Thank you for all of the love. I apologize for the delay.
Sam Evans had determined that he was love-sick. He hadn't eaten a thing. Hadn't slept so much as a wink. He hadn't even put product in his hair, and he wasn't going to either, which would inevitably prompt questions from his inquisitive little sister; she would want to know why his hair looked funny, and then she would giggle and go back to making her Barbie dolls claw one another's weave out over Ken.
Judy looked like Barbie...
Was this how Romeo and Juliette had felt?
He wondered; what was Judy doing now? Was she rolling a blunt, crying, cooking, sick? Where was she?
And for the most important question of them all...
Was she mourning for the abrupt loss of their connection, like he was?
Sat at his computer, Sam sighed and ruffled his product-free mane. He was going to have to pack his feelings of grief away, and slide the bursting box aside to be dealt with another time, because Quinn had demanded that he promptly pursue another girl.
Noelle Hutchington-Chang.
It had been fifteen minutes since he'd sent her that first message on Facebook. The little chat tab was still open, giving him a chance to continuously go over what he'd written, and obsess over everything that was perhaps wrong with it.
Hey. What's up? xxx
That was it – the full extent to which he had typed. Would the smart girl neglect to respond to the vague message, or would the vagueness pique her curiosity?
He received his answer no more than five minutes later, when the open chat box bleeped and grew lengthier with a response.
Hey Sam :) Not much. Just got home from a charity event, and I'm about to pick out an outfit for Mike's party tonight. Did you get an invite? If not, I'm inviting you. Some other people from McKinley are coming too, so you won't be completely outnumbered by us Bellmont attendees. Lord help us – unlimited alcohol and teens from opposing schools! :o Should be fun though. X
No, Sam had not received an invite. Or maybe he had, and he just couldn't remember. Who actually paid any attention to their Facebook event invitations anyway? Sam didn't.
Still, he poised his fingers over the keyboard and went with his first thought.
No. No invite :(
: / lol. Well, you'll be able to gain admission by attending with me ;)
Sam must have read that message at least ten times, all whilst trying to figure out whether or not Noelle was flirting with him.
Was she?
He decided that he should just ask…
Do you mean like a date? Because that would be awesome :)
The happy little smile that he'd tagged on the end could not have been any further from his actual expression, which was so glum and anxious that the plant on the other side of the room just may have begun to wilt.
Noelle is typing...
Not going to lie; I'm pretty flattered right now! Didn't know you were interested. But I'm already kind of interested in someone, and for once I'm serious enough about this person not to stray whilst I'm pursuing them lol. Otherwise I may have jumped at the chance ;)
Sam's jaw grew tight; frustration prickling his forehead enough to call up a frown. He slid his palm over his mouth, holding it there as he tried to figure out what to do, and what to type back.
Noelle is typing...
I can hear you wondering who it is from here hehe. Clue number one: you're friends with them on Facebook. x
Noelle's use of gender-neutral pronouns wasn't lost on Sam. How many more people were going to come out of the closet this year?
Whatever though. If he could just get a name then he could report the information back to Quinn, and hopefully that would be enough to keep her from telling her father about…
Is this someone that you like a she?
No sooner than he had hit enter, Noelle responded.
Hmmm. What makes you ask me that? Lol.
You didn't say he or she. Gender-neutral pronouns lol : )
Noelle is typing...
Lmao! If you come to the party you'll probably figure out who I'm a little gaga over right now. My eyes seem to have one setting at the moment, and that's the dreamy gaze setting lol. I'm a little surprised that they haven't yet noticed that I'm interested to be honest. I'm about to text this special someone in the hopes that they have nothing else to do tonight but show up at the party. Fingers crossed! x
Yep! Noelle was a hopeless case, Sam concluded. She wasn't interested and that was that. A part of him was sort of relived about that though, because his lips didn't seem to know how to give compliments, or the flirtatious smirks, to anybody who wasn't Judy anymore.
But this new development? It was probably going to result in Quinn spitting on his watery unmarked grave once Russell had murdered him.
Sam still didn't actually know why the ruthless cheerleader had sent him after Noelle in the first place. Did the two girls even know one another? Was Quinn, herself, Noelle's crush?
His fingers began to patter away before he could even question whether or not it was wise to ask.
Do you know Quinn Fabray?
Stunning blonde cheerleader, right?
Yeah. Do you know her?
Noelle is typing...
Sam tapped his bare foot to the carpet as he waited…
I don't know her per se. Obviously I've seen her around. But I've never really spoken to her. Yesterday a friend of mine told me that she's gay? If that's valid, I'm not particularly happy about it, because if some of the things that I've heard about her through the grapevine are true, then you heterosexuals could have kept her lmao!
You heterosexuals?
There it was – confirmation that Noelle was, in fact, bisexual!
A shiver rippled through Sam's spine, though he had no idea why this new information seemed to hold so much weight. Without his conscious permission, his mind cast him back to last night. Quinn had been pretty insistent about him taking up Noelle's time – about him being a distraction!
Then it struck him like a dumb bell right between the eyes.
"Rachel," he whispered at his surroundings, recalling the few times that he'd seen Noelle and the brunette wall post – as well as tag – one another on Facebook.
The posts hadn't struck him as flirtatious in the slightest, but as he knew how controlling and possessive Quinn Fabray could be, it made sense that she wouldn't want another girl, who was also interested in girls, to interact with her girlfriend in any capacity, hence sending him out to... romantically distract Noelle?
Like an investigator whose promotion hinged on a case breakthrough, he quickly ducked his head to type out what he felt he already knew.
I've seen you tag Rachel Berry on here more than a few times now. I don't know. You guys could just be friends. But is she the person you like? If she is, she's already dating Quinn Fabray : / xxx
After twenty minutes of no activity, the PC monitor faded to its Zelda screensaver, leaving Sam in limbo...
The well-dressed waiter carefully placed the plate of Fettuccine Alfredo down on the table, and smiled apologetically at Rachel, who didn't seem much amused at all.
"I ordered this Fettuccine Alfredo up to thirty minutes ago; I've been keeping an eye on my watch," she stated, peering up at the man with stern expectancy, as if to ask him what he was going to do to rectify the situation.
Quinn, who was sitting opposite the unsatisfied brunette, slowly slid her hand over the bottle of alcohol that wouldn't stop poking its neck out of her purse. She eyed the fumbling waiter boredly, and then dragged her dead gaze towards Rachel, whose lips were blurring at full rant-mode speed.
Great!
She could have punched Rachel's parents for arriving home from their little golf outing early – something about the golf course falling in on itself, or something. If it were not for that, Quinn was sure that she'd be passed out on the brunette's bed, drunk and devoid of all thought, by now.
No such luck.
Instead she was sat in Morgan's Grill, sharing an intimate table for two with Rachel, whilst sneaking ineffective sips from her bottle of booze, as opposed to just gulping it back – without pause for breath – like she'd planned to.
Great!
She sighed, patiently tucking a few soft golden strands of her hair behind her pale ear.
"I – we'll knock a couple of dollars off of your meal," the waiter eventually compromised, smiling tightly as he preened the upscale black bow that rested at his neck. "How about that?"
Rachel nodded, immediately grinning, and although her grin shone pleasantly at the well-dressed man, it also possessed smug hints of victory.
She was a sucker for a discount and always had been.
"Thank you. I would appreciate that," she said, as she tucked the provided napkin into the neck of her sweater, and rolled up her sleeves; eager to fill her gurgling stomach.
The waiter took her response as a cue for his dismissal, and hurried off with a weary sigh.
Quinn couldn't have been more grateful for his swift exit.
"Finally," she griped, lifting the already uncapped Pineapple Schnapps bottle to her lips for a hearty swig.
As she gulped down each fruity yet strong mouthful, her sight seemed to zero in on Rachel. She watched with care; the way that Rachel used the silver cutlery to shape the heavily sauced pasta – to make each bite a fit for her mouth. The way that Rachel's defined tan jaw churned as she flickered absent brown eyes around the restaurant.
Quinn had always thought that there was something incredibly vulnerable about the act of eating. She wasn't exactly sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that everyone had to eat – a universal weakness. Or maybe her notion had something to do with how lost one could get in the celebration of flavor that caressed the taste buds – often becoming oblivious to surroundings, to the facial expressions that they were pulling.
Kind of like Rachel was right now.
Well Quinn would bring her back, and with a thud, she somewhat impishly decided.
She lowered the small bottle back into her purse, and then narrowed serious hazel eyes at the – for once – quiet brunette. "Well after today it's official," she announced, her features bending to reflect comical disgust. "You're a cheapskate! God help your kids when it comes to Christmases and birthdays. All of their toys are probably going to be homemade. I better get the number to social services on speed dial."
Rachel's looked up from her food, her jaw slowing. She rested an elbow on the table for support; her petite shoulders trembling under the command of the laughter that she was forced to stifle with the back of her hand. "I'm eating," she whined after a while, though it was muffled thanks to her mouthful of pasta. "Do not make me laugh when I'm..."
Fresh waves of eye-crinkling mirth stole and wilted her intended words, compressing them in her throat until they were nothing but quiet squeaky, almost painful sounding, rasps.
Quinn's eyes dropped just in time to catch the brunette's throat gently bob with a swallow.
Like that of a yawn, the sight was contagious; she found herself swallowing too.
"I'm merely conscious of the money that I spend," Rachel chortled gently, once she'd somewhat recovered from her fit enough to get her words out.
She gave herself a moment to further compose her breathing, and only then did she begin to merrily fork together the pasta on her plate.
"As for my children, you needn't worry. They are going to get the best, simply because after our interesting little visit to Boop 101, I now know how generous you can be. You're going to be their Godmother." The brunette nodded as though that was that. "I'm going to put a tremendous amount of pressure on you to deliver more and more expensive presents each year. You'll be penniless within three years, and then I'll take you in, where you'll earn your keep by way of watching the kids when I want to spoil my lovely wife with cheap yet romantic weekend getaways. You'll shine her shoes, and I'll prop my feet up on your back as we watch television – our very own Cinderella!"
Quinn simply blinked at first, and then took to glancing around to see if anybody else was aware of the fact that the girl across from her was a lunatic.
Not one person dared to meet her eye, which only served as confirmation that they were afraid to even look in her direction because Rachel was a lunatic!
"I'd steal you wife. Why would she want to be with you, with me sleeping in the next room?" the blonde quipped. "I would sleep with her and record it for your viewing pleasure."
"Why would she want a bruised up babysitter when she's married to a wonderful Broadway star? And you will suffer bruises, consequence of me karate chopping you in your gut for messing up the chores. Also, why leave me out? My wife and I would tag-team the stuffing out of that pale derriere of yours, Quinn. Sex with us would be just another one of the house rules for you."
...
"Judging by the bleak face that you're pulling, it's clear to me that you don't feel as though you can handle the job. Well that's just tough titties isn't it, sweetie? You're hired... for all of it." With that said, Rachel pooched her plump bottom lip out and whimpered, momentarily feigning pity for the blonde, before swiftly dropping the act and going back to eating her food.
Not a care in the world... save the goofy smirk that she hadn't been able to suppress.
Surprisingly, the mention of sex with Rachel and her shadowy wife hadn't wrinkled Quinn's nose like the mention of the word Godmother.
Children, in general, were a fucking nightmare, much less Rachel Berry's spawn.
In her mind's eye she could just see them now; running around noisily and being the absolute unadulterated pests that their annoying mother had taught them to be.
Now she definitely needed more alcohol. The entire world would once those brats arrived...
She scoffed and glanced around to make sure that none of the members of staff were looking, before she lifted the bottle from her bag, with an unsteady sluggish hand, and gulped down the remainder of its strong tropical contents.
"Quinn," Rachel suddenly spoke up; tentative. "I've stood by all morning and said very little about your seemingly desperate quest for intoxication. But I'm not comfortable with remaining silent any longer -"
Quinn tensed; she knew what was coming next. "Stay out of it!" she interrupted, quiet but gruff – but mostly just congested. "I'm not going into detail about what happened last night, just like you won't go into detail about how much you like Noelle!"
Well, if that hadn't been a burn...
Rachel had flinched at the intensity of the heat. Mostly because it had been so abrupt.
Had they not just been teasing one another within the parameters of their usual banter moments ago?
Still, she wasn't about to let the clearly troubled blonde deter her from her point.
"Am I drinking like a fish, and potentially destroying my liver because of my friendship with Noelle?" she asked Quinn, though she never gave the cheerleader a chance to answer – "No I'm not."
She popped a small forkful of pasta into her mouth, chewing as she sifted through what she wanted to say next...
"Look -"
"Firstly, I don't engage in power-play with my parents, and if I were to I certainly wouldn't win," the seemingly riled yet outwardly composed brunette interrupted. "Secondly, you've been carrying alcohol around, gulping it down whenever an opportunity presents itself, and when I picked you up from your home this morning you rather dramatically stated that your relationship with your mother was over, whilst knocking bottles with a disembodied presence in what seemed to be a rather sombre toast. I'm simply inquiring about what took place last night out of genuine concern. Not out of nosiness, unlike your invasive inquiries regarding whether or not I'm having sex with my friend."
Quinn held her slightly swaying hand up to quell the brunette's quick lips. She'd heard enough, and perhaps the young couple to the left, who seemed to be listening intently, had too….
Her reddened nostrils flared as she slammed her palm down on the table. Loudly!
The plateful of Fettuccine Alfredo trembled, as did the empty Pineapple Schnapps bottle, which rolled from her lap and fell to the floor, emitting a few hollow glassy thuds at her feet.
But Quinn didn't hear anything. "Quit pushing!" she hissed. "God, it's like you don't know when to stop! And could you be any louder? Just eat your food, and leave me alone before I lose it!"
Making it a point to ignore the many concerned – and in some cases just downright prying – glances that then befell them, Rachel placed her cutlery down. "I'm not entirely sure why, but I seem to have lost my appetite. Oh right!" she chuckled falsely, waving Quinn off as if to tell her that she had managed to figure out what the problem was all by herself. "The partway drunk girl, who's sitting across from me, has just thumped the table and set my heart off ten to the dozen. Aha! That must be why my appetite has left me."
Rachel pushed her plate away and sat there pinning the defiant blonde with a steely glare, which seemed to bubble something vulnerable beneath the initial surface.
She was aware of the fact that Quinn was going through some sort of emotional turmoil, and that maybe she was pushing the issue when she perhaps should not have, but mostly the aspiring Broadway star was just feeling disheartened, and much annoyed at herself for believing that the cheerleader was actually sort of becoming her friend.
What had the generous dress purchase been about? It had been quite the large gesture if the price tag had been anything to go by, and the brunette had just sort of been under the impression that it would symbolize a new chapter in their peculiar relationship – a friendlier and more open chapter.
But perhaps not…
"I think that it would be a good idea for you to return my dress to the store," Rachel concluded, peering down at her food. She tucked her hair behind her ear, and then looked into the blonde's glassy yet hazed golden eyes. "I don't accept such expensive gifts from those that are aggressive towards me. It sends entirely the wrong message – that I'll endure such treatment because I've accepted such gifts. I won't be bought off by anybody."
At the sound of those softly spoken yet principle words, Quinn sighed, her heavy eyelids flickering closed with the heavy exhalation. She passed her hand over her face, frowned, wet her pink lips, and then parted them to speak –
But words were elusive.
She fought the urge to bash her forehead against the table, to the point that forensic professionals would have to drop by to bag and tag her discarded bloody brains.
The truth was that she was ashamed. Ashamed of her mother. Ashamed of the home that she had come from. She didn't want to talk about what a fuck-up her mother was! In fact, the reason why she was currently sat in Morgan's Grill, with the brunette, was because she didn't want to have to think about it! Much less talk about it!
It was harrowing enough to think that Sam knew all about the atrocities that went down in the Fabray household.
Quinn didn't think that she could handle Rachel knowing too. Though she wasn't sure when she'd started to care, so much, about what Rachel Berry thought of her.
She was sure about one thing though.
She wasn't returning that dress!
"We're not taking the dress back," she voiced, petulantly shoving away the small salt container with the pad of her finger. "You'll wear it, and we'll be the best dressed couple at the dance next week."
Rachel grew huffy. One could see it within her shoulders. She pointedly pushed the salt cellar back towards Quinn's side of the table.
If the blonde wanted pettiness, she'd get pettiness.
"I am not the kind of girl who you can just kick in the ribs, and then shower with expensive gifts, Quinn Fabray. We're not even friends; our relationship is unstable at best. I'm going to accept some fault, because I was wrong to let you purchase me anything in the first place. The dress is going back, and that's final. For you, this is about control. Not about you simply wanting me to accept your gift, because you would like me to have it."
"If I push the salt towards you, you're going to push it back. That's about control, for you. So don't get too comfortable on that unstable at best high horse, Rachel!" Quinn mocked, slurring every five or six words just from the intensity of her tone alone.
"No!" Rachel quickly whispered back. "I'd push it back to let you know that you are not in control. I do not want the control. I just don't want you to think or feel like you have it! You may pull the strings at school, but I have long since cut mine," she clarified, scissoring her middle and index finger through the air. "Now I do not generally wish to come across as rude and unappreciative, because when people who actually give a damn about me buy me gifts, I delight in the joy of it. But I -"
The brunette grew quiet when Quinn suddenly snatched the salt, and slowly drew it towards the midpoint of the table.
It stood there between them, like a white flag.
Equal…
"You're keeping the dress." Quinn rolled her eyes at her tone, and began again: "I mean, I want you to keep the dress," she corrected herself, whilst watching the salt so that she wouldn't have to face the windows to Rachel's soul. Why were her shades always buried at the bottom of her purse when she needed them most? "Not only because you were too much of a cheapskate to get it for yourself, but because it would look nice on you," she later added.
"I'm… not a cheapskate. I'm smart with my money, but I appreciate the latter compliment," Rachel replied, rubbing soothing circles into her sternum as she relaxed in her seat.
She seemed kind of traumatized, Quinn noted.
Maybe a wasted Quinn Fabray, who was also on flu medicine, hadn't been the best thing for the brunette after all. Not that the cheerleader had actually managed to get wasted, unfortunately.
But then again, maybe it was a good thing that she wasn't wasted. Quinn was a sexual drunk – loved to lord her sexual prowess over those that were foolish enough to get caught in her flirtatious web. Her forty seconds beneath Noah Puckerman, that night, were proof of that, as was the time that she had allowed a drunken Santana to kiss and grind on her a little bit, whilst a giggling Brittany had watched and cheered them on, like a movie director.
The blonde grimaced as she recalled those events, yet ironically she still wanted more alcohol, if not for anything else but to silence such vivid memories…
Bzzt!
Rachel's ears quickly piqued at the sound of her ringtone. She slipped her hand into her coat pocket, fished out her cell phone, and lifted it to her ear without bothering to glance at the screen.
"Hello?"
"Hey Rach, it's just me."
Rachel's expression immediately blossomed. "Noelle," she chirped, unable to contain her smile. "What's going on? Oh right – well I'm not doing much. I'm just out with…" She stalled, glancing across the table at the cheerleader, who now seemed sorely unamused.
"Are you out with Quinn?" Noelle suddenly chimed into the brunette's ear.
The question struck Rachel as kind of odd, since she had never really spoken to the talented violinist about her relationship with Quinn. She adjusted her grip on her phone and replied. "Yes. I am. Why do you ask?"
"I was just talking to Sam Evans on Facebook. He told me that you and Quinn are dating, which I was kind of shocked to hear, because you have never said anything about her to me," Noelle explained, her tone bright.
Maybe too bright.
Rachel frowned and sort of chuckled the awkwardness away. "Are you reprimanding me for neglecting to tell you about her? Is that what is happening right now?"
"Not at all!" Noelle answered. "I just wondered why you wouldn't mention anything about her. You're lucky though. She's breathtakingly beautiful, even if the things that I have heard about her are less than commendable?"
Rachel took her gaze over Quinn's petulant facial expression. "I'm not sure if I'm that lucky, to be honest with you. But, on the plus side, she's spends money on me and she's great in the sack, so that more than makes up for all of the crap that she insists on putting me through."
…
"Too much information?" the brunette asked, sort of grimacing and grinning simultaneously.
Noelle chuckled, though it sounded rather dim and forced. "Perhaps."
Still, Rachel disregarded her niggling suspicions and continued to be merry. "You complain when I say nothing. You complain when I tell you things. I can't win with you, can I?"
"We have to help you find a balance," Noelle suggested, chuckling once more. It tapered off much too quickly to have been genuine though. "Hey listen, Mike's throwing a party tonight. Please say you'll come?" she whined. "I haven't seen you in way too long, and I want to grill you about Fabray."
The restaurant had quietened down; meaning that Quinn could just about hear what was being spoken into the aspiring Broadway star's ear.
"If you're going to this party, then I'm going too," she mouthed, adamant.
Despite the fact that Quinn's mind already seemed to be made up, Rachel chewed the inside of her cheek, taking the time to assess whether or not she, herself, felt up to attending the party.
"I'm not all that sure that I am in the mood for a party, Elle," she eventually sighed into the phone. "I'll just bring everyone else down with my lectures about what alcohol actually does to the human body. Most will wilt with depression once they learn the truth, and others will assemble to kick me out of said party, all whilst you play a melancholic song on your violin, and encourage onlookers to toss coins into your tin."
"Aside from the fact that I am displeased with that answer, I love your goofy mind. You are hilarious!"
"Aww. Thank you," Rachel cooed, visibly touched by the praise. "I love your goofy mind too."
Quinn, who was no longer content with biding her time, decided that she had heard and seen enough!
"Give me that phone!" she quietly demanded, reaching across to grab the shiny device, only for the brunette to lean out of reach and repeatedly swat her pale floppy hand away.
"I only have limited time to speak, because the girl that I am currently calling my girlfriend is being a-a…" Rachel regarded the flailing blonde for vocabulary inspiration, and the right word came swift and appropriate. "A boob!" she huffed.
Noelle laughed heartily, and then sniggered out, "I'm going to text you the party details, in the hopes that you'll change your mind and show up. Ok?"
"A-Alright! Thank you for the invitation. I will definitely consider showing up – sit down, Quinn! This is the last time that I am ever going to allow you to drink in my presence. You've been nothing but a nuisance!"
"Err… it's no problem, sweets," Noelle slowly replied, unsure as to whether the brunette was even still listening. She could hear a little turbulence in the background. Nevertheless she continued. If Rachel could hear, she'd respond right? "Hopefully I'll see you later, but if I don't then enjoy the rest of your day."
"Ok then. Provided that we don't see one another, I hope that you enjoy the rest of your day too. Bye," Rachel said, now stood up behind her chair so that Quinn couldn't reach her.
"Bye Rach."
With that, the line went dead…
Quinn slid back into her own seat. "You love her goofy mind?" she echoed, unamused and bitter.
Rachel hadn't heard a word though. Her eyes were lost within her cell phone's screen, her lips wordlessly mouthing small fragments of the previous phone conversation…
Her mind combing through all of the little tells that had suggested that maybe Noelle liked her romantically.
She slipped her phone back into her coat pocket, and coiled her fingers around the black metal frame that comprised her chair's intricately patterned back. "I think that Noelle may be romantically interested in me," she voiced, both at herself and Quinn.
"What did I tell you?" Quinn scolded, not missing a beat.
Rachel glared, pressed her palms to the table, and enunciated, "you told me that I was interested in her, which I knew to be false. You also said that she and I were dating, which I also knew to be false. You didn't mention a thing about her being interested in me, which I was not aware of at the time – if my hunch is even correct."
Quinn caught herself and frowned, scratching her head. "So – wait – you're really not interested in Noelle? B-But I saw that – that look!" she stressed, her jaw falling open. She then folded her arms. "So now you're acting even when you don't know you are. Great! Keep this up and they'll swap Rodger the alien, from American Dad, out for you."
In response all she received was an over-it sigh and an eye roll.
Rachel drew her chair back out and sat down. She clasped her hands atop the table, thinking her next course of action through. "She seemed a little dejected when I confirmed that you and I were dating - and then I went on to make that ridiculously insensitive joke about you being good in the sack. I feel bad," she mused wistfully, further whining: "I don't want to hurt her feelings, but I fear that our ruse already has."
Quinn rolled her eyes. If she'd wanted to watch a bad lesbian TV show, she would have pulled one up on Netflix by now.
"Rachel, you need to tell this bunny boiler to back off. I know how this works. Do you think that finding out that someone's taken has ever stopped me? If she likes you – which I can't for the life of me figure out why – then she's going to push, and then I'm going to have to push her off of a cliff." She shrugged, as if such a course of action was no problem at all. "If Finn hears about her trying anything, operation Rachel-Berry-sexual could fall apart, and I'm not going to allow that! She now knows that you and I are dating, so she needs to stay in her bunny boiling lane!"
"You say that like we're actually dating," Rachel absently murmured, still no better at peace regarding Noelle being romantically interested in her.
A pale hand suddenly waved before her glazed over brown eyes. The brunette realized that it belonged to Quinn, and promptly swatted it away. "If you're not going to help me figure out how to preserve my friendship with Noelle, now that she probably thinks that I was intentionally lying to her about you, then I don't want to hear anything from you at this time. Thank you," she huffed, frustrated.
"Well if you aren't going to tell her to back off, then I will. Where is this party, and what time is it?" Quinn asked.
When Rachel's lips remained sealed, the blonde shrugged. "You think I won't be able to find out?"
Achoo!
"God dammit!" Quinn grumbled, sniffling.
"There will be alcohol there, as well as Noelle. Do you really think that I am going to allow you to attend that party, Quinn?" Rachel challenged, knowing that she couldn't actually stop the blonde. But she could try.
A stern tone could go a long way, right?
"What, are you afraid that the bunny boiler will realize that she's crushing on the wrong girl?"
"Hardly – and she is not a bunny boiler!"
"Pfft! I'm going to this party. Whether you want to tag along or not is entirely up to you. Noelle and I need to have a little chat."
Concerned, Rachel side-eyed the overly invested cheerleader. "The two of you do not need to have a chat, Tony Soprano! I will handle it! This situation is potentially messy enough, without you injecting yourself into the equation. You're taking this role much too seriously, Quinn – and when I have to tell you that, you know you're in trouble!"
Quinn pondered that statement.
Ok, so maybe she was taking her role a little too seriously. But the rest of her plan, which entailed rubbing her romance with Rachel in Finn's face before she took him back, hinged on people believing that Rachel solely belonged to her, and that she solely belonged to Rachel.
Noelle needed to know her role!
And if Quinn had anything to say about it, the bunny boiler would be exiting stage left sooner rather than later...