Quincy Wright
January 17, 2022 5:42 PM
I thought you were smart. by Quincy Wright
Quincy looked from his mother to his father. They, with him, made a perfect equilateral triangle; each was as far apart as the other, facing the others. The only difference between them was their expressions. His own, he knew, was incredulous. His father's was sad. His mother's was the worst to look at: she was ashamed. She had one hand on her face, rubbing a spot on her forehead that was most often where her headachmes appeared when she had a particularly difficult case. Not that she was ever allowed to tell him that was the case, but he knew. He always knew when a kid was in trouble because his mom always fixed it for them. But not this time? Why not this time?"So she's not coming to Sonora?" Quincy asked. His voice sounded hollow, as if the room somehow had developed an echo, despite the couch, carpet, and soft throw blankets that had once marked this space as a living room, where people lived. It felt like the air had been sucked out.
Quincy's father shook his head. "No," he said. "She's going to do her schooling . . . there."
"In jail," Quincy said flatly.
His mother let out a lot of air all at once and Quincy thought it was odd that not saying anything could say so much. But then she did speak: "Deidre's not in jail, Quincy. She's in a juvenile detention center."
"Did she get a wand?" he asked. Demanded.
His mother shook her head no. No, Deidre Wright hadn't gotten a wand because she was in a juvenile detention center where she would likely spend the rest of her adolescent life. Where he may never see her again. Where he wasn't sure he ever wanted to see her again.
The coffee table was in the middle of the triangle that he and his parents formed, and Quincy looked down at it then, to where a newspaper was laid out. Names had been excluded for the privacy of the minors involved, but Quincy knew. He wondered if everyone else would know when he got back to school, alone. The headmaster would know, probably. Professor Skies would know, probably. Bertie might guess.
Girl, 11, Sentenced in Slaying of Future Classmate; Aurors Claim No Accidental Magic; Family Cleared in Investigation
It was a bad headline. Wordy. There was a photo of the crime scene, burn marks clear on the walls except in Deidre's outline, clean on the wall. Aurors moved about the scene in the picture.
Quincy turned and walked out of the room. He wouldn't leave it more than a few times for the rest of the summer.
22
Quincy Wright
I thought you were smart.
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