Quinn: Say you are in a situation where your practice gets cancelled because your coach allegedly hired a demolition crew to tear down a haunted house when she found it to be "less intimidating than Jewfro's hair covered in William's disgusting excuse for hair gel." You want to give your best friend a ride to school, but you're not sure how to proceed. What do you do?

That was the text that Rachel woken up to, her eyes heavy with sleep. She felt more tired than usual and there was no doubt in her mind it was due to the dreams that had had her tossing and turning all night. Well, nightmares, really.

In one, she was chased around the school by zombies only to find out that David Karofsky was the one leaving the notes in her locker. Then, the zombies started to laugh at her when they found out it had been a prank meant to break down her self-confidence, and their jaws kept falling off as they let it all out. In the next dream, it had been Azimio Adams leaving her the notes, but he had actually been sincere and had proposed to her in front of the entire school. Sue Sylvester had personally offered to be their priest.

Rachel shuddered at the memories, unsure which of the outcomes was worse.

Before her alarm went off, she had been in the middle of one where the culprit was still anonymous, but she had felt hands over her eyes and a whispered "Guess who?" had sent goosebumps down her neck and arms in a flurry.

Rachel: Your mockery is duly noted -_-

Quinn: I wouldn't want to be known for anything else :D

Rachel wondered how many times she could roll her eyes at her friend before they simply got stuck.

Rachel: I expect to be picked up at 7:01 on the dot, Fabray.

Quinn: Yes, Ms. Berry ;)

Years ago she would've chided herself for being so distracted in the morning, but today Rachel was rather impressed by her ability to text and brush her teeth at the same time.

Rachel: What on Earth led me to believe associating myself with you would be beneficial to my state of mind?

When Quinn didn't respond right away, the brunette changed her clothes and headed downstairs. It was getting chilly out as it was mid-October so she was forced to forgo her usual skirt and instead opted for some jeans and a sweater. A bowl of fruit was sitting on the table when she reached the kitchen and she made sure to give her dad a quick kiss on the cheek as a thank you. Her phone buzzed next to her bowl the moment she sat down.

Quinn: I think you just like to use me as arm candy.

Rachel chuckled to herself as she took a bite of cantaloupe. She always enjoyed the days that Quinn was playful, as they were oftentimes few and far between. Quinn was an enigma half the time; sometimes Rachel felt like she could read the blonde's thoughts word for word, and other times she felt like she didn't even know the other girl.

Quinn was the kind of girl who didn't express her feelings very well, and Rachel had grown accustomed to her odd behavior. One day, the Cheerio would smile and laugh with Rachel about years previous. She would tell stories about past summers spent camping and sometimes she'd even snuggle closer to Rachel on the bed when she slept over. Then, in a complete 180, the next day Quinn might shut down completely and avoid Rachel for days.

The blonde had walls—of that, Rachel was certain—but the singer thought she had been breaking them down over the last year. Then, Quinn's sister had to go and leave for college and Rachel felt as if she was back to square one.

Rachel: You caught me. :)

When Quinn didn't respond again, Rachel figured it was because she was on her way. It was nearly seven so the brunette finished up her fruit and handed the bowl over to her daddy, kissing him on the cheek as she grabbed her bookbag and headed for the door.

"Hey!" Her other father frowned from his seat at the table, newspaper folded down so he could meet her eyes. "Where's my goodbye?"

She stuck her tongue out. "Maybe if you hadn't mocked me yesterday…" she trailed off and ran out the door, giggling at the sound of her daddy's hearty laughter.

The smile on Quinn's face had Rachel's mood lifting even higher. She only hoped the blonde's good mood would keep.

"Seven oh one on the dot," the taller girl stated from the driver's seat. "What's my reward?" As Rachel clambered in and buckled up, she raised an eyebrow at her friend.

"Really?" What did Quinn expect, a cookie?

The blonde pouted as she pulled out of the driveway. "Hey! I had to stand at a stop sign for an awkwardly long moment just to time my arrival right. I think I deserve a cookie or something at the very least."

Rachel laughed as she looked over her shoulder at her friend. She could already tell that today would be one of her favorite types of days with the other girl. This kind of Quinn was the one she could mess with, so she pulled some slack from her seatbelt and leaned over to plant a sloppy kiss on her friend's cheek.

"There's your payment."

"Whatever," the blonde mumbled, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. "I still want a cookie."

There was one thing in particular that Rachel hated about Tuesdays: it was one of the two days of the week that she had gym, Friday being the other. Physics, math, and Spanish combined could not fill her with as much dread as gym did. And Shue taught Spanish, so that was really saying something.

The brunette knew she brought a whole new meaning to the word "un-athletic." She liked to think that it wasn't completely her fault, seeing as neither of her fathers had been athletic. According to them, her biological mother had been immersed in the arts as well, and so Rachel had drawn the conclusion that her mother had not donated any genes that would help her in the physical education department, either.

Thus it was with great disdain that she eyed her gym locker and spun in the combination code for her lock. Her black gym shirt sat folded on top of her shorts, as it always did, but Rachel noticed something out of place. Right under where the shirt read "McKinley," something wasn't right. Where there was a blank white circle—Rachel never had figured out what it was supposed to mean—there was also a piece of paper.

Looking to her left and right, Rachel found no one left in the locker room. Knowing that the paper was probably another note, she grabbed for it and froze. The heat rushing to her face at the words was no surprise.

#3 Her legs.

Well, she thought. That was certainly different from the last two.

It was both a blessing and a curse that Rachel needed to change quickly, seeing as she was about to be late for class. However, after lacing up her sneakers, she suddenly felt self-conscious about her shorts. Where they too short? Short enough?

She sighed, banging her head against her gym locker. Whoever this guy was, he was officially jumbling her thoughts and taking over her mind. She definitely would not be able to concentrate on school if the notes were going to be a daily thing.

But she knew the original note read 21 reasons, so at least it would eventually come to an end. Right?

Unlike she previously thought, the brunette found out she was no longer alone in the locker room. Her shoulder tensed at the footsteps.

"Rach," she heard the amusement in her friend's voice. "I don't think claiming your locker gave you a concussion will get you out of gym." She breathed again, inwardly mocking herself at the idea that her mystery person had been the one walking toward her.

"It was worth a try," the brunette mumbled, pushing herself off of her locker. Turning, she was met with the sight of Quinn trying to hold back a smile.

"Shall we?" The blonde ushered towards the door.

It was impossible. No matter how hard Rachel hit the volleyball, it refused to go over the net. She'd made a fist like the teacher told her to, she'd open-palmed it, and she had even basically punched the darn thing.

Nada.

Every single time it would hit the middle of the net, or it would just go completely under it. But never, not ever, would it just go over the damn thing. Rachel was getting frustrated.

"This is impossible!" She stomped her foot as she watched her most recent attempt bounce under the net and roll, only stopping when it came into contact with a pair of black and white sneakers.

Jesse St. James looked down to his feet and then back up to Rachel, eyebrow raised as if in question. He must have noticed her clenched fists and slightly pissed off demeanor because he walked over and offered her the ball.

"I believe this is yours," he smiled charmingly, and Rachel felt some of her anger fade.

"Yeah," she mumbled, eyes downcast in embarrassment. She wondered when her superior vocabulary went out the window. It wasn't as if this was her first conversation with the boy; she'd spoken to him plenty of times. It was just that it had always been in Glee, or Glee related. "I suppose it is."

She took it with two hands and half-smiled at him. For some reason, she felt her face flushing and she figured she was just embarrassed for being such a…such a doof. God, Quinn's vocabulary was rubbing off on her.

"Would you like a few pointers? I noticed that you could use a little help, if you don't mind me saying." He seemed genuine, so Rachel just bit her lip and nodded.

"Well, then." Rachel noted his smile growing bigger and couldn't help but think it made him that much more attractive. She wasn't blind, after all, and she'd noticed him the moment he sang his opening notes for his Glee club audition. "For starters, you might prefer the underhand swing."

For the next half an hour, Rachel found herself not hating gym class as much as she had previously thought.

The rest of Rachel's day went by in somewhat of a haze and it was time to head to Glee before she knew it. After gym, she was left with thoughts about Jesse and Glee and how she just felt so…light. It wasn't often that someone went out of his or her way to help her, so Rachel knew she was probably overthinking the whole situation.

Yet…she couldn't deny the way her stomach felt like Quinn must when she was being thrown around during Cheerio routines. It was awful and exciting at the same time and Rachel knew she was on her way to being an emotional mess.

Combined with her thoughts of Jesse, the singer had realized something troublesome after gym class—a boy had snuck into the girls' locker room and had somehow figured out which locker was hers. Whoever this person was, he had to be much closer than she had previously believed.

Either that, or it was Jacob Ben Israel and he was breaking the rules of his restraining order.

Again.

Rachel missed a step at the thought and almost plummeted down the stairs, her papers flying like doves let loose at a wedding—not that the brunette condoned using animals for such a purpose, but still. A firm grip on her arm was the only thing that had saved her from a gruesome, pre-stardom death. Her heart was beating painfully in her chest over her scare and she quickly turned to her right to see the hand's owner.

"Holy Barbra, than—" she cut herself off from thanking her savior when she found herself staring into a pair of eyes so dark they were almost black.

"Don't mention it, hobbit. Really." Santana Lopez eyed her for a quick minute and Rachel could actually feel the scrutiny. Bending down, the taller girl formed the fallen papers into a semi-neat pile and handed them over. "Are you gonna watch your step this time or do I have to call a clean up crew?"

Rachel swallowed, her nerves keeping her rooted on the spot. "I, um, I'll be sure to pay more attention to my surroundings from now on."

It was extremely disappointing knowing she couldn't keep her cool after all of those expensive acting courses she'd taken. Her grip on her papers tightened as she waited for the other girl to say something.

"Good." And with that, the Latina turned and headed down the rest of the stairs. Rachel blinked owlishly, unsure if that had really just happened.

Walking into Glee—her nerves having since had time to calm down sufficiently—Rachel found herself confused. Quinn was already there, but the blonde was sitting next to Santana instead of in her usual spot. She tried to make eye contact with her friend, but the blonde seemed otherwise engaged in conversation with the two Cheerios by her side.

Figuring there was a perfectly logical reason, Rachel headed over to the empty seat next to Noah and placed her head on his shoulder. When he reached his arm over her shoulders in response, she allowed a smile to break through.

"Hey, babe, what's up?"

She shrugged. "Quinn's sitting with Santana today."

"Ah, gotcha," he said.

The chatter in the room quieted down as Mr. Shuester made his way towards the dry-erase board. Grabbing a marker, the man snapped off the cap and started writing.

The weather

He underlined it to add that little bit of emphasis and Rachel mentally rolled her eyes. She genuinely liked her teacher; he was just a bit egocentric sometimes, always believing his own personal troubles applied to everyone. She had half-formed a scenario in her head about how he was unsure of his feelings for Mrs. Pillsbury and was simultaneously caught up in his feelings for his shamble of a marriage.

"Okay guys, I know we discussed this week's theme the other day but I really want you guys to take this seriously. A mood is like the weather—it can change drastically in just a few moments. So I really want you guys to pick…"

As her teacher went on, Rachel found herself thinking about the last two days. First, she'd found the envelope on her locker. Then, she'd received that first note in a random book. The second one had been in her car, and the third in her gym locker. Anyone could have done the envelope and car, seeing as she had left it unlocked. However, the gym locker was different. Someone had to have done some research to solve that one. And, if this guy hadn't gotten into the girls locker room, then he must have had some help. Which meant someone else might know about what was going on.

The brunette looked around, suddenly suspicious. Her gaze flitted over the three Cheerios in the back row, and Mercedes, Sugar, and Tina only a few seats over. She paused at Matt, Mike, and Joe, a row in front of the two girls.

She had never really spoken to Matt before, and she had already crossed Mike off her list of possibilities. Joe was a possibility, but Rachel pretended not to notice that—his dreads reminded her of spiders.

Artie sat on the other side of Puck and Rachel sincerely doubted he had anything to do with the notes, seeing as he was apparently dating some "Freaky Mama" from his wheelchair basketball club.

Puck was obviously not a candidate, and that left Sam or Jesse. Rachel ran her fingers over her lips, mulling over the implications inside of her head. If it was Sam, she was flattered. He was a very attractive guy, quarterback of the football team, and his hair—though a little too reminiscent of Beiber—was a fine shade of blonde. He was even the type of shy that would be likely to do something such as leave notes around.

She briefly entertained the idea of walking down the hallway with him, only to shake the image out of her head. She highly doubted he harbored secret feelings for her seeing as he had just sang a love song to Mercedes last week. To boot, Rachel was pretty sure he at some point in time announced he was dyslexic, and that didn't bode well for the neat, cursive handwriting.

That left…Jesse.

While Rachel could admit that it wasn't definite that her admirer had to be in Glee, she figured it was more likely than not, and if it was Jesse…

Well, she wouldn't complain.

She glanced over at the boy, who was seated in Kurt's old spot and next to Sam. His hair was as flowy as ever and she vaguely wondered if it was as soft as it looked.

Almost as if he could feel her gaze, the boy looked over at her and the corner of his mouth lifted as he smiled in acknowledgement. Caught, she aimed her gaze down to her lap and tried to hide her blush.

"Hey." Noah suddenly gave her shoulder a light shake. "You there, babe?"

"Huh?" Apparently, her eloquence was superb today.

"Shue just asked who wanted to perform today, I figured you'd jump at the chance."

Rachel turned to the front of the room to find her teacher looking at her expectantly. She straightened in her chair as she suppressed the rush of blood to her face—no wonder Jesse had looked over at her. She had failed to meet the one standard everyone had set for her, which was to always be prepared and ready to perform.

She smoothed her sweater as she stood and announced that she and Noah would be performing. The music notes were on the floor under her seat, so she bent down to grab them before heading over to the band. As she sorted through the pages to hand Brad the proper piece, a small sheet fell out and sank to the ground. That was unusual, she thought, as none of her music sheets were that small.

The explanation ended up being easier than she expected once the paper landed face up. She quickly snatched up the cut-out before Brad or Shue had time to read it—or worse, question it. Her hand felt hot and she wondered if the words had branded into her palm.

#4 She's a songbird.