Finding a Voice
14: Knives and Pens
Rachel could already hear the whispers as she approached the Skanks' stomping grounds beneath the bleachers:
"Oh my God, what's she doing here?"
"What does she want?"
"Jesus Christ, someone go tell Barbra to go fuck herself with those ginormous man-hands of hers already!"
"Leave us alone, Treasure Trail…"
It wasn't that Rachel wanted to be there any more than they wanted her to be; it was just that if Rachel needed answers about Sam, there was only one person to ask that wasn't Sam himself.
Unfortunately for her, that person just happened to be Quinn Fabray.
Sam had said it himself: the two were unwillingly close, which meant that even though Quinn was definitely not the same person that she was when Sam had first moved here, she still probably had all the answers that Rachel needed. However, no matter how much Rachel missed her old friend, you couldn't pay her enough to actually want to hang out here. The whole grungy feel of the place, with its chain-link fence and the smell of cigarette and pot smoke lingering in the air, made her want to hide under the covers.
But Rachel didn't have a choice – she was here for Sam, and if she was going to figure him out once and for all, she was going to need to be brave.
She couldn't really blame the Skanks for the looks they were giving her; after all, it couldn't be more obvious that she didn't belong in a place like this. She lacked all the piercings, hair dye, and time spent in a tattoo parlor to hang with this crowd of girls – she was far too preppy and primped and polished to be able to blend into this crowd. In Rachel's eyes, however, that was quite alright. She would never have wanted to be mistaken for one of the Skanks, ever.
It wasn't anything personal. Rachel didn't have anything against any of them. It was just that they were from the wrong side of the tracks, and Rachel was so obviously not.
A couple months ago, before school had started again this fall, Rachel would have been able to say exactly the same thing about Quinn…and she probably would have agreed. After all, Quinn had been a shiny, plastic Barbie doll last year – and every year since she and Rachel stopped being friends….what with her Cheerio uniform, her bouncy blond curls, and her winning, head-cheerleader-worthy smile. Quinn had been far too fresh-faced and too, well, pretty to belong around a group of girls who called themselves Skanks with pride.
But that was then. This was now. Times had clearly changed, since Quinn was now among their ranks – pink-haired instead of blond, that Ryan Seacrest tramp stamp defacing her lower back, a shiny silver ring jabbed through her nose.
Now, to anyone who hadn't known the fresh-faced, popular, happy edition of Quinn – Quinn Fabray, v1 – it would have been obvious that this fenced-in goth haven beneath the football stadium that Quinn had once cheered in rather than smoked in was this girl's home.
But Rachel knew better. She knew that Quinn was so much smarter than this – so much smarter than the girl who smoked all day and took lunch money from freshmen and probably disrespected her parents. Poor Judy Fabray, who had always been so nice to Rachel back when they were kids. She had made the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches of anyone on the block, and was the only parent who always remembered that Rachel hated the crust left on her bread. Even her dads forgot from time to time, but Quinn's mom never did…maybe because at that point in her life, Rachel had been spending more time sleeping over at Quinn's house than she spent at her actual home.
The Fabrays had been like a second family to her, Quinn like her sister. The current state of things now, however, left Rachel wondering where the girl who had once been her sister had gone.
"Hey, Streisand; needed to hear the words 'take that microphone and shove it up your ass' one more time before you could sleep at night?" said the girl with the sloppy lipstick…what was her name? Rachel didn't know. All she knew was that this one seemed to smoke about ten times more than each of the other Skanks combined. Spending so much time watching Quinn, remembering times when they had both been happier, had left her with this sort of information filed away in her brain, ready to resurface at times like these when she might need them.
Rachel took a deep breath and replied sharply, "I'm not here to let you all verbally assault me until you get bored and decide you'd rather be robbing a liquor store; I'm here to have a word with Quinn."
There was a chorus of those immature "Ooh"s, just like the ones that sounded every time someone got called down to the principal's office in elementary school.
"Q, you better go," said the heavy-set black girl; Rachel didn't know her name either. "Rupaul's getting impatient."
"Good; maybe she'll go back to her hobbit hole where she belongs," Quinn muttered, taking a long drag of the cigarette pinched between her two fingers. Her back was turned to Rachel, but she could still tell that Quinn was smoking from the way her voice got all hoarse. Quinn wasn't brought up like these girls, taught how to puff on a cigarette practically from the moment she left her mother's womb; she was just picking up on these things now.
Good, Rachel couldn't help but think. Hopefully there's still time to reverse the damage before it's too late.
"Quinn, I'm really sorry to bother you, but it's somewhat important," she said, looking down at her toes to avoid looking up at the other Skanks…but no matter where her eyes were, she could feel the heat of their stares – their glares, really – burning holes through her forehead and willing her to stop trespassing on their precious territory. "It's about Sam."
"Sam who?" snapped the last of them, the girl with the stringy auburn hair who smelled about twelve times worse than the rest of them. "You mean Trouty?"
"Aww, look, she's got a little crush!" cooed Miss Messy Makeup. "The Jewish, muppet-wearing shrimp's got a thing for Fishface Evans!"
"Shut up, Mack," Quinn snapped. "She may have 'skinned teddy bear' written all over her outfit, but she's still one step ahead of you."
Rachel couldn't believe what she had just heard – was she losing it? Had Quinn really just defended her? Of course, she was Queen Bee of the Skanks – no matter where she went, what she did, or what group she joined, it seemed that she would always be the Queen Bee – which meant that she could do whatever she wanted.
Yet still, Rachel was confused out of her mind. They hadn't been friends since the fifth grade. Too much time had passed for her to even have guessed that Quinn still possessed even a vague degree of respect for her.
"Quinn, I-" Rachel began, but Quinn interrupted:
"Look, Napoleon, if you need to talk to me, here's not the time or place to do it…so come back later, Treasure Trail."
"Quinn, I know that you might be busy, what with trying to keep your Skanks properly out of line and all, and I know that we're not really friends anymore, but I know that we have one thing in common," Rachel sighed.
"Yeah? Well, since you know so much about me, let's hear it," Quinn snorted, crossing her arms.
Rachel winced, able to tell that she was on the defensive, yet she still replied: "Sam. I mean, I know it's been a long time since you two broke up, and while you may not be interested anymore necessarily, I know that there are some lingering feelings there between you two, and…well, I know you're close to him, so I just thought maybe-"
"Maybe what?" Quinn snapped, walking towards her with a threatening air.
"Maybe you would know if Sam's gay," Rachel said, lowering her voice so the other Skanks couldn't hear. The last thing she wanted was for someone untrustworthy to hear about her mere speculations and decide to use them against him. Rachel had been bullied badly in the past, and the last thing she wanted was for Sam to get the same kind of mistreatment. She knew she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she knew she had installed the same feelings of hopelessness that she had dealt with since middle school in her only true friend.
Quinn flinched a little, not expecting something so perceptive to come from the little Barbra Streisand wannabe in front of her. Quinn hadn't thought that Rachel had been spending so much time with Sam, but clearly, they were closer than she had realized. She wasn't sure if this meant she should be jealous or if this was meant to bring them together, but that was of little importance to her now. She was more concerned with keeping Rachel off of Sam's back.
With a quick look over her shoulder, she, too, lowered her voice and replied, "If that's your question, then now is definitely not the time to answer."
"Please," Rachel said, giving Quinn a desperate look.
"Why does it matter to you so much what way Trouty swings?" Quinn hissed, still speaking quietly. "You have a boyfriend, and if you're thinking of cheating on Finn, then, sorry, I can't let you hurt Sam like that."
"Do you still love Sam?" Rachel blurted. As soon as the words were out, she gasped and covered her mouth. "Oh my gosh, Quinn; I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-"
Rachel stopped herself before she could say anything too stupid. She hadn't meant to address Quinn like that, but she couldn't help but be curious. What if she still did? Rachel got an empty feeling in her gut, although she couldn't explain why. Was this her feeling protective of Sam? Why would it matter to her who loved Sam and who didn't?
She couldn't explain it, but she knew she wanted two things, and both of them were answers.
Quinn drew in a sharp breath. A voice in the back of her head was telling her not to go too hard on Rachel, that she couldn't blame her for her innocent curiosity, but her fellow Skanks were watching. She had a reputation to uphold to.
I'm sorry, Rachel.
"Look, do you actually care about Sam, or are you just here to fuck up my life any more than you already have?" she snapped.
Rachel was speechless; although she had figured she would have ended up stepping on Quinn's toes with her last question, she was unsure of what she had done to deserve to be treated like this.
"Quinn, I-"
She began to apologize, but Quinn cut her off: "Look, Treasure Trail – I know that in that little 'glee club' of yours, you've got everyone wrapped around your fucking finger, but on my turf, nobody talks to me like they're any better than I am, got it?"
Rachel felt like curling up in a ball and whimpering, quite frankly; this was the worst she had ever seen Quinn, even worse than back when she was Queen of McKinley High and she had been the one with the entire student body eating from the palm of her hand. However, she knew she had to at least try to stand up for herself as best as she could manage.
All Rachel could think of to say was, "The glee club is your home, Quinn. Don't you ever miss us, at least a little bit?"
The tiny, sheepish voice of her old self in the back of Quinn's head began to fight for dominance, but once again, lost to her new persona, a bitch so cold that she would have even been a stranger to Pregnant Quinn two years ago.
This was not the girl that Quinn had imagined being when she started high school. Freshman Quinn Fabray had had peppy enthusiasm and a constant bounce in her step. She didn't think about the fact that she'd left behind the best friend she'd ever had to get to the top, and she would never have even considered taking a cigarette, because she knew what Coach Sylvester's policy on the cheer squad had been.
"Why would I miss being a part of a group devoted entirely to worshipping you?" Quinn said, her voice cold and distant. "Do you not see that that entire club is groveling at your feet, day and night? The girls begging you, please, give them one of your solos, if you could be so kind; the guys hoping they'll make it out alive today and that they won't have to keep their girlfriends from killing anybody. Do you not understand that the constant fighting – every time somebody's made a lunge at someone else in glee club, it's been for you?"
"First of all, Quinn, Santana Lopez is the only person who has ever lunged for me in glee club, and you and I both know how she is, and secondly, most of the fighting has, quite frankly, been between us and the football team," Rachel said. "In case you don't remember, the glee club is a family. We can't be fighting amongst ourselves because we have to stick together or we'll be eaten for breakfast. We have to protect and support each other if we want to get anywhere. Glee club has always been about support."
"Supporting you, you mean?" Quinn scoffed. "Thanks, but no thanks. Why do you think I left that hellhole of a choir room?"
"Honestly? I think you left because you were scared," Rachel admitted. "A family situation is unlike anything you've ever known, Quinn – trust me, we may not be the closest of friends anymore, but I remember how things were. I know you, Quinn. You're terrified unless you feel on top of everything, and if you have to share your power, you don't fare so well….and that's because you don't trust people, Quinn."
"Rachel, what are you really doing here?" Quinn hissed. "Just…get out!"
"Fine," she said. "That's fair enough. I just hope that someday, when you're looking back on your high school career, you realize that lots of people cared about you, Quinn. And I hope you can be proud of the way you treated them."
Feeling tears start to well up in her eyes, Rachel turned on her heel and began to walk away, fresh air clearing her nostrils of secondhand smoke. The painful throb in her head from the smell of drugs dulled down to a dizzying ache, and she could finally breathe again.
The dull pain in her heart, however – unlike her headache – was unchanged. Rachel still felt sympathy for Quinn Fabray, no matter how cruelly Quinn wanted to treat her. Words hurt more than anything, yes, but Rachel hoped that what she had said had helped Quinn more than what Quinn had said had brought Rachel down.
Rachel walked all the way back to school, but instead of returning to classes (she'd wasted an entire lunch period on Quinn), she simply walked to her car, crawled into the driver's seat, and sat, staring blankly at the brick school wall ahead of her.
That brick wall was her life – unchanging, the same old song since the sixth grade.
When Rachel had been asked to help Sam Evans find his voice again, she had hoped that maybe he could finally be the one to knock down the obstacle preventing her from leading a normal life…but he had put up thicker walls than Rachel had, and now, she was only concerned with helping him.
But Rachel was stuck. Quinn had no answers for her – at least, none that she would share – meaning that Rachel and Sam were both stuck. Their lives would both remain unchanging, unless they chose to do something about it.
What Rachel had chosen to do to move her life along again was to fix Sam…but the task was proving much more difficult than she had anticipated.
So until Rachel managed to find out what was wrong with him, the days would blur into weeks which would blur into months, and suddenly, senior year would be over and her life would still be the same old song, the same old story, over and over and over again.