The Metropolis Series #3: Quinn and Cassandra

THE NEXT TWO WEEKS at St. John’s were hectic. With Christmas break around the corner, our to-do lists began to fill up, making it harder to catch up with everything. On top of practicing for Class 3’s musical number for the Christmas party, there was also preparing for the party itself. Each class had to decide what food they wanted to contribute and what decorations to put up for the venue. I also had to figure out what I was getting for Secret Santa. When the class drew lots, I realized I didn’t know the person I had picked, let alone what they wanted for Christmas. There were also a few term projects popping up here and there, but I knew that I was bound to half-ass most of them. There was no way my brain could keep up with all the projects and festivities.

But hey, at least the Christmas lights in the halls were pretty.

The few days before the party were particularly the busiest. My classmates and I were only beginning to polish our presentation for the party, and Curtis wasn’t tolerating any of our mistakes. (He was still nicer as a leader than Rachael, though. A million times nicer.) After practices, we would start putting up decorations for the party, slowly turning the smelly gym into a winter wonderland. (That was the theme of the party, by the way. I never understood why we put up snow-related imagery in the tropics.) Then, there was one time when Rachael set up rehearsals for Deus Ex Machina’s intermission number. She and Curtis were already on speaking terms, but awkward conversations were as far as their relationship could go.

When Rachael called for practice again the next day, I chose not to attend. Aside from her rocky relationship with Curtis, I could tell that she was still stressed out about her missing songwriting notebook. She had bought herself a new one, but I knew that wasn’t enough. The contents of her old notebook, the immortalized thoughts she had written on paper, could never be replaced.

I could only hope that her notebook was safe somewhere. I imagined that it contained stuff that Rachael wouldn’t want anyone to read, something that she’d scribbled out of spite that no amount of white ink could erase. The idea of a stranger going through another person’s thoughts freaked me out. It made me wonder what Cassandra was doing as she listened to my every thought…

I shook it off. I shouldn’t be thinking about those things.

Eventually, the day of the party came, and the weight of all those practices, preparations, and last-minute term projects had been lifted off everyone’s shoulders. St. John’s campus grounds would be closing for Christmas, so Harumi and I spent the morning emptying the dorm and packing up our things.

“You have any plans for Christmas?” Harumi asked me.

“I’m just gonna stay home and relax,” I said. “Play video games, eat macaroni salad, and play with my dog. I miss him. What about you?”

Harumi shrugged. “Pretty much the same. I can’t wait to finally unwind and enjoy the holidays!”

I nodded. It was surreal to me that I would be going back home after months of boarding at St. John’s, the place where I had learned about the Metropolis.

Where I had met Cassandra.

I wondered if leaving the campus, even just for a while, would give me a break from all the madness this world kept throwing at me. I was looking forward to spending time with my parents at home for Christmas, and I hoped Cassandra wouldn’t ruin it.

The party was at eleven in the morning. Students and faculty arrived in all sorts of Christmas-themed outfits: cozy sweaters, Santa hats that lit up, and dresses and shirts in red and green. Pop versions of Christmas songs blared through the speakers as friends greeted each other and gave each other gifts.

Speaking of gifts, I had gotten the members of Deus Ex Machina a keychain of the respective instrument they played. I found them at a small novelty shop that just opened nearby, where I also bought Harumi her own keychain in the shape of a hamburger.

That left me with one more gift: a paper plane keychain for Julio.

I was an idiot. I was going back home that night, and I lived long stretches of highway away from St. John’s, away from the Metropolis. I wasn’t sure if my paper planes could still reach him from home. Time had slipped over my head during the past few weeks, so I wasn’t able to meet up with him. At best, I could squeeze in some time after the party to contact him, but I doubted it.

I sighed and slipped the keychain back into my bag.

“Hey, Vasquez.”

I jumped, surprised by the presence behind me.

“Oh, hey, Bree,” I said. “Merry Christmas!”

I squinted my eyes. She was wearing a hot pink suit—a sparkly one, at that. I found it strange that I didn’t spot her in the crowd earlier.

“Merry Christmas!” Bree greeted. She held up a wrapped gift—which also had sparkles on it. “As an appreciation for being our most beloved and hardworking manager, I present to you a gift from all of us at Deus Ex Machina.”

“Ooh, thanks,” I said, baffled as I took the gift.

“Open it.”

I untied the ribbon and carefully peeled off the gift wrapping. My heart fluttered upon seeing what it could be. Initially, I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but once all of the ribbons and wrappings were gone, I could no longer keep my excitement in.

“No way,” I gasped.

“It has two discs with all three seasons,” Bree explained. “That’s seventy-five episodes with a bonus one-hour special and exclusive add-on content. We know how much you love anime—this one in particular. Guess you know what you’re rewatching for the holidays, Vasquez. We had to get it on ridiculous same day shipping for it to arrive on time.”

I clutched the gift in my hands. “Oh wow. Thanks, guys. My gift seems so small in comparison now.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. It’s the thought that counts.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out a small pouch with Bree’s name on the gift tag.

“Here,” I handed it to her. “Merry Christmas… again.”

She opened the pouch and stared at the keychain in amazement. “Is this a bass guitar? This is so cool. Thank you, Vasquez. I’m hanging this on my school bag.”

“Glad you like it. I got the others keychains, as well.” I looked around. “Where are they? I’d better thank them for the gift, too.”

“Ah, Rachael and Stevenson are sorting some things out.” Bree rolled her eyes. “Some drama again with Stevenson’s folks. I don’t know the details, though.”

I nodded, feeling bad. I hoped that things ended well for them. It was Christmas, after all.

“As for Philip,” Bree added, “I haven’t seen him. He’s probably just running late, but jeez, he’d better get here or Rachael will lose it.”

Then, I watched as someone in the crowd caught her eye. She looked past me and waved.

“Harumi!” she called.

I turned around. Harumi had been talking to someone from our class before looking in Bree’s direction. She then waved at her.

“See ya, Vasquez,” Bree said to me. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Thanks again.”

She gave me one last look before sprinting toward Harumi. They talked for a while before they exchanged gifts. I didn’t see what Harumi had gotten Bree, but Bree had given her a small potted plant with a ribbon on it. Harumi squealed in excitement and gave Bree a hug. Bree hugged her back. I looked away, thinking that they needed the moment to themselves.

The program proper began a few minutes later, and as you’d expect, it was as cheesy as it could ever get. The games were childish, but students battled against each other like gladiators in an arena—especially those big boys who were always sweaty at gym. The prizes ranged from small goody bags to gift certificates and extra credit.

The latter always fired up the competition.

Then, of course, there were the class musical numbers. Here, just imagine every amateur high school presentation that you’ve ever seen. Whenever a class went up on stage, their friends didn’t smile because they were talented, but because their dance moves were embarrassing. Nevertheless, each performer still had their fair share of joy, covering each missed note with laughter.

I bet you, the reader, want to know how I was on stage when Class 3 went up to perform. Unfortunately, I’m just a character in a book. You can’t see what I’m doing, much less get a glimpse of my inadequate dancing and singing skills. The best I can do is choose my words to create a description as clearly as I can.

For starters, imagine an upbeat pop song that was popular during your high school days, preferably something with a lot of woah’s in it.

Then, think of jazzy, excessive gestures with my right hand when I should have used my left. As for my singing voice? Forget it. It had been overpowered by a chorus of other off-key voices. Even if you had been at the party, you still wouldn’t have been able to hear it.

The only class that seemed to give a serious performance was Class 5—because Rachael was the director. For high school party standards, it was top-notch.

While the members of the performing arts faculty discussed which class was the winner, the program winded down with lunch.

Everyone lined up for the food prepared for the event: pasta, pizza, fried chicken, and everything else in between. One guy tried to claim a box of pizza for himself. A lot of people got mad.

As most of the student body sat down to enjoy their meal, intermission numbers began, starting with Deus Ex Machina. However, there was a noticeable gap between the members when they got on. Rachael looked annoyed if not furious about it, but she tried to hide it with an upbeat greeting to the crowd.

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” she waved.

As Rachael spoke, Harumi nudged my arm. “That’s odd,” she said, squinting her eyes. “Where’s Philip?”

“I dunno,” I replied, gaping at the space on Rachael’s left side where Philip should have been standing.

But he wasn’t there.

His onstage absence shrouded the party’s festive mood in confusion. Students leaned toward each other to ask questions. Their muffled voices traveled across the room, creating a sense of unease.

Where was Philip? Why wasn’t he there at the party?

I looked at the stage again, watching the crowd heighten Deus Ex Machina’s agitation regarding their missing lead guitarist. Rachael seemed to be looking across the room, stalling the performance just in case Philip would make a surprise entrance. However, a mere minute began to feel like an eternity, so Rachael slowly stepped toward the mic stand and cleared her throat.

“We’ve prepared a few songs to get everyone into the festive spirit,” Rachael said to the crowd. “I hope you enjoy.”

Then, she turned to Bree and Curtis, giving them the signal to begin playing. Their performance had gone off at a rough start, but they were slowly able to get in sync with one another, picking up the festive spirit they had planned to bring to the audience. However, after hearing Deus Ex Machina perform multiple times, I did notice a few hiccups here and there. Without Philip, Rachael had to fill in for him as the only other guitarist, all while belting high notes and trying to remember the lyrics. It had also affected Bree’s and Curtis’ performances to some degree, and their nervousness had grown more noticeable with every song they sang.

Nevertheless, the students and faculty of St. John’s didn’t fail to support them. They clapped, cheered, and sang along to their songs, helping Deus Ex Machina maintain a cheerful vibe despite being a member short.

Once their third and final song was through, they joined Harumi and me at our table. I then thanked Rachael and Curtis for the anime box set Bree had given me earlier. Afterward, I gave them the keychains I got. They both liked the presents, but it was awkward sitting with them because they wouldn’t even look at each other.

What did they talk about that made them grow further apart? At that point, were things still salvageable between the two of them?

As another set of students went up on stage to perform an intermission number, a lot of us were starting to get up from our tables to put away the paper plates and cups we used. I had thrown away my plate and began refilling my cup with soda when a guy dressed as Santa Claus entered the room. I didn’t know that would be part of the program, especially for one organized for senior high school students, but it was endearing to see a bunch of teenagers (and even some of my teachers) act like children as they approached the fake-bearded man. They took selfies with him and joked about wanting expensive gifts for Christmas, but fake Santa would just laugh and be on his way.

I stopped paying attention for a while, minding my own business at the snack bar until I heard laughter behind me.

“Ho, ho, ho!”

“Oh hey, Santa,” I said absentmindedly.

“Quinn, it’s me,” fake Santa whispered.

I blinked. I wasn’t sure if I heard that correctly.

“Julio?” I asked.

Fake Santa pulled down his beard, revealing Julio’s face.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered as my eyes grew wide. “And where did you get the suit?”

“Don’t mind the suit,” he said, putting his beard back on. “I need to talk to you. Meet me at the parking lot?”

I was anxious. Whenever Julio barged into St. John’s saying he needed to talk, it most probably meant that things weren’t going well.

I looked at his face, and his expression said it all.

“Sure,” I told him.

Julio nodded firmly. “See ya,” he said, sprinting out of the gym.

I stalled a few moments before following him out the door. I then heard someone get onstage, saying that the class with the best musical performance would soon be announced. However, the sounds of the gymnasium were already out of earshot before the winner could be declared.

The walk to the parking lot felt long. My feet did all the work as my mind drifted, fearful of the conversation I was about to have.

Once I was there, I found Julio in the driver’s seat with his door wide open. He had shed off his Santa suit, leaving him in a shirt with three-fourth sleeves and dark denim pants.

“Get in,” he said.

I climbed into the passenger’s seat as Julio closed his door.

“I’ve got some bad news,” Julio began. “Very bad news…”

I swallowed. I should have expected he would say something like that, but it felt worse hearing it.

“What is it?” I asked.

A thick atmosphere hung in the air as Julio looked at me with his deep, dark eyes.

“It’s Cassandra,” he whispered. “She’s stolen something. I still can’t believe it, but if the reports are true…”

“Wait, what did Cassandra steal?” I implored.

“Information,” Julio said. He inhaled deeply, gripping the steering wheel like his life depended on it. “About the Author…”