8.
Staying out of Rachel's way for two days had been pure, undiluted torture for Quinn, but she had respected the girl's wishes. Even when every molecule in her body had screamed at her to run and tell Rachel the truth, to confront her about what Finn had relayed. It was starting to wear heavily on her mood.
"She's staring at you again, Q," Santana informed her imperiously from their table in the cafeteria. "Kind of weird to be staring at someone you don't want in your life, especially like that."
"Drop it, Santana," Quinn said in a monotone. "You've made your opinion abundantly clear, alright? But you're wrong, if Rachel wanted to talk to me, she would have by now. I'm not going to force her to talk to me if she doesn't want to talk to me."
"Britt, what do you think about the way Berry's gazing after Q right now?" Santana asked her girlfriend, forcing Quinn into a corner.
The naïve blonde looked up from her fruit salad at Rachel, who immediately looked away with a blush on her cheeks at being caught staring. "She's making googley eyes, like Sam makes at Mercedes or Tina makes at Mike," the blonde answered impartially.
"Dammit! What the hell will it take to make you shut the hell up, Santana?!" Quinn yelled, causing the entire cafeteria to become suddenly silent and attentive. The blonde stood up from her seat quickly and leaned across the table, glaring daggers at her Hispanic friend. "Just back off, okay? It's over. I've been put into my place, now leave it alone."
Quinn wheeled around, threw her bag haphazardly over her shoulder and exited the lunch room exuding rage. People in the hallways cowered at her wrathful look and commandeering gait, students parted like the red sea, just as they had two years ago.
Then it hit Quinn like a load of bricks. She saw a flash of a figure wearing a ratted, black tee and dark cargo pants with hanging chains; and she knew who had let Finn in on her secret.