Free Quinn by Sally Mandel

beautiful, as guts go.”
    â€œDon’t condescend to me, you complacent—”
    â€œWait, wait …” He put a hand on her cheek, cooling it. “I was floating. I’m sorry. I feel so Goddamn good.”
    She glared at him for another second, then mischief twitched at the corners of her mouth. “What do you suppose old Buxby would say if he could see us now?”
    Will kept his voice dry and clipped. “Rather barbaric. Rather, uh, primitive. If you catch my drift.”
    Quinn laughed and bent her head to kiss him. It began as an appreciative, friendly kiss, but soon became greedy. She fell back against the pillow.
    â€œYou know, the mythology is all wrong.”
    â€œWhat?” he asked, stroking her hair.
    â€œYou didn’t take anything away from me. I didn’t lose anything. It’s like being filled up with … with beautiful things. Being showered with presents … shit, I can’t say it.”
    â€œYou do all right.”
    â€œBut Will …” She looked pained.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œWell, sex is great and everything. I really like it a lot …”
    â€œBut?”
    â€œFirst I’ve got to go to the bathroom, and then if I don’t get some dinner I’m going to wither up and die right here in your bed. When do we eat?”

Chapter 9
    Quinn and Will plunged into the frozen night outside the dormitory. After the warmth of Will’s drowsy room each breath felt like the inhalation of something solid that filled their throats and lungs with microscopic icicles. The streetlights lining the sidewalk were great hazy globes, a parade of winter moons. Will put his hands over his ears.
    â€œMy brains are freezing,” he said.
    Quinn laughed, took his hand, and tugged him across the grass. It crunched underfoot, each blade stiffened by frost.
    â€œAren’t you cold?” Will asked, eyeing Quinn’s open jacket with concern.
    â€œHow could I be cold after what we just did?” She held his palm to her face so he could feel the warm skin. With the toe of her sneaker, she drew a scalloped pattern in the frost.
    A figure stopped under a light across the expanse of grass. “Ingraham, that you?” it shouted.
    â€œHenry?” Will called back.
    â€œYeah! Got the History notes?”
    â€œOn my desk!”
    Henry stood still, watching them approach.
    â€œHe’s trying to figure out who you are,” Will whispered.
    â€œQuinn Mallory here!” Quinn shouted.
    â€œGreat!” Henry waved at them and walked into the darkness. “Good night, Heathcliff! ’Night, Cathy!”
    â€œWill, you think everyone on campus knows what we’ve been up to?” Quinn whispered. “That we just … that you just … that I’m not …” She hopped a little, making quotation marks in the crystallized grass.
    â€œIn the dark from fifty yards?”
    â€œYeah, but I’m screaming it. Can’t you hear me? Tonight I am a woman!” Her toe traced an exclamation point. The ground was slippery, and she had to grab Will’s arm to keep from falling over.
    Will smiled at the jubilation he saw on her face. “Nice. Quaint. Very turn-of-the-century.”
    â€œPersonally, I prefer ‘I have just been’ ”—she dropped her voice to a stage whisper—“ ‘fucked.’ ” Then, in her normal voice, she continued, “But they don’t let you scream that around here.”
    â€œWhere’d a little convent girl like you learn to talk like that?”
    â€œI said ‘fuck’ in front of Ann once. My mom. And she smacked me across the face. It’s a perfectly good English word. Chaucer used it, Shakespeare used it, and if it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for Mallory. Besides, there’s no substitute. Is there?”
    Will ran through the euphemisms in his head. “No. Except maybe ‘grumpled.’