Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or any related characters, concepts, or fictional locations.

Breathless

What kind of life do you live in where you are the most popular girl in the entire school and yet you can't really even do anything you truly love? Now I'm not necessarily saying I love Rachel Berry, but if I did and I wanted to do her, what was stopping me? Head cheerleader is supposed to mean something, you know. Sure, she was bottom of the food chain, but I was once too.

Fuck, what am I even thinking? Once Rachel finds out that I was some fat bitch even she wouldn't want to go out with me. Not that she's not worthy of me, but being so low on the social pyramid, she doesn't have a lot of quality offers. I fucking sound like a dick. And a lesbian. Even Santana doesn't have this bad of a mouth. Well, mind. How did I ever make it?

I hate my locker. It's not of the really nice lockers that's at the end of a section, but right in between the others so whenever you have to get books you're smooshed between all the losers who don't seem to realize that there's more than enough room to allow me to slip my arm in between…

That's why I love Friday afternoons. When I'm getting my books out, no one else gives a shit. They just want to get home, and so I am left almost alone. There's still a good amount of kids around, just none of them are interested in their books or lockers.

"Quinn?" said a small voice from behind me. Probably another whore wanting to get on the Cheerios. It's a two-sided blade it is…Rachel. I furrowed my brow and looked left and right.

"Can I help you?"

She clearly noticed my looking around. She blushed and looked down. "Don't worry, I won't stay long," she said, "I just wanted to know if you wanted to go out this weekend – you know like hang out. As friends. Just friends." I cocked a confused eyebrow. She was so beautiful. Focus.

"Is someone putting you up to this?"

Rachel shook her head vigorously. "No! I am acting upon my own desires. I wish to accompany you to the mall perhaps tonight or tomorrow night. Would that be out of the question?"

I said, "Rachel, why do you want to hang out with me?" and she stared with a baffled expression painted upon her face. And it was the way that her lips were pushed out at that moment that made something inside me say this is your chance, take it.

"I think it would be fun."

"I'm so much higher than you on the social hierarchy though. Are you intimidated?" was this being flirty? I feel like she's into domination stuff and I'm trying to make her lady parts happy. Fuck my life: did I really just think that?

Rachel's mouth hung slightly open and I tried not to smile. No. Instead I stepped forward from the lockers and pressed my lips against Rachel's top one. I think. It all happened in such a daze that I can't really remember. Her plump lips were everything I had ever imagined plus more. It was a wondrous event that Walt Whitman would be jealous of. If, you know, he were a lesbian instead of a guy.

The rest of the hall went mostly silent except for those who were unaware or just uninterested. I don't think anyone was uninterested though, because eventually the hall grew dead silent.

Then there was a push. Maybe a shove; Rachel wanted me off her, that's all I know. I hit against the lockers and took a deep breath. I forgot to breathe. Rachel looked at me with big eyes. Her jaw was clenched and her chest was heaving. I stepped forward and started to reach for her but she stepped back almost bumping into a bystander, who she then apologized to. She looked back at me and then ran.

I probably looked like an idiot. That's why she ran. She couldn't have run far. She's pretty short. Was she athletic? She wasn't on any sports teams, and I had yet to have gym with her even once. I think singing was her thing, like Rent or Cats. I don't know, that Broadway shit.

I looked around at all the bystanders, who soon resumed their normal activities – or just made it less obvious they were talking about Quinn Fabgay.

What was I even thinking? Was I thinking? She just seemed so…wanting. She was flustered, rambling. She basically asked me on a date. I closed my locker gently to avoid going ape-shit on it before storming off to the outside world. Fuck Cheerios practice. Coach wants the best cheerleader off her team? Fine. More time at the bottom with Rachel.