Chapter 84

The Homecoming

Tina swung open her locker door and shoved her stack of next period's supplies into her backpack. Since freshman year, she had organized her locker into separate binders of textbooks and notebooks for each period so she wouldn't have to waste time at her locker finding the right equipment. She zipped open the side pocket, and shoved the math kit she had used for the previous period back into it's place, when her flash cards - brimming with inky equations, formulas and example questions - spilled onto the floor, scattering a few feet away. She sighed and dropped her bag, kneeling down on the cold tiles in her green dress, her light brown hair falling over her shoulder as she collected the squares off of the floor.

"Let me help you."

Tina looked up to see that Artie had bent over in his chair and was helping her collect the flashcards, his caribou cardigan zipped to the neck.

"Hey," she greeted tentatively, straightening her small stack, "Thanks."

"No problem," he replied, giving her a small smile as he handed her the remainder of her fallen cards, "I see you're hitting the books hard as usual."

Tina stood, putting the flash cards back into her locker and smiling shyly. "And you aren't? I heard you got a scholarship to Northwestern."

Artie smiled. "It's true. I got an early admission."

"Artie, that's amazing," said Tina, closing her locker and slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

"Well, I heard you were going to London next year."

Tina's smile faded. "Did Mike tell you that?"

Artie nodded. "I think you'd make an excellent watcher."

Tina almost grinned. "Thank you. That means a lot, really."

"So, are you going to homecoming?"

"Oh, yeah, I was going to go with the other single ladies of glee club. So… Buffy."

"How would you feel about going with me?"

Tina raised an eyebrow. "I don't know…"

"Just as friends," said Artie, raising his hands, "Come on, it can't still be awkward between us. The deterioration of a ten second crush on sophomore year cannot be blamed for ending a friendship."

Tina smiled. "I guess I thought you never really forgave me for lying about that stupid fake stutter."

Artie just shook his head. "It's senior year. It could be our last chance to have fun, especially since you're going to be halfway around the world next year, sipping tea with Harry Styles."

"I don't feel like One Direction makes a lot of house calls to the Watchers' Academy, but I get your point," Tina smiled, "Still, I'd feel bad for Buffy. She's thinking about not going at all, since Joe Hart hasn't asked her yet. If she knows she's going to be the only one there without a date, she definitely won't go. And she has to go. It's her last homecoming."

"It's your last homecoming, too," Artie pointed out, "Mike has a date."

Tina frowned. "Who?"

Artie looked awkwardly down at his lap and shrugged. "I don't know."

"Artie, come on," Tina pleaded.

Artie sighed reluctantly and said, "Morgan Ru."

Tina felt her jaw drop and quickly clamped her lips shut. "Oh… well, that's… It's none of my business, so-"

"They're not dating," Artie said, looking sheepish, "She's just his date. It probably doesn't mean anything, you know? Their parents probably set them up-"

"I have to get to class, Artie," Tina said quietly, tightening her grip on her backpack, "I'll go to the dance with you."

"You will? Are you sure?" Artie asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Tina shrugged, "It's just homecoming. Buffy will probably end up going with Joe, anyways."

xxx

"I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Buffy blinked, surprised. They were heavy words to be spoken in a high school hallway. She looked around her at the students passing in oblivious merriment, chattering about the upcoming dance.

"You don't?" she asked, staring up at Joe's sympathetic brown eyes, "When did this happen? Where was I?"

"Buffy, it's just that, before we started going out, you seemed so full of life. A force of nature," he said earnestly, speaking almost whimsically as he thought about it, "Now you just seem distracted all the time-"

"I know, I just…" Buffy sighed, knowing exactly what he meant. She was distracted. "I'm getting better. Honest. In fact, from here on, you're going to see a drastic distraction reduction."

Joe shoved his hands into the loose pockets of his battered jeans. "I'm really sorry," he said softly, and walked away.

xxx

"You understand why I couldn't tell you, right?"

Rachel had her arms crossed and her hands tucked under her armpits as she stared into her neat locker.

"Rachel, say something," said Quinn, shaking the girl's shoulder through her polka-dotted sweater.

Rachel blinked. "Oh… sorry," she sighed, "Um, yes, I think I understand. I guess…"

"Are you sure?" asked Quinn, staring at her girlfriend's stern expression.

"Sure," Rachel nodded, "Kurt needed your help."

Quinn gave her girlfriend a long stare. Rachel was still pretending to scan her textbooks, her lips pursed in a tight, disapproving line.

"Are you mad? You seem like you might be mad," Quinn said tentatively.

Rachel pulled her gaze away from her books and locked eyes with Quinn, frowning sardonically, one eyebrow raised. "Yes, Quinn. I'm mad," she said, disarmingly calm.

Quinn opened her mouth and shut it again, taken aback by Rachel's quiet demeanour. "Um… okay. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't feel that there's much to talk about," she replied, raising her chin in the air.

Quinn sucked in some air. "Okay. I'm getting the cold shoulder. I get it. Can I at least ask what you're mad about, specifically?"

Rachel widened her eyes at the girl and quickly looked around them, glancing over their classmates who were passing by, paying them no mind. "As if I should have to tell you."

Quinn blinked. "Because the spell might be dangerous?"

Rachel pursed her lips even tighter. "I trust that you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, Quinn."

Quinn chewed the inside of her cheek. "Because I didn't tell you sooner?"

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Will you just tell me why you're mad?" Quinn exclaimed, "I'm beginning to understand why I tried so hard to like boys."

Rachel tapped her tongue against her top lip and closed her locker door, leaning her hand against it and giving Quinn a cold glare. "You made Kurt drop out of the election."

Quinn widened her eyes in surprise. "I didn't make him-"

"You didn't think I could win on my own?"

"Of course not," Quinn frowned, "I just… I thought it would be better to make sure you would win-"

"And you thought being myself wasn't good enough?" Rachel asked heatedly, "So you got Kurt to drop out. Printed that propaganda piece in the school newspaper-"

"Hey, you said you liked my article!"

"I don't need bribes and blackmail to get what I want, Quinn," Rachel snapped, "I'm not you."

Quinn frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Rachel pouted. "Maybe you think you can act like this because of all of the years you've spent being Ms. Popularity, but I have to work to get what I deserve-"

"Oh, please, Rachel," Quinn rolled her eyes.

"You don't think your history of manipulation has given you an unhealthy attitude toward ethics?" Rachel asked skeptically.

"You're saying that I'm manipulative?"

"I'm saying that sometimes you are less than honest about the way you get things done," Rachel folded her arms, "And that's not the way I do things."

"Yeah," Quinn laughed humorlessly, "You've never been less than honest about getting what you want. Sure. And by the way, I never manipulated Kurt into dropping out. He was the one who offered it in the first place. But it's nice to know what you really think of me."

"It doesn't matter, Quinn," Rachel said, exasperated, "I don't take bribes. I work hard and I value honesty-"

Quinn scoffed. "And you still didn't win."

Rachel's jaw dropped, her brown eyes widening. Quinn's heated face instantly cooled with regret.

"We'll talk about this later, okay?"

Rachel was still speechless. She closed her mouth, trying to mask her bruised feelings. "Are you sure there's anything left to talk about?"

Quinn turned, about to roll her eyes and walk away, but deciding against it. When it came to her girlfriend or her ego, Rachel always won.

"Yes, there is," Quinn said earnestly, taking Rachel's hand and squeezing it gently.

Rachel still had her lips pursed, but squeezed back. "Fine," she said quietly, "You're going to be late for class."

Quinn sighed and gave the girl and quick peck on the cheek before turning on her heels and heading to Economics. Rachel rested one hand on her hip and opened her locker back up to check the mirror taped to the inside of the door. She wasn't sure why she was giving Quinn such a hard time. Part of her was afraid that if she could barely scrape her way into becoming a co-vice class president, how was she ever going to make it into NYADA?

Another part of her knew the election was just a popularity contest, but that only served to remind her that popular was something she'd never be. She hated that it bothered her so much. Quinn had secretly hated being popular. Buffy looked back on her carefree LA days with embarrassment. But was it so misguided of her to want to be well-liked?

"Why the long face?"

Rachel looked away from the mirror and at Buffy, who had moped toward her to open her own locker and shove some Health notebooks into her backpack. The slayer looked just as tired as Rachel felt.

"Quinn and I might've just had our first fight," she frowned, picking at her pink nails.

Buffy raised a skeptical eyebrow. "First? I find it hard to believe that you two have been an OkCupid commercial this whole summer. I mean, you guys are sort of known for your fluctuating temper."

"This was different. She really hurt my feelings," Rachel sighed, crossing her arms.

"Oh, yeah? While you sang nothing but high praises?"

Rachel frowned. "What are you trying to say?" she asked impatiently.

"If Quinn said something to hurt your feelings, you probably said something to hurt her feelings," Buffy said plainly, "You don't have to know her for very long to get the sense that she's a tad defensive."

Rachel closed her locker door and leaned with her back against it. "I might have been a little… impolite."

Buffy smiled sympathetically. "Did she storm off with fire in her eyes? And her hands?"

"No. She kissed me and said we would talk about it later."

"Sounds like the best possible ending to a fight," Buffy shrugged, "At least she didn't dump you outside of Chem lab while the whole school was passing by."

Rachel furrowed her brow. "What are you talking about?"

Buffy sighed. "Joe dumped me."

"No," Rachel gasped, "Why?!"

"He says I've been distracted. Basically, he's just not feeling it," Buffy said bitterly, zipping up her backpack and slinging it over her shoulder, "Not the most tragic ending to a relationship I've ever had, but it still stings a little to get dumped by someone you weren't even really dating."

"Oh, Buffy, I'm sorry," Rachel said sympathetically, cocking her head to the side.

Buffy huffed. "It really shouldn't bother me as much as it does. I mean, Joe was cute but he wasn't my one true love. I guess it's just… In LA, I was prom princess. Fiesta queen. I was on the cheerleading squad. I was pretty much the star of the yearbook. And now it's senior year and I'm going to be one crappy picture on one sixteenth of one crappy page."

Rachel bit her bottom lip. "Actually, you're not."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, picture day was at the end of our first week," Rachel said cautiously, "And you were… Well, you were still M.I.A."

Buffy looked crestfallen, staring down at the floor as Morgan Ru skipped over to them in her cheerleading uniform, carrying a small stack of flyers and a basket on the crook of her elbow full of flat lollipops with marzipan Ms on them.

"Vote Morgan," she smiled chipperly, shoving a flyer into Buffy's hand. She grabbed another, about to hand it to Rachel before holding back. "Oh, wait. I don't think I need the Preppy Lesbian Jew Queen vote."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I should warn you that McKinley is on its way to developing a zero tolerance policy for bullying, so I would watch what you say."

Morgan laughed. "Whatever, Berry. Any cool factor you once had went out the door when you lost to a three-year-old for class president. B-t-dubs, I specifically said no melon balls and when I got my 'thank you' Edible Arrangement for my generous pity vote, it was nothing but goddamn orbs of honeydew. So it looks like you can't do anything right."

"Morgan, shut up," Buffy rolled her eyes, "No-one cares about your melon phobia or your stupid, pointless campaign."

Morgan scoffed, taken aback. "Actually, they do. And way more than they care about stupid school government. You'll see when the yearbooks come out. Me and my crown will have a full page spread while Jews Clues and Kelly Osbourne will get their article in Lipstick Lesbos Weekly and you will be… well, nowhere. Because while the rest of us were getting our pictures taken, you were, where, exactly?"

Buffy clenched her jaw. "Back off, Morgan."

"Most people say you were running from the cops for murdering that Filipino rando, but some people have been spreading a rumor that your mom sent you to a convent because you were pregnant with Mr. Schuester's baby. I, personally, like to think that you were living it up in Miami with some rich old sugar daddy you met on Christian Mingle and decided to come back to Lima once you'd used up all his money on pills and bad haircuts."

"Shut up, Morgan!" Buffy exclaimed, drawing the attention of a few classmates, "How can a person possibly be as obnoxious as you are? You're head cheerleader for a couple years and suddenly you think you're better than the rest of us? Did you forget that your longest relationship was with a gay guy? Or that you used to be Quinn Fabray's little bitch?"

Rachel took a tentative step back, glancing at the passersby who were listening intently to Buffy and Morgan's loud argument, snickering at their exchange.

"Do you really think being homecoming queen will prove that people actually like you?" Buffy almost laughed, "Because it won't. The only thing that it will prove is that you were the biggest bitch with the most access to cheap, second rate, headshot flyers."

Morgan pursed her lips, balling her fists and eyeing her classmates, who had gathered at a distance to listen and giggle to each other. "No," she said, confident, "Being homecoming queen will prove that I was a part of this school and had actual friends. If it was about getting into fights and skipping class, you'd be a shoo-in."

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. "Okay, you really do not want to test me right now."

"I'm not afraid of you, Buffy Summers. For a while, I thought you might have been a somebody, but that was before you dropped off of the face of the earth and reminded the whole town what little impact you have on our lives. And then you come back in some sort of tepid, prodigal daughter catastrophe. People actually used to think you were cool and mysterious. Now you're just a joke.

The only people who would have your vote are the gleeks and the stoners. I'd like to see you try to win the crown."

"Oh, you would?" asked Buffy, smiling sinisterly, "Then you will."

Morgan scoffed. "What does that mean?"

"I'm gonna show you how it's done. I'm going to run for homecoming queen and I'm going to win."

xxx

Each of Quinn's muddy red candles lit up as she brought a match to them. She had pushed her bed against the wall and dimmed the lights, setting her laptop on her desk with Jesse sitting behind the screen, patiently flicking through his own spellbook as Quinn set up. Kurt sat cross-legged in the middle of the spacious circle of fat pillar candles.

"Quinn, you're making the room smell like burnt rubber," Kurt grimaced as Quinn lit the last candle, her pink hair tied up in a tight bun, "I know for a fact that Rachel has an entire drawer of scented candles in her room. You could have borrowed those."

"These are meditation candles poured by a coven of witches in Scotland during the waxing moon," Quinn frowned, "I ordered them online, special. They have properties that will help you clear your mind better than Bahama Breeze. Besides, I doubt Rachel is in a candle giving mood tonight."

"I knew she wouldn't take it well," Kurt said, half scolding and half sympathetic.

"She wasn't really concerned about the spell," said Quinn, folding her legs under herself as she sat behind him, "She thinks I made you drop out of the race for class president. She thinks I'm… manipulative."

"Did you tell her it was my idea?" asked Kurt.

"Kind of. I don't think it matters. That's what she thinks of me. Dishonest and manipulative and I can't say I blame her. After everything I put her through in freshman and sophomore year, it's still amazing that she even wants to be with me-"

"Can you save the One Tree Hill conversation for another time?" Jesse asked impatiently as he held his spellbook out in front of him on the other side of the computer screen, "I have a callback for an orange juice commercial in the morning, so I need my beauty sleep."

"Where do we start?" asked Kurt.

"You start by relaxing. Tonight, we try tapping into your powers. If we can get you to be as connected with them as possible, you can use them to get specific information. Like how to obtain your mother's soul. Now, lay your head down on Quinn's lap."

Kurt sighed and straightened out his legs, lowering himself to the floor and resting his head on Quinn's folded legs. The girl took a deep breath and rested her hands on Kurt's temples.

"You know, this is possibly the most intimate I've ever been with a girl."

Quinn smiled and looked down at him. "I'll be gentle," she teased, and added, "Shut up now."

"Close your eyes," Jesse ordered in a soothing voice, if not a little muffled by Quinn's laptop speakers, "I want you to imagine yourself in your most basic, most relaxed state. The default place you go to when you can control your dreams."

Quinn sprinkled some almond-scented oil on her fingertips and started to massage Kurt's forehead.

"Tell me what you're thinking," asked Jesse.

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut. "About all the zits I'm going to get from this oil."

Jesse frowned. "Quinn."

Quinn grabbed a small burlap sachet from her small pile of supplies. She opened the ribbon tie and sprinkled some pale purple powder into the palm of her hand. She leaned over Kurt's head and blew the powder onto his face. He twitched at the tickly sensation but quickly relaxed back into her lap, his whole body seeming to deflate, his lips parting lazily. Again, Jesse told him to find his most relaxed state.

"Where are you?" he asked again, eagerly, trying to remain soothing.

Kurt paused a moment and absentmindedly said, "A meadow."

Quinn looked up at the laptop as she continued massaging Kurt's temples, and saw Jesse smiling, proud.

"What does the meadow look like?" he asked.

"There are lilacs. And lavender," said Kurt, "And sun. And butterflies. Like in Twilight."

Jesse wrinkled his nose. "And what does it smell like?"

Kurt paused again. "My mother's perfume."

"You should feel very relaxed here. This is your domain. Now, this may be difficult, but I want you to really immerse yourself in this meadow. Kurt's meadow. I want you to leave your physical body to be in the meadow. Can you do that?"

Kurt's eyes flitted open and blinked against the glare of pale sunlight. He turned his head, just slightly, to feel the tickle of grass blades and soft clumps of lavender flowers against his bare neck.

"I think so," he said aloud.

He couldn't smell Quinn's musky candles anymore. The floral aroma was almost overwhelming.

"Good. Lift your head. Keep describing what you see."

Kurt lifted his head. "There are trees, around the meadow. They all have purple flowers."

"Can you see anything beyond the trees?"

Kurt sat all the way up and slowly made his way to his feet. He stood straight and narrowed his eyes beyond the trees. "No," Kurt shook his head, seeing only more trees, "...Wait."

"Yes?"

Kurt squinted even more to see a sliver of white in between the tall oaks. "I see a doorway."

"Describe it."

"It's not a real door. Just… white. There's someone else's dream behind it. Or a vision. Should I go through?"

"No," said Jesse's disembodied voice, "But I want you to keep looking into it. Concentrate on what you most want, right in this moment, and visualize whatever it is coming through the door. Maybe try visualizing a person, who can tell you what you most want to know. Maybe your mother."

Kurt stared steadily at the doorway, trying to imagine his mother walking out of it to tell him exactly what he needed to do. He braced himself as a figure appeared in the doorway.

"Someone's coming," he said, excitedly.

"Who is it?"

Kurt's smile faded as Rachel appeared beyond the bright sliver of white, wearing a red day-dress, her glossy brown hair tied in a bouncy ponytail.

"Rachel?"

"Rachel?" Jesse repeated, as Rachel's bright, smiling figure sprinted through the meadow over to Kurt and threw his hands over him.

Kurt twisted in Rachel's warm embrace. "Rachel? What are you doing here?" asked Kurt.

Rachel put her hands on either side of Kurt's face, smiling kindly. "She's sorry," she smiled.

"Who is? For what?"

"She loves you. She trusts you. She sees how much you've grown and admires you for it, but it scares her," she said tentatively, "Because she's afraid that she hasn't grown at all."

Kurt twisted his face in confusion. "Jesse… what is she talking about?"

"Quinn," Kurt heard Jesse say, "Quinn, take your hands off his head. Quinn?"

"All those things she said to you, she was saying about herself," said Rachel, "She's afraid that she can't get anything she wants without manipulation, and she's afraid that you think so, too."

"Kurt," said Jesse, "You've slipped into Quinn's dream state. I'm going to need you to remove yourself from the situation. Tell Rachel to leave and try to fall back asleep."

Rachel continued to smile up at Kurt, her hands on his face. He grabbed her wrists and tried to push her away, but his body felt slack, like he couldn't control it. The last thing he remembered was leaning down to kiss Rachel and the meadow's perfect sky turning black. He opened his eyes to find himself back in Quinn's bedroom, just as Quinn was batting her own green eyes, looking disoriented.

"What just happened?" he asked, sitting up to see that the lights had turned off and the candles were blown out. Jesse had disappeared and the computer screen boasted 'Connectivity Problems'.

Quinn sat up from where she had slumped against the end of her bed, looking dazed. "I think your psychic empathy might have picked up on something I wanted to know."

Kurt pursed his lips. "It didn't work."

"It almost worked. It might work next time. We just… need a bigger power source. If Jesse was here-"

"But he's not," Kurt snapped, frustrated, "Sorry, just… I really wanted this to work."

Quinn sighed. "You have to be patient," she said, standing up and turning the light back on.

Kurt ran his hand through his hair. "I asked Sebastian to help us."

Quinn frowned. "You did?"

"I knew we'd need an extra hand. I mean, I was reluctant," he said, standing, "He seems a little skeevy, but I think it's our best bet. He could make all of this move along faster."

Quinn pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Maybe he could. I just don't know if it's a good idea to have him involved in something so… personal."

"I think we should at least give him a chance."

Quinn nodded quietly. "Or a second one."

xxx

Buffy slammed her fists against the padded gloves that Kitty was wearing. The younger slayer was holding up well against Buffy's calculated jabs. Both were happy to have someone to train with who could actually keep up with them, but as Buffy threw harder and harder punches, Kitty reeled back for a moment, rolling her wrists in exhaustion.

"Damn," she exclaimed, under the orange-ish glow of the lightbulb in the Summers' garage, which they had fitted with blue yoga mats, "Guys should break up with you more often."

Buffy sighed and lowered her fists, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. "Gee. Thanks."

"I mean it," Kitty half-smirked, her lips glossed perfectly pink even in the midst of a rigorous workout, "This is some WorldStarHipHop quality rage you're working up to."

Buffy cracked her knuckles and kicked some of their workout equipment out of the way, heading for the door back into the house. "Just call me Sharkeisha," she muttered as Kitty followed her in.

"My motto is, punch hard and party harder," Kitty smiled as she and Buffy sauntered into the kitchen, "Besides, I already bought two tickets to this homecoming thing. I was planning on getting one of those sexy lacrosse guys from over at Dalton to go with me, but why don't we just go together?"

Buffy opened the fridge, pulling out some Gatorade. "Alright, I'm in. But only if you help me take down Morgan."

Kitty raised an eyebrow as she took a seat at the island counter.

"What?" asked Buffy.

"Nothing. I just didn't peg you for the Bring It On type. Since when were you so into winning crowns? You know you can just buy them at the party store, right?"

Buffy smirked and leaned against the island. "It's not so much the crown as the allegorical sense of victory."

"Ooh, allegorical. Someone's been brushing up on their SAT words."

"I just… want to prove to Morgan Ru that I could beat her if I wanted to. That she doesn't get to talk to me like I'm one of her pawns at the bottom of the triangle. No offense."

Kitty frowned. "For what? I am way too hot to be at the bottom of the triangle and Morgan knows it."

"So you'll help me win?"

"Sure, but…" Kitty sighed, "I mean, she's still the captain. I don't want to get kicked off the team for fraternizing with the enemy."

Buffy scoffed. "Well, that's rich. It's so weird for me to want a crown but it's okay for you to want pom-poms."

Kitty shrugged. "I may actually want to go to college someday, and if I do, it's most likely going to be on a cheerleading scholarship. Being a high school hottie doesn't actually pay. I mean, I don't live in a motel for the sweet pillow mints."

Buffy frowned. "I actually wanted to ask you about that. I know you don't like to talk about it-"

"Then don't ask me to."

"-but you don't have to be all on your own. You could stay here."

"No thanks," Kitty said quickly, "I'm not really ready to give up my freedom. Dinner every other night at the Summers' residence is great, but I don't want to be anybody's daughter. Not anymore."

Buffy picked at a fingernail. "You never really did tell me what happened with your parents."

Kitty traced a circle with her finger on the granite countertop. "I know."

xxx

Quinn sat back on a puffy, circular lounge seat at the back of Bitsy's Bridal Wear, flicking through a catalogue.

"I'm thinking about going blonde again," she said aloud, "For the dance. What do you think?"

She glanced cautiously at the gently swaying curtain of the dressing room Rachel was behind, squeezing herself in a poofy chiffon homecoming dress. After Kurt's spell had gone awry, Quinn had done a lot of thinking about what her girlfriend had said during the accidental dream state. The more she thought about it, the more everything made sense to her, especially why Rachel had been so upset that Quinn had taken Kurt's bribe - even if it Sugar still won.

Despite Rachel's overwhelming charisma, Quinn had learned over the past few months that underneath it all, the girl was a ball of insecurities. Even though she was prone to emotional manipulation, she valued ethics more than anyone Quinn knew. That kind of confliction in a personality was bound to cause some anxiety. Even some self-loathing. She's spent so much time trying to convince herself that she was not a disingenuous person at the core and taking that bribe must have only elevated Rachel's paranoia that Quinn had little faith in her.

"That might be a good idea," Rachel replied from behind her dressing room stall, "Depending on which dress you settle on. You don't want you hair to clash."

She pulled the curtain back and stepped out, standing impeccably straight in front of Quinn, who lowered her catalogue. "How is this?" It was a purple beaded ballgown, made of bunched up, shiny material.

Quinn pursed her lips. "It… makes an impression."

Rachel impatiently rolled her eyes. "Just tell me what you think."

"It kind of looks like you could wash it with a damp dishrag."

Rachel stalked back into the dressing room. Quinn closed her catalogue and set it down, biting her bottom lip.

"Rachel?"

"Yes?" Rachel replied, irate as she took off her dress behind the curtain.

"I wanted to… apologize. For what happened with Kurt and the election."

Rachel remained quiet behind the curtain and Quinn took it as a sign that she wanted her to elaborate.

"I need you know that it wasn't because I didn't believe in you. Because I do. I always knew you would make the best class president. And if Sugar didn't have a rich dad, then you would be. I know it. I just… all of the things you want, you want them so much. I want you to have them to. And I guess I'm in a habit of taking opportunities when I see them. I always have been. It doesn't mean anything about you. I'm just a little stuck in my ways. But I'm trying to be a better person. To be an honest person. I guess I thought that when we started dating, when I got pink hair and started wearing Nirvana t-shirts, that somehow I wasn't anything like the bitchy little blond cheerleader I used to be. But I'm still her. Not totally - I like to think I've grown up - but she's still part of me. I still have some growing up to do. But more than anything, you're the person who inspires me to do it."

Quinn waited patiently in the pointed silence for Rachel to reply. After a few long seconds, she pulled back the dressing room curtain again.

"How's this?" she asked again, this time smiling blithely, her eyebrows pulled together hopefully.

Quinn batted her lashes at her girlfriend. She was clad in a strapless gown that just barely grazed her shins, the layers of pale pink fabric cascading down her figure, the bodice tightly hugging her form.

Quinn smiled. "You look like a princess," she said softly.

Rachel smiled gratefully and took a seat on the lounge next to her girlfriend, smoothing down the skirt of the gown. "I'm not mad at you. I was just upset because it was starting to feel like I couldn't earn anything without bending the rules or manipulating someone. If I don't deserve to win class president or get the lead in West Side Story, then why should I deserve to go to NYADA?"

"But you do deserve all of those things. It's just… I don't know, sometimes it doesn't work out. But it's not the end of the world. I know you hate hearing that, but even if you don't have all of those things, it's not the end of Rachel Berry. You're amazing. Truly."

Rachel smiled sweetly. "I love you."

Quinn practically blushed as her girlfriend bent over to kiss her softly on the lips. "I love you, too," Quinn replied as Rachel pulled away.

"Is this a sequel to But I'm A Cheerleader or am I in a Netflix-induced hallucination?"

Both of the girls turned around on the lounge seat to see a tall, thin boy approaching them in a striped polo shirt, grinning widely, one dimple appearing in his left cheek.

"Sebastian," Quinn sighed, the breath nearly knocked out of her. He looked almost completely the same as he had in middle school, only taller.

"Lucy," he smiled almost giddily, glancing at Rachel, "So I've heard this is the Ellen to your Portia."

Rachel frowned. "Who is this?" she asked Quinn.

"Old friend," Quinn muttered, still staring at Sebastian.

"Come on, Lucy Caboosey, you're not going to introduce me?" Sebastian smiled, stretching his hand out, "Sebastian Smythe. I was one of your girlfriend's BFFs in middle school."

Rachel tentatively shook the boy's hand. "Rachel Berry."

"So I've heard," said Sebastian, "I saw you gals in the window. Just wanted to stop by and say hello, since we'll be spending so much time together in the future."

"You will?" asked Rachel.

Quinn raised her chin. "He's helping us with Kurt's… thing."

"He's filled me in on what you guys have done so far," said Sebastian, "I already have some ideas for us to try out. Jesse's initial approach was decent, but a little too slow-moving for me. Anyways, I didn't mean to interrupt your Come To My Window moment. Have fun, ladies."

Sebastian twirled around with his knowing smirk and nearly glided right out of the store, Quinn staring after him with trepidation.

"What was that all about?" asked Rachel, staring intently at Quinn's expression.

Quinn sighed. "Like I said, old friend. I'm getting the impression that he hasn't changed much."

"What happened between you two?"

Quinn looked back at Rachel and picked at the nail of her thumb. "It was back when Jesse and I were friends, the first time. When we were practicing witchcraft together. Figuring out the limitations of our power. Sebastian was just some weasely little kid in elementary school, but he found up what we were up to by eighth grade. His terms were, we let him be apart of our practice sessions or he reveal us. I just didn't want my father to find out because… well, obviously he's not exactly a forgiving man. Anyways, it was fine for a while. We all practised together and we were almost like real friends, but after a while… Jesse got power-hungry. Sebastian got jealous. Both of them were trying to get me to do things that probably would've ended up hurting me. Not that they cared. That's when I transferred schools. Became a cheerleader. Went by Quinn. I was sick of being stepped on. Sick of being in danger. I just wanted to be in control, I guess. Not the tubby little girl that Jesse and Sebastian picked on."

Rachel frowned sympathetically. "Maybe he has changed. I mean, Jesse did. Sort of."

Quinn shook her head. "Jesse wasn't as bad as Sebastian. Jesse wanted me to do bad things but Sebastian wanted me out of the picture. I guess I gave him what he wanted, but he and Jesse stopped talking to each other after middle school, too. I'm not really sure why. They both went to Carmel but then halfway through freshman year, Sebastian transferred to Dalton. That's all I know."

"So why is he helping Kurt?"

Quinn shrugged. "We need all the power we can get and Kurt's getting impatient."

"Sure but… what's in it for him? I mean, if he's as bad as you say… if he hasn't changed…"

"I don't know," Quinn thoughtfully furrowed her brow, "I never thought about it. Part of me wants to think that he's turned a new leaf. That he's not the boy he used to be, but… Maybe you're right. Maybe he is getting something out of it. I guess we'll find out."

xxx

"A campaign is like a war. It's won or lost in the trenches."

Buffy spread three laminated sheets of paper across the grainy picnic table. She had gathered Rachel, Tina, Quinn and Kitty around in the courtyard, preparing them for her victory as homecoming queen with notes, plans and a worth ethic so pedantic that it impressed even her most academic friends.

"Now, these are all the candidates, but Morgan is the real competition," she said certainly.

"Sugar's running!" Rachel gasped, grabbing one of Buffy's sheets.

"Yes, but a senior always wins homecoming."

"A senior always wins senior class president, and look how that turned out," Kitty smirked, dabbing a slice of cafeteria pizza with a paper towel.

"You've got a point. But, a homecoming queen can't buy her vote. It's still just a popularity contest. I've done this plenty of times before. Except, this time, I'm not actually popular. Although, I'm not exactly unpopular! A lot of people came to my welcome home party."

"But some of them were killed by zombies," Tina reminded her.

"This is stupid," Quinn piped up, her pink hair in a ponytail, tapping her brown wedges impatiently against a leg of the table.

"What do you mean?" Buffy asked, her face falling, "I need your help the most. You were homecoming queen two years in a row."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and by the third year, I was a teen mom living in a Being Human situation and still trying really hard not to be a lesbian because I thought that maybe the witchcraft and the adultery weren't quite enough to send me to Hell. I had plenty of time as a social pariah to realize that there is more to life than cheesy plastic crowns."

"Someone had their cynical-o's this morning," Kitty muttered.

"But you must have strategies," Buffy pressed, "Something to give me an edge over Morgan?"

Quinn pursed her lips, annoyed. "Well, my default strategy was to be a pretty white girl, but if that's not enough, you could always try dating the quarterback of the football team, appointing yourself Vice Hypocrite of the celibacy club and, oh yeah, being a huge bitch."

Buffy blinked. "I was thinking more like handing out personalized pencil toppers."

Quinn drummed her fingernails against the table as the others peered at her. "Sorry. All of this homecoming stuff is giving me cotillion flashbacks. I don't think I can help you, Buffy."

Buffy sighed. "You'll help me, Rach. Right?"

Rachel pulled her eyebrows together. "Sure. I mean, if we keep it a friendly competition."

Buffy frowned. "That's the opposite of what this is, Rachel. The whole reason I want to win homecoming queen is so I can rub Morgan's stupid ski-slope nose in it."

"That's the thing, Buffy," Rachel smiled diplomatically, "I'm really working hard on this zero-tolerance bullying initiative and on top of that, convincing Rory to join glee club. It would be hypocritical of me to engage in some sort of Mean Girls scenario with you, while preaching about tolerance and community."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "So what you're saying is, I'm on my own?"

"I'll help you," Tina said eagerly, peeling back to lid of her yogurt.

"You will?" Buffy asked, surprised.

"Yeah. I could make a database. See who's for us, who's on the fence. Find out where our real crisis areas lie. I have a theory that if we gained the loyalty of all of the skaters, burnouts, glee clubbers, theater, band and A/V kids, we could totally usurp the jocks and cheerleaders."

Buffy's eyes practically sparkled at Tina. "I had no idea you cared so much about homecoming."

Tina smirked. "I just really want to see Morgan lose."

Kitty raised an eyebrow. "That has nothing to do with the fact that she's taking Boy Chang to the dance?"

Tina shrugged. "I have my reasons."