Retrace the Lines

Josh

The second the dining hall door closes behind me, I head out to find Rob for some answers. My jersey protecting me from the biting air, I walk towards his usual post-dinner spot.

I reach the oval area and spot him a few metres away, frozen in an obscure yoga position. Jogging up to him, I raise my hand in greeting. His eyes peeling open, he gives me a smile and untangles from his pose.

"Josh! To what do I owe the pleasure on this fine evening?" He beckons me over.

I flop down next to his yoga mat and lie down on my back, my palms beneath my head.

"Quinn. Why didn't you warn me?" I tilt my head towards him with an accusatory glance.

He scratches his head and frowns. The shadows of the night deepen the creased lines on his forehead and he suddenly looks older than usual. His usual, childish persona drops as we lock eyes.

"My sister only called me at the start of the week to tell me that Quinn was coming. It was super last minute, and you were already here." He seems apprehensive as he continues.

"Ultimately, you're both here because your parents sent you." He shrugs. "If I had told you she was coming - or vice versa - one of you would have tried to bail and cause them a whole lot of grief."

I try to respond to this, but he swiftly cuts me off. His hands are lifted in a gesture of innocence.

"Hey, I am not here to play peacemaker with y'all and your parents. I'm just providing the facilities." He chuckles slightly as I process everything he's said.

Sighing, I roll back over to face the night sky. "Why do her parents want her here? Did she get in trouble or something?"

"Hey!" He says with jest. "Mapleton isn't a punishment you know." He winks.

"Are you sure," I retort with a smirk, "because after the amount of manual labour I've been forced to do this week I'm starting to feel a little like I'm in prison."

He awards me a good-natured laugh and goes back to my original question. "Nah, she's here because her parents are off at some event in Greece. A wedding, I think? They didn't want her home alone for so many weeks."

I frown at this new knowledge. Sure, I haven't talked to Quinn for years but she was always very close with her parents. Kind of a natural side effect of being an only child. It seems weird that she isn't going along with them.

Then again, what would I know anymore?

The most I know about her nowadays is the small glance I get of her every year on the Christmas card her family sends ours.

My mother always puts it up, right at the top of our fridge. Every year around the holiday season I feel a little sense of dread whenever I have to grab something from the fridge. I used to try hide her face with a magnet, but let's just say that my mom does not appreciate me replacing Quinn with a turtle-shaped bottle opener.

How much does Rob even know? The last time he saw us together was when I was still living in Colorado, and Quinn and I were practically glued to each other.

"You know that I haven't talked to Quinn in years, right?" As I ask this, he turns away, as though suddenly uncomfortable.

"I know, son." He grimaces slightly. "I remember a birthday I came to visit her... must have been her 13th or 14th, and she was just like a shell of herself."

He gives me a slightly quizzical expression. "She wouldn't talk to me properly, eat properly, even laugh. Then her mother explained that she hadn't talked to you for months, and she had no idea why." In his expression I sense a reserved curiosity, one that I know he won't act on unless I initiate it.