Title: No Rhyme or Reason
Author: interpol..ice
Fandom: Glee
Characters: Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez
Rating: T
Words: 8,600+
Quinntana Week Prompt: Monday, March 25 - Popular Girl & Nerd
Summary: QW13. Being Cheerios Captain and Head of the Celibacy Club, Quinn Fabray was McKinley High's glorified version of the girl-next-door. What happens when she finally realizes that she's always had a thing for Santana "the brain with boobs" Lopez?
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and his people. I own little, I own little.
Author's Note: This was written for Day 1 of Quinntana Week 2013 (GO QUINNTANA!). It's late because I'm the unluckiest person in the world (blackout, bad file recovery, the .doc file turned into a thousand hash symbols) so I'm sorry. I am absolutely new at writing with Glee and I honestly have no idea what I'm doing so here goes nothing.

P.S.: this site's line breaks are ruining my life. 'x x x' marks a line break

P.S.2 (for the benefit of the people who felt cheated when they finished reading this chap): yes, there's still a part 2 so hang in there

x x x

NO RHYME OR REASON

by
interpol..ice

Quinn Fabray couldn't tell you the exact moment it all sort of clicked in her head.

Because that was the thing.

It did not click.

It made no sense whatsoever.

And even though Quinn couldn't stop thinking about her, Santana Lopez, Santana fucking Lopez, had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

x x x

Lucy Quinn Fabray was the standard golden girl you'd find in most high schools. That blonde cheerleader who was so transcendentally beautiful that she could wake the choir of angels in anyone's head with just a toss of her hair. With just a bat of her eyelashes.

When Quinn smiled at all the boys, they had to shuffle their feet so that their pants wouldn't stick to their waking boners. She considered this as one of her many super powers.

Yes, everyone loved her. But the funny thing was, Quinn didn't really care. And no one knew this, of course. They all just assumed that it was all so peachy and perfect for her so Quinn had absolutely no reason to resent the universe.

She too, had her issues, only that her indifference, her coldness-bordering-on-animosity was hidden beneath layers of mascara and foundation and lipstick. Her indifference went by undetected and was constantly being mistaken as Quinn politely minding her own business.

Santana Lopez was one of the very few people who did not look at Quinn when she walked and lit up the halls. She was someone Quinn knew all her life but never really talked to. Santana was just there, drowning in the shadows while Quinn soaked up in the light. Soaked up the light until she became the light.

One thing about Quinn was that she got this strange satisfaction from turning corners. Just catching all the guys and the girls unaware, stunning them to the spot. Her spell lasted for a moment and it was only when she was out of sight that they breathed again. In those few seconds, Quinn was the sun.

Which was why it was so hard to wrap her head around the fact that Santana Lopez never gave her the time of day.

x x x

She and Santana go way back.

Quinn's first memory of the girl was of her sipping at a juice box. Quinn remembered the sound of the suction as little Santana emptied it of its grape juice. Quinn remembered Santana blowing the box up with air, then setting it down on the concrete. Quinn remembered little Santana stomping on the thing and the blasting sound it all made.

Quinn remembered walking up to the girl, own juice box in hand, own straw in mouth. Her own empty orange juice box popped as she stepped on it in the same fashion.

All the other kids were playing kickball and Quinn was only happy to squander her alone time with the new kid.

As Santana smiled at her, Quinn introduced herself. "I'm Lucy," she said.

When the girl spoke, to finally reveal her name, Quinn loved the way the girl's little tongue moved to get the sounds out. Quinn never thought she ever heard a word so beautiful.

Santana. San-ta-na. Santana.

x x x

The next day, Quinn thought they would be friends. That it was understood, after popping their juice boxes together, that Quinn was entitled to the pleasure of Santana's unique company. (No one else had that tan skin, those long lashes. No one else played with their juice boxes quite like Santana did).

But no, Santana denied Quinn those hopes and dreams.

In the preschool playground, there used to be this scary willow tree near the trash bins. It was a sad and bent thing that, the fifth graders used to say, swallowed your grandparents when they got really boring.

The next day, during recess, Santana sat at the bottom of that tree. She had a book in her lap, and she read it serenely, the wind picking her dark, wavy hair up and away every now and then.

And Quinn was five years old and trees like that scared her because she was extremely fond of her grandparents. They, unlike her own parents, were quiet, and peaceful, and always playing chess out on the porch. Quinn didn't want to be blamed if they were ever to be eaten by a mutant tree.

But after a week of Santana being so... unreachable, Quinn finally gathered enough courage to walk up over to other girl at the willow tree and sit beside her.

"What's that?"

Santana did not stop reading. She just held the book up at an angle, cover-out to Quinn for the little blonde girl to read.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

She's never heard of it. Her bedtime stories were from the Book of Genesis (but Quinn didn't know that back then). And those were read aloud by her mother. Quinn remembered being so impressed that Santana was already reading these thick books with little words and even less pictures. Quinn was impressed but even as a child, Quinn already had a knack for hiding her emotions.

"What's it about?" she asked.

Then Quinn, who had always been adored by her parents, by her friends, by her teachers, got her heart broken for the first time ever when Santana (with a bored sigh) shut her book, stood up, and left.

So Little Quinn sat there, pulling at the dry grass and staring at Santana's back as it got smaller and smaller and wetter and blurrier and the next thing Quinn knew was that Mrs. Fergurson, their stocky preschool teacher, was desperately trying to calm her down with buckets of lollipops in the Nurse's office.

x x x

The following summer, Quinn read every Roald Dahl book she could get her hands on. Just in case Santana ever spoke to her, she'd be ready. She'd know what to say. And every time she finished a book, she thought about Santana. If she'd smile then.

But they never got around to that because Santana... Santana was an absolute snob.

x x x

Quinn never doubted Santana's intelligence. In grade school, Santana never raised her hand but when a teacher asked the entire class a question and was met with silence, that teacher would call on Santana. And each and every year, Santana would answer them in that shy-bored way of hers. Quinn and the rest of the class had no idea what she was talking about most of the time, but more often than not, whatever Santana said, it satisfied the teachers.

When they were in the third grade, Santana took fifth grade Math. In the fourth, Quinn didn't know how it came up, but Santana was already reciting laws from the penal code. And before she even hit eleven, she won at the Lima Junior Science Fair. Twice on back-to-back years.

In the sixth grade, Quinn came in second place at the school spelling bee. The word she screwed up was ineffable (ineffable: incapable of being expressed). After replacing the double f's with a 'ph', Quinn walked back to the row of chairs on the stage and tried to maybe not collapse while she took her seat. She sat there with her head hung in shame and she listened as Santana spelled "colloquial" to perfection.

x x x

Something was up because Santana was out in the hallways during third period. Santana never went out for third period. She never went out for any period at all, when Quinn really thought about it.

After coming out of the bathroom, Quinn found Santana hot on Noah Puckerman's heels. Quinn wondered what their deal was and she saw that Puck had a comic book in his hand.

When Santana caught up with him, she grabbed a hold of his jacket. "Give it back, you big jerk!" she said as she tugged at him violently.

Puck tried to propel himself forward, but he was met with even more restraint. "Shut up, Lopez!" He turned to face her while extending his arm the other way to keep the comic book as far from Santana as possible. "You're lucky I won't hit a girl. Now leave me alone!"

Santana jumped and managed to get a hand on her comic and the two of them struggled roughly for a while before Puck grabbed a fistful of Santana's hair. He pulled and it took her completely by surprise so Puck was able to yank the comic book out of Santana's grasp. He then shoved Santana, scrawny Santana away so hard, that she tumbled over backwards. She made a great sound as her back hit the lockers.

Puck ran off like the jerk he was and Quinn almost went after him but her concern for Santana was more immediate. The other girl was squatting against the row of lockers, the small of her back against the steel, her head low, and her hands on her knees.

"You saw all that?" Santana said, not raising her head.

Quinn looked left and right to make sure Santana didn't direct that question to anyone else. There wasn't another soul in the hall so Quinn said, "Yeah."

Santana stared forward blankly. Then she frowned. "I waited in line two hours for that," she confessed slowly.

Quinn never waited in line that long for anything. She wanted to say something to make Santana feel better but then the other girl pressed her backside against the lockers and slid down the length of them until she sat on the floor.

"Did you know Spider-man wasn't even supposed to come out? That there was this hopeless series, Amazing Fantasy, and Spider-Man was just supposed to be another random addition slapped on the cover of what would probably be the last edition..."

Quinn approached her cautiously and sat down beside her. She had to swallow before she said, "Is that what Puck just took?"

And then it was quiet.

"Why didn't you help?" Santana said suddenly. Quinn was eleven but she recognized the anger bubbling beneath Santana's words. "Why didn't you help when it mattered?"

And Quinn didn't know why. Quinn couldn't answer her.

Then Santana started shaking and with their shoulders touching, Quinn felt it too. Quinn shook too. She watched as Santana pulled her legs in towards herself, wrapping her arms around her knees afterward.

And so Santana cried, curled up into that ball and despite her growing urge to hold Santana, to try and make the bad stuff go away, Quinn just sat there and watched.

x x x

Quinn wanted to get the comic book back for Santana but the next day, during lunch, Puck and Finn Hudson had this stupid arm-wrestling contest. Finn was on the verge of winning, like he always did, and slammed his and Puck's conjoined hands on the cafeteria table. The surface shook from all the force and his milk carton spilled chocolate-flavored liquid all over Santana's Amazing Fantasy.

She figured it'd probably hurt Santana even more to see how Puck and Finn ruined it so for the moment, Quinn abandoned the thought of heroic deeds and winning Santana's favor.

x x x

In middle school, when she dropped being "Lucy" and started fashioning herself as "Quinn", boys took a certain interest in her. She received many presents and sweets and a symphony of pebbles thrown at her window.

Quinn decided boys were annoying.

She then wondered why they didn't go after girls like Santana.

What were they, blind?

And it wasn't like Quinn was really looking or anything, but she could sight out the swell of Santana's chest underneath her hoodies and sweaters. (Really though, Santana had a nice, perky thing going on for her there and Quinn wasn't a perv, she was just... observant.)

So why didn't the boys notice?

But when Quinn really thought about it, she'd hate for the boys to unearth the secret of Santana's growing... her growing personality. Quinn wouldn't be able to stomach the sight of having pubescent boys all up on Santana Lopez.

x x x

She heard that Santana's father became a doctor. When Russell Fabray found out, he said, after taking a long sip of his whiskey, "Amazing what you can do with a degree from Community College. They're handing out doctorates like local yard sale fliers." Then her father downed the rest of his drink and, slamming his glass against the mahogany table, said, "God save America!"

And so, Santana Lopez was never invited to any of Quinn Fabray's super fun Bible Study Sleepovers.

Quinn shouldn't have even been as upset as she was. It was silly. She and Santana weren't even friends.

x x x

The summer before high school, before William McKinley, Quinn went to Cheer Camp. Aside from knowing she'd make a perfect McKinley Cheerio, Quinn wanted a head start on whatever it was the infamous Coach Sue Sylvester was going to put the freshmen applicants through during tryouts.

There weren't many boys (Damien and Victor wore more foundation than Quinn did so they didn't really count) so Quinn was able to work on her femininity, surrounded by girls who more or less shared her ambitions.

Chastity Brown was Cheer Camp's Head Counselor and Head Trainer. She just graduated from McKinley as Captain of the Cheerios and with a National Championship under her belt. Chastity was a pale and petite girl whose copper hair fell around her in waves. She was really pretty, especially with her freckles.

Dorrie Walters was Chastity's Co-captain during their Senior year. Dorrie had straw-colored hair that she had cropped close to her scalp like a pixie so she didn't have to comb it. It fit her well since she had such a strong face. Dorrie was Chastity's best friend and she called Chastity 'Chaz' and Quinn used to think it was really cute.

When they weren't showing the younger girls how to properly execute back-flips and splits, they were off at the side. Dorrie would say something under her breath and Chaz would go red from all the giggling. She'd smack Dorrie on the arm and then they'd go back and comment on the other girls' forms and stances.

x x x

Quinn caught them by the lake once. It was a Sunday and there weren't supposed to be any activities so they were allowed to sleep in. But Quinn, being Quinn, woke up crazy-early anyway and went for a run... which was cut short when she heard splashing in the river.

From her makeshift vantage point in the bushes, Quinn saw the two of them sprawled upon a thick blanket, wet after taking a dip into the pool in what looked like just their underwear. Then Chaz kissed Dorrie and Dorrie kissed back and Quinn? Quinn left after Dorrie unhooked Chaz's bra.

Quinn ran back to her cabin and took a long, cold shower, trying with all her and God's might not to touch herself.

x x x

Her first week of high school, Quinn tried out for the Cheerios. She impressed Sue Sylvester so much that Sue gave her the biggest locker in the locker room. The other Cheerios were supposed to hate her then, but strangely, they fawned over her even more.

Quinn was practically crowned the next Captain what with Coach Sylvester's locker gesture and the other girls feeling like they had to pay some price to save themselves from being assigned to the bottom of the pyramid. They were all conniving bitches, Quinn could tell.

Not Brittany, though. Brittany was another freshman who made the cut because she was an insanely talented dancer. Now, Brittany was nice. Simple, yes. But genuinely nice.

And so, Quinn and Brittany walked the halls together, ate lunch together, stretched together, had tea with Coach Sylvester in her office together. Quinn was happy. She had a friend and she was transitioning into high school, totally smooth operator.

x x x

A breakthrough happened. On Halloween, Brittany threw a big costume party at her house and Santana actually came.

Quinn was nursing a Diet Coke at the pool area while sneaking glances inside, to where Santana was, leaning against the wall near the punch bowl and the keg. She couldn't stop looking because Santana, to Quinn's eternal surprise, wore this uncharacteristically revealing outfit: a metal bikini.

Seriously.

It was so skimpy she could give Brittany's Xena Warrior Princess costume a run for its money.

Wanting to get a better view, Quinn made her way towards the living room. As she passed through the sliding doors she came face to face with Sam Evans.

"Whoa, Marilyn Monroe," Sam said with his trademark wide-mouth smile.

Quinn made a show of fluffing her hair up coupled with a cheeky wink, her white dress billowing beneath her from her movements.

And from what Quinn deduced with the purple hoodie and the neat haircut that had his bangs neatly falling over his eyes, Sam was supposed to be Justin Bieber.

Then, like they always did, Quinn's eyes found Santana. She tapped Sam on the arm and said, "Hey, that girl by the punch bowl, who's she supposed to be?"

Sure Sam was on the football team, the reserve quarterback next to Finn Hudson, but he was well versed in Geek so...

"Princess Leia," Sam said instantaneously. Quinn noticed how his grip tightened around his beer bottle. "Man, that's hot. That's what Princess Leia wore when she was captured and made a sex slave by Jabba the Hutt."

Quinn took it all in. Then said, "That's nice, Sam."

Without any notice whatsoever, Brittany's arm snaked its way between the two of them and took the Diet Coke can out of Quinn's hand and replaced it with a cup of beer.

Brittany was definitely rocking her Xena Warrior Princess costume. She had a black wig on and she was all skin where her two-piece armor wasn't covering. Answering the prayers of half of McKinley's male student body, Brittany's boobs were, in a really sad attempt, hiding behind these small breast-plate discs.

"What's she doing here?" Sam asked Quinn, continuing their conversation.

"Who are you guys talking about?" Brittany said quickly.

Sam rubbed his chin, turned his gaze to the pool area to be discreet, before saying, "The hottie by the punch bowl."

Brittany took Sam's directions and looked. She caught Santana's eye and Quinn wasn't sure why but she averted her eyes from their exchange.

"Oh, her?" And then Brittany hung her head back, looking at the ceiling, muttering, "God, I don't even know her name."

"Britt?" Sam said, growing antsy. He kept looking over his shoulder to where Santana was.

"Oh yeah, I invited her," Brittany said simply. "She knows how to make balloon animals. I saw at Homecoming Fair. She gave me a big fat balloon cat because I told her about Lord Tubbington." Then Brittany got that look on her face. The one that she got when she had a brilliant idea.

She grabbed Quinn's hand and tugged forcibly. "Oh my God. Let's talk to her! We have to talk to her! Who has a balloon?"

"On it!" Sam said, already scrambling towards the kitchen.

x x x

"Wow, who knew you were this hot?"

Brittany was always so direct.

Santana had a furious blush going on. "This," she said, motioning towards herself, "is a dare."

Brittany just stared at Santana for a bit. That blank stare that never gave away what she was thinking so yeah, things got pretty awkward. Santana shot Quinn a questioning look to which Quinn could only smile apologetically at.

"Well, you're definitely winning, babe," Brittany finally said, clapping her hands together excitedly. "Drink to that?"

"No, I'm good," Santana said, holding up her Diet Coke (This is a sign, Quinn thought stupidly for a second).

"Nonsense," Brittany said. "This is good beer. I'd be offended if you didn't have any. All the beer must gooo."

And so while Brittany was getting Santana's drink, Quinn was presented with a chance to speak with Santana. She was about to start with a tested and proven "hey" but before she could open her mouth, Brittany, like a damn ninja, shoved a red solo cup filled to the brim with beer and foam right in front of Santana's face.

"Hold this," Brittany said, thrusting the cup into Santana's other hand. "I think Sam got lost in the house," Brittany continued gravely. "I'll be right back.

Santana watched as Brittany left and then she turned to Quinn and shrugged.

Quinn's grace and charm chose the perfect time to abandon her in her hour of need, because Quinn just shrugged back. She walked over to the keg and took the hose, fumbling with it until the squeeze trigger was in her hand. She was shaking because of Santana's proximity, because of Santana's costume, because of Santana's boobs being right there within groping distance. She was shaking so much that it was a miracle that she didn't spill any beer while she refilled her cup.

"Monroe, eh?" Santana said, with a small smile.

"Yeah, well-spotted." And then Quinn thought, 'fuck it', added, "Some Like It Hot... Do you like it hot?"

And then Santana laughed. But it was this nervous laugh that told Quinn Santana was laughing at her, not with her so Santana couldn't look Quinn in the eye when she brought her drink to her lips. She sniffed at it before taking a sip.

Santana made a face then. Obviously, she's never tried beer before. "Ack," she said. Then to Quinn, went, "I thought your costume was from The Seven Year Itch?"

Quinn closed her eyes, devastated. In her head she pictured an entire zoo of balloon animals popping.

"It is," she started, opening her eyes again to meet Santana's stare. Which was a mistake since she kind of lost control of her mouth again. "It is. But I just... I just..."

"Quinn!"

It was Brittany, and trailing right after her, Sam, with a pile of inflated modeling balloons in his arms.

"Shit," Santana said, overwhelmed at the sight of them.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then," Quinn said. She nodded a goodbye to Santana before she could humiliate herself any further.

x x x

Quinn watched from the safe zone that was Brittany's couch. It was dangerous being that near Santana while she was wearing that ridiculous biking thing so Quinn didn't want to take any more chances. Across the living room, Santana demonstrated shaping the balloons and it wasn't long before Brittany had a pink balloon unicorn and Sam had a red balloon sword.

While Brittany busied herself by making her unicorn gallop across the air, Sam held his sword balloon up and tickled Santana's face with it. What a piece of work, Quinn thought. He even got Santana to laugh.

Sam said something then, taking the long balloon and wrapping his fingers around the sword's tip and he... he slid his hand down the length of it, then slid it up again, and down. And up, and down. He smirked at Santana all the while.

And Quinn couldn't believe it. There was seriously something wrong with Sam's train of thought. Her eyes were probably widening at the same rate Santana's were and it was no surprise that after five seconds, Sam Evans was slapped so hard across the face that the whole party scene in the living room stopped at the huge smacking sound Santana's palm and Sam's cheekbone made.

x x x

Sam whined about getting colossally denied and Puck listened like a true friend and said something along the lines of, "She won't let up for anyone, bro. It isn't personal." And Puck said Santana was a bitch and Sam, still glum and rolling in the rejection pile, nodded and raised his bottle to Puck's words.

Quinn was through sitting through their conversation and she uncrossed her legs. She wiggled out of the jerk-boy sandwich that Sam and Puck unintentionally trapped her in. She pushed off from the couch, dislodging herself successfully.

x x x

The next Monday, they took to calling Santana "the boob with brains". They spread this story about the frigid-bitch-nerdiac with the great tits... who wouldn't let anyone copy her homework.

Santana started wearing over-sized hoodies and sweaters since then. This didn't please Quinn at all.

x x x

At William McKinley High, Santana always sat in the front because she was a huge dork. Sitting just a couple of rows behind, Quinn would catch the occasional A or A+ on the other girl's tests.

Quinn made this ridiculous oath to pull the fire alarm if Santana got anything lower than a B+.

December came and McKinley was still high and dry. No surprises there.

x x x

Quinn put up the Celibacy Club before the Holidays. She hated brushing off every other boy who dropped a line, or touched her in a suggestive way. Quinn needed something more full-proof.

She needed God.

x x x

Now that they knew that she was the devoted organizer of the Celibacy Club, she could just hold up her little cross and the boys would back off, like vampires.

At the Celibacy Club, any skank or slut could buy back her virginity. Under Quinn Fabray, your slate was wiped clean. Your sins were swept under the proverbial rug.

And there were two types of people in the McKinley High Celibacy Club: the virgins and the not-so-virgins, the Jesus freaks and the hypocrites, the willing and the forced.

And so, she started off with thirteen members. The same two people who had the eerie ability of quoting bible verses according to occasion were the same two people who got caught in the woods with their pants down and their bibles closed.

That caused such a big scandal in March and the only reason Quinn didn't kick them out was because she let the other Cheerios, who slept with half of the hockey and team, stay as well.

It was fucked up, yes, but there was strength in numbers. And Christianity was all about forgiveness so whatever they did, it didn't really matter to Quinn so as long as she was Celibacy Club president. So as long as she could keep the unwanted, sex-crazed boys out with her fake force-field of holiness.

x x x

In her Junior Year, the Celibacy Club grew to forty-three members. And she still had her virginity. Things were peachy keen for Quinn Fabrey. Absolutely peachy keen.

x x x

Yeah, Santana was a total nerd and all but she wasn't one of those kids the mean jocks would waste their slushies on. It wasn't until their Junior year that Santana got slushied for the first time and unfortunately, for Quinn, she just happened to be there that fateful Thursday afternoon.

She was on her way to class when the dicks from the football team, probably in an effort to 'impress' her, launched a slushie at the poor transferee from Dalton. This guy, this nancy kid named Blaine, appeared to be Santana's friend. They probably fucked, but Quinn had a strong feeling that Blaine was gay so...

Anyway, Santana stepped in and Quinn had to stop to see this. The blue slush hit Santana in the neck and her whole front.

Her teeth bared and clenched, visibly cold-shocked.

Then the dicks from the football team dunked their cups on Blaine's head at the same time. They laughed ever so obnoxiously and were looking to Quinn for some sort of approval.

Maybe the worst part was that the only thing she could do at that time, being limited by her reputation, was to glare at them before rolling her eyes.

She turned to Santana and Blaine and found that they were looking at her. They seemed like they wanted Quinn to do more than just stand there. To be more than just a witness of standard high school injustice. But then it dawned on them that Quinn wouldn't.

So they turned to each other, faces wet, sticky, and miserable. Santana squeezed the water out of her hair and Blaine took his glasses off and wiped at their lenses using the hem of his wet collared shirt.

She refused to meet their eyes when they passed, the jackasses. Quinn wanted to apologize for the dicks. But it really wasn't her place.

Santana and Blaine went on their way, dripping blue.

x x x

It happened again. But Quinn heard that this time, they caught Santana alone. The jocks found it extremely funny that Santana was 'gay for the fag'. At least, gay enough to take 14 ounces of slushie for him so they figured she deserved another, intentional round.

This time, the slushies were strawberry.

And Quinn saw Santana afterwards, her yellow shirt splotched with orange at the collar. Santana's lips were redder than they usually were.

Quinn avoided looking at Santana. In this situation, it would be really rude to stare.

x x x

The following week, Santana came to school in a clear, plastic poncho. She had these industrial goggles covering her eyes and it was like she was daring the jocks to slushie her again. Blaine was by her side, embarrassed and worried. His support of his friend's fashion choices was clearly nonexistent. He persisted on wearing his colored capri pants, collared shirt and bow-tie.

Quinn did not know if she should feel sorry for Santana or if she should admire her nerve.

But then class broke out for lunch and Santana got slushied again, right before she got to the cafeteria. Quinn decided she felt sorry for Santana.

x x x

When news of a possible Gay-Straight Alliance being set up at McKinley surfaced, strong reactions came with it. Santana and Blaine were the brains behind the movement and there was a quiet approval from most of the student body, which was expected.

Not everyone welcomed this idea with open arms though. There were still a couple of gutsy few who totally, vocally shot the idea down.

Cocksucker fags wanting our support?

Tell them dykes to hit me up. All they need is some proper sexing and I'm the man.

People in the Celibacy Club especially. Half of her members were confused and the other half were downright angry. To satisfy a request of one of the members, Quinn called for a meeting to decide on the Celibacy Club's stand on the issue.

It's unnatural. Like the Harry Potter books. Someone's gotta keep all that sin in check.

I get girl-on-girl. That's hot. But why would a dude ever wanna do another dude?

That day, Quinn tried very hard to keep her face from contorting in annoyance. To keep from rolling her eyes. To keep from telling some of them how idiotic they were sounding. To keep from asking them how they ever graduated middle school. The bible fanatics especially, they went a little overzealous, making up these completely new verses that Quinn never came across in her ten years of Sunday school.

Zacharias, chapter 60, verse 23: But God hates the homosexuals.

She ended up cutting the meeting short. If it went on any longer, Quinn was mighty sure six to ten people would've gotten a nice slap in the face.

All the things they said made Quinn finger at the cross on her neck nervously. These people still made up the Celibacy Club, the club that successfully kept the boys at bay for Quinn. She wasn't ready to lose that by sticking it to her members.

She had to stop this Gay-Straight Alliance from forming.

She had to talk to Santana.

x x x

She wrote a letter first, thinking she could completely avoid the situation. Basically, that letter contained a friendly and sensible suggestion for the proposed McKinley High Gay-Straight Alliance to pull out on their plans.

Quinn sprayed some perfume on this piece of paper before she sent it on its merry way. The envelope had Santana's name on it.

She also took the liberty of meeting with Principal Figgins herself and handing in a complaint form.

"For what, Miss Fabray?" Principal Figgins asked her, his thick grey eyebrow raised.

Quinn leaned in invitingly and Figgins followed suit, propping his elbows on his desk, interested.

She kept her voice steady. "For encouraging unholy behavior."

Quinn could not believe the words that were coming out of her mouth.

x x x

She was only doing this because her Celibacy Club had to see her making all the efforts. Or else she would be ousted. And Quinn always had trouble letting go of power once she got it.

x x x

"Yo Fabray!"

It was all too surreal to Quinn, hearing her name (okay, last name, but still) being called out in that voice.

Santana held the letter right up in Quinn's face. It was so close that Quinn could practically smell traces of her own perfume on it. That Eau de Parfum's fragrance potency was reported to last up to three days after application. She gave the letter to Santana four days ago and Quinn was thrilled to find out that she got her money's worth.

And Santana ripped the piece of paper in half.

So much for diplomacy.

x x x

The next day, she found Santana in the library. Quinn spotted Santana's ridiculous chopsticks-bun across the room where the nerd was sitting at a long table, working on some essay or her homework or whatever.

Quinn came over and sat across from her. She waited until Santana looked up.

When she did, Santana dropped her pencil and sat back in her seat, crossing her arms. She narrowed her eyes at Quinn.

Quinn had to be mature and brush off Santana's hostility. She spoke coolly. "What's this really about, Lopez?"

"I don't know, Fabray. Oh, maybe just this thing called Human Rights and how you shouldn't treat people like shit because they're a tad too different?" Santana looked at her challengingly.

And Quinn had to. She just had to.

"Are you even gay, Santana?"

The question caught her off guard and Quinn took this as her opportunity to buy time since she didn't have anything better to say. She stood up and walked as steadily as she could, away from Santana.

x x x

Quinn was now fully confident in her manipulative powers. Figgins totally ate her shit and now, the GSA was abolished two weeks after Quinn and Figgins had their little sit-down.

And Quinn was supposed to be happy. Wasn't supposed to feel bad (or strangely turned on) when Santana cornered her in the bathroom one day.

"You know there's nothing wrong with it," Santana said, as she turned off the tap Quinn was using.

With her hands still coated with soap and bubbles, Quinn gave Santana a 'really?' look before stepping over to the next sink. "I'm only doing what I'm supposed to," Quinn said, turning the faucet and letting the water run over her soaped up hands.

From the looks of it (Santana's big inhale, her eyes narrowed in unmistakable fury, and her mouth on the verge of opening, perhaps to release fire balls) Santana was going to verbally smack Quinn down in Spanish. And Quinn, being quite proficient at Spanish herself, dreaded whatever it was Santana was about to say because she would actually be able to understand it perfectly.

But then, to Quinn's immense relief, Santana backed away and held her hands up. A pose of surrender which eased Quinn, but only slightly.

"Look, Fabray. Why don't we talk later? Sit down and talk about this. Over dinner or something."

It was hilarious. Santana was asking her out. Sure, it was because Santana wanted Quinn to retract her petition, but still. Dinner was dinner. "You paying?" Quinn asked smugly.

"What?" Santana said, and then, after realizing Quinn was serious, said, "Okay fine, I'll pay."

"It's a date then," Quinn said, trying very hard not to smile.

"What? No!" Santana insisted. She turned and made for the door. "You're so cheap, Fabray."

x x x

Santana met with Quinn at a 24/7 diner near the freeway. They were sure they weren't going to bump into anyone they knew there because the customers who frequented this diner were bikers and truck drivers. Maybe even your occasional hooker. The neon light outside didn't even work and the shabbiness and obscurity of the diner served the purpose of assuring that this meeting, this dinner for two, stayed a secret.

"I just did it. I opposed because I was expected of it. In truth, I thought they'd turn my requests down and approve yours. I'm just as surprised as you are, Santana."

Santana let out a huff as she sliced through her pancakes angrily. (Yes, Santana was having pancakes for dinner.) "So you did all that for kicks? God. So fucking unfair." She then proceeded to stuff her mouth, really testing the elasticity and stretching capacity of her cheeks.

At least she chewed with her mouth closed. Quinn gave her that.

"Religion frowns upon it," Quinn said. She put her hands around her coffee mug. Quinn was on a strict Cheerio diet so she preferred having dinner at home. Where the food was less greasy and less likely to kill her in three years time.

"And God said, 'may my sheep always have a shepherd, to light up and lead the way, for they should have no power to think for themselves'." Santana boomed, in what was probably her mock God voice.

That irritated Quinn. Why was everyone such an ass about Christianity?

"You know it'll be a complete mess. That's why Figgins thought it was best to disband your little club," Quinn said. She took a careful sip of her coffee.

"Figgins is a coward. He doesn't know what's coming. Oppression just fires up the rebellion in people..." She poured more maple syrup over her pancakes. "There are a lot of people out there, Fabray. A lot of people who love someone so much, but are powerless about it because their society, even their families, think it's wrong."

And Quinn didn't want to talk anymore. She had nothing she could say.

"Look, Fabray. You're not an idiot. You're not like the rest of them. I honestly think that you're better..." and then Santana interrupted herself to stuff more bites of pancake into her mouth, as if it were the only way to stop herself from telling Quinn all these cheesy things.

She chewed quickly and when she swallowed, Quinn could hear it. Santana gave her an imploring look and said, "Just... Get them to reconsider."

x x x

The abolished Gay-Straight Alliance wouldn't go down without a fight, apparently. They planned some sort of rally and to start off, they walked out of their last period classes.

The first protest was a small group. Among the protestors, Quinn spotted Blaine and it was hard to tell because she was so far away (watching the rally through the window of their Spanish Class classroom), but Quinn swore that he was holding Kurt Hummel's hand.

They played Beatles songs. The extra hippie ones about love and peace. Acoustic guitars accompanied the voices of the group and they all sounded so hopeful. People were holding up rainbow-striped flags and signboards. Quinn even made out a few of them.

CHOOSE LOVE.

ACCEPTANCE. EQUALITY.

TOLERANCE.

ATTENTION HETEROSEXUALS: WE WANT TO BE MISERABLE, TOO.

CAN'T PRAY THE GAY AWAY.

And of course, Santana Lopez. She was dressed in these rough acid-wash jeans that were ripped at the knees and she had a red plaid shirt on, unbuttoned over her black wife-beater. Santana had a bullhorn to her mouth, shouting about how it was the 21st Century and that Lima, Ohio was 'embarrassingly traditional'.

Quinn decided activism was hot.

x x x

Two days later, Blaine and Kurt sprung up on her at the school car park. She was fresh from the shower because Cheerios practice ran a little late that day and threw off Quinn's entire evening schedule.

"Quinn Fabray, you awful, awful human being!"

Blaine's high-pitched freakout gave Quinn such a jolt that she dropped her car keys. Was Blaine always like this? Did he always speak like he was on the verge of tears?

The pair of them stopped in front of her and they weren't looking so happy.

"What is your problem?" Quinn said, annoyed.

Blaine probably thought she was feigning ignorance or something because he was still looking accusatory. "Your Celibacy Club spawn just staged a very offensive divine intervention for me and Kurt."

Quinn did not get it. "Offensive?"

Blaine's hands exploded in a big gesture. "They trapped us in a what they had the nerve to call a 'prayer circle'. Then they opened about like, twenty different issues of Playboy in front of us!"

"It was horrible," Kurt Hummel said theatrically, fanning his face with his hands as if it would stop him from crying. Or from the looks of it, crying again.

She was going to kill whoever it was who thought this was a good idea. This new issue made her head ache. She had to kick out the fool who started this. Strength in numbers be damned.

"Okay. Now... Firstly, as President, I would like to extend my apologies. I wasn't aware of this activity-intervention thing. I would've known but because I honestly don't. I can assure you that they did this behind my back."

Kurt and Blaine were unswayed.

"And secondly, I'm not dumb. Possession of pornography on school grounds is punishable by suspension. If I were to organize an intervention for the likes of you I sure as hell would not have dumped a porn stash on your front door."

Quinn knew she had this angelic thing going on for her so she smiled at Blaine after she said this. She smiled as sweetly as she could without coming off as fake.

He was still looking at her with displeasure but Quinn was sure he'd come around.

"I think she's telling the truth," Kurt finally said.

There was a pause. Quinn chose this time to bend down and pick up her keys.

And when she straightened back up, there it was. Blaine's reluctant shrug. "Okay, fine. But your lapdogs. How about you rein them in a little?"

"You have your beliefs, we have ours. I can't promise you we'll stop praying over you. What I can assure you though, is that you never have to forcibly see another female centerfold in your life. Ever again. How's that sound?"

Blaine and Kurt looked at each other. And then after moments of them nodding then shaking, then nodding their heads in a bizarre silent conversation, they finally turned back to Quinn and did this really freaky Siamese Twin thing.

"What if..." Blaine said.

"What if we showed you?" Kurt said.

Quinn was mega-apprehensive and annoyed about this. "Show me what?"

"What if we showed you our world?" Blaine finished.

x x x

Quinn wasn't really sure how it happened but after an hour of getting crappy directions from Blaine and Kurt, and alternating having to listen to them sing along to every song on the radio and having to listen to them flirt like fancy monkeys, she pulled into the car park of a bar called, God forgive them, Scandals.

"Scandals?" Quinn mused.

"It's a gay bar," Kurt explained helpfully.

"What?" Quinn said, a little louder than she intended.

"Oh, come on, Quinn. Don't be like that," Blaine said. He put a hand on her shoulder after she refastened her seat-belt.

"No way. No shitting way. I am not going in there," she said, turning her engine back on.

"Wait, Quinn... Quinn," Kurt said as he and Blaine helplessly watched her shift into reverse.

She backed out quickly and an instant later she heard Blaine's panicked "QUINN!" and a very loud car horn sound off.

Quinn slammed her foot on the break and she lurched forwards from the recoil. Blaine and Kurt were a tumbled mess in the backseat and the other car horn was still screeching.

"Shit," Quinn said, ears ringing, blood rushing. She was relieved, yes. But mostly she was shitting herself.

"Are you crazy?" Kurt said, voice high and hysterical. "You almost got us killed," and then, after realizing his own dramatics, added, "Or something. God, Quinn!"

"I know, I know," she said, easing back into the parking space and then cranking the hand brake back up with a finality.

Quinn checked her rear-view mirror and saw that Blaine's body was twisted around to look at that back window. He said, "We're lucky it's only Santana."

From her rear-view mirror, Quinn saw that the driver of the red 80s BMW she almost totaled was, indeed, Santana Lopez.

She sprang out of her car, her anger evident. Lucky, Blaine said. What 'lucky'? This was like, worst-case-scenario levels for Quinn already. She rolled the window down, ready to receive Santana's enraged yelling.

"Oh you better be glad you didn't hit me!" Santana started threateningly, marching up to Quinn's car.

Quinn wanted to disappear.

"Hey, Crash Bandicoot! Where's your license? 'Cause you don't deserve it. In fact, I'm going to shove it right up your fucking—"

The look on Santana's face when she discovered that it was Quinn in the driver's seat was priceless. It really was one for the books.

Quinn grinned at Santana hopelessly. "Hi," she said.

And Santana just stared back at her, breathing hard. Snapping out of it, she shifted her attention to the backseat, to the sound Blaine made when he rapped at his window. Quinn watched through the rear-view mirror as Blaine and Kurt waved at Santana innocently.

Blaine opened the car door to the backseat and Santana popped her head in. "Holy shit! I thought you were bringing Brittany?" Santana hissed at them in a low voice (which Quinn heard anyway but like, whatever. She tried to ignore how disappointed Santana sounded that Quinn was here instead of Brittany).

Blaine then let out this fabulous laugh. With the rear-view, Quinn saw their exchange in the back. He told Santana, while putting a gentle hand on her arm, "We said 'young blonde Caucasian female'. And I'm pretty sure Quinn still fits that bill."

The line of Kurt's mouth contorted weirdly. He tried to hide his smirk and somehow, this made Santana blush. "You bitches," Santana said, shaking Blaine off half-heartedly. They laughed as she ducked out of the backseat into the parking lot.

"Now get your asses out of there. I hit you up with all these sweet-ass identities."

After they all piled out of Quinn's car, Santana proudly held up a flush of cards.

Fake IDs. Of course.

Kurt jogged over and picked out the ID he assumed was his. He snorted. "Dale Ratliff?" he read, cocking a perfectly plucked eyebrow at Santana. "I sound like a character from Downton Abby. Santana Lopez, how did you ever come up with this stuff?"

"Seventh Sanctum," Santana said, handing Blaine his ID. "It's a site. An online name generator."

"Something tells me you didn't use Seventh Sanctum with mine," Blaine said. He frowned at his ID. "Anderson Trooper. Wow, Santana. Subtle. Absolutely subtle."

"What?" Santana said, walking over to where Quinn was. "He's like the hottest gay man in America. Be flattered, Anderson."

To Quinn, Santana prompted, "Emily Stark." As Santana passed the ID between them, Quinn did this sneaky where she made sure that her fingers brushed against Santana's.

"Miss Stark is barely legal," Santana said to Quinn, giving her a playful wink.

Then Quinn tried to maybe not smile like the biggest idiot in the universe. She turned the card over in her hands and saw that she looked nothing like the woman in the ID picture. Quinn was thankful for this because she actually preferred it if she couldn't make it through the bouncer.

Then Quinn, curious, said to Santana, "And you? Who're you supposed to be."

Santana whipped her ID out. It had Santana's own picture in it. In this picture Santana wore glasses and her hair was shorter than it was right now.

"Rosario Cruz," Santana announced in a manner so swank, Quinn found it adorable. "She writes the advice column for the Daily Bugle," Santana said, with what Quinn could only describe as Santana's huge, dork-of-the-year grin.

Butterflies. Quinn was getting the butterflies.

Maybe this whole gay bar adventure wouldn't be all that bad. At least Santana was there to look at.

x x x

Quinn couldn't believe that two hours have already passed after she stepped inside Scandals. She now attested to the fantabulousness of gay men. She still got hit on, just, not in that way. Gay men were direct and expressive about their appreciation for all things beautiful so all throughout the night, Quinn was showered in clever flattery and witty compliments.

Another thing about gay men was that Quinn didn't have to worry about them on the dance floor. Yes, most of them were flamboyant with their body rolls but not once was Quinn ever groped or felt up.

And Quinn didn't want to admit it, but Blaine Anderson had moves. That boy could dance. So she joined him and Kurt on the energy spike brought on by A-ha's "Take On Me." It became less about trying to look cool and attractive and more about just getting the funk out of their bodies. Quinn was enjoying herself so much that she could care less if she looked like a crazy dancing puppet.

Quinn felt so alive. The only thing that would make it better was if Santana...

Santana was still at the bar, doing shots. She appeared to be having an animated one-sided conversation with the bartender. Probably about genius stuff that he wouldn't be able to comprehend in a hundred years.

"Make her dance!" Quinn shouted at Blaine and Kurt, over the jukebox music.

"What? Santana? Oh, she doesn't. That's not her thing, Quinn!" Blaine shouted back. Then Blaine smiled as if he just remembered something. "However..."

"However," Kurt picked up, lips curled up conspiratorially. "Our dear Santana is quite the songbird."

This interested Quinn to no end. Come to think of it, she wasn't able to hear the other girl sing. Like, ever.

Blaine threw his hands up in the air. "Oh my God! We have to do Karaoke Corner tonight!" He then hooked each of his arms into Quinn's and Kurt's. He led them over to where Santana was and the three of them dragged her in her mildly disoriented state, right to the TV and microphone stand at the farthest corner of the bar.

x x x

Santana sang TLC's "No Scrubs" with her eyes shut. The lyrics that lit up on the TV were neglected and Quinn kind of felt sorry for them. Blaine was hugging Kurt from behind and they cheered Santana on when they weren't singing along.

Quinn never saw Santana this free and unguarded. And God, how her voice was beautiful.

Given all those shots she had earlier, Santana moved with a tipsy person's slight abandon. Quinn thought it was magical, how Santana was really feeling it. She made Quinn laugh as she waggled a finger at her during:

No, I don't want your number
No, I don't wanna give you mine
No, I don't wanna meet you nowhere
No, don't want none of your time

When it got to the rap-break-it-down-part, Santana worked it even more. She made these pumping motions with her arm and hopped around the stage like a kangaroo on coke. Coming into the closing chorus, Santana ended her performance prematurely by gracelessly falling off the karaoke platform.

And Quinn realized then. She was in love.

. . . . . x