New iMessage

Friday, November 8

4:25 p.m.

RACHEL: Are you home yet?

iMessage

Friday, November 8

4:29 p.m.

ME: yeah i got home like half an hour ago.

ME: why? what's wrong?

4:34 p.m.

RACHEL: Sid you ask about staying tonight?

RACHEL: *Did

ME: not yet but i will. i'm helping with dinner i'll ask in a minute.

RACHEL: Okay just text me. Please don't forget to ask. It's very important that you spend the night tonight :)

ME: i think i'll be allowed.

ME: why is it so important?

RACHEL: Because I love you!

ME: okay well i love you too. i have to help with dinner so i'll see you in an hour or so.

RACHEL: Okay I'll see you!

Whenever me and Rachel are done texting, I lock my phone up and put it on top of the microwave so it's out of my way while I continue to shred these carrots up. Mrs. Jones sprinkles cheese on top of her perfectly layered lasagna and shakes the jar of parsley over it as a garnish. I've only had her lasagna once before but I know that it tastes pretty good and Mercedes told me once that her recipe is tried and true from her grandmother. I just wonder if it's going to taste any different today because she didn't put meat inside the sauce once I told her that Rachel is a vegetarian.

I didn't think that I would be when I woke up this morning and went to school, but now that I'm at home and helping make dinner, it's all setting in and I'm starting to feel really nervous. It's going to be just me, Rachel, Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Mercedes says she's hanging out with Sam and has been gone since we came home from school, and Mr. Jones put Whitney and Bobby downstairs in the basement until after Rachel leaves so we can have a peaceful dinner.

I know they're going to love Rachel. If she keeps the self-inflated ego in check and doesn't go off on any tangents about being better than Mercedes, I think they'll really love her. There's so much to love about her. She makes good grades and is always on the honor roll. She doesn't get highest honors like me, but she gets high honors and she is really good at writing English papers. She is very polite when she needs to be, which is huge for the Joneses. They value good manners above a lot of things and Rachel has those. She always says "please" and "thank you" whenever she knows she needs to. And she's very articulate, which Mr. Jones will like. He appreciates people with extended vocabularies, probably because he reads a lot of books when he's in the recliner relaxing.

I just hope they like her. I think they will. But I don't know for sure.

"Quinn? Baby, can you look up in that cabinet by the fridge and hand me the oregano?" Mrs. Jones asks me, screwing the cap back onto the parsley.

I stand on my tiptoes and sift through the entire cabinet of spices in search for the bottle that says oregano. I think for Christmas I'll get Mrs. Jones something to organize all the things in her kitchen cabinets, like the spices. Maybe I'll get her a spice rack that can sit on the counter. My own mother would never need something like this because the only things in our spice cabinet is salt and pepper and onion powder because she doesn't cook anything serious, but Mrs. Jones might appreciate that. It seems like something she'll actually need.

"Here you go," I mumble as I finally pull it from the very top shelf of the cabinet.

"Thank you, sugar," she screws the cap off and starts shaking it on top of the cheese too. "How was your day at school today?"

"It was fine," I gather up my shredded carrots and put them inside the salad bowl with the lettuce and red onions. "I had a chemistry test that I think I aced. I think I missed one question."

"That's my girl," she opens up the oven and sticks the pan of lasagna inside. "You alright today? You see anybody today?"

"Anybody like who?" I start opening up the bag of grape tomatoes so I can wash them off before I slice them and add them to the salad. I hate tomatoes but I think Rachel loves them so I'm going to put them in the salad just for her. "You mean like my therapist? She only comes in Tuesdays."

"No baby, I meant…" she grabs the bag of Texas Toast from the freezer and undies the twist tie. "I was asking if you saw him?"

"Him, who?" I wrinkle my brows but don't stop cutting the tomatoes, which squirt all over my dress.

This is the one and only dress I wanted to wear for dinner tonight with Rachel and my entire outfit coordinates with it, so I grab a paper towel and wet it in the sink so I can scrub the tomato spit off my dress. It's the dress that I was wearing the first time I ever met Rachel and though I've gotten a little bit bigger over the years and it fits me very snug, it does still fit me and it does still look decent on me. It's white with light blue vertical stripes and two pockets on the breasts. It didn't come with a belt, but every time I wear it, I put a brown belt across my waist just to make the colors pop. I'm not allowed to wear shoes in the house, but I have a pair of brown cowgirl boots that match the belt and I always make sure my blue socks come up just enough to peek over the edge of the boots. I even tied it all together with my blue headband. I doubt that Rachel will remember, but on the first day of freshman year, we sat next to each other in honors biology and she told me she liked how my headband matched my dress.

"You mean Puck?" I ask, tossing the wet paper towel into the trash since I was able to get the red marks off.

"That his name?" She raises one eyebrow but doesn't look at me. She just keeps placing slices of Texas Toast onto a cookie sheet. "The one who did that to you?"

"Yeah," my voice is a little unsteady but I'm trying to stay strong. I told myself that I'm done letting it define me and who I am as a person and that's what I meant. I'm not sure that it will ever be easy to talk about, but I'm at least willing to try.

"You been seeing him in classes and stuff since it happened?"

"Not really," I shake my head. "I see him mostly in Glee club, but that's fine. There's a bunch of other people there and I mostly just ignore him."

"Quinn, I'mma need you to tell me everything. Alright?" She twists the ties back onto the bag of bread and tosses the leftovers back inside the freezer, finally sitting down and looking at me straight on. "It don't gotta be now and it don't gotta be tomorrow, but I do need to know. I need to know exactly what we dealin' with."

"Okay." I sit down in the chair across from her and fold my hands in my lap. "What do you want to know?"

"Whatever I need to know to get you some justice and make sure it don't never happen again." She says and I take a deep breath and hold it in. I think she notices my reaction, because she starts talking again instead of waiting for me to. "Are you sure it was that?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… I mean maybe you said yes but then you said no and he got confused? Or maybe you did it then you done regretted it the next day and —"

"No," I shake my head firmly at her. "No. It wasn't like any of that at all. It wasn't like that, it wasn't nice, it wasn't —"

"Okay, okay," she puts her hands up. "Calm on down, sugar. It's okay. You know I believe you. I'm just tryna understand is all."

"He got me drunk." My jaw starts to tremble so I try to stop it by sucking on my lip and maybe I'm not as ready to get over it as I thought. Or maybe this is just the way getting over things works. Maybe it'll be like this for the rest of my life; some days I'm strong and it doesn't make me want to cry. And then other days all I want to do is sit down and cry. Maybe it'll always be this way, maybe it'll always come and go in waves. But I'm not sad. It's just hard to talk about. I'm not sad and I still refuse to cry anymore.

Mrs. Jones sits back in her chair and listens to everything I say super intently.

"We were drinking wine coolers and he just kept giving them to me and giving them to me and giving them to me. And I thought he was drinking too. I thought he was drinking too, which is why I kept drinking them but then I noticed that he was still on his first one and it wasn't going anywhere. Like, he would put it up to his lips and it looked like he was taking a sip but when he'd put it down, it never moved. It was still just as full as it was when he pretended to take a sip. So I had like, five. Maybe six. And I started to feel… dizzy? Drunk, I guess. I felt really dizzy and lightheaded so I asked him if I could lie down on his couch and so I did. I was on his couch and trying to feel okay enough to drive home but he just… he sat down next to me and rubbed his hands on my legs. His hands were so cold. They were SO cold and he just kept touching me." I clear my throat. "And he started kissing me and I kissed him back. So we were kissing and he started moving in a little rough, you know?"

"He got rough with you?!" Her eyes grow by about two sizes and I can see flames in them. She is crazy angry right now.

"Yeah," I nod. "He just laid on me and stuff and I asked him to get off because I wasn't comfortable doing it anymore, or something like that I said. I think I said that I couldn't do it because I was in the celibacy club or something, I dunno. That part is still a little fuzzy and it hasn't come back to me yet. But he just told me to drink another wine cooler and I'd be fine. Which, I didn't. I didn't drink another one. I felt horrible enough so I didn't want to do it again. Then I got up and I was going to go home, but I was stumbling so then he held my arm and told me that he was gonna help me. He told me I needed to lie down first and he suggested I lie down in his bed. I think I might have said no to his bed but I got up the steps anyway and then I was actually in his room. And we started kissing again and I asked him if maybe we could just go back to kissing because I wasn't sure about having sex. And he just kept trying to talk me into it. He kept telling me how beautiful I was and how much he wanted me so… So I said okay…" my jaw trembles again as I watch tears fall down Mrs. Jones' face.

"I said okay. I told him okay. I said "okay but don't tell anyone" and he started moving so fast and I just wanted him to stop. I said okay but then I didn't. And then he was on top of me again and I was… begging him to stop. He took my skirt off and I asked him to stop. Then he tried to take my underwear off but I closed my legs and he got mad and just… like… ripped them. And I told him that it hurt, I remember that now. He just started doing it really fast and I was crying and I told him that it hurt but he said that I just needed to get used to it and as soon as I relaxed and got used to it, it would start to feel good. But it didn't. It just kept hurting and he was so big and crushing me and he was mean and I was just there and I didn't fight him off or push him away. I just laid there. I laid there like an idiot and just waited until he was done with me."

Mrs. Jones puts her head down like she's at a funeral or something, which makes me genuinely uncomfortable, but I hold my head up high. I'm still not sad. I'm still not broken down or crushed by it anymore and I still feel strong. I said I wasn't crying over Puck anymore and I meant that.

Mrs. Jones pulls herself together, clears her throat, then looks at me. "So um…" she sniffs. "Jared and I talked. For a long time last night, we talked. And we decided that whatever we do about it from this point forward is going to be all up to you. Mmkay? So if you wanna press some charges on that boy, we support you. If you wanna tell the school on that boy, we support that too. It's all up to you."

I take a deep breath and think, really think, about the options they're giving me. I thought about it all night before I fell asleep last night and I was thinking about it today in Glee club as well. I was just thinking and thinking about what I really want to happen to Puck now that I have options and people behind me willing to back me up. I thought about his life and how miserable it is. I thought about the way Shelby won't let him see Beth because of it. I thought about the way he might get expelled from school if I told and by some miracle, somebody believed me. And I thought about how it happened a year ago and how unlikely it is that anything will ever be done about it. I thought long and hard about all of it and I've come to my conclusion just now, sitting at the table across from the woman who is more of a mother to me than my own.

"I'm okay, Mrs. Jones," I hold my head up high, shoulders back. Confident. "I wasn't. For a very long time after he did that to me, I wasn't okay. But I am now. I am okay for the first time in a long time and I just… I want to keep being okay. I'm ready to let it go and leave it in the past."

"You don't want us to do nothing about it?"

"No," I shake my head. "I have a really great therapist who helps me dig through everything. And I have a really solid household that I'm living inside of — one that I never want to leave. And for the first time since he raped me, I feel okay again. I'm sorry, but I don't wanna do it all over again. I wanna get over it and leave it behind me. He knows what he did to me. He knows. And he has to live with it."

Mrs. Jones takes in a very deep breath and sighs. She runs her fingers through her tight black curls and sighs again, as if she's just not sure what to say to me at this point.

"Quinn," she starts. "You stronger at sixteen then most people my age. You're incredible, kid." She gets up and comes over to hug me and I'm completely ready for it. In fact, I welcome it. I let her envelope me in the warmest hug ever and I hug her back because this woman has singlehandedly given me the strength I needed to get over this. She doesn't know it, but the only reason I'm okay is because of her and her husband. They're the ones who gave me a place to heal. So if anyone is incredible, it's truly them. "Me and Jared are with you a hundred percent, sugar. A hundred. You don't wanna press no charges or nothing, then we won't do it. But I'm telling you know. If that boy even breathes in your direction one more time, Jared ain't gonna be nice about it. Mmkay

"Okay."

"I'm proud uh you. I don't think a lot of people tell you that, so I'mma tell you right now. I'm proud uh you for the way you handled everything and the way you don't let nothing get you down. I'm real proud." Thank you… I can't even begin to describe what hearing that means to me… you're right… nobody ever tells me that… "So," she smooths a few loose strands of my hair down, then lets me go. "Tell me about Rachel. Lemme know what she's all about before she get here."

"Oh my god," my smile is so big that my cheeks are starting to hurt but I can't help it. Talking about Rachel always gives me butterflies! "She is so amazing, Mrs. Jones. She's a singer, first of all. She's a singer and her and Mercedes are probably the best two in the entire club, honestly. She is SO unreal. And she's so nice, too. She's sensitive but she's not really, like, a punk, you know? Like you can't just bully her and she won't do anything back, she has a breaking point. But she is such a gentle person. She doesn't like to fight, she doesn't like confrontation and she's really passive at times, which I HATE. But she also doesn't like to share the spotlight. She's a little bit selfish and maybe a little arrogant, but it's like… warranted, you know? It's not cockiness because she is that good. I just… I dunno, she's just great. She's great. She's the best thing that's happened to me in a very long time."

"She make you happy?" Mrs. Jones opens the stove to check on the lasagna. "All that gushin' and cheek blushin' goin' on. You really like that girl. She make you happy though?"

"Yes, she does. She makes me SO happy." I'm still smiling and my cheeks are still hot. "We fight a lot and sometimes it's explosive because we just butt heads a lot but she makes me SO happy, mom! SO happy!"

Shit, I slipped up again… is she gonna tell me not to call her that or can we just ignore it?

"That's all that matters then," she shoves the lasagna back into the oven to let it bake some more. "'Long as she makes you happy, she's good in my book."

I guess we can just ignore it. Good, I really don't feel like discussing what calling her "mom" means. I didn't mean to, it just slipped. And it's not like I want to call her mom and her husband dad. That's not really what I want. They're not my parents and it's probably a bit disrespectful to my real parents if I acknowledge them as such. It just slipped out. It meant nothing. It slipped out and I was talking too fast. She's not really my mom, I know that. But speaking of…

"...Why do you think my mom hasn't called?" I ask her and it catches her off guard a little bit, because she stops what she's doing just to look at me for a split second. And the look on her face tells me that she doesn't quite know how to answer that question, but she continues on like she does.

"Probably 'cause she know you safe here. She don't need to call and check up on you 'cause she know you safe here with me and know you getting taken care of."

"...I don't really think she loves me anymore," I admit that to her and really, I admit that to myself too because I didn't know I felt that way until the words fell out of my mouth. But I guess maybe I really do feel that way, actually. Because if she loved me, she'd text or call me… wouldn't she? Or she'd come over to visit me. She's my mom, for crying out loud. My mom. "I think when I left, I gave her what she wanted and now she can just be with my dad freely."

"Well even if that is true, which I know it ain't. Your momma loves you in the best way she know how to love you. It may not be the way she need to love you and it may not be healthy. But she love you the best way she know how and with everything she got. But even if she didn't love you, I love you enough for everybody in the world, you hear?"

"Yes ma'am."

"So stop worrying about it. Don't you worry about your momma not loving you."

"Okay," I whisper.

"Me and Jared done heard you at the table last night," she walks over to the fridge to her herself something to drink. "When you slipped up, I mean. We heard you. And I heard you just a second ago, too."

"...You did?"

"I did," she pours some Pepsi into a cup for herself. "Look Quinn, I ain't pressurin' you or nothing. Alright? But you welcome to call us whatever you like."

Wouldn't it hurt mom and dad if I did, though? If I just decided to start calling Mr. and Mrs. Jones my mom and dad, wouldn't that hurt my actual parents? Yeah, they've hurt me. But I don't wanna hurt them… But Mr. and Mrs. Jones feel like my parents. They feel like my mom and dad. I respect them like a mom and dad. So shouldn't I reflect that?

"Okay, mom."

I think they like her, which is really good. I mean, I knew they would. Nobody ever actually truly hates Rachel. Sure, she gets annoying and a lot of people can't be around her for extended periods of time, but nobody ever truly dislikes her and those who do just don't know her the way they need to know her to fully understand her. I think my parents really like her which is a big step in the right direction.

Mr. and Mrs. Jones both listen to her like they actually care what comes out of her mouth every time she speaks, and all the jokes that Rachel has tried to crack tonight haven't fallen flat. She's making everybody laugh and working them with her charm and I'm starting to wonder if maybe I was nervous for no good reason. I should have trusted in her ability to make them love her. She has the uncanny ability to make anyone love her.

"I mean, I guess I would be okay if I were just a recording artist someday," Rachel stabs a piece of salad with her fork. "But Broadway is really the big goal. I've wanted to be on Broadway since I saw my first show in the womb."

Mr. and Mrs. Jones laugh at her when she says that and I laugh too, but not because of what Rachel said about being in the womb. I'm laughing because she's deadly serious and they think she's joking but she's not. Shelby told me this story once, actually. The first time I watched Beth at her house with Rachel, she told us that she saw Les Misérables while she was pregnant with Rachel and knew then and there that Rachel was going to be a performer because she kicked the whole time the songs were playing.

"So when'd you first realize you could sing?" Mrs. Jones cuts a piece of her lasagna off at the corner then blows on it. "Your parents push you into voice lessons?"

"I sang before I could talk and while my voice wasn't quite as amazing and compelling as it is now, my dads couldn't help but notice my perfect pitch so they set me up with my vocal coach and the rest is star-born history."

"Her mom is Shelby," I say with a mouthful of food. "Remember? The one I told you about? With the really pretty voice? Sounds like she could be a voiceover artist for Disney or something?"

"The one who adopted the baby?" Mr. Jones asks.

"Yeah. Shelby. Shelby Corcoran. That's Rachel's mom."

I glance over at Rachel to make sure she's okay with me saying that and she doesn't seem too distressed about it. She is busy cutting a crunchy part of the noodles and trying to pull it off. Sometimes she's really proud of Shelby being her mother because… well… she's Shelby and like Rachel, the more you know her, the more awesome she becomes. But then there are other times where she gets kind of ashamed of Shelby being her mother because Shelby is doing very good for herself and Rachel feels like she could have kept her if she really wanted to. It's hit or miss with Rachel's feelings on Shelby.

"That woman got a big voice." Mrs. Jones nods her head. "I went and looked her up after Quinn told us that's who had the baby and I saw her sing. She got a big voice. Huge one. You mean to tell me you can sing like that, Miss Rachel?"

"Well I'm not actually as old as Shelby and I don't have as much vocal control, but —"

"She's better than Shelby, actually," I shrug.

"Quinn!" She nudges me with her foot under the table.

"What?! You are! Shelby's amazing but she can't do what you do."

"Obviously Quinn's a little biased," Rachel mumbles, head down looking at her plate.

"So Miss Rachel, I have to ask," Mrs. Jones puts down her fork and wipes her mouth with a napkin. "Do your parents approve of you and our Quinn?" I can't believe she just asked that! Oh my god! "Because I gotta say, we ain't got no problem with Quinn going over to your house to hang out sometimes, but we only gonna let her go places where she's welcome. She don't go nowhere that she ain't wanted. She goes where she's celebrated, not tolerated."

Rachel swallows her bite of lasagna and nods her head slowly, like she's trying to reassure them. "My dads are gay and they've been married for twenty years, so. It's not a problem with them. They were actually happy when I came out to them. And I'm sure they'll love Quinn."

Okay, ma. See?! See?! It's not a problem! Can we stop with the embarrassing, on-the-spot questions now?!

"So Ma," I tuck my hair behind my ears as I change the subject. "Do you and Dad care if I stay at Rachel's tonight? Her dads will be home and we'll respect their house rules and I'll call you before we go to sleep. Can I stay? Please, please?"

"'Cedes told us this morning you was gonna ask to stay at Rachel's tonight," Mr. Jones grins. "She told us to let you, too."

"I don't care if you go, baby," Mrs. Jones shakes her head. "Go on and have fun. Can't remember the last time me and Jer had the house to ourselves on a Friday night."

"Mercedes isn't coming home tonight either?" I ask.

"Nah, she's staying…" Mr. Jones starts to say, but Mrs. Jones glares at him and he starts to retract. "She's staying somewhere else tonight."

"Okay!" I spring up from the table because now I don't feel so bad knowing that Mercedes is going out tonight too. Sometimes I feel bad whenever I leave Mercedes home by herself because me living with her is supposed to be an endless sleepover and we go wherever each other goes. But knowing that she won't be here tonight either just gives me all the more reason to go to Rachel's.

They took that surprisingly well… the way they've been acting really made me think that they would have said no. They treat me and Rachel the same way they treat Mercedes and Sam and there's no way in HELL Mercedes would ever be allowed to stay at Sam's house. They would NEVER allow that. Maybe it's because I can't actually get pregnant from having sex with Rachel. Mercedes, on the other hand, can get pregnant if she stays at her boyfriend's house and the only thing I can get from Rachel is a headache and an orgasm. Maybe that's why they agreed. Because there's no real danger in me being gay.

I start by cleaning up the dishes once I'm up from the table, but Mrs. Jones grabs my hand. "Just go grab your stuff, we'll clean the table. You can go."

"Are you sure?!"

"Yeah, we're sure. You and Rachel go on and head out."

Rachel pushes her chair easy from the table and stands up too. "I'll wait for you out in the car."

"Okay, I'll be right down, I'm just gonna go pack a bag."

As I jog up the stairs two at a time, I hear Mr. and Mrs. Jones telling Rachel how nice it was to meet her and how they want her to come back soon.

And I couldn't have asked for dinner to go any more smoothly.

Rachel puts the car in park as we pull into her driveway, and I immediately go for the door handle so I can let myself out.

She's been acting kind of weird since we left my house and I'm starting to wonder if maybe she's changing her mind about me sleeping over. Or maybe she's mad at me for putting her on the spot and saying that Shelby is her mother and she's a better singer, I don't know. All I know is that she's acting weird. She keeps looking at her phone every five seconds, even while she was driving. And she won't talk to me, really. She keeps giving me short answers. I keep asking her why it was so important for me to stay at her house tonight and she just kept saying "because." And I asked her what we're going to do tonight, and she keeps saying "I don't know, whatever you want." And I asked her if she wants to order takeout way later so we can just gorge ourselves and watch movies and she said "maybe." She's being weird and I hope that maybe once we get inside, she'll straighten up. Because she was so excited about me staying earlier and now it seems like she couldn't care any less if I do or if I don't.

Even right now, she's looking down at her phone and her thumbs are flying across the screen and she's kind of shielding her phone away from me like she doesn't want me to see the screen or something. So I just sling my overnight bag over my shoulder and start to pull the door handle to get out, but she grabs my arm and pulls me.

"Wait!" she exclaims, sounding panicked. "We can't go in yet…"

"Why not?" I wrinkle my eyebrows.

"Because," she locks her phone and puts it in the middle cupholders. "Because I… I want to kiss you?"

"We can kiss inside?" I shake my head slowly, trying to make sense of her behavior but I really can't. I go for the door handle again and she grabs my arm just like she did the first time. "Rachel, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I said I want to kiss you! Right here! Right now!" She pulls me closer to her by my arms and tilts her head slightly to the side and before I know it, her lips are crashing against mine. She bites my bottom lip as she pulls away and I'm just really confused. "Come on, Quinn. Kiss me. You know I can't help myself when the mood strikes and I just want you so bad. I want you so bad right here."

"Rachel, what in the world —" she grabs my face with her hand and pulls me in for another kiss and it's way steamier this time. It's her tongue massaging mine and her hand against my waist and even though I'm a little confused by all of this, I can't resist her kisses, so I close my eyes and kiss her back.

But even with my eyes closed, I can tell that something is off. She's not kissing me the way she usually does. I've kissed Rachel enough times to know how she kisses and the patterns in which she puts her tongue into my mouth. It's different this time. It's way different. And I can feel her hands moving behind my back, but it's not in a sexy way. Not in a way that she's trying to take my bra off or something like that. Her hands are moving like she's doing something literally behind my back and I just don't know what has gotten into her and why she's acting so weird.

Is she… texting? Is she texting behind my back?

"Rachel —" I mumble, pulling away from her kiss. "Rachel, what is going on? You're being super weird."

"It's not weird to find my girlfriend extremely hot and bangable right here in the car," she shrugs. "Nature called. I was really feeling it." Her phone buzzes in her hand and as soon as she looks at it, it's like her entire personality returns and she snaps completely out of it. "Ready to go in?"

"You're so weird," I shake my head again and actually get out of the car this time.

I follow her up the walkway and up the four steps that lead to her front door, and I wait a few steps behind her as she shoves the key into the lock and opens it.

Maybe she's PMSing. I do a lot of crazy stuff whenever I'm PMSing too, so maybe that's the case with her. Maybe that means we'll have sex tonight. If her hormones really are racing and she's being this irrational and insane, maybe I'll have some really hot sex tonight.

If she's mad at me, I wish she would tell me. It's nothing to apologize for putting her on the spot with the Shelby comments.

"I'm gonna go put my bag in your bedroom," I say as I bend down and unzip my boots so I can take them off.

"Wait, no!" She grabs me by the hand the same way she did in the car and I'm really starting to get annoyed. I'm starting to think that Finn is here or something and she's trying to keep me from seeing him because she knows I'll freak out. "Come downstairs first. To the Oscar room."

"Rachel, let go of me! Whatever's going on, you need to just tell me! Now, before I make you take me home!"

"There's nothing going on! There's just something I want to show you downstairs. I made something for you and I want to show you!"

"Why can't I put my bag down upstairs before you show me?! Is somebody up there?!"

"What?! No! Quinn, come on. Let's just go downstairs really quick and then you can put your bag upstairs, okay?" She takes my hand and drags me to her basement door. We slowly climb down the steps, hand in hand, and I'm so severely annoyed that I wish I could burn her hand while she's holding mine. I wish I could spit fire from my limbs and burn her hand to get her to let me go. "I worked so hard on it and you're gonna love it. Just wait until you see it."

As soon as we get to the very bottom of the steps, I start to smell… pizza? Or something? I don't know, it's some kind of food that I smell and it smells really good and even though I just ate lasagna and salad and garlic bread, the smell is making me hungry.

Rachel flips the switch to make the lights of her Oscar room turn on and as soon as she does, everything starts to make sense. Her weird behavior, the texting behind my back, the kissing me to stall me, the dragging me to the basement instead of letting me go upstairs… it all makes so much sense now.

"SURPRISE!" They all scream as soon as the lights turn on and though I jump because they did surprise me… I mostly just want to cry.

Santana is sitting up on the bar with her legs crossed, and she's holding a pink and yellow balloon. Brittany is standing by a table with a big pink and yellow birthday cake on it. Mercedes is sitting on one of four blow-up air mattresses, and Tina is busy taking down the tops of the pizza boxes. Even Sugar and Lauren are here and they're arranging a stack of board games. And all hanging across the top of the bar, a pink banner with yellow writing reads, "Happy 17th Birthday, Quinn!"

And I just start to cry because I didn't think I had friends and a girlfriend who love me so much.