Author's Note: The usual thanks go to Mike Ownby for his ability to interpret my increasingly vague comments ("I have the scenes right but the rest is wonky, fixing appreciated") and give me the tools needed to fix it. (In the end, he gets me to fix it myself as a good therapist would.)
Yes, I know some events in this chapter are not canon but this is a divergence. I reserve the right to keep bits of canon I like and mercilessly mock the rest.
Quinn is an hour early for her first day of junior year.
She had no say in the matter; Rachel had wanted them to be early to "ensure the Glee signup sheets and promotional material are optimally positioned for maximum coverage of the student body", so that means she's following Rachel around the school with her arms full of posters, tacks, and gold star stickers.
"I appreciate you stepping in at the last minute, Quinn," says Rachel, beaming at her. "It's unfortunate that Finn had to cancel. I hope he and Burt manage to resolve that emergency car problem."
"Yeah. Unfortunate." Although she's fairly certain that Finn's cancellation is anything but unfortunate (except for her), she keeps it to herself. It's a small price she pays to keep the peace at home, and it's not like her reputation can sink any lower. Besides, being early means that no one apart from the school janitor (namely Santana) is going to see her doing this.
"We have this last sheet to put up and we'll be done." It's about time, thinks Quinn; people were starting to trickle in, the corridors coming alive with students, and even though she's certain her reputation can't sink any further, Quinn would rather not contribute to her own social demise.
"Goody," says Quinn snidely.
"It is!" Rachel's response is overwhelmingly enthusiastic, as it often is when she's talking to Quinn. "Ahh! Isn't this exciting? The start of our junior year!"
(Which Quinn was entirely expecting, but somehow didn't mind.) "Yeah, I'm so thrilled," says Quinn, sounding not thrilled at all.
Rachel pouts at her but holds out her arms; Quinn dumps the last of the stationery she's holding into them. "Thank you. I'll see you at Glee?"
"Can't wait," says Quinn.
Much to Quinn's displeasure, Santana tails her after their shared algebra class. "How's being a loser working out for you?"
"Peachy," says Quinn without turning her head. "How about you? Having fun being Sue's minion and cheerbot?"
"That's head cheerbot to you," replies Santana, flicking her ponytail at Quinn. "Honestly, I have you to thank. If you'd rejoined, I'm sure Sylvester would've dropped me in a heartbeat and reinstated you."
"The pyramid would've dropped you now that you've got those jugs up front you call boobs." Quinn squints at her. "Why did you even get those?"
"Present from my papi."
Quinn makes a face. "I hope you kept the receipt."
Santana gives a bark of fake laughter. "Funny. You're so charming, Fabray."
"Pot, meet kettle."
"It seems that you've been getting your comebacks from whenever Berry gets her wardrobe. Though I gotta say you're looking good, Suzy Q," she says, looking Quinn up and down. "Putting the hot in hot mama."
"Did you want something, S, or are you just here to insult me?"
"Wow, rude. Sylvester wants to know if you're rejoining Cheerios."
Quinn purses her lips. "No."
"You're not even thinking about it?"
"I don't need to." She takes a left at the end of the corridor, slightly annoyed when Santana does the same. "I have other extracurricular activities. Like, taking care of a baby."
"You still have Glee," Santana points out.
"Because Rachel has it, and I live with Rachel. It makes sense if we go home at the same time. Plus, I actually like Glee."
Santana grins at her. "If you're worried you won't fit into the uniform…"
"Okay, stop right there." Quinn glares at her. "I'm only gonna say this once, so listen up. Tell Sue I have no interest in rejoining her Junior Suebots of America program, so she can stop sending her minions after me." She spins on her heel and walks away.
"What about the scholarship, then?"
Quinn hates that Santana's words make her pause.
Santana reappears at her elbow, deliberately nonchalant. "You and I both know that every college in the country would be foaming at the mouth to recruit a Cheerio," continues Santana, pulling a nail file out of nowhere with the confidence of someone who knows she has a captive audience. "Sue might be insane, but Cheerios are national cheerleading champions, and members of the national champion cheerleading squad get full rides to any school they want." She makes a show of pretending to buff her nails.
Quinn chews on her lower lip. The thought of that free ride is tempting, and the obvious bonus of not needing the Berrys' money? It's almost worth letting Santana have the satisfaction of knowing she's gotten to Quinn.
"Just think about it." Santana tosses her head so her high ponytail bounces. "I don't need an answer immediately."
Quinn's headache is compounded by Glee. The atmosphere in the choir room is lively, to say the least. Finn and Rachel's latest bright idea to raise awareness of the club is to stage a performance of Empire State of Mind during lunch period. Predictably, the room erupts in chaos as everyone tries to voice their opinion simultaneously. Quinn shakes her head and fishes her book out of her bag. After a year of the chaos that is Glee club, she knows that it will be a while before it settles down, and that it will still be there when she tunes back in.
"What do you think, Quinn?"
She sighs. Perhaps not. "What do I think of what?" Quinn asks, reluctantly glancing up from her book.
"Of our song choice."
Quinn's gaze flicks to the front of the room where Mr Schue is standing, the nominal head of the discussion despite his helpless expression being a clear indication that he has lost all control. She glances briefly at an uncomfortable-looking Finn before looking back at Rachel. "I think we've more or less decided on Empire State of Mind," she says.
"Yes, but as a valued member of the club, your opinion is welcomed," says Rachel patiently, even as Finn grimaces.
Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn sees Mercedes nudge Kurt and mouth something at him. "Remind me again why we're doing this?" she asks Rachel, completely ignoring everyone else.
"We need to show the student body that we aren't merely a recreational show tunes club but a serious competitive show choir team," Rachel explains patiently. "I believe we can accomplish that by including contemporary and popular music in our – admittedly dated – repertoire. No offence, Mr Schue," she adds with an apologetic smile at the man, who smiles back weakly.
Santana sniggers.
Quinn frowns. "Okay, but why that song? Anything off the radio would be just as good. None of us are rappers," she adds with a pointed look at Artie, who squirms uncomfortably in his chair.
"But Nationals are in New York this year! It's rather apt. We want to show McKinley what Glee club is all about, we want to get new members to join, and we're targeting Nationals this year. It seems like an excellent way to combine these goals into one explosive performance." She turns to smile at Finn. "Finn and I, in our capacity as co-captains of the club, have thought it out beforehand."
Quinn arches an eyebrow at him; he gives her a quick sheepish smile. "Right," says Quinn dryly, "co-captains."
"Whatever," says Puck. It's the first time he's spoken during the meeting, and every head in the room swivels in his direction – Mr Schue included. "You just make the decisions and tell us what we need to do. Like always, right?" he adds while looking at Quinn.
"What's that supposed to mean?" asks Quinn hotly.
He meets her gaze and holds it. "It means what it means."
"Alright! Empire State of Mind it is!" interjects Rachel loudly. "Let's discuss arrangements and choreography, shall we?"
Quinn seethes.
They have a surprisingly large amount of homework for their first day back, Quinn thinks bitterly. This normally isn't a problem, but now that her parents definitely aren't funding college… The thought of falling back on the Berrys' money galls her. Being valedictorian would make her a shoo-in for a scholarship. Being Head Cheerio again would also get her that scholarship. Having her pick of schools all over the country, as Santana said… she knew it wasn't an exaggeration, especially if she were to be Head Cheerio for three years running…
"Quinn?"
She sighs, putting her pen down, having gotten no work done. "Yes, Rachel?"
"Could I ask your opinion on something?"
"Why not," she says. "You already have my undivided attention."
Rachel beams, delighted by her faint sarcasm for reasons Quinn still cannot comprehend. "Wonderful. I've gotten our costumes ready, and I would like a second opinion on bling."
"... bling?"
"Yes, bling," says Rachel. "My research has shown that it's impossible to perform a Jay-Z song without having some swagger or street cred, as they say. It's Empire State of Mind, after all, not New York, New York."
Whatever joke she's trying to make makes a faint whistling noise as it flies over Quinn's head. "I'm scared to ask what you mean by bling."
"Allow me to show you. I'll be right back."
True to her word, Rachel returns with a pile of clothing, laying it out on Quinn's bed. First is a black graphic T-shirt, followed by ripped black jeans, a gold belt, and sneakers. Rachel beams as she adds accessories on the side. "What do you think?"
"Are these necessary?" Quinn asks, poking at a pair of black fingerless gloves like she's expecting them to come alive any minute.
"Yes."
She picks at a thread on the black jeans. "And these?"
"Absolutely."
"These?" says Quinn, disdain dripping from her voice as she flicks the heavy gold chains.
"They're integral to the look, yes, but you don't have to wear them around your neck if you hate them that much," sighs Rachel. "But at the very least, you ought to consider wearing some of these." She adds a pair of sunglasses and a black baseball cap to the pile. "This is where our swagger comes from."
Quinn groans softly. "Rachel, you do know that wearing sunglasses and chains and baseball caps don't automatically give you street cred?"
"That's not the point. It's a costume, therefore it should be something that will make us appear to be in character."
"How is dressing like a thrift store and party accessory shop puked on you being in character? No, don't answer that," Quinn adds.
"No one's forcing you to participate," huffs Rachel.
"No, but I know you would have words with me if I chose to sit this one out."
Rachel concedes the point gracelessly. "And you would be right."
Quinn decides that this conversation is too much for her alone. "Look," she starts, as diplomatically as possible, "I don't think you should be asking me what constitutes street cred. We are way out of our depth here. Why don't you talk to Mercedes? I've seen her wear some of these things, I'm sure she knows more about accessorizing than we do."
Rachel deflates. "Yes, I thought of that, but… she hates me."
"She doesn't hate you," says Quinn automatically.
"I'm not stupid, Quinn. I know the club barely tolerates me as it is."
A nasty thought comes to Quinn's mind. "So you're only asking me because you're hoping I'll ask Mercedes?"
"No!" Rachel looks genuinely surprised. "I'm asking you because I value your opinion, and – well – you're my only friend."
"That's not true," Quinn says, but it's a weak protest and she knows Rachel knows it.
"Tell me, is there any other member of the club who would willingly associate with me outside of Glee? Or school, for that matter?" Rachel's shoulders slump. "Is there any other McKinley student who would do the same? I've heard the rumors about me keeping you prisoner in my house so you'll be my friend."
Quinn blinks at her. "That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and I used to date Finn."
"Quinn!" But she doesn't sound angry; rather, Rachel is biting on her lower lip, clearly trying not to laugh.
"It's true!"
"I'll admit that he isn't the brightest guy around, but he's very sweet."
"That is an understatement and you know it."
"We are not discussing Finn here," Rachel exclaims. "We are discussing our costuming for Empire State of Mind. I don't know why I let myself be sidetracked like that."
"Because you're wrong about our friends," says Quinn, relentless. "Go ask Mercedes to help you with the costumes. Maybe don't use the words swagger or street cred," she adds as an afterthought.
Rachel gathers up the clothes and leaves without another word. She might have been smiling, Quinn can't tell.
She has never been so glad she pushed herself to get back in shape over the summer. Brittany and Santana have their own ideas for the choreography, and it feels good for her to be able to execute their suggested moves flawlessly and receive their approval.
Although Quinn's certain that the body roll shimmy thing was just for fun, she does it again to spite Santana.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rachel approach Mercedes tentatively. Even though she trusts Rachel can handle herself, Quinn sends a sharp look at Mercedes just to be safe.
While the actual performance was fun – it has been a while since they've done something like that, Quinn isn't surprised they received the response that they did. At least she's secure enough to admit – albeit privately – that she's not surprised but a little disappointed, unlike Rachel who is moping around like her dog died.
She isn't looking forward to the club meeting after the performance. But Rachel manages to surprise her; Quinn watches, amused, as a gaggle of nervous freshmen trickle in, led by Finn and Rachel.
There's a tiny Asian girl who is half Finn's height. Rachel seems delighted to find someone shorter than she is.
Then she starts to sing, and slowly, the smile fades from Rachel's face.
When Leroy picks them up after school, Quinn can see he's trying not to comment on the sour expression Rachel is wearing. "How was your day, girls?"
"Fine," says Quinn. Rachel harrumphs.
"What's bothering you, my Ray-Ray of sunshine? The look on your face could curdle milk."
"I don't want to talk about it, Dad."
"As you wish."
Quinn perks up in spite of herself. "Is that a Princess Bride reference?"
"Ah, someone with good taste in movies."
Rachel makes another harrumphing noise. Once everyone's attention is on her, she returns to her toddler sulk. Quinn catches Leroy's eye in the rearview mirror and shrugs. Leroy mirrors her shrug in such an exaggerated fashion that she has to fight to keep her face straight.
"May I ask what is so funny?" asks Rachel frostily.
"The expression you're wearing, sweetheart," says Leroy. "Whatever's gotten you this upset must be major. I haven't seen you this unhappy since Quinn here was competing with you for Finn's affection. No offence, Quinn," he adds as an afterthought.
"It's fine," says Quinn.
"While I'm glad the both of you are deriving so much amusement from my unhappiness, I really don't wish to discuss this," says Rachel grouchily.
Which suits Quinn just fine…
… until the ferocious sulk lasts a few days and counting.
While she's somewhat familiar with Rachel's moods, she is starting to be a little disturbed by this particular brand of crazy. It falls to her to do what Rachel would do, and face the conflict head-on. "Okay, what the hell is your problem?"
Rachel jerks back, startled. "Excuse me?"
"You've been sulking ever since that Sunshine girl auditioned for Glee. Is someone jealous?"
Rachel frowns. "I knew you wouldn't understand."
"You know, for someone who constantly preaches about talking out problems, you don't seem pretty keen on doing that now."
"You wouldn't understand. And even if you did, you'd make fun of me."
"I'm fairly intelligent, Rachel. Give it a go," Quinn retorts.
She sighs dramatically. "Do you know the odds of someone from a small town like ours making it on Broadway?"
"Tiny? Minuscule?"
"Precisely. What are the odds that it'll be me or her?"
Quinn exhales. "Rachel, you could've started off by just saying you're jealous of her. That's normal."
Rachel nods miserably. "Fine. I will admit that I am jealous of Sunshine's talent."
"Because she's as good as you?"
"Because she's better than me." Rachel's entire body seems to slump under the weight of this confession. Quinn pauses, shocked.
"Really? She's got a great voice, but I wouldn't say she's better. LIke, you eat and sleep Broadway."
"I appreciate you being nice, Quinn, but Sunshine is talented. Yes, she lacks my level of breath control and her grasp of certain vocal techniques is not as finely honed as mine but to the untrained ear, her raw talent more than compensates for that."
"And what are you gonna do about it? Give up? Quit Glee?"
"Tell her that Glee practices are held in an inactive crack house?"
"Rachel!"
"That was a joke," Rachel defends herself. "You know I would never stoop that low, right?"
Quinn gives her a hard look. Rachel sighs.
"... Alright, fine. So I might have entertained the thought, and performed a quick Google search for research purposes."
"You know, for someone who constantly wants to be included, you certainly like to exclude people," says Quinn, and then bites her lip.
Rachel looks like she's been slapped.
"... Rach, I'm sorry."
"Please don't apologize," says Rachel tightly. "I understand." To Quinn's horror, she sounds like she's trying not to cry. "You know, I really believed we were past the name-calling and insults."
"I'm sorry," says Quinn again, angry at herself because she knows Rachel is right; she'd believed they were past all this.
Apparently not.
For the rest of the evening, Rachel treats her with frosty politeness and doesn't speak to her unless it's absolutely necessary. Quinn spends dinner torn between guilt for being needlessly cruel, and fear that the Berrymen might kick her out of the house for this major transgression against their daughter.
She excuses herself from the dinner table and is about to slink upstairs into her room when Leroy calls her into the living room.
Quinn decides to go on the offensive and save herself some of the indignity of being kicked out again. "Go on, say it."
He peers at her, befuddled. "Say what?"
"I bullied Rachel. I know I shouldn't have. Just give me enough time to pack our bags." Her gaze is fixed on the ground, mind whirling, going over her (limited) options. "I can come back later for the crib and the rest of Beth's things."
Leroy frowns. "Girl, what are you talking about? No one is kicking anyone out. Goodness, if parents just went around kicking their teenaged children out of the house for every mean word they said, there would be an epidemic of homeless teens."
Her shoulders sag with relief.
"But that certainly explains why her ire seems directed against you now."
There really isn't much she can say to that. "Yes, sir."
He squints at her. "I don't know what happened between you and Rachel, but I trust that you regret it now."
Quinn nods miserably. To her horror, she feels tears pricking at her eyes.
"And you'll be making amends."
"I want to, but she hates me now."
"Nonsense," says Leroy briskly. "I know my daughter. She usually takes a week to stew and languish in self-pity before she allows whoever has offended her to make peace offerings."
Quinn falters briefly. "I – thanks for the info."
"You're welcome." Leroy smiles broadly. "Incidentally, I called you because I was going to ask you to take over dishwashing duty tomorrow in exchange for a favor."
"Oh."
"But in light of this new information, I think tomorrow's dishes plus an extra two days' worth of Rachel's chores ought to be adequate punishment."
Quinn pinches her lips together but nods. "Fair enough."
"Prepare to grovel," says Leroy, looking far too happy for Quinn's liking.
The problem is: Quinn hasn't ever been the one to grovel. People normally fall over themselves fighting for her attention, not the other way round. At a loss, she follows the advice she gave to Rachel and calls Mercedes who is – surprisingly – of no help.
"Girl, I hate to say this, but I'm on Rachel's side for this one."
Quinn sighs. "I thought you might say that."
"Then why are you calling me?"
"Maybe you might have some ideas on how to apologize?"
Mercedes laughs, long and loud. "Bring her pig's foot soup?"
"I hate you."
Mercedes laughs again. "Seriously, though. A sincere apology would be just fine."
"Even though it's Rachel?"
"Especially because it's Rachel. And you."
Quinn frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Stop wasting time talking to me and go apologize to Rachel."
At school, she is preoccupied with her plans (and finding that textbook she really needs for study hall) when a voice interrupts her thoughts. "Hey, Quinn."
It's a testament to how much she's got going on at the moment when Quinn struggles to identify the guy grinning at her. "Hey."
"It was nice meeting you this summer. Saw you in the courtyard the other day. Nice performance." He runs a hand through his fringe, making his hair fall into his eyes – which prompts Quinn to remember his name.
"Thanks. It's Sam, right?"
"Sam I am," he says affably, making her smile. "I saw you doing that – " he does an awkward shimmy, moving his torso back and forth, "– and that was super impressive."
Quinn isn't sure how to respond. "I – thanks?"
"I thought that was pretty cool, what you guys did." He musses up his hair again.
"Are you thinking of joining Glee club?"
"I am," says Sam, "but that's not why I came over. Actually… I was wondering if you wanted to go out some time?"
She's too taken aback to register what he's asking – because she's still thinking about everything else, and she was not expecting the request to be so smooth. "Excuse me?"
The smile Sam is wearing dims at the edges. "Oh, darn, was that a no? Sorry, I figured I'd shoot my shot and all. Like, you're so pretty."
"... Thank you. And it wasn't a no," Quinn clarifies. "I simply wasn't expecting you to… yeah." She was going to say ask me out, but thinking of the words has suddenly gotten her stomach twisted in knots. "You know," she says with an awkward laugh. "That totally came out of nowhere."
Sam cringes and laughs. "Yeah. You know what, you totally have a point and I'mma just – if you could forget the last two minutes ever happened, that would be cool." He waves a hand awkwardly as he retreats. "Have a great day."
It's taken her a few days of planning and work, but she's here now. Quinn takes a deep breath and knocks on Rachel's door.
"Daddy, Dad, I gave strict orders I wasn't to be disturbed," comes Rachel's muffled voice. "If that's you, Quinn, I don't want to speak with you right now."
Quinn sighs. "I want to apologize."
"Thank you, but I must decline your apologies."
"Rachel, could you open this door? I want to talk to you. Not this…" She pauses for thought. "This door."
There's no response. Quinn braces herself for a long wait, but to her surprise, the lock clicks and Rachel opens the door. She opens her mouth, ready to say something, but pauses, her attention on the plate Quinn has in her hands.
"What's this?"
"I baked you a batch of your I'm Sorry cookies," says Quinn.
Rachel doesn't say anything. Desperate, Quinn starts to babble: "I got the recipe from your dad. Hiram. It took me a while to make them because we were out of applesauce and I had to go out and get some but while I was there the store had a special on edible glitter and I thought you would like that."
Rachel is frowning. "But… aren't my cookies – ?"
"– vegan? Yeah," Quinn interrupts. "I, uh, thought it would suck if you couldn't eat the apology cookies that were supposed to be for you."
Quinn's forte has never been in regular baking, let alone the fiddly vegan variety. She tried to follow the recipe as closely as she could, but the icing was runny, the lettering wonky, and there's probably a few cookies in the stack that will crumble when touched. But they're sparkly with edible vegan-friendly glitter (which she paid for using her own money) and she's proud of them.
Rachel takes the plate of cookies from her. "Thank you. These look amazing. Would you like to come in and eat these with me?"
Quinn blinks, before a smile spreads over her face. "Alright."
"I'm glad to see you, Quinn."
Quinn offers Lydia a tight smile. "I wish I could say the same for you."
"Put it this way; if you're happy to see me, therapy might not be the right treatment for you."
"That makes me feel so much better," remarks Quinn.
Lydia laughs. "I'm glad. How are you?"
"Peachy. Absolutely wonderful."
Lydia nods. "Lovely. Now, without the sarcasm?"
Quinn scowls. "I don't know what you want me to say."
"Let's talk about Glee," says Lydia, abruptly changing tack. "Do you like it?"
"Of course I like it," Quinn scoffs.
"Why?"
"It's fun. I like singing and music and dancing. Working on choreography is fun too." She doesn't have to think too hard about her answers.
Lydia nods thoughtfully. "You used to be a cheerleader, correct?"
"Head cheerleader, yes."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Duh. Who wouldn't enjoy ruling over the entire school body?"
Lydia taps her pen against the corner of her mouth. "Wouldn't you say that cheerleading has a lot of similarities to Glee?"
"I guess. Cheerleading is more physically demanding, though. Especially in Cheerios. Our coach, Sue Sylvester, is… crazy, to put it mildly, but we've been national champions under her for years, so..." Quinn shrugs. "I guess it works."
"Yes, I've heard a lot about Sue Sylvester," says Lydia wryly, making Quinn smile.
"Trust me, whatever you heard is probably an understatement."
Lydia nods seriously. "Noted. Tell me, if you had to pick between Glee and cheerleading, which one would you choose?"
"Glee," says Quinn without hesitation. One of Lydia's eyebrows goes up, and she makes a quick note on the pad in front of her.
"Why Glee?"
"It's… more like a family. The people in it are from everywhere; the most popular football guys, Brittany and Santana – they're cheerleaders – and the losers."
Lydia shoots her a look.
"Less popular kids," Quinn amends. "We don't really talk outside of Glee, we all come from different social groups. But I don't notice any of that in the choir room. We just… enjoy music together. It's... nice."
"Okay. Why did you join the Cheerios in the first place?"
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Look at me. Would you expect me not to join Cheerios?"
"That wasn't what I was asking you, Quinn. I want to know why you joined the Cheerios."
"It wasn't my choice," Quinn says bluntly. "It was what my older sister did when she was in high school, so that's what my dad wanted me to do. Not to mention that it's the only socially-acceptable high school team. Cheerios get their pick of college scholarships."
"You joined Cheerios because your dad made you?"
Quinn shrugs, deliberately casual, even though she doesn't like Lydia's tone. "More or less."
"But did you like being a Cheerio?"
"It was okay."
"Quinn."
Quinn sighs deeply. "I had to like it, okay? Is that what you wanna hear? I didn't have a choice, so if I didn't like cheerleading, I'd be pretty miserable, right?"
Lydia is silent for a moment. "So, if you had to choose one, you'd choose Glee because it's something you like, rather than Cheerios because that's something you had to do."
"Yeah, I guess. It wasn't that bad; I did enjoy the routines and the athleticism and the winning. But Glee's less structured, which is cool. Less expectations means there's less pressure on you to meet those expectations."
"Am I wrong to say that you chose Glee because it's something you chose, rather than someone else making the choice for you?"
Quinn opens her mouth to respond – then finds she has nothing to say to that.
Lydia nods. "I think this is a good place to stop for the week," she says. "We can pick this up next time."
Quinn spots Santana heading her way out of the corner of her eye and braces herself.
"I know you're avoiding me."
"Wow. I don't know how you could tell," remarks Quinn.
Santana crosses her arms and arches an eyebrow in what – Quinn notes, outraged – is a horrifying imitation of her. "So? Have you come to your senses and made the right choice?"
"What do you think?"
Santana sighs, suddenly dropping her self-assured facade. "Q. You know Britt and I meant it when we said we got your back, right?"
"Yes, I never doubted that," replies Quinn, somewhat taken aback by the change of tactics.
"You know Britt joined because you asked her to?"
Quinn frowns. "No."
"Well, she did. You know what Britt's like; she just wants to dance, she didn't have to be a Cheerio to do that. We joined because you needed us at your back."
"... what do you want from me, Santana?"
"Nothing. Just wanted you to be sure you're not coming back for the right reasons. Like maybe having your college ride guaranteed."
Quinn considers it. College fund for her and Beth or no, she doesn't want to take anything the Berrymen are offering her for granted. She's learned the hard way that nothing can be taken for granted. It would be nice to have that prestige associated with the Cheerios uniform again.
Then she remembers something. "I've got Glee," she says. "We're aiming for Nationals this year."
"Did you forget I was part of that performance in which exactly nobody cared?"
"We're a competitive show choir," says Quinn. "We just have to do well enough to be considered for a scholarship. Not to mention being a single homeless teen mom will earn major points on those college application essays," she adds.
"Are you even listening to yourself talk? Have you been drinking some of Berry's pig foot soup?"
"What? How'd you know about that?"
Santana waves a dismissive hand. "You know how Porcelain and Wheezy gossip. Not important."
Quinn shakes her head. "My point is – I don't think being at Sue's constant beck and call is worth the scholarship. I have to do what's best for everyone, not just me."
"Fair." Santana purses her lips. "You know where to find us."
After Santana disappears, Quinn spots a familiar head of blonde hair in the corridor and makes a quick decision.
"Quinn, are you – oh."
"What is it, Rachel?"
Rachel looks her up and down. "Are you going out?" she asks, taking in the dress Quinn's wearing.
"Yeah." Quinn knows what Rachel's asking, but she doesn't want to offer any more information than is necessary.
"Oh. Alright. I wasn't aware you had plans for this evening and I was going to ask you if you would care for a rousing game of Scrabble." She already has the box in her hands.
Quinn tries not to wince. "Maybe I could take a raincheck on that."
"Certainly." Rachel follows her downstairs. "At the risk of sounding like your mother, who are you going out with?"
It is a sign of how far she's come that Quinn isn't immediately offended by the question and the asker. "Sam Evans."
"Sam? Blonde, with Justin Bieber hair?"
"The same. How'd you know him?"
"Finn was telling me about him. Apparently he has a lovely voice but might need a little more convincing to join Glee." Rachel brightens. "I would appreciate it if you spoke to him about it later."
"Rachel, I'm not meeting him for business. Or because of your recruitment drive," Quinn says hastily, concerned by the manic look in Rachel's eyes. "He asked me to Breadstix, that's all."
"Pleasure, then?"
"Please stop talking."
Rachel smiles impishly. "Have fun!"
"I will." Quinn is relieved at how easy the interaction comes. "Rachel?"
"Yes?"
"I really am sorry about the..." she nods at the Scrabble set Rachel's holding, "non-existent game night."
"It's perfectly fine, Quinn."
"I meant it about the raincheck. We could play tomorrow."
"You don't need to make me promises, but I must say that it's very sweet of you to say so."
Quinn smiles. "Yeah, I know, but… I'm not that girl anymore. I'm trying."
The smile vanishes from Rachel's face. "Quinn, I understand. I really do. I'm not trying to make you feel bad, or anything like that. I really do believe in you. Anyone who would make me vegan apology cookies with special glitter is definitely special."
Quinn laughs.
Rachel beams at her, reaching out and patting Quinn's arm. "Now go have fun on your date."
"It's not a date."
"On your dinner outing."
"No."
"Appointment? Assignation? Tryst?"
"Oh my god."