Skritch, skritch.
That's the pencil.
Scuff, scuff.
That's the eraser.
Sigh.
And that is Rachel. The pattern has repeated itself for the last 30 minutes, and Quinn, as patient as she can be, is becoming annoyed. She is at her desk, working on her math homework, which will take her only another five minutes because Quinn Fabray always gets an A in math. Well, she gets an A in everything, but math is the easiest. And history.
Rachel, on the other hand, is laying stomach-down on her own bed, legs bent up at the knees and her feet kicking aimlessly. One hand is tucked against her cheek; the other is furiously erasing what seems to be the tenth start to an essay for her history class. In spite her annoyance Quinn is smiling a little at the eleven-year-old's antics; Rachel has a habit of making things far more dramatic than what they actually are.
Normally it doesn't bother Quinn, even if does come at inopportune times, such as when Rachel broke one of her Barbra Streisand cds on accident and Quinn had to skip a test at school and come home because she couldn't deal with the emotional trauma.
But today she is trying to get her homework done, and so when Rachel sighs again for the thousandth time, Quinn turns away from her book.
Just write about Broadway.
I did that for the last 5 essays, Quinn.
Wow.
It isn't my fault they can't see the value of continued education on the history of the Great White Way.
Quinn shuts her book. She can get the rest of it done in the morning.
Come on. She shuts her eyes and imagines resting her hand lightly, reassuringly on Rachel's shoulder. Let's write about the increase in business and population in New York after the Civil War.
Why then?
Because The Black Crook, the very first musical, premiered in 1866.
Rachel smiles.
Perfect.