Quinn Foley, Downtrodden Sporty Boy

It's hard to say with absolute certainty that yesterday was the best day ever? The now-official version of You led what was, by all accounts, a blessed life, and it stands to reason that more than a few of her childhood days must have ranked up there. There's a picture over the mantle of a tween you and your mom in the ballroom of the Beverly Hilton, grinning madly as you clutch the Golden Globes she'd just won. No way that wasn't a fun night. Still, the fresh memory of a purely lazy day of relaxing with Isabelle, capped off with a showing of The Roller Blade Seven and some truly excellent sex, is going to be a hard one to beat. Also, you've always been suspicious that Mom keeps getting nominated for Globes as some sort of running boob gag. Kinda gets stale after a while, you know?

The point is, you're headed to school on Monday coming off of one of the most relaxing and rejuvenating days you've ever had. After a little vacation like that, how could you face your looming challenges with anything besides boundless determination and brio?

Seriously, how. Because you don't feel those things. You're tense as fuck. Magical wars are the worst.

The fact that the Others were quiet all weekend, outside of Aisha's dalliance with Max, almost makes it worse. What the fuck are they up to? You're clear-eyed about the current state of the war; your group is in the stronger position. But really all you've done so far is hunker down inside the castle of your wards, wards that are frailer than you'd originally thought. And all the while the Others are out there in the darkness, plotting and planning and making more bullshit videos calling your mother a slut. You need to get this football issue solved fast so you can stop worrying about your defenses and begin setting up an offensive.

So on that note: Quinn. You're not entirely certain what to do to fix his situation. Part of you wants to just enchant the hell out of him, to temporarily turn him into some sort of sports demigod. You're absolutely certain Jenny is planning something like that for the offensive line, after all. But even with your dismal knowledge of the finer points of football, it didn't seem to you that Quinn's problems had much to do with physical ability. Is he like David, and just doesn't want to play? Somehow you doubt it. And you're only partially biased by the fact that Quinn's back up is a bird-boned sophomore; if that guy winds up leading the team? You'd definitely have to magic the shit out of him.

Anyways.

All this is to say that, whatever Quinn's issue is, you should talk to him about it first. And you're in luck, because it looks like your Anatomy teacher had a rough weekend. He's hidden himself in his office and left instructions to complete the Vertebrae section of the Anatomy Coloring Book. Jesus, the educational system is a failure and that's really working out for you right now. The rest of the class has split into clumps around the stations usually used for dissection lab, but there in the far corner you spot the slouched figure of a despondent-looking Quinn. Aww, poor guy. Let's go bother him.

"Hey, are we partners for coloring, too?" Quinn glances up, looking as if he's barely able to handle your chipper tone. "Because spoiler warning: I am not good at staying within the lines."

"Whatever."

That's not the response you expected. Better lay off the cute banter for the moment. You slip into the seat next to Quinn, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. "What's wrong? Are you upset about Friday?"

Quinn grumbles at that as he tries to sink even further down into his hoodie. "I never doubted it was going to be a disaster, Ash. Friday was absolutely exactly what I was expecting."

You offer him a sympathetic frown. "Right. Well, what now?"

"What do you mean, 'What now'? Are you saying I should quit, too?"

Whoa, he actually looks mad at you. "No, I'm not saying that. Did someone say that?"

"It's not like I can't play. I know I can. I'm good."

"I hear you, Quinn. So what's getting in the way?"

Quinn stares at you for a long moment, then deflates in a long sigh. "I don't know. I mean, that's not true. I do know. It's me. I'm getting in the way." He shakes his head ruefully. "I just...I don't know. Some days I look in the mirror, and I feel exactly right. You know? It's not even that I feel better, or more confident or whatever. I just feel right. I don't know how to explain it."

"No, I think I know what you mean. But you're saying other days, you don't feel like that?"

He nods almost imperceptibly. "Um, yeah. Some days I just...I don't know. Feel like I'm off somehow? I just feel super at odds with myself. When I'm stressed out, it's worse."

"Like when, say, a half dozen dudes are trying to pulverize you?"

That manages to pull something close to a smile out of Quinn. "Just for an example, yes."

You smile back at Quinn, nudging him with your shoulder again. "Is talking about it making you feel better, at least?"

Quinn starts to respond, but then his smile abruptly crumbles into a scowl. "Hey, while we're talking. What's Colin's fucking deal?"

That's really not the response you expected. It's all you can do to raise your eyebrows in surprise. "What? What about Colin?"

"I mean, I thought we got along but I guess I was wrong. I know he's your friend, but...he was really rude to me. I wasn't expecting that."

Yeaaah, something is definitely wrong here. "What happened? What did Colin do?"

Quinn frowns, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Well, we'd been going to the gym together lately, but after Friday night I wasn't super feeling it." He starts scrolling through his texts. "So I thought I'd ask...I mean, I thought I'd see if he wanted to catch a movie or something instead. If he didn't want to, that's fine, but this is what he said." He shows the phone to you, cold fury building in your chest before you've even gotten through half of the proffered text.

-lmao don be so cligny git off my dik B===D no homo rigt lulz-

You take a moment to steady yourself, and it's only sheer will stopping you from snatching up Quinn's phone and hurling it through the window. "Quinn. Don't you notice anything wrong with this?"

Quinn frowns, turning the phone back towards himself to take another look. "Besides how prickish it is? I guess the spelling is way worse than usual."

"Yeah. That's because Max confuses being mean for being clever. I'm sure he thinks that was an amazing Colin impression."

"What?"

You tap a finger against the phone's screen. "This was not sent by Colin. Max Butler swiped his phone this weekend."

Quinn balks at that. "Max Butler? What? Why?"

"So he could harass me; he knows I've got his number blocked so he used Colin's phone to trick me into meeting up with him."

"Seriously? That's messed up!"

"Apparently he found time to harass you, too." You sigh dramatically. "Honestly, it almost makes a girl not feel special."

Quinn glares at the message, clearly reading it in an entirely new light now. "Why would he pretend to be Colin and say all this? I barely even know Max."

"Unfortunately for me, I know Max really well. And it's absolutely because he's pissed that you and Colin are getting close. Max is the sort of dude who sees anyone who spends more than five seconds around him as his personal property."

Quinn takes all of that in, staring down at his phone for a long moment. Then he looks up, a far-off look in his eyes. "Huh. I think I have to beat up Max now."

Oh man. As much as you would love to see that, not the best idea. You don't think Aisha would go to bat for Max over a civilian, but who knows with that lunatic. "I get it, but don't. Some kid tripped Max in middle school and his mom got him expelled. The best way to undercut his bullshit is to just not let him get between you and Colin. Max thinks he's some kind of chess master or whatever; if you just don't sit down and play his game, he'll eventually knock his own board over and go pitch a fit somewhere. Trust me."

That seems to get through to Quinn, the boy nodding along to your advice. By the time you've finished he clearly agrees, but you don't miss how tired and small he looks. "Okay. It's just...he really got to me. The way you explained it, it sounds like it was just a throwaway prank to him, but it really hurt me."

You gently take hold of Quinn's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "I know. Max is really mean. But you know what? Being mean is easy, and it's boring, and it's all Max can be because he's basic as fuck. We all like you, we don't like him. Okay?

"Okay."

"Can I give you a hug?"

"...okay".

With that you snugly press Quinn against you, giving him an extra little squeeze when you hear him sniff. Poor guy's been through a lot. In this moment you don't even give a shit about the football team or the Others; Quinn is your goddamn friend and he's feeling hurt and not himself. You think the hug and declaration of support went a long way towards helping, but the delicate rune you sneakily drew onto his back should help carry some of the weight, too. He's feeling unmoored, like he's at odds with himself? This magic should help Quinn be more connected with his inner self. Quinn is fucking great; inner Quinn must be too, right? Goddamn Max, picking on your sweet boys. If he fucks up Quinn and Colin, you swear to...

Oh shit wait, you almost forgot again. You and Colin slept together. Does that mean he and Quinn are a no-go? You really need to talk to Colin. You feel like you need to talk to everyone. Would just sending out an email titled 'What's up RE: Everything?' and CCing everyone you've ever met work?

It's lucky that Quinn seemed to need an extra long hug, because he doesn't pull away as you frantically mull over your increasingly complex web of relationships. And when he does eventually pull back, he's looking significantly less troubled. He seems like he's about to thank you, but then you happen to glance at his hand. "Oh, Quinn! That looks so good!"

Quinn gives a start, flinching his hand back slightly. You cluck your tongue at him, though, and when you reach for his hand he doesn't pull it away. You carefully turn his hand in yours, inspecting his nail polish with appreciation. "When did you do this?"

"Um, last night. I was really in the weeds about coming to school, and I needed to distract myself, and I had the bottle, so...I was just going to do one. But it made me feel a bit better, so I guess I kept going. I must have forgotten to take it off."

Uh-huh, sure he did. You're not even going to ask why he had the bottle of nail polish ready. "What color is this?"

"Rose gold. I guess."

"Well it's perfect. It looks really pretty."

You clearly feel Quinn's heart given a giant thump through your hold on his wrist. "Um, thank you."

Well now your desire to get through this magical war bullshit as soon as possible has quadrupled. Because the Others are like Max; they're mean and they're boring and they're basic. All you really want to do is let Quinn gradually tell you every single thing he's thinking about and maybe convince him to let you paint his nails. But all these jagoffs, sorcerous and otherwise, are seriously stifling your shit. And you are officially over it.