Chapter 13: Afternoon of Fright
Several days passed without much incident (other than two more make out sessions and one more foray to second base). Since Noah insisted that he "got this" when it came to the tracking down of Karofsky and Linder during school hours (he promised not to leave school grounds, but she knew that was a bold-faced lie and fully intended to be mad about it later), Rachel was free to go to her classes secure in the knowledge that something was being done to remedy her most current and pressing problem.
So first thing Tuesday morning she slunk into the bathroom as quietly as she was able (even though Noah's approaching of her in the bathroom had been a sweet and touching gesture that had ultimately led them to where they were currently in one another's lives, she still had realized on that occasion that it would be similarly easy for a less-than-desirable figure to follow her) and took her spot in the same stall that she always used. Before even three seconds had passed, she heard the door open. Holding her breath, she briefly considered standing on the toilet bowl so as to not be seen, despite how paranoid and utterly ludicrous that idea was. But then Mercedes began to speak, and Rachel breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She even considered opening the door to greet her, but then remembered that she still was not speaking to them due to their refusal to help her when she called about Karofsky and Linder. Although it was hard to keep it up, because it didn't seem that they were as punished by her silence as she had intended them to be.
"This is getting ridiculous. We should just apologize. It was funny at first, but I tried to ask her about our glee homework and she just walked by like she didn't even see me," Tina said suddenly and coincidentally. Rachel pressed her ear to the cool door of the stall, even though she could already hear everything that was transpiring. "And Santana said that her aunt lives on Rachel's street, and apparently the cops were at Rachel's house that night."
"We can't apologize! You know that girl's just crazy for attention. She's the girl who cried "emergency" instead of wolf."
"Doesn't the boy who cried wolf die at the end?"
"Not the version my mom told me. Anyway, whatever. She's fine. No harm done. And she's been scarce, too. The last time I even saw her outside glee was a few days ago when I saw her talking to Quinn in the hallway."
"Doesn't that mean she's not fine? Quinn probably killed her."
"No, they were talking about slushies. Someone slammed Rachel in the hall that day. I got an update from Jacob's blog."
Rachel briefly felt indignant that Mercedes had been listening in to her conversation with Quinn, but then she remembered where she was presently standing.
"Oh. Poor Rachel. That whole slushie thing is so stupid."
"I know. Lord knows I'm not Miss Diva's biggest fan, but that shit is just immature. And it's not like she's some heinous bitch. It would probably be funny if it was Santana getting slushied, but…I don't know. Rachel's one of our own, as much as I want to gag her sometimes."
"Yeah. I'd lend her some clothes, but I don't think she could pull this look off," Tina said with a smile.
"I'd lend her some clothes if she had the curves to fill them out. But let's face it. Rachel has a very specific lack of fashion sense that has somehow become its own fashion sense. It works for her. Even though it shouldn't work for anyone."
Tina sighed and said, "I still feel bad for ignoring her call."
Mercedes shook her head and snapped her purse shut, turning to face Tina with determination.
"I'm telling you, it was nothing."
"But Rachel never calls us. Not for anything."
"She calls me all the time. Still wants to do a duet. As if she could keep up with me. But anyway, Rachel is worse than me when it comes to being home alone. She freaks out about every little thing. If you read her myspace blog…"
"You read her myspace blog?"
"I skim it. Don't make a big thing out of this. And if you did read it, you'd see all these references to being home alone and feeling freaked the hell out about it."
"Oh."
"Exactly. We need to Ferberize her. It's that shit you do with babies, where they cry and you ignore them so they'll get used to sleeping through the night."
"But Rachel isn't a baby."
"No kidding! But she is a pain in my ass with all this bitching about people trying to get her or whatever. It's for her own good, really. She'll thank us later."
Rachel leaned against the wall heavily, her mind racing. Was that really what people thought about her? Was she really that dramatic about everything? Did people really believe that she would make things up like that? That she would stoop to such levels to garner attention for herself? Granted, yes, she had always been a bit fearful of being home alone, but she hardly complained about it. At least not to the extent that Mercedes was detailing. Or did she? Was she really not as self-aware as she believed herself to be? Was there a whole other angle to her personality that she was just not privy to?
She was just starting to feel herself in the throes of an existential crisis when she heard them say Noah's awful nickname.
"Do you think Puck's told her anything yet?" Tina was asking in a quiet voice. Rachel concentrated very hard on not moving. She had an ear for conspiracy, and Tina's voice was all but oozing secrets.
"No, of course not. Look. The whole damn school knows thanks to you and Kurt, but Rachel? No. No way. No one is stupid enough to tell her. Not even Puck."
"Hey, stop blaming us! You were the one spilled the beans."
"Yeah, yeah. Okay. But it was too juicy a secret to pass up. And anyway, it was really Santana and Brittany who did most of the damage. I'm just lucky that Finn and Rachel are too oblivious to see what's going on right under their noses."
"Yeah, but if Finn ever finds out, that's going to suck so much. The club will fall apart."
"Which is why Miss Diva can never know. She'll tell Finn in two seconds to have him to herself."
"Yeah, but Puck's her boyfriend now."
"You think she realizes how epically hot that boy is? No. She's too busy mooning over Sweet and Stupid. She'd drop Puck in a second if she knew he was the father."
Rachel nearly gasped before she slapped her hands over her mouth to stop herself. Mercedes and Tina kept talking, but they were leaving the bathroom and soon the door closed behind them. Rachel finally allowed herself to breathe, taking gulping gasps of air and ignoring the fact that the display of it all proved that she was exactly as dramatic as Mercedes said she was. There would be time to deal with all of that later.
Puck was the father of Quinn's child. Of course, there had been signs, but Rachel had been willing to overlook them in favor of rationality. Namely: why would Quinn sleep with Puck when she was in a relationship with Finn? Why would she sleep with anyone when she was the captain of the celibacy club? How could she be such a hypocrite? But this confirmed everything that she didn't want to suspect before, and she was utterly without an idea of what she was supposed to do.
Puck was feeling like an epic failure, and it was starting to piss him off. One of the things he was always good at was finding people. He knew where everyone hung out. He knew every kid according to their stereotype and likelihood of bangability – for the chicks. And that was pretty much everything you could really hope to know about a person. But Karofsky and Linder were getting better at hiding, or he was losing his touch. He'd been looking for them all over town for three days (left school a few times, too. What Rachel didn't know wouldn't hurt her) and not once did he even catch a whiff of that douche scent.
He really didn't know how to tell Rachel, so he sort of avoided her for the rest of the day, even though he made sure that she was all right and shit. But in a way so that he didn't actually have to talk to her. It was sort of stupid that he was being such a chick about it, but he couldn't actually force himself to start a conversation because he didn't want her to realize that he was shitty at one of the only things he was supposed to be good at. He caught her eye once, and just sort of smiled and waved before turning and booking it down the hall. And then he went to the bathroom. But it wasn't because he was hiding. He just had to go. And okay, so maybe he didn't actually go to the bathroom, but that was just because he forgot.
Meanwhile, he kept an eye and ear out for any news about Karofsky and Linder. He heard two idiot hockey players talking about Karofsky's suspension, but it was nothing special. Just them bitching about how they couldn't win without him. Like that even mattered.
Fucking hockey.
He was walking to his locker at the end of the day trying to figure out how he was going to afford paying for Quinn's medical bills on the sly (she said she didn't want him to, but she also said that Finn was useless, so he was pretty sure that was also like saying that she needed his help), and he was so deep in his freaking out that he didn't notice Rachel was standing at his locker until he was practically standing on top of her.
"Oh. Hey," he said lamely, trying to look like he wasn't thinking about anything (he was pretty sure that she still couldn't read his mind, but there was no reason to take the chance).
"Hi," she said darkly, adding another point to the 'Rachel can read minds' side of the mental tally.
"So what's up?"
"I've been considering this conversation all day, and the best ways to approach it, and I've decided that my desire for continuing honesty in our relationship must drive me to approach the subject head on."
"Okay." He knew that when chicks were mad (including his mom), the best thing to do was just let them talk. Most of the time, they'd talk so much that they'd actually defend him for him, once they got around to rationalizing his actions or whatever. Then they'd forget that he did anything wrong. And Rachel was much more likely to talk herself in circles than Santana. Santana would just stand there with her arms crossed and deny sex until he figured out what he did wrong on his own. Rachel would hold two sides of the conversation by herself, maybe even throwing in a third party for good measure. Easiest fights ever.
"I was in the bathroom earlier today when I overheard a bit of gossip that suggested you were the father of Quinn's child."
Puck's heart stopped, his throat closed, and he felt like he had just eaten three days worth of Mexican food and then was locked somewhere with no access to a bathroom.
"What?" he asked numbly, still sort of hoping for that circle talking thing.
"Do you really require further clarification, Noah? Are you the father of Quinn's child, or aren't you. And I'd like to remind you here that I take great pride in our relationship so far being one built on honesty and not lies."
She was looking at him with this weird, sad sort of look. It was like how she used to look at him after he'd slushied her in the face. That wounded deer look. So even though his brain and her words were telling him to be honest, he lied his ass off.
"Yeah, right. Like she'd let me anywhere near her goods."
"I see. So where do you think this rumor started?"
With Mercedes and her goddamn big mouth.
"I don't know. Jealous bitches being jealous bitches?"
"The derogatory elements of your vocabulary are, as always, charming," Rachel said with some level of sneer (Quinn level, actually, which was a little less than Santana level, but still impressive) before turning and walking away. More like stomping, really. And Puck knew he was totally fucked. But for some reason, he still couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth.
Rachel was furious. One of the things she prided herself on was being able to tell when people were lying. She had very fine senses, especially when it came to the moods of other people as directly related to her, and it was clear to her from the moment that she asked her question that Noah was lying. His facial reaction to the words themselves were sufficient, but his tone gave him even further away.
She believed Mercedes and Tina's conversation to hold the truth. She believed that he was without a doubt the father of Quinn's child. What she had hoped to gain from the conversation was some sort of confirmation that Noah didn't know he was the father. But there was no question in her mind anymore. Noah knew. He was the father, and he knew.
Fury. It was all that she could feel. She had known from the beginning that she and Noah had never been fated to last. She still reserved most of her heart's capacity for Finn. But she had so far been in what she believed to be a healthy and somewhat normal high school relationship; one that she could create endless soundbytes about when talking to countless interviewers in the future. And in the present, she was actually enjoying herself quite a bit. Noah was sweet when he wanted to be, and he had a way of making her feel more self confident than the combined efforts of her fathers ever had. There was something quite different about being high in the esteem of a peer, and she loved it.
But because he had so blatantly and knowingly lied to her, she was uncertain that she could continue feeling the same amount of satisfaction. So she did the only thing she could think of to do; she went to Miss Pillsbury for guidance.
She was well aware, of course, that Miss Pillsbury found her annoying. And it wasn't as if the advice dispensed from the woman was anything she couldn't find on Yahoo Answers, but she was feeling the need to communicate her grievances to a real person. One who might possibly understand at least a little. And one who would never tell her to stop being so dramatic, if only because she wasn't allowed to.
She sat down across from Miss Pillsbury without first knocking on the propped-open door, because she knew from experience that she had to get going right away if she was going to avoid being asked to come back later due to a flimsy excuse.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but you appear to be cleaning the same spot on your desk that you were cleaning when I passed by here before second period, so I'm going to jump to the conclusion that you're not busy."
"Oh. Rachel. I'm surprised to see you here."
"I know. One might assume that I'd outgrown the need for guidance given that I'm dating Noah Puckerman and am thusly the most popular girl in school, but unfortunately the social hierarchy of McKinley High is not nearly as simple as you'd think. But I'm not here to talk to you about my lack of social prowess. I'm here to talk to you about a hypothetical situation that I want your opinion on. It's for, uh, a history project."
"Oh?"
"Yes. We're supposed to investigate aspects of our own culture as if we were anthropologists from the future trying to explain our ways to a future society. I've chosen to discuss teenage pregnancy, due to the fact that it's such a topical concern for my generation."
"I see."
"And my question is, as a professional, do you think that if a girl is dating a boy who turns out to be the secret father of a baby of said girl's classmate, and said girl approaches said boy to ask about said baby and he lies about it, does she have a right to be mad and instigate an argument, or is it none of her business?"
"I'm…I'm sorry, Rachel, but I'm a little confused about what you're asking. You want to know if this hypothetical girl is entitled to feel betrayed by the lie?"
"Yes."
"Well, of course. Lying is bad. Especially when you're in a relationship with someone. Even if that relationship is, say, ten years past its expiration date and a miserable hell-hole from which there appears to be no escape. You still can't lie to her. That would be wrong. And any other potential girlfriends will just have to deal with that fact until he can man up…I'm sorry. I'm getting all my pronouns mixed up. What was the question again?"
Rachel totally knew. It was like she was psychic or something. Actually, he was pretty sure she was psychic, because only someone with psychic abilities would take the word of Mercedes to be truth. There was no other explanation. And, okay, sure, so in this case Mercedes was telling the truth, but was it so wrong for Puck to feel a little offended that Rachel believed a chick who couldn't give two shits about her over her own boyfriend? So they were in a "casual" relationship or whatever, and so she still liked Finn and he was still clinging to the hope that one day Quinn would transform into someone who thought he was worthy of being a dad. Whatever. They were still dating, and she still should have believed him over Mercedes.
But Puck, master of self-manipulation, even he knew that he wasn't really mad about that. And he wasn't really even mad at Rachel. He was mad at himself for being such an asshole. He was mad at himself for fucking Quinn and her life up. He was mad at himself for lying to Rachel about it, for straight up lying to her. Withholding the truth was one thing. She did it all the time. But lying to her about something so big was something else entirely. And even though Rachel was sort of the most awesome liar in the history of ever, he had to admit she probably wouldn't feel too pumped about this one being leveled her way.
But what the hell was he supposed to do? For some reason (brain damage maybe, or the fact that she liked everyone), Rachel thought he was special. And not in a retarded way like how everyone else did. She thought he was special like it was a good thing. Like the fact that he was sort of an asshole was okay because he had other qualities to make up for it. Or something. Whatever. The point was that he had really been hoping to hide it from her. Like maybe if she never figured out, he could fool himself into thinking that he was as good a person as she thought he was.
And, okay, so she knew. So there was no way he was getting out of it. That meant that he should tell her, right? Because maybe she would think he was an all right person if she thought that he was telling her because he wanted to do the right thing and not because she already knew about it. He thought that made sense, and he tried to find her in one of her three billion club meetings, but for some reason she was just like, invisible. Like her creepy Rachel powers actually extended to invisibility. Or maybe she was just purposely avoiding him. Which was weird because she'd never managed to be so sneaky before. Like, you'd think she'd want to escape from him when he was throwing slushies in her face, not when he sort of lied to her about something that wasn't even that big of a deal anyway (okay, so it was kind of a big deal).
Finally, after getting glared out of the Renaissance Club meeting, he resorted to asking the last person he ever thought he'd ask about Rachel's whereabouts.
He asked Quinn.
But first, he figured that he had to preface it with something. Because he didn't know much about what chicks thought, but he did know that Quinn hated the fact that Finn was all gaga for Rachel when she was so not Quinn that it was weird that anyone found her hot (but she totally was). It was annoying, and he wished that more chicks could be like guys and just not give a shit about that (he pretended for a second that he didn't feel the exact same way about Finn, because that totally wasn't the same thing).
"Hey, Quinn. How's your bump doing today?"
"The baby is doing fine, Puck."
"There might be a problem, and I don't want you to freak out."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Okay. So I sort of accidentally told Mercedes that the thing in your stomach is half mine."
"You what?"
"I was stressed, all right? And she was just sort of there. And she was a total bitch about it anyway and told me to back off, like I'm for some reason a horrible person to want to be involved even though you cheated on Finn. Ugh. Whatever. Anyway, so Mercedes told…uh, everyone. Except Finn, because they all took your side and don't want to see you hurt. And they probably don't want to give Rachel the satisfaction. But that's sort of the issue, because Rachel overheard Tina and Mercedes talking about it, and she asked me if they were telling the truth, and I said no but she totally did not believe me, and now I'm thinking I should have told her the truth because now she might tell Finn just out of spite or whatever, so I was wondering if you'd seen her."
And what the fuck? As soon as he stopped talking and paused to take a breath for the first time in like three minutes, he realized that speech was all Rachel. And so he finally figured out what it felt like to be stressed out all the damn time, because that was obviously why Rachel was such an annoying chatterbox. Puck was feeling pretty happy with his decision to generally not care about anything except the stuff that he actually cared about (a very small number of things).
"First of all, you're lucky I only threw up twice today and am therefore in a halfway decent mood, otherwise I would smother you with my excess fat. Secondly, you're a complete idiot and I can't even imagine how stupid this baby is going to be. Third, I hate you."
"Awesome, but that doesn't answer any of my questions."
"That's because I have no idea where Rachel is. Probably telling Finn right now. So I guess that means I should go back to his house and pack because that's where I live now, and your big mouth probably just got me thrown out."
"Wait, hold on. I don't think Rachel would tell him right away. She's got to go home and, you know, think about it twelve thousand times and make charts and sing songs and shit. She can't decide what she wants for lunch without forming a voting committee. She definitely won't do this without at least polling the entire internet."
"Okay, that's a pretty good point." Quinn relaxed long enough to try and remember when she last saw Rachel, then shrugged. "I don't know. I saw her heading out the doors like twenty minutes ago. Maybe she's walking home."
"Shit. She shouldn't be doing that. Karofsky and Linder have it out for her."
"Ugh, those creeps? Does she know they're after her?"
"Yeah."
"Well then she's probably not walking home. Rachel Berry is many negative and unflattering things, but she is not stupid."
Rachel, of course, was not stupid. However, she was young. And she was eager to get home after having had an emotionally taxing day, and the prospect of a confrontation with Noah was too draining to bear. So she headed home on foot in the hopes that she could call her fathers and one of them would be able to pick her up once she was already on her way. It was only when she was halfway home that she was able to contact either of them, and they were both so busy at their respective places of work that they were unable to get her until at least an hour later.
So, to recap, she still didn't have to confront Noah or listen to his weak protestations and excuses which would likely be filled with self-serving self-deluding bullshit which would only make her sad. She also didn't have to suffer through a painfully awkward ride home, which meant that she would not break out with anxiety pimples like she was expecting to after the day she had been through. On the downside, she once again found herself wandering the streets of Lima at night. Which was really not a very bad thing on its own, but considering how well her last sojourn had gone several days earlier, she wasn't feeling too confident about her chances of getting home without some sort of incident. She had her phone, however, and she had the rather clever (in her opinion) notion that she would call home and allow her answering machine to record a conversation (in which she would intelligently force the perpetrators to reveal their motives and such through the use of leading questions) if such a confrontation was to take place.
It was strange, then, that she didn't feel safer. She was walking at a brisk pace, but even that didn't seem fast enough. It was only the love of her custom designed ballet flats that was keeping her from running headlong down the street, pausing only under streetlights to take a breath. She concentrated on walking like she wasn't scared. Like she didn't expect anything. She concentrated on trying not to feel anything at all.
Keeping her phone secure in her skirt pocket (she usually hated skirts with pockets, but it served a purpose on this particular occasion,) she had one hand wrapped around it, prepared to hit 'send' if necessary. Although usually on nights when she walked home alone she hoped for a speedy walk and a quick arrival at her house, this time she found herself wishing that the walk would last forever. There was no telling who was waiting for her in the shadows around her front shrubs.
And with that less-than-inspiring thought, she squared her shoulders and headed on down the street, praying to whatever deity actually existed that Karofsky and Linder had somehow found other ways to entertain themselves.
Her phone rang suddenly, startling her out of her fearful reverie. She sighed and dug it from her pocket with a frantic look around into the surrounding area. She could hardly make out anything in the waning light, but she didn't see any movement in the front yards before and behind her. She again cursed the fact that her neighborhood and the surrounding areas were filled with adults who worked until five or six and very few children, and took a distracted look at her phone. When she saw that it was Noah calling, she inwardly sighed with trepidation, but she would have talked to anyone to avoid the uneasy silence that was surrounding her. So she squared her shoulders again, but in a more mental fashion, and put the phone resolutely to her ear.
"Look," Noah said when she firmly said hello (in a tone, she was sure, that made clear her disdain for all the things he chose to be), "I know you're pissed."
"Correct."
"And I know you think I'm probably a shitty person."
"Less correct, but still fairly near to it."
"Really? Well, uh, that's good I guess. But still. Just hear me out."
"You have thirty seconds before I hang up the phone, Noah."
"Okay. Thirty seconds. I can do that. So…look, Rachel, I'm not really good with this whole talking about my feelings thing, but I know you want me to. So I'm going to try. And, you know, I think that says something on its own. I usually don't try for chicks. Chicks try for me. I try to get ass, they try to get ass, and it works out. But with you, it's different. Because you make me want to try and be a better person. For the first time in my life, I have a girl who likes me, and doesn't want to change me, and for some reason that's making me want to make the changes all on my own. And I haven't figured out yet if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but I think it might be good. Because I think I'm awesome, but there's some work that needs to be done. And you make me want to do be even more awesome than I already am. Does that make any sense? Or are you about to hang up and tell me I'm a complete loser?"
Part of Rachel wanted to hang up. If it had been any other boy who constructed the impromptu speech she'd just heard, she probably would have thrown the phone into a ditch in her anger. But Noah was different, because everything he'd said was just blatantly honest. He hadn't addressed the issue of the paternity of Quinn's child, but he didn't necessarily need to. Because their relationship wasn't just about Quinn. Not anymore. And he had reminded her in that moment of all the things that she liked and didn't want to lose about him.
"Noah," she sighed, completely unsure as to how she was going to continue. And that was a big deal for her. She was used to having everything organized and planned out to the letter. She had already written acceptance speeches for her first Oscar, Tony, Emmy, and Grammy. She had already written her wedding vows (complete with Mad Libs-esque fill-in-the-blanks). She was the kind of girl who knew every possible thing that could happen years before it had actually happened (she had dreamed of saying "you can kiss me if you want to" since she was six years old, and getting to use it on Finn was a milestone of its own). But with Noah, it was different, because she hadn't anticipated Noah at all.
Oh, she had thought about it initially. He was the rugged and untamed football player and she was the innocent young ingénue. Her first day freshman year had been spent choosing prospective leading men, and he was in second place until that first slushee hit her face. She had then vehemently crossed him off of her mental list with the brightest red pen her mind could envision, and he had never crossed her mind again. But the unexpectedness of their recent union had thrown her for a very serious figurative loop. She was not used to doing things so unplanned and spontaneous as she had been.
And this new development wasn't helping her motion sick feeling. She took the phone away from her ear for a few moments and paused. She counted studiously to five, breathing deeply with each number. Then she put the phone back to her ear and forced herself to focus. If she was ever going to be a legitimate actress, there were probably going to be situations in which she would need to improvise. She would just have to treat this Noah debacle as one such situation.
So she steeled herself again and said, "Noah, I can't tell you that I'm not angry. I am angry. I'm enraged that you slept with Quinn and I'm furious that you lied to me about it. But it's not as if I don't understand. I'm finding being completely angry with you difficult for that reason. I'm just…I've never dealt with anything like this, Noah. You can't blame me for being a little confused."
"Right, of course not. Yeah. You should totally be confused. But just…I mean, you're not gonna tell him, right? Because that would really suck."
"Yeah," Rachel sighed, looking down at her feet. "That really would."
Her stance on the issue was so fluid, it was utterly impossible for her to discern what she should do. On the one hand, she didn't want Finn to hate Quinn and Noah, because that would divide the group and sectionals was so rapidly approaching. On the other hand, this new information brought Finn so close within her reach that it was difficult to resist the temptation that it presented.
But she had meant what she said to Noah days earlier about how Finn was not a realistic goal or expectation to have. And although she felt the strong draw to take her chances and try for every opportunity that she could to acquire her fantasy dream man, the rational part of her brain insisted that she would never have him. At least not how she imagined.
Finally she answered, "I won't tell him, Noah. But I think that somebody should. I may have admitted defeat when it comes to my romantic pursuit of Finn, but that doesn't mean I don't count him as a friend. And I would hate to see his life so painfully altered by this child. Your child."
"I know. I mean, fuck, it's been bugging me from the beginning. But Quinn doesn't want anything to do with me, and she keeps saying she's giving the kid up for adoption anyway. And she's all into Finn, and she says she loves him, so I don't want to fuck that up. I've fucked with her life enough already. I can't fuck it up more just because I feel bad."
"I've never dealt with such a confusing social situation before. There's no right answer. How is that possible? How is it possible that there is no one right thing to do? Each argument, each side, I can see clearly. But then I think about the other side, and…"
"Yeah. I know. It sucks."
"It truly does, Noah," Rachel sighed. She paused for a moment, trying to think of the words to say to assure Noah that his secret was safe, at least with her. But the brief moment of silence allowed her to hear what she had not been able to hear so far.
Footsteps. Running footsteps. Right behind her.
She turned just in time to divert most of the intended blow away from the back of her head. The boy's fist instead clipped her cheekbone hard enough to water her eyes but clumsy enough that she was able to stay on her feet with very little trouble.
"Help!" she screamed (a reflex), but the boy's next blow knocked the phone out of her hands and sent it flying across the street and into an abandoned overgrown lot. Rachel grabbed her tote bag by its strap and swung out. Swinging in the direction of the assailant, she was able to see for the first time that it was Mark Linder. And his eyes were filled with rage unlike anything Rachel had ever seen. Noah had clearly been right to assess that something was not quite right in Mark Linder's mind. And now she was facing him on her own.
Her bag connected with the side of Linder's face, and the not-inconsiderable weight of her textbooks and Judy Garland's biography (hardcover edition) produced a satisfying thunk against his skull. But Linder was not easily deterred, and he charged at her with such reckless abandon that she tried to run instead of effectively dodging him. He tackled her to the ground where they rolled into the abandoned lot and crushed Rachel's cell phone with their combined weight.
She screamed again, but Linder punched her with so much force that she was stunned into silence for a few moments.
"You turn my stomach, Berry," Linder hissed, so close to her ear that she could feel his hot breath and could smell whatever rancid combination of foods he had eaten for lunch. "You think you're in control of everything. That the world just bows to you. There is nothing I hate more than someone who thinks they're shit when they're not. You're nothing. Look around. No one cares about you. No one gives a shit that you're here, alone, with me. If they did, someone would be here right now. Someone would have cared enough to save you."
Rachel raised her chin as much as was possible with his considerable bulk on top of her, and she set her expression into her very best sneer of scorn.
"Fuck you," she spat. She did not usually curse, although it wasn't from some ridiculous belief that cursing was wrong. On the contrary, she used the misguided beliefs of others to allow her for the most impact. When she swore once in a very long while, people reacted much more strongly and humorously than they would if she were to curse with every breath like Noah.
And, to no surprise at all, it worked on Linder too. He jolted back in a way he probably thought comical, a look of mock horror plastering onto his doughy face. Just as she was hoping. She used his momentarily lax grip on her shoulders to swing her arm again, still clutching the tote strap, and bring the books crashing into his side of his head. This time, she put all her strength behind it. And as a result, Linder was knocked to the side. It was not enough to render him unconscious, but it was enough to free Rachel's leg for kicking purposes, and she pulled her knees to her chest and then expelled them. Her workout regimen, it seemed, was good for more than well-toned calves. Her feet slammed into his chest, and he was finally off her.
She scrambled to her feet and got only a few steps before his hand grabbed her ankle. For some reason, she had not been expecting that and she fell to the ground, the side of her head colliding with a protruding rock on the way down. She was again stunned, but her willpower won out. She knew that she could not allow him to get the upper hand for even a second. She did not know for sure what he would do, but she had heard rumors. And she would not allow Mark Linder to rape her.
She kicked back with her other foot, equal parts disgusted and elated when she felt it connect with his face. And even though his grip loosened enough for her to scramble away, she kicked once more for good measure before she actually ran.
Running was easy, even with her dizziness threatening to take over and her ballet flats constantly at war with her feet. It was the planning that was the problem. She knew that she couldn't go back to her house. He would find her there, and in his current enraged state she didn't find it hard to imagine him breaking a window and climbing in after her. So she knew that she needed to find someone who was home, even though every nerve in her body was screaming out for sleep. She was bleeding, too, and she wasn't sure how to feel about that, so she kept ignoring the way it sent chills down her spine every time the rivulet of blood inched another bit down her skin.
She knew she had taken a wrong turn somewhere, but she couldn't make herself care about it. Because at the end of the street, there was a light on in one of the houses. And although it could have easily been someone trying to thwart burglars by leaving a light on when no one was home, she decidedly kept hope alive. Putting on a burst of speed that she didn't know was in her, she sprinted to the house in question and slammed against the door with all her might. That part was an accident. But it worked, because she heard someone inside shout with surprise.
"Help me!" she screamed, slamming her fist against the door with all the strength she could muster (which wasn't much, given her physical state).
Before more than three seconds had passed, a middle-aged woman ran to the door and flung it open, a baseball bat held over her shoulder. She looked around outside, craning her neck past Rachel to see if there was anyone behind her.
"Please let me in. We have to call the police. I was just attacked down the street near the old abandoned lot. I overpowered him but…he's probably still out there. Please, I just need to come in and hide. There's no one home at my house, and I'm scared."
"You're bleeding," the woman said, pulling Rachel into the house and closing the door behind him. "Who did this to you?"
"His name is Mark Linder, and he's a foul delinquent."
The woman locked the door behind them and turned off the hall light, bathing them in darkness. Rachel jumped when she felt the hand on her shoulder, but she took comfort in it anyway.
"Okay. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to grab my keys from the den, and then we're going to get into my car, and we're going to drive you to the hospital. On the way, we can call the police."
Rachel exhaled with relief. Finally, someone calm and rational to help her through her problems. She reveled in the steely, level quality of the woman's tone. And for the first time all day, she truly believed that everything was going to be all right.
Puck was in a panic. And Puck didn't get in a panic. Ever. But this was different. Rachel was in actual serious trouble, and he had no idea what the fuck to do about it. Slushies was one thing, but he didn't think Linder was going to hunt her down and slushie her. And he didn't think that the scream he heard before her phone got turned off was because of frozen ice. He didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't get Rachel's dream out of his mind. The dream where he had raped her on the football field in front of legions of screaming fans. And all he could think was that if Linder even touched her, he'd kill him. He'd kill him and deal with the consequences later. He wouldn't even care about the consequences. Nobody touched Rachel. Nobody ever.
And then he saw it. Her bag in the middle of the road under a streetlight. He slammed on his breaks and found himself unable to move for a minute. It was just sitting there. And Rachel would never just drop her stuff if she could help it. She cared about school and shit too much.
Finally he forced himself to get out of his truck and walk over to where her bag was. And it was all dirty and there was fucking blood on it, and it was just so wrong. Because Rachel would die before she let her shit get dirty, and that was the scariest thought he'd ever had in his life.
He picked it up and looked around. Everything was so dark and quiet. He could imagine way too clearly Rachel's body just lying somewhere in one of the shadows near the road. Maybe three feet away. Maybe just out of his line of sight.
"Rachel?" he yelled, but that didn't do anything to make him feel better. Especially since she didn't answer. No one answered. And suddenly Puck felt really afraid for probably the first time in his life. Even more afraid than when Finn told him Quinn was pregnant. Even more afraid than when his dad walked out. He wasn't supposed to be dealing with this shit. He was just a kid, dammit.
But he started looking for Rachel anyway. And he wasn't going to leave until he found her.
