Chapter 4: The Notebook
Quinn Fabray has been sketching and doodling for as long as she can remember. Her mom suggested keeping a diary when she was a kid, but the little pink lock-with-a-key princess diaries never did the trick. She'd write nonsense for a few days and then abandon the book on a shelf in her room and never think about it until the next year when her mom picked up a new one assuming she'd run out of pages. She found comfort in graph paper, of all things, once she reached more advanced math classes in middle school. The perfect squares covering the page intrigued her, and she often found herself doodling on the back of her meticulous notes during breaks and lunch. Eventually, graph paper gave way to blank computer printer paper. Quinn grew more and more talented with her doodles as she progressed into high school, finding it difficult to concentrate in her "harder" classes, most of which she'd already mastered studying by herself at home. She found drawing comforting, it grounded her in a way writing never did. Quinn felt about drawing the way Rachel Berry felt about music, in some ways it was her only identity, but mostly it just gave her talent to hide behind.
In two years Quinn had gone through half a dozen sketchbooks, all of which were kept in an old banker's box labeled "school notes" under her bed. They were all shapes and sizes – some small enough to fit in your back pocket, the largest just small enough to lay flat on the bottom of the file box. Most were the size of a standard spiral bound notebook, allowing for easy access when the need to doodle sprang up in the middle of classes. Last weekend, Quinn came upon a sketchbook while in out with her mom for the day. The older Fabray had gone to meet with her lawyer for coffee to finalize the divorce papers and Quinn wandered around the area, not wanting to get in the middle of their meeting. She stumbled upon an art supply store and ducked in out of the snow. Upon first appearance, the store was average in every way. The walls of the main room were lined with different papers, canvas, paints, pencils and modeling tools. The faint smell of gesso and sawdust hung in the air, which Quinn quickly discovered was from the forming and stretching of canvases in the store. In the far back of the store, there was a steep spiral staircase leading to a tight looking mezzanine level, not much more than a catwalk cantilevering over the drafting aisle. The mezzanine was stacked floor to ceiling with books. She made her way up the stairs, pausing to admire the detail on the handrail, and found herself surrounded by walls of books on three sides. She made her way down the narrow catwalk, peering up at the shelves and admiring the vast collection of arts manuals, history books, gallery catalogues, and artist's books. At the end of the aisle, she noticed a single shelf holding books without words flowing up their spines. She cautiously pulled one from the shelf, subconsciously wincing away as the book was freed from the stack, expecting an avalanche. When the rest of the books miraculously stayed in place, she opened her eyes to find a beautiful blank sketchbook lay in her hands. It was thicker than any sketchbook she'd ever seen - almost two and a half inches – and made with very fine Bristol sketch paper. The cover was blue and white striped canvas stretched over sturdy cardboard, giving it the appearance of an old fashioned hardcover novel. The inside covers both had pockets built into the lining, and Quinn noticed there were different sized pockets scattered throughout the pages.
For some reason, the book reminded Quinn very strongly of a particularly chatty brunette, one that she'd been writing to fairly often and yearned to talk to at every opportunity. The thought of Rachel made her smile to herself, catching the attention of the young woman stocking the shelves in the aisle beneath her feet.
"You doin' all right up there?" the woman called out, startling Quinn out of her Rachel Berry fantasy world and causing her to jump.
She looked around, unsure of the source of the mysterious voice. She heard a whispered "motherfucker" from below her feet and saw a pair of bright grey eyes staring through the grate of the catwalk floor. "Anything I can help you with?" the voice called out
Quinn tucked the sketchbook under her arm and made her way back down the stairs. "Hi, uh, sorry I didn't see anyone else in here. Can you tell me how much this is?" she said, holding out the book to the girl.
"For you, gorgeous, fifteen bucks. I usually charge sixty cause it's handmade and takes for fucking ever to make so damn pretty, but since you're the first girl I've seen in here who is prettier than one of my books, I'll let it go for a steep discount." Quinn was uncomfortable, and the uncontrollable blush spreading over her neck and face wasn't helping matters.
"I, uh, I don't want any special treatment. If it's sixty dollars, I'll pay that."
"Girl, chill the fuck out. I'm not trying to get you to sleep with me, just pointing out that you are a very damn attractive human being. I'll settle for twenty so you don't get too uncomfortable. You lookin' for anything else, or just the book?"
"I think just the book will be fine for today. You said you made it? That's amazing, I mean, it's beautiful. Do you own this place?"
"I made it yeah, its a little side project of mine. I'm the manager of this place, but not the owner, that honor belongs to the dick I have to honor of calling my brother. The name's Liz." The young woman stuck her fist out, expecting Quinn to bump hers in return.
"Quinn" the blonde said slowly, curling her fingers into a fist and bringing her knuckles to the other girl's. She let out a short laugh as the girl across from her wiggled her fingers back toward her body while making an explosion sound with her mouth.
That sounds amazing, I go first?
When Quinn nodded, offering the first pages of their new notebook for her to write on, Rachel's smile threatened to take over her entire face. She was uncertain of how what to think when she and Quinn first began passing notes regularly, but never considered the possibility that the blonde might want to talk to her outside of their boring shared classes. She racked her brain for the next two periods, trying to figure out what would be suitable to de-virginize the new sketchbook. She finally landed on one of her favorite songs as the last fifteen minutes of last period were drawing to a close. She picked up her favorite pen and began to write.
"Say anything, but say what you mean."
Quinn,
I'm not really certain which format I should be using here. This is clearly meant for socializing and as such I believe it detours from more formal social protocol. Still, as a first entry into what I hope will become a lengthy account of our forming friendship, I believe writing this in the form of a letter will be beneficial to us both. I suppose I should begin with a simple apology for doubting your intentions a few weeks ago when you first passed me a note in class. I was confused, to say the very least, and worried that you might be trying to play a prank on me like you did freshman year. I realize now that you were bored and wanted to talk to someone and I just happened to be the only one around. I sincerely hope you're willing to look past our differences so we can move on and try to have a normal friendship without constantly bickering about boys or being nervous about ulterior motives.
I'd really like to get to know you, Quinn, and I hope you feel the same way. I've determined that you are at least a little curious about me, since you're the one who produced this beautiful book for us to write in. Where did it come from? I've never seen anything like it.
With optimism for a bright friendship to come,
Rachel Berry
Quinn laughed out loud when she read the very formal first entry in their book. She also wondered if Rachel planned on signing every note with a gold star sticker. For a moment she felt guilty for making the other girl think she'd been trying to trick her, until she remembered that she had unintentionally done exactly that freshman year.
Quinn and Rachel had never really been friends. They'd seen each other around school but never spoke or even acknowledged each other's existence. Quinn had begun to notice the girl more, realizing they shared most of their classes. She'd found a way to zero in on the girl in the hallways when she picked up on the fact that Rachel was almost always singing or humming in some way. She was entranced and decided that with a little work and help from the popular crowd, she could make Rachel popular and then they could hang out. She posted a message on Rachel's MySpace page telling her at the Lima Shopping Center Saturday morning after Cheerios practice. She said that she had misjudged the girl and wanted to make up for lost time by spending the day at the mall. Quinn, Santana, and Brittany arrived early, practice having been cut short because one of the girls fell off the pyramid and broke her arm. The mall was packed, as it usually was on Saturday afternoon and the sheer numbers of teenagers made the food court seem a lot like the high school cafeteria. The Cheerios were just sitting down at a table when Quinn spotted Rachel making her way over from the nearest entrance. The second the brunette opened her mouth and started talking a mile a minute Quinn held up her hand to silence the girl and motioned for her to step away from the busy table. They ducked out of earshot of the table and Quinn opened her mouth to tell Rachel to relax and try not to talk so much (Quinn thought that was the root of all her problems.) Just as the words started to come out, something ran into Quinn from behind, hard, launching the giant slushy Quinn had just bought directly into the smaller girl's face. Rachel froze and gasped for air, feeling the icy corn syrup ooze down her shirt and through her clothes, pooling inside of her shoes. Santana immediately burst out laughing as Quinn's eyes grew wide with a mixture of horror and apology. She stared at her own hand, then back at Rachel as the diva's eyes watered and Quinn watched her fight back tears. She opened her mouth to apologize as Karofsky and the jocks walked over from the other side of the food court. They took one look at the dripping girl and all began to laugh. Quinn saw the first of the girl's tears clean a path through the bright red goo on her face as she turned on her heels and ran back the way she'd come in. Quinn wanted to run after her and beg for the girl's forgiveness, but Finn's hand on her lower back and Santana's laughter in her ears left her frozen in place. She stared helplessly as Rachel pushed through the crowd of people blocking the exit, holding back her own tears. She'd never apologized, believing Rachel would never forgive her. As far as Rachel knew, Quinn had done it on purpose and began the unique McKinley torture that was slushying. The diva had been slushied almost every day since the incident at the mall, and though Quinn never did it again, she was the founder of the institution whether she wanted to be or not.
Quinn began to softly cry at the memory, trying her hardest not to let the salty wetness drip from her chin onto the pristine paper of the notebook. She didn't have the right to cry, especially not because of something she had done to Rachel, not when the other girl had suffered so much because of her. Quinn had been ashamed and unwilling to forgive herself after the slushy incident; she felt unworthy of the girl's friendship and didn't feel she had any right to try and earn it. She'd mostly stayed out of Rachel's way, save for their few public arguments about Finn. Quinn was jealous of the guy, furious that he was spending time with Rachel when she couldn't. She'd put on a show by arguing with the girl, showing the school that she was still on top but internally praying her harsh words would keep the girl out of her life. She couldn't bear to have the girl near her, not when she was responsible for establishing the daily horror of bullying the smaller girl endured. It wasn't until Rachel approached her after revealing the secret of her baby's true paternity that Quinn realized something she'd never even considered before. Rachel didn't hate her. Rachel didn't even dislike her. This whole time, Rachel wanted Quinn's friendship just as much as Quinn wanted Rachel's. She'd made a promise to herself that she'd start making amends with the brunette. They were civil to one another, able to have short conversations in glee, but the lack of time spent together made it difficult to achieve more than that. The fact that Rachel was dating her ex-boyfriend made things even more complicated.
The first day back to school after Christmas Vacation was a godsend for Quinn. She'd heard that Finn and Rachel had a terrible break up over vacation that almost led to Finn being arrested. Her spirits lifted when she saw that she and Rachel had been made lab partners in Chemistry class. The pieces were finally falling into place but she moved too quickly. There were so many things she wanted to say to the smaller girl that she didn't think to ease the girl into the prospect of being friends after all this time. She'd had her feelings hurt when Rachel asked about her intentions. They bounced back, beginning a slow communication, one short note at a time. Quinn was finally feeling confident enough in their tenuous friendship to increase their communications when she stumbled upon the notebook in the art store downtown. It was perfect. They could write down everything they were feeling towards each other without having to worry about reactions because they wouldn't be face to face when they read each other's words. She could apologize to Rachel for everything without having to relive the painful moments in the expressions on Rachel's face. She could also let Rachel tell her off for all of her indiscretions without having to break down in front of the other girl. It was the best idea she'd ever had.
Rach,
Don't ever apologize. You've never done anything to hurt me, especially not anywhere near what I've done that has hurt you in the past. I'll make sure you're never slushied again. I may not be a Cheerio anymore, but they still listen to me.
I'm so incredibly sorry for everything I've done to you. More than anything I'm sorry for the slushy at the mall. I know you'll never believe it wasn't on purpose because of the way I reacted and the fallout that stemmed from it, but it was, and I'm so thankful to finally have the opportunity to tell you how sorry I am, even after all this time. You can tell me anything in here, and I promise you it will always stay between us.
I really hope you'll be able to forgive me for my past someday, I'll wait, you're worth it. I think we can be great friends once we move past all the bullshit in the past.
Q