Growth

How much can we grow thanks to the people that surround us? A story from the perspective of 3 classmates learning mutually from each other's mistakes, insights and beliefs.

CHAPTER 1: AMY

“Do you think Jekyll deserved to be punished?”

“What?”

“The book, Jekyll and Hyde, you know, from English class. Do you think he should have been punished?”

I toss around in boredom.

“I don’t know Quinty, does it matter?” I mutter.

“Huh,” she says and sits down to my table, “no, I guess if you put it like that, it doesn’t.”

“Good,” I bite into my sandwich. To my big unfortune Quinty wouldn’t take long until she asked again.

“Don’t you think it’s funny that a snake eats the Flower of Life? I mean, snakes don’t eat flowers, right?”

I sigh heavily, “and where is that from, Quinty?”

She blushes and looks at me a bit insulted.

“Sorry that I bother you,” she says half offended, half genuine.

“No, please, enlighten me!” I dramatically toss myself to the back of my chair, “What more did I not remember from English class?!”

I watch her phlegmatically from my chair. She looks at me very angry and disappointed.

“Well, sorry that I like to ask hypothetical questions,” she says, sounds kinda hurt, “and I’m sorry if I bother you so much.”

She turns back to her food and stars playing with it, not eating it, no, just tossing her pasta back and forth on a plate with her fork.

I roll my eyes, lean back to the table and start devouring my sandwich. After a while, Quinty quits her tantrum and proceeds to eat her vegetable pasta too. Then we both leave, see each other in class and go home.

This is how it went every day. Every single lunch.

 

Quinty was my classmate on English class. Surprisingly we didn’t share more, and I have to say I am glad, otherwise she would probably need to fill me in on everything else I forgot from those classes too. It’s not like I forget everything… Math is kinda fun, sometimes… But the thing is, what’s the point?

I think the only teacher who at least slightly didn’t despise me for this answer was my philosophy teacher, Mr. Bennet. But he was a tough person to handle himself (like all philosophy teachers…)

“That’s a great question!” he would say, “Amy, can you elaborate on that thought a little more!”

I really disliked these lessons.

“What is there to elaborate?” I would say. “One day we die, want it or not, good grades or not, knowledge or not, who really cares about all of this?” Then he would follow by some striking deep insight such as “well, that’s exactly it! Philosophy cares!” and he would go on rambling about well, people. Philosophy is a science about crazy people, anyone can argue what they want, these people were crazy and we only learn about them. It’s not a bad thing though, sometimes it can get fun. But for some deep, incomprehensible, silly reason, they all cared so much. Even if they basically confirmed life is pointless, they would still do a lot to confirm it. Why? Why would go through all of that? For the same reason Quinty will continuously ask the same type of question every day? I just don’t get it. What does it change?

“Hey, Amy!”

It’s another day of me sitting at the cafeteria table eating my sandwich. Another classmate of mine comes to me. He sits down on the opposite side than where Quinty usually sits. It’s her brother, Quentin. I always thought their parents must have for some reason hated them when they decided to name them. I mean, why? Just why would you do that?

Quentin didn’t seem bothered though; he would always smile when I saw him. His mood was contagious but also annoying. Why are you so happy? Why do I need to look at it all day? To say it in short, these two siblings were the most annoying people from the whole school. Probably because they spent time with me.

 

“Quinty is sick today, so I thought I might make you company during the lunch,” he said. I shrug my shoulders. “Whatever you want, man. I’ll just eat my sandwich.”

“Should I ask you a question like sis does?” grinned Quentin.

“You can,” I said, “the answer is always the same though.”

“Yeah, Quinty mentioned.” He smiles, then opens up an almost identical lunchbox as the one of his siter and puts a big chunk of mashed potatoes into his mouth. 

“So,” he mumbles, “What do you think about Hamlet?” he asks.

I stop chewing, sneer and put my sandwich down on the plate.

“You asked it wrong,” I toss on my chair to the back, “she asks specific questions from the lore. And you can only answer yes or no, so that she can evaluate if you really know what she’s talking about.”

Quentin grins too. “Oh, my bad,” he swallows another chunk of mashed potatoes, “then let me rephrase that. Do you think Hamlet would be happy after he avenged his father if he had not died?”

I roll my eyes. “You too, Brutus?” I say and jump back to my table with lunch. “Does it matter?”

I open my mouth to bite the sandwich in my hands when Quentin suddenly says “Yes.”

This is exactly why these siblings are so unbearable… I really didn’t feel like going into the whole debate of why everything is, in reality, very pointless, partially because I know how stupid it sounds. I already made an amazing reputation for myself with all my teachers and classmates. That I call for attention and like to argue, think I am smarter than everyone else etc. I know nobody actually told me that, it’s just something I feel like is happening. And I can’t blame anyone for thinking that. Afterall, I myself think that too. But this, same as everything else, is unfortunately irrelevant. It’s tiring, it’s a broken record going on and on again, but it is true. So, I shrugged my shoulders and bit into my sandwich.

I felt like Quentin observed me for a while. That was really uncomfortable.

“Is this how your conversation always goes?” he asked me after some time.

“Eh,” I say. “Your sister usually just agrees with me and then asks again. But no need to do that, the answer still never changes.”

“Wow, you two are really boring…” says Quentin and then he strands off to a completely new topic, “I like philosophy lessons!”

I sigh.

“Uuuurgh…. why is that, Quentin?”

“Mr. Bennet is fun.”

“Uhm…”

“Mainly when he talks to you.”

“Great…”

“I suppose you don’t like him so much.”

“Not really.”

“But you shouldn’t drop out the class.”

“Cool, thanks.”

“I mean, did you ever notice how you act on those classes?”

“Gee, no, never.”

“Something tells me you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh no, please remind me of all the things I hope to forget.”

“You’re funny.”

“Great, that’s one of us.”

he starts laughing “You’re really funny!”

“Dude I just insulted you…” I smile a bit. “What’s wrong with you people?”

“I don’t see why you would want to forget the classes,” he continues.

“Good.”

“It doesn’t make much sense to me.”

“Reasonable.”

“I mean, it’s just,…look at you,”

“Can’t really see myself right now, I’m eating…”

“You just feel the most alive in there.”

That startles me. I stop my teeth midway through biting.

“The most what?” I mumble with the sandwich between my incisors.

Quentin laughs at the view. “Alive,” he says. “As in, full of emotions.”

I pull out the sandwich and look at him. I really want to ask follow-up question but can’t think of anything. Yes, I know I basically look and act like a walking zombie, but this kinda hit hard.

“You seem actually frustrated,” continues Quentin, “like, you actually care about the answers and the topic. I don’t see it really, in any other subject or anywhere else. You usually just,” he shrugs his shoulders, “just don’t care.”

I sigh greatly.

“Huh, see, yeah, I don’t really…care. I don’t know. If it seems like I do on philosophy lessons, that’s just confusion, nothing really big.”

“But you don’t seem confused on other classes,” he continues. “And I have seen your grades from chemistry, it’s not like you’re not confused there,” he laughs.

I chuckle on that thought. Good point though.

“Yeah, well, I think Mrs. Sally is simply objectively a less frustrating person to talk to,” I say. “Besides, you can’t really argue about why when you mix X to Y you get Z, that just happens.”

“There is something more to it though,” starts to dig Quentin. “You’re not just confused, it’s frustration.”

“Yeah,” I acknowledge. “It’s frustrating trying to understand people,” I say and can’t hold myself to once again add: “Specifically why they care.”

Since Quentin is asking I can as well just let him know the answers. It won’t change anything.

But to my surprise, he just nods, “Figures,” and puts in another chunk of mashed potatoes. Dude, does he not have in the lunchbox anything else??

I don’t know why but the answer actually stings a little bit. I thought I got rid of the idea that people’s opinion matters in any way more than anything else, yet his firm confirmation of what an obvious idiot I am to everyone hurt. Just brush it of Amy, not like it changes anything.

“So, do you think Hamlet would be happy after he avenged his father if he had not died?” says Quentin suddenly.

“You asked,” I say out of mood. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why?” he says.

“What do you mean, why?”

“Just why does it not matter?” I look at him, his eyes are so full of excitement and sparks, I can almost feel his anticipation to ask more questions.

“What, why, why do you have to ask so much?”

He shrugs shoulders. “Does it matter?”

That stings even more. Is he mocking me? Why does this hurt though?

I turn around and stand up from my chair with my finished plate in hands. He quickly jumps off and runs in front of me.

“No, wait, Amy, wait, okay, let me rephrase that,” he inhales. “Do you like to cook?”

“A what?” I stare at him with a visible confusion on my face. “Dude, something’s not okay with you, you realize that?”

“First, auch,” he says acting hurt, “second, just let me explain. You saw what I had for lunch right?” I recall the tin of chunky, mushy potatoes almost swimming in a an unbearable pool of butter. “Uhm-hm…” I say in a despise.

“And would you like to change that for yours?” He says still in a rushed panicky mode.

I look at my very obviously finished plate in my hands right in front of him. “Ehmm, well….”

“I meant it hypothetically, just hypothetically” he says quickly and I start to see how his sweat drops from his forehead.

“Dude, what exactly you’re getting at here?”

“Okay, just let me explain this,” he invites me to sit back and I reluctantly follow. “You keep saying that nothing really matters right?” he sits back to his chair. “So if we exchanged our lunch today, that shouldn’t matter right?”

I watch him for a while. Wtf, no, it wouldn’t matter. It would be super uncomfortable and disgusting but it wouldn’t matter.

“That’s right” I reply. “It wouldn’t really.”

“But wouldn’t you feel different?” he says. “Wouldn’t you feel worse?”

“Ugh, Quentin, are you really giving me a life lesson right now?”

“I mean…,”

“Thank you, but this is exactly why I don’t like Mr. Bennet,” I say pretty pissed off. “Do you really think people didn’t try to talk to me? I haven’t gone to others for help? Or that I would ask if I wanted it? I know I act like a child but…” I stop myself. “ugh, it doesn’t matter,” I try to calm down, “just let’s not do this today, okay?”

“But what if it does matter?” Says Quentin with the high rush of sparks in his eyes. I really try to ignore what he says, really try to not listen but he is… he is so annoyingly persistent!!

“You can say exchanging meals doesn’t matter but it would change the way you feel. Even if for a moment, that moment could feel nicer, and that could change a lot if you feel somewhat nicer regularly…”

“Quentin, not now!”

“Okay, but listen, I’m sure what I say will make sen…”

“Not. Now.”

“You could say it doesn’t matter what you eat ‘cause any food will make you survive but the experien…”

“Quentin, I don’t need lecturing!” I shout at him and he finally stops. “It’s not like I don’t know everything I do is dumb or predictable! I know I play right into the role of the old-school dramatic ‘emo kid’ and unfortunately for me, I play it well. But being reminded that I need fixing, I really don’t need that…!”

“I…”

“It’s not like I want to be so emo, but it’s also not like it will change anything, will it? I can’t help it, I can’t help to feel things are pointless, so I’m sorry if I can’t sit down to discuss whether some fictional person in a book should or shouldn’t have done something, if the snake should or shouldn’t have eaten a flower to make it accurate, if some hesitant prince would feel happy or no after he killed his uncle, why should we care? When even things that are real don’t matter! Even the things that happen here don’t matter, because whatever you do, whatever you discover, whatever you achieve, one day you’ll return home, and you find out all you have left is a big, massive trunk of where there used to be a tree! And unfortunately for me, or you, or Schopenhauer, Einstein, or anybody who ever lived making a change, this doesn’t change! And this will never change,” I break a tear from my eyes and sniff. “and you may have your beliefs, Quentin and I have mine but please don’t try to act like you know better,” I say, “we don’t live in a world where characters act the way we write.”

 

Quentin looks at me and looks to the ground. He is finally quiet. All the cheerfulness disappears from his face.

“I, I didn’t realise it felt like I was lecturing… But I guess that was what I was doing yeah…, sorry, Amy.”

I try to brush my tears and snot from my face.

“Cool,” I say. “Just please, don’t do it again.”

He looks at me with very sad, low eyes.

“Can I maybe then just share how I see the world? I won’t lecture you. The philosophers also don’t lecture you, just, let you see how other people perceive the same world.”

I felt exhausted, more exhausted than in a long while. But surprisingly enough also lighter.

“Maybe later Quentin,” I said. “Algebra is starting anyway.”

He nodded and both of us stood down from the table and headed different ways.

“Hey Amy,” he shouted at me before we left. I turned around. And stared at him. And stared at him. For a long time he could not continue whatever he started to speak. Then, when I almost turned around to just leave for my class, he finally added: “I am not trying to hurt you.”

I stared a little more.

Then I nodded and left.

 

CHAPTER 2: QUENTIN

I come home. I feel horrible. My whole body is still shaking from the incident at lunch. I don’t think I ever felt so guilty before. Would it be too rude to disturb Quin right now?

I walk upstairs and knock on her door.

“Hey Quin, you awake?”

I hear a huge nose-blow from the inside of the room followed by a dry comment “try to guess.”

I open the door and see my sister snivelling so intensely I stop on the doorsill to give a minute of silence for the poor devastated tissue.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

She looks at me and lifts an eyebrow. That tells me just enough to stop asking.

“Somebody feels grumpy today,” I comment.

“No I’m not……….or am I…?”

I laugh.

“How do you know I was talking about you?”

She turns around.

“And who else?”

I step in and close the door behind me.

“You know, you probably shouldn’t ente…..never mind,” she finishes as I sit next to her on her bed. “I am sick,” she states as if it wasn’t obvious. “Do you know that droplets from coughing and sneezing can carry germs up to 6 feet?”

“You know I don’t,” I comment dryly half-listening. She puffs up and acts offended.

“Quinty, sorry, Quin but I gotta ask something.”

“What do you mean? nothing to be sorry for…” she says and still won’t look at me in her sulky pose.

“Quinty, Quinty, c’mone, I’m being serious.”

still nothing.

“Quin,” I sigh. “How long have we known Amy for?”

She opens her eyes and wrinkles forehead, but still won’t look at me.

“When I said someone is grumpy, I didn’t mean just you. I talked with Amy today at lunch.”

“Whyyy did you do that?” asks Quinty and there is a tone of uncertainty and vulnerability present in her voice. She finally decides to stare into my face while talking to me. But I don’t understand why she seems so scared.

“You know she is always without any mood, says nothing matters, I thought of an analogy I wanted to share to make her change opinion.”

“Change opinion?” asks Quinty completely dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just thought her view on the world is very dark, very numb. I wanted to show her there are more things than just gloom. But I messed up, I think, I pushed too hard. And I think I hurt her.”

Quinty keeps staring at me without a word.

“How?” comes out of her finally. “I never saw her hurt,” she says. “What do you mean by ‘hurt’? As in offended or ignorant? That’s okay right? People do that to each other all the time.”

“No, no, Quin, I mean like, I think she almost cried.” I put my face into my palms. “What do you not get about it?” I just went there, talked with her, made her cry, unintentionally. I blew it, but I didn’t mean to.”

As much as I wished Quinty would say something encouraging or to the point, she just asked again:

“You really tried to change her opinion?”

I put my head back from my hands and straighten up. I look at her.

“Yes, yeah, why are you so…?” then I recall what Amy said before about their typical interactions “…wait, why did you actually never try to do the same? Amy said you usually just comply with her, but why do you even ask all those questions if that’s the case?”

Quinty’s ears turn to read. Oh I’ve seen this before, I know what it means, alright.

“Quin,” I say. She looks away and hides her face from me.

“Quin!” I grab her arm, but it slips out.

“Quin,” I slow down my tone, gently move closer to her and smile, “you know, it’s okay to be honest, right?” I say in the nicest, kindest way possible. Yet, unfortunately for me, it makes her miffed again and she looks at me, now red from indignation.

“You saying I lied?!” she snaps at me so much it startles me. “When have I lied? I’m always honest!”

Phew, good work, Quentin…

“Quin, calm down,” I say affably.

“I never lie!” continues Quinty angrily. I hate this defensive mechanism.

“I never once lied!” she says.

“Okay, I admit, but I didn’t mean that,” I say, “I just wanted to let you know it’s okay to be honest to yourself,” I say very slowly and calmly with a distinct emphasis on the yourself part, “it’s okay to say you just want to brag or show off or say you are angry, in fact, it’s really damaging you if you just keep it in…”

“I AM NOT ANGRY!” she shouts.

yeah…..definitely not angry…

I open my mouth to say something but what continues completely astonishes me.

“Oh and by the way it’s super fun to know you don’t even come to see me at school, but suddenly when I’m sick you have plenty of time to sit down to Amy! How fun, yeah Quinty is just my own sister, but no biggie!”

That hurt.

“Quin,” I start very carefully, “I would, but I always thought you avoid me…”

“’Cause you’re such a know-it-all!” she screams.

I quiver. “A what?”  

“You always have to know more about me than I myself!” says Quinty and starts sniffing. “This is bad for you, doing that isn’t good for you, you should do that, you should change that… For fudge’s sake, can you just stop with it?! Are you my brother or my therapist?!”

“So I was pushing you!” I say astonished. “Quinty why couldn’t you just say?!”

She stops and blows her nose. It’s hard to see if she cried or if it’s just the sickness.

“I said it, didn’t I?” she sniffs again, “I was avoiding you? That’s what you said? What else was I supposed to do to make you notice?!”

“Speak to me, Quin! Speak to me!” I lost temper for a second. “Where did all of this pretend and poses get us?! When did it help?” I didn’t replace you,” my breath is steady, I try to think straight “I didn’t think you want me to interfere, I didn’t know what you want. You’re my sister, Quin, I wouldn’t replace you.”

She looks at me with red eyes, I can see she is still upset, but at least she calmed down.

“You certainly make me feel like it,” she comments.

I lean closer to her, try to keep the boiling blood and fear and anger in, try to stay calm… 

“Quinty,” I say, “I am sorry, that I made you feel like you need a therapy all the time,” hold it in, hold it in…”I’m sorry if it seemed like I don’t care,” I deeply inhale, “but this was unfair.” As I say it I feel all my body shiver and loosen up at the same time. I had to say it. I made mistakes but not just me… And the reaction and look on my sister’s face confirms to me that it was a right decision.

Now, for the first time in ages, I can clearly see the confusion and genuine fear on Quinty. And it feels so refreshing despite all the pain, feels so light to see her feelings, that it somehow pushes me to continue further and despite my tendency to lecturing say: “You should have told me. You should tell others. And no, not just for you, but for them. You shouldn’t pretend, you shouldn’t play poses or acts, if it’s so unbearable with me, I need to know! If someone offends you, they need to know. Look at what it caused now! I hurt a friend! A friend you have no connection to since you’re never honest with her. A friend who was the first one to ever be straight forward with me! Why did I need to hurt her to find out I have been hurting you all along?” I breathe and slow down, keep sense of myself and of my actions. “This, is not a lecture, Quin, I am not your therapist,” I say, “this is for a bigger thing than just you and me. You have to start talking with people for the sake of the people alone.”

I watch her glare slowly descend from my eyes to her blanket on the bed. I don’t see what she is thinking now, but there is no pose or puffed up grimace, she is grasping the moment. In authenticity. Internally.

“Do you want me to…”

“Just give me a moment,” she stops me quickly. “Just, don’t tell me what to do for a sec, please.”

I look down too. This is a good sign, right? I didn’t blow it as much, right?

I nod and sadly smile at her.

“No problem.”

I stand up and make my way through the room, almost trip over some of the piles of clothes which I think makes the atmosphere a tiny bit lighter. Also makes it for me to hold in the lecture about ‘mess outside=mess in mind’ even harder. But I bite my lips and finally make it to the door.

“Phew,” I sigh.

“Quentin?”

I turn around with a pulse that just jumped to 200.

“I don’t ask those questions about the books just to brag,” says Quinty. quietly looking to the ground.

I sigh in relief, “That’s great,” I smile. “We can talk about them someday if you want.”

She nods.

And I leave the room.

 

CHAPTER 3: QUINTY

What the hell just happened?

I stare on my carpet in my room, occasionally take a tissue to blow my deepest, densest phlegm into. As if that would help! It doesn’t make me any less sick…

What am I actually sick of though? The illness? Quentin? Me? That stupid Jekyll who it seems really did deserve to be punished? The outrageous evil that made itself immortal forever?

Yes, I brag, I brag a lot, I know… But it’s not like others don’t showcase their talents or personalities to everyone all the time, is it? But maybe they’re more straight forward? I always thought others signal too, but Quentin apparently didn’t…? Was he really avoiding me just ‘cause he was confused? What if he was lying? How can I know? How can I know when I myself would have lied there… But in the end, I didn’t. And it felt light and heavy in the same sense.

 Should I ask Amy about this? I always thought her signals were clear, that I bother her… But how do I ask this?

I pick up my phone and look up Amy’s name. I write a message: “Hey Amy, I know I’m sick, but I think I left my English workbook in the closet. Could you maybe come to show me yours so I can see what you did?”

I wait for few minutes and finally get an answer. She sent me photos of it. Damn it…

“Oh thanks, it’s blurry though” I write.

-       “Looks fine on my screen.”

“Sorry to bother but could you come to my place so I can make my own pics?”

-       “I don’t rlly want to come to ur place if it’s okay.”

I stare at the last message… She really just said that. Just like that…?

I bite the bullet and type: “Why?”

I watch the dots moving on the screen. To answer on such a question, it would take me 10 minutes to think of a response. To Amy? Not even 1… Completely in rage and shock I stare at the last received message.

-       “Quentin.”

I

was

speechless…

HOW? How is it so easy? How is she so okay with this?!

I clench my phone in my hand and shivering in anger I write: “Didn’t he try to help you?”

-       “yeah, just didn’t work that much.”

“And that disables you from bringing me a book?”

Now the typing took way longer. I stared at the phone screen and the bouncing three dots.

-       “okay, be there in 10,” she replied.

I threw myself at the bed relieved. “Phew, so that’s taken care of.”

 

After 10 minutes, Amy indeed knocked on my door and came in. She looked just the same as always, orange-like beanie, from which short brown strands of hair stuck out, all almost completely hidden in an old grey hoodie.

She crunches down on the carpet and handles me the workbook. I thank her and take photos of the same notes I already have stored in my phone from when she sent them. Yeah, for the first time I can feel how damn comic and dumb this feels…

After I am done I look at Amy.

“He wants to help you, you know,” I say.

Her facial expression doesn’t change but she looks up at me with her dull eyes.

“I appreciate it,” she says, “I didn’t mean to hurt him if that’s what happened.”

“Why do you think that happened?” I ask.

She greatly sighs and start picking her stuff.

“Ugh, listen, I don’t want to answer no more ‘why’ questions today. I am sorry, please tell your brother it was nice of him to try to cheer me up, he doesn’t need to try more though.”

“Amy, do you ever lie?” I ask her.

“No.”

“How?”

She looks at me. “What’s the point?” she says. “No matter what you do, you don’t prevent the worse from happening, so might as well just save yourself the trouble of having to be creative and instead, just be honest.”

“You think lying is creative?!”

“I mean, yeah. You need to put so much work and effort to come up with relatable story and scenarios,” she puts everything back to her backpack, “why bother?”

“Huh…” I gulp, “so you don’t get hurt if people are honest to you?”

“Nope. Can’t hurt more than pointlessness, can it?” she actually smiles at that sentence and stands up to leave.

I bite my tongue, try to think of a way to keep the conversation interesting for her. But she touches the handle and almost opens the door and so I shout: “Can you please stay a bit longer with me?”

She turns and looks at me.

“I just want to talk, please,” I add.

She sighs, comes back and sits down cross-legged. “Sure.”

I hear my heart beating quick, now she probably figured out the workbook was just a lame excuse, but hey…She didn’t leave…

“Amy,” I start very hesitantly, and my voice shakes a bit, “I, I just want to ask. Do I bother you?”

“Meh,” she says and looks to the side as if she was recalling all memories, “a little,” she says, “a lot.”

I try to take it in. It burns, but at the same time, I felt lighter having it confirmed.

“Well,” I say again with shaky voice, “do you also know that sometimes you bother me too?”

“Ehm, no. Though I assume that if someone annoys me, makes sense I probably also annoy them.”

 “But, but,” I stutter. “That’s so unfair!” I say a bit sobbing. “You keep saying you don’t care, you keep saying things don’t matter so okay, you don’t take things so intensely, but others do! You might not care, but others do! You might hear a bad thing and be okay but I won’t! That’s great that you don’t care, but you should care for the sake of others!” I shout. Amy just quietly watches me. Without a reaction, without a flinch, without a word. And that makes my rage even stronger and my fuel even more burning as I continue.

“I cared you know?! I cared for what you say!”

“Then why did you sit next to me?” asks Amy completely calm and unbothered. “I didn’t ask you to put out with my attitude, you did it by yourself.”

I get silent and start sniffing and blowing my nose again.

“I’m not sure,” I say in the end after I fill 5, now wet tissues, with my inside. “You know, like all friendships form, I thought you were cool, you would listen to me when I rambled about literature and stuff, even if clearly bothered, you haven’t left,” I stop at that memory. “Why would you never leave?”

Amy shrugs shoulders. “Why would I? Wouldn’t change anything, would it?”

“It would change a lot for me,” I say.

“Hmm” she says and for the first time looks to the ground. “You sure you want me to be honest with what I gotta say next?”

I gulp. With that gulp, I swallow all the left phlegm, pride, fear and frog. I nod. And Amy sighs again.

“It just feels like it would change something for you,” she says. “In reality, it would not. In the end, one day we’ll all die right? So, what will a conversation with someone on high school during lunch change about that?”

I stare at her for about 20s straight. Then I inhale and very seriously ask: “you okay if I am completely honest with you as well?”

she grins and nods, “do as you please, man.”

“Okay,” I say, straighten up, breathe in, breathe out… “That’s silly!” I say.

Amy cracks and actually chuckles. “Well, that’s a new reaction,” she comments and that makes me burst to small laughter too.

“I mean, why would you care for the moment when we all die?” I say smiling, “it’s just like, it just seems so foolish, to me” I chuckle “Once you die, there’s nothing to solve or do or feel or totally mess up anymore. It’s just done. Doom, finish, the end…So you should care about the moments here, when you can feel, right?”

We’re both kind of contemplating, evaluating and secretly smiling to ourselves.

“Also, don’t tell me what changes and what doesn’t change for me,” I say grinning, she looks at me and I return the glare “you sound like Quentin,” we say simultaneously.

At first it makes me laugh, but then, we both start to realising what we just said. Did I, did I act like him?

We both slowly watch each other’s face turn serious, until our stare doesn’t lands down back to the fluffy carpet.

“He can be a lot,” I say. Amy nods.

“He really tries to help,” I say. She nods.

“And it wasn’t nice to straight up avoid him,” I say. She nods.

“We should probably go talk with him, right?” I ask. She nods.

“I’ll go for him,” she adds and stands up. “I didn’t lie about what I said though,” she opens the door, “I am sorry if what happened hurt him.”

I nod.

And she leaves.

 

CHAPTER 4: CAFETERIA

After approximately a week ago, the whole party meets again, at the iconic cafeteria table.

“Okay, so what about this one?” says Quinty. “Did Raskolnikov do well by killing the old miserly woman for the money to save others?”

“Oh no!” gasped Quentin, “no, not this moral dilemma!!”

Amy sat in between it all and sneered. “Remind me why are we doing this again?”

“’’Cause it’s fun!” says Quinty cheerfully.

“Uh-huh…” Amy looks at her, then at wrecked Quentin in his internal crisis, then back at Quinty. “seems fun…”

“Okay, listen!” says Quentin suddenly. “No matter how many people you will save, killing is always bad! But then again, in a way you sacrifice your own well-being to make others not have to do it and save them…..Ugh!”
“Yes, but if you think about it,” started Quinty again with tons of excited shimmering sparkles in her eyes, “isn’t that exactly what Thanos was doing? Like, if you’ll go the length to “sacrifice” yourself to do a horrible thing, where do you draw the line?”

“Aaagh, shut up Quin, shut up, this is too much,” wheeps Quentin and starts sobbing, “I am a failure!” he says, puts his hand on his forehead and over-dramatically ‘faints’ in an old-school style (basically falls of his chair).

“Dude!” says Amy and picks him up from the ground. “You sure failed your acting lessons.”

“Tss, rude,” smiles Quentin. “I’ll have you know I aced that lesson. Mainly when I pretended, I know what you and Mr. Bennet were arguing about on philosophy.” he grins.

“Right…” says Amy. “I still think those lessons and the decision of Raskolnikov is frustratingly pointless,” she comments, “but, if I were to choose, I don’t think I could ever kill someone.”

“Not even if it would save someone else?” says Quinty.

“Nope.”

“Interesting.”

“Of course! The method of self-insert, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Hey, Quentin.”

“Yes?”

“What lecture would you give to Raskolnikov?”

“Hmmm.”

“Seriously guys? I’ll get used to us talking about useless hypotheticals for fun but creating a whole psychological theorem about it?”

“That might be the longest sentence I ever heard you say…”

“Well, I’d tell him, give it time. Life changes.”

*silence

“That……is the worst advice I ever heard!”

“Agreed!”

“What? Guys, I never even read that book!”

“Then read it haha.”

“If you’ll read it, I convince Amy to be quiet on philosophy class.”

“And that was a personal boundary…”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No worries.”

“Quin, don’t worry about it, I’ll read it anyway, plus I like how full of emotions Amy gets on philosophy.”

“Wow, you enjoy my suffering…”

“Wait, you seriously wanna read it?”

“Of course!”

“(he’ll definitely give us a lecture about us within the lecture for Raskolnikov later)”

“(definitely).”

“(fair enough).”

In the end they all left to different classes.

And Amy tried Quentin’s mashed potatoes.

THE END

Author's Note

Can a short story have chapters...? I sure hope so...😅
This story consists mainly off dialogues and I heavily focused on different depictions through different perspectives. I didn't try to describe much here and wanted to see how that would turn out. But I can imagine it might be quite overwhelming, so feel free to leave a review so I can see what to do differently next time :)