Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or any of its characters (although I do own the wonderful half Italian/half irish person that is Maria Arioso)

A/N: Thanks to thetamarine, sapphiclove21, Musicmakesmehigh, RUlov3r, spizle, freakanatomy, RandomOtakuFromTumblr, m-cooper, erw-fan, SoFlaComet, KW05, redashford, aquarius127, Princesakarlita411, ms-rappy-sleeper, bathtoeb, Buffy-Obssessed, Music and Reading Lover, grangergirl22, Achelette, Musicfutbolfan6, seyan, em31792, BabyTigerVampire, Willowfan, Ali-Bells4ever, washedout, ScorpioP, Gleeeek, makurutenoh, tsketch, always-smile15, sillysah, kahlin420, ch3lsk0, Sannie, Denethion, d80p, G6-flying, SillyGirls, gleefulness, smartblonde317, BleachedBlondeDork, XxkoeyxX, NoMercyNoMore, ilikepie2013, pumpkin513, SDM56, Pennylane93, suspenceme, fussyviolet, Azuri-chan, Zgrrl304, broadwaybound2016, and egoserenade for their amazing support. Because of all of you, I was motivated to write this chapter :) I hope you enjoy it, I had tons of fun with it (not at the start, but in the latter half, because of Maria's little appearance). If you'd like more, leave a review and I'll know to continue the story for all you wonderful people :) I have sort of a tradition of letting reviewers ask questions, as long as they aren't offensive or too personal... so if you have any, leave one in your review, and I'll be happy to answer them *Smile*

Chapter 5: Memories

"How could you be so fucking selfish, Leroy?"

You open your eyes blearily, wincing at the faint ray of light making its way through the minute gap in the door.

Papa always leaves the door open a crack. You're scared of the dark. You have been since you were a baby.

"How could you do this to us? Your family!"

The light was an assurance that the door was always open. Your Papa and Daddy were always a step away, right down the lit hallway and waiting to comfort you.

But tonight, the light held no comfort for you. It served as a reminder that your Papa and Daddy were here… fighting.

"Family?" you can hear Daddy laugh. His deep voice lacks its soothing edge, and it sends unpleasant tremors up your slight figure. "The last time I checked we stopped being a damn family months ago!"

You can hear Daddy's heavy footsteps slowly come towards the wall, and an audible thump echo through the room as his large frame rests against the wall. There's a crash of glass, and then an anguished yell that chills your bones.

You grasp the blankets, whimpering, tears blurring your vision.

A series of low, threatening murmurs follows, in such a deep tone that you can't hear a single thing that's going on. All you know is that there's one else in the house, and the talking is coming from your Father's rooms.

And then there's another crash, the fall of several items clattering against the floor. It sends you scrambling under the covers, grasping at the sheets.

"Get the hell out of my house!" Papa's voice is a heartbreaking wail. It lacks the beauty of the moments he sings you to sleep. You've never thought that it could sound so distorted, so broken…

So… ugly.

Lids close over brownish red orbs.

Maybe, if you close your eyes… it'll all go away.

But then there's more shouting, more cursing. More of everything, and you are starting to break. Starting to shatter into intangible shards inside.

Had all the times your fathers whispered 'I love you' to each other been lies? Had the kisses and the slow dances been a charade?

Did your fathers lie when they said they wanted to be together forever? Had all this been happening, and you just didn't realize it?

Because your fathers had always been in love. You can't remember a time when they weren't in love.

And… if your fathers couldn't love each other anymore… could you love anyone?

The heavy clomp of your Daddy's leather soles are accompanied by the roar of the family's sedan and the heavy screech of wheels as they make their escape from this nightmare.

You hear the creak of the door as it opens, feel the rays of light in the hallway intensify as they travel through the loose threading in your flannel blankets. You feel Papa gather you up in his arms, his stubble against your forehead, and gentle rocking as he sings softly to you in Hebrew.

"It'll be okay, kochav," he whispers into your ear, hushing your violent sobs. "It'll be okay."

But you know it's a lie.

Nothing is okay.

Nothing's been okay for a long time.

Brown eyes snapped open, darting about the violently pink walls in the dusky blue light of the early morning.

Rachel put a clammy hand to her sweat-soaked forehead, sitting up in bed and shivering as the icy air bit flesh exposed by the lavender tank clinging to damp skin.

She struggled to calm the furious heaving of her chest and the restlessness of her lungs, taking deep breaths of stale air as she hid behind the slender digits.

The same nightmare. The same damn nightmare that caught her unaware, sneaking upon her in her sleep and hacking mercilessly at the exposed edges of her scarred heart.

The same memory of the naïve, optimistic Rachel Berry's terror as she heard her Father's fight for the first time. It was the day that annoying, Broadway obsessed Rachel shattered into a million pieces and began to rebuild herself as a cool, sarcastic, and jaded being.

The singer could handle thinking of these memories during the day. The stinging sensations were tame, and they fell uselessly against the platinum fastenings she'd made about her mind. Someone could talk about the separation, and she could maintain a steady façade.

But dreams… nightmares made the images come alive again. Rachel became that frightened little girl hiding beneath the sheets. She could hear the shouting fresh in her ear, the crash of furniture, and the drops of blood fresh in the hallway as her Papa hastened to wipe them from the ground when he thought she was asleep.

She hated this. She hated what those dreams made her feel. Vulnerability. That same fucking vulnerability that she loathed more than any sort of quality.

'6:30' her iHome read in its dim blue glow. A little earlier than she wanted to get up, but it would be impossible to return to sleep now. The memories were still fresh in her mind. If she fell asleep now, she would dream of those horrid moments all over again.

Rachel slipped from bed, shivering against the cold (perhaps wearing boxer shorts and a tank to bed wouldn't cut it anymore) as she headed over to the white dresser located in the corner of the room.

Pulling out a pair of black jeans and a v-neck shirt, Rachel kicked her spare pair of black leather Vans out from beneath the bottom of the bed, shoved her feet into them (to spare herself from walking on the painfully cold tile located outside her bedroom door) and dragged her unwilling body down the hall to the bathroom.

By the time she emerged, it was 6:50, which left a good ten minutes before she had to hobble to the car and go to school.

And honestly, it scared her.

What would happen today? A grand explosion that would shake the entire face of the school, thereby wiping out everyone except Rachel, leaving her the survivor? Another Jock facedown in which she would have to break someone's neck because she couldn't control her own damn emotions if someone pissed her off?

McKinley High's drama meter was clearly high in regards to her.

Well, maybe not just McKinley's. Maybe the whole of Ohio made her a magnet for trouble, whether she wanted it or not.

Leroy went absolutely pale when he saw Rachel walk toward the car at the end of the day with a split lip and a rapidly purpling cheek. In fact, Rachel had to grab the steering wheel several times to force him to drive home instead of toward the hospital to make sure she hadn't sustained any brain injuries (and she'd thought she'd gotten her childhood drama queen act from her Papa).

It'd taken several bags of frozen peas, a forced evening in bed, and several musical viewings to get her Dad to calm down (not that Rachel was complaining, she still had quite the fondness for musicals, especially The Music Man, Rent, and Chicago) and finally leave her alone in the tranquil (albeit still nauseatingly pink) interior of her room.

The dream had ruined her semi-happy mood, but she was still determined to make the most out of the day.

Grabbing her corduroy jacket, iPhone, and messenger bag off the little alcove near her room, the guitarist darted downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Rachel looked over, shocked to see Leroy standing over the stove in a baby blue apron stating 'The Food Is Ready When The Smoke Alarm Goes Off,' shoveling eggs onto a plate with mounds of sausage, bacon, and pancakes.

"Uh, good morning, Dad," the girl shook her head, before tucking her napkin into her lap, wide-eyed. Okay, so now her father cooked. That was… certainly new.

It was a well-known gag in the Berry house that Leroy couldn't cook for the life of him. Whenever he tried to make Rachel's favorite Mickey Mouse shaped vegan pancakes, he ended up burning the batter, making it too salty, or (on one very strange occasion) making it explode across the kitchen.

Hiram had been the caretaker. He fed Rachel, clothed her, took care of cuts and bruises, and made sure that his 'little star' had everything she could possibly need.

The previous day, she'd gotten up before him, ate breakfast, and then spent the rest of the time before leaving snoozing on the couch until she heard Leroy call her from the garage doorway.

So seeing her Dad, the 'fun-one' dedicated to ritual takeout (when it was 'his turn' to 'cook') wearing an apron and cooking sinfully delicious smelling food was a bit of a 'WHAT THE HELL' moment.

'But then again,' Rachel thought to herself as she piled eggs and several strips of bacon onto her plate, stabbing them and shoving them sullenly into her mouth, 'I saw stranger things yesterday.'

She went to a freaking High School where Cheerleaders consorted with losers, losers were slushied, and the Cheerleading Coach was a psychotic bitch who tried to ambush the Glee Club with every type of underhanded trick at her disposal.

Her stern, lawerly, book smart Dad being able to cook was practically an everyday occurrence in comparison to those fan-fucking-tastic situations.

Leroy peered over at her from behind his newspaper, worriedly studying the rings beneath his daughter's eyes and the frown on her lips. Folding it in half, he put placed the paper down on the table, took a sip of coffee, and braced himself. "Rachel, sweetheart?"

"Hmmmm?" the girl hummed, taking a heavy gulp of coffee milk before turning back to her food, eyes refusing to meet her Dad's.

"Are you feeling okay?" Gray eyes flashed with some semblance of concern.

Brown flickered up, turning a dull shade of maroon. "I'm fine, Dad… just a little tired. I'm still getting used to how chilly it is here." 'No, I'm not okay. Please say that you notice.'

Leroy observed her faintly, searching her no-nonsense features for some sort of troubling emotion. A sign that his daughter was lying to him, his brow furrowed in thought as they flickered to those haunting eyes (he could still see Hiram staring at him from across the courtroom, arm around his little girl as the judge proclaimed the verdict) that were once so telling.

'Please help me, Daddy. Please say you know something's wrong.'

"If you're sure, sweetheart," the tall man picked up his paper and went back to reading.

Anguish filled Rachel's heart, hidden behind the stoic, yet tired planes of her face, echoing throughout the chambers of her mind.

He never knew. He could never tell. He never spent enough time around her to know, or tell anything. The moments they spent bonding over musicals had taught him nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The girl hid behind the jagged fringe of her bangs, piling up her silverware and gulping down the rest of the coffee before throwing everything into the sink and walking out of the kitchen with a soft murmur of 'I'll be waiting in the car.'

Rachel grabbed her black scarf, wrapping it around her neck before stepping out into the freezing garage, opening up the passenger door of the silver Hyundai, and slamming it shut.

She drew her knees up to her chest, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, though no tear would shed from sorrowful eyes.

She'd run out of tears so long ago. On those nights when she was all alone. On those days when Papa failed to pick her up from school on time.

On the plane to California.

She didn't know how to cry anymore. All she knew how to do was hide and suppress her sorrow. And even now, she couldn't contain it all in her own petite form. She had to share it with someone.

Rachel shoved a hand into her jean pocket, pulling out her phone.

Unlocking it, she scrolled down her contacts, selected the desired name, and typed out a message, feeling lighter with each word.

'…Can I talk to you? I really need a certain smart ass to cheer me up right now.'

The answer came moments later.

'Sure, smurf. What time?'

The two of them mutually agreed at they would talk at 12:45 Rachel's time (Maria declared that she'd sneak out of class via bathroom pass to talk), right at the start of lunch. There was too much of a rush in the morning for her to talk before first period, and she couldn't talk to Maria on the ride to school because: a.) she didn't want Leroy finding out, and b.) Maria cussed like a sailor, and it would offend her Father terribly.

She'd already gotten a long and furious text from the redhead that very morning about texting at 4 AM

'I don't care that there's fucking light over where you live. Have pity on me, smurfy smurf. I need my goddamn sleep to listen to your deranged musings.'

So she wouldn't take the risk of unleashing Maria's Irish tongue.

When she got out of the car this morning, Rachel could hear the instant amount of whispers that built up around her. She could see them point, or stare at her wide-eyed, almost scared as she ghosted around them.

The singer sighed. She really wasn't in the mood for this, but she supposed she would have to deal. It was her fault that she was, again, the talk of the school. Because losers don't stand up to jocks and losers don't get Quinn Fabray's attention (according to every. single. damn person in the entire school).

As she stalked down the hall, she stared straight ahead (she didn't want to have another jock run-in, because she knew that if she had a smack down with a Neanderthal in her current state, there'd be some broken bones and school property damage), eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble.

She threw a couple 'hellos' over in the direction of several gleeks ('Kurt'—as she had learned the sassy boy's name was—Mercedes, and Tina) before turning the corner and opening up her locker, adding the swift hit (courtesy Finn) into the mix to get the jammed door open.

The guitarist felt that uncomfortable (and today, particularly unwelcome) shiver run across her spine, and she knew instantly who was staring at her from down the row. She couldn't deal with this today, the awkward staring, the shy smiles that Quinn threw her way.

Rachel was already hurting enough as it was, she didn't need to look at those golden eyes and experience that strange sort of sorrow that came upon her whenever she was in the Cheerleader's presence.

So she ignored the stare, bit back the urge to tell the Cheerio to 'please leave me alone, I'm having a tough day', and started settling her text and notebooks into her locker.

"Hi Rachel."

The singer yelped, jumping back as a giant hand rested itself on her shoulder. Trying to gather her breathing and taming the narrow glare that graced her features, she turned around to find Finn Hudson grinning down at her.

"God, Finn, don't scare me like that," Rachel uttered, trying desperately to still her beating heart. She hated when people snuck up on her. Maria did it daily, so she'd made an exception for her. But anyone else? Screw them, they did it on purpose.

Except Finn seemed totally oblivious, so Rachel supposed she couldn't hold him to the same standards as 'everyone else.' In fact, Finn was rather dim, if she recalled their conversation from the walk to Spanish the other day.

"Sorry about that," he gave Rachel a dopey smile that made the girl soften a bit in her bitterness. "I just wanted to make sure that you were feeling okay. Langley and Peterson are pretty big dudes. Their punches pack a wallop."

Rachel's brow furrowed. "How do you know that, Finn?"

"Football," he said with a stupid grin, as though it were the answer to all questions.

She wanted to bang her head against the locker. Of course. Football. She'd almost forgotten the fact that Finn was the Quarterback. Then again, she didn't really pay attention to such minute details. A jock was a jock, no matter what sport he played, at least, that was Rachel's opinion.

She'd never been fond of sports, or the people playing them, but Finn seemed sweet. Genuine, although a little bit too low on the smarts for Rachel's liking. If she'd been another person, a virgin to relationships, then she would have probably gone for it.

But Rachel had dated Finn's type before, albeit her ex hadn't been a jock, but a baritone in the Chamber Singers. She'd found out within a week of dating the poor sap that she needed to like much more than a 'nice guy.'

She needed someone emotionally stimulating. Someone who could keep up with her quick wit and sarcasm. Because a 'nice guy' could shower you with compliments and all the like, but where was the witty sense of humor or the knowledge of random topics?

She'd dated around enough to know what she liked and what she didn't like, and she knew Finn Hudson wasn't her type. To date a guy like him was to have a masochistic desire to crash and burn.

And she wasn't dumb enough not to notice that Finn might've had a tiny bit of a crush on her. In fact, she was pretty sure that he had a crush on her, what with the inconsiderate way his eyes were drifting up and down her body (she bit down the wild desire to smack him across the face).

"It's sweet of you to ask, Finn," and she was genuine in her smile. "I'm doing well. My cheek's a little bruised, but I'm okay."

"I'm glad," his eyes darted back up to hers, locking. He ruffled his hair as he grinned sheepishly at her. "Could umm… could I walk you to class?"

Rachel bit her lip. She really couldn't say yes to him, it'd give him the wrong idea. But at the same time, Finn looked so much like a little puppy dog, that it was almost impossible to turn him down. She shifted, holding her binder to her chest, opening her mouth.

"Hey, Rachel, I brought the Spanish notes you wanted."

The little singer almost jumped when an extremely warm, slender hand gently clasped at her shoulder. She could feel warmth at her back radiating from whoever it was standing behind her.

But the uncomfortable nostalgia settled in the pit of her stomach as blonde hair flashed beside her and Quinn Fabray, every bit as perfect looking as yesterday, came to stand next to her, displaying a set of pearly whites.

She stood there, confused as hazel eyes quirked a meaningful eyebrow at Finn. And suddenly the pieces fit together.

'She wants to help me get rid of him.'

"Oh, uhm… thank you," Rachel returned the Cheerio's dazzling grin with a hesitant one of her own. "But I think I might need a little help… Could you help me a bit with that, Quinn?"

Rachel turned to a pouting Finn with an apologetic curve of her lips. "Sorry Finn, maybe some other time. I really need to get these lectures down."

"It's alright," he shrugged, although she could see the disappointment shining clear in his eyes. "See you in Glee Club?" He looked just like a goddamn puppy that looked at her in fear of being kicked. Goddamn.

"I'll see you in Glee," Rachel gave the boy a bit of a wave as he started down the hall.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel could see Quinn's features had formed into a hard mask of distaste. Rosy lips were curled into a frown and eyes flashed molten gold daggers after the boy, even as he turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

The hand she had on Rachel's shoulder still hadn't left. It lay there, a bit firmer than before, as the girl glared off down the hall after her ex-boyfriend.

Rachel observed it confusedly. It was almost as if the cheerleader was… jealous? But of what? Was there anything to be jealous of? A reason why Quinn looked like she wanted to murder something?

Then Tina's explanation echoed through the singer's mind. Of course, Finn had dated Quinn.

Quinn was upset at Finn for liking another girl! And from what Rachel had heard, Finn had been Quinn's first serious boyfriend, so it made perfect sense why she would be so incredibly defensive.

"Thanks for that," Rachel said softly, granting her rescuer a gentle smile in an attempt to placate the blonde's swirling emotions.

Almost instantaneously, there was a softening of facial expression. Gold faded to emerald tinted amber, shoulders dropped, muscles relaxed, and a tender grin creased ruby lips.

"Anytime," the Cheerio said, fingers dropping slowly from Rachel's shoulder, smoothing down her arm and coming to rest at her side. "I know what it's like to be in that sort of a situation. I assumed you needed a bit of a hand."

"Well, you assumed correctly," Rachel shut her locker, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "And now I'm a free agent. The Spanish was a good excuse."

"I doubt you'd really need any help though," the Cheerio smirked. "Don't think I didn't hear your suave Spanish accent yesterday."

"I had a Spaniard as a teacher last year," Rachel provided, shrugging. "It was absolute hell, because he never pulled any punches. But I learned a lot, so I'm thankful."

"Maybe I'll need your notes," the blonde's voice became husky as she peered intensely into chocolate brown orbs. The look sent a series of rather uncomfortable foreign sensations down the course of Rachel's back.

'What the fuck?'

Rachel bit back her surprise. It was almost like… Quinn was flirting with her. But no, that couldn't be possible, could it? This was Quinn Fabray, Celibacy club President (or maybe ex-president), Christ Crusader, former pregnant teen, and Head Cheerio, right?

So Quinn couldn't be flirting with her.

Yet she was getting the same sort of sensation that she got whenever a guy flirted with her from that strange intensity and the huskiness of the blonde's voice.

But she'd played it off as a trick of the light, she decided. Because really. She chuckled. There was no way in high hell that Quinn Fabray would flirt with a girl, let alone the new kid.

"Well, if you ever need to borrow 'em… just let me know," Rachel said awkwardly, looking away.

"Will do," there it was again, that frickin' low drawl that was making Rachel feel all kinds of uncomfortable.

The singer cleared her throat. "Sooo, since you're technically 'lending me notes,'" she used air quotes, "why don't you walk with me to Spanish?"

For a moment, Quinn looked a bit startled, hazel eyes wide, before it died down and a very faint reddish coloring tinted alabaster cheeks. "Sure. I'd like that."

As the two of them started off down the hall, Rachel kept her gaze firmly on the hallway, sensing Quinn's gaze fall on her every second or so.

By God what was the issue? WHY was she staring? It was really starting to unnerve her. Any other person wouldn't have noticed the small, subtle glances that Quinn had thrown her way since day one, but Rachel had always been sensitive to that sort of thing.

People watching her, that is. She'd been a performer from a young age, so she knew what it was like to have a set of eyes on you.

"Your singing the other day in Glee Club…" Quinn's voice broke the singer out of her reverie. Rachel could see the girl bite her lip out of the corner of her eye. "It was really amazing."

"Thank you," Rachel smiled. "Singing's a really big deal to me, so I'm glad that someone enjoys my voice."

"How did you learn to sing that way?"

"Classes," Rachel chuckled, "lots and lots of classes and lots and lots of practice. Choir definitely didn't hurt, either."

"You'll have to tell me about it sometime," they turned a corner as Quinn looked shyly down at the floor. "Your choir, I mean. And California. I've never been outside Ohio, so it'd be… nice to hear about somewhere else."

"Sometime in the future," Rachel said softly, eyes soft with nostalgia and sadness. "Sometime soon."

"So are you going to tell me what's wrong, smurf?"

Lunchtime couldn't have come quickly enough. Sitting through four classes, stewing full of thoughts and dangerous emotions proved detrimental to Rachel's school work.

She'd barely finished her US history assignments in time, nearly cut herself on a scalpel in anatomy during safety lecture, and almost completely zoned out in Spanish. It wasn't like Rachel not to pay attention in class, but between the dream's caustic effects and the confusion Quinn's strange behavior caused, she definitely needed to talk.

She asked Mr. Schue if she could use the choir room ('of course!' he'd said enthusiastically, as predicted) during lunch. Upon arriving, she'd promptly taken off her bag, shucked off her jacket, pulled out her phone, and pressed 'facetime' over Maria's name.

Her friend looked back at her with a concerned line across her lips, tugging idly at one of the many piercings on her ear.

Maria's face was a welcome sight after two days in Lima's confusing limbo. She looked every bit the same as Rachel had left her: pale, freckle ridden cheeks with curly, mid length ginger hair, beautifully contoured facial features, piercing blue eyes, and a pierced, thin lip that matched with the four (two cartilage, two lobe piercings) shining bits of metal that adorned each delicate ear.

"You really don't waste any time, do you?" Rachel asked wryly, cocking a brow at her friend. Rachel studied the background. "Oh damn, are you in the bathroom?"

"Well unlike some lucky bitch," the ginger huffed, narrow her eyes. "I don't have lunch right now. Instead, I'm skipping Breckenridge's stupid lecture about polar electrons, or whatever shit they talk about in physics HP. You see how I sacrifice my grades for you?"

"Sacrifice?" Rachel scoffed. "Bullshit. We both know that you hate Breckenridge and all her theorems and would rather kiss my ass than go to her class."

"But Rachie," Maria's voice took on a mocking edge as she smirked. "Who wouldn't wanna kiss your ass? It's so damn sexy."

"You freak me out on so many levels," Rachel shuddered.

"You know you love it," the redhead quipped. She grew serious. "All jokes aside, what's wrong?"

"That obvious, hm?" Rachel smiled wistfully.

"Only because I can see behind your shitty little covers," Maria replied.

Rachel paused before lowering her voice. "It's the nightmares again."

"Oh crap," Maria flinched. "Is it really bad?"

"I-It's… the one where I can't see them" Rachel clutched at her jeans, closing her eyes. "And Dad screams after something shatters."

The redhead closed her eyes, shaking her head. "Damn, that's the worst one."

"It's the most real one."

"Well just remember that they're not real," Maria looked to her friend sternly. "And remember that no one's going to leave you anymore. I don't care what fucking time of the day you need to call me. If you feel lonely, call me and I will get my ass on the next plane out there."

Rachel gave a watery laugh, trying to hold back the tears. "Thanks, Maria. I feel a lot better already."

"You better feel better," the ginger snapped playfully. "I'm sitting on a toilet talking to a phone. THAT'S something I don't do just for any goddamn person. It'd BETTER be worth it."

The Irish studied her friend with a friendly smile before clapping her hand to her arm. "So are there any really fun things you can tell me about, now that we got all the shitty stuff out of the way?"

"I joined Glee?" Rachel provided, furrowing her brow.

"Really?" Maria leaned back on the tiled wall. "And do they have a hunky male lead or a sexy female counterpart?"

"Hunky male lead? I really don't know, depends on the type, he's kinda cute… if you like guys like Tyler," Rachel smirked.

"Ohh, no, that's a ship we don't want to board again," Maria winced. She narrowed her eyes. "And girls?"

"There's a Cheerleader who's pretty much fucking perfect heading it," Rachel laughed as Maria's surprise wrote itself across her features. "Yeah, that's what I thought too."

"So there's a cheerleader," Maria nudged playfully. "And what is this cheerleader like? I want details!"

"She's actually nice—yeah, I know—and… she," Rachel looked down, "she's always staring at me… and her eyes remind me of…"

"Of what?"

"Of the divorce."

Maria thoughtfully rubbed at her temple with a heavily ringed finger. "Hmm… odd, I can't explain that one. Sorry, your fucking brilliant therapist is silent on this one."

"No, really, I couldn't tell."

"Shut up. But you say she stares at you?" Maria questioned coyly.

"Yeah, a lot," Rachel muttered, looking up toward the ceiling.

Maria smirked. "She wants to fuck you."

Rachel nearly stumbled as she went slack-jawed before scowling at her friend. "Shut up! No way."

"She stares at you all the time, you said. You said she's nice. Therefore it all adds up. She wants. To fuck.You."

"Do you really have to be so crude all the time?"

"Do you really have to be such a prude all the time?

"There is no way Quinn Fabray wants to… have intercourse with me," Rachel glared as her friend laughed over the line. "She was pregnant, she had two boyfriends, she's a freaking Christ Crusader!"

"Points which can easily be rendered moot," Maria countered. "Lesbians go through gay panics, and I wouldn't be surprised if—Quinn, did you say her name was?—slept with someone to prove how straight her line was. The boyfriends were beards, and a Christian can be gay. I'm a freaking Catholic bisexual."

"B-but," Rachel's jaw moved soundlessly.

"No buts, girl," Maria snapped. "Quinn's most likely batting for the other team, maybe for both, and you're hot as hell. Chances are, yeah, she likes you."

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "I refuse to believe that."

"Fine, but when I'm right, I expect for you to treat me with a Starbucks when I come down to that Hell of yours, and I'm going to get a Venti of whatever I want."

"And if I'm right?"

"Pfft. As if that'll ever happen. I'm always right."

"You're a bitch and I hate you, you know that?"

"Aww, you're so sweet."

A/N: End chapter. I love writing Maria's character, she's so fun to put voice to. Leave a review, wonderful readers, because your kind words help me gather the inspiration to write :)

PS (I have another idea for a multichapter… but I guess it's going to have to wait till Denial and this one are done!)