Hero Complex Read online

  Now “we’re” in a downward spiral of paranoia, Devon thought with a groan.

  Lying in bed wasn’t going to help her get more answers. It was Sunday morning, and she had someone she needed to talk to.

  CLEO’S ROOM WAS EMPTY, along with over half the other rooms in Morgan House. The black Calvin Klein bedspread was tucked in without a wrinkle. Cleo’s makeup was gone from her dresser, too. She must be out of town for the weekend. But she’d have to be back at some point today.

  Devon caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on Cleo’s closet door. Her hair was spilling in all directions from her ponytail, and she had a pillow crease denting her left cheek. Yet it was just last night Bodhi had his fingers threaded through her hair while they kissed. Devon needed to see Cleo before she could think about Bodhi anymore. Was she to blame for Bodhi and Cleo breaking up?

  No, that was impossible. Besides, both of them had told her the same thing in different ways, reiterating what she already knew: they were very different people, fashion vs. ocean, airbrush tan vs. year-round natural tan. It didn’t seem like Cleo was especially heartbroken over Bodhi. She was the one who’d gone off in search of Eli, their mysterious dimpled waiter.

  So why did kissing Bodhi feel like a betrayal?

  It didn’t matter. Cleo probably understood Devon better than anyone on campus, better even than Presley. Besides, Devon couldn’t wait to tell Cleo the dirt that she had on Eli, thanks to the Elliot siblings. Though, knowing Cleo, the fact that Eli was a hired evildoer might even make her like him more.

  Devon scribbled on a Post-it pad on Cleo’s desk.

  Miss me? Find me when you’re back. –D.

  With that, Devon hurried from Morgan House and walked to the edge of the hillside. Her eyes traced the sloping green lawn that met with thick bushes, giving way to pine trees and redwoods, the wilderness below. Dark gray clouds rolled in from the ocean. Cotton-like wisps of cloud crept through Reed’s grapevines.

  She wondered if Bodhi was working in the guesthouse.

  What was going to happen with her and Bodhi now? Had he thought that kiss through? What if she’d said no or pulled away? Would it have ruined their friendship? Too many hypotheticals to consider … She needed something to distract her busy brain. And she knew exactly what that distraction needed to be. The kiss had made her forget a very important piece of business—namely, that she still hadn’t opened Reed’s diary.

  DEVON’S BACKPACK WAS STILL on the floor where she had left it last night.

  She frowned as she picked it up, thinking of how red her face must have been when she’d dashed into the dorm thirty seconds before the curfew bell rang. Ms. Hadden had frowned out the door while it swung closed, as if expecting to see a boy running back to his dorm with a blanket over his shoulder. But no, there was no boy. None that she could see, anyway.

  Devon Mackintosh, on time. Check.

  Next time, Devon wouldn’t wait until 9:50 to dash. She flopped on her bed and pulled out the diary, careful to avoid creasing the brittle paper.

  Jan. 1, 1942

  Dr. Keaton has changed my life a second time. First when he accepted me into his physics program at Berkeley. Now he has invited Athena and me to stay and work with him on a top-secret new project for the war effort. I’m probably not even supposed to say the words “top secret,” but it is a secret, even from us. Dr. Keaton doesn’t even really know the true nature of our work, but he believes that is for our safety, which I’m happy to believe.

  It’s hard to describe our new home. Near Santa Cruz and up the hillside some. An Army jeep manned by a Corporal Grayson drove Athena and me over from Berkeley. Dr. Keaton’s lab wasn’t much more than a tent with wooden planks for floors and metal tables stacked with boxes.

  “We’re getting the buildings put up in the next month or so. Would hate to have our work affected by the elements, you see.”

  Those were his exact words, the words I remember most clearly. The rest is a fog of excitement. He asked Athena and me to quit Berkeley and live up here and work with him. I am so honored. It is the noblest opportunity.

  And he did share one secret.

  He introduced us to someone, a woman, when he invited us for tea in another tent. She wore tan riding pants and was putting cups and a teapot on a tray. I could hear a faint whistle from the metal kettle on the stove.

  “Hana, we have guests,” Dr. Keaton said to her.

  Instantly we realized she was Japanese. She had a milky complexion, more fair-skinned than the Chinese workers I was used to seeing around Oakland. He knew that Athena and I would be shocked, and he wanted to gauge our reaction. And it’s not like we have anything against a Japanese person. It’s just that since the bombing of Pearl Harbor last month, the whole country is looking at Japanese people differently.

  Hana led us to a nearby picnic table, where she poured tea for each of us. Dr. Keaton watched us the whole time. It wasn’t until then that we put it together that Hana was Keaton’s wife. Both of them wore simple gold wedding bands. Keaton kept a tender hand on her back while she poured.

  Once we were all served, Keaton asked if he could speak with me privately. I assumed he was going to discuss more logistics with moving Athena and me up to the hill, but no. He told me that he and Hana have been married for three years. She was born and raised in Oakland, but he feels like the anti-Japanese sentiment will only get worse in the city. He doesn’t need to convince me. I know how bad it is, but listening to him was tough. Last week the grocery store owner down the street from them wouldn’t even sell groceries to Hana until Keaton came and intervened.

  The Army has done a background check on Hana, and she was cleared to be here with Keaton, but he is not allowed to discuss his work with her. That’s why he wants to make sure Athena would come to the hill with me. Hana needs another woman around to talk to, a friend. They plan on making a permanent home on the hillside. But he needs to know we’re okay with Hana. What could I say? Of course we are.

  By the end of the conversation, Keaton had agreed to build a house for Athena and me, hired me at $25 a week, and confirmed that we would start by the end of the month. And I still don’t know what we’ll be doing.

  Devon drifted off to sleep. She dreamt about Hutch. She saw his wild hair and clever smile as they walked around the empty hillside. He reached out for her hand, but the wind pulled her away from him. She tried calling, but the wind seemed to absorb her voice, and then she was falling and falling down the cliff side until she landed on the hard cement of the Palace. Eric was standing over her with the spyglass in his hands. He used it to take a swing at her—

  Devon jerked up in bed.

  The bright morning had turned into a gray afternoon.

  She took a few deep breaths, shaking off the nightmare, then eyed the diary beside her. It was difficult to imagine a time when this hillside wasn’t dotted with dorms, dining halls, gyms, a pool. It must have been amazing to be up here before the school was built. So Reed had a wife, Athena. She’d never even considered who Hutch’s grandmother was. She’d never really considered The Keaton School as a product of the actual Dr. Keaton, the person—someone who’d led an entirely different life before the school existed. And if Dr. Keaton had a wife, why was there no mention of her anywhere on campus?

  CHAPTER 7

  Sunday dinners were a generally depressing affair. Devon knew that the stories and the buzz from weekends off campus would fall silent upon arrival in the dining hall. She sighed as she gathered her dinner on a plastic tray. At least tonight was cheeseburger night. Fries, salad, and even a berry cobbler concoction would suffice to dull the buildup of yet another week at Keaton. She approached Dr. Mettier at the check-in table. Another day, another “Devon Mackintosh, check.”

  When someone slapped Devon’s butt, she nearly dropped her tray on Dr. Mettier’s lap.

  Cleo was standing behind Devon in her uniform of motorcycle boots, black leggings, and a black leather jacket with zippers going in every
direction. She pulled the black knitted hat off her head and shook out her chin-length hair. “How did you survive without me this weekend, Mackintosh?” Cleo waved at Dr. Mettier as he checked her off his list with a satisfied grunt.

  Devon’s smile faltered. A wave of guilt washed over her. But … why did she feel guilty about Bodhi? He and Cleo were over. He’d made the move. They’d shared a kiss; that was it. “Wanna eat with me?” she finally managed.

  Cleo sneered at the lopsided cheeseburger and wilted lettuce they were supposed to call dinner on Devon’s tray. “You okay? The food is supposed to make you sick after you eat it, remember?”

  “Funny,” Devon said, regaining some composure. “So?”

  “Hell, no. I made a point to eat before I got back. How about I just keep you company while you eat?”

  Devon made a beeline toward a table in a back corner of the dining hall. Although the dinner rush seemed to have died out, a corner table away from eavesdropping ears was still a minor coup.

  “Is this about snooping around my room?” Cleo asked, a twinkle in her eye. “I saw your note when I got back. Come on, dis-moi, how much did you enjoy going through my stuff?”

  Devon took a bite of her burger. It tasted like foamy filler. Maybe the whole thing wasn’t as big a deal as she thought. “I didn’t see anything that belongs to me, let’s just say that.”

  Cleo sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “So? What’s the deal? Is this business or social? With you, I never know.”

  Devon put her food down. “I just wanted to check with you. About you and Bodhi.”

  “He kissed you, didn’t he?” Cleo asked point-blank.

  Devon’s face flushed.

  “He did, he did, he did!” Cleo slapped her palms on their table, taunting Devon with a wicked, delighted laugh.

  “I really wasn’t expecting it, I swear,” Devon gasped, relief flooding through her. “But it happened, and I guess I was, I mean, I am happy it did. So it’s okay with you? Please say it’s okay with you.” She took another bite of her hamburger, just to give herself something to do.

  Cleo smiled. “You’re sweet, Dev. Bodhi and me … it was just a few hookups, and I felt as guilty as you do now, if you want to know the truth. I always knew something was lurking there between you two. Of course you should go for it.” She shook salt over Devon’s French fries before picking at a few. “And trust me, Bodhi never does anything he doesn’t want to do. He and Raven have been calling their own shots for a while now. If he kissed you, it wasn’t an accident. The guy likes you. My advice? Try to enjoy it. You do know how to enjoy things, yes?”

  Devon managed another smirk and dropped her hamburger, resisting the temptation to reach across the table and hug Cleo. “Okay, so here’s the other thing. Remember your waiter crush on New Year’s? Dimples? Eli, or that’s at least what he told me his name was?”

  Cleo nodded, intrigued now.

  “Get this—he was using someone else’s ID that night.”

  “Wait, are you saying my crush was your attacker?” Cleo leaned back. Her boot tapped the wooden floor. “Just my luck. Why do I always fall for the dark and disturbed ones?”

  Devon blinked. Did Cleo think she was joking?

  Cleo’s face fell. “Oh, Dev, I’m sorry.” She leaned over the table. “I’m totally not belittling your attack. But you get it, right? We have got to find normal, non-betraying boyfriends. And it sounds like you have …” Cleo dropped off in mid-sentence. Her snarky grin returned, and she tilted her head at the table behind them.

  Devon twisted around to see Grant sitting down.

  He caught their eyes. Devon quickly looked away. What she wouldn’t give to forget that whole Grant debacle of last semester. Her cheeks burned redder than they had last night at check-in, remembering how much she had trusted him. Lying jerk, she thought for the hundredth time. Luckily Grant had stayed clear of her this semester. She secretly hoped he was too ashamed to come near. Living with that kind of shame only seemed fair.

  “So I’m going to go into the city next weekend,” Devon whispered, back squarely turned on Grant. “Try to find this Eli guy. You want in?”

  Cleo finished Devon’s French fries. “Don’t know. Bodhi going to be there?”

  “Yeah, probably. Is that weird?”

  “How about this? My mom’s got some spa thing in Switzerland the rest of the month. Why don’t we get signed out next weekend to my parents’ penthouse near the marina? We have a fun getaway weekend, and if the Dreadlocked Duo want to make an appearance and find our waiter, then we’re all in?”

  Devon had to laugh. “The Dreadlocked Duo. They are gonna hate that.”

  Cleo shrugged. “Haters gonna hate. What can you do?” She brought her head closer to Devon’s and jutted her chin out in Grant’s direction. “Wait a sec. Who’s the fresh blood sitting with Grant?”

  Devon turned to see a perfect stranger plunking his tray down by Grant. Needless to say, a perfect stranger appearing mid-year at Keaton was newsworthy, especially someone who looked like this. Blond hair in an almost buzz cut, dark eyebrows, and deep brown eyes. Devon couldn’t help but stare. Neither could Cleo, of course. Grant leaned over and whispered something. Fresh Blood looked up from his burger and saluted Devon and Cleo.

  “Ladies,” he said in a loud, confident voice with an accent Devon couldn’t place. “Good evening.”

  Devon whipped around to face Cleo, whose cheeks were pink.

  “They must have pulled someone off the wait-list mid-year,” Cleo muttered, smiling in spite of herself. “Man, someone’s parents must have wanted him to get a Keaton education. Starting mid-year has to seriously suck.” She started typing something into her phone.

  “What are you doing?” Devon asked.

  “Texting a friend at St. Matthews in the city. Wait-listers usually come locally. The international kids have too many visa hoops to jump through to make last-minute decisions. We gotta get the intel on our newbie because you know how it goes; girls are gonna be all over that like the summer sale at Barneys.”

  Devon sneaked another peek in his direction, and Fresh Blood smiled back, clearly enjoying the attention. This time she noticed something else: two perfect dimples, one on each cheek. He was almost too perfect looking. Her heart clenched for a moment as she turned back to her food, her appetite gone. Had this guy taken the spot in their class that had been freed by Hutch’s death?

  “You see that smile? Unbelievable,” Cleo said, as if cursing the people who created him. She went back to her phone, fingers moving faster than before. “This is total trouble. Dev, you know better than anyone, I’m a sucker for a guy with dimples. Way more than dreads.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Devon still had a few homework questions to finish before first-period chemistry, so she made sure to get to the classroom early to work in silence, far away from the bustle of her dorm. Just her luck—the chem lab doors were locked. She made do sitting in the deserted hallway. Usually Mr. Denny was in his classroom at this hour, slugging coffee from a thermos and prepping for that day’s lesson. So apparently even guys like Mr. Denny had a hard time moving first thing Monday morning. It was reassuring somehow. Teachers and faculty members were human beings, too, after all—including geniuses, Dr. Hsu among them.

  The linoleum floor felt cold on the back of Devon’s legs, even through her jeans. She opened her laptop and tried to concentrate. The door at the end of the hall opened with a clang, and Scott Jacoby appeared in his usual Keaton pajama pants and oversized backpack. A day student with nothing else going on outside of Keaton, he’d no doubt answered the questions by Friday afternoon and done the extra credit work, too. He threw off the grading curve in most of his classes. On the other hand, maybe if she flirted just a little bit, he might be inclined to let her copy the final few answers from his work. She stood up to greet Scott when a classroom door opened down the hall.

  Devon froze. It was C.C. Tran, dressed in a white pencil skirt with matching b
lazer and clutching a Starbucks cup. She exited the room with Mr. Denny. She had a few books tucked under her arm. Devon recognized the blue cover of her own current chemistry textbook. Maya’s mom is collecting homework. That means Maya is still enrolled. They may have given up Maya’s room, but presumably she was trying to keep up with the school year. Maya was somewhere doing her homework. Before Devon could fully formulate her thoughts, she’d hurried past Scott and planted herself right in front of Maya’s mother.

  C.C. looked at Devon expectantly as if she were an assistant interrupting a meeting with C.C.’s board of directors.

  “Hi, Ms. Tran? You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Maya’s. Devon Mackintosh. I just wanted to see if Maya is okay. Does she need anything?”

  C.C. pulled her thin lips into a tight smile. She looked over Devon’s head at Mr. Denny as if to say, These kids just don’t stop, do they?

  Mr. Denny took the woman’s hand in an empathetic shake. “Thanks for coming by, Ms. Tran. I’m sure we’ll talk soon.”

  C.C. withdrew with the same tight smile and waited until Mr. Denny was opening his classroom door down the hall before turning back to Devon. “Devon, you said?” she asked brusquely. “Maya is doing fine. I’m collecting some work for her so she doesn’t fall too far behind the rest of her year.”

  “Is she coming back to Keaton?”

  “We’re still discussing next year. There are many options to consider …” C.C. started scrolling through her emails on her gold-plated phone. The silent way of saying, Get the hell out of my face, kid.

  Devon held her ground. “I’d love to talk with her. Maybe you’ll tell her to give me a ring? Or email or something?”

  C.C. looked up from her phone. “Maya’s not taking calls right now. But when she does, I’ll tell her you asked after her. Okay?”