Author's Notes: Here, have a massively delayed chapter while I worked (and procrastinated) on Nanowrimo. As always, thanks go to Mike Ownby who makes sure it's Breadstix and not Breadsticks, and who translates Britspeak into American.
Going out with Sam… is much better than she'd expected.
She'd originally agreed to the date to get back the feeling of being normal – like someone whose biggest worry was what accessories would go with her Cheerios uniform on a Friday night date – but ended up enjoying Sam's company more than she thought she would.
So when he shyly asks her for a second date in the parking lot behind Breadstix, she accepts without further thought.
Except Sam adds: "I was hoping that you'd let me drive next time. I've got a little something planned."
Quinn hums noncommittally, brain whirring as she tries to figure out how to respond. "You want to pick me up?"
"Yeah, like a more traditional kinda date? Not that I'm not digging this whole independence thing, I think that it's cool that we drove to Breadstix separately, but I wanna do something for you."
And she can't think of a way to decline politely, because he is smiling at her in a way that she finds flattering and it's been ages since she's had a boy look at her as though she is someone desirable and attractive. "Okay," she says, defeated. "I'll text you my address."
"Sweet," says Sam happily.
Quinn has a minor freakout after she gets home (mostly because she hasn't told Sam about Beth and it still feels strange for her to think of the Berrys' house as home).
"Is that you, Quinn?"
"It's me," she says.
Rachel pops her head out of her room. "I trust that you had a wonderful evening?"
"Yeah. It was pretty good."
"Marvelous. Although if that's the case, I must ask why you look so unhappy."
"Sam asked me out again," blurts out Quinn.
"You said no?"
"No! I mean – I said yes, but he wants to drive. And uh. Pick me up from here."
"Oh. Ohhh." Rachel opens her door fully, revealing her outfit: a checked flannel pajama set topped off with unicorn slippers. Quinn is too busy thinking about her personal dilemma to make fun of her outfit. "I see."
"Yeah." There is a brief moment in which Quinn contemplates telling Sam to pick her up outside the neighbour's house so he won't accidentally spot Rachel or either of her dads and ask awkward questions. Because the alternative would be asking the Berrys to hide somewhere like it's not their house, and the audacity of that makes Quinn feel guilty.
Alternatively, she could save herself all these mental gymnastics and tell him the truth. But that would also mean telling him about Beth, and Quinn doesn't want his pity. Or worse yet, his pledging to stand by her despite her… circumstances.
Much to Quinn's eternal embarrassment, Rachel seems to read her mind. "I'm fairly certain you've not explained your unique living situation to Sam yet, so my dads and I volunteer to hide in the basement when he drops you off," she says. "It should be fine as long as you give us ample notice via text; I am perfectly capable of managing my dads should they choose not to comply in the name of dad traditions..."
Quinn sighs. "You don't have to do that for me, I can explain things to them myself. It's not like I'm ashamed of what you and your dads have done for me…"
"Quinn. We understand." Rachel pats her hand. "You're certainly entitled to date Sam, after all. I, for one, can hardly judge you considering the lengths I went to to ensure Finn and I had a memorable first date – oops." She covers her mouth.
"It's fine, Rach," says Quinn. "I've done some pretty shitty stuff myself."
"All the same, I think you would prefer I not continually bring it up."
Quinn makes a 'moving on' rolling motion with her hand. "... so. It's really okay?"
"It's fine. Leave it to me," says Rachel, smiling warmly. "If it'll make you feel better, take it that I have significant personal stake as motivation for my part in this affair."
"You do?"
"I think you would be more successful at convincing Sam to join Glee than Finn has been." She sighs. "He's been instructed to drop hints at least once a week, but knowing Finn, I think he hasn't been as effective as I would have liked. Perhaps he could use a lesson in subterfuge…"
Quinn scoffs and rolls her eyes, but it's all for show; trust Rachel and her single-minded focus to put things in perspective and make her feel better. "Of course. I'll do my best, but don't expect miracles."
"That's all I ask. I have utmost faith in your people skills," says Rachel, in such a serious manner that Quinn is unable to stop laughing for a while afterwards.
As both of Rachel's dads were out the last time, she escaped the indignity of their parenting. This time, she isn't as lucky. "Your curfew is at 10pm," says Leroy sternly. "No funny business. I know we're not supposed to reveal ourselves, but Hiram and I are prepared to flick the porch lights should the need arise."
"Dad, we've talked about this," sighs Rachel. "Stop threatening to embarrass Quinn."
"It's not a threat, pumpkin," replies Leroy mildly. "As long as both of you are living in our house, you follow our rules."
Quinn finds that she doesn't mind it as much as she thought she would; she's done her share of eye-rolling and loud sighing when her father laid down the law with Finn and the other boys she dated. Leroy doesn't have to do any of this, and she knows he knows it.
With Leroy, she has an ally (of sorts) in Rachel, who huffs something that sounds a lot like "honestly" under her breath.
The doorbell sounds. Leroy turns to Quinn. "Alright, that's our cue. What time are you supposed to be home?"
"Ten," says Quinn.
He nods. "And not a minute later!"
Rachel pushes at him. "Have fun!" she calls over her shoulder, beaming at Quinn. "Don't lose sight of the goal!" And then they're gone.
Quinn takes a deep breath and goes to answer the door.
"Hey! Sorry I'm late, my kid siblings were being little goobers."
"That's fine," says Quinn automatically. She follows him out to his beat-up van.
"Uh, you might wanna roll the window back up," he says sheepishly, motioning at it, "but maybe leave it open a crack. The air-conditioning doesn't work but I don't think you want your hair being blown all over the place."
"Oh." She does as instructed, a little mystified. But Sam seems to take her silence as displeasure and starts to babble: "Yeah, I'm really sorry about this, but this is all I could afford after a whole summer of working at Dunham's. My dad's promised to take me cruising for spare parts at the junkyards on weekends, so… that's happening." He laughs weakly. "Stay tuned," he says in his best radio announcer's impersonation.
"It's fine," says Quinn. "I mean it. I was just surprised by the information overload."
"Is that a good or bad surprised?" Sam asks, sounding far too hopeful.
"It's too early for me to say anything," she demurs.
To Quinn's astonishment, Sam just laughs and nods. "Fair enough. You might change your mind and run for it after dinner."
"Why? What have you got planned?"
He doesn't answer, distracted by the overtaking sedan in front of them. "Uh, long story, but it was supposed to be Chinese."
"But?"
He blushes so deeply red, his ears are tinted with color. "But my parents were a little short on our loan payments this month so I gave them everything I had, and my paycheck for the week isn't in yet. So all I can afford is drive-through fast food."
"... That was a lot to process," says Quinn diplomatically, feeling bad about the Breadstix date, wondering how much he'd had to save up to afford it.
He shrugs. "Sorry."
"I can go Dutch if you'd like."
"Please don't. My fragile male ego is already on its last legs," says Sam with a laugh. "I'm paying, and we can go somewhere nice to hang out after."
Already, this is unlike every date Quinn has ever been on – and she finds that she likes it. It's a refreshing change from the usual movie-then-Breadstix Finn and Puck are fond of. She chooses not to read too much into the fact that it's his honesty she finds appealing, given the lack of her own. "It's fine," says Quinn, putting her hand on his forearm.
The smile she gets in return is small but genuine.
It's completely by chance that she remembers her promise to Rachel; while tidying up the living room, she accidentally knocks the Scrabble box from under the coffee table. Quinn feels bad that it's been nearly two weeks since her first date with Sam, rushing out the door as she promises Rachel they'll play the next day.
And Rachel had been her usual understanding self about it. Quinn sighs.
"Rachel?"
"Yes, Quinn?" She finishes drying the dish she's holding.
"I'm done with my stuff if you, uh, still wanted to play Scrabble."
Rachel instantly brightens. "Wonderful! Of course I would be delighted to play Scrabble with you. Allow me to finish up here and I will be with you shortly." She powers through the dishes at top speed. Quinn is surprised nothing gets broken.
"Cool. I'll go set up."
By the time a beaming Rachel appears, the Scrabble board is set up and waiting in the dining room.
"Who goes first?" she asks, reaching for the velvet bag of tiles.
"You can," says Quinn with a shrug.
"Generous of you." Rachel gives the bag of tiles a shake before offering it to Quinn. "I must warn you; while games that rely on chance are not my forte, I have found that my vocabulary comes in handy for Scrabble."
"I think I'll manage," says Quinn, who has been averaging an A for English for the past two years. She arranges her tiles into three neat groups on the slate; vowels, consonants, and one odd X that gets shoved to the far right for her to dwell on.
"Wonderful. I look forward to what indubitably will be a challenge." Rachel studies her own tiles, then plays her first word.
"CAT," reads Quinn.
"The perfect warmup."
Quinn hums in agreement and uses the A of Rachel's word to play COAX. "Double letter score for O and X," she says. "That would be… 22 points."
Rachel's smile fades a little. "... Well done. And now…" She adds ON to the C of Quinn's word. "7 points to me."
Quinn frowns at her new tiles, rearranging them on her slate to her satisfaction before playing her word.
"BICORNE?" says Rachel. "That's not a real word!"
"Yes, it is. It's the type of hat Napoleon wears. Two corners, bicorne. Three corners, tricorne."
Rachel narrows her eyes at Quinn. "Quinn, as someone whose vocabulary has been unflatteringly compared to a thesaurus on multiple occasions, I'm fairly sure that isn't a real word. Next, you'll be telling me that a hat with one corner is a unicorn."
"With an E, yes."
Rachel narrows her eyes.
"Would you like to challenge it?"
"Certainly." Rachel disappears from the table and returns shortly with the family Merriam-Webster, a well-worn tome.
"... You could've googled it."
"Print is much more trustworthy, Quinn." Rachel flips to the Bs and scans the column. Suddenly, her shoulders slump. "... It would appear that you are right and I stand corrected."
"So that's a double word score, and a bingo." Quinn adds 50 points to her score with a flourish, enjoying the pursing of Rachel's lips.
"I suppose," says Rachel unhappily.
"72 points." Quinn tries her best not to be too smug. "And I guess that means you're missing a turn."
Rachel harrumphs. "Smugness is not a good look on you, Fabray."
"Oh, so it's Fabray now?"
"Hurry up and play your next word." She's muttering something under her breath, which Quinn presumes is uncharitable given she can catch phrases like SAT vocabulary and completely ruthless. Unfazed, Quinn uses the first letter of BICORNE to play SLAB.
Rachel rubs her hands together gleefully. "I hope you're ready for this," she says, and puts down OWL. "That's 12 points."
"That's pretty good." Frowning at her tiles, Quinn puts down SWAY in response.
Rachel sighs. "This is outrageous," she says, squinting at her rack as though the tiles hold all the secrets of the universe. "Why am I not winning? I ask you, what is the point of my prodigious vocabulary if it doesn't help me beat you at Scrabble?"
"I guess it's just a fluke," replies Quinn, keeping her face straight. "You probably got unlucky with the tiles. We can restart the game if you'd like."
"I appreciate what you're trying to do, Quinn, but I am not a sore loser." She plays BOY, and folds her arms across her chest, sighing when Quinn uses her B to play BROCKIT. "Are you sure that's a real word?"
Quinn taps the dictionary. "Wanna challenge it?" she asks, expression deliberately neutral.
"No. I bow to your expansive vocabulary."
Leroy tries not to choke on his soup. "You played how many games, baby girl?"
"Five," says Rachel gloomily. "I lost all of them with miserable and truly humiliating margins."
Hiram reaches over to pat Quinn's shoulder. "Congratulations on dethroning the undisputed Scrabble queen of this household."
"Thank you for the unstinting support, Daddy." Rachel stabs at her bowl in a move that is decidedly unnecessary for eating soup.
"You're welcome, pumpkin."
"It's the seven-letter limit and the random tiles, I think," says Quinn apologetically. She's still riding the high of her victories, but doing her best to curb her smugness. "If there was a game that rewarded you for using seven-syllable words, I'm sure you'd win those easily."
"While I recognize the effort you're taking to make me feel better about myself, the defeat is far too raw right now for it to be appreciated." Rachel narrows her eyes. "Furthermore, I can't help but sense the smugness radiating from you."
"Me? Smug?" She grins.
"Yes, Miss AP English. Smug, adjective, which means an excessive pride in one's achievements." Rachel points her spoon at Quinn. "I hereby rescind any future board game invitations."
"Rescind's a seven-letter word," says Quinn innocently.
Leroy chuckles.
Rachel stalks into the choir room, startling everyone except for Quinn (who was engrossed in her book, and missed out on the full impact of the diva storm-in). "You'll never guess what Coach Sylvester has just informed me," she snaps at the other Glee kids.
"Schue got fired?"
"Glee club is cancelled?"
"Quinn's pregnant?"
Quinn squints at Brittany, the last person to speak. "Excuse me?"
"That was last year's news, Britt," says Santana.
"Oh."
Rachel sighs. "Puck's in juvenile detention." Her announcement is met with a frisson of chatter.
"Why's he in juvie? What did he do that was worse than slinging Kurt into the dumpster?"
"He tried to steal an ATM," says Rachel, raising her voice to be heard over Kurt's outraged screech. "He drove through the convenience store window with his mom's truck, if Coach Sylvester is to be believed."
Quinn scowls. "This sounds exactly like the stupid shit Puck would do. Why am I not surprised? Good riddance."
"Juvie? Do you think we can visit him, San? Someone needs to bring him homework."
"It's not the same as being home sick from school, babe," replies Santana, not looking up from her nails. "It's like prison for teens."
"Oh. Maybe bring him a fruitcake with a file hidden inside, then?"
"What this means for us all," interjects Rachel loudly over everyone, "is we are one short of the minimum twelve club members required for competition eligibility."
Her announcement shocks everyone into silence for about twenty seconds, before chaos erupts again. Quinn tunes everything out as she tries to process what this means for her and the club.
Rachel is strangely quiet on the ride home. Quinn is a little worried. When Rachel's quiet for a prolonged period of time, that usually means that she's sulking, or she's planning something, and given the events of the afternoon, Quinn is certain that it's the latter.
But there's homework to do and a baby to take care of, so Quinn doesn't dwell on it, meaning that she's startled when the knock comes on her door later that evening.
"Quinn? Are you busy?"
Quinn looks at the mess of scribbles that is supposed to be her essay for AP English and sighs. "No. Come in," she says.
Rachel does, her hands clasped together in what Quinn discerns is her "I need a favor" pose.
"No."
"I haven't said anything!" protests Rachel.
"I know that look."
"What look?"
Quinn sighs. "Fine. Tell me you aren't going to ask me for a favor."
"It's not a favor per se, more like a necessary course of action to save Glee."
Quinn sighs again, but deeper. "There you go."
"Hear me out. Please?"
She stands up, crossing the room to take a fussy Beth out of her crib. "Go on, then."
"You know we're one person short of qualifying to compete," begins Rachel.
"I know, Rach. I was in the choir room earlier."
"Physically, perhaps," Rachel shoots back, and Quinn laughs, conceding the point. "I need you to get Sam to join. Previously, I was happy with you merely attempting to influence him, but now that we're desperately short of a member, it has become imperative that he join the club."
Quinn's laughter stops abruptly. "Okay, I'm gonna ignore everything about this and ask what makes you think I can get Sam to join Glee."
"You interact with him more often than I ever will," says Rachel. "I've already enlisted Finn's help to speak to him during football practice and I think you know how well that turned out."
"I really don't like that you're not considering Sam's feelings in this at all," says Quinn. Beth babbles in the background, fingers tugging at Quinn's hair.
"Believe it or not, I have considered that," retorts Rachel. "I'm not completely comfortable with it, but I have to consider the future of Glee too. The end justifies the means."
"Rach. You can't just sacrifice people's feelings for a so-called greater good, you know. I doubt people think Glee's future is worth it." This is why people slushie you, goes unsaid.
Rachel huffs. "If you have any better ideas for saving Glee, do let me know." She offers her finger to Beth, who has been reaching for it for the better part of their conversation.
Quinn purses her lips.
"For someone who is normally fairly verbose, you're quiet."
"... you're still bitter about Scrabble, aren't you."
"I will neither confirm nor deny anything," replies Rachel mulishly. "Anyway, all I'm asking is that you consider what I'm saying. I wouldn't be asking if I had other options, as you know."
Quinn feels like a hypocrite. As much as she was berating Rachel, the thought of Glee ending hovers in the back of her mind, slowly growing and filling her thoughts. As much as she hates it, Santana's words about her betting on Glee instead of Cheerios for that college scholarship haunt her.
Sam meets her at the mall for ice cream on a Saturday afternoon. "I got paid," he says, beaming.
"Congratulations?"
He just laughs. "Double scoop on me?"
Quinn likes that about him; he doesn't read too much into the things she says, just takes it all with that good-natured charm. Which makes her guilty for the manipulation that she's about to perform.
"How are you settling into McKinley?"
Sam takes his time chasing a drop of melted ice cream before answering. "It's pretty good. Football's cool. School itself – not that much, but I was never great at studying anyway."
She can't believe she's doing this, but… "Have you given any thought to joining Glee?"
"Yeah, I have." He peers at her curiously. "What's up?"
"I'm sorry?"
"LIke, you're pretty chill and all – "
Quinn can't help but snort. She is anything but chill.
"– but this isn't the first time you've asked me about joining Glee, and Finn mentioned it at practice yesterday too, so…" Sam shrugs. "Are you guys desperate to recruit people or something?"
There's something about his expression that makes Quinn want to be honest with him. "We lost a member recently and that makes us one short of the minimum number to be eligible for show choir competition," she confesses.
"Oh." Sam chews on his lower lip thoughtfully. "It's not cool that you and Finn were being all subtle-like and expecting me to get what you were trying to say."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"It's cool," he says dismissively. "But like, what's wrong with just asking me? Like, if you'd just said you needed help, then I'd be more open to it, you know?"
Quinn stares at him in surprise. "Are you saying you would join if we were honest with you?"
Sam shrugs again. "Why not? If you guys needed me that badly, I would think about it. It's not like it's costing me much and all, plus I like singing and music and stuff."
"That's…" Quinn flushes. "Thank you. I'm sorry."
"So, you need a Jedi to save the galaxy and all?"
"Excuse me?"
The amusement slowly fades from Sam's face, replaced by abject horror. "You've never watched Star Wars? Dude, I know what we're doing this afternoon."
"Please don't call me dude," she says. No matter how grateful she is to Sam right now, she has her limits.
So Quinn still doesn't get Star Wars (she doesn't understand the fuss about the Empire and the Rebellion) but Jedi are cool; Quinn can't find anything to criticize about a glowing laser light stick. And so is Princess Leia. Anybody who can hold her own against the Empire while looking immaculate is a winner in Quinn's book.
"What did you think?"
"It was alright," she hedges.
Sam just laughs. "Yeah, I get that. It'll be clearer after we watch Empire Strikes Back. Episode V's where the cool stuff happens."
Quinn frowns in confusion? "Episode V? Didn't we watch the first movie?"
"Nah, A New Hope's Episode IV."
"Huh?"
"Much you have to learn, young Padawan," intones Sam.
Quinn gives him a look that she usually reserves for Brittany.
Sam sighs. "I promise it gets better."
"Define better."
"It'll be awesome, I promise, but I'm not spoiling you."
Rachel is waiting for her when she gets home. "Well?"
"We didn't talk a lot today. That's not what I meant!" Quinn yelps, horrified by the look on Rachel's face.
"Then what did you do?"
"We watched Star Wars."
"Star Wars? Isn't that the space drama movie series Artie and Tina love?"
"Yeah, that's the one."
"Oh." Rachel straightens. "May I remind you, Quinn, that Sectionals are approaching. If we don't have enough club members, we won't be allowed to compete. If we don't compete, Sylvester has her reason to dissolve Glee. And that means…"
"No scholarship for me and no nationwide accolades for you."
"Precisely. Wait a minute, scholarship?" Rachel's frown deepens. "Quinn, I had no idea that was so important to you."
Quinn doesn't say anything.
"I was led to believe that my dads have set up a college fund for you."
"I don't wanna depend on them," says Quinn. "I'd really rather not be reliant on your dads' charity as much as possible."
"I don't think you'll need to be. Regardless of whether it's for Glee or not, earning a scholarship is definitely within your ability, given your prowess at Scrabble."
"... you're still sore about that, aren't you?"
"Quinn, you beat me 657 to 151 in our last game!"
"You weren't even trying by then!"
Rachel huffs at her, but it's mostly for show. "Quinn, I respect that you have your pride. I'm confident that you will earn that scholarship you need, with or without Glee. But Glee means a lot to me, and you have a better chance of saving Glee than I do." She takes a deep breath. "Consider this as me asking you for a favor."
"Rach, you've already done plenty for me," says Quinn uncomfortably. "You don't need to ask me for anything. I'll do it if it means that much to you."
Rachel brightens. "Does that extend to hugs?"
"No."
Quinn hates gym class. She was exempt from participation when she was a Cheerio (and when she was pregnant) but this year, the new football coach (and gym teacher) Beiste is insistent that she joins in. The same applies to current Cheerios, a fact Sue has not appreciated and is why she's made Coach Beiste a target.
Or so she's heard. These days, rather than being in the war room with Sue and Santana, Quinn gets her news from Brittany, meaning that it ends up being an adaptation or a fable by the time it goes through Brittany's processes.
Today, the girls' gym class activity is basketball. Quinn hates it; she's not coordinated enough for sports that revolve around balls, preferring racquet sports. The only saving grace is that playing allows her to block out other people instead of sitting on the side and holding her head high against the cruel whispers and looks (that were even more pronounced once she started to show).
Half of the girls are issued evil-smelling fluorescent vests to wear over their shirts to make up the opposing team. Quinn is one of the lucky ones who don't have to wear it.
The other girls (which includes Brittany, much to her relief) vote her team captain, a fact that Quinn knows she should find flattering but isn't as satisfying as she'd thought it would be. She pins the armband to her sleeve without much enthusiasm.
"Oh, are you team captain? I shouldn't have expected any less given your innate leadership ability."
She blinks at Rachel, who is practically swimming in a vest. "... Isn't that a little big for you, Rachel?"
"It's the smallest size they have," Rachel informs her, pulling a face.
"Grow bigger."
"Haha. Very funny and original." Rachel sighs. "I would much rather be on your team."
Quinn's heart skips a beat for some reason. "Why?"
Rachel looks at her quizzically. "Your team doesn't need to wear the vests. I would be able to play unhindered – however much that will benefit the team."
"Oh," says Quinn, feeling foolish.
"Nevertheless," continues Rachel, "I'm certain we shall have a wonderful game."
"Who's your team captain?" Quinn asks, desperate to redirect the conversation.
"Well, well. If it isn't Preggo."
"The cheesy villain line isn't working, S."
Santana pouts. Instead of wearing her fluorescent vest, she's tied it around her waist like a belt. "Shame. But prepare to get crushed anyway, we got Zizes. Even Britt's magnificent athletic abilities won't save you."
Quinn groans internally. Santana's right; there's no way her team can compete against Zizes and Santana working together, even with Brittany's superior athleticism on her side.
But she's not going to go down easy.
She assigns most of her team as decoys, with herself and Brittany the core. Keeping the ball between them while everyone else focuses on deterring Zizes and Santana should be a valid enough strategy.
The toss-up is good, with Brittany snagging the ball from a pouting Santana and passing it to her. Quinn dribbles around a fluorescent-vest-clad girl and passes to Brittany –
– or, at least, she attempts to pass it before it's intercepted by another fluorescent vest.
"Rachel?!"
Moving much quicker than Quinn expected, Rachel somehow manages to evade Brittany's long limbs and pass the ball to Santana. "Hello, Quinn," says Rachel, smiling beatifically.
"I didn't know you could move like that."
"Physical fitness is very important to me; as you know, I have my daily elliptical workouts. But that doesn't develop the overall level of fitness I certainly require – "
"Less chatting and more hustle, ladies!" Coach Beiste barks. "I wanna see you move like it's pizza day in the cafeteria and y'all fighting for the last pepperoni slice!"
Rachel tosses the coach a wounded look. "Coach Beiste, as a vegan, that analogy doesn't apply to me."
"Vegan pepperoni pizza, then. I've had one of those, it's not bad if you close your eyes."
Rachel sighs. "I'll talk to you later, Quinn," she says, jogging away.
Santana scores a point with a lucky bounce off the backboard, which Brittany manages to counter with a three-pointer. Quinn, her aim not as good as she'll admit, decides to assign herself the task of making sure Brittany gets the ball as much as possible, which means most of her time is spent guarding the taller blonde girl and barking orders at the rest of their team. Which means that often than not, Quinn finds herself fending off Rachel's attempts to steal the ball.
And Quinn could handle all of that, except for Rachel's non-stop chatter throughout.
"I was thinking that maybe I was wrong to rely on you and Finn. It's in the club's best interest if I joined in the recruitment efforts; after all, I am the co-captain."
Quinn grunts and fakes left, attempting to pass the ball to a teammate on the right. Rachel easily intercepts the ball, still talking, Quinn in incredulous pursuit.
"I had hoped that Finn and I could divide our responsibilities but desperate times call for desperate measures, wouldn't you agree? Glee's survival depends on it. We have managed to survive worse, but I would rather not push our luck."
Quinn makes a grab for the ball. Rachel dodges it easily and takes off down the court, Quinn in pursuit.
"This is our second-last chance to win a title. Ideally, it would be good to have a solid team like Vocal Adrenaline so we could start planning our senior year setlist now, but we seem to perform best when we're underdogs." Rachel passes the ball to Santana, who's laughing so hard she drops it; Brittany darts forward and grabs the ball, passing it back to Quinn, who passes it off to another teammate.
Shortly after, Coach Beiste blows her whistle, signalling the end of the game. Quinn puts both hands on her hips. Rachel does the same, although unlike Quinn, she's not trying to catch her breath.
"While I'm not expecting you to reply immediately, I would like to know your thoughts at a later juncture."
"How… are you still… talking?"
"My daily elliptical regime is crucial for building a fitness level suited to six weekly shows on Broadway."
Santana jogs up, looking incredibly amused. "Great game, shortstack. You move like greased lightning despite looking like a melted ice cream," says Santana, plucking at the oversized vest with a smirk.
"Thank you, Santana. Genuine compliments from you are few and far between, so rest assured I shall treasure this one."
"Whatever, Midge." Santana leans in. "Didn't know those legs weren't just for show. You could be a Cheerio if you wanted."
"Thank you for the generous offer, though I must decline. Glee needs me."
"Suit yourself." Santana saunters off to link pinkies with Brittany.
For some reason, even though Rachel doesn't look particularly bothered, it's the predatory look on Santana's face that twists Quinn's insides up.
As much as she hates to admit it, Sam was right; the plot of Star Wars makes more sense the further they work their way through the movies. At this stage, Quinn understands that Episodes I to III are prequels and therefore Not To Be Touched until they've completed the first trilogy.
Well, at the very least she knows why Sam was talking so funny. The green alien mentor speaks the same way.
Sam leans back in his seat with a sigh. "You're pretty cool, Quinn."
"Because I watched your nerd movies?" Quinn deadpans.
He laughs. "Because you watched my nerd movies," he parrots, grinning like a fool. "I think that's super cool, like… You don't look like the kind of girl who would do that with me."
"What kind of girl do I look like, then?" She didn't intend the question to come out as loaded as it did, but she relishes the slight widening of Sam's eyes and the way he straightens up.
"You look real classy. I kinda expected you to be a cheerleader and all. You live in the good part of town, I thought you would have fancier hobbies and stuff."
Quinn longs to tell him that it isn't even her house, and if she hadn't taken the trouble to hide the Berrys in their own basement (which she still hasn't gotten over) he would've met two men, neither of which were her fathers.
She can imagine the entire scene in her head: Oh, they're both Rachel's fathers. Yes, that Rachel Berry from school. I live with them because my father kicked me out. And here's Beth, my daughter, the reason I was kicked out. You might know her father, he's in Glee club too but he's not around right now because he landed himself in juvie and that's why we're trying so hard to recruit you.
But instead she quashes the impulse, shakes her head, and smiles in that way she's perfected: lowering her eyes, not making eye contact as though she's bashful, lips curved. And predictably, it turns Sam's brain to mush and he hems and haws for a good five minutes before asking if he can kiss her on the cheek.
Sam isn't exactly what she's looking for in a guy, but he's nicer than Puck and smarter than Finn, so those are two plus points in her book. The fact that he genuinely seems to like her, and he's fairly good-looking doesn't hurt, either.
With Sam, she has a chance at her old dreams of Prom Queen. So what if he's a nerd? She can have him trained in a matter of months, just in time for Prom.
There's way too much riding on keeping Sam from running away and screaming; not just her own selfish desires, but Glee is also counting on him. It's early days yet, so there's no harm in keeping a few little things from him. For now.
"So, uh… how's Glee?"
Quinn blinks. "I was not expecting you to ask that."
He laughs. "Hey, I hear Finn talking 'bout it all the time. Dude keeps asking if I'll join too. But you know what? I've been thinking about it, and I think it'll be cool if I joined."
"Really?"
Sam nods enthusiastically. "Yeah! It'll give me something else fun to do besides work and football, and uh, we could spend more time together." He blushes a little as he says the last part.
"Only if you want to," she demurs. "I'd understand if you said no."
"This is why I think you're really awesome, Quinn," he says, grinning. "But I'm cool with the whole subtle-like thing, so, yeah."
"Great," says Quinn.
"How did it go? Is Sam joining Glee?"
"Hello to you too, Rachel," replies Quinn dryly without looking at her.
"I know what you're trying to do, Quinn, and I will not be cowed into embarking on a guilt trip." Rachel crosses her arms, lower lip jutting out.
"Okay then. By the way, Sam said yes."
"He did? What am I saying, of course he did, I have the utmost confidence in your persuasion skills." Rachel holds her arms out. "I'm going to hug you now."
"No."
"This is a momentous occasion that deserves commemoration."
"Don't even think about it, Rach."
"You won't feel a thing." Rachel darts forward, catching Quinn around the waist, squeezing briefly, and releasing her like she's a park ranger returning an ornery polecat to the wild. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
Quinn sighs and shakes her head. "You are so weird with physical contact."
"I am not! You're the one who treats normal physical contact like you're having a tooth extraction."
Sam's presence in Glee ends up being a bonus in more ways than Quinn had initially expected. Finn, clearly relieved that Rachel's gotten her way, is more relaxed and affectionate, which distracts Rachel from her more extreme diva tendencies. Sam himself gets along well with the other Gleeks, which pleases Mr Schue to no end.
"Now that we're eligible for competition again, we need to decide on a Sectionals setlist," says Mr Schue. "And that means we need a lead couple. We'll decide this fairly by having a duet showdown!"
"Hey, wanna be my partner?"
Quinn sighs but closes her book to look at Sam. "Yeah, why not?"
"Cool. We should discuss what song we should sing after school today."
Quinn nods, distracted by the sight of Rachel and Finn, heads together, deep in discussion.
Quinn goes with Sam's first pick of song. She's not too invested in the showdown, partially because she doesn't see a way to win against Finn and Rachel, but mainly because Sam's taste in music is radically different from hers. She just knows that trying to find a musical compromise would result in migraines for them both.
But then Finn and Rachel perform a horrendous religious song – complete with eye-watering costumes – and Quinn can't believe her eyes.
"Rachel, I need to talk to you."
"Can this wait? I am in the middle of a delicate operation."
"It's about the duets competition."
There's a pause. "I'll be right out."
Quinn waits for a sheepish-looking Rachel to appear. "So."
"Yes?"
"Why'd you and Finn throw the duets competition?"
Rachel squirms. "We didn't throw anything, Quinn, we simply made a song choice that didn't pay off."
"Cut the bullshit and tell me the truth."
"I felt bad, okay? I felt bad for manipulating everyone. You and Sam and even Finn. I thought this could be my way of making amends."
"Have you tried apologizing?" says Quinn.
"Of course, but do you even know me? An apology would have lacked the theatricality of our performance," says Rachel loftily.
Quinn arches an eyebrow.
"... I'm joking. I was going to apologize afterwards."
"Mmmhmm."
"Honestly, I think it was a reasonable solution. You and Sam get a dinner at Breadstix and the opportunity to showcase your talent at Sectionals, we get to compete at Sectionals."
"But you love performing."
Rachel bounces on the balls of her feet. "Yes, but I've learned that friendships are just as important. I could survive one less duet."
Quinn shakes her head, touched nevertheless by the sentiment. "Thanks, Rach."