"What the hell, Quinn?" It's the first thing out of The Mack's mouth when Quinn shows up under the bleachers the next day.
She arches an eyebrow. She's wearing an outfit that the Skanks themselves picked out for her at a thrift shop, so they can't be angry with the ripped gray shirt, black skinny jeans, and old short-sleeved jean jacket she's wearing. There's a half-finished cigarette between her fingers and the carton it came from is sticking out of her pocket, so they can't be thinking that she showed up empty-handed. So what's going on? "Excuse me?" she asks, forcing the concern out of her voice.
"Don't play dumb with me, Fabray. We heard you took a slushy for that wheelchair loser yesterday."
Quinn blinks. She's never had to defend the fact that she defended someone before. "Look, it's not like that," she mutters, trying to think on her feet as she takes a quick drag from her cigarette.
The Mack steps forward until she's right in front of Quinn. "Then what's it like?" Her eyes are hard, full of authority. "You're a Skank, Quinn, and Skanks don't do charity work. We don't save the day. We keep the losers in their rightful place, and we do it by any means necessary. Got it?" Her face is so close to Quinn's by the end of her speech that a chill goes down her spine. This is way too similar to her conversation with the jock.
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Don't get your panties in a twist. I never told him not to slushy Artie." She turns away and inhales from her cigarette again, then carelessly blows the smoke away. When she faces the girls, all eyes are still on her.
"So the cripple's name is Artie, huh?" Sheila says almost accusingly. "Are you guys best buds or something?"
"He's not—we did glee club…" Quinn gives up and groans in exasperation. "Seriously, what do I have to do to get you guys to trust me?"
The Skanks exchange glances with each other one by one and after a few moments, seem to silently agree on something.
The Mack looks her straight in the eye. "Rachel Berry."
Quinn swallows. "What about her?"
"Swirly her."
She's gotten so good at not showing the wrong emotions around the Skanks, at appearing fearless and in control, but this time she falters. "W-what?"
"You heard me," The Mack says, smirking at the look on Quinn's face. "We want you to swirly her. By the end of school today."
She drops her cigarette and grinds it into the ground with the bottom of her shoe. "Why Berry?" she asks, studying the remnants of burnt paper and ash on the pavement. "Why not some random freshman who would piss their pants if I got them alone? She's too used to it. It doesn't affect her anymore."
"If it doesn't bother her, then what's the problem?"
Quinn rolls her eyes. "It's a waste of time," she growls, and immediately regrets it when she sees the fiery look in the other girl's eyes.
"What was that?" The Mack asks in a way that dares her to answer. Quinn stays silent. "That's what I thought. Don't think that you can walk all over us, Quinn. We were there for you all summer while you dealt with your crap. We were your only friends then and we still are. Nothing's changed."
The mention of her "crap" stings. "I know," she mutters.
"You told us everything and we kept your secrets for you, but we can just as easily tell the whole school. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
Quinn clenches her jaw before answering. "No."
The Mack nods. "Then do this for us." She sees the hesitation lingering in Quinn's eyes. "Berry's not your friend, Quinn. She ignored you all summer, and the only reason she's talking to you now is because we're at school and she doesn't have to go out of her way."
Something clenches in Quinn's chest but she keeps her expression neutral. "How did you know she talked to me?"
This time Sheila speaks. "I saw you guys on the bleachers the other day." Her eyes narrow. "What was that all about, anyway?"
She lights another cigarette for the sake of having something to do with her hands. "Nothing."
None of them look satisfied with that answer, but they don't press her further.
"So do we have a deal?" The Mack asks her, and the expectant look in her eyes tells her there's only one right answer.
Quinn looks down at the ground, takes a drag from her cigarette, and lets it out slowly. "I'll do it." Her voice is low, gravelly, emotionless.
The Skanks all grin at her and exchange mischievous, excited glances before resuming their usual conversation. Quinn heads back inside the building, glares at Mrs. Marks when the woman gives her a disapproving once-over, and reluctantly slumps into her seat in the Biology classroom.
She's so fucking tired of fighting for approval.
By last period, Quinn is all but trembling at her desk. She's spent the day avoiding Rachel as best she can, because she knows she won't be able to look her in the eye without feeling like the most horrible human being on the planet. Not when she knows what she has to do.
She passes her in the hallway a few times, and when those brown eyes snap to her like magnets, she mentally curses herself for dying her hair bright pink, of all colors. She wonders briefly if Rachel looks for her around school. She hates that idea.
The final bell snaps her from her thoughts and she joins the pack of students heading out into the hallway. She spots Rachel almost immediately and follows her for a bit, silently begging her to avoid the bathrooms and just go to her locker and get out of here.
But of course she ducks into the first girls' room she comes to, and Quinn wants so badly to just walk away, to blow right past the door and forget about this whole thing and beg the Skanks to let her do something else, anything else. Her body's autopilot is having none of that, however, and before she has time to think this through any further her hand is pushing open the door and suddenly she's in the bathroom with Rachel.
The other girl is studying herself in the mirror, a makeup kit propped open on the side of the sink, and when she sees Quinn's reflection, she smiles pleasantly. "Hello, Quinn!"
Her heart is hammering inside her chest. She has no idea how to do this; usually she steals the person's lunch money while the other girls do the dirty work. But there's another layer, and she knows it.
She has no idea how to do this to Rachel Berry.
The Rachel notices Quinn staring at her and her eyebrows pull together the slightest bit. "Is something wrong? You look worried."
The Skanks are going to kill her. "I need you to splash water on your face and get your hair wet." She doesn't know how she makes her voice sound so calm.
Rachel looks confused but continues working on her makeup. "Why?"
"I don't have time to explain. Please, just do it." She's trying to keep her tone as flat and monotonous as possible but it's starting to waver.
"I'm sorry, but I can't," she replies, leaning closer to the mirror. "Auditions for West Side Story start in twenty minutes and I need to look my best. Not to suggest that I need good looks in order to be cast in a leading role, because on the contrary, I'm quite confident that my talent is more than enough. But nevertheless, it can't hurt to look pretty while I'm onstage." She smiles brightly.
Quinn has stopped breathing. Now she understands why they wanted her to Swirly Rachel, and why they wanted her to do it today. She glances toward the door, her warring between getting the hell out of here or getting Rachel the hell out of here. "Rachel, you need to—"
The door swings open and the room is filled with the stench of cigarettes. Rachel drops her mascara brush as she takes in the sight of the Skanks all looking directly at her.
Quinn's eyes are on the group of clearly agitated girls.
Sheila is the first to speak. "What's the hold-up, Quinn? We ain't hearing no flushing."
"We had a deal," The Mack continues, eyeing Rachel. Quinn does the same and sees a second flicker of confusion cross Rachel's features, and though her eyes are questioning, she doesn't ask for an explanation.
"H-hello, Skanks," Rachel says quietly. She starts to pack up her makeup supplies. "I'll leave you all alone, I don't want to intrude."
One of them takes a step to the side so she's blocking the door. Rachel freezes and looks to Quinn. Caution is written all over her face.
"What's going on, Quinn?"
She opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.
"I'll tell you what's going on," The Mack says, approaching Rachel as she speaks, "Quinn doesn't have the balls to stick your ugly face where it belongs." By the end of her sentence she has her backed up against the tiled wall. She gives the shorter girl a split second to glance nervously at Quinn before she grabs her arm and begins pulling her toward one of the stalls.
"Let go of me!" Rachel shrieks as she struggles against her grip, and The Mack looks to the rest of the girls for support.
"Sheila! Help me out over here."
Sheila takes her other arm and together they drag her to their target destination. Quinn is frozen in place as they force Rachel to her knees and push her down and then her yelps of protest are cut off and all that's left are watery gurgling noises.
Quinn flinches when the toilet flushes.
The two Skanks come out of the stall and face her with matching, satisfied smirks.
"Next time you don't follow orders, you're out," The Mack growls, her smile darkening. "And then we'll have no reason to keep certain…information…to ourselves. Got it?" Without waiting for Quinn to answer, she turns, gestures for the group to leave, and follows them out the door.
And then it's just Quinn and Rachel again.
She takes a hesitant step toward the open stall door, where she can see the girl slowly rising to her feet. "Rachel?" She calls out the girl's name so quietly, she's not sure if Rachel even heard her.
If she did, she gives no indication. She pulls an arm's length of toilet paper from the roll beside her then wads it all together and begins to dry off her face. "Next time, you do it."
Quinn is completely lost. "What?"
Rachel still won't turn to face her. "Next time, you stick my face in the toilet. Because I honestly think that would have hurt less than you standing there and watching while they did it." Her voice is tight, controlled, and full of disappointment. She finally turns around and avoids Quinn's eyes as she hurls the wad of toilet paper into the trash can, grabs her makeup kit, and hurries out the door.
That night, Quinn sits backstage in the auditorium for two hours. Rachel doesn't come.
