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"What do you think Quinn?"

"I don't really know," Quinn starts hesitantly, looking at the pamphlet in her hands. "I've never taken an actual art class before."

"All the more reason to take this one," Angie responds with a small smile, looking at Quinn with the same encouraging face.

She's been talking to Angie for almost three weeks now, going to their scheduled meetings and occasionally dropping by whenever she feels like chatting with the other woman. It's nice to have a sane adult in her life for once.

After Angie pitches the idea of taking a different kind of class once the school year starts, something not so labor intensive and rigid like her full AP course load, the subject of art classes comes up and they've been going back and forth on the topic for a week now. Quinn does like drawing on the side. And she doesn't mean those rather inappropriate drawings of Berry.

She actually draws. And it really is a stress reliever. The charcoal and the soft contours. It's something that she doesn't have to work very hard on. It's also something that is just solely hers. No one has ever seen her real drawings. And she wants to keep it that way.

But Angie has a point.

"I'll think about it," Quinn finally says, putting the pamphlet in her bag and seriously making a mental note to look into it later.


"You're early today."

Quinn looks away from her locker and finds Sam walking into the staff locker room with his street clothes.

"I finished my chores early," She mumbles with a smile, straightening her tie and fixing her hair.

"Cool," Sam replies with a genuine smile while he unlocks his locker. "Awesome, we have enough time to check out the Oak room."

"The Oak room?"


She finds out, as she follows Sam to the end of the building, that the Oak room refers to the study in the retirement home. She stifles a gasp when she walks in and she's literally surrounded by books and vinyl records and the most beautiful turn table she's ever seen in her life.

"Sweet, right?" Sam says excitedly, making his way over to the record collection.

Quinn's a little speechless. She's not gonna lie, the home has so many hidden gems that she never really thought would be in a home.

"These are amazing," Quinn manages to whisper, looking through the records closest to her.

"I know, and it's so peaceful in the morning," Sam tells her as he brushes off the dust on one of the records. Quinn watches him place the record on the turn table before picking up the arm and carefully placing it down on the spinning record. Sound fills up the room and Sam looks pretty impressed with himself. Quinn laughs.

"What?" Sam asks her with a little incredulous look on his face.

"Nothing," Quinn responds as she sifts through the book titles on the bookshelf.

"How awesome would it be to have one of these rooms in your place one day," Sam says more to himself than to her. He muses about it more before realizing that they have five minutes to clock in.

"Oh, we gotta go," He reminds her as he puts the record away. "Wouldn't wanna be late to breakfast and be banned from bingo."


Quinn wins at bingo later that day and Maurice is not very happy about it. He sulks a little, until Quinn hands him her cookie.

"He doesn't like charity," Linda leans in and says in a not so discrete voice.

"I can speak for myself!" Maurice calls out with his arms crossed. He turns to Quinn. "I don't like charity."

"Oh, this isn't charity," Quinn lets the table know with a knowing smile. "I get something in return."

Maurice looks at her with his eyebrow raised and Quinn smiles. They have the same eyebrow expression down.

"You all have to show me your favorites in the Oak room."

Linda claps her hands in front of her and its dizzying how it reminds Quinn of Berry clapping like a seal.

Sam is smiling like an idiot, looking back and forth between Quinn and Maurice and taking a bite out of his cookie.

The table is looking at Maurice, all holding their breaths and waiting for his answer.

"Fine, fine," Maurice finally says with a mock annoyed tone. "But I want more oatmeal raisin cookies."


Quinn's putting everything away when Sam walks back into the locker room.

"Well worth every cookie," Quinn says out loud.

Sam laughs.

"We've been missing out."

Quinn nods, gathering all of her stuff into her bag. Sam closes his locker and sits by her.

"Need a ride today?"

"Oh," Quinn straightens up. "I promised Santana I'd hang out with her so she's picking me up."

"Ah, I see," Sam replies, looking up at her. He's holding back laughter. "Jersey Shore?"

"Be quiet," Quinn mumbles discreetly, closing her locker and shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it all. Sam starts laughing even more.

"Dude, whatever floats your boat," He says between laughs, getting up and opening the door for her. "But remember, you're going to Sandy's tea party. She'll be really grouchy if you cancel on her this weekend."

Quinn laughs a little.

"Don't worry. I actually like hanging out with your little sister."


"Oh my god, did he just?" Quinn doesn't even finish the sentence as she crinkles her nose at the scene in front of her. She reaches for the dip that Santana keeps hogging while looking intently at the TV.

"Yep, he just did," Santana responds without looking away from the TV. She takes the dip back and almost looses an arm when she attempts to double dip.

"Owie!" She screams. "Jesus, Q! You gots to calm down."

"That's disgusting, you know I hate double dipping."

"Which is exactly why I do it," Santana says with her smart alec tone, attempting to double dip one more time.

"Ow!"

"Do that one more time and I'll break your fingers."

Santana throws her hands up in the air and rolls her eyes.

"Ay Dios mio, my life is so hard," She says to no one in particular. "Bitches coming into my house, telling me how to eat my salsa."

"Quit complaining," Quinn drawls out, relenting and handing her the dip.

"So, how's the job with the old folks?" Santana asks as she stuffs her face with chips.

"Fun, actually," Quinn says nonchalantly. "The place itself is pretty cool. And the residents have really interesting stories."

"Really? I thought it was going to be a snoozefest."

"Definitely far from it," Quinn looks at Santana before settling back into the couch.

"Oh yeah, did Berry Facebook invite you to her little glee get together?" Santana asks her during a commercial break.

"She did."

"You going?" Santana continues cautiously.

"I don't really know," Quinn lets out with a sigh. "I don't feel like watching her and Finn canoodle all over the place."

"True that," Santana says with a nod.

"Are you going?" Quinn asks after a minute passes.

"Maybe."

"Seriously?" Quinn asks with a laugh.

"Brittany wants to go!" Santana reasons with her.

"Of course," Quinn lets out, letting the subject drop. Brittany and Santana is a whole other can of worms that she doesn't want to approach right now.

"Come with us," Santana says out of the blue. Quinn doesn't miss the slightly pleading undertone. Not that Santana would ever admit that she needs the support or something to that effect because Brittany is still with Artie.

"I'll think about it," she relents after thinking about it for a bit and she can feel Santana ease up next to her. She takes this as an opportunity to ask her something. She hesitates before finally saying something.

"Do you know anything about the art program in school?"

"I'm in art."

The way Santana says it so nonchalantly literally almost makes Quinn choke. She downs a gulp of water before looking at the other girl.

"You draw?" She asks incredulously.

"Well don't sound so surprised," Santana lets out with a hurt look on her face. "Bitch, please."

Quinn continues to stare at her with her eyebrow raised.

"I painted that one," Santana says smugly, pointing to the colorful depiction of a Mexican fiesta framed and hanging on the wall.

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

Quinn looks at the painting then at Santana before getting up to look at the signature. Lo and behold, she makes out a 'S. Lopez' from the loopy signature. She steps back and admires the painting she always thought was bought from a famous artist or something along those lines.

"I draw too," She says quietly without turning away from the painting.

"Babe, those bathroom drawings of the singing hobbit—as artistic as they were—hardly count as art," Santana quips from the couch, opening another bag of chips. Quinn walks back to the couch and sits next to her quietly.

"If I show you something, will you promise not to laugh?"

Santana looks at her with a questioning eyebrow and pursed lips.

"We're not talking about more inappropriate drawings, are we?"


"Well, shit son," Santana says out loud as she flips through Quinn's sketchbook. The other girl is sitting next to her, quietly watching her study each drawing.

"They're not really that much," Quinn starts, regretting her decision and moving to grab the sketchbook.

"Hold up!" Santana yells as she yanks the sketchbook away from Quinn's reach. "I'm not done."

"I don't even know how to use colors and all those types of paints," Quinn reasons again. She just picks up a magazine to distract herself from attempting to yank the sketchbook out of Santana's hands again.

When Santana doesn't say anything back, Quinn turns to look at her.

"San?"

Santana softly touches the last drawing in the book.

"This is beautiful," She says quietly.

Quinn smiles inwardly.

"It might be a little late, but I think I want to learn art from a teacher," She says finally.

"Then take art this year," Santana responds, closing the book and handing it to her. "The teacher is really awesome and we have a ton of art supplies."

Quinn nods absentmindedly, flipping her sketchbook open and looking at the same drawing that Santana was just looking at.


She walks into her house and flips the light switch on.

"Mom?"

No one answers back and Quinn finds an uncorked bottle of Riesling on the kitchen counter. Her mom has been drinking a lot more lately—even more than the usual. Her mom's laptop is next to it and despite all her attempts to avoid the screen, something catches her eye.

It's an email from her dad.

She feels all the blood draining from her face and she literally has to sit down to calm herself. She stares at the email but somehow can't read any of the words.

And the email is just the most recent on in a thread of emails that go as far back as before her accident. She wants to vomit.

"Quinn?" She hears her mom call from upstairs. And it's too late when she realizes that her mom is making her way down the stairs.

"What are you doing?"

"Mom, why are you talking to dad again?"

"That's none of your business," Her mom responds acidly, flipping the laptop shut and putting her glass in the sink. She just stays there and puts her hands on the counter.

"What do you mean it's none of my business?" Quinn says incredulously. "Mom, he's going to ruin our lives. Why can't you see that? You can't let him just waltz back into this house after all he's done."

She can hear her voice escalating. Her mom turns to look at her and she literally takes a step back when she sees the look on her mom's face.

"You don't think I know that, Quinn?" She manages to spit out. Two angry Fabrays is never a good thing. "I know what he's going to do. I have lived my life in fear of your father for far too long to forget. But what am I supposed to do? I can't do this alone."

Quinn is taken aback. Her mom has never, ever, opened up about any of this stuff.

"You wouldn't understand."

That snaps Quinn right back to reality.

"I wouldn't understand? Mom, are you kidding me?" She's expecting to hear herself blow up. Instead her voice is reed thin. She clenches her fists.

She understands. Her life is in shambles, she's lost absolutely everything and here she is, sleepless because she wakes up every single night just as her car crashes into the tree in her dreams.

She doesn't really know what happened in that car. Call it a lapse of judgment. She had an argument with her mom, very similar to the one they are having now, she was crying uncontrollably and it's the first time she became so keenly aware of how alone she really was. And then there was a little girl with a puppy in the middle of the street and before she knew it, she was in a hospital.

Her life is crumbling in front of her and she honestly feels like she's screaming and no one can hear her.

She sees the look on her mom's face and that stops her from saying anything else. It's like looking at a mirror. In the end, she and her mom are on the same boat. She shuts her eyes and pushes the tears back.

"Quinn," Her mom starts but Quinn shakes her head. She walks away but she does the sensible thing this time. Instead of running out and jumping into a car, she just goes upstairs to her room and sits quietly on her bed.

She doesn't hear her mom come up and she knows that she's keeping that bottle of Riesling company. Judy Fabray drinks her problems away while Quinn physically runs away from them. The apple really does not fall far from the tree.