A/N: You can skip over this if you want, but I just wanted to take the time to introduce myself. I'm practicallyaprincess and obviously, I write fanfiction. This is not my first time writing fanfiction, but this is my first time writing for Glee. I'm nervous but mostly excited! Since this is my first time writing for this fandom, please feel free to let me know what you guys do and don't like in your fanfiction. I'm a really nice person, and I do take suggestions. Please don't hesitate to let me know what you like to see and what you don't like to see.

This story is a bit AU, because it doesn't follow the exact timeline of the show, and some of the things that I'm going to put in the story didn't actually happen in the show. If there's anything confusing or in need of clarification, just let me know and I'll be happy to address it in an author's note before the next chapter. I really do like to communicate with my readers. And I hope you guys don't mind first person narratives.

Nice to meet you all, I'm practicallyaprincess :)

It was somewhere between the ice cream shop and the farmer's market that I stopped paying attention. It wasn't like I meant to, she just started talking about all these things that I really don't care about and my brain was too busy soaking up all the familiar scenery to even pretend to engage with her anymore. The sun makes the window warm against my cheek and the trees all turn into little green blobs since she's driving well above the speed limit, but I don't mind. It's kind of dizzying, actually — and sort of making me sleepy the way everything just kind of blends together like that. Her voice is like mild background noise, second to the sound of the radio humming and going in and out since we're practically in the middle of a forest.

You never really know how much you miss home until you've been somewhere so different for a while. I never pegged myself as the type to miss anything about Lima but now that I'm driving through it after having been away from it for so long, I'm starting to feel comfort in the familiarity. Like how I know if I go down to the Lima Bean and order a caramel macchiato, it'll taste the exact same as it did two months ago. Or if I go down to Breadstix, their triple cheese pizza platter will always be a little too greasy for me. Sure, it's a crappy little two-mill town, but at least it's something I can always count on.

"Oh, and Quinn?" she turns to me this time when she talks, which is the only thing that drags me out of the trance the trees were putting me in, I think.

"Hmm?"

"Your school schedule came in the mail last week and the guidance counselor said if you needed to drop a class or two to take less credits, you can."

"I'll be fine, mom."

For the umpteenth time of this ninety minute car ride, her perfume makes my nose itch. She's wearing about three spray puffs too much, and about a pound of makeup. When I got into the car with my loose blue jeans and McKinley t-shirt, I almost asked her what the occasion was.

"I just don't want you to, you know, overwork yourself, Sweetie."

"I won't."

I don't know why, but when the car slows down so she can pull into the driveway, my stomach sinks to the depths of my body. And I feel a little bit hot all of a sudden. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard with the way she says "home at last!" and I really have to fight the urge to slap her.

Nothing looks different here. The driveway is still that same gray and black cobblestone, the gate is still that clunky white plastic. The yard's neatly groomed as always and Mom's carnations are in full bloom. That ugly yellow wreath with the honeycombs and bumblebees still hangs proudly on the front door, and there's still a chunk of the gold number three that marks our address missing from the time Frannie and I kicked the soccer ball at it. It's the exact same house on the exact same street in the exact same neighborhood of the exact same city of Lima. But something about it just feels so much different.

Mom's been watching me like a hawk and noticing the slightest changes in my moods, so I don't stare at the house and re-familiarize myself with it for too long. I jump out, head around back and grab the two duffle bags she left for me to carry in. She shuffles my smaller bag to the side of her body and fumbles with the code to open the garage door. She seems to have changed it since the last time I was here. Probably because Dad knew the code to get in. I don't see his car anywhere — just my mom's, mine and Frannie's — so I'm going to go ahead and assume he hasn't moved back in.

Good.

No sooner than I dump my crap off at the door am I being pulled into the most awkward, body-swallowing embrace I've ever felt in my entire life. I thought my mother was wearing a crap-ton of perfume, but boy was I wrong. My sister's got her beat.

"Quinnie," the sound of her voice in my ear actually makes the corners of my lips turn up into a smile. I haven't seen her in a while, so I guess I actually missed my sister. Plus, one thing about her is that she has the most soothing voice ever. "Welcome home."

She pulls away and looks me up and down like she can't believe I'm standing in front of her. I'm probably looking at her the same way. Sometimes, it's hard to believe that she and I come from the same gene pool. She has the most perfect high cheekbones and the prettiest shade of brown eyes. When we were younger, her hair used to be so curly our mom couldn't run a comb through it. It's cut short and straight now, and she keeps it dyed brown. But still, she's clearly the pretty one. Hers is so… effortless.

"I missed you," she whispers through cherry red lips.

"I missed you too," I say, smoothing the loose strands of my hair back into my ponytail because something about my sister just makes me want to look like I stepped off a runway, too. I'm no match for her navy blue sundress and white wedge shoes, though. "How long are you staying?"

"Not long. I have to drive back tonight since classes start tomorrow, but I promised Mom I'd stay through dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Dinner. And no Dad here to ruin it."

"Thank god," Frannie and I both mumble that under our breaths at the same time and then it's moments like this when I do remember we come from the same gene pool.

"Come on," she motions towards the steps with her head. "I'll help you unpack."

We each drag a duffle bag up the steps and down the hallway and I've officially decided that so far, this is the least weirdest part about being home and it should probably be the most. I see my sister maybe once every thousand years but already, she's made me feel like this is the most normal thing ever. I guess it's probably because she's the one that's not staring at me like she's waiting for me to reveal some big important secret. She's not the one that's sneaking glances at me every five minutes or constantly asking me if I'm okay. She's treating me like I'm Quinn. Like I'm still sassy, smart, snarky old me. And it feels good for her to treat me like I'm Quinn because I really don't even know if I am Quinn anymore.

"So are you excited to go back to school tomorrow?" she asks, unzipping my duffle and shaking its contents onto my bed.

School? Oh, that's right. I have to go to school… what year am I in again? I wonder… I wonder what everyone's up to… it's been a whole summer...

"Eh," I shrug and sort through my clothes. "It's just another school year."

"Quinnie, it's your junior year! It's the year that everything counts. It's not just another school year. You've got your SATs and your college preps and your school selections."

"You're giving me angina."

She swallows a laugh and hands me a folded blouse. "It is stressful and a little overwhelming, don't get me wrong. But junior year is the time of your life. It sets the course for your whole future. You should be excited about that."

Actually, it sounds absolutely terrifying. And boring at the same time. Why do I need to take all those tests and pick a school like that? I don't even know if I want to go to college anymore. I don't even know what I want anymore.

"I'm just trying to get through the first day, Fran," I mumble. Mostly to myself. But also to her.

After that, it's mostly silent. She folds one thing, I fold another. She puts them into drawers, I hang them in closets. I unpack my bags and bring back the life into my room that wasn't there for two whole months. It seems unreal that this is my room again. It seems like I'm in a place where I don't fit. Like I'm sitting in the middle of an inflatable pool and someone's just let the air out of all of it and now I'm sitting in the middle — big as can be — while the world around me is getting smaller and smaller. It's an uncomfortable feeling. One that makes me wish that I wasn't here; one that makes me long to go back to where I was before I had to make this my new normal again.

"Quinn?"

I look up from folding and meet Frannie's watchful eye. Dammit, now she's looking at me like that too. I already know what she's going to ask. Everyone always looks at me like this before they ask. Before they —

"Are you okay?"

Told you so. I knew it.

"Mhm, I'm good. A little tired and hungry, but—"

"No," she starts and when she sits down on the bed this time, she pulls me down with her. "Like… okay, okay?"

"Frannie, I'm fine," I snatch my hand out of hers. "Really. I just wish everyone would stop asking me that. I'm okay. Truly. You don't have to worry."

How would you feel if you were me?

"Are you sure? Because you know if you want to talk… about… Beth, or anything, I —"

"I said I'm fine!" I don't mean to snap at her, but I don't feel guilty that I do. Because she has no right to even… I said I'm fine. What more does she want from me? If she's looking for me to have some kind of mental break or lapse and have me come crying into her arms, she's wrong. I don't need to talk.

"Okay, okay," she tries to back track but it's too late. "I shouldn't have brought her up, I just —"

"No, you shouldn't have and I said I'm alright." How many times am I gonna have to say that? "Come on. Let's see if dinner's ready yet. I'm — I'm starving."

"Okay. But Quinn, if you ever… need anything… just call me, okay?"

I really wish everything would just go back to normal. And that includes you not caring. You never told me to text or call you before. You never gave a rat's ass about me before. Why do you care now?

Is anything ever going to be normal again?

I forgot how nice freshly shaved legs could feel. I mean seriously, I must look like a weirdo with the way I keep running my hand back and forth across my leg. It's making me excited to lie in bed tonight and just rub my legs all across my sheets. I'm just excited to go to bed in general. I know I have to wake up early tomorrow morning with school and everything, but really. I've never been more excited to just put on a fresh pair of pajamas and lie in one place for the night.

When I step out of the bathroom and onto the plush carpeted floors of the hallway, I take the time to scrunch my toes along it. Because feeling the carpet pillowed beneath my bare feet is another thing I forgot how good feels. It's really the little things.

Since Dad doesn't live here anymore, I'm not so conscious about walking down the hallway to my bedroom anymore. I guess that's one positive thing about being home; I don't have to put on a full bathrobe just to make a three-step transition from bathroom to bedroom anymore. I clutch my towel to my body and tiptoe my way to my bedroom. It sounds like Mom's still downstairs cleaning up the kitchen. I thought for a moment she was going to let things go back to normal again and scream at me for not helping her clean up the dishes after Frannie left, but no. She told me to go upstairs, take a shower and relax. I guess someday things will go back to normal around here. Maybe wanting the first day to be normal is just too much to ask.

Even after I toweled off and got dressed, it's only 8:43. I have seventeen minutes before I can lie down and go to bed for the night and I know I told myself I would wait until at least tomorrow, I know. It's really too soon to jump too far back into my old life. But I really just can't help myself. After all, it's been a whole summer.

So I grab my laptop off of my desk, fire it up and type Facebook into the search engine. As soon as I click it, my profile already pops up. I'm seventeen years old, going on eighteen. I'm allowed to look at Facebook. But still, I feel like I'm doing something wrong just by looking. I feel like I'm doing something that I have to sneak with. But it's not wrong to just want to catch up on everything I've missed… is it? I don't think so. So I start scrolling.

Mercedes and Sam… not a thing anymore. Okay. Mental note to ask Mercedes why she finally broke up with Mouth of the South. Finn and Rachel… not a thing anymore either? What was this, the summer of breakups? He didn't really deserve… nevermind. Forget that thought, Quinn. Brittany's with… who isn't she with?Dear god, I can't keep up. Tina and Mike, okay I saw that coming. Not just because they're both Asian. Oh, look! Mr. Schue and Emma made it Facebook official! And they made it public so I don't have to be his friend to "like" it! Awww! I'll hit the "like" button. Mmm, somebody passed out at Cheerios camp. What else is new? Oh no, honey not that haircut… Santana, you're not fooling anyone with that. Everyone knows they're fake. Oh, Becky's still a Cheerio. That's nice. Ehh, Karofsky go to hell as usual. Okay but Kurt, that outfit is asking for it. Who's Blaine? He's actually half cute. This picture is actually really cute. I'll "like" it. Hmm, no Puck? Says he's been inactive since July. Wonder what his summer was like. He probably found a house to haunt. Hm. Seems like that's it. Well, just one more…

My fingers tremble as I type S-H-E-L—

"Quinn?" my mom opens the door and honestly, I'm grateful for the interruption because I don't know that I'd have been able to go through with that…

I slam my laptop shut with quickness because like I said, it feels like I was doing something wrong…

"Yeah?"

"You left your phone downstairs in your other bag. Here." she lies it down on my nightstand. "You heading to bed now?"

"Um," I glance at the clock on my dresser and it reads 9:02. A little past my bedtime, actually. "Yeah. I'm tired."

"Alright. Sleep with your door open."

"Mom, I —"

"Quinn, please. Door open."

"...cracked."

"Deal."

Part of me wishes she wouldn't have come in here and interrupted what I was about to do on Facebook. But the bigger part of me is glad. I think maybe that would have been a little too much for my first day back home; it probably would have kept me up all night.

And I'm going to need all the sleep I can get before I go back to school tomorrow.