Chapter 4
AN: Nothing about Glee is owned by me.
G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E
It was Friday, the final day of campaigning at school. Prom was tomorrow night, and Quinn had told Finn that they wouldn't be doing any events during the day because she would be spending all of it getting ready. She had hair, nail, and makeup appointments ready and her mom would be making any final adjustments to her dress. The school hours today were the last chance to make a good impression, and Quinn insisted that they needed to make it count. This was the day to shake hands and "make the ask," she said. In response to Finn's bewildered look, she explained that they needed to ask everyone to commit themselves to voting for Finn and Quinn and encourage them to go ahead and cast an early ballot. While they couldn't let themselves relax up until the moment voting closed at the Prom, the more early votes they could secure in the week of voting leading up to Prom, the more certain were their chances. And even if people weren't willing to actually cast their vote early, Quinn explained, "Once people have given their word, they're much more likely to keep it, even if they feel like changing their minds. It's basic political strategy, Finn; ask for their vote, get them to say it out loud, and you're likely to keep the vote." Finn thought again how very good she was at this; there were few things Quinn didn't know about getting her own way, and getting others to go along with what she wanted.
That's why Finn found himself pulling into the school parking lot that morning, Quinn in the passenger seat of his truck, twenty minutes before the school doors opened up. She insisted that just like any political candidate, they had to spend dusk until dawn (or, in McKinley time, from the moment school began until the last person went home from the last club meeting) making personal contact with as many different people as possible. To Finn's disappointment, she vetoed the idea of skipping classes to campaign (Finn had thought that would at least be a bonus of having to spend the day this way) because it could tarnish their image or get them in trouble, which might put them out of the running. Instead, she said they could each use class time to make eye contact with the students and to talk to them as class started up and ended. "You make an impression, good or bad, in every moment, Finn," she said. "It's vitally important today that all of the impressions be positive ones." Their only break from asking and shaking would be an interview with Jacob ben Israel for his 24-hour-countdown blog posting on the prom court candidates.
Finn thought it was much too early to be at school; even when he didn't have long, tedious days ahead of him, he wasn't a fan of entering the halls of McKinley a minute before he had to. And he was never, under any circumstance, a fan of getting out of bed earlier than was absolutely required. When it was for practice—for sports or for glee club—he made himself do it, but this just didn't seem necessary. Especially since they couldn't get into the building yet. Finn guessed Quinn had had some idea about standing outside the doors and being the first ones in (yeah, like there'd be a long line for that privilege), but the unseasonal chill of the May morning changed her mind. "The last thing we need is to get colds the day before Prom!" So here they were, sitting in the truck. He'd thought they could put the time to good use by fitting in some of the make-out time that had been so scarce to come by lately, but an incredulous look from Quinn accompanied by her saying she was perfectly styled for the day and couldn't risk her look being mussed up soon put an end to that idea. Quinn was going over a map of the school on which she'd highlighted the most populated areas of every room and hall during each period and change of classes, cross-referenced with the places the various cliques they still needed to reach out to were most likely to be throughout the day.
Finn was just sitting, eyes wandering around the interior of the beat-up but already well-beloved vehicle Burt and his mom had helped him buy. Burt had found it cheap through a guy who worked for him at Hummel's Tire & Lube Shop, and had spent several Saturday afternoons helping Finn to get it in working order. It wasn't fancy or anything, but it was just right for Finn and he was proud of it. He'd also really loved spending time with Burt, and sometimes with Kurt, too, who'd obviously learned a lot about working on cars from his Dad, while they fixed it up; it made the car feel kind of like a metaphor for the care put into creating his new family relationships. (Rachel's way of seeing the world had really rubbed off on him ; where once he'd had no idea of what the word meant, or that it even existed, Finn often found himself thinking about metaphors now.) He kind of wished they could go to the prom in his truck—it was unique, if not fancy, and had plenty of room so that Quinn's dress wouldn't get squished. And, since he already owned it, his only transportation costs for the night would be gasoline; Prom was a pretty expensive event, and Finn would have liked to save money where possible with all of the incidental expenses of a trip to New York City coming up soon. But he knew without even asking that Ernie would not fit in with Quinn's plans. (Finn had named the truck Ernie, because Burt helped him get it and he thought it was a nice connection; Kurt, upon hearing the name and explanation, had given Finn one of his long stares with the eyebrows going higher and higher before saying, "You named your truck after a Sesame Street muppet? You know, I would expect nothing else. And it's the thought that counts." Which Finn, who'd become pretty good at translating Kurt-ese, knew was Kurt's way of saying he wasn't jealous that Finn and his dad were becoming so close).
Right after Regionals, when Quinn had gone into full-scale prom campaign mode, she'd told him that transportation was one of his responsibilities. Finn hadn't thought about it too much at first, but after the fifth time Quinn mentioned it, he started to think about how they'd get to the prom. Putting the thought of his truck aside, he still figured they could save some money by going with others and splitting the cost of a limo—and, Finn thought, it would be kind of fun to be part of a big group riding around in one of those long things, seeing how many people could ride in there. So one night when Kurt dropped by his room with a glass of warm milk (Finn had thought warm milk would be really gross but had tried it that first time because he didn't want to hurt Kurt's feelings, and found to his surprise that he loved the stuff; it was delicious and very soothing right before bedtime), Finn asked his brother how he and Blaine were planning to go to the prom. Kurt didn't really respond; he vaguely said that he was leaving that up to Blaine. Finn figured that that made sense—Kurt was likely to be the one who, like Quinn, would handle the major details of clothes and accessories and stuff, and leave the simpler jobs for Blaine who was going as a guest—it wasn't like this was his school's prom, after all.
The next day in school, before Mr. Schue got them started in glee, Finn had turned to Puck, who was sitting beside him, and asked if he'd like to go in on a limo together. Puck had hedged, for a split-second looking panicked, as he said, "Uh . . . um . . ." and looked away. Following his eyes, Finn saw that Puck was looking right at Rachel, who was several seats away and on a different row, but who had apparently overheard their conversation, and who was looking back at Puck and very slightly shaking her head no.
For the first time since the week of their championship game, Finn had felt a sudden flare of anger surge up inside him, and he spit out, "What? Is Rachel going with you after all?"
"Chill, dude. No. 'Course not. It's just—I'm not going in a limo. Zizes isn't into that; she wants to show up at the dance in a way that will make an entrance, that has some attitude. She said a limo was too ordinary and, 'been there, done that.' We're riding there on hogs; going for the "Bat Out of Hell" Meat Loaf vibe. I could try to borrow another if you and Quinn want to join us; she could easily fit on the back of one with you driving. Whaddayou say?"
"Uh, I don't think that would go over too well with Quinn. She seems like the type to do it the traditional way. But thanks; I guess we'll just see you there."
Before Finn had time to check with anyone else, the issue had been resolved. Quinn, coming into the choir room, had taken her usual seat beside him and given him a piece of paper—a bill for the limo she had reserved the day after she bought her prom gown, right after Regionals. She'd told Finn that she hadn't been able to reserve it any earlier because she'd had to make certain the interior of the limo would set her gown's color off to the greatest advantage. "We'll be seen exiting the vehicle, Finn, and we wouldn't want people to see our clothes clashing with our car."
Finn, absently agreeing with her, had looked at the bill. Apparently being "responsible for transportation" just meant paying for it, not having to figure it out. Quinn had that covered, just like she'd thought through everything, to the last detail. It kind of reminded Finn of the way Rachel got preparing for a performance—she thought through every single aspect of music, costumes, choreography, expressions, lighting, and anything else that could be imagined long before anybody else had even settled on the song. And while it often meant that her plans had to get adjusted and readjusted as the group made decisions that didn't fit in with her already thought-out plans, it never seemed to phase her—Rachel adapted, but never gave up planning. Quinn wasn't like that part—she was more likely to insist that everything adapt to her preset plan for the Prom—but the amount of energy and detail that went into the process was similar. And both girls insisted that the end result be perfection.
Finn knew why planning their musical performances mattered so much to Rachel—they were her, who she was; they were her life; and, as she'd told him once, every single performance was a stepping stone paving the way to her career and her goals and dreams of Broadway, Tonys, and Grammys. Even when the performance didn't "count" for anything—even with no competition involved, like the duet she and Kurt did last fall after their duets competition (and Finn had known hearing their mash-up of "Happy Days/Come On Get Happy" that if those two had sung together for the competition no one else would have stood a chance; not even he and Rachel singing their originally planned number could have beaten what Rachel and Kurt could do together). Even if it was to an audience of only one, as when she'd sung a prayer for Burt by the lake last fall, sung so beautifully that he'd convinced her she had to go to the hospital and sing, because how could Burt not hear and respond to that- even then, Rachel prepared for each and every aspect of her performance, make certain it was always star quality. But if he understood Rachel's drive about her music, Finn had to admit that he didn't understand at all why prom was so important to Quinn; he knew it mattered to her (Finn figured the entire school knew that by now), but he realized that he didn't really get why.
"Quinn," he asked, causing her to look up from the map she was still perusing.
"What? Have they opened the doors yet? My watch says there are still five minutes left; maybe it's slow—give me your cell phone, will you, so I can synchronize our time pieces?"
"No, they haven't opened them," Finn replied. Actually, he had no idea if the school was open yet; he'd been so deep in thought that he hadn't paid a bit of attention to the school.
"Can I ask you something?"
Quinn looked at him again, hearing the tentative tones in his voice. With her eyes tightening just a little, as if bracing herself to respond to what he might be about to ask, she said, "Sure. Go ahead."
"Why does it matter so much to you? Prom, that is. What's so important about it?"
Quinn's face relaxed, and, with a slight laugh, she said, "I told you Finn—it's the ultimate status symbol; it'll put us on top, where we belong."
Finn slowly replied, as he had failed to do when she originally said this by his locker, "But, we're kind of on top already, aren't we? I'm the star quarterback, we won the championship game, we won Regionals, we're headed to New York—why do we need another status symbol?"
"You're the star quarterback, Finn. I'm the girl dating the star quarterback. Winning Prom Queen means winning something in my own right. And it lays the groundwork—winning this crown leads to winning the Homecoming Crown, the Winter Carnival Crown, the Valentine's Senior Sweetheart Crown, and, finally, the biggest one of all—Senior Prom Queen of McKinley. Each win makes that final crown seem more inevitable in the eyes of the student body. And each crown is a symbol of status, and, as you know, status matters. Remember? It's like currency; have enough, and you can do whatever you want to do. But we know how easily it can slip away—all of us in glee have seen that, at least, all of us who have seen our positions in the school change since we became a part of the glee club."
Hearing Finn draw in a quick breath as if he was about to speak, Quinn hastened to say, "I'm not complaining about being in glee; not anymore. I know you love it, and I do, too. But you know it does come with drawbacks, and the major one is what it does—and will always do—to our social standing. It's like you said after the game—winning, being on top, meant no one was going to mess with you; it protected all of us in glee for a while. The status football brings allows you to keep doing glee without paying a price. Having the Junior class make me Queen will do the same for me. And besides, Finn, think of the advantage it will be in the future."
"The future?" Finn asked, totally bemused.
"Yes, the future." Quinn looked directly into his eyes, leaning slighting into him without making contact, lest she wrinkle an item of clothing, Finn guessed. "The better known I am in town, the more successful I'll be in the future. I'm doing this for us."
Finn couldn't make sense of what she was trying to say. "Successful? Quinn, do you think the world will care about how many crowns you get? I mean, I get what you're saying about high school and how it could help you here, but what does that have to do with the future?"
"People here in Lima will care, Finn. People in this town are going to remember me, and they're going to like being able to associate themselves with the girl who won more crowns than anyone else in the history of McKinley High. It'll help to make me the stand-out realtor in town; people will come to me asking to list their houses with me to sell, and they'll come to me when looking to find a new home. It might bring even more business into the tire shop, which will increase our income and let us have a better home and life when we get married. I'm doing this for us, Finn; don't you see?"
Finn stared at Quinn. Too much was coming out all at once for him to be able to process. Quinn thinks they're getting married. And settling down here in Lima. Apparently he's going to work for his step-father. While he knows that he zones out sometime, Finn is as positive as he can be that's he's never heard these plans before, and he's one hundred percent certain that he never actually talked about them with Quinn. He was still quite and staring when Quinn, looking beyond him, suddenly started and said, "Finn! The doors opened! Come on, we have to get in and get going!"
G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E
Grabbing his backpack and following her to the building, going to their lockers and then taking up their "starting stations" for the day's campaigning, Finn still felt stunned. He'd just heard his entire future laid out before him—a future that, from Quinn's telling, was already like a done deal, set in stone. It freaked him out to hear that she's already planned all these things; Finn wasn't sure what he was going to get for lunch in the cafeteria in just a few hours, and here was his entire life already decided for him. The feeling seemed familiar, and, after a moment, Finn was able to figure out why.
His mind reached back to that awful afternoon last year when Quinn had told him she was pregnant and when he'd felt like the walls of his life were caving in on him, pinning him down and trapping him in place. Once he'd been able to breathe, and to find a way to (just barely) function in the midst of all his confusion and fear, he'd known that he had to find a way to escape—not Quinn, and the baby, but the life that would come from being a teenage dad stuck without any purpose or future.
He remembered how his thoughts had gone to that first meeting a with Mr. Schue when his teacher told him that the drugs in his locker might keep him from getting his football scholarship . (Finn still didn't know how they'd gotten there or what the Chronic Lady was supposed to be, but he was grateful that Mr. Schue had been willing to give him a chance to keep that off his permanent record. And, in the long run, he was so much more than glad that, for whatever reason, the strange incident had led to him becoming a part of glee, to being able to do something he really loved with people who had become his closest friends). With his mind latching on to the hope of that fore-mentioned football scholarship, Finn had known that it would only be possible if the team got better so that they could start winning; that had led him to convince Mr. Schue to help the team come together by learning how to dance, because dancing together in front of a stadium full of sports fans would be totally worth it if it helped him create a future for himself and his soon-to-be family. Finn had told Mr. Schue that afternoon in the restaurant that he couldn't become one of those guys living a dead end life, and he'd meant it; even if, as he'd thought then, he was going to be a father way before he was ready for it, he wasn't going to settle for the small life of a Lima loser. College had to happen, because college was the way out of Lima; once in college, he supposed, he'd figure out the next step, but he had no doubt that school would help him make a better life and he was determined to get there.
And then, when Ms. Pillsbury had told Finn that music might be another way to get a scholarship, he'd immediately started to do what he thought was necessary in order to make that a possibility. To this day, he still felt guilty about the way he'd used and lied to Rachel when trying to help himself; the more he thought about it, the more he realized how selfish he'd been and how rottenly he'd treated her. It made him feel even more amazed and overwhelmed that, as much as she must have been hurting, she'd forgiven him, given up the play, and come back to help him and the entire glee club. He'd figured back then, and he knew now, that Rachel could relate to what it was like to want more, to want to do better, to be better, and to succeed. And he knew that when it came to him, to Finn Hudson, that Rachel had always believed—no, she'd always just assumed—he could do whatever he really set his mind on doing. (Well, maybe not dancing; but anything else).
All the while automatically smiling, reaching out to shake people's hands, uttering the words, "So, do we have your vote, dude? Thanks! You know you can vote now, right?," Finn kept on thinking. This time his mind moved back to the time last fall when Burt was in the hospital, and when he thought that he and God had it going on by communicating through a grilled cheese sandwich. He remembered Rachel coming to see him; remembered looking up at her (something that rarely happened unless he was sitting on a low chair and she was right in front of him) with all of the cowboys who'd ridden across his dreams throughout his childhood in the background behind her shoulders and face. It was a day he would never forget; he didn't think anyone would ever be able to forget the day they got to second base with Rachel Berry. And while Finn knew he'd zoned out for a bit while she was talking (hearing your girlfriend say she wasn't planning on having sex until she was twenty-five could do that to a guy, as could being eye-level with her chest), and while later events had, in his mind, seemed to be much more important than what she was saying before they occurred, Finn could still clearly recall Rachel stating that she wanted them to go the distance, that she wanted their relationship to last. And since she was going to be in New York and work on Broadway and win all sorts of awards and just shine, even bigger and brighter than she did now if that were possible, then that meant that she totally believed he would be there, too; that he'd be by her side when that brilliant, star-studded future became a reality.
She'd talked about their future a lot, Finn realized; and, realizing that, it hit him that he'd never been shocked or stunned when Rachel talked about what their lives would be like in five, ten, and twenty years from now. So many times she'd talked about the future, and each time it was about them both making their way out of Lima to the over-the-rainbow city of New York where their dreams would come true. Even if he hadn't paid attention to every last detail, he always liked what he did hear. So maybe it wasn't that he minded having his future planned out for him so much as it was that he had a problem with the plans Quinn had made—and with the plans she had failed to make. There was nothing in there about college, or seeing other places, or bigger dreams of doing something special. Finn wasn't sure what, exactly, he wanted to be when he grew up, what job he wanted to do or where he wanted to be, but he knew that he had taken for granted that he'd be doing more than graduating from high school and starting to work in the Lube & Tire shop, getting married soon after, and settling down. The life Quinn had described seemed, well, too little, too closed in. It wasn't big enough and expansive enough to contain the expectations he'd apparently come to have about what his future would hold.
Finn hadn't been spending too much time thinking about the future since he and Rachel broke up; he was more or less living in and trying to enjoy the moment, to revel in the feeling of being on top of the school, and acknowledged champion and leader. But even if he hadn't been paying attention to them, it seemed that his dreams about the future were still knocking around in his mind somewhere. They weren't just Rachel's dreams in which he'd play a role, or her dreams for him; it was slowly hitting Finn that he had come to believe he would do great things because he wanted to be great, and believed he could be great at something, whatever that something might be. College, which seemed to be left out of Quinn's plan—because even if she'd have to go to be a realtor, he knew that college wouldn't be necessary for him if he was going to work for Burt—had always been part of the plan; it was something his mom wanted for him. The picture Quinn painted made him feel like he was losing this, that he was losing out on something that he did not want to lose or let go of. Finn had become attached to a future image of himself that he didn't want to let go, and that image could not be contained within the parameters of Quinn's constrictive picture. The image Quinn painted looked all wrong in Finn's eyes.
And not just for himself, Finn thought. It didn't look right for Quinn, either. A girl as smart as she was, with her drive and energy, could certainly do a whole lot more—in fact Finn, knowing how capably she almost always got things to go her way, was pretty sure Quinn could do anything she set her mind to. Once she, too, had had dreams of getting out of Lima. When she first told him was pregnant, what made her finally break out into tears was saying that she was afraid she'd ruined her chances of getting out of Lima, naming her fear that she'd now be a Lima loser forever. From what Finn understood from Puck's very few and far between comments about giving the baby up for adoption (and from Rachel's explanations about why Quinn had decided to give the baby to Shelby), Quinn had partly, at least, decided not to raise the baby so that she'd be able to reclaim her old life and the boundless future possibilities that came with it. Finn wondered when Quinn had become a person who was willing to settle for something less than her dreams. As he became aware of her signaling to him that it was time to wrap up campaigning for now and go to class, Finn heard a voice in his head. "Maybe," it said, "it happened when the two of you decided to settle for each other."
G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E
After wolfing down some sort of unidentifiable cafeteria food for lunch, Finn was using the rest of his lunch period, as instructed, to keep on shaking hands and making the ask. He and Quinn had different lunch periods, so she wasn't there. That's why, when he saw Rachel coming out of the library, he felt comfortable going up to her with a grin and saying, "Hey, Rachel—hope I can count on your vote?" (As Quinn kept saying, every vote counted; making sure they had Rachel's vote, especially with all of their competition also being in Glee, made campaigning sense, right?)
"There's no need to hope, Finn; I already cast my ballot for you and Quinn." Rachel gave him a small smile.
"Oh—an early voter; no surprise there. I should have known, right?" Thinking, for maybe the millionth time since Regionals, how wrong it felt to be this uncomfortable when talking to Rachel, Finn cast around for something else to say. "Well, thanks for the vote."
They stood there for a moment in silence. Then, as Rachel said, "Well, I'll see you," and was turning away to go, Finn awkwardly spit out, "Wait—Rachel, save a dance for me tomorrow night?"
As she stared up at him, Finn fumbled his words. "I mean, we're friends. Friends can dance with each other. And we're co-captains, right? We should present a unified front to the school—show them the whole team's together as we head off to Nationals. Help them support us as we get ready to head out?" The more he spoke, the stupider he felt-McKinley never had, and never would, be concerned about unity within glee-but Finn felt he needed to come up with a neutral reason for asking her to dance, both because he knew Quinn would grill him about it later, and because he could see the reluctance in Rachel's face, could see the "no" forming there.
And sure enough, he watched her draw in a huge breath and let it out in a sigh before she replied. "Um, thanks, Finn, but I won't be at the Prom. It was a good idea, though."
"Wait—you're not going? To our Junior Prom? Why not?" Finn was flabbergasted; Rachel wasn't even going? Everyone would be there and Rachel would be left out? And then it hit him. Right. We were going to go together. It was another thing she had gone on and on about last summer, saying how great sharing the glamour of a formal school event would be for putting them in the proper frame of mind to embrace the sophistication and excitement of New York. She'd even had her dress planned out, telling him about what she wanted to wear in minute detail—and what was it with girls and their prom dresses, Finn wondered. Maybe Kurt understood it; in fact, Kurt almost certainly understood it. He'd have to ask his brother for an explanation, because it looked like significant portions of his life would be spent listening to girls telling him about clothes they wanted to wear on special occasions. Finn couldn't relate; choosing which color t-shirt to throw on underneath whatever plaid button-down shirt was closest to hand when he got dressed in the morning was about as far as his thinking about clothes went. He wondered what Kurt was wearing to prom, and thought that if he was going with someone other than Quinn—who had insisted on having absolute control of his wardrobe—Finn would probably have totally relied on Kurt to give him advice about getting a tux and everything. He remembered what a good job Kurt did of helping him pick out a jacket and tie to wear to Quinn's house a year and a half ago; Kurt was totally the man when it came to fashion. He wondered what Kurt would have thought about the dress Rachel had described wanting last summer, and thought that if she had been going to the dance year, Kurt would probably be giving her advice on her wardrobe, since they'd become such good friends.
Finn had known last summer that it wasn't just getting in a "New York frame of mind" that had made Rachel be so excited about the dance; he'd known that a lot of her excitement was because she'd never been asked to a formal school dance before, because she'd never had a guy to go with before. The huge mess with Jesse had all gone down last year long before Prom, and so Rachel, who'd thought for a while that she would be going as Jesse's date to the Senior Prom, had had that dream snatched away from her. As much as she insisted that she had her career to focus on and didn't have time to miss minor things like not attending high school dances, Finn knew Rachel, and he knew that she really did want to be able to enjoy all the ordinary parts of high school life, too. And, once again, it looked like that wasn't going to happen.
Looking at her, and then quickly away, Finn said, "I'll miss you." And then, feeling a bit flustered, and a lot guilty, even though he hadn't technically done anything wrong because they were broken up, and she had cheated on him, but that didn't seem to matter when faced with the knowledge that she wouldn't be at the dance sort of because of him, Finn hung his head down and muttered, "Rachel, I'm sorry . . . I know . . . ."
"Don't worry about it, Finn," she firmly said. "There's nothing to be sorry for. And don't worry about the election; you and Quinn are sure to win—after all, the word win even rhymes with your names; it's a sure thing. So congratulations in advance." And with that, she walked off down the hall. And Finn realized that, yet again, he was just standing, this time feeling sad and guilty, watching her go.
G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E G L E E
Mr. Schue had cancelled glee rehearsal, knowing that everyone's mind was so focused on the big dance that he wouldn't be able to get even Rachel to fully concentrate on music today. Knowing that they had the time free, Quinn had scheduled their interview with Jacob ben Israel during the period usually devoted to glee. They still had the remainder of the school day to campaign; after that, Quinn had them dropping by the Friday afternoon clubs that would still be meeting on school grounds, hitting each one just as the meetings were starting or ending. Finn found himself just wishing it was already Sunday, with the Prom behind them, so that the totally exhausting campaigning would be at an end and he could feel like he'd gotten his life back. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had the energy to play a video game; maybe, Finn thought, he'd invite Puck and Artie over on Sunday for an all-day zombie-blasting marathon. He could ask them at the dance tomorrow night.
Feeling Quinn lean into his side as she simultaneously leaned forward, Finn realized the interview must be coming to a close. He had only had to speak at the beginning of the interview to deliver his final campaign statement (Quinn had written it out for him and made him practice it until he was syllable-perfect in his delivery). Quinn had told him in advance that she'd handle any questions Jacob asked; that all he needed to do was look confident like a leader and a champion. He'd stopped listening when Quinn began to tell Jacob in meticulous detail every single aspect of the clothes they would be wearing, and why they (she) had chosen the colors and flowers and accessories and what everything was meant to signify. Seriously—what was it with clothes? So not a part of his universe of interest or care, Finn thought. That final lean into him meant that Quinn was preparing to wrap things up, to leave Jacob with his final impression of them as the most-royalty-deserving couple. This entailed, before she spoke, projecting an image of closeness and comfort with each other, Quinn said; she'd told him that she would be gazing up at him and that he needed to look back down into her eyes like she was the only thing he could see. The look she turned on him seemed to say that Quinn thought he was the most brilliant and wonderful person on the planet—it was the way Lois Lane looked at Superman. Finn knew that wasn't how Quinn really felt about him—not like he was Superman; maybe Shaggy or Scooby Doo, or SpongeBob, but not Superman. But he had to admit, it was a pretty intense look, and it might convince people who didn't know him if Jacob included the look as part of the interview he aired on his website.
Before Quinn could being her "closing argument," Jacob spoke up. Finn had a sudden feeling that he had been stringing them along by listening patiently to their statements and Quinn's wardrobe review; this was Jacob, and Jacob's journalism consisted of scoops and scandal, exposes and explosive bits of gossip. Finn didn't know what was about to come, but he didn't have a good feeling about it.
"So, Quinn," Jacob's voice began with his customary, high quaver, "any comment on how your one-time rival, who lost out to you in the battle for the school quarterback, is striking back by throwing a party tomorrow night to compete with the Prom? They say revenge is a dish best served cold, so I suppose waiting three months to get back at you is the sign of a ruthless, Klingon-like mind at work."
Quinn looked blank; controlled, but blank. Finn listened as she carefully inquired, "Excuse me?"
"You know—the Losers' Ball being thrown by Rachel Berry. Rumor has it that Rachel's throwing an anti-prom in order to make fun of people who think that Prom, and being on the Prom Court, matters more than the important things in life; to mock people who think high school will be the best days they know; to ridicule those who'd go to any lengths to win a plastic crown. Any comment you'd like to make?"
Knowing this was the first time she'd heard any of this, Finn was astounded to see how well Quinn was able to mask her feelings, and to hear her graciously respond that of course everyone was free to hold their own events—the more fun the better, right, and if Prom wasn't the thing for some people, she, Quinn, was more than happy that they were finding their own ways to enjoy themselves.
Jacob looked disappointed not to have gotten any type of reaction from Quinn. He tried one more time. "So no comment about, or message, for Rachel?" Quinn replied no, reminding Jacob that they were teammates in glee and worked perfectly well together; that, as far as she was concerned, there was no rivalry between them and no message that needed to be delivered. She then thanked him for his time and, without trying to make her final statement, stood up, gently pulling Finn after her. As they walked away, Finn could hear Jacob calling after him, "Thank you, by the way, Finn, for setting Rachel free and giving me another chance at her. Any advice on moves that would work for me?" Finn quickened his pace to match Quinn's as they turned the corner of the hall and moved into the empty choir room.
Ready to compliment Quinn on how well she'd handled Jacob, Finn took three steps back once he saw the look on her face. As soon as they were alone, it had transformed into a mask of fury; Quinn's whole body was shaking, her hands curled in fists, and her eyes wet with unshed tears of rage. "How dare she!" Quinn hissed. "She won't leave us alone—me, or, especially, you! Finn," she began, menacingly advancing toward him, "did you know anything about this? Anything?"
"Of course not!" Finn answered. "This is all new to me. I mean, I just learned today that Rachel wasn't going to be at the Prom, but she didn't say anything about another dance."
Seeing Quinn's glare fixed on him, Finn hastened to explain, "I was asking for her vote, Quinn, and she said she'd already cast it for us. And then she told me she wasn't going to be at the Prom. That's all. And to think I felt sorry for her, and guilty, and . . . ." Looking at Quinn's face, from which the anger hadn't abated in the slightest, Finn figured that now was a good time to shut up. "I didn't know anything, OK?"
Quinn turned from him, exclaiming with a break in her voice, "Why can't she leave me alone; why can't she leave me anything? She has to try to ruin this for me, too, and to ridicule me in front of the entire school." And then, to Finn's astonishment, Quinn burst into tears, an outburst so unexpected from the normally cool and collected Quinn that he automatically reached out to try to comfort her, not having any chance to try to think through what they had heard and to make sense of it. Before long, she stopped, looked at the clock, and saying, "I've got to go redo my make-up before next period. I'll see you after school, as soon as the last class ends, OK?" she walked out of the room. Still shaken by Quinn's completely-out-of-character emotional melt-down, Finn slowly walked out of the room. As he began walking vaguely in the direction of his next class, his eyes came into focus as he saw Rachel standing at the end of the hall, right by the Prom King and Queen display cabinet. Reacting out of total instinct, Finn quickened his pace and began to stride toward Rachel, calling loudly, "Hey! Wait up!"
Rachel looked startled at his tone, so different from the way Finn had sounded when they spoke a few hours ago. He came up and towered over her, throwing out the words almost before he stopped walking, "What the hell, Rachel! You never know when enough is enough, do you?"
"Wh—what? Finn? What are you talking about? What's wrong?"
Rachel looked up at him with concern in her eyes, and it was that that made Finn snap. He remembered how guilty he had been feeling just a short time ago about ruining things for her, and, barely acknowledged beneath the guilt, how disappointed he was that her plans of last summer weren't the ones that would be their reality tomorrow night, that they weren't still together so that he could be going to the Prom with her. Fueled by conflicting emotions, and with the final thought that everything was this way because of her, because she had cheated on him with Puck, and that it was her fault in the first place, Finn exploded.
"Just stop it, Rachel. Leave me and Quinn alone, would you! Keep away from her; keep away from me; keep out of my life!"
The hurt that flooded her face raised even more upsetting emotions in him as he heard Rachel gasp, "Finn! I don't—I don't understand! What's happened?"
"Right. Sure. Come on, Rachel—another dance? An "anti-Prom"? What did he call it—a Losers' Ball? How appropriate."
Rachel's face stilled, and her hurt look turned into one that was wary. "Oh, so you heard about that? What do you know? Who . . . ?"
"What does who matter, Rachel?" Finn hadn't thought he could feel angrier, but he'd been wrong. Apparently he'd been hoping, somehow, that Jacob had been mistaken, or lying, or trying to cause trouble. Because when he heard Rachel's words confirming it, when he had to face the realization that she was, actually, doing this, he went ballistic.
"What the hell does who matter? What is this—just a cheap shot to try to take Quinn down? A trick, something you thought you'd use to make me jealous by going somewhere else with some other hapless victim as your date? Haven't you learned yet—that isn't going to work! I'm with Quinn—get used to it! You trying to humiliate her like this, to make fun of her for caring about being normal and having a normal life with normal friends instead of being stuck as a loser? That's low, Rachel, even for you. You're just going to end up making yourself look bad, like always; you may as well give it up, now."
Rachel was standing stock still; her face was frozen like a marble statue. He'd thought Quinn was the master of hiding her feelings, and had always been able to read Rachel's every emotion as it flitted across her face. But if Rachel's face was expressing her feelings now, what she was feeling was absolute iciness, like that iceberg about to bring down the Titanic; for the first time, Finn couldn't read her, couldn't tell what she was thinking at all.
In clipped, short syllables, Rachel asked, "Is that what you think?"
"Yeah," Finn spat back. "What else am I supposed to think?"
"That's what you really think?" the ice-sculpture that was once Rachel Berry asked a second time.
The contrast between his inner emotions and her extreme frost seemed to flame Finn's anger even more. "Yes, that's what I really think. God knows I knew you could be mean, Rachel, but I guess I'd let myself forget. And, even after everything, I didn't think you'd be this petty and small. You need to just back off."
Rachel, a hint of anger finally beginning to suffuse her frozen façade, spoke in low, even tones.
"You don't know anything, Finn. But fine. Fine. Believe what you want. I don't owe you anything; not an explanation, not an apology, not anything. I'm done with apologies—I'm surprised you haven't drowned in them by now. In fact, I'm just done. This is me, backing off. And while I'm doing that, how about you do the same. Stop staring at me; stop coming up to talk with me when Quinn isn't around; stop playing with my feelings. I'm more than happy to give you exactly what you are asking for. This—starting right here, right now— is a clean break. We'll finish the year leading glee because it's too close to Nationals to shake things up. Next year, we'll figure out something different for co-captains. Now, watch me go—this is me leaving you alone. Or better yet, don't watch; I'm going, and I won't be looking back. You know what, Finn?" And her voice trembled with the force of her suddenly overwhelming and incensed fury. "Forget you!"
His mouth agape, and still shaking with fury of his own, Finn ignored her command to look away and watched her stalk down the hall and then break into a run as she rounded the corner. As he stood there, still staring at the place where she'd disappeared from his sight, he felt a presence beside him. He glanced down and registered that it was Santana just as she opened her mouth to speak.
"You're an idiot, Finn. You know that, right?"
"And again with the meddling in other people's business," Finn bitterly replied.
Santana dispassionately said, "Nope. No meddling; I won't even bother to point out to you what you can't see."
"What? What are you talking about?" Finn asked exasperatedly.
Looking up at him without bothering to hide her faint disgust, Santana shook her head as she answered, "This isn't about you, you know. And Berry is a lot of things—annoying as hell and a damned know it all—but she isn't mean. We've all, me especially, given her every reason to be so over and over, and she's never dished it back to us. You should know that."
His breath coming out in a sudden huff, Finn sarcastically asked Santana, "Oh, so going to Puck to try to get back at me wasn't mean? Give me a break."
The disgust on Santana's face was now more than faint. "Get over yourself, Fidiot. I was tormenting her non-stop, throwing what you and I did in her face, and you just stood there and watched her take it. You didn't do a thing to try to make her feel better, did you? You left her alone; you let me flirt with you while she watched—yeah, she was there in the hall that day after her glee club meltdown; didn't you even notice? And did you ever try to tell her how you almost cried like a baby after we did it? Did you bother to try to reassure her that it "didn't mean anything" to you because I wasn't Rachel-fricking-Berry?"
Seeing his face set in stubborn resistance, Santana continued. "While we're on the subject of "being mean," just how kind and caring was it for you to only agree to have sex with me because I told you that you could use it to make Rachel jealous? She's all kinds of crazy, you moron, but she isn't mean, and she never does anything to try to bring other people down. Most of the time, she's annoyingly butting into other people's business in crazy attempts to help them, like now."
"What are you talking about, Santana?" Finn, emotional exhaustion beginning to overwhelm him, asked. "How is trying to humiliate Quinn helping anyone, or not being mean?"
"Oh, for God's sake, Frankenteen, this has nothing to do with you; nothing to do with Quinn. This is Berry trying to be a girl scout, and doing a damn good job of it. And out of every single person in this school, you're the one who should be going down on your knees to thank her for what she's doing. In fact, you hypocrite, you're the one who should be leading the way. But I guess words are just words to you, and follow through doesn't matter."
"What the hell, Santana?" None of this made any sense to Finn, and he was too confused and angry and tired to even try to figure it out.
"Forget it. I'm out," Santana responded, walking away and tracing the path Rachel took moments earlier.
Finn shouted after her as she walked away, "You can't just throw stuff like that out there and not tell me what it means! Santana!" But she kept on walking, flicking her hand back in dismissal as she rounded the corner.
As they came out of their last class together that day, Puck came up to Finn. He'd been shooting dagger-glances at Finn all during class, and as soon as the bell rang he made his way over to his former best-friend.
"Hey, lay off Rachel!"
Finn's face hardened. "What, are you with her now? Is that what this is about-you two are having a party of your own to get back and me and Quinn for not being with the two of you? You promised me to stay away from Rachel, but why should I trust you to keep your word?"
Looking ready to punch him, Puck restrained himself and instead attacked with words. "Look, jerkwad: One: I'm. Not. With. Rachel. Unlike some, when I give my word I keep it. Two: how do you figure that you get to keep saying who can and cannot be with Rachel when you've been with Quinn for over three months? You think she's never allowed to be with anyone else because you decided she wasn't good enough to forgive? You know how stupid that is, right? And you know you were an idiot to let her go like that in the first place, don't you?"
As Finn was just looking at him stonily, Puck continued. "She's better than all of us, man, and she's been working her ass off to do a huge thing and she's doing it fucking brilliantly. You should be the first one there supporting her, and instead you go and try to tear her down. Not cool, man."
Finn angrily responded, "First Santana, now you; what the hell is going on?"
Puck shook his head. "Nothing doing, man. I gave my word to keep silent, and, like I said, I keep my word."
Attempting sarcasm, Finn threw his hands up and said, "Oh, I guess I forgot to check my calendar this morning to see that this is "Stand up for Rachel, give crap to Finn" day. If I'd known, I'd have just stayed home in bed."
"Get over yourself, dude," said Puck. "You want to know anything, talk to your bro."
"Huh?" said Finn. "You just said you wouldn't tell me anything."
"Not me, you douche." Puck rolled his eyes. "Your brother. Thin kid, high voice, freaky sense of style, knock-your-socks-off voice? You know—your bro-ther."
Absolutely, utterly, and totally confused, Finn exclaimed, "What does Kurt have to do with this?"
Puck began to back away, but his head was still jutted forward toward Finn. "Nuh-huh. Not my story to tell. But this is: Lay. Off. Rachel. 'Cause I never promised that I wouldn't kick your ass if an ass-kicking was due." And he strode off, leaving Finn first gaping, and then turning to punch a locker behind him.
