A/N: Somebody asked me how long I thought this was going to be.. my answer: I have no frigging clue. I'm starting to think I should have written an outline or something, because right now I just have a collection of thoughts for scenes and an eventual conclusion, but haven't made up my mind about it yet. It took 9 chapters to get through a week and I sort of want to go the whole school year, but that's either going to turn this into a novel or require a lot of skipping around, and right now I'm undecided which way it'll go.

Also, my Brittana is showing in this chapter, I apologize. Kind of, but not really.

Chapter 10

Tuesday night. I was sitting on my bed, propped up by a couple pillows, flipping through a magazine. Quinn was sitting opposite me, with my foot resting on her knee. She was frowning in concentration, applying an autumnal shade of orange to my toes.

"How exactly did you talk me into this, again?" She asked, and I glanced up. I offered her my sweetest, most charming smile, and she just tilted her head.

"I told you, Quinn. Some of us were more privileged than others growing up. I can't help it, I'm like an orphaned Haitian baby." I shrugged helplessly at her. "Is it my fault I never learned how to paint my own toe nails? Is it my fault my mother never took the time to teach me how to adequately buff and polish? No, she just threw me at a nail salon every other week since I grew boobs." I sighed dramatically. "It's kind of tragic if you think about it. I never had the experience of bonding with my mother. I feel really neglected."

Quinn rolled her eyes but she couldn't quite suppress a smirk. "You poor, pitiful thing."

I wiggled my toes at her. "I'm honestly amazed that you know how to do it. I thought, for a long time, that only Chinese women possessed the ability to properly apply nail polish. But you're doing a good job," I added, reassuringly, because she frowned down at my toes.

"Yeah, yeah. You're so helpless." Quinn said it a little wonderingly, like it came as a bit of a shock.

"Quinn, because I lack the knowledge of how to preform menial tasks does not make me helpless." I flipped the page in my magazine. "After all, there's always someone, somewhere, who will know how to do it, and I'll pay them."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "It's ridiculous, Santana. You're also a slob. It's like living with a child."

I quirked a brow at her. "Quinn. I have a cleaning lady. We went over this."

Quinn huffed. "Yes, and I reiterate: I am not your cleaning lady. Therefore, since Rosa isn't here—"

"Her name is Danika, and I think that's a little racist of you—"

"—Whatever, since she isn't here, you need to learn how to clean up your own mess."

I looked at Quinn with my lips tilted slightly down, an expression I learned had an assuaging effect on her. It was partway between a pout and a frown, and it usually softened her. Not this time. She kept her face fixed in an expression of incredulity and slight disdain, and something else which I could only describe as her "mommy look."

I huffed, slapping the magazine closed. "Quinn, I said that I'll pay you. Really. I'm not joking. My dad upped my monthly allowance since I'm not there for Danika to clean up after. My mom also said she'd give me money to get my nails and hair did." I nodded.

Quinn scrunched her nose at me, then leaned down to blow on my toes. It caused little unexpected sparks to jolt up my feet and twitch along the nerves located in my midsection. I widened my eyes with surprise. "That never happens whenever Ming-na does that," I muttered.

"What?" Quinn said, distractedly.

"Oh, uh, nothing." I scowled down at the magazine.

"You're really just going to have to learn how to take care of yourself," Quinn said into the silence, and I groaned. Why was Quinn so damnably persistent in her thinking? I'm too used to Brittany flitting from topic to topic like a hummingbird. I guess I sort of picked up on it, because clearly I change subjects enough to make Quinn uncomfortable. I think she probably thinks I'm just dodging them – and maybe sometimes I am – but generally I do it without thinking about it.

"Quinn," I said, pleadingly. She cut me off.

"No excuses, Santana!" She glared at me and switched to the second foot. "It's kind of pathetic, you're what, sixteen? And you don't even know how to fold a towel." She gave me a pitying look. "These are basic tasks you'll need to survive in the world. I bet even Brittany knows how to do more stuff than you."

I frowned. "Yeah, she does. But Quinn, it's because she had to learn how to do that stuff to survive. I'm still unsure how she can get my microwave to work, honestly, but she does it without fail." I shrugged, crossing my arms over my chest. "There's something I want to talk to you about."

Quinn raised a brow, glancing up from the toe she was currently working on, and met my eyes levelly. "Yeah?"

"Um, well, this is probably just going to give you more reason to think that you're right.." I sighed, glancing around the room. "Well, I'm out of underwear. It's kind of a code red situation. I need my laundry done."

Quinn just stared at me, slightly baffled. "Why don't you go do it, then?"

I stared back at her. "Sorry, Blondie, but not only do I have no idea where the laundry room is, I also have no idea how those giant contraptions work. They sort of look like ovens, but there's no burners.. and just.." I shrugged helplessly.

Quinn closed her eyes, took a deep breath, let it out, then opened them. "Santana. There is something wrong with you."

I laughed, because the look of sheer disbelief mixed with slight horror on Quinn's face was pretty funny. "Just show me how to do it. And how to fold the clothes."

Quinn scowled, running the edge of her nail along the cuticle of my pinky toe to wick away the excess polish. She leaned down to blow again and I had to resist the urge to curl my toes and roll my eyes in the back of my head.

"All right, I'll help you do your laundry. Once. And after that, we're going to finish unpacking all your bags."

I groaned. "Quinn, I told you, I'm fine with living out of duffle bags. I barely know how to hang a shirt on a hanger, I have no idea how to hang up skirts. Danika always just gives them to me already ready."

"You might be fine with it, but I'm not! This mess is driving me crazy!" Quinn had a weird look on her face, and I paused a moment to examine her, and then the room.

Okay, so it was a little messy. But not too bad. Her side was impeccable, everything neatly done, even down the blankets on the bed being folded and creased. My side had knick-knacks strewn across my computer desk, random socks and pens and wads of paper scattered along the floor.

"Quinn, I'm beginning to think you might have a slight case of the crazies, a la Emma Pillsbury."

She squinted at me, and I had to fight down the urge to back away quickly. Too bad I was already pressed up against the wall, and she had ahold of my foot.. because whenever Quinn gets that dangerous look, I sort of feel like she's about to skin somebody.

"Okay, okay," I said, holding my hands up in front of me. "I'll clean it up. I'll learn all those peasant tasks, like doing laundry and folding clothes. I'll even try figure out how to work a vacuum cleaner." I winced. "But don't expect me to graduate to even more degrading chores like cleaning the bathroom. Blech."

Quinn appeared satisfied with our compromise, because she leaned back and looked around, seeming to collect her thoughts. "Oh, and microwaves are easy, Santana."

"Not mine!" I replied defensively. "It's gigantic, and there's like fifty buttons. Sometimes when you bush a button, nothing happens.. then other times if you push the exact same button it comes on. It's possessed." I didn't explain that Brittany knew how to work every dang combination of settings on the thing. I had almost cried once because I wanted to eat a bag of popcorn and nobody was home to help me figure it out, and Britt wouldn't answer her phone. I got emotional, both due to the frustration of being outsmarted by a minor appliance and because I was PMSing, so I was giving in to the salt and carb craving, knowing Coach Sylvester would have my ass over it in the morning. After going through the emotional torture of weighing the punishment of eating the popcorn, deciding to do it anyway, and then to be thwarted by a stupid mechanical device? It really irked my nerves.

Quinn looked at me like she couldn't quite believe me, and as if she thought perhaps I was trying to pull a trick on her or something. "No one can be that inept. Really. It isn't possible."

I frowned, glancing down at my crossed arms, and shrugged, because it sort of hurt my feelings – and my pride – that Quinn was acting so amazed and stupefied by this. So what, I don't know how to turn on a washing machine? It's not like I've ever had the opportunity to do my own laundry.

When I looked back up at her she was smiling gently, and she began squeezing my foot beneath her palms, kneading her fingers into the meat of my foot. I fought back the urge to smile at her, because her words still sort of stung, but she was making up for it with the massage. Still, I didn't want her to think she was off the hook that easy.

"I'm sorry," Quinn said softly, though her eyes belied her intent. Before I could think to respond, she was lifting my foot and she then pressed a gentle kiss along the instep.

"Ahh!" I squeaked and then jerked my foot away from her, rolling my toes against the combination tickle-arousal that erupted with her kiss. "I don't think so, Q."

She chuckled, and in a swift movement had my alternate foot locked in her hands. She wasn't trying to kiss it, though, she was just rubbing her fingers along the instep and bottom.

It made me crazy. "Ah, oh my god, Quinn, let go! Let go!" I was dying. It tickled too much. Way, way too much. I was laughing and flailing around, but Quinn had a vice grip, and I resorted to nudging at her forcefully with my other leg, trying to pry her off my foot. I was gasping in laughter, trying to wrench myself away, but it wasn't working. She had locked my foot underneath one arm and was dancing the fingers of her opposite hand up and down the bottom of it, consumed with her own laughter.

I was getting really desperate, so I started to claw at the comforter, crawling away from her, and with swift, quick jerks, I finally dislodged my foot. I collapsed on the bed, gasping, and rolled into a tight ball, my feet aimed away from her. "No me gusta, se mudo rubia," I muttered into the blankets with an injured expression. When I felt the bed shift, I tensed, ready to spring away if she was going in for a second attack. My eyes were big when I looked at her, my muscles coiled.

"I only have one year of Spanish under my belt, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't flattering," Quinn said musingly, and she swept the hair away from my ear, and began to run her fingertip along the edge of it, delicately. It started the nerves in my body humming, heat flushing down my beck and face. I still scowled, refusing to give in to apology via seduction.

I swatted her hand away, annoyed.

"Oh, you big baby," Quinn said, mockingly, and then leaned down to kiss my cheek. "I won't tickle you anymore, okay? Can we stop pouting now and go do your laundry?"

I narrowed my eyes at her, thinking about it. "I suppose. But I'm still mad at you."

Quinn rolled her eyes good-naturedly, then pushed herself off my bed and helped me up, too. "I guess I'll have to just soldier on through that huge let down. I mean, how will my world turn, with Santana Lopez mad at me?" She asked with an exaggerated tone, like one of those announcers for Guiding Light. "I'll persevere, though."

I ignored her, digging around in my duffle bags and the piles of clothes on the floor, collecting them up in my arms.

"People only put up with you because you're hot, you know," Quinn told me in a lecturing tone. I lifted my eyebrow at her. "If you weren't, then you'd get your ass beat five times a day."

I rolled my eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, Barbie Doll, I actually do the ass beating."

Quinn laughed. "So far. One day, though, you'll come across somebody who's badder than you, and you'll have your ass handed to you." She smirked. "I'd love to see that."

"You're so kinky, Fabray."

I laughed at her shocked expression.

Xxxx

The next morning, I was putting the final touches on my makeup when I felt my phone buzzing against my leg from within my skirt pocket. I fished it out, raised my eyebrows at the caller ID, then clicked the answer button. "Heya, Britt. I don't have a lot of time—"

She cut me off, and her tone was hurried and emotional. "Santana, I think I'm pregnant."

My heart dropped. I slowly put down the eyeliner pencil I was using to darken my eyebrows, because my hand suddenly began to shake. "Okay, Britt. Take a deep breath. How is that possible? I took you to get the Depo shot, like, four months ago." I counted back in my head to make sure. "It should still be good for two more months."

"I know, Santana, but.. there's this stork building a nest on top of my garage. So I started to try to remember when I had my last period. I can't remember." It sounded like she was going to cry, and my heart slowly broke in half. I felt like I was standing on top of a mountain, and my gut was swirling in sick, nauseous little bubbles. Everything felt slightly out of focus, blurry, and I had to fight to breathe normally.

"It can't have been that long ago," I said, tensely. "I remember.. it was like July. Maybe." I pressed my fingers into the flesh of my forehead, as if forcing the information to appear there. "Or June. Fuck. Who were you even sleeping with in June?"

Brittany's voiced hitched over the phone, and I could tell she couldn't handle the question or the strain in my tone. "I'm sorry, Brittany," I murmured soothingly. "It's going to be okay. I promise. Please go right now to a CVS Pharmacy and pick up a pregnancy test. Pee on it in the bathroom there. Then let me know what it says." I shut my eyes, because if I didn't then I knew I'd break down.

"O-okay. Will you please text me those instructions, because I might forget." Brittany said. She sounded a little calmer, but not by much.

"It's going to be okay either way, Britt Britt," I said in a gentle tone. "Either way, we'll figure it out. So don't freak out." I remembered that whenever Brittany freaked out, she'd hide in a corner or a closet for hours, sometimes days. That just wasn't healthy – especially if the test turns out positive.

I hung up the phone, set it down carefully on the marble vanity, and then slid to the floor with my back against the bathroom wall. I rested my arms on my knees and my face on my arms, taking deep, even breaths. I desperately tried to remember who Brittany might have been doing the nasty with over the summer – other than me, of course – but my mind was drawing a blank. Surely she'd had a period since the last time I remembered her being on it, right?

I knew that it wasn't at all the same thing, but I felt a similar panic to what I might experience if I ever thought I was pregnant. I shut my eyes tight against that scary thought, because it was enough to think of poor Brittany like that. Me? I'd get an abortion. Hate me for it if you want, but no way could I deal with the shame of a teen pregnancy.

After a few steadying moments wedged between the floor and the wall of the bathroom, I slowly climbed to my feet, even though my legs felt like rubber. I unlocked my cell phone and tapped some easy directions to Brittany.

-Go 2 pharmacy. Get pregnancy test. MAKE SURE IT IS A PREGNANCY TEST. Go 2 bathroom in pharmacy. READ THE TEST INSTRUCTIONS. Pee on pregnancy test. TXT ME A PIC OF THE RESULT.

I felt a little bad for "yelling" at her via text message, but this was serious business. I felt so angry and frustrated that I wasn't there with her, to help her. Part of me felt like this was going to be an agonizing experience, because what if Brittany picks up some other kind of weird pee test? Like one that tells you if your pee is normal? That one might come up positive. Or what if it's, like, an over the counter drug test or something? That one (probably) would be negative. I felt helpless and impatient. I just needed to know.

Because if it was positive, everything would change.

Brittany is more than just my friend, she's like the other half of me. Any of her problems are in turn my problems, and I sort of view it as my job to take care of her problems for her, so she has less to worry about. It's been that protective instinct that has shaped us into the friends we are today. And I just didn't know if Brittany would go through with an abortion, or even with an adoption like Quinn did.

I left the bathroom, thinking about ways I could try to trick her into having an abortion.. but they were just crazy, idle thoughts. No way I'd ever do that to her.

Britt texted me back. –Wat if im l8 for skool?

-Britt, omg. Pee test is way more important. Skip 1st hour if you have to.

I locked my phone and shoved it in my bra, where I'd be more likely to feel the buzz of an incoming text. Glancing around the room, I realized Quinn had already left. She'd left me a latte on my computer desk and my backpack, neatly zipped, resting on the bed beside it. I smiled idly at the gesture, grabbing the coffee and shoving my backpack onto my shoulders.

I walked down the hallway of our dormitory, completely absorbed in the thought of what Brittany was doing now. Classes start sooner at Atherton than they do at McKinley, so she still had about an hour before she had to be at school. I wondered if she was already dressed, had her makeup done, her Cheerio outfit on – I was trying to decide if she was already driving or if I'd have to sit through a whole period of Mrs. Weinstein blathering about the ancient Greeks before I found out.

I didn't notice her at first, because typically I don't make eye contact with cretins, but I heard her offhand remark – it was loud enough that I knew it was meant for me to hear, but directed at another girl.

"Bet she's a scholarship student. Doubt she even speaks English. Hey, why don't you crawl back into the boat with your family and go back to those islands of yours?"

My head whipped to her, lightning-fast, and her group of friends snickered. She was tall and blonde, just like everyone here, but her face had a mean cast to it. I lifted a brow. "What did you say to me?"

She laughed. "You heard me. Scuttle back across the border. I'm so sick of all these wetbacks coming in, taking away jobs from Americans, and their brats getting a free meal ticket." She had her hands fisted on her hips, her head cocked. There were two girls standing behind her, both with varying shades of blonde hair, who laughed. "My dad had to work to pay for my education. Why should you get it for free?"

I looked at her for a moment, wondering if she was completely insane, and then looked down at the hot drink I held in my hand. It was kind of like magic, the way it jumped from my palm and splattered all over the other girl. I didn't even pause to allow her time to react before I leapt at her, knocking her down, slamming her head against the hardwood floor with a sickening crack.

Xxxx

It was hours later, and I was sitting before the guidance counselor, probably the only man in the employ of Atherton Academy. His name plate read: Todd Neely. Mr. Neely. It sounded a little wanky, but I didn't think this was the appropriate place to point that out.

He steepled his fingers in front of him, elbows resting on his desk, and peered at me. He had curly brown hair that was kinda Jewfro-like, and also reminded me of Mr. Shue's macaroni hair. "Miss Lopez, do you have anything to say?"

I just shrugged, palms upward. The altercation happened in a blur, and I barely remembered it. It was one of the most intense fights I'd ever gotten into – mostly because I had been attacking with a seriousness I generally lacked. Usually, whenever girls fight, they don't really intend to injure one another. Not this time. I wanted to smash that girl's pretty blonde face in. I nearly succeeded, before some teacher grabbed me around the middle and hefted me away from her. Her. Her name was Mildred Birmingham, and she was a senior.

"She started it." It was lame, and I doubted anybody here would begin to believe me. But right now, I just didn't care. I felt oddly disconnected from reality, like this was happening far away, not to myself.

Mr. Neely cleared his throat, glancing down at the paper in front of him. I had already seen the principal and the Junior Dean, but when I proved to be "remarkably unresponsive" they sent me here. I bet they thought I was mentally retarded or some kind of closet nutcase, and I might go all Columbine on them or something.

"That fact is still up for debate. She is claiming you attacked her, unprovoked."

I sneered. "Typical. Of course she'd say that." I rolled my eyes. "Can I go now?"

"Young lady, there are serious repercussions to your actions. You injured another student, and she is speaking about pressing charges." He looked at me with kind eyes, but I wanted nothing more than to get up and leave this stuffy office. "You could be expelled."

I shrugged. Good, I don't belong here.

He sighed. "I have no other choice than to schedule a meeting with your parents at their soonest convenience. We're opening an investigation into the matter, Miss Lopez, but if it isn't found to be in your favor we'll have to move to more strict disciplinary action." He adjusted a pair of glasses on his face, reading from the papers in front of him. "Until then, you'll have in-school suspension for a week, and Miss Birmingham has requested that her dorm room be moved, to avoid having to cross paths with you again." His eyes flicked to mine, and I wondered if there was a hint of admiration there? I couldn't be sure. It was puzzling.

"Good." It was all I could think to say. I knew if the opportunity arose, I would finish things with Mildred. Far from being intimidated by punishment, it was actually kind of exciting – to think I might have a surefire way out of here, back to Lima. Hot damn. Why hadn't I thought of this before now?

I stood up, collecting my backpack, because I was ready to go back to my dorm, or outside, or wherever. I was tired of talking to adults. Not as if they actually listened to anything anyone said.

I was surprised to see Miss Holiday standing outside the office, and when she noticed I was standing, she pushed the door open and entered.

"Mr. Neely, I'd like to discuss what happened earlier, between Miss Lopez and Miss Birmingham." Her tone was polite and even, but she flashed me a reassuring smile.

Mr. Neely glanced between us, puzzlement etched on his face. He looked at me and then gave a brief nod, dismissing me. "I'll be in touch, Miss Lopez."

I left, glancing at Miss Holiday wonderingly. "Wait, Santana," She said before the door closed. I propped it open, turning back to her. "Don't forget to check your e-mail."

I nodded. It was Wednesday, the day we were to get the results of our Vox auditions. I had to fight back a dry laugh, because I doubt even if they let me stay here, that they'd want me in their little show choir. I rolled my eyes. Or even worse, they do let me on, but Mildred is also a part of it. Kill me.

I walked outside onto the courtyard, which was absolutely deserted, because everyone was in class. It was nearing lunch time, however, so I knew there'd be a flood of students soon. I reached inside my bra, surprised to find the screen to my phone still intact. I sat down at one of the picnic tables. With a rush of trepidation, I clicked the phone on and read the four messages I had from Brittany.

The first was a picture of the pregnancy test, still in its box. –This 1?

With growing anxiety, I clicked to the next message. –Ths is complicated. I got pee on myself.

The next one, a picture of the pregnancy test. –Wat does it say?

-Santana? Wat does it say?

I stared at the picture, quickly tapping it and enlarging it. It had two lines. What the fuck did that mean? I scrubbed my palm over my face, because I just couldn't tell.

-Fuck, Britt. I don't know. Is it supposed to have a :) or something?

I wanted to cry. I had no idea how to read the pregnancy test, and couldn't, without the box or the instructions. Wait! The box! I quickly scrolled back up to the picture she'd sent me. I enlarged it, and read the fine print: EASY TO READ RESULTS! + IS POSITIVE!

I flipped back to the picture of the pregnancy test, and stared at the blue lines. They were both vertical, but they didn't look to have a plus sign through either one. Still, the picture was blurry and dim, and the lines were hard to read.

-Brittany, buy a digital one. Seriously. One that says "pregnant" or "not pregnant."

Who knew pregnancy tests were so fucking complicated?

I sighed, setting my phone down on the table in front of me, and crossed my arms, laying my face against them. I just wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and get away from everything. This was too much pressure for one girl to handle.

Before long, crowds of girls started trickling out on the courtyard, but I ignored them. I wasn't hungry, even though I hadn't had breakfast yet either. My phone buzzed, and I snatched it up.

-Where you at?

It was from Quinn. I sighed, because I knew she was going to make this whole 'fight' business way worse than it already was.

-Outside.

A few minutes later, she appeared, squinting her eyes against the midday sunlight. Her hair was flat ironed and perfectly sleek against her head, pink shading over blonde. She held a tray in her hand, and she sat down across from me. Wordlessly, she set a bottle of water in front of me, along with a paper tray of French fries.

"That's worthless starch," I told her, because it was a reflex. I hadn't had a French fry in so long I almost forgot that they tasted like. It was out of pure curiosity that I decided to munch on one. The rest of them were gone within three minutes.

"So," Quinn began, biting into a sandwich. "I heard about what happened."

I winced. "Yeah, she was running her mouth."

Quinn studied me, her gaze a little cold. "Santana, you cracked her skull. Like, she might have brain damage."

"Fat chance." I scoffed. "You have to have a brain in order to have it damaged. Besides, that's just a rumor at this point. Her medical status hasn't been released."

Quinn's eyes were still disapproving. "What got in to you? If I had known you were going to use that latte as a weapon, I would have never gotten it for you." She let out a little huff. "I can't leave you anywhere."

I sneered at her, because I really wasn't in the mood for her sanctimonious crap right now. "Q, don't you worry about me. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

Quinn tilted her head at me. "No, all I see in front of me is a little child who returns words with slaps."

I saw red, and for one blinding second I thought about jumping across the table and slapping her smug face. "What's it to you, anyway?" I snapped, breathing through clenched teeth.

"Santana, you're too smart to do things like get yourself expelled for fighting." She said it patiently, like she was talking to a kid. It sounded suspiciously like a lecture.

"Just leave it alone, Quinn. It's already done." I crumpled up the paper tray the fries were on, then tossed it away, disgusted.

We sat in silence, Quinn eating her sandwich, and me staring at the table. My mind kept circling back to Brittany, who wasn't texting me.

"Fuck!" I said suddenly, then grabbed my phone and opened it to Brittany's text. "Quinn, you have experience with this, what does it look like to you?" I shoved the phone at her.

Quinn took it, perplexed, furrowing her brows. "Uh, a pregnancy test-? Why-?"

"What does it say!" I almost shouted.

"Uhh.. negative, I think." She paused. "But it's hard to say."

I let out a little breath. "Okay. All right." Pressure that I hadn't even been aware of released, slightly.

"Brittany." Quinn said, knowingly. There was zero judgment in her voice, though, for which I was glad. I didn't think I could take that right now.

"She needs to go to a doctor." Quinn said. I nodded.

"Yeah. I know. She's going to take another one and then.." I shrugged. I didn't know how to deal with this.

Quinn quirked a brow at me. "Is that why you got so pissed at that senior? Because your girlfriend might be pregnant?"

I slapped my hand down on the table in front of me, rattling Quinn's tray. "Brittany is not my girlfriend!" I hissed, with more vehemence than I intended.

Quinn held up her hands in front of her with a look of mild shock. "Whatever you say, Santana."

The bell that signaled the end of lunch rang, and Quinn gathered up her tray, even bending down to pick up the French fry tray I'd thrown on the ground. She lifted an eyebrow at me as I sat there, not making any movements to leave. "Are you coming?" We had the next class together.

"No. I'm suspended from classes for a week." I rolled my eyes. "Some punishment."

Quinn studied my face. I was picking at the table restlessly. "What are you going to do?"

I shrugged. "Nothing. Go back to the dorm and stream episodes of Sweet Valley High on my laptop and eat pints of ice cream until I gain ten pounds."

Quinn's mouth quirked into a small smile. "That's all? You just got suspended from classes?"

I nodded. "There was something said about talking to my parents, and an investigation.. blah blah blah. I didn't listen to their nonsense." I flicked my hand in a dismissive gesture. "I frankly could care less. Let them expel me. They're keeping me here against my will anyway."

Quinn's face inexplicably crumpled at that statement, and before I could ask her about it, she turned from me quickly and dumped the contents of the tray into a trashcan and stacked it with the rest. I followed her with my eyes, a little baffled. What the fuck did I say, Fabray?

A/N: I'm eager to see your opinions on this.. I promise that it's still a Quinntana fic, and I have lots more material stored away for them.