A/N: The only reason I'm using this material is because people have told me that it would be a good idea for a book. So instead of pushing my deepest secret into the realm of the super public, I've decided the quasi-public, teenage generation would be a better audience. Let's pretend that Rachel lived with Shelby, Beth never existed, and Finchel/Puck x Quinn (What is that, Quick?) also never happened. If I find more discrepancies, I'll let you know.
Chapter 1: In the Beginning
Most people have so many moments where they wish they had a time machine handy. Possibly when they got caught cheating on a test, when they went to a certain party, and that time when they made a fool of themselves in front of a crush. But for me, there's just one: the moment when I poured my heart out and pressed "send". As you very well know, my vocabulary is extensive and even when I find myself speechless I manage to find a way to express that. Many of you see me as a rubber ball: resilient, able to bounce back quickly. Though that may not be the first metaphor you would use to describe me, it's there in the back of your mind. And although I appear to be the epitome of confidence, just oozing a sane calmness from each and every single pore on my body, there is one area in my life that gets me tongue tied every time it manages to be brought up.
Quinn Fabray.
There. I've said it. After months and months of torturous slander and falsefied tales, I find myself able to say her name. I could shout it out from my window at this very instant, but that would make me seem quite an irrational girl. The basic fact behind every rumour you've heard is true: once upon a time, Quinn Fabray and I were an item. But from there, everything spirals out into an endless web of lies that she has spun. No matter what story you've heard, as long as they came from her, I ended up being portrayed as the villian. Me. Harmless Rachel Barbra Berry. Why would anyone on Earth believe such a thing? Maybe I'm not quite as unaffected by the thought of her as I would like to make myself believe, because my fingers are shaking noticebly as I write this. But this must be done; I have to break through this barrier of emotion which bars me from gaining freedom. The purpose of this story is to tell what really happened when we were together- the truth. After all, the truth will set me free.
It began Janurary 9th, 2012- Junior year. The day was Monday, and the time was five p.m. I was sitting on my bed with my computer perched on my lap and one leg tucked neatly underneath me. Whenever the occasion presents itself, I utilize my computer's social networking capabilities. Bringing open my web browser, I went into a website named Tumblr. The name was humourous in my opinion, as if someone were sitting on top of a dryer whilst coming up with it. Quinn, one of my friends, had made me a Tumblr and insisted I used it. Something must have been in the bottles of Dasani I drank frequently, because an insane thought popped into my mind that day. 'You should ask Quinn out.' was the thought.
I found out Quinn played for both teams purely by way of precise timing. Sometime the previous month, she had "reblogged" - the terminology kills me - a post that said, "Every lesbian has heard 'All The Things She Said'." My first thought, even though I'm not a lesbian, was "Well, I haven't." My second thought was controlled by my fingers and the question was typed into her inbox. "You're straight, right?" As we all know by now, the answer wasn't what any of us expected.
Anywhom, I digress. After debating the pros and cons of actually going through with it, I began to type my proposal. Gathering up my confidence, I crafted the perfect message in a small paragraph and hit send.
I knew she was going to say no. And she did. "Sorry, but I can't." came her reply. It wasn't crushing or devastating, and it didn't hurt. I had forseen her answer. End of story, right? Wrong. I shrugged it off like a good sport and said "Well, okay. Let's pretend it never happened." After all, I wasn't her type. However, instead of reacting the same way I did and being willing to put that blunder behind us, she basically said that we could never be friends again. After a day or two of trying to save our friendship, I told her that I was going to stop talking to her, like she wanted. That was me from the start - always willing to make her happy. A few short days later, on Friday, January 13th (lucky, huh), she changed her mind. That's right, ladies and gentlemen- she came back to me. I know you've heard that I begged and pleaded and cried, but she was just a pretty girl- not worth throwing a temper tantrum over, in my opinion.
It was the end of the school day, and we must have been having testing or something because I was in Trigonometry at that time which I usually have earlier in the day. My phone vibrated with a text from her. I had deleted her contact information so I wouldn't be tempted to send her a message, but I still remembered the number. I ignored it. A minute later, another one came. I figured she would be relentless and I opened the messages.
"Can we talk?" the first one said. "Please?" read the second one. Ha! What a funny girl. "Funny Girl"- see what I did there? I turned off my phone and stowed it in the depths of my backpack. I promptly plugged myself into my iPod and my thoughts were clouded by music for the drive home. My mother, Shelby, apparently had no idea that I was going through a tough time, because when I climbed into the car she merely smiled at me and drove off. Isn't it funny, in a sad way, how the people who could help us the most never know we need help unless we tell them? And we won't tell them either because we're big, strong teenagers and can handle anything life throws our way.
When I got home and checked my messages, I had quite a lot. And they were all from her. After the pleading texts, she sent several reminding me to do homework. If only you could have seen my face then. But her last message said,
"Puck's noticed that we haven't been talking as much."
To that I replied, "Well the silence between us must have been caused by you believing that I was hurt by your response, even though, I assured you, I was not."
She began to sing a different tune, because eventually she told me "Maybe it's temporary insanity - kidding - but I'm saying yes." Whether it was because she realized that she had a perfectly fresh victim on her hands or because she actually felt something for me, I'll never know.