Yooooooooooooo, long time no see. Thank you to everyone who's been asking me to update this fic, because knowing people are still interested after such a gross hiatus gives me writing fuel. This chapter's been half-written for over a year and I wish it hadn't taken me so long to post it, but here we are. Thank you in advance if you're planning to stick with me, no matter how long between updates, and please know it's never my intention to make you wait.

Spencer is just about to head into the chemistry room (ten minutes early, this time, because she's going to get there before Quinn and she's going to sit in her favorite seat), but Emily calls out to her right before she crosses the threshold.

"Spence! Wait up a second."

She grits her teeth and glances longingly at the empty classroom before turning to face Emily. "What's up?" he asks, her tone pleasant but tight.

"I'm thinking of switching into your psychology class, and I was wondering if you like the teacher? I talked to my mom about colleges last night and she thinks I could major in psych."

"Um," Spencer begins, trying to come up with the quickest response possible, "Mr. Louis is pretty great. He doesn't assign much homework but he talks really fast during his lectures so it's easy to miss something if you're not completely focused."

Emily nods thoughtfully. "That could be a problem. The only person I know who's more easily distracted than I am is Hanna." She shrugs. "I'll think about it. Thanks!" Just before she walks away, she waves at someone behind Spencer. "Hey, Quinn!"

Spencer whips around just in time to see Quinn wave back and then throw Spencer the smallest of smirks before walking into the chemistry room and taking Spencer's seat.

Again.

Once her blood stops boiling enough to allow her to move, Spencer enters the room and takes her own (not favorite) seat. "Why are you here so early?" she asks, resisting the urge to wipe at that spot on her cheek where Quinn basically licked chocolate off her face last night.

Quinn shrugs. "Why are you?"

"Habit."

She laughs softly.

"What?"

"I assumed you were just trying to get here before me."

Spencer clears her throat a little. "You know what happens when you assume."

Quinn raises a challenging eyebrow. "Yeah. I'm almost always right."

"Well," Spencer says, busying herself with getting her notebook out of her bag, "Not this time, obviously."

"Obviously."

Spencer chews the inside of her cheek. "Did you read 'The Yellow Wallpaper'?"

"Well, yeah. It was our homework."

"Good morning, ladies!" Mr. Brennan greets, striding into the room and setting his bag on the table. "I had a feeling you two would be the first ones here. It warms my heart to know you love chemistry so much that you just can't bear to not be in this room."

Spencer manages a weak smile that vanishes the moment he turns his back, and as she opens her notebook she rubs her hand over her cheek.

"I don't have rabies, you know."

She glances up; Quinn is hunched over The Great Gatsby again. "What?"

Quinn turns the page. "That spot on your cheek where I wiped the chocolate off. It's like you're afraid you're gonna get hives or something."

Spencer raises an eyebrow. "Pardon me for wishing you hadn't indirectly licked my face. That's something my mom would do, not one of my friends."

Now Quinn meets her gaze with an amused smile. "You and I are friends?"

Spencer blinks and opens her mouth to object, but she doesn't know what she can say that won't sound awful and rude. "How many times have you read that again?" she asks, nodding toward Quinn's book while trying not to grimace at how shaky her voice sounds.

Quinn stifles another laugh but then just shrugs. "A few."

"A few," Spencer mimics under her breath; she's smothered by the chatter of arriving classmates, but she's sure she sees the corner of Quinn's mouth twitch.

.

She sits in the back row again when she gets to English, earning a wary eye-roll from Aria a few minutes later.

"What?" Aria groans.

Spencer glares at her. "If I were having a legitimately bad day and something awful had just happened, that would've really hurt."

Aria cocks her eyebrow. "But you're not, and it's about Quinn."

"Well—yeah, but—"

"Just tell me what she did, Spence."

Spencer hesitates, wetting her lips and shifting in her desk a bit. "She sat in my seat again," she mumbles.

"Wow," Aria replies flatly, "what a bitch."

"Why can't you just be a good friend and pretend to agree with me?"

"Isn't that what I just did?"

Spencer huffs. "Forget it. I'll just have to rely on Toby's massages to keep me sane."

Aria rolls her eyes. "Oh yeah, your life is so stressful."

"You know what—" She begins, but she's cut off by the bell and begrudgingly turns her attention to Mrs. Montgomery.

"Good morning, everyone! I'm very excited to hear what you all thought of 'The Yellow Wallpaper.' I know it's an odd piece and a bit tough to wrap your head around… but who wants to try dissecting the story first?"

Spencer waits a beat before raising her hand.

"Spencer," she calls, and Quinn glances back at her.

"I thought the narrator and John had a really interesting dynamic. I liked that even though John thought he was smarter than the narrator and he kept screwing her over," she says, and holding Quinn's gaze, "she still beat him at the end."

"Really?" Aria mutters under her breath, "'Cause I could've sworn it was about a chick obsessing over something until she went crazy."

"Well, that's certainly one way of looking at it. Does anybody have anything to add?"

Spencer stares at the back of Quinn's head, daring her to raise her hand.

"I think you have to think about perception versus reality," Quinn says suddenly. "The narrator sees patterns and movements and even a figure, but everyone else just sees wallpaper. Her perspective isn't reliable."

Spencer sits up straighter. "So observing something nobody else can see means she's crazy?"

Aria slumps down in her seat. "You guys aren't gonna do this every day, are you?"

"I didn't say it makes her crazy," Quinn replies, turning sideways to look at Spencer. "I said it makes us question the accuracy of her perspective. Just because she thinks something is a certain way, doesn't mean it actually is."

"That's a great point," Mrs. Montgomery interjects. "Actually, it's the perfect segue into today's topic, which is reliable narrators. Who can give me some examples of a reliable narrator?"

The rest of the class jumps in on the conversation and Spencer tunes it out, still glaring at Quinn. Aria notices and gives her a look.

"Okay, you need to give it a rest or you're going to set her on fire."

Spencer rolls her eyes. "And then that would be the perfect segue into a discussion of Fahrenheit 451 and she'd still be teacher's pet."

Aria blinks at her. "I give up."

"I hope she's still trying out for field hockey this afternoon," Spencer mutters. "She can get away with taking my seat, but that field is mine."

"You frighten me, sometimes."

.

Spencer goes to the same spot as yesterday for her free period and spreads her playbook notes over the table, making a mental list of the team's most complicated plays so she can pull some out for tryouts later. She needs to put Quinn in her place as quickly as possible; that girl doesn't have a chance on Spencer's field.

She looks up at the sound of approaching footsteps and fights off an eye-roll when she sees Quinn in front of her.

"Hey, Spence," she greets with a smile. "Didn't expect you to be back here again."

Spencer cocks an eyebrow. "Why? I was here yesterday."

"Yeah—and I found you here yesterday. I assumed you wouldn't want to risk it again."

"You assume a lot about me, apparently." She shuffles through a few pages, and Quinn doesn't move. "Okay, either sit down or leave because I can't concentrate with you hovering like that."

Quinn smiles again and takes a seat across from her, glancing curiously at the papers covering the table. "Field hockey?"

"Yep."

Her eyebrow rises just a little and Spencer swallows. "This stuff looks pretty intense for tryouts."

Spencer shrugs a shoulder. "If you can't handle the hardest plays, you shouldn't be on the team in the first place."

"Fair enough," Quinn says with a smirk, and pulls out The Great Gatsby.

Spencer rolls her eyes. "You know the definition if insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome."

Quinn's eyes remain on the book. "Then it's a good thing Gatsby teaches me something new every time." Now her gaze flicks up to Spencer's. "Are you sick of watching me read it?"

She blinks. "I'm not watching you," she argues, frowning and shaking her head as she buries herself in her field hockey notes again.

Quinn laughs and Spencer thinks she hears a quietly muttered "You're cute."

"What did you say?" Her stomach is in her throat.

Quinn looks up and cocks her head. "Hmm?"

"You just—you said I was—"

"Oh, no. I was talking about Nick," she says, pointing down at the page.

Spencer is frozen. "O-oh." She shakes her head. "Yeah, of course," she says with a weak laugh.

Quinn raises an eyebrow again. "You okay over there?"

"Fine." She stares down at her notes, hard, but her brain refuses to register anything but gibberish. "Um," she mutters, scooping everything into a disorganized pile, "I'm gonna go talk to the coach about something."

Quinn smiles. "See you at lunch."

.

She doesn't see Quinn at lunch, because she intercepts Toby on his way to meet her in the cafeteria, and pulls him out to the courtyard instead.

It's been raining on and off all day and everything is damp, but she pushes him up against a brick column anyways and kisses him deeply.

"Spence," he mumbles against her lips, "What're you—?"

She dips down to his neck. "What's wrong?" she asks between kisses.

"Nothing. It's just"—she kisses him again—"cold"—another kiss—"and wet." Finally he grips her shoulders and moves her back a few inches. "Aren't you freezing? And hungry? You should eat—you have tryouts in a few hours."

Spencer pouts and starts to turn away, but he gently grabs her hand.

"Not that I don't love this," he says, pulling her closer, "because I do. But maybe it could happen later, after you kick ass on that field." He gives her a peck on the lips. "And maybe indoors, so you're not shivering."

Spencer licks her lips. "Okay," she agrees, playing with the buttons on his shirt.

He takes her hand and drops it to hip-level, then laces their fingers. "Walk you back to the cafeteria?"

"I think I'm gonna go to the library instead," she says slowly.

"Spence, come on, you need to eat."

"I have a PB&J," she replies, backing away from him until their hands are forced to separate, "I'll be fine." Spencer turns around and heads back into the building, then turns left instead of right, in the opposite direction of both the cafeteria and the library.

There's nothing wrong with taking the scenic route every once in a while.

.

Spencer is the first one on the field after the final bell rings; she sets up a table on the sideline with the necessary handouts and signup sheets, and by the time the co-captain shows up, she's already shooting balls into the net like they personally offended her.

"Jeez, you gonna save any of that juice for the actual tryouts?" Lindsey asks as she tears the plastic seal off of her Powerade.

Spencer winds up and buries the next shot. "Haven't decided yet."

"O... kay, then. Hi! Are you here for field hockey?"

She turns around to find Quinn walking toward them, wearing a red WMHS Cheerios t-shirt, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. "Yep," she replies to Lindsey; her eyes shift to Spencer for just a moment. "Quinn Fabray. I just moved here from Ohio."

They shake hands and Spencer's next shot bounces off the post. "I'm Lindsey, and this is—"

"Spencer," Quinn interrupts with a playful smile. "We've met."

"I see. So, have you had much experience with field hockey?"

Quinn grabs one of the spare sticks, knocks a ball free from the bag, and begins to dribble in place. "None at all, actually, but Coach Sylvester made sure we were very well-rounded athletes." She takes a shot at the net and makes it easily, even though she's standing twice the distance from the goal as Spencer. "Plus, I'm a fast learner."

Spencer digs all of the balls out of the net and kicks them back toward Quinn. "Do it again."

Quinn lines up and proceeds to hit every shot almost perfectly, and now Lindsey is staring at her with a raised eyebrow.

"You sure you've never played before?"

"Yep," she says, pushing some stray hair out of her face. "Why?"

Lindsey shrugs and it looks like she's trying to hold back a laugh. "No reason. I just… have a feeling you're gonna make the team without a problem."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Spencer interjects, emptying the goal again. "Anyone can score on an empty net."

"So let's see what she's made of." Lindsey tosses a ball at Quinn's feet. "See if you can get one past Spence."

Spencer shakes her head. "What's the point of—I'm not a goalie. I-I don't even have any gear on, which gives her more room to—"

"Okay, Spence?" Lindsey interrupts. "This isn't a penalty shot in sudden-death overtime. Just let her give it a try."

Spencer clenches her jaw and cracks her neck, then gets into a ready stance and watches Quinn scan the goal. Her pulse quickens when Quinn's eyes meet hers, but she dismisses it as adrenalin and takes a deep breath in and out.

Quinn finally winds up and shoots, but the ball goes wide by several inches and Spencer rolls her eyes.

"Oh come on, you weren't even trying."

She shrugs. "You said it yourself, you're not wearing any pads. I didn't want to hurt you."

"Whatever," Spencer says, hitting the ball back to her, "try again."

Quinn stops the ball under her foot and adjusts her grip on the stick. "You sure?"

Lindsey's glancing their way. "Steph just came out of the gym and she's already got her pads on. Let her—"

"Just shoot the ball!"

Quinn obeys, and then there's a burst of pain in her kneecap and she has to bite her lip to hold in the string of obscenities ready to fly out of her mouth.

"You okay?" Quinn asks, looking genuinely concerned.

Spencer clears her throat and shakes her leg around a bit, though it does little to dull the throbbing. "I blocked the shot, didn't I?"

"That doesn't answer the question," Lindsey says. "Do you need ice?"

"Nope, I'm good," she chokes out as she tries to casually make her way back to the table, because the rest of the team is starting to show up and she doesn't want this to be a big deal.

Lindsey's giving her a look. "You think I don't see you limping? Sit on the damn bench, Hastings."

Spencer rolls her eyes again but hobbles over to the bench anyways, then flexes her leg back and forth and tries not to wince at the enormous bruise she can already feel forming.

To her utter horror, Quinn follows her off the field. "You okay?" she asks again, but this time her words aren't nearly as serious.

"I'm great!" Spencer says with a shrug, but her hands are clenched around the edge of the metal seat.

"I meant your knee, not your goaltending skills."

"Still great."

Quinn nods with a cocked eyebrow. "I'm gonna get you an ice pack."

"I don't need an ice—"

"Shut up, Spencer," Lindsey interrupts, handing an ice pack to Quinn, who tosses it unceremoniously into Spencer's lap. "Make sure she actually uses it."

Quinn glances at the other girls beginning to stretch. "Shouldn't I…?"

"Honestly, don't worry about it," she replies. "There are more tryouts tomorrow; but like I said, I don't think you'll have a problem making the team." She jogs off to join the rest of the team, leaving Spencer to determinedly avoid Quinn's eyes as she holds the ice pack to her knee.

But then Quinn is kneeling in front of her and there's one hand on top of her thigh while another grips her calf, fingers still cold from holding the ice.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Relax, I'm just checking your range of motion." She slowly lifts Spencer's leg until her knee is straight, then glances up at her. "How does that feel?"

Spencer isn't quite sure why it takes her so long to mutter "Fine," or why her heart is beating so fast, or why she hates that Lindsey is watching them right now. "Can I have my foot back?"

When Quinn finally lets go, Spencer feels like she's just finished running suicides.