Thanks to Kalexico for the review. It really helped. :)
As for your question though, the whole thing will be in Santana's perspective, so we'll just know more about Quinn as San does… And know more about Santana as she talks about herself as the story progresses.
Quinn doesn't always tell the truth. She leaves things out. Sometimes, important things. That I realized when I find out she has a brother. A brother and a dog. Her brother's puny for sixteen with a sad face framed by his blonde hair. The fact that his lips are big—too big—is just so noticeable. Quinn tells me to call him Sam.
Her father, a tall, muscular, chinky-eyed, and—it's kind of weird to think this way, but this is really the only word that I could come up with to describe him—incredibly hot man, tells me to call him Mike.
"Mike," I say, trying it out. It feels weird calling a grownup, someone else's father, by his first name.
In the baggage area, I identify my bag and Mike grabs it from the carousel. I wish I had a canvas duffel like Quinn's instead of my mother's old Black Watch plaid suitcase held together by duct tape, with my name printed across it in black marker.
The dog, a black lab with a bandanna around its neck, is sitting in the back seat of a Volvo wagon. Sam sits in front. "They both live with Mike in Cambridge," Quinn tells me before dashing across the street, making a driver of a Toyota slam on his brakes. But Mike doesn't say anything. He just smiles and shakes his head. My mom would've shouted, Watch where you're going, Santana! Do you want to get killed? Do you have any idea how much a funeral costs these days?
"Sweetie, you old thing!" Quinn coos, kissing the dog on the mouth. I know I should find this disgusting, but I find it kind of cute. "Hey, S, this is Sweetie. She's older than Mike in dog years. Give San a sniff," she tells the dog, who does exactly that, starting with my crotch. I feel my face redden.
When Q introduces me to Sam, she says, "You better treat her right."
"I treat all your friends right unless they don't get it."
I vow then and there not to be a person who doesn't get it. Whatever it was.
The drive seems to take forever. We came to a bridge with a sign that read, Feeling desperate? Call the Samaritans. It gave a phone number. Did that mean desperate enough to jump from the bridge? Suddenly, I feel a wave of homesickness wash over me. What am I doing here? Who is Quinn, really?
It's almost sunset as we pull onto the ferry, and yes, it's another first for me. I smile as I hear Quinn's voice asking me, "How is it possible in this day and age…" in my head.
Forty-five minutes later, when we docked, I sense this would not be the tropical island I'd conjured up in my fantasies. The night air is far from sultry, there's no reggae music, and the trees are pines and oaks, not palms.
This is going to be one hell of a summer.