Bodhi threw a fry across the table, hitting Devon’s cheek. His eyes seemed to melt, and for a second she forgot she was mad at him. She turned her attention back to her own untouched grilled cheese.
“I’m sure we can hide our IP,” Raven said, almost to herself.
“Let’s do the mouse trap,” Bodhi agreed. “We send a spam email, see if they ping us back, and find the source IP from there. It might take a bit longer, but we break fewer laws.”
Devon blinked a few times. “Really? You’re sure?”
Bodhi reached across the table and patted her shoulder. The gesture was casual, easygoing, brotherly. “Hey, we’re glad you’re back in one piece. Next time, we’re going with you. Friends don’t let friends investigate alone.”
Devon tried to smile back. But inside, every organ, every muscle, every electric current of brain activity cringed.
Friends.
BACK IN HER ROOM, Devon dumped all her books out of her backpack and onto her bed. Four hours of studying stared her in the face. She fought the urge to shove all the books onto the floor and crawl under her comforter for the rest of the night. Her body seemed to creak as she flipped open her laptop. A perfect end to a perfect weekend …
There was a new email waiting. Had Raven gotten a response from Isaac’s emailer already?
Devon frowned at the Keaton school address. She didn’t recognize the name of the sender, though. And Keaton was misspelled. Keeton.edu.
What the—? She opened the email, and a picture popped up on her screen. It was of Raven and her leaving the Monte Vista Deli, Devon’s napkin-wrapped sandwich in one hand while she slid her arm into her jacket with the other. Raven was fishing her car keys from her straw purse. That was just a half hour ago.
Whoever had followed Devon in San Francisco wasn’t content to let it stop there.
CHAPTER 16
Session #3: Devon Mackintosh
Monday, January 28
Dr. Hsu’s lipstick was distracting. It was a deep purple shade Devon had never seen her wear in session before—or even around campus. Devon pictured her sitting in front of the bathroom mirror at the Huntington House before answering her phone. This is Jocelyn.
The words froze in Devon’s mind, at once humanizing her therapist and exposing her deceit. Devon glared at the purple semi-circle Dr. Hsu’s lipstick left along the rim of her teacup.
“How are you feeling today?” Dr. Hsu asked.
Devon shrugged. She was more curious where Dr. Hsu would try to take the session. Let her really fill in the blanks this time.
“I spoke with Nurse Reilly,” Dr. Hsu continued. “It seems you haven’t filled the Vericyl prescription. Have you had a chance to speak with your mom about it?”
“A little.” Devon fought the urge to speak further, but couldn’t. “Funny thing about Vericyl. Did you know that it’s a Dover drug?”
“I’m not sure I follow.” Dr. Hsu’s smile started to flatten at the edges.
“Dover Industries. Maya Dover, the pregnant Keaton student. Her mother’s been around campus picking up her assignments, packing up her dorm room. The Dovers are kind of a big deal around here. I’m sure you’ve at least heard of them.”
“Oh, I wasn’t aware it was the same Dover family.” Dr. Hsu dropped her eyes and sipped her tea.
“Weren’t you?” Now Devon focused the same pleasant smile on Dr. Hsu. She would not be convinced this was all a silly mistake, another coincidence to laugh off.
“So because of this Dover connection, you’re not interested in trying the prescription? This is one of the things we were working on, Devon—”
“No, it’s one of the things you’re working on. I might as well be a slab of paranoid, post-traumatic meat.”
In spite of the interruption, Dr. Hsu’s professional smile returned. Devon had to hand it to her; she was unflappable. “Vericyl can help with these feelings,” she said. The condescension in her voice made Devon’s fingers curl into fists.
“What’s it matter to you if I take this thing or not? You’re just here for the semester, aren’t you? You won’t even be here long enough to see if it works.”
Dr. Hsu shook her head. “I may be here longer.”
“I see what you did there: careful avoidance of specifics, nothing that you have to actually commit to. Except you haven’t answered my question. What’s your personal stake in all this, Dr. Hsu? Are the Dovers paying you to get all of us on Vericyl? Or is it just me?”
Finally she’d struck a nerve. Dr. Hsu’s smile evaporated. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Devon. Maybe we should reschedule for when you’re feeling a little less combative.” She sat up straighter and smoothed the blanket over her lap.
“There’s no need to reschedule. We’re probably good here.” Devon stood up to leave.
“Hold on a second. We’re not finished yet. You’re required to complete five sessions with me.”
Devon returned her steely glare. “And you’re required to provide a safe, confidential, therapeutic environment. It says so in the Keaton Student handbook. I’m sorry, Dr. Hsu. I don’t feel safe if I’m being lied to. I can talk the talk, too. And I can’t continue if these parameters aren’t being adhered to.”
Dr. Hsu almost looked amused. “Devon, please have a seat. Let’s discuss this rather than jumping to conclusions. I don’t know where you’re getting these ideas.”
“Ask your friend C.C. Tran,” Devon replied. “She might know. You can discuss it over lunch at Huntington House.”
The last image Devon had of Dr. Hsu was of her teacup slipping from her fingers and spilling onto the floor. The door slammed on the session room as if in a dream; Devon didn’t even hear it. The next thing she knew, she was practically skipping down the cement hallway toward the dining hall. Her heart was beating fast. She hadn’t exactly planned on calling Dr. Hsu out like that, but at this point she had nothing to lose. Not even as the old doubt and questions slithered into her mind …
What if Cleo was right? What if Dr. Hsu and C.C. had never even spoken about Devon? What if Dr. Hsu had other reasons for denying knowing the Dovers? Maya was pregnant. That was serious, and that was real. So now what? What if Dr. Hsu reported Devon to Headmaster Wyler as being out of control?
In the end, it didn’t matter. It just meant they’d watch her even more closely. As closely as whoever had taken those pictures last night of her and Raven. Whether Dr. Hsu was involved or not, being passive was no longer an option.
September 4, 1942
I’m going to have to be careful to not let anyone know about this diary. Just last month, the Manhattan Project was announced. All of us were issued new sets of IDs and uniforms. We’re supposed to be working with the Army now, more than we were before.
They say it’s for our safety.
We’ve made progress with our metals with various degrees of magnetic abilities. A few days ago, we sent a crate of prototypes of shell and bomb casings to New Mexico. It was a milestone in our work to finally have something that Dr. Keaton was satisfied with. He has very high standards. He says it’s because Dr. Oppenheimer’s standards are even higher. We celebrated the accomplishment with a bottle of champagne, a rare extravagance for Dr. Keaton.
Athena and Hana have been so supportive. Hana planted three pine trees in our names to celebrate. She said it was a tradition in her family to plant a new tree for a milestone. Her parents’ backyard is lined with the pine trees from each of her birthdays.
That night, after the champagne and the wine had been flowing for a few hours, I had an idea. The Army engineers were on the hillside earlier in the day, pouring another wall of concrete for the new bunker overlooking the water. There was so much moisture in the air, I figured we still had time. I didn’t tell them what we were going to do.
Eddie was still gloating about our work and how we were going to be rich, the three of us—“the three trees,” he called us—on our future projects. He talked about us having a lab in Berkeley where we coul
d continue our work. He was so excited to sell our patents to his friends at Merck and wanted to start his own pharmaceutical company, and it would make all of us rich.
I noticed Keaton was smiling politely as Eddie spoke. But I don’t think he ever wants to leave this mountain.
I steered everyone to the new bunker. The concrete was still wet.
As Athena held up the lantern, I found a branch and carved an outline of three trees into the wall, just like Hana’s trees. Keaton and Hana were standing behind me, and Keaton put his hand on my shoulder. “We’re going to do great work here,” he said. “This hillside will know we were here.” He read my mind, because he stepped forward and pressed his hands into the back wall of the bunker. We all left our handprints in the wall that night.
The bell rang for the end of second period. Devon had five minutes to get to English. She flicked her thumb across the page corners in Reed’s diary. What was so important in here that Reed wanted her to find out? There had to be more than a basic history lesson in these pages. On the other hand, Reed wasn’t exactly in the best mental state when he gave it to her. What was it he had said?
Footsteps? ‘You’ll need it to follow our footsteps.’
Devon flipped the brittle pages again. Stories and scientific jargon were written throughout. What about these stories would help her follow in Reed’s footsteps? Did he mean that literally or figuratively? Raven and Bodhi were in more of a position to carry on Reed’s legacy than Devon, since he’d given them everything of his. Were these pages somehow a guide to the Keaton hill itself?
She held the book upside down and shook the pages. Nothing fell out. The paper looked normal; there was no secret treasure map to be found if she held the pages by candlelight, was there? That would be hard to believe.
Devon laughed at herself. Was she seriously thinking there was an “X marks the spot” map somewhere in this book? Give it up, Devon. Reed wasn’t a pirate. He was a sweet old man.
Devon flipped to the back of the book. At least she should know when he last wrote in it. Maybe that would help.
The last page stuck to the back cover. She shook it, but the paper didn’t budge. She felt along the edges; it seemed to be evenly attached in each corner as if done on purpose rather than a result of age. She could feel the slight bulge of another sheet of paper underneath.
Devon slowly wedged a ruler through the sticky border. She hoped that the entire back cover wasn’t about to fall off.
The last page came unstuck. Folded behind it was another piece of paper. Devon unfolded the sheet and found a blurry drawing of pencil lines smudged together across the page, and from below the pencil markings emerged two crisp handprints.
They all left their handprints in the cement in the bunker that night.
This must have been a pencil rubbing from one set of those handprints. It was one thing to read Reed’s stories, but these hands, detailed with wrinkles and calloused palms, made Reed’s words more than real. And the bunker, Devon realized—once new and full of purpose from Reed’s perspective—was a place as familiar to her as any on campus.
The Three Trees bunker was the Palace.
THERE WAS NO WAY Devon could sit through English now. She had to know if the handprints were at the Palace. Years of rain, erosion, cigarette burns, and graffiti had all but destroyed the walls and surrounding hillside. But the possibility that hidden in the dirt-encrusted, glass-riddled cement were pairs of handprints from the school’s founders was too much for her to resist. It ultimately drove her to cut class, hurry back to her dorm, and pull on a pair of rain boots.
The rain was lighter in the morning, but the dirt trail was still slippery with mud rivulets running down the hillside. Slipping away in the drizzle had been easier than expected. Everyone had their head down, hurrying to their next classes. Devon gripped the crumbling edge of the bunker and sloshed a foot through the puddle in the middle of the cement floor.
Hutch had died right here.
She pushed the image out of her mind. She squinted, trying to rewind the setting further back to a time when the bunker was still freshly poured cement. She ran her fingers along the wall, feeling the even groove between each block. The handprints would have remained. She didn’t believe they could have faded into a perfectly smooth wall. The bunker hadn’t been used since the end of World War II, so it seemed unlikely that anyone had put the time or effort into repaving, either.
But the handprints weren’t there.
She felt along the outside walls, the curved, shell-shaped top hanging low over the bench and disappearing into the hillside above. How much had the hillside shifted since Reed had stuck his hands in the wet cement?
Frustration gnawed at her. What the hell was she doing here, anyway? Across the mountainside, Devon could see Reed’s grapevines leading the way up to his guesthouse, everything tinged gray in the rain. Bodhi was probably working there right now. If she hurried, she could probably be back on campus by lunchtime before anyone really knew she was missing. Bodhi would know where to look for the handprints. No matter how upset she was with him for abandoning their mini-relationship, she needed his help. They were friends.
CHAPTER 17
Bodhi was clearly confused to see Devon on his doorstep in the middle of a rainy school day. He looked behind her as if expecting to see Raven climbing out of her car. When she didn’t appear, his brow knit. “Uh … you alone?”
“Just me,” Devon said with a shrug. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah, sure. Of course.” Bodhi stepped aside, and Devon headed straight for his computer. “Do I want to ask why you’re here? Last I heard, you guys still had classes on Mondays. Not that I pretend to understand what goes on at that school.”
Devon pulled Reed’s diary from her jacket pocket and dropped it onto Bodhi’s desk. “Reed gave me this.”
Bodhi’s eyes widened. The jokiness vanished. He sat and began to flip through the delicate pages, his strong fingers treading lightly.
“It’s his diary from when he and Athena moved to the hill,” Devon explained. “They were scientists during World War Two. A bunker was built, and they put their handprints in the wall there. I thought it was the Palace, but now I’m not sure …” Her voice trailed off.
Bodhi’s jaw twitched. This was emotional for him in ways she hadn’t counted on. No wonder he wants to be friends. Why can’t I be a better friend to him? He looked up, his eyes moist.
Devon unfolded the pencil rubbing of the handprint. “I think we’re supposed to find this. I don’t know why, but it just seems important to trace Reed’s steps. It was actually the last thing he said to me. He repeated it a bunch of times. ‘Follow in our footsteps.’ I figured you might know what to do.”
Bodhi looked between the drawing and the hillside out their window. “Hold on.” His lips made a popping sound, opening and closing as he typed at his computer. “World War Two, you said? Any idea which year?”
“1942. He said the Army built it then.” She stood behind Bodhi, watching in awe as he blew through one screen after another. Up popped the site for the Army Corps of Engineers. “You think the Army will have those records?”
“Blueprints, I’m hoping.” His eyes stayed glued to the screen.
Devon leaned closer. She could smell the coconut now, that faint suntan lotion scent Bodhi always had. “And they just make that stuff available to the public?” she asked.
“Meh. There’s a Freedom of Information Act thing I could fill out, but that takes weeks. Easier just to get in there and get what we need. Here. I think this is it.”
Bodhi pressed PRINT and spun in his chair. Feeling light-headed, Devon straightened so he wouldn’t bump into her. Pages of diagrams started spewing out from his printer. Devon’s eyes latched onto one, an overview of the entire bunker, and she grabbed it before it was buried in the growing pile.
“There’re two levels,” she said.
Bodhi reached for the diagram, his hand lightly brushing Devon’s lower b
ack. Her breath caught in her chest for a split second.
But Bodhi didn’t think anything of it, of course. What they were doing necessitated intimacy. It was an accident. Friends could accidentally bump one another. It didn’t have to mean anything.
“You know what this means,” Bodhi said, his eyes slits as they roved the complex array of schematics. “It means that generations of Keaton students either didn’t know about the second level of the bunker, or they kept it a secret.” He glanced up with a smirk. “How many kids do you know at Keaton who can keep a secret?”
Devon almost laughed out loud. She studied the diagram again. The Palace as they knew it was only the top level. Below it there was another lookout point with a small interior space built inside the mountain.
“The room’s only, like, six by eight feet,” Bodhi said, squinting.
“Amazing,” Devon murmured. Her breath came fast. “There’s a room, Bodhi. An effing room. I mean, anything could be in there. Army supplies. Reed could have left stuff there. The handprints have to be on that wall!” Devon realized her eyes were so wide, she hadn’t blinked in a minute. Blink. Breathe. Blink again.
But Bodhi was just as excited. He nodded vigorously, spurring her on. “I know. If Reed’s diary told you to go there, then there’s definitely something there.”
Devon fell back onto the futon. She pulled her hands through her hair, imagining the possibilities of buried treasure. Or whatever was hidden there. It was treasure of some sort, definitely, because it was important enough to keep hidden from the Keaton School and the Dover family, the branches of the other two trees.
“We have to go,” Bodhi said. “ASAP. Can we go today?”
“No, no, no. We have to be smart about this. Teachers sweep it at least once a day, looking for weed smokers. We get busted down there, everyone will know about the bunker. But it’s too dangerous to go at night.”
“Maybe.”
Bodhi stepped to the nearby closet. The doors slid open, revealing shelf after shelf of equipment: paper, computer cords, and petri dishes. Classic Bodhi, Devon thought. Only those he trusted most could see the science geek hidden behind the surfer façade.
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