I have it this time. I nailed that audition. I got a callback. It's mine. It's got to be.
The thoughts had been circulating through Quinn's mind all day. At one point during philosophy, she glanced down at her notes and found that what started as notes on an introduction to Descartes, somehow became scribbles of "I am Lady Macbeth." If anyone needed to borrow her notes, they might try to have her institutionalized.
Yeah she'd admit it, it seemed a bit crazy. It was a bit crazy. Hell, she'd been there before. But this wasn't the same crazy Quinn from a year ago. This was motivated and driven Quinn. This was HBIC without the bitch Quinn. This was Quinn with a purpose. This was Quinn doing something she loved. So let the world judge her for her craziness.
Well, the world wasn't judging her yet. That'd come later—with fame. But half of the Yale student body was judging her as she sprinted through the courtyard, right into a tour group, knocking over several prospective students and cementing their parents' decisions that Yale University was just too crazy for their son or daughter.
"Er…Sorry. Sorry. Just in a rush. Sorry," she blurted out as she got up and tried to walk away as quickly as possible.
Once she was out of the courtyard and out of sight, she broke out into a full sprint again. It was 4:04. The cast list was posted at 4:00. She was so confident about getting the part, that she made a promise with herself that she'd be the first one there when the list went up. Her daily mid-afternoon nap had effectively screwed that plan over. And now everyone was going to find out about her role before her. And she'd probably be getting a text from someone who normally had no reason to text her congratulating her. And that was not how Quinn Fabray intended to find out that she was Yale University's next Lady Macbeth.
She picked up her pace as she rounded the corner, but stopped shortly once the theater came into sight. She confidently approached the group gathered on the theater steps. Her confidence only tripled the moment Becca Welling, junior-arrogant-lead-in-almost-every-show-bitch, smiled and said "Congrats, Fabray" as she walked down the steps.
That's right, Welling. Couldn't sleep your way to the top for this part.
Quinn pushed her way to the front of the group, not bothering to stop and engage in small talk with anyone. Her eyes quickly found her name.
And then she was running again, down the New Haven streets, past the historic halls, through the courtyard, and right back to her dorm. She violently slammed the door shut.
Quinn always had a way of expressing her emotions through anger first, so it didn't come as a surprise when all she could think of was murdering Becca Welling, showing her who the rightful Lady Macbeth was.
"THAT WHORE," she screamed loudly, not caring whose study sessions she was disturbing and collapsed on her bed in a huff.
She slowly curled up on her side and let the unshed tears fall. She knew she shouldn't blame that arrogant cocksucker named Welling. She knew she shouldn't blame the department or the director, but frankly it was easy blaming them. It was easier than facing reality. Blaming them was easier, because it kept Quinn from blaming herself. It kept Quinn from the thoughts that were overtaking her mind with each new sob.
I'm not good enough. They're all better than me. I made it out of Lima, but I'm never going to make it anywhere else. Maybe Yale was a mistake. I don't have anything to show for it. I don't even have any friends to show for it. I've been here three goddamn months and I don't have a single friend.
And that was the cold hard truth, no matter how much she wanted to deny it. Quinn Fabray had been a Yale student since the end of August. She auditioned for three shows already and received small ensemble parts in each, including "The Gentlewoman" in the upcoming November production of Macbeth. She had nothing to show role-wise. The same could be said of friendships. She tried in vain to make friends, but something was off and she didn't seem to click with anyone.
Perhaps it was the fact that she didn't really have any friends anymore. Because with college, she was always told that the friends you make are generally very similar to your high school friends. But the problem was, Quinn Fabray didn't have any high school friends left.
She had made the most of her senior year. She held on to sixteen or whatever the hell it was that Sam had told her to do. She put her bitchy ways and the pregnancy and Russell and being homeless and Beth and trying to get Beth back and her craziness and just everything—she put it all in the past and somehow learned to finally enjoy high school. She rekindled her friendship with Santana and Britt and helped them sort through their first "couples fight." She managed to stay friends with Sam and helped him win Mercedes back, becoming close again with the girl who had provided her with a roof over her head when she most needed it. She went shopping with Kurt and Blaine—Blaine had an impeccable preppy taste that she absolutely adored—whenever she got the chance. She settled into an odd bromance with Puck, playing video games with him every Saturday night. She even forged the most unlikely of friendships with Rachel Berry after Rachel had so kindly pulled her back to reality. The thought warmed her tear stained cheeks. Heck, if you had asked Quinn Fabray on graduation who the best friend was that she mentioned in her salutatorian speech, her eyes would've settled on the little brunette sitting in the first row.
But an entire summer had gone by. An entire summer of working non-stop at the dentist's office, trying to scrape together as much money for Yale as possible. She wanted desperately to be sure she had enough money in case Judy Fabray blew any more of the divorce settlement money on another Jesus Booze Cruise. So Quinn found herself working 40-hour workweeks and neglecting all her friendships. Not that S or B cared, they were too wrapped up in each other. Same with Sam and Mercedes. And Kurt and Blaine. And there was always XBOX Live with Puck. And Rachel, well Rachel ran off to a theater camp in Cleveland the minute she found out Finn would be joining the army. She had told Quinn "there is always room for theatrical improvement and in order to ensure I get the very first role that I audition for at NYADA, a theater camp will do me a world of good." Quinn knew Rachel was just running away from Finn and a broken heart. Quinn knew. She had run away before. So she didn't stop the little diva.
From then on, the summer passed quickly. Quinn started Yale, got lost on campus several times, got lost in New Haven (just once thank god), got lost in her studies, got lost in her roles (no matter how small) and tried not to think about what everyone else was doing.
It's normal not to talk to your high school friends when you start college, right? Everyone's busy doing their thing.
But once November rolled around, Quinn realized it really wasn't that normal. And right now, feeling robbed, she needed a friend who she could vent to. The blonde forced herself off her bed with another huff. She crossed the room and settled into her desk chair, pulling facebook up on her macbook pro. There was a nostalgic part of her that wanted to write a letter.
What the hell, Fabray? Lovers send letters. She probably gets enough of them from Hudson. Don't send the wrong impression, no matter how much you—yeah just stop thinking.
She clicked on Rachel Berry's profile, pausing for just a minute to smile at her default picture. It was still the group Glee picture they had taken at graduation. Rachel's arms were wrapped tightly around Quinn's waist. Snapping out of her reverie, Quinn clicked "send a message" and began to type.
Hey Rachel,
It's been a while. I'm sure NYADA is treating you well. I'm sure you're juggling two leads in two musicals all while trying to keep up with your ballet and movement courses. I wouldn't be surprised if you've even managed to find an agent. I'm sure that theater camp paid off. I missed you when you were there, did I ever tell you that? Sorry I didn't. But yeah. Um, I guess I'm just messaging you to see what's up and to talk and you know all that catching up and stuff. (Wow that last sentence sounds really intelligent for a Yale student, doesn't it? Haha) Talk to you soon.
Quinn
She clicked send and closed out of facebook, pulling up a page on Descartes hoping to make some sense of what she remembered from philosophy earlier.