Puck stood in the school hallway anxiously waiting for Rachel to arrive. He had wanted to call her as soon as he had woken up, but talked himself out of it in case she had gotten in trouble with her dads. Puck was a bit worried that he might have missed some incriminating evidence—an unwashed shot glass or a misplaced liquor bottle— when he cleaned up her house. Puck snorted as he remembered that he had actually wiped his fingerprints off the liquor cabinet. He made a mental note to stop watching so much CSI.

Puck was shifting the coffee that he had picked up earlier from hand to hand, when he spotted Rachel. She was walking slowly, and going out of her way to avoid the small groups of people clustered at various lockers.

Instead of her usual short skirt (which Puck always appreciated), Rachel was wearing grey sweat pants and a blue hoodie. Rachel's eyes were covered in pink sunglasses that were in the shape of stars. Puck hated watching her slow progress, so he took several long strides to meet up with her.

"How's the hangover?" Puck asked.

"Aptly named. I feel like I was literally hung over some abyss and left to dangle for several hours. My head hurts and my throat is scratchy. I also appear to have a bad case of photophobia," Rachel said gesturing to her sunglasses, "and loud noises are painful. Are you suffering from any adverse side effects?"

"No. Last night was not my first rodeo."

"Huh?"

"I just meant that I have built up a pretty high tolerance for alcohol. Plus, I weigh more than you do and I ate most of the sundae I made which probably helped absorb the booze."

"Oh."

"Here," Puck pressed the coffee cup he was holding into Rachel's hand. "I got you a nonfat latte with extra foam. It'll help your head."

"Thanks." She took a small sip. "I like extra foam."

"Who doesn't," Puck stated matter-of-factly.

Puck scratched his head and glanced down at the floor. "Listen, I hope you didn't get into any trouble because of me."

"Thanks for the concern, but my dads didn't suspect anything. I was asleep when they got home. When I woke up and went downstairs, everything had been cleaned up. The living room even smelled powder fresh."

"I Febreezed," Puck explained.

"That was sweet of you."

Rachel took another sip from her cup to stall. She wasn't sure if she should bring up what had happened between them.

Puck wasn't sure if he wanted to talk about it either. He hated conversations about expectations and feelings and other crap like that.

After several seconds that seemed liked an eternity, Puck and Rachel spoke at the same time:

"I'm sorry," Puck blurted out.

"Thank you," Rachel started to say.

They both let out a nervous laugh.

"You go first," Puck insisted.

"Okay." Rachel took a deep breath. "I wanted to thank you for taking care of the situation, for cleaning up the house, and for not taking advantage of me. You made me feel safe. Most other guys in your place…" she trailed off.

"It's my fault you were acting like that in the first place. I guess I just wanted to see you loosen up a bit, have some fun."

"I have fun. I may be a little uptight and have my clothes and accessories arranged by size, color, and number of times I have worn them, but that doesn't mean I don't know how to have a good time," Rachel huffed.

"I know. I realized it was a bad idea as soon as you started twirling in the living room."

"I did that?" Rachel asked sheepishly.

"Yes. Yes you did."

Rachel bit her lip, "So you didn't like me better when I was inebriated?"

"Nah, I like you just the way you are."

Rachel smiled.

"You were even more high maintenance as a drunk."

Rachel decided to let that comment slide.

"I would like it if we could forget about this incident and just stick to the plan," Rachel stated.

She stuck out her right hand and asked, "Friends?"

Puck didn't know the exact moment it had happened, but the fact remained that he and Rachel had indeed become friends.

He shook her hand and repeated "Friends."

The warning bell rang which signaled that the students had one minute to get to their first period class.

Puck cocked his head towards the English room, "I guess I better…"

"Yeah me too."

As Rachel began to walk away she said, "Thanks again for last night."

Puck smirked his famous smirk—the one that made you want to both kiss him and slap him, and responded, "For your first time Berry, you weren't that bad."

Rachel rolled her eyes at his reference (even though he couldn't see it beneath her sunglasses) to her maiden voyage at being drunk, and then walked to class.

Puck was in a great mood. So great a mood in fact, that he failed to notice the cheerleader with the angry scowl on her face who had overheard the last part of his conversation with Rachel.

Santana Lopez slammed her locker shut and headed toward her history class. She tried to process the information she had just stumbled upon. She quickly decided that she couldn't wait to share this latest bit of gossip at lunch.

*******

Santana was sitting at a table in the cafeteria with Quinn. The yogurt and fruit she had brought from home lay untouched in front of her as she tried to relay what she had overheard.

"I'm telling you, Rachel and Puck hooked up last night."

"How can you be so sure?" Quinn asked cautiously.

"Rachel said 'thanks for last night' and then Puck said she was good considering it was her first time."

"So that conversation makes you think that they had sex?"

"Well, they weren't talking about doing Sudoku." Santana gave an exasperated sigh.

Quinn tried not to care, but she did. She needed more info.

"They could have been talking about anything. We went bowling last night. He could have been talking about her game."

Santana seemed unconvinced. "I don't think so. Puck was giving her his best sexy-face, the one he used to give me. Besides, I could tell by his tone that he was not talking about bowling. He was teasing her, but seemed proud at the same time. Gag me." She mimed the motion by sticking her finger in her mouth.

"Well, maybe he's teaching her how to play the guitar." Quinn was grasping at straws.

Although, Quinn thought, Rachel didn't look like she could sit still long enough to pick up an instrument.

"Or maybe they were talking about…I don't know…horseback riding." The straws Quinn was grasping were officially broken now.

Santana took the first bite of her yogurt, "If that's the case, then Rachel saved a horse by riding a cowboy."

"Just stop." Quinn was disgusted.

Santana pretended not to hear. "You know what confirmed it for me? Rachel was wearing sweats and she looked exhausted…probably because Puck didn't let her get any sleep."

As if Quinn needed any more proof, she glanced up just in time to see Puck and Rachel enter the lunchroom holding hands. Quinn noted that Rachel's clothes did look bad, even for Rachel. Puck whispered something into Rachel's ear and she smiled and laughed. Quinn had to look away.

"I don't know why you're so upset, I'm the one who dumped the guy," Santana said.

"Considering my current situation, I'm not a big fan of gossip."

"What gossip? Where? Who's gossiping?" Finn said; his approach had gone unnoticed by Quinn as her attention had been drawn elsewhere.

The smell from Finn's lunch tray immediately made Quinn's stomach flip. He had a hamburger, a hot dog, a slice of pizza, chips, and baked beans all on a plate.

Santana piped up, "Rachel and Puck are making the beast with two backs."

Finn's face fell. "How do you know?"

Santana quickly relayed the exact story that she had told Quinn.

"So they were just standing in the hallway?"

"Yup."

"Just shouting for the whole world to hear?'

"Pretty much."

"And he said the words 'first time?'"

"Verbatim."

Finn looked confused.

"That means that's exactly what he said," Santana explained. .

"Oh." Finn shoved his hot dog in his mouth, left the rest of the food on the tray, and stood up from the table.

"Where are you going?" Quinn asked.

"I've lost my appetite. I'm gonna go. See yah later."

On his way out the door, Finn walked by Puck who happened to be standing in front of the vending machine getting a soda.

Puck tried to greet him, but Finn just got close to his face and shouted, "HAVE YOU NO SHAME?" Finn then stalked out the exit like a three year old throwing a tantrum.

The lunchroom got silent for ten seconds, but normal conversation resumed pretty quickly since yelling was a normal occurrence at the high school. Puck shrugged his shoulders since he had no idea why Finn had yelled and sat back down at his table next to Rachel.

"Weird." Quinn said before trying to change the subject, "So, did you end up buying that bracelet at the mall that you liked?"

"I was going to, and it was on sale…"

Quinn zoned out while Santana chattered on. She had to admit, the news about Puck and Rachel had taken her by surprise. She knew that Puck was a manwhore, but she had thought that Rachel had better sense then to fall for his act. What worried Quinn the most was Finn's reaction. He had been so affected that he had left most of his lunch behind, and lunch was his favorite meal. If Quinn didn't do something soon, she might lose everyone she cared about.

Quinn needed some advice. And she knew exactly who she was going to go to get it.

*******

Quinn sat in her chair fidgeting nervously and briefly wondered if she had made a terrible mistake by getting a pass from fifth period and coming here. She stared at the formidable figure who was sitting at the desk in front of her. This figure was not speaking; rather, she was staring into a handheld mirror and currently flossing her teeth.

Quinn cleared her throat to break the uncomfortable silence.

Sue Sylvester took one last swipe at her gums with the floss before throwing the long strand into the trash can. She ran her tongue across her teeth.

"Sorry about that. I forgot my lunch and had to 'borrow' a sandwich from the refrigerator in the staff lounge. It was corned beef, and it was terribly stringy and dry. I wouldn't have taken it but the sandwich had a label on it that said Please Do Not Eat: I Have Strep Throat and am Contagious. I saw that as a personal challenge, one that I feel my superior immune system is up to. Anyway, I got some stuck in my teeth: the sandwich not the virus. But, I think it's gone now.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," Quinn said.

"No problem. I have an open door policy Q. Just think of me as the United States. Whenever you want to hop on a raft and float for days or jump in a van with twenty of your very tan friends, just come on over that border. I promise not to alert the Federales or check your papers too closely," Sue said gesturing to the hall pass in Quinn's hands.

"This is a real hall pass, Mr. Taylor signed…"

"Shhhh," Sue pretended to lock her lips shut and throw away the key. "I'm sure it is," Sue then gave Quinn a conspiratorial wink.

"I know it may seem weird that I came to you, especially since you kicked me off the squad. The truth is that I have no one else to talk to. I can't go to my parents because they don't know about the baby, and I can't go to the guidance counselor because all she'd do is give me some pamphlets. I need advice from someone who's not afraid to get their hands dirty."

Sue held up her hands, "Consider these filthy."

Sue got up from her desk and started to pace, "I know it feels like you have the weight of the whole world on your shoulders Q. I've seen you walking around the halls looking depressed: a once cheerful Cheerio is now a forlorn Frownio. What can I help you with?"

"Mostly, I'm just scared about the pregnancy," Quinn confessed.

Sue picked up a pair of five pound dumbbells off the shelf and started doing reps.

"I'm not going to lie to you, you should be scared. Through regression hypnosis, I was able to remember the exact moment when I was born. It was horrible. I was ripped from the warmth of my mother's womb and brought into a cold, foreign world upside down where there was screaming and crying, none of it my own, and bodily fluids everywhere. The doctor slapped my bottom to try and get me to make a sound, and I bit him with my toothless gums."

Quinn was speechless.

"Don't even ask me about my memories of being born during my past life as a fifteenth century Renaissance painter," Sue warned. "Two words, Breech birth."

"But you don't have any kids, so you don't know what labor actually feels like for the mother," Quinn pointed out.

Sue pulled the weights behind her to work on her triceps. "Just recently, I heard from a reliable source that giving birth is comparable to being in warlike conditions."

Quinn wasn't sure she wanted an elaboration, but asked anyway, "Where'd you hear that?"

"Oh, just on some popular segment on the news. I think it had a woman's name in the title followed by the word 'Corner.' No matter. This wise person said that having a baby gestating inside you is like swallowing a live grenade that is set to go off in a few months. You don't know when exactly, but at some point the pin gets pulled, or in your case, the mucus plug falls off. As it struggles to be born, that baby will rip open your insides like shrapnel. And while you try to push the parasite out, your private playground down there is exposed to the world and more than likely you will defecate on yourself in front of everyone."

Quinn shuddered. "That sounds awful."

Sue put the weights down and sat back at her desk, "On the bright side, you get a screaming brat out of the deal that you can train to do stuff, like change the channel when you can't find the remote or fetch the newspaper."

"I think I'll be able to handle the birthing stuff once I go to those special classes. What I really want to know from you is how to deal with people that you can't stand. How do you manage to get the upper hand? Everyone in this school either respects or fears you. I want to be able to stand-up for myself like that."

"I'm flattered. I can give you a couple of my secrets to success, but I have to save some for the tell-all book that I plan to write within the next couple weeks. I predict it will be a chart topper."

Quinn waited with anticipation.

Sue leaned back in her chair and said, "The first step is to decide what you really want. The next step is to visualize yourself achieving your goal."

"That sounds sensible," Quinn commented.

"If that doesn't work…" Sue pounded her fist down on the desk, "Pulverize any person who gets in the way. Do whatever you have to— kick them in the shins, put superglue on their chair so they miss a staff meeting, or have your accounting guy fudge some numbers and change that person's credit history. Be creative, that's half the fun."

"What would you do if you overheard some gossip, but you're not sure it's true?" Quinn asked.

Sue's eyes darted from side to side. She lowered her voice, "Why? What have you heard? Is there some rumor floating around this cesspool about me? I don't care what people say, I did not knowingly strike a deal with the lunch lady to switch out the regular lunch milk with rat milk and then pocket the savings. Oh, that's another tip I can give you: plausible deniability. If you didn't see something, then it never happened."

"The gossip has nothing to do with you," Quinn assured her.

Sue let out a relieved sigh. "Moving on then. The best way to deal with gossip is to go directly to the source. Ask that person to tell you the truth, and refuse to leave until they do so."

Quinn looked up at the clock and saw that the bell was going to ring any second.

"I should probably leave so I can make it to my next class. Thanks again for your help Ms. Sylvester."

Quinn grabbed her backpack and stood up.

"Glad I could help. Come back anytime." Sue absently shuffled some papers on her desk before speaking in a slightly softer tone, "If any of the snot-nosed, pimple-faced idiots in this dump are giving you a hard time, just tell me and I will deal with it. You should just be focusing on you right now."

Quinn smiled in appreciation and headed towards the door.

Sue held up one hand to stop her from leaving, "One more thing Q."

"Yeah?"

"If I were you, I'd get the epidural…because seriously…Kaboom!" Sue mimicked the sound of an exploding grenade.

Quinn nodded her head in agreement and left the office.

Sue swiveled in her chair while thinking that mind-altering and pain-diminishing drugs could be the topic of her next TV segment.

She suddenly thought of a good line to reel viewers in:

"Drugs: do they make people stupid, or do already stupid people just take them and ruin it for the rest of us?"

With satisfaction, Sue curled her fingers into her trademark sign and said, "That's how Sue C's it."