Chapter 13
QUINN
“Iactually don’t like art,” Blanche admitted as we drove along the freeway toward Pine Ridge. “But I’m trying to boost my college applications.”
“Same!” It felt somewhat bizarre to be traveling along the route I’d driven daily since I’d turned sixteen and gotten my own car. It now seemed an age ago.
“I think we’re doing a pretty good job,” I said.
“Heck, it’s getting hot,” Blanche said, half looking down at the multimedia screen. “How’s the AC work in here?”
I reached across, tapping the climate control buttons, very similar to my car, my old car that is.
“This is Ronan’s car,” she said in explanation. “Mine is in the shop. Luckily he let me borrow it.”
“Oh,” I said. “Ronan’s nice.” Ronan King had spoken to me on my first day at Snow Ridge High and we shared a couple of classes.
He’d suggested hanging out some time, giving off more than just a friend vibe, but I’d played the ‘let me settle in first’ card and tried to avoid him.
But maybe he’d moved on already. “Are you guys dating?”
“No!” she practically shouted. “Heck, no! Ronan is a friend.” She repeated the word with extra emphasis in case I didn’t know the definition. “Friend. We ski together. Have for years.”
“Oh, my bad,” I said.
“Uh, um,” she said, pausing but it seemed like she had more to say. “Um, we kinda dated once in sophomore year, but it didn’t work out.”
“Kinda dated?” I teased, full of curiosity.
“Uh, yeah,” Blanche said, “let’s just say it didn’t go so great. So believe me when I say I couldn’t think of him in that way.” She fake shivered. “We’re better as friends.”
“A shame,” I said. “He’s kinda cute.”
“You want me to set you up?” The words couldn’t have spewed out of her mouth any faster.
“No!” Now I was the one shouting. “No. Thank you, but no,” I added firmly.
“There’s someone else?” Blanche took her eyes off of the road as she glanced across at me.
Strangely, a vision of Miller Trask on his motorbike flashed inside my mind, that time I’d been delusional and thought he was...mildly attractive.
“Um...absolutely not,” I said.
“You hesitated,” Blanche said.
“Excuse me?”
“You hesitated.” She smirked at me. “Like you were thinking about someone just now.”
“I was thinking about how you might drive us into a ditch,” I said, lightly reaching out to help guide the steering wheel.
“I’m in total control,” Blanche said calmly. “Unlike your cheeks which are turning red.”
“That’s because the AC button must be faulty,” I said, madly pressing at the screen. “You should tell Ronan to get it checked.”
“Of course,” she said, the smug grin on her face one I wanted to wipe off.
“It is,” I protested. “The fan isn’t fanning!” I pushed another button, a shot of cool air blasting right into our faces.
“Oooh, looks like you fixed it,” Blanche said.
I faked a smile, baring all my teeth; she returned it, teeth bigger than mine. We laughed and whooped it up...like friends. But I remembered I didn’t need any Snow Ridge High friends.
I told Blanche I wouldn’t need a ride back to Snow Ridge because I was staying overnight with my besties. She didn’t know Celeste or Naomi, but she’d skied with Freya Anisimova who was part of our friend group.
“But you do have time for a coffee, right?” Blanche asked. “I need a caffeine fix. Where are you meeting them?”
I hadn’t called Celeste or Naomi yet, but knew where I’d arrange to meet up.
I directed Blanche to a cute quirky cafe off Main Street.
The Karma Cafe was our favorite hangout in town, which besides having divine chai lattes and the best avo sourdough toast, stocked a range of scented candles and jewelry.
The turquoise necklace I was wearing was from here.
Blanche insisted on paying as a way to thank me for coming along. Usually I would protest but on this occasion I accepted her kindness, knowing the balance on my debit card was diminishing. Which was why getting the potato farm job was so important.
The misunderstanding over Ronan seemed to unite us, and Blanche and I talked easily.
She had an established group of friends and I wasn’t looking for friends, so our connection happened naturally.
Our mutual lack of artistic talent, shared love for lattes and our similar gripes over Mr. Lennox’s lectures meant we were never short of conversation.
After finishing her drink, Blanche headed off, checking again to make sure I’d get a ride home.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’m going to call Celeste now.”
“Well, have fun with your friends,” she said. “See you at Art Club.”
“Sure, thanks for the ride.”
“You’re welcome.”
I pulled out my phone and sent a chat to our friend group: Surprise guys!!! Guess where I am??? I waited a few seconds before sending through a photo of the Karma counter.
And I waited....and I waited, a morbid feeling seeping into me with every passing second. Celeste or Naomi never used to take so long to respond to a message, well, not since I’d left Brizendine.
I watched my phone like a hawk, my chest fluttering as I saw they’d read it. Three dots appeared on my screen, then disappeared.
My lower lip quivered as I dared believe they would ignore me, but then hope resurged—I bet that Celeste and Naomi were just going to show up. That’s totally what they’d do. Come barging through the door any minute now!
In anticipation of ordering food together, I looked up at the blackboard, my mouth watering at the all-day brunch menu.
Avocado sourdough toast with chilli cream cheese was Celeste’s favorite.
But my face flushed hot as I remembered Miller Trask’s comment about avocado toast, like it was a rich person’s food.
I did mental math, calculating the cost of three avo toasts and coffees.
Wow. It was a lot. Twice the price of a grilled cheese.
Miller Trask seemed like the kind of person who’d order a grilled cheese.
I willed my phone to ping or the cafe door to burst wide open because who knows why I was thinking about Miller and whether he liked grilled cheese. And then, with the familiar notification alert, I inhaled a full breath.
For a second I was joyous—and then I wasn’t: Naomi’s text read: That’s great. But sorry I’m tutoring. Next time for sure. A row of emojis followed.
It was immediately followed by Celeste’s message: Sorry, I’m at soccer, extra training. Catch up next time xoxo.
I stared at my phone, a stark emptiness engulfing me. Tutoring? Soccer practice? Practically identical messages sent at the same time. Was that a coincidence? Or was my worst fear manifesting—were Celeste and Naomi ghosting me?
I blinked fast and furious in a bid to hold back my tears. I couldn’t cry in the cafe. I sat frozen in my chair, numb, squeezing Bluby, my purse Squishmallow, clueless as to my next move. I was in Pine Ridge with my overnight bag and no way of getting home.
“Hey, can I get you something else?” The server came by the table, clearing away the empty coffee cups.
With no plan and no idea of what to do, words tumbled out of my mouth in a panic. “Um, a grilled cheese?”
“Sure,” the girl said with a smile. “And another latte?”
“Sure, ” I said, “thanks.”
I checked my phone again, hoping there might be a follow-up text, a suggestion to meet later.
Mom had been excited that I’d be staying at Celeste’s overnight, but she’d reminded me to be careful with what I said.
Though, by now, her polished story rolled off my tongue like it really was the truth, and even I believed that working in the hair salon was therapeutic and healing for her after the messy divorce.
I nibbled on the grilled cheese and sipped my latte, living in hope that once Naomi finished her tutoring and Celeste’s soccer was over, they’d contact me. But as I took my last delicious bite of the sandwich, my brain told me what my heart already knew—they weren’t coming.
There were buses from Pine Ridge to Snow Ridge once an hour, but the bus station was a twenty minute walk away.
I set off, my mind consumed only on moving quickly, crossing the streets, clutching Bluby between my fingers.
I blocked out Celeste and Naomi—if I didn’t think about it, it didn’t happen, right?
Once on the bus, I found a seat and connected to the free wifi. I called Mom to tell her I’d decided not to stay overnight and I’d meet her at the salon.
“But I’m just closing up now,” Mom said. “I’m going to a fundraiser at the Country Club.”
“What fundraiser?” It was the first I’d heard of it.
“It’s a fashion fundraiser for the children’s oncology ward.” Her voice dropped to a muffled hush. “Tongues will wag if I don’t put in an appearance. Can you get a ride home?”
“Ah, yeah...sure,” I said, a little dumbstruck.
“I won’t be too late,” Mom said. “Did you manage to mow the lawns?”
“Yeah, I did half. I’ll finish them tomorrow,” I said.
It was better to spare her the news that the riding lawn mower kept stopping or that my two besties had dumped me.
She didn’t need to know my problems. She was already working herself to the bone, and putting on an act at the Country Club would be stressful enough.
But now I faced my second dilemma of the day. I’d managed to navigate public transport and get from Pine Ridge to Snow Ridge, but I wasn’t totally sure of the local bus routes or schedules. If desperate, I could walk. My fitness had improved since I’d been running around the neighborhood.
I crossed the street, passing by the fast food shops, my eye catching the neon sign of Pizza Blast. I’d never ever been inside it and could see how Miller had looked at me suspiciously. Pizza Blast did not look like the kind of store Annabelle Devereaux would venture into. I hurried on.
“Hi Quinn.” At the sound of my name, I turned to see Mason waving from across the street.
“Oh, hi,” I said with a flick of my hand, slowing down but not stopping. I needed to get to the bus stop which I was certain was around the next corner, on Settler Road.
I breathed out in relief when I located it, pleased to see there was a shelter with a seat. I sat down and pulled out my phone. Surely a bus would come along soon enough.
Though my optimism waned after ten minutes when I’d yet to see a bus pass in either direction. Shivering from the chill in the evening air, I unzipped my bag to pull out my jacket, when I heard a man’s voice, “You need a ride home?”
“What?” I jumped, automatically zipping up my bag in case I was about to be mugged, only to notice the vehicle was a pickup truck and the voice belonged to Mr. Trask. “No, I’m fine.” Across from Mr. Trask, Mason waved again. I smiled back. “I’ll just wait for the bus.”
“The buses stop running at four on a Saturday,” Mr. Trask said, surprisingly kind and friendly, not rough and coarse as Mom had described him.
“Oh? Really?” I said, my shiver now one of panic. I had a fleeting vision of trekking home in the dark.
“Go on, get in,” Mr. Trask said, motioning to the backseat. “Contrary to what your mother might say, I don’t bite.”
A lump formed in my throat at this new predicament. I could imagine Mom freaking out about me hitching a ride in the Trasks’ beat up truck, (her description, not mine.) But the thought of walking all those miles, no matter how fit I was, did not appeal in the least.
I was over this day and just wanted to get home, curl up in bed and squish up to a Squishmallow or two. And forget about my sad, sad life. My two best friends in the world had ditched me, wanted nothing to do with me. Like I’d been erased—gone from their group chats, their plans, their lives.
Mr. Trask leaned further out the window. “Hey, I appreciate you helping Mason.” His soft voice contradicted his shaved head, beard and tattooed appearance. “So, how about I repay the favor, and you hop in?”
Next to him, Mason was nodding with encouragement, and all at once I was overwhelmed. It was just a ride and Mr. Trask wasn’t a monster or anything, and I really did want to get home as soon as possible.
“Okay, thank you,” I whispered, stifling an unexpected sob in my throat, my bottled emotions threatening to rise up and submerge me.
I opened the car door, welcomed by the warm smell of pizza next to me on the backseat.
I pulled the seat belt across me and buckled up.
A country song blasted the interior but the music lowered and I realized Mason was speaking to me.
“We went to Pine Ridge and I got the next two Swords of Power books.”
“Oh, that’s great,” I said, glad for the distraction. Better to chat than dwell on riding with the enemy or the demise of my supposed life-long friendships. “I think you’ll really like them.”
“Yeah, I love Otis.” Mason’s enthusiasm was obvious and we talked about the series even though my recall was somewhat hazy. “Don’t forget you can borrow my Silver Dragon books any time.”
“I’d like that,” Mason said, “after I read these ones.”
I smiled and leaned against the window, the passing neighborhoods a blur as it dawned on me that Celeste and Naomi’s abandonment of me was a real thing. And though Mom thought that losing money was the worst thing in the world, it wasn’t...losing friends was way worse.