Quinn Febray

"Too late for second guesses, too late to go back to sleep. It's time to trust my instincts, close my eyes and leap." Defying Gravity, Wheels

This was a week before it all went down, Kurt, but it was also three weeks before I was due, and I had a living, thinking little girl to worry about. My daughter. You understand that, right?

I'd mellowed out, softened. Literally, I'm afraid.

"I'm so fat."

"No, you're not. You just look…well, you look pregnant." You smiled at me, straightened the dress that looked like it should belong to my mother and stared until I smiled back.

"Finn's going to hate this."

"He hates getting dressed up. And he hates playing nice with the jock crowd, as much as he doesn't admit it. But he'll say you look gorgeous and you get an entire night with him pretending to be a teenager instead of worrying all the time." Your smile was sadder now, mostly because you would rather be the one dressing up for Finn, as much as we both knew that would never happen.

"What are you doing?"

"Going with Mercedes. Junior Prom. Not all of us can score tickets to Senior because we're the quarterback and star cheerleader…ex-cheerleader." You looked bashful, ashamed that you'd brought up what you assumed were old wounds. I shrugged it off, because it really didn't matter.

"Don't sweat it." I miss cheering, though. I need to start once the baby's here, so I can fit into my old clothes. I was trying not to think about the after part of the delivery, couldn't even answer the tough questions for myself, let alone face my ashamed parents. Would I go back to school? Would I marry Finn? Would Puck be a part of the kid's life? Would I even keep the baby? "Hey," I impetuously grabbed your hand, held on tight to the fingers that were smaller, thinner, bonier than my own, "Thanks for coming with me."

"I do have the best fashion sense." You smirked, "Plus, I couldn't let you go shopping alone. It looks so tragic."

I wasn't supposed to be shopping alone to begin with, and you weren't supposed to be there. Santana and Brittany had both promised to come with me, since they needed dresses, too. But then Coach Silvester added another cheer event at the last minute and they were gone, sorry, can't go this weekend.

They were going next week, but I had to study for the finals I'd been neglecting and squeeze in two more doctor's appointments. Pregnancy was a bitch.

So, the morning we went shopping, I was moping in the kitchen of Finn's house, trying to work up the courage to either go shopping alone or call one of the Glee girls – Mercedes or Rachel, ugh – to come with me. Then you walked in the door.

You'd been looking for Finn. You were always with Finn now, but when you saw me at the counter, looking to go shopping , you looked like you'd just won the lottery. "I'll go with you…if, you know, you want…" If I didn't mind being seen with the homo who'd was so sissy he got beat up by the big, bad Southerners. I smiled, just a little, so you knew I wasn't thinking that, even if we both were, because high school was a bitch, too.

See, I had softened because of this baby.

And, maybe, that wasn't a bad thing.

"So…" You said, leaning against your car, absent-mindedly scratching the bandage around your leg, one of the last ones from El Paso to come off, "You scared?"

I was terrified. How could I not be scared about giving birth (ugh) and being fat after I gave birth (double ugh) and about raising a kid so she wasn't as screwed up as little ol' me? But I wasn't going to tell you that. We were civil now, and you were probably one of the only people I didn't have to act aloof or confident around, but we weren't friends. Not quite. Not yet.

So I answered a question with a question. "Are you?"

"What?" You obviously weren't expecting that, and looked right at me, delicate face furrowed (yes, I describe your face as delicate. To everyone I know, whenever I talk about you. Delicate, like the egg shells you stepped on every day, like the façade you wore to school).

"Hmm." I didn't pry. I wasn't going to tell you that I was terrified of giving birth, you weren't going to tell me that you were scared to go to school, because every time you came back you had more black eyes, because Finn and Puck couldn't follow you everywhere. Because we weren't friends. You don't tell people who aren't your friends the things that make you want to bawl like a baby.

Like the fact that I can't face my dad, or you can't face yours.

Maybe that's why we've become closer since El Paso. We're alike Kurt, we always were. Both with a confident persona that we show off to the rest of the world, both with little things that happened in a split second that changed our entire lives. Pregnancy. Bigotry.

"You want to go see a movie? There's this chick flick that's playing…" This is a diversion tactic, something I'm good at. Plus, in a movie theater it's usually too dark to see that the sixteen-almost-seventeen-year-old is eight-almost-nine months pregnant.

Three months ago, no one could have paid me to go to a movie with you, or vice versa. We were in entirely different worlds. But three months ago was before the shit officially hit the fan, as my dad so succinctly used to put it. Now we were…not friends.

But maybe we were getting there. Maybe we would, would have if it hadn't been that particular day. If only, if only.

Miss you, Kurt.

Quinn

(last letter from Quinn Febray, dated 8 June 2010)

So the next part of the season (new season? whatever) comes on tomorrow (thanks to everyone who told us the date). Just a friendly reminder....

Review?