Building Fences Out of Tense Moments
Chapter 02
Teen Idle
"Hey, Finn! My man," Puck says, sidling up next to his best friend at his locker. "I just saw Kurt outside; no one's canned him yet," he says, jutting a thumb back over his shoulder.
"Yeah, hey, man," Finn says, and slaps Puck's hand lazily. He's obviously distracted, and Puck's almost annoyed. They're best friends-practically brothers-Finn could at least manage to pretend to be happy to see him.
What has him so distracted anyway? Puck follows his gaze across the hall, landing on a blonde girl he's never seen before.
Now, Noah Puckerman knows beautiful women. He's seen more than his share, and has even bedded a few. Hell, his girlfriend is by and large considered the hottest girl in school-though, that's becoming increasingly less exciting as time drags on-but the girl that has Finn's eye puts them all to shame. She's something else entirely.
He's not a man of many words. He's no Shakespeare. He doesn't know how to wax poetic about the things that looking at this girl does to him.
He only really knows that she's perfect.
"Who's that?" he asks Finn, completely forgetting about the boy in the parking lot he had planned on tormenting. This is much more interesting, anyway.
"I don't know, man," Finn says, his eyes never leaving the girl across the hall. "New transfer? Freshman?"
Finn's never been accused of being subtle. Then again, neither has Puck.
"Well, I think it's time I introduce myself," Puck says, arching an eyebrow and taking a step across the hall.
Finn's hand on his shoulder stops him, though, and when he turns around, Finn looks disappointed and just a little bit hurt. "What about Santana?"
This isn't about Santana, and they both know it-really, his relationship with Santana is far from the whirlwind of drama and heat its made out to be; it's more like a natural progression of their friendship that everyone took for granted as inevitable. No, this is about his friendship with Finn and the fact that every girl Finn's into always chooses Puck.
It's not even that Puck doesn't try to help him; he's attempted to wing-man him countless times, but Finn just hasn't figured out how to make his oafishness work for him. It is, after all, a very particular kind of charm.
So it's not Santana that has Puck returning to Finn's side and saying, "Yeah, you're right," and he'd have to be blind not to notice how Finn's shoulders relax.
"I think I'm going to ask her out," Finn says, and Puck sees it coming a mile away.
"Yeah? Go for it," he says. The least he can do is let Finn have first shot at her. He's pretty sure he'll walk away the victor in the end.
"Yeah? You think I have a shot?"
Puck laughs, because this is exactly why he doesn't have a girlfriend. "Man, you're the quarterback," he says, punching Finn lightly in the ribs. "That's like social currency, dude."
"Yeah," Finn says, nodding slowly. "Right," he adds, with more force, and Puck recognizes Finn's attempts at psyching himself up.
"Whoa, whoa, man, you're not going to do it right now, are you?"
"Why not? You were?"
"Well, yeah," Puck admits, and shuffles on his feet before saying, "but that's different. I'm different. You want to ask around first; at least find out her name. You know, show her you're invested."
"Right," Finn says, nodding again but more calmly this time, and he just manages to catch the new girl walk away from her locker when he turns back across the hall.
"See? Missed opportunity, anyway," Puck says, clapping his hand on his friend's shoulder and directing him down the hallway in the opposite direction. "Now let's see if we can start by finding out her name."
She remembers the overwhelming tumult of crowds of teenagers attempting to push against each other in the confusion of new classes and locker combinations from her old high school-remembers the way her body would be bounced around hallways by hurried upperclassmen pushing past her and sending her face first into the nearest locker. She knows, logically, that McKinley is different, and reminds herself that she is, in fact, Quinn Fabray and she will leave her mark on this school.
It is different. People see her. People have always seen her. But where they once responded with contempt, it's missing, now. As she glances around the hallway, she becomes increasingly aware of curious and appreciative eyes on her, and it makes it easier for her to fall into character. She tells herself that the smirk playing about her lips and the way her chin lifts is second nature, but she's lying to herself and she knows it. But the crowd parts for her as she walks down the hall, and she makes sure to not-quite make eye contact with anyone as she moves through them.
She knows she's too good for them. They know she's too good for them.
Better to establish it early, really.
She finds her locker easily enough-she made it a point to find it when she was at the school a week earlier for her Cheerio interview-and maintains the slightly haughty tilt to her head as she balances her bag on her knee to organize her school space for the first time. She attaches a mirror carefully to the inside of the door, and it's only after she's adjusted its height just so that she bothers to get her school materials in order.
She noticed the boy in the letterman jacket across the hall staring at her. He had been there when she walked up. But by the time she pulls her third spare binder out of her bag and slides it into her locker, a glance in the mirror tells her he's been joined by another, and she'd have to be blind not to notice the way both of their eyes rake over her body.
Her first instinct is to run-it's unsettling, somehow-and she clamps down on the urge to shut her locker and flee. But then she reminds herself that this is exactly what all of her hard work was for. She's been here for fifteen minutes, and it already looks like two boys might fight over her.
It's supposed to be every girl's dream, right?
She lingers briefly when it looks like one of them might approach her, but after a few moments pass and they've only managed to talk to each other, she shuts her locker and heads toward her first class.
She's halfway down a second hallway when she hears her name called from somewhere ahead of her. She has to crane her neck around some of the larger crowds of students, but she does, eventually, catch sight of an argyle sweater reminiscent of the one a certain musician was wearing a week ago.
"Hey, Quinn!" Rachel calls from halfway down the hall when she notices she's caught Quinn's eye.
And just like that, Quinn feels her smile shift from its practiced politeness into one much more genuine, because the attention from those boys was flattering, but she thinks Rachel might be a friend she doesn't have to perform for.
Until, that is, she watches in horror as some third Neanderthal in a letterman jacket crosses in front of Rachel and her face contorts into a grimace of surprised anguish as she's drenched in what Quinn assumes to be cherry slushy.
Her hand is stuck awkwardly in mid-air as she looks around, attempting to gauge if anyone's figured out she's waving at Rachel. As barbaric as the act she just witnessed was, it also serves as a pretty clear indicator of where Rachel stands in this school.
She's not proud of it-part of her, whatever's left of Lucy that she couldn't quite get rid of empathizes with Rachel more than she cares to admit-but the fact that Rachel's not looking at her anymore because she's wiping the syrup from her eyes makes it easier for Quinn to shut that part of herself down, bring her hand back to her side, and turn on her heel to find an alternate route to class.
She's pretty sure Rachel will get the message.
Lunch time is a test. Everybody knows it. Santana had to pass the test last year, and this year it's Quinn. Santana decides she likes it much better on the judging end of things. Plus, she knows this will be harder for Quinn than it was for her. Last year, they were all freshmen, and therefore they were all new. The system wasn't set, yet. As a new transfer, Quinn is faced with the daunting task of establishing herself in a pre-established social order.
Santana's so excited to see how Barbie's going to deal with the pressure that she almost doesn't notice Brittany's hand on her thigh. Almost.
"I'm so excited to meet the new girl," Brittany says, and while Santana's less enthused, she's never really been able to prevent catching the other girl's mood, which is how she finds herself beaming right back at her.
"I know, B," she says, squeezing the hand in her lap underneath the table. "New people are exciting."
"I hope she likes me."
"It's impossible not to," Santana says and lifts both of her hands back to the top of the table, and her eyes flick back over to the cafeteria doors.
The entrance is important, and she knows it. She's also willing to bet Quinn knows it. She's not at all surprised when Quinn walks in purposefully, head held high. She hesitates just long enough to catch sight of Santana before she heads toward their table. The confidence sets the foundation, but what really sells it is that Quinn has this little half-smile than any guy would love to have directed at them, but Quinn only seems to almost make eye contact with anyone.
No. There's absolutely nothing about what she's seen from Quinn Fabray that is in any way genuine. That kind of intimidating allure only comes with practice; if anyone knows that, it's Santana.
It's still unclear if Quinn is going to be an obstacle or an asset.
"Hi, Santana," Quinn says when she sits down across from Brittany like she owns the place-and she will if Santana doesn't do something.
Unfortunately, Brittany opens her mouth before Santana gets a chance to, and says, "Hi! Are you Quinn?" which is exactly the last thing Brittany should be saying in this moment. The last thing any of them need is for Quinn to think there's already no need to introduce herself, and the way Santana responds to this situation will tell the rest of the school exactly who's in charge.
"I am," Quinn says with a surprised smile, and before any more pleasantries can be exchanged, Santana reminds them both of her authority.
She arches an elegant eyebrow and juts her chin in Quinn's direction. "You got an invite, or something?"
Quinn's smile doesn't falter, though, and she locks her gaze with Santana. "Well, not officially," she says, reaching into her bag and producing the Cheerios binder Coach Sylvester gave her last week. "But I thought we could go over a few of the more complicated routines before today's practice."
Santana's almost caught off guard. She was expecting some kind of passive-aggressive insult-it's how these things usually went-but this is almost an open display of submissiveness.
Santana isn't buying it; Quinn's playing a long game.
"Well, hon, just follow my orders. If you're worth your salt, you'll pick it up," she says with a smile that drips with false sincerity. If she's honest with herself, there's a part of her that's having fun right now. No one's ever challenged her in such an underhandedly brilliant way, and keeping Quinn in her place is undoubtedly going to prove a completely new kind of game.
She's actually kind of excited about it.
"Oh, I don't doubt your leadership abilities," Quinn says, her smile growing insistently wider. "I just think that it would be easier-for me-if I know what to expect going in. My being up to speed can only help the squad, after all."
Santana almost laughs, but this isn't the time for that. She's got a retort about competence on the tip of her tongue, but she never gets to say it.
Because Brittany jumps in before she gets the opportunity with a cheerful, "That's a great idea, don't you think, San?"
And just like that, this round is over. Quinn didn't exactly win, but neither did Santana, and they both know it. With a resigned sigh, Santana rolls her eyes and says, "Yeah, alright. Was there something in particular that you wanted to look at?"
Sure enough, Quinn's prepared with specific questions about some of the admittedly harder routines, and as she clarifies the staggered timing that Coach Sylvester wants and where Quinn fits into it, Santana realizes she's never really had any power at all. When it comes down to it, Brittany calls all the shots.
She just needs to keep Quinn from figuring that out.
This is the part she likes. Despite the ringing in her ears brought on by Santana's and Coach Sylvester's incessant yelling, Quinn genuinely enjoys the chance to use and push her body this way. It had taken her exactly three sessions with Leon for her to figure out just how much she enjoyed physical activity, once she discovered how much easier it was to move in a lighter body. The trainer took advantage of that fact and pushed her in ways her mother never outlined, but it paid off, because now she's able to keep up with Santana without getting winded.
Saying she hasn't broken a sweat would be lying, though, because autumn hasn't settled in, yet, and the afternoon sun is starting to feel uncomfortable on her skin. She's aware of a bead of sweat making its way down her temple, and there's a small part of her that revels in the way her body responds.
It's just a small part, though, because there's another, much larger part that still feels she hasn't gotten to where she's supposed to. She's not sure, exactly, what her physical goals are; she just knows she hasn't met them. And if she's honest with herself, that's probably why she's continued to push herself beyond the necessary requirements of maintenance.
It's what has her bouncing back into position as Coach Sylvester calls for, "one more time," for the fourth time while the rest of the squad-minus Santana-groans and trudges back to their opening positions.
"Come on, ladies!" Santana calls in an empathetic voice Quinn hasn't heard, yet, and she guesses Santana's reading the exhaustion in the rest of the squad and is reacting accordingly. "The quicker we hustle, the sooner we'll be done, let's go!"
It seems to work, though, because the rest of the squad seems to pull out that last bit of energy they have for this last run-through, and Quinn pays attention. She plans on being captain next year, but the interpersonal part of that job title is something she hasn't considered, yet. She's going to be expected to read the entire squad and bring the best out of them when they don't want to give it, and if what Santana just did is any indication, being a hard-ass is not where leadership ends.
The mere thought of being that attuned to that many women exhausts her.
"That's right, you could all learn a thing or two from Q over there," Coach Sylvester's voice blares over the megaphone as Quinn stretches her left quad and waits for the rest of the squad to fall into formation.
At least she's got "lead by example" down.
It's not their best run-through of the day, but Coach Sylvester seems to know, when they're finished, that she can't push them anymore, and so she demands a round of twenty push-ups from each of them before releasing them for the day.
Even this is something she enjoys, despite how tired her body already is. It'll just make this that much easier in a week, and it's with that thought that she welcomes the soreness she's guaranteed to feel tomorrow morning.
The grass on the practice field is coarse, and her palms itch as she lowers her body to the ground again and again. She focuses on her breathing and tries to block out the sounds of adolescent boy bodies colliding with one another across the field. It's counter-intuitive, really, how successful the Cheerios are in relation to the size of the town. It would be easy to assume the Cheerios have their own dedicated practice space, yet, here she is, sharing the field with a football team that could be considered mediocre at best.
Her attention is drawn to the boys across the field as she finishes her set. They seem to be releasing at the same time, since they've all started staggering their way off the field, and she catches sight of the two boys she caught staring at her earlier that morning. The tall one's awkward, and his face, while pleasant enough, she supposes, is largely blank and unassuming. His friend, though, with the mohawk-and she didn't even know people still wore those-has clearly moved through the awkward oaf stage early.
It happens subconsciously, the way her eyes travel over his body, taking in the angular lines of his biceps and the veins lining his forearms. It's the first time all day that she's forgotten herself and allowed instinct to take over, and it scares her.
But not nearly as much as the awareness that she finds nothing sexy about the scene at all.
Okay, fine, it's not like she necessarily finds anything sexy, but there's something-deep in the back of her mind-that stirs as she watches the two boys. She's felt it before-rarely-but she doesn't have a name for it.
Not that she has the time to try to articulate it, now-not when Santana's suddenly next to her and hissing, "Aiming a little high there, aren't we?" in her ear.
It's enough to shake her from her lapse in judgment, though, and with a quick shake of her head, the mask falls back into place. Instead of dignifying Santana's hostility with a verbal response, though, she just arches a challenging eyebrow.
Santana smirks in response, and Quinn thinks she's starting to get a feel for how best to deal with her. Santana seems to enjoy a challenge, but only to a certain extent. That's fine; Quinn can play this game for the next year.
"Alright, so I'm gonna give you a pass," Santana says, pushing past her with her shoulder, "because you're new and maybe nobody's told you. But Puck?" she continues, pointing toward the boy Quinn has just been caught staring at. "He's mine."
Quinn recognizes the stake at territory for what it is, and even though she wants nothing whatsoever to do with Puck in a romantic sense, she also can't help poking at Santana's exposed weakness. "Why Santana," she says, widening her eyes and placing her hand on her chest dramatically. "I didn't know you considered me a threat."
Santana just rolls her eyes, though, and tosses a, "You wish," over her shoulder before heading off to the locker room.
So maybe Puck isn't the point of weakness that Santana's outburst suggests.
Finn waits.
He's not sure how he knows to expect it-it's not like he's got a father that could teach him to wait on women; though maybe growing up with just a mom taught him everything he needs to know-but he's already showered and dressed long before the Cheerios start filtering out of their own locker room.
Puck took off early, leaving him with a playful taunt about being prematurely whipped, and as the minutes tick by, Finn wonders if he's got a point. Puck's obviously doing something right, if he's the one with the girlfriend instead of Finn, and Santana's all over him at every party and he practically ignores her. Maybe displaying this much interest this quickly is a problem.
Then again, how is he expected to progress at all unless he does... something?
If he's counted correctly-and, honestly, he probably hasn't-the rest of the squad's already gone. He supposes it's possible that she was one of the first ones to leave and he somehow managed to miss her. It seems unlikely, but the truth is, he doesn't know this girl. None of them do. Maybe she's not like the rest of them.
He decides to give it another five minutes before giving up and going home, but about two minutes later, the door to the girl's locker room swings open, and he's caught staring at the girl he's been waiting for.
He tries to speak-can even feel his jaw working-but nothing comes out, really. She offers him a confused smile and moves to walk past him, and he panics.
"You're Quinn, right?" he asks, because it's exactly the first thing that comes to mind. It's convenient enough, though, because introductions are certainly the first order of business, here.
"Um, yeah," she confirms, and her expression is hard to read. The smile is pleasant, but the crease between her eyebrows is worrisome. He's just not sure if she's flattered that he knows, or if he's stepped over some kind of boundary by knowing her name.
But that's stupid, because she's new, and everybody always knows the new kid's name. That's the way new kids work. Especially new girls.
Besides, Puck told him to ask around first, and Puck's never wrong about girls.
So he shakes it off, deciding it's all in his head and that he should just press forward. "I'm Finn Hudson," he says, sticking a hand in her direction and giving her his very best lopsided grin. Really, he's just thankful to be speaking in complete sentences, even if they are mostly made up of his own name.
She shakes his hand in greeting and says, "It's nice to meet you," though her eyes are trained on their joined hands, and he thinks that's kind of weird.
It doesn't last long, though, because she's turned away from him and started walking toward the parking lot. He's got long legs, though, and so it really doesn't take much to catch up with her.
Except now he doesn't know what to do. They've introduced themselves, and that was pleasant enough, but he doesn't know what the next step is. Is he supposed to jump into asking her out? Is he supposed to lead up to it? How is he even supposed to do that?
No one told him the formula.
And that's how he finds himself asking, "So how do you like McKinley so far?" which is probably not the worst thing that could have come from his mouth.
It earns him a small smile, at least, but she takes her time responding. They're halfway across the parking lot before she turns toward him and says, "It's... predictable enough."
He doesn't know what to do with that answer, but he figures his best bet is some generic anti-authority sentiment about automaton creating high schools across the country which at least produces a laugh.
By now he's figured out that she's headed toward a silver car at the far end of the parking lot, and he can just make out an older blonde woman behind the wheel watching them, so he's not particularly surprised when she stops him as they approach. "Look, I have to go," she says, pointing toward the car in question. "It was nice meeting you, though."
"Hey," he says, grabbing her wrist and halting her progress. He releases her as soon as her surprised glance falls on her wrist and awkwardly rubs at the back of his head in embarrassment. "I was wondering if you might want to go out sometime?" he asks, and he cringes at his own apparent lack of confidence.
For a second, he thinks she's going to turn him down. Worse than that, it almost looks like she's going to yell at him. But then she glances back to the car where her mother-he's assuming-waits and flashes him a smile that has him forgetting his own name.
"Sure, that sounds fun," she says, and it takes everything in him not to pump his fist in the air in triumph. Instead, he just shuffles nervously as she produces a pen from her purse and jots down her phone number. "Call me and we'll figure something out," she says as she hands him the slip of paper, and he purposefully brushes his fingers against hers in the exchange.
"Yeah, sure thing," he says, taking a step back and watching her make her way to the car.
It's only when she's safely driven away that Finn allows himself to outwardly celebrate by hissing out a "yes" and pumping his fist at his side. He's not sure how he's going to manage to fill an entire night with Quinn-he could barely manage a three minute conversation-but the phone number in his pocket is a trophy, and so he knows he has to at least try.
Puck's going to be so jealous.
"So how was your first day?" Russell finally asks, halfway through dinner after he's finished venting about the ineptitude of his employees. Apparently, Ohioans are of a lower quality than Pennsylvanians, if his assessment is anything to go by.
"It was good," Quinn says noncommittally, picking at the spinach on her plate.
"Oh come on, now," her mom says after taking a sip of wine. "Don't be so modest; tell him" she encourages, and Quinn wishes she could be as excited as her own mother.
"It's nothing, really," she says, and allows herself a bite of the steak she's left mostly untouched on her plate.
"Sure it is!" her mother says before turning to Russell. "Quinn got asked out today," she says and it almost feels like Judy's proud of herself, instead of Quinn. "By a football player."
"Oh?" her father asks, obviously intrigued, and Quinn doesn't really know what to make of her father's interest in her dating life. "What position?"
"Quarterback, I think," she says, and she's pretty sure he'll be impressed by that.
She's right. His eyebrows raise in contemplation as he chews the food in his mouth. "That's terrific," he says after he's swallowed.
"Yeah, I guess."
"I can see it now," her mom says with stars in her eyes. "We're going to have three prom queens in the family," she gushes, clearly living out some maternal vicarious thrill through her daughter.
Quinn doesn't really know what to do with any of it, though. This is what she wanted, when she got rid of Lucy. She wanted to fit in and be popular and please her parents, but now that she's doing those things, well...
Now she has to keep it up.
"Yes, well, just don't get too serious too quickly. You know those boys only want one thing," her father reminds her, and she's even more confused about his role in her romantic life. He's somehow managing to simultaneously encourage her relationship with a boy he doesn't know based solely on the fact that he plays football while warning her against him in any meaningful way. She thinks he's telling her to treat him as a fashion accessory, and that's fine with her-it's what she intends to do, anyway-but her father's input makes her feel uneasy in a way she can't describe.
"I don't think we have to worry about that," her mother says, looking over at Quinn proudly. "Quinn's a smart girl, and she knows how quickly rumors spread and how influential one's reputation can be, don't you, Honey?"
"Yeah, of course," she answers, and takes another bite of spinach. She chews for a few moments and recalls one of the tricks Frannie used to use on their dad when she would still come around, and after swallowing, turns to her father and says, "You taught me right from wrong. I'll be fine."
She doesn't even know what she's referring to anymore, but these positive platitudes about his parenting skills go a long way with Russell, and she's rewarded with one of the warmer smiles he's ever directed at her.
She sets her silverware down and announces that she's finished eating before her mother has a chance to start in on the conversation again, and throws an overly sweet, "Thank you, Daddy," over her shoulder when he dismisses her with an "I'm proud of you."
She rinses her plate under warm water before sliding it into place in the dishwasher and then makes her way up to her room. She feels anxious, and she doesn't know why, so she drops to the floor and does a set of crunches, and when the anxiety remains, she does another. Finally, she decides to just study, even though she doesn't actually have any homework. It keeps her from thinking about why her value seems to be dependent on which boy likes her in the eyes of her parents, anyway.