secured were comfortable. Plus she’d slapped a poster of a Rorschach inkblot test onto the wall. Now she regretted it. She’d hoped it would make the room feel like a proper counseling space. But even calling this a “room” was generous. It was an eight-by-eight-foot soundproof box.
During the weeklong intensive summer training session with Mr. Robins, he’d emphasized that creating the right environment was important. “I think one of the music rooms would be ideal. Why don’t you go make it yours before the school year gets going,” he’d suggested. “Kids feel safe there. Believe me, I know. It’s where they hook up and puff weed.”
Devon remembered making a concerted effort not to cringe. Was “puff weed” ever something any Keaton student ever said, at all? Still, she’d heeded his advice. Devon could only hope that one of the music prodigies on campus (or a longstanding couple) wouldn’t start a turf war. Who was Devon to stand in the way of Sue Lin’s violin genius? Or to poke another hole in the soul of Keaton’s resident indie guitarist, Phoenix Flowers (his real name), depriving him of the privacy to write his heartbroken love songs? On second thought, that was probably a boon for the whole Keaton community. How could any self-respecting female actually fall for … but no. She was not here to judge. She was here to be judgment-free. Besides, soundproof walls were essential for therapy too.
It was against school policy (Companion Rule #6c) to burn candles, but before Matt even showed, Devon had lit an oversized Scent-o-Vanilla she’d smuggled in to eradicate the musty smell. It was hot in here, though. The sun beamed through a small window, highlighting the dusty air. She should get a plant. Mr. Robins had a plant in his office, didn’t he? She slid the lid off her new shiny Mont Blanc pen—a gift from her mom for completing the training course “because your notes are valuable, the pen you write them with should be to.” Devon had to admit, it was the one thing right now that made her feel remotely qualified to be a peer counselor. She wrote in the corner of her notebook page reserved for Matt’s sessions: Plant.
“What are you writing?” he demanded.
Devon swallowed. “Keynotes for our session,” she lied. “We’re here to talk about you and how you’re handling Hutch’s death,” she added, purposefully holding his gaze. “And as far as knowing or not knowing where he got the drugs, it doesn’t matter. Everything you say here is confidential.” That was the truth.
His jaw twitched. He sniffed, staring down at his feet. “Good, because I found out when everyone else did in that assembly yesterday. I mean, I saw the ambulance drive up the hill. I got that ‘I’m sorry’ text on the night he.…” Matt paused. “On the night he killed himself. But I didn’t put it together. I’m sorry? He didn’t have anything to be sorry about with me, so I figured it was just a mistake, like he probably meant it for Isla. I didn’t know he’d sent it to his whole address book.”
“His whole address book? Like, everyone in his phone?” Devon made her first real note.
Hutch’s suicide text not sent to me.
“Yeah, you know, the ‘I’m sorry’ thing. But by the time anyone put the pieces together it was too late.”
Was it wrong to be annoyed that she was left out? You weren’t even in his phone, Devon. That’s how close you were. So you weren’t lying to Mr. Robins when you said that Hutch was just an acquaintance. She looked at Matt. His shaggy blond hair was damp and starting to curl up on the ends as it dried. From the fresh red sunburn on his cheeks and deep tan line on his neck, Devon knew that he’d had already gone surfing this morning. He and Hutch were regular fixtures on the 6 A.M. van for the diehards that wanted to catch a few waves in Monte Vista before class.
“I still can’t believe he was out there all night,” Matt went on. He shook his head, like he was disagreeing with his own memory. “I don’t care what they found on him. Hutch wasn’t taking Oxy. Not him. When they do one of those toxicology things they’ll know.”
Devon flipped through the training guide in her mind. “So, Hutch wouldn’t take Oxy. Go on,” she prodded.*
Matt crossed a bare foot over his knee and picked at a callous on the side of his