A/N Well, here is the first chapter, not sure if I'm going to continue, review please, this is my first fic, and i regretably do not own glee...

Quinn's P.O.V.

I hate Rachel Berry.

No, I seriously hate her. I know you are thinking 'sure, she may be annoying, but who could actually hate such a sweet girl?' … well I'll tell you! I hate how she talks in paragraphs, I hate how she wears those sickeningly cute animal sweaters, I hate how she has to be the center of attention, I hate how she is always right, and I hate that no matter how hard I try to make her hate me, she won't. However, the thing I hate about her most is her voice. I hate how she has more talent than the rest of the glee club combined, I hate how that talent is going to get her out of this stupid town, and I defiantly hate how that stupid, amazing, beautiful, voice gets stuck in your head.

I hate how, ever since she wrote that song for Regionals, I can't stop thinking about her. I can't stop wondering why she gets so upset over someone as stupid as Finn, when she could have someone so much better, someone who wouldn't hold her back, and would encourage her to follow her dreams and forget about everyone in this stupid town. She deserves someone who is going to be successful and can keep up with her diva tantrums, someone who could be more than her prince charming, or her male lead. She deserves someone who isn't there just to ride on her coat tails, but actually wants her to succeed.

I had told her about as much before she wrote that song, the one that has been nagging at me day and night. That song has made me question everything I know about life, and strangely, it isn't as terrible as I would've imagined it to be.

Ever since she performed that song at Regionals I have slowly come to a realization.

I am falling for Rachel Berry.

I suppose it all started when she gave her speech after receiving her MVP trophy. Usually, her speeches barely register with me, but after hearing the raw emotions in her song, part of me wondered if she spoke as beautifully when she didn't have time to write it out a dozen times to get it right(no pun intended). When she talked about never getting the brass ring, I was moved. Here was a girl whom we had all thought to be confident, and yet she was still so self-conscious.

That night I had my first dream about Rachel Berry.

Now, just to be clear, it was not a sex dream. But in my dream I found myself talking to Rachel, holding hands with her, laughing with her, and kissing her… But nothing else!

I woke up crying the following morning, not sure what to make of my dream, so I just passed it off to myself as teenage hormones, and left it at that. There was no way I could fall for Rachel Berry.

God was I wrong.

Jesse was back, and had convinced Mr. Shue to hold auditions for the lead. As I sat in on the auditions, (after being threatened by Santana should I not show up and support her) I had an epiphany. As Rachel put so much emotion into that song, and looked out at the audience, I could swear her eyes lingered on me. She had me trapped in an iron gaze, and I saw raw, fierce emotion shining in her eyes. Part of me wanted it to be yearning, but in the end I chalked it up to anger. But I knew as she stood there, pouring out her heart into a performance that even Babs would be jealous of, that I was falling for Rachel Berry.

And that is why I am sitting on my living room couch, looking at my mother, and trying to find the courage to tell her about my recent self-discovery.

"Mom, there is something I need to tell you."

God, I feel so, nervous. I know I had to do this, and it isn't as if I think she will throw me out, when she said she changed, she meant it. I can see that change, but I know we could still fight, she could still yell at me; she could be disappointed in me. I loved my mother, and she tends to be my number one confident, and that is why I am so nervous.

What I didn't expect, however, was her next words.

"Honey, I'm pretty sure I know what this is about, and I want you to know, I will love you no matter what. I am your mother, even though my track record tends to be a bit spotty, I will support you no matter what. I may have married him, but I am not your father, and I will be damned if I throw you out on the streets for something so petty. I love you dear, and getting pregnant again won't change how I feel about you."

I sighed in relief and said, "Mom, you don't know how happy I—wait… did you say pregnant?"

She had the most serious look on her face, and she nodded in response to my question.

I burst into a fit of laughter, and my mother adorned a look of concern on her face.

When I finally was able to control myself, I said, "Mom, I can assure you that I am not pregnant, actually, I would venture a guess to say that I am the farthest thing from it."

We sat in silence as she tried to will me to continue, and I tried to will myself to tell her.

"Quinnie, you're going to have to give me a little bit more than that."

I sighed, and looked at the floor, taking a sudden interest in the carpet, and mumbled a response.

"Quinn, I couldn't hear that."

"Mom, I'm gay."

A torturous silence followed my revelation, and finally my mother sighed and said, "Well, if that's all, what would you like for dinner?"

She stood and started walking towards the kitchen, and I sat there staring at her as if she grew another limb, and then said, "Wait, what? What do you mean 'if that's all'? Mom, I've spent hours trying to figure out how to tell you, and here you are brushing of what is probably the most important conversation of my life!"

"Quinnie, I won't lie to you," she said sitting down next to me and taking my hands in hers," I have always kind of wondered. You grew up in such a sheltered life style, and then the whole pregnancy thing, I always kind of thought you might be, but I was never really sure. I'm your mother, and I notice more than you think I do."

I looked at her in confusion; I had so many questions, so I asked the one at the forefront of my mind," When did you know for sure?"

She cringed slightly and looked away.

Well, crap. I know I'm not going to like this answer.

"Well, um… you tend to have… rather… vocal dreams. I, uh, went in to check on you one night because I heard you groan… I thought you had gotten hurt… I got outside your bedroom and you were… uh…"

She seemed to be losing the ability to speak, and I don't blame her. My face was beet red as I waited for her to finish what I was sure was going to be one of those 'let's-never-speak-of-this-again' moments.

"You were… uh… moaning a name… a girl's name… possibly followed by some profanity that made me want to bleach my brain…"

I had never felt so sorry for my mother, and as much as I wanted this conversation to end, there was one thing I needed to know before I left this topic forever.

"Mom, what was the name?"

She looked anywhere but me and said," … Rachel…"

Well, damn.