I'm watching her, I always do. Even like this, all pink hair and second hand clothes, Quinn Fabray subconsciously demands attention. Maybe before when she was head cheerio with a stick up her ass she did it on purpose but now… well now its pretty clear she's been trying to fade into the background.
"You're becoming a pro." I tell her, watching the rank smelling smoke rise up from between her lips and disappear into her nostrils, down into her lungs. Hazel eyes flicker up to me and the corner of her lips twitch like she's going to smile, but she doesn't. Instead she expels the the smoke from her lungs into the open air, watching it rise up past the bottom of the bleachers.
"Practice." Her voice husks out, somehow growing even more raspy than usual from all the smoking, and passes me the shrinking joint pinched between her fingertips.
I chuckle and pull in my own hit, holding it in my chest until I can feel the pounding of my pulse just under my jaw, my whole body heating up from the need to breathe and the affects of the drug.
I'm still watching her but she's not watching me. She's looking out over the football field with a thoughtful expression on her almost perfect features, eyes unfocused.
"What are you thinking about?" I find myself asking her, always wondering what is going on in that mind of hers.
When she turns back to look at me I'm in the middle of pulling in another long drag, heat burning against my fingers as the joint is nearing it's end. I almost choke on all of it with the way her eyes pierce me, a split second glance behind this glass wall that's always held firmly around her but as quick as its there its gone. Quinn blinks once and her expression fits neatly back into place, blank and emotionless.
"Nothing." She says, voice low but even.
I'm not buying it but I know enough not to press her. We haven't been friends for very long but since the beginning of the summer we've spent a lot of time together.
She lights up a cigarette and I snuff out the rest of the joint, moving over to sit next to her on the old ass worn couch that she somehow got that crazy coach of hers to get for back here.
"We have a lot in common you know…" My words slipping out slow and cautious, not wanting to scare her off. "With things in the past."
A perfectly shaped eyebrow raises in a gesture for me to continue, curiosity flaring up in hazel-green hues. It takes me a second longer to remember where I left off, though I'm not sure if its because of the hazy weight in my head right now or the easy way it is to get distracted by those eyes. Lately everyone that looks at me looks straight through me, like I'm partly invisible or some shit but not Quinn. When she looks at me I feel like she see's me, more than just Mack from the truck stop, more than a set of lips and chewing gum.
"Remember when we first met?" I prompt, getting my train of thought back on track.
She looks confused for a moment, like I've changed the subject but then her lips curl up and this time she does actually smile. "Sophomore year." She voices with a nod, chuckling and shaking her head a bit. "Right after I got kicked off the cheerios and a few of those little bitches cornered me in the hallway."
I'm smiling too, its kind of hard not to. Her smile is contagious.
"I thought you were going to kick their asses right on the spot and I didn't even know who you were." Quinn chuckles, passing me her lit cigarette.
"I would have." I say seriously, accepting the cigarette and taking a drag. "If I hadn't been in the same boat as you. I'm careless but I never would risk something like that."
She stiffens beside me, probably realizing where I'm going with this. Right toward the thing she never talks about, the thing she refuses to talk about but after a moment the tense air thins out and I feel her relax.
It seems like a long time ago but I guess that's what happens when you're trying to block out a whole nine months of your life.
Those girls had cornered her just outside the girls bathroom, who knows why the fuck they weren't in class, I guess being a cheerio makes being an airhead an art form, who needs class. I don't even know why I stepped up and said something, back then Quinn and I weren't friends. In fact I'd sort of hated her, I hated all those stuck up red skirts but that day she looked so small and so pale, that was a look I knew and no one wanted to be harassed on a bad morning sickness day.
After those little bitches ran off with their tails between their legs Quinn surprised me, brushing herself off like she could wipe their insults off one of her ridiculous frilly dresses and pretend they didn't get to her and thanked me. Quinn fucking Fabray actually uttered a thank you. I had figured once you get shoved off the top of the popularity pyramid and hit the ground as hard as she did you grew a little modesty. So I invited her to one of those stupid meetings, the unwed mothers club. Even thinking about it now I feel like rolling my eyes. Although I can't lie, it was nice to have other people going through the same thing, God knows none of us had anyone else on our side.
"What ever happened with all that?" She asks slowly, looking back out across the field.
Its vague but I know exactly what she's asking. "His name is Grayson" At that she turns back to look at me, something hiding behind her eyes, waiting for me to continue. So I shrug and keep talking. "I didn't name him. There was an arrangement with his adoptive parents so they were there for everything, they got to pick his name." Pausing for a moment I look away and now I'm the one with glazed over eyes, staring blankly out over the football field not seeing anything at all because yeah, this is not easy to talk about. "They'd asked me if I'd ever want to see him and I told them I didn't know, I was only sixteen… how do you know anything when you're sixteen?"
Before I know it her hand slides into mine between us, her fingers slipping between mine and squeezing. I look down at them, her pale skin and chipped nail polish resting there easily, like it isn't a big deal. It's stupid but I can feel my eyes tearing up. Though I'll be damned if I'm going to let anyone catch me crying about this, even if it is someone who understands completely.
Quinn takes my silence for what it is and doesn't ask me to continue or move her hand away. We sit like that for a while, long enough for my high to start wearing off and the extremely strong craving for a cheeseburger to kick in.
"Shit, I'm starving." Breaking the comfortable silence now that I've gotten myself together.
She giggles and shift beside me though not releasing my hand like I expect her to. Its nice, I like her there… warm and firm against my palm.
"Do you want to hit up the truck stop?" She asks and I gasp, looking at her playfully, delighted with the smile that puts on her lips.
"Quinn Fabray, what exactly are you suggesting?" I'm joking but the way her smile grows, the last traces of her own cloudy haze swirling in her eyes and eyebrows rising and falling suggestively makes me falter for a moment.
"I'm suggesting we grab some lunch… what else do you do at a truck stop Ms Mackenzie?" Her voice light as she rises to stand, our hands falling apart when she moves in the direction of the parking lot. The loss of contact is disappointing but I heard exactly clear what it is the former blonde is actually suggesting, so I don't really mind.
Glaring at her I get to my feet too, following her out from under the bleachers and glaring at her. "Don't call me Mackenzie or I swear I'll unleash that Berry girl on you." This makes her laugh and I'm glad because in all the time I've spent with Quinn I know I like her the best when she's laughing.