vii. in which quinn stevens discovers some surprising news

• • •

"SO," JARED STIRRED another sugar cube into his green tea, propping his chin atop his knuckles as he leaned forward. "Let me get this straight."

"Shoot." I stared blankly at my own tea, watching the smoke rise and disappear from the heat, suddenly wishing I had another cigarette.

"Your erratic behavior, stubborn attitude, and overall recklessness got you kicked out of your own band?" He made quotation marks around each checkpoint of Tanya's list, furrowing his bushy eyebrows.

I heaved a sigh and mimicked her voice, "You're not out of the band, it's just we thought, maybe you just need some time."

"So you're definitely not out of Call Me Rebel?"

"Well, apparently not but-"

"So what's the problem?" I gawked for about a minute before his words finally sunk into my exhausted brain.

"Are you serious?" I asked in accusatory voice, pointing a finger at my mentor. "What's the problem?"

"Did I fucking stutter?" he replied back calmly, the curse floating off his tongue like a fragile leaf. My colorful language originated from this man, and I knew he would beat me if we fought and explosive words were thrown at each other. Unlike what my parents thought, Jared assumed it was perfectly healthy to curse every now and then - it was like instinct.

Not minding when others cursed at me, I always felt like recoiling whenever Jared did. It felt like a shot fired when the curse was targeted at me. Shrinking back, I rubbed the back of my head in irritation.

"What do you mean?" It was hard to control my frustration at the moment. He usually just understood. He wasn't like the others. But right now Jared acted more like my actual father would.

"You're still in the band," Jared raised a hand to stop me from interrupting. "The expulsion is only temporary, love. You'll be back eventually. What if this is for the best?"

"You sound just like Tanya." I spat at him.

"And what if Tanya has a point?"

I abruptly slammed a tense fist down on the table, causing the woodwork to rattle and the liquid in our mugs to splash out of their containers. Tea grazed my fist, burning it though I didn't pay attention.

Jared didn't even flinch, keeping his calm gaze level with my angry one. The man reached forward and scooped up my fist, unfurling it and massaging the tension. Red dots danced angrily around the impacted area, and soon the initial numbness was replaced with a dull soreness.

"What best is everyone hoping for?" I croaked out as a stray lock of hair unhinged itself from behind my ear and fell into my face. I made no move to push it aside, seeing through the thick curtain as they hid my expression from Jared. All signs of anger had left my system and soon I just felt deflated and tired.

Jared took his free hand and brushed away the hair, revealing the broken look in my eyes. Swallowing, I turned away so he couldn't intrepet any more of my hidden emotions.

"I know you're angry."

"Understatement of the century."

"But we just want what's best for you."

"That's what they said." I muttered bitterly. Though Jared was getting older, he sure as hell wasn't getting any deafer. The man immediately knew who I was referring to and simply sighed.

Letting go of my hands, Jared ducked his hand into the pocket of his khakis, pulling out his wallet. I watched curiously, unsure of whatever he was doing. He skimmed through bills and receipts and credit cards until he managed to find what he was looking for.

Jared pulled out a photograph, the back facing me so all I managed to catch a glimpse of was the off-white of the back. He smiled at the photo before flipping it over and setting it on the table, sliding it over to where I sat across from him.

Picking it up slowly, I knew what the picture was as soon as I caught sight of the amber eyes.

It was a photograph of me from five years ago. Still in that awkward transition into puberty, I was short and lanky, signs of acne darting across my forehead as I grinned with teeth filled with braces. Wincing, I took note of my signature Stratocaster, looking massive on my tiny frame. Its auburn polish was still decent looking, though it had begun to fade into the woodwork.

I was naive and innocent back then, unaware of the dangers that came with the world, blissfully ignorant of anything horrible. I was happy.

"Why are you showing me this?" I whispered hoarsely, stroking my face in the crumpled photograph, smiling sadly at the atrocious bob I thought looked good on me back then.

"Do you know this girl?" Jared asked, pointing to the photograph. I frowned in confusion, giving him a pointed look.

"It's me," I replied slowly as if he had lost all sense of a healthy mental state. "Back when I was, like, twelve."

"I want you to look even closer."

"Jared, I don't understand-"

Pressing a palm to my mouth, he effectively shut me up. There was a gleam in his eyes as he smiled and added, "Doesn't her smile look genuine?" When I said nothing, he arched an eyebrow until I finally nodded.

He let his hand drop to the table beside his mug, picking it up and taking a sip from the leftover tea that hadn't spilled over. "Honestly, love, I miss that smile."

His words hit me harder than I thought they would and I found myself peeling my eyes away from Jared and back to the photograph. He had taken it back when he first gave the Fender to me, a day I would never forget; it was the happiest moment of my life. Looking back into my past self's own amber eyes, I saw the sincerity, the genuine look of happiness and a smile that could light up this whole town.

"What Tanya and I are trying to tell you, Quinn," I jolted as Jared referred to me by my name, and. not by his nickname 'love.' "is that we just want that Quinn back." He reached over and poked the photograph roughly. "And perhaps dealing with the very thing she ran away from is the only way to get her back."

I pressed my lips together in a fine line, wanting to say something but unable to. Jared gave my hand a little squeeze as I felt the familiar tugging sensation in my heart. I needed to calm myself down before anything happened. My luggage hadn't arrived yet and my pills were safely tucked into one of the compartments. The two of us fell into a semi-comfortable, lapsing silence.

"I miss her," Jared added softly, as if an afterthought.

The minutes passed by, the ticking of the wall clock on his kitchen wall a woeful lullaby that mesmerized me into a trance. Jared took several more sips of his tea before announcing that he was headed to bed. After telling me that my old room hadn't been touched since I left and I was free to stay as long as I wanted, he had drifted up the tight staircase into his own room.

Left alone with only the clock's ticking to infiltrate the silence, I clutched my mug with two shaky hands and whispered into the emptiness, "I miss her too."

• • •

Awakening the next morning was a blur. It turned out that I hadn't made it up the stairs or out of the dining room at all. When I sputtered out of unconsciousness, I was still in the same position as last night except that my arms were crossed againt the table, the biceps still warm from where my head lay on them all night.

Sore all over, I stifled a yawn and stretched my back, feeling the muscles loosen and bones crack. I was still dressed in yesterday's clothing, now wrinkled and worn-it. The photograph of a younger me was no longer on the table and a part of me was relieved. The smell of bacon and coffee wafted through the air, immediately perking me up.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty." Jared sang, his lovely baritone resonating through the kitchen. Situated in front of the yellow stove, he hand both hands on the obsidian pan in front of him, carefully trying to coax the bacon into crisping just right.

I half-smiled at his back and cracked my knuckles. As he continued humming and preparing breakfast, I glanced around his apartment, feeling a wave of nostalgia hit. The walls were still an obnoxious shade of efforvescent lime green and frames of antique vinyls hung miscellaneously on the walls. Besides the dining table, the only appliances in the kitchen were the necessities, with only a small television perched on the counter in plain sight of the table.

Past the kitchen was a small corridor that led to the living room, practice rooms, and eventually a golden door that when opened, took you to Jared's music store. Filled with collections ranging from vinyl to CD, metal to country, instruments to stereo systems, Wreck-It Records had. Thought it was small it held a lot of musical essence, one that sparked life in Somerville.

"Mind if I help open up today?" I asked, wanting to erase any trace of last night's conversation. It was still fresh in my mind: enough to keep me uneasy but thoughtful at the same time.

"Only after you take a bite of my one of a kind bacon!" Jared playfully waved his greasy spatula in my direction.

"Jared, I already know it's that turkey bacon shit you love to buy."

"Shhh!" he exclaimed, and I chuckled. Spinning around, he did a little dance around the table and offered me the pan. "Take it while it's hot, just don't burn yourself." I gingerly scooped out a piece and blew on it before taking a bite.

"Well?" Jared grinned.

"Tastes just as store-bought than it did two years ago." I grinned back, giving a wink. Jared's hearty laugh brought up my mood and together we ate bacon and drank coffee together just like the olden days.

Once finished, we made our way down the lengthy halls, stopping at the dividing door between his home and his store. Offering me the keys, I smirked and unlocked the store, flicking on the lights and stepping in to revel in what I was missing out on for years.

As soon as I took a step inside I was hit with the smell of wood and old paper. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, already lost with the scent of music. Opening them slowly, I took in the appearance of the room.

The store looked similar to how it did before I left; the shelves were still lined neatly in five rows, each holding an assortment of vinyls and CDs and cassettes. Towards the back were the array of instruments, ranging from violins to electric basses. Guitars hung from the low ceiling, shining in the bright lights of the store. Equipment lay in shelves attached to each invidual wall.

The only difference was the rack situated in front of the check out counter, a sign pointing to it that read: New Hits and Old Classics. And tucked right between the classic Hot Fuss album by The Killers and the new NBB soundtrack, was a familiar looking CD. On the album cover was an artwork of a female's head shown only up to her ruby red lips curved into a smirk. I grinned. It was Call Me Rebel's debut album, Flirting With Suicide.

Jared caught my beam and ruffled my hair, as I swatted him away. "You like? I am your number one fan."

"Yeah," I rolled my eyes, punching him lightly in the arm. "Yeah, you are."

Turning back to the store I twirled the ring of keys in my hand, walking up and down the aisles with an enchanting smile. Just like the first time I entered the store years back, I was still in love with it. After I made a complete rotation, strumming one of the six stringed guitars hanging as I passed, I went to the main entrance and unlocked it. Beside the entrance was an old neon sign which I turned on with a flick of the wrist. It was mirrored, since I was on the opposite side of it, but I knew the word that lit up: Open.

And as I watched the early birds making their way up and down the sidewalks, I knew that I wouldn't be able to stay in this small suburban town for just a day. Birds chirped overhead, the sun shining shyly through the cracks in the sky. Tree branches swayed in the breeze thoughtfully. A hand on my shoulder had me turning to the right where Jared stood next to me by the main window.

Together we watched the world spark alive.

"How long are you staying?" he murmured gently.

It took a while to reply but I managed back with an ambiguous shrug. "Until Tanya calls me back to the band."

"That's not a good enough reason to stay."

Chewing on the inside of my lip, I turned away. "Well, then. Until I find a reason."

• • •

I spent the rest of the morning at Jared's music store, messing around with him behind the counter. Business was booming, more than it did years ago. Jared explained it all stemmed from the one interview we did where we talked about our roots and how Wreck-It Records was the start of it all.

I was glad for that: it meant a rise in sales for Jared, more people discovering good music, and more people picking up an instrument. My heart swelled with pride everytime someone went to check out a copy of a Call Me Rebel album. Fortunately, no one seemed to recognize me. I had my shades on and had changed into some of Jared's spare clothes. Granted they were oversized and smelled like his apartment, but they did justice because it wasn't something Quinn Stevens would wear.

I'll put buying new, bland clothes at the top of my to-do list if I would be staying in Somerville for a while. It had me thinking, what else I could do besides lounging around doing nothing all day. Music was my number one priority and now that it was taken from me, I was facedown on the floor empty-handed.

"Jar, what's there to do here?" I asked after ringing up someone's purchase of The Libertines' self-entitled album. The customer, a teenage boy who had given me a onceover, smiled warmly and I winked back with a smirk, waving him away.

Jared was sitting behind the counter, rearranging various checks he was writing out. "You tell me. You've lived here your whole life, love."

I clucked and whirled around to face him, leaning against the edge of the counter. "Yeah, but not for at least three years. Things could've changed. I mean, look at the store's popularity."

"I forgot to thank you for that," Jared mused. "Well, anyway, there's still not much to do around here then last time you were in town. The only new thing that opened up was a new movie theater down by Elms Street just last week."

"So I guess this place still hasn't changed."

"There's also..." Jared trailed off, thumbing through a pile of unwritten checks. I glanced at him quizzically, motioning for him to continue. "Your father moved back to town."

I almost slid off the counter in shock. Rerighting myself, I glared a hole into his head. "What?" I spat.

"Since the divorce," I cringed at the word. "Michelle and Rob both thought it would be great to be as far away from each other as possible. But about a year ago, your father remarried and decided it would be great to start fresh in a place he wanted to start over in in the first place."

"Somerset," I concluded. It came out more like an accusation. "So he's got a new bitch?"

Jared frowned at me, wagging a finger pointedly in my direction. "Don't say that. Hayley is actually extremely nice. Pardon my saying, but I prefer her over Michelle anyday." I scoffed and crossed my arms.

"He bought out your old house."

"And why are you telling me this?"

"Just in case." I narrowed my eyes at him. He held up his palms and defended himself, "You were always closer to him than your mother anyway."

"Don't," I massaged my temples. "talk about them anymore. Please, Jar."

Muttering curses under his breath, he just shooed me away and went back to his paperwork ad checks. In the meantime, I toiled in frustration at the new information but said nothing. Jared's loud paper flipping indicated he felt just the same way. We were too alike, me and him. Occasinally, it spurred irrelevant arguements like this one.

When the tense silence between the two of us remained unbroken as no other customer barged in, I exhaled and tried to change the subject. "Do you know about that one café down by Fourth and Northampton?"

Startled, Jared looked up in confusion, the arguement vanishing immediately. He wracked his brain, setting down the papers and rubbing the back of his shiny head. "I feel like I do. There are a ton of cafés in this area."

"It's named really fucking stupid."

"I've definitely never heard of café named 'really fucking stupid.'"

Tossing him a pointed look, I clarified, "That's not the name of it, dumbass. It's called Java the Hut."

Jared snapped his fingers in a sudden epiphany. "Oi, yeah I've heard of that place. They have the best pumpkin spice macchiatos. Why do you ask?"

I shrugged, unsure myself. It seemed to stand out in my mind for some reason. The atmosphere was calm and serene, the smell of the café made my mouth water when I walked in, the taste of their coffee. And then there was that barista: Oliver. My face turned pink as I thought about our little spat; looking back on it, it was really stupid but at the time it wasn't.

Jared mistook the blush of embarassment in a different way. He smirked, "Was there a boy?"

"No!" I countered, but my blush grew deeper, like it always did when people knew I was lying about it. I cursed under my breath.

Chuckling, Jared merely waved for me to go on. "Why do you ask then?"

"I just," I started, but I didn't know how to finish. "What time do they open? I want a fucking latte."

Jared checked his watch and replied, "Well, they open at about eleven. Which was about an hour ago. Do you want to do a coffee run and get me a macchiato too?"

"Sure," I nodded. I was relieved for something to do, and maybe I could get a chance to apologize to Oliver. Inwardly, I cringed. I never apologize to people so that might be a little hard to do. "You're sure no one will recognize me?"

"Of course not, you look like as daft as a brush. No one would glance at you twice." Jared answered sincerely. Flipping him off, he only boomed his mighty laugh as I stole a ten from the register and made my way out the door.

• • •

I wish this story had more exposure like my other stories because I'm having fun with it, and it's like my new baby. So to all you silent readers out there, comment and vote (wink wink)! Song on the side is Don't Look Back Into The Sun by The Libertines. God, I love them. And Jess, if you're reading this, you're fucking lucky that you get to see them. <3

-Isabelle