The Metropolis Series #3: Quinn and Cassandra

THE SUN BEGAN TO SET over the Metropolis. The sky had turned orange, and it wrapped our surroundings in a halo. I squinted my eyes, and everything seemed to glow.

In the haze, I noticed that only a few people remained on the grounds of St. John’s. One by one, the members of Deus Ex Machina (and Harumi) went home for the holidays until it was just me and Philip left on campus. I had a feeling that he stayed late on purpose.

The conversation we shared was enough to prove it.

“Hey, Quinn,” he began. “May I ask you something?”

“I guess this is about the Metropolis, isn’t it?” I said in a low voice.

Philip shook his head. “No. About Curtis’ party. You were there, weren’t you? With Rachael?”

A knot twisted in my stomach. I wondered what I should say.

What if he asked about the party crashers?

At first, I decided to feign ignorance. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just… I get it,” he proceeded to say. “At first, I found it strange that all those blood stains and fingerprints didn’t lead anywhere, but I think that’s because the crashers were Forgotten Ones. They didn’t exist. And if I happened to have been inside that house, I would have covered up the truth, too. The whole school—hell, the whole city, rather—wouldn’t be able to handle it as well as we do.”

At his words, I simply nodded. I still didn’t know how to respond, so in the end, I said, “Hey, Philip, it’s been a long day. Let’s… talk about this some other time.”

“Yeah, okay,” he replied. “But I’ll admit this now. Remember when we both joined the art club? I actually followed you there.”

I furrowed my brows. “Really. Why?”

“Well, I just had a feeling you knew something—not just about the party, but about the Metropolis. To tell you the truth, I thought it was too easy for you to leave the party early. I kinda saw myself in you. I would make up all sorts of excuses with Deus Ex Machina whenever I needed to report to work.”

I hummed. “Ahh, so it was that obvious, huh?”

“Yeah. But don’t worry about it. You were only doing what was necessary. There’s no way the others will understand what’s truly going on. So, if you still wanna talk, you can call me anytime over the holidays, okay?”

“Okay.”

Philip pulled out an old receipt from his pocket and scribbled down his number. I then put the piece of paper in my bag.

“Oh, by the way,” I said. “I got you this. Merry Christmas!”

I handed him an instrument keychain similar to the ones I gave the rest of Deus Ex Machina.

Philip dangled the keychain in front of him. “Wow, is this a guitar? Nice! Thanks, Quinn. Oh, did Bree give you the gift we all got you?”

I laughed a little. “Yeah. I now have something to rewatch over the holidays. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

At that, my phone rang. I picked it up to find Mom’s caller ID on the screen. I excused myself and answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Quintana,” Mom’s voice said. “We’re in the parking lot by the front gate.”

“Okay. Will be there. See ya.”

“See you!”

Then, the call ended.

“Well, I’ll see you, Philip,” I said. “My parents are here.” I emerged from the table and grabbed my bags.

“Here, let me help you,” he offered.

I was about to decline, but he carried one of my bags, anyway. It felt rude to stop him, so we walked side by side to the parking lot where my dad was waiting for me in his favorite blue polo shirt. (I swear, he wore that thing everywhere.) He pulled me into a hug when he saw me and greeted me with a Merry Christmas.

Then, he noticed the hair.

“Wow,” he said. “I like your hair. When did you have it cut?”

“Just last month,” I said.

“Looks good. But then my hair’s longer than yours now.”

He reached for his small ponytail and pulled it forward. I laughed. He then took the bag I was carrying and turned toward Philip.

“Ah, and you must be a friend of Quinn?” Dad asked him.

“This is Philip,” I said. “Philip, my dad.”

“Hello, sir,” Philip greeted.

“Thank you for helping my daughter out,” Dad said. He got the bag Philip was carrying, as well.

“Dad, let me help you,” I told him.

“It’s okay. I got this.”

I rolled my eyes playfully.

“You going home, too?” Dad asked Philip. “It’s late.”

“Ah, no worries,” Philip replied. “My mom’s apartment isn’t far from here. I’ll be heading out soon, too.”

“Where is it? Maybe we can drop you off.”

“Thank you, sir. But my mom said she’d pick me up after work. It won’t be long ’till she gets here.”

Dad nodded. “Hmm, are you an international student? I hear St. John’s has a lot nowadays.”

“Sort of, but not really,” Philip replied. “I’m half Spanish. But I grew up here in the Metropolis.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re so tall. You play basketball?”

“Guitar.”

“I see.”

Goodness, whenever Antonio Vasquez started small talk, there was no stopping him.

“Anyway,” Dad said. “Nice meeting you, Philip. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Philip greeted. “See ya, Quinn.”

“See ya,” I waved.

Dad and I began to walk toward the parking lot as Philip returned to the school grounds.

“He’s not your boyfriend, is he?” Dad asked in a low voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dad,” I said. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

We then approached the car where Mom was waiting. Dad put my bags in the trunk as I climbed into the back seat.

“Merry Christmas, Quintana!” Mom greeted.

“Hi, Mom,” I said. “Merry Christmas!”

I leaned forward to kiss her. She wore perfume, but not the overwhelming kind. She knew I hated those.

“How has school been?” she then asked.

I slumped, letting out a sigh, but I quickly masked it with a faint laugh. “It’s… a lot different than all the other schools I’ve been to,” I decided to say.

“I bet you have a lot of stories for us,” Dad said, driving out of St. John’s parking lot.

“Oh, of course, I do,” I replied. But I couldn’t say everything, I thought. Gee, what would happen if I told my parents about the Metropolis? You know, on second thought, I didn’t want to think about it.

“How’s your roommate?” Mom asked. “Harumi, was it? I hope you two got along just fine.”

I pulled out my phone and earphones. “Yeah, Mom, she’s nice. We share lots of snacks in the dorm.”

Mom laughed. “Ah, the most broken rule of St. John’s.”

“You brought food into the dorms, too?”

“Many, many times. My roommate and I once brought in two entire boxes of pizza to our dorm. We had to put them in plastic containers so we wouldn’t get caught.”

“I bet it was hard to mask the smell,” Dad added.

“Oh, it was. Our books smelled like cheese for two days!”

We drove down the commercial areas of the Metropolis, where small stores and huge shopping centers lined the streets. The traffic was heavier than it was earlier in the afternoon as many hurried along to complete their Christmas shopping lists. I appreciated the Christmas season for the lights and cool December air, but getting around during the holidays could be difficult. People went to more places and spent more money than they should, which I suppose made big corporations very jolly indeed.

After about forty-five minutes on the road, we stopped by a small restaurant. It felt surreal having dinner with my parents for the first time in months. We ordered food that had fancy names I couldn’t remember, but it was just roast chicken, vegetables, and iced tea.

As we enjoyed our meal, I gave my parents the rundown of the past few months I’d spent at St. John’s—well, only the normal parts. I told them about the classes I took, the weekends with Harumi doing homework and streaming web shows, and finally about Deus Ex Machina and the drama that ensued during band practices. (I mostly told them about Bree and Rachael’s arguments. I left out the parts about my crush on Curtis.) I showed them photos and video recordings on my phone as I told them about the places we went to for their gigs. My parents couldn’t help but feel sentimental whenever I mentioned a landmark in the Metropolis. They would ask me if a certain building was still there, or if a particular iconic shop was still open. It made me marvel at how places changed over time.

“It’s a shame you didn’t see the Old Church,” Dad said. “That was where I married your mom.”

Mom looked up from her plate. “Dear, I don’t think Quintana would reach that place. It’s too far from St. John’s.”

“Oh. You’re right.”

“Where is it?” I asked.

“On the outskirts of town,” Mom replied. “It used to be a beautiful place with night markets and lots of places to eat.”

“I used to take your mom there on dates all the time,” Dad said.

Mom laughed. “That’s right.” Then right after, her smile faded.

“But that place has deteriorated over the years. It is now a place of gangs and crime and rundown bars. It’s a shame, really, but there’s a good reason why we stay away.”

Slowly, I nodded. It was pretty clear that Mom was talking about the place where The MacGuffin was, as she had told me to avoid that area before leaving for St. John’s. I sighed. The MacGuffin made me think about Julio.

And thinking about Julio made me sad.

I shook my head and finished my food. It was delicious. I didn’t want to ruin it.

We had about two hours on the road before we reached home. I believe I had told everything I wanted to tell my parents about St. John’s, so I was silent for the rest of the trip. I leaned against the car window and plugged in my earphones, hoping to divert my thoughts from anything unpleasant. I couldn’t tell if it worked; it had been hours since I left the Archives, but I still felt awful. I wished I could withdraw the question I had asked Mr. Simon. I could rewind time and do just that, but that wouldn’t erase what I already knew.

Cassandra wanted to replace me in this world, and she was doing everything in her power to do so.

Little did I notice that I had fallen asleep while shuffling through the songs on my playlist. When I opened my eyes, I realized that the car had stopped, and Mom was lightly tapping my shoulder.

“Quintana,” she cooed. “Quintana, we’re home.”

I almost didn’t hear her with the pop song blaring in my ears.

“And hay nako, you slept with your earphones on again.”

Okay, that I heard.

I turned off the music, got up, and rubbed my eyes. Dad unloaded my bags from the trunk as Mom unlocked the front door.

I couldn’t believe it. I was back home.

My stay at St. John’s was the longest I had ever been away from the house, so being back surged me with all sorts of emotions. As I got out of the car, I took the time to appreciate the little things that made the place home: from the cracks on the garage’s wall to the brick accents on our rusty iron fence. Vines covered the pergola by the front door where woven chairs provided a place outdoors to enjoy the cool evening air. A string of lights hung from the pergola, a piece of decor we liked to keep all year round, but since it was Christmas, it went nicely with the parols my parents put up for the season. I believe they’d had it there as early as September.

I then spotted Oliver, my big golden dog, running toward me from the garden. I crouched down and spread my arms, welcoming him in a playful hug.

“Oliver, hey,” I said, stroking his fur. He wagged his tail as he placed his paws on my shoulders. “I missed you, boy. How have you been? I’ll take you on a walk tomorrow. I promise.”

“Hey, Quinn,” Dad called. “May you open the door for me?”

He was by the front door with my bags in hand. He quickly kicked off his shoes as Mom turned on the lights in the living room.

“Later, boy,” I told Oliver. I let go of him as I climbed the steps toward the screen door. Oliver trailed behind me as I grabbed the handle. The door squeaked when I opened it.

“Dad, let me help you,” I offered.

Dad only smiled at me. “I can handle it.”

Then, with a huff, he placed my bags on the living room floor.

I took off my shoes and put on my house slippers, which weren’t dusty at all. I suppose my parents had kept them and only put them out before picking me up at St. John’s. Then, I stepped inside, Oliver rubbing against my legs as he attempted to get past me.

“No, Oliver,” I scolded. “Sit…”

Oliver whimpered. To keep the house clean, we often kept him in the garage. Sometimes, we would let him in, but he was only allowed in the dining space where a food bowl was waiting for him.

“We’ll play tomorrow,” I promised, patting his head. “Good night.”

I blew him a kiss and closed the screen door.

Casa Vasquez was a small single story house in a modest residential area right outside the Metropolis. The living room, dining table, and kitchen were all next to each other in one long room. Dad’s keyboard piano squeezed itself between our couch and front window while Mom’s scented candles sat on the coffee table. There was a bathroom on the left side of the dining space, and on the right was a curtained archway leading to the bedrooms. What was new was the Christmas tree in the corner and the lights on the wall above the sofa.

“Pretty,” I mused.

“You like it?” Mom asked. “I’m still waiting for the ornaments I ordered to arrive.”

“Really? But it looks finished.”

The tree’s simplicity was charming. Warm yellow lights and bright red ribbons adorned its leaves. It even has a star on top, but if I knew Mom, it wasn’t enough. She would tell me about how she had this huge Christmas tree growing up. Now, as an adult, she’d try to match it, slowly adding to our tree every year.

“That way, you won’t miss out on decorating this year,” Mom said. “We saved the finishing touches just for you.”

I nodded. Mom could have spared the trouble of buying more ornaments, but I appreciated her effort. She never said it out loud, but I think she loved Christmas more than I did.

“By the way,” I said, looking around. “Where’s Ate Gianna?”

“It’s her day off,” Dad replied. “She’ll be back tomorrow.”

I nodded. Ate Gianna was our household helper. My parents were often busy with work, so she’d do most of the cooking, cleaning, and laundry. Nevertheless, she became part of the family. She liked to have afternoon variety shows in the background while she worked. That was probably how I learned a lot of conversational Tagalog.

Dad and I then placed my bags in my bedroom. Mom then brought in some fresh sheets and pillowcases and dressed my bed with them. I had been so used to the dorms that it took a while for my brain to register that I was back in my bedroom. I had butterflies on the wall near my bed, which I had put up when I was a young child. Unread books cluttered my nightstand, giving my bedside lamp barely any space. But what truly made the room mine was the PC Dad and I built last year. If I had the energy, I would have booted it up and continued playing my save files.

But I didn’t have the energy. And it was getting late.

I went to the bathroom, washed my face, and brushed my teeth. I then walked over to my parents’ bedroom and said goodnight before returning to my room to change into clean clothes. Then, I turned off the light.

I was alone.

As I crawled into my bed, I congratulated myself for holding it in. My friends didn’t suspect a thing, and neither did my parents. The silence of the night amplified my thoughts, and the events of the day flashed before me. The sounds got louder and the visions got clearer, and at the time, the only weapon I thought of grabbing was another diversion.

I turned on my bedside lamp, reached for my bag, and pulled out my phone. Maybe I could find something fun before going to bed. Instead, a small item dropped to the floor, and when I bent down to pick it up, I found that it was the paper airplane keychain I wanted to give Julio.

I laced its chain around my fingers, letting the airplane dangle over my head. I lay down on my bed in silence, watching the plane soar above me. I kept playing that moment in Julio’s car in my head, imagining all the better things I could have said. I was still mad at him for lying, but I knew I couldn’t be for so long.

But why was that? What did he have that made me feel so restless? So uneasy?

I put my phone on the foot of my bed and turned off my lamp. I curled to my side, the paper airplane still in my hand.