"Now, why do you think Steinbeck chose to write Slim as such a friendly and non-judgemental character? Anybody care to venture a guess?" Mr. Delvechio. He was probably one of Quinn's favourite teachers, but strangely everyone else's worst. He was generally tough, and didn't care for personal bonds between students and teachers. But he was passionate. Books that Quinn would've hated, he taught her to love. English was already a favourite of hers, but he taught her so much more. And although he wasn't the friendliest, she couldn't deny his teaching skills were miraculous.
"What about you Miss Fabray? Considering you were approximately thirteen minutes late and attempted to sneak into lesson while my back was turned and decided to create an illusion that you've been here all along, answering my question would be a good way to keep you out of detention."
All eyes turned to Quinn. She was sneaky, as Rachel didn't notice Quinn was there until Mr. Delvechio pointed it out. One thing Quinn didn't like was to be made a fool out of. So, without hesitation, Quinn answered.
"Steinbeck wrote Slim as such, to set an example for people of his time. By using Slim as the ideal example, Steinbeck hoped he could change opinions, and therefore change racial conflict." Her voice didn't stumble or stutter. She sounded confident, because in English, she was.
"Perhaps if you would've arrived thirteen minutes earlier you could've included other important key points, such as comparing Slim to other characters, such as Curley. That would possibly raise that grade answer you just gave me from an A to an A*." It was always hard for Mr. Delvechio to give compliments, but that was one of them. He didn't show any signs of compassion or appreciation, but simply turned back around and continued writing on the board.
Quinn smiled proudly to herself and opened her exercise book in the hope of catching up as quickly as possible.
"Why were you so late?" Rachel turned to the side to speak to Quinn, now that the class had begun talking.
"I, uh, traffic." Quinn's voice wasn't as confident as when she answered the question, so Rachel knew something was up.
"Who were you with last night?"
"What? I was at home."
"Really? Because your mom called me to see if I knew where you were."
"Crap." Quinn thought. Her cover was blown. She and Rachel were close friends, best friends, even. But she couldn't tell Rachel. Rachel was judgemental, and a little too honest for Quinn's liking. She knew she'd get a lecture.
"Who were you with?" Rachel repeated, seeming shocked that Quinn would keep something from her.
"Just this guy I met the other night."
"The totally fine bartender?" Mercedes butted in, turning around to join in the conversation.
"His name's Puck." Quinn corrected Mercedes, knowing that saying she spent the night at a fine bartender's apartment didn't sound the best. Quinn didn't look up to see Rachel's reaction, she just kept writing down the notes off the board.
"Hold on. You spent the night with that creepy bartender?" Rachel said, almost disgusted.
"More importantly, did you tap that?" Santana also butted in, only interested in the sex gossip.
"He's not creepy, and no I didn't 'tap that'. There was a storm, so he let me crash on his couch, no big deal."
"No big deal? This guy could've been a murderer, or rapist, or serial killer, or something!" Rachel said, a little louder than expected.
"He's not any of those things. He's… sweet." Quinn whispered back, after getting a few strange looks from other students.
"Oooh, Quinn's crushing on the Bartender." Mercedes sang.
"No I'm not. He was just… different."
"I can't believe you Quinn. You met this guy the day before, when he was repeatedly serving you alcohol, so you thought it would be clever to spend the night at his place?" Rachel shook her head.
"You don't know him, Rach. He wasn't taking advantage of me or anything, he was just being polite."
"So what base did you get to?" Santana asked, totally interested.
"Nothing happened, San. We talked, then I fell asleep. That's it."
"Well nothing should've happened. I think you shouldn't see him again Quinn, he sounds like trouble to me. What is he, like twenty-five?" Rachel said.
"You don't know him, you've never even spoken to him! And he's only twenty one actually. And it doesn't matter anyway, it's not like I'm ever going to see him again."
And after saying that, her heart uncontrollably sank.