The Metropolis Series #2: Quinn Beyond Bounds
42. The Invitation

THE AFTERNOON LECTURE that day was a blur. I couldn’t care less about the Pythagorean theorem or verbal clauses; I wanted to know what that dream was all about. Cassandra wasn’t hostile. Creepy, sure, but at least she wasn’t attacking or threatening anyone. It appeared she was aware of the kind of power she had, saying that she had something more to her. However, my source of confusion came from that question she kept asking Julio:

Do you know who I am?

What could that mean?

Classes were dismissed early, but with numerous things in mind, it took me quite a few seconds to realize that everyone around me was packing up their things, leaving the classroom one by one as the teacher erased the blackboard.

“Don’t forget your homework for next week, class,” the teacher declared.

“Homework?” I muttered to nobody in particular. “What homework?”

I felt someone lean against my desk. Curtis was peering overhead, his necktie grazing my hair.

“We have to write a two-page essay on the Treaty of Paris,” he said. “Teach said we could do it by pairs. Wanna be partners?”

“Oh…” I mused. “Wait—which Treaty of Paris?”

I suppose I was too distracted by the fact that Curtis knew what the homework was better than I did; I didn’t realize that I had left my textbook open on my desk, and in its margins, I had scribbled down notes about my dream—

All for Curtis to see.

His curious eyes scanned the writings in my book. “Who’s Cassandra Diaz?”

And in my mind, I scolded myself for being so careless, but despite feeling close to blowing a fuse, I acted calmly; I didn’t want a sudden explicit reaction to throw him off.

“No one,” I said. I closed my textbook, got up, and started packing my things. “If you were paying attention to our literature classes, then you would know that she was a tragic antagonist who everybody feared. She acted so horrendously because she was an outcast, and she blamed the world for it. Which is so—” I shoved the textbook in my bag, giving it a few violent shakes so it would fit. “—unfair to those around her…”

I placed the book in my backpack, zipping it shut and out of sight. Curtis wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips at my reply, looking as if he was trying to make sense of the things I’d just said. That was when I realized that I was indirectly ranting to Curtis about Cassandra, and once the fumes of my anger lifted, it had occurred to me that I had just made a grave mistake. Should I turn back to a few seconds? I was sure to have a slight grasp on my powers by now. But then, I remembered what Takahiro said about Metropolitans interacting with Outsiders.

They’ll forget about them in a matter of minutes…

If he were right, with my luck, Curtis would never have to utter Cassandra’s name again. So far, things were going great. Without asking any questions, Curtis immediately changed the topic.

“Anyway,” he said. “Remember that party I mentioned a while back?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, my folks won’t be home this weekend, so they’re asking me to watch the house. So what better time to have a party?”

When I thought of parties, what would immediately come to mind was chaos, but the good kind. It was the chaos conducted by the stomping of everyone’s feet as they danced to a certain rhythm. Meanwhile, somewhere in the melody was laughter. Conversations spread from person to person as their woes escaped into the atmosphere, never to be seen again.

“You’re coming, right?” Curtis asked as we walked out of the classroom.

“Of course,” I said. “Wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun.”

“Great. I’ve already invited a few people from class. Rachael and Phil are spreading the word in Class 5. Oh, and don’t forget to bring a swimsuit; it’s a pool party, after all.”

“A pool party?”

That meant everyone going there was going to be showing off skin—I was going to be showing off skin. Call me conservative, sure, but as someone who was uncomfortable in a summer dress, I wasn’t so excited about wearing a swimsuit.

“Yeah,” Curtis beamed. “It’s gonna be fun.”

Maybe it was a good time to dye my hair pink as Ms. Louise had suggested, or perhaps to go shopping for a sun hat. Whatever it was, I needed to cover myself up; the previous night’s dream felt like a warning that Cassandra’s about to make a reappearance. I was going to have fun at Curtis’ party, but I needed to stay alert as well.

Throughout the remainder of the week, I would hear conversations among Deus Ex Machina planning for the party. They would be performing for that afternoon, and they were finalizing the song list. Julio’s song Falling had made it to the selection, and despite his warnings about the band performing the song, I didn’t intervene.

It was just a song. Nobody even knew that he’d written it.

Saturday came faster than I thought it would. Before I knew it, I was packing my things for the party. I pulled out a tote bag from the closet and loaded in a towel, some toiletries, and an extra pair of clothes. I found my swimwear, too (which I thought I’d never use), a blue, one-piece bathing suit that was cut too low down the back. (Oh God, I remembered that my mom picked this out for me in a department store. Why did it have to be this one?) Once it was on, I covered it up with a t-shirt and shorts. I could gripe about my swimsuit later. I finished my look off by tying my hair into a bun, donning a summer hat, and slipping on some flip-flops.

I found the others on the school grounds, dressed for the summer in the middle of November. They were resting by the shade; Philip and Rachael were having a jam session while Bree scrolled through her phone. Despite looking the most occupied, she was the first to notice me.

“Hey, Vasquez,” she called. “Glad you can make it.”

“Hey,” I waved back.

She scooted over to the side, making space on the bench beside her. “C’mon. Sit down. We’re just waiting for Stevenson.”

And so I sat right in between Bree and Rachael. It was one of those awkward moments wherein each person just minded their own business, where conversations were meant to be launched into the air only to crash on the concrete. Every now and then, the band members would talk about the music they would be playing for the night, and they would discuss things about scales and octaves that I couldn’t really make out. I could only appreciate how peaceful my surroundings were, how the cool afternoon breeze gently caressed my face. For a while, I felt like I could just pull down my sun hat and nap under the shade. The faint sound of Philip’s guitar would fade as I slipped out of the realm of consciousness, but before I could do so, Bree’s boisterous laughter broke the silence.

“Hey, Vasquez,” she said, shoving her phone’s screen on my face. “This is hilarious; check this out.”

Indeed, the cat in the video was funny, but something else on Bree’s feed caught my attention. There was a blurry photo of a busy street at night right under the video, filled with an even blurrier figure that looked vaguely human. I noticed a caption that linked to a news article.

BREAKING: Suspicious figure caught lurking around the uptown area, reportedly violent

I pointed to the post. “What’s that about?”

“What?” asked Bree.

“The article.”

“Ah, this.” Bree scrolled down so that the photo was right in the center of her screen. “It was everywhere at lunch, and the articles were always inconsistent. Some say that the suspicious figure is just some petty pickpocket; some would spread fear and say that it’s armed. Who knows really? But the fact that they’re happening so close by is just… damn. It’s a scary world, isn’t it?”

It was hard to take Bree seriously. Even with those words, she sounded too carefree and casual, like she was assured that she and danger would never cross paths.

Then, Curtis approached us. He wore a white and blue striped tank top and cargo pants—not that it mattered, anyway. He had his phone in one hand, and strangely, no earphones were in sight.

“Hey, guys,” he waved.

“About time,” Rachael said.

“Let’s get going. My driver’s waiting outside.”