"You're going to join glee!"
Quinn jumped and slammed her locker shut. Turning around, she fixed her best glare on the person now in front of her, but it faded away when she saw the girl's apologetic look.
"And why am I going to join glee?"
"Because I asked nicely?" Rachel tried.
Quinn laughed. "I don't think scaring me half to death while ordering me to join glee is asking nicely, Berry."
"Yes, well." Rachel held out her books.
Quirking an eyebrow, Quinn took them.
Rachel cleared her throat, ran her hands down the front of her skirt, smoothing it, then folded her hands in front of her. She flashed Quinn her broadest, most sincere (she hoped) smile.
"Quinn Fabray, would you do me the honor of joining glee?"
Shifting Rachel's books to her other arm, Quinn lightly smacked her forehead with her palm. "Rachel," she said. "It's a club, and you sound like you're proposing marriage!"
Rachel snatched her books from the taller girl, and glowered at her. "Fine," she said evenly. "Walk to Spanish class by yourself."
"I've done that just fine, quite a few times," Quinn pointed out, but affectionately.
Really, she and Rachel weren't even that good of friends. They just sometimes walked to their third period Spanish class together. She liked the girl, despite her horrific taste in clothes and her tendency to be… well, incredibly obnoxious.
And if she was being honest with herself, Quinn really hated the way the smaller girl now walking next to her was treated, by the other students at William McKinley.
Rachel Berry hadn't had much luck with friends, not even back when they were 11 year old girls at Richmond Elementary. But it had seemed to get worse, once they'd hit middle and then high school. Quinn moved in entirely different social circles than Rachel: her parents were fairly wealthy, and well known in their community and their church. Quinn had never lacked friends, or potential boyfriends. She'd even been asked to join the Cheerios… okay, maybe not asked.
When Quinn had been a freshman, one Coach Sue Sylvester had pulled her out of her 1st period biology class.
When she'd made it to her office, Santana was sitting there, as Cheerios captain, and the coach simply pointed behind Quinn to a red, black, and white uniform hanging on the wall.
"You wear that now," Coach Sylvester had said.
"Excuse me?"
"I don't stutter, Fabray. You're blonde, you're tall, and after a week's diet you won't be fat. You're a Cheerio. And you're captain material."
Quinn had stolen a glance at Santana, seeing the way the girl's face had darkened, and how she scowled at the blonde girl who had been her friend since she was three.
"No, I'm not," Quinn said.
"You will be."
"No, I won't."
Apparently, Coach Sylvester had never heard the word no, and what had followed was thirty minutes of arguing. Or thirty minutes of Coach Sylvester "fucking losing her shit," as Santana termed it: banging on her desk with her fist, hollering that she could make Quinn's life a living hell if she didn't comply, and various other things that Quinn had just tuned out.
And in the end, maybe she'd never be on the high end of the popularity spectrum, like she could be if she were with the Cheerios; but the Fabray family name carried its own weight at William McKinley, as did a childhood friendship with Santana Lopez. So Quinn Fabray had walked out of Coach Sylvester's office without a uniform, and into the high school hierarchy with her dignity intact.
Rachel Berry hadn't been so lucky, not in the dignity department.
Quinn marveled at how the girl always came to school with her head held high, knowing full well that within thirty seconds of walking in the door she was either going to be shoved into a locker, hurled into a dumpster, or doused with whatever the flavor of the day was in the slushie machine. At first Quinn had laughed along with the others, seeing the ice dripping all over Rachel's face and onto the hideous owl sweaters or sky blue pantsuits.
But one day it wasn't the ice she saw dripping down Rachel's face, but tears, mingling with the colored corn syrup, and Quinn stopped laughing.
On the totem pole that was William McKinley High School's hierarchy, having two gay dads might land you somewhere in the middle.
Having two gay dads, terrible fashion sense, an unhealthy (Quinn thought) addiction to Barbra Streisand, the obnoxious desire to be the best at everything, and the voice of an angel?
Rachel was never going to be higher than the bottom.
The Cheerios, the jocks, they were the girl's worst tormentors. And Quinn might have been popular, she might have been able to have her pick of any boyfriend, or any girl for a friend, in that school, but she wasn't going to play a part in dragging someone down. She'd managed to get Santana, and Brittany, by proxy, to stop their own mistreatment of Rachel. Santana Lopez didn't usually listen to anyone, but having been friends with someone since you were three breeds a certain sort of loyalty, even if it came at the expense of her not being able to pick on the school's own social pariah. Still, Santana wouldn't call off the other Cheerios or the jocks; she had her reputation to protect – not to mention Brittany's, and Quinn knew it.
Quinn's own desire to protect Rachel in some way also didn't lean towards her being best friends with the girl. They shared classes together and hung out sometimes at lunch (which Santana hated), but that was it.
Plus, there was that little matter of her father forbidding any sort of contact with Rachel. Quinn was already treading dangerous water simply by talking to her.
Their circles weren't meant to converge.
Things were looking up for Rachel in her junior year, anyway, if Finn Hudson was any indication. She knew Rachel had crushed hard on the boy since middle school, and he was good to her, if a little stupid. Quinn was too involved in her own on again, off again relationship with Puck to really pay attention.
Almost as if Rachel could hear Quinn's train of thought, she said quickly, "Noah's auditioned already. He got accepted yesterday."
"What? He didn't tell me that."
"Probably because he thought you'd tell him no."
"I would have," Quinn snapped, her head reeling with the knowledge that her football star boyfriend suddenly wanted to sing. "It's a stupid club."
Rachel pursed her lips. "Why, thank you, Quinn, I appreciate your support." She sighed and shook her head.
"Look, we need 12 members if we're going to be able to compete at sectionals. So I'm asking you. Please?"
The glee club was a new development at WMHS. They'd recently hired a new Spanish teacher, Schuester, who seemed to spend more time gelling his hair than he did teaching conjugation and gender agreement. But then he'd got the wild idea that what the school really needed was a club. And not just any club, but a club for singers.
Rachel had been the first one to sign up. Of course.
Finn had been quick to follow, because, well, it was what he did: follow Rachel around like a lovesick puppy. It was cute, really.
Just like it was cute that Rachel only came up to his belt buckle.
Quinn had mentioned that to her once, an evil glint in her eye – earning her a punch in the arm. That was when she'd learned it was best not to ever piss off Rachel Berry.
"I can't sing," Quinn protested.
"Nonsense," Rachel said, turning up her nose. "I've heard you sing."
"What? When?"
"Uh…" Rachel flushed. "Well, um…"
"Berry," Quinn said warningly.
"Last year, in the showers after gym class when I had to come back because I'd left my day planner inside the locker room," Rachel rushed out.
Quinn rolled her eyes. "Rachel Cullen. Who knew?"
She turned to Rachel as they stood outside their Spanish class. "What's in it for me if I join?"
Rachel tilted her head, her tongue poking out of her lips as she thought. "I'll… come to a meeting of the Celibacy Club!" She decided brightly.
Quinn gave her a look. "Planning on being tempted, Rachel?"
"I'm a seventeen-year-old female with a healthy libido, Quinn. And now that I have a boyfriend, it only stands to reason that either one of us might be tempted to take our kissing to the next level. After all, it's natural for teenage boys and girls to be aroused during such con—"
"Okay, okay," Quinn interrupted. "You grossed me out at 'aroused.'"
Rachel shot Quinn her own knowing look. "Like you're one to talk about not giving in to temptation, anyway, Quinn Fabray."
She sighed. A month ago, she and Rachel had somehow gotten into a discussion over lunch that had ended up with Quinn spilling the beans about her night with Puck. She was grateful that Rachel hadn't judged. She'd simply asked if Quinn was all right and if they'd used protection, then moved on.
"Touché. When are the auditions?"
Rachel smiled triumphantly. "Today at three-thirty in the band slash now choir room. Don't be late."
She opened the door to the Spanish room and held it open for Quinn, still smiling.
Quinn leaned closer to Rachel and smirked. "Celibacy Club meets on Thursdays during the study period. Don't be late with your healthy libido, Berry."
Rachel only smirked in return.