Hey, Em here. This is my new Faberrittana fic. Heads up-Quinntana and Brittberry endgame. Enjoy!

Rachel's POV:

I've always been spectacular at making friends. When I first started school, I had a large group of friends within the first few hours. I guess it's just good genes and the fact that I'm never alone. I've been practicing my social skills since I was two months old-about the time I started talking. Yes, that's correct-I started talking, and by talking I mean short, yet actually quite intelligent, sentences, at two months old. I started singing not long after that. You see, I'm a quick learner in everything I do; it's just in my genes. I'm also good in everything I do. I'll have you know I'm a sufficient chef, cleaner, reader, writer, mathematician, gardener, painter, sculptor, and also an incredibly talented singer. Of course, there are many other things I'm good at, but I wouldn't want to bore you. See-that's one of my social skills; knowing when to stop talking about yourself. Obviously, if I had the chance, I'd talk about myself 24/7, seeing as I lead a very interesting lifestyle, but most people would rather I didn't, which is a shame, but if I want to get along with people, I have to abide by these rules.

However, despite the fact that I am, you could say, a social butterfly, I've never been fantastic at romantic relationships; I'm only good at creating and maintaining the purely platonic ones. It's a shame, that's for sure. I mean, in San Francisco, I never got lonely, of course, as I was surrounded by my large group of companions, but it would've been nice to have someone I could call my boyfriend. You know, sometimes, when I had finished doing my homework, practicing my montage of Barbra Streisand songs and socializing, I'd daydream about the ideal date with said boyfriend. I had many, but my personal favourite was simply divine-he (despite having many a daydream, he never acquired a name-I couldn't find one that would do my leading man justice) would take me to see a Broadway show, probably Funny Girl or maybe Les Mis, which we'd both enjoy thoroughly. He'd then take me to the most adorable little bistro, which, despite it's size, was incredibly expensive. However, being the gentleman he was, he'd pay the bill. He'd take me home, and drop me off at my doorstep, where he'd give me a goodnight kiss, like in one of those cheesy rom-coms I hate to love. My parents, of course, would absolutely adore this young man, almost as much as I loved him.

But, alas, I've never been lucky in the love department. My two dads (yes, that's right, two-another one of my social skills is not being homophobic, and I have my two gay dads to thank) always tell me it's because of my astounding talent, and that intimidates every potential boyfriend, as they don't have a vocal talent to match mine. I used to believe it, but sometimes, I think it might me that intimidates them. So what if I'm a little ambitious, and driven? There's nothing wrong with that! Wouldn't a man like a young woman with a goal in life? Then again, most men these days, or at least the ones I've encountered, only care about boobs (yet another department I'm not lucky in). Nevertheless, I have promised both myself and my dads that I will never give up my hopes and dreams for some boy. Hopefully I'll never have to, as my leading man will have to share my goals in life.

Anyway, as I was saying originally, before I got off track, I'm spectacular at making friends, always have, and hopefully always will. My charisma will certainly come in handy now, as I've started a new school. My daddy got relocated in his job, so we've been moved to some odd town called Lima, which is situated in Ohio. I can't help but think that Lima is an odd name, and, judging my by surroundings, I'm betting 99% of the population have no idea what a lima bean is, or how versatile it is, and that it can be used in a large variety of different meals-and luckily quite a few of those are vegan.

I guess I forgot to explain-I'm a vegan. But that's irrelevant at the moment.

I've started a new school, called McKinley High. I highly doubt that this high school caters to those who excel in musical arts, like my old school. Maybe I should suggest it to the school board? Well, not yet, of course, I've only just started, and I want to make a good impression on my peers. Maybe later in the year, when I've settled down, and made my new group of friends who are having to replace the ones in San Fran.

My dads wake me up at 7am, like usual, so I have plenty of time to get ready for my school day. My daddy, the main chef in the household, had made me vegan pancakes, which I top with mashed banana and vegan chocolate spread-normally I'd steer clear of food such as pancakes, but today, I decided, was an exception.

"What will you be wearing today, honey?" My daddy asks, peering over the top of his newspaper. I smile at him, swallowing the banana that was in my mouth. You see, fashion is very important in our household.

"My Necessary Objects print dress, I think, daddy. " I tell him, and he replies with a smile. I knew he'd like that, seeing as he picked it out himself.

My dad walks in, giving me a kiss on the cheek, before he pours himself a cup of coffee. I finish off my pancakes, putting the dish in the dishwasher, before I walk upstairs to my room to get ready for my big day ahead.

I hop into the shower (not literally, of course, otherwise that could result in serious injuries), and let the warm water rush over me. I sigh contentedly; who doesn't love a hot shower in the morning?

I dry myself with the huge, fluffy towel and go to my closet. I carefully pull out my Necessary Objects dress, making sure not to crease it. I smile to myself-I do love this dress. Now to decide which shoes would go with it.

I slip the dress over my head when I'm completely dry. I search through my extensive shoe collection for my Tory Burch pumps, which takes quite a while (like I said-extensive). I place them by the bed so they're easy to slip on once I've finished brushing my teeth and doing my hair.

I'm done in about ten minutes. It took me about three minutes to brush my teeth, then seven to do my hair. You see, I've taken such great care of my glossy, pin straight locks that they're completely manageable. I wake up in the morning and my hair is near perfect. It's a gift. There have been many girls (and boys, as well) who have commented on the spectacular condition of my hair.

I slip on my pumps and skip happily down the stairs, careful not to fall head first down the stairs, otherwise that would be quite a major disaster, and it's not a good idea to start a new school with a massive black eye.

My daddy is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, car keys in hand. He grins at me as I reached the bottom. My dad comes out into the hallway to say goodbye and to wish me luck. He kisses me on the cheek, gives me a famous Berry bear hug and hands me my school bag.

My daddy drives me to school. We don't talk, because he's afraid of saying the wrong thing and making me nervous, so instead, we let the powerful, emotional vocals of Barbra Streisand wash over us. My nerves are gone in an instant.

We reach the school and my daddy gives me a quick kiss. He wishes me good luck and I get out of the car and inspect my surroundings. I was immediately swarmed by young girls clad in cheerleading uniforms. None of them pay me attention-they're much to busy chattering away to one another, or texting on their BlackBerrys.

I tentatively readjust my shoulder bag and walk into the school, careful not to knock into anyone-I don't want to start a fight already.

I know where I'm going-I talked to the Principal on the phone last night, and I have a map, as well. I walk to my locker, feeling slightly more confident and eager to start the day. I've always loved school, the lessons, and the friends…

That reminds me. I open my locker and deposit a few books in there. I start to spruce up my locker with little trinkets and knickknacks that are close to the heart-a picture of my dads on the inside of the door, along with a picture of Barbra Streisand and Patti LuPone. After decorating my locker, I pull my checklist out of my bag. Yes, my checklist. NO, I'm not some creepy girl who writes lists about everything and anything. Everyday I have a to-do list, and I strive to make sure I complete each and everyone of those challenges. I look down my list, smiling and nodding to myself. Yes, I will complete this, I know I will. It'll be a breeze. I pull out my pen and go down the list. Okay, get to school without any drama…check. Decorate my locker…I look up and smile. Check. Next on the list is to meet someone new, and potentially gain them as a friend. Just as I'm putting my checklist and pen away in my bag, I feel someone tap on my shoulder. Oh, no, has some huge jock decided to victimize me because he could tell I was new? What gave it away? The fact that I decorated my locker? Damn me and my checklist-completing ways! I take a deep breath and turn around, bracing myself. Instead of a 6"5' jock stood in front of me, I am faced with a blonde girl, a few inches taller than me. Her hair is long, and blonde, very…Disney princess-esque. She gives me a small, timid smile and extends her hand.

"I'm Quinn." She tells me, waiting for me to introduce myself. I compose myself and stand up straight and tall, flashing her my best stage smile. I take her hand and shake it, firmly, but not so much that she's overwhelmed.

"I'm Rachel. Rachel Berry."