Author's Note: So, this is it! With this chapter, I'm officially retiring not only this story but also this universe, almost exactly a year after I started writing it.
I need to officially dedicate the whole thing to my girlfriend. I couldn't and wouldn't have done this without her. She was the one, after all, who turned to me last February and said, "You know, I can so see Santana trying to take Rachel's virginity just to prove she could."
Since then, she has put up with a year of me not only hovering over her shoulder as she read each chapter, pestering her with "What? What's funny?" but also me saying things like, "Sweetie, can you handle [insert household chore]? If I don't get time to write tonight I'm going to go fucking crazy." And then when I thank her and promise to make it up to her she says, "It's okay. It makes you happy, right?"
In life, it just doesn't get better than that. And now I need to go clean the house, because it is so my turn.
But first, I also need to acknowledge my sometimes-beta, my fanon-compatibility consultant, and my calmer of fanfic neuroses, Ms. "Sourrific" Amy. Thank you for putting up with me, even when I know sometimes the last thing you wanted to talk about was Glee. ;)
Finally, thank you to everyone who has read part or all of this story, especially if you took the time to share your thoughts. You guys helped keep me going. And while I know there is a lot of story left to write for Rachel, Santana, Quinn, and Brittany, I hope you'll find the conclusion to their summer a satisfying place for me to leave them.
to be lonely is a habit, like smoking or taking drugs
and I've quit them both, but man was it rough
Sunday, September 4 / 3:30pm
"I still don't see the difference."
"That's because you're not listening to me, Santana."
"I'm listening to you just fine, Professor Dumbledwarf. You're not making any damn sense. How can an answer be 'too right'?"
"Not too right, Santana," Rachel said, forcing herself to remain patient. "Too strong."
"I thought you said strong was good."
"It is, unless it's too strong."
Santana threw her pencil across the room. "Why do you hate me right now?"
"I don't hate you. Look, why don't we take a break from reading passages and work on vocabulary or something?"
"Actually, Berry, as long as we're taking a break there's something I need to ask you about."
"Okay. So what is it?"
"Okay so, my parents are having this big Labor Day cookout tomorrow, for our family and the neighbors, or whatever. It's pretty much a huge pain in my ass, but Britt and her family are coming. I was wondering if you wanted to like, come to it. And bring your dads."
Rachel put a hand to her heart. "Santana, I'm so touched. What brought this on?"
"Well I was thinking we could alert the local media and go for some kind of award for diversity in Western Ohio. So you know, I'm trying to get the black and Jewish boxes checked off. Once I factor in Brittany I just have to invite the Chang-Changs and Figgins, and I figure I'll have it in the bag at that point."
"Lovely as that sentiment is, Santana, I think my dads are going boating up at the lake tomorrow."
"Oh. All right, it's cool, I'll get Mercedes. You'll still show, right?"
"Sure, but - come on, what's this really about, Santana?"
"All right," Santana said, rolling her eyes. "I thought it might be cool if. . . my parents could meet your dads. They're like a gay, interracial couple, right?"
Rachel smiled. "Indeed they are. That's an amazing idea, Santana, and I'm sure they'd be honored. I'll have them set up a dinner party, stat."
"Word. Thanks, Berry."
"Do you think if you invited Brittany to said dinner party we could ensure that she wouldn't talk about how you and I have slept together? I'm really not ready for that conversation."
"You know I can't promise that."
"Guess we'll have to risk it, then."
"Should we get Quinn there too?" Santana asked. "I'm not sure she's ever met functional parents before."
Rachel shook her head. "Um, I think that's a brilliant way to ensure the evening is laced with awkward tension."
"Not if you get over yourselves and patch it up before then. Like, I don't get it, Berry. She wants you, you want her. Her crazy is under control for the time being. . .what's the hold up?"
"It's not that simple, Santana."
"Right. Yeah, drag out the angst, drama queen, while the school year ticks away."
"For your information, it's not about drama - I have real reservations about it. Quinn needs a lot, okay? She might need more than I have to give."
"Sooo, you're telling me Rachel Berry is too lazy to have a girlfriend? Well, news flash, Berry: bitches be a ton of work, okay? You ain't so low-maintenance yourself."
"I have dreams, Santana. I can't afford to get too distracted by a complicated relationship."
"Oh. Right, I'm sorry, I forgot that love isn't part of Rachel Berry's dreams. My mistake. Cause relationships have never been important to you."
"Okay. Fine. I will grant that you might have a point, Santana, but you're not being fair. There's a lot to think about."
"Well, I'll tell you what I think," Santana continued. "I think that for however good it feels to be onstage, it feels even better to have someone waiting for you with flowers afterwards, someone standing there all proud of you with a stupid fucking grin like the one plastered to Quinn's face the other night. Think about it, Berry - who are you going to thank in your Tony acceptance speech for standing by you while you clawed and kicked your way to the top? Your agent and your lawyer?"
Rachel's nose turned a little red, and as she smiled, her eyes glistened. "You know, you are such a jerk," she said, shaking her head at Santana. "You really are."
"Mmhmm, you're welcome. And you can repay me by making some GD sense about these questions this time. I need an 1800 before USC will even consider me."
"Yeah, okay," Rachel said, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve and handing Santana a new pencil. "You're right. Let's try again."
...
Sunday, September 4 / 6:24pm
Brittany set down her glossy white bag from the Apple Store and helped Artie wheel up the ramp to his front porch.
"Thanks for your help picking out my new laptop," she said. "It was super nice of your dad to drive us to the mall. Tell him I said thanks again, okay?"
"Are you sure you don't want to come inside? You can tell him yourself over dinner. Come onnnn, it's meat loaf night."
"Thanks Artie, but I told my mom to come pick me up here at 6:30. Anyway, I'm excited to go home and try out my computer."
"Are you sure that's all it is, Brittany? Cause, you've been acting a little weird today."
"Yeah, I know," Brittany said, hanging her head. "It's because I didn't want to tell you this." She took a deep breath. "I think that you and I shouldn't hang out anymore. Especially doing boyfriend-girlfriend stuff like family dinners."
Artie's face went blank, which Brittany had learned meant he was mad. "Did Santana tell you to say that?" he asked.
"Santana doesn't make my decisions for me, Artie," Brittany reminded him. "She didn't ask me to stop, but she's my girlfriend, and I have to do it for her anyway."
"But, there's nothing going on between you and me any more. No offense girl, but I be maaad over you."
Brittany smiled a little. "No, I know. But, Artie, I started hanging out with you so I could make sure we got closure, and that was hard for Santana but she understood. It's not fair of me to take advantage and keep doing it when I know it upsets her. I have to start putting her first if we're going to make it through college together, especially if we go different places. Plus like, I'm sure Janine wouldn't like it if she knew you were hanging out with me all the time."
"I suppose," he said. "So what does this mean for Glee Club stuff, and decathalon? Can we not do that anymore?"
"That stuff's totally still fair game. We can do group stuff. Maybe someday even you and Janine and me and Santana can all go on a double date."
"Um, Brittany, I know I got used to hanging out with Mike and Tina, but I'm not sure I'll ever be ready for that."
"Maybe just the group stuff then."
"Maybe."
"So, thanks for agreeing to hang out with me this summer," Brittany said.
"I'm really glad you sent me that message, Brittany. It's been fun remembering how to be friends."
Brittany's mom honked from the curb, and Brittany bent to hug Artie.
"It totally has," Brittany said, and turned to go. "Okay. See you in school."
Artie waved as Brittany slid into the passenger seat of her mom's waiting car.
...
Saturday, June 25 / 1:12pm
"Is it easier with Quinn, cause she's a girl? I heard girls are supposed to be better at listening and dealing with feelings and all that."
"You're kidding, right?" Rachel asked, leaning forward over her coffee to bring her disbelieving expression closer to Finn. "You have met Quinn before, haven't you?"
Finn smiled a lopsided, uncomfortable grin. "I guess that might have been a stupid question, huh?"
Rachel swirled the coffee around in the bottom of her cup. "Quinn's the most complicated person I've ever met, let alone dated."
"Yeah," he agreed. "But you know, Rachel, I think if anyone can figure her out, it's you."
"That's sweet of you to say. A little naive, possibly, but sweet."
"I'm serious, though. Maybe you can make her happy, you know? Not like, Prom Queen happy, but for real happy."
"It's just that I feel like I'm doing exactly the opposite lately. Everything I try seems to fall completely flat."
"Maybe you're trying too hard," Finn said, shrugging.
"Too hard?"
"Yeah. I mean, no offense Rachel, but you can be a little. . . pushy. And Quinn's kinda used to calling the shots. Maybe if you both just relax a little and not push things to be perfect right away, it'll be easier."
Rachel sighed, and shifted in her chair in an attempt to relieve some of the tension that was creeping into her spine. Finn had no idea what he was talking about, obviously, because whatever problems he had had with Quinn, she was pretty sure they paled in comparison to her having to come to terms with being with a girl.
Still, he did know both of them pretty well, she had to admit that. Maybe he had a point.
"I'm pretty sure relaxing about Quinn goes against the demands of every cell in my being. But, I suppose I could try."
...
Monday, September 5 / 8:32pm
"What are you doing here?" Quinn spun around in her desk chair to face the door when she heard the knocking on the door frame.
"I cannot tell a lie," Frannie said, stepping across the threshold of the door. "Mom sent me. We were cleaning up after the picnic and BOOM. Massive guilt trip about how I never spend time with my little sister. Can I come in?"
"You're already in."
"Okay, that's not my fault," Frannie said, looking down. "My stomach tends to precede the rest of me by about four seconds nowadays. So what are you working on that got you out of cleanup duty?" she asked, nodding toward Quinn's computer screen.
"Final revisions of my summer homework. School starts tomorrow. So why does mom suddenly want you spending time with me?" Quinn asked as Frannie sank into her mattress with a groan.
"She wants me to find out if you're on drugs."
"What?"
"She didn't say it in so many words, but."
"I'm not on drugs."
"You had a few drinks at the wedding, huh?"
"So what?"
"A few bottles missing from mom's stash."
"What's your point?" Quinn said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I smoke pot, too - are you going to bust me? I'm a teenager, Frannie. It's not like you didn't do the same things."
"Sit down with me, Quinn." Frannie patted the spot next to her on the bed.
Quinn trudged heavily across her room and perched on the mattress a few feet away from her sister.
"Quinn, would you relax for a second? I want to tell you I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"I'm seven months pregnant, you know. It's difficult. It's difficult to move, difficult to stop eating, incredibly difficult to tie your shoes."
"And?"
"The truth is, it's been difficult the whole way. There's the vomiting, which is not confined to the morning, by the way, which is really misleading. Then there are the cravings, the mood swings. I'm surprised my dear husband hasn't taken off in the middle of the night."
Quinn stared at her sister and waited for the point.
"Quinn, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you went through it. It's hard enough when you're grown up and married and everyone is so happy for you. I can't imagine what you dealt with. Hiding it, feeling ashamed, not having anyone you could talk to. I should have been there for you, Quinn."
"I don't feel well," Quinn said, and launched herself out of the room and down the stairs.
"Damn it, Quinn! I hope you appreciate how much work this is!" Frannie called after her as she heaved herself to her feet and followed Quinn down the stairs and out to the front porch.
"The porch stairs? No mercy, huh?" Frannie said, lowering herself laboriously to sit next to Quinn.
"You don't have to do this," Quinn said. "Just because mom is afraid to talk to me herself."
"Cut her a break, Quinnie. She didn't have to talk for 25 years in this family, and now she has no clue what to do for you. She's really worried. She said you never leave your room any more. And you asked to go to therapy."
"Frannie, I appreciate that you're worried. You and mom. But I don't want to talk. Yes, I'm dealing with some things, but I'm dealing with it on my own."
Frannie nodded thoughtfully.
"Mmhmm. Is your friend Rachel helping you?"
Quinn's head snapped upward. "No."
"Is that the problem?" Frannie asked gently. "Quinn? Did you break up?"
Quinn's stomach dropped, and a tremor shook her hands in her lap.
"Who- who told you that?" she wheezed.
"Um, my eyes? I saw you together at the wedding and unlike the rest of our family, I'm not oblivious to reality."
"No. No, I brought her because Finn and I broke up. We're just friends."
"Okay," Frannie said, nodding. "We both know that you're lying, but if that's how you want to do this, that's fine. I'm trying to be here for you, but I'm not going to chase you around the house anymore."
Frannie put her hands on the top step and started to brace herself to push herself to her feet.
"Okay, wait," Quinn said, closing her eyes.
Frannie relaxed again. "So what happened?"
Quinn leaned forward and rested her forehead in her hands. She blinked and tears fell onto her lap.
"I panicked. Ruined it."
"Is it too late to fix it?"
Quinn shook her head, still resting in her hands. "I don't know."
"Quinn, do you remember my friend Becky from high school? She's gay."
"I had no idea," Quinn sniffled.
"Neither did I. And neither did she. At least, not until she was planning her wedding to her college boyfriend and found herself falling in love with the caterer. You're lucky to have figured it out so young. Anyway, they moved to Seattle together and never looked back."
"That's great for her," Quinn rasped. "I guess that must mean we all have happy endings."
"Quit being a smartass. You know what Becky told me? She said that being gay is the best thing that ever happened to her."
"That is seriously messed up, Frannie. I wouldn't wish it on anyone."
"I know it's easy for me to say this, Quinn, but it makes perfect sense, actually. She says if she hadn't realized she was gay, she never would have had a reason to get out of her conservative little town and explore the world. She would have settled into a comfortable, boring life in Lima Heights and not known what she was missing."
"Mmm," was all Quinn would say.
"You're going to need to get out of here, Quinn," Frannie said, putting her hand on Quinn's leg.
"You need to get away from Mom, and especially Dad. Get away from that church and out of this town."
Quinn forced a laugh. "How?"
"Well, shit," Frannie said. "You're kind of smart. Go to college, or something. There are a thousand colleges you could get into, and a whole country out there that isn't Ohio State or Toledo."
Quinn rubbed her hands together in her lap, and said nothing.
"Anyway, Quinn, I'm sorry for not being there for you with this, either. Because I knew, Quinnie. I knew when you were twelve and I saw you kiss that little shit Santana Lopez in the treehouse, and I knew what you were doing with that Cafferty girl in the church basement that time I walked in there unannounced. I ignored it. But I won't anymore."
"Please don't tell mom," Quinn whispered.
"No worries, Quinnie," Frannie said, putting her arm around Quinn's shoulders. "I'll stick with the drugs thing."
"I much, much prefer that."
"I'm going to start calling you, all right? At least once a week. You and I should talk more anyway, right? Especially with mom and dad and the way things are. . . sisters don't get divorced. And I want my baby to know her aunt Quinn."
"It's a girl?" Quinn sniffled.
Frannie nodded, and Quinn circled her in a hug. And then, in the deepening summer twilight, a pair of headlights swept across them as a car pulled into the driveway.
"Frannie," Quinn said. "That's Rachel's car."
...
Monday, September 5 / 8:45pm
Santana yanked the stack of dishes from her mother's hands and slammed them down into the sink, rinsing them one by one and dropping them roughly into the dishwasher. She hit the switch to run the garbage disposal and smirked with satisfaction as her mother flinched at the unexpected loud, grinding noise.
"Hey, settle down, baby."
Santana slammed the dishwasher closed and turned the dial. She turned her back on her mother and tried to push past her to leave the kitchen.
Her mother grabbed her by the wrist.
"Why are you so mad at your mama?"
"Don't play dumb. You know exactly why I'm pissed."
"You watch your mouth, angel. You may be almost eighteen but I will still ground your little behind. Don't test me."
"Sorry, mother dearest, but I believe you are already aware of the nature of my complaint."
Santana's mother dropped her wrist.
"I was just happy for you, baby. I wanted your cousins to be happy for you, too."
"Yeah, I especially loved the part where you told them all they could come visit me in California, as if I'm already living there. You realize I haven't made this decision yet, right?"
"I suppose I'm confident you'll make the right one."
"You know what? You and Dad are bullies. You with your passive-aggressive 'telling the family' bullshit and him with the not-so-subtle threats to cut me off and not pay if I go to Toledo."
"I admit we might be a little pushy. Sometimes people who are a little older and wiser can see things you can't, baby."
"And sometimes, when it's my life, I know what's best for it."
"It doesn't mean you shouldn't listen to advice."
"I know where you stand, okay?"
Santana flung herself down into a chair at the kitchen table.
"Mama, listen. If I go to USC on a cheer scholarship, that's it. That's my entire life. The girls on that squad wake up, practice, go to class, practice, do their homework, and sleep. That's it. It's like being on Sue's team, except with WAY more pressure because if I ever quit, I'd have to drop out of school because I just lost my scholarship."
Santana's mother looked at her, brow furrowed.
"I thought you loved cheering."
"I loved being a Cheerio, but there were a lot of reasons for that, not just the cheering part. I love other things, too, like singing and performing, like having friends who aren't cheerleaders."
"Like Brittany," her mother added.
"Yeah," Santana shrugged. "Yeah, I love her. But stop making this about her, because that's insulting. I have other things in my life, Mama. And when I go to college, maybe I want to have time to take a bunch of different classes to see what they're like, and have energy to study and do well in them. I am supposed to get a career out of this, right? Mama, listen - how can I be a woman leader in the world if you won't let me be the leader in my own life?"
"Good leaders have to know about the world, Santana."
"I have lots of time to do other things, in other places. Maybe after college, I'll move to LA. Maybe I could be a Laker Girl. Or maybe I'll go to New York and spend ten years auditioning for stuff, or maybe I'll work with kids, or run for Congress, or move in with Brittany and have houseful of snot-nosed brats. Who knows? The point is, it's my decision."
Santana's mother's expression softened.
"How come this is the first time you ever talked to me like this, huh?" she asked. "You just talked to me like a grown-up-Santana. I never knew all this before."
Santana's mother pulled her into a hug.
"I guess it won't be so bad if you decide to go to Toledo, huh?" she said, her voice muffled by Santana's hair. "Your daddy and me can come see you every weekend, take you and Brittany our for dinner, meet all of your friends. . ."
"Mama," Santana said, patting her mother on the back, "If this is your last ditch reverse psychology effort to send me to California. . . it's working."
...
Monday, September 5 / 8:54pm
"I'll be in the kitchen keeping mom busy," Frannie said.
Quinn helped her to her feet, neck craned to watch Rachel step out of the car and close the door behind her. Frannie raised her eyebrows and gave Quinn a hopeful little smile, then disappeared into the house as discreetly as a woman who is seven months pregnant can manage.
"I'm sorry for interrupting," Rachel said, stopping halfway up the sidewalk between the driveway and the porch. "I figured you'd be in your room doing homework. I didn't know you'd have company."
"Well, if you came to crash my family's Labor Day picnic, you're a little late," Quinn said.
"I can come back later."
"No, it's okay. Come sit down," Quinn said, gesturing at the front porch. "We have a ton of food left. Do you want me to go get you something?"
"No, thank you. I was at Santana's barbeque for a few hours this afternoon. They made black bean sliders just for me; I think I might not need to eat for three days. You know, I really can come back another time," Rachel said again as she reached the top step up to the porch. "It looked like you and your sister were having a conversation and I just barged right in."
"Rachel, why don't you stop being polite and tell me why you're here?" Quinn said, sitting down on the wicker love seat beneath the living room window.
Rachel flinched at the demand in Quinn's voice, and sat down gingerly in a chair beside her.
"No, I wasn't - I'm not trying to be bitchy," Quinn said, more gently. "You sort of have me in suspense, here." She forced herself to smile.
"Right," Rachel said, reaching into her purse. "Well. I came to give you this."
She handed Quinn a bright yellow, slightly mangled daffodil.
"It's to say I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blown up at you the other night."
"It's really pretty, thank you. But you didn't have to, Rachel. I deserved at least one good blow up, I think."
"I had to call six different florists to get that. They're not in season, and it's a National Holiday."
"Is the guilt to go along with the gift a Jewish thing?"
"Very funny. It just, it had to be a daffodil because-"
"I remember," Quinn said, a blush touching the tops of her cheeks.
Rachel smiled tentatively. "I brought you this, too." She reached into her purse again and retrieved a wrinkled piece of paper that looked like it was once an envelope for bank deposits.
"What's this?" Quinn asked, taking it from her. "Are you paying me to leave you alone?"
"I had to use what I could find in the car. Flip it over."
"Contract for Reinstatement of Romantic Relationship," Quinn said, reading the big, bold letters at the top.
Rachel smiled and raised her eyebrows expectantly. Quinn looked at her blankly.
"I thought the symmetry was kind of, you know," Rachel clarified.
"Right. So wait. . . Rachel, with this, are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Read it first, Quinn."
"I, Rachel Berry, and I, blank space-"
"That's where your name will go."
"I suspected that. I, Quinn Fabray, do solemnly swear that upon reinstatement of a romantic relationship, we will abide by the following rules.
Rule number one: No sex."
"That's wouldn't be a permanent condition," Rachel added hurriedly.
"Rule number two: No illicit or mind-altering substances. Rule number three: Weekly discussions of our feelings."
"We can put together the syllabus later," Rachel interrupted, "But I suggest Sunday evenings for the meetings."
"Uh huh. Rule number four: Respect each other's boundaries and goals as individuals. Rule five: If we have relationship problems, talk to each other first. Parentheses, 'The Girlfriends Before Cheerleaders Rule'."
Quinn folded the envelope in half.
"I realize the presentation isn't as professional as the last contract I asked you to sign," Rachel said, "But I was hoping you'd overlook it and appreciate my spontaneity."
"I do appreciate that."
"Because, Quinn, I just - I just thought you and I needed to take it slow this time. We need to take some of the pressure out of things."
A smile touched the corners of Quinn's lips. "So you drew up a contract for us to sign with a bunch of rules about how to do that?"
"Exactly."
"I'm not going to sign this, Rachel."
"Oh." Rachel's shoulders slumped and she looked down at her lap. "So, you've had a change of heart, then? The magic of the theater wore off?"
Quinn reached over and took Rachel's hand.
"Not at all."
Quinn yanked on Rachel's arm and pulled her onto the love seat next to her.
"I think these are great ideas, Rachel. I completely agree that we need to take things slowly. And we need to communicate with clear heads, and respect each other."
"Exactly, which is why I think it's so important for us to sign the contract before we go any further."
"I also understand, Rachel, that exuberant organization is your way of dealing with uncertainty."
Rachel pursed her lips. "I suppose there may be a kernel of truth in that."
"And that's why I'm going to keep this," Quinn said, folding the envelope again and tucking it into the pocket of her jacket. "And I promise to always have it in mind. But maybe what we need more than anything, Rachel. . . is to lighten up, a little bit."
"You want to lighten up?"
"See, I'm doing this thing where I'm trying to accept what I am and am not ready for, you know? Let go a little more, not try to control all the changes in my life. Sort of . . . let things happen without too many rules for how it should go."
"Sort of like AA, where you turn over control to a higher power and all that?"
"Maybe a little like that, I guess. I just think that everything got so serious for us this summer. But this school year is our last one together. You and me, our friends. Maybe the only rule should be that we try to have fun."
"That might be really hard sometimes."
"Yeah," Quinn said. "It might be."
"Quinn?" Rachel said quietly. "Can I have that hug you were going to give me after the show that night?"
Quinn wrapped Rachel up in her arms, held her close, closed her eyes. A warmth spread through her like she hadn't felt in a long time. A little sigh of relief rose and fell like a wave through her chest.
When she opened her eyes, her sister Frannie was peeking at them through the front door.
"Can I help you?" Quinn asked, but her voice just wouldn't sound angry, even though it had been her intention.
"I was just wondering if Rachel wanted to come in for dessert."
Quinn pulled back, and the look in her eyes answered the question for Rachel.
"Thank you, Frannie," she said, "But I should get going. First day of school tomorrow, and everything."
"Okay. I'll leave you alone. Get home safely, Rachel."
"Thanks, Frannie. So, uh, I guess I'll see you then?" Rachel said to Quinn, standing.
"Yep. I'll see you then," Quinn said. She took Rachel's hand and held it until their arms were stretched out shoulder to fingertip. She let go only as Rachel reached the porch steps.
When Rachel's car disappeared down the street, Quinn went back inside the house.
Frannie was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.
"It seems like that went well," she said quietly.
Quinn, with tears in her eyes, leaned against Frannie's chest and let her sister hug her.
...
Tuesday, September 6 / 7:31am
"Oh my God, it's starting already," Santana groaned as she spotted the perky gait of Rachel Berry barreling down the hallway toward them. "It's too fucking early for this."
"Do you mean in the day or the school year?" Brittany teased.
"Both."
"You might as well get used to it," Quinn said. "It's going to happen every morning."
"Do you think there's any chance I can get my locker reassigned to the basement where she'll never find me? And they'll never find her body if she does?"
"Okay, now remember everybody," Rachel began as soon as she came within ear shot. "It's the moment we've been waiting for all summer. The first day of school is here, and it's time to put all of our plans into full effect. Brittany, this is a stack of fliers advertising the back to school assembly on Friday afternoon. At lunch, I want you to hand out each and every one."
"But, doesn't the whole school have to go to that anyway?" Brittany asked, frowning as she took the stack of paper from Rachel.
"Yes, but we want them to be excited! Santana, as we discussed, you and I have a sixth period study hall date to review the results of your latest practice SAT, and before you ask, no I will not go over it with you under the bleachers while you get high. Quinn, I suggest we meet up after school to put together your student body president platform. Nominations will take place in two weeks so we'll want to start a whisper campaign about your candidacy no later than this weekend."
"Santana, is it okay if I walk to class with Artie and Mike and Tina?" Brittany asked, after patiently waiting for Rachel to take a breath. "We all have health class first period."
"Well, calling it walking is being generous in some cases," Santana said. "But all right. I'll see you in Glee."
"Thank you," Brittany said, and gave Santana a peck on the cheek.
"Don't forget, Brittany! Fliers at lunch!" Rachel called after her. "One final thing," she said, turning back to Quinn and Santana, "We're going to reinstate band practice at my house this Saturday evening. Please let me know via text message your earliest availability as soon as you know it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a 7:40 appointment with Miss Pillsbury to discuss the organization of my extracurricular activities on my college application packets. Have a good first day everyone!"
She turned on her heel and was immediately lost in the crowd.
"Your girlfriend is one hundred percent obnoxious," Santana observed, leaning back against her locker.
"What, you don't want your senior year to be the best, most-productive time ever?" Quinn smirked, leaning beside her.
"Fuck that," Santana replied. "This year is a stepping stone to way better, way more important things. And by the way, it did not escape my notice that you didn't object to the word girlfriend. So what's going on there, chica? I think I've earned the right to know the status of your relationship at all times."
Quinn shrugged, a cryptic smile on her lips.
"So is it official?"
"We're not labeling it," Quinn said. "We've agreed not to date anyone else, and. . . we're going to talk."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"Did you at least have make-up sex?"
"We're trying to be friends first. Sex would be a terrible idea."
"That sentence makes you a disappointment on so many levels. I'd rather go to class than stand here with you right now, that is how much you suck."
"Fine, go ahead," Quinn said as Santana turned to leave. "Although I was going to tell you. . ."
Santana stopped. "Tell me what?"
Quinn looked over her shoulder for eavesdroppers.
"I was going to tell you how amazing I thought Rachel's tits looked today, but if you don't want to talk to me, then whatever."
Quinn started down the hallway. Santana lagged behind, her boots frozen to the tile.
"I knew you'd admit it, you know," she said, regaining her composure and catching up to Quinn. "If there's two things Santana Lopez knows, it's good tits and girls who like good tits."
"You're so classy I almost can't take it," Quinn said.
"You love me. Anyway, I was thinking, now that we both have this newfound appreciation for chicks, you and me and Britts should think about rejoining the Cheerios. You do remember those skirts, right?"
"You might be legitimately insane."
"Really? Because I bet between the three of us we could convince Berry that being a cheerleader would look great on her college applications. Did you ever think about her in one of those outfits?"
Quinn stopped in her tracks. "Okay," she said, turning into her first period classroom. "I'll get back to you."
...
Saturday, September 10 / 8:40pm
Rachel descended the stairs into her basement, balancing a tray of snacks in her hands. At the bottom of the stairs, she set it on the bar, breathing a sigh of relief when it came to rest safely.
"Okay guys!" she called out, clapping her hands to get their attention. "So, we have quite a spread. Orange slices, unsalted popcorn, two thirds of a bag of veggie chips, dried cranberries, vegan graham crackers, and organic artichoke hummus. Oh! And a chocolate coconut Luna bar, but we'll have to draw straws to see who gets it."
A few of her guests looked her way with mild disinterest, and then promptly went back to whatever they were doing. At the piano, Tina was adjusting Santana's hands on the keys. Behind Finn's practice drum pad, he and Brittany were laughing. On the stage, Puck, Sam, and Artie formed a loose circle, holding their guitars. Next to the microphone stand, Quinn sat cross-legged, reading a book, her guitar laying flat next to her.
Rachel crossed the room in a huff. She'd just broken a sweat gathering everything in her dads' kitchen that could possibly be included in the snack category of edible choices. It wasn't her fault she hadn't been warned that band practice was going to turn into some kind of Glee Club jam session. It was a terrible position to put a hostess in.
"What are you guys talking about?" she asked, approaching the stage after no one paid attention to her indignation.
"Artie's new woman," Puck said. "We're trying to figure out her cup size from this picture. What do you think Rachel? You've got some experience with different-sized boobs."
"Ugh, shut up, Puckerman."
"And you wonder why I'm sitting on the floor ignoring you," Quinn said.
"Are you talking about his so-called girlfriend?" Santana asked, sauntering up behind Rachel. "Because I'm going with the theory that it's actually some creepy old dude with a cripple fetish until proven otherwise."
"Actually, Santana, her name is Janine. I've Skyped with her three times, and this is her picture," Artie said, holding his phone up for Santana to see.
Santana's mouth fell open as she took in the image. "Now that is just not right," she muttered, turning away. "How does he get these hot girls? It's so wrong."
"Well done, Artie," Quinn said. "I wish I knew how to shut her up that quickly."
"Yeah, I have to say," Artie said, "I'm sort of glad Janine lives in Chicago. It's far from me, but it's also far from Santana."
"I don't get the idea you have to worry about Santana these days, Artie," Rachel said.
"Hey, Quinn, why don't you join us? We promise to talk about music instead," Sam said, extending his hand to help her up. "Do you want to work on one of the songs you were asking me about?"
"I guess," Quinn said, closing her book and taking Sam's hand. "I've made a lot of progress on them, actually."
Rachel smiled and left them to their practice. She joined Santana on the couch.
"You're gonna be hittin' that again by Homecoming," Santana said, indicating toward Quinn with a nod of her head.
Rachel bit her lower lip, but couldn't completely hide her smile. "Actually, we might've had a sort of. . . relapse. It was Tuesday night while we were working on her campaign."
"You had what?"
"No, shhh! We didn't have sex, okay? We just. . . accidentally. . . made out, a little bit." Rachel covered her face with her hands. "I think we missed each other."
"I revise my previous statement," Santana said. "You're gonna be hittin' that by the end of the weekend."
"No, we're not, we're - we're going to talk online more, I think."
"Online? Why?"
"It was Quinn's idea. She thinks maybe it'll be easier for her to open up about stuff if we talk that way. With more distance, you know? Plus then we can't, you know, fall into old patterns, if you will."
"You mean into each other's vaginas."
"Yeah."
"Well, like I said to Britt a couple of months ago, y'all are far more tolerable when you're together, so. Be as lame as you want if it helps you work your shit out, I guess."
"Thanks, Santana."
"Don't thank me, I think you're both dumb as doorknobs."
"No, I mean thank you for everything."
"You mean for tolerating your bullshit this summer? Bitch, I told Quinn I wanted actual, physical presents for that."
"No," Rachel smiled. "I mean, for everything. For starting me and you. For me and Quinn. It's been sort of horrible at times, but, looking at her up there having fun, having the three of you in my life. . . I wouldn't change anything that happened."
"Now, that's a lovely sentiment and everything, Berry, but technically, YOU started it when you checked me out so hard my clothes practically fell on the choir room floor."
Rachel blushed. "Details. Anyway. Thank you." She leaned over and hugged Santana.
"So are we going to start practicing?" Quinn's voice interrupted them.
Rachel and Santana broke their hug to find Quinn standing beside the couch with her guitar over her shoulder, Brittany approximately a foot behind her.
"Yes!" Rachel said, getting to her feet. "Yes we are! And you're cute when you're jealous," she whispered as she passed Quinn on her way to the microphone.
"Wearing a t-shirt, Q?" Santana observed, as she slid over to make room for Brittany on the couch. "Glad you finally acknowledged my wardrobe wisdom."
"Don't get used to it, I just need to do laundry."
"Attention!" Rachel was saying, tapping on the microphone. "Attention everyone. I have an announcement. Santana, Brittany, Quinn - I got us our first gig!"
"What?" Quinn and Santana exclaimed together.
"It's next Sunday night at Breadstix!"
"You're insane!" Santana said.
"We're not ready!" Quinn said at the same time.
"It's only a three-song set," Rachel said calmly. "We'll be ready."
Santana was on her feet.
"I didn't authorize this. Three songs? What are they going to be?" she asked, striding toward the stage. Puck, Sam, and Artie backed away, retreating toward Finn in the corner. Tina crossed hurriedly in front of the stage toward the safety of the group.
"I've composed a list for your consideration," Rachel said.
"Oh really? One of them better be Amy Winehouse or I'll bury that microphone in your organic hummus, and that may or may not be a euphemism."
On the couch, Quinn and Brittany sighed in unison.
"Hey Quinn."
"Yes, Brittany?"
"I feel like you and me might be spending a lot of time like this in the next year."
"Brittany. . . I think you may be right."
Quinn crossed her arms over her chest, and smiled.
I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
But I have been missing the rapture this whole time
Of being forever incomplete
Epilogue
Wednesday, October 19 / 3:06pm
Brittany's footsteps pounded against the hallway floor. She'd been running at top speed, dodging the dispersing student body for five minutes, looking for Santana.
She hadn't been at her locker, or the girl's room, or the other girl's room. Brittany finally found her alone in the choir room, her feet propped up on the piano, flipping through sheet music.
"Did you hear?" Brittany asked breathlessly.
"Hear what?"
"Look at your phone!"
Santana fished her phone out of her bookbag.
"Check your email," Brittany urged.
Santana's heart skipped a beat. Her newest email was a message from Coach Brighton. The subject line read "Welcome to the Toledo Rockets!"
"We made it?" Santana asked.
"We BOTH made it! The email says the official letter will come next week but she wanted to tell us herself."
Santana jumped to her feet and into Brittany's arms.
"Did you- we need to text Hannah, and Devi, and Alex," she said.
"Go ahead, you do it," Brittany said, smiling.
Brittany watched Santana type on her phone.
"You're going to get them all excited, though," she pointed out, "When you might not even be going there."
"Actually. . ." Santana said, and raised an eyebrow.
Brittany's eyes widened. "Santana?"
"I choose Toledo."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Santana!" Brittany exclaimed, and picked Santana up, spinning her around.
"How did you make up your mind?" Brittany asked, after setting her back down on her feet.
"I don't know, I just. . . I don't need to be the best cheerleader, I guess. There are lots of things to be the best at. Plus, you better believe we're gonna whip that scraggly band of slackers into fighting shape together."
"So, do you think you did good enough on your SATs? I mean, well enough?"
"I guess we'll find out. But I really think I did, Britt."
"We can always try again, too, if we didn't."
"I guess we need to finish our application packets for real now," Santana said.
"What are you going to major in, Santana? It says you have to pick something on your application and I can't decide."
"Okay, well," Santana said, "Tell me if you think this is crazy. But I was thinking about majoring in psychology. I mean, my mother says it's a major for people with no direction who are just smart enough to know you can't get a job with an English degree, but I have like straight A's in that class this semester. I stay awake and everything, cause it's like, really interesting."
"That's not crazy at all, Santana. What would you want to do with it when you graduated?"
"I was thinking of working with kids, maybe?" she said.
"You would be so good at that," Brittany beamed.
"It's just an idea," Santana said, shrugging sheepishly. "So, what about you?"
"Well, one of my ideas was majoring in accounting."
"Wait, what?"
"Working with Quinn over the summer, I realized I really like stuff with numbers. Why, do you think accounting is a bad idea?"
"No, Britt, not at all. I guess I always thought you'd do something creative."
"I will! My mom says accountants have stable careers that don't take up any brain power, so you have lots of mental energy to pursue other things in your spare time. And I want to make money, Santana. Lord Tubbington and you are both accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so I want to make sure I can buy you both the stuff you're used to."
"Brittany, I think that is a brilliant plan," Santana said.
"Do you want to go find Quinn and Rachel and tell them the good news?"
"After you," Santana said, and followed Brittany out of the choir room.
...
Friday, October 21 / 11:09am
"Hey, what are you doing here?" Rachel asked with a smile as she walked into the choir room.
Quinn set down her pen and smiled up at Rachel. "Hey."
Rachel sat down next to her in the third row of chairs.
"I had an appointment with Ms. Pillsbury," Quinn said. "I got out ten minutes ago, and didn't see any point in going back to Calculus. So why are you here early? Do you just have a permanent hall pass to come here at your leisure?"
"We had a sub in AP Lit. He was wasting my time, so I came here early to corner Mr. Schuester while there's no one else here to give me any flak over my verbally bludgeoning him with song selections for Regionals."
Quinn bit back her amusement. "You know in college you have to go to ALL of your classes, right? We learned that from Jesse St. James, yes?"
"We'll see about that," Rachel said. "You didn't tell me you had a meeting today."
"I needed application advice," Quinn said. "There's all this information online, and schools have been emailing me their propaganda like crazy. But sometimes you need to just ask someone who knows what they're talking about."
"Did you come to any decisions?"
"Not on schools. I'm pretty sure I changed my mind on my major, though."
"I thought you were so excited about biology," Rachel said, concern creeping into her voice.
"I guess I was mildly excited," Quinn hedged. "But I've decided to go with anthropology, actually."
"What is that, like, digging up dinosaur bones?"
"That's archaeology," Quinn said. "Which is one kind of anthropology, but not the one I was thinking of."
"That's too bad," Rachel said. "You would look cute in a big, wide hat with dust on your nose."
Quinn smiled. "I'm leaning toward cultural anthro."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, it sort of means that you like to study human ideas."
"So. . . so what schools are good for that? For'cultural anthro?'"
"Berkeley and Stanford. Those are seriously hard to get into, though, and I'm not sure I want to go to California."
"So, anything a little more. . . east coast?"
"University of Michigan."
Rachel nodded.
"University of Pennsylvania."
"Well that's only a two-hour train ride from New York, and in the same city as University of the Arts," Rachel said, perking up a little.
"And Penn State."
"Only a few hours by bus to Pittsburgh! Not that it's about me, of course," Rachel added quickly. "I just mean if I were to go to Carnegie Mellon and you went to Penn State, we could see each other pretty often."
"I'm looking at Pitt, too. But Rachel, are you actually seriously considering going somewhere other than New York next year?"
"I'll admit it's unexpected, considering my well-documented love affair with The Big Apple. But Carnegie Mellon is such a great program - I'm kind of in love with it. And, to be honest, I like the idea of having a true college experience somewhere other than New York before I go there, get my big break, and get thrown into the national spotlight."
"Interesting how things might work out, then," Quinn said.
"Yeah," Rachel agreed. "It is. So, hey Quinn, I'm going to kiss you now."
Quinn looked around the choir room to make sure it was truly empty.
"Okay, Rachel," she said, smiling. "Go ahead. I'm ready."