Quinn by Sally Mandel Page B

“Aren’t you going to change?”
    â€œShe forgot her overalls, too,” Gus said. He turned to Quinn. “You losing your grip, or what?”
    She didn’t answer.
    â€œGot a lot on her mind,” Van said quietly. Quinn grabbed her friend by the elbow and pulled her toward the door.
    Quinn sat through the Religion lecture without hearing the completion of a single sentence. When the bell rang, she nodded a dazed good-bye to Van and walked out of the classroom like a somnambulist.
    Will sat under a tree beside the massive stone steps that led to the library entrance. He leaned back against the tree trunk with one knee bent to support his book, a slim volume that absorbed his attention completely. Watching him, Quinn wondered if she had forgotten the mechanics of breathing. As she approached she tried to tell herself that she could still turn and walk the other way. But she knew she couldn’t; there was this giant invisible hand pressing hard against the small of her back, propelling her toward him.
    Will glanced up, and for a moment she thought he didn’t recognize her. Then the vague, dreamy look lifted from his face and he gave her one of his strange half-smiles.
    â€œAll right. You win,” Quinn said. Until this moment she’d had no idea what she would say to him. Her words seemed to float up into the branches of the tree and hover there. She felt as if she could follow them, she was so light and giddy.
    â€œThank you.”
    She waited for him to say more, but he just looked at her. Finally she stammered, “I’ll be around this weekend. Next weekend.” She stopped for a moment, trying to pull herself together. “Saturday night, this coming Saturday night.”
    â€œI know the one you mean.”
    She inspected his face to see if he was teasing her, but he seemed earnest enough. “Is that okay?”
    He nodded.
    â€œSeven?”
    â€œFine. Shall I pick you up?”
    â€œNo!” Quinn burst out. “No, I’ll come to you … to your room.”
    â€œAll right,” he said.
    She looked at his leg stretched along the frozen ground. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked him.
    â€œYes.”
    Again, she waited for more, but he just continued to watch her patiently. She knew that her face had gone deep pink. “Well … see you then. Thanks …” She turned and started walking toward the library. Thanks for what? she thought. Thanks for turning my brain into rice pudding? She resisted a powerful impulse to run, but halfway up the steps she tripped anyway, barely catching herself. She could feel Will’s eyes on her still, and cursed fiercely.
    Once inside the ornate marble entrance she began to gasp like a drowning person surfacing for a final lungful of air. Then she started laughing and finally had to go to the ladies’ room to splash cold water on her face before she could stop.

Chapter 7
    Over the next few days she distracted herself with responsibilities, real and manufactured. For a baffled but delighted Gus she did a record number of brake jobs, repaired five snow tires, and performed a miracle on a particularly wayward exhaust system. She worked extra hours at the cafeteria. She researched a term paper for Poli Sci that wasn’t due for four weeks. She exhausted herself, hoping to fall asleep every night without a thought in her head.
    But as she lay waiting for unconsciousness, Will Ingraham’s voice whispered in her ear, his face stared from the darkness—tender, enigmatic, apologetic face. She imagined his body, muscular and lean. Seduction scenes from countless movies played across the window shade. Will was Kirk Douglas in
Spartacus
watching her bathe naked in a lake like the lovely, sensuous Jean Simmons. Quinn was Deborah Kerr lying in the sand. The surf pounded as Burt Lancaster took her in his arms for a passionate kiss. She was Phaedra to Anthony Perkins’s Hippolytus, twisting