Chapter 4

Hey guys, thanks so much for the reviews on last chapter. They really made me feel a lot better about this story. This chapter sets in motion the first of three phases in this story, so I hope you like where it's headed. Please read and review, and as always, enjoy!

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Sam was positive that his teenaged boy brain was not designed to compute this many emotions at once. Complicated feelings were a girl's line of business, and one that he chose to stay out of if it was at all possible. He liked things simple. He liked the anxiety that plagued him when the humans initiated war against the Na'vi for Pandora, the pang of despair when Grace died. He liked the way his fingers plucking at the strings of his guitar could melt away any tension that had built over the day. The way his heart swelled with love when his little sister curled up next to him and asked him to read to her at night after her bath. The frustration he felt when he messed up one of the words. The excitement when he caught a pretty girl checking him out and she blushed and looked away. The heartache he felt for his parents when his dad lost his job and they eventually lost their home. The simple happiness of performing at Nationals, then the disappointment of losing. All of these things Sam could cope with because they came up one at a time and his brain could process.

But Quinn telling him maybe she could still love him? That produced way too many conflicting emotions.

Issue number one: Quinn might freakin' love him! No freakin' way! He wanted to jump and glide and fly around the room. He wanted to knock over his chair, run to the nearest barista and tell him that Lucy Quinn Fabray, that girl sitting in the booth back there, the most perfect girl in the world, has deemed it possible that she could love him, Sam Evans, full of imperfections and insecurities. It was impossible, really. He had chased her for so long. Even while they were dating, he still felt like he was chasing her hopelessly. He did everything he could think of to try to get her to like him. He opened doors for her, he held her hand when they walked down the halls, he even got her that stupid ring and promised that he would never pressure her. All so that maybe someday she would give in and love him as much as he loved her.

But issue number two: She broke his heart. He had wormed his way into her heart, maybe by force with his blond hair and abs and big smile or with his shameless Justin Bieber songs. But still, he had managed to get there. Managed to get to a point that he was confident she was at least into him. And then as soon as Finn won that championship game—which Sam quarterbacked half of while Finn was off searching for cheerleaders, despite the fact Finn took all the credit for it, Sam felt like adding—Quinn was secretly fawning over him. Or not so secretly, since Santana and eventually the rest of the glee club seemed to find out. He meant nothing to her. Absolutely nothing. She made that clear by making out with Finn the second Finn was more popular than him. And it killed him because he had let himself fall so hard for her. Was it only a matter of time before she did something like that? Maybe.

But issue number three: Holy hell that girl was hot. Like, hot hot. Santana and Brittany had cut her hair short while they were in New York and it was choppy and uneven at places, but it only served to highlight the natural beauty of her face. Sam knew she wore makeup because she was always examining it in a compact mirror, smudging at it with her finger, but he wasn't exactly sure where. Everything about her looked so natural, like she was Sleeping Beauty waking up from a deep rest and looking that perfect without even trying. And she had that way of looking at you. Sam had witnessed that teasing grin and spark in her eyes many times before. She knew how to make guys want her, desperately. She knew how to turn up the heat and desire in him, even when he knew it would all be for nothing. She did it all the time when he was on his back on her bed, biting his lips and squeezing his eyes and flapping his feet, trying to get the image of her burning bedroom eyes out of his brain. It was the look she was giving him right now, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his lap, legs open, and make out with her tonsils.

But, of course, issue number four: She wasn't ready to be saying something like this. As much as it killed him, he knew somewhere in that fevered brain of his that Quinn was grasping. She was hurt about Finn. Hurt that he had chosen another girl over her and hurt that he had embarrassed her in front of all her friends. Not so much her friends, even, as the people she wanted to worship her. And now that quarterback, lead singer Finn was off the table, Sam figured he was a nice set of abs for her to fall back on. A nice face to be seen around school with. If she was seen hand in hand with him, it would show everyone at that stupid school that Quinn could care less about Finn, that she was perfect and popular and happy. That she was their queen and nothing could set her back.

Sam hated having all these conflicting feelings running through his mind, it was too much. Way too much for him to deal with all at once. It was like they were playing ping pong inside his skull, fighting for control.

"Sam?" Quinn asked. Apparently he had been sitting there silently for a while, staring intently into the dredges of his orange juice.

"Don't say things like that, Quinn," Sam whispered suddenly, barely audible. He tried to keep the pain and confusion in his eyes from showing, but he was sure she could hear it in his voice.

Quinn's brows knitted in confusion. Sam didn't blame her. He wasn't quite sure himself why he hadn't said "awesome" and made an immediate dive for her pants. Well, skirt really, since she wasn't wearing any pants. Oh God.

"Uhhh, why?"

Sam looked up from his hands, meeting her eyes. "Remember what I said about choosing you first?"

Quinn nodded.

"Well you didn't choose me first. You chose Finn. You'd rather be with him, and you'd still be with him, not thinking about me for a second if he hadn't picked Rachel."

Sam was calm, but he could see the color rising in her cheeks, signaling the onset of Scary Quinn.

"Sam, that's not fair. I didn't choose Finn. You didn't really give me a chance to choose. I was confused and trying to figure things out. I told you I wanted to be with you and you dumped me. And then you hooked up with Santana, what, to get back at me? And how was I supposed to feel about that?"

Sam sighed, lowering his forehead into his right hand and tugging at the wisps of hair falling into his eyes with his fingertips. He hadn't meant to start a fight with Quinn. Especially not a fight that would drag up everything about the very messy end to their relationship three months ago. Whenever he was around girls who were upset, his immediate reaction was oh God, make it better, make it better, make it better.

"Quinn, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just . . . Don't settle for me just because you can't have him. You're a strong girl, Quinn. You don't need a guy or a relationship to make you happy."

He couldn't quite tell, because she was mysterious like that, but to him Quinn looked pretty annoyed by this. She didn't speak, didn't bother to answer him, and he could feel her retreating into ice princess mode after the relatively open, heartfelt conversation they'd managed to have. Though he was disappointed, he figured it had to happen eventually. She probably melted if she stayed out of her cave for too long. Silence filled the void between them, and Sam began to fidget. When she was open and vulnerable, Sam felt safe, like he had the upper hand, or was at least playing on even field. When she got silent, haughty, and bored, Sam felt like he was on dangerous ground. He was a minion that needed to watch his step before he lost his head.

"I'm taking Mercedes out," he stated quietly.

Quinn blinked. "Out to pasture?"

Now it was Sam's turn to blink at her. "That was really rude, Quinn."

She sighed, suddenly very uninterested in this conversation. "You're right, I'm sorry. You like her, then."

"I don't know yet. We had a really nice time at prom, so I asked her if she wanted to go to the movies and she said yes."

"Well good for you," Quinn said dully, inspecting her nails.

Another long, awkward silence passed between the two of them, Quinn chipping at her nail polish and Sam running his finger along the wood grain in the table.

"Let me walk you back to the motel and then I'll drive you home, ok?"

Quinn nodded silently and waited while he stepped around the table to take her hand and help her out of the booth.

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Quinn was seething. Sam had just walked her to her door, then once she was inside, retreated to that bumping, jarring, rusted hulk of a truck. She was getting pretty damn tired of boys telling her what was best for her. He hadn't said that he didn't want to be with her. He had told her that she didn't really want to be with him, that she was making it up, that she was confused, that she didn't understand her own feelings, that she didn't really know what she wanted right now. Basically, that he knew better than she did what was in her best interest. What the hell? It felt like boys were always doing this to her. Finn, Puck, now even Sam? Precious, honest, stupid, genuine Sam.

She pranced up the stairs and slammed the door to her bedroom. Her mom was in the kitchen cooking dinner, and if she noticed that something was bothering Quinn, she probably would be too intimidated to ask. Judy Fabray didn't especially like acknowledging that Quinn had feelings, because if she acknowledged that she had feelings, that meant she had to talk to her about them, and if she had to talk to her about them, that meant hours of trudging around in teenage drama that she couldn't be bothered to understand.

Quinn flopped back on her bed in a huff. She ran her hands through her now short hair viciously, rubbing it around until it was wild and knotted and stood up around her head in all directions. She sat up on her bed, looking across the room into her giant mirror. She looked like an animal. Like a wild, blonde animal, dangerous and deadly. Mesmerized by her reflection, she floated over to the mirror and gazed at herself. Her cheekbones and collarbones were flushed, her eyes dark and buzzing with electricity, and her hair spiking like she had plugged her fingers into a socket.

Operating under a spell, Quinn slid open the top drawer of her bureau and dug her fingertips through her tray of lipsticks. She pushed aside all the expensive Estee Lauder mattes and Dior glosses until her fingers hovered over a small white tube with smiling orange pumpkins all over it. Selecting the tube, she removed the cap and twisted. She ran the stick over her lips, coating them in a creamy, midnight black. She rolled her lips, smoothing them, and examined herself in the mirror. She looked . . . wicked. She looked like the kind of girl her mother would be afraid of in the park. Like the kind of girl her father would say had ineffective parents. Like the kind of girl Coach Sylvester would beat away from her Cheerios with a stick in case she gave any of them ideas of insubordination. Like the kind of girl that would drop innocent church boy Sam Evans' jaw.

Snapping out of it, Quinn looked at herself one more time and was shocked at what she saw. She didn't even recognize herself. Not the sinister smirk curling over her lips. Not the evil playing in her eyes. This wasn't her. Not the pretty, blonde, would-be prom queen. Not the head Cheerio, the glee club singer, or even Beth's mom. She plucked a Kleenex from the box and wiped the thick black lipstick from her lips, reapplying a soft pink gloss. She tossed the crumpled tissue in the trash.

She needed to talk to someone. And she needed to talk to someone who could listen, not a boy who would hear that she was upset and immediately panic and rush into fix-it mode. Her mom wasn't really equipped to handle these things. She would listen to Quinn for about ten seconds, make some ridiculous suggestion that proved she hadn't really been listening, then pour herself a glass of Chardonnay. Boys were out. Every guy she felt close enough to actually talk to, she had dated. Finn was a moron, Puck's brain lived in his pants, and Sam, the only one who could actually be useful, was kinda the problem. And about girls, well it seems like she was short on girlfriends these days. She and Rachel had a tenuous relationship, but the whole thing with Finn had cut that short. Santana was a bitch most of the time, Brittany was too dumb, and Quinn wasn't sure if she and Tina had spoken two words to each other the entire year. During her pregnancy, Mercedes had been her closest friend, but over the year they had drifted apart again, and now, Mercedes seemed to be part of the problem too.

Frannie. She could call Frannie. She would know what to do. She always did. Quinn's big sister was exactly like Quinn except actually perfect, instead of just trying to convince people she was. She was a senior at Ohio State, blonde and beautiful, president of her sorority, on a full academic scholarship, dating one of the captains of the football team, fiercely smart and witty, kind and generous beyond human capacity, and the most popular girl anyone had ever met. And she didn't become popular by trying to embody the image of what everyone else wanted to be; she was just herself, and everyone loved her for it. She always gave great advice.

Quinn punched in her big sister's number. Despite it being six in the evening, a groggy voice answered the phone.

"Frannie?"

"Hey Quinnie Bear!"

"Hey."

"What's up? I wasn't expecting to hear from you til next week."

Quinn called every Tuesday night to detail her week to her big sister. When Frannie had first started college, they had trouble managing each other's schedules. Quinn would call while Frannie was in class or out with friends, and Frannie often forgot that, unlike her, Quinn had to be at school before noon. They got frustrated with each other, but eventually, they found a steady schedule, and by Frannie's senior year, they had gotten closer than ever.

"Oh, nothing really."

"Out with it, Quinnie. More boy drama?"

Frannie was an expert. For Quinn's whole life, she couldn't remember a time when Frannie wasn't in complete control of her relationships, her friendships, and everyone around her. She had been the prom queen, dated the quarterback, and gotten a full ride to college for her perfect grades. Everyone adored her. But, unlike Quinn, she never seemed to dwell in drama. She and her high school sweetheart had a healthy relationship that they continued into college, and when they mutually decided to break things off, Frannie had recovered confidently, remained his friend, and began seeing her current boyfriend of two and a half years. Frannie never screwed things up the way Quinn did. Quinn wasn't sure why she gave such great advice, since she never did anything wrong, but the fact remained that she did, and Quinn needed her.

"Sorta."

"Already? Since the Finn stuff? All right, let's hear it."

Quinn sighed. "You remember Sam?"

"The cute blond one with the pretty lips?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"Yeah, what about him?"

"Well, he's been really sweet to me lately."

"And?"

"And I've been thinking maybe I was wrong about being with Finn, and it's been Sam this whole time I'm meant to be with."

"But?"

Quinn sighed again. Frannie connected her thoughts for her like she already knew what was coming.

"But he doesn't want to be with me. Well, it's even worse than that really. He didn't say he didn't want to be with me, he basically said that I'm not ready to be in a relationship and that the only reason I wanna be with him is because Finn dumped me. I'm so tired of people acting like they know what's best for me better than I do."

"Is he right?"

Quinn paused to think about that for a minute, examining the jagged edge of a now short strand of hair.

"Kinda, but not really. I mean, I am upset about Finn, and I don't wanna be alone. But it's not like I just randomly chose Sam out of a hat, or that I only wanna be with him because Finn's gone. I mean, I never stopped having feelings for Sam. I know I screwed up with the whole cheating on him thing, but I had feelings for both of them. Now I know it's not there with Finn, and it would be nice to see if there's still anything there with Sam."

"Did you tell him that?"

Quinn tried to recall the conversation, tried to figure out exactly when she had started steaming and stopped talking, tried to determine which words were said aloud and which had been uttered only in her head.

"I don't think so."

"Well, then."

"He thinks I'm settling for him."

"Then if you want to give it a try with him, you'll just have to make him feel like you're not settling. Like he's not second best."

"You mean like, pursue him?"

Quinn had never really done it before. She was the desirable one. Boys came after her. They always did.

"That's exactly what I mean. It's a new world, Quinnie Bear, girls can go after the boys they like, court them a little bit. You don't have to sit back and wait for what you want to materialize out of thin air anymore."

"I guess so," Quinn paused. "There's another problem, though."

"What's that?"

"He's taking Mercedes out on a date."

"Ah. Well you'll just have to sabotage them then."

"Can I do that?""

"No, Quinnie, I was just kidding."

"What do I do then?"

"Just wait a little bit. Let him go on his date with her, see how it goes. No point in starting a big battle if nothing's going to happen between the two of them anyway. And if he does start to develop feelings for her, then you have to reassess how badly you want him, and whether he's worth fighting for. Maybe yes, maybe no."

"You're good at this, Frannie."

"Of course I am. I'm your big sister."

"Well, thanks."

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure you're not just setting a challenge for yourself with this guy? You kinda do that sometimes. Go after things you don't actually want just to prove you can have them."

"I'm not sure."

"Ok, well make sure you think about that, too, before you decide to do anything. Call me if there're any new developments, and if not, call me Tuesday."

"Ok Frannie, love you."

"Love you too, Quinnie."

Quinn set the phone back on its receiver and laid down on her bed again. She tried to visualize what things would be like now if she hadn't made out with Finn, and if Sam was still her boyfriend. Would their relationship have developed any further? Would she be in love with him by now? Or would they have just broken up anyway? Every time she tried to picture it, she drew a complete blank. Sam was still hot, and she found herself deeply attracted to him as she always had been, but she had no idea what she should expect out of a more serious relationship with him. Was Frannie right? Was he just a challenge to her, to prove that she could have him if she wanted him? Sighing, she resigned herself to following Frannie's advice. There was no trying to figure this one out in advance so that she couldn't make any mistakes; she would just have to wait it out.

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"So what are you doing all summer?" Mercedes whispered harshly in the dark of the theater. She was trying to whisper so loudly that she almost sounded angry.

They sat all the way in the back row so there would be no one to shush them, but only a few others were scattered around anyway, most of them other teenagers making out or throwing popcorn. The movie was some action flick Sam might have otherwise been interested in if he wasn't on a date. They lost interest in it and began chatting about forty minutes in. As it turned out, Sam and Mercedes didn't know a whole lot about each other, other than the sound of their singing voices.

"I'm gonna try to pick up more hours at the pizza place. Try to make some more money. What about you?" Sam tried to whisper loud enough for her to hear him over the zooming motorcycles and machine gun blasts, but it was easier just to talk, so he kept his voice low.

"Oh, I'm not really doing much of anything. Hanging out a lot by the pool, workin' on ma tan," she drawled running her hand along her bare arm. The silvery glow from the screen reminded him of the moonlight that illuminated the lakes in Tennessee, and in its shadows her skin looked like velvet.

Sam was confused, "But . . . "

"Yeah I know, Sam," she laughed. "That doesn't mean I don't like the sun. You could use a little color yourself, white boy," she smirked, touching the tip of her finger to his forearm. He looked down. The skin of his arm was a pale, creamy white with fine, white-blond hairs trailing over it. He supposed she was right, he would probably look better with a tan.

"So just the pool huh?" he asked, restarting the conversation.

"Well, we always go on vacation. This year we have a family reunion in Atlanta, then we're going to the Outer Banks for two weeks."

"Where's that?" Sam asked. Before moving to Ohio, Sam had only been out of Tennessee to go to baseball tournaments across the border in Kentucky.

"It's a string of islands on the coast of North Carolina. It's absolutely beautiful. The weather's always perfect, and it's warm enough to swim but not so hot that you feel like you're gonna bake if you just wanna lay on the sand and read a book. And at night there's always a warm breeze and moonlight on the waves and we rent a beach house and just sit on the porch for hours talking and laughing and drinking virgin Pina Coladas."

Sam smiled. He liked the way Mercedes lit up when she talked about her family or vacationing or something she was really excited about. She pushed one of her thick curls behind her ear.

"I think you'd really like it, too," she gushed.

"Why's that?"

"There were like a million shipwrecks there back in the day, so they call it the Graveyard of the Atlantic. There's a museum there about it and everything!"

Sam's eyes widened. Shipwrecks? That meant like, pirates, right? He loved pirates. Pirates were awesome. When he was six he really wanted to be a pirate when he grew up. How freakin' cool would that be? You could run around the ocean forever stealing everyone's stuff and making out with hot girl pirates. And wear an eye patch. He felt his inner nerd struggling to free himself, but slowly, quietly, tried to stuff him back in. He'd never see this place Mercedes was talking about. For the foreseeable future, he'd struggle to even keep his head above water in Lima, Ohio. He probably wouldn't go to college, and he'd spend at least the first years of his life post high school working some menial job and struggling to take care of himself and support his family at the same time.

"That sounds really nice."

Sam had meant it genuinely, but a hint of sadness must have crept through in his voice or his eyes, because Mercedes' eyes darkened a bit and she immediately stopped gushing about how awesome her summer was going to be.

"This summer won't be all fun and games, though," Mercedes added, trying to backtrack a bit. Sam knew she was doing it for his benefit and felt bad. He really did want her to be happy and have the most amazing summer ever. He wasn't jealous, just happy for her, and he hoped he hadn't come across that way. "Every summer I have to fill in for my dad's secretary for a week while she's on vacation. He pays me but it's so so awful and boring working for your dad and scheduling teeth cleanings. Ick."

Mercedes shuddered and Sam laughed. He guessed teeth were a lot grosser than pizzas . . . even though pizza, when you spent a long enough part of your day with it, got pretty nasty too. When the movie ended, Sam drove Mercedes back to her house—a beautiful, two-story white colonial on a cul-de-sac. Her mom had clearly spent a lot of time gardening, because their home looked like the front cover of a Home & Garden magazine, with purple and blue hydrangeas blooming against the white siding. Sam hopped out of the driver's seat of his dad's truck and stepped around to open the door for her. He held her hand and helped her avoid the rusting runner.

He walked her to her front door, and he and Mercedes both noticed the curtain on an upstairs window moving at the same time. Sam smirked, and Mercedes blushed.

"Don't worry, Daddy was just a little nervous about me going out tonight. It's not like I go out all the time."

"It's ok, if this was Tennessee, there'd be a shot gun pointed at my head right now. Southern boys know better," he said with an intentionally cheesy wink. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head, just as he had done at prom. Mercedes smiled up at him.

"Am I gonna see you again sometime?" Mercedes asked. Tomorrow would be the last day of school, and up until now, neither of them had made much of an attempt to see each other outside of glee club.

"I hope so," he answered honestly.