“Now, class,” Ms. Frederick began, holding a short, fat book against her flat chest, tall and thin as a beanpole in a knee-length khaki skirt and button down white dress shirt, your typical Plain Jane in her mid-30’s with mousy light brown hair and soulful blue eyes hidden behind thick-gray rimmed bifocals. “We’re going to start one of my personal favorites, “The Great Gatsby” by Scott Fitzgerald. It’s an intricate story about the woe of…”
Quinn sat in the back of the room in a bland tan desk, the humming of the black radiator music to her ears, tapping her pencil absentmindedly against the sleeve of her longsleeved orange with white stripes shirt, her glasses firmly in place to block away tears, Quinn cutting contact from Matt for the past few days. It’s been the most blissfully painless weekend physically she’s had in a long time, masking her inner anguish with loud music and massive renovations of the attic. His austere, crippling words raped her mind over and over that she couldn’t dare concentrate on anything else. He loves her, he loves her, that’s all she could hold on to now that her trust was pitched out the window. There was a hard knock on the door, and Matt briskly entered the room, like he had the authority of the President, wearing his best smile, nodding to a few of his fellow teammates, waving at some of the smitten girls.
“Mr. Whitman,” Ms. Frederick sighed in dramatic surprise, lowering the book to her side as Matt walked forward, sharply dressed for the big game today, Ms. Frederick treating everyone as an adult, even those who didn’t act like them. “What can I do for you?”
“Actually, Ms. Frederick,” Matt began sweetly, tucking his hands into his black dress pants, biting his lower lip as his gaze fell on Quinn, Quinn replying with an icy stare. “I was hoping I could talk to Quinn Kimble outside…about the homework I missed in Calculus because of the game on Friday, if it’s alright, I mean.”
“Of course, Matt,” Ms. Frederick obliged happily, absolutely charmed by his polite manner. “Quinn?” she asked, waving her to the front of the class. Quinn sat there as stone, her anger radiating from her eyes, Matt’s composure not faltering like he knew he was the better man. It was a battle of wits, who would crack first? Not even a chainsaw could hack through the wall of tension rising between them. “Ms. Kimble?” Ms. Frederick called a bit louder and firmer, Quinn not responding as she continued tapping her pencil. “Ms. Kimble, do you hear me?”
Quinn abruptly rose from her desk and walked quickly down the aisle, dozens of eyes following her journey. Matt extended his arms to her with a joyous smile. Quinn only flipped her hair at him, leaving Matt to embrace the frigid air she left in her wake as she stormed from the room, her classmates releasing snickers and “oohs” as Matt trailed her. Her back turned to him, he violently whizzed her around and pinned her against the black radiator, Quinn’s eyes not leaving his, her sauciness scaring him. The sun spilled vastly across the dark blue lockers and gray marbled floor of the East wing, Matt’s agitation masked in the dark, like he was a servant to the Underlord. “QT, why are you acting like such a bitch?” Matt spatted at her, Quinn rolling her eyes and laughing.
“Why don’t you ask Lorena?” Quinn challenged, Matt’s eyes widening as she squeezed out from against the radiator, her arms folded across her chest.
“You think I hooked up with Lorena?” Matt said more than asked skeptically, rubbing his chin with his index finger and thumb, as if trying to ponder the meaning of life, his eyes narrowed pensively.
“Well, the message you life on my machine was pretty convincing,” Quinn mumbled with vex, her foot tapping agitatedly against the floor.
“I was just angry, QT Pie,” Matt defended himself, raising his hands in innocence, then placing a hand gently on her shoulder, Quinn shrugging his hand off and burying her chin in her chest. “I didn’t mean anything of it. I wasn’t thinking. You got me worried. You didn’t call me or anything like I told you to a hundred times.”
Quinn was tired of relaying every moment of the day with Matt for approval, but she didn’t say anything, the hurt of his betrayal scratching at her heart and eyes, a tear dropping down her cheek. “How can I be so sure nothing happened?” Quinn asked helplessly, revolving to him.
“I went to the city,” Matt confided, crouching down to be at her height, retrieving something from the inside of his Letterman jacket. “I went with my Mom for help. I wanted to buy you something to show how much I love you if you didn’t remember.” He opened the black box and removed some tissue paper. Quinn gasped as he removed a crystal statuette of a blood red rose with emerald green petals and a crystal clear stem, ‘Matt loves Quinn’ enscribed on the base of the statuette.
Quinn’s heart began to melt, her eyes overjoyed at the gift, Matt grinning inside and out because he won. “But,” Quinn began unsurely, taking the statue gingerly in her hand, cradling it like it was a baby. “How could you say those things and jump to conclusions?”
“I may be selfish,” Matt began, leaving a tender kiss on her forehead, that’s one way to put it, Quinn thought to herself, “But I don’t like to, don’t want to share you with anyone else. It drives me insane when you’re out with someone besides me. I want all of you.”
Quinn’s brain was conflicting with her heart, Matt’s eyes making her knees weak, his touch on her shoulder making everything seem OK. Matt was such a gentleman in public, treating her like the finest gold that she didn’t even understand how he could be such a beast in private, treating her like his personal punching bag. Have she been hallucinating this whole time? She must be, because here she was again with another crossroad, Matt or No Matt. The choice was always the same. “I want all of you, too,” Quinn finally responded, Matt grabbing her face happily and slicing her lips with his tongue as she descended back into the helpless pit of blind love…
~*~
Paul waited antsily outside the La Plata Movie Theatre, waiting for Quinn to come out for her usual Saturday 2:07 break. Main St. was a flight with mothers taking their rowdy kids to the town park, teenagers browsing for ancient treasures in the vintage shops, and elder people hobbling to Townsend Diner for ½ off Saturday. How exciting was the weekend like here in La Plata.
“Paul,” Quinn gasped gleefully, Paul rotating around, Quinn’s hair taking on its normal curly shape, wind trying to blow through Quinn’s white button-down short-sleeved dress shirt and royal blue vest uniform, Quinn not aware Paul would be visiting her. She ran over to him and tied her arms around his neck, Paul subtlety breathing in her fresh scent of strawberries and crème. “Why didn’t you call me to say you’d come by? I wouldn’t have had my lunch hour already.”
“Surprises are more fun,” Paul responded, giving her shoulder a squeeze, Quinn beaming happily at him, Paul gently touching her hair. “I like you hair, Quinn. Very hot.”
“You think so?” Quinn asked self-consciously, taking some of her tangles in her hand and inspecting them, “I was too lazy to blow dry and straighten it this morning.”
“It’s nice, Quinn,” Paul assured her. Quinn lead Paul to a red bench in front of the theatre, sun reflecting off the 6 glass doors to enter or exit the theatre. “I came to tell you that we’re heading off on tour next week,” Paul confessed, Quinn looking up at him sadly as she tinkered with her black belt.
“You’re leaving me?!” Quinn asked passionate, grabbing onto his red Hurley sweatshirt dramatically, Paul laughing at her.
“Until you come see us in DC on Halloween,” Paul informed her, presenting her with two tickets and BSPs, Quinn gazing at his hand as if he just offered her a million dollars. “What do you say?”
“Hell Yeah!” Quinn agreed, snatching the tickets and BSPs greedily in her hands, reading over its contents, bouncing up and down with excitement.
As Paul sat there reveling in his moment of glory, an irksome question probed at his brain. “Say, Quinn,” Paul began, scratching the back of his head, Quinn giving him her attention as she slid the tickets and BSP into her black yoga pants’ pocket. “You aren’t gonna bring…Matt…are you?”
Quinn glared at him funny, the honks of a mere-miss accident blaring into her ears, shattering the oddness between the two. “Probably not,” Quinn responded casually, “He isn’t really a concert person. Why do you ask?”
“It’s…just…” Paul stuttered, “I know how much he’s hurt you and I don’t trust him and I don’t mean to be cruel but he probably is cheating on you and I don’t think it’s right to treat such a caring and beautiful person like you like the dirt under his shoes, like you aren’t a human being and I think there’s a million other guys out there who deserves a girl like you, not a fuck-face like Matt and I just don’t like him or your situation and I’m scared you’re going to get seriously hurt one day if you don’t do something...”
Quinn’s brain was fried from Paul’s ramblings. “From what I got there,” Quinn began with a slight laugh, turning towards him and pulling her one leg underneath her butt, “you don’t approve of our relationship and the way he treats me. But, I love him. I really do. I know once things settle down that we’ll be OK. And I’m sorry you don’t like him, but we’re together and that’s…”
“What makes you think he’ll stop?” Paul asked a bit austerely, growing tired of her ignorance and naiveness. pointing to her left hand, “that ring on your finger?”
Quinn glared at him with confusion, not aware how passionate he was about her safety. Quinn unconsciously twirled her engagement ring around her finger, and responded in a tiny voice, “He loves me.”
“Love doesn’t hurt,” Paul enlightened her loudly, touching her shoulder gently, his voice ripe with conviction and concern, “doesn’t make bruises rise on your skin, doesn’t make you cry in your sleep. Quinn, how can you think that’s love?”
Quinn looked self-consiously down at her black shoes, the wind wafting her hair into her eyes, sheening her eyes that were about to burst with tears, “That’s all I’ve had. Besides, love conquers all, Paul,” Quinn responded softly, gazing up into his caring eyes and shrugging, “Isn’t that how it goes?”