Chapter Eight
As Uncle Pat suggested, Quinn spent some time in the mosh pit. But it didn’t release the anger consuming him from the image of those marks on his brother’s arm, the smirk on Randy’s face.
And as much as he appreciated the concert ticket, it made him feel even more alone. Going to a concert by yourself is probably the loneliest thing a person can do. All these people—this communal environment—with no one to enjoy it with.
Despite himself, he looks for her. He imagines Jules Delaney in some plaid outfit, pretending this is her scene. It makes him smile. There are many girls playing dress-up tonight, but none of them as striking as Jules.
The band breaks into the song “Once,” and the crowd goes crazy. Quinn thinks of Jules and her reference to serial killers, and he smiles again. He closes his eyes and lets the music pulsate through him.
After the encore, he makes his way outside.
The sky is clear, stars twinkling. He imagines what it would be like to be with someone you love on a night like this.
A nice dinner, a fun concert, holding hands back to the car.
He looks for any cabs idling outside the arena.
Getting one will probably take a while, but it’s better than getting a ride with Uncle Pat.
Pat is a good guy at his core. But he’s not exactly a suitable replacement for Quinn’s father.
Quinn learned early on that Pat is the last person you want to go to for parental advice.
Quinn had his first date in eighth grade—it was before all the Frito stuff, back when he’d had a chance in this town.
Pat’s advice: “Jerk off before the date. It’s always good to get the evil out. ”
So gross. And so Pat.
But at least Pat tried. Shortly after Dad’s car accident, Pat moved to Monarch from Illinois, to help out Quinn’s mom with Quinn and George.
Pat showed up at the house one day and took Quinn on a road trip to his parents’ hometown, Ashwell, Nebraska.
Pat showed him the Dairy Queen where Dad had first asked Mom out, their high school, that bowling alley where Dad had saved Pat from getting a beatdown.
He drove them out to this peculiar field where teenagers would have keggers and mess around.
Quinn remembers looking out at the vast acres punctuated by hundreds of World War II ammunition storage bunkers.
They looked like large igloos covered with grass.
Pat told him that farmers bought the silos from the military and used them for storage.
Quinn had imagined his father in the light of a bonfire; Dad and Pat racing dirt bikes around the bunkers.
Whatever Pat’s faults, that had been a special day for Quinn.
He makes his way to the street in front of the concert hall, notices a small crowd near a bus stop.
It’s then he sees him: Brad Paxton. Jules’s Brad.
But he’s not with his usual band of mouth breathers. He’s amid a group of kids wearing letterman jackets from their rival school.
Brad is face-to-face with a bigger guy, the others flanking him.
Quinn approaches, more out of curiosity than anything. He and Brad tap eyes. It’s then he sees the fear.
Quinn should keep walking. What’s he care about a guy who called Quinn’s brother a freak? Who perpetuates the Frito nickname?
But his mind flashes to Jules’s smile.
Quinn gets closer. The bigger kid shoves Brad and the others close the circle around him like hyenas from that cartoon movie George watches over and over.
The words escape Quinn’s mouth before he has time to think this through: “Where’s Jules?”
Brad grabs the lifeline. “I’ve been looking for her…”
The kid facing Brad twists around. “Is this your boyfriend?”
His friends snigger and Brad holds Quinn’s gaze.
It’s then Quinn thinks about his father charging in to save Uncle Pat. Walking up to the leader, taking him to the ground so decisively that it sent the others running.
Quinn walks slowly to Brad and the guy towering over him. A murmur rises from the group.
“I need a ride home,” Quinn says to Brad, ignoring the others.
Brad looks at him, confused, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Cool.” He cocks his head to the parking lot.
Brad starts to walk away, when the big guy shoves him hard.
Quinn doesn’t hesitate. He clocks the guy in the chin, and watches him fall to the ground.
What Quinn hadn’t anticipated was the ghastly crunch of skull hitting concrete.
The rest of the night is a haze.
The bodies scattering.
The police lights.
The handcuffs in the back of the squad car.
His fantasy of a scholarship, college, a new life, gone with the swing of a punch.
Once upon a time.