Not So Bad
"I'm just saying chickens may have breasts, but they don't have tits," you say.
"You're so stupid," Sheila laughs.
Ronnie's in too bad of a mood to join the conversation so she just sulks on the couch. She mumbled something earlier about Mrs. Hagberg's geography quiz so that probably has a lot to do with it considering Ronnie's dumb as rocks.
That's probably not a very nice thing to say about your friend, but your friend is also not very nice.
"Where's Quinn?" you ask casually — she never comes around on the weekends, but last night you practically begged her to come hang out so hopefully she caves.
"I heard Sylvester busted her slashing Figgins' tires," Sheila supplies.
"Damn, we were supposed to do that together," you muse. You've got it bad for this girl already and she has no clue.
"What is up with you two lately?" Sheila wants to know. "You're always together."
You shake your head so that your long, dark hair covers the embarrassment written clearly all over your face. "She's cool. We're into the same stuff."
Ronnie snorts. "Like books? I used to see her in the library all the time when I went to after school tutoring."
That really embarrasses you because neither of your friends know you like to read. It's not like just lame summer reading though. Sometimes you see a movie and it's based on a book and you like to read it afterwards to compare the two. Then you chug your brother's beer until you pass out. "No. Just music and stuff. She likes that old school shit."
"I kinda like her. Quinn's not so bad," Sheila says.
"Agreed," Ronnie grumbles reluctantly.
You breathe a sigh of relief. Your friends have no idea how glad you are to hear that.
Sucker
"You do nothing all day and party all night."
It's meant to be an insult, but this is the first time you've hung out just the two of you and you can't be bothered to be offended by that.
You inch closer to her face and burp because this classy broad needs to know that she can't just go around changing things — including you.
Well, maybe if she asks nicely.
Ah, who are you kidding? You're already a sucker for her charm.
"You're disgusting," she says.
"I think the word you're looking for is rude," you banter, leaning back away from her. "Soon as I'm done mixing this goop up we can start."
"Goop? That's reassuring," she says. She uses sarcasm a lot and you've noticed because it's not just her body that attracts you to her. She makes you want to know her every little quirk. "I thought you said you do this all the time."
"I do. I dye my mom's hair, I dye my grandma's hair, hell, I even dyed my brother's hair once while he was passed out. He looked like a grape for a month until he shaved it off."
"Fascinating," she drawls.
You catch a reflection of her face in the mirror and you swear you fucking swoon. She looks so angelic with her halo of golden hair. "You sure you wanna do this, Quinn?"
"I'm positive," she nods.
"Pink will suit you," you say quietly.
She scowls. "Just do it already."
"Anything for you, princess," you joke, but deep down you're really not joking at all.
Hideout
"This is your hideout?" the newest Skank asks you. She's decked out in all black and looks super hot even if she is pissed off. She obviously wasn't expecting you all to hang out under the bleachers.
You wonder just who she thinks she is. She doesn't look like the same Quinn Fabray who strutted past you the past three years without so much as a glance. She's still got the confidence — that's for sure — just not the ponytail. "Yeah," you say, "it ain't much, but no teachers come around here 'cause Ronnie will beat 'em up."
Ronnie grunts in agreement. "Even Sue don't wanna show her ugly mug around here."
Quinn rolls her eyes, but it's clear she gets the picture. The Skanks are invitation-only and yet somehow she's managed to weasel her way in with just one damn scowl. "So what do you do out here?"
"Whatever we feel like doing," you reply hoarsely. Somehow between the cigarettes and her smoldering glances you've lost your voice. You offer her your last smoke, which she accepts to your surprise.
She wedges the cigarette between her lips and it's about damn near the hottest thing you've ever seen. "Gimme a light," she demands and you lift up your lighter with no hesitation. She inhales — too deeply for what you assume is her first time — then coughs.
"Easy there," you advise. You take the cigarette from her mouth to show her how it's really done. You puff on it twice, careful not to swallow any, and pucker your lips. A single, perfect smoke ring floats out and she looks at you in awe.
Sheila grins at you like a fool. "Show off," she teases.
You blush because yeah, you were trying to impress the new girl and by the look of things, it definitely worked.
Hemp
This girl is cute, but she's really starting to piss you off, mostly because she won't date you. "Are you kidding me? Hemp has a million and one uses, Quinn," you tell her.
She looks at you skeptically. "It comes from a marijuana plant."
You sigh. "So? It's totally different."
She flutters those long lashes at you because for some reason that's your fucking Kryptonite or some shit. "Why are you getting so upset about this? I already said I don't care that your backpack is made from hemp," she says, mostly trying to avoid this conversation in favor of a little light flirting before her ride gets out of Glee club rehearsal.
"But you do care because you think I'm a pothead!"
Her eyes flash—she hates when people make assumptions about her. You learned that the hard way when you teased her about her old Cheerio days. "I never said that," she replies.
"Fine. What do I have to prove to you I'm not? I'll pee in a cup," you offer.
"No thanks," Quinn replies. "Just make sure your bag's zipped all the way up next time so I can't see your stash."