Happy Belated Quogan Day! Yes, I know; a week late but better late than never! Hope you enjoy my fellow Quoganites! Please excuse any mistakes you may find for this has not been beta'd.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my ideas and the stories that form from said ideas. The song "Destiny" was sung by Jim Brickman & Jordan Hill and belongs to whoever composed it.

Predestined

"Baby you're my destiny
You and I were meant to be"

--Quogan is Love—

Tree leaves ruffle in the cold February night as a chilly breeze passes by. Sparse clouds roll overhead, revealing the crescent moon and starlit sky. Before you, faint ripples of moonlight dance on the lake water's surface. Crickets chirp in the background, hidden, playing their evening lullabies as they do every night. You don't pay them much attention though. Your mind is elsewhere, focused on this secret special moment; focused only on her.

She sits there silently, her back leaning against your raised knee and chest, tightly holding both ends of the blanket that surrounds and keeps you both warm as her head rests comfortably by your neck. You feel the steady rhythmic beat of her heart right next to yours. Her soft breath, you notice, is strangely in sync with yours too. Your arm holds her securely around the waist, the other used for support, as you lean on the base of the tall thick tree. Leaning closer, you reach for her hair, pushing it gently behind her ear then whisper softly in her ear. She shakes her head, refusing to move from her place in your arms – not that you mind, of course.

"Let's wait a little bit longer, Logan" she asks you, adjusting her position and snuggling deeper into your warmth. "The day's not completely over just yet." Technically, it was true. It had only been 11:20PM the last time you checked your watch and that hadn't been too long ago.

"Okay," you agree with a small smile, placing a soft kiss on her cheek and readjust your position so you can hold her with both arms. Moments pass in comfortable silence; no words needing to be said. All that mattered was that you were with Quinn and she was with you. The only sounds that can be heard are the sounds of nature: the barely audible swishing of the lake, the sharp but melodic tune of the crickets, and the smooth and soothing sounds of gusts of wind. Away from PCA, away from your friends, and seemingly away from all civilization (although in reality, you two are less than ten minutes away from campus), it seems as if you and she are the only two souls in the world. If it was possible to stop time, you definitely hoped – though you would never voice this out for the sake of your male pride, of course – it would stop right at this moment. Before all this, before that fateful day where you found Quinn crying on that bench, you never thought that you ever could feel like this; at peace and content with life. It's a new –a little scary too, you have to admit – feeling that hadn't been part of your plan for yourself. Quinn hadn't been part of your plans either, but now you can't even begin to imagine anything that involves the future that doesn't involve her as well. Otherwise, it just seems incomplete.

You lift your head from her shoulder when you feel her twist and shift in your arms, then loosen your hold on her so she can turn to look at you. Her eyes meet yours, glance down, then move back up to meet yours once again. Looking at her questioningly with a raised brow, you ask, "What?"

She takes a moment to answer, taking another glance down. You begin to wonder what is she looking at but before you can ask she gives you a question of her own.

"Red is your favorite color, right?" Such a simple, yet strange question, especially when asked so randomly at a time like this. You give her a strange look but nod your head in response nonetheless, completely clueless as to the relevance of her inquiry. "Why?"

An obvious answer comes to mind followed by your infamous cocky smirk, "Because it looks hot on me."

She laughs lightly and, you presume, rolls her eyes at you – the only source of light is the crescent mood. "When did it become your favorite color?"

Clueless as to the direction of this conversation, you say with a laugh, "Babe, what's with all these random questions about my favorite color all of a sudden?"

"No reason in particular," she tells you, lightly shaking her head, a small smile adorning her lips as she gives a short laugh. "C'mon, just answer my question."

Relenting, you sigh and rake a hand through your hair as you shuffle through the memories of your past, trying to find the answer to her question – if there is any. The previous silence returns as you stare out into the night, not really seeing anything as your mind is elsewhere. How could one remember when a certain color became their favorite? Didn't colors just – A light bulb in your head suddenly turns on as fragments of a memory flash through your mind. Pigtails. Red. Airplane. When you refocus your attention back on Quinn you find her looking at you, patiently waiting for your answer.

"Well… I don't remember much," you begin, brows furrowed in concentration, "except that I think it happened sometime when I was real little. I was in elementary school and… there was this girl." You pause, looking into her eyes for any sort of reaction. You cannot find any, just her undivided attention. So you continue, "I kinda, uh, had a crush on her."

Giggling softly, she comments, "Aw, that's so cute."

You chuckle at her reaction and ask somewhat incredulously but mostly playfully, "You're not jealous that I liked another girl?"

"Jealous? Me?" she points an index finger towards her chest then scoffs, dismissing your question with a wave, "Ha, no. Why should I be, she was only a little girl."

Grinning, you decide to tease her, "Hm, I don't know. She was pretty cute with all those braided pigtails in her hair. Maybe she was even my first love." She stares at you mouth agape, the corners of her lips lifted in a smile indicating that she knows you're only joking around, before she lightly smacks you on the chest. You can't help but laugh at her reaction good naturedly.

Placing a hand on your knee, she urges you to continue your story, "Okay, so what happened next?" Before you continue, however, she raises a hand and stops you, "Wait, let me guess. When you kissed her she had red lips from the red HappyRancher lollipop she was eating, so from then on red became your favorite color."

Now it's your turn to give her an incredulous stare before scoffing at her prediction, "Psh, no, where did you come up with that? I don't remember much but I know for sure that that didn't happen. I didn't have my first kiss until I was in the third grade."

Laughing, Quinn shakes her head at your answer to her joke then turns back around and settles into your arms once again. You feel the small vibrations from her, now giggles, as she leans onto your frame the same way she had previously. Once she finds a position she's comfortable in, with all laughter subsided, she tells you, "Okay, go on with your story."

Thinking back to where you left off, you hug her a little tighter and sigh, inhaling her unique scent that is always able to calm and excite you at the same time. You conclude that it's the shampoo she uses because you detect the scent of apples and vanilla, but there's another smell in there that you can't quite label. You just know that it's her scent. It's enough to drive you insane. Miraculously, you remember where you left off then continue, "Okay, well… I didn't really talk to her, so she didn't know that I liked her. No one knew I did, actually."

An airy laugh escapes her lips and she says softly, "Hm, that's not the Logan Reese we all knew since freshman year. Why didn't you tell her?"

You picture a small brunette girl with many pigtails and bright green ribbons. Then an image of all the boys in your class teasing and laughing comes to mind. "I didn't want my friends to think I was weird," you explain straightforwardly. "Back then, if a boy liked a girl he would be labeled as a weirdo and would be teased until he either 1) proved them wrong by teasing the girl that he supposedly liked mercilessly or 2) changed schools."

You feel her raise her brows since her forehead rests on the junction of your shoulder and neck, "Wow, and here I thought girls were monsters when they were little."

"Yeah, you have no idea…"

"But that was sweet of you," she says with a smile looking up at you, "how you didn't want to end up resorting to option one." You purposely avoid her eyes as you feel a small blush coming on. Even though you've already shown Quinn your soft side, you can't help but turn away in an attempt to hide your face in the shadows.

Thankfully, she doesn't notice – at least that's what you hope – and just asks, "Okay, so what happened next?"

You slightly shake your head, eyes on the grass below you, and answer, "I don't know; it was weird. She just came up to me one day after school, smiled, then told me that she liked my red shirt. I wasn't sure what else to say so I just said, 'okay' then she left right after that." Unconsciously, you begin to massage the skin underneath your fingers, drawing circles with your thumb; the rest of your fingers rest on the soft fabric of her blouse and the rough denim of her skinny jeans. "I never saw her again after that because the next day our teacher told us that she moved back to her hometown. Somewhere up north, I think. I don't even remember if I knew her name or not."

Noticing Quinn's exposed shoulder, you readjust and pull the blanket covering you both so that it goes pass her neck, then tuck it securely inside. Once the task is completed, you lightly rest your head on hers and sigh contently, trying to fill in the gaps of the memory. It wasn't until after a few silent moments later, that you really notice how quiet it is. 'Did she fall asleep?' you wonder.

"Babe?" You wait a few seconds but receive no response. Speaking a little louder, you tap her abdomen slightly with your fingers, "Quinn, you asleep?"

"Huh?" She raises her head and looks into your eyes and you can tell that she hadn't been asleep.

"You wanna go back now? It's getting pretty late," you ask after checking your watch to find that it's nearly midnight. '11:46PM'.

"Oh, um, yeah in a few minutes," she seems a little distracted but by what, you do not know. "Um, Logan, what was the name of your elementary school?"

"Uh…" That little piece of memory evades you and you struggle to remember the exact name of the school where you spent six years of your life in. It should be easier to remember but it's proving otherwise. You're certain that it has the word or sound of 'fork' in it because that's what your gut is telling you. What school has the word 'fork' in it though? "Uh, I think it was called… For, uh… Fork?… Fork Tuna elementary?" You can't help but snicker mentally at your own words. 'Heh, fork and tuna. Who names their school Fork and Tuna Elementary? Well, not unless they really like tuna and like to use a fork to eat it.'

Your internal musings are interrupted when you feel Quinn move. Sitting up and turning to face you, she gives you a strange look with scrunched brows, "Fork Tuna?" Okay, judging from the look on her face there probably isn't a school with that name, but you still know it's something along those lines. "Oh!" she suddenly exclaims, "Do you mean Fortuna? North Fortuna Elementary School?"

"There you go! Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's the name."

She nods and pauses again, then asks you without meeting your eyes, "That shirt you said you were wearing, do you remember how it looked like?"

How can you remember what you wore when you were in elementary school when you can't even remember what you had for lunch last week? Well, you did remember one thing about it. It was colored red that much you were sure of. "Well, it was red and… I think it had some kind of picture on the front. Um…" The picture is starting to focus but the memory is still a bit fuzzy. Five figures standing in some sort of formation; five different colors but only three of them have decipherable images…

"Oh I know!" you suddenly exclaim, somewhat startling Quinn. You give her an apologetic look then tell her what you remember. "Yeah, it was a red Power Rangers shirt and all the girls' pictures –"

"– pictures were faded but the guys' were still in good condition," she finishes for you in a voice short of a whisper, eyes staring off towards the lake.

"Yeah," you reply looking at her in utter confusion, unsure if Quinn was suddenly able to read minds or if it was just common for all six year old boys to do that to their Power Ranger shirts. Either one seemed likely because the only ones who knew about that shirt were your parents and grandparents. You never took a picture wearing that shirt, you refused to. It was too special at the time. "I never told anyone that. How did you know?" You look at her questioningly while she stares at you with slightly wider eyes than normal, mouth slightly agape.

Rather than answer your question, though, she gives you one of her own, "Where did you say the girl moved to?" Her voice is soft, breathy, and slow. It's almost as if her mind is in its own world.

"Um, I-I don't know. Somewhere north, that's all I know." The cloud of confusion in your mind is still strong, but there's a small growing feeling in the back of your brain that is telling you it will all soon become crystal clear. A feeling you cannot ignore and put to rest. "Quinn, what's with this game of 20 Ques– "

"She moved to Seattle," she suddenly interrupts, staring at her hands that can't seem to stay still.

Furrowing your brows in question, you hold her hands in one of yours to stop their fiddling – it was a nervous habit that you noticed she had. "Babe, what are you talking about? How do you know that's where she moved to?" All the pieces haven't been put together just yet.

"Because…" For the first time that evening since you two sat by that lake, she holds your hand in hers. For the first time that day, you're apprehensive, excited, and scared all at the same time. But for the first time in your life, you feel an even deeper connection between you and her. You and Quinn. Quinn and you. Logan and Quinn. Even if you aren't much of a believer in fate and destiny, right now, underneath the velvety black sky littered with stars arranged in constellations, you can't help but feel impelled to. Even for just this once.

"…that girl was me."

--

She sits in the window seat because she loves to look outside when they're high up flying in the sky alongside the clouds. Her parents are next to her, standing and leaning over to place their suitcases up inside the luggage compartment. Perfect braids held together by red ribbons fall over her shoulder and lie on her cotton alpaca doll that she holds in her arms. She slightly kicks her legs over the large seat because her feet cannot touch the ground. Her large glasses slip lower so she pushes them back up with an index finger while hugging her doll in her free arm. Her mother takes her seat beside her and her father next to her mother. Soon, the pilot announces their departure and the illuminated seatbelt sign turns red. She knows the procedure.

"Are you excited to be going back home to Seattle, Quinn?" her mother asks with a tender smile. She gives a short nod then turns away to look outside.

As she stares out the circular window, a small smile appears on her face. Although it was abrupt and short-lived, she was happy that she finally spoke to him – even if all he said to her was one word. It was enough for her.

She really did like his shirt; he looked nice in it. She liked the color red – but not as much as she liked him.

--

He looks at his reflection in the full-length mirror in his bedroom with a frown as his mother tucks the blue shirt into his cargo shorts. She finishes dressing him for school, stands up, then smiles satisfactorily at what she sees. There is no smile on his small face though. He turns to fully face his image and inspects the changes. He is wearing the same shoes he wore yesterday; he's been wearing them ever since the school year started. He is wearing the same style cargo shorts he wore two days ago – when that girl talked to him. What he is not wearing, though, is what bothers him. The navy cotton shirt is what's different; it's the only thing that's different. His mother bought it over the weekend during her shopping spree and insisted that he wear it today, which is a Friday. She bends down and places a soft kiss on his cheek then smiles at him, though he does not return the gesture.

"See, mommy knew that you would look handsome in that." She turns to leave the room but before disappearing from sight, tells him to come down for breakfast as soon as he is done tying his shoe laces. "Make it quick, Logan!" she calls from the hallway, "The chauffeur just left to warm up the car."

He listens to her footsteps walking down the stairs, each one becoming more distant than the last. As soon as the steps disappear all together, he hastily pulls the shirt out of his shorts and off over his head. The blue shirt lays discarded on the hardwood floor of his bedroom as he dashes out his door, heading towards the upstairs laundry room. Neither his mother nor the maids are in sight. Perfect. With some difficulty – the laundry basket is the same height as him – he manages to topple it over. Once he finds the red article of clothing, unwashed and wrinkly, he pulls it over his head and tucks it into his shorts.

Only then, does a smile come to his lips.

"And as far as I can see
You were always meant to be
My destiny"

End.

Please review!

I've always wanted to see little Quogan but never found a story that had it. So I wrote one! Hehe Anyway, like most authors, I'd really appreciate it if you said more in your review other than "great job!", "I love it!", or "awesome!" I'd really like it if you pointed out some of the things that you liked, disliked, or thought that I could have improved on. ;)

For those of you who are curious, I got the inspiration to write this story while looking for cute text message forwards to send to my friends. I happened to stumble upon one that said, "What is love? When asked in a survey a 5 year old girl answered, 'love is when you tell a boy that you like his shirt and he starts wearing it everyday.'" Isn't that so cute!? Hehe Though I never did get to send it to my friends because I began to madly type up an outline for the plot bunny I had brewing.

Ahh, 3 more days until my birthday! Strangely enough, I'm not excited (I've had the birthday blues this whole week, blah).

Before I go, anyone know what the elementary school's name means and why I used it in the story? ;)

Until next time!

Always, Mina