XVIII
.
"Well, you look less like shit than I thought you would," Kurt says by way of a greeting when Rachel shows up the next morning. He's waiting for her at her locker, coffee in hand, and she swears she could kiss him. And then punch him.
Instead, she just takes the coffee from him and murmurs a thank you. "I feel less manic depressed than I did last night," she confesses.
"Did something happen?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Not exactly," she says. "I just channelled my feelings into the written word, and it seems to have helped. I also had a talk with my dads about the possible backlash of having a supposedly gay daughter. I imagine they'll have to deal with bigots claiming that they've perverted an innocent life for a few weeks."
Kurt looks disgusted. "It's not contagious."
"I'll be sure to address it in the letter I intend to write," she says, only half-joking.
Kurt catches onto the tone of her voice and raises his eyebrows in question. "Wait. What are we writing, and why are we writing it?"
She nervously nibbles at her bottom lip, and then sighs. "I know we sort of came up with a plan before - which we didn't end up using - but I may or may not have come up with another one."
Kurt, expectedly, is suitably intrigued. However skeptical he was once about this entire thing; he's very invested in these two girls getting their happy endings - he's starting to get the feeling that he's not the only one - and he just knows those endings lie with each other, regardless of how stubborn and dimwitted they're both being. "Tell me more," he prompts. "What's the plan?"
Before Rachel can respond, Kurt is speaking again. Though, she realises a beat to late, it's not to her.
"What do you want?" Kurt suddenly asks, his tone icy cold, and Rachel actually flinches. She's never heard his voice sound like that. It's harsh, and she can't mistake the disdain and... protectiveness in it. She thinks she loves him that bit more.
"I just want to talk," a voice says, and Rachel spins around to see Santana standing right there. The Latina looks... miserable, forlorn, gutted and so many other descriptors that Rachel tries not to care about. She doesn't care. She doesn't want to.
"I think you've said more than enough," Rachel says tensely, momentarily proud of the way her voice doesn't falter.
Santana meets her gaze, and there's pleading there. "I didn't know," she says. "I didn't know it was Quinn."
Rachel shakes her head, her anger flaring. "That changes nothing," she hisses. "Why should it change anything, Santana? You knew exactly what you were doing and, as long as it was me and some random girl you were hurting; it was fine, right? But, the second it's your best friend, you suddenly grow a conscience!"
They're attracting attention, and Rachel decidedly doesn't care. It's not as if people weren't already staring, and it's definitely not as if she doesn't have a very good reason for berating the Latina.
Despite it all, Rachel just doesn't have the energy for this. "Please can you just leave me alone," she says. "You've done what you've done. The least you can do is live with the consequences."
Truthfully, Rachel doesn't expect Santana to listen, but she does. The Latina takes a step back and sighs. "I didn't know," she repeats, as if they're the only words she needs to have them believe. Whatever she didn't know remains unimportant.
Kurt sighs from his position beside Rachel. "Quinn doesn't believe her, does she?" he asks rhetorically. "Whether it's if she knew you were Little Star and didn't tell her, or it's if she knew she was Pretty Girl and still went ahead with it..." he trails off, shaking his head. "Rachel?"
"Hmm?"
"If she doesn't have you or Little Star or her best friend; who does she have?"
Rachel swallows audibly, but then breathes out a small sigh of relief when she spots two blondes hovering at a certain locker. "For now, I guess, she has her better friend."
Kurt stares at her, puzzled. "Her what?"
Rachel shrugs, unwilling to explain. So much of her relationship with Pretty Girl has been publicised, and all she wants is to protect what little they have left. "Come on," she says; "we should get to class."
.
"So," Kurt says. "This plan of yours..."
For the first time in what feels like a thousand years, she cracks a smile. "I want her to know that I love her, and I never meant for any of this to happen," she says; "and I'm willing to risk, well, everything."
He raises his eyebrows - they've been particularly busy since this entire mess began. "I don't know if I like the sound of that."
She shrugs. "What can I say?" she says innocently. "I'm all about the over-the-top romantic gestures."
"We do both know Quinn isn't, right?"
"Quinn might not be," she says; "but Pretty Girl definitely is."
.
"Are you sure about this?"
If Rachel is being entirely honest with herself, she would have to say no, she's definitely not sure. Still, she's going through with it. Maybe, if anything, it'll stop all the speculation and all the whispers. It'd be nice to have it all out in the open, straight from her. That way, nobody can twist what's happened into his or her own directive. There's one truth, and Rachel is going to share it.
"Are you sure?" Kurt asks again. "Because, once you post it, there's no going back."
"I don't want to go back," she says. "I just want to move forward, Kurt."
He breathes out slowly before he drops into the chair beside hers, where they're camped out at the computers in the library. Both their sets of eyes are on the screen in front of Rachel. It's open to a page that has the power to change, well, everything. It'll either go really well or desperately poorly. Kurt is hoping it all works out, but one can never be too sure with things like this. Everything else seems to be falling apart, anyway. "Have you spoken to your dads about this?"
She nods. "Besides it being brave and stupid; that's kind of all there is to it."
"Your dads did not call you stupid," he admonishes with a laugh.
"It may have been implied."
"I think you were looking for things that clearly weren't there," he says.
"I seem to be good at that," she mutters.
Kurt gently pats her hand over the mouse. "Don't say that," he says. "She loves you. Of course, she loves you." He presses his lips together. "She's just scared and probably still in shock. She's going to come around, you'll see."
Rachel turns her head to look at him. "Has she talked to you at all?"
"Not really," he confesses. "I gave her my revisions for our paper earlier, and she said 'thank you, I'll get right on it,' which doesn't really count for much. I mean, it's something. At least she's not hiding herself away or something like that. She's... present, which means it's only a matter of time before she wraps her head around the truth of who you are."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Don't you?"
"I'm not sure what I believe anymore," she says, sighing heavily. "I mean, of course I want to believe this is all going to work out, but I'm Rachel Berry, and I've never really been that lucky." She picks at the hem of her sweater with her left hand. "I don't mean to be all 'woe-is-me,' but everything just seems so hard, you know?"
"I do know," he sympathises. "But, answer me this: is it worth it?" Then: "Is she worth it?"
It's the simplest answer she'll ever give. "Yes."
"Then, what are you waiting for you?" he asks. "Send in that bad-boy."
.
Dear McKinley Staff and Students
My name is Rachel Berry, and I'm writing this letter with the sole intention of clearing up a few things that have been making their way around school about me. I intend to provide you all with the actual truth. Rumours are nasty things. Believe me, I would know. I have been the unlucky recipient of several of them and, until this morning, I was happy to let things continue as they have. I've since changed my mind, you see, because, while I can handle and even accept the whispers and the taunts; I do not wish for the people I care about to go through the same.
So, as I'm sure majority of you already know, several of my private messages made their way through our school as part of a sick, twisted prank. You'll hear it first here, people. Those particular rumours are all true. I am one of the girls in the messages that you've all undoubtedly heard about by now. I am Little Star. I am bisexual. I have a girlfriend (which, though, currently, is still up in the air.) I am ridiculously in love, and I most assuredly don't care about what the lot of you think about any of that.
Until a few days ago, I was happy and safe and in a place in my life where I was working towards coming out. I had plans. I had ideas. It's such a personal thing, you know, deciding on how and who and when and where to tell this secret about yourself. And, it is a secret. It's one of those things that the world almost forces you into holding close to your chest because it's still one of those things people don't and are refusing to understand. I've always stood by the belief that love is love, and men and women's bodies are just the vessels that carry the souls with which you fall in love.
At times, society has almost managed to beat the belief out of me, but I'm nothing if not stubborn and strong-willed. It's one of the only reasons I still show up to this soul-crushing, spirit-draining excuse of a place they like to call high school. I've learned that not only I feel that overwhelming feeling. It's something I found in my conversations with a faceless stranger; someone who didn't know me and couldn't judge me based on anything I didn't tell them. It's a wonderful feeling, you know, being known for who you actually are and not for what people believe they know you are.
We're all so constricted by society's perceived notions of who we are, based on our looks, on our wealth and on our families. It's a vicious cycle, really, all this judgment that gets passed on to us from our parents, that we'll eventually pass onto our offspring. Is it too much to ask for people to be kind and accepting, regardless of your beliefs? I mean, people can preach love and forgiveness all they want, but they fail to put it in practice. Is that what we really want?
I know it's not what I want. What I want is to be able to walk the corridors without fear of a slushy facial or a strongly-worded insult sent my way. What I want is to be able to hold my girlfriend's hand in public and have the world not have a conniption. What I want is for everyone, different in all their glorious ways, to feel safe and happy and loved.
I don't think it's too much to ask, really, because I'm convinced you all want the same thing too. Cruelty and ridicule is what forced my outing. Prejudice and ignorance is what requires an outing at all. I know I'm only one girl in a sea of people who probably don't care at all about the other person, but I do, and I know there are others out there. We all carry our own truths and we all hide our own secrets. I don't imagine for a second that any of you would want any of those secrets revealed, which is why this entire situation has been that much harder for me. Privacy is a human right. It isn't even about it being a gay right. It's a right, period, and I would really appreciate it if people would start to respect mine and that of my girlfriend. I didn't ask for this, and she surely didn't.
Seriously.
Who on earth would ask for this?
Which is why I'm making this plea. I'm asking your consciences to put yourselves in our shoes; to feel the fear and panic and ultimate betrayal. Stop. Just, stop. Don't you see? Can't you tell? There is a girl out there who forces herself to walk into school every day, worried and terrified that someone is going to figure out her secret, and that's no way to live. I don't want that for her, and I need all of YOUR help to help her keep it.
You've already forced me out. I know what it feels like, and I don't want that for anyone else, least of all the girl I love.
This part is for you, Pretty Girl. I love you, and I'm sorry I couldn't protect what we shared the way I promised to. I'm sorry the person I am painted such a target on my back and you were dragged into this mess. I'm sorry we weren't able to have the wonderful 'Big Reveal' we so wanted. I'm just so very sorry. One day, when we're away from this place, when we're safe and happy and free; I promise to make it up to you.
If you'll still have me, that is. I'm willing to wait until you're ready. I'm willing to wait even if you're never ready. Just know that I love you, and nothing that's happened has changed anything for me. I want this, and I want you, regardless of who you are. That's the beauty of our love, isn't it? It'll never matter.
That's all folks. Please, go about your days as usual.
Little Star
a.k.a Rachel Barbra Berry
.
"How do you feel?" Kurt asks as he and Rachel make the short walk from the library to the choir room for some practice before Glee. He's convinced she needs some musical therapy. It's always managed to help in the past and, given the events of this week; he'll take help anywhere he can find it.
"Sick to my stomach," Rachel replies, her right hand unconsciously resting on her abdomen.
"Are you going to hurl?" he asks, taking a small step away from her.
"No," she says with a small laugh. "But it feels as if someone is literally doing the Foxtrot on my diaphragm."
"That's quite the description," he comments. "But, there's no need to get all caught up over what's going to happen. The letter will only be published late this afternoon. You won't even be here to see the aftermath, and then you can spend the weekend panicking over your lack of relationship and trying to plan your escape from Lima-Ville before the 'Bible Mob' catches up to you."
Rachel shoots him a glare. "Sometimes, I'm convinced you're a sadist."
"Only sometimes?" he says, entirely too smug. "I must work on that."
She shakes her head, finding herself amused. "I don't even know what to do with you," she says; "but then I'm equally, if not more, at a loss as to what to do without you." Without her say-so, her eyes scope the corridor and, indeed, there are students looking at her and saying things to one another, about her and about Pretty Girl. She needs it to stop - this isn't the type of environment for her or for Quinn - and she's certain that she did the right thing by sending that letter.
She reaches out to stop Kurt, and his steps falter.
"What?" he immediately asks. "What's wrong? Are you having second thoughts? It's too late now. As soon as the hour hits; it's automatically uploaded, and I don't think - "
"No," she interrupts. "It's not that. I'm fine. Everything is fine."
He looks at her, clearly puzzled. "Then, what is it?"
"I just wanted to say thank you," she says. "You're kind of a bastard about certain things, but thank you."
He just pulls her into another hug. "If I'm a bastard, then you're a bitch."
She shrugs while still in his embrace, soaking up all the warmth and comfort she can. "Believe me, I've been called worse."
.
Rachel knows the moment the letter hits the school's website and various affiliated blogs because her phone essentially blows up. She's sure Jacob Ben Israel is practically salivating as she lies on her bed staring at her ceiling and just hoping that Quinn doesn't end up hating her more than she already does.
There's a fine line between love and hate, apparently.
Eventually, Rachel has to switch off her phone. She's not even sure how people have managed to get her contact details, and she doesn't even know what they could possibly have to say to her. If it's more ridicule, she definitely doesn't want to see any of it. She's said her peace, and she can only hope that the world can accept that. Somehow.
Because, right now, she has a paper to finish.
.
GoldStarRBB: I've been thinking about something you once said about the future. How you're worried over it; over how fast it's coming, and you'd just like for it to slow down, or even stop entirely. I understood it then, and I still understand it now, but I find myself wishing that I could fast forward through this part. I want to get to the part in our story where you believe me and forgive me and go back to loving me. I want us to be happy and free and away from this place.
GoldStarRBB: I want to be able to love you the way you deserve to be loved. And, I know we have to go through all of this to get there, but I'm impatient. I'm eager and excited and hopeful, and I am so in love you that it hurts.
GoldStarRBB: I get that you still need time, and I'm going to give it to you. I AM giving it to you. I'm just really bad at it.
GoldStarRBB: I love you, my pretty girl :*
.
.
.
XIX
.
"Oh my God!"
Kurt practically pounces on Rachel the second she steps out of her car in the parking lot on Monday morning. "Where the hell have you been? Why haven't you been answering your phone?"
Rachel just raises her eyebrows as she straightens her spine in a mini-stretch. "Uh, hello to you too," she says. "Where's the fire?"
"Jesus, Rachel," he says, reaching into her pocket and taking out her phone. "It's off? Why on earth is your phone off? What the hell have you been doing this entire weekend? You cannot drop a bomb on the school and then just disappear."
She just stares at him, clearly dumbfounded. "Uh, I had a paper to finish, you know."
Kurt bristles at the implication that he wouldn't know that and be sympathetic to her struggle. "Are you done with it?"
She pats her backpack. "Finished it at three o'clock this morning," she says. "I don't think I'll fail, but I'm definitely not going to do as well as I would have if - "
"Santana didn't decide to fuck up your life," he finishes for her.
"Exactly."
He tilts his head to the side. "You look exhausted."
"I am," she says. "Like, bone-weary, Kurt. And I really miss being able to talk to Pretty Girl. I miss Quinn."
"Right," he says with a slight cringe. Her life probably, definitely, isn't going to get any easier now that she's done writing the penultimate paper. "About that."
Rachel frowns. "What about what?"
"Turn this stupid thing on," he says about the phone, and she does as she's told. He quickly puts in her passcode. "By the way, you should probably change that from your birth year. Even Santana could figure it out."
She resists the urge to roll her eyes as she watches him navigate her screen.
"Holy hell," he says. "Look at your inbox." He turns the phone to show her, and her eyes nearly bug out of her head at the hundreds of notifications.
"What the hell is that?" she asks, incredulous.
"It's you, Rachel," he says. "It's you taking a stand for yourself and for your love." He presses a hand to his chest and, on any other person, it might look convoluted, but this is Kurt Hummel. "You've - you've sparked something."
She's sure she's hearing the words he's saying, but they don't seem to be registering with her. "What on earth are you talking about?"
Kurt scrolls through her emails. "Look at this," he says, finding a very specific one and opening it. "The whole damn school has gone crazy, and they've started a 'Help Unite Little Star and Pretty Girl' campaign."
Her eyes widen in alarm, and her body practically jolts. "What!"
"Oh, Rachel," he says with a sigh. "Honey, you've missed so much."
.
It's like walking into some kind of twilight zone when Rachel finally makes it into the school building. People are still staring, but it's different now, and she's unsure what to do with it. There's a certain wonder in their eyes, as if she's just opened a portal to Neverland, and she's starting to feel self-conscious.
"Kurt," she says, gripping the back of his sweater tightly in her fist. "What is happening?"
He looks over his shoulder at her. "I believe that you, my friend, are now this beacon of hope and truth and love," he says, grinning madly. He's really enjoying this a little too much.
"What? Like the Mockingjay?"
He raises his eyebrows. "Hush now," he says. "You've just become cool. Don't let your nerd show."
"The Hunger Games is amazing," she argues, and then frowns. "What do you mean I'm cool?"
"I mean you're cool," he says. "People tend to respond well to unspeakable truths and professed love. Even if it is between two girls in this God-awful, backwards town."
"Are you trying to tell me that people are now supportive of my gay love?"
Kurt nods. "They want to help you."
"Help me what?"
"Find Pretty Girl."
Rachel's eyes widen. "What? No! That's not what I want. That's not what I meant to happen when I wrote that letter."
"I think it's sweet," Kurt admits as they reach his locker.
"Kurt," she says tensely. "The entire idea of writing the letter was to get them to stop trying to figure out Pretty Girl's identity," she points out. "Oh, my God. Quinn is going to kill me."
As if the thought has just occurred to him as well, Kurt's movements grow still. "Well, shit."
Rachel buries her face in her hands. "I know she wants this," she mumbles. "I know she wants to be with me, but she's terrified. She's freaked out of her mind, Kurt, and the bigger the spotlight is on her alter-ego, as it were; the less likely she's going to want to act on any of her desires."
Kurt raises his eyebrows at her wording. "Desires?"
Rachel blushes deeply. "Have you never had a fantasy, Hummel?" she asks, somewhat coyly.
He laughs, entirely too knowingly. "I'm quite certain that you and I have completely different fantasies, as you say."
"I should hope so," she says with a laugh. "Mine tend to involve a certain blonde with a very pretty face and striking green eyes."
Kurt doesn't know whether to be grossed out or impressed. She's his best friend, and he definitely doesn't need to be plagued by thoughts remotely in that vicinity. And he definitely doesn't want to be thinking of Quinn that way. It'd be hot, he's sure, but ugh. He's going to have to bleach his brain when all this is over.
If it ever is.
Quinn is stubborn, and she's likely to do things when she feels threatened.
Rachel is determined, though, and he wonders if she's going to end up irreversibly hurt because of it.
.
Rachel can ignore what's happening only long enough to get through her first period, because then she's walking to English where she's supposed to hand in a hardcopy of her final paper and a CD with all her electronic references uploaded on it. They have to sign the class register when they hand in, and Kurt and Quinn are forced to approach Mr Pope together.
Quinn hands the bound paper to Kurt, who kisses the cover page, and then sets it down on the pile on their teacher's desk.
"Sign right here," Mr Pope says, and Quinn signs first. Unexpectedly, she waits while Kurt signs as well, and then they walk towards a corner to talk. Mr Pope, so kindly, has offered them this period to work on their presentations, which will be taking place on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.
As of right now, Quinn and Kurt are scheduled for Wednesday, and Rachel is speaking on Thursday. She hasn't had much time to work on it - that's a problem for this afternoon - but it's clear that Quinn is very on top of the situation. Rachel can only watch as Quinn hands several pieces of paper to Kurt, explains a few things, and then stalks back to her desk at the back of the classroom.
Kurt watches her go for a moment before he moves back to his own desk beside Rachel's. "Well, that went well," he grumbles as he slaps the pages down on the desk.
Rachel drags her eyes away from Quinn to look at him. "What did she say?"
He gestures at the pages in front of him. "I'm supposed to memorise our speech, and practice with the presentation that's supposed to be sitting in my email inbox, right now," he says. "We have a run-through scheduled for early on Wednesday morning."
Rachel blinks. "Isn't that cutting it a little close?"
He shrugs. "I just think she wants to spend as little time with me as possible."
Rachel can't help her guilt, and she automatically apologises. "I'm sorry all my drama is affecting your relationship with Quinn," she says softly. "I know you two were becoming good friends."
"It's not your fault," he says. "If anything, right now, it's Quinn's."
Rachel turns her head around to look at Quinn, who's sitting perfectly still, her head down as she scribbles something in her notebook. Santana is sitting right beside her, but they're not talking to each other. In fact, it's as if Quinn isn't even acknowledging her, and Santana is looking at Quinn with such... pleading in her eyes.
Rachel immediately looks away.
"I'm still sorry," she says.
He glances at her. "Don't worry about it," he says. "Now, do you need me to come over after Glee to help you with your presentation?"
She just manages to curb the urge to throw her arms around him. "Yes, please."
.
"I want to help."
It's the voice that startles Rachel; not so much the words, and she turns away from her locker to look at the culprit. The corridor is just filling up with students rushing for lunch. "Santana," she says; "please can we not do this."
Santana folds her arms across her chest. "I mean, I want to help with Quinn," she explains unnecessarily. "Look, I know I did a shitty thing, and I'll be paying for it for years, I'm sure, but I can help. You need my help."
Rachel glares at her. "I don't need anything from you."
"Maybe you don't," she allows; "but I still want to offer it." She drops her gaze for a moment, and then raises it to meet Rachel's. "Look, we both know Quinn isn't going to come around on her own. She's too stubborn, and she's terrified." Santana presses her lips together. "I've never actually seen her like this, and I thought I'd seen everything Quinn Fabray has to offer. I don't understand why she's fighting it so much."
Rachel sighs. "She doesn't want anyone to know," she says.
"Nobody is going to find out."
"You can't assure her of that any more than I can," she says. "It's her biggest fear, Santana. You must know that."
Santana sighs. "I fucked up, didn't I?"
Rachel says nothing.
"I should apologise."
"Yes, you should," Rachel says. "Quinn doesn't need the add - "
"No," Santana interrupts. "I should apologise to you."
"Oh."
"Not now, though," she says, and her eyes spark. "I'm going to make it up to you. Both of you. Somehow. I told you I want to help."
"Santana, I don't think that's a - " Rachel starts to say, but the Latina is already walking away.
Rachel sighs heavily, leaning against the lockers and trying not to let the heaviness of this entire day get to her. She's just barely surviving, and she hopes that whatever Santana may or may not have planned doesn't make everything infinitely worse.
.
Rachel should know she doesn't need Santana's help for that.
She's capable of doing it all on her own.
.
"There she is."
"Just the person we wanted to see."
"Come with us."
In the drama of actually trying to survive her day at school, Rachel has almost managed to forget that there's now an active effort to locate Pretty Girl and unite the token lesbians of McKinley until she arrives at the cafeteria for lunch. It's disconcerting to see Jacob Ben Israel and Noah Puckerman working towards the same thing. They even have posters.
Rachel is guided towards a table, and then bombarded with information left, right, and centre. Students she doesn't even recognise are asking her questions about all she knows about Pretty Girl, and then someone is shoving a piece of paper in her hand.
"This is the list we've been able to come up with," a girl - Rachel thinks her name is Stacey - explains. "Do you think any of them could be her?"
Rachel feels her heart beat that bit faster as she looks down.
Potential Candidates for 'Pretty Girl'
1. Samantha Peters
2. Maisie Lewis
3. Anita Wilson
4. Sugar Motta
5. Ella Brennan
6. Alessia Gomez
7. Nina Smith
8. Quinn Fabray
9. Malia Chapel
10. Billie Gillespie
11. Denise Holden
12. Amanda Bay
13. Louisa Capaldi
Rachel, predictably, freezes at the sight of Quinn's name, and her mind goes completely blank. No. No.
Stacey doesn't seem to register her reaction, and points at the page. "Santana Lopez was originally on the list," she explains. "We thought it was some kind of extreme shadowing, you know, but Santana is out, so we had to rule her out." Her tone is so conversational, as if she isn't discussing one of the most important things in Rachel's life. "We're probably also going to have to cross Amanda Bay off the list because Ian just heard that she and her boyfriend are planning on moving in together next year. From the messages, we gathered that Pretty Girl is actually single, right?"
Rachel doesn't even know what's happening.
Why is any of this happening?
Another boy - Dean or something - looks at the list over Rachel's shoulder. "Ella Brennan is also scrapped," he says. "Patty just got word that she doesn't actually have a six pack."
Rachel almost laughs at the absurdity of all of this.
Stacey growls. "But that rules out more than just Ella," she says, taking the sheet of paper from Rachel and crossing out names with her pen.
Rachel's head is spinning dangerously. This isn't what she wanted. Well, she thinks it's not what she wanted. All of this just seems so surreal, and she's convinced she's going to wake up any minute now and this will all be some fever dream or something.
"Louisa also has to go," someone says from across the table, and Rachel can't keep up with all the voices talking around her.
"And Anita," someone else says. "Tom says she's definitely going to Stanford."
Rachel feels her heart rate rise dangerously as names keep getting scratched off. Everything is just starting to unravel all around her, and she knows it's only a matter of time before they figure it out. She tries to make herself feel better by claiming that they were bound to reach a final conclusion at some point anyway, and her letter only managed to make it more of a concerted effort.
After what feels like forever, Stacey finally declares, "That leaves us with five names." She hands Rachel the redacted list, and Rachel barely looks at it. She's too preoccupied because, from her position, she can see Quinn. She can see her, just sitting there, not eating and not saying a word to anyone, and all of this hurts. This fight. It hurts.
"Don't worry," Dean says, patting Rachel's shoulder. "We're going to find her."
Rachel is five seconds away from bursting into tears, so, when Stacey says, "We're good to publish this, right?" Rachel's response is... the worst. The absolute.
Eyes still on Quinn, unthinkingly, Rachel says, "Sure," and everything does get infinitely worse.
.
Pretty Girl: Oh my God, Rachel!
Pretty Girl: Oh my God. Oh my God.
Pretty Girl: What the hell did you do?
.
At first, Rachel doesn't quite understand Quinn's obvious panic.
And then she just does.
.
Pretty Girl: There's a list. Why is there a list? Rachel, oh my God. My name is on that fucking list.
Pretty Girl: My parents. Someone mentioned the list to them at the church event tonight. Oh, my God. This can't be happening. Please tell me none of this is happening.
Pretty Girl: I told you I'm not ready.
Pretty Girl: What are you trying to do?