The Metropolis Series #3: Quinn and Cassandra

AT LUNCH THE NEXT DAY, I sat on the school rooftop. Alone. I needed the day to think.

From up there, I saw the Metropolis’ skyline looming over the horizon. One time, I stood there with my roommate, Harumi. She had told me what the city really was: the abandoned work of an Author. Its citizens, Metropolitans, were the many characters she had made. Those creations, however, couldn’t know that the world they were in wasn’t real or find things that were out of the ordinary.

Cassandra was one of them. For starters, she wasn’t supposed to exist. It was believed that I had replaced her role in the Metropolis as the Author was too indecisive about her work. Cassandra was enraged by that, so she trashed mansions and attacked people.

She fought against the Author’s will. She wanted her existence.

Curtis had learned about her through my school notes one time after class. We talked about her further when I told him that Mackenzie, one of the party crashers, was after her, and it was the manhunt that led us to disastrous events. Despite my warnings, Curtis insisted on knowing more, and he turned into a monster after being introduced to a girl who couldn’t exist in the Metropolis.

Indeed, the events at Curtis’ place had everyone at St. John’s both scared out of their minds and scratching their heads. The principal had even gotten himself involved; he began interviewing all the students who attended Curtis’ party. Each person he had spoken to could vividly recall everything that had happened—all except for one important detail: what the party crashers looked like.

Eventually, it was my turn to be interviewed. My name blasted through the intercoms just before lunch break was about to end.

“Will Ms. Quintana Vasquez report to the principal’s office?” the disembodied voice said. “I repeat, Ms. Quintana Vasquez, please report to the principal’s office. Thank you.”

The principal’s office was probably the most freezing room in all of St. John’s. I was standing in a small, cramped space with the air conditioning on full blast. Flamboyant curtains covered the window as framed certificates adorned the walls. There were all sorts of things in that room that would tell you that the principal was all business—except for the action figure on his desk.

I took a seat on one of the leather chairs, which was also freezing, by the way, but I couldn’t tell which was colder: the room itself, or the principal’s eyes staring down at me from his big ol’ office chair.

“Ms. Vasquez,” he began, his voice booming. “As one of the attendees of Mr. Stevenson’s party last Saturday, I’d like to ask you a few questions. As you may know, his parents personally approached the school to help them find the people who broke into their home—and probably caused Mr. Stevenson’s injuries. Now, I’ll make things easy for you. Can you tell me what the intruders looked like?”

I was afraid this day would come. I could be totally honest with the principal and meticulously describe what those party crashers looked like. But then, I’d be a total liar to Bree and Philip, to the entire student body. While the halls were abuzz with speculations, I remained silent. I didn’t want them to end up like Curtis; any information I offered could corrupt them.

“I know that what happened at Curtis’ party was terrible,” I began, “but I actually wasn’t there when those people broke in.”

“Oh really?” the principal mused.

For the sake of consistency, I decided to stick to the lie I first told Bree when the news of the party crashers broke out.

“I left the party early, sir,” I said. “I went home that weekend. Bree and Philip informed me about the incident when I got back.”

The principal simply nodded. “I see. Well, I believe you, Ms.Vasquez. You are an exceptional student. I just hoped you could have given us a different story. I don’t know how to tell the Stevensons that their case is reaching a dead end.”

I pursed my lips. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help out, sir. I feel bad about this too. Curtis is—he’s one of my friends here at St. John’s.”

My teeth started to chatter from the office’s air conditioning. My nails slowly turned purple, and my hands had grown stiff.

“Please give Curtis’ parents my regards,” I said as I attempted to get up from my seat.

“Hold on, Ms. Vasquez.” The principal held up his hand. “There’s something else we need to discuss.”

Begrudgingly, I sat back on the freezing leather chair as the principal went through a few documents. I adjusted the sleeves of my sweater so that they could cover my hands better, but it was of no use.

What else could the principal want to talk about?

“It’s about your extra-curricular activity,” he said. “Every student is required to participate in one major school organization in order to graduate. I believe you were briefly part of the school band, Deus Ex Machina, as an events manager. However, since the band’s activities are suspended, you have no choice but to find a new club to join.”

Oh. So that was what he wanted to talk about. I shouldn’t have been surprised; Bree brought this up with me when she had (forcefully) recruited me to be Deus Ex Machina’s manager.

“Ah, I see.” I stammered. “Will the other band members be joining me? Since they, too, currently have no club to participate in.”

“They can, but it won’t be necessary.” the principal replied. “Mr. Acosta and Ms. Leonard have already met their required extra-curricular requirements as they have been part of the school band for years. The latter even became student council president.”

I nodded, but I was saddened by the news. It took a while, but I was beginning to feel comfortable around Deus Ex Machina, even if it meant hanging around with Rachael. Bree would make sarcastic remarks whenever she got too bossy, and I got to admit, it was funny whenever she did so.

“Which club should I join, then?” I asked the principal.

“There are currently only two clubs with openings: the drama club and the art society,” he said. “Here’s some information on the two organizations to help you make your decision, but you have to start attending either one of them next week.”

He handed me a document with the two clubs’ descriptions, but I just skimmed through the text before folding it in my hands.

“That will be all, Ms. Vasquez,” the principal remarked. “You’d better get going to your next class.”

I finally left the freezing office with an unwanted invitation. With Curtis in the hospital, Rachael missing, and Cassandra still out in the open, how could I join a school club like everything was normal?

Besides, I wasn’t into drama. Nor was I into painting. I was into video games, but no high school would make a club about that.

I wanted to get away from St. John’s for the weekend. Things were getting weird over there. It was like the Metropolis’ scary side had decided to follow me to school.

Once Saturday morning rolled in, I had the urge to go out for breakfast. With that in mind, I decided to use my unsolicited cravings to test something out. I began by catching a bus right outside campus with no idea where it was heading. On its sign was a place I wasn’t familiar with, and I thought that if I no longer knew where I was, I could just hop off and go back in the opposite direction.

But I wished it wouldn’t get to that. If I were right, The MacGuffin shouldn’t be too far away.

In a matter of time, I was able to spot it right outside my window. It wasn’t hard to miss; it was a small, rundown building standing among shiny, new modern ones. The café was supposedly located all the way downtown, which was a long drive from St. John’s. However, Ms. Louise had said that whenever I needed comfort, I would find it.

And she was right. There it was.

I paid the conductor my fare and hopped off the bus, landing just below The MacGuffin’s squeaky signboard hanging by a rusty metal rod. The smell of brewing coffee and pastries greeted me as I entered the café, and as usual, I found Ms. Louise by the front counter. She regarded me with a warm smile.

“Hi, Quinn,” she said, polishing a piece of glassware. “Welcome back. Looking good with the haircut.”

I looked around The MacGuffin, and aside from the group of senior citizens bonding over coffee and fried eggs, it was relatively empty. I was relieved. Even with my new haircut, I was afraid that someone out there would still mistake me for my evil twin Cassandra. A part of me knew I had nothing to worry about, but it didn’t hurt to be vigilant.

“How’s school been?” Ms. Louise asked, making a cup of coffee.

“Pretty stressful,” I replied. I began to tell her about Curtis’ situation and how the student body wouldn’t stop talking about his party. Everyone at St. John’s was seeking answers as to what had really happened, and when the principal himself interviewed me about the incident, I forced myself to lie about what I knew.

And I think that was the most stressful part.

There was also the fact that I needed to join a club in order to graduate, but that wasn’t relevant at the moment.

When I finished, Ms. Louise simply nodded.

“You were right to lie, Quinn,” she said. “Those Metropolitans are too sensitive and fragile. If it makes you feel better, you’ve most likely prevented another corruption outbreak from happening.”

“Maybe I have,” I mused. “But I don’t feel so great about it.”

Ms. Louise put away the coffee she was making. “Nothing like a good breakfast to fix that. What would you like, Quinn? We actually have soups on the menu now. Would you like to try some?”

“No thank you. I’ll just get the…”

I wasn’t sure what to get, so I browsed the menu. I found the grilled cheese sandwich I had the first time I was there, but I realized that I wanted to have something different.

I pointed at an item on the menu. “I’ll have tap-si-log,” I said.

I hadn’t come across that dish for quite some time, so I said its name pretty awkwardly. Thankfully, Ms. Louise understood what I was trying to say and scribbled down my order on a notepad.

“One tapsilog coming right up,” she said. “How about drinks?”

“Hot chocolate would be great. Thank you.”

I took my place on a table that overlooked the entire café, and in its emptiness, I began to appreciate how cozy the interior looked.

The place smelled of coffee and home-cooked meals. Plants hung from the corners, gently cascading over the shop’s brick walls.

Meanwhile, the view outside the window was chaotic. First, I saw the familiar streets that made up the uptown Metropolitan area. Businessmen were on their phones, crossing paths with children in pressed uniforms. However, when I squinted my eyes, I caught glimpses of the downtown area where The MacGuffin was truly located. There was the old church, the street vendors, and beggars in tattered clothing.

While waiting for my order to arrive, someone else entered the café. At first, I didn’t recognize him for how… well, cool he looked. He wore a gray plaid jacket over a red shirt and had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It wasn’t just the clothes he wore, but the way he walked, too. He looked like he had everything figured out—at least those were the vibes I was getting from him. He talked to Ms. Louise for a while, and even the barista looked surprised by his calm and collective composure. Then, he glanced at where I was seated, and I got a good look at his face. I couldn’t believe I didn’t recognize him.

“Julio?” I said.

Once he noticed me, he waved at me. I waved back. He excused himself from Ms. Louise and approached my table.

“Didn’t think I’d see you around here,” he said. “How were you able to survive commuting to the outskirts of town?”

“I didn’t need to.” I shrugged. “I sorta just… found this place.”

“Right…” He sat on the chair across mine. “I forget that The MacGuffin is a magical traveling café sometimes.”

“Well, you live in a magical mansion that repairs itself.”

“True…”

Julio looked around the café for a while, then back at me.

“I suppose all that chatter at St. John’s about the party has been bothering you,” he said.

I raised a brow. “How did you know about that?”

“I’d been observing St. John’s since the party,” he explained.“I made sure we wouldn’t have any unnecessary cases of corruption. But look, as long as they don’t find out that the party crashers”—he shrugged—“don’t exist, we have nothing to worry about.”

At the party, that girl, Mackenzie, attacked me because she had thought I was Cassandra. Julio defended me, but that brought him into a fight with Mackenzie. Their battle reached Curtis’ living room, creating all that talk about the strange events at the party.

As Julio had said, he didn’t exist—in the Metropolis, at least. The city and all its splendor were created by the Author, and as she wrote, she discarded a few things in an attempt to flesh out her story.

Unfortunately, that included some of her characters.

Like Ms. Louise. Like Julio.

A Metropolitan could go about their lives normally even if they cross paths with a non-Metropolitan, but they could never find out who they were. A character scrapped by the Author no longer exists in the current storyline, so they were naturally supposed to dissolve from a Metropolitan’s memory.

That was why everyone was so confused about Curtis’ party. Yes, there was chaos, but who caused it? Why couldn’t they be found?

The answer was simple: The two party crashers didn’t exist in the Metropolis, and Cassandra had unfortunately murdered one of them.

“But Julio,” I said. “Can we really keep the students of St. John’s in the dark forever?”

Julio leaned back in his chair. “Probably not forever if the Author decides to write again. Then we wouldn’t have to deal with this problem anymore.”

“But the whole school is determined to know the truth: the students, the principal, even Curtis’ parents are getting involved.”

“Well, Mackenzie did attack their house. And Stevenson’s a spoiled—”

“What if they try too hard to find answers?” I pressed, gripping the edge of the table. “Is there a chance they could get corrupted?”

“They’ll only get corrupted when they do find the answers. And they won’t. They’ll never find me and figure out who I am.”

I wanted to contest his confidence, but at that moment, Ms. Louise arrived with my order and placed it on the table.

“An order of cured beef, garlic rice, fried egg, and hot chocolate.”

“Thanks, Ms. Louise,” I said.

She nodded and turned to Julio. “What about you, Julio?”

Julio smiled. “Just a double espresso. Thanks.”

Ms. Louise rolled her eyes. “Of course.” And she walked away.

As I was about to devour my breakfast, Julio gazed at my platter.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s tapsilog. ”

“Ah right. Sometimes I forget you’re Filipino. It’s just that when you talk, you have some sort of accent.”

I grew conscious. “Accent?”

“Did you grow up abroad?”

I sighed. After mainly speaking English for years, I tried my best to learn Tagalog. Despite my efforts, I still felt alienated by people who made comments about how I talked.

“No,” I said flatly.

Then, Julio’s espresso arrived, rendering us silent. I ate my breakfast as Julio finished his coffee in one big gulp.

“Hey,” I finally said. “Let’s do this again next weekend.”

Julio raised a brow. “Do what?”

“This,” I repeated. “Meet up at The MacGuffin. To be honest, this whole situation with Curtis’ party has been bothering me, and as you know, I can’t really talk to anyone about it.”

“So you need an outlet,” Julio guessed.

“Hope you don’t mind,” I replied.

“I’ll just think of it as a way to keep each other posted. Things were restless over on my end, as well. With what Cassandra did to Mackenzie and all. Everyone’s pretty shaken about it… It had been my job to console everyone. I need a breather.”

And the atmosphere just got ominous again. It was hard to forget how Cassandra had brought her knife to Mackenzie’s side. The memory burned even more vividly in my head now that Julio had mentioned it.

“So…” I tried to break the somber ambiance. “Saturday again? Just so that we can update each other on what’s happening?”

Julio seemed to think about it. Then, he smiled faintly afterward.

“Sounds like a plan,” he replied.