Chapter 11
QUINN
I kept my joy locked away inside, because there was nothing to be gained from being smug and my secret was still a potential weapon to be used against me.
I was busying myself with other things. Due to Mrs.Burbank’s persuasive manner, I’d joined the after school Art Club.
Dad digitally signed the permission slip for the Spud Harvest after I told him it was a Snow Ridge High tradition.
He was happy that I was settling in at my new school.
He said he missed me and that he’d visit me soon, but didn’t say when.
I took the form back to Mrs. Burbank and she’d mentioned the Art Club again, and hoping it might improve my chances of getting selected for the harvest, I’d caved.
Two afternoons a week I’d been painting backdrops for the upcoming Halloween Bash.
Blanche Coburn was in the club and we’d got to talking.
She recognized me from the Country Club and knew some kids from Brizendine Prep, the sporty ones.
She was big into skiing, which I wasn’t, so there was no danger of hanging out.
When Mrs. Burbank asked if anyone might be going to Pine Ridge in the weekend and could pick up some special craft supplies, Blanche eagerly volunteered.
Then she’d asked if I wanted to join her.
I had a moment of panic—I didn’t want to be rude and turn her down—but I also had the brilliant idea of meeting up with Celeste and Naomi.
It would be perfect. I could help Blanche, surprise my friends and then get a ride home later with Celeste.
Maybe even stay for a sleepover. It would be like old times.
The days I didn’t have Art Club, I’d been catching the bus home and doing chores.
It had been a kind of revelation to find that I liked cleaning.
I’d developed a methodical approach of working on one room at a time.
I’d dust, vacuum, wipe windows, tidy and sometimes rearrange furniture.
My room had taken two days as I’d removed every Squishmallow, every figurine, every doll and every book to completely dust each shelf.
I had finished William’s old bedroom and was ready to start on one of three guest bedrooms. It was clear Jillian only ever skimmed over these rooms as the dust levels were likely dangerous to an asthmatic.
If I was uncertain on how best to do something, I’d learned that there was no shortage of cleaning videos online.
In fact, for my own amusement, I created a new account and made some of my own short videos.
Called Squishycleanz, with only two followers there was no chance of anyone knowing it was me.
And besides, I never showed my face, using one of my Squishmallows to demonstrate.
With the weekend looming, I stood at my locker gathering my books quickly, the mission to avoid Miller Trask a habit now. Elise was talking to Sierra, whose hair had changed from purple to blue during the week.
“Hi Quinn,” Elise greeted me chirpily. “I haven’t seen you in the cafeteria.”
“I’ve been pretty busy,” I said with a smile. “How are you? How’s your photography club?”
I was very good at averting questions away from me, friendly but distant as Mom stipulated.
“Oh, it’s going well,” Elise said. “Any plans for the weekend?”
“Actually, I signed up for the Art Club,” I said, “so I’m going to Pine Ridge with Blanche to get some paint supplies.”
“Blanche? That sounds like fun,” Elise said but I detected a hint of disappointment in her tone. “I didn’t think you were into art.”
“Mrs. Burbank was completely desperate for new members,” I said, trying to make a joke. “I really don’t have an artistic bone in my body. I think that’s why they’ve got me painting the backdrops.” I flashed a grimace. “How about you? Any plans?”
“I have a piano recital tomorrow,” Elise said, brightening up again. “We should hang out some time.”
“Yes, we should,” I agreed, “I’m hoping to catch up with my old friends from Brizendine. You know, an old fashioned sleepover.”
“Ahhh, I used to love sleepovers,” Elise said dreamily. “Well, have fun. Some time soon?”
“Definitely,” I said, my chest tightening.
“And good luck with your recital.” I raced off for the bus, sad that I was dismissing Elise.
The thing was, I think I would have loved to be friends with her, but Mom’s mantra of being an island, of standing alone was more important.
As it was, going with Blanche was going to be an act of carefully chosen words.
I didn’t want to outright lie to her but I’d stretch the truth if I had to.
And the joy of seeing Celeste and Naomi would be worth it.
After the mean girl comments directed at me, I’d learned to block out the rest of the bus by sitting near the front, putting in my earbuds and playing my music. If anyone was talking about me, I didn’t hear it. Ignorance was bliss.
But today, we’d barely driven a few miles when my earbuds died on me. I kept them in though, to make sure nobody bothered me. And only when a book came flying down the aisle did I hear the voices from the boys in the back.
“He’s reading a lovey-dovey book,” a voice sneered, and the bus filled with merciless laughter.
Miller’s little brother scampered down the aisle to retrieve the book, getting a strong reprimand from the bus driver to sit down. A few moments later a pencil tin rolled along the floor.
“Hey, anyone want these markers? I gotta whole set here.”
Several kids called out, “Me!” And “Yep, I’ll take them!”
“These markers are thicker than his arms.”
I resisted the urge to turn around when another book came sliding down the aisle, this one in two pieces.
“Hey, Stick Boy, are these yours?”
“Yeah, Mason Trash,” another voice chimed in.
At the mention of the name calling, I spun around in an instant, that sick feeling resurfacing from being called a Prep School Reject creating a fire in my belly.
A quick glance revealed the culprits in the back row, boys with messy hair and baggy clothes—kids my mother would refer to as thugs.
I teetered on the brink of stepping in or minding my own business.
Nobody had come to my aid but Mason was just a kid and didn’t deserve this. Well, nobody did.
The bus stopped and a bunch of kids piled off. Hopefully the bullies would leave and I could remain in my preferred state of anonymity. My body stiffened as I turned back in my seat, silently praying for peace and quiet.
The bus jerked off again and for a moment I thought my prayers had been answered, but then that loud obnoxious kid started up.
“Anyone want a hoodie? It’s toddler size.
” Raucous laughter rippled through the bus as the garment was tossed like a basketball.
I clenched my fists together, willing the bullies to shut up.
I really didn’t want to get involved. I was placid, I was calm, I was unassuming. I shouldn’t get involved in drama.
“Hey, what’s this? You need this Stick Boy?” Obnoxious Jerk said.
“He doesn’t need it,” another boy scoffed.
“It’s my asthma inhaler,” Mason’s timid voice replied.
“What? You need it to breathe? You can’t breathe on your own?” Obnoxious Jerk loved the sound of his own voice. “What if I chucked it out the window?”
“Yeah, throw it out the window!” Several voices spurred him on.
My composure cracked as sudden as a clap of thunder in a summer storm.
Brushing my tote bag aside, I leapt from my seat and charged to the back of the bus, targeting the boy holding up the asthma inhaler.
He was a stocky boy, dressed in a dark green hoodie and scruffy cargo pants, but no taller than me.
“Give me that inhaler. Now!” I surprised myself by sounding exactly like my mother. Bold, loud, authoritative. I stood before the boy, my fierce stare drilling into him. When he didn’t move, I said with slow and deliberate sarcasm, “Did you hear me or are you deaf?”
Obnoxious Jerk’s mouth opened but nothing came out. He turned to his friends looking for some kind of support. One kid slunk back into his seat.
“Hand it over,” I said, my eyes hard and narrowed, and with lightning fast reflexes I snatched the inhaler from his grip. “Now pick up that hoodie,” I ordered, gesturing to it a few feet in front of me, “and give Mason back his things.”
A kid with long blonde hair quietly passed Mason his backpack, another kid passed back a box of pens. Obnoxious Jerk leaned forward, his face ugly with contempt as he glared at me and shoved the hoodie at Mason. I figured he was too brainless to think up a comeback.
“Loser,” I hissed and looking him up and down with a sneer of disgust, I couldn’t resist a final jab. “Next time pick on someone your own size.”
I put my hand on Mason’s shoulder and guided him down the aisle to my seat. The bus driver called out, “You need to sit down back there, young lady.”
“And you need to take more control of the bullies on your bus,” I slammed back, half appalled, half in awe at my own sass, my mother’s influence shining through.
I shifted my tote bag to make room for Mason on the window seat, his tear-filled eyes trying to piece together the torn books.
“You okay?” I asked.
He nodded, his throat tight as he sniffed and whispered, “Thank you.”
I rummaged in my bag for a packet of tissues and pulled one out for him. He thanked me again and wiped his eyes and nose.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” I said, “does it happen every day?”
Mason shrugged, inspecting the novel that had its pages torn down the middle.
I was certainly no counselor, but we’d been through an anti-bullying program in middle school and the advice was always to tell an adult. Not that I’d mentioned any of the name-calling to my mother, so I was in fact a hypocrite when I said, “Have you told your parents?”
Mason shook his head. It suddenly occurred to me that the Trasks only lived with their father. There was no mother, unless she was locked inside the house and never came out.
“You should tell your dad,” I said softly, “or your brother.”
Mason sniffed again, giving no indication whether he would or not. I felt for him, probably picked on for being small or for reading. Who knew? Kids could be so cruel.
“Have you read the whole Swords of Power series?” I asked.
For the first time, Mason brightened. “I’m onto the fourth book now,” he said, fingering the pages that could be taped up. “Dad’s taking me to Pine Ridge tomorrow to get the next two. I got a book voucher for my birthday.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” I said. “I read them years ago. What about the Silver Dragons series? That’s really good.”
“No, not yet, but I want to.”
“I have them if you ever want to borrow them,” I said.
“Really?” His eyes lit up.
“Sure, they’re just gathering dust on my bookshelf,” I said with a smile. “Actually, it’s not true. I dusted and cleaned my room the other day, so...”
Mason laughed. “I should clean my room. Miller’s always yelling at me to.”
I nearly didn’t say anything, but the words slipped out. “The bossy big brother?”
Mason’s nods were very definitive, slow and precise and it stirred a fluttering in my chest.
A smile curled my lips. “I can see that.”
I walked with Mason down the lane, repeating the offer to borrow my books. He politely thanked me again and I went inside feeling happier than I had in a long time.
Despite the disappointment of not making the soccer team, my school work was going well, I’d joined the Art Club, I’d learned to clean, I’d driven the riding mower, and my secret was still safe. But best of all, I’d be able to surprise my friends and catch up with them this weekend.