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Just as I’m about to comfort her, Quinn confirms her fears. “No, I think you’re right, Cynthia,” he says, storming over to Polly’s desk.
“Exactly. Hang on, what?” I amend when I hear his unexpected response.
But he ignores me as his intelligent eyes scan over a discarded newspaper, his fingers running down the page.
“What?” I raise an eyebrow, asking him to explain.
But all my questions are answered when Quinn shoves the newspaper under my nose, allowing me to see for myself.
“She wouldn’t?” I gasp, looking at him and shaking my head.
But as he nods, I know that she so would.
“I’m going to kill her.” I sigh, snatching the paper from his fist.
“What’s going on?” Cynthia asks, clearly confused by our exchange.
“Your daughter decided that going here,” I say, pointing at the ad, “would be a good idea.”
I hand her the newspaper so she can see for herself.
“No,” she says, her eyes wide as they scan down the page.
“Yes,” I retort, my jaw clenching.
“There is no way she would think going here, where there are thousands of people, thousands of witnesses, would be a good idea.”
But as Quinn and I stare at her, incredulous to her naivety, she knows we’re right.
“I really don’t think a lot of thought was put into her decision, Cynthia,” Quinn snaps, and I groan.
“Oh, Pollyanna.” Cynthia sighs, covering her face with her hands as she shakes her head.
I curse under my breath as I look at the ad circled in purple marker for the “End of Year Rave,” which is happening tonight in town, where thousands of people will be in attendance.
And no doubt my father, Phil, and half of Canada’s police force will also be there.
“A rave? Seriously? Do these things even exist anymore?” I ask, angrily tying up my boots. “How lame.”
Quinn nods as he reaches for his jacket. “I know, it is fucking lame, but I don’t think people go there for the music.”
Looking up at him mid-lace, I shake my head, disgusted.
So not only do I have to attempt to remain invisible to the police, who have no doubt memorized my face, I now have to look for my bratty sister among drug-enhanced delinquents.
And to add to the mile-high shit pile, I have to be on constant watch for Thomas and Phil.
Groaning, I finish tying my laces and stand up. “Let’s get this over with.”
But Quinn reaches for my arm, stopping my retreat. “Are you going to be okay?”
I know by okay, he means am I going to lose my shit by being around my past. “Honestly, I am so desensitized at the moment that nothing shocks me anymore,” I reply, tucking my hair underneath my baseball cap.
A black baseball hat and some tacky, fake tattoo sleeves, which I found in Polly’s room, are my only disguise for the evening.
We’re so screwed.
Quinn stills my fingers as I irritably stuff my thick, stubborn hair into the sides, but it keeps slipping out.
