Chapter 10
Quinn relaxed in her tiny apartment, finishing up talking on her cordless phone. "No, I'm not upset that the rest of the cast wasn't charged. Sandi and Stacy were the only ones who attacked me, and really, the damage I did in self-defense was punishment enough for Sandi. Well, just that I'm ready to start searching for my real parents and get some kind of high school diploma to start college. They're not sure if I'm 17 or 18, but my lawyer was able to convince them I was able to live on my own until I find my parents. Oh thanks, it's been great talking with you too. Bye!" She thumbed off the phone and rolled her eyes. "God, who'd have thought I'd get sick of talking to people?"
She stretched out on her overstuffed sofa. It was a bit threadbare, but it was so comfy. She may not have gotten a lot initially from her settlement, but it was enough to live on for now. She even heard about cameras set up in her bathroom, and if they found that evidence, she'd be getting even more. For now, though, she was going to relax, unwind, and start figuring out college and how to find her real family.
Quinn stood up and got herself a soda. This Diet Pepsi she found tasted pretty much like Diet Ultra Cola; maybe even a little better. It would take a while for her to adjust to the weird brand names everything had. She got funny stares when she asked where the nearest Cashman's was. She took a can of soda out of the fridge and crossed over to the latest batch of flowers she'd received, this one from those nice cops in Big Pool. She smelled the bouquet; at least flowers still smelled as sweet as sweet as she remembered. She looked at one of the flowers. She thought it odd that one of them had a black center. Suddenly, recognizing the shape, she froze. A Microphone? Here? Her mind raced as she recounted the last mic she had found in a bunch of flowers, and all the events that spiraled out from that moment.
Then, a smirk came to her face as she noticed a wire leading from the bouquet to her front door. This was not exactly what she would call high-tech. Quinn took the microphone out of the bouquet slowly, grabbed a pan that was sitting on the counter, and smashed the microphone with the pan. Immediately, a man let out a high-pitched shriek just outside her door. "Thanks for playing! Please don't try again!" she yelled in the direction of the scream. These Paparazzi were as bad as the J's and Upchuck combined.
The End