The host stood at his podium under the pink-and-yellow neon arch and surveyed the three girls who had just come through the door. Brittany Pierce stepped forward and gave him a huge smile.
"Fabray," she said. "Two o'clock birthday party."
He looked Brittany over, taking in her neon pink beanie and her baby blue T-shirt with a cartoon image of a duck. His eyes passed to the two girls standing behind her. First they settled on the petite, caramel colored Latina with jet-black hair, in a denim skirt and form fitting tank top. Then they fell on the other blonde with hazel colored eyes in a red summer dress. This girl looked around in bafflement.
They were not the five-year-olds the host had been anticipating.
"Just the three of you?" He looked expectant, as if he was hoping Brittany was about to produce a small child from the pocket of her jeans.
"Just us." She said cheerfully
"And who's the…birthday girl?"
"Right here." Brittany reached behind and grabbed the girl in the red dress by the hand. "This is Quinn Fabray. She knows the drill. She had every single one of her birthday parties here from the time she was eight until she was eleven. Didn't you Q?"
Quinn was still looking around her, staring into the huge room that was just beyond the archway-at the video games, the indoor playground, the stage, and the costumed characters that mingled with the hordes of children.
"Okay…" He sighed while grabbing a boxful of small party bags. "Come this way."
He led them through a sea of small running bodies to a booth, cheerfully decorated in red and blue streamers that were covered in pictures of a smiling cartoon mouse. At each place setting there was a festive party hat and a decorative plastic cup. Brittany jumped into one of the seats happily.
"Here are your tokens," the host said, hesitantly giving them each a small yellow mesh bag. "You also get your picture taken in the ball pool. And you get a birthday show. Do you want that before your pizza or after?"
"We don't need to have the show, it's not even my birthday. My birthday's in March, on Saint Patrick's Day." Quinn said while glaring at Brittany across the table.
"It's kind of the rule," the host said apologetically. "You got the party package."
"Oh." A rush of pink crept into Quinn's cheeks. "After, I guess."
"After." He wrote this down on his pad. "Okay. Your pizza will be out in about half an hour. This is your…playtime."
"I'm going to kill you," Quinn whispered across the table as soon as he was gone.
The mechanical mouse behind Brittany's head started playing a song. Brittany did a little seat dance.
"Death, Britt. And they will never find your body."
"It was Santana's idea too. We wanted to give you a proper send off to camp."
"It's precollege, not camp," Quinn said with a grin.
"Whatever," Brittany replied, with a flip of her hand. She then took the small conical hat from the table and planted it on her head.
"Your turn," she said smiling and handing another one to Quinn.
"Not a chance in hell." Quinn replied with a fold of her arms. Brittany's lip jutted out in a small pout as she looked down.
"Oh what the hell." Santana said as she carefully settled it on top of her silky raven hair. Brittany grinned eagerly.
"If Santana's wearing one you have to." Brittany begged.
Quinn sighed, "Fine. Fine." She reluctantly took the hat and placed it on her head.
"Oh, yeah." Brittany snickered, taking in the effect. "That is sexy. Sex-hay!" Brittany looked around with an expression of undiluted pleasure on her face. She pointed to the play area, with its tangle of bright cubes and tubes and plastic webbing. "Everything is as good as I remember it. There's the net where Santana got her hair caught and started crying. And up there in the crawl tube, where those little yellow peepholes are, that's where Rachel Berry accidentally kicked me in the nose with her heel and I started to bleed. Good times. Why did we stop coming here?"
"Because we started wearing bras and going to high school?"
Quinn offered, adjusting the thin elastic string that was digging into her chin.
"Rachel gave us the name when we were here," Santana said. "That was good."
"That's right," Quinn said. "Because she was jealous that we were only playing with one another. "
"Yeah, she was comparing us to some kind of evil vortex."
"It was still a good name," Santana protested.
The host returned with what he called a "bottomless" pitcher of soda. Brittany tapped the base and glanced at the host suspiciously as she accepted it. "Does this bottomless pitcher also come with a "bottomless" tray of pizza? 'Cause we wants to get our eatin' on." Santana said with a snap of her finger.
"That's going to be you in about three hours," Quinn said to Santana as he hurried away. "Just keep that in mind when one of your customers gives you attitude."
"Attitude?" Santana said, widening her eyes. "Moi?"
Brittany started filling all their cups with soda, trying hard to make sure everyone got the same amount of ice.
"You're going to call me every night, screaming." Quinn grinned.
"I know it."
"We're going to be waitresses at a high-class restaurant for adults," Santana said with dignity as she tried to affix her party hat. "Breadstix's Fine Italian Food and Drinks Emporium. Conveniently located in the same shopping center as Wal-Mart and Home Depot. The best Lima has to offer."
"We have to wear name tags, " Brittany said, passing Quinn the first cup. "I'm going to decorate mine with rainbows and unicorns that way all my customers will remember me." Santana gave Brittany a knowingly warm smile.
"Britt, I don't think they'll actually allow you to—Ouch!" Quinn rubbed her side where Santana had accidentally bumped her elbow against.
A girl about their age with two long braids and a Polaroid camera came over to the table. She had a stiff, straight smile that must have come from endless hours of being around swarms of screaming children- the kind of smile that looked like it might require muscle relaxants to uncurl.
"Ready for your picture?" she asked cheerfully.
Brittany bounced out of her seat and hurried toward the giant pen of colored balls. Santana gave Quinn a gentle nudge out of the booth. Brittany was already sitting on a plastic tree stump, pulling off her red sneakers. Santana untied her boots. They both stepped over the short wall into the balls. Quinn went to follow, but the girl with the camera stopped her.
"You have to take your shoes off," she said.
"They're just flip-flops," Quinn replied.
The girl pointed to a sign that read: BE COOL, NO SHOES IN THE POOL!
"I have to go in there with bare feet?" Quinn asked.
"That's the rule!" The girl smiled brightly at this, as if she were telling Quinn that she'd just won a pony.
Quinn kicked off the flip-flops and stepped gingerly into the pit, feeling the cool tarp under her toes. The balls came to a spot halfway up her thigh. Since she was wearing a dress, it was very difficult for her to move and keep her balance. She had to lean forward, holding her arms out in front of her, mummy style. Santana was having similar problems in her skirt. Brittany was having no problem at all. She had gone in deep, almost to the far side. A few children glanced at her with baffled expressions, wondering why their zone had been invaded by this older person.
Quinn waded a bit farther in toward her, cringing with every step.
"I feel something wet," she whined.
"Probably just soda or something." Santana said with an evil grin.
"Since we're all in here, we're doing Triangle Power!" Brittany shouted.
"I am not doing Triangle Power." Santana warned.
"We're in a ball pool, and now you're worried about looking stupid? Triangle off!" Brittany shouted enthusiastically again.
Santana sloshed her way over. They arranged themselves in a triangle pattern and took hands.
"Okay," Quinn said, looking at each of them. "We need the power to get through ten weeks apart. I need the strength of mind to get through this program and kick ass. San, what do you need?"
"Let's see," Santana said, "It probably would be good if I didn't kill any customers, so I need some help with my people skills."
"Good." Quinn nodded. "Britt?"
"I want Lord Tubbington to quit smoking."
"All right," Quinn said, "so we call on the power of the Triangle. Everybody say it with me."
Even though they hadn't chanted it in years, no one needed reminding of the words:
Look at us, we are three
Quinn, Santana, and there's Brittany
Shout it loud, then shout it louder
Shout it out, Triangle Power!
"Okay!" the girl said. "Everyone ready?"
"Do it!" Brittany called.
"Smile and look at my hand!" She had put on a mouse puppet and was holding it next to the camera.
"Beautiful," Brittany whispered.
The Polaroid coughed out a picture. The girl quickly inserted it into a glossy card with four punched-out corners. Quinn carefully made her way back out of the pit.
"You love us," Santana said, jogging over and throwing her arm over Quinn's shoulders.
"Remember, San." Quinn was getting caught up in all the nostalgia. "The last time we were here, we were playing Spice Girls. That was our girl-power mantra."
Santana narrowed her eyes. She prided herself on her taste in music and hated to be reminded of things like that.
"I was juvenile then," she said. "My record has been cleared, and the spirit of Amy Winehouse has purified my soul."
"Be good or I'll tell everyone how you used to do that dance to 'Spice Up Your Life'. I'll bet the guys on the football team would love to know that."
"At least you got to switch," Quinn said. "I always had to play Scary. Make the bossy girl play Scary."
"San switched too."
Santana was still very consciously not acknowledging this conversation.
"She was better as Posh," Quinn said to Brittany. "It was embarrassing to have a Sporty Spice who couldn't do a cartwheel. But she could do that little Posh walk."
"I don't remember any of this," Santana said. "You must be thinking of someone else."
"If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends…" Quinn sang.
"It's going to be so sad when you leave." Santana said sarcastically.
"You miss me already," Quinn said, throwing her arms around Santana's neck. "Don't you?"
Even the joking about Quinn's leaving was too much for Brittany. She got out of the ball pool.
"See what you did?" Santana said, though she didn't really look so happy herself. "Don't you know she's going to be crying on my shoulder for the next ten weeks? You're going to have to stay."
"It'll be nothing," Quinn said, continuing her careful walk across the frightening tarp. She couldn't let herself get upset. "You won't even notice I'm gone."
Two hours later Quinn was back in her room at home, gazing at the suitcases sitting open on her bedroom floor. She double-checked the color-coded Post-it notes that lined the edge of her desk, each one detailing a certain type of item: exercise clothes, casual clothing, dress clothing, sleepwear, underwear, sheets, and towels. Everything was accounted for and had been packed in space-saver bags in between layers of dryer sheets. All of her toiletries were sealed up in Ziploc bags.
She poked into her carry-on and examined her computer and cords, her phone, her charger, her iPod, gum to chew on takeoff and landing, the photo from the ball pool that afternoon. Everything was exactly where it was supposed to be; just like the last four times she'd checked.
Quinn sat on the edge of her neatly made bed and looked around her room. She didn't want to touch anything, as she'd spent several hours cleaning and arranging it so that everything would be in perfect order on her return. She had Endusted, vacuumed, and Windexed. Her
shades were lowered, making the room dark. It was as if the place had been prepared for some stranger who was coming to stay.
There was a knock on her door. Her mother poked her head in.
"All right," she said. "You're confirmed. The flight's on time."
"Great."
"Nervous?"
"No," Quinn lied.
"Ready to go to dinner?"
Quinn nodded. It was all happening now. An early dinner. An hour-long car ride to Dayton. A flight from Dayton to New Haven. Once there she would have to find her contact from the program at the airport. She'd planned for this moment for months, yet she felt like it was sneaking up on her now, tearing her away from her mother, her bedroom carpet, her bed, and her two best friends. She wouldn't have a kitchen to raid whenever she felt like it. She wouldn't have a private bathroom. She wasn't even going to know anyone.
She wished her dad could be here, but he was traveling on business. And Santana and Brittany were at orientation for their new job.
You're being such a baby, Quinn told herself. Everything's going to be fine. It's just until August.
She stood up, pulled on her denim jacket, and grabbed her second suitcase.