15. Quinn
CHAPTER 15
QUINN
“ I don’t have class right now,” is what I decide to go with, but the lie is easily detectible. I’ve never been great at skirting the truth to my parents, and the look my father shoots me as I let them inside tells me he knows it, too.
“Hi, my baby, I’ve missed you!” Rory’s mother barges into the kitchen, racing to her youngest daughter and throwing her arms around her. I try not to roll my eyes. Of course, I would be the only one getting scolded for skipping out when we’re both supposed to be in class right now.
I hug my mom on her way in and am about to do the same with dad but he stops in the doorway, assessing me as if he’s taking note of all of the things that have changed about me in the two and a half months I’ve been away from home. To me, he looks the same, brownish hair peppered with gray streaks, those familiar laugh lines crinkling when he squints at me as if I’m about to reveal a secret truth to why we aren’t in class right now, but I don’t break his hazelnut stare.
Finally, he relents, grinning as he pulls me into his arms. I release the door and fold myself into his warmth, familiar and comforting and loving. Tears prick my eyes as I squeeze him as tightly as I can. I’ve missed my parents so much. Talking on the phone has nothing on this.
“How’s my girl doing?” He asks as he pulls away, ruffling my hair. I scowl, batting his hands as I reach for the door to shut it. The sound of the elevator dinging draws our attention, my father grumbling about the age-old contraption and how he and Zak could have it in perfect working condition before the weekend ends.
I’m sure my landlord would love that, actually.
“I’m good, dad,” I answer, distracted by the doors opening. Why I thought our neighbors would go to class is my bad. I should know them better by now.
Knox leads the pack, Slate and Ace on his heels. They’re all laughing about something and my breath catches in my chest at the sight of Knox’s easy smile.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen something better.
Said smile slowly falls when he sees me standing in the doorway to my apartment. His steps slow and that’s when Ace and Slate finally take notice of me as well. They’re all carrying cases of beer like it isn’t eleven in the morning on a Friday.
Knox’s jade gaze flits over my shoulder where my father stands at my back. It dawns on me then, eyes widening, that I need to shut this door right the fuck now before my dad puts together that these are the noisy neighbors I’ve complained about so many times.
It seems that he does realize that it’s them.
“So, you’re the boys that have been keeping my daughter up all ends of the night?” My dad asks, puffing his chest and crossing his arms. I want to slap my hand over my forehead as embarrassment flares. Slate is the only one that can’t force back a snicker, and my father scowls.
Knox’s stare burns me to my core, the minuscule slash of amusement he allows me to see. I blush— hard— and something takes flight in my stomach the longer he looks at me like that.
“Wow, dad,” I mutter, shoving him desperately into my apartment before turning back toward the hall. I glare at the three boys before shutting the door in their faces, and yeah, it does feel kind of good, actually. I can’t blame them for doing it to me and Rory. Except that I can, and I will. “Only three minutes in and you’ve already mortified the fuck out of me.”
“Language,” my mother scolds and I roll my eyes before diving into her arms.
“I’ve missed you, but you’re early. A little warning would’ve been nice.”
She pulls away, scolding me lightly. “Why? Because you would’ve actually gone to class?”
I shake my head. I’m never going to live that down now. I really wish Sam was here so I could blame this on him somehow, but the fucker already visited me and his refusal to fly down for parent’s weekend still stands.
Older brothers.
I bet if Peep came calling, he’d rush out here like a chicken with its head cut off. He’s been ignoring my prying every time we’ve spoken since her party and it’s more than annoying because I’m his sister—he should want to tell me things. Then I remember how I accidentally let it slip to our parents that there’s something going on with them and now both sets of parents are trying to force this thing between him and Peep even further.
Oops.
“I know, I know, I should’ve gone to class. It won’t happen again, I promise,” I say, guiding them further into the room. Rory and her mom are already hastily making plans, while her father roots around in the fridge. “Is there anything else you want to hear, or can we start having fun now?”
My mom shoots me a reprimanding look, shaking her head before twirling a strand of my hair around her fingers as she admires me. “Look at how long your hair has gotten,” she exclaims, eyes getting teary, “My baby girl, looking so grown up.”
“Mom,” I whine, easing myself from her grip. “You don’t see Mrs. Wilson doing that to Rory, do you?” I ask, gesturing to where my roommate sits with her mother who is doing exactly that.
Okay… moving on.
“How about you girls give us a tour of the campus?” Mrs. Wilson suggests, and I’ve never been quicker to agree to something in my life. Anything to get my parents out of our apartment before the wild boys next door start cranking their music, or worse. I don’t need my dad barging over there and embarrassing me even more than he already has.
Knox’s amused gaze still lingers in my mind.
“That sounds like a great idea, Mrs. Wilson! Let’s go!”
Spending the weekend with my parents is great, but now that I’ve had a taste of the freedom of college and setting my own rules and limits, it’s difficult to fall back into theirs like they expect.
As shitty as this might sound, I’m excited for my parents to go back home tomorrow.
Mom, dad, and the Wilson’s had all traveled down together, taking a road trip from Seattle in a rented car. All weekend they gushed about the scenery they saw, showing me blurry photos on their phones of the same pit stops Rory and I had stopped at during the same trip a few months ago when we moved back to Vulcan U.
It’s as endearing as it is annoying, because if I have to scroll through one more photo out of the million my mom hordes on her phone, I might take this steak knife and stab it right through the screen.
“How are classes going, Quinn?” My father asks, sipping on his glass of whiskey. As much as I could use a drink of my own after this very long weekend, I can’t out Pipa in front of all of our parents by using the fake ID she got me to order the strongest liquor that they have. She looks like the epitome of relaxed with her mojito in her hands.
I envy her.
I wet my suddenly parched throat with my lemon water to avoid answering dad’s question. If I close my eyes hard enough, I can pretend there’s a bit of tequila at the bottom of my glass. When I open my eyes, even the Wilson’s are looking at me like they can’t wait to hear all about my classes, and Rory ducks her head as if that is somehow going to save her from getting grilled next.
Luckily, I’m responsible for my own grades now, and my parents don’t see anything I don’t want them to: namely, my unimpressive Art History grade. I’ve already signed up for the study group happening next week, and I pray it won’t be completely filled with people like me who are on the verge of failing and that there’s at least one person who knows the difference between Gothic, Romanesque, and Baroque cathedrals. I swear, they all look the fucking same no matter how long I spend staring at the pictures.
After that, I have to try and learn the names of all of them .
I am totally fucked.
“Things are going well so far,” I answer with a polite smile, fingering the corner of the menu for something to do. We haven’t even ordered mains yet and they’re already drilling me? It’s going to be a long meal. “I like them so far.”
“And how’s drawing?” My mom questions and I want to groan. I knew they were going to ask me about this and I knew I wasn’t going to like it. I’ve been on the edge of my seat all weekend, waiting for them to bring it up. Little Quinnie, drawing extraordinaire. “I can’t wait to see how your portfolio has grown by the end of the semester.”
Maybe I will order that drink, after all.
It’s not that I don’t like drawing, I love drawing, and have since I was a little girl. It just feels different now. When I was young and didn’t have a care in the world and all I needed was my drawing pad and pencils, and I would draw to my heart’s content. My parents saw that passion in me and signed me up for competitions and when I started winning awards, they only entered me in more and more. It was fun, until drawing started feeling like work. I was always trying to put out the most perfect pieces, all to try and make my parents proud.
They are, and I know they are, but forcing myself to constantly strive to be something better made me lose the creativity I once had when I was just drawing for myself. I was no longer drawing what I wanted and instead making what people wanted to see, what would look good for the judges and win me those awards.
I stopped creating art completely over the summer, started hiding my sketchbooks because most of them are blank anyway. Every time I want to put my pencils to the paper, my mind empties, waiting for the rules, the theme of what I’m supposed to draw—the instruction .
It’s like I don’t even have a mind of my own anymore.
The only thing that’s made me consider wanting to draw again is the short burst of inspiration I feel when I’m around Knox.
I don’t want to draw for just anyone—I want to draw for me…if drawing is still what I want to do. I haven’t exactly decided that yet.
My parents don’t know that and it will break their hearts if I tell them.
“It’s good,” I nod, trying to make eyes at the waiter when I see him. I need him to come over and interrupt this conversation right fucking now, please. “Rory and I made a new friend. His name is Reid.”
It’s a poor excuse to try and distract them when I fail to catch the waiters gaze. Luckily, it does the trick because my mother and Mrs. Wilson start gushing over him immediately.
“Is he boyfriend material?” Mrs. Wilson asks with a wink.
Rory and I share a look, one that tells me she’s as ready to roll her eyes as I am. “Just because a guy talks to us, does not mean he wants to date us,” Rory explains, and I jump in quickly, adding my two cents.
“And, no, just because a guy looks at us, doesn’t mean he likes us either,” I tell my mother pointedly, because she keeps making weird faces at me every time the waiter walks by.
I’m pretty sure he’s staring at Peep’s chest, anyway.
“Oh, you girls,” my mom scolds playfully, brushing off our antics while I tuck back into my menu. I already know what I’m going to get, and yes, it’s going to be a steak because I haven’t eaten one since I left for college and if my parents are willing to pay, then damn right I’m going to take advantage of it. “You know, when I was your age?—”
Thank the motherfucking heavens the waiter chooses right now to interrupt .
“Do we need a few more minutes or are we all ready to order?” He asks politely and I almost cut him off with how quickly—and desperately—I answer.
“I think we’re all ready,” I smile, glancing around the table to gage where everyone’s at. I garner mostly nods of agreement, so I continue. “I’ll start.”