Page 79 of Through Quick and Quinn
if she’s a witch and they’re a thing, that makes him evil too
7:05 p.m.
that’s messed up, mandy
7:05 p.m.
what is
7:11 p.m.
all of it
this whole thing is messed up
7:11 p.m.
whatever des
Quinn:
My Own Thoughts
The fifth of October was a Saturday that year, and Quick started the day off by catching me completely off-guard. With trash bags and playing cards in hand, the first words out of his mouth when he greeted me on my driveway were, “Happy anniversary, Quinn.”
“Anniversary?!” I guffawed. I really did guffaw. A huge and unexpected burst of laughter forced my head to snap back. I knew in the moment that the overreaction was probably stemming from a state of nervous energy.
He waited for me to settle down. “Well, almost,” he winked. There was that wink again. Skip skip. “It’ll be one year on Monday since our friendship leveled up.”
“I’m sorry, leveled up? How do you mean?” I glanced at the items he was brandishing and smiled at the memory. “The day of our hike? Oh my gosh, Quick, that was such a great day. How did you remember?”
He shrugged his shoulders and looked down at his bicycle wheel. “I wrote to Geoffrey that day about how our friendship leveled up. That was the day you told me about Troy, Quinn. That was the day I knew we would—”
“Become the best of friends?” I finished his sentence.
“You turned me into such a softie, Quinn. The things I say when I’m around you are so cringy.” He laughed. “What other kid my age talks like that?”
“Who cares? I love it,” I beamed and threw my arms around his neck. “So are we doing what I think we’re doing today?” I felt another burst of energy coming on, and I started to gleefully giggle and clap as he nodded. “Yesssssss! Are we walking or riding?” He answered by parking his bike on the patio next to all of our pots and putting his things into his backpack. Our off-season garden brought a grin to his face, and he turned to me with his hand extended, an invitation that I gladly accepted.
It was not the least bit difficult to recreate the day. We both remembered it so vividly, and we shared as many moments of laughter and moments of comfortable silence as we had the year before. The trees and the waterfall were just as lovely, and I was so glad to relive the good times with him, rather than remember the times I went alone hoping to see him there. It was truly a perfect day, and we even said as much on our walk back home. It was hard to believe that we had only known each other for a year or so. It felt like I had known him for my whole life.
“It’s weird,” I pondered aloud. “In some ways, I can’t believe it’s been a year, but in other ways, I can’t believe it’s only been a year. Does that make sense?” I asked him while we strolled back home, hand in hand.
“Yeah. I feel like I’ve lov—” Quick’s face turned crimson red and I could feel his clammy palm go rigid. We walked in silence for a couple of minutes, and I wanted so badly to shout, “I love you, too!” but I could not bring myself to do it. My heart was hammering in my chest and I was really struggling to keep my butterflies at bay. I was drowning in my own thoughts. Did I really love him? What was happening? Finally, I mustered up the courage to speak, squeezed his hand, and changed the subject. I asked about our next Seek & Speak topic, and that conversation led us all the way back home.
After thanking him profusely for yet another impeccable day of “Quick and Quinn time” on the books, he tossed me the pack of playing cards and suggested I practice before next time. “Ha ha, very funny,” I smirked as I pretended to punch him in the gut. He took the opportunity to grab my forearms and pull me in for a hug.
“See you Monday,” he squeezed, and with that, he was off. I stood there, rooted to my spot, my eyes glued to his back, and I watched until he turned the corner. He really was beautiful.
Sadly, the perfect day came to a screeching halt almost the moment I walked through the front door. It was almost as if my mother was waiting for me for hours upon hours, and each minute that passed made her more upset. She screeched about how I was gone all day, how I’m spending all my time with “this boy,” how I’m not taking my senior year seriously, and how I haven’t even applied to colleges. That was when I cut her off.
“I knew that’s what this was about, Mom! That’s what it’s always about!” I squared my shoulders towards her, displaying that I wasn’t afraid to have this conversation.
“Well, what else would it be about? You have huge decisions to make, young lady, and all you’re doing is frolicking about in La La Land with some boy who doesn’t even have a real name!” She was so angry that she was spitting. Literally spitting. Every word she said sprayed saliva onto her chin, her shirt, and the carpet between us.
“What the hell does that even mean, Mom? What are you even saying? Quick has nothing to do with this.” My hackles went up and my surging instinct to protect him made itself very clear.
“He has everything to do with this! You are not focused on your future, Quinn!”
