Summary: An entry in Mman's I'm Your Worst Nightmare Iron Chef. Quinn's worst nightmare.
Legal: I have nothing. I don't own any of this other than the plotline.
Quinn walked to her locker after class, rushing so she
could get to the mirror in the South Girls' Bathroom before lunch for the
Fashion Club's pre-lunch primping.
When she opened it a folded note fell out. She wasn't suprised, it happened more often than not. On some gut feeling she decided to open it right away.
Meet me under the bleachers after school. I have something important to tell you.
Quinn smiled to herself, the old "meet me under the bleachers" line. Oh, well, she'd talk the FC into going with her, that'd foil whatever lame idea Jaime had come up with.
Sandi didn't seem to enthusiastic about the whole idea, but agreed to go. Stacy and Tiffany went along, like the sheep they always were. After last bell, they walked out to the field and headed towards the bleachers. Stacy spotted the note first, taped to one of the support poles.
Quinn read it quickly, ignoring Sandi's not-so-subtle barbs about having more important things to do.
This was the only way to make sure you'd remember me.
Quinn felt a slight pang of guilt, she did tend to call him by the wrong name. She vowed to stop doing it. It wasn't such a hard name to remember. Jaime. He was nice, he deserved that at least. She walked under the bleachers, the FC behind her. She stopped short, frozen in place at the sight in front of her. The screams of the Fashion Club didn't even register.
Jaime swayed slightly as he hung from the bleacher steps, his eyes glassy and blank. Under him, written in the dirt with the toe of his shoe, before securing the rope, was written:
I love you, Quinn.
Quinn woke with a start, shivering in the darkness. She would never forget his name again.