Hero Complex Read Online Free

Saturday morning Maya’s existence would be wiped out of Keaton history.
    Outside Devon saw the U-Move-It van in the dorm driveway. A black Mercedes was parked next to it with a woman in the driver’s seat talking on her cell phone. Her black hair fell perfectly around her shoulders, and her deep brown eyes looked just like Maya’s. Devon recognized her instantly from the Internet and magazine articles: it was C.C. Tran, Maya’s mom and wife to pharmaceutical titan Edward Dover. They locked eyes.
    Devon gave her a tight smile, which C.C. returned just as tightly. Devon couldn’t imagine what that woman must be going through: her teenage daughter pregnant, dropping out of school, and having a baby with an accused murderer, the scion of a family rival, no less.
I thought my family dinners sucked
. It seemed impolite to stare, so Devon continued up the hill to meet Presley.
    A S THE K EATON BUS shifted gears on its drive down the hillside into Monte Vista, Presley turned in her seat to face Devon. “I had an idea over break. It’s kind of amazing, but you’re going to have to get your mom on board.”
    “On board for what?” Devon asked. She saw where this was going—permission slips of some sort.
    “What if we went on our college trip together? Maybe you and your mom and me and my mom? We could do a few schools around New York and Vermont. A little East Coast tour. Wouldn’t that be the best trip ever?” Presley’s blonde curls bounced with each word.
    Every junior at Keaton was planning a productive spring break. Either they were touring college campuses, or they were doing something to boost their applications, like working in a Honduran orphanage or organizing a glitzy fundraiser to promote early cancer screenings. Just last night, Devon overheard Sima Park down the hall asking her roommate which shoes were more appropriate for hanging out with orphans, Toms or Birkenstocks. (Sima voted Toms, ultimately. Double do-gooding, she reasoned.)
    Devon, meanwhile, had far overshot her goal of using the Keaton peer counselor program as an extracurricular bonus. Of course, the irony was too twisted for her to consider for very long without feeling sick. But there was no denying it; Hutch’s death would help her in terms of getting into a good college.
    Beyond just bragging rights for being Keaton’s first peer counselor, she’d picked up some local notoriety for her involvement with sniffing out his murderer. The
Santa Cruz Sentinel
had run a small column about Devon as Keaton’s first peer counselor turned live-action sleuth. Devon’s problem wasn’t so much what to write about herself but how to approach the delicate subject of boosting her self-image through others’ pain. She’d long stopped Googling herself—which probably wasn’t a good thing. But what else could she do, when Hutch’s name always appeared with hers?
    “Besides,” Presley continued in Devon’s protracted silence, “we totally have to scope out which school has the hottest guys. ’Cause you know I’m a sucker for a guy in a peacoat. And the one thing we can count on during spring on the East Coast? Peacoats. It’ll be like living in the fall/winter J.Crew catalog. Yummy.”
    “You already live there,” Devon cracked. It was true; Presley’s dorm room walls were adorned with J.Crew catalog pages of men wearing black and blue peacoats—handsome, yet slightly chilly. This was her new type.
    “So what do you say?”
    “Yeah, that could be fun. I’ll talk to my mom,” Devon said.
    Presley clapped again. Devon smiled but couldn’t muster up the same excitement. She had been so focused on Stanford, it hadn’t occurred to her to look elsewhere. But maybe Presley was right. Maybe Devon should keep her options open. Although she’d leave the peacoats to Presley.
    T HE SANDWICHES WERE PERFECT . Devon hadn’t had her favorite once this entire year, the roast beef with cheddar on pumpernickel bread, which was tantamount to a crime.