Author's note: Sometimes I have the urge to write Quinnis. I finally gave into said urge. This story is made up of four parts, all of which have been written. Updates will be posted daily.
Acknowledgments: Many thanks to poetzproblem for beta reading this fic and giving me amazing suggestions and feedback. She is awesomesauce. :) Also thanks to justtripping for being a source of knowledge and angelffxmaniac for her encouragement.
Disclaimer: This is not an accurate depiction of intersex conditions. While I did do some research on them before writing this, I definitely took liberties in regards to what's medically accurate/possible. I mean no offense. I wanted to try my hand at girl!peen without reducing it to a kink, and get into more of the emotional aspects of it.
Part 1
Quinn is twelve going on thirteen when it first happens.
She's laying in bed, in that space between sleep and wakefulness when she becomes aware of it—she's… hard and her underwear is wet. Her stomach drops and she sits up, suddenly very much awake.
Shame and panic instantly bubble up inside her—her back nearly aching in recollection of what happened the last time she had an accident.
With shaky hands, she pulls off her blanket and looks down at her lap. It's with some relief that she realizes that her sheets are fine. But she still made a mess of her pajamas. She's not sure what's worse—that or the fact that her… thing… is hard and straining uncomfortably in the confines of her wet underwear.
She climbs out of bed and hastily makes her way to the bathroom at the end of the hall—making sure the coast is clear of her parents, and thankful that Frannie is already at school for her morning Cheerios practice.
Closing the door behind her, she pulls down her pajama bottoms and underwear. She stares in confusion at the sticky, white substance she sees there and frowns at her still hard penis, which is also covered in said substance. Her body has been changing a lot lately—her breasts have developed enough where she needs a training bra, her hips are becoming more shapely, and her penis has grown in size. But it's never done this before, and she doesn't know what to do to make it go back to normal.
Biting her lower lip, she quickly cleans herself off with baby wipes she finds in the cabinet under the sink. She notices that she's more sensitive than ever to stimulation, but she's too nervous to actually enjoy it. She tosses the wipes in the garbage and stares down at herself. It's so much bigger than it usually is, and it's so hard it hurts a little. Please, please go back to normal, she pleads silently.
Quinn lets out a frustrated sigh at her body's noncompliance and wraps a towel around her waist. More pressing than the situation between her legs is the current state of her clothes. She doesn't want to get in trouble for making a mess of them.
Her mother finds her furiously scrubbing her pajama bottoms in the bathroom sink—eyes bleary from too much drink the night before. "Did you have an accident?" she asks, her voice thick with sleep and confusion and a hint of worry.
Quinn's cheeks flush as she shakes her head, silently cursing herself for forgetting to lock the door as she shuts off the faucet and turns to face her mother.
"Then what are you doing?" she asks.
"I…" Quinn swallows. "My pants were wet when I woke up, but not from…" She falters, not knowing how to explain the sticky wetness she found.
A grimace passes over her mother's face, and Quinn feels her shame grow as she averts her eyes—staring at the tile of the bathroom floor.
"I see," her mother finally says, her voice tight. "We'll have to make sure to mention this to Dr. Jalen during your next visit."
Quinn shifts uncomfortably but doesn't say anything further. She has so many questions, but she's too afraid to utter a single one of them. The only thing she can hope is that her doctor will somehow shed light onto this situation without her having to actually explain anything about what's happening below her waist.
Quinn overhears her parents fighting in the living room that evening while she's preparing a snack in the kitchen.
"Russell, please, just talk to her about this," her mother pleads.
"How dare you ask me to do that," he growls, slamming down his now-empty glass of scotch on a side table—causing Quinn to flinch and a feeling of dread to settle in her stomach. "She shouldn't even be going through this. She should have gotten the damn surgery when she was born!"
"You know why she couldn't—it was too risky. It would have caused more complications."
"Like this hasn't been complicated enough," her father argues. "She's a girl with a dick, Judy. That's not normal."
Quinn tries to fight back the tears that threaten to fall but fails. Her father's words cut deeply into a wound that has existed for so long, Quinn thinks it will never heal.
Her plate of sliced apples and peanut butter sits abandoned on the kitchen counter as she flees upstairs to her bedroom.
She stares at her lap with blurry eyes, wondering for the millionth time why she was born this way. She knows how—enzyme deficiencies and imbalanced hormones and all those things Dr. Jalen has explained to her—but the why is still a mystery.
Why did God make her like this? And why does her family resent her for it?
Quinn sits in the passenger seat of her mother's white Lexus—her fingers playing with the hem of her pink dress as she stares out the window at the passing cars on Route 33. The sounds of Fleetwood Mac's "Rhiannon" filter through the speakers, breaking up what would otherwise be an uncomfortably silent drive to Columbus.
Quinn looks forward to the day when she can make these monthly trips by herself, although, of course, she wishes she didn't have to make them at all. But Dr. Jalen insists on seeing her regularly to ensure that nothing with her health or development is amiss—and after what happened a few years ago and what is happening to her body now, she knows that it's for the best, even if it usually leaves her feeling horrible about herself.
Her parents purposefully chose a DSD specialist in Columbus so that the likelihood of running into anyone from Lima is slim-to-none, but it's not so far that Dr. Jalen couldn't be called upon in an emergency. Quinn has been seeing him for as long as she can remember, and while she likes him well enough, her visits with him are among her unhappiest childhood memories.
When she was younger, her mother, father, and sister would make the monthly trip to Columbus with her. Her father would begrudgingly drive them there, and Quinn would sit on pins and needles the entire way, not wanting to inadvertently further upset him or her sister. Frannie would stomp her foot and throw a little fit about having to go with them, but their father would smile at her—his pale blue eyes crinkling with affection—and promise to take her someplace special.
And when he would drop Quinn and her mother off at the doctor's office and take Frannie out for lunch—just the two of them—she felt the sting of his rejection acutely. Quinn ached to have that experience with her father, but he has always treated her differently from Frannie, and Quinn knows it has everything to do with her condition.
Her father and Frannie no longer accompany Quinn to Columbus, only her mother does. Quinn has mixed feelings about it. On one hand, she is relieved that she doesn't have to deal with her father's sour moods and her sister's bitchiness, but, on the other hand, their lack of support hurts. Knowing that the two of them are off at a baseball game today—something Quinn has never been invited to—makes it hurt even more than usual.
The waiting room is empty when they arrive, and Quinn feels a small measure of relief at the sight. Even though anyone she might see here would be a total stranger, the fact that she's there means that they'll know something is wrong with her. Her mother avoids conversation by flipping through the latest issue of People magazine, and Quinn does the same by reading Prince Caspian.
Fortunately, they don't have to wait long until they're ushered into an examining room by one of the nurses, who quickly checks Quinn's weight and blood pressure. Quinn then hops up onto the examination table—her usual seat—and swings her legs back and forth in nervous anticipation. Her mother sits on one of the two chairs along the far wall, settling her purse over her legs.
"Quinn, Mrs. Fabray, it's good to see you again," Dr. Jalen greets them with a warm smile.
They both offer him a response in kind.
"So how is everything?" he asks, settling down on the stool next to the desk. "Any changes I should know about?"
Quinn's teeth worry her lower lip as she tries to think of the least embarrassing way to explain her situation.
"Actually, yes," her mother finally says, voice tight and visibly uncomfortable. "Two weeks ago, Quinn woke up with an… erection. And… there was…"
Quinn flushes violently. Her mother's obvious discomfort and shame over her condition makes these visits ten times more unbearable.
"A nocturnal emission?" Dr. Jalen supplies.
Her mother nods stiffly, and Quinn stares at the chart on the wall that outlines the Prader Scale.
"Quinn?" he asks, forcing her to turn her attention back to the conversation at hand. "Was that the only time this has happened?"
She shakes her head. "Every morning since then, I wake up with… an erection. But I haven't had another, um, emission?"
He opens his mouth to say something but is promptly cut off.
"I don't understand why this is happening," her mother cuts in, sounding a little distressed. "Quinn doesn't have testes, so why is… why is her penis growing, and why is she having erections and wet dreams?!"
"Like I told you years ago, Mrs. Fabray, I wouldn't be able to tell exactly what would happen in regards to Quinn's sexual development until she hit puberty, which is what she is undergoing now," Dr. Jalen explains to her mother. "But I did warn you that something like this could happen. The ovaries naturally produce both estrogen and testosterone, and the latter is most likely causing her genitals to get larger. She's experiencing nocturnal emissions, so that means her seminal glands are functioning on some level. As usual, we'll have to run some blood work and check her hormone levels—make sure her ovaries aren't producing too much testosterone and that her adrenal glands are still producing the right balance of cortisol, aldosterone, and androgen." He looks at Quinn then. "How have you been feeling? Any problems with nausea, upset stomach?"
Her stomach is often tied up in knots, but she knows that's not what he's asking. "No, I've felt okay."
Dr. Jalen nods before leading her to another room where a technician does an ultrasound of her lower abdomen. The gel is cold on her skin, and Quinn wonders if she'll ever get used to it.
She looks at the ultrasound images on the screen beside the examination table. On the inside, she is mostly a girl. She has ovaries, fallopian tubes, a uterus, and a vagina. But something went wrong while she was in utero—her adrenal glands produced too much androgen, and as a result, her genitals masculinized. So instead of a clitoris, she has a penis. Instead of labia, she has a scrotum. And there are other things that shouldn't be there—seminal glands and spermatic ducts. Her condition is especially unusual for that reason.
It's still all very confusing to Quinn, but she doesn't like to think about it too much. It makes her feel badly about herself.
Trying to shake her head of those thoughts, she goes into another room, where the nurse from earlier takes a blood sample. She barely feels the prick of the needle anymore.
Once that's done, she then heads back to the examination room where she walks in on her mother in mid-discussion with Dr. Jalen.
"Can't you somehow block the testosterone?"
"That's not a good idea. The female body needs some testosterone for growth. Her bones and muscles require it."
Her mother sighs. "If she's going to keep growing down there, it's not going to be as easy to hide her condition as it was when she was little."
"Well, there are ways," he begins, glancing at Quinn as she takes a seat. She tries to ignore the uneasy feeling this conversation is giving her.
"Surgery?" her mother interrupts, and Quinn doesn't miss the hopeful note in her voice.
He shakes his head. "It isn't a good idea. I won't even consider it until after Quinn finishes going through puberty. And then it will have to be her choice," he explains before turning his attention onto Quinn. "As with any surgery there are risks involved. And by that time, it would be purely for cosmetic purposes. There's no medical need for it. And in your case, it could actually create more problems."
Quinn wants to ask him what kind of problems, but the question gets stuck in her throat. She can never seem to muster up the courage to ask him anything about her condition—especially not with her mother sitting right next to her.
"What about… tucking and taping?" her mother asks after a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the question.
Quinn looks at her, her brow furrowing in confusion, not knowing what tucking and taping even is.
"I would highly encourage Quinn not to do that," he replies, causing Quinn to turn her attention back to him. "There's a risk of damaging the genitals, and considering the surgery Quinn had to undergo a few years back to fix her urethra, it's extra risky."
"Then how is she supposed to continue hiding this… this abnormality?" her mother asks in frustration.
Quinn's cheeks flush hot with shame, and she wishes she would just disappear.
"Mrs. Fabray, I've told you it's not-"
"Yes, it is," she interrupts. "Girls are not supposed to have a penis, and yet, my daughter does. That's abnormal. And if people find out about it, they will destroy her."
Dr. Jalen sighs but doesn't argue. Quinn knows it's because there is no argument. It's the truth. But the fact that her mother basically repeats her father's words verbatim makes them cut a little deeper.
"There is something," he finally says, making a point to look at both Quinn and her mother. "Compression shorts will prevent a noticeable bulge while ensuring proper blood flow. You can get them at any sporting goods store."
"Well, I suppose that's better than nothing," she relents, sounding a little defeated. "We'll stop and get some on the way home, Quinn."
"Okay," Quinn replies in quiet voice, smoothing down the front of her dress and trying not to betray the shame she's feeling from this entire ordeal.
"Mrs. Fabray, if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Quinn alone for a few minutes," Dr. Jalen says.
A look of relief passes over her mother's face. "That's fine. Unless there's anything else you need me for, I'll be in the waiting room."
"Nothing else, Mrs. Fabray. I'll call you in a few days when Quinn's blood work results come back and let you know what they are."
She nods stiffly and makes her way from the room.
Quinn bites her lower lip nervously and looks at Dr. Jalen questioningly.
He smiles sympathetically at her. "I imagine things are pretty confusing for you right now," he says.
All she can do is nod.
"There's nothing wrong with you, Quinn. Your body was just made a little different. But puberty can be a confusing time for almost everyone, so don't feel badly about that or anything that's happening to your body."
"I'll try," she says.
"And just so you know, the erections and nocturnal emissions you're experiencing? Perfectly normal, considering your condition. And the easiest way to get rid of the erections you experience in the mornings is to go to the bathroom."
She flushes slightly and nods. "I figured that part out," she manages to get out.
He smiles again, and it puts her somewhat at ease. "I'm going to give you some things to read about what you can probably expect to happen as your body continues to develop," he says, handing her a small binder. She takes it from him and flips through it. "Your situation is unique, so I wrote this up for you myself, based on what I have gathered from having you as my patient. If you have questions, you can ask during our next visit or even call if you need to."
She looks back up at him and offers him a small smile. "Thanks, Dr. Jalen."
"It's no problem," he replies. "Do you have any questions before you go?"
So many. But they all seem to die on her tongue.
The worst part about summer is the fact that Quinn can't go swimming. Her family has a beautiful pool in the backyard, but she's never been allowed to use it—in case the neighbors see something they shouldn't. Quinn once wondered out loud why she couldn't wear trunks on her lower half like her father does, but he scathingly informed her that she was being stupid.
"It's not normal for girls to wear boys' swim trunks. I don't want you doing anything that might make someone suspect there's something not right about you."
She waited until she was alone to cry—because crying in front of her father just made him angrier—but she knew he was right, so that was the end of that.
Instead, she spends her free time at the library or up in her room reading—losing herself in imaginary worlds and forgetting all the things about herself that are wrong.
But there are days when she hears her sister splashing around in the pool with her friends—laughing and yelling with delight—that Quinn wishes she had that. She doesn't have many friends, and the ones that she has are superficial and casual. They really only see each other at school, and after turning down a few invitations to go swimming in Sugar Motta's pool, the invites stop coming.
It hurts a little, but Quinn knows it's for the best. Judging by how her sister and father treat her, she can only imagine what would happen if other people found out the truth. Like her mother said, they would destroy her.
She thinks about the girls she spends time with at school—Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, and Sugar—and imagines what would happen if they ever knew the truth. She thinks about the scathing remarks they make to Tina Cohen-Chang just because the girl dresses a little differently or to Lauren Zizes because she's overweight and wears glasses.
If they knew that Quinn had a penis, it would lead to total ostracization at best and relentless bullying at worst.
Needless to say, Quinn, more than anyone else in her family, wants to keep her condition hidden. So she keeps her distance from them throughout the summer—instead, working to maintain a superficial relationship with them—only taking occasional trips to the mall and the movie theater. It's better to have girls like that on her side rather than against her.
But sometimes, she wonders what it would be like to have someone who would know about what she keeps hidden and still love her—would still look at her like they would any other girl.
Quinn stares at her reflection in the full-length mirror on her closet door, inspecting every inch of her body from head to toe. It's the first day of eighth grade, and she needs to make a good impression.
Her long, blonde hair is pulled back from her face with a white headband. There's a touch of eyeliner and mascara around her eyes, and her lips shine with the raspberry-flavored lip gloss she bought last week while at the mall with Brittany.
The dress she's wearing is her favorite—a pale-blue, knee-length sundress that her mother bought for her last month. She smiles a little. She can honestly say she looks pretty.
"Congratulations, Quinnie," Frannie sneers, stepping into Quinn's room and looking her over with a critical eye, causing Quinn to immediately tense up. "You could almost pass for a girl."
"I am a girl," Quinn retorts, feeling herself tremble with anger. She hates when Frannie does this.
Her sister laughs. "Of course you are. Well, at least most of you is. Except for the most important part of all."
"Shut up," she grits out, her fists clenching at her sides.
"I'm just telling the truth, you know. You can pretend as much as you want that you're just like every other girl, but you're not. You're a freak—a girl with a dick. No one's ever going to want you. Hell, Daddy can barely even stand to look at you."
Blood rushes in her ears, and Quinn sees red. She wants nothing more than to make her sister hurt like she does, and it takes all of her self control not to lunge at Frannie. "Get out!" Quinn shouts instead, angry tears stinging her eyes.
Frannie smirks and laughs, her red Cheerios skirt swishing as she leaves.
Quinn's body thrums with helpless anger as she glares at her reflection once more, her eyes immediately locking onto the place between her legs. The compression shorts prevent anything from showing that shouldn't, but that doesn't change fact that something is there that isn't supposed to be there.
Her hands are still clenched at her sides, and she has the overwhelming urge to hit something. Frannie can be so awful sometimes. But the worst part is, she's right. No one is ever going to want her.
"Cutest boys in school, go," Santana says to Brittany—the two of them seated in the booth across from Quinn at Breadstix.
"Mike Chang," Brittany replies with a dreamy smile.
"Bobby Surette," Sugar adds from her seat next to Quinn.
Quinn takes a breadstick from the basket at the center of the table, and bites into it, knowing that she needs to think of someone, and fast. She doesn't know how to explain it, but there's something different—excited almost—in the way that they talk about boys that she just doesn't understand at all. Honestly, it makes Quinn a little uncomfortable, but she decides to play along.
"Josh Coleman is really cute too," Brittany says, staring off into space a little.
"He's kind of a jerk though," Sugar says with a frown.
"Agreed," Santana says, before turning to look at Quinn. "Who's your pick, Quinn?"
Santana, Brittany, and Sugar look at Quinn expectantly then. She finishes chewing and swallows before finally settling on her answer. "Finn Hudson."
That earns her a nod of approval from the other girls, and Quinn feels a small measure of relief.
"They're all cute," Santana says then, her lips curving up into a mischievous smile, "but Noah Puckerman is getting my pick."
Brittany nudges Santana's arm a little then. "Are you going to tell Sugar and Quinn what you two did last week?"
"What did you do?" Quinn asks, her uneasiness giving way to curiosity.
"Puck and I made out in the shelter house at Robb Park," she replies with an excited glint in her eyes.
"Wow," Sugar says, eyes widening a bit. "Is he a good kisser?"
"Pretty good, yeah," Santana replies as she reaches for a breadstick of her own—that look of satisfaction never leaving her face.
Sugar squeals excitedly and then starts going on about how she would like to do the same thing with Bobby.
Quinn takes another bite of her breadstick, wishing that they would talk about something else. The fact that she doesn't look at boys the same way her friends and other girls in her class do is starting to worry her a little, and she can't help but wonder if the reason she doesn't has something to do with her condition.
People at school tell Quinn she's pretty. Boys are starting to notice her in that way.
Finn asks Quinn to the Winter Dance, and while she honestly thinks he's kind of dumb and wears way too much Axe, she immediately accepts. He's one of the most popular boys at Lima North Middle School, and she knows a lot of girls are crushing on him. All she has ever wanted is to feel like a normal girl, and she thinks going to the dance with Finn might be a chance to do that.
But her sister's words haunt her. What's between her legs is none of Finn's business, but she suspects that if he knew the truth, he would be disgusted and start bullying her like he does Dave Karofsky.
Her body has been changing even more since school started—Dr. Jalen says she's now at level 4 on the Tanner Scale—and she's glad to have the compression shorts. They're not the most comfortable thing in the world, but they make her feel better about keeping her abnormal anatomy safely hidden.
Her mother is both pleased and apprehensive about the fact that Quinn has a date to the dance.
"Now, Quinn, I know you're only thirteen, but I remember what boys were like at your age," she says as she zips up the back of her dress, and Quinn can smell the slightly unpleasant tang of gin on her mother's breath. "Turn around so I can look at you," she interrupts herself, and Quinn does as she says. She doesn't miss how those blue eyes dart down between her legs before taking in the rest of her, immediately making her feel self conscious. Her mother nods a little in approval. "Make sure Finn keep his hands to himself," she stresses.
"Yes, Mom," Quinn mumbles, her cheeks flushing a bit. She has no intentions of letting Finn do anything like that.
The doorbell rings downstairs, thankfully ending their awkward conversation.
"That's probably Finn," Quinn says.
Her mother nods. "Have a good time, Quinnie!" she calls after her retreating form. "And remember what I said!"
As she heads towards the front door, Quinn catches sight of her father in the den, sitting in his favorite leather chair, glass of scotch in hand as he watches the evening news. He doesn't even bother to spare a glance in her direction.
She knew he wouldn't—he never does unless it's to yell at her for something—but it still hurts.
Finn's mom drives them to school, and Finn sits with Quinn in the backseat. Mrs. Hudson is all smiles and seems much less uptight than her own mother as she asks Quinn a few basic questions about herself before popping in a Journey CD.
Quinn is content to stare out the window while Finn fidgets a little in his seat, drumming along with the music on the tops of his thighs. About halfway through the drive, he reaches over and clumsily clasps his hand with hers, taking Quinn a little by surprise. His hand is warm and sweaty against her palm, and her first reaction is to pull away.
Nothing about Finn physically appeals to her in the slightest, but she doesn't let go of his hand. She knows that dozens of other girls would kill to be in her position right now. And it does feel nice to know that someone likes her enough to even want to hold her hand, even if the feeling isn't mutual.
Finn stays close to her most of the night, but he doesn't really do much more than hold her hand, which is a relief. She's noticed the way Puck tries to dance with Santana—his hands wandering up and down her body, and his hips thrusting against her backside. She's grateful that Finn is a terrible dancer and doesn't want to make a fool of himself, so when Quinn feels like dancing, it gives her an easy escape from her date.
"So, you and Finn?" Brittany says, an excited glint in her eye as they move to beat of "Beautiful Liar." "Is he your boyfriend now?"
Quinn looks at Brittany in surprise. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind that Finn might want that. Although, Frannie wasn't allowed to have a boyfriend until high school, so she at least has that excuse. She tries not think about what she'll actually do come high school. That is, assuming anyone would want her to be their girlfriend. A million unwanted thoughts begin to race through her mind—having to explain her condition, the disgust that would inevitably come, the ridicule, the shame. "No," she says a little too forcefully—trying to stop that line of thought. "Finn's just my date for the dance."
"Oh," Brittany says plainly, and Quinn honestly has no idea what Brittany is thinking, but she thankfully doesn't say anything more about it.
As the dance nears its end, Finn asks her to join him in the hallway just outside the gymnasium.
"What is it, Finn?" she asks, leaning back against a locker and looking up at him, wondering if he's going to ask her to be his girlfriend—rejection already on the tip of her tongue.
He runs a hand through his hair nervously, and he looks like he's trying to gather his courage as he steps closer to her. "There's something I've been wanting to do all night."
The scent of Axe and sweat is almost overwhelming to the point of nausea, and then suddenly, he's kissing her, catching Quinn completely off guard. It's inelegant and sloppy and feels almost like he's trying to eat her face. Quinn cringes and tries not to rip her mouth away as his lips move wetly against hers.
When he finally pulls back, he has a dopy, half-smile on his face, and he looks so pleased with himself. She barely suppresses a grimace as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
Quinn never really thought about what her first kiss would be like, but she can honestly say this isn't an experience she would like to repeat. If this is what she has to put up with in order to have a boyfriend, she thinks she'd rather not bother at all.
She doesn't know whether to feel relief or worry over that realization, and tries not to think about what it could all mean.
Thankfully, Finn doesn't ask her out. He seems to be content with what happened at the dance and isn't looking for anything more, which is a huge relief to Quinn.
Still, she wonders what it is that girls see in Finn. She recalls how much she disliked kissing him and being physically close to him in general, and part of her thinks that maybe he's just not her type or something along those lines.
But when she thinks about the other boys that her friends are crushing on, she doesn't understand the attraction. She tries to imagine being close to them—tries to imagine kissing Puck the way Santana seems to enjoy doing, tries to imagine holding Mike's hand the way Brittany does, tries to imagine flirting with Bobby the way Sugar does—but it doesn't feel right.
Her body already makes her feel different, and her lack of attraction to boys makes her feel even more uncertain about things.
Things take an unexpected turn when Quinn wakes up one February morning—her underwear soaked with semen and a pleasured gasp escaping her lips.
Nocturnal emissions are rare for Quinn, but this one is different from the few she's had before. Her dream was so vivid, and there was no mistaking what she was doing in it. She was with another girl—naked and writhing on top of her—doing things she had never thought of before in her conscious state.
Quinn covers her face with her palms, unsure of what to think.
Even though she hasn't really felt any attraction to a boy yet, isn't she supposed to be dreaming of being with one?
She kicks off her sheets in frustration and goes to the bathroom to cleanup, this time making sure to lock the door behind her.
Things are confusing enough trying to feel comfortable with all the physical changes happening to her body, but this—having a wet dream involving another girl—wasn't something she could have anticipated. It isn't like there are any girls in school that she thinks about in that way. Dream girl isn't anyone she knows—just a figment of her unconscious mind.
As she finishes cleaning away the last of the white stickiness from her skin, she decides it doesn't matter if she prefers boys or girls. It's not like she could ever really be with someone. Not the way she was in her dream. I'm too defective, she thinks, staring down at her now soft penis. She mashes her lips together and closes her eyes. I'm better off alone.
As the school year nears its end, Santana and Brittany talk about joining the Cheerios once they reach McKinley High.
"You're joining too, right, Quinn?" Brittany asks while they eat their lunch.
"I don't think so," Quinn replies, pushing the mystery meat from the cafeteria around on her plate, trying to feign disinterest in the conversation.
"Why not? You're a great dancer," Brittany asks. "And we're going to look smoking hot in that uniform."
Quinn shrugs. Truthfully, she hates the Cheerios uniform. It reminds her of her sister—of cruel taunts and a lack of acceptance. But most of all, she hates it because there's no way she can hide her secret if she wears it.
Santana looks at her like she's crazy. "Quinn, the Cheerios rule McKinley," she says. "National championships every year, all kinds of free swag from sponsors, and the hottest guys in school chasing after us."
"I just don't feel like living in my sister's shadow," she says, opting to give them part of her reasoning, and it's probably the most honest thing she's ever said to them.
Santana rolls her eyes. "Please. She's graduating this year, isn't she?"
"Yeah, she is," she confirms. That day can't come soon enough in Quinn's opinion.
"So what's the problem?"
"I just don't want to join, okay?" she bites back.
"Whatever. It's your funeral," Santana retorts, getting up from her seat and tossing the remains of her lunch into the garbage.
Brittany casts a mournful look in Quinn's direction before getting up to follow Santana out of the cafeteria, leaving Quinn all alone at the lunch table.
Quinn frowns, unsuccessfully trying to stop the hurt that threatens to seep in. Already, she can see how things will probably go with their friendship after they graduate from Lima North.
Middle school ends better than Quinn could have hoped.
Flipping through the 2008 Lima North yearbook, she stops on the page for superlatives. Her eyes land on the picture she took with Matt Rutherford, the boy who won nicest smile. Her classmates named her the girl with the nicest smile.
Girl, she stresses in her mind.
She tries not to think about the fact that no one would have voted for her if they knew what was between her legs.