The hallways of McKinley High teemed with activity as the bell rang for lunch. Students jostled past each other while they made a beeline toward their lockers and the cafeteria. One freshman among their number wove a zigzag pattern through the crowd and tried in vain to avoid being thrown off course by the steady stream of passersby. The elbow of a burly senior clipped the side of her head and left her seeing stars. She leaned against the nearest wall until the pain subsided. When she looked up, the girl saw that she had successfully reached the announcement board that had been her target in the first place. A relieved smile spread across her face.
She stepped toward a large sign-up sheet a few feet away only to have her path cut off by a couple of other girls. The taller of the two, a fair-skinned blonde, picked up the pen hanging on a string beside the paper and wrote her name on the line. She handed the writing utensil off to her friend, a brunette with olive skin and dark eyes, who followed her companion's lead and added her own signature to the list. The solitary teen watched them both with quiet interest and sized up her competition. The brunette's skirt and the blonde's capris afforded her a decent view of their legs. Her heart sank at how toned and sculpted they appeared to be. As the friends turned and walked in the opposite direction, the other girl observed that they were both light on their feet. The blonde maneuvered the student traffic with apparent ease and the brunette beside her kept up the pace with practiced agility.
Alone in the slowly emptying hallway, the freshman looked back at the paper. Her heart pounded and she felt an unpleasant twisting in her gut. Perhaps she should reconsider this tryout. How could she possibly compare to people like that, girls who already looked the part?
Another person approached the announcement board – a boy this time. His hand grabbed the pen and stretched it toward a sheet pinned beside the one that the girls had signed. He clamped his tongue between his teeth while he scribbled his name in one of the margins. When he finished, the boy turned and noticed the other teen standing there.
"Oh, sorry," he said. "Were you gonna sign up for something?"
The girl's throat was dry and her hazel eyes were wide but she managed to bob her head.
"Cheerleading," she choked out before her voice could fail her altogether.
"Cool," the boy replied with a half-smile. "I just signed up for tryouts for the football team. If we both get accepted, maybe I'll see you around."
"Yeah, maybe," she agreed.
A blush crept up her face until it reached the roots of her blonde hair. The boy turned and walked toward the cafeteria. She watched him depart with a faint sigh.
Well, that was all there was to it. She had to sign up now. Besides, this was a new school year which meant new beginnings. She had a different home, different school, different hair, and a different name – the last of which she signed along the open line:
Quinn Fabray.
… … …
If my legs could run half as fast as my mind, I'd be the skinniest girl in school, Quinn thought ruefully as she chewed on her thumbnail.
In the course of one week, she had gone from viewing the tryouts as a heavily debated possibility to her only chance for a happy high school career. Now her heart was pounding so loudly that she could barely hear the other teens' names as they were being called. The girl's hands were clenched into such tight fists that deep nail indentions marked the insides of her palms.
Quinn's eyes spotted the two companions she had seen on the day she signed up and, for want of anyone else who remotely counted as a 'friendly face,' decided to stand near them until it was time to audition. Close as she was, some of their conversation drifted to her ears without any intentional eavesdropping.
"… Still think this was a bad idea. Just look at them. It's like someone cloned half the freaking cast of Bring It On. Are you sure you want to go back to all that?" the brunette murmured anxiously.
"I won't be mad if you don't want to, but I really miss it," the blonde replied. "I miss the routines and the competitions and the games. I miss having someplace I belonged."
"Oh no," the brunette argued vehemently. "If we're doing this, we're doing it together. I'm not letting you go back alone. As for Bleached Blondes Anonymous, I'll adjust."
The taller teen's hand slipped down her side to lock her pinky around the dark haired girl's own. Quinn watched this small gesture of affection with mild curiosity but then her attention was drawn back to their surroundings when the next name was shouted.
"Brittany Pierce!"
The blonde gave her friend's hand a final squeeze and stepped out into the middle of the floor. Instantly, her entire demeanor changed and everyone, with the exception of the companion she'd left standing on the sidelines, could only gape in utter amazement. She went from a soft-spoken and unassuming new student to a young woman completely in command of both the room and her audience. Quinn wanted to regard her with envy and begrudge her this unexpected talent but in the end all she really felt the urge to do was clap her hands together and… well… cheer.
When Brittany finished, Coach Sue Sylvester - an irritable looking woman with short blonde hair and a permanent scowl – simply sat in silence. She blinked several times and then slid her glasses back into place on the end of her nose. However, there was a visible twinkle in her eye as she thanked the girl and returned her attention to the list of other prospects.
"Santana Lopez!"
The brunette muttered an oath and reluctantly took the place her friend had just vacated. To Quinn, it appeared that there was a slight tremor in the teen's hands where they twitched at her sides. Then the dark-haired girl launched into her routine. What she lacked in comparison to her friend's confidence and flexibility, she made up for in volume. Her voice reverberated off the walls loud enough to demand attention but not so boisterously as to induce wincing from those who watched. Then there was her smile. It was clearly the painted-on, purposely perfect sort generally reserved for school photographs but there was no denying that the expression made her look remarkably pretty.
The girl concluded her performance and was similarly thanked before she darted off to join the blonde waiting for her on the sidelines. Now it was Quinn's turn to prove her worth. Her insides felt as though they were collapsing on each other and an overwhelming dizziness clouded her mind. However, her eyes fell on the two who had gone before her and she was suddenly determined to show that she had just as much to offer.
She dug deep and called on every resource she had: her summer in gymnastics, perhaps two dozen lessons in dance. It wasn't much, but Quinn threw herself into every move for all she was worth. Her fists lifted triumphantly over her head with her final cheer and the teen's chest heaved while she waited for the response. To her left, the girl called Brittany clapped quietly but the one named Santana stilled her hands.
The coach allowed herself a small smile and said simply, "Very nice."
Judging from her behavior thus far, this was high praise indeed. Quinn beamed and left the floor.
When everyone else had been through their tryouts, the newcomers were told to stand in a straight line. Less than a dozen names were called including Brittany's, Santana's, and Quinn's. Coach Sylvester asked the designated ten to step forward. They were informed that the people in the back line were dismissed and the selected individuals who stood alone were now official members of the Cheerios.
All the inductees grinned and several squealed excitedly. The two friends hugged one another and Brittany spared Quinn one of her sweetest smiles over Santana's shoulder where it would not be seen.
Quinn, for her part, nearly collapsed in relief. She had done it. Now that she was a part of one of the most popular groups in the school, her future seemed set. Finally, there would be a place she fit in and no one would dare to voice a single word against her.
Oh yes, it was certain: high school was going to be the best four years of her life.
… … …
Perhaps that assessment was a little overhasty, a fact which became abundantly clear by the end of their first practice with the more experienced squad mates. Each phase of the routine they were learning seemed to stretch on for hours and a dreadful ache had settled into the freshmen's shoulders and the middles of their backs.
The elder cheerleaders were no help, either. They looked down on the new Cheerios with disdain and an ever-present curl in their lips. Each mistake was considered a sign of their incompetence and Sue Sylvester's ceaseless barking through her megaphone left the six young girls rattled and jumpy.
Once they were finally dismissed, the exhausted teens wandered to the locker room with shuffling steps and great gulps of air into aching lungs. The older girls rushed to stake claims on all the available showers and separated the freshmen in their haste to get ahead. Determined to avoid the jostling and jeering they would face inside, Brittany and Santana waited with some of their fellow inductees until it seemed safe to venture through the doorway. Eventually, they stepped into the warm space and settled down heavily next to their duffels.
"Ugh, gross," Santana complained as she peeled the tank top off her dampened skin. "I don't think I've sweated this much since that time the air conditioning stopped working in our house last July."
"She was pretty tough," Brittany conceded while she wriggled out of her shorts. "It feels good to be back, though."
"Speak for yourself," Santana grumbled good-naturedly. "I quit track for a reason, you know. My hair can only take so much humidity before it starts looking like Scary Spice in the mid-90s."
Her companion giggled appreciatively but a stilling hand came over to rest on her shoulder.
"What's that sound?" Santana asked in an undertone.
Brittany tilted her head to the side and listened intently. Sure enough, a muffled whimpering was coming from the other side of the lockers in the middle of the floor.
"It sounds like someone crying," she whispered back with a frown.
The two exchanged a brief glance and rose to walk around the corner. There, on a bench identical to the one on which they had just been sitting, was a solitary figure curled tightly in a ball. The weeping stranger had both legs tucked up to her chest and was burying her face against her thighs to stifle the sound of the sobs.
It wasn't until the girl lifted her head that Brittany recognized the cheerleader at last.
"It's Quinn," she silently explained.
Unable to remember the name, Santana started to back up but Brittany gently caught her by the wrist. She nodded in the distraught young woman's direction with a sympathetic expression and led the way to her side. Cautiously, she breezed her fingers over the tearful teen's arm.
"Hey," Brittany murmured kindly. "What's the matter?"
The emotional girl jumped so hard she nearly fell backward and looked up at them both with bloodshot eyes. She pushed one strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously and struggled to regain her composure.
"Nothing," Quinn lied immediately. "Just… This practice was more than I expected. I'm exhausted."
Not fooled by the over-simplification of her problems, Brittany perched next to this new acquaintance and watched her with earnest concern.
"And?" she prompted.
The girl blinked at her in disbelief.
"And I'm not sure if I'm cut out for this," Quinn admitted, coaxed into honesty by the teen's unexpected persistence.
"I wouldn't worry about it," Santana said while she settled onto the vacant spot to her right. "Everybody seemed tired as hell when it was over. It's not just us."
"She's so… I don't know… mean," Quinn confessed. "I don't think I'll ever be good enough for her."
"The coach?" Santana verified. "That's because no one is. She's a menopausal spinster with a megaphone; complaints are like her oxygen. Trust me, after a while it'll just be like white noise."
Quinn gave her a tiny smile.
"Easy for you to say," she remarked. "You guys are both perfect. Half the new recruits were looking at you more than the captain to learn what to do."
"So we're quick learners," Santana shrugged with uncharacteristic humility. "You'll get there, too."
Brittany beamed proudly at her over the other girl's shoulder and Santana glowed from the unspoken praise.
"All that was bad enough but now I've got to face the showers," Quinn fretted.
"What's bad about that?" Brittany asked confusedly. "You'll feel a lot better once you cool off and don't have to be all sticky and stuff. It wakes you up again."
"I know," their miserable new companion sighed. "It's just… everyone else."
"You don't want them to see," Santana correctly surmised.
Quinn nodded.
"We'll take care of it."
This earned the dark-haired girl an incredulous expression.
"Seriously," Santana insisted. "Britt and I will take the stall on either side so no one can get close enough to bother you."
"You'd do that for me?"
"Totally," Brittany confirmed. "That's what friends are for, right?"
Again, Quinn batted her eyelashes as she struggled to comprehend.
"Friends?" she repeated softly.
The other two nodded in unison.
"We haven't even introduced ourselves to each other yet," Quinn pointed out with a feeble laugh.
"She's Brittany and I'm Santana. You?"
The girl ducked her head bashfully and stared at her knees as she replied.
"L—Quinn. Quinn Fabray."
"Well, now that that's done, let's get this over with," Santana urged. "Only the other recruits are left now, so it won't be as bad."
Quinn nodded but fidgeted a little and they realized that she wanted to undress alone. Respectfully, the two returned to their own bench and deposited the rest of their clothes. They entered the steaming showers and chose two on the far left with an empty stall in between. A few moments later, the quiet splash of approaching footsteps told them that their friend was finding the place they had reserved for her.
The rusty spigot squeaked noisily before a steady stream of water burst forth and fell onto the waiting teen below. In the stall to her left, Santana was suddenly overcome by a quiet but persistent curiosity as to just why the blonde and beautiful newcomer was so self-conscious. What could she possibly have to hide?
Scars? A deformity? An embarrassing tattoo?
Her imagination raced until she grew so annoyed by the clamoring of her own thoughts that she decided to sneak a brief peek. She stood on tiptoe and carefully peered out of the corner of her eye, which barely cleared the uppermost part of the dividing wall, to get some answers.
Nothing.
The spray of the shower conveniently hid her quiet hiss of disgust. The girl's body was perfect. She might not have been the most curvaceous woman to ever walk the earth, but there was not a single blemish to be found.
Santana's gaze caught Brittany's and saw that she, too, had succumbed to temptation.
"What the hell?" Santana mouthed with an irritated jerk of her head in Quinn's direction. Brittany shrugged. Neither of them had a clue what made her so determined to remain unseen.
Eventually, after the other freshmen had gone, Quinn shut the water off and poked her head out of the stall to check that the coast was clear. Then she darted toward the bench waiting with her clothes and called over her shoulder before she departed.
"Thanks so much, you guys! I really appreciate it!"
As Quinn disappeared from sight, Brittany faced Santana once more. Her brow furrowed when she saw that the girl's attention had returned to finishing her rinse. Slowly, the taller teen left her own shower and walked past the empty stall into the next occupied one.
"I need to ask you something," she said in a low voice.
Santana's hand flew to her heart in alarm. She turned around and discovered that Brittany was now only a few feet behind where she stood. Her eyes widened.
"What?" she queried cautiously.
She hunched her shoulders and readjusted her limbs to preserve a modicum of modesty.
"Are we ever going to talk about this summer?" Brittany demanded.
Santana hesitated to respond. Her friend stepped closer and scrutinized her features. Without meaning to, Santana realized how her own gaze had become drawn to the soaked ends of Brittany's hair. Rivulets of water streamed from the tips and flowed across every curved and taut surface of her body before plummeting to the tile floor beneath her feet.
"I don't think that's a very good idea," Santana managed to murmur in spite of the fact that she was struggling to form even the simplest of words.
"Why not?" Brittany responded and advanced further.
"B-because," Santana stammered. "We were drunk. It was an accident."
"An accident?" Brittany repeated quietly.
She was so close now but even the uncomfortable knowledge of her nearness couldn't keep her companion from seeing the flicker of pain in her pupils. Brittany's mouth twisted as she thought this statement over and inched forward a bit more. Santana's heart was thudding painfully beneath her ribcage. She licked her lips nervously while she watched the blur of emotions flitting across the other girl's face like swiftly moving clouds.
"Yeah," she reaffirmed when Brittany's nose was almost touching hers. "I mean, it was just something that happened so it doesn't have to be a big deal, right?"
The other teen leaned their foreheads together and waited until she heard the catch in Santana's breath before she gave a single word in reply.
"Right."
Brittany's mouth pressed wetly against Santana's until her knees buckled. Then Brittany caught her by the waist and hoisted her to lean against the wall behind them. Santana's legs crossed at the ankles to help hold herself aloft. The water pouring down from overhead matted their hair against their faces and made it necessary to shut their eyes while they sank to the floor and allowed their hands to rove.
Santana thought about setting up more boundaries. She struggled to clear her thoughts and regain sufficient control of her motor skills to lay down some ground rules. However, when one of Brittany's hands pinned both of hers overhead while the girl's tongue slid across the inside of her upper lip, she relinquished the fight. This was by no means the last battle on this front. However, for now, she was left with no choice but to swallow her pride and wave the white flag of surrender.
… … …
Quinn leaned on her hand and stared wistfully across the cafeteria. Here she was, seated with the cheerleaders and flanked on either side by her two new friends. It was supposed to be enough, but her heart wanted more.
Specifically, it wanted the boy from the hall who had left her so speechless. Just as Quinn had hoped, he'd been accepted onto the football team which meant she saw him quite often. Unfortunately, they hadn't spoken since that day by the sign-up sheets. She had, however, snuck back to the signatures after they met and learned his name: Finn Hudson.
Unexpectedly, Quinn was shaken from her reverie when she felt someone's finger push against the end of her nose. She scrunched up her face and giggled as she looked over at Brittany.
"What?" Quinn asked innocently.
"I was just checking to make sure you were still here," Brittany explained with an amused smirk.
"You kinda spaced out on us," Santana remarked. "What are you staring at?"
"Nothing."
Santana followed her line of sight and began to laugh.
"Oh no," she cackled. "So The String Bean finally got an admirer!"
"I don't know who y—"
"Finn, right?" Santana confirmed.
"Yes," Quinn reluctantly admitted. "What's wrong with him?"
"Oh, nothing, if you like them pudgy-faced with the personality of a ten-year-old," Santana quipped. "I think he'll work for you, though. As virginal as the day is long. That's right up your alley, isn't it?"
Quinn's face flushed and she murmured something indistinctly.
"I can talk to his best friend for you if you'd like," Santana offered casually. "I'm sure Puck could figure out if he's interested and let us know."
They were both startled by the sound of a fork hitting a tray with a loud clatter.
"You're talking to Puck again?" Brittany sputtered.
"Yeah," Santana replied without looking her in the eye. "The other Cheerios said that all the girls have a football player to hook up with and that we'd better snag one of the new guys if we didn't want them to be picked over by the time we got there. He seemed like the easiest and most obvious choice."
"You got the 'easy' part right," Brittany grumbled and turned back to her food. "Well, if that's what everyone expects, I guess I'd better talk to Mike and see if he's okay with us going together."
Santana's jaw clenched but she smoothed her features and faced Quinn instead.
"It's all set, then. We've got our guys picked out and now we'll set you up with yours."
"I-I really don't know what to say," Quinn stammered.
"You don't have to say anything," Santana assured her chummily.
"Yeah," Brittany chimed in with a pointed look. "Santana will do all the talking."
… … …
"All right, ladies," Santana said authoritatively the following afternoon. "It looks like we're ready to put Phase One into effect."
After a very lengthy three-way conversation over the phone the previous night, they had worked out a comprehensive plan to get Quinn on Finn's radar. The more knowledgeable girls had given her very specific instructions on what to wear and how to present herself. Now she stood before them fidgeting nervously with her too short pleated skirt and a top that showed off more of her collarbone than she was comfortable exposing. Her small cross necklace now felt rather ironically out of place where it rested against her chest.
"I don't know, you guys," Quinn mumbled awkwardly. "I don't know if I can make this convincing."
"It's okay," Brittany assured her kindly.
"Yeah, you don't even have to start a conversation," Santana chimed in. "This part is super easy. All you have to do is walk."
She grabbed Quinn by the shoulders and turned her to face where Finn stood a few yards away at his locker.
"Now," she murmured near Quinn's ear. "Give it your best strut."
Quinn lifted her head determinedly and began to stride in his direction. However, after the first few steps, her chin tucked down and her hair fell forward to conceal her face. Her shoulders turned inward and her spine curved.
"Dammit," Santana growled exasperatedly. "Get back here!"
Her friend heard her angry call and slunk back to the starting point. She chewed on her lip and shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
"What?" Quinn asked shakily. "That was okay, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, if you were headed to an appointment with your chiropractor!" Santana snapped. "Try this instead."
She forced Quinn's shoulders back and lifted her head. Brittany gently put the smaller girl's hands on her hips.
"Now, you saunter down that hall like it's a freaking runway," Santana commanded. "March!"
Again, Quinn set off to subtly pass Finn with her new façade of swagger. Brittany and Santana anxiously watched her progress from their spot near the corner. She seemed to be doing relatively well until a group of sophomores appeared and elbowed her out of their path on the way to Chemistry.
Her ankle gave out and she smashed noisily into a locker two spaces down from where Finn was gathering his supplies. He shoved the books back into place and immediately helped the girl to her feet.
"Hey, are you all right?" the boy asked worriedly.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Quinn replied as the back of her neck grew warm.
"Wait a minute," Finn said once he got a better look at her face. "It's you. The girl who was trying out for the Cheerios."
"That's me," she confirmed with a quick laugh. "And you're Finn Hudson, one of our new McKinley Titans."
"Well, since you already figured out my name, I think it's only fair that you tell me yours."
"And spare you the effort of having to find out? I worked to get my information, thank you very much. Now it's your turn."
Quinn flashed a pretty smile and walked back to where her friends were waiting.
"Holy shit!" Santana exclaimed. "Where did that come from?"
"I have no idea," Quinn confessed. "I just sort of heard the words in my head and said them. Did it work? Is he into me?"
"He's still looking now," Brittany told her after a quick glance at the boy.
Quinn's face lit up in an irrepressible grin.
"Well done, Grasshopper," Santana congratulated. "I think your hook just got a bite."
… … …
"It's like a castle!" Brittany grinned when she stepped into the Fabrays' front foyer. "How many people are in your family again?"
"Just three," Quinn responded while they removed their shoes and left them beside the front mat. "My sister Frannie lives about two hours away with her husband."
"This house is amazing!" Brittany complimented. "I'd get lost on the way to breakfast."
Quinn giggled.
"It was a pretty big change from our old place, but you get used to it after a while. Do you want me to show you around?"
Brittany bobbed her head enthusiastically.
"Okay. We'll start with the party room," Quinn said as they stepped into a hallway on the left and passed through the first doorway.
"That sounds fun," Brittany remarked.
"It isn't," Quinn replied glumly. "It's for card playing and Mom's meetings with the other company wives. The only thing it has in common with regular parties is the amount of booze everyone drinks."
They left that room and moved on to the next. This one, like the former, had a table at its center but also included a corner hutch full of dishes.
"The dining room," Quinn explained. "We have another one near the back of the house for special occasions but this is where we eat normally. The kitchen is through that doorway there. Across the hall from it are the laundry room and downstairs bathroom."
"A second dining room?" Brittany marveled. "But what is it for when it's not a special occasion?"
"Nothing," Quinn admitted as her cheeks turned slightly pink. "It's kind of pointless, honestly. Here, let me take you to the other side of the house."
They went back to the foyer and entered the first room on the right. Judging from the fireplace and furniture, this appeared to be the living room. Brittany wandered over to the mantelpiece and examined the photographs there.
"So these are your parents?"
"Mm-hmm," Quinn confirmed. "And that one there is of Frannie and her husband, Thomas."
"She looks like your mom," Brittany observed. "Except that her hair is brown instead of blonde."
A strange, nervous expression crossed Quinn's face and she abruptly changed the subject.
"We actually don't spend a lot of time in this room like we did in the one back home," she told her companion. "See, these couches are really light so they wouldn't hide stains very well. Mom freaks out if someone even sneezes in here. The Baldwin's nice, though."
"Wow," Brittany breathed quietly.
She walked toward the black piano with slow, hesitant steps and admired the way the lights overhead reflected off its surface. Her hands clasped behind her back as if resisting the urge to touch it. Instead, Brittany inched forward until she could see her own reflection. Quinn joined her and looked down at their darkened faces surrounded by the glow from the chandelier.
"It's so pretty," Brittany whispered.
"Yeah, it is," Quinn agreed with a smile.
"Can you play?"
A faint, self-conscious blush crept into Quinn's cheeks. However, she saw the eager expression on her friend's face and nodded.
"A little," she modestly admitted.
Brittany clapped excitedly.
"Will you play something now?"
She lifted her gaze from the surface of the piano to look the other teen in the eye. Quinn bit her lip while she thought it over, but she couldn't bring herself to tell Brittany no.
"All right, I'll do it. What do you want to hear?"
She settled onto the bench and carefully smoothed her skirt. To her surprise, her guest followed her and perched on the opposite end of the seat.
"Whichever song is your favorite," Brittany replied with a shrug.
Quinn hit her palms against her thighs thoughtfully while she searched her mind for a suitable tune. After a moment's consideration, she raised her hands to hover over the keys. Then she took a deep breath to calm her nerves and began.
As her fingers started to move with ease, she chanced a quick glance at the girl sitting beside her. Brittany's blue eyes were dancing and a broad, infectious grin was plastered across her face. When she noticed that Quinn was looking at her, she nodded encouragingly before returning her attention to the piano. Quinn allowed herself a tiny smile as Brittany continued to observe her playing. It was nice to perform for such an attentive audience.
Minutes later, when the piece came to a close, Quinn lightly lifted her fingertips from the ivories and rested them against her knees. She shifted to face Brittany and nervously waited for her friend's review.
"The Cinderella Song," Brittany stated simply while she beamed.
Quinn mirrored the expression and bobbed her head.
"A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes," she clarified. "She always was my favorite princess."
"You're really good," Brittany praised. "Maybe you can teach me sometime?"
She stood and offered to help the other girl rise to her feet.
"Sure," Quinn agreed as she accepted.
"Sorry my hands are kinda cold," Brittany apologized.
"Well, you know what they say," Quinn commented while she led the way out of the room. "Cold hands, warm heart."
Brittany frowned and followed her hostess toward the stairs.
"Does that work the other way around?" she asked.
"Hmm?"
"Cold hands, warm heart… so, warm hands, cold heart?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe," Quinn responded and ascended the steps.
"Santana has warm hands," Brittany murmured unhappily.
"Well, there you go," Quinn said as if that confirmed the theory.
Brittany's eyebrows furrowed while she considered this. After a moment, a twinkle of curiosity appeared in her eye. When they stepped up onto the landing, she reached out and slid her fingers over her friend's palm. Quinn came to a halt and fidgeted while she allowed the girl to make her assessment, already aware of the conclusion she would reach. Briefly, her companion's eyes flicked up to meet hers and confirm her permission. Then she extended her arm once more and held Quinn's hand.
It was burning.
Quinn gave her a fleeting smile and proceeded to the second floor. Her room was the first door on the right with one window looking out at the road and another with a view along the street. The décor was very soft, pink, and feminine. An assortment of stuffed animals on the bed showed signs of having been very loved over the course of the girl's childhood.
"You can sit down, if you'd like," Quinn offered.
They both settled onto the bed and Brittany's eyes suddenly spotted a blue clasped container on the nightstand.
"What's that?" she asked curiously.
"Oh," Quinn mumbled uncomfortably. "My glasses."
"Can I see them?"
"I don't know…"
"Just for a second," Brittany pleaded. "I won't break them or anything, I promise. I want to see the world the way you see."
Quinn laughed and shook her head.
"You already can," she replied. "Since I got my contacts, I see everything exactly the same way you do with your regular vision."
Still, Brittany protruded her lower lip and gestured in the direction of the thin case in her companion's hand. Quinn complied and handed it over to the other girl.
With an excited grin, Brittany removed the glasses from within and slid them into place. Her eyes went adorably crossed as she tried to look out through the lenses. Then her nose scrunched at the bridge and she narrowed her lids into a rather amusing squint, but to no avail.
"Are you sure these work?" she asked as she picked up a book off the other girl's nightstand and attempted to read the first page.
"Yes, they work," Quinn confirmed amusedly. "They just don't for you because your eyesight is already twenty-twenty."
"That's kinda cool, actually," Brittany remarked while she removed the glasses and handed them back. "The way it makes different people see different things. It's like magic. You know, where certain spots look like boring everyday places to people that don't believe but they're something really special to the ones who know how to find them."
That was quite possibly the most positive – albeit slightly confusing - spin on poor vision Quinn had ever heard and she wasn't entirely certain how to respond. She settled for simply nodding and placing the case on her bedside table next to the small tower of novels she had yet to read.
"I'm sorry there's not much to do around here," she said apologetically and her hands fell to her sides. "I don't really have a lot of company my age usually… or, you know, at all… So everything here is just kind of the stuff that I find fun and interesting. It's probably a little nerdy to anybody else, though."
"I think this room is great!" Brittany insisted. "Everything is so neat and pretty. It's like you."
"Really?" Quinn asked quietly as she felt a blush creeping up the sides of her face for what must have been the dozenth time.
"Yeah," Brittany agreed with a grin. "My room is almost never this tidy. My mom calls it 'an organized mess.' My dad just says I'm a clutter bug."
"That sounds nice, actually," Quinn told her. "I think I'd like to be a little scattered now and again, but my parents drilled it in my head that I have to keep things in order, you know? We're never sure when Dad is going to plan some important dinner or Mom will have unexpected guests from the neighborhood, so we have to make sure to keep up appearances."
She shrugged and plucked at a stray strand that was coming loose from her comforter.
"So," Quinn hazarded at last. "What do you want to do now?"
"Well, this is the first time we've gotten to just hang out away from school, so maybe we should get to know each other better," Brittany suggested.
"How would we do that?"
"We could go back and forth telling each other things we don't know yet," Brittany supplied. "But not regular stuff like 'I like macaroni and cheese.' Bigger stuff. Important things."
Quinn squirmed a little but reluctantly agreed.
"How do we keep track of whose turn it is?" she asked, still uncertain of whether she was comfortable with this game or not.
"How about we pass something to each other when we're finished?" Brittany suggested. "We could use your stuffed lamb."
"Okay," Quinn consented uneasily. "You go first."
"All right, little lamb," Brittany said to the stuffed animal in her hands. "Are you ready?"
"Isaac."
"What?"
"His name is Isaac," Quinn murmured. "The lamb."
"Oh, right," Brittany accepted without question. "Here we go, Isaac. First fact. Umm… Santana and I bury a time capsule in my yard every summer so we can remember what happened that year."
She passed the lamb to Quinn.
"I like that idea," Quinn said as she shifted the animal from one hand to the other. "I've never done anything like that, though."
"That's fine," Brittany said with an encouraging smile. "It doesn't have to be the same as mine. You can tell me whatever you want."
"Uh…," Quinn stalled and tried to think of something that wasn't too deeply personal. "My dad and I go to a ball game every year for his birthday."
"Awesome!" Brittany said. "Are you closer to him? More than your mom, I mean?"
"Definitely," Quinn replied. "Frannie was always the one who was 'buddies' with my mother so… Yeah."
She passed Isaac back to Brittany.
"Secrets now," Brittany determined, raising the stakes. "I can't fall asleep without a light on. I need to be able to see the rest of the room at least a little."
Again, the lamb was passed. Quinn worried her lip between her teeth.
"I'm claustrophobic," she stated simply.
Pass.
"I feed my cat scraps under the table."
Pass.
"I used to keep a flashlight in my pillowcase to read after Mom sent me to bed."
Pass.
"Sometimes my sister and I sneak out at night to look at the stars."
Pass.
"I haven't seen my sister in nine months."
Pass.
"I draw pictures for people in class instead of taking notes."
Pass.
"I haven't had my first kiss yet," Quinn confessed.
Pass.
"I have," Brittany murmured almost evasively.
Pass.
"You're the only real friend I've ever had."
It had tumbled out of Quinn's mouth without her making any conscious decision to say so. She winced and hoped she hadn't made herself sound too pathetic. Brittany's eyes widened.
"I am?" she asked gently.
"Yeah," Quinn confirmed and twiddled her thumbs.
"You're my best friend."
Surprised, Quinn snapped to attention. Then, with a self-pitying frown, she handed Isaac to Brittany.
"Why are you handing me your lamb?"
"I thought we were supposed to hold him when we told secrets."
"You being my friend doesn't count," Brittany said with a confused furrow of her brow. "Caring about someone should never be a secret."
"What about Santana?"
Brittany blanched.
"What do you mean?"
"Isn't she your best friend?"
The tension in Brittany's shoulders eased and she waved a dismissive hand.
"That's different. Besides, who says you can't have more than one?"
"I always thought it was just implied because of the 'best' part," Quinn replied.
"I don't want it to be a competition," Brittany concluded sadly. "I just want to have all the people I'm close to get along."
"Won't Santana be mad if you tell her?" Quinn asked. "I don't think she likes me very much."
"She will," Brittany assured her confidently. "If something is important to me, it's important to her."
"Even though she hates me?"
"She doesn't hate you," Brittany insisted. "She just needs to get to know you. Then she'll help. Don't worry, Quinn. We're going to get you lots more friends."
Then she placed her hand over her companion's and looked her in the eye.
"Just don't decide you don't like me best anymore, okay? I'd be sad."
Quinn shook her head in disbelief at the girl's readily-given devotion. Then, fearing that her friend might misinterpret this as her response, she hastily bobbed her head in agreement to Brittany's request. A broad grin spread across her face.
"Deal."
… … …
"So how are things going between you and Mike?" Santana asked tersely as she entered Brittany's bedroom.
"Fine," Brittany replied. "We're not making a big deal out of it this time. We're just each other's plus one, that's all."
"I see. And has he been putting his 'plus one' into your—"
"—Santana," Brittany cut her off exasperatedly. "I told you before. He and I don't do that anymore."
"Yet."
"Why do we always have to fight about this? Mike treats me better than Puck treats you but you're back with him anyway."
Santana pulled a file out of her purse and began to work on her nails.
"That's different. It's just for status. You've seen how many people Puck knows. He's influential. What's Mike going to get you?"
"Nothing," Brittany conceded. "But I don't want him to. I just like being with someone who treats me well."
"Oh, really? So well that he just stood there while that asshole Karofsky was calling you a dumb blonde?"
"Dave is a lot bigger than him," Brittany pointed out defensively. "Besides, I, um, took care of that on my own."
Santana immediately stopped filing. Her mouth hung open and her eyes widened.
"Oh, God," she said quietly. "Britt, you didn't…"
Brittany shrugged and rubbed her arm as she looked away.
"How could you? He's like a gorilla! The guy's likely to crush your pelvis."
"I was a little sore."
Santana ran a hand through her hair and breathed sharply through her flared nostrils.
"There's got to be some better way to shut people up when they bother you."
"Maybe, but it doesn't matter. Really," Brittany added when her friend still looked unconvinced. "Anything else is just a temporary fix. You can win one argument but they'll just say mean things about you again the next day. This way, they're more careful what they call me in case they – y'know – ever want to come back."
The other girl's jaw was working furiously while she bit back a thousand comments. Abruptly, Santana rose to her feet and started to leave the room.
"I'm going to use the bathroom," she growled through gritted teeth.
"Okay," Brittany permitted feebly. "C-Can I use your nail file while you're in there?"
"Sure, knock yourself out," Santana responded and tossed it into Brittany's lap.
She closed the door behind her with a slam and left her friend alone on the mattress. Brittany chewed on her lip and turned the file over in her hands. Bad as her companion's reaction had been, at least she hadn't told her everything. Dave Karofsky had not been the only one. It was early November and already there had been three.
Brittany had never meant for things to go that far but it had started to become her immediate defense mechanism. Some jock would begin showing off for his buddies and call her things just within earshot and, the next thing she knew, the girl found herself flirting with him. There was something comforting about being able to turn someone's laughing criticisms into flirtatious banter, even if what followed was… less-than-pleasant. Her skin crawled just thinking about them.
The first had been a junior named Ethan. For all the bravado he'd displayed among his teammates, the pale boy had been sloppy and fumbling once they reached the weight room. The smell of male sweat had been so strong it made her eyes water and the teen's overeager thrusting had nearly dislodged her from the bench press onto which he had thrown her.
Then there was Zecharia, a senior with coal black skin and scrutinizing eyes. He had chosen a supply closet for their rendezvous and slammed her so hard against the shelves that she had identical, horizontal bruises for several weeks.
Dave Karofsky had been the most desperate and the most verbal. He had grunted and muttered to himself all the while, bearing down upon her without a single word of conversation exchanged the entire time. Brittany had simply let him satisfy himself as he pleased without a word of protestation, focusing instead on the sharp pinpricks of the gravel under the bleachers as it dug into her back.
Now that those exchanges were over, they haunted her more than she had initially anticipated. She glanced down and saw that she had been unconsciously twisting her sheet around her palms. The weight of this secret had simply become too much to bear.
The question was: how to release it?
She couldn't possibly tell Santana about what she'd done. Brittany already felt disappointed enough in herself without another despairing guilt trip from her best friend. Parents were not an option either. Again, her attention fell to the file in her hand. Then her gaze lifted to the rest of the room.
Struck by a sudden moment of inspiration, she crawled toward the foot of her bed and experimentally sawed the file over the white bar that connected the two end posts. It left a faint groove and peeled away some of the paint. Encouraged by this successful test run, Brittany repeated the motion until she had left a full circle around it, rather like the rings inside a tree trunk. The first mark she made would be the heaviest, thick and dark, to acknowledge the tragedy of which she refused to speak. The second was light, freeform and dreamy, just as her hazy summer memory of Mike had become.
Santana… No. She would not be among this number. What they had shared could not possibly be compared to these. It had been freeing and furtive and fragile. Those moments with Santana she would keep to herself with each touch perfectly preserved in the back of her mind.
So now on to the rest: light, dark, medium. Five rings, four of which had been obtained in just as many months.
Brittany wiped away the single tear that had escaped the corner of her eye and cleared the paint chips off the file. Then she composed herself and prepared for Santana to reenter the room, purposely smoothing her features as if nothing had happened.
… … …
"I just don't understand it," Quinn sighed miserably. "Finn and I have been talking for months. Why hasn't he said anything? Do you think maybe he thinks we're just friends?"
"Hard to say," Santana admitted around a mouthful of popcorn. "The kid's pretty dense so he may be a little slow on the uptake."
The three friends had gathered at Quinn's house during winter vacation for a sleepover that doubled as a reassessment of tactics.
"You don't think there's someone else, do you?" Quinn fretted.
"No," Brittany shook her head adamantly. "The only cheerleader I've ever caught him looking at is you."
This made Quinn beam happily while Santana made a gagging noise.
"Touching as that is, do you mind if we find another subject? Your pasty paramour is turning my stomach."
Quinn rolled her eyes and nodded agreeably.
"Sure. What would you rather discuss instead?"
"Last time I was here, Quinn and I shared secrets," Brittany stated helpfully. "Why don't you tell her a little bit about yourself?"
Santana shot Brittany an ungrateful look and folded her arms over her chest.
"All right," she agreed tersely. "What exactly do you want to know?"
"It doesn't have to be anything major," Quinn clarified hurriedly. "Why not some basic stuff? Do you have any pets?"
"Nope. My little brother is allergic."
"Oh, okay, that gives me a follow-up question! How many siblings do you have?"
Santana's expression immediately darkened. To Quinn's dismay, she appeared to have already touched upon a sore subject. However, before she could take it back, her companion gave a quiet reply.
"Two. I had two."
"Had?" Quinn repeated cautiously.
Santana nodded. Brittany reached up from the floor to hold the girl's hand where it dangled over the bed and suddenly Quinn regretted speaking at all.
"W-what happened?" she stammered.
It took a few tries for Santana's mouth to finally form the name.
"Tony," she choked out at last. "My brother, Antonio, was in the army. He was… well, as a kid, he was a complete ass, to be honest. Then we got older and he was my biggest advocate, you know? He believed in me. I remember, right before he was scheduled to go overseas, he came back home to say goodbye. He crouched down a little so we were eye-to-eye and he told me, 'Hang in there, Tiger. I'll be back before you know it.' It felt like a piece of me was leaving with him. That was part of my identity; I was Tony's Tiger and I didn't care how lame that nickname sounded. The only person in my house that I could talk to and be myself around had left and I was lost without him."
She paused to run a fingertip under her dampened eyelids and sniffled.
"I guess I've got to give him props, though, because he did come home quickly like he promised. The only trouble was he turned up in a box. The jeep he and a few others had been riding in flipped on a steep road and went over a cliff. All but one were dead on impact. The last passed away a few days later from his injuries."
Santana's eyes were rimmed with red now and she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with either one of them. Stricken by guilt, Quinn hoisted herself onto the bed and wrapped Santana in a comforting hug. At first, her companion bristled as if she might push her away but then she leaned into the embrace and allowed herself to be consoled.
"Well, since we're talking about our past tonight, maybe I should go next," Brittany said with a breakable-sounding laugh as she rose to her feet and tapped her thighs with her hands.
The stiffness returned to Santana's shoulders as quickly as it had gone.
"Britt-Britt, don't…"
"Really, it's okay," Brittany said confidently. "I trust Quinn more than anybody we know. I want to tell her."
"Whatever it is, it can't be worse than this," Quinn tried to protest while she smoothed Santana's hair.
The other two girls exchanged a look and said nothing.
"What?" Quinn questioned with rising panic in her voice. "Please, Brittany. Say something."
Brittany's eyes closed and her hands clenched lightly into fists.
"When I was twelve, I went to cheer camp," she recited as if she were giving a report at the front of a classroom. "It was just supposed to be for five weeks in the summer but, thirteen days before I was scheduled to go home, something happened."
Quinn waited breathlessly while Brittany gathered her courage and opened her eyes.
"That night," she continued. "One of the student camp counselors, a boy named Gavin Larkspur, came into my tent and h-he… He raped me."
The weakness in Brittany's mouth and the visible tremor that passed through her limbs hit Quinn like a kick to the gut. Seeing someone as bright and joyful as she knew Brittany to be burdened by such a scarring memory broke her heart. Unable to stop herself from moving, Quinn sprang from the bed and enfolded her friend in her arms just as the taller girl started to sob.
"His hair was like sand and his eyes were so dark it was like they went on forever," Brittany mumbled against Quinn's shoulder. "For a while after that, I kept waking up yelling for my mom and it wasn't until she was sitting beside me that I realized I had dreamt he was hovering over me. I started sleeping with a light on just to keep away the shadows. It helped a little but sometimes I still see him."
Quinn led her over to the bed and the three of them sat in a circle with their knees touching. Stillness fell over them for a few minutes while they simply listened to the December wind howl outside the windows. They rubbed distractedly at their chilled limbs and said nothing for a long time.
"My turn now, huh?" Quinn feebly concluded.
"Only if you want to," Brittany said patiently.
Santana flailed in objection.
"After all that?" she demanded.
"She shouldn't have to talk about things if it upsets her."
"Screw that. It's confession time, Fabray. Cards on the table."
Brittany was squeezing Santana's arm worriedly but Quinn waved a dismissive hand.
"It's all right, Brittany. She's right; it's only fair. Besides, if I can't share this with you two, I don't think there's anyone else in my life I could trust."
They both nodded slowly. Brittany's face was watchful and caring while Santana was leaning forward eagerly in spite of herself, quietly hoping for the unexpected.
"I'm not who you think I am," Quinn began shakily. "Or, at least, I'm the same person but not the way that you know me to be."
Her friends regarded her quizzically and awaited her explanation.
Suddenly overcome by anxiety and embarrassment, Quinn pressed her hands to her forehead to hide her face and expounded upon her previous statement.
"My real first name isn't Quinn. It's Lucy. Back in Bellville, I was the total opposite to what I am now. I was fat; I had auburn hair, braces, and no friends. No one wanted anything to do with me unless they got bored and went looking for someone to harass. 'Lucy Caboosey' they called me," she recalled with a short, bitter laugh. "That by itself wouldn't have been so bad but they terrorized me. I couldn't hang out with them, talk to them, or anything. They made it as though I didn't exist. Then, when even that wasn't enough, they locked me away. The boiler room, the janitor's closet… Wherever was handy. After a few times of finding me trapped after hours, the custodian felt sorry for me and taught me how to pick locks in case he was ever not around to help."
Both of the other girls' faces were etched with empathy and concern. Santana, however, accompanied this reaction with a soft cracking of her knuckles.
"Anyway, that's why I'm claustrophobic," Quinn pressed on after she had cleared her throat. "When Dad moved us all out here, it was a chance to start over and wipe the slate clean. I was determined to leave Lucy behind me. My braces got removed at the start of summer break, thank God, and I started taking gymnastics and dancing. I literally worked my ass off and then opted take it one step further and change my hair. I decided to go blonde and my mom offered to get her hair colored with me. Then I asked everyone to start calling me Quinn and, well, here I am."
She rubbed her knees and exhaled sharply.
"It's seriously no big deal compared to what you two have been through but it's the biggest secret I have to share."
Brittany reached out and stilled Quinn's fidgeting hands.
"It's a big deal to us because it was a big deal to you," she stated firmly. "Those people hurt you, Quinn. They changed your life. How could that not matter to your best friends?"
"Those kids should just count their lucky stars I wasn't there to deal out a little retribution," Santana snarled.
Quinn laughed a little and pulled them both into a quick hug.
"You two are the best."
Santana was the first to break the embrace and feigned an exaggerated yawn.
"Well, after that delightful sob fest, I think maybe the three of us should call it a night."
"You're right," Quinn agreed while she rubbed at her eyes. "I am pretty exhausted."
"Me, too," Brittany murmured sleepily and pouted.
She shuffled over to her duffel bag and plunked down onto the floor. Her hands rummaged around inside until they produced a green tank top and red shorts. Quinn looked away while Brittany tugged them on, only to be met with the sight of Santana casually removing various articles of clothing until she was standing in her blue bra and underwear.
"Oh, sorry," Santana apologized when she noticed how her friend's eyes bulged. "I probably should have given you a heads up about that. I get really sweaty and overheated during the night so I usually just sleep like this. Is that okay?"
"Yeah, sure," Quinn shrugged in a vain attempt to sound nonplussed. "No problem."
She thought of her own frilly nightgown still concealed in the closet and decided it might be best to make an impromptu wardrobe change. With a secret, steadying breath, she peeled off her layers down to her t-shirt and underwear and tried to look completely comfortable.
Brittany staggered past Santana to the bed and climbed up to settle on Quinn's left. Santana circled the mattress and took the empty space to her right. The two girls seemed to doze almost immediately but Quinn was pinned in the middle with eyes wide open. A few moments later, with a contented and puppy-like snuffle, Brittany nestled their heads together and draped her arm over Quinn's thigh. Santana, who was already breathing shallowly, pulled her new friend in to snuggle closer.
The tangle of limbs was unfamiliar but Quinn could not deny that she now felt utterly and assuredly safe. An expression of muted joy graced her features and she wrapped both arms affectionately around Brittany. Then, with one last happy sigh, she fell asleep.
… … …
"Bye, guys! I'll see you at school on Monday!" Quinn called from the doorway the following morning.
She closed the door and walked into the living room to watch her friends drive away through the window. To her surprise, she found the couch occupied by both of her parents.
"How did the sleepover go, angel?" her father asked genially.
"It was really fun, Daddy. I think they really like me."
"That's great, Quinnie," her mother responded with a relieved expression. "I was praying things would work out for you this time."
"I'm not so sure about that Santana girl, though," Mr. Fabray remarked. "She seems a bit wild."
"She's just kind of opinionated," Quinn explained.
"They certainly make an unlikely duo, don't they?" Mrs. Fabray chuckled. "When they came downstairs with you for breakfast, they looked like the little spirits that sit on people's shoulders in old cartoons, the ones that help them debate right and wrong."
"Just see to it that they don't steer you the wrong way, sweetie," her father fretted. "I don't want them leading my baby girl to lose her innocence."
"I won't, Daddy, I promise. You don't have to worry about me."
… … …
The next few months blurred into one another with relative ease. Little in their lives had changed: Sue was still loud and critical, the older girls were still condescending, and Finn was still dragging his feet in his interactions with Quinn.
His hesitance made Quinn increasingly agitated and desperate as the end of the school year drew nearer. Brittany did her best to reassure the girl but Santana grew weary of her constant worrying. In the middle of April, with the assistance of Puck, she decided to call the boy out on his dillydallying.
Late that afternoon, she found the two teens hanging out behind the school on a ledge near a dumpster, talking casually while Puck snuck a joint out of his back pocket and lit it. Santana nodded to her boyfriend and he gave her a conspiratorial wink before Finn looked up and noticed her approach.
"Hey, Santana," he greeted lazily. "What's up?"
"Nothing much," Santana replied as she swiped the joint from Puck's hand and took a drag. "But from what I hear, things are starting to look up for you. It sounds like you're poised to become the next quarterback after Avery graduates in May."
"Yeah, maybe," Finn acknowledged bashfully. "Who told you that?"
"I hear things," Santana shrugged. "The point is, now that you're about to become King of the Football Field, it's time you stop putting your queen on the back burner."
"What are you talking about?"
"Quinn, genius. She's a likely candidate to be chosen as the next captain of the Cheerios. Not if I have anything to say about it, mind you, but Coach Sylvester favors her. If she gets captain and you get quarterback, all your pretty little stars of fate will have aligned and you'll be an even bigger moron than I thought if you don't make a move."
"She's freaking hot, man," Puck seconded and, after noticing the sharp look Santana shot him, hastened to add. "And she's totally into you. If you don't do something soon, you'll lose her, dude."
Santana handed his joint back to him and gave Finn a stern look.
"So stop horsing around and ask her out before one of us does it for you."
Finn nodded obediently and responded with a feeble smile.
"Okay, I'll try. Just give me some time to find the right moment."
… … …
It was the last Cheerios practice before the end of the year. Quinn, conscious of the fact that she was under consideration for captain, had given the routines her all and proudly shown off the strength and balance she had mastered over the past ten months. By the time the final whistle blew, she was utterly exhausted. She walked toward the distant locker room but halted when a hand gently caught her arm.
"Puck?" Quinn marveled. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm on guide duty," he announced proudly. "I'm here to usher you to your seat."
He extended his arm and put on his most gentlemanly smile.
"For what?" she laughed. "I've got to hit the showers. After that, I can sit down in my mom's car."
"Hold that thought," Puck urged. "You might not want to run off just yet. Here, come with me."
Reluctantly, Quinn allowed him to lead her to the top of the stands and settle onto the uppermost seat. Then Puck stood on the bleacher, put his fingers in his mouth, and emitted a high-pitched whistle.
The Cheerios filtered in from the sidelines and quickly formed a pyramid. Then they began to cheer in unison.
"A Breadstix bite!
When? Tonight!
We'll chow down!
Just say
All right, all right!"
Quinn buried her face in her hands and laughed uncontrollably.
"That is the cheesiest thing I've ever heard," she chuckled under her breath.
"I helped him with the words, 'cause Finn sucks at rhyming," Puck boasted. "Here, look up. You're gonna miss the big finale."
The pyramid collapsed smoothly back to the ground and the girls stepped aside to reveal Finn standing in the center of the field with a rose in his hand.
"Quinn Fabray, will you please go to dinner with me?" he shouted.
"I'd love to," Quinn replied softly, suddenly unable to shout when she realized that all the Cheerios' eyes were on her as well.
Finn looked to his companion desperately.
"She says yes!" Puck called back and threw his hands into the air.
The cheerleaders all hollered in celebration and the new couple beamed at one another while Puck ran off to trumpet his best friend's success to anyone who would listen.
… … …
"So let me get this straight," Santana said in an undertone as she and Brittany walked along the crowded hallway. "You're going to the school counselor because you turned your locker into a house for a baby bird?"
"Yeah," Brittany sighed unhappily. "I saw the bird on the ground and I just wanted to give him back to his mommy. I wrapped my hands in my Cheerios jacket because they say not to touch them or the mom won't take them back but, when I lifted him up to the nest, I saw that everyone else was gone. No momma and no babies. They just left him all alone."
Santana smiled affectionately at Brittany's all-too-familiar sympathy for animals and shook her head.
"So somebody snitched on you and now they want you to have a talk with the shrink?"
"I guess so."
"Well, don't worry," Santana told her with a nudge to the ribs. "There's nothing wrong with your head, so you'll be out of there in no time."
They arrived at the door to the office and Santana patted her shoulder.
"Good luck," she said kindly. "I'll be here for you after it's over."
Brittany hesitantly poked her head through the doorway and saw a smiling, red haired woman beaming at her from behind a desk.
"You must be Brittany Pierce," she greeted sweetly. "Come on in."
The girl walked a few steps and settled into a vacant chair.
"What do I have to talk to you about?" she asked warily.
"Oh, there's no need to be worried," the woman assured her. "You're not in any kind of trouble. We're just going to chat for a little bit."
Her extremely large brown eyes made Brittany uneasy, so she broke contact with the counselor's gaze and read her name plaque instead: Ms. Emma Pillsbury.
Ms. Pillsbury shuffled some pamphlets to break the silence and then folded her hands primly in front of her.
"So," she began softly. "I've been told that you recently took it upon yourself to look after a baby robin?"
"He was homeless," Brittany explained. "I found him abandoned outside."
"I'm sure he was very grateful to be discovered by someone who has such an open heart," Emma smiled encouragingly. "Not everyone would have taken pity on that poor little guy."
"Somebody needed to take care of him," Brittany shrugged.
"And someone will," Ms. Pillsbury nodded. "He has been sent to a very pretty park not far from here where some ornithologists will help reintroduce him to his natural habitat."
"That's good," Brittany said happily. "So, can I go now?"
"Not right this minute," Emma told her apologetically. "While we have settled everything for the bird, I'm still a little concerned about you."
"Me?" Brittany queried incredulously. "Why?"
"When they asked me to speak to you, I took a look at your old files and they led me to believe it was possible this bird rescue was more than just a magnanimous gesture."
"I don't understand."
"Brittany," Emma said gently. "Do you think maybe, when you found that baby bird all alone, defenseless in the wild, that it reminded you of someone? That maybe you saw yourself a little?"
Slowly, Brittany began to comprehend where the conversation was going and she gripped her chair tightly.
"Ms. Pillsbury…," she started to protest.
"No one was there to rescue you in your time of need. So you took it upon yourself to save another living creature when you saw it in distress."
Brittany blinked rapidly as her body experienced a rapid succession of hot flashes and cold chills.
"Thi-this… This has nothing to do with that," she muttered through the fog. "I have to go."
She darted hurriedly from the office. As she passed through the doorway, she nearly ran headlong into a petite brunette who was nervously waiting outside with a stack of books clutched to her chest.
"Sorry," Brittany murmured distractedly.
Then she found Santana waiting near the water fountain and led her away without a word.
… … …
"I wish we hadn't started dating so close to the end of the school year," Quinn sighed as she and Finn walked arm-in-arm after their last class for the day. "I'm scared that a summer apart will make you forget me."
"Are you kidding?" Finn laughed. "You'll have to change your number to stop hearing from me. Starting our relationship now is gonna be awesome because we'll have all that free time to go places together. No homework or practice to get in the way."
Quinn smiled and held his arm even tighter.
"I still can't believe I've gotten so lucky," she confessed.
"Me, either. It took us a while to get together but, now that we are, nothing's going to stand in our way."
As they passed the counselor's office, a distinctly frazzled looking freshman bustled out the doorway and nearly crossed their path.
"Oh!" the girl exclaimed with a hand pressed to her heart. "Forgive me. I didn't see you coming."
The couple nodded their acceptance of her apology but did not have the chance to verbally respond before Ms. Pillsbury appeared at the entrance to her office.
"I'll make sure they get that lock fixed right away," she assured the petite girl who had just spoken to them. "You just focus on getting adjusted to your new surroundings and I'll take care of the rest. You're going to have a great time here, I'm sure of it. Welcome to McKinley, Rachel."