Grounding Quinn

by Stephanie Campbell

“That’s why he hired me,” he says. His words stop me in my tracks at the doorway. My stomach drops and I spin back around on the balls of my feet. What the hell is he talking about?

  “I’m sorry, what?” I ask him. My voice is quivering, which it totally never does.

  “Your dad-when he hired me. He said that what he liked about me was that I knew how to go after what I want.” He has the same arrogant grin plastered on his face that he has since I got here.

  “In your dreams,” I say.

  I walk out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ben

  I wasn’t expecting Quinn so early. She’s standing on my doorstep, her arms stuffed way up inside the sleeves of her sweat shirt, hugging herself. And she looks pissed.

  “Tough day? Let me guess, foiled by your arch nemesis math again, baby?” I joke. She doesn’t smile in return. Something is definitely wrong.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask, pulling her in the doorway. I press my lips to her forehead. Quinn looks like one of those fragile girls you want to protect-until you get to know her, and you realize she doesn’t need-and absolutely doesn’t want your protection. I try to remind myself of that right now, when she’s standing here looking so vulnerable that she might crack.

  “This little fucker at my dad’s office.” She stomps her foot when she says it, and I fight the smirk I can feel forming on my face.

  “Come on, lets go to my room,” I say. I intertwine my fingers with hers and lead her up the stairs. My mom’s in the hall, orderly stacking towels in the linen closet. Her smile oozes southern hospitality, and is more fake and plastic than the one on a politician.

  “Well hey, sugar,” Mom says to Quinn.

  “Hi Mrs. Shaw.” Quinn has wiped the angry scowl off of her face, and replaced it with a polite smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  My jaw is clenched though. I’m waiting for my mom to say just the wrong thing that’ll send Quinn running.

  “You too darling, ya’ll don’t stay up too late now,” she says. As soon as she is out of Quinn’s sight, Mom frowns at me.

  My mom doesn’t like Quinn. She has already told me repeatedly she doesn’t think Quinn is right for me. She’d prefer I found a sweet, stuck up, southern girl like all of the typical ones around here.

  It didn’t help Quinn’s case that one night when she was over later than she should’ve been, Quinn told Mom that her parents knew she was here. When Mr. MacPherson called looking for Quinn, Mom gave me the “If she could lie about that, what else is she lying about?” speech.

  The thing is, I don’t care what she is or isn’t lying about. I’m crazy about the girl.

  “She hates me.” Quinn groans, and throws her head back dramatically.

  “She doesn’t hate you,” I say. Hate is too strong a word. I walk behind her, rubbing her shoulders as I follow her to my bedroom. Her back feels tense under my fingers, she usually relaxes when I touch her.

  I sit on the edge of my bed and reach for her, expecting her to curl up in my lap, but instead, she sits crossed-legged in my desk chair.

  “So, whose ass do I need to kick?”

  She gives me an exaggerated eye roll. It’s a fine line to walk-wanting to take care of someone who so desperately wants to take care of themselves.

  “The new guy at my dad’s office.”

  “He’s a jerk?” I ask, as if by calling him a “fucker,” didn’t already loosely imply that he wasn’t exactly likable.

  She shakes her head. “He’s a complete perv. He was totally hitting on me today.”

  I chuckle. As much as I don’t like it, I can’t really blame the guy, she is freakin’ incredible.

  “Well, everyone hits on you baby,” I say, before what she just said really dawns on me. “Wait, your new boss? How old is this creep?”

  Quinn starts spinning in circles in the chair.

  “I don’t know, twenty four-ish, I guess.” Her voice is unruffled, but I can feel the blood burning under my own skin.

  “Did you tell your Dad?” I’m wasting my breath, I already know the answer.

  She slows the rotations momentarily so she can catch my eye. “Um, negative. He wouldn’t believe me even if I did.” A minute passes, before she adds, “Besides, I can take care of myself.”

  Noted.

  “Quinn…” I start to speak, but I can tell she’s tuning me out. She continues to spin in circles. It’s obvious that she’s uncomfortable with me daring to question her-or care about her. When she finally stops the chair, she pulls her long brown hair back into a knot on the back of her head. She riffles through my desk drawers until she finds a pencil, and then shoves it through the brunette knot to hold it in place. Why is it that everything she does, even the simplest of things, seem like magic to me?

  “So, I didn’t get a chance to ask you earlier, what’d you think of school?” she asks.

  The conversation is apparently switching gears now. It’s not easy to be sucked into someone’s drama, get yourself all worked up, and then have them drop it like it’s no longer important. This is becoming routine with Quinn, and it’s getting increasingly difficult for me to deal with. I’m beginning to realize that there’s something going on deep inside Quinn. She isn’t just hiding pain-she’s actively building walls to keep people out. Her parents have really done a number on her.

  “School was fine,” I sigh, conceding that I’m not going to get anywhere arguing her work situation anymore.

  “Did you meet any hot girls?” She jokes. I can tell she’s trying to keep the conversation light-and as always, away from her.

  “A few.” I smile back.

  She grins. Her lips form a natural pout, even when she is happy, so being able to actually make her smile, is like winning an award. But sometimes, it’s becoming a fight. She pulls me in and lets me get so close to her, before she starts pushing back.

  Quinn is barely out the door before my mom comes in with her lecture.

  “You know, its okay for you to not see each other every single day, Ben,” she says.

  “We go to the same school Mom, it’s kind of inevitable.” I toss a few rolls of film into my camera bag.

  “You know what I mean, she is always here, or you’re always there-it’s just too much.”

  “Mom, really, you need to let it go.”

  “I don’t think you realize how serious this is, Ben. A girl like that, she could ruin everything. Just watch her turn up pregnant.” My mom clutches her chest as if her own words make her physically ill.

  I grab my camera bag off of my bed.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Mom. I’m going out.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Quinn

  I have been going to Sam’s Gymnastics Academy for about ten years now. My parents originally signed me up after witnessing how bad I was at any organized sport that required a ball or a team. My best friend, Sydney, had been going for a couple of years, and was doing really well. Syd and I trained together for years, but now I just come in a couple of times a week to get out of the house. And even though I’ve thought about quitting all together many times, gym is like my get out of jail free card. The parents are really big on sports-I could have just robbed a Blimpie, and they would still let me off the hook to go to gym. It’s not that I don’t like gymnastics, I really do. The difference between me and Sydney, is she actually cares. I know I could compete at a higher level. I know that I could travel the country, and probably win medals like Syd. The problem is I just don’t want that. I don’t care if I do well. I don’t care if I get recognition. Plus, I just happen to be a bit of an underachiever. Still, the reality of it is, I just don’t want to commit myself to anything.

  I’m working on a new skill today on beam. The Miller, named after the American gymnast, Shannon Miller. I throw myself into a back dive, followed by a quarter-twist, then into a handstand, and end with a flawless half pirouette. I don’t realize that Sam, my coach, is standing nearby watching me until I hear him clapping
. I jump off of the beam and walk toward him, wiping my chalk covered hands across my navy leotard.

  “You’re too damn good to not compete, Quinn. You’re just wasting your talent, kid,” he says. This is a regular topic in gym, how great I could be.

  “I prefer to call it, conservation,” I tell him with a wink. He shakes his head and stomps away from me.

  I’m sweaty, and definitely not dressed in anything that would meet my dad’s standards for proper office attire, I head straight there after gym anyway. I want to talk to Dad about some other form of punishment-I can’t honestly be expected to work with Mark, right? But when I knock on his door, there is no response. I turn the knob, but it stays put. The door is locked.

  “Ms. Mary?” I lean over her desk. (She is dressed in purple today, by the way) “Where’s my dad?”

  “He’s in his office, hon. I think he’s still getting his new secretary all set up to start next week. He shouldn’t be much longer.”

  With the door locked? Oh.My.God.

  “Why is the door locked?”

  Ms. Mary pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, shrugs her shoulders and looks around without answering.

  “Okay, thanks,” I say. “Oh, Ms. Mary, I almost forgot. I made you these for your birthday.” I pass a small container of homemade teacakes over to her. I’d noticed her birthday on the calendar last week.

  I make my way to Mark’s office. I find him casually sitting on the floor, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his face planted in a file.

  “Hey,” I say, as I set my purse on top of the filing cabinet. I’m one-hundred-and-ten percent sure my dad is doing something vile. I can hardly see straight through my anger. Why must I have such a screwed up family?

  He glances up. “Oh hey, I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

  “Yep, just running late. I had gymnastics practice.” Ah, screw. I mentally scold myself, realizing I have set myself up for some stupid retort about me being flexible or some shit. I’ve heard them all-trust me.

  “Oh. Okay.” He looks back down at his file.

  His disinterest surprises me; I’m having a hard time believing that this is the same guy from the other day.

  “So, do you want me to finish the filing?” I say, gesturing to the stack of papers.

  “Listen, Quinn.” He sets the file he’s reading down on to the carpet in front of him. A tiny bead of sweat makes its way down his forehead, even though it’s freezing in the office. “I wanted to apologize for the other day. I was completely out of line.”

  Wait, hold the phone did he actually just apologize?

  “It’s fine,” I say.

  “I’m not such a bad guy, really. I was just nervous about my first day, and took my joking too far,” he says.

  “It’s okay. And don’t worry-I wasn’t going to tell my dad.”

  He nods once. “So, yes, if you wouldn’t mind, just finish that stack of filing for me.”

  It’s entirely possible I might have overreacted before.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ben

  My mom, who was all about marrying me off right after high school less than six months ago, is now trying to convince me that I’m too young for a serious relationship. Ironic, since she and Caroline had once browsed china patterns together, “just in case.”

  Talking to my mom about my love life ranks right up there with the thought of hanging out with Glenn Beck, or being reincarnated as a piece of toilet paper. I pick up my bass as a sign that the conversation is over. She doesn’t take the hint.

  I started playing bass when I was in sixth grade. It was kind of by default, I guess. My friends and I were typical twelve-year-olds, and wanted to start a band. One kid already had drums, and two played the guitar. I tried my hand at singing, but for the sake of everyone involved, I stuck to back up vocals. So, that left bass. I didn’t mind. My parents bought me one that year for Christmas. (Once they finally accepted I wasn’t going to do sports, no matter what they tried.) I basically taught myself to play. I would listen to music and try to separate the bass line from the rest of the instruments. I love this thing.

  “All I’m saying is there are a lot of girls out there,” she crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Benny, you aren’t listening. You know this is not the time to be getting serious with someone.”

  “And why is that?” I play several notes. The vibration flows through my body and calms me. I can almost successfully tune her out.

  Mom scowls at my lack of attention.

  “Well, for starters, because it’s your senior year of high school. And you’re only eighteen-years-old, for Pete’s sake.” Her arms are folded across her chest, and she lets out a heavy sigh. She’s getting herself all worked up for nothing-she isn’t going to be able to change my mind about Quinn.

  “Are we really going to have this conversation again?” I ask.

  “We are going to have it as many times as we need to in order for you to get it.”

  “I’ve got it under control, Mom,” I say.

  “I don’t think you do, Benny. I don’t think it is possible to have a girl like her under control.”

  My posture goes rigid. “I’m not talking about Quinn, Mom. I mean the rest of it, I have everything under control. Quinn is amazing. You’d be able to see that for yourself, if you’d give her half a chance.”

  “It’s just not the right time for this, Ben. You have a lot to be concentrating on. What about college, have you given any serious thought to that?” She picks up the large folder on top of my desk. It is overflowing with college applications and essay topics. “All of these essays aren’t going to write themselves. You need to get your priorities back in order, Benny. You didn’t used to be so reckless when it came to your future. School needs to go back to being number one.”

  “Under control, Mom.” I repeat. College is important to me; I have no intention of messing that up. I’m the one that has worked my ass off to get the grades I need to go pretty much wherever I want to. If I could actually figure out where the hell that is.

  “You’d better not screw up, Ben. Your father and I have worked our tails off to make sure you have everything you need and want, all the opportunities in the world are at your feet. All of the overtime your father has worked over the years so I could stay home and take care of you. Does any of that mean anything to you? We’ve raised you better than to just throw it all away for some girl.”

  I set the bass down on my bed next to me, and meet her eyes. “She’s not just some girl.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Quinn

  “Hey,” I say. I’m surprised to see him. “Come on in”

  “Is anyone home?” Ben asks, looking around me.

  I shake my head. “Are you kidding me? No, they’re at Mason’s game.” He still looks uneasy. “Seriously, its fine, come in.”

  Ben finally follows me inside the house. “What’s going on?” He answers me by pulling me in close to him, and kissing me like no one has a right to be kissed; slow, and lingering, but with intent. There is a purpose behind the movement of his lips, like he’s trying to prove something. Is it something to himself, or to me? His lips leave me in a Ben-induced state of vertigo.

  “Whoa, what was that for?”

  He doesn’t answer. Something is definitely up.

  “Are you all right?” I take his hand and lead him to the kitchen.

  “Yes. I’m fine now.”

  “Now? What was wrong?”

  “Nothing worth getting into.” His hands grip my waist, and he effortlessly picks me up and sets me on the counter top. The cool travertine shocks my skin that is still on fire from his touch.

  “I’m starving. I was just about to make something to eat, are you hungry?” I ask.

  He nods, while running the tips of his fingers along my bare thigh. His fingers are thick and rough-calloused from playing bass. I love that. It freaks me out to have a guy touch me that ha
s softer hands than I do.

  “So, what’s on the menu tonight, baby?”

  “Italian Nachos sound good?” I ask, hopping down from the counter.

  “Sounds perfect.”

  The pantry is overflowing with packets of instant mashed potatoes, cereal and crackers-the only things Mason will actually eat. He will only eat “white foods,” ever since he was a toddler. If it isn’t white or tan, he won’t consume it. The parents play along with this nonsense. After searching behind countless boxes of Wheat Thins, I find the parmesan and bread crumbs.

  “Can you grab the chicken, cream cheese and whipping cream out of the fridge?” I ask. Ben rummages through the refrigerator and meets me on the other side of the kitchen with the rest of the ingredients.

  “Teach me,” he says as he sets them down.

  “Teach you what? To cook?”

  He nods with a sweet smile and wraps his arms around me from behind. I feel like I’m evaporating in a state of bliss every time he touches me like this. It’s completely casual, but feels so much more intimate than I’m used to.

  “Really? I’m not even like good at it or anything.”

  When he leans down, his breath is so near my ear that it ruffles my hair, and sends a jolt down my body. His skin is so warm, I want to devour it.

  “You are so damn amazing, Quinn. Just take the compliment.” His voice pure velvet and I feel like I’m going to melt right here.

  “’k,” I croak out, lamely.

  He lets out a smooth laugh. “Anyway, I need to learn this stuff so when we’re married and have kids, I can stay home and cook and clean while you’re at work.” He winks.

  I toss a few tortilla pieces into the skillet of hot oil on the stove top.

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I say, poking the strips with tongs to submerge them in the bubbling oil.

  He presses his lips to the back of my neck, and my vision momentarily blurs. While I’m still steadying myself, he reaches around and takes the tongs out of my hand.

  “I know, baby, I’m just kidding. You won’t be working to support me,” he says.