Escape Theory

CHAPTER 8




Name: Cleo Lambert

Session Date: Sept. 21

Session #2



“So? She totally deserved it.” Cleo crossed her arms and glared at Devon. Her florescent pink nails were a stark contrast to her all-black uniform. “Besides, not like what she did to me was cool at all. I’m still debating about ratting her out to Wyler.”

“Okay, let’s talk that out.* You put the pregnancy test on Isla’s bed, which, I think it’s safe to say, hit a nerve with her. Isla retaliated by slipping an Ambien into your bedside water, causing you to fall asleep in a class. So, what are the pros and cons of telling Wyler what Isla did?” Devon waited, ballpoint pen poised above her notebook. She wanted Cleo to get a good look at her crappy replacement pen before asking about her missing Mont Blanc.

Cleo licked her lips, debating whether to jump in or not. “Fine, I’ll play. Pro. I get to watch the bitch suffer. Con. I’m already on thin ice with Wyler, so why call more attention to myself?”

“Okay, sounds good so far.”

“Con. The school’s already freaking out about Hutch overdosing. If another pharmaceutical thing comes up you know there’s going to be a crackdown.”

“How would that affect you?”

“It wouldn’t really. I don’t do drugs, legal or illegal. But, it would certainly lead to a lot of kids freaking out, and I just can’t be bothered with everyone in a constant state of PMS. It’s bad enough already.”

“How is it bad?”

“You haven’t heard? People are getting cracked out around here. C’est fou.”

Devon blinked and wrote the words in her notebook. “That means crazy, right?”

“Freakin’ Sasha Harris of all people comes into Calc yesterday. She’s five minutes late, so of course, Mr. Lee calls her out on it. Sasha goes nuts, starts yelling at Lee like, ‘I did your homework, what else do you want from me?’ She threw her notebook across the room and then went to the board and wrote down all these insane equations. She wouldn’t stop writing on the board and Lee totally didn’t know how to handle it. Matt and Omar had to drag her out of the classroom and take her to Nurse Reilly. Totally crazy.”

“Is she all right?” Devon wanted to know more. Was Sasha’s meltdown because of her pill use? Was she having a bad reaction to something? Could it just be stress? Of course, none of this had to do with counseling Cleo. Stay on target, Devon.

“I heard Matt got royally pissed at her,” Cleo went on. “Like she would draw too much attention to the pills, which could lead back to Matt. Any of his people freak out, you know that’s going to bite him in the ass.” She laughed. “Although, it is a hot ass.”

Devon pushed the bangs out of her face and crossed her legs again. “You like Matt? That way, I mean?”

“Hells no. It’s just an observation. Matt’s staying busy anyways.”

“Busy? With a girlfriend, busy?”

“Who knows if girlfriend’s the right word? I just saw him walking back to Fell the other night close to curfew with a blanket over his shoulders, and we know what that means.”

“The late night hook-up uniform.” Matt’s probably hooking up with some unsuspecting freshman, Devon convinced herself. Although, now it was going to nag at her until she knew whom it was.

“The thing that’s weird about it is that Matt’s keeping a low profile. Usually he’s the biggest bragger of all the guys. But this one, this one he wants to keep quiet.” Cleo gave Devon that smug smile of hers.

She’s doing it again. Pulling me into the gossip circle.

“Well, I’m sure that’s Matt’s business,” Devon said. “Let’s get back to you. It seems like the cons outweigh the pros in reporting Isla to the Headmaster, right?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t really make sense to rat her out. C’est la vie.” Cleo shrugged. “You know who else has been on something lately? Maya.”

“Maya? Really? On drugs? But, she’s like so quiet.”†

“It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it? I caught her the other night taking a shower at like two A.M. Scared the hell out of her I think, too. She wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the bathroom then.” Devon thought about seeing Maya in her robe around midnight the other night, too. But, Maya and drugs somehow didn’t seem like the right fit. “She must be on a bender,” Cleo continued, “because I’ve got first period with her, and she’s fallen asleep in class almost every day this week, if she shows up at all.”

“Let’s try to get back to the subject at hand. Do we‡ want to talk about why you stole that nail polish in Monte Vista? I’m not sure we got to that last week.”

“I love all this ‘we’ talk, when it’s not your soul that’s being poked and prodded.”

“Is it possible that stealing was about getting attention? Or maybe just for the thrill of it?”

Cleo looked out the small window. “Not sure. You know the first time I stole something it was in France. When I was growing up there with my mom, we were in Lyon. I remember she took me to this little soap shop. It was, like, quintessential French. Everything was handmade and wrapped in wax paper. Petites paquettes my mom called them. Little packages. My mom wasn’t paying attention but I knew I just had to have one of them. She was talking to the clerk and no one suspected me, so I just grabbed one and put it in my pocket. I still remember it, pink hand soap in the shape of a rose with a cream colored ribbon around the wax paper.” Cleo now looked back to Devon, challenging her. “So, you tell me, Counselor: attention or thrill?”

Devon dropped her notebook on the floor next to her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “That’s a very interesting story. I didn’t know you grew up in France.”

Cleo tossed her head back and laughed. “Mmmm.” She nodded yes.

“Because,” Devon continued, “I thought you said last week that you grew up in San Francisco going to the same golf club as the Hutchins family. Maybe I’m confused.”

Cleo’s eyes darted back to Devon. “No, that wasn’t what I said. I said my parents belonged to the club, but we never went.”

“Oh, but you weren’t there with the Hutchins? Growing up with them?”

“No, I, we.…”

“Why do you feel you have to lie to me?” Devon kept her eyes glued to Cleo’s face, not letting her off the hook.

“I wasn’t lying. Okay, maybe I didn’t grow up in France. But I spent time there.” She sounded pissed off.

“That’s the thing about lying. I mean, no one’s perfect, we all do it from time to time. But it makes it hard to trust someone. If this is going to work at all, we have to trust each other.”

“Whatever. That’s like assuming that we’re doing real therapy in here, which, let’s be honest, we’re not,” Cleo said.

Devon ignored the sting. “But why not try to make it work? You were let off the hook for shoplifting in Monte Vista, and the only condition is that you complete five sessions with me.”

“So?”

“So, it’s kind of a waste of both of our time for you to sit here and lie to me for an hour. What if we end a little early today and next week, and for the two sessions after that, you come back with the truth?”

Cleo chewed on the side of her lip. “And what I say in here doesn’t get out?”

“Not to anyone,” Devon confirmed.

“Fine. I’ll try.” Cleo stood up with a sigh. “You know, I didn’t know you could be such a ballbuster.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really not trying to be a bitch here. But—”

“No, that’s a compliment. You kind of needed to grow a backbone. Here.” Cleo pulled Devon’s Mont Blanc pen from the inside of her boot and tossed it to Devon. “Sorry about that.”

Devon turned the silver pen over in her hand. It looked unharmed, plus Cleo offered the pen as opposed to making Devon ask for it. That was progress, right?

“Hey, I might have a favor to ask you.” Cleo turned, her back leaning against the door, waiting. “If you wanted to make it up to me, that is.”

“Depends. What is it?” Cleo asked.

Devon paused for a split second. She had to ask someone, and preferably someone she wasn’t that close to. Devon pulled the folded green piece of Keaton paper from her notebook. Her Oxy order for Matt. “Would you give this to Matt for me? It’s not for me, I swear. I just need to research something.”

She tentatively held the paper out. Cleo studied Devon, debating this new facet of their relationship. She took the paper and opened it.

“No, you don’t have to—” Devon tried to stop Cleo from reading, but it was too late.

“Got it. Consider it done.” Without the expected smirk, without the usual French exclamation, Cleo folded the paper and put it in her pocket. For a second, she looked completely unaffected. “See you next week.”

“RIGHT ONE’S YOURS.”

Devon caught the right speaker just as it tumbled off the dashboard. Raven’s Volvo sped down the Keaton hill, taking the curves above the recommend speed limit.

“Got it,” Devon yelled over the music. She wedged her speaker back into its place on the dashboard, and wiped off the layer of sand already sticking to her palm. “Thanks for the ride. I was dying to get off campus today.”

Raven adjusted the speaker on her side threatening to slide out of position. Her black hair swirled in all directions as the wind whipped through the car. “No problem. Waiting for the van must suck.”

“No kidding.” Devon leaned her head against her seat and let the wind dance over her. Outside the pine trees fluttered in the breeze, making the green needles flicker and flash different sun-drenched shades of green. She could smell the dust from the road and the comforting smell of the pine.

“I gotta make a quick stop first, hope that’s okay. Reed’s computer is acting up and I’m his personal geek squad it seems.” Raven looked both ways at the end of the Keaton road and took a left, away from Monte Vista.

“No problem. I’m just enjoying the ride.” Devon closed her eyes again. It was true: She was happy to be moving, period, to feel the engine revving under her seat, to be away from school. The car twisted and turned, kicking up dust and spitting gravel out behind it. After what seemed like a very short time later, it lurched to a stop.

“Be right back.” Raven hopped out and slammed the door behind her. Devon finally opened her eyes and saw the ranch house at Reed Hutchins’s vineyard Raven had taken her to before. But this time, a rusted black Rover was parked in the circular driveway in front of the Volvo. Devon recognized it instantly: The car Hutch had been unpacking the last day she had seen him.

Raven disappeared inside the house.

Without thinking, Devon got out of the car and approached the Rover. The front window was open and the door was unlocked. Devon opened it and sat in the driver seat. She ran her hand across the cracked leather steering wheel. Hutch had driven this car to school. Somehow it had gotten back to his grandfather’s house. She’d ask Raven about that part. The floor and seats of the car had leftover dirt and twigs and grape stains. It smelled like a mix of dried dirt and men’s aftershave. In the cup holder next to her, Devon found a crumpled up piece of paper—white, not Keaton green.

“Ready?” Raven called from the front door. “Great car, huh?”

Devon quickly pocketed the piece of paper. “Yeah, really cool. How old is it?”

Devon casually ran her hand across the dashboard, around the wheel, like she was interested in taking it for a test drive. Maybe Raven would take the bait.

“Who knows? It’s Grandpa Reed’s. Kind of the junk car for all the heavy lifting and hauling around here.” Raven got back in the Volvo and Devon followed, even though she would have preferred to sit in the Rover all day. That aftershave, though … maybe Grandpa Reed wore it? It smelled almost old fashioned, musky, too overt for Hutch.

Raven started the Volvo and Devon held onto her speaker again as the car bounced back down the hill. “Feel like surfing?”

Devon shook her head as the beach swam into view through the trees. The waves boomed. Seagulls coasted on the wind above, not flapping, surveying the water below.

“You sure?” Raven asked, turning into the parking lot. “I’ve got an extra board.”

“No thanks.”

Raven pulled her surfboard off the roof rack and shimmied into her wetsuit in the parking lot. Waves crashed like thunder. The gulls squawked and squealed.

Devon pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head as she eyed the rocky beach for a place to sit. She grabbed her backpack and a towel from the sandy backseat.

“Oh, can you grab my board wax? I think it’s on the floor back there.” Raven used the long string hanging from her wetsuit to zip the suit up her back. She tied her hair into a tight knot.

Devon reached back into the car. She dug past a damp towel covering the seat, protein bar wrappers, aged sunscreen tubes, a few loose homework assignments, some pamphlets. One of them caught Devon’s eye. Pregnant? You Have Options.

Devon froze. Did this mean that Raven was the one Hutch stole the pregnancy test for? Had her brother gotten Hutch off the hook for shoplifting because Hutch was stealing for his sister? Devon’s mind raced with questions. She had to ask Raven about this, but how?

“Found it?” Raven called from the outside.

Devon looked below the pamphlet and found a round hockey puck-sized mound of wax. Sex Wax, the label read. Sex Wax under the pregnancy pamphlet. Jesus. If that wasn’t irony, Devon didn’t know what was.

“Got it,” she called back. She tossed the puck to Raven over the top of the car.

“Thanks.” Raven started scraping the wax against her board. “Oh dude, I forgot to ask. What’s up with you and that lacrosse guy?”

“Grant.” Devon couldn’t make eye contact with Raven. Not now.

“Yeah, Grant. I wouldn’t have called that one. He doesn’t strike me as your type. But you never know about people, huh?” Raven tossed back the wax. “See ya in a bit.”

She strapped the surfboard leash to her ankle and ran down to the beach, over the rocks, and skidded into the surf like a rock skipping over water.

“Yeah, you never know,” Devon said as she watched Raven duck under a wave.

DEVON DUG A TALE of Two Cities out of her backpack, but there was no way she was going to get any reading done today. Instead she stuck her bare feet into the warm sand and watched the surfers out on the water. They sat in a cluster behind the breaking waves, straddling their boards and bobbing along with the tide. In their full-body black wetsuits, they looked like a family of ducks out for a swim. Devon couldn’t tell anyone apart, except for Raven’s signature nest of hair atop her head. Devon watched as Raven paddled next to a blond dreaded surfer. Bodhi, no doubt.

So. Raven knew about Devon and Grant. Was it public knowledge? Were they officially a couple now? She was going to have to remember to make peace with Grant if this “official” label was going to stick. That is, if she wanted it to stick. Why didn’t Raven think he was her type? She hadn’t exactly had enough boyfriends to identify a type at this point.

Off to the side of the group of surfers a figure bobbed alone. He ducked under a wave and when he came up he shook his head, sending water flying from his blond shaggy hair. Was that Matt? Devon smiled. It was another chance to see a side of Matt most people didn’t get to see at Keaton. He spent so much time surfing and now she got to see him in his element. She envied him his surfing. To have something that he craved every day, something that he loved that much. Although he would probably never admit it, Matt must get that buzz that surfers talk about. The idea of battling roaring waves on a piece of foam; the chance to be a part of the water, to bring everything you are and throw it into the ocean, and to come out cleansed by it.… Before her days at Keaton were over, Devon promised herself she’d at least give surfing a try.

A wave approached the group and Devon watched Raven pop up on her board and weave expertly up and down the wave, while other surfers paddled out of her way. Before she got too close to the rocks near the shore, Raven dropped down to her board and paddled back out for another wave. She was graceful, and she clearly had the respect of the other locals. Having an older brother at the center of the surfing community didn’t hurt either.

The pamphlet in her car, though. Devon wished she had grabbed it. She wasn’t jumping to conclusions, was she? Okay, what do you actually know? She had to get her thoughts straight before talking to Raven. Hutch definitely stole a pregnancy test for someone. And she knew that someone was not Isla. She also knew that Raven bonded over peanut butter products with Hutch over the summer—while he was broken up with Isla, so the opportunity for them to hook up was definitely there. She cried more often than not at the mention of Hutch’s name.

Was this a bunch of coincidences, or was this a time where her mother would say, “There are no coincidences?” If Raven was pregnant with Hutch’s baby, would that be enough to drive Hutch to suicide? And, if Devon’s theory was correct, what if it wasn’t suicide? Was it enough to make someone want to kill Hutch? Like a protective older brother, perhaps? Could Bodhi have killed Hutch because he got Raven pregnant?

Okay, so maybe there was a lot of speculation here.

Devon resolved to talk with Raven on the ride back to school. She would be the comforting-older-sister type Raven probably wished she had right about now. And she could ask about Bodhi. Did Bodhi really have murder in him? Something about surfers, so attuned to the tides and harnessing the ocean—no. But a pissed-off older brother could be capable of a lot. And Devon still didn’t know why Bodhi left MIT. Could he have been kicked out for violent tendencies? Now she was just making stuff up. Forget about all that; she’d start with confirming if Raven was pregnant with Hutch’s baby.

Another wave approached and Devon saw Bodhi and then Matt both turn and paddle for it. The wave swelled and Bodhi stood up. He aimed his board toward the wave break and drifted to the top lip of the arcing wave until Matt dropped in on Bodhi’s wave, cutting him off, and riding it the rest of the way. Bodhi yelled something at Matt and then quickly let the next wave push him to shore. Matt was walking through the rocky shallow water when Bodhi caught up to him. “Dude!” Bodhi barked at Matt.

Devon shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand. Bodhi didn’t sound happy.

Matt reached into the water and unhooked his foot from his leash. He nodded at Bodhi, oblivious. “What’s up, man?”

“Did you not see me there, ’cause you’d have to be freakin’ blind to miss what you just did.” Bodhi was carrying his board toward Matt now.

Deeper in the water, Raven caught a small wave to join Bodhi on shore. A few others followed her. Devon stood. This was bad.

“What are you talking about, dude?” Matt kept walking out of the water with his board.

“Are you kidding me?” Bodhi ripped the Velcro off his ankle and dug his board straight down into the wet sand. “You know better than to take my wave. Or do I have to teach you again?”

Matt turned. “Hey, chill. I support you, remember?”

Bodhi laughed, incredulous. “You support me? That’s hilarious. I told him it was a mistake to go into business with you. And from what I hear, he should have listened to me.”

“What are you saying?” Matt didn’t back off.

Devon noticed that both of them were puffing their chests out, and she could see a red patch growing up the back of Matt’s neck spreading to his ears. She crept toward them, careful to not draw attention to herself.

“I’m saying that if you can’t respect me out there, then I know you’re not respecting me up there.” Bodhi pointed to the looming mountains behind them. “We’re done.”

Matt pushed at Bodhi’s chest. “That’s not your call, local.”

Another surfer—shaved head, lots of tattoos—leapt out of the water next to Raven. They both quickly unhooked from their boards, and dropped them on the sand.

“You don’t want to do this, man,” Bodhi said. Now he had backup, but that didn’t seem to faze Matt.

“Oh no, I do. I really do.” Matt unzipped his wetsuit.

Shaved Head moved in front of Bodhi. “You’re lucky we let you surf here this long. Tourist.” Before Devon could process what was happening, the guy took a swing and connected with the side of Matt’s jaw.

Matt stumbled back momentarily, but came back quickly with a hard punch to Shaved Head’s ribcage. Bodhi’s right hand jabbed at Matt and caught him in the eye. Matt reeled back and then prepared to lunge at Bodhi until Raven appeared between them.

“Stop it!” she shrieked. “Seriously, stop. It’s not worth it. This is stupid.” More surfers stood behind Bodhi now. Devon could see their muscles bulging underneath their wetsuits, and they eyed Matt like a dog waiting for a treat. Devon realized she was holding her breath, digging her nails into her palms. Just one word from Bodhi and they’d spring into action.

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is over,” Matt said with a hand over his eye.

He turned and took off across the beach with his board, through the parking lot. Devon watched him go. Had he seen her there? She wanted to run after him, help him get back to school, get some ice, but he was already out on the road. This crowd was entirely Monte Vista locals, and Devon was nervous about outing herself as a Keaton student.

She looked down and realized she was wearing a sweatshirt with KEATON blazed across the front in huge letters. Too late for that.

The surfers gave Bodhi pats on the back or quick nods before getting back in the water. Bodhi flashed Devon a slight smile, which she took as a sign that it was okay to join their group. Raven was focused on Shaved Head, who had a hand clamped around his rib cage and his eyes squinted in pain. As she stepped closer Devon could hear Raven talking in a small, sweet voice.

“It’s going to be okay, baby. I’ll take care of you.” Raven said to Shaved Head.

She kissed him on the lips and wrapped her arms around him. He wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her closer, nuzzling her neck.

Time stood still on the hot beach as Devon watched them. So, she thought, that’s what an official couple looks like. Almost like Hutch and Isla had once looked, but even more tender and intimate. Maybe Devon was wrong about everything. Maybe Hutch wasn’t Raven’s type.


* “Egan’s Skilled Helper Model: Second stage: Help the subject identify what they want. Which options are open to the helpee?”—Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT

† “The Peer Counselor should help the subject shift away from socializing after the first few minutes of the session to focus on the subject’s emotional needs. A subject that continues to socialize is avoiding the real issues.” —Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT

‡ “Using terms like ‘we’ and ‘our’, help the subject tackle issues that may be daunting to address alone.” —Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT