Not Making the Same Mistake Again
Summary: Less than four months remain of the school year, for some students it's the last four months at William McKinley High. Therefore it's natural for the kids to want to make the best of the remaining time. However, a lot of things can go wrong in sixteen weeks . . .
Rated Teen for language primarily. There may be some spoilers for the two first seasons of the show as well as the third up until somewhere short after the episode Hold on to Sixteen.
I hope you will enjoy reading this multi-character fanfiction as much as I have enjoyed writing it!
I apologize in advance for any incorrect grammar or typo that may occur.
Reviews are very welcome.
Disclaimer: I donot own Glee nor do I own any of its characters. The same goes for anything involving the music mentioned.
End of author's note. Now on to the story!
Chapter 9 – Rumors are spreading like wildfire
[MONDAY]
Walking with determined steps through the cafeteria, the black haired girl frantically chews her gum. Wild berries as always. Her aim is set on the far east corner of the room, at the table just beside the windows. Around the table sits four pupils, three girls, one boy. 'Mercedes. Hello!' one of the girls calls as she notices the black girl coming up to them.
'Tina,' Mercedes says curtly and then turns her focus to the only boy, on whom her eyes had been plastered since she entered the cafeteria. 'I need to talk to you.'
The brown haired boy frowns, 'Moi?' and point at himself. The look on Mercedes face says it all. There's no room for argument. Kurt glances at the girls around the table, mentally excusing himself for having to leave them.
Mercedes starts walking away from the table. Her pace is quite fast and the slender boy has to jog to catch up with her. 'Tell me, Mercedes, what is going on?' he says.
She refuses to look at him. Her eyes set on the exit a few feet away. 'This time she's really screwed up,' she mutters through gritted teeth.
The boy sighs. 'What now 'Cedes?' Obviously he's not very impressed of her drama queen behavior, perhaps because he is usually the one pulling that act.
'I saw them . . . all over each other . . .'
'First and foremost: who did you see? Secondly: slow down, I'm wearing my Ralph Lauren cashmere shawl ranch coat here and I would hate to get sweaty in it. You know how expensive dry-cleaning is in this town.' Mercedes slows down and cast a sharp look at her companion.
How could clothes mean so much to him? Got it he's gay, but still . . . This is a lot more important that a damn coat!
'Quinn!' she mutters and you can almost see the fume belch out of her ears and the fire in her dark eyes. 'And the English teacher!'
'Pardon me?' the boy blinks confused.
'You heard it Kurt! Quinn and Mr. Eaton. They totally have something going on!' she blurts.
Upon seeing the looks of two girls passing them—drama club girls, Kurt believes—he hooks his arm with Mercedes' and pulls her further out into the yard. 'What are you talking about, Mercedes?' he asks offended on Quinn's behalf as they stop under a maple tree.
The diva bows her head, decreasing the distance between her face and the one of the slender boy. 'Quinn and Mr. Eaton. I saw them, at the Lima Bean. Holding hands!'
As much as Kurt wants to believe that what his friend is telling him right now is nothing but bullshit, he cannot help but to wonder what the hell Quinn is doing. He knows what she wants, what she needs, and this is not a very good path to go down if she plans on ever getting back what was taken from her. 'Are you sure you are not overreacting Mercedes?' he tries, hoping that, for once, the diva is wrong.
She violently shakes her head. 'I saw what I saw! I'm tellin' ya!' she says. 'Look!' She hands him her iPhone. A photo taken from outside the Lime Bean shows Quinn and their English teacher sitting at a table by the window, their eyes locked, their hands united, fingers twined together.
Oh God Quinny, sweetheart, what were you thinking? Kurt stares at the blonde's smiling face and then at his teachers warm eyes. He sighs and shakes his head, giving the phone back to its owner. 'I don't want to believe it.'
'You can't close your eyes on this one.' She puts the phone back into her pocket.
Kurt closes his eyes for a short moment, dragging a deep breath. 'We cannot let this get out, Mercedes.'
She gazes at him. She is pissed and in one way she wants this to get out. She wants Quinn to know that she won't be able to get away with everything all the time. She wants Quinn to hurt, simply because she deserves it. Having treated people the way she had with Sam, Finn, Puck—well maybe Puck deserved being shut out, like that, after all he was the one who knocked her up, while she was drunk on wine coolers—Rachel and Artie, she has honestly done enough damage to deserve a shot of adversity. But as much as Mercedes wants to be able to hate Quinn, and feel like she deserves to get this spread out at the school, she cannot bring herself to it. Quinn used to be one of her best friends, and Mercedes knows better than anyone, what shit that poor blonde girl has gone through. A teenage pregnancy alone is thought to deal with, imagine being kicked out by your parents, abandoned by your boyfriend and ostracized from the Cheerios. Honestly, she doesn't need to go through this too, Mercedes emphasizes. The girl might be a stuc- up bitch sometimes, but she's our stuck-up, messed up, bitch.
'You're right,' she mumbles to Kurt, her voice a more controlled one now than it was a few moments ago.
The boy nods and pats her on the shoulder as he walks past her back into the cafeteria. Before re-entering he nods a curt "hello" to Becky Jackson as he almost collides with her.
Dear Journal,
One wise woman once said "I'm tough, ambitious, and I know exactly what I want. If that makes me a bitch, okay." That is the motto I have tried to live after ever since she released the album Like a Virgin in 1984. Proudly I can note that I, the magnificent Sue Sylvester, have truly accomplished to live thereafter. That is why I am thanking my kindred spirit Madonna for my success and happiness. That is also the main reason to why I have decided to name this operation, to bring Glee Club down once and for all, "Causing a Commotion Sue Sylvester style".
Apart from Madonna I have not made the mistake of marrying porcelain skinned curly haired men that will end up dragging my name in the gutter. Though as destiny seems to want us to walk down similar paths in life, it has granted me, or rather punished me with a curly haired hazard with a strong need to perform awfully bad rap songs.
So does this mean that, for me to become an immortal icon like my soul mate and paragon Madonna, I have to break and get rid of Will Schuester? If that is what it will take, then watch out William, because Sue Sylvester doesn't show mercy.
Sue picks up the golden cup that stands on her desk and takes a sip of the hot, black coffee. Delicious. God bless the fantastic person who decided that the coach of the Cheerios will have to have her own coffee and espresso machine. Sue leans back into her chair. Oh, that's right . . . that wonderful person is me.
There is a knock on the door. Judging by the sound of it, the hand performing the gesture belongs to Becky Johnson. She has, Sue has noted, a unique way to knock on the door. It is hesitant, yet it is determined and firm and honestly Sue cannot quite put a finger on what it is. 'Step in, Becky,' Sue directs and closes her journal and puts it into the safe drawer.
'Hi, coach,' Becky greats as she steps inside. She is dressed, as usual, in her Cheerios uniform.
Sue clasps her hands and places them on top of her knee. 'So, Becky, what do my favorite Cheerio have for me today?' Becky fishes her cell phone up from her back pack and puts in on the desk in front of Sue. The tall, blonde cheerleading coach leans forward and examines the photograph that is propped up on the small display. Though the screen is no bigger than a few inches the little what is seen in the picture says enough. 'Close the door, Becky,' Sue orders.
'Yes, coach,' Becky's answer comes and she pads to the door and shuts it.
'Where did you get this?' Sue asks with a firm voice.
'I took it from one of the girls in Glee Club,' the short cheerleader informs in a proud tone. She had happened to be out in the school yard, on her way to the gym, when she suddenly had heard two people loudly discussing by the big maple tree, the same three where Becky had seen Finn for the first time; the boy she had had a crush on for a few weeks before she decided that he wasn't worthy of her love. The short blonde had discreetly walked closer to the two arguing persons and what she had heard had immediately crossed her as something that her coach would love to hear. So therefore she had paid one of McKinley High's many truancers a couple of dollars to purloin Mercedes Jones' iPhone and transfer the photo to Becky's own phone, before returning the iPhone to Mercedes' locker.
Sue studies the tiny picture a little more. 'Has anybody seen this?' she asks and holds up the phone.' Becky shakes her head. She hasn't showed it to anyone except Sue. Sue can see that her young assistant is no longer sure weather what she has brought is pleasing or irritating her coach. She knows that Becky is aware of her feelings towards her former head Cheerio Quinn Fabray. Therefore Sue smiles and says, 'This, Becky, is perfect.' The blonde girl beams with happiness. 'From whom did you get it?' Sue asks.
'Mercedes Jones' phone,' Becky says proudly.
The Cheerios coach smile widens. This is more than perfect. 'Becky, let's put Causing a Commotion in work. Mission: destroying Glee Club,' Sue says and grins.
He is so busy stacking books into his locker that he doesn't even notice her approaching. The girl is walking with quick and determined steps, her eyes firmly set on him. Her wavy brown hair is wagging from side to side as she marches down the hallway. A few people stop and stare as she walks pass them, mostly because she is so damn short and she has this certain bounce to her steps that makes it look like she is always in a hurry or pissed off at someone. She isn't mad with anyone right now, though. Not even irritated.
As she reaches the boy and the lockers she pulls to a quick halt. Straightens out the wrinkles in her checkered skirt and clears her throat. 'I need you to be completely honest with me, Kurt,' Rachel says as the slender boy closes his locker. 'Do you truly believe that we have a chance at getting into NYADA?' There is a sad undertone to the divas otherwise so charmingly merry voice, the girl who never second guesses herself.
Kurt thinks about it for a moment. There are a lot of talented singers and actors out there, he knows. He has met several of them. But just because they are really good performers it doesn't have to mean that they are applying for NYADA. Even though it might be hard for Rachel to understand, and frankly, he is having a pretty hard time getting it into his head too, not everybody wants to become famous. Not everybody who can sing and act wants to be on Broadway.
'I hope so,' Kurt answers after a while. 'There are a lot of very gifted people applying, but don't forget, Rachel my dear, that we are two of those very talented people.' He smiles and hauls the strap on his bag up on his shoulder. 'But to answer your question, Mademoiselle, I do think we have a pretty decent chance at getting in, I do believe so.' He offers her another one of his sweet smiles.
They walk a few yards in complete silence. They are both having classes that start in ten minutes, in the rooms opposite each other actually. When they passes the astronomy room Kurt decides to ask the question that has been on his mind for some time now. Ever since Rachel walked up to him, by his locker, and asked about NYADA and their chances at getting accepted. He clears his throat as quietly as he possible can before he asks, 'What made you ask, Rachel?' He glances at the short brunette. 'You are always the one who never doubts your own capabilities.'
Rachel smiles wryly. 'Something someone said to me a while ago made me reconsider my attitude.'
The slender boy furrows his eyebrows in a skeptical frown. 'That doesn't sound like the Rachel I first met, the one that would kill for a solo in Glee Club and the one that would always put golden stars behind her name because she knew that was what she would become one day; a star.'
The comment causes the petite girl to chuckle. Her friend is correct; two years ago she would have never doubted her strengths. And it is true that she was the one who always plastered tiny golden stars beside her name because that was what she wanted to become and it was also what she knew she would become. Back then she never questioned herself or the fact that she would one day become a famous Broadway star. Never once. But as time went by she got to learn, sometimes the hard way, that you cannot take everything for granted and that not everything will work out the way you have planned. She had for example honestly believed that the New Directions would win both Sectionals and Regionals the first year they participated; she had never thought that Finn could be hers, he was after all dating the most beautiful and popular girl at school when they met; she never thought Kurt's father would almost die from a heart attack and she defiantly never believed—though she had always hoped for it—that she would reunite with her biological mother and let alone that the woman would be the coach of Vocal Adrenaline and she could never have predicted that she would date Noah Puckerman, the residential bad boy, and Jessie St. James, the big star of Vocal Adrenaline.
But Rachel decides to not tell Kurt any of this. Instead she asks, 'Do you really think Finn would come with me? She then quickly adds, 'When I get in.'
Kurt thoughtfully chews on his bottom lip for a while. 'He loves you, he truly does. But you need to understand, Rachel, that he has a life of his own.' He glances at the girl. 'He has got dreams too, you know.'
'But they gave the scholarship to Shane . . .' the short diva points out.
'Yes, that is true, they did. But football isn't all that matters.'
Rachel arcs a skeptic brow. 'Sometimes it certainly seems like it.'
Kurt snickers. 'I know, I know.' And he hooks arms with the girl's. 'Let me give you an advice, though; wait till you have been accepted to bother thinking about how Finn will or will not do, okay?'
Rachel drops her gaze to the ground. 'Yeah,' she whispers. 'I promise.'
Despite what most people might think she is not stupid. Never has been. But due to her looks; her face, her height, people tend to think she is. Sadly. She has never been accepted, not the way other kids get accepted. Everyone has always looked at her as special, and not like super talented special, but as different special. Sometimes it is good, but mostly it makes her feel a bit alone, like an outsider. Or at least it used to be like that. It still is, but not as much as before. As crazy as it sounds she has Coach Sue Sylvester—yes, that's right—to thank for that. She gave her a spot on the squad. The cheerleading squad, nevertheless! Though, she might not be the pretty Cheerio at the top of the pyramid, she is a part of something. She finally belongs somewhere. There are downsides though, to being Sue Sylvester's personal darling favorite. People tend to back away from you, knowing that whatever you find out will go straight to the source of all evil: Sue Sylvester. And what Sue can do with that information – it can be disastrous!
But nonetheless, being Sue Sylvester's favorite is still the best thing to have ever happen to her. She has found a friend—a friend that is a lot older and sometimes gets a little too obsessed with destroying Glee Club—that accepts her for who she is. Probably it has to do with Sue's sister, Jane. Jane and Becky, well, they remind a lot of each other. Not just on the outside, but on the inside too. They are—Jane was—very sweet, kindhearted persons. Unfortunately Jane isn't longer among the living. And that, well it might be an even greater reason to why Sue Sylvester is so keen of keeping Becky by her side. She reminds her so much of her sister.
In short you can say that these two human beings need each other. They depend on each other—never expected to hear that word to describe Sue Sylvester, did you?—and they trust each other.
That is the reason she is doing this. Humiliating, hurting, and exposing another person like this. An order from Sue Sylvester. Just another attempt of hers to bring Glee Club down, once and for all. To be honest Becky has to admit that this method might be the meanest and most coldhearted so far.
She sighs loudly as she hits the send bottom on her brand new iPhone. Done. No turning back. She got the phone from Sue. The Cheerios coach even helped her get a hidden number. Everything to make destroying Glee Club easier.
It's halfway through Spanish class, his second class for the day, but Sam is already having trouble keeping his eyes from drifting close. For the fifth time this half hour he drops his head, from out of his hands, but startles back to consciousness again as he feels his neck jerk forward. 'Dude, you really need to do something about that,' he can hear a voice whisper from behind him. He recognizes the voice as the one of Finn Hudson.
''Bout what?' Sam yawns.
'You sleeping through Spanish class. Mr. Schue will have no choice but to have you fail the course otherwise.' The blonde boy sighs. Right, I'm dyslectic. Think my shot at getting a scholarship for my good grades are pretty screwed already as it is. But thanks for pointing that out, Frankenteen. 'And if you get too many F's, coach Beast will never let you back on the team,' the taller boy continues.
'Yeah, but what if I—' Mr. Schuester clears his throat. 'What if I don't wan—'
Mr. Schue clears his throat again. This time he is staring directly at Sam and Finn. 'Finn, Sam, do you have anything you want to share with the rest of the class?' His arms are crossed across his chest. Usually Mr. Schue isn't the one to confront pupils like this, but he really hates when they aren't paying attention to him during class. Both boys shake their heads. 'No?' Mr. Schue gazes at the two boys for an additional five seconds. 'Good.' Then he turns to the black board and writes down a sentence in capital letters. Which is not good. Because capital letter always mean it's time for an assignment of some sort. Test, essay, homework.
'Mi futuro, como yo lo veo' Mr. Schue says. 'That will be the title of your essays. Now repeat after me: después de la secundaria tengo la intención de estudiar en el universidad local/fuera de Ohio. Quiero trabajar . . .' Somewhere there Sam loses track of what his teacher is saying and instead he starts to stare out of the window.
Outside some kids are heading across the schoolyard to their cars, apparently some students have already finished their day, probably due to cancelled classes, Sam thinks. Why can't I have cancelled classes today? He glances down at his watch, 11.38. Twenty two minutes left of torture, then lunch. His stomach purrs at the thought of lunch. The boy next to him glances sideways at him, making a weird face, but he quickly turns his focus back to the black board as Sam mouth 'what?' in a hefty manner. Man, Puck should have seen that! He smiles despite himself and turns his gaze to the window again.
When it's only ten minutes left of the class, Sam feels the vibration of his phone in his pants pocket. He fishes it up and holds it under the table so that Mr. Schue won't see it and maybe confiscate it. It's a text message from Dave Karofsky. The bully turned bullied had transferred back to McKinley in January and was just as Sam trying to get back on the football team. Sam clicks the text open. 'Holy . . . fuck,' he gasps.
'Are you okay, Sam?' Mr. Schue asks, looking directly at the blonde boy.
Sam blinks a couple of times. 'Wh-what?' he stutters.
'Just forget about it.' Schue turns to the rest of the class again. 'So for tomorrow I want to see that you have read the pages thirty three to thirty eight. The essay should by on my desk by next Friday. Vale?' The class mumbles an absentminded 'sí' in unison and starts to gather their books, papers and pencils.
Holy freaking shit! Quinn's . . . Quinn's having an affair with the English teacher! She's . . . I knew it. I fucking knew it! Sam closes his hands into tight fists, making the knuckles turn white.
'Hey, dude. What's going on?' Finn says leaning in from behind. Sam passes him the phone, the text still up on the screen. 'What the heck?' the tall boy exclaims, staring shocked at the photo. Then he reads the short text underneath it. 'Fabray's fishing for real piece of meat. Slut,' he mumbles. 'What the hell?' He tosses the phone back to Sam, who stands up, starting to collect his books. 'You believe this crap?' Finn finally asks, as the two boys leave the class room.
Sam snorts. 'I was fucking there!' Then he leaves Finn and with quick steps he heads for the door leading to the yard.
For the first time in a very long time, the whole cafeteria goes quiet as she walks in. During the beginning of freshmen year that had been a part of her everyday life, and she had enjoyed it. That had all changed though when she joined Glee club—even though it was mainly to keep an eye on her then-boyfriend Finn—and became just another looser, people started to take no notice in her. But when the word got around that she was knocked up—even before people found out whether it was Finn's or Puck's—it happened again. As she walked into the cafeteria that day, everybody had just stopped whatever they were up to and stared at her. Then all the talking behind her back and nasty looks in the halls had started. It had been horrible. Luckily though Quinn Fabray is one hell of a strong girl, and she had lived through it. She had had her baby, named her Beth on Puck's request, given her up for adoption—to Rachel's biological mother but also the former coach of Vocal Adrenaline, Shelby Corcoran—and then she had gotten her life back on track. Regained all that popularity. It had taken a lot of hard work, but damn was it worth it. She had gotten all that respect back, the respect that caused the whole room to go quiet when she entered. Unfortunately another slip had her walking down the road of exclusion again as she became obsessed with getting her daughter back. However being a Skank did make people part whenever you walked in, but it wasn't as much of respect as it was of fear.
Right about now, though, Quinn doesn't believe the students are quiet because of respect for her or fear of her. The quietness is of a different variety. And it doesn't feel good. She walks up to the counter and grabs a tray. They are serving chicken and rice today. While filling her plate she can feel the eyes of about three dozen kids burning on her back. A few of them are whispering, she can tell, but she cannot make out what they are gossiping about.
She turns around and scans the room for her friends. They are all seated at a table at the far back of the cafeteria, Santana, Brittany, Mercedes, Tina, Kurt, Rachel, even Finn and Mike is there. She starts to walk towards them, hearing more whispers and coughs from the other pupils as she passes them. Was that a muffled jeer?
'Hey, guys,' she says quietly as she sits down. The others seem kind of hesitant before they say their 'hellos' to her. What is wrong with everyone today?
'You look good today,' Kurt says, offering her a sweet smile. But it seems strained.
She glances at him suspiciously. 'Thank you, Kurt.'
'So . . . how was your weekend?' Rachel asks, poking at her half eaten egg roll.
'Pretty slow. Wasn't all bad though.' Finn almost chokes on a cocktail tomato, with Rachel having to pat his back to have him cough the bastard up.
'Are you okay, Finn?' Rachel worriedly queers and stokes the tall boy's cheek. He nods eagerly.
Quinn glances around the room, noticing that there are still a great bunch of kids watching her. 'What's going on, guys?' she asks, starting to get a little worried herself, though not for Finn. He can totally breathe again. The group goes back to their previous hesitation. Quinn turns to Santana. 'San?' Then to Kurt. 'Kurt?'
'Uh . . . I don't know how to put this, Quinn . . .'
But the pretty boy gets no more time to think about his explanation though, because walking up to their table comes the guys from the hockey team. One of them whistles as he lays his eyes on the shortest of the pretty blondes. 'Well, well . . . what do we have here?' the leader of the pack says, turning to glance at his buddies, only to make sure that they are following his lead before he continues. 'Isn't it the school's head MILF?' He laughs. 'Quinn Fabray.' The other hockey players laugh as on command.
She is used to being called the school's head bitch in charge but this is something new. Well, almost . . . only Puck calls her a MILF.
'You can't talk to her like that!' Finn orders, his face beginning to redden with anger.
The captain of the hockey team, Rick Nelson, laughs. 'Yeah? Says who? You, Manboobs? The one and only who got completely screwed by this lovely little thing in sophomore year when she claimed you were going to have to play daddy. Ha!' Rick mocks and the pack laughs.
Finn starts to rise, not allowing anyone to talk like that about him or any of his friends, especially not Quinn, but he stops short as he feels Rachel's hand on his arm, gently pulling him back down. He knows his girlfriend is right; picking a fight with half the hockey team right here, right now, in front of everybody is not a very wise thing to do.
The hockey guys smirk, all of them. 'Maybe I'll give you a call, Fabray, next time I have an itch I want scratched . . . or a test I want the answers for . . . maybe you could sleep with the teacher – get me the key. A win-win for everyone.' Rick wiggles his eyebrows in a gesture that no one can misinterpret, not even Brittany. 'See ya!' the jock says and then he and his buddies leave the Glee kids completely in shock.
Quinn is staring right out into space. She doesn't get it. What the heck was he talking about? Why is everybody staring at her? She shakes her head; as if doing so would cause her to wake up from this bad, weird, dream. Because it has got to be a dream right? She feels a hand on her shoulder, looks up and sees Kurt watching her with compassion. 'I'm sorry,' he manages. Shaking her head again, she stands up. She opens her mouth as if there is something she wants to say, but then she changes her mind and storms out of the cafeteria.
Mercedes buries her head in her hands as Quinn disappears out of view. 'I feel like such an idiot!' she exclaims.
'There was nothing you could have done to prevent this,' Rachel tries, unaware of the truth behind the story.
The taller diva shakes her head. 'I should have not taken that damn photo in the first place!'
'That was you?' Santana exclaims upset, suddenly feeling a strong urge to rip the African American girl's head off. 'You took that photo?' Mercedes shrugs, looking completely beat down. She doesn't know what else to say. 'So culera falsa!' Santana growls and leaves the table as well.
Kurt just shakes his head. 'Damn what a mess,' he sighs.
There is a firm knock on the door. Being only semi-conscious Quinn figures that the disturbing pounding on the hard wood is just delusions made up by her over-tired mind. Besides she isn't expecting any visitors. And her mom isn't home so it cannot be anyone seeking her.
But as the knocking continues even after she has closed her eyes and tried to think about something else, she feel like she has no other choice than to go and open it. She gets up and heads towards the door, dressed in pajama pants and an old white tee. Through the small frosted glass window in the door she can see the contours of a rather slim and not that tall figure. It rules out the lady next door, who sometimes drops by to say hello.
She pulls the door open to find Santana standing on the porch. The Latina is not dressed in her usual cheerleading outfit but in a beige long sleeved shirt and dark blue denims. 'Santana, hey,' Quinn says halfheartedly, not in the mood to hang out with the raven haired girl at the moment.
'Q,' Santana mumbles, 'can I come in?' Usually the cocky girl would have just forced her way pass Quinn, but apparently not today. The blonde shrugs and steps aside, allowing the Latina entrance. 'Sooo?' Santana walks into the living room and sinks into one of the overstuffed couches. 'How are you doing?'
Quinn takes a seat on the other couch. 'Good. Why do you ask?' she says suspiciously. Though in the back of her head, she already knows what the Latina is referring to.
'Just curious, you know,' Santana shrugs, trying to come off as nonchalant.
She is so lying to me right now; she doesn't do thoughtfulness like this . . . 'Really?'
'No,' the answer comes bluntly.
Quinn crosses her arms over her chest. 'That's what I thought.'
'You have very high thoughts about me, don't you?' Santana mumbles and flings her long legs over the armrest of the couch so that they are dangling free in the air about a few inches over the floor.
'There are reasons.'
'Yeah?' Santana queers, trying to sounds surprised and offended.
'Mm-hm.'
'Oh . . .'
Aw, cut the crap! 'What do you want?' Quinn tries again, this time more resolute.
Santana sigh softly. 'Honestly. I'm worried about you, Q.'
The blonde raises an eyebrow at the statement. 'What? Why?'
Now it's Santana's turn to arc an eyebrow. 'Perhaps because of what happened today at lunch. Perhaps because of what went on with you right after we got back to school after the summer. You're a wreck, Quinn.' Quinn's eyes drop to the floor, but she says nothing.
Instead of wasting time and letting the situation turn into one of awkward silence Santana pops the question on her mind right away. Like a bomb. Better get the big elephant out of the room before it becomes too humongous that it uses up all the fresh air, the Latina points out to herself. 'Are you sleeping with Mr. Eaton?'
Quinn snaps her head towards her friend. 'No! Absolutely not!' Santana keeps watching her with disbelief in her dark eyes. 'No! I am not sleeping with our English teacher! Oh my God, Santana!' The raven haired girl slowly shakes her head. 'Santana!' Quinn pleads.
'What we saw, Quinn, kind of spoke for itself.'
Quinn shakes her head in confusion. 'What do you mean, Santana?'
Santana reaches into her Cheerios jacket and withdraws her iPhone. Entering the inbox for text messages she scrolls down for the right conversation and selects it. She hands the phone to Quinn. 'What the hell were you thinking, Q?' she asks in a tone that almost sounds disappointed.
The conversation, or rather the text, contains a simple photo with a short text attached to it. Fabray's fishing for real piece of meat. Slut. Quinn squeezes her eyes shut. This can't be happening!
Santana reaches out and takes the iPhone away from her friend, sets it on the coffee table and scoots closer to her. Putting an arm around her friend's shoulder she says, 'If it helps, I actually believes you.' The blonde girl takes one deep, but ragged, breath as she tries to keep herself together. She leans against Santana's shoulder. 'We'll get to them,' Santana insures her, pointing out that she is the schools expert when it comes to pay-backs, but Quinn only shakes her head.
'It won't make it better,' she says in a wary voice.
'You won't know until you try it.'
Quinn sighs. 'I have, so many times, and not once has it made me feel better. Rather the opposite.' The black haired girl gently rubs circles on Quinn's back.
After a moment of silence Quinn speaks up. 'Who sent it?' she asks, breaking loose from Santana to look directly into her eyes. The hesitation is obvious in the Latina's eyes. 'Santana, please.'
She sighs. 'I got it from Brittany.' Upon seeing Quinn's devastated face she quickly ads, 'who got it from one of the girls in her the drama class.' The blonde girl let her sad eyes sweep around the room. How could you be so stupid? And then it hits her. Sam. Sam saw them.
'Who, who sent the first one?' she asks upset, tears threatening to spill over. She can't believe this is happening. Santana doesn't say anything. 'Who sent it? Was it Sam?' She has gone from upset to angry. 'Tell me! Did he send the text?' She is close to screaming out the last words.
Santana slowly shakes her head. 'No.' She takes a deep breath. 'No, Sam didn't.'
Quinn swallows hard, trying to restrain herself. 'Then who did?' The rage hasn't yet boiled off. 'Say it!'
'I don't—'
'Say it!' Tears are now flooding down the blonde's cheeks, leaving wet silver trails behind.
'Mercedes,' she blurts, but immediately after spilling the name Santana seem to want nothing but to be able to sink right through the ground. She might be bad-ass but she doesn't tattle on others, especially not on people that are supposed to be her friends. Quinn just stares straight ahead. 'I don't think she wrote that stuff though,' Santana tries. She is not very fond of the black diva, but she has honestly had enough of all the cat fights. At least of those she is not involved in.
'It doesn't matter,' the blonde mumbles while wiping her tears away.
'What?' Santana asks shocked, both by the words Quinn just uttered but also by the fact that her friend just went from boiling rage to complete indifference in just a split second.
'It doesn't matter,' Quinn repeats dryly. The raven haired girl blinks confused. 'I'm done with her. She's a nobody.' Santana can hear that even though Quinn seems to have calmed down, whether it's just a façade or not that she has put on; those words are hard to utter. Santana knows that deep down inside Quinn could never hate Mercedes. The black girl was at one point the only person Quinn had left to turn to since being kicked out by her parents. Mercedes had even let Quinn live with her. You don't just forget about such a sweet and generous action. You just don't.
'I'm so sorry, Quinn . . .'
The said girl levels her gaze back onto her friend. 'Thanks.' Her voice is weak, once again.
'Come on, Q, let's get high on Ben & Jerry's and listen to heartbreaking music.' A cheap attempt of Santana's to cheer her friend up.
It causes Quinn to smile though, despite Santana's expectations. 'Yeah. Let's raid the freezer.'
Already halfway through the door to the kitchen Santana stops, turns around and smiles, it's a tricky one. 'Why'd you think it was Froggy Lips?'
'What?' Quinn asks, completely caught off guard by the question. 'Uh . . . I kind of . . . he came and sat with me when Brian was out talking on the phone.' Santana gazes at her suspiciously, as if she didn't quite buy the explanation. 'And then Brian walked back in, while Sam was there. And . . . and then he stormed out.'
'Who? Brian?'
'Sam.'
Santana raises an eyebrow. 'Sometimes I wonder how the hell you can get all those fine grades . . . Perhaps you do all of your teachers . . .'
Quinn frowns. 'What?'
'You're so blind, it's almost cute.' The Latina enjoys the confused look on her friends face. As Quinn parts her lips, starting to say something, Santana just rolls her eyes dramatically and continues. 'He's about as over you as you are with him.'
'Wha . . . uh-uh . . . I'm . . . He's—'
'Yeah, exactly.' Santana nods and hands Quinn a spoon and a carton of Ben & Jerry Chocolate Fudge Brownies. Then she grabs one Strawberry Cheesecake for herself. 'Bon appétit!'
When the news of what went down in the cafeteria this lunch reached him he was already at home, popping a DVD in for his two younger siblings. It was Finn that called him. Honestly he couldn't quite understand why the brunette boy found it so important that Sam would have to know about Quinn's encounter with the boys of the hockey team, but needless to say, he was glad that Finn had called him.
He selects 'play full movie' in the menu and listens as the film begins before he runs up the stairs to his room and gets his phone, his jacket and wallet. Back downstairs again he checks so that the stove or oven is not turned on, all the windows are closed and locked and that the phone is where it should be in case the kids would have to make a call. Is it like this it feels to have kids on your own? A constant worry that something might happened to them. He kisses Stacy goodbye and ruffles Stevie's hair. The boy doesn't like when Sam kisses him.
He doesn't like leaving the kids alone like this, even if he knows that his parents will be home in fifteen minutes. Still it doesn't feel right. Reluctantly he heads out through the front door and carefully locks it behind him. Turning back to the house one last time to make sure everything looks fine. No open windows, the door's closed and locked. Then he heads for the closest bus stop. Since the family only owns one car now, and his father took it to work this morning, Sam has to settle for public transport.
It takes him about thirty minutes to get to the football field where Finn has asked them to meet. When he gets there though, it's not Finn that he sees first, but Puck. The ridiculously ripped bad boy is enjoying himself by throwing stones at birds that persist to land in the center of the field. Sam is pretty impressed by the accuracy of the pitches. Probably four of nine stones hit its targets, and considering the distance of which he throws the rocks and the fact that he is aiming at living, moving, targets, that is pretty damn good.
'Hey, man!' the boy in the Mohawk mumbles as Sam enters the field.
'Hey,' Sam mumbles back. 'What are you doing here?'
'What does it look like, stupid.'
Sam ignores the cheeky answer. 'Have you spoken to Finn?'
Puck stops throwing stones at the birds and leans back on the grandstand. 'No, why would I?'
'Maybe because he's your best friend,' Sam points out, sitting down besides Puck.
'So? We're not girls.'
'He told me to go here.' Sam picks up a stone of his own, throwing it across the field, aiming at nothing in particular.
'You suck!' Puck points out.
Confused the blonde boy asks, 'What?'
'If you aimed at that bird, you freaking suck, man.'
Sam chuckles. 'I didn't aim at the bird.'
'Why'd he tell you to go here?' Puck jumps back to the previous topic of conversation.
'I . . . Honestly, I don't know,' Sam says and throws another rock.
'You're dating now?' Puck offers, a sick smile on his face.
Sam laughs. 'Ugh! Hell no!'
Sighing loudly the boy with the Mohawk leans back on the grandstand again. He starts picking at a rip in his baggy Levi's. 'You've heard, right?' A thread breaks and he starts picking at the next. 'About Quinn?'
I was there for goodness sake! Stop reminding me. Sam nods. 'Yeah, I have.'
'It's not her, you know.' The voice of the otherwise so tough receiver is rather low and filled with compassion. Sam has known since the first time he met Puck that the boy still had some feelings left for the beautiful ex-cheerleader, though it is not until now that he realizes how deep those emotions really are. Dare he say it, or even think it? Is Noah Puckerman still in love with Quinn Fabray?
'I know.'
'Who sent it to you?' Puck asks, still picking at the loose thread in his pants. It too is going to break at any moment.
Sam sighs. 'Karofsky. Who sent it to you?'
'Mike.' The blonde boy nods slowly. He doesn't know what to say next. 'I kinda feel like I have to do something . . .' Puck suddenly says. Sam arcs a confused eyebrow. What would that something be? Beat up the moron who got the photo circling or persuading Quinn into some encouragement-sex?
'Hey, Sam, sorry I'm late!' the two boys suddenly hear Finn call from behind them. 'Hi, Puck!' the quarterback adds when he notices the boy with the Mohawk.
'Hey,' Sam says.
'Finn,' Puck simply greets him.
'You look true gritted,' Finn points out and toss the football that he has brought to Puck. None of the boys says anything. 'I thought we could practice some pitching and receiving.' Finn gestures by pretending to throw away a ball. 'Football season is soon kicking off, you know.'
Sam and Puck glance at each other. 'You've heard, right?' Puck queers as he tosses the football back to Finn.
Finn knits his eyebrows together. 'Heard what?'
Seriously, can someone be more stupid? 'About Quinn, you moron.'
'Oh . . . yeah, I've heard.' Puck arcs an eyebrow as if asking "And?". Sam is shifting his glance between Finn and Puck. 'I feel sorry for her, but honestly, there's not much I can do. She kind of put herself in this situation.' He throws the ball to Sam who catches it easily.
Puck snorts and shakes his head. 'What?' Finn asks irritated.
Puck walks closer to Finn. 'Don't you care? Huh? Don't you feel—'
'Hey, guys!' Sam bellows and steps in between the two football players. 'Cool it off! Both of you!' Puck shots an angry eye at Finn, who mutters something incoherent while shaking his head. Sam places the ball in Finn's hands. 'I thought you had more dignity than this, man,' he mumbles as he leaves the field. Puck and Finn both stand fixed, watching the blonde head up the grandstand.
Puck shoots Finn another angry look. 'You're so careless, dude.' Then he leaves too.
Finn is left behind, standing alone on the field with the football in his hand. He blinks in confusion a couple of times. What did he do wrong? He just wanted to practice some football. Get his mind off of all the drama in school. Why did they have to overreact like that?
Author's note
To begin with I'd like to thank you for reading this and I want to send a special thanks to those who review my story. Your comments mean a lot to me! :)
I would also like to apologize if I had you confused with the ending of the last chapter. I hope this chapter answers some of the questions that the last chapter might have raised ;)
