Chapter 6 – Definitely, Maybe
"No."
"Shelley."
"No."
"Shells!"
"No, Berry, I'm not giving you permission to write down my weirdness on a paper and present it in front of twenty-something people!" Shelley slams down her cup dramatically, punctuating the finality of her decision.
She casts Shelley a dark look, before huffing and concentrating on her cheesecake. Nothing feels better than satisfying a craving. They're back in the same place they met last time, a discreet Starbucks branch near her place. Shelley insisted they hang-out at Rachel's dorm, but she's not ready to introduce her Juilliard friend to her roommate yet. Besides, knowing Santana's penchant for slim dancers with blonde hair, Rachel fears she'll prey on Shelley like a hungry wolf.
"That's the point, there's only twenty-something of them, and there isn't even a one percent chance you'd know anyone from my class or NYU for that matter."
"When I become a prominent dancer, I'd be rather horrified if find this up for auction on eBay."
Rachel snorts at that. It's difficult to win a discussion with Shelley. Sometimes it makes her curious to see if Shelley had gone to law school instead.
"I'm not going to let anyone steal my hard-drive, I swear."
"Why not just ask your dads? Personally, their consistency on sending you those quotations really baffles me. Which, by the way, makes me utterly jealous of you. They're great people, Rach."
"They are," Rachel agrees wistfully. "They're thinking about adopting you, actually."
Shelley's eyes widen comically. "I know you're pretty stuck to them like white on rice, so no thanks."
Rachel smiles coyly. "They're not going to be happy about that you know."
"Please, they've told me countless times how they are that you didn't turn out like me."
"That's mean. I'm sorry."
Shelley smirks. "I took it as a compliment—ow!" The dancer rubs soothingly at where Rachel had hit her. "You sure got more violent up there! But going back, do you really want to pick me? From what you described of your assignment, these three people are eventually meant overlap each other, or harmonize or whatever term you used that I can't remember."
"Converge," Rachel supplies coolly. "Yes, it's plausible to happen if the first draft would bear potential to be continued as a final term paper. Otherwise, I'll have to look for another topic and right now, I can't think of anything as interesting. And please don't talk with your mouth full."
"Yeah that. Also, since we're no longer rooming together, our living agreement no longer applies to my eating habits and as well as other things that requires compliance." Shelley says, flashing Rachel a huge smile that has all her teeth and little morsels of food nastily on display.
Rachel quickly looks away, groaning inwardly.
"Geez, see? I told you, you wouldn't want me to be your guinea pig. And have you even thought about the two others you're going to experiment?"
"It's not an experiment—it's just an analysis on…" Rachel trails off, pressing her thumb to bridge of her nose. They've come to this point where Rachel can tell that no matter how she tries Shelley just won't budge. Though if Shelley agrees, Rachel's likely to owe her one and the last time Shelley made her pay her dues she kind of regretted asking Shelley's help in the first place. It figures that no friendship's perfect after all. But that's fine.
"You called me 'Berry'." Rachel says with a somber expression after a fleeting lag of just savouring the smell of roasting coffee and the calming music of Bon Iver. There's something about this place which tells her it isn't meant for conversations like this. It merits a gentler approach, and Rachel can't help but picture herself in the near future, coming here alone with a good book tuck under her arm. Lately though, her schedule's been quite hectic. She can't even remember the last time she read a single line from the title she's currently straining to finish.
Shelley tilts her head languidly and says, "Jesse used to call you 'Berry' all the time. Anyway, what's the science behind Quinn Fabray?"
Rachel nearly chokes at the abrupt mention of Quinn. Two nights ago, she called Shelley to relieve herself of her frustration concerning the soccer player. Her ranting went for two minutes before Shelley interrupted her— albeit sharply— demanding to know who this Quinn is and if she's the new addition to her roommate club.
"Yeah, about her," Rachel crosses her legs together. "I, uh, I don't know."
"She your roommate's friend?"
Rachel shakes her head. "In fact, Santana didn't classify their relationship like the rest. Exhibit A—she continues to ignore my humble attempts at establishing a workable system inside our shared space."
"I kind of like her." Shelley says, sipping her warm drink soundly to Rachel's distaste.
"You haven't even met her." Rachel points out crossly. "And you're kind of an ass for saying that."
"The idea of her then," Shelley shrugs. "She challenges you."
"It seems I'm constantly meeting the challenging ones."
"Like this Quinn Fabray, yeah? So, tell me what's got you so riled up the other night." Shelley grins slyly, her choice of words failing to catch Rachel's notice.
"I… I'm not sure. I can't recall why I've been so upset after she dropped me near the hotel."
Shelley tucks a palm under her chin. "Hmmm… My guess is it's because you had to walk a full block? 'Cause any normal person would insist to drive you right outside the lobby or even walk you upstairs."
Rachel laughs at that because it's silly to admit that Shelley's guess is sort of half-right, but it's for the wrong reasons she's diffident to find out.
"Have you," Rachel fiddles with her napkin while she searches for the right words. After a while she's uncertain whether she's making crane or a ship, but either way the material's too lax to transform it into anything. "Have you ever met someone who completely demolishes your expectations and leaves you utterly—for lack of a better term—dismantled?"
Shelley's thoughtful for some time, not exactly sure where Rachel's going with this question. She thinks she knows, but she holds back to wait for a more amiable opening. "I can't answer that, Gold Star. To me it seems… something that happens every day with obsessed fans."
Rachel drops her head, clearly dissatisfied with the answer she received. She reckoned Shelley would understand her conflict with Quinn's ambiguous character and provide some kind of consolation in knowing she isn't the only one.
"Anyway, I put some thought about what you said the other day. Just that—can I be honest here?"
Rachel looks up at her, face tinge with a little desperation. "Please."
Shelley plays with her straw, rolling it between her fingers before taking a deep breath and looking squarely at the confused brunette in front of her. "You're not... into her, are you?"
She must have been unresponsive longer than she thinks because when she returns to herself and to reality, Shelley's leaning forwards and eyeing her worriedly. She's speaking, but Rachel's ears have gone deaf, and all she hears is "you're not into her, are you?" playing on repeat like a distant echo in her ears on and on and on.
She's had girl crushes before, pretty ones who smile too many times. She's made out with one but it required five shots of tequila and game of spin the bottle to get her to push her tongue inside a very unfamiliar territory. Other than that particular experience, she's only been with men.
And as far as she knows, Quinn's not her type. Like, at all. She knew herself to be always drawn to people who give her the slightest bit of attention. For weeks she obsessed over Jesse after he randomly serenaded her inside a music store. He sang a few lines, but they happened to be Rachel's favourite, and it resulted into mooning over the boy for weeks. From there, things between them progressed smoothly.
So the answer should be no, because Quinn is… resilient. She's not baiting Rachel with anything.
But maybe not baiting is baiting her. Because they say that there's nothing more attractive than someone who's out of reach. Untouchable.
And yet Rachel continues to consider all sensible argument there is, because the last time she decided she liked someone it didn't end well.
And yet she can't also deny that she thinks Quinn is beautiful. The most beautiful girl she's ever met…
"Rachel." Shelley nudges her shoulder, now angling her head away from the brunette. "You're not going to punch me, are you?"
"No..."
"Good. I know it's too soon to ask, but judging from the way you talk about her... That's the first thing that came to me, okay?"
"Okay." Rachel blinks a couple of times to fully recover. "I… haven't thought about it."
"Why not? You're not repelled by the idea of being with a woman, are you? Considering what happened between us New Year's Eve, when we—"
"Yeah, we, uh—"
Shelley abruptly clears her throat in an effort to stir them in a less awkward position.
"I just got out of a relationship over three months ago." Rachel reasons uncertainly.
"Which means you're ready for a new one, right? Isn't that the universal rule in conservative dating? Though I don't really see Jesse as conservative, sorry."
"How will I know?"
"The same way you'll know if you enjoy a particular sex position," Shelley grins impishly. "You try it."
Rachel snorts at her friend's bluntness. "What? Are you're saying I should just… lay one on her the next time we see each other?"
"My ways are my ways. I don't give advice which I don't apply myself."
Rachel arches an eyebrow, drinking in the suggestion with defiance. "If I do like her, it still doesn't make sense why."
"I've never met anyone quite like her before." Shelley replies.
"Come again?"
"Our last Skype call? Those are the exact words you said to me the first time you mentioned Quinn."
Rachel pauses thoughtfully. "You don't think that's enough reason to suddenly like someone, do you?"
Shelley shakes her head. "How about you eliminate the why, and let me ask you again. Do you like Quinn?"
Yes. "No."
"I said, stop thinking dummy."
"I can't! I need to think about this." Rachel sinks further into her seat, pulling her knees to herself in a defensive pose. The last thing she needs is being caught up in feelings again and frankly, sorting this out only makes her want to see Quinn more and she doesn't even know how to get in touch with the blonde.
At this point, Shelley decides to take pity on her and rather than pressing for an answer, she gives the brunette a significantly helpful hint.
"How about you start with the basics?" Shelley points at somewhere past Rachel's shoulder. "See that boy who wrote a cheesy crap on your cup last time?"
"Finn?"
Shelley's smile turns saucy. "I can't believe you remember his name. Anyway, if you have to choose between him or Quinn—"
"Okay, stop, I fail to see how this could help because clearly, I have no interest in Finn and he's probably just being nice when he wrote me that compliment."
"You sure about that? Give it a few more weeks and he'll be pouncing on you like a—"
"I don't think so."
"Wanna bet?"
"Careful Shells, I think your gambling addiction's starting to show." Rachel teases her with a chuckle. But the truth is she's not confident to win this one. She deliberately avoided eye contact with the boy when she ordered her usual soy latte.
"Hey Rach?" Shelley calls out suddenly and looks at the brunette in the eyes.
"Hmm?"
"Regarding your request, I'm not turning you down because I'm a selfish bitch, okay?" Shelley says and Rachel detects the sincerity in the dancer's voice. "I just think that you can do a lot with someone you don't know that well. Think of it as a two-dimensional thing, you can only unlock the secret of the third dimension if you understand how the other two works together."
"Since when did you get so smart?"
"I'm not a mindless bimbo, you know?" Shelley winks at her, and Rachel's briefly jealous at how the small action makes her so charming.
Rachel smiles at her dotingly. "I know."
She lowers her eyes, suddenly fascinated by the wooden table in front of her. She asked Shelley's permission to include her in her paper but all the while she couldn't help but think about how much she wants to write about Quinn instead.
xxxxx
There is one way to know; and it's driving Rachel crazy because the mechanics of it relies heavily on circumstance and playing her cards right.
She has—needs to see Quinn again. She needs to feel the fever. She needs to confirm it by the sensations in her skin and the fluttering in her stomach. It makes her sick using people for her own motives, but it seems like her only bridge to Quinn are chance and Brittany.
xxxxx
Thirty minutes later, she hugs Shelley goodbye and walks her to the station. When she gets home, she finds Santana watching television, a bowl of popcorn lying heedlessly next to her.
"There's left-over pizza on my bed if you're hungry." Santana mumbles without taking her eyes off the glowing screen, seemingly enthralled by a gruesome scene from The Walking Dead. Rachel decides not to focus on the fact that Santana's eats in other locations of their apartment other than the kitchen or that there were kernel spills all over the floor.
"Is it vegan-friendly?"
"What am I, a goat?" comes Santana's irritated response.
"I'm taking that as a no. Thanks for the offer."
"You're welcome."
Rachel heaves a sigh, moves to stand in front of Santana, semi-blocking the Latina's view.
"I need to ask something about Quinn—"
"I told you for the fucking millionth time, I don't have her number. And why are you suddenly so interested in Q? Have you gone all Lebanese on her?"
There's no way to fight the blush that instantly tints her cheeks at Santana's crassness. For a minute, she supresses the urge to tell Santana that she's asking herself the same thing, but when the Latina brought it out in the open without preamble, it knocked all coherent thought off the brunette.
"Why do you seem so angry all the time?"
"Why aren't you?" Santana shoots back, crossing her arms in front of her.
"Don't you have a better way of saying 'no'?"
"No." Santana answers curtly, looking past Rachel. "Now move."
But Rachel remains passive, her fist clenching and unclenching as she maintains her ground. Santana cocks her head to one side and stares back at Rachel with dead eyes.
It's an unspoken challenge that neither of them is willing to give up.
"Look, I—" Rachel starts.
"You can't resist not talking, can you?" Santana cuts her off quickly with a smirk.
They say miracles happen every day, but Rachel's hasn't really experienced one in her life until she felt Santana plop on the floor to her side. The Latina retrieves something beneath the rug— the remote—and presses the off button with her thumb.
Then Santana looks up at her wearily and asks, "Have you tried Facebook?"
"I did…" Rachel answers and drops on the space beside her roommate. "Though I don't think she has one."
"It figures. By now you should be aware how much Q detests any kind of social medium."
Rachel hums in agreement. "So how come you never became friends with her?"
"Let me see," Santana answers and pretends to think for several seconds. "I had a feeling she doesn't like me so much."
"You did?"
"Don't act surprised, Berry. It's annoying on you. People generally don't like me, but that's fine because I hate everybody too."
Rachel smirks and rolls her eyes. She won't admit it aloud, but she's oddly growing fond of Santana's temperamental attitude.
"Does it—does it have anything to do with what happened between you and Brittany?"
Santana shakes her head, suddenly looking grave at the mention of her ex-girlfriend. "It had nothing to do with B. I'm not trying to ruin Quinn for you but if you think I'm bad, well, she's worse. She's the most apathetic person I've ever met, I don't even understand why Britt's friends with her. But then again, I remember that my girl—ex-girlfriends friends with almost everybody."
Rachel's quite after that, not sure how she should process what Santana just said. The Quinn Fabray she met during the orientation had been distant most of the time, but she never thought about Quinn that way—someone who's perfectly detached from the world. She wants to believe that she just needs to crack Quinn's barriers in order to see Quinn. Not NYU Quinn, but who she is outside all of this.
"You miss her don't you? Brittany?" Rachel asks, deciding that Santana's probably not the best person to dig some information on the enigmatic soccer player.
"I'm not the type who misses people, Berry." Santana hisses somewhat. But then her chin dips slightly and Rachel's almost not able to catch the sentence that followed. "But yeah, I do..." And in that moment, she feels sorry for Santana.
"Why not join the soccer team again? That way you'd be closer to Brittany again. She's a cheerleader for the Violets, right?"
"Right. But it's more complicated than it you think."
Rachel's forehead creases into a frown. "Enlighten me."
"They...hmmm, how do I say this," Santana murmurs to herself. "They don't want me back in."
Rachel gapes at her, finding the right reaction to that. It turns out there aren't any, because Santana's reclining on the sofa with a humourless smile. "I guess they all took Britt's side after we broke up. Let's just say, they kicked me out as punishment."
"But it's not their business to—" Rachel narrows her eyes. "What did you do?"
Santana shifts uncomfortably and looks away. "I should save that for another bed time story in the future."
"Alright," Rachel mutters quietly. "Last question. What made you do it?"
Santana sighs heavily and for the first time, Rachel sees regret in her eyes. "One day, B gave me this look, like she wanted to have my babies and things like marriage and old age. I was scared as fuck, okay? I didn't know how to respond to something as overwhelming as that."
Santana tilts her head and stares at the ceiling, and Rachel has a feeling that she's doing more than just that. She thinks about offering the Latina a napkin, but decides she needs to stop offering things people aren't asking her for.
"Anyway, about Q— I'm not surprised if you're suddenly gay for her— most girls are, especially when she starts kicking soccer balls like Beckham. You should see that girls legs. It's— gross, did I ramble about Q's gorgeous legs? I think I'm gonna throw up in my mouth."
Rachel bursts into a fit of laughter and her hand automatically migrates to her mouth to muffle the sound. Santana eventually joins her, giving in to Rachel's infectious laugh.
"I'll cut you a deal, Berry." Santana says after some time, getting up on her feet. "You keep Brittany close by any means and..."
"And...?"
"And I'll sign your stupid roommate agreement."
Rachel's face immediately breaks into a huge smile, her brown eyes sparkling. "Deal."
xxxxx
A hard knock on the door rouses the brunette's sleeping ears. Rachel checks the time on her cell and groggily wonders who might be visiting at this ungodly hour. She forces herself up, rubbing her eyes to get rid of the heaviness on her lids. The living room's pitch black, except for the thin ray of light seeping through the blinds, so Rachel maneuvers herself with extra care until she reaches the door.
Though right before her fingers close around the cool knob, the door swing open without preamble. Rachel's breath hitches, taking a step backwards.
"Quinn." There are a number of questions that immediately swirls inside her brain, but not one of them makes it pass her lips as it registers to Rachel that the blonde's suddenly moving forward, backing Rachel effectively against the wall.
Quinn, as usual, doesn't utter a syllable. But she talks with her body, hands finding purchase on either side of Rachel's hips, pulling the brunette tightly to her as she ghost her lips over Rachel's. Now and then, a pink tongue darts out to lick at her bottom lip, and each time, she feels herself sliding further into oblivion. She has no choice but to wrap her arms around Quinn's neck and tilt her head backwards when Quinn begins a slick path down the column of her throat, nipping and sucking with fervor.
"Fuck, Quinn, I—"Rachel whines, not knowing exactly what she wants to say. Quinn's hands travel upwards under her shirt, nails scraping lightly against her taut stomach. Rachel shivers—a wave of wetness rushing to her core. Is this really happening?
For a while she gets lost in the feeling of Quinn everywhere, and when she opens her eyes she doesn't immediate find what she's seeking. But then suddenly, she feels eager hands stroking her thighs and spreading them apart. She looks down and curses when dark eyes meet her own and god— it's enough to make her come right there and then. And then Quinn smiles that secret smile of hers and without breaking eye contact, she leans in to breathe in Rachel before her pink tongue darts out and—
Rachel recoils when the sunlight sharply hits her eyes. She's on the floor and there's dull throb at the back of her head. She doesn't recall half of her dream or toppling off the bed, but she feels it everywhere in her body— the traces of a sexy dream that leaves a person unbelievably frustrated in the morning. The tingle starts from her lips, traveling to her fingertips and down to her toes. Her skin's achingly sensitive, and there's a burning sensation at the pit of her stomach that has been left unsated.
She rarely comes across this biological urge—frankly due to her lack of interest in sex even after she experienced it with Jesse the first time—but there's only one way she could do every time it happens.
Rachel lets her hand drop to the waistband of her shorts. Her eyes shut tightly when she gets underneath the material, slowly traveling a bit lower until her fingers finally reach their heated destination. Rachel clamps her teeth down on the comforter, as she starts relieving herself of... this mess. Of Quinn. God, she's more than embarrassed to be doing this at seven in the morning, and knowing someone's sleeping in the next room.
But the second Rachel curls her fingers—oh god, she moans— all of her shame instantaneously flies out the window. When she's done, Rachel sucks in a long breath, willing to calm her body down. And as the cool morning air hits her fevered cheeks, she thinks—
Yeah, maybe she's into Quinn more than she cares to admit.