is very disconcerting. This murder mystery you’ve invented is the clearest sign of your inability to move on from Jason’s death. It’s time to let him go. Would a trip home for a few days help? Maybe a check in with your mom?” Mr. Robins eyes studied every inch of Devon’s face. Was he looking for clues to how crazy she was?
Devon stood up. “I think our time is up, Mr. Robins. I’ll see you next week.”
PLAYING A LACROSSE GAME was not how Devon wanted to spend her Saturday afternoon. Crying alone in her room was her first choice. Not because she was watching everything she’d done as Peer Counselor go down the drain. No, there was also being blamed for the failure of the program itself. Taking the bus into Monte Vista and getting a double thick strawberry milkshake at the deli was a close second. Playing lacrosse didn’t even make the list.
“Hey, Ryan Slut-crest, you coming to the game?” Presley asked, her voice quieter than usual. She leaned in Devon’s doorway as Devon finished tying her cleats.
She pulled her laces tight with a terse, “On my way.”
Presley hesitated. “How’d it go with Robins?”
“It was great. We talked the whole thing out, ordered brunch, then told knock-knock jokes.” Devon shot Presley a glare just in case she had missed her sarcasm. She grabbed her stick and marched out her sliding glass door.
“Dev, you know I’m sorry, right? I didn’t know what else to do,” Presley pleaded, catching up with her. “You would have done the same thing, you know it.” Presley walked sideways to look at Devon.
“I wouldn’t, though, Presley. That’s the thing,” Devon stopped walking. “If it was you, I would have come to you first. When Pete cheated on you last year, I told you. I didn’t wait to find out if he would or wouldn’t tell you the truth, I told you because you deserved to know. Just like I deserved to know if you were gonna rat me out to Mrs. Sosa.” Devon could hear her voice cracking. Being in trouble with Keaton stung enough, but having that perfect record shattered because her best friend turned her in … there would be no quick fix or easy forgiveness.
Presley bit her lip. “I tried, Devon. I tried to talk to you. But you don’t know how it’s been watching you. You’ve become totally obsessed with Hutch, while everyone else is trying really hard to move on.”
“I can’t, Pres. It’s not that easy.”
“You think it’s easy for any of us? We all miss him. But he’s gone and we have to keep living. You weren’t listening to me, you were off in your world that seemed to revolve around Hutch, and then I found that stuff in your drawer. Don’t hate me, seriously. I’m the only one that cared enough to do anything.”
Devon shifted her weight on her plastic cleats. “Yeah, well, I care, too. Still do.” She ran off toward the field. Maybe she was a nightmare to deal with right now. But she had her reasons. And she would prove them to Keaton.
THE BLEACHERS WERE LESS packed at this game. Either the thrill of the season opener had died down, or the arrest at the last game freaked everyone out.