When Miss Owen, my dance teacher, plunged a spear through my heart by seducing my uncle and running away with him, I turned on her in an instant. When I found out about dad's cheating, he became invisible to me.
So when my eyes witnessed Tiffany's betrayal first hand, I instinctively believed I was going to hate her. So I transferred the same thoughts I had towards Miss Owen and my dad to her:
"You disgust me."
"Every one of our memories together make my skin crawl."
I didn't wait for hatred to fill me, I just supposed it was already in me. But it's not.
Now that she's gone, I'm left wondering if this is really what I want. Her absence makes me realize that it's actually taking some time for my heart to completely turn away from her.
It's been a month since Tiffany disappeared. A month of chaos and worry.
After Sam informed us of the situation last month, Quincey and I rushed to her house. Louise, Tiffany's mum, cried in my arms for hours.
"Mon bébé, mon bébé (my baby)," she hiccuped as she cried. "This is not happening... This can't be real."
Quincey was panicked asking multiple questions no one had answers for. Later on, informed by Lady and Cindy about the situation, Orson barged into the house like a crazy person and pressed us for news about Tiffany. Which, come to think of it, is kind of weird. I mean, I know he's a nice guy and all, but how long had he known her that he got all worked up? One kiss and his mind is blown away? Tsk, guys are so simple.
Anyway, the police came by and looked into it. We knew it would be difficult to find her because she had withdrawn all her money from her bank account, meaning she had no intention of coming back anytime soon. She purposely ran away.
It didn't make sense to anybody. Tiffany is so responsible, it's very unlike her to cause any trouble whatsoever. Why would she decide to rebel all of a sudden?
She had saved up quite a lot from a few part-time jobs and generous allowances since Louise trusted her with money as she's not an extravagant spender like me. So she could last on what she had for a while.
I didn't say much through out, as I knew it had nothing to do with rebellion. I knew exactly why she fled. Knowing Tiffany, she was probably lost in thought, wandered off somewhere and simply didn't try to find her way back. I had to repeat to myself at least a thousand times that it's not my fault. Even if I still don't believe it, I'm going to pretend that I do. It's not my fault. She's the one to blame.
For a whole month we had no news. No way to know where she was, what she was doing, if she was still alive.
But a few days ago, she sent a picture of herself to her mum, with a simple caption: "Don't worry, I'm fine."
Louise broke down in tears again, crying as much as she did a month ago. But this time out of relief. Everybody had been so scared that something may have happened to her. Even if she's not here, knowing at the very least that Tiffany is fine reassured her mum and the others.
"To cut the story short, because of that distraction, no one paid attention in class anymore. Plus it turned out that nobody did the work. So Mr Riley got fed up and everyone got a punishment."
Quincey and I are walking down the road that leads to Lorenzo's restaurant. We are supposed to meet up with Lady, Cindy, Kenneth and Orson. It's kind of a celebratory get together after the good news.
"I just don't get how you managed to escape," Quincey says. "Did you know he was going to check if the homework was done?"
"Nope," I giggle.
"Yet you were lucky enough to be the only one in check?"
"Yes!" I blurt out proud of myself. "That's right. I was the only one who shined yesterday."
"Tch, it's just a coincidence."
"No no. I always do my work in Mr Riley's class."
"Oh so you're a math addict?"
"Nope. I just like him, he's a great teacher. His classes are always fun and chill."
We arrive in front of the restaurant, but just as he is about to open the door his phone rings. When he brings it out I catch a glimpse of the name of the caller: Alexander.
Again? Why does he keep calling?
It's the third time in the last 30 minutes. It reminds me of what happened a couple of months ago in the canteen when Tiffany took his phone checking to see if Quincey received her texts. I remember her saying something about him not calling someone back, could it be this Alexander?
Quincey as usual discards the call and puts his phone back in his pocket, then concentrates on me again.
"Let me get this straight," he removes a strand of hair the wind blew over my eyes. "What you're saying is that your behavior and level of seriousness depends on your affection for the teacher?"
"That is correct."
"I don't think that's how it's supposed to work."
"I don't care," I playfully sing. "If they want me to pay attention to them, they should make efforts to keep the class interesting."
"That's not how a student-teacher relationship works."
"It should be that way. In fact, there should be a law against classes that bore you almost to death."
"You're right on that one," he chuckles as he opens the door of the restaurant for me. "Signorina."
"Why thank you Signore," I reply as I enter.
"Principessa! (Princess)" Lorenzo rushes to us, then greets me with a kiss on my hand. "Fusto," he shakes Quincey's hand. "Good to see the both of you."
"It's always a pleasure to see you Lorenzo," I smile to him.
"Really?" He pretends to be shy.
"Of course. You know I'm always happy to see you."
"He's a married man," Quincey whispers to me.
"Shut up," I elbow him and he lets out a stifled laugh.
"Come on in, make yourselves at home as usual," Lorenzo guides us to a sofa. "Funny that you came together. Did you meet up in the bus?"
"No," Quincey answers. "I went to pick her up."
"Oh you... Ah... I see. OK."
"Do you want something to drink?" Quincey asks me ignoring or oblivious to Lorenzo's slight state of confusion.
I tell him what I want and he sets out to get it. I feel Lorenzo staring at me but I don't want to look at him. So Quincey and I have been close recently, what's the big deal? Why is it so weird for people? It's not like we do anything outrageous. We've just not been fighting the way we used to.
"What?" I finally turn to Lorenzo frustrated.
"Nothing," he looks away then calls out to one of his servers.
It was very faint and quick but I'm sure I noticed the shadow of a smile on Lorenzo's face. I don't know how to interpret it. Once he leaves, I slump into the couch.
'Quincey & Shannon' makes no sense to anybody. I can't blame them, a couple of months ago, I wasn't close to imagining anything like that. Even now, the idea seems a little far-fetched.
He has been so focused on Tiffany lately, always checking with the police if they have anything new. It's not that he doesn't pay any attention to me. It's just that it's not the same as the attention he gave me a month ago in the kitchen. Not that I'm expecting a hug everyday... I mean... Well... It would be nice-
"Here you go," Quincey almost makes me jolt. He sits on the arm of the sofa and opens the can of soda he brought for me. "Not too cold, not too warm."
"Thanks," I answer as I sit up to take the soda.
"Fusto," Lorenzo calls Quincey. "Could you give Alessandro a hand in the reserve please? It'll take a few seconds."
"Yeah," he nods then turns to me. "I'll be right back," he gives me a straw before he leaves.
As I look at him go, I compare his demeanor now to what it was on that dreadful day. Since then it's been as if we were mourning a dead person. Everything has been rather dull.
However, now that we know Tiffany is perfectly fine, now that we've heard some news from her, his mood is better. His face is no longer wrinkled with worry.
"I'm so so sorry!" A guy exclaims as soon as he stumbles in and sees Lorenzo.
"Idiota," Lorenzo groans at him. "Why did you even bother to come?"
The guy is out of breath like he just ran a marathon.
"I'm sorry I know I'm late-"
"Late? Ha!" Lorenzo seems quite angry. "This is not late. This is you taking me for a fool."
"I'm sorr-"
"Basta! (Enough)I don't want to hear it. You're fired, get out."
"Sir please-"
Without waiting for him to finish, Lorenzo turns on his heels and leaves. The guy looks around desperately as if there is anyone in the room that can help him. Our eyes meet and I immediately look away to take sips of my soda.
"Excuse me," he calls out.
I don't know who he is talking to, but I hope it's not me. A tap on my shoulder makes me turn around, and sure enough he was actually talking to me.
"Can you help me please?" He comes to my front.
"Who? Me?" I furrow my brows confused.
"If you could just put in one or two words for me," he leans forward clasping both of his hands together, "Lorenzo may give me another chance."
"Why would I?"
"Huh?"
"This has nothing to do with me."
He stands up straight disconcerted by my answer. I don't know who he took me for, but clearly that's not the answer he was expecting.
"It's just...," he tries to explain. "Every one knows Tiffany and you are special to him. He'd do it if you ask him."
"I don't want to. You were late and clearly it's not the first time. You should have been more responsible."
"I know, I know. But please-"
"What's going on?" Quincey appears from behind him, chewing on a snack Alessandro must have given him as a reward.
"It's nothing," I reply as he sits next to me and shares his snack.
"Er...I'm asking if she can help me out with Lorenzo," the plaintiff makes his request again. "I came in late, so Lorenzo um... If she could put in a word for me then he wo-"
"Why would she?" Quincey interrupts him.
"Well, she'd be able to convince Lorenzo to-"
"Yes I get it, but your situation has nothing to do with her."
Exactly, I take another sip of my soda.
"I know that... It's just I... I really need this job," his voice shakes a bit.
After a little moment of silence during which the plaintiff keeps his head down, Quincey elbows me.
"What?"
He gestures with his head to the other side of the restaurant, where Lorenzo is.
"Seriously?" I grumble.
He nods, and takes my soda from me. After letting out a little sigh, I get up to accomplish my mission. Quincey gave in easier than I expected. I thought he was more hard-headed than me.
"Oh thank you," the guy grins making way for me to pass.
"Yeah, yeah," I brush off his gratitude with indifference.
I only take a few steps away from them before I hear Quincey talk to him.
"I know it's not easy for you," he says and I stop to discreetly listen. "Your brother is still in the hospital right?"
"You know about that?"
"Lorenzo told me a bit about you."
"Ah, yeah. He's still there. He was supposed to be out by now, but his recovery is taking longer."
"Hmm, I see," Quincey pauses for a moment before he continues. "Still you shouldn't let that be an excuse for you to be immature or careless thinking that people will tolerate it because of your situation. On the contrary, it should push you to be the best version of yourself. OK?"
The server nods as he sits on the arm of the sofa, saying something in a low voice I'm not able to hear.
"It's going to get better," Quincey comforts him by tapping his back. "Hang in there."
I leave them and go on my way wondering why it felt like Quincey was talking to himself. Could it be that things are also 'tough' for him? What is his 'situation' if he does have one? I want to know more about him. I want to know what his struggles are. I want him to share more with me.
I know he lives with his mum, and I do know she works a lot. Mrs Mason always looks tired anytime I see her. I've seen her more and more recently because Quincey and I spend time together. She always compliments me on something every single time, hair, makeup, or outfit, she would find something to say.
I like her, she's such a sweetheart, it makes me wonder where her husband is. Where Quincey's dad is. Is he dead? Or just not around? Is that part of Quincey's struggle? And what about Alexander. Who is he? Why doesn't Quincey call back?
I don't know and I don't dare to ask. I don't know if I can. What if he tells me it's none of my business?
I suppose it's the things he had to go through that made him become a responsible person. I know what Tiffany has been through, but I don't know about Quincey. Not that I've not been curious but I refused myself the right to be. Now that circumstances have changed, I wonder when it will be alright for me to ask.
Sometimes I feel like he's way too mature for his age. Which is another thing that differentiates us, and connects him more with Tiffany. I know I still have a long way to go before I become a full 'grown-up'. Tiffany on the other hand, except for her recent foolishness, matured pretty quickly just like Quincey.
"Principessa," Lorenzo smiles to me when he sees me approach him.
"Hey," I hold his arm and rest my head on it.
"Ah," he lets out a little laugh. "Che cosa? (What is it?) You want something eh?"
"Lorenzo."
"Sonio io (That's me)."
"Do you think I'm immature?"
"Uh? Why do you ask Principessa?"
Since Quincey is so mature it would be normal for him to be drawn to someone that is as adult-like as him. How do I become that?
"I'm just asking," I mumble.
"Did somebody say something to you?" Lorenzo holds me by the shoulders. "Who was it? When? Where are they now?"
"No, no, Lorenzo," I can't help but chortle. "Calm down. I'm really just asking."
"Ah, OK," he lets go of me once he's reassured that I wasn't bullied. "Well first of all I think the fact that you're asking the question is a sign of maturity on its own. Your personality is quite refreshing actually. To me you are perfect just the way you are Principessa," he strokes my arm. "I'm sure Fus- I mean everyone will agree on that. Don't change a thing."
"Wow, Lorenzo, you're such a charmer. How do you always know the right things to say?"
"Eh," he wiggles his brows. "How do you think I got my wife? Ha ha ha!"
Even though we end up laughing I know his words were sincere. It doesn't take long to convince Lorenzo to hire his ex-employee again. Actually, it seems that Lorenzo has some kind of affection for the guy in spite of the way he talks to him, and though he never calls him by his name. I mean isn't "idiota" a little too much?
Anyway Glen, that's his name, thanks me again when Lorenzo calls him back to work, and this time I somehow find him more pleasant and less annoying. Lorenzo throws an apron at him without giving him time to change.
"Back to work idiota, fai presto! (hurry up)"
He quickly goes in to put his bag away then immediately comes out to start taking the orders of the clients who just walked in.
I go back to join Quincey, feeling good about myself. Just as I am about to tap his shoulder, a thought crosses my mind and I decide to slide down to crouch behind the sofa. After barely a minute, I hear Quincey murmur.
"Where did she go?"
He's not able to sit still. As Glen passes by he notices me on the floor and questions me with the expression on his face. I gesture for him to keep quiet holding in a laugh.
"Glen," Quincey calls him when he notices him.
"Huh? Y-yes?"
"Have you seen Shannon?"
"Shannon? Ah... Shannon... Um... N... No. No I don't think I have no," he briskly walks away.
"Wait," Quincey stands up but Glen is already gone. "Hey..."
He was going to catch up to Glen, but he notices me all curled up behind the sofa.
"What are you doing?" Quincey chuckles shaking his head.
"Nothing," I offer him an innocent smile as he stretches his hand out to me and helps me up.
"What do you mean nothing?" He asks. "Were you playing a prank on me? Hmm?"
He tickles my tummy now very well aware of where all my weak spots are.
"Quincey no! No-ah!"
We wrestle a moment as I try to remove his hands, but of course he wins, and now his hands clasp mine. Even though the tickles have stopped I'm still laughing because his laugh makes me laugh. The people around us are probably thinking that we're drunk or high on something because of how much we're laughing. Right now I'm not worried about being immature, I'm just enjoying the fact that I'm hearing Quincey's laugh.
We eventually calm down but he doesn't let go of me immediately. Instead, he looks down at my fingers and touches my glossy pink nail polish seemingly amazed by it. He goes on to brush his thumb on the nail of my index finger, appreciating the feel of it. Then he turns the finger back and forth intrigued at how the lights reflects on it and makes it shine.
"It's pretty," he mumbles.
"Huh?" I prick up my ears. "What was that? A compliment from you? How rare."
I was expecting him to take it back but he didn't. I was expecting a classic Quincey comeback like: "It's not a compliment, I'm just stating a fact". But he is not doing any of that.
He goes back to his seat and I follow him.
"What were you actually doing down there?" He asks.
"I just wanted to check something," I stand in front of him as he looks up at me.
"To check what?"
"I wanted to see how long it would take for you to start looking for me."
"Oh?" My reply takes him a bit off guard, however it makes him smile. He leans forward to take my hand and gently pulls me to sit next to him. "What you're saying," his arm lays on the sofa behind my head, "is that you want to know if I notice your absence, right?"
Now it's my turn to be a little taken aback by the look in his eyes, his smile and the seductive tone I hear in his voice.