Hello everyone! I know it's been a long time. Too, too long. But I've been dealing with a lot of things and I've been so busy, but I'm off school in a week and will have plenty more time on my hands I promise. This is a story idea that I've had in my head (and my phone notes) for the past year and a half and I finally decided to show it to you guys. I'm not giving up on my other unfinished stories I promise, I just have hit a creative road block with Losing Your Memory and By the Window, but I repeat, THEY WILL BE FINISHED. All in due time. Now, I hope you enjoy this new story and review!
My alarm goes off, signaling that it is once again six o'clock, and time to get up for school. But I let it beep and beep, for I'm all the way over in my bathroom, too busy puking my guts out to hit snooze.
This has been a part of my morning routine for a solid thirteen weeks now. Once I'm through with the gross part, I wipe my mouth and stare at my cabinet drawer in vain, seeing right through to the stick with the pink plus on it, impeccably well stashed amongst my collection of tampons that I won't be needing for the next nine months anyway.
"Quinnie, dear, for Pete's sake turn off that alarm and get up! I refuse to add Sloth to the list of sins my daughter has committed," my mother yells at me from downstairs. From the bathroom floor, I groan and wipe the sweat from my forehead. I get up when I know the nausea has passed, brush my teeth and turn off my alarm before my mother decides to come up and do it herself. After a quick shower, I step into my red polyester uniform, and attempt to perfect my high pony. Make up on, shoes tied, I grab my team bag and prepare to start my last day as Head Cheerio.
That's right. McKinley High School's very own head cheerleader is knocked up and being knocked out of school.
How on earth did I get to this point? It all started with a football playing Neanderthal with a mohawk and my desperate need to prove myself wrong. But that is a story for another day.
The fact of the matter is, it happened and now I'm…with child. My perfect and amazing life that I have loved, embraced, and fought viciously to maintain is now and officially over.
Remember when my mom was yelling at me just a bit ago? Calling me a sinner and whatnot? Yeah, that's become pretty common around the Fabray household lately. I may have gotten myself into this mess, but I'm not dumb. They would have found out pretty soon in the game. So, I went ahead and told them.
Telling my parents was the farthest thing from easy. I'll spare you the ugly details, but just to prove my point, I will say that the carpet is still stained from my mother's wine and I will have that particular shade of blue that painted my father's face forever etched in my mind.
Considering my family's background as one of the most highly respected and beneficial Christian families of our church, I'm sure you could guess that this news was far worse for them to hear than announcing that I was getting married or even addicted to drugs. Let's just say I'm in deep, deep shit.
As I drive to school, I look around at the boring scenery that is my boring town of Lima, Ohio. I realize that this is the last time I will see the broken street light on Carter Road or the Linda Gold Real Estate add on the back of the park bench across the street from Breadstix for a long time. Nine months, actually. If I'm lucky. It may take longer if I "misbehave". Driving into the parking lot, I make my way into the school as quickly as I possibly can without looking like I'm running.
I walk through the halls knowing very well that every eye is on me. No, no one knows I'm pregnant (thank God), but it's all a part of being the HBIC. Everyone just stares and gawks because you are you. I used to soak it in, but now I'm craving for once in my life to not be the center of attention. I hide my stomach with my jacket and scowl and the gawkers, letting them know that I am not in the mood to be messed with.
I reach my locker, haphazardly tossing my books inside. I decide to keep my jacket with me, for…safety.
Just as I close my locker, I sense a shadow behind me. I know exactly who it is and it makes me want to vomit. And not just because his cologne is not mixing well with me today.
"Hey, Princess. Lookin' good this morning," he slurs and I just know he is smirking, probably thinking he's the shit or something he must always be thinking about. Frankly, I don't give a damn.
"Go away, Puck." I attempt to walk away from him, but his height enables him to keep up with me at a considerably easy pace.
"Hey, Fabray, what's with all the ice? I'm just saying hello."
Annoyed, I make it a point to show him my disinterest with a series of eye rolls, a specialty of mine. "I thought I made it clear, Puck, that I have no desire to talk to you. In fact, I wouldn't be devastated if you disappeared altogether."
The letterman-wearing oaf halted my path by leaning up against some lockers. "Those are some harsh words, Q. I just wanted to ask if you wanted to go to Azimio's party later tonight. We could hang out. I know how much fun we had last time we went to a party together." He begins stroking my upper arm slightly with his fingers, winking.
I smack away his hand, hard enough to make a considerably loud smacking noise. I look around frantically, wondering if by chance anyone had overheard the last five seconds of our conversation. "Shut up, moron! Someone could have heard you. And I can't, we've been over this," I yell/whisper at him.
"Oh, right, 'cause you're like, going to that Christian Crap School. Babe, that's so lame. Just do it next year or something."
"Don't call me babe. And I can't, Puck. My parents are forcing me." I spit out at him. I'm becoming more and more agitated at his presence, as well as nauseated and I would very much like to complete the rest of my last day with any ounce of dignity I have left.
Puck flexes his muscles against the metal locker and smirks, "Guess you'll just have to hold out for the Puckasaurus until you get back. Do you think any of those Christian chicks at that place are hot?"
I can literally feel the gurgling and the movement in my stomach and I scoff, brushing past him to go to first period. This time he doesn't follow me. It's such a pain in the ass that my stomach has to start doing flips whenever Puck is around. As I walk into English, I suppress the urge to touch my stomach, but the words can't help but escape my mouth in a barely-there whisper.
"I know, baby. Your dad is a prick."
The "Christian Crap School" that Puck mentioned is actually M.H. Y. M.
The Manhattan Home for Young Mothers was my mother's idea and my father was quickly on board. They had both agreed that sending me away would save more face than disowning me altogether. To our neighbors and fellow members of the community, I am going to a Christian boarding school in Vermont so I can "create a closer connection to God through a different and exciting experience", also known as, a load of crap.
I try to make it through the day without 1.) upchucking 2.) biting off Puck's head, and 3.) crumbling to pieces altogether. So far, so good.
I am given many gifts and cards by some of my adoring student body, wishing me a happy farewell. At least I can be proud that I managed to maintain my reign until my departure. I attempt to be thankful for the gesture, but I'm really just please with the amount of things I can now use to hide my baby bump.
I poked at my still-half-alive cafeteria lunch, too distracted by devastatingly unfortunate situation to hear what my best friend and fellow Cheerio, Brittany, was yapping about. It's not like it mattered anyway. Brittany was always going on insignificant tangent. Love her to death, but boy was she daft.
"This is such a travesty. Oh, Q, what on Earth is McKinley High going to do without you?" Gina, some wannabe freshman, who atrociously curled her bangs, spoke from the end of the Cheerio's reserved lunch table. She was on the JV squad. The JV squad girls were such suck-ups.
"What is McKinley going to do without Quinn? What am I'm going to do without my best friend? Who's going to tell me how to use the drinking fountain, or how to not get lost going home from school?" Brittany pouted, making small, sad nibbles out of her dinosaur-shaped chicken nugget.
I squeeze my blonde best friends shoulders reassuringly, "It'll be okay, Britt. I will call and email every day. And don't forget about the whistle I bought for you."
Brittany and I had known each other since kindergarten. We were practically inseparable. Her parents were secular Catholics, but because she is blonde and pretty my parents didn't mind much. We played together, shopped together, went to dance classes together, and then cheered together. The thing about Brit is though, most of the time is kind of like a lost puppy. She views the world differently than most people, which to me makes her awesome, but to others, she's just the stupid blonde cheerleader who does everything that her bitch best friend tells her to. So, as you probably can tell, I'm pretty protective of her. Someone has to be.
Which is why I am furious my parents won't let me take her with me.
I wish I could tell Brit that I'm pregnant. I think she's the only breathing person who would be happy for me. She loves babies.
Anyway, after the final bell had rung for the day, I walked toward my car with all my gifts and goodies in tow. I put them in my trunk and before I sit in the driver's seat, I look up at McKinley High School one more time.
"See you later, hellhole. Wish me luck on my damnation." I turn my key in the ignition and head home.
By the time I reach my driveway, my bags are already packed in the car with parents drinking coffee on the porch, waiting for me. They weren't kidding when they said I was leaving right when school got out.
"Get in the car, Quinn. We have to hit the road before the traffic hits. We have eight hours of driving to get through, young lady," my father gripes, getting behind the wheel. My mother enters the passenger side, a stack of Better Homes and Gardens magazines in her arms.
"Can I at least eat something, or pee?" I whine.
"No."
They slam their perspective doors simultaneously.
I sigh. I feel like crying. But I'm not a crier. I refuse to be. So instead, I get my butt in the car.
I sit quietly in the backseat of the family SUV, both arms and legs crossed in misery and frustration. I stare out the window and watch us pass state lines as my parents lecture me on how I need to take responsibility for my actions and I should be thankful for the generous offer they have presented me, dropping me off in a new state to fend for myself with only a few suitcases of clothes and memories to call my own. Oh, yeah, and a baby inside me. Great.
By the time we enter the city, it's almost midnight. The sky was dark, but the streets definitely weren't, with every building lit up with neon and fluorescent lights. Any other day and I would be ecstatic to be driving through the bright and big city that was New York, but given the certain circumstances, it only made me anxious. As glamorous as the city was, where I was going was anything but glamorous. I knew absolutely nothing about this place and the Manhattan Home for Young Mothers except that it was a home for, you know, young mothers. Like me.
The Manhattan Home for Young Mothers isn't quite a skyscraper, but it was sure tall enough, and definitely in Manhattan, just a few streets off Times Square. It's a big brick building that resembled a little bit like a hospital, with a millions of windows with some closed, some opened blinds. The three of us walk through to the lobby door and my parents go to sign away their rights to me. The pregnant one, that's me, is forced to carry all the bags. The bags are heavy and I'm really tired by the time I get to where my folks are at the front desk.
The chipper looking redhead after finishing up her talks with my parents then turns to me, "Hello, there, Quinn. My name's Stephanie, I work here in the front office, but don't be shy to ask me for anything. I hope you feel comfortable here for the duration of your pregnancy," she hands me a plastic little card with flowers on it, "here's your room key, number 611. You're all set dear. My, how it's late. You must be so exhausted. Go on up and get to bed, that baby needs a healthy mommy!"
I roll my eyes and shudder at her calling me mommy, but I roll with it. She seems nice. I turn around to bid ado to my parents, but they were gone. There was no one left in the lobby. They had left without saying goodbye.
I tried not to seem upset with Stephanie standing there, so I just put my bags on a trolley and pushed it toward the elevator. I wasn't going to cry over people who didn't give a crap about me anymore. Heck, who knows if they even cared in the first place?
The place was eerily quiet for a place that was supposed to be filled with children, and then I realized that it was the middle of the night. I rolled down the hall of the six floor and I almost made it to my door when the stupid trolley tripped over a baby doll on the floor, sending all my bags to the floor as well.
"Fuck!" I said, bending down to pick them up.
"I wouldn't let any of the supervisors hear you say that."
I whipped myself around, hand on my suddenly rapidly beating chest. "Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me."
A short brunette with long hair, and a big belly, I noticed, came walking toward me down the hallway. She laughs, "Not that one either."
I raise my eyebrow in confusion, "Huh?"
She smiles again. This girl has big, white teeth. She has a nice smile, "The cursing. I don't have a problem with it, but you'll get in trouble if the supervisors hear you curse. They try to prevent as little corruption to the little ones as possible."
I find myself nodding, "Oh, right. Thanks for the tip."
"Of course. So, I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that you're new here?"
"Yeah, just got here like ten minutes ago." I said, nodding toward my bags.
She stretches out her petite hand, and for a moment I'm distracted by her large bump. She's pregnant, too. She's a young mother, just like me. Or, soon to be. "Hi, I'm Rachel."
I take her hand, shaking it lightly. "Quinn."
"So, you're a cheerleader, Quinn?" She asks, giggling.
"What?" I look down and realize that I'm still wearing my Cheerios uniform, seeing as parents didn't let me change, "Oh, yeah, I am. Well, I was. Guess that's kind of over now." I'm still bitter.
Rachel stands there for a moment, not saying anything. Then she motions toward the end of the hall. "It's late, I just came out to get a drink. I should let you get settled. My room is 630 if you need anything," she turns to leave, but then smirks, pointing to my room door, "Oh, and have fun."
I look at my door confused, "Wait, what do you mean have fu-" I start to ask, but she's already rounded the corner.
Oh, well. Guess I'll find out.
Fuck me.
Hey guys! I hoped you liked the first chapter! Review review review!
-Katie