I don't own anything. If I did, Puck would be shirtless a lot, and Mark Salling would be mine.

I, Rachel Barbara Berry, will admit that at the young age of twenty-two, I have made a lot of mistakes, and I have more regrets then I could possibly count. I have small ones, like wearing brown knee-highs with a black skirt, or wearing my grey Ugg boots out in public. (Kurt would consider both of these to be major offences, but compared to all my other regrets and mistakes, I would consider those to be quite trivial.)

I can trace some of my first regrets back to Kindergarten. I wasn't exactly socialized well before I entered school, my two dad's were too concerned with making sure I knew how to read a tie my shoes, and so I was exactly up on how everything worked in a situation where there were other children. Which meant that I didn't know that it was socially unacceptable to take a swing from someone when that someone jumped off to retrieve the shoe she had kicked off her feet just minutes before.

Sitting on the swing, I started kicking my legs when the young girl came over to me, and started yelling at me for stealing her swing. I of course, not knowing the proper social customs, ignored the screaming red head in front of me, and continued swinging. I kicked my legs back and forth, blocking out the sounds of the girl's voice. I didn't notice when she stopped screaming, and I didn't notice when she left. But I did notice when I felt a hand come out and grab my swing.

Oh boy did I notice that.

I feel right off the swing and into the tan sand below me, getting sand in my mouth, a little in my eyes, and all over my new Mary Janes. Looking up at the shadow that stood over me, I saw a much taller, much bigger boy looking over me. "Don't you ever mess with my sister's swing again", the boy spit at me.

I didn't know what else to do, so I simply said, "She got off."

Apparently that wasn't the right thing to say.

After that my memory goes a bit hazy. I remember the little girl yelling again, sand getting kicked at my head over and over in large quantities, and the little boy being tackled to the ground by a little blonde girl I recognized from my class.

Sitting up I watched in awe as the tiny blonde wrestled the boy to the ground, all while screaming, "Go pick on someone your own size." She then proceeded to knee him in the balls.

Groaning in pain, the little blonde hopped off of him and made her way over to me. Sticking out her hand to help me up, I stood up next to her brushing off all the sand that had made it onto my clothes, and watched as the older boy ran off, still clutching the place where the blonde had kneed him. Turning my attention back to her, the green eyed girl said warmly, "Hi, I'm Quinn Fabray."

That was the day me and Quinn became best friends.

Hm. I guess that one isn't something I really regret. That one turned out pretty well.

Well, I know another one. I regret like Blake Bruner in the first grade. He was the cutest boy in our class, without a doubt. And not only that, but he was in the highest reading group with me. He was cute, and smart. That wasn't something you found everyday in Mrs. Handers first grade class. (To be honest, that's not something that you find everyday when you're twenty-two and living in a city with like, a million people in it.)

One day we were on the playground, and Blake was just sitting there, up against a tree. He was one of those kids who was just too cool to play with the other kids. Quinn had been telling me for days that I should go sit with him, but I was too nervous. He was the cutest boy in school. But I had just got a new skirt, and my shoes looked super shiny that day, so I decided to take the plunge.

Making my way across the playground, I went to go sit by him, when a little boy stood in front of me blocking my path. He was new at school, and we hadn't really met yet because he was in another class. But he didn't seem too happy with me, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why.

"Excuse me", I said with a smile. I had been spending a lot of time at the Fabray's household, and watching Quinn's mother and older sister had given me a lesson on manners.

The boy's frown just got deeper, and with a hint of anger in his voice he said, "Hey, I liked him first, don't even think about it."

With shock written all over my face, I was quite dramatic as a child, I realized that, like my father's, this young boy in front of me liked boys. "You did not like him first! I did."

After that there was a lot of name calling, him insulting my shoes, Quinn threatening to knee him in the balls, the boy rolling his eyes a lot, and a little bit of dirt throwing. In the end, Blake didn't pick me or him. He actually didn't pick anyone, at least not at our school. He moved. I have no idea what happened to him, and honestly I don't care enough to look him up.

All that matters was that the day after, Kurt ended up joining me and Quinn at lunch, and we quickly became best friends.

Ok, maybe that one wasn't a regret either. That one ended up pretty well too.

Ooh, I've got a real one. No good outcome, just a regret.

I regret throwing away my retainer in the eighth grade. Me and Quinn spent two hours looking for it in the cafeteria trash. Kurt refused to help claiming that if he got any ketchup on his new shoes that he would have to throw himself out of his window that night. He was always a tad dramatic.

That might not be the best example. It's not exactly an earth shattering regret. I have better ones, I promise.

Here's a good one. I regret trying to start a petition to get a Glee club started at my high school my freshman year. I was quite an overachiever, and I decided to combine my love for singing, and my love for being in charge, and put that together into a Glee club, that I would be the president of.

Only two people signed it. Quinn because she loved me, and Kurt because he liked signing his name.

I'm not counting the many signatures from Chuck Norris, and Oprah.

I gave my petition to a boy in my Spanish class, and with a smile, I told him to pass it around to all his friends. I never did get it back. But I did get my first, and last, Slushie Facial.

And Rick Tucker, the boy who slushied me, got a swift kick in the balls from one Quinn Fabray. (Over the years that had become her favorite form of punishment to anyone who picked on me or Kurt.)

As much as I did want a Glee club, I regret going about it through those measures.

Another big one? The day I found out that my best friend, Quinn Fabray, was with child.

We were sixteen. We were nearing the end of our sophomore year of High school when I got the call. I heard Quinn's ringtone, "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls, a best friend classic, and I picked up with our typical, "Hello my bestest friend, wife, hetero life partner, what can I do you for?"

But instead of her typical laugh, Quinn just chocked out a snob into the phone, the universal sign for, "Rachel, something bad happened."

I had immediately launched into crisis mode, rattling off questions about everything that could possibly be wrong. Did she fail a test? Break her ankle? Get kicked of the cheerleading team? Finally get in trouble for kicking all those boys in the nads?

The words that came out of her mouth? Were not the ones that I was expecting.

"I'm pregnant."

And what did I do you ask? Did I offer comfort? Hang up and run to her house right away? Threaten to kill whoever's super sperm it was that knocked up my best friend? Well, I didn't do any of those things. Oh no, those things would make sense. Those things would be what normal people would do in the situation. No, I did something that no other person would ever do.

I started laughing.

To be fair, I thought she was joking. That doesn't really make it much better does it? But what else could I do. I never thought that my best friend, blonde, virginal, Christian cheerleader Quinn Fabray, would ever have sex, let alone get pregnant, before there was a wedding band on her tiny finger.

I redeemed myself after she reassured me that she wasn't joking, by running over to her house with a tub of ice cream and about fifty pregnancy tests.

I also held her hand while she was giving birth, and she broke three of my fingers. I think that means we can call it even.

I have a lot of little regrets from high school. Like forgetting to do laundry the day before graduation, and wearing a black bra under a white dress the next day. And I skipped prom so I could baby sit Quinn's little girl Abigail.

Actually, I don't regret that. That was a lot of fun, and I heard prom was lame anyway.

College, like high school, middle school, and elementary school, was full of regrets too. I regretted not requesting Quinn as a roommate, I regretted being so mean to my original roommate that she moved out (Quinn ended up becoming my roommate because of that one, but I still regret it), I regret telling Becky Summer (the president of the best sorority on the NYU campus) that she was a snob, I regret repeating it multiple times, and I regret not shaving my legs before I went on my first date with Dayrell Hamptrend. (That one was a real disaster)

But through all those years, and all the mistakes I made, like buying the first apartment I saw in New York instead of shopping around, (Which resulted in me and Quinn having to share a bed for five months), or throwing up all over Kurt's closet after a heavy night of drinking, (It's his fault, he planned my twenty-first birthday), or hiring a clown for Abigail's sixth birthday, (God they are creepy as hell), my biggest regret happened about three weeks ago.

My biggest regret, and the biggest mistake I have ever made in my life, was sleeping with Noah Puckerman.

I hope you liked it! This was mainly to set up the characters, the friendship between Quinn/Rachel/Kurt, and to establish the setting and a little bit of back story. The next chapter should be up soon, I have a lot of muse for this story and I already have the ending planned. Please leave a review and tell me what you thought! The actual chapters will be a lot longer, this was just to get everything started.