Chapter 8 Quinn
QUINN
FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
“The smell of garbage,” I say, opening my mouth to catch the M&M Colton throws to me.
I bought a bag for each of us so we could play the wonderful new game I invented called the Bitching Game. We throw one piece at each other for every shitty thing we list, until either the reasons run out or the candy does.
We spent the last twenty minutes listing everything we hated about Boston in minute detail. It’s late October, and between the stress of midterms and the excitement of our newfound freedom wearing off, we’re both feeling some serious homesickness.
“The crowds on Boylston,” he replies, opening his own mouth. The M&M lands with a satisfying plunk.
“How early the sun sets,” I continue.
“The way the Green line shrieks like a banshee.”
“The severe lack of high-quality barbecue.”
“The way people quack at you from those annoying duck boats.”
I gasp and clutch my chest. Hating public transportation’s one thing, but the duck boats are a goddamned institution.
“I love the duck boats!” I say. “They drive on land and in the water! It’s like a real-life Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Seriously? Old movie with Dick Van Dyke? Car that can drive, fly, and float?” He shrugs. “The point is, the duck boats are amazing.”
He throws an M&M at my forehead. “We agreed, no negativity shaming.”
I sigh, trying to fight back my smile. “Fine. Fuck the ducks.”
He gives me a definitive nod, his own smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Anything else we hate?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, stroking my chin. “Have we reached our limit?”
“Never thought I’d see the day.”
“You know what that means.” I smile widely, and he groans as I start shaking my arms. When he doesn’t join, I lean across the twin mattress to force it. “We agreed! Once we got it all out, we would shake off the negativity and focus on what we loved!”
“I’m not shaking like a dog, Chaos.” But I’m persistent, and he finally caves, swinging his arms a couple times. “Happy?”
“That, my friend, is what we’d call a half-assed attempt. But I’ll take it.” I settle back on my side of the mattress. “Now, positivity. I’ll go first. I love that I can sit outside for more than five minutes without sweating, unlike at home.”
Colton crosses his arms, but I’ve learned a few tricks over the past couple of months of our friendship. He may not speak up a lot, but he always caves if I hold my tongue for a few minutes.
He sighs and runs his hands through his long, messy hair, pulling it back, and I’m temporarily dazed by the sharp line of his jaw. God, this boy could kill if he pulled that hair back.
“The Public Garden is pretty.” He says it like it’s a personal offense, but at least he’s talking.
“Oh, especially right now, with the leaves changing.”
“The architecture’s cool.”
“The fact that everything here is old. It’s like walking through history!”
He smiles a little at that, then ducks his head like his enjoyment embarrasses him. “The food from different places. You don’t see much of anything in Grand Creek.”
“The antiquing!”
“Okay, add that to my negativity list,” he says with a raised brow.
It’s my turn to toss M&M’s at him. A handful bounce off his chest and roll off the bed.
“If I can’t negativity shame you for hating adorable sightseeing vessels, then you can’t shame me for loving old things.”
He holds up his hands in surrender and smiles that broad, dimpled smile that he makes me fight for. I want a trophy room filled with pictures of him just like that, a plaque beside each one stating what I said to earn it.
I glance down at the pile of books between us. We’re supposed to be studying, but neither of us have worked up the energy to start.
“Are we doing this?” I ask, gesturing to the offending pile.
“Guess we gotta.”
The bane of my existence, my calculus book, sits on top of the pile, mocking me. Colton tosses it over before grabbing his finance book, both of us settling in.
The words and numbers blur on the page in front of me. I look over at Colton’s scrunched up brow as he reads something in the book, seeing he’s clearly as excited about studying as I am. I throw my book back down.
“We need to do something fun. Something to get our minds off the stress so that we can focus.”
“I am focused, Chaos.”
“Really? Look at me.” I wait until his gaze meets mine, holding it for a few seconds. “Tell me the last thing you read.”
He narrows his eyes. I take his silence as confirmation that he’s retained about as much as I have.
“Come on.” I smack my palms against my lap. “We’re going to the Esplanade.”
“Why in the world are we going to the Esplanade?”
“To go kayaking on the Charles River.”
“Quinn, I gotta study. Plus, it’s cold.”
I flop back again. “Fine. You’re no fun.”
“I’m fun.”
“Yeah? Then prove it.”
I lean forward now, daring him to do something spontaneous.
His gaze flicks down to my lips. The glint in his eye charges the air, like I’m sitting by the giant Tesla coils at the science museum, bolts of lightning dancing around me.
I may not be struck, but it’s all close enough that the hair raises on my arms and my stomach tightens.
I gulp and shift, uncomfortable with the new sensation.
But a few thundering heartbeats later, he turns his attention back to his textbook. “Midterms, Chaos.”
A gust of air rushes out of me. Relief. Right?
He’s cute, really cute, underneath that grunge-rocker exterior, but he’s also my closest friend here.
Random blips of attraction, of curiosity, aren’t worth the risk of losing him.
Who would force me to study, or chuckle instead of complain when I get us kicked out of the library for talking too much, or listen to me prattle on with actual interest instead of the dead-eyed stare I get from most people when I can’t make the words stop?
I’ve always made friends easily. People are drawn to you when you’re naturally talkative, the person who always breaks the uncomfortable silence.
But there’s a huge difference between making friends and establishing deep friendships.
Usually, with time, I either settle into the role of the entertaining friend—our relationship more of a performance—or I have to learn how to temper myself.
The enthusiasm that drew people to me quickly becomes too much for most.
Colton’s different. He never rolls his eyes at my excitement. And in those—admittedly rare—moments when I need the calm and quiet, he sits with me in it. He never asks me what’s wrong, like I’m a broken toy whose batteries need to be checked.
I shake off the strange moment between us. “Fine. We’ll save the fun for after midterms. But I’d like it noted that this is against my will.”
He chuckles and tosses another book into my lap. “Move on from calculus and you’ll be happier. Why don’t you work on the midterm essay for Cassia?”
Is it bad that researching my essay sounds barely less miserable than studying calculus?
I groan. “Essays are boring.”
“You realize that’s half of what you’ll do when you’re a professor, right?” he asks without looking up from his book.
I feel a pinch of anxiety at that. My plan has always been to become a Roman history professor like my dad.
He’d started me in Italian lessons before I could remember, and Latin lessons weren’t far behind.
We watched Roman movies and read Roman books and discussed Roman stories.
While I love those talks, these academic journals are tedious.
But I’ll learn to love it.
“I’m just not in the mood for all that reading,” I say. “Don’t you think it’s exhausting?”
Colton shrugs. “I like reading about it. It’s way more interesting than the busy work I’m doing for my business classes. Plus, when I have my face buried in a book, people leave me alone. Usually.”
“If that was your subtle way of telling me to leave you alone and let you study, you’re gonna have to be more upfront. I don’t really do subtle.”
Colton laughs again. “I noticed, Chaos.”
He turns back to his textbook without another word, and I watch him for a few more minutes.
Forcing my friendship on him that first day of class was the best decision I’ve made since coming to Chadoin.
It’s surprising, how comfortable I feel with him so quickly.
Maybe it’s the way he lets me blabber on without judgment, or how I know those smiles are real because he doesn’t give them out easily.
Or maybe it’s what he said on the first day of class.
I like hearing you talk.
“Colt?”
I have to roll my lips together to hold in my laugh at his classic long-suffering sigh. “What is it, Quinn?”
“I thought of the best part about Boston.”
He straightens from his hunched position over the textbook and gestures for me to continue.
I give him my biggest smile. “Getting to meet you.”
He tries to hide his answering smile, but there’s no stopping it. A slight blush takes over his cheeks. “Get back to studying.”
I groan and flip open my book. A couple of minutes later, when I’m fully immersed in an analysis of why yet another emperor was murdered by his own guard for the good of Rome, Colton clears his throat. I look up to find him watching me with a curious gaze.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Meeting you is the best part for me, too.”