The Calling Of Quinn Taylor

Chapter Three

“Is everything okay, sweetie?” Mom asks, breaking me from my stare. She grabs the half eaten bowl of cereal in front of me and pours what's left of it in the sink. 
          “What?” I say, still holding my spoon. I barely realize how much I've been thinking about this. It's consuming my life. “Yeah. Yeah, I just didn't sleep much last night.” At least it's not a lie. 
          Her eyes peer up towards me as she slides the spoon from my fingers. 
          “You never told me how that little after party went,” she says, smirking. When she grins, it reminds me of myself. The way dimples appear on her pale skin shows just how far genetics go. Her brown hair is cut to her ears in a pixie style-- she's the only girl I've met that can pull it off. “You meet a boy?”
         How the hell does she know? I reach over to my backpack, wishing for this conversation to end, just as my phone buzzes. 
Wes: just so u know, prom wasn't special. I have other things to worry ab. 

           Deep down, I knew that. I knew it was just a fucking fling-- boys like him don't date girls like me. It's selfish, but I still wish we could be together… then again, he has a lot going on. I can respect that.
           But I kissed him. 
           I've never kissed anyone besides him.  
           “Quinn?” Mom says, breaking me from my stance once again. 
           “No-” I hesitantly say, swinging my backpack on my shoulders. “No, there's no boy.” And that-- once again, is not a lie. 
    With that, I walk out and close the door behind me. 
    What’s going on right now? I’m driving myself insane, coming up with conspiracy theories of Maeve’s death. But what if I’m right? But… what if I’m doing all of this for nothing?
    I take a deep breath and continue the path to my car. I’ll figure it out myself.
    On the way to school, my eyes want to drift shut. It takes all I have to keep them open. 
    Last night was rough… I got two hours of sleep. I’m obsessing over something that doesn’t even matter. The girl spoke two words to me the night of prom. Why does this have such a big impact on me? It’s just something about the mystery, drawing me into it. 
    Something sinister.
    Something deadly.
    Someone killed Maeve. 
    “Hey,” a voice echoes from outside my window, followed by knocking. In an instant, my entire body jumps, making my hand slams onto my heart in fear it just stopped. I roll down the window, letting his voice be heard more clearly.
    I turn around, finding Keller standing at the window. He’s  wearing a sweatshirt, despite the smoldering weather, and a yellow baseball hat. His outfit today covers his weak, lanky body. Usually, he just goes for the typical t-shirt and jeans. 
    Bags droop from his eyes and his cheekbones are sunken in, showing his lack of food the past couple of days.
    “You wanna’ skip today?” he asks. Immediately, I’m thrown off guard. He has perfect attendance, never misses a single homework assignment, and is always on top of his work. Keller would never. 
    Plus, finals are coming up. Study guides should be handed out any time. 
    “I kinda need to let off some steam,” he continues. But-but the assignments. I can’t have a truancy report on my record. I can’t do that. I have to get into a good college. “You can pick up whatever you missed tonight.” “You can get whatever you missed when we come back.”
    But… he’s my best friend. I’ll do anything for him. 
    “Get in.” I give in, unlocking the doors. best friend. I'll do anything for him.
            “Get in,” I say, giving in. Happy with getting what he wants, he walks over with the first smile I've seen since the incident. 
            As I turn the car on, he says,
            “I saw her locker when I went in. It was full of flowers, had her picture taped to it… she looked beautiful.” He puts his head down as I start to pull out of the crowded parking lot. “I just couldn't look at it all day… I had my chance, Quinn. I should've kissed her, should've told her how I felt; Instead, I was an idiot-- a fucking idiot.” 
           I pull out, turning on to the highway. I'm not sure where I'm going, but he needs to get out of here. He needs to get his mind off of this. Like me, he's driving himself insane-- just for different reasons. 
           “Hey,” I say, stroking my hand on his back. “I'm sure she felt it. How about you right a note to her, okay?” My hand falls back to the steering wheel. “You can put it in the casket at the funeral…” I stop myself, realizing I have no clue when it is. I've been too preoccupied with myself that I haven't gotten the chance to think about it. 
          “Tomorrow,” he says, looking up at me. “The funeral is tomorrow.”
          When he says that, the first thing I think of is Wesley and how I'll have to face him… then of how inconsiderate I truly am. I should think of her family, of what they're going through. Instead, I think of myself.
          Again.
          "Can we go to the river?" Keller asks, striking my attention back to him. 
          The river-- I used to go there with my parents all the time. We'd camp out there, skip rocks, and listen to music as we sit by a campfire. Sometimes, it seems like the only quiet place around here. 
          I make the turn that leads down to a campsite, then down a steep hill emptying out into the river. 
          "Why here?" I park the car at the end of the road, staring into the murky water covered in fog from the early morning. Birds chirp in the distance, singing to each other from afar. 
          He simply shrugs his shoulders and says, "It's pretty," before stepping out of the car. I turn off the engine then follow his steps. We stand on the shore, watching the water love back and forth… back and forth.
          That, indeed, is true. The way the water washes up to the sandy shore sends wonderous chills down my body and how the sound from the city is completely gone just amazes me. There's nothing better than this-- than this moment with my best friend. 
             "I've been talking about myself a lot," he says, turning my way. "What about you? How are you and Wesley?" 
             I stand corrected. 
             Many things could be better than this. 
             "It doesn't really matter," I say as he sits down on the sand-filled dirt. He looks up at me, raising one eyebrow. 
             I sit next to him with a sickening feeling boiling inside my guts. Does it matter? Does it matter that his sister just died? Apparently all I think about is myself… not him. I never think of why he's doing this to me; he's hurt. He's not thinking straight right now. 
             The only thing I can do right now is to shift my focus. I won't think of him anymore-- I'll think of Keller and what I can do to help him.
              "It doesn't matter?" he exclaims as I sit beside him, staring off into the river with my arms wrapped around my knees. "Quinn, a boy finally kisses you and it doesn't matter?" 
              No. I don't want to talk about this-- none of it is relevant. The relationship is gone and it's never coming back. 
             There's no use in talking about it. 
            But… no. I can't. I can't bring up Maeve's death right now or- or how I'm playing a twisted game of detective. Yet there's so much-- so much he can tell me. He paid close attention to her-- knew every time she got a haircut. He'd know if people hated her… but most importantly, why. 
            "I can't think of a single person that didn't like her," I say, immediately regretting it. I'm playing him like a toy and he doesn't even know it. Still, I keep going with my heart aching. 
           He takes the topic change well.
           "I can think of a few," he says. 
           Yes. Tell me more. 
          "Who?" I ask. 
           "Mia," he says, squinting his eyes as the sun starts to appear behind the campsite across the river. "I saw them arguing homecoming night." 
           "About what?" I prod, knowing I'm going too far… but I-I can't stop. 
           "Maeve got queen this year," he explains. "Mia was in the running too-- I'm sure it was something about that." He brings his head down, borrowing his face into his knees. 
           I've done it-- I've broken him even further. I'm a horrible friend… I don't deserve him. My heart breaks, making my nerves run out of whack and before I know it, I'm wiping a tear from my eye. 
          This is a sinister thing to do-- Yet here I am, writing Mia Gulinski’s name next to suspect number one in my head. 
***
          When night falls, I pin a cut-out picture of Mia's face from my yearbook besides Maeve's name with a red string attaching the two, signifying the relationship. Now, I'm stuck staring at my phone screen in hopes a torn relationship can be glued back together.
         just so u know, prom wasn't special. I have other things to worry ab. 
          This one text has me debating a decision like it's a life or death choice. Flashes of what it felt like strike through my memories; his lips pressed against mine with his hands cupping my face as if we were in a movie. It was perfect… I don't want that to leave.
          But sometimes, things have to give. In order for him to somehow maintain happiness, he can't have me. 
         So I type back and finally hit send.
          Okay. 
 

          The next day, things start falling back in place. Idiotic guys throw things around the cafeteria, groups of friends laugh at stuff pulled up on their phones, Maeve's friends have started to put effort into their looks, and the once gloomy air is replaced with a typical school day. 
          There's one thing I notice, though-- Wesley still hasn't shown up to school. I can just picture him lying alone in his room, wishing it would just end. The girl he spent his entire with is gone.
          The day goes by slow, complete with hours dedicated for cramming studying for finals. After the day is over, I head home to change into a black dress.
          For a moment, I stand in front of the mirror. My hair is lying flat, reaching slightly past my chin and my dress shows every flaw of my body, making me want to run and hide. My stomach raises inches from my ribs and my bottom thighs are exposed, showing how they rub together. The only other time I've worn this dress is to my grandpa's funeral when I was fifteen. 
          I slip on a pair of sandals and head for the doors avoiding Mom and Dad in fear they'll question me about going. 
         Do you really want to go? Are you sure you don't want us going? We can drive you.
         When I get there, a line is already forming outside the funeral home just to see Maeve-- to see her lying lifeless, pale faced, and with enough makeup to cover her scars from the crash. 
         My heart pounds, just thinking of it… seeing her. I'm here, trying to solve her murder that may or may not be real. If she's here, she'll probably laugh at how stupid I am. 
         Keller-- I need to find Keller. He's probably already made his way inside the dreary room, looking at her corpse. 
         The line of people have submerged into tears as the line slowly makes its way through. Throughout the crowd, I spot a few familiar faces-- Carter Garcia, the school photographer, Skye Richards, who spends her time getting high everyday in the parking lot, and Flynn Arlo, the helpless town drunk. The three of them are seen constantly hanging at school after hours and playing cards. The rest have only been seen as random faces in the halls. I doubt everyone here actually knew her. Our schools big enough for some people to have never seen her. 
          Still, there's people like me who only spoke a few times to her, yet still manage to be affected by this. 
          When the line progresses inside, the aroma of flowers fills my senses. The room is full of crying teenagers and family members dressed in black. Pictures of her hang up on the walls and a shrine of her sits in a corner with flowers and cards lined up next to it. 
          She was beautiful; she really was. 
          Sitting on a couch, is Maeve's group-- Mia, Jessie, Riley, and Brandon. Riley hysterically cries as Mia hugs her in comfort. The boys try to hide it, but it's helpless. Their reddened eyes show proof of tears. Something about them makes my heart shatter. They had so much love… maybe they had ups and downs, but they loved Maeve.
          The line moves, pushing me closer to Maeve. Do I even want to see her? All it's going to do is drive me closer to going insane. 
          But then I see them-- her mom, Wesley, and another little girl whose dark, hooded eyes send salty tears, staining her black cardigan. She's short, with youthful skin and young eyes. She can't be older than eight. 
          The three of them stand together at the casket, welcomed with grieving hugs and words of remorse. Her mother is dressed in a black and white dress, with makeup to try and cover the puffy skin under eyes. Her cadaverous face sinks in with lifelessness. She doesn't even seem real anymore… like she's not there.
          Wesley stands behind her with his head to the floor. He's wearing a suit with black vans as dress shoes. His hair is damp, showing how freshly it's been washed. 
          When it's my turn to see Maeve, my heart drops. She's dead… really dead. Dark makeup covers her bruises and scars, while mascara and eyeliner is painted on her face to make her seem perfect. 
          I find myself staring, imagining what prom night was for her.
         The screams-- the terror as a car slammed into her, her head flinging in every direction, the way her contorted body had lain helpless with an unbeating heart… and the car drove off as if nothing had happened. 
         "I'm sorry," I whisper, wiping the tears I've embarrassingly shed.
          Ms. Kingston embraces me in a hug, forcing me to feel her spine poking out of her dress, as if I've known her my entire life-- as if this death somehow means we'll all merrily get along again… but it doesn't mean that for Wesley. His head stays down, avoiding all eye contact. 
          As I walk away, I catch one last glimpse of him… of Wesley finally looking up at me. He's crying. Tears are streaming down his cheeks and the second he sees me, he turns away.