Quinn couldn't focus all of that day. Santana had texted her during Spanish with Mr. Shue. The text had read, "Choir room lunch for gaytervention." Quinn turned to glare at her friend; Santana just grinned and wiggled her eyebrows.
"Quinn, eyes on your own work!" called Mr. Shue. The blonde sighed as the latina tried to stifle her laughter.
Quinn wasn't sure when she ceased to pay attention to the teacher's droning lecture on mushrooms and spores, because seriously, who was even going to use that knowledge anyway? "Ms. Fabray, would you care to enlighten us as to what has distracted you from our discussion?" the teacher inquired.
The blonde snapped to attention, putting up her HBIC walls, and replied, "Oh, I was just remembering that Coach Sylvester wanted to see me about nationals." Quinn knew that no teacher could argue with the seven-year winning streak of the McKinley High Cheerios. The teacher muttered something bout ungrateful coaches and flunking students before excusing Quinn from class.
Quinn made a beeline for the nearest bathroom and shoved the door open, letting her bitchy façade down, and leaned against the sink. She studied herself closely, wondering if the gay showed. She had only been in the bathroom for five minutes when the bell rang, jarring her out of her thoughts. "Time for lunch. Wonderful." She muttered as she composed herself and picked up her books. She was just opening the door when Rachel burst in, running straight into the blonde.
"I'm so so so sorry, I didn't see you there. See, I was just going to get cleaned up and- oh! Your uniform! Oh no, I ruined it. See I-"Rachel found herself interrupted by a (surprisingly) amused Quinn.
"It's fine," Quinn said gently, the blonde was mentally slapping herself at being so obvious, "I have an extra in my locker. Don't worry." Rachel just looked at her strangely. Quinn brushed past her and into the hallway.
"You're late," the latina commented as her friend sat down
"I was sidetracked." Quinn shrugged, looking still and awkward.
"So the head bitch is actually the head butch," Santana casually stated, leaning back and studying the blonde carefully, "I gotta admit, my gaydar did not pick up on that." She paused, thinking for a moment and smirked, "Say, who converted you?"
"Converted me?" Quinn asked, eyebrow raised.
"Yeah." The latina said as if it was perfectly obvious, "Who do you have the hots for, who revs you engine, who gives you a lady bon-"
"Nobody, and if I did, it wouldn't be your business" Quinn felt her cheeks heating up.
"Can you please be any more obvious, Jodie Foster?" Santana grinned, "Fess up. I'm your best friend, I make it my business."
"I-" the bell rang and Quinn sighed in relief. Saved by the bell, she thought.
Santana got up and swept past Quinn to the door, were she stopped and said "I'll find out one way or another"
The blonde stared after her, Maybe I'm not so safe.
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