Hi lovely people. New story, new story! Really berry different from anything I've written, me thinks. I'm testing out the comedic route, in a very When Harry Met Sally sort of indie romantic story kind of bonanza. Apparently, I have a very subjective sense of humor, so let's see how this goes. Updates, unfortunately, will not be as frequent as I normally do. I do not own Glee, for if I did, there would be narwhals and fairies in it. Enjoy this first chapter, and please let me know what you think!
Chapter One: June
How Quinn Fabray Moved to New York City
"Goooooood morning Big Apple! If it's my voice you're waking up to, feel blessed my darling listeners. I woke up at five in the morning to a cat screeching its rendition of 'My Humps' outside my window. In retrospect, it's a pretty impressive feat, but then again, it is also Monday morning. Hot and cold. Anyways, right now, it's exactly 7:01 AM, and you know what that means. Time to get your lazy butts out of bed and start what's going to be a very long day. How about some tunes to get you going? You're listening to Artie Abrams on K 96.5. It's another beautiful day to be alive, folks."
The sound of some foreign Rick Springfield song soon filled the congested yellow cab, lacing together with the sidewalk chatter and incessant honking from the outside world. Towering buildings struck the sky like the tips of a fountain pen, hovering over the little cab with its majestic shadows. People in heels, in sneakers, in boots, in sandals, people in every type of shoe possible, sprawled out before the streets, juggling through the sidewalks like it was their job. Quinn Fabray leaned in closer towards the window, refraining herself from pressing her nose on the glass as her eyes flickered at the passing lanes.
In all her life, she had never seen so many people in one place before.
A cough came from the front seat. "First time here?" the cab driver interrupted, glancing briefly at her from his rear view mirror.
Quinn quickly moved away from the glass and smiled sparsely. "What makes you say that?"
"You've been glued to that window ever since you sat down."
She gave him a short laugh, hiding the tinge of embarrassment creeping up her throat. There was a short pause as she brushed her hair. "Is it that obvious?"
He shrugged somewhat, which made Quinn sink slightly deeper into her seat. She could hear the static-y voice of Artie Abrams through the radio, discussing with one of his listeners some very interesting theories about exotic dancers. "Have you ever wondered if that dollar bill in your wallet came from a stripper's ass?" His voice stretched thin throughout the car. "I mean, the probability is over fifty-fifty at this point."
She heard the taxi driver chuckle a bit before turning the corner. "That kid always cracks me up," he muttered. "Fucking hilarious."
Quinn gave him a small smile and averted her gaze towards the window. The streets had gone quieter, less crowded as she assumed they had hit the residential area. Shifting in her seat, she pressed the side of her forehead against the glass and leaned in quietly.
"So, you on vacation or something?" the guy persisted, and she spotted his eyes through the mirror again. "Visiting family?"
"Uh, no," Quinn said softly. "Actually, I'm moving in."
"Oh. Well, welcome then," he said, a little too distracted by the oncoming traffic to be truly enthusiastic. "Great city, great choice."
"Yeah..." she nodded in agreement. "Yeah, yes. I mean, you hear about New York being this incredible city – and it is – it's just... it's more overwhelming than I was prepared for, I guess. It's just not what I'm used to."
"Don't worry about it," he shrugged, pulling into the sidewalk. "That's the best thing about this city. Almost everyone comes from somewhere else." At this, Quinn's face softened, and the taxi cab came to a gradual stop. "Well, we're here. Need help with your bags?"
"I got it, thanks," she dismissed him briefly, leaning forward to hand him a few bills. "And thanks for... what you said. I appreciate it."
"No problem," he shrugged, counting the money. "Oh and hey, welcome to New York City."
There was a lot of screaming. No, not screaming. Squealing. Giggling. Bouncing and hugging and tickling.
The tickling part was a little weird, but Quinn let it slip. It was Rachel Berry, after all. When the girl showed her emotions, it was always an all or nothing type of thing.
"I cannot believe you are here!" the brunette bellowed, wrapping her tiny frame around Quinn's waist. She responded with an awkward pat on the head, provoking Rachel to tug on her friend tighter. "It's been years! And look at you! With your shiny blond hair - "
"Rach, I've always been blond."
"And those boots - "
"That are from Payless."
"And you're still wearing that little gold cross!"
"You're very strong for someone so little," Quinn sighed. After a few more humbling seconds, Rachel finally let go, raising her hands to her cheeks in a very fulfilling manner.
"Oh my gosh, this is going to be just like high school all over again!" Suddenly, the brunette was buzzing around the room, knocking over pots and pans as she grabbed Quinn's suitcases and clamored through the walls of the apartment. She noted it was a tragically small place, with no kind of walls dividing the kitchen from the living room, but it was so heavily furnished that hospitality was its current saving grace. There was an odd amount of cat decorations around place, such as figurines on top of the cabinets and stitchings on the throw pillows. Calming colors were also a heavy scheme, with the walls a gentle turquoise and accents of orange, blue, and purple all around the apartment.
Rachel walked passed the bathroom located right next to the kitchen and headed down the hall. "Except, of course, without the cheerleading and the slushies and the consistent bullying or passing judgment of my resemblance to Miss Barbara Striesand."
"Or that time you thought you saw Judy Garland's ghost."
"I did see her!" Rachel snapped.
"In Ohio?" Quinn raised a brow.
"There was a rainbow, and she told me to get happy," Rachel huffed a bit as she moved past two closed doors and headed straight for the one at the end of the hall. "Anyways, I just can't believe you're actually here! After four years of trying to get you out to visit me at least once!"
"I know," Quinn replied, shaking her head apologetically. "I know. I'm sorry. But I'm here now, right?" She smiled hopefully. "And your place is great!" She continued, accidentally bumping into a lampshade. "Well, it's cramped, but it's still great!"
"It's manageable," Rachel shrugged, finally opening the door to the final room. She flicked the light switch, illuminating the tiny 8x8 bedroom and plopping Quinn's bags at the center of the shabby bed. "Wow. I haven't been in this room since Tina lived in here. It's a lot smaller than I remember," Rachel tilted her head, then shook it suddenly. "I mean... it's quaint... and nice! Right?"
Quinn gave a short smile. "It's great, Rachel. I mean, I owe you for renting me this room in the first place. I knew it was expensive to live in the city, but when I looked it up, I didn't know it was that expensive."
"Don't even worry about it," Rachel waved off, her smile beaming proudly. "You're my best friend, Quinn. I'm just excited you're here! And listen, don't worry about rent for the first month or so. Finding a job can be hard, especially in SoHo, so no pressure," Rachel winked. "Yet."
She nodded, taking a small step into her new room. It was bare with cream walls, with only a small closet and nightstand shoved at the corner. Still, there was something about the little room and the way the sun was peaking through the closed shutters that gave Quinn a small glimmer of hope.
Maybe it's true what they say; everything is a little brighter in New York City.
"So, I'm the room on the left," Rachel continued, gradually maneuvering out of the room. "You'll meet our other two roommates later, Brittany and Santana. They share the room on the right." Rachel suddenly leaned in, pressing a hand against her face. "I think they may be lesbians," she whispered loudly. Quinn blinked once before scrunching her face. "But you didn't hear it from me! Anyways, I have to run to an audition. They're reprising Chicago at a small theater on 22nd. If you need anything, just call, okay?" Rachel took a few more steps out of the room before pausing and turning around. "I really am glad you're here, Quinn. I missed you."
She smiled in response and waved her off. "I missed you too, Rach. Now go hurry up and catch that Glinda audition."
"Velma."
"Whatever."
And as the two waved each other off, she listened to the retreating padding of Rachel's feet and the door closing briskly behind her. After several silent moments, Quinn glanced around the room, her arms wrapping across her body as she sighed and dropped herself onto the bed. She curled her feet underneath her, knocking over her suitcase in the process, and she vaguely wondered how desperately humorous and cliché her scenario appeared at the moment. Quinn felt herself needing to laugh, but somehow, nothing came out.
Life is funny sometimes, she thought, but not everybody laughs.
"...And that's why men don't eat asparagus. You're listening to Artie Abrams on K 96.5. It's another beautiful day to be alive, folks."
Quinn groaned as Katy Perry blasted obnoxiously through her alarm clock. Her hand fumbled clumsily along her night stand, her face still planted on her pillow as she vowed to abolish Katy from her room. With a few more half-hearted attempts, her fingers finally made contact with the cool metal of her radio, and with a quick slam of her palm, Katy Perry was no more.
Or so she thought.
It was still playing in the background.
With another groan, Quinn grudgingly raised her head, searching for the source of the persistent noise. Certainly it was not coming from her room. She blinked, trying to sort out her conscious. No, she was sure it was coming from some place else. Squinting, Quinn raised her head even higher as she glared at her door frame.
As she listened more carefully, her ears were eventually able to pinpoint the apparent origin: the kitchen down the hall. Katy had just belted her final note, replaced almost immediately with a new Jack Johnson song. Whoever was controlling the radio had decided to turn the music up louder, and Quinn let out a final moan as she swapped her pillow over her head.
Fortunately, she had a much greater tolerance for acoustic artists, and she found herself quickly falling back to a dreamy bliss. "Oh, hello there sheep. What are you doing there..." Quinn mumbled pleasantly into her magenta duvet, snuggling deeper into her sheets. Gradually, Quinn was swimming in a pool of chocolate pudding and bacon with a handsome Jack Johnson abiding loyally by her side. Just as he was about profess his love for her (which she had been patiently expecting), the sound of banging pots and pans sprang through her unconscious.
"QUINN! Wake up! Breakfast is ready!"
Quinn turned towards the figmented Jack Johnson, who eerily sounded just like Rachel.
"Quinn, it's going to get cold!"
Quinn furrowed her brow, watching curiously as Jack's head morphed into that of her friend's.
Suddenly, a blast of blinding light filled her vision as Rachel pushed her bedroom door open. Quinn blinked erratically, shooting herself up from bed. Rachel tilted her head, and slowly, a gleaming smile spread on her lips. "You didn't get to kiss Justin Timberlake, did you?"
"It was Jack Johnson this time, actually."
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Well, better luck tomorrow. Get up soon! I've got breakfast ready." She turned away from the door and hummed softly to the radio still blasting from the next room. Sighing, Quinn stretched her upper body, closing her eyes as she did so. Well, she was already sitting up, might as well take the next step. As she shifted her feet from under her dark purple comforter, the smell of waffles had sneaked into the depths of her room, and it wasn't long before Quinn found herself anxiously seated at the kitchen table.
Retrieving some butter from the fridge, Rachel glanced back at her. "Wow, I'm pleasantly surprised," she threw a hand over her heart, her voice loud and dramatic. "I didn't expect you for another twenty minutes."
"Rach, it's waffles," Quinn rolled her eyes, attending to the distant strumming of John Mayer's guitar. She quietly picked at the plate of food in front of her, pinching off some of the waffle and tossing it into her mouth. "Did you make bacon?"
"Quinn, I'm a vegetarian."
"You don't have to eat it, you just have to cook it," she shrugged as Rachel pretended to throw her spatula at her. "By the way, did you ever hear back from that audition? Glinda?"
"Velma!" Rachel cried in exasperation before shaking her head. "And no, I didn't get it. Apparently, it was an Irish Repertory Theater and very exclusive." There was some angry pancake flipping as Quinn threw her friend a look over her shoulder. "Clearly, they were surmised by my talent for I have no problem in disguising myself as various nationalities to fulfill a role - "
"Can someone please turn that off!"
The girls diverted their attention to Santana Lopez's approaching figure, storming irritably into the kitchen. She dropped herself in a sloppy manner, her arms folded across her chest as she wrinkled her maroon silk negligee . The distant voice of Artie Abrams filled the compacted apartment space, blending in charmingly with the sizzling waffles.
"Cranky," Quinn raised an eyebrow, popping a strawberry into her mouth. Santana scoffed, reaching for the fruit bowl and throwing a grape at the side of Quinn's cheek. A miniscule food fight unraveled as Rachel began scolding them from her spot near the stove.
"Watch it, Virgin Mary," Santana rolled her eyes, but a small smirk danced at her lips. Quinn stuck out her tongue as Santana leaned her elbows against the table. "So, this morning I woke up with the words 'guy with Coca-Cola boxers' written in sharpie on my stomach with a phone number under it. On a scale of 1 to 10, how inappropriate would it be for me to call?"
"One being appropriate and ten being not?" Quinn asked. Santana nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Twenty seven," she snapped, smiling a bit as she popped another strawberry in her mouth.
"I thought you had to work late last night?" asked Rachel irritably, trying to take a secret peek at Santana's stomach.
"Oh Rach," Santana sighed, lifting up her top to expose the sharpie residue. Both her and Quinn leaned in, examining the evidence. "Rachel Berry, you naïve little soul. There's this thing called clubbing. Maybe when you're a little older, I'll take you to one." Rachel playfully rolled her eyes back, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink.
"Morning," a new voice appeared from out of the bathroom. John Mayer's remote voice became almost inaudible as the soft padding footsteps gradually made its way to the kitchen. Brittany Pierce finger-combed her hair, suppressing a yawn as she sat on Quinn's other side and smiled at Santana's coffee.
"Morning B," Quinn responded as Santana stared suspiciously at Brittany and pushed her cup further away from her.
"What are we talking about?" Brittany smiled absently, toying a bit with her plate of waffles.
"Santana's night," Rachel interrupted as she joined the rest of the girls at the kitchen table. "Well, from how I see it, at least he was gentleman enough to leave a number."
"The guy knows how to leave quite an impression," added Quinn, snatching one of Rachel's carrot sticks.
"Actually, he doesn't, if you know what I mean." Santana lowered her voice suggestively, topping her waffles with whipped cream.
Rachel's cheeks turned an even brighter shade as Quinn snorted. "You are so easily skipping over the fact his boxers consisted of the Coca-Cola logo."
"It's not the wrapper that counts, Mary. It's the package."
"Can we please refrain from this topic at the kitchen table? It's way to early to be discussing Santana's sex life," Rachel sighed dramatically. Santana carelessly shrugged her shoulders, tossing another bite into her mouth. "Why don't we talk about something else. Like have you found a job yet, Quinn?"
The blond darted a glare at Rachel before biting down on her waffle. "Not yet, Rach."
"You've been here for a week already. Surely you haven't tried looking?"
"You know I've been looking every day," Quinn maintained a sing song voice, sickly sweet and bitterly fake.
"Well, there's no harm in trying a little harder," Rachel mimicked the voice, though she clearly was trying to show off her registered.
"Sometimes I think 92% of my problems are related to my vagina," Brittany sighed suddenly, and all the girls turned their heads to look at her. There was a moment of silence before Brittany sighed pleasantly and reached for the fruit bowl, and the other girls blinked several times before shaking their heads and continuing with their conversation.
"All I'm saying is that maybe you're not looking in the right places," Rachel shrugged innocently, pouring herself some coffee. "Well, it's more like I'm stating the obvious."
"Hey Rachel, why don't you look for a job for me since it seems so easy," Quinn raised her shoulders and smiled angelically, scrunching her eyes in an irritated fashion.
"Well, you can't just sit around the apartment and watch Leonardo Dicaprio movies all the day!" Rachel stated indignantly.
"Just because I don't look for a job 24/7 doesn't mean I don't!"
"But you also sit on your ass most of the time wearing that stupid Ohio State sweater and moping about God knows what," Santana muttered.
"Don't call my alma mater stupid!"
"Wait, I thought Leonardo Dicaprio died," Brittany chimed in.
"No sweetie," Santana shook her head. "That's Leonardo DaVinci."
"Okay, can we go back to the topic that matters?" Rachel interjected. "Quinn getting a job?"
"I'm trying!" The blond cried. "And whatever happened to, 'Hey Quinn! Don't sweat it! You can pay rent whenever you can!'"
"That's when I thought you were capable of getting a job within the first week, not the first month!"
"All this yelling is seriously making my brain hurt," Brittany stared, and Santana patted her back sympathetically.
"I'm going to agree with Britt and say you two have issues that clearly resemble a lover's quarrel that I can't bring myself to care about," Santana shrugged and stood from her seat. "And I'm late for work."
"Santana, it's eight in the morning," Rachel squinted.
"Your point?"
"You work at a bar."
"Oh Rachel," Santana shook her head in amusement, adjusting her top as she opened the entering door. "Still so naïve, sweet little Berry." As Santana's loud cackling disappeared from the building, Brittany stood up soon after, placing her dishes in the sink.
"Pretty sure I was supposed to be at the dance studio almost an hour ago," Brittany hummed, slipping on her shoes as she grabbed her bag by the door. "I'll see you guys later!"
"Remember, it's your turn for dinner tonight!" Rachel yelled after her last minute but was only greeted by the response of Brittany slamming the door closed. "Looks like we're ordering takeout." Suddenly, her eyes lit up as she glanced at Quinn. "Hey! Maybe you can work at a Chinese restaurant!" Quinn squinted at her before shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "What? Oh, at least it's an idea! Fine, how about a pizzeria? It can't be that hard and – hey! Where did you go? You can't watch Titanic forever, Quinn Fabray! Rose eventually lets go, so I suggest you do too!"
They say life sometimes can move so slow that it feels like you're just sitting around, waiting for something to happen to you. For Quinn Fabray, she quickly learned that New York City waits for nobody.
June, she surely realized, was probably the most unbearable month for her to choose to move in. It was scorching hot, people were crabbier than usual, and there were so many tourists she could never find her way. She had been living in the city for a generous two weeks now, yet her understanding of the subway system was still completely shaken. (But seriously, how was one supposed to differentiate between number and letter trains? What was the meaning of all of this?)
June was already nearing its end, yet Quinn still found adjusting to the new city an awful feat. On top of all that, job searching was an absolute bust. No one was hiring, no one wanted to hire, and to be honest, Quinn wasn't exactly the type employers were dying to employ.
In all her combined years of McKinley High School and Ohio State, Quinn had never held a job in her life. The closest thing she had ever gotten to career stability was babysitting her brat neighbors for ten dollars an hour, and that just simply consisted of chattering on the phone with her then-boyfriend and trying to convince Rachel that she was not in any shape or form McKinley's version of Sandra Dee.
So clearly, her current expertise was not very qualified for any sort of prestigious employment.
The boutique on Broadway turned her down. The one on 47th, Orchard Street, and 44th also turned her away. The daycare down the street, the restaurant on 7th, and the Borders a block away. Even the bowling alley refused her.
Quinn drew a line in the sand and kissed her dignity goodbye.
But, perhaps, this was what she had coming to her. She had come to New York thinking she would be the prime Cinderella tale, the majestic story of a small town girl who picked up her bags and left for the big city, but the awful reality was she could walk in the middle of Time Square, look all around her, and realize that about half the people surrounding her were riding on the same fairytale. There was too much hope and not enough room for dreams.
Swinging open the mailroom door, Quinn fumbled past an old couple and gave them a quick smile. She felt the cheap air conditioning tickle through the sweat building underneath her summer dress, and she wiped a hand across her forehead as she moved towards her mailbox. Turning the key and extracting the letters, she fingered through the mail, tucking in her own into the brown bag slung over her shoulder. Bills for Rachel, magazine subscription for Brittany, credit reports for Santana... Quinn tilted her head as she gazed at the last piece of mail, the one with sparse writing that could have only been from her mother. She released a little smile before stuffing the letter securely into her bag and turning towards the front door.
And crashing straight into some stranger's chest.
Quinn stumbled backwards, blinking up heavily as she felt two arms cautiously grab either side of her arms. "Sorry," she said quickly, taking a sudden step back. A quiet moment hung in the air as she gave him a subtle look over, and the second she caught what she was doing, Quinn quickly patted down her dress and adjusted the strap on her shoulder. "I didn't see you were standing there - "
"Clearly."
A squint of the eyes. "Um, right. Anyways, I'll just be on my way and - "
"You want to go out with me?"
Quinn blinked, the rest of her sentence cut short as she stared up at him. He had released his grip around her arms, his hands hanging at his sides as he smirked earnestly at her. She cocked her head, a hand on her bag as she took a step backwards. "Uh," she mumbled, "no."
"No," he repeated, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Why not?"
It was this point that Quinn chose to shield her purse. She had heard horror stories about New York robberies from Rachel, and her current situation was certainly following all the warning symptoms. "Because," she began cautiously, "I don't even know your name."
"It's Puck."
Quinn laughed nervously, taking another step back; however, his face did not change, thus ending the laughter. "Oh. You're serious."
"Dead," he responded. "And yours is...?"
Quinn tilted her head. "I don't think I feel comfortable telling you that."
"You don't feel comfortable?"
"No."
"Of what?"
"Telling you my name," she nodded curtly.
"And me?"
"And you," she confirmed. "Wait, no! What?"
"You've got great eyes," Puck said off-handedly, leaning against a row of mailboxes.
Quinn glanced around before folding her arms across her chest. "Well thank you."
"And a great ass."
"Excuse me," Quinn gasped, raising her bag at Puck. "That's completely inappropriate."
"Why are you raising your bag at me?"
"Because in a second I'm about to hit you with it!"
"What did I do?"
"You ruined my mail trip!"
"What the hell is a mail trip?"
"Okay, this conversation has gone on too long," Quinn shook her head, side-stepping around him. "If you will excuse me..."
"Your hair smells like vanilla."
"You know, it boggles me how much you look like such a normal person."
"You still didn't answer my question from earlier."
Quinn let out a small groan, hanging her head back as she stopped in her tracks. "What question?"
"If you wanted to go out with me."
"I said no!"
"You said no before you knew me."
"Oh, so now we know each other?" Quinn raised her eyebrows.
"You know my name."
"Well, you still don't know my name," she crossed her arms.
"That part is not my fault."
Silence filled the air as Quinn rocked back and forth on her heels, Puck gazing casually at her. "Well," she said suddenly, reaching a hand for the door. "This has been really strange. If you don't mind, I think I'll be going now."
"It was nice meeting you," he said, taking a few steps towards her. Quinn stepped aside carefully, pointedly avoiding the chance for either of them to cross paths. He smirked at her, and she smiled back forcefully in response, and just as she made a move to leave the room, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. "Oh, by the way... you dropped this." He flickered a letter above her head, extending it out of reach several times before finally letting Quinn grab it. She snatched it roughly away from him, making a face as she flipped over to the address. Her eyes widened slightly as she recognized her mother's script, and as she glanced at Puck, he cocked his head a bit before grinning away and walking out of the room. "See you around, Quinnie."
"You will never guess what happened!"
"You got a job!" Brittany squealed from the couch. Rachel and Santana turned their heads, glancing back at her with genuine interest.
"No," Quinn shook her head, tossing her bag on the kitchen counter. She walked towards the girls, handing them their respective mail as they all stuck their hands out. Rachel's face visibly deflated at her friend's failing job hunt, but Quinn chose to ignore it. "By the way Rach, Finn called this morning and wanted to know if your guys' plans are still on for tonight. I told him you were free. He's the tall one with the cute dimples, right? Anyways! Back to what I was saying. I met someone who may be on 'To Catch a Predator' tonight."
"Is this what you choose to do with your time during the day?" Santana squinted at her before motioning for Brittany's magazine. "Willingly?"
"I bumped into him in the mailroom," Quinn explained, plopping down next to Brittany on the couch. "Well, he sort of bumped into me, actually. I just turned around, and he was standing there, and then he started to ask me all these questions about names and mail trips."
"Was he cute?" Brittany perked up.
Quinn tilted her head. "Well... he wasn't unattractive. I mean, I guess I wasn't really thinking about it at the moment, but I suppose you can say he was good looking... He wasn't cute, though. He was more, you know, grown up."
"Rugged?" Santana bit the air.
Quinn rolled her eyes. "Manly."
"Well," Rachel prodded her, reaching behind Brittany's back to poke Quinn's shoulder. "What's his name?"
"Puck."
The three girls around her all exchanged looks before bursting out into sudden laughter.
"What?" Quinn demanded, staring at the indignantly. "What are you guys laughing at!"
Rachel gave her a sly smile. "You just met Noah Puckerman."
"Puckerman?" Quinn repeated, glancing up at the ceiling. "That's an unfortunate name."
"He lives on the floor below us," Brittany beamed.
"Welcome to the city," Santana laughed in a sing-song voice before sinking deeper into the chair with the magazine.
"You're listening to Artie Abrams on K 96.5," a static voice sung in the background. "It's another beautiful day to be alive, folks."
Welcome to fucking New York City.
Please review.