The Calling Of Quinn Taylor

Chapter Four

I'm sitting in Mr. Milgram's office, waiting for him to decide which college major is best for me. There's a picture of him and his wife, accompanied with a baby in his arms. The baby resembles him with dark brown eyes, but the chocolate skin belongs to the baby's mother. Mr. Milgram is as pale as a ghost.
            He sits the papers on his desk.
            "You skipped school a couple of days ago," he says. 
           Immediately, my chest tightens.
            Please don't yell at me. Please don't yell at me. 
"I felt sick… I just forgot to call in," I say, digging under my nails. He can't put this on my record. Please, no.
He glares at me, sending a feeling of guilt to boil inside my stomach. I can't get in trouble-- I just can't. 
"Just don't do it again," is all he says before finding his way back to the topic of college. "Now," he says. "Nursing, is it?" 
"Yes."
"Based on your G.P.A and grades in psychology and sociology, I'd say your best bet is psychiatric… now you still have a whole year to decide, but if that's what you want-" He pauses at the sound of the door creaking open. I freeze once my eyes meet the guy standing in the doorway.
     Wesley Kingston. He's back.
"Mr. Kingston," he rejoices. "I'm glad to see you back." Mr. Milgram turns back to me. "Do you mind if I talk to him? I'll call you back down next period." 
I nod and stand up, locking eyes with Wesley-- the guy who lead me on. As I squirm past him to get out the door, I stand for a moment, frozen. Is this really how it’s going to be the rest of my life-- avoiding eye-contact with the man who shared a night of passion and joy with me? 
But the second I walk out of that door, I’m face-to-face with the Mia Gulinski and the others. They stand in the waiting room, huddled in a circle; it sends chills throughout my body. 
They fall silent and their eyes lock on me as if I was the gossip of the day. The way they all glare at me… it makes my heart race. It has to be one of them. One of them killed Maeve and every. Single. One of them knows about it. 
And they know,
That I know.
“Quinn!” a familiar, secretary’s voice echoes. 
I flash around, finding Mrs. Miles standing with a stack of envelopes in her hands.
“Hey, can you take these to yearbook and photography? We just got swamped. Thank you so much.”
I grab the papers from her and exchange one last look from the deranged group of friends before scurrying out of the room. 
I make my way to yearbook, paying close attention to the room labels. Keller-- he should be in there. He used to always talk about designing yearbook. 
    Eventually, I find it and go in, finding the room dark and dreary with red lights shining in corners. Pictures are hung up on strings with pans of some type of liquid sitting on tables. 
    Across the room, I spot Keller. He’s examining a picture before clipping it to a string. 
    “Sorry,” a voice says. I turn, finding Carter Garcia standing beside me. “We’re working on our developing segment. You are?” 
    “Um,” I stutter. “Quinn,” Looking around the room, I see Keller turning his head. He smirks at me before turning back to his picture. 
    I should’ve talked to him yesterday. I should’ve went with him. 
    “These are from um… the office,” I say, flipping through the envelopes. All of them have names; one jumps out at me in particular-- Maeve Kingston.
    “Can I have Maeve’s?” he asks. “I just wanna’ be first to her's.”
    First? He wants to be first to her’s? Why? And why did he have to tell me? He could’ve just searched himself… unless it was that urgent. He wants to see her face that badly. I mean, they have to be pictures, right? 
    “Here,” I say, handing him all of them. “Just… find her’s yourself.” 
    Carter Garcia-- suspect number two. 
***
    After taking my first final, I head home and prepare for the next until it’s too late to carry on anymore. 
    My closet-- it’s wide open; open enough to see Maeve’s name with two strings connecting her to two suspects. I might as well add the rest of her crew to that wall. They all seemed suspicious enough. 
    Still, there’s something tugging on my heart. 
    Wesley. 
    I have to go to him-- I have to tell him. It's his sister for crying out loud! He needs to know the suspects, they're motives; he needs to know she was murdered. It wasn't an accident!
           It wasn't an accident.
           
          I don't sleep well at night-- I'm up thinking of ways to tell Wesley. Keller doesn't even cross my mind until morning; I've left him out of everything. But… but maybe it's for the best. Perhaps he shouldn't know about this-- it'll keep him sane. He needs to focus on his life. He's going to be a senior, just like Wesley. Keller has colleges to apply to, applications to fill out; it'd just be a burden to him. It'll only get in the way of things. 
          When morning rises, I throw on a t-shirt and jeans, down a cup of coffee, and head to school.
          The couple of finals I take are rough, forcing me to use every part of my brain on zero sleep. I can barely focus all day with the thought of Wesley.
           I'm telling him after school. I'm going to do it. I'm going to do it. I'm going to-
           "Quinn," Keller says, just as I'm closing locker. No. No. I need to leave. 
           I catch a glimpse of Wesley leaving with his backpack swung on his shoulder. He opens the door and suddenly, he's gone with every other student.
           No. I missed my chance. 
           "This is Brandon," he says. "You know-- the guy's house we went to on prom night… he uh-" he stutters, finally catching somewhat of my attention. I can't believe he left-- why'd he leave? I was so close! 
           Brandon Hamilton is standing next to Keller with a beanie that looks like it's slipping off his head and round glasses that are all-too-fake. 
           What is he doing here? He probably thinks I killed Maeve for God's sake. The way they all glared at me in the office makes me shudder. 
           "He has a question," Keller finishes.
           The school is nearly empty now, leaving the three of us in near silence. Every student has ran out of school.
    Brandon looks up at Keller and Keller gives him a nod. 
            Just get it over with. Let me leave.
            "Quinn," he says. He looks up, as if he's regretting whatever he's dying to ask. "Do you wanna go on a date?" 
            Wait. 
            What.
            I don't know this guy! The most we've interacted was a couple nods in his basement after making out with his friend's brother! Then again… I didn't know Wesley. 
            "It'll be double date!" he exclaims, waving his hands. "Of course," he adds. "With Keller and Riley."
            Keller. And. Riley? Riley Anderson? 
            No. God, no. 
    I can't go a full day with that. She'll just talk about hair and makeup the entire time. And since when has Keller liked Riley? He never told me anything about it. 
           But still, he's my best friend. I'll do things I don't want to for him… I'll go on dates with total jerks if I have to. Yet right now, I have something bigger to deal with.
           Something inside me is telling me it's a trap. They're using me to get information-- to see if I'm the one who killed Maeve. 
           "Just," I say, swinging my backpack on. "Just give him my number." That's the last thing I say before chasing after the door. 
           My body trembles as I see Wesley across the parking lot, climbing into his truck.
           I just agreed to go on a date with a man has something against me. And looking at Wesley, I wish it was him who asked me. He drives away, leaving me alone and desolate. 
    Now’s my time; I need to act. If I’m telling him, I’m telling him now. 
    I run down the concrete stairs until Keller’s voice stops me short. 
    “Quinn!” he exclaims. I shift around, finding him staring at me with his arms flung out at the top of the stairs. “You haven’t spoken to me all day and now you’re running off! What the hell is-"
    “Look,” I say, starting to back away. I need to get to Wesley. “It- it doesn’t… it doesn’t-”
    “Bullshit!” he yells. “Tell me what’s going on.” His eyes tear up as his face runs pale.
            No… Keller. I can't. I can't tell you. I would if I could-- it'd kill you.
            "I just…" I say as he makes his way down the stairs. "I just need to go-- please," my voice trembles. "You'll know eventually."
            And looking at him makes my stomach churn-- I’m hiding so much from him. He doesn’t have a clue what I’m doing… if he did, he’d hate me. I can see it now. 

    “Investigating a fake murder?” he’d shout, before turning his back to me. “You’re insane, Quinn. Absolutely, 100 percent insane. What are you thinking?” 
    He’d tell me to stop, to at least go to the police, to admit that it’s stupid. But I wouldn’t listen. I’d rage out and insist I’m doing the right thing. 

    “Keller,” I say, grabbing his wrist. I stare into his grey eyes, finding every ounce of sadness hidden in them. He’s falling apart, barely eating. My fingers can wrap around his wrist and the way his skin sinks into his jaw makes me shudder. “You have to trust me.”
    He takes his wrist back and sighs.
    “Go,” he says, releasing me from this horrendous encounter. “We’re meeting at the sushi place at eight… You know, for the date.”
I have to get away before he finds out-- I must limit myself. 
Keller Avery can’t be my best friend until this murder is solved. 

After racing to my car and driving to Wesley's house, there's something that starts stirring inside me; it makes me race to his door and pound on it, leaving me awkwardly waiting at the doorstep.
"Quinn?" he says, scratching his head. He looks around as if he's on a video-- that he knows it's a prank and he's looking for the cameras. 
He's dressed in a sweatshirt that covers his beautiful hair. His eyes droop with puffy dark circles and his skin has scattered dry spots in places where stress has caused damage.
"Look, if you're here to-"
"I need to talk to you," I blurt out, yanking his arm. "But not inside… I don't want your family to hear."
"Wha-" he tries, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. 
He steps outside and closes the door, raising his eyebrows before throwing his hand out. 
Wait… this is it. I'm really going to do this; I'm going to open up and admit. I'll admit what I've been doing with my life this past week.
How do I say it? How do I come out with something so absurd? He'll call me crazy… I know it.
I follow his hand and take a step on the porch. 
When he sits next to me, I turn to face him. The bags under his eyes have turned from purple to red and his face has sunken into a yellow, fading color. 
What used to be a star lacrosse player is now a grieve-filled, decaying man whose life is slipping away.
“I… I… I think,” I stutter, trying to find the right words. 
He brings his head to the ground, staring off into thought. He’s ruined; he’ll never be the same. 
Say it. Just say it.
“I think your sister was murdered.” 
He slowly brings his head up, despite the reaction I imagined from him.
With the most torn and broken voice, he says,
"You don't think I know?"