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Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut USA
September 1st, 2012 It’s Moving Day for campuses across the country. Bustling with students stepping into their new beginnings, it’s a day full of tearful goodbyes, awkward first impressions, and collective confusion. Quinn drops what she hoped was the last of her luggage by her feet and takes it all in. Her shoebox of a dorm is… well, it’s a shoebox. The anticipation of the big move has led her to a rather melancholic conclusion. A mix of relief, then forced optimism, and now disappointment. She has no words to describe her shoebox; she’s used all her grammatical energy on the trip here. Babbling away about her big plans and dreams, all bright-eyed and wide-grinding creepily to her mother, who wore the same face. Quinn masked her true feelings well. To Quinn's dismay, they say a mother always knows, but there have been no questions of concern or uncertainty. She’s lying to herself if she wasn’t completely second-guessing this entire thing and is so ready to pack it up the second her mom smells her fear. Too depressing? Too pathetic? So, out of character for Lucy Quinn Fabray to wimp out, isn’t it? After losing her reputation twice, after Beth, after Skanks, and after her car crash, it would seem that Quinn was 100% ready to start over. As far as she knows, she’s the only recent Lima graduate to make it to New Haven. A gift of a clean slate, just like she prayed every night at her bedside and Sunday service. Thank the good lord.
Well…
The L-shaped dorm is cold and dark. Only fair as this building is centuries old. One light fixture that seems to be hanging by a thread illuminated the centre of the room, leaving the corners in the shadows. Two loft beds are placed on opposite sides of the room, claiming their respective wall as the only personal space the girls will get for themselves. The rest of the dorm surface is either negotiable or reluctantly communal. This is where the elite Ivy League scholars stay in their first year. What a warm welcome to adulthood. At least the closet is a decent walk-in. Nonetheless, this is it. Quinn is here; she’ll make it homey. A quick stop at Target for some decor, some time, and a space heater will make this comfortable. She’ll be busy in class or socializing; the dorm is only really for sleep anyway. “Quinnie, help me with this bag!” Judy Fabray called out from the hallway, Quinn snapped out of her trance and hurried to her mother’s aid. “When I fought the airline staff about charging your bags, I had no idea how much you packed!” “Sorry, Mom. I, I don’t know when I’m coming back to Lima.” She replied between breaths as the two shuffled the comically large suitcase into the room. She hadn’t told her mom this yet, something about how if she came back to Lima, she might never leave again. “Frannie, Johnathan, and his... parents are coming home for Thanksgiving, honey. Also, didn’t you make a pact with your friends that you would reunite over the holidays?” Quinn rolled her eyes. If there’s anything that would drive her away from home, it would be Frannie Fabray’s very Christian conservative in-laws at the table discernibly judging her divorced mother and teen mom sister. Adding to the passive-aggressive comments served with mashed potatoes, Santana called it. Quinn is gay. The irony of it all. She loved her ex-boyfriends dearly but learned that it wasn’t the type of love she sought. A small bonus about moving to Yale is that maybe this is the time she can express her sexuality. For the pact, Quinn was torn. She would love to see her friends again; this summer was hard. She knows that Puck needs her to keep him in check occasionally. Sam and Brittany, too. But Quinn feels like she has already said goodbye for good. Besides, she talked a big game about leaving the past behind; she didn’t want to be a hypocrite. She started her summer with a road trip to Louisville with Brittany and Santana. They toured the campus and left Santana there as she started to cheer camp with the Cardinals. The drive back with Brittany was quiet, poor Britt. She didn’t talk about it much, but Quinn could tell Brittany was unhappy about repeating her senior year without her girlfriend despite claiming she was. She didn’t finish the ice cream cone Quinn bought her, even with extra rainbow sprinkles. Finn was next to go. Off to the military in honour of his father like he promised. This was a particularly hard goodbye; Quinn couldn’t bear to lose him. Finn, stubborn as always, went ahead anyway. Before he left, he gave her a silver bracelet with both initials engraved on a pendant and a guarantee he’d come home. Quinn hung out with the Hudson-Hummels every day for two weeks after his departure. Quinn held Tina in her arms as she sobbed, and they both watched Mike’s plane take off on his way to Chicago. A couple of days later, she received a phone call from Tina. The long-distance didn’t work out. She went on a short vacation to Toronto with the Joneses to visit Mercedes’ brother Leon, a McMaster student. Canada was a very nice summer retreat; however, Leon Jones gave the girls very confusing signals about being college students. It was simultaneously the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him. When they returned to Lima, Quinn helped Mercedes pack for her journey to pop stardom. She then said goodbye again, this time to her best friend. Then there’s Rachel, the first to go. Rachel Berry was special to her in a way Quinn just can’t describe. The same girl she tormented in their freshman and sophomore years. Her goodbye was somehow the hardest. It was too short. Thanks to Finn, she only got a small hug before the young Barbra-to-be boarded the train to her destiny in the Big Apple. Quinn wished that she spent a little more time with her. To make up for the years she bullied her, for when her delusional self tried to get Finn back, or for when she slapped her at Junior Prom. Quinn made her way to the loft closer to the window. It was more secluded, and it had a beautiful view of the campus. She hoped her roommate didn't mind and is... not a bad roommate. Her mother draped the sheets over the mattress topper while Quinn set up her desk below the bed. After some struggle, she finally pulls the power bar out behind the desk. It’s stained and cracked, and the extension cord is mangled beyond repair. Quinn stupidly pressed the “On” button and ZAP! She fell on her back. “Quinnie, are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine. Add a new power bar to the shopping list.” The Fabrays spent their Saturday shopping and exploring the campus. After a few hours, Quinn’s side of the dorm was looking much better. She’s proud of picking her own essentials and going for a fun pastel theme to contrast the dark and depressing. She spent the rest of her day framing and hanging her photos. She wanted to keep these photos pristine as they captured her favourite memories. The New Directions at Nationals both times, posing with a big smile on the top of the pyramid as head Cheerio, Rocky Horror and West Side Story, the Glee club’s first yearbook photo, pictures of her and Mercedes, the “Unholy Trinity,” and her all-time favourite, Puck holding Beth. Quinn made a mental note to call Puck later. “Okay, honey. This is it.” Judy stretched out her arms, awaiting her daughter’s embrace. Quinn went in with no hesitation, holding in her tears. “Please call and try to find a Jonathan with better parents.” “Oh, mommy. About that... I’m...” Judy Fabray smiled softly at her little girl, “I know, I had a feeling. I love you, Lucy Quinn. Look, I’m really trying to be the best mom I can be to you. I regret everything I did wrong by you, I sat and watched as your father threw you out. I’ll never ever forget that day.” “But you’re here now and were there when it mattered. You changed so much for the better. I may be a teen mom, I may like girls, but you put me above your morals and religion. You still believed in me.” Quinn paused and took a deep, staggering breath. “I wish daddy was more like you.” “I pray every day he comes around. I reached out to him when you got your admission letter. I know deep down that he is proud of you.” “I’ll come home for Thanksgiving, mom.” She walked back to her dorm after helping her mother into the cab. She was officially alone—alone, alone. Here come the waterworks. Her meltdown was then cut short by the slow creak of the door. A cute, tall woman with brown and blonde highlights entered the room—her roommate. “Oh, hey. Sorry for interrupting. Guessing your folks just left. I’m Jennette, but you can call me Jenny. I’m studying pre-law.” “Quinn, I’m pre-law as well. Do you need the space to move in with your parents?” Jenny chuckled, “Nope, it’s just me if you want to help. I said my goodbyes at the airport. I spent the whole summer in London with them.” So this girl has travelled, would be great to make a friend with a worldly perspective. “Were you there for the Olympics?” Quinn asked, “Yep, ceremony and all. My father is a member of the IOC, and my mom is an ambassador. I’m from Montreal, but I was always fascinated by the American Ivy League.” Quinn smiled. She is rich, too. She is not the best conversation starter, but she could very much help Quinn get over Ohio.
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NYADA (New York Academy of Dramatic Arts) New York, New York USASeptember 1st 2012 Rachel Barbra Berry, the unbridled star of Lima, Ohio, was making a fabulous comeback to the city of her dreams, New York. Finn was right; she needed to take this step alone. This was her career, her spotlight. She has always been ambitious and hungry for her time to shine. Only New York City can fulfill her goals. This was her moment to embrace the limelight on her own terms, to chase her dreams with the fierce ambition that had always defined her. Just one thing... This would’ve all been more enjoyable with Finn and Kurt by her side. Anyone really. Heck, she’d even have Santana Lopez accompany her. Rachel didn’t take long to learn that the climb to centre stage was lonely and unsatisfactory without her family. Finn Hudson, her love, the sky to her shining star, took the honourable route and joined the army. It’s been months since she heard anything from him, and his mother, Carole, hasn’t either. Kurt Hummel, his brother and Rachel’s Broadway soulmate, took his NYADA defeat gracefully. As of the last daily phone call, Kurt was preparing for classes at the community college, brewing lattes, and helping at his father’s shop. Although she felt a twinge of disappointment at Mercedes’ move to LA, Rachel genuinely wished her the best. One thing was inevitable in a world that seemed uncertain for the girl. Rachel wasn’t, isn’t, and never will be a quitter. She held her head up and marched towards her dorm. She was met with an empty but modestly sized room. A curtain divided the place in two, guess her roommate was big on privacy. Not that Rachel was bothered by it; she knows well that performers strive for individuality as much as community. It was exciting to finally share a space with a peer who mirrored her solid and passionate commitment to the industry, albeit it won’t be a fight for the spotlight of course. Nope. The curtain was used for her roommate’s numerous rendezvous with a revolving door of visitors. “Classes haven’t even started yet; she is probably just getting it out of her system,” Rachel muttered, folding her pillow over her ears, trying to block out the unwelcome sounds of her roommate’s escapades. The weekend passed quickly. Rachel occupied herself by decorating her dorm, reconnecting with the city, and preparing a flawless repertoire that would render Carmen Tibideaux speechless. She knew she deserved her admission to NYADA and that Ms. Tibideaux believed in her and invested in her talent. But perfection is critical to Rachel’s Broadway journey. Carmen Tibideaux already had a taste of failure. Rachel would be damned to give her another taste. She tried to reach out to Finn again. Nothing from her fiancé. The army must be keeping him busy. That was the only explanation Rachel would accept. He is just busy, nothing else. Maybe it was time to move on. New York was chock-full of hot men and women, performers that would be extremely lucky to date her. Perhaps she could lean more into her sexual fluidity and date a woman, a tall blonde with beautiful eyes. Someone like her friend, Quinn. She always admired Quinn Fabray’s appearance and confident demeanour; she did want her nose for a while. Woah What was she thinking? Finn had always been her one and only true love, the person she envisioned spending her life with. He had made a tremendous sacrifice by putting their engagement on hold to support her dreams for the future—an act of love that made her heart ache with gratitude and confusion. Finn had consistently shown Rachel how much she meant to him, always ensuring she felt cherished and valued. She was Finn’s universe. That made her realize she needed Kurt to help keep her grounded and focused. Dating was undeniably a distraction that could easily derail her carefully laid plans for success. She had made a commitment, after all. But her roommate seemed blissfully unconcerned about entanglements of the heart, navigating the dating world with a lightness that Rachel both envied and admired. No matter how much it disrupted her sleep. Yet, there was a nagging doubt whispering in Rachel’s mind. Was she overthinking everything? Finn would undoubtedly want her to be happy, wouldn’t he? He would want her to seek out experiences and connections that stimulated her heart and mind. The thought of him wanting her to fully embrace life—being carefree, loose, and perhaps a little experienced—was exhilarating and terrifying. She couldn’t shake the feeling that, deep down, this was what he had in mind for her, even if it wasn’t the straightforward path they had initially envisioned together. Rachel shook her head, trying to dispel the chaotic thoughts racing through her mind. She knew it was essential to focus on the reality of her relationship with Finn; the time apart was merely a test. He had endured so much in his past relationships. Rachel recognized that she needed to stand by Finn and remain loyal to him, regardless of the temptations to waver. Her lingering thoughts about the complexities of love were abruptly interrupted by the shrill, insistent beeping of her alarm clock. Another restless night had slipped away, thanks in large part to her roommate's lively escapades and her own spiraling overthinking. The weight of the first day of classes pressed down on her like a thick fog, suffocating and inescapable. Frustrated and restless, she began to stomp around the dorm room, each footfall reverberating off the walls like a series of angry drumbeats, determined to announce her presence without fully disturbing the mystery girl cocooned behind the fragile barrier of the thin curtain. Time stretched endlessly as she paced, her thoughts racing alongside her restless movements. Finally, her eyes landed on the figure who had unwittingly contributed to her sleepless nights. “Roomie!” Rachel burst out, her face lighting up with a radiant smile that banished the irritation lurking moments before. “It’s such a delight to finally meet you! My name is Rachel Berry, and I’m in the musical theatre program!” Her eyes twinkled with an infectious enthusiasm, a stark contrast to the tension that had hung in the air just seconds prior. "Um, I'm Liza Carson. Film major... hey, are you okay? You seemed really loud just now," Liza responded, her voice a blend of curiosity and concern as she leaned slightly forward from her shaded corner behind the curtain, the softness of her appearance framed by the delicate fabric. “Liza, as much as I admire that we both share a name with two Broadway legends, I must regretfully inform you that I am not okay.” Rachel continued her restless pace, gathering her essentials with purposeful precision, the vibrant energy radiating from her almost palpable. “I harbor no judgment about sexual freedom, but you and your frequent nightly visitors have been keeping me awake far too late. The sounds coming from your side are less than the soothing white noise I might prefer.” “Oh, I had no idea you—” “Heard, yes, I did.” Rachel paused, her gaze softening as she met Liza’s eyes once more, a playful smile returning to her lips. “Now that we’ve cleared the air, we can absolutely put this behind us. I genuinely wish you all the best on your first day of classes, Liza. But I must dash; I have dance with Ms. Cassandra July.” “Jesus, Cassandra July? Now I really feel bad for you,” Liza muttered, a hint of sympathy mingling with surprise in her tone. “I heard she’s a stone-cold bitch.” The dance class with Ms. Cassandra July had become a relentless nightmare for Rachel, each session feeling like an endless loop of anxiety and humiliation. After expressing BRIEF concern for a classmate, Rachel had inadvertently landed herself on Ms. July's infamous shit list. With cruel precision, the teacher branded her with the humiliating nickname "Little Miss David Schwimmer," a biting jab aimed squarely at the prominence of her nose, Rachel discovered that college and high school are, in fact, the same. She was once again sophomore Rachel Berry, slushied and silenced by Puck and the Cheerios. This time, the stakes are higher; these people match her level of ambition. It hurt even more knowing that Kurt and Mercedes weren't with her.
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Quinn Fabray nestled herself at a sturdy wooden table in the heart of the library. The scent of aged paper and polished wood filled the air as she prepared to tackle her studies for an upcoming exam. Cramming for a test so early into the semester, Yale didn't fool around. She plugged her headphones into her laptop and pulled up her downloaded playlist. Yale was hosting auditions for its own version of a show choir in a few weeks, and Quinn wanted to find the perfect song for her audition as she studied. While she wasn't as performance-ready as Rachel Berry or Kurt Hummel, she had still found her place in Glee Club. Quinn wanted to bring that sense of belonging with her as she embarked on this new chapter of her life. Just as she lost herself in her thoughts, a notification snapped her back to reality—a Skype request from Santana Lopez, her former frenemy. "What up, Tubbers!" Quinn jumped in her seat as Santana Lopez's boisterous voice rang out through her headphones, calling her a "playful" nickname from sophomore year. The sudden volume got her heart racing, and she quickly hit the volume down button, her cheeks burning with surprise and amusement. "It's been a minute," Santana continued, her sarcastic yet lively energy coming through the screen. Quinn couldn't help but grin at the sight of her fiery friend, even though the video was lagging and a bit glitchy. "Good to see you too, Santana," Quinn said in a friendly and warm tone. She leaned in closer to her screen, eager to catch every little expression on Santana's face. Even though they were miles apart, it felt like they were still connected. After realizing that the whole "Unholy Trinity" thing was more about shared interests and petty jealousy than actual friendship, the girls decided they really wanted to get closer, no matter the distance. They were determined to make it work. Following their adventurous road trip to Louisville, the trio became immersed in exciting experiences and shared interests that forged an even stronger bond. Laughter echoed through their conversations, and the joy of new memories created a lasting connection that deepened their friendship. To put it positively, Santana exhibited a softer demeanour towards the hazel-eyed blonde, no longer coming across as overly harsh or critical. This positive change allowed Brittany to feel more at peace and less caught between conflicting emotions. Quinn was more willing to embrace her past, showing a newfound reluctance to distance herself from her relationships. In short, Santana became less of a "conniving bitch" (her own words), and Quinn felt less inclined to slap her. Brittany was happy either way. "So, how are you finding your classes so far?" Santana inquired, her tone laced with an artificial enthusiasm. Leaning slightly, she added with a mischievous glint, "Have you picked up any skills to successfully defend the crazies yet? Because I definitely have a few names on my list that I'm dying to cross off." A sly smile crept across her face. Quinn raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Oh, so now you're paying attention to what I study?" she quipped, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Absolutely, Q. You're going to come in handy when I finally get my sweet revenge," Santana replied, her tone teasing but her expression oddly casual and a little serious. "On whom, exactly?" Quinn shot back, defiantly crossing her arms, "And you realize you've just admitted to potentially plotting future felonies, right?" She leaned back, her incredulous gaze fixed on Santana—the infamous "you're insane, and you know I'm right" look she had adopted from Mercedes Jones. "Jesus, Fab-gay, I'm totally joking," Santana snorted, rolling her eyes theatrically as she tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. "Besides, there are no witnesses when I go all Lima Heights on someone." "Like there were 'no witnesses' when Lauren Zizes mopped the floor with you after you tried to threaten her junior year? Please." Quinn giggled, "Do you know when Britt will be joining this call?" Quinn asked, her brow furrowed with worry as she thought about Brittany's feelings regarding repeating the 12th grade. The weight of concern settled heavily on her shoulders, knowing how much this situation could affect Brittany. The blonde was sweet and talented, but her naivety often got her into trouble. There is no doubt she underestimated the severity of her issue. Despite the long distance, Quinn was aware that Santana shared the same anxious thoughts for her girlfriend, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency in their collective worry. "It's not like her to miss out on a reunion like this." "Yeah, well, Britt's been completely overwhelmed lately," Santana sighed. "Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury are piling on the homework help, really pushing her to keep up with everything. And Coach Sue? She's still a relentless ass, breathing down Britt's neck about taking charge of the squad and stepping up as a leader. It's like the pressure never lets up for the Cheerios. New year, same drill sergeant. Oh, and speaking of chaos at home, I think Lord Tubbington might have gotten himself into some sort of... cat gang? It's just one of those mysteries of feline life." Santana shrugged, a mix of amusement and confusion crossing her face, completely baffled by her girlfriend's cat's bizarre behaviour. "Oh... okay..." Quinn definitely didn't believe any of Brittany's stories about her cat. Brittany had a uniquely creative view of the world, and the Glee Club knew it was best to just play along. If they didn't, Santana would go on a murderous rampage. "Well, tell her to call me when she gets a chance. I could try to convince Lord Tubbington to cut ties with the gang since I was a former 'Skank' myself." "Holy hell, Blondie. I thought you scrubbed that era from your memory. Can't say I ain't impressed..." Santana smiled, raising her eyebrows. “Are you kidding? How could I forget I have a Ryan Seacrest tattoo on my lower back!?” Quinn groaned "Awful choice, by the way." Santana teased, "Kurt! I can’t believe you’re here!" Rachel exclaimed, her voice filled with joy as tears of happiness streamed down her cheeks. She jumped into the embrace of her best friend, feeling the warmth and strength of his arms as he effortlessly spun her around, lifting her off the ground. It was clear that working part-time fixing cars at his father's tire shop had paid off for Kurt Hummel's physique. "I can't believe it either, Rach!" Kurt replied, his own smile radiant and infectious. "I have to thank my dad and Blaine. They were the ones who really pushed me to leave the nest." He opened his arms wide, taking in the vibrant energy of the bustling New York streets, where the sounds of honking taxis and distant chatter created a lively backdrop. Only the best for McKinley High's shining stars. "Kurt Hummel is back in New York!" he proclaimed theatrically, his voice rising above the city's hum. The sheer exhilaration in his tone reflected the pride and joy of returning to a place that held so much significance for both of them. Rachel shrieked with pure impulse and joy. Finally, things were looking up. Rachel grabbed Kurt's hand, and together, they darted into the vibrant streets of Manhattan, eager to soak up every moment of their adventure. The dynamic duo navigated through the maze of sidewalks, weaving past street performers and food vendors, searching tirelessly for the city's best bagels. As they ambled through the city, they marvelled at the sights and sounds enveloping them—the towering skyscrapers, the eclectic mix of people, and the vibrant street art waiting to be discovered at every turn. Each moment felt like a scene from a grand musical, with the urban skyline serving as their backdrop and the rhythm of New York guiding their footsteps. They indulged in sweet treats at a charming nearby bakery, sampling flaky pastries and rich brownies that melted in their mouths. The bakery was adorable and quaint, resembling a scene straight out of a movie. The kind where the handsome love interest stops the quirky, feminine lead from boarding her flight at the end. The walls were painted in soft pastels, and the air was filled with the delightful scent of strawberries. Rachel and Kurt found a spot on the patio and took in the view. Some time to relax after puttering around and time to catch up. "So, after two restless nights courtesy of her... activities, you finally met your roommate?" Kurt asked, "Met is a strong word, Kurt. She might have said a maximum of three sentences to me and crouched behind the privacy curtain the whole time." Rachel sipped her hot chocolate before adding, "Oh, and you won't believe this—her name is Liza." “Such a horrible waste of an iconic name,” Kurt muttered, shaking his head disapprovingly. “But hey! Now that I’m here, we can find our own place, you know?” Rachel raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief flickering in her eyes. “Kurt, this is New York. We just graduated high school. How on earth are we going to afford an apartment?” "Well, I've been saving up all summer from working at the Lima Bean and the tire store," Kurt replied. "My dad also gave me a generous boost. And you had all that money refunded from the... wedding..." He trailed off, his voice suddenly quiet. He stared at his mug sheepishly. The air felt heavy between them as they consciously acknowledged the elephant in the room. "Did... did you hear anything yet?" Rachel broke the uncomfortable silence, "Not since you asked me the last time," Kurt replied somberly, wishing he could give his best friend any update, any sliver of information, about her fiancé. Finn was his half-brother; he needed some relief, too. Rachel hummed in disappointment. "How's the Glee club?" She asked, offering a more positive topic "Well, Blaine was crowned as "The New Rachel" with Brittany in a close second." Kurt chuckled lightly, "And I can only imagine that Tina is currently giving Artie a piece of her mind for his controversial decision." "To be fair, I did promise Tina she'd take my place this year." Rachel replied, "Are there any new kids?" "Oh, definitely," Kurt replied, his excitement growing. "The auditorium was packed for auditions this year. It was a spectacle—Glee club almost cut more kids than the Cheerios!" The two shared a proud smile. After years of struggle, the Glee club finally climbed the social ladder. "That’s refreshing to hear, Kurt," Rachel said, her voice filled with hope. "But the real question is whether Mr. Schue truly found talent that could fill our shoes specifically. My gut feeling says no. Unfortunately, we shone so brightly—we set a standard that might be impossible to meet. Even your sweet, bow-tie-loving boyfriend has some serious guts claiming my spot. It’s a tall order!" Rachel continued, her thoughts spiralling into a blend of concern, competition, and unwavering ambition. Even miles away from Lima, Rachel was very protective of her spotlight. "Do you remember Ms. Rose, one of the lunch ladies? Her daughter auditioned, and I have to say, she was truly fantastic. I see a lot of potential in her, and I genuinely hope Mr. Schue recognizes that too," Kurt replied. "But you're right, Rachel. Our talents are simply irreplaceable." "So, back to the whole living situation," Rachel said, realizing they had gone off-track. Kurt smirked slyly; he knew something Rachel didn't. "Well, I found a sizable loft online in Bushwick, a small neighbourhood in Brooklyn near Highland Park. It's $1,800 a month, lower if we put our master negotiating skills to work. It's better than being crammed in a tiny studio in Manhattan. If we catch the M train now, we can see it today!" he exclaimed. Kurt stood up and held out his arm for Rachel, who remained seated, feeling conflicted. "Unless you never want to sleep again," he added mockingly. "Okay, I'm in." Rachel latched her arm through his. The two walked through the crowded streets of Manhattan on their way to the subway station. Suddenly, Kurt halted in his tracks, his eyes widening with excitement as he tugged at Rachel's sleeve, nearly bouncing on his toes. “Oh my god, oh my god, Rachel!” he exclaimed, pointing animatedly ahead. “This is the office of Vogue.com!” "Working there would be a dream, wouldn’t it?" Rachel giggled. Kurt let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, an impossible dream,” he replied, his shoulders drooping slightly. “A job like that is a ‘know someone who knows someone’ kind of position. It feels sooo out of reach.” Rachel placed a comforting hand on his arm. "But why not give it a shot? After all, how successful was your latest blog post about cropped cardigans? You had quite a few hits, right?" Her eyes sparkled with encouragement. “I really think you should send in your portfolio. You never know what might happen!” "Okay, okay. I'll think about it." Kurt laughed, "You fantasize too much." "Or am I just immersed in the New York spirit?" she winked, her playful confidence illuminating the grey skies of doubt that lingered in his mind. Their laughter echoed against the busy streets. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue over the campus of Yale University, Quinn absentmindedly tossed her half-eaten Chinese takeout into the trash, the crumpled container landing with a soft thud. The beautiful blonde scholar rested her foot against the floor, tapping it rhythmically, a blend of anticipation and impatience filling the cozy confines of her dorm room. The walls seemed to echo Quinn's restlessness as she waited for her dear friend, Noah Puckerman, to pick up the call. Finally, her computer screen illuminated, revealing Puck's face—his dopey grin spreading wide and his mischievous eyes sparkling with that familiar charm that had once gotten her into serious trouble. Puck started the conversation in his signature style. "Hey, baby mama, you still looking hot?" Quinn shot back with a slight smirk, her blonde locks cascading over her shoulder. "Hello, Noah, still a lesbian." Classic Puckerman. Not one to miss a beat, Puck quickly transitioned into a rapid-fire series of questions. "So, did you make it over okay? Are you unpacked? You don't want to procrastinate; it'll take time away from your classes. Did you call your mom? Did you call my mom?" His words tumbled out in a rush, a blend of concern and curiosity driving him to check on her. It was as if he were outlining a list of tasks for Quinn that needed addressing. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Noah, slow down." Quinn giggled softly. Everything is fine; I'm calling to ask about you." "Well, I uh... got a call from Mr. Schue..." Puck paused mid-breath, his lip slightly quivering, "Telling me to come over and sort something out for my brother ." "Wait, you have a brother?" Quinn's curiosity was piqued, and her hazel eyes widened with surprise. "Half-brother, actually," Puck clarified, his tone turning serious. "My dad knocked up and then ditched his mom. The kid's fifteen and just transferred to McKinley for his sophomore year. It's his third school in a couple years, so you know he's probably trouble." A heavy sigh escaped his lips, his brows furrowing with concern. He ran a hand through his buzz cut. "I'm driving out to officially meet him next Wednesday. I just hope I can knock some sense into the brat before he spirals out of control." "Oh, Puck. I am... so sorry." Quinn replied with a sympathetic tone. "How are your mom and sister handling this?" "Mom refuses to talk to him or his mother, and Sarah is confused. The age difference is only two years between them, so I can see how that would screw with her brain." Quinn saw a tear roll down Puck's cheek for the first time in nearly five years of their friendship. Puck also felt the tear and wiped it away instinctively, his tough-guy facade reasserting itself. "It's whatever, though. I'm not looking for a relationship with this kid; I plan on scaring him straight and skipping town. As far as I'm concerned, Finn, Kurt, and the other Glee club dudes are my real brothers. And you're all the family I need, Quinn." he said with a shrug, though the sadness lingered in his eyes. "Would you give it a chance? You could do a lot of good for him." Quinn offered, "Get him to join the Glee club! It helped you so much." Puck considered her words. "I mean, I'll definitely bring it up to him. But at the end of the day, it's his choice. He can either waste away his teenage years being a Lima loser or he can get it together, sing some show tunes, and actually be a man." The conviction in his voice revealed a flicker of hope amid his frustration. "Puck, I have to go now. But good luck with everything, okay? Call me soon." "Same here, Quinn. Give 'em hell." Quinn closed her laptop and smiled. She felt satisfied after a full day of studying and talking to her old friends. Who knew that reconnecting with high school friendships would feel so rewarding, so warm, and so relieving? She pondered who to contact next. Maybe Brittany? Santana told her that Britt was beginning to spiral downward. Maybe Finn? No, Rachel emailed her saying she had not heard anything back from him. Rachel emailed her every week, giving her updates on her life. It was adorable- no sweet, yes, it was sweet. Not sweet. It was pleasant. There, pleasant. They had a pleasant friendship, nothing else. Quinn blushed at the thought that there would be anything else. No. Why is she blushing? "Ooooh. Who's making you blush, Fabray?" Jenny strode in, cutting the silence short and obviously reading Quinn's mind. "The guy you were just skyping looked cute." "OH, NO!" Quinn squeaked too loudly, "Sorry, I meant no. At least, never again. That was my friend from high school. And I'm 100% gay." "Oh my god, I totally knew it! I mean the hyper-femininity, babydoll dresses, cross necklace, and heels; you were clearly overcompensating." Jenny fixed her gaze on Quinn's confused face. "You seem too complex to look like the girls at my country club. That's what I meant. And hey, I’m gay too, well, pan. Don’t read too much into it, though! Sorry, I tend to blurt things out without thinking first—ADHD and all that,” she admitted, fidgeting with her hair, an anxious habit dancing in her demeanour. "It's okay, Jenny, and I'm Christian. I like my style. It's better than parading down the halls in my Cheerios uniform, criticizing people out of the closet." Jenny's eyes widened. "No way! Like... Sue Sylvester's Cheerios?" Quinn let out a quiet chuckle in disbelief. "I can't believe you know that." "Well, an organization with a billion national championship titles is bound to create a buzz, even in Canada." Jenny beamed, "I tune into Sue's corner every chance I get." Quinn gazed out the window, her thoughts drifting as the evening sun bathed her in its golden warmth, sparkling in her eyes. "We were at the top; it felt like I had the world at my fingertips," she reminisced, but a shadow quickly crossed her features. "Then it was all taken away." She looked down, her fingers nervously entwined in her lap. "What happened?" Jenny asked, "Noah Puckerman, the boy I was on the computer with. He got me pregnant in my sophomore year. My father kicked me out when he found out. I lost prom queen twice. I dyed my hair pink and got a tattoo. I was almost paralyzed driving through a red light while texting." "Yikes," Jenny murmured. Quinn's expression then brightened. "I pulled through, however. I joined the Glee Club. No matter what happened, they loved me for who I was." Quinn held the photo from Nationals and delicately traced her fingers over her friends' smiling faces. "Being on the Cheerios was fun; I learned a lot about leading a team. But I was a bully. I was condescending and petty. Every time I talked, this creepy piano melody played in the background." Jenny raised an eyebrow at her last statement. "Uhh, okay. Hey, Glee Club sounds fun! And I understand the part about music lifting you up; I went to an art school and was in the orchestra." "Do you want to go out tonight? Explore?" Quinn asked, suddenly changing the subject. "Thought you'd never ask. I know a place." Jenny winked.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
To Quinn's astonishment, Jenny whisked her away to a vibrant club—one pulsating with life and filled with the clinking of glasses and the rhythmic thump of bass. Quinn couldn't help but stare at her roommate as they waited in line. She was extremely attractive. She had glowing, smooth, light brown skin, dark chocolate coils that gave her hair a bouncy look, and thin blonde streaks wrapped around each curl. Quinn couldn't take her eyes off Jenny's face, where her long, lush eyelashes framed her mesmerizing light brown eyes—hints of gold dancing within them, capturing the light in the most enchanting way. Her eyeliner was impeccably applied, accentuating her eyes with a bold yet sophisticated touch. Her wire-framed glasses perched perfectly on her nose. She wore a black halter top and a shimmering silver mini skirt matched with silver heels. Make no mistake, Quinn looked effortlessly stunning as well. Before heading out, she styled her blonde hair in a loose half-up, half-down look and added soft waves with a flat iron. Her lips were adorned with vibrant red lipstick, and her eyeshadow sparkled in a Charcoal shade. She opted for a tight, scandalously short, sleeveless navy blue dress with a low sweetheart neckline that gave her girls a little boost. Her locks fell in front, cleverly hiding the straps. She wobbled slightly in her black stilettos. It had been a while since she'd worn these heels out. She shivered, wishing she brought a coat. "J-j-jenny," Quinn whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant thrum of bass from the club, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. "I can't get into this club, I'm not t-twenty-one." Her wide eyes darted nervously toward the bouncer standing at the entrance, their imposing figure silhouetted against the vibrant neon lights. "Don't worry, you don't need an I.D. where we're going," Jenny reassured Quinn with a confident smile as she took her arm and guided them forward. Jenny approached the bouncer and whispered what seemed to be a secret code in his ear. He gave her a slight nod and unhooked the rope, allowing them to enter. Jenny then took Quinn's hand and led them inside. The club was loud and packed. Bartenders expertly shook drinks behind the most enormous wall of bottles while lights of every rainbow colour danced in time with the music. Jenny skillfully navigated through the throng, leading Quinn to a dimly lit corner at the back, where another bouncer loomed before a heavy door cloaked in shadows. Without hesitation, she leaned in and whispered the familiar code, and to Quinn's growing unease, the bouncer stepped aside, swinging the door open to reveal a dark flight of stairs leading down into the unknown. A rush of dread washed over Quinn. Oh god. This is where she's going to die. The door suddenly slammed shut behind the girls. Forcing Quinn to meet her fate. She followed Jenny down the stairs to a black curtain. A sliver of light outlined the borders of the curtain. Jenny gently pushed aside the heavy curtain, revealing a hidden gem that transported her back to the Roaring '20s—a lavish speakeasy that exuded an air of sophistication and charm. The dim lighting cast a warm glow over the richly adorned space, where plush velvet booths invited intimate conversations and the polished mahogany bar gleamed like a treasure from the past. Elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystals sparkling like stars, while jazz music played softly in the background, setting the perfect mood. The atmosphere was infinitely more enchanting than the raucous club above, with the promise of elegance and escapism woven into every detail. "What is this place?" Quinn asked as she took in the warm lighting and smooth jazz music playing in the background. The roommates made their way to a booth in the back. "This, Quinn Fabray, is where the Yale elite gathers. Anyone who has made a big name for themselves has sat here. However, the invitation is rare; you must have some notable connections to even hold the secret code." "And how did you get in?" "My mother is a Canadian ambassador with connections to the U.S. government and Yale admissions. A significant number of board members are members of the Saint-Lambert Country Club. My father went to college with a senator who has a daughter in her senior year here, and we often have dinner with their family. As for me, I played the clarinet in high school with the girl sitting right over there." Jenny pointed to a stunningly dressed woman sipping a Cosmopolitan, surrounded by other elegantly dressed women. "Marie-Alice Hébert is a descendant of one of the first founding families of New France." Jenny explained in a hushed voice, "From when she was just sixteen years old, she hosted the most legendary summer parties in her suite at the Frontenac Chateau. Her family owns the art school I attended and property at both McGill and Laval campuses. I heard she's met the Queen of England twice." Quinn's mouth fell open in disbelief. Though her family in Ohio was undeniably affluent, this wealth and privilege felt otherworldly—a dazzling glimpse into a lifestyle she had only previously imagined. Jenny slowly guided Quinn over to the table. “Jennette Tremblay, ça fait un moment. Ça va?” A voice laced with a silky French accent floated toward them, breaking through Quinn’s reverie. Marie-Alice, a striking young woman draped in designer elegance, pushed aside her cocktail, her captivating charisma making Quinn feel both intrigued and slightly vulnerable. As Marie-Alice spoke, Quinn imagined she could almost hear the soft "cha-ching" of cash registers, as if each word was infused with the allure of wealth. "Bonsoir, Marie-Alice. Merci de votre invitation," Jenny replied, using a refined Quebecois dialect but sounding just as elegant. "Qui est cette femme?" Marie-Alice shifted her gaze to Quinn, wearing a look of slight confusion and a hint of contempt skillfully disguised with decorum. Quinn recognized this expression from her Queen Bee days: 'Who is this drab girl, and why did you bring her here?' She might not understand French, but the language of rich bitch was universal. "Quinn Fabray, elle est Américaine de l'Ohio ," Jenny said, her tone dripping with disdain as she lingered on the name of Quinn's home state like a bitter aftertaste. Ouch. "Mais, elle était une pom-pom girl avec les Cheerios, son père est un diplomate et elle a gagné un titre de chorale nationale." "Ohh, you are with ze Vocal Adrenaline group, oui?" Marie-Alice smiled. "We have many members who sang in that choir." "New Directions," Quinn interjected, immediately regretting her impulse. Marie-Alice Hébert did not seem like the type of girl who appreciated being corrected. "I've never heard of it." Marie-Alice waved her hand dismissively. Come sit. Do you like martinis?" "The legal drinking age where we are from is eighteen; this is Marie-Alice's family's speakeasy, so we play by her rules," Jenny explained, whispering again in Quinn's ear. Of course, Marie-Alice's family owned the speakeasy. Quinn wouldn't be surprised if her family owned the entire state of Connecticut. "What does she mean by 'members'?" Quinn leaned over to Jenny, her eyes fixated on the martini in front of her. "Yale's all-female secret society, of course. I was invited, and you're my plus one." Jenny responded, casually sipping hers. "Secret society?" Quinn cocked her head to one side, puzzled. Jenny leaned back, "It's like a sorority, but secret. It's reserved for the best of the best. Hillary Clinton, Meryl Streep, and Jennifer Beals were all once members here." Quinn's jaw dropped in disbelief. "No... freaking... way..." she gasped, her eyes wide with astonishment as she processed the significance of this hidden world. As the weeks went by, Quinn thrived at Yale University, immersing herself in the vibrant campus life surrounding her. She and Jenny quickly formed a close bond, becoming nearly inseparable as they explored everything Yale had to offer. Their friendship blossomed during late-night study sessions and lively discussions in cozy coffee shops. Jennette Tremblay was such an exciting and complex young woman. Quinn received a steady stream of invitations to elegant galas and exclusive parties, many of which were hosted by the sophisticated and influential Marie-Alice Hébert. These glamorous events allowed her to mingle with a diverse and accomplished group of peers, further elevating her social standing on campus. Through these experiences, Quinn enjoyed the excitement of university life and soared academically, consistently earning A-plus grades on every assignment and solidifying her reputation as a top student amongst her classmates. Not only did Jenny and Quinn bond over music, but it was also quickly discovered that she had mastered various musical instruments. Beyond her instrumental skills, Jenny had also taken the time to compose numerous arrangements of some of the most iconic film scores in cinematic history. Among these were her captivating covers of "Jurassic Park," the glitzy melodies from "Chicago," and the enchanting themes from "Harry Potter," to name just a few. Quinn often watched in awe as Jenny showed her the process involved in creating these scores using an intricate computer program that kind of resembled "Garage Band." It prompted her to reflect on Jenny's choice of study at Yale and wonder why someone with such talent and passion for music hadn’t pursued a career in scoring films or performing with an orchestra. The two were enrolled in the same pre-law courses, and Quinn noted that Jenny didn't seem to share her enthusiasm for the class. Jenny appeared to drift through the courses with a sense of detachment, her mind clearly drawn elsewhere. One night, Quinn brought up her observations as the roommates sat on Jenny's bed eating popcorn as "The Devil Wears Prada" played on her laptop. "Quinn, your friends are so lucky to live in New York," Jenny mused, her voice a dreamy whisper as her chin rested on her hand. She gazed at the vibrant cityscapes flickering on the screen, her mind drifting to the bustling streets and sparkling skyline, each image fueling her admiration. "It’s my dream city," she added, sighing softly. "Which brings me to my question, Jenny," Quinn said, pausing for her friend to look up. "Why aren’t you following your dream career? Music is clearly your passion, not law." Jenny furrowed her brow, but her expression soon softened. "Law is a career; music is a hobby." She sat up and leaned her head against the wall. "Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to pursue music at a performing arts college in New York—like NYADA, Juilliard, or Columbia." "Why didn't you go for it?" "Because it’s my parents’ money, Quinn. I lied when I said I was into Ivy League schools. I’m here because I’m a legacy; my parents are among Yale's most prominent alumni donors." Jenny fidgeted with a toy in her lap. "Living with ADHD makes everything a challenge. It's all about what captures my interest and keeps me on track. I succeeded academically only because I was in a fine arts school. Music helped me regulate my brain and focus on what’s important. Unfortunately, it's challenging to express that to my parents. They’re French-Canadian and super stubborn. They hate my highlights, dislike my English-speaking friends, and refused to acknowledge my ex-girlfriend when we dated." Jenny pursed her lips in dismay. Quinn piped in, "So if you're not interested in law, does that mean you're...?" "Tanking?" Jenny interrupted, shaking her head vigorously. "No, not yet, at least. Years of working with counsellors and psychiatrists have helped me develop study habits that keep me afloat. However, mentally. I'm done. I feel so... uninspired." Her words hung in the air, a poignant reflection of her inner turmoil. Quinn gently held her friend's hand, delicately rubbing her thumb. She didn't know what to say that would help her friend. Mr. Schuester made her believe that any dream could come true with hard work, but he forgot to consider the reality of some dreams. "Wow, Rachel! You completely outshone Cassie with that performance," Brody exclaimed, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. "She'll definitely let you take the lead in the tango class now!" Rachel sighed, "Yeah, but I just can't shake this feeling of not being sexy at all. It's like... I don't know, I just don't feel it," she confessed, her voice tinged with insecurity. "The other day, those girls were in my face about my clothes, and one of them actually called me Lena Dunham." Brody raised an eyebrow, genuinely puzzled. "What's wrong with Lena Dunham?" he inquired, quickly catching the sharp look Rachel shot his way. "Okay, okay, I get it. But really, Rachel, I believe you have your own unique kind of sexy. Who cares what those other people think?" he reassured her, trying to lift her spirits. "What I need is a makeover." "Well, isn't Kurt going in for his first interview at Vogue.com? I'm sure you'll have access to some new things once he gets in."
Meanwhile...
The subway car was teeming with people, a typical scene during rush hour. The air was thick with the mingled odours of sweat, fast food, and something else unrecognizable, creating an unpleasant atmosphere that was hard to ignore. In one corner, a dishevelled man stood out among the commuters, wearing an outrageous stack of brightly coloured socks perched haphazardly on his head. He intermittently licked a metal pole, seemingly oblivious to the puzzled glances and whispered comments from those around him. But Kurt paid him no mind; his focus was elsewhere. A mix of excitement and nervous anticipation buzzed within him. Today was monumental—it was his first actual job interview, which he had long dreamed of, at the prestigious Vogue.com. While the meeting was only with the HR rep, if he passed, Kurt could have another interview with Isabelle Wright herself. The thought of stepping into the world of fashion journalism made his heart race, drowning out any discomfort from the crowded subway. As the train rattled along, he rehearsed his answers in his head, his mind racing with visions of what could be, all while the chaos of the subway swirled around him. He and Rachel scored the loft in Bushwick for a very reasonable price, especially for two recent graduates from the Midwest. Rachel had a healthy distraction in a tall, tanned theatre stud named Brody. Kurt maintained his long-distance relationship with Blaine. Everything was falling into place for the young man. He looked at the time; it was Blaine's free period, so he dialled his number. "Who is this?" A familiar, quiet voice answered the phone. "Oh! Hey, Britt! It's me, Kurt." he said, "Oh, okay," Brittany responded, her voice airy and light. A long and confusing moment of silence stretched between them, filled only by her gentle breathing on the other end. "B-Brittany?" Kurt asked, trying to bring back his friend, who clearly zoned out already. "Yeah?" "Why do you have Blaine's phone?" Kurt asked, perplexity lacing his tone as he noticed the faint sound of aggressive crunching in the background. It seemed like she was munching on something quite loudly. "Oh," Brittany replied, mouth full of food. "Mmm. Blaine is fixing my phone because Kiki changed her settings to German." "I thought her name was Kitty?" "No, Kurt. I'm not talking about the mean girl who took my spot as Head Cheerio. I mean my phone, I found it at the laundromat. Kiki is my only friend now that everyone has left me. She orders me large cups of straight espresso." Brittany shot back in a frustrated tone. As if Kurt was supposed to know that information already. "I'm sorry, Britt. I didn't know phones just… changed their own settings," Kurt said, an apologetic sigh escaping him. "Hey, you still have Tina, Artie, Sam, and Blaine, right?" "I guess so. Things are just different, though. I can't explain it. Coach Sue made it a hundred times worse when she kicked me off the squad," Brittany continued, her voice tinged with an unmistakable sadness. "Oh, don't tell Blaine this. I accidentally texted his mom something inappropriate, so now he's not allowed to go out this weekend." "Brittany..." Kurt started, concern flooding his voice. The subway came to a screeching halt, indicating his stop. "I have to go now. Please tell Blaine I called." "Okay, I probably won't, though. Good luck at Vogue.com! Love you!" She chirped back, her voice brightening slightly, but Kurt could still hear the undertone of her troubles lingering in the air. He then understood why the Glee Club was doing Britney Week again. Kurt loved Brittany to bits, but he wanted to talk to Blaine instead. Ever since Kurt moved to New York, communication between the two had gotten more difficult to manage. Kurt could only imagine being more distant getting the internship at Vogue.com. Kurt shrugged off his worries and stepped out of the subway station. Right now, the focus is Vogue. After an exhilarating late-night transformation session in the vault of Vogue.com, where Kurt had recently landed an internship, he and Rachel burst through their apartment building's entrance, laughter spilling out. The sliding barn door rolled open with a flourish, and they tumbled inside, ready to unleash the creative chaos of their stylish haul. The atmosphere was electric as they navigated to Rachel's room, each struggling under the weight of staggering piles of clothing that towered above them. The vibrant hues and textures of the garments cascaded over their arms, creating a chaotic yet beautiful sight. Rachel, her eyes gleaming with enthusiasm, led the charge, determined to get to her room before any of their treasures slipped from their grasp. Kurt dumped his mountain of clothing on Rachel's bed. As he approached her dresser, he flung open the drawers, digging through the eclectic mix of old garments that housed memories of their childhood. Among the assortment, his hand clasped around a familiar piece: Rachel's iconic reindeer sweater, its vibrant colours standing out like a beacon of nostalgia. "This," Kurt declared with a triumphant grin, holding it aloft like a trophy, "is the first to go." Rachel's smile faltered as she recognized the sweater, an artifact of her past. "Aw, really? My dad bought me that sweater," she protested, a wave of sentiment washing over her. "Yup. It's part of the makeover, Rachel. Say goodbye," he responded, his tone teasing yet firm. With a heavy heart, Rachel reached for the beloved sweater, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric that had once wrapped her in warmth during the chilly holidays. After hesitation, she surrendered to the moment, taking a deep breath before reluctantly tossing the sweater into the trash bag, feeling a pang of loss as she watched it disappear from view. "Rachel, you did it! You actually got rid of the sweater!" Kurt exclaimed, clapping his hands with pure excitement. "I can't believe it! I'm so proud of you!" The two spent the night moving in Rachel's new clothes and makeup. Kurt's phone vibrated endlessly with a series of missed texts and calls from Blaine; it had fallen on deaf ears.
The next morning...
"Kurt, you have a dozen missed calls from Blaine from last night. What's going on?" Rachel exclaimed, her brow furrowed with concern as she settled into a chair at the table. She absentmindedly scrolled through the notifications on her phone, her fingers flicking over the screen while the warm smell of pancakes filled the air. Kurt stood at the stovetop, flipping fluffy pancakes with practiced ease, his mind obviously elsewhere. "Oh, I'm sure he was just worried about the student council election," Kurt replied with a casual shrug, not really looking up from his cooking. "I'll text him later." Rachel's expression shifted, her eyes narrowing as she fixed her gaze on him. "Um, Kurt? Blaine and Sam won," she said, surprised that Kurt didn't know his boyfriend had won the race. "Tina told me earlier this morning. You won't believe it — Brittany vowed to ban summer vacation in her speech! So naturally, the election went to them." "Oh, good for them." "Kurt!" Rachel snapped, "What is it, Rachel?" Kurt retorted, a mix of frustration and exhaustion bubbling to the surface. "It's just a stupid high school election. Of course, Blaine would win; Brittany did nothing during her presidency last year." He dramatically threw his arms up in defeat, the pancakes on the stove momentarily forgotten. "I just have more important things in my life right now," he continued, his tone softening briefly but still laced with resignation. "Does that make me a bad boyfriend?" The question hung in the air, charged with emotion as he turned slightly to glance at her, searching for some semblance of understanding or reassurance. "Well, no..." Rachel muttered, "But you should still call him. You know I would kill for just one call from mine." Kurt finally turned off the burner, the sizzling sound dissipating as he wrapped his portion of pancakes in wax paper. "I'm running late for work," he said, his voice growing distant again as he grabbed his bag and started for the door. "Don't wait up for me tonight. I'm working overtime to prepare outfits for the next article." As he opened the door, he turned back to Rachel. "Let me know how it goes with Brody. I'm sure he'll drool over your new look." Right. Brody. Rachel couldn't help but feel like a bit of a hypocrite. Here she was, criticizing Kurt for moving on from Blaine when she had invited a new man in her life to her apartment. However, the difference was at least Blaine called. At least Brody called.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Finn Hudson tightened his grip on his backpack and stepped off the subway platform. He made his way up the stairs and navigated the busy streets of New York with a slight limp. A harsh reminder of why he was here. The army was a bust. He stuck it out for sixteen days, determined to continue his late father's legacy, then pop! The shot went right through his thigh. His own doing, believe it or not. Cutting his journey short, a semi-honourable discharge. Finn hated it; he wanted to make something of himself for Rachel. Finn was so embarrassed about being sent home that he didn't go home. He couldn't face his mom or Burt or Kurt. Knowing Carole was against her son enlisting in the army, it would be unfair. He absolutely couldn't see Rachel. He postponed the wedding to join the military and have his fiancée chase her dreams alone. The mere idea of seeing Rachel was even more harrowing. Finn had only hoped that Rachel would become a big Broadway star while he was gone so he'd know that he positively moved her with his decision. Finn tried calling Quinn or Puck but hung up before the first ring. He just couldn't. So, he spent three months backpacking through the state of Georgia. Finn was far from a loser; he knew it deep in his bones. Whenever Rachel flashed her encouraging smile or Mr. Schue dropped a word of wisdom, he was reminded of his worth. He sure felt like a loser now. New York was big and loud. The illumination from the bustling city cast a radiant glow across the night sky, transforming it into a soft, luminescent canvas that rivalled the brightness of midday. Street lamps flickered like stars while neon signs pulsed with vibrant colours, creating a beautiful tapestry that enveloped the streets and rooftops in a warm embrace. Somehow, it seemed bigger and louder than when he was here two years ago for the Nationals. It was time for the former quarterback to toughen up and see his girl. Nobody knew he was coming except for Santana, who sent him the address to Rachel and Kurt's apartment. Santana was the only friend Finn trusted to keep a secret about his arrival. He still didn't know how she got the address, though. Finn smiled at the thought of their rekindling friendship. The campaign ad that ran against Sue months before was a wake-up call for both Finn and Santana. Finn realized that he needed to be more outspoken about his allyship if he wanted real change to be done. It was more than just 'being cool' with it. Finn had to push himself to actually bridge the gap. He felt awful for not standing up for his brother more and for outing Santana. He spent the summer educating himself about LGBTQIA+ issues and how to be a better advocate. Santana learned that despite being 100% undeserved of being outed, she had a taste of her own medicine. Once a bully who had revelled in spreading rumours about others for her own gain, Santana now found herself in the role of the victim—the worst feeling she could ever imagine. Santana thought about when she blackmailed Dave Karofsky, holding his big secret above his head. How easily she could have outed him if she slipped up, and how horribly he was treated at his new school when his teammate found out. She realized she could be an unapologetic diva and lift others up. Finn and Santana promised each other they would build a closer bond. The backpacking experience surprisingly benefitted Finn, offering him a chance to explore and grow in ways he had never anticipated. As he ventured into unfamiliar landscapes, he found himself opening up to a myriad of new experiences, each one more enriching than the last. He encountered people from various walks of life, each with unique stories, cultures, and perspectives that broadened his understanding of the world. Sure, he dropped out of the army and kicked himself daily for it. But he had time to reflect and think about what he wanted. He wanted to be in New York with Rachel and Kurt. His fiancée and his bro. How it should be. Rachel wouldn't hesitate to help Finn find his way. New York was renowned as the city of dreams, where possibilities were limitless. Finn held onto the belief that there had to be something out there waiting for him, something that would reignite his passion and give his life new meaning. Finn Hudson was lost, but he was also hopeful. No matter what happened, he still had Rachel Berry. Finn approached the towering apartment building, his heart racing and a nervous grin spreading across his face. The streetlights flickered overhead, casting a warm glow on the pavement as the evening air chilled around him. He glanced at his watch; it was well past midnight, and he couldn't shake the worry that Rachel might have already gone to bed. The thought made him quicken his pace, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the night. With each step, he felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety, hoping that his fiancée would still be awake, ready to share a lengthy conversation. Finn had a lot of explaining to do. Once again, Finn found himself in a whirlwind of thoughts, each more pressing than the last. He braced himself for the inevitable confrontation with Rachel, mentally rehearsing responses to the barrage of questions he imagined would come his way. "Where were you?" rang in his mind like a relentless drumbeat, followed by the piercing "Why didn't you call?" Each query twisted in his stomach, making him feel increasingly uneasy. As he climbed the stairs to the loft. Then there was the most daunting of all: "Are we still engaged?" Embarrassment was a pitiful excuse to offer, yet it seemed all he had in his arsenal. The reality of his silence weighed heavily on him, a sharp reminder of his hesitation. He wrestled with the engagement question that loomed ominously in the background, shrouded in uncertainty and regret. Finn was ashamed that he left it all up in the air when he sent Rachel on her way. He thought about turning back but proceeded. Strong waves from the dark ocean of guilt tried to drag him under, but not again. Rachel was his anchor, his way home. They will get through this obstacle together. Finn stood before the door, his heart racing with anticipation as he lifted his hand to knock. He could feel a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through him, each knock echoing in the quiet hallway. After a brief moment, Finn pressed his ear against the cold wood, straining to catch any sound from within. He could hear "Moon River" in the background. His heartbeat quickened as he detected the familiar sound of laughter—bright and sweet, like a melody that filled the air. Then, it was paired with another man's voice... one that didn't belong to Kurt. Dread began to settle back in. The sliding door rolled open to reveal Rachel in an exciting and sexy new look. She looked up at Finn, her eyes widening in stupefaction as if they were about to pop from her skull. For the first time in her life, the young actress was left speechless, her mouth hanging open. Finn smiled at her, then stared blankly at the man standing in the middle of the loft. A blanket and some pillows laid on the floor paired with champagne. This undoubtedly marked the beginning of Finn's worst nightmare. "F-Finn…" Rachel finally managed to breathe out, her voice barely escaping her lips. "Hey..." Finn whispered back, taking her hand. "Hi," Brody awkwardly waved. "I...I was just leaving." He hurriedly gathered his jacket in his arms, the fabric rustling as he folded it tightly, and slipped past Finn and Rachel. “I’ll see you in class, Rachel,” he added hastily, his voice trailing off as he quickly exited the loft, leaving an unsettling silence in his wake. "Who was—" Finn started, but Rachel cut him off, her heart racing. "B-Brody. His n-name is Brody. He is just a friend, Finn,” she stammered, her voice quivering like a fragile leaf in the wind. “Oh, Finn. What are you doing here?" Her brown eyes glistened, tears pooling like a storm threatening to spill over. Overwhelmed, she tried gasping for air, but the tears took over. Rachel fell into Finn's embrace, sobbing and hyperventilating. "It's okay, honey. I'm home." Finn rubbed her back soothingly as his petite girl broke down in his arms, tears soaking the fabric of his shirt. "I'll explain everything." He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. Tears began to flow from his eyes as well. "Blaine... Blaine... BLAINE!" Tina Cohen-Chang exclaimed, snapping her fingers urgently right in front of Blaine Anderson's face. The sound broke the stillness that had enveloped him, and he blinked twice in confusion as his thoughts rushed back to reality. After a moment of disorientation, he finally focused on Tina, who stood with her arms crossed, a mixture of irritation and concern etched on her features. "Sorry, what?" he mumbled, trying to shake off the remnants of whatever had captured his attention. "I've been trying to get your attention for, like, a whole minute," Tina said exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. "We're moving into our reading groups now." Blaine took a deep breath, realizing that the classroom buzz had faded into the background noise of his thoughts, and he had inadvertently zoned out in his English class. His eyes were wide open, but his mind was elsewhere. He nodded, finally shaking off the lingering fog of distraction as he prepared to join the rest of his classmates. Reaching for his backpack, he dug inside for his copy of "Gone With The Wind" along with his chapter notes. A single Polaroid of him and his boyfriend, Kurt Hummel, fell from the pages, fluttering like a delicate leaf through the air. Blaine managed to catch the photo before it hit the dirty linoleum floor. Blaine would be lying if he said Kurt hadn't occupied the majority of his thoughts 24/7 since moving to New York. He studied the photo taken at their senior prom earlier that year. The two smiled affectionately at each other, savouring the magic of that moment they had shared just months ago. Lately, Blaine had received many missed call notifications, with a fair share of rejected attempts in return. They've never been so out of sync. Kurt was busy following his dreams in New York, working at Vogue.com. Blaine should be happy for him, but he couldn't help but feel left out. People say time flies; however, Blaine felt frozen in place. The clocks seemed to tick slower, days dragged on, and there seemed to be no end to the teachers' dialogues. With every missed call, his anxiety bubbled up. He wondered how long he and Kurt could maintain their relationship. "Ba-lain-uh," Tina pronounced his name in three syllables, emphasizing her impatience. "Everyone is waiting for you." Realizing he had zoned out again, Blaine forced himself out of his seat. He followed Tina to where their assigned reading group had gathered. Sitting disinterestedly through the chatter about the most recent chapter, Blaine felt a faint buzz in his back pocket. He quickly swiped his phone from his pocket, hoping it was a message from Kurt. 'Hey, handsome. Here is my address if u wanna meet again.' -unknown Blaine stuffed his device back into his pocket, filled with disappointment and guilt. He returned to the conversation he was pretending to engage in. After Glee Club, Blaine, Sam, and Brittany piled into Tina's car. Giggling and play-fighting as Tina pulled out of McKinley High's parking lot. "Thank god it's Friday. This has been the longest week of my life." Sam groaned, "Seriously, right?" Tina jumped in, shaking her head. "It's like when a TV series airs two episodes with the same storyline, and you just think, 'Ugh, this is all happening within a 24-hour span?' It's all so dragged out!" Her voice adopted a theatrical tone as she turned to the imaginary camera next to her, breaking the fourth wall with perfect comedic timing. With a burst of energy, Sam clapped his hands together, taking charge of the conversation. "Okay, weekend plans, go! I want to hear what everyone's up to." Brittany couldn't contain her excitement as she sat up straighter in the front passenger seat. "Santana will be back home tomorrow morning! I have an extensive itinerary planned for us that I've worked so hard on. I even laminated it and tucked it away in my drawer before Lord Tubbington could get his paws on it and add it to his barrel fire," she said, her voice bubbling with pride. "Artie and I are driving to Chicago to visit Mike. Sorry, Tina." Sam replied, Tina squeezed her hands on the wheel at the mention of her ex-boyfriend. "It's okay," Tina sighed, a slightly bitter edge creeping into her voice as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "Sugar and I have a busy weekend ahead, as we'll be working on outfit designs for Sectionals. Luckily, the fabric store is having a big sale right now, so Mr. Schue won't have to dig into his own pockets again," she added, attempting to summon some enthusiasm amidst her lingering feelings. Brittany's brow furrowed in thought, her head tilted slightly. "By the way, I think it's strange to have Sectionals on Thanksgiving. Isn't it like 'culturally inappropriate' to the Pilgrims?" she crinkled her nose quizzingly. "It's probably just so they can sell more tickets," Sam shrugged nonchalantly, glancing out the window at the passing autumn scenery. Colourful leaves danced in the wind as Tina sped by. "That's my best guess. I mean, everyone will be home for the holidays, right?" "Yeah, but wouldn't everyone be having Thanksgiving dinner instead of going to a singing competition?" Brittany countered. The other three murmured in agreement. Sam turned to face Blaine, sitting on the other side with his head pressed against the window, lost in thought. With a mischievous smirk, he reached over and clicked the seatbelt button. The buckle recoiled, sliding loosely across Blaine's lap. "Hey!" Blaine exclaimed, startled. He quickly fumbled to buckle himself back in, a hint of annoyance colouring his voice as he glared at Sam. "What's up with you, dude?" Sam chuckled, lightly punching his friend's arm. "You've been super quiet all day! You didn't even ask to sing a Katy Perry song in Glee Club." "I just... I have a lot on my mind, okay?" Blaine pressed his head on the cool glass again, "You know, with the presidency and stuff." "Care to elaborate on the 'and stuff,' Blainey Days?" Tina asked softly. She adjusted her rearview mirror to face the backseat for a brief moment. "I'm really missing Kurt—more than I thought," Blaine admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "We agreed I would visit him in New York in two weeks, but..." He trailed off, a catch in his throat as he struggled with his emotions. "In light of…recent events, I feel like I need to visit him now." "What do you mean by recent events?" Tina interjected sharply, abruptly pulling over. The vehicle came to a screeching halt, the sound of blaring horns from passing cars slicing through the tension in the air. "What did you do?" Sam added, eyes narrowing in suspicion, "Why do we have to go now? We're meeting Artie at Domino's." Brittany side-eyed Blaine. Brittany, Sam, and Tina erupted in a whirlwind of pressing questions and accusations, all spilling out simultaneously, overlapping each other. "Okay, okay, OKAY!" Blaine shouted in frustration, immediately silencing his friends, "Can you keep a secret?" "Wait, one second." Brittany pulled out her phone, "Kiki, call Artie." She held up her index finger, summoning silence as the phone dialled Artie's number. After two rings, Artie picked up. "Okay, tell us." Blaine took two deep breaths, stared at his friends, and then exhaled. "I had a one-night stand..." The car suddenly quieted, and the kids sat still in their seats like statues as if Blaine had pressed pause on time. His ears rang as he watched his friends process the news. Absolute silence punctuated only by the ticking of Tina's signal indicator. "Sorry, dawg. You cut out. What happened?" Artie's voice crackled from Brittany's speaker. Blaine opened his mouth to clarify, but Sam piped in before he could find the right words, "Oh, Blaine cheated on Kurt." The statement hung in the air like a thunderclap, shattering the brief stillness that had settled in the car. In an instant, Brittany and Tina whirled their heads towards Sam, their expressions transforming from surprise to indignation, icy glares piercing through the atmosphere as they silently scolded him for his casual approach to such a serious matter. Blaine swallowed hard, knowing he had opened a Pandora's box and unsure of what would come next. Blaine drummed his fingers against his thigh, his knee bouncing nervously in rhythm with the plane's descent. As the aircraft touched down on the bustling New York landing strip, he felt a jolt of excitement coursing through him, making his heart race. The cabin shook slightly, a reminder of the journey the former Warbler just embarked on. Still, his mind was already racing ahead, envisioning the moment he would finally see Kurt again. Blaine couldn't wait two more weeks to see Kurt, so, on a whim that Friday night, he had decided to book a last-minute flight to New York. It cost him a pretty penny. Once Blaine returned home, he would have to sell some Xbox games, and he would have to walk to school until he could afford gas. But none of that mattered right now. All he could focus on was the prospect of seeing Kurt, whose smile lit up Blaine's world like nothing else could. Kurt was worth every sacrifice. He just hoped Kurt could forgive him... Back in the cozy confines of Kurt and Rachel's apartment, Finn rifled through his duffel bag, his fingers brushing past crumpled clothes and forgotten items as he searched for something more sophisticated to wear for Callbacks, the main watering hole for NYADA students. He wasn't expecting to go out immediately upon arriving in New York. The night before was silent and cold. He and Rachel embraced each other in Rachel's bed, neither daring to utter a word, and neither of them slept. It was just the two, side by side, daring at the ceiling in the dark. Finn was hoping to have the evening with Rachel to talk things through. He told Rachel that he dropped out of the army and felt too embarrassed to call before she whisked him away to her classes, and that was all. Instead of sitting down for an honest conversation between the three of them, Finn was forced to go to a loud and busy bar with his girl and his brother. He could tell through Rachel and Kurt's forced grins and enthusiasm that they were trying to avoid the topic. Adding to Finn's frustration, Blaine had surprised them, taking a magical, mysterious flight just a few hours after school. "Hey," Blaine leaned against the dresser behind Finn. "Hey," Finn turned his head and gave him a slight nod. "Here, take this sweater." Blaine tossed the garment over to his friend. "I was rushing to get here and accidentally took my brother Cooper's old suitcase. I think it should fit you-" "Dude, what are you doing here?" Finn interrupted, "You totally caught my brother off guard! Didn't school end, like, five hours ago?" "I can ask you the same thing, man," Blaine replied, crossing his arms. "Yeah, well, it's personal. You tell me first." Finn huffed, examining the grey-striped sweater. "I just needed to see my boyfriend before things fell apart. He's my anchor, Finn. And-" "You are horrible at keeping secrets, you know that?" Finn pulled his arms through the sleeves, "What did you do?" "It was just a one-time thing! I-" Finn scoffed, "Sure it was. You still did it." "Can I ever finish a sentence with you, Finn? Spare the emotional beatdown. I've been kicking myself enough. I'll never forgive myself," Blaine cried. "You think Kurt will? After years of struggling, he finally found his person, and you ruined it," Finn jabbed his finger into Blaine's chest, "Thanks for the sweater." Blaine followed Finn out of Rachel's room and into the living room, where Kurt and Rachel sat. Plastering on fake smiles, they grabbed their coats, and the group left for a night out in the city. Finn fixed his hair in the mirror in the bathroom at Callbacks. He stepped back and then stared at his reflection. Who was he? Sitting on a barstool pretending to be supportive while his girlfriend (fiancée?) sang a love song with another dude. In Rachel and Brody's eyes, he could tell that something was happening between them and that he had walked into something he wasn't supposed to see Thursday night. Finn understood why. He didn't exactly blame Rachel. Brody was ripped, tanned, and was in musical theatre, while Finn felt like a relic from a bygone era, an army reject who had two left feet when it came to dancing. The bathroom door swung open with a slight creak, jolting Finn from his spiralling thoughts. Brody strode in with casual confidence, pushing open a stall door before pivoting to face Finn. There was no mistaking the tension that hung between them. "Rachel's looking for you." Brody said, "No shit, Sherlock," Finn shot back, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. He had already reached his limit with Brody's presence. "Listen, man," Brody continued, taking a half-step closer, "I tried being nice, but I'm going to be straight with you." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone. "The second you left her, Rachel said goodbye. You gave her the space to make a decision, and she chose New York and her dreams." "She chose you?" Finn glowered, "Is that what you think?" "Yeah, actually," Brody replied, a hint of smugness creeping into his words. "Do you know why? Because you didn't call her." He crossed his arms, standing his ground. "I know you're 'here' now. You can't expect her to just wait around for you, and put her career on hold while you figure things out. She deserves better." Finn whipped his head around to face him, "I was never going to force her to-," "Oh, come on, Finn," Brody cut in, shaking his head knowingly, a patronizing edge to his tone, "I see that face you've been wearing all night. You don't feel at home here, do you? I've been through that. Everyone in this bar has felt that same feeling." Brody crossed his arms, "I'd give it two minutes before you'll be packing your bags, begging her to come with." "Rachel is mine," Finn gritted his teeth, "I'm not going to let go that easy. You can't get rid of me." "Rachel is her own person," Brody countered, unwavering. "Don't go there, you know what I mean." "Go home, Finn." Finn stood still, cheeks flushing a bright, angry red. "What did you just say?" He demanded, "She and I kissed. It's over for you. Go. Home." Brody stepped closer, their faces just inches away. Finn clenched his fists at his sides, the urge to strike bursting at the seams. Instead, he took a step back, resolved to flip his entire demeanour as he turned on his heel, storming out of the bathroom, the chaotic noise of the bar swallowing him once more. Rachel woke up to the unsettling feeling of an empty space beside her, the coolness of the sheets a stark reminder of Finn's absence. With a heavy heart, she sat up and scanned the loft, her eyes darting around in search of any sign of him. She reluctantly rolled herself out of bed, her limbs feeling heavy with exhaustion, and trudged towards the partition curtain that separated her bedroom from the rest of the living space. Rachel pulled the curtain, only to be met by Kurt holding two mugs of coffee. "He left earlier this morning, Rachel. So did Blaine," Kurt said softly, handing her one of the mugs. The warmth seeped into her palms, a small comfort against the icy dread pooling in her stomach. Feeling defeated, Rachel shuffled back to bed. Kurt climbed in beside her. The roommates sat in silence, unsure of what to say next. "I'm sorry about what happened between you and Blaine, Kurt." Rachel broke the silence. Kurt stared at the wall, seemingly lost in thought. "It was my fault," he admitted, his gaze distant and heavy with regret. "I drove him away. I ignored his calls." "No, it wasn't!" Rachel contested, "You were just prioritizing your job!" "Yeah, but I wasn't there when it mattered," Kurt sighed. They both returned to uncomfortable silence before Rachel spoke up again. "Did Finn tell you where he was going?" Rachel asked, "Back to Ohio," "Should I..." "Go after Finn? Pull him back here after kissing another man?" Kurt raised an eyebrow, "Only if that makes you happy, I guess." "Yeah... wouldn't you?" Rachel softly nudged her best friend. There was a long pause before Kurt finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "As far as I'm concerned, Blaine and I are broken up. He cheated, Rachel." Rachel leaned over and rested her head on Kurt's shoulder. The two sat motionless in Rachel's bed before deciding to pop in a movie on her laptop, and then they drifted off to sleep. The early morning September sun poured through the small kitchen window, bathing the room in a warm golden hue that danced playfully off the walls. Maribel Lopez inhaled the rich aroma of brewing coffee as she stirred the steaming milk into her cup. After a few rhythmic taps against the side of the mug, she placed the spoon carefully into the sink, the quiet clink echoing softly. She sat at the breakfast table across from her husband, Miguel Lopez, buried nose deep in the newspaper. "Anything interesting in the paper, mi amor?" Maribel asked, delicately sipping her coffee. "Ah, al infierno, nothing good," Miguel grumbled, his voice gravelly with morning fatigue. He clenched his mug tightly as if trying to squeeze some satisfaction out of the disappointing headlines. "Browns lose to the Colts by fourteen." Maribel hummed in response. The couple continued their leisurely Saturday morning ritual in comfortable silence before they started the day. Their thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a series of aggressive raps on the door. "Dios mío, at this hour? This better be good." Maribel muttered, rubbing the sleep from her tired eyes as she tightened her housecoat and shuffled towards the front of the house. She swung the door open to be met by Brittany S. Pierce. "Good morning, Mrs. Lopez!" Brittany grinned, her voice bright and cheerful, "Is Santana here?" The young dancer eagerly sauntered into the house, searching for their daughter. "Hello, Brittany. Come in, I guess..." Maribel sighed, softly closing the door behind her. "Miguel! Brittany is here!" She called out to her husband. "Buenos días, Brittany." Miguel replied, not looking up from the paper. "Santana isn't here yet, sweetheart," Maribel continued, her tone shifting to a more nurturing one as she looked at Brittany. "Did you have some breakfast?" She hoped the answer would be a yes, eager to ensure her daughter's girlfriend was well taken care of while she waited. "No, my sister Courtney ate the last of the Lucky Charms, and my dad left the groceries in the car overnight. My mom is out of town." Brittany explained, a slight yawn escaping her lips as she flopped on the couch. Her long blonde hair spilled out over the cushions. "Well, Lucky Charms is not much of a breakfast anyway, especially for a cheerleader. I'll cook you some eggs." Maribel patted her shoulder and returned to the kitchen. Brittany lay comfortably on the Lopez family's well-worn couch, her limbs stretched out, as she gazed thoughtfully at the intricate patterns of the ceiling above her. After a moment, she rolled onto her side and reached for a small, framed photo on the table beside her. As her fingers brushed against the cool glass, she lifted it closer to her face. It was Santana's last school portrait. Her sparkling brown eyes shone brightly on her radiant bronze skin, and her raven-coloured hair cascaded down her shoulders. A matching red cap and gown completed her confident smile. Santana always looked good in red. She put the portrait back and reached for another photo. In this one, eight-year-old Santana beamed with a wide, gap-toothed smile, her brown eyes again shimmering with joy. Her tousled hair pulled into messy pigtails that danced playfully in the breeze. She wore an oversized soccer jersey, splattered with mud, posing with a ball in one arm and holding her father's hand with the other. A younger-looking Miguel Lopez stood beside her, his face illuminated with a radiant smile that matched his daughter's, filled with pride and joy as they shared that special moment. Santana was the Lopez's only child, born after years of struggling with infertility, as Maribel once told Brittany. The house was filled with photos of her and extended family, birthday parties, baby photos, and school portraits. It all made Brittany miss her girlfriend more. One photo that stood out was of her Abuela, Alma, delicately cradling Santana as a newborn. Brittany felt upset, knowing Alma Lopez had disowned Santana last year when she came out to her. Brittany felt sad and alone ever since she and Quinn dropped Santana off at the University of Louisville. She wished she had done better last year and graduated with her friends. Actually go to Purdue, the university, not the chicken farm. She spent most of the summer in her own little world, chastising her cat for getting arrested, babysitting her sisters, and repairing her time machine hidden from the C.I.A. in the back of the garage. It was the second week of school when Brittany lost it and attacked Jacob Ben Israel with an umbrella. This week, Blaine Warbler inexplicably stole the election from her and Artie. She was desperate to see Santana's face again. "Breakfast is ready, Brittany!" Maribel called out from the kitchen, and Brittany sprung up from the couch and made her way over. She sat beside Miguel and happily dug into her eggs and bacon. She paused to yawn again, covering her mouth. "You drove here pretty early, why don't you crash in Santana's room? She just texted me saying she's about halfway." Maribel topped off Brittany's glass with orange juice. "I think I will. I was up all night reading post-apocalyptic Christian novels." Brittany replied. Miguel slowly looked up from the morning paper and turned to his wife. The two shared a perplexed expression. "Sorry, you were reading... what?" After breakfast, Brittany trudged upstairs and shuffled into Santana's messy bedroom. Climbing into the unmade bed, she pressed her face into Santana's pillows, taking in her scent, then pulled the duvet over her head. It only took a minute for her to drift off to sleep. Two hours later, the door creaked open softly as Santana peeked her head inside, a playful smile spreading across her lips at the sight of the large lump nestled in the blankets. The sight was both familiar and endearing; Brittany had a way of completely taking over her space, yet it made her heart swell. Santana stepped into the room, tiptoeing past the clutter, ready to wake her sleepy girlfriend. She climbed into her bed and draped herself over the lump. She could feel Brittany squirm beneath her. She peeled back the duvet to reveal two round, beautiful blue eyes hidden behind messy blonde hair. Santana softly pushed the strands off Brittany's face and caressed her, easing her back to reality. "You're in my spot," Santana whispered teasingly, "Hey, Baby." "Hi," Brittany mumbled back. She moved her arms out of the duvet and wrapped them around Santana's torso. Santana held Brittany's face with her hands, pulling her in for a deep, lingering kiss. "Do you want to help me with some laundry?" Brittany and Santana raced back upstairs with two large hampers filled with Santana's clothes. "Oh my god, Santana!" Brittany laughed as she dumped her hamper upside down on the bed. "You went through all these clothes so quickly!" "It's the freedom of not wearing the same cheer uniform to school every day," Santana replied. "The only time I have to wear mine for the Cardinals is in the days leading up to Homecoming. I love that I get to express my fabulous sense of style! In fact, I even do an outfit change during lunch." "Santana, can I ask you a question?" Brittany said tentatively. "Of course, honey. Anything," Santana replied. Brittany dropped the shirt she had been folding, feeling a mix of concern and affection as she reached for Santana's hand, intertwining their fingers. "I know you don't have classes or cheer practice on Fridays," she began, her tone becoming more serious. "You promised me you would come home yesterday, and I…" Santana's expression softened, her thumb gently tracing circles on the back of Brittany's hand. "I know, Britt. But I had so much homework piling up on me, and with midterms coming up, I really need to study," she explained, trying to convey her sincerity. "You understand, right? You've been working really hard with Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury to boost your grades. How is that going, by the way?" "It's been okay, I guess…" Brittany mumbled, dissatisfied with her girlfriend's answer. "We're trying to decide what to do for the school musical, so Mr. Schue's been preoccupied with that." "Ugh, seriously? Pull him back down to earth and get him to work with you!" Santana huffed, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "I mean, he said himself that he left you high and dry last year. He promised he'd help you get back on track this time, and if he's not keeping his word, then you need to make him… or I will." "No violence," Brittany warned. "No fun," Santana grumbled in response. With a quick change of subject, Brittany brightened up. "Did you see Rachel's Facebook? She has a totally new look!" she chirped, "Eh, it's a little too 'hooker' for my taste," Santana shrugged dismissively as she folded a pair of jeans neatly, but a hint of amusement danced in her eyes. "Though I respect the effort. Just when I thought Berry couldn't possibly be less boring, she surprises me again. Honestly, I was about to enroll her in a support group for sweater addicts!" "Well, you have to thank Kurt for saving Rachel from her mediocrity." Brittany chimed in with a bright smile, "They snuck into the vault of Vogue.com, and totally Power Rangers transformed her!" "Pfft, of course," Santana scoffed. "I forgot Lady Hummel and Hobbit are characters in a Disney sitcom now. All of their dreams magically come true," she quipped sarcastically, holding up her hands and wiggling her fingers in a mock spell-casting gesture. "Sounds like someone's jealous." Brittany teased, tickling her girlfriend on the hips. "I mean, I'm not jealous. I just think it's insane that all Porcelain had to do to land an internship with Vogue.com is take photos of every ridiculous outfit he's ever paired with a Cossack hat and a see-through raincoat." Santana rambled, "Then, show up at an interview, where he is lauded as a visionary because his jodhpurs happened to match his riding crop." "Then there's Berry," Santana continued, shaking her head incredulously. "Fully knowing she cooked her goose at her audition, Rachel stalks the headmaster and harasses her into coming to our Nationals performance. Now, she's living her best life wailing an old, dusty Broadway ballad in front of a room full of copy-paste Rachel Berrys. I mean, come on!" "Rachel Berry's clones sound like a nightmare." Brittany giggled. You could follow your dreams, too. Your mom gave you money and said you could go to New York if you wanted to." "Yeah, but I like being in college," Santana replied. "Sure, my schedule is crazy, but I love being a cheerleader." She nudged Brittany flirtatiously, "And I like the idea that I'm never more than a few hours away from you." "But you can't do laundry at school?" Brittany asked, worried that the chore would take up her precious time with her girlfriend. "Mm-mmm," Santana shook her head. "My first week there, I heard a rumour that all the water in Louisville is just purified run-off from the Kentucky Derby stables." "Nasty," Brittany scrunched up her nose. "But most importantly," Santana pointed out, "I promised myself I would only do laundry at home. That way, no matter how busy I got, I'd be forced to come home every few weeks, and then I'd get to see you." The young couple gazed affectionately into each other’s eyes, taking a moment to appreciate their shared connection. Leaning in, they exchanged a quick yet sweet peck, pulling back only when Brittany stifled a yawn. "Britt-Britt, you've been yawning since I got here. Are you okay?" Santana raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, sorry," Brittany groaned in response, "I was up late last night reading 'Desecration: Antichrist Takes the Throne.' It's the ninth book of the 'Left Behind' series of apocalyptic Christian novels about the... end times and the rise of the Antichrist. Whose name is Nicolae Carpathia or Barack Obama? Depending on who you ask." Brittany gave a description Santana thought she'd never hear from her mouth. Not even from Quinn's. Santana widened her eyes, absolutely shocked, "Britt, those 'Left Behind' books are really intense... What teacher is making you read them? Don't tell me Mr. Schue is doing another 'Christian music week' in Glee Club." “It’s not for class,” Brittany quickly explained. “It’s for an after-school club that Sam, Joe, Kitty, Dottie Kazatori, and I are in. I was planning to skip out this weekend for you, but you can come with me if you want.” Santana gave her a skeptical look, crossing her arms. “I don’t really trust that little Kitty brat. Last year, she was the only freshman Cheerio who wasn’t afraid of me. And who’s Dottie Kazatori, anyway?” "Tina's assistant. Everyone graduated, and things got weird..." Brittany replied with a light shrug. "Come with me, babe! It's at Breadstix!" "Okay." Later in the day, Brittany and Santana decided to take Brittany's car to Breadstix to attend the "Left Behind" club's inaugural meeting. Santana leaned back in the passenger seat, taking in the fall weather. The car ride was unusually quiet. Brittany stared intently down the road, feeling nervous. Santana didn't question it aloud but was concerned for her girlfriend. She didn't trust this new extracurricular club Brittany was driving her to; it couldn't possibly be helping her cope. Santana didn't know much about Kitty Wilde, the girl who orchestrated this gathering, only from her short time working with her on the Cheerios. However, when they interacted, Santana drew the conclusion that within the first couple of days of training, Kitty was a snot-nosed brat. She was weirdly obsessed with their friend Quinn Fabray, mildly but significantly uncomfortably racist for her age, and relentlessly vindictive. She may look like a younger Quinn Fabray, but Kitty lacked Quinn's charm. The car veered into the Breadstix parking lot, and as Brittany parked, Santana's mind raced with questions. She took a deep breath, hoping that whatever lay ahead would be worth the discomfort she felt for her girlfriend. The couple stepped out of Brittany's car and linked their pinky fingers for old times' sake. Kitty Wilde stood in front of the entrance, arms folded with a bitchy smirk on her face, while Puck's little brother awkwardly hovered behind her. Desperate to be anywhere else. "Leave it to a wannabe Quinn Fabray to settle for a Puckerman," Santana thought, rolling her eyes internally. "You're late, Pierce. Did you drive in circles again?" Kitty sneered, her exaggerated eye roll seething with condescension. Then, she turned her gaze to Santana, and the smirk became a more pronounced sneer. "What are you doing here, Lez-pez?" she asked, her tone dripping with mockery. Santana and Brittany cringed at the way Kitty pronounced her last name. Even Puck's brother, Jake, flinched slightly at the remarks. "Hey, we said we'd dial down on the bitchiness," Jake leaned over and whispered in Kitty's ear. Kitty just rolled her eyes again, clearly unfazed, and then Santana bit back with a classic razor-sharp retort. "You might want to take your boyfriend's advice, Wilde," she snapped, her voice steady and bold. She stepped forward, closing the distance between herself and the younger girl, her presence imposing. "Otherwise, you might just find yourself on the receiving end of some good old-fashioned Lima Heights hospitality." Santana's posture shifted, her confidence radiating as she loomed over Kitty, who now had to look up at her. "If you think you can out-nasty Santana Lopez—it's pronounced Lo-pez, by the way—I'd tread lightly if I were you," she threatened. "He's...um... he's not my boyfriend," Kitty cleared her throat, attempting to regain her composure. Subtly backing down, she shrugged and sauntered back inside, tail between her legs. Catching the door just before it closed, Jake hesitated for a moment, then held it open for Brittany and Santana, avoiding eye contact both out of respect and a desire to escape the tension. "I'm gonna wait outside for Marley; I'll meet you in there," he said, sounding relieved to retreat from the confrontation. Inside Breadstix, a bustling atmosphere welcomed them. It was filled with the chatter of McKinley students gathered, most likely drawn by Kitty's erratic "Left Behind" club. The air was thick with the irresistible aroma of garlic bread and pasta. However, the unsettling mix of excitement and anxiety still lingered as Santana and Brittany stepped into the restaurant, navigating through a crowd that felt oddly charged with anticipation. As much as she loved Breadstix, Santana wanted to go home already. A nearby waitress slumped as she caught a glimpse of the couple and reluctantly shuffled to their table. "Hello, Miss Lopez." The waitress sighed, "I'm afraid we've had to change our policy about the breadsticks. There's now a limit, so you can't—well, you know—bring in a wheelbarrow anymore." Her eyes widened slightly as she spoke, and she added earnestly, "Please don't yell at me,"A sly smile crept across Santana's face as she leaned closer to read the name tag on the waitress's shirt. "Hello... Lorna," she replied, her tone variously playful and menacing. "Don't you worry, I'll spare the scolding for your dimwitted manager instead. Britt and I will just start with some Cokes, please." Despite the reason they were here, Brittany and Santana enjoyed their moment together in the booth, catching up and sharing large plates of fettuccine. A date is a date, after all. "Okay, everybody, listen up!" Kitty shouted, grabbing the restaurant patrons' attention. The couple exchanged exhausted glances. Here we go again... "Y'all are sinners," Kitty declared flatly, "And you better get right with God tout suite because Jesus just logged into Orbitz and booked a plane ticket back to earth." Caught completely off guard, Santana sputtered, causing her Coke to spray across the table. "What-the-actual—" she quietly uttered between coughs. Later, Brittany's car rolled to a stop in the quiet suburbs, the darkened street illuminated only by the soft glow of nearby streetlights. "Okay, Dottie. Which house is yours?" Santana asked gently, turning her attention to the backseat where Dottie Kazatori sat trembling. With a hesitant quiver, the petite freshman lifted a shaky hand and pointed toward a modest two-story house on the right side of the street. "Mmm. Do you have your keys?" "Yes. Thank you," Dottie managed to squeak out, then left the car. Her arms tightly squeezing her sides as she lightly jogged to the front door. "Bye, Dottie," Brittany and Santana said in unison and waited for her to let herself inside before driving off. The "Left Behind" club ran late, past Breadstix's closing. As Kitty went on and on about the rapture, Santana tried desperately to get Brittany out of there. Her stubborn girlfriend insisted she'd stay, adamant about feeling abandoned. She was only convinced to leave the restaurant when Santana suggested they take poor Dottie home. The drive back to Santana's was tense. Kitty's mean prank reflected Brittany's feelings perfectly about Santana being a distant girlfriend. Santana sat with her guilt as she rested her head on the window. "Can I sleep over tonight?" Brittany asked, "Not for sex. I'm too tired to drive all the way home." "Yes. Please sleep over," Santana reached over the console and held Brittany's hand. "Britt-Britt?" "Mhm?" Brittany responded, eyes focused straight ahead. "Did you mean what you said at Breadstix?" Santana pressed, feeling the moment's heaviness settle around them like a thick blanket. "That the rat you saw was just Remy from 'Ratatouille' getting ready for his shift?" Brittany furrowed her brow. "No, baby. About me leaving you behind," Santana clarified, her voice barely above a whisper as she let go of Brittany's hand. Brittany turned slightly to look at her, her expression softening. "Don't take it personally. I feel that way towards everyone. You, Mercedes, Quinn, Mike Chang..." "Brittany, I'm your girlfriend! I do take it personally. I'm supposed to." Santana projected, "Your Britney Spears meltdown a couple weeks ago should've been a clear indicator I needed to be there with you." "Yeah, but I pulled through," Brittany offered her girlfriend a reassuring smile, "Do I love the idea of being in a long-distance relationship? Absolutely not. However, I'd do anything to make us work." Brittany reached over and pulled Santana's hand to her lips, giving her knuckles a light kiss. "Let me take you on a real date tomorrow. Then I can maybe surprise you at school on Monday," Santana suggested, "I could use a small break from my classes." After a short drive, Brittany pulled into the driveway, a little too crooked. Mr. Lopez would definitely have a hard time getting his car out the next day. Santana and Brittany, once again, hooked pinkies as Santana led them upstairs to her room. Brittany searched her designated drawer for some pj's, settling on pink unicorn pajama pants and a red McKinley Titans t-shirt. At the same time, Santana changed into a black, worn-out band tour shirt and biker shorts. They flopped onto Santana's bed, and Santana searched underneath the pillows for the TV remote. "One Tree Hill, please," Brittany giggled, pulling the duvet to her nose. "The show was cancelled in April, Britt." Brittany stubbornly gestured to the box set tucked in Santana's closet. Santana playfully rolled her eyes and set up the DVD player. She climbed back into bed and clicked on Brittany's favourite episode. As the opening credits rolled, Brittany leaned into Santana, resting her head comfortably on her girlfriend's chest. The moment's warmth was unparalleled, and Brittany's content smile mirrored Santana's gaze. However, as the night wore on, Santana found herself sitting upright on her bed. Brittany unconsciously rolled away from her embrace about two hours ago, snoring. But Santana couldn't sleep; she was too worried about leaving Brittany again in a few days, which kept her awake. Long-distance simply didn't work. She had recently heard that Blaine cheated on Kurt; it was only a matter of time before either of the girls cheated on each other. With a soft sigh, Santana gently pushed aside the covers, careful not to wake Brittany, and slipped out of bed. According to her bedside alarm clock, it was almost three a.m. She took her earbuds and iPod and opened her window to sit on the roof. Ever since she was a kid, her spot on the roof outside her bedroom was her sanctuary whenever things got tough, despite her parents' disapproval. Hey, if Rachel could have the whole McKinley auditorium as her space, then Santana could have her small spot on the roof of her Lima Heights townhouse. Santana carefully stepped out and sat down. She nearly slipped but caught herself. It had been a while. She hadn't been on the roof since she came out to her Abuela. The stars twinkled above her like a sprinkle of glitter, and for the first time that night, she felt a flicker of peace amidst the chaos swirling in her heart. She pressed shuffle on her iPod. The opening to Taylor Swift's "Mine" filled her ears.
-You were in college working part-time waiting tables...-
Santana listened to the lyrics with a heavy sigh. She knew what she had to do before she left for Louisville. The first chill of September breezed through Yale University, a telling sign of a colder autumn's approach as the month neared its end. Sunlight filtered through the lecture hall's tall, arched windows, casting long shadows on the rows of seats. "Alright, class. We'll wrap it up here for today," announced Quinn's psychology teacher, Professor Larkin, her voice resonating with authority. She moved with a practiced ease to flick off the switch on her projector, the bright images fading into darkness. The low hum of conversation began to rise as students eagerly collected their notebooks and laptops in a flurry of movement, spilling out into the bustling hallway. "Mon Dieu! This class gets longer and longer every day I'm here." Jenny rolled her eyes and shoved her laptop and papers into her messenger bag. Just as she began to stand up, Quinn pushed her friend back into her chair and reopened her bag. "Not so fast. We can't leave this mess behind!" Quinn declared, her finger pointing accusingly at the dishevelled stack of handouts Jenny had carelessly tossed together moments before. "We're not leaving until you sort these out and put them in your binder." "Okay, Mom," Jenny snorted mockingly, frowning as she reluctantly pulled apart the binder rings. "I don't want you making us fifteen minutes late again because you couldn't find your lecture notes," Quinn reminded, her tone half-serious, half-teasing, as she leaned back comfortably in her chair, crossed her legs, and folded her arms. Jenny sighed melodramatically, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips despite her annoyance, knowing Quinn had a point. "Fine, fine. Just let me work my magic, and we'll be out of here in no time." Quinn's phone buzzed with an incoming text from Mercedes. 'Call me, tea is hot. :P'- Aretha Jones With a smile, Quinn looked over at Jenny, who was diligently trying to reorganize her mess of a binder. "Just a sec, Jen," Quinn said, stepping back as she climbed the stairs and positioned herself just outside the entrance, close enough to keep an eye on her friend but far enough to have a bit of privacy. "It's about time you picked up, girl," Mercedes said. Quinn smiled warmly, hearing the voice of her best friend. "Hey, 'Cedes. I'm just waiting on a friend, you remember Jenny. What's up?" "Ahh Jenny! She's awesome." A brief break was on the line before Mercedes continued, each word bursting with drama. "Well, you won't believe this... Blaine told Artie, who then passed it on to Sugar, who told Santana, who shared it with Mike, who reported to Puck, and now it's in my ears," she said, pausing for effect, "That Blaine cheated on Kurt." Quinn's jaw dropped in shock. Klaine was the last Glee Club couple she thought would cheat on each other. "That's wild. However, breakups happen every week in Glee Club. What's so big about that?" Mercedes lowered her voice to a whisper, heightening the intrigue, "Because they're not the only ones," she revealed conspiratorially. "No way. Who else split?" Now, this was interesting to Quinn. "Santana and Brittany were reported to have a very emotional heart-to-heart in the choir room. Signs lead to Splitsville as Santana literally sang a Taylor Swift song. I'm waiting for a call from either of the girls to confirm." Mercedes replied. Quinn could only imagine this was all coming from Tina. Tina Cohen-Chang and Mercedes Jones were the renowned gossip queens of McKinley High. "And here's the kicker..." Mercedes continued, "Finchel..." "You're screwing with me, Jones." "Check for yourself..." Seizing the moment, Quinn slid down the wall and settled cross-legged on the floor, pulling her laptop from her bag to investigate. She opened Facebook, her fingers flying over the keys as she searched for Rachel Berry on her friends list. Quinn had seen the photos of Rachel with Finn in her gallery. Still, as she clicked through Rachel's profile, her heart raced when she noticed the relationship status had changed. Heat rushed to her cheeks as disbelief... and a little arousal washed over her. It was no doubt that Quinn had developed a small crush on her friend back in high school, and things haven't really changed. Quinn was shocked about the news. She genuinely thought that Finn and Rachel were "endgame" as the kids say it nowadays "That is insane. Wait... when did Finn have the time to go to New York?" Quinn asked, eyes glued to the screen. "He left the army. Semi-honourable discharge." Mercedes explained, Quinn then switched to her email and typed out a message to Rachel. Completely ignoring any formality, she wrote a simple: To, Rachel: Call me -Quinn “Listen, girl, I gotta go now. Puck just landed in L.A., and he’s been blowing up my phone like crazy,” Mercedes said, reluctantly bringing their conversation to a close. "Okay," Quinn replied, "I love you!" “Love you too. Say hi to Jenny for me!” Mercedes cheerfully exclaimed before hanging up, leaving Quinn with a whirlwind of emotions and a keen sense of curiosity about the unfolding drama. Quinn gathered her things and returned to the lecture room to check on Jenny. Jenny sat proudly in her seat, making a grand gesture to her now-organized binder. "See? It took no time at all!" Jenny beamed. "Can we please go? I'm starving." The girls began climbing back up the stairs, ready to return to their dorm. "Quinn, can you come down here for a second?" Professor Larkin piped in from her desk. Jenny shook her head vigorously, quietly pleading Quinn to leave with her. "I'll buy you lunch. This won't take long," Quinn patted her shoulder. "You better," Jenny smirked, then took a seat by the door as Quinn stepped back down towards Professor Larkin. Professor Larkin shuffled through the stack of essays, stopping at Quinn's. "I'd like to congratulate you early on achieving a perfect score on your essay," Professor Larkin announced, smiling warmly as she extended the graded paper toward Quinn. "You did an exceptional job for a freshman. This, Sue Sylvester... she makes a compelling case study, doesn't she? I've never encountered a teacher who would actually use her students to infiltrate and disband an after-school club." Quinn grinned proudly at the A+ on her assignment. "Thank you, Professor. You have to give yourself some credit. This has been such an eye-opening course." Quinn said confidently, "Please, call me Valerie." Larkin replied, "I'd like to extend an invitation. I'm currently finishing my doctorate, and I see that you have registered for my abnormal psychology class next semester. I must take up a mentoring position for one of my P.h.D. requirements. Would you be interested?" Quinn gasped at the offer. "I-I would be honoured... it's just... isn't that usually for senior students?" She stammered, Valerie Larkin removed her glasses and stepped closer to Quinn. Was her Professor always this... attractive? "I'm willing to take a more... unorthodox approach. I see a lot of potential in you, Quinn. To sweeten the deal, the teacher-student mentorship program includes an optional research practicum at NYU starting February, working closely with the NYPD." As she spoke, Valerie reached into her bag. She pulled out a glossy brochure, its pages filled with captivating images and detailed descriptions about the program. "Think about it. Yale is undoubtedly a great school, but practical experience will take you even further in this field." Quinn held the pamphlet in her hand, her eyes wide in astonishment. "Thank you, I definitely will consider..." "Have a good rest of your day, Quinn." Quinn grasped Jenny's hand excitedly, and the two raced out of the classroom. Once out of earshot, the girls squealed and jumped enthusiastically up and down. "Oh my god, oh my god! This is insane; she chose me?!" Quinn exclaimed, her voice high-pitched and enthusiastic. "Duh, girl! You're like the best in the class!" Jenny cheered in response, "Not to mention, Larkin totally has the hots for you." Quinn abruptly stopped bouncing, the weight of Jenny's words hitting her. "You really think so?" she asked quietly, her mind swirling with uncertainty. Could Professor Larkin have chosen her not just for her academic capabilities but also because she might be attracted to her? "Well, the way she looks at you, it's—" "What?" "Flirtatious? I don't know…" Jenny trailed off, leaving Quinn with a swirl of emotions caught between joyful anticipation and confounding doubt. Quinn seized her wrist, dragging Jenny to a more secluded place. The Canadian stood confused as she watched her friend anxiously pacing back and forth. "Quinn, what are you—" "I can't do the mentorship..." Quinn finally blurted out, raking her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Why?!" Jenny asked, utterly dumbfounded, "Is it because of what I said about Professor Larkin fancying you? I doubt that means anything." "IT MEANS EVERYTHING," Quinn shouted, her voice resonating with the remnants of the old Quinn Fabray that she had tried to bury. "I've lied to my ex, saying I was pregnant with his child. I have called child protective services on my friend's mother so that she would give me the child back. I've dated men solely for my own selfish reasons. I fought my friends in Glee Club over SOLOS, of all things. If what you said holds even a sliver of truth—that I landed this mentorship because she might have feelings for me—then I haven't achieved anything genuinely on my own. NOTHING." "Quinn, don't you dare say that!" Jenny interjected, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around the trembling blonde. "You, Quinn Fabray, are the most talented, ambitious, and genuine person I know." "My name isn't even Quinn." "That is a... shocking revelation... but it doesn't matter! You are going to New York." Quinn sniffed and looked up at Jenny, "I am?" "Quinn, come on! Were you really going to study pre-law just to become a corporate suit? You could be a district attorney and change lives! You could become a detective or even a psychiatrist. Just imagine the possibilities!" Jenny encouraged, her enthusiasm contagious, igniting a flicker of hope within Quinn's heart, "And most importantly. You'll be there because you put in the work." "I'm so glad I met you, Jenny." "And I'm so glad you're buying me food. Let's go eat."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"The moment I wake up. Before I put on my makeup..." Quinn softly sang "I Say a Little Prayer" as she shuffled through her closet for an outfit. She settled on a low V-neck blouse and a pleated mini-skirt paired with her favourite heeled ankle boots. Completing her look, she reached for a fitted blazer, adding a touch of sophistication to her outfit. "I say a little prayer for you..." she murmured as she twirled out of the closet with her chosen garments draped effortlessly over her arms, stepping lightly toward her side of the shared dorm room. The space was still dimly lit, with the late morning sun spilling through the half-closed curtains, setting the stage for her impromptu performance. Quinn picked up her hairbrush, using it as a makeshift microphone, swaying and dancing around the room with a carefree spirit. Also, she was unbuttoning her matching pajama set, something she usually did in the walk-in. "While combing my hair nowwww..." Quinn sang dramatically while she removed her scrunchie and skincare headband. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in tousled waves as she tossed her discarded pajamas aside with exaggerated flair. "And wondering what dress to wear now..." she continued, allowing herself to get lost in the melody, her spirit buoyant and carefree. "I say a little prayer for AHH—" The musical moment was abruptly disrupted as her roommate's voice echoed through the room, filled with mock horror. "Quinn! ARE YOU SINGING IN YOUR UNDERWEAR?!?!" Startled, Quinn whipped around, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as she scrambled to grab a blanket from her bed. She wrapped it around herself, her cheeks flushing a deep pink as she stammered, "JENNY, I—" "No, no, no, no..." Jenny cackled, She placed her shower caddy on the bookshelf and pulled out the largest Tupperware of hair care products Quinn had ever seen. "Don't try anything. I caught you red-handed. You're holding your brush like a microphone. Honestly, you choir kids are all the same." Jenny tsked mockingly at her friend. "I thought nobody could hear us whenever we broke into song..." Quinn muttered in disbelief. "B-broke into... song? I'm sorry, did you go to East High, Wildcat?" Jenny laughed, "Are you baked? Because it better not be from my stash!" Quinn shuffled back into the closet with her clothes. She dropped the blanket and tugged on her blouse. "No. I was just practicing for Yale's show choir. I have my audition soon." Quinn stepped into her skirt and shrugged on her blazer, "Are you going to audition?" "I'm a horrible dancer. I don't think I could dance and sing simultaneously." Jenny replied, "I watched your Nationals performance on YouTube. Your 'Paradise By the Dashboard Light' number was absolutely insane! There's no way I can do that." "I can help you!" Quinn poked her head out of the closet door, "I'll show you some basic steps, and we can audition together." "What will we even sing?" Jenny scoffed, shaking her head. "Put your playlist on shuffle," Quinn suggested as she walked out and stuffed her books in her backpack. Unable to hide her smile, Jenny swiped out her phone and opened her playlist, her eyes dancing with anticipation. Closing her eyes, she pressed the shuffle button with a flourish. The moment the opening of "What Is This Feeling?" echoed through the room, Jenny burst into giggles. "I love Wicked!" "Then it's decided," Quinn flung her arm around her roommate, "What Is This Feeling?'" Quinn touched up her makeup. She glanced over to see Jenny meticulously working through her hair routine. Carefully, Jenny ran her fingers through each curl, lost in thought as she considered the possibility of joining the show choir. It would be fun… Quinn and Jenny emerged from the rustic brick facade of their residence building, their breath visible in the cold, early morning air as they stepped onto the campus pathway. The chill nipped at their cheeks, prompting them to hug their arms close to their sides for warmth as they began their jog toward class. The grass glistened with dew, creating a sparkling carpet beneath their feet, while the crisp air filled their lungs with a refreshing bite. Around them, the leaves danced in vibrant hues of yellow and red, painting the landscape with the warm tones of autumn. "Nothing like a cold October morning jog to get you going," Quinn chuckled, "No... what gets me going is coffee. This just reminds me how much I miss my bed," Jenny groaned, "I don't want to go to class." "Jenny, we only have one lecture today. You can tough it out for an hour and a half," Quinn teased, playfully shoving her roommate forward. "You spent longer on your hair this morning." "Apologies for not having 'white-girl hair.' I just need more pumpkin spice to channel that can-do Caucasian attitude. Then we'll see about attending class," Jenny replied, rolling her eyes dramatically. Soon, her jog transformed into a spirited skip. Quinn couldn't help but giggle, her heart warmed by Jenny's infectious energy. "Or maybe, just maybe," she teased, "you could stick to regular coffee so you're not bouncing off the walls and crashing afterward." "Pumpkin spice! Pumpkin spice!" Jenny chanted, of course drawing glances from other students on the green. Their friendly banter filled the crisp morning air, a delightful soundtrack to their journey as they moved closer to the lecture hall, ready to tackle whatever the day might hold. Jenny was right, as always. The lecture was long and bored the hell out of both of them. It only took Jenny ten minutes before she zoned out, leaving her notes to play solitaire on her laptop. The whole class seemed detached from Dr. Bransen's monotonous dialogue. Students quietly played computer games, surfed the internet, or put on a Netflix movie. Watching this scene unfold, Quinn couldn't help but wonder how unbearable such a lecture would have been if it had happened ten years earlier. She then decided to join her peers in the digital world as she checked her email.
**Email: <[email protected]>/<[email protected]>**
**Inbox:**
**<[email protected]>**
**Subject: Mentorship Follow-Up**
**<[email protected]>**
**Subject: Thanksgiving Dinner**
**<[email protected]>**
**Subject: Homework Answers Pls :)**
**<[email protected]> + 7 others**
**Subject: School Musical, Alumn Needed>**
**<[email protected]>**
**No Subject**
Quinn begrudgingly slid her homework to Jenny without opening the email, already knowing which class she needed it for. She left Valerie's email untouched. Honestly, she was still uncertain about taking the mentorship position. Quinn tried to muster up the energy to engage with her sister's message about Thanksgiving, but she needed to be interested in having the conversation. Mr. Schue's message was ignored entirely. Then, her curiosity was piqued by the final email in the list. It was from Rachel—a message that Quinn didn't need to think twice about opening.
**<[email protected]>**
**Subject: No Subject**
To: Quinn Fabray (<[email protected]>)
Hey Quinn, I'll respond when I get a chance. How does Friday sound?
-Rachel
Quinn's fingers flew across the keyboard in response, quickening her pulse with anticipation as she crafted a reply.
**<[email protected]>**
**Subject: No Subject**
To: Rachel Berry (<[email protected]>)
Rach,
Sounds good
-Quinn
After hitting send, Quinn switched tabs to her Facebook page, her curiosity piqued by the barrage of updates. She noticed a new photo posted by Rory Flanagan, the Irish exchange student, standing with some friends in London, England, beside a classic red phone booth— sparking a bright spot of travel envy. She typed a friendly comment beneath the post. Brittany had also posted an animated status, announcing a new episode of her quirky web show, "Fondue for Two." Meanwhile, Mercedes celebrated a milestone with a heartfelt thank-you post after surpassing one hundred thousand views on her energetic performance of "Disco Inferno." Quinn typed another comment congratulating her best friend. Rachel then posted a photo of the Glee Club, tagging everyone. It was taken during one of their rehearsals of "Rocky Horror." "Two years ago... My, how time flies!" Rachel captioned, along with some enthusiastic comments from the other Glee Club members. Quinn inadvertently found herself scrolling through Rachel's profile, which included pictures of her and Kurt exploring New York City, Rachel posing with a man tagged as Brody Weston, and Rachel with her new clothes and makeup, Rachel with— "Stalker much?" Jenny whispered over Quinn's shoulder, startling the girl, "Oh, she is cute!" Jenny continued, her voice higher than a whisper as she leaned closer to get a better view. Quinn quickly slammed her laptop shut, a rush of embarrassment flooding her cheeks. "Jenny," Quinn hissed, shooting her friend a glare boiling with mortification. "Not so loud!" "Girl... Look around," Jenny replied with a playful smirk, gesturing to the sea of students surrounding them, all engrossed in their own digital worlds as Dr. Bransen droned on in the background. "Nobody cares." "What is the hot gossip about this chick?" Jenny shuffled her seat closer and pried open Quinn's laptop. Quinn made a face in protest. "Her name is Rachel Berry; we were in Glee Club together," Quinn offered hesitantly, trying to dismiss the sudden surge of anxiety about discussing Rachel. "Quinn, you're as boring as Bransen," Jenny deadpanned, the playful glint in her eyes demanding more. "Give me something juicy." "Uhhh... Her biological mother has my baby...?" Quinn finally offered, wishing she had kept her mouth shut. "Better. Especially knowing you tried to steal your child back." Jenny leaned in, resting her chin on Quinn's shoulder, her eyes sparkling with unrestrained curiosity, "Now, what's the deal between you two?" Quinn felt her heart race as she contemplated how to answer. "We… both had the same ex-boyfriend, so we were pretty much at odds most of the time. We became closer later on, though," Quinn said, then eyes darted to the side, avoiding Jenny's gaze. "As for romantically. Yeah, I developed a crush that may or may not still be... a crush. I doubt anything will ever happen between us." She confessed, blushing fiercely. "Oh, la, la!" Jenny quipped, the wide grin on her face signalling just how entertained she was. "Do all French-speaking people actually say that?" Quinn asked, desperate to change the embarrassing subject. She hoped Jenny's short attention span would come into play. "Meh, not often and not as elegantly as the Europeans," Jenny shrugged, "I think that's why they hate us." Jenny then narrowed her gaze to her roommate, "I see what you're doing. Don't change the subject." "What else do you want to know, Jen? That's pretty much it." Quinn retorted, Jenny slumped and rolled back to her side of the table. She opened her laptop again and shuffled her digital cards. Quinn exhaled a sigh of relief; she had never revealed that secret to anyone before, not even Mercedes or Santana. She glanced at Jenny, offering a small, grateful smile and mouthing a silent thank you. In response, Jenny made a mock angry face, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of juicy gossip. She turned her attention back to her screen, leaving Quinn to contemplate her tangled feelings about Rachel Berry in peace. "Okay, class, we'll end it here today..." Dr. Bransen sighed flatly as he watched the class race out of the room. "Kids these days..." In Lima, Rachel sat cross-legged on her bed in her childhood bedroom, staring at her suitcase. Tears streamed down her cheeks, blurring her vision as she rifled through a pile of old photographs that captured fleeting moments of happiness shared with Finn—smiles, laughter, and the carefree days when their love felt unbreakable. Rachel had just broken up with Finn, even though she didn't really want to. From the moment she saw that Finn was devastated, Rachel wished she could undo everything right then and there. All Rachel wanted was to hit rewind, to erase the last few months filled with silence and confusion, but the young actress understood that those events couldn't be changed. She had to break up with him because Finn had essentially ghosted her for four months. Rachel was left alone with her anxiety; she cried herself to sleep more than once during that time and felt confused for what felt like forever. What a fantastic way to start a marriage. Rachel reached for the plane ticket on her bedside table. Her flight back to New York was only a few hours away, a reminder that she was leaving this chapter behind for good. With a shaky breath, she opened her laptop to check in for her flight. Just as the familiar check-in page loaded, a new email notification momentarily broke her focus. It was from Quinn, a couple days ago. Her heart skipped a beat. Her pulse quickened. Quinn's presence had always stirred something deep within Rachel, a complicated mix of camaraderie and unspoken feelings. She hesitated, her heart fluttering in anticipation as she clicked to open the email.
**<[email protected]>**
**Subject: No Subject**
To: Rachel Berry (<[email protected]>)
Call me
-Quinn
The simplicity of the message sent a thrill of warmth coursing through her. With her cheeks flushed and a small, hopeful smile beginning to emerge amidst her sadness, Rachel began to type a response. All of her worries about Finn were momentarily gone.
**<[email protected]>**
**Subject: No Subject**
To: Quinn Fabray (<[email protected]>)
Hey Quinn, I'll respond when I get a chance. How does Friday sound?
-Rachel
Rachel hesitantly pressed send. She'd be back in New York on Friday, and Kurt would be at work. It would also give her time to prepare for the phone call. Rachel then looked at the top right of her screen...
**Thursday, October 4th, 2012 12:08pm**
So much for time to prepare... Just as her message disappeared into cyberspace, the familiar chime of her inbox echoed, and she saw Quinn's response waiting for her. Her heart started pumping again. Quinn replied, "Sounds good." A flutter of warmth spread through Rachel as her temperature rose, igniting a spark of excitement that she hadn't felt in a long time—excitement...with growing confusion. Then, out of nowhere, the opening jingle of "What Is This Feeling?" chimed in.... Rachel flopped backwards on her bed. "What is this feeling, so sudden and new?" She sang Galinda's line.... Back at Yale University, Quinn stepped out of her lecture, mind racing with thoughts. "I felt the moment I laid eyes on you?" She muttered Elphaba's.... Rachel picked up a photo of the Glee Club, eyes fixed on Quinn's face. "My pulse is rushing..."... Quinn followed Jenny out to the courtyard. "My head is reeling."... Rachel squished her face in disbelief "My face is flushing!"... Together, "What is this feeling?"... Suddenly, Quinn stopped in her tracks, and Rachel sat up. They paused for a long time... then broke out in song... (Imagine a split-screen montage.)...
Fervid as a flame?
Does it have a name?
Yes...
Loathing!
Unadulterated loathing!
For your face, your voice, your clothing...
Let's just say...I loathe it all...
Every little trait, however small...
Makes my very flesh begin to crawl...
With simple utter loathing...
There's a strange exhilaration...
In such total detestation...
It's so pure, so strong!
Though I do admit, it came on fast...
Still I do believe that it can last ...
And I will be loathing, loathing you my whole...life...long...
... Kurt Hummel was now immersed in the vibrant and dynamic world of Vogue.com, a place that buzzed with creativity and ambition. Each day at the office was an exhilarating experience, filled with new challenges and opportunities for growth that broadened his horizons beyond anything he had previously imagined. The energy of New York City swept him off his feet; its iconic skyline glimmered in the sunlight, and the eclectic mix of sounds and sights filled him with inspiration. Sure, Kurt was heartbroken after breaking up with Blaine. But none of that mattered now; he had a promising career ahead of him. As he navigated the bustling streets, Kurt expertly dodged the relentless flow of taxis and cars honking as they rushed by. He pushed himself to jog towards the glass-fronted office building, feeling the pulse of the city in every step he took. Arriving at the entrance, he pulled out his employee card with a sense of pride and anticipation. With a quick swipe, the automatic doors slid open, welcoming him into the sleek, stylish interior. He made his way to the elevator, excitement bubbling within him as he prepared for another day of creativity and connection in the fast-paced world of fashion journalism. Yes, Kurt Hummel was living the life! "Good morning, Noelle!" Kurt beamed at the receptionist, "Is that Balenciaga you're wearing?" "Indeed it is, Kurt!" Noelle smiled back, "I may have indulged in some retail therapy during my day off yesterday. Oh, there's a package for you!." She leaned over and handed Kurt a box. "Oh, I didn't know interns received packages..." Kurt furrowed his brow. "They don't, and they're definitely not allowed to," Noelle responded flatly, her expression turning serious. "You're lucky I caught this before anyone else saw it." Kurt gripped the box, squeezing it slightly. Confusion was now replaced by irritation. Kurt clipped on his earpiece and hurried to his desk. Once seated, he examined the sender's address. His stomach sank as he recognized the Lima postal code; it could only mean one thing. "Blaine..." he growled under his breath, "First you cheat on me, then you try to get me in trouble at work..." Just then, a deafening BOOM reverberated outside the windows, followed by the ominous rumble of thunder. Without warning, rain began to pour torrentially, drenching unsuspecting New Yorkers on the streets below. The chaos inside the office escalated as phones began ringing incessantly, creating a cacophony of sound. At the same time, the printer sputtered and jammed in protest. Kurt swung around in his seat and knocked over his coffee, the hot liquid spilling all over his lap. Kurt yelped in pain and scrambled to get some napkins. "Jesus, and then you ruin my day!" he exclaimed, shaking his fist. "Kurt?" A high-pitched voice belonging to none other than Isabelle Wright piped in. In a flurry of panic, he shoved the mysterious package under his desk, hoping to hide it from view. He turned to face Isabelle, his cheeks tinged a bright shade of pink. "Heyyyy, Isabelle. How goes it?" Nice going, Kurt. Just keep it casual. Wait, she was his boss! Don't be casual! "Don't be casual!" he blurted out involuntarily, his voice high-pitched and disjointed. "I-I mean… Good morning, Isabelle. I have Tom Ford on hold." He stammered, hoping to salvage the situation with a semblance of professionalism. "Uh-huh..." Isabelle raised an eyebrow, "Are you done?" "Yes," Kurt mumbled, "Put Tom through, please. And next time, don't put him on hold." She stepped out of the office, then momentarily poked her head back in. "Is lunch at 12:15 okay? It's your turn to pick." Her cheerful tone brought a brief sense of calm before she darted off. Kurt sighed heavily as he turned back to the thwarted printer, determined to fix the paper jam. He was ready to embrace whatever the day would bring, but all he could think about was that package and the shadow of Blaine hovering just out of reach. Could Kurt forgive him? Blaine had reached out continuously since the break-up. Maybe Kurt could give him a call... No. It was time to move on... Resolute, Kurt left his office and made his way to the mailroom. He rifled through one of the cabinets, pulling out a return-to-sender sticker as he mentally prepared to sever this unwanted tie to his past. Returning to his desk, Kurt took a deep breath, ready to reclaim his agency in the world of fashion and finally let go. With a resounding slap, he stuck the sticker across the package. Lunchtime rolled around, and Isabelle popped back into Kurt's office. After some tough decision making, they landed on a small but upscale restaurant a couple blocks away. The rain continued to pour heavily outside. Once they arrived at the restaurant, they were led to a quaint table draped in crisp white linen, accentuated by a simple yet elegant vase filled with fresh flowers that fringed the table in a burst of colour. The warm lighting contrasted with the dreary weather outside, creating a comforting cocoon for their meal. Both of them eagerly scanned the menu, their eyes dancing over the enticing options; they both decided on the restaurant's signature French onion soup, a dish known for its rich flavours and warm, cheesy topping—perfect for battling the chilly weather outside. Kurt, seeking to break the ice, turned to Isabelle, his expression earnest. "So, what did you think about the colour-blocking article in this issue?" he asked as he handed the waiter his menu, his voice brimming with professional curiosity. "No shop talk, Kurt. Let's talk about you instead," Isabelle replied, her voice gentle yet sincere. She reached across the table, her fingers elegantly wrapping around his hand, a comforting and encouraging gesture. "You looked very panicked this morning, so I thought you needed a break." Kurt smiled at his boss's kindness and sipped his water, gathering the courage to tell her. "Well, my boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, I guess..." Kurt shifted slightly in his seat, "He cheated on me. The long distance was too much to handle." "Awe, Kurt, I'm sorry," Isabelle spoke softly. Kurt offered a small, appreciative smile, trying to mask the ache in his heart. "It's fine, really. I'll be okay…" Kurt said, his voice trailing off as he glanced down at the tablecloth, gathering his emotions before delving deeper into his thoughts, "I have to apologize for leaving Tom Ford on hold this morning. My ex sent a package to the office; I'm guessing it's yet another apology gift..." "Oh, don't worry about that! What was it?" Isabelle asked, tilting her head. "I don't know. I didn't open it." Kurt shrugged, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth. Isabelle hummed in response. "Maybe it's for the best," she offered, her tone lightening the moment. "I have some news that might take your mind off things." Kurt's curiosity piqued. "What is it?" Isabelle sat up a bit straighter, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. "I want you to get paid for the work you do here at Vogue. How about becoming my official personal assistant?" Kurt's eyes widened, and he dropped his jaw in shock. "Are you serious!?" Isabelle chuckled at Kurt's reaction, clearly enjoying the surprise she'd given him. "Absolutely serious. You'd be a fantastic fit for the role." Kurt blinked, trying to process the offer. "But... I mean, this is Vogue we're talking about. Why me?" "Because I've seen how dedicated you are, how you handle everything that comes your way with grace," Isabelle said, her tone earnest. "You have a passion for this industry, and I believe you can bring a unique perspective to the team. Plus, I've noticed you've been juggling a lot at work already." "Wow, I... I don't even know what to say. This is incredible!" Kurt responded, the excitement beginning to bubble up. "Is this something you really want? I mean, I just started. I wouldn't want to overstep..." Isabelle shook her head, her eyes sparkling. "Kurt, you wouldn't be overstepping at all. I want someone I can trust to help me with the day-to-day. I need your organizational skills and your eye for detail. Think about it! It's a stepping stone for your career." Kurt took a deep breath, considering the possibility. "This could really change things for me. But I have to ask—what about the other interns? How will they feel about this?" Isabelle waved her hand dismissively. "They'll understand. This isn't about favouritism; it's about finding the right fit. You bring something special to the table, and I want to facilitate your growth while strengthening our team." Just then, the waiter approached with their orders. "Madame and monsieur, your French onion soups." He carefully placed the steaming bowls in front of them, and Kurt couldn't help but smile, his heart swelling with happiness. At that moment, as the rich aroma of the soup wafted towards him, it struck him: for the first time in a while, he felt genuinely and profoundly happy.Later that night... Later that night, Kurt hurriedly entered the cozy apartment he shared with Rachel. The door slid open with a quiet whoosh as he burst through, his feet light with newfound excitement, energy bubbling up within him like a celebration waiting to happen. There was a lot to celebrate. Kurt was now a paid assistant for his fashion icon, Isabelle Wright. This was great news, especially knowing that rent was due. "Rachel, I'm home!" Kurt called out, scanning the apartment for his best friend, "Hello?" Kurt squinted, perplexed, "Rachel...?" Kurt stood alone in the middle of the loft, puzzled. Rachel should have been home the night before unless her flight had been delayed or she stayed in Ohio an extra day. Kurt had assumed Rachel arrived after he had gone to bed, and he didn't bother waking her up this morning. Maybe she was with Brody? She had to be in New York...He swiped out his phone to call Rachel. "Hey, Kurt..." "Rachel, where are you?" Rachel stood outside an old brick building, its age visible in the fading paint and worn-out steps leading up to the entrance. She was surrounded by a flurry of students, all clad in Yale University hoodies, their laughter and discussions a distant murmur against the phone's speaker. Despite the bustling scene, Rachel appeared unfazed, her expression calm as she leaned against the cool, rough surface of the brick wall. "Rachel...?" "I'm in Connecticut..." "Connecticut?!?" Jenny and Quinn strolled down the cobblestone pathway in full glam, the faint glow of streetlights illuminating their faces as they returned from the clandestine meeting of their secret society. Of course, the meeting went on with a couple of drinks in the girls' systems. Above them, the night sky hung like a velvet cloak scattered with countless stars, each twinkling like a distant diamond, creating a serene and almost magical backdrop over their bustling campus, usually filled with students rushing to and fro. A cool breeze danced through the air, rustling the leaves of the ancient trees lined the walkway and sending a refreshing chill that made them shiver slightly. The friends stumbled into each other, laughing uncontrollably. "Quinn," Jenny began, her breath visible in the crisp air, "Considering how wealthy we both are, why didn't we just grab a taxi instead of walking?" She bumped into her roommate and giggled frivolously. Quinn hugged Jenny to catch her from falling, cackling. Their bare feet slapped against the cold pavement. Their high heels were... somewhere. "Ohhhh my god. You're right!" Quinn gasped, her words slurring slightly. "It's okay, I'm pretty sure I can see our dorm from here... I think." She squinted at the buildings in the distance. "Jenny, do you remember if we took a left or a right at the statue?" Quinn asked, her brow furrowing in concentration. "I swear it was left," Jenny replied, stepping forward and nearly losing her balance. Her glasses fell to her chin, "Or maybe it was a right? Ugh, I need a map. Or, like, a personal guide!" "We need a whole GPS system for this campus! Who knew Yale would be so… expansive?" "Expansive? More like confusing!" Jenny exclaimed, throwing her hands up dramatically. "We're college students, not explorers!" Quinn twirled around and latched her arms encircling Jenny's sides. Her roommate tumbled forward but caught her balance. Eliciting a small surprised shriek, followed by a giggle. "Whoopsie!" Quinn laughed, her carefree spirit reflecting the moment's delight. "Girl, steady yourself!" Jenny gasped between giggles, catching her breath. "Or we'll both end up in the bushes!" "There is a twig in your hair, Jen." Quinn tried to unwrap the stick from the stronghold of Jenny's dark curls. Jenny swatted at Quinn playfully as she tried to remove the twig. "I'm not a Christmas tree, Quinn! You don't have to decorate me!" Quinn laughed, finally dislodging the twig and flicking it over her shoulder. "Voila! Now you're twig-free! Let's celebrate this monumental achievement with… whatever we can find in our dorm!" "Honestly, I could go for some snacks right about now," Jenny said, rubbing her stomach dramatically. "I think I might die if we don't find something soon." "Yesssss," Quinn slurred, "The snacks at the secret society meetings are always so fancy and petite! Could Marie-Alice not splurge on some real food?" "Nooooo, rich people eat like birdsss..." Jenny replied, "The smaller, the fancier." As they continued down the path, a familiar building emerged in the distance. "Look! There's our dorm!" Jenny shouted, pointing ahead. "We didn't get kidnapped!" Quinn cheered, "We didn't get kidnapped!' Jenny cheered with her. The girls jogged towards the building, fumbling to get their keys from their purses. With a clatter of metal and a flurry of hands, they finally retrieved their student cards and swiped them in the electronic reader. The doors glided open with a soft whoosh, inviting them into the warm, familiar atmosphere of the residence. They made a beeline to the residence's kitchen, looking for snacks. They both made a mental note to reimburse the people from whom they took their snacks. "Ugh, you Americans literally have the best snacks." Jenny groaned, stuffing her mouth with chips. "It's full of fat and sugar, and I love it." Quinn smiled in response, pulling leftover pizza from the fridge. "Bingo!" She said and bit down. "Did you just say 'bingo' over pizza? You're such a dork!" Jenny laughed, her voice slightly louder than necessary as she crunched down on another chip. "Hey, it's a big deal when you find treasure in the fridge!" Quinn replied, a slice of pizza dangling from her mouth as she attempted to balance it and not drop any toppings. "Let's get upstairs before we eat everything in here," Jenny suggested, glancing back at the stash of snacks they'd pilfered. "Right! The pizza won't eat itself!" Quinn exclaimed, and with a dramatic flourish, she set off towards the stairs, nearly tripping over her own feet. "Careful, Romy and Michele!" Jenny called after her, bursting into giggles as she followed. The girls clung to each other as they climbed the staircase. Quinn fumbled with the key in the door and pushed. The door swung open, causing the roommates to tumble onto the floor. Jenny piled on top of Quinn. They scrambled off each other and closed the door behind them. "Mmmm, okay... movie..." Jenny walked over to her mini-fridge, pulling out two mini-cans of Sprite. "Let's watch 'Legally Blonde,'" Quinn suggested, rummaging through her shelf for the perfect movie snacks. "Of course, you chose the movie about the popular blonde girl going to law school." Jenny chortled, "Duh! I'm literally Elle Woods!" Quinn declared, tossing her hair back dramatically, "You are so drunk!" Jenny grinned, "So are you!" Quinn shot back Quinn and Jenny were enjoying their late-night movie snacks on Quinn's bed, laughing loudly at another Reese Witherspoon film. Half-empty bowls of popcorn and crumpled candy wrappers lay scattered around them, remnants of their indulgent feast. Just as Quinn leaned back to take another swig from her soda can, a sudden and urgent knock on the door shattered their bubble of laughter. "Oh my God, is that the R.A.?" Quinn exclaimed, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and disbelief. "How on earth are we getting noise complaints when Biff McIntosh is throwing a full-blown party two floors down?" Her brow furrowed in irritation as she glanced at Jenny, whose expression mirrored her confusion and exasperation. "I know, right?" Jenny replied, shaking her head incredulously. "I can hear the bass thumping from here! It's like we're at his party." The rhythmic thud of music from below felt like an insult to their quiet retreat. "Ugh, just pause the movie," Quinn sighed, already rising from the comfort of her bed. "I'll go answer the door." Quinn climbed down from her loft and placed her soda can on her desk. Taking a moment to check her breath, she inhaled deeply, hoping the sugary junk food they had devoured would mask any lingering scent of alcohol. With a resigned sigh, Quinn trudged over to the door, each step heavy with exhaustion. She swung the door open. "Listen, Zack," she began, her tone firm as she prepared to launch into a proper dressing down, "If you're busting us for watching chick flicks while Biff is—" But as she stood there, the words caught in her throat. She froze, her eyes widening in disbelief as she took in the figure before her, mouth agape. "Rachel…" she breathed, the name slipping from her lips like a soft whisper. The surprise of seeing her friend caused a rush of emotions to surge within her. "Hey, Quinn," Rachel replied dejectedly, "You said you wanted to talk..." "Yeah, I meant a phone call…" Quinn stepped aside, ushering her friend into the room with a wave of apprehension. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in New York?" As Rachel stepped into the room, an air of awkwardness loomed. Jenny, caught off guard by the unexpected guest, sat up straight, her eyes wide. "Oh, tabarnak! Ce qui se passe, Quinn?!?!" Jenny piped in, her French tumbling out as she made an overexaggerated gesture towards Rachel. Rachel took a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. "It's… it's Finn," she finally said, her voice quaking under the weight of her words. "We broke up." The admission hung in the air like a muted storm cloud, and she felt the tears welling up, threatening to spill over. "I just couldn't take it anymore. He… he was just so different." Sensing the tension swirling in the room, Jenny rose to her feet and cleared her throat. "I, uh, think I'll go crash on the couch in the lounge. You two need to talk." Her glance shifted between them, worry etched on her face as she saw the distress clouding Rachel's eyes. She grabbed Quinn's blanket and slipped out of their shared dorm. Quinn took Rachel's hand, and they climbed up to her bed. They sat upright against the wall. Quinn's heart sank at the sight of Rachel's pain. She instinctively moved closer, reaching out to comfort her friend. She also made sure to be as surprised as possible despite Mercedes telling her the news earlier. "I'm so sorry, Rach. I wish you'd called me when it happened... You shouldn't be going through this alone." The tremor in Rachel's voice echoed within her, making Quinn ache to reach out and shield her from every hurt. "But why did you come here? You have Kurt waiting for you in New York." Rachel sighed, "I needed a friend who wasn't Kurt. I... I couldn't bear to go back to New York yet, so I changed my flight." "You didn't break up with him in New York?" Quinn asked softly, "I flew back to Lima. He came to me first, but then there was Brody. The next thing I knew, he left without saying goodbye. So I went back home to Ohio." Rachel looked up at Quinn, "It was only a kiss, Quinn. Finn didn't call me for four months. I had no idea where he was! So naturally, I tried moving on with Brody, a guy from my school." Quinn tilted her head, fingers ghosting over Rachel's hand. "I thought we were on the same page," Rachel continued, voice trembling. "When Finn returned from the army, I thought we'd reconnect easily like no time had passed. But it felt like I was always waiting… waiting for him to call, waiting for him to reach out. He just didn't." Rachel's voice cracked, and she closed the distance between them, falling into Quinn's arms just inches apart as if the space could bridge the confusion and heartache she felt. "So, what is your issue? Why are you here, Rachel?" "Last year, you told me to part ways with Finn and focus on my career. I didn't listen, and this is where I am now. I'm so lost, Quinn." Rachel sniffed, tears pooling in her eyes. Quinn took a moment to gather her thoughts before gently taking Rachel's hands in hers, her touch both grounding and electric. "I can't believe he'd let you go. You're amazing," she said softly, desperate to reassure her friend. Quinn could feel the tension hanging thick in the air, an unrelenting weight that made it hard to breathe. Rachel's vulnerability made Quinn's heart race, a rhythm that echoed with an intensity they both felt but didn't yet understand. "You deserve someone who sees you completely, you know?" she whispered, her breath mingling with Rachel's. The warmth between them was extreme but tender, "I kind of doubted Finn was able to..." Rachel's eyes shone with sadness and hope as she searched Quinn's face, her heart pounding in her chest. "I don't know what to do without him," she confided, a hint of desperation creeping into her words. "You can try moving on. If he really loved you, he would let you go," Quinn replied, placing her hand on Rachel's cheek and wiping away her tears with her thumb. "Where do I start?" Rachel absentmindedly leaned into Quinn's touch. At that moment, a hush enveloped them, the outside world fading into a distant blur. Quinn leaned in just a fraction closer, emboldened by Rachel's vulnerability and the alcohol. Their lips were almost brushing now, both of them hyper-aware of the electric energy crackling between them. Quinn could feel the warmth radiating from Rachel's skin, the tension tightening like a coiled spring between them. "Rachel..." Quinn began her voice barely above a whisper, trembling on the precipice of something more. Rachel leaned back, shaking her head slightly as if to dispel the intensity. "I just need time… but thank you for being here for me." The disappointment lingered in the air, mixed with the longing that wrapped around them like a delicate thread. An awkward silence settled, the weight of unsaid words hanging heavily. Still buzzing slightly from the drinks she and Jenny had earlier, Quinn felt the heat of her cheeks intensify. "Yeah… of course," she stammered, trying to collect her thoughts. She could feel the quiet hum of unfinished business, the way Rachel's rejection lingered in the air, thick and excruciating. Rachel took a shaky breath, her eyes darting away, clearly flustered. "I didn't mean to, um… not…," she trailed off, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and confusion. "It's fine," Quinn said too quickly, her own inebriation muddling her thoughts, turning every word into a knot of misunderstandings. They were both lost in a restlessness of emotions that felt too intense and raw, and the moment hung awkwardly between them, contrasting to the vulnerability they'd just shared. "Maybe I should—" Rachel began, pausing as if to collect herself but instantly regretting the distance her words had created. "Yeah. I should probably just, uh... sit here," Quinn replied, the humour in her voice falling flat, the drunken haze making every word feel heavier. At that moment, the air thickened. Rachel flashed a weak smile, a fragile thing amidst the tension. "I really appreciate you, Quinn. I just—" "Always. Just uhm...take it one day at a time," Quinn interrupted, her voice steady but her heart still racing from the almost-kiss. Was it an almost kiss? As Rachel sniffed, trying to manage her swirl of emotions, Quinn sat further away, detached. Her head was pounding harder than her heart. "Are you drunk?" Rachel's eyes remained on Quinn. "Tipsy... Why?" "It's just...it almost felt like you were about to..." Rachel trailed, "N-never mind." BZZZ BZZZ BZZZ! The shrill blare of Quinn's alarm sliced through the peaceful silence of her room, jolting her awake from a deep slumber. Startled, she squinted against the bright morning light filtering through her curtains, her mind struggling to shake off the remnants of sleep. As Quinn's hand shot out to silence the relentless beeping, she accidentally sent a cascade of trinkets tumbling from her cluttered shelf. A half-filled water bottle rolled off the edge with a soft thud, while an old photo frame clattered to the floor, its glass nearly shattering. A muffled curse escaped her lips as she felt a wave of frustration wash over her. Why couldn't she have a bed on the floor? Why was everything so... loud and bright? Do students here not sleep in on the weekends? "Oh, I'm hungover..." She mumbled groggily. She heaved herself up, groaning and rubbing her back. Quinn was still feeling overly sensitive from the light outside. This was how her grandmother probably felt every morning. Jenny strolled out of their closet, suitcase in hand. "Okay, Quinn, I'm leaving!" She said a little too cheerfully for someone who had more drinks than her last night. "L-leaving? What?" Quinn managed to rub her eyes harder, trying to adjust her bleary vision to the animated figure of her roommate. "Uhh, yeah? I'm going home. I'll be back on Tuesday..." Jenny replied nonchalantly as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "It's Thanksgiving..." Quinn's confusion deepened. "It's...October..." "Canadian Thanksgiving." "Seriously? What am I supposed to do while you're gone?" Quinn flopped back onto her bed. "I mean, you could come with. Don't know how you'll get a plane ticket." Jenny shrugged, "Montreal is cold as hell right now, but it's the most fun city in the world." "I'm not going to Canada." "Then why not explore New Haven? There's plenty to see! I don't have all the answers for you, Quinn," Jenny said as she rolled her suitcase towards the door and bent down to grab some extra items from her side of the room. "By the way, where is she?" "Who?" "The girl with brown bangs and heavy lashes was here last night... Rochelle?" "Rachel... she went back to New York..." Quinn sighed, and last night's memories flooded in. "Damn, girl. That soon? Do you and your friends have some sort of magical teleporter?" Jenny snorted, "Ohio, New York, California, back to Ohio, New York, Connecticut, Ohio... like where is this transportation coming from and who is funding it?" "New York is only a couple hours away..." Quinn pressed her lips in a thin line. "But how come she didn't stay longer?" Jenny tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in a thoughtful scrutiny. "Did something happen?" Quinn groaned and buried her face in her hands, massaging her temples. "I almost kissed her..." she grumbled, mentally kicking herself. "WOAH," Jenny exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise. "What do you mean, 'almost kissed her'? Spill!" "She was really heartbroken about her break-up with her ex, Finn. I was trying to comfort her and she was like super close, inches away. I swear she was leaning in, too. I guess I misread the situation." Quinn confessed. She then took her pillow and pressed it against her face. "I'm so stupid!" She whined. Jenny chuckled, shaking her head. "Quinn, you're not stupid. It happens. But, come on! You almost kissed her? That's kind of a big deal! It's better than stalking her on Facebook." "She asked me if I was drunk!" "Uh, dude, you were. Your high heels are literally in a bush somewhere." Jenny scoffed, "Hey... maybe you can spend your weekend trying to find our heels! I want my red bottoms back!" "You... you discarded your LOUBOUTINS?" Quinn sprung up from her bed. Jenny shrugged, a sheepish grin spreading across her face. "I was trying to dance, okay? It was a wild night!" "Jennette Sofie Tremblay! You can't just lose Louboutins in a bush!" Quinn exclaimed, incredulous. "That's practically a crime!" Jenny laughed, the sound brightening the mood. "Relax! It's just a pair of heels. Besides, we can look for them later. Right now, you need to figure out your next move with Rachel." Quinn groaned again, hands raking through her blonde locks. "What move? I messed it up. She's back in New York, and I'm here nursing a hangover while my roommate skips town for Thanksgiving. It's just... ugh." "Then... I don't know? Take a break from social media? Binge a show? Answer Professor Larkin's proposal about the mentorship?" Jenny listed, counting off her fingers. " I cannot believe you haven't given her an answer yet!" "Because it's insane that Larkin picked a first-year student to shadow her!" Quinn shot back. "Yeah, well, be the first." Jenny threw her hands up in exasperation. "I hate my major, but I would still take an opportunity if it was presented. I'm a woman of colour with ADHD! I don't ponder chances to get ahead because I don't know if I would get another chance. DO IT." Quinn fidgeted, feeling a little guilty. This was a significant opportunity that she was possibly throwing away... "Okay, I'll do it." Jenny smiled, "Send the email. Then figure out what the hell is going on with you and Rachel." She pushed open the door, suitcase in tow. "My ride is here. À Bientôt!" "Wait!" Quinn called for her friend, "What about show choir auditions?!" "Check your email..." Quinn opened her laptop and searched her inbox. YALE UNIVERSITY SHOW CHOIR CANCELLED DUE TO LACK OF INTEREST "Fantastic..." Quinn mumbled, Rachel pulled the sliding door to her and Kurt's Bushwick loft, suitcase in tow. She was exhausted, catching the earliest train possible from New Haven to New York. She didn't want to disturb Quinn or her kind roommate... what was her name? Jodie? Jackie? Jenny? Yes, it was Jenny. Her head was swirling from the night before. She remembered sitting on Quinn's bed, feeling devastated about Finn. Somehow, a powerful magnetic force had drawn them closer, almost kissing. Rachel pulled away. She didn't know if that was Quinn's intention. It definitely felt like it... did Quinn... like her? No, that cannot be possible! Quinn bullied her! Well, in high school, she bullied her... Maybe Rachel was reading into it too much... Rachel shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside as she steered her suitcase toward her side of the room. The indigo light of dawn seeped through the windows, casting soft shadows on the exposed brick walls, which somehow felt both familiar and foreign after the whirlwind of emotions from the night before. She rolled her suitcase to the foot of her bed, then flopped down. "Thought I heard you come in..." Startled, Rachel sat up quickly. Her eyes landed on Kurt's familiar silhouette as his head poked through the curtain. His tousled hair and sleepy features framed a warm smile. "Hi, Kurt. Sorry, did I wake you?" "Not at all," he replied, dismissively waving his hand. I was waiting for you to come home..." "You didn't have to..." Rachel smiled softly. "Yeah, well. When your best friend makes an impromptu trip to New Haven, it ought to raise some concerns," Kurt smirked. How's Quinn?" Yes... Quinn... Rachel didn't know what to say. Should she tell him the truth? That they almost kissed? "She's... fine..." Kurt raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "You were gone all night, Rach. That doesn't sound like 'fine' to me."Rachel shrugged dejectedly, "I don't know..." "Finn called. He said you guys are officially over." Kurt made his way to her bed, gently touching her arm. Rachel let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of Kurt's concern. "Yeah, we are. I just... it's complicated." Kurt's expression softened. "I get that. Don't get me wrong, I love my brother...But you and Finn, it always felt like he was holding you back. I just want you to be happy, you know?" "I know, I just thought..." Rachel's voice trailed off, the thoughts jumbling in her mind. She looked down at her hands, fiddling with the edges of her suitcase. "I just thought we could find a way back to what we had." "Aw honey, that was high school. Trust me, it's the same reason I couldn't make it work with Blaine. We couldn't recreate the magic we once had." "What magic?" Rachel furrowed her brow, "Of being young and carefree," Kurt replied, Rachel took a deep breath, her heart racing. "I... almost kissed Quinn last night." Kurt's eyes widened. "Quinn? As in Quinn Fabray?" Rachel nodded in response. "Holy shit..." "You can't tell anyone! Not Mercedes, nor Sam, nor Puck, please god, not Santana, nor Tina, nor Britt, nor Artie, nor––" Kurt raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay! I promise I won't tell! Your secret is safe with me." Rachel sighed in relief, but the weight of her confession still lingered. "I just… I don't understand what it all means. One minute, I'm feeling this strange connection with her, and the next, I'm doubting everything. It's like—" "It's like you've opened a door to a whole new aspect of your feelings," Kurt interjected, sitting on the edge of her bed. "And it's okay to be confused. It's a big deal, Rach." "I'm not confused, Kurt. I know I'm bi." "Yes, I'm aware. But did you know you could have feelings for anyone who's not Finn Hudson?" He smiled teasingly, Rachel met Kurt's gaze, frustration and vulnerability bubbling beneath the surface. "I know I can have feelings for other people, Kurt. It's just... Finn was my first love. It's hard to let go, especially after everything."
“Do you have feelings for Brody?” Kurt asked,
“I don’t know…”
“How about you go find out?”
Quinn nervously clutched her cross necklace as she walked down the hallway. The sharp click of her heels resonated against the polished tile floor, drowning out the sounds of surrounding students and professors. Quinn picked up the pace as she neared the faculty wing. She was on a mission. Quinn stopped in front of an office door, a plaque reading "Valerie Larkin" beside the door. She knocked twice, then stepped back. Professor Valerie Larkin slowly creaked open the door. "Miss Fabray, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Quinn stepped forward and handed Professor Larkin a couple of neatly stacked papers. "This is my application to your mentorship program as a mentee," she stated, her voice holding a steadiness that surprised her. Professor Larkin took a moment to scan the documents, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Well, well. I'm glad you chose this initiative," she replied, her smile widening, revealing genuine excitement. "I look forward to working with you, Quinn."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Okay, let's take it from the top!" Mike Chang clapped his hands and gestured for Artie to restart the music, "Five, six, seven, eight..." The cast of McKinley High's production of "Grease" sprang into action, but what followed was anything but synchronized. As they attempted to mirror Mike's intricate choreography, they collided with each other, their movements awkwardly out of time. Some tripped over their own feet, and some tripped over others. The students exchanged bewildered glances as they skipped steps or took shortcuts in the routine. It was a spectacle... and not a good one. "Oh my god, we only have three weeks left...kill me..." Mike muttered under his breath. Just then, Finn, followed by Mercedes, stepped onto the stage behind Mike, offering a reassuring pat on his back. "Hey, Mike, bro! I owe you one!" Finn said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I know you're choreographing this whole thing for your college credit, but seriously, you're saving my butt here!" "Yeah, no problem." He replied, smiling weakly. "These kids will be performance ready before you know it. I've been working closely with Marley. Girl has some serious vocals, she just needs a little more attitude." Mercedes chimed in, "Uhh, may I interject here?" Kitty marched forward, prompting collective groans and eye rolls behind her back, "This choreography sucks. Everyone is sweating more than Marley's mom trying to tackle those stairs." Her gaze narrowed as she pointed accusingly at Sam, who looked sheepish amid the chaos. "I've been kicked in the shin twice by the blonde doofus… I mean, come on! The role of Patty Simcox may be as small as your brain, Finn Hudson, but I will do her justice with a fantastic show!" Finn raised his eyebrows, taken aback. "Whoa, Kitty, chill! It's just rehearsal. We're all trying our best here." Kitty crossed her arms defiantly. "Your best isn't good enough! This is 'Grease,' not some backyard barbecue picnic. If we want to impress anyone, we need to step it up. I say we cut out our weak links. Starting with the nasally spray-tanned mafia princess." She glanced over to Sugar Motta. "I know I can't sing like Beyoncé yet, but I've been really working on it. Is it supposed to be this difficult to sing and dance at the same time?" Sugar piped in, "No, Sugar. It's not." Tina replied sharply, "Mike is just sabotaging the musical with complicated dance numbers because he's upset that I'm not talking to him!" Tina stepped closer to Mike, putting her hands on her hips, "We broke up! Get over it, Chang!" Mike's face flushed at Tina's outburst. "Whoa, hold on! This isn't about us!" he snapped, gripping his hair in frustration. "I am just trying to make this show great. We all need to pull together, not tear each other down!" "Right, because yelling at us makes everything better!" Kitty shot back, her arms still crossed defiantly. "You yelled at all of us first, Kitty! And you promised you would stop making fun of my mom!" Marley Rose interrupted, "You have no proof of that conversation happening," Kitty shrugged dismissively, adopting a familiar Sue Sylvester demeanour. "My feet hurt so much, man... Blaine, your moping is killing me! You're not Batman, so stop with the angsty brooding. Get over here and dance!" Sam yelled at Blaine, who was sulking by the wing. "I can't help it! Kurt won't answer my calls or open my apology gifts!" Blaine whined, "You need more help with dancing than I do, Sam. Mind your own business!" "Didn't you cheat on him?" Jake replied quietly, Blaine then stared daggers at him. "I tossed up my shoe, and now it's stuck on the light fixture..." Brittany mumbled, completely oblivious. And just like that, the auditorium erupted into absolute chaos. People waving accusatory fingers in each other's faces about who stepped on who, shouting over one another, pushing and tackling, screaming obscenities and name-calling. Finn watched helplessly as the scene unfolded, his heart sinking. He realized he was in way over his head—where was Mr. Schue when you needed him? "What have I gotten myself into..." Determined to retrieve her shoe, Brittany launched her other shoe up high with a granny style free throw. It tapped the spotlight and then landed on Finn's head, knocking him backward and stumbling off the stage. Brody and Rachel hurried out of Cassandra's dance class, navigating through the small corridor bustling with NYADA students. "While it's a fantastic opportunity to invite the upperclassmen to class. I wish you could've told me you volunteered." Rachel said as the two descended down the stairs. "Well, you know Cassie. She didn't give us much notice either." Brody shrugged in response, "I also wanted to surprise you." He gave her a light peck on the cheek. "It's a surprise that is welcomed. Let me tell you that," Rachel replied, "She seems to be less painful when you're around me. But you could tell she's pissed. Her best upperclassmen dancer snuggling up to her number one on her shit list." Brody took Rachel's hand and twirled her, prompting a small giggle. "Oh, so you think I'm her best dancer?" Brody smirked as he wrapped his arm around the petite actress. "Well, didn't you say Cassie was the one who got you that Broadway audition?" Rachel countered, her eyebrow raised challengingly. "Yep," Brody confirmed, a gleam of pride in his eyes. "And I should probably mention that I'm her new TA..." His voice trailed off, and he watched Rachel's face for her reaction, "What? Brody..." She lamented, "Come on, Rach. I need the credits!" Brody protested. "And you don't think she'll use our relationship against me? She hates me, Brody!" Rachel immediately covered her mouth, realizing what she had just said. Brody then stopped in his tracks, whirling around to face Rachel. "Are we calling this a relationship?" Rachel froze, unsure of what to say next. The two stood still as passing students nudged them to get by. "I umm... I don't...uhhh..." She stammered, Rachel took a deep breath, her cheeks flushing slightly as she fumbled for the right words. "I mean, I didn't mean it like that... not officially, at least." She bit her lip, her eyes darting away. Brody's brows knitted together, a mixture of confusion and curiosity crossing his face. "Not officially? So what are we then, just… friends who kiss sometimes?" He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips. Rachel pursed her lips. "I like what we have... I just broke up with Finn. I don't really know if I want to label anything just yet." "I totally understand," Brody replied warmly, his tone reassuring. "We'll take our time and see how we fit together." Brody took her hand again. "We both have thirty minutes before our next classes. Can I please buy you lunch?" "Sure," With a large thermos of coffee in hand, Quinn reluctantly stepped out of her residence building as the sun peaked above the dewy grass on Yale University's field. She instinctively raised her arm to shield her eyes from the bright light, squinting slightly as she navigated the well-trodden path toward the social sciences building, specifically the criminology wing. Quinn stopped in front of a door and entered a code on the keypad. The room was empty and anxiety-inducing. This was Quinn's first class as Professor Valerie Larkin's student mentee. It was an early lecture, starting at 8:30, a course typically taken by third-year students. Quinn felt very out of place as a freshman; she didn't even have half of the prerequisites the students in this class had. She awkwardly scooted her chair closer to Valerie's as the Professor wrote down the outline of the lecture on the whiteboard. "Good morning, Quinn. Once again, my apologies for the early start." Valerie spoke, eyes fixed on the whiteboard, "Oh, it's alright. I'm happy to be here," Quinn replied, her voice more confident than she felt. "That's great because working with me requires a lot of early mornings," Valerie smiled and winked at Quinn. "And late nights, too." Oh... she winked... well, that was new... Quinn cleared her throat, "Uhm, so what will I be doing today?" "You'll be collecting everyone's case studies and clicking through the slideshow as I speak," Valerie replied, rifling through her briefcase, "Then you'll be taking them with you after class to read." "R-read... like all of them?" Quinn gulped. This was going to be a long night. "No, only some choice ones that I'll pick out. Basically, my A+ papers," Valerie reassured her, flashing an encouraging smile. "You'll need to annotate all of them carefully and provide me with a thorough summary of your readings." Quinn nodded thoughtfully, "And another thing…" Valerie continued, her expression shifting to one of genuine interest. "Tell me about yourself, Quinn Fabray." Valerie walked over to her desk and settled into her chair, crossing her legs comfortably. She removed her glasses, biting lightly on the frame as she regarded Quinn with a keen interest. Her tousled dark hair framed her face softly, cascading down her shoulders in natural waves. The blouse she wore was stylish but casually unbuttoned, drawing Quinn's attention against her better judgment. It was difficult to ignore that her Professor was intellectually impressive and undeniably attractive. Quinn shifted nervously in her seat, desperately trying to maintain eye contact without gazing south. Quinn took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts amidst the distraction. "Well, um, I'm originally from Lima, Ohio. I graduated earlier this year." "Lima, huh. Not a lot happening there," Valerie quipped, "No, not really." Quinn smiled softly, "I'm majoring in pre-law and criminal psychology because I've always been so intrigued by the criminal mind. I also think I could make a difference." "Well, based on your choice of study. I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you're a murder documentary and cop show type of girl." Valerie replied teasingly, Quinn let out a soft chuckle, "I've been through a lot in my life. It only felt fitting." "Many people think it's ridiculous to base a career on hobbies. Something about having the luxury of separating work and pleasure, not letting your career overtake you." Valerie explained, now syncing her laptop with the projector. "However, I believe it allows you to connect the various aspects of your life more fluently. They say to do what you love, and you'll never work a day in your life." "But I should temper that enthusiasm with a word of caution," the Professor added, her tone becoming more serious as she looked directly at Quinn, "Unfortunately, I should tell you that every single day, the lines between fact and fiction gradually become more blurred. Many students who pursue your path, Quinn, often forget the weight of the themes that this career carries. Your cohort was raised in an overly accessible digital world, access to violent video games, conspiracy theories, true crime shows..." She clicked her pen thoughtfully before tossing it towards Quinn, who caught it mid-air. "You and your peers come here with a belief that you've become desensitized by what you consume. This course, this mentorship, will challenge that perception. Particularly during your experience in New York this coming winter, you will be exposed to unspeakable horrors." Valerie and Quinn then locked eyes, "I hope you're ready for that." She finished. Quinn felt a chill run down her spine at Valerie's words, but she fought to maintain her composure. "I... I think I am," she replied, her voice steady yet unsure, "I mean...That makes sense," Quinn continued, adjusting herself, "I guess I've just always been drawn to the intensity of it all. I want to understand why people do what they do." "Stay open-minded but critical. Don't just take everything at face value. Question, analyze, and never hesitate to reach out for help. Each case study told within these walls brings with it a story that deserves to be respected," Valerie said, a hint of seriousness in her tone. "I'm prepared for that," Quinn replied confidently, though she felt the weight of Valerie's words. "I'm driven by a desire to help, especially those who feel voiceless. I've silenced many people in my past. I took some harsh situations to realize that..." "What a poetic self-reflection. It means you're grounded; you're not blissfully ignorant." Valerie smiled as she finally sat down in her chair. "So, tell me about you, Professor." Valerie leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. "Well, I had a rather unconventional start. I grew up in a small town—similar to yours—where nothing ever seemed to happen. But I was always curious about people and their stories. I was constantly getting in trouble for asking too many questions, always trying to uncover the layers beneath the surface." "So you majored in Psychology to find the answers yourself," Quinn replied, "Precisely. I finished my undergrad at Cornell, received my bachelor's, pursued my masters here at Yale, and was hired to teach Psychology 101 a couple years ago. This is my first upper-level course. My... husband says that I'm too wrapped up in my work. However, there has never been a day I've been bored." Valerie then let out a resigned sigh, "I can't say the same for my husband, though..." "Oh... I...you're...?" Quinn stuttered, "Trouble in paradise? My husband feels resentful toward me because he's stuck in a stuffy office, and I'm not enduring a similar ennui? Yes, and yes," Valerie fiddled with the ring on her finger. We eloped when we were around your age. I have a son, Leo, who is my whole world. But needless to say, having him made no difference in my marriage's dynamic. I'm only thirty-five, but I'm chained to my home like I'm retired," "I'm sorry..." Quinn piped in, trying to figure out what to say next. "Don't be; this is the result of my decisions. I'll be honest when I say I'm not even attracted to men... Paul was just... available," Valerie shrugged, her tone detached and full of regret, "Be glad that you never had to commit so early in life. My struggle is unimaginable," Except Quinn understood and even related entirely to what her Professor told her. It was like looking in a mirror—a hot cougar mirror. Valerie's life could have easily been her future if she had stayed in the closet and gone through with her delusions of taking back Beth from Shelby. She would have been dissatisfied and disconnected from her relationship with Noah Puckerman. She would have spent her days in Lima, just surviving. At least Valerie stayed true to her passions. The clock struck 8:30, and students slowly trickled in. They shuffled into their seats, grasping their coffee like a lifeline. Morning classes still sucked, even in college. The usual sounds of shuffling papers and low murmurs filled the room as Valerie prepared to dive into another discussion about the complexities of the human mind. Quinn stood at the standing desk, ready to click through the prepared visual aids of Valerie's presentation. She nervously scanned the room, taking in deep, shaky breaths. In the back corner, a few upperclassmen exchanged furtive glances, their whispered conversations a backdrop of uncertainty. Were they talking about her? What could they possibly be saying? Quinn immediately assumed it was justified jealousy. After all, these students were supposed to have the opportunity to shadow a figure like Valerie, not a freshman like her who had stumbled into this role by chance. "Yes, absolutely, that is what they are talking about..." Quinn thought, a frown creasing her brow as she prepared to take on the expectations of the day ahead. It was a rainy day in New York City. People hurried to shelter in a frenzy, waving down speeding taxis. As stoplights flickered green, cars immediately blared their horns, urging each other to get moving. There was not a lot of patience in the concrete jungle. Kurt slid open the sliding door in his and Rachel's Bushwick loft. He shrugged off his coat and flung it onto the hanger. Then, he made his way to the couch and flopped down. Kurt's shift at Vogue.com was nuts. The phones never stopped ringing, and scarves were flying; it was absolute craziness. Isabelle Wright, usually bubbly and delicate, was on an aggressive outrage. A rampage, Kurt described as very much similar to the beloved Meryl Streep's character, Miranda Priestly. Her team was preparing for the upcoming holiday season. Despite it being October, apparently, they were already behind schedule. After a couple minutes of blissful solitude, Kurt's phone buzzed on the coffee table beside him. He groaned and reluctantly picked up the device. It was a call from Tina. "Heyyy, T..." he greeted, his voice carrying a hint of weariness. On the other end, he could hear a faint whirring sound, the rhythmic clatter of a sewing machine filling the background—a telltale sign that Tina was likely multitasking as usual. Tina had her phone on speaker as she threaded a piece of fabric through her sewing machine. Kurt assumed she was working on the costumes for Glee Club. "Hey, Kurt! How is New York?" She replied. She sounded cheerful on the phone, but oh, her face... Her face was far from cheerful. "Oh, it's great! I just got home from work." "Well, isn't that just... fantastic..." Tina huffed, clenching her teeth as the machine accidentally stitched over a crease." I'm just working on costumes for the school musical." "Oh, yeah! How is that going? Finn told me you're doing Grease this year! And that he's directing it with Artie." Kurt replied, "Yes, isn't it just delightful that your brother returned to McKinley to direct a school production with absolutely zero knowledge of what he's doing?" Tina shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And let's not forget—he's now coaching Glee Club right after graduating. What a dream come true!" "Okay, Tina. What's wrong?" Kurt asked, sensing her irritation. Tina exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling over. "Finn and Artie decided to bring Mercedes and Mike back to help them direct the show. Of course, I'm thrilled for Mercedes; she's my girl. But MIKE? MY EX?!?! It's absolutely outrageous, Kurt—OUTRAGEOUS!" Her voice crackled through the speaker as she vented her grievances. "And I'm cast as Jan when I obviously should have landed the role of Rizzo. I'm the unofficial diva of the Glee Club! But noooo, the role went to Unique instead!" "Uh-huh..." Kurt replied flatly, sort of done with the conversation, "Go on..." Tina took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "And don't even get me started on how they're handling the rehearsals. Finn thinks he can just waltz in and call the shots without consulting anyone. It's infuriating! Everyone agrees this is going to be a complete disaster." Kurt leaned back on the couch, rubbing his temples. "Tina, I know it's frustrating, but remember why you love doing this in the first place. You've always been the one to bring the energy. You can still shine as Jan, even if you think you deserved Rizzo." She scoffed. "That's easy for you to say! You're not the one stuck wearing a poodle skirt while Unique and Marley get the spotlight!" As Tina continued her rant over the phone, Rachel quietly entered their apartment. She and Kurt locked eyes, exchanging an exasperated look. "Who's that?" Rachel mouthed, "Tina," Kurt mouthed back, Rachel rolled her eyes as she gestured toward the kitchen, indicating she was going to make some tea. Kurt nodded, silently appreciating her attempt to ease the tension of his busy day. As Tina continued her animated rant, Rachel turned on the kettle, the high-pitched scream of the appliance drowning out Tina's voice momentarily. Kurt let out a long sigh of relief, thankful for the brief silence. "Thank you! I mean, I love the girl, but... is it just me, or has Tina gotten a little–" "Bitter? Thank god I'm not the only one who has noticed." Rachel replied. She placed two mugs on the counter, pouring the steaming water into each. "I've um... I've been talking to Finn." Kurt hesitated, knowing Finn may still be a sensitive subject. Rachel hummed in response, "The kids have been working hard, but he's definitely getting a good taste of what it's like to coach teenagers." Rachel nodded, stirring in some honey, "I can't imagine it would be easy, given that we just graduated months ago...hold on... she's still going at it?" "And another thing! I don't want..." Tina rambled in the background, "Yup." Rachel walked over to the couch and handed Kurt his tea, "Hey, Tina!" She chirped, "I'm sorry you didn't get Rizzo, but I think you'd make a great Jan!" "Rachel! I need you to return to McKinley and tell Finn that you told me I'm the new Rachel!" Tina called out, "Tina..." Kurt hissed, subtly reminding Tina that Rachel and Finn had broken up. "Oh, oops. Sorry, Rachel...Hey, are you guys going to see the show? I know it's awkward with Blaine and Finn. But Sam, Artie, Britt and I would love to see you two!" Rachel hesitated, biting her lip. "Oof, I don't know yet, Tina. Kurt and I have been so busy with our schoolwork and Vogue.com. Rent is almost due, which takes priority over a plane ticket to Ohio." Kurt frowned at her response, feeling torn. "But you'll be the first to know! Bye, Tina!" Rachel added cheerfully, cutting off the call before tension could brew further. "Bye, Tina!" Kurt echoed, pressing the 'end call' button and placing his phone on the coffee table. He took a sip of his tea, trying to steady his thoughts as he turned to face Rachel, tilting his head in curiosity. "So... we're not going?" Rachel sighed, leaning against the counter with her tea in hand. "I mean, it's complicated. I want to support our friends, but with everything going on, can we really justify the trip right now?" "Oh, Rachel," Kurt said, unimpressed. "It's not just about the school musical. I want to spend time with my dad and Carole. Don't you want to see your dads?" "I guess..." Rachel relented, her shoulders drooping slightly. "I just think it's too soon..." Kurt shrugged in response, "Can you at least think about it? Would be great to have closure." Rachel shot him a bemused look. "Uhh, I have closure," she retorted, her eyebrow arching sassily, "I'm with Brody now..." "If you had closure, you wouldn't have a problem flying to Lima..." Kurt shot back, folding his arms, "I'm not going without you." Rachel sat beside Kurt and reached for the remote control. The TV flickered to life, momentarily filling the silence. As she clicked through the channels, she thought about visiting home. It would be nice to see her dads, Mercedes, too. But she was in Lima two weeks ago, and opening night was less than three weeks away. That was barely enough time to find the resources to cover the expenses. Not to mention, Thanksgiving would be rolling around soon after, and then Christmas. "That's a lot of time spent in Ohio when I'm trying to move on..." She thought, eyes fixed on the television screen. "A lot of money, too." "Oh, go back," Kurt piped in from his side of the couch, bringing her back to reality, "Bar Rescue is on." Rachel clicked onto the channel airing "Bar Rescue," the two best friends sat in horror and amusement as John Tapper castigated managers and their bartenders for unsafe practices. The thought of returning home still lingered in her mind. Was Ohio really... home? As the chilly November morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of McKinley High School in Lima, Ohio, students began to shuffle into their classrooms, the echo of footsteps mingling with animated chatter. The sharp sound of the warning bell rang out, cutting through the buzz of excitement and signalling the start of a new period. Finn Hudson and Mercedes Jones stood over the piano in the choir room, sorting through sheet music. "Thanks for helping me decide what to do for Glee Club, 'Cedes," Finn smiled warmly at his friend, "Between the tire shop and directing the musical, it's been tough trying to come up with lesson plans." "Well, my classes at UCLA have been super easy this semester. As long as I hand in my assignments on time, my professors are okay with me being here," Mercedes replied, "However, I marked this down as a volunteer work-study, so you will be signing off on that, Hudson." She added, giggling. "Wait a second. Am I even qualified to do that?" Finn furrowed his brow. "I... may have made some adjustments to your certifications..." Mercedes confessed sheepishly as she flipped through a stack of 90's ballads, "Have you thought of a setlist for Sectionals? It's coming up." She asked, Oooh, right. Sectionals... Finn hadn't thought much about it. Mr. Schue was leaving at the end of the week, yet he and Finn didn't discuss exactly what his responsibilities would be in taking over the Glee Club. The transition felt abrupt—a "here's the baton, good luck" sort of handoff that left Finn feeling hopeful but apprehensive. Finn Hudson was just a kid himself; now, he was coaching other kids. It felt strange. "Well..." he began, dragging out the word as his mind raced to spin out options. Suddenly, an idea sparked within him like a light bulb flickering to life. "Well, I want to do something fresh and energetic!" He announced, swiping the ballads folder out of Mercedes's grasp and began to pace back and forth in front of the piano, his thoughts coming alive. "How about a dance number? Not a featured solo like our 'Valerie' performance—that was great, but I want something even bigger! A full group dance number, something to really get the crowd going, to make them feel alive!" Finn exclaimed. His enthusiasm was infectious, with visions of vibrant choreography and synchronized movements dancing in his mind. "Uh huh... and a number that also showcases their vocals..." Mercedes added, "Right..." Finn paused, spinning around to face Mercedes, a thought pushing its way to the forefront of his mind. "What about a duet?" "Interesting choice. We're getting there…" she replied with a hint of excitement in her voice, eager to untangle the possibilities. But what's our theme?" "Theme! Yes, our theme! Our theme is... umm... I don't know the theme..." Mercedes slapped her hand over her forehead. "Finn Hudson!" a voice called out from the hallway. Finn and Mercedes whirled around to see who it was. Becky Jackson stood in the entrance, her arms crossed, and she sported her signature pout, "Figgins wants to see you..." She pointed at Finn, "In his office." "O-oh? Did he say why?" "It's not my job to listen, Gravy Pants!" Becky snapped, putting her hands on her hips. Finn exchanged a quick glance with Mercedes, trying to gauge her reaction. "Great, just what I needed," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "You're gonna be fine," Mercedes reassured him, stepping closer. "Just remember, you're doing a great job!" Becky rolled her eyes, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "You better hurry, Hudson. Figgins doesn't like to be kept waiting." "Right, right. I'll be there," Finn replied, glancing down at the scattered sheet music as if it held all the answers. "Just give me a second to... uh... wrap this up." After tidying up the sheet music, Finn jogged out of the choir room. He weaved through stragglers in the hallway towards Principal Figgins' office. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by an unexpected sight: Figgins sitting at his desk, Unique visibly fidgeting in her chair, and an older couple – Rob and Betty Adams – seated on the couch, their faces beaming with pride. And, of course, Sue Sylvester perched nearby, her arms crossed, a self-satisfied grin on her face. "What does she want now?" Finn groused internally. "Mister Finn Hudson..." Figgins began, clearing his throat as he gestured toward the couple. "This is Rob and Betty Adams." Finn managed a smile, albeit a weak one, and gave a hesitant wave to Unique's parents. "I took the liberty of calling them to congratulate them on their son landing the role of Rizzo in Grease." Figgins continued as Unique shifted uncomfortably in her seat, "And lo and behold... it was the first they'd heard of it." Finn's eyes widened as he froze in his place. Uh oh... ... "Unique! Wait!" Finn jogged out of Figgin's office after the meeting, catching up to the Sophomore. He tapped her shoulder, and Unique turned around. Finn placed his hands on her arms, "Hey, listen. This isn't over... I can fix this!" "No, Finn. I don't think we can. I'm sorry that I didn't tell them about Rizzo! I thought it would be okay since I performed as Unique at Nationals!" Unique sighed, "I guess it's not okay here. I really wanted to be in the play..." She started to cry, "Why can't I just be a girl?" "We can fight it! Screw Sue! You can still be in the play!" Finn pleaded, trying to comfort her. "I don't know if I want to be in the musical anymore, Finn..." Unique slinked out of his embrace, "I have to return to class. I'm sorry..." With that, she turned away, leaving Finn feeling helpless. Finn clenched his fists and stormed into the choir room. Mercedes was still there, now joined by Mike, sorting through sheet music by the piano. "Hey, Finn, how was the–" Mercedes began to ask, but her voice was cut off when Finn exploded with anger. "Unique's parents pulled her out of the musical!" Finn yelled, marching over to a nearby music stand, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. He was ready to kick it over as he exclaimed, "Sue told them! And she's making me look like the bad guy!" He swung his leg in a furious arc, sending the music stand flying across the room, papers scattering in its wake. "Well, Unique is a..." Mike started, trying to find the right words. "What? A dude? No, Mike, she is trans, and she deserves to have the arts as her safe space!" Finn interrupted, his voice rising with emotion, frustration etched across his features. "Finn..." Mercedes quietly walked over and took his hand reassuringly. "This is Ohio... Yes, Sue had the intention of derailing the musical, but she was also protecting her. Unique is talented and confident, but she is just a kid. Imagine the backlash on her when she is already going through so much." "Ugh... I wish Mr. Schue were here," Finn grumbled. "You can do this yourself, Finn," Mercedes replied, "Mike and I have your back. It's just a small setback!" "Let's brainstorm who we can cast as Rizzo," Mike said, trying to shift the focus back toward solutions. "If we're basing the role on attitude and brassy vocals, I'd say Tina's a fit." "Yeah, but she already has a part. Who will be Jan if Tina plays Rizzo?" Mercedes countered openly, her brow furrowing in concern. "And doing this so last minute? We're down to our last week!" Finn took a seat at the edge of the piano bench, burying his head in his hands. The pressure felt overwhelming. In its final hours, the production of Grease was hanging by a thread, and he needed it to work—not just for himself or Mr. Schue, but for the Glee Club as a whole. And for Rachel. He knew she was counting on him to show growth, to move on, and to work on himself. Just then, his ringtone chimed, snapping him from his thoughts. The screen illuminated with a call from none other than Santana Lopez. With a flicker of hope, Finn accepted the call and put their feisty Latina friend on speaker for Mike and Mercedes to hear. "Hey, Frankenteen!" Santana started the conversation with a classic snarky nickname. "Hey, San! You're on speaker with Mike and 'Cedes," he replied, "Awww, what a sweet little reunion. Hey, guys!" She cheered, "Girl! We are going through it right now. You don't even know!" Mercedes emphasized, "We're down a Rizzo!" "Unique's parents pulled her out of the musical," Finn explained, his anger still bubbling beneath the surface. "Sue made it worse by telling them about her, and now… it's a mess." "Ugh. That woman," Santana sighed dramatically. "I just don't get her. So, what's the plan? Are we really going to let this go down in flames? You guys are better than that!" "We were thinking of casting Tina as Rizzo, but then we would be down a Jan," Mike responded. Santana chuckled, her voice dripping with confidence. "Wait a minute. You guys are acting like we're out of options here. I could totally step in and play Rizzo." Finn looked taken aback. "You want to play Rizzo? But what about your other commitments?" "Please, Finn. I can handle it. Besides, Rizzo is fierce, and I'm basically made for the role. Let's be real here. I've got the attitude and the sass down to a science!" Santana said, leaning into her pitch. Mercedes raised an eyebrow, impressed. "You would bring so much energy to that role, San! But can you learn the songs and the lines in a week? It's a lot." "Come on! I've been practicing my Rizzo since I was a kid! Let me show you what I got," Santana replied, her competitive spirit shining through. "I can bust out those vocals like nobody's business." "Santana, I owe you big time! How fast can you get over here?" Finn grinned like a kid in a candy store. The musical was saved! "Hey, it's nothing! Like I said, I'm working on being nicer to people. I have a lecture tomorrow morning, and I'll drive to Lima as fast as possible!" "Awesome, Santana! See you then!" Mike replied, "Bye, guys!" Mercedes, Mike, and Finn high-fived each other, relieved that one problem had been solved. The bell rang again, signalling the end of the school day and the start of the dress rehearsal. Since her first morning lecture, Quinn had gotten the handle on assisting Professor Valerie Larkin during her lectures and thoroughly enjoyed their conversations outside of class. She was learning so much that it was overwhelming. However, Quinn loved it; she craved it. To satiate her hunger for knowledge, Quinn dedicated countless hours to meticulously reviewing case studies and poring over Valerie's extensive notes, scribbling down thoughts and questions that sprung to her mind. She found herself captivated by the intertwining threads of psychology and behaviour, striving to connect the dots between academic theories and real-world applications. Each detail she uncovered only intensified her desire to explore this profound field further, igniting a passion she had never fully realized before coming to Yale. Quinn also began to develop a close relationship with Valerie, a camaraderie with an ever-so-mysterious and alluring hint of fascination. The way Valerie spoke with confidence, the way she commanded the room, the way her hips swayed, her hair. Quinn was falling for it. She was unsure if it was a genuine romantic attraction or if her intrigue stemmed from an admiration for Valerie's brilliance and charisma. "Alright, Quinn, that's all I have for you today," Valerie said, her voice breaking through Quinn's reflective trance, taking her momentarily away from the room's familiar surroundings. They sat in Valerie's office, a cozy, inviting space that felt like a sanctuary of knowledge. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with psychology books, each spine telling a story of its own. Papers were artfully scattered across the desk, some in neat piles while others appeared in delightful disarray, a testament to Valerie's creative chaos. Framed photographs adorned the walls, capturing moments from captivating conferences and engaging lectures that had clearly left a mark on Valerie's career. As Valerie concluded their meeting, debriefing her last lecture, Quinn sprang into action with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She gathered her assignments from the desk, each a testament to the valuable knowledge she had absorbed, and placed them neatly into her leather messenger bag—a ritual she had come to cherish as much as the lessons themselves. The papers were crisp despite Valerie's penmanship scribbled all over them. They also had a faint scent of vanilla from her perfume. As Quinn and Valerie exchanged a firm handshake, she couldn't help but notice the softness of Valerie's hands against her own—a fleeting moment that sent an unexpected thrill through her. "Keep it in your pants, Fabray," she reprimanded herself mentally in an effort to mask her fluster. They stood there for a heartbeat longer than necessary before Quinn made her way to the office door, feeling a swirl of emotions as she stepped out into the bustling campus life beyond. "Quinn Fabray..." a voice called out to her in the hallway. She turned around and fixed her gaze on a tall, well-groomed man leaning against the wall, smirking. "Biff McIntosh. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." He extended his hand to shake Quinn's. "Biff, I've heard about you. You throw quite the dorm party," Quinn replied, shaking his hand. "Oh, you've been?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, intrigued. "No, we live in the same building." she clarified snarkily, "How can I help you, Biff?" "Well, Miss Fabray, you've been getting a lot of buzz around here. I just had to see you for myself." Biff replied, his tone was bitter and condescending. "Quite the investigator you are. And are you satisfied now?" Quinn countered, a smirk playing on her lips, deflecting his condescension with her own wit. "I will admit, I like what I see," Biff remarked, his eyes sweeping down Quinn's figure. A disconcerting smile crept across his face, making her skin prickle with unease. "I'm not interested." Quinn dismissed his implied advances. "Fine, then I'll get to why I'm here." Biff adjusted his tie, caught off guard by Quinn's rejection. "As you probably know, I am also in the mentorship program shadowing a professor along with four other students here. All six of us are en route to taking the sabbatical in New York," Quinn rolled her eyes, "Congratulations, Biff. I look forward to working with you." She replied sarcastically, "Can I go now?" "Not yet." Biff leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "You should know that the opportunity to go to New York is awarded to only one out of the six students. One from each Ivy League pre-law program. It's a real competition—everybody wants it, and it's not going to be easy." Quinn raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "And you're telling me this because...?" "Just wanted to give you a heads-up," he said, a smug smile creeping back onto his face. "You're such a gentleman," Quinn shot back, her tone icy. "Now, if you don't mind, I have places to be." With that, she turned on her heel and strode away, leaving Biff smirking behind her, the echo of their encounter lingering in the air like a challenge. As Quinn began to walk away, Biff called after her, his voice laced with a pointed edge. "You really think you have a shot at that opportunity, don't you?" Quinn paused, turning slightly to shoot him a glare over her shoulder. "What's that supposed to mean?" Biff stepped forward, his smirk widening as he continued, "Let's be real here. You're just a freshman. You've barely scratched the surface of what Yale has to offer. I've been around the block, and I'll stop at nothing to secure that spot in New York. Do you really think you deserve it over someone with experience? Someone who can legally buy a drink?" "I'm sorry. I'm failing to see your point." Quinn stepped closer, now determined to put Mister Trust Fund in his place, "You're jealous because it took me five weeks to get noticed while it took you five years?" "Jealous? No. Skeptical? Absolutely. I'm on to you, Fabray. Something strange is going on between you and Professor Larkin." Biff narrowed his eyes, looking down at the blonde, "I'm simply pointing out that you will not be going to New York next semester. Not on Yale University's dime." Quinn crossed her arms tighter over her chest, refusing to back down. "Is that your strategy? Intimidate the competition? Unfortunately, I'm not intimidated by you or your little threats." Biff's smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. "You're feisty, I'll give you that. Just don't forget who you're up against. I'd hate to be there when you crash and burn." "Oh, but you'd LOVE to be there." Quinn retorted, "Please, excuse me." She turned and walked away, the fire of their exchange igniting her resolve further. Left standing there, Biff watched her retreating figure, a mix of irritation and intrigue dancing in his eyes. Quinn Fabray was clearly not someone he could underestimate so easily. Quinn clutched her bag as she hustled across campus. She was able to save face during her interaction with Biff McIntosh but felt more uncertain than ever. He was right: The Ivy League is brutal. Quinn was competing against upperclassmen. She was just a freshman, a spoilt, rich girl from the Midwest. No... Quinn was tired of self-deprecating. Like Jenny said, she deserved to be here and to shadow Valerie. She picked up the pace and strolled to the campus coffee shop to meet with Jenny. "If Biff wants to play dirty, I will play dirty..." she muttered under her breath and swung open the cafe's door. "Jenny!" she exclaimed a little too loudly, pointing at her roommate, who was sipping a latte on the nearby sofa and reading a book. Nearby students turned their attention to Quinn. "Uh...umm..." Quinn stammered. She quietly scurried over to where Jenny was reading. "Quite the entrance," Jenny teased, dropping her book into her bag, "What's up?" "Biff McIntosh. Jenny, I need you, Marie-Alice, and the rest of the secret society to help me dig up some dirt on him." "Oooh, Biff. The hottest heir to the McIntosh apple fortune," Jenny smirked playfully, "What did he do to you, Quinn?" Quinn leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He thinks he can intimidate me off this opportunity as a student mentee just because he's an upperclassman with a rep. I need to show him I won't back down—especially not to someone like him." Jenny arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "So, you want to go full-on sleuth mode? You know I'm in. What's the plan?" Quinn took a deep breath, her mind racing with possibilities. "We find out anything we can about him—grades, nasty habits, skeletons, embarrassing moments. Anything that'll give me an edge." Jenny grinned, clearly excited. "I love it! We can check with Marie-Alice; she's got some connections in the student government. Maybe she can dig into his academic record?" "Perfect! And we'll need to interview some of his friends," Quinn added, her eyes lighting up with determination. "They must have seen or heard something worth mentioning... we just have to give them the right bribe to keep them from spilling to Biff." "Consider it done," Jenny said, her playful grin shifting to a serious expression. "But be careful, Quinn. Biff's got a lot of influence. If he figures out what we're up to…" "Let him," Quinn interrupted, her tone steely. "I'll handle him. He's not the only one who can play games." Jenny chuckled, shaking her head. "What a twist from the sweet Midwestern girl I met. I like this new side of you!" "Oh, honey." Quinn folded her arms and leaned in, "I'm Quinn Fabray; there's nothing sweet about me."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"What do you mean you're leaving?" Brody asked, a deep frown creasing his forehead as he looked at Rachel, disbelief evident in his tone. "I was really looking forward to hanging out this weekend. But now you're just jetting off to Ohio to spend time with your ex-boyfriend!" Brody sat on the couch at Kurt and Rachel's loft, disappointed with the sudden change of plans. He watched the two best friends pace around the apartment, packing for their weekend trip back to Lima, the bustling noise of Bushwick, New York, in the background. "I'm sorry, Brody. This is for Kurt. I promise I'll make it up to you!" Rachel rolled her suitcase by the door. "Why do you have to go? And come on, using Cassie's air miles?" Brody raised an eyebrow, "Since when are you buddy-buddy?" "Oh, trust me, we are definitely not close. I'm still a bit upset that you accepted the TA position with her instead of sticking with me," Rachel replied, a hint of frustration creeping into her tone. She paused, taking a breath before continuing. "As for why I'm going with Kurt, he really needs my support right now. Visiting Blaine is going to be an emotional rollercoaster for him. I figured I'd be more of a distraction than anything else this weekend." Rachel shrugged slightly, glancing around the loft for last-minute essentials, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. "Honestly, Brody, with all the stress of my 'Glass Menagerie' audition looming, I would have just ended up being wrapped up in my lines anyway. I wouldn't have been much fun to be around." "But it's still time well spent with you, Rachel," Brody replied, standing up to bridge the physical distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist in a gentle hug. "You're so sweet, Brody," Rachel pecked his cheek, "Again, I promise I'll make it up to you, okay?" She quickly wrapped her coat around her, securing it with a throw of her scarf, then bent to grab her gloves from the coffee table. "Kurt! Are you ready?" She called out for her roommate. "Coming!" Kurt walked out of his side of the room, suitcase in tow, "Hey, Brody. Thank you so much for house-sitting while we're gone!" "Yeah… no problem..." Brody sighed, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Have fun." The words tumbled out with an air of forced cheerfulness. His heart was heavy as he watched them both prepare to leave, and the vibrant energy of the loft suddenly felt hollow. He waved goodbye as he slid open the door for Kurt and Rachel. Brody then trudged back to the couch, flopping face-first into the cushions. Rolling onto his side, he picked up the TV remote, mindlessly flipping through the channels until he landed on a football game, the lively commentary blaring in the background. He remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the screen, his thoughts swirling as he tried to figure out what to eat. A cheeseburger would be great to have... His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he reluctantly flipped it open; it was Cassie. "Hello, handsome." Cassandra July slurred. She had clearly been drinking. "Hey, Cassie," Brody replied, trying to sound upbeat despite his mood. "Did I catch you at a bad time?" Cassie asked, her words slightly slurred but playful. "You sound… gloomy. Did you lose your best friend or something?" She snickered, "Something like that," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Rachel just left for the weekend with Kurt. They're visiting Blaine in Ohio." "Oh, right! The school musical and the ex-boyfriends," Cassie teased lightly. "You sure do have great timing with your love interests, don't you? And how can anyone get stood up by Little Miss David Schwimmer." Brody felt a pang of discomfort in his chest but tried to brush it off. "Yeah, well, it's just a weekend, right? I'll survive." He paused before adding, "I guess I'm just feeling a little left out." "Mmm, well. That's interesting and all, but I need you to come to the studio tonight." Cassandra replied disinterestedly, "I need help organizing lesson plans for this week. Don't argue; it's your job now, TA." Brody hesitated; the thought of spending his evening at the studio sulking over unhelpful paperwork was not exactly thrilling. "Cassie, I don't really feel up to it tonight. I was kind of hoping to just chill and maybe get some food," he said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. Cassandra's tone shifted slightly, more insistent now. "Come on, Brody! You can't just ignore your responsibilities because Schwimmer is busy." Her voice shifted to a lower, more flirtatious tone, "Besides, I could really use your help. You always have the best ideas when it comes to planning. I promise to make it worth your while. Pizza? Beer? Whatever you want," Cassie offered, still inebriated. Brody sat in silence for a moment, staring at the TV screen where the football game continued to play, but he knew he needed to get up and get ready. He wasn't quite sure what the evening would hold, but he felt a bit lighter than before. With a sigh, the young actor stood up, stretching out the kinks of his disappointment, and headed to the kitchen. A cheeseburger could wait; tonight, it seemed, he had another plan. He walked back to his phone. "I'll be there in an hour." "Fantastic, Brody. I promise you won't regret it..." Rachel and Kurt stood outside the bustling Columbus International Airport, their suitcases clutched tightly in their hands as a bitter November wind whipped around them. The chill nipped at their faces, heightening their senses and shaking off the drowsiness that lingered from their cramped flight. Rachel pulled her scarf tighter around her neck while Kurt adjusted his cap, trying to shield his ears from the relentless gusts. "S-see?" Kurt stuttered, his teeth chattering uncontrollably, "Cold weather like we never left New York." His face was slightly flushed from the cold, the tips of his ears a bright red as he spoke through chattering teeth. "When did you say your dad was coming?" Rachel asked, her voice edged with impatience as she huddled closer to Kurt, trying to gather warmth from his presence. "It's freezing out here!" She glanced around at the chaos of arriving and departing travellers, their breath visible in the frigid air, before returning her gaze to the sky, overcast and gray, seeming to promise rain to come. Just then, a familiar pickup truck rumbled to a stop before them. Burt Hummel rolled down his window and reached over to pat the exterior of his vehicle, grabbing their attention. "You look cold. You kids need a ride?" he called out, a playful twinkle dancing in his eye as he took in their shivering forms. "Dad!" Kurt exclaimed, his face lighting up with delight. Without a second thought, he and Rachel grabbed their luggage. They dashed toward the truck, relief washing over them as they anticipated the warmth of the vehicle. Burt grabbed their suitcases and tossed them in the back as the two climbed into the cab. Burt climbed back into the driver's seat, reaching over the console to hug his son, then leaned back as Rachel wrapped her arms around him from the backseat. "I'm so glad you guys are home!" Burt exclaimed, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as he started the engine, the truck rumbling to life and cutting through the cold air. I hope you two are hungry! Carole's been cooking up a storm all day. There's a casserole, garlic bread, wings, ham, salad, appetizers, and her famous blueberry pie." Burt navigated the truck smoothly out of the airport parking lot, ready to tackle the treacherous stormy roads back to Lima. "We invited your parents over for dinner, Rachel. They'll take you home from our house afterward," he added. Rachel slumped in her seat, "Will Finn be there?" she asked quietly. Kurt held his breath in the passenger seat. "Sorry about the breakup, hon. I hope it won't be too awkward with Finn there." Burt replied, "No, no. It won't be. Thank you so much, Burt. For driving me and inviting me and my dads over." "Hey, no problem. You are family!" Burt waved his hand dismissively, "How's New York treating you two? Is it everything you ever wanted?" "Being Isabelle Wright's assistant at Vogue.com is truly a dream come true, Dad!" Kurt shared excitedly, "And we love our loft in Bushwick." "I sure hope so, buddy. I'm helping you two pay the rent." Burt chuckled in response, "How about you, Rach? How's NYADA?" "It's incredible!" Rachel replied, forcing a small smile, "The winter showcase is coming up soon, so everyone has been preparing for a possible invitation from Carmen Tibideaux," she added, gazing pensively at the raindrops on the window. Rachel wasn't expecting to see Finn so soon. Two hours later, the truck rolled to a stop in the familiar driveway of the Hudson-Hummel home. Rachel and Kurt stepped out, eager to escape the downpour that had started to soak the ground. They hurried inside, laughter and warmth spilling out from the doorway, the invitation being almost tangible. Burt followed closely behind, their luggage in hand, and as he opened the door, the cozy light from inside poured out into the night. Carole Hudson-Hummel stood by the door, her wide grin beaming with joy. The warmth of her embrace greeted them immediately, arms opening wide as she rushed to envelop the two best friends in a tight, loving hug. "Ahhh, my little New Yorkers are home!" She cheered, holding onto Kurt and Rachel. "Please, come in! You look starving!" Carole ushered them inside with her typical enthusiasm, leading them through the inviting hallway that smelled of delicious cooking and sweetness. In the living room, Hiram and LeRoy Berry rose from their seats, their faces lighting up as they approached their daughter. "Is that our baby girl?" Hiram exclaimed, his voice thick with emotion as he and LeRoy ambled over to greet Rachel. "Welcome home, honey! How's our shining star?" LeRoy pulled Rachel and his husband in a group hug. "Dad! Daddy! I'm so happy to see you both!" Rachel squealed, her heart swelling with happiness as she wrapped her arms around her fathers, relishing the feeling of being home at last. Hiram stepped back slightly, holding Rachel at arm's length to get a good look at her. "You look amazing, sweetheart! New York is treating you well, I can tell." Rachel beamed, her face glowing. "Thanks, Dad! I've been working really hard, but it's all worth it. I'm just so glad to be home this weekend. I heard that "Grease" rehearsals are going really well!" Kurt entered the living room, joining in on the group hug. "Hey, Kurt! You're looking fantastic as well." LeRoy smiled, "They both do, but they should really be home more often." Carole piped in, leaning on Burt. Burt wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulder. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Burt swung it open, revealing Finn, followed by Mike, Mercedes, and Santana. "Hey, look who's here!" Burt laughed as he hugged the four newcomers. The gracious hosts they were, Burt and Carole, then took their coats. "Long time no see, guys!" Hiram chimed in, Rachel pulled out of the group embrace to see who entered. Her heart skipped a beat when her eyes landed on Finn. They locked eyes, and time froze around them, then resumed when she was almost tackled by Mercedes and Santana, flanked by Kurt. "It's been forever, girl!" Mercedes said, "I love the new look!" "Aw. This is just so touching!" Carole placed her hand over her heart, taking in the happy scene before her. "Let me go grab my camera! I want a picture of all the kids together!" "Oh, mom..." Finn groaned in protest, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "No, no, no! No complaining! I'll be right back!" Carole scurried down the hallway, returning a few minutes later with her camera, "Okay, you six! In front of the fireplace!" She snapped her fingers impatiently. Carole lightly pushed the former Glee Club members toward the fireplace. Placing them within the camera's view accordingly. She then squeezed Finn and Rachel together, sandwiching them uncomfortably between Mike and Santana. They both plastered on fake smiles to humour Finn's mom, who was just happy to see her sons and their friends again. Finn reluctantly wrapped his arm over Rachel as the ex-couple posed for the camera. "Welcome home," Finn muttered, "Heads up would've been great..." "Didn't know your parents were having us over for dinner, but my bad," Rachel mumbled in response, eyes never leaving the camera. After some much-needed catching up and sharing stories about college, post-grad life, and the school musical, dinner was ready. Avoiding Finn's gaze, Rachel took a seat between Mercedes and LeRoy while Finn sat across between Kurt and Santana. Amongst the chatter, Mercedes and Kurt exchanged glances, gesturing to the ex-couple. Carole, completely oblivious to the awkward tension, placed various dishes and serving spoons in front of them. She then sat down at the head of the table, getting a good view of Finn and Rachel. "Alright, everyone. Help yourselves!" She announced. The rest of the table happily obliged, scooping hearty portions on their plates and passing dishes around. Animated conversations overlapped, and the table was filled with laughter and good food. "So..." Hiram smiled at Finn, Mike, and Mercedes, "Opening Night is tomorrow! How are you guys feeling? It must've been difficult managing all those teens." "It definitely pushed us to our limits some days," Mike chuckled, "I have a whole new level of respect for teachers." "But the hard work paid off! We promise the kids are going to bring the house down tomorrow!" Mercedes added. She then placed her hand over Rachel's. "I'm so glad you and Kurt came back to see it." "Wouldn't miss it for the world..." Rachel smiled back, sipping her drink. Her eyes met with Finn's again. "They're really lucky to have you three coaching." Finn smiled bashfully, returning his gaze to his plate. "Well, I'm just grateful Santana could fill in to play Rizzo at the last minute. Can someone pass the Brussels sprouts?" "Well, isn't that kind of you, Santana. And how are your classes at Louisville?" Carole beamed at the girl beside her, passing the bowl of greens to Finn. "They've been okay. I've just been taking general studies until I decide what I want to major in. Cheering for the Cardinals has been fun, though." Santana replied, spooning some Brussels sprouts for herself as well. "Probably because you're cheering with a coach who supports you. More fun than taking orders from Sue," Burt grumbled. The rest of the table nodded in agreement. "And you, Kurt. I heard you're an assistant now at Vogue.com! That's a big deal." LeRoy said, Kurt nodded enthusiastically, his passion evident as he replied, "It's opened my eyes a lot! I'm getting the chance to explore new perspectives and different career paths—it's been a fantastic experience so far." He skillfully scooped some creamy casserole onto his plate, taking a brief moment to savour it before continuing the conversation. Rachel, who had been leaning in to listen, perked up with curiosity, her interest piqued. "W-what do you mean by 'career paths'?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "I thought you were still planning on auditioning for NYADA again?" "I may... I may not. Would it be so bad if I didn't?" Kurt replied, shrugging nonchalantly. "No, but why is it the first time I'm hearing of this?" Rachel countered in disbelief. "Well, honey, as much as your father and I want you and Finn to get a college degree. If you've found your place at Vogue.com, we support you in taking on a career there!" Carole chimed in, "Rachel, Kurt mentioned you're seeing someone?" As soon as Carole spoke, the table fell into a sudden hush. Forks and knives awkwardly scraped against their plates, creating an uncomfortable clamour that filled the silence. Eyes darted around the table, everyone exchanging telling glances as they focused intently on their meals, suddenly aware of the personal territory being ventured into. Rachel stared daggers at Kurt, who simply mouthed "sorry" and hastily reached for his water, clearly wishing he could take that moment back. Finn's face turned a deep red as he processed the news of his ex-girlfriend moving on. Santana quietly sipped her cider, the glass trembling in her hand as she tried to suppress her laughter. Observing this, Mercedes, ever the protector of her friends' dignity, shot Santana a fierce death glare, her eyes narrowing dangerously, silently instructing her to keep any snide comments to herself. Mike pushed his dinner back and forth with his fork. An attempt to distract himself from the tension. Rachel cleared her throat. Reluctantly taking the initiative to break the ice. "Yes... Carole. But nothing is official yet. We are just testing the waters." Rachel said softly, giving Finn some relief. Burt seized the opportunity to lighten the atmosphere by clapping his hands together with enthusiasm. "Well! Dinner was amazing as always, honey," he said to Carole. "How about we get that pie in the oven? LeRoy, Hiram, would you like to take your wine into the living room with us? Kids, how about you go hang out in the den? We'll call you when dessert is ready!" His cheerful tone began to disperse the tension as he motioned for the adults to join him in the next activity. Finn, Rachel, and their friends scrambled out of their chairs and filed out of the room. The six grads awkwardly shuffled into the den. "Well, I think it's time for some good old-fashioned competition!" Santana declared snarkily, wearing a self-satisfied grin. She was indeed unable to keep the disparaging remarks to herself tonight. "Mario Kart Wii, anyone?" "Yeah, I'll... play..." Mike replied quietly as he approached the TV, tossing Santana a controller, "Mercedes? Kurt?" "Okay, I'm in." Mercedes hesitantly grabbed another controller. Kurt turned on his Wii console and placed the disc inside. Rachel started walking towards the sofa, ready to watch, but Finn stopped her in her tracks. "Hey, can we talk?" Finn asked his ex softly, Rachel folded her arms, averting her gaze. "You don't want to play video games with our friends?" She replied, stepping back slightly. "No, I'd rather talk about us." "Finn, please. Not when our friends and family are here. I came here to visit my dads and watch the musical. We'll talk later; let's just enjoy each other's company tonight..." Rachel shuffled over to the sofa and sat beside Santana, resting her head against her shoulder. Santana looked at her former adversary, softening her expression to be more comforting. Tonight wasn't the night to be snarky. "Do you want to pick my character?" Santana whispered in Rachel's ear as she wrapped her arm around her, gently pushing her hair back. "Pick Rosalina," Rachel replied, nestling into Santana's embrace. She liked Rosalina. The character had a slight resemblance to Quinn Fabray... Not that it was important or anything... The tension in the air dissipated as the friends spent the evening shouting at their characters, cursing at blue shells, and laughing together. Watching the vibrant colours on screen, Rachel discretely wiped tears from her eyes. She lifted her head from Santana's shoulder momentarily to look at Finn, who was playfully nudging Mike's controller to veer his Luigi off track. She smiled softly, maybe Finn would be alright after all. Quinn rifled through her and Jenny's walk-in closet, looking for a fancy dress to wear to the secret society's speakeasy for another meeting. Finally, her eyes landed on a dazzling red dress that sparkled enticingly under the soft light. The fabric caught the light beautifully, reflecting hues of gold and crimson with every slight movement. The fitted bodice flared out gently, emphasizing her figure, while the hemline brushed just above her knees. To add a touch of glam, she selected a luxurious white faux fur shawl, which draped elegantly over her shoulders, adding warmth and sophistication. She grabbed matching stilettos and a chic clutch purse. With everything in hand, she stepped back and admired her ensemble in the full-length mirror. A smile crept across her face as she did a playful twirl, the shawl fluttering around her like a whisper. Brimming with confidence, she waggled her eyebrows at her reflection, feeling glamorous and empowered, before taking a decisive strut out of the closet—pun proudly intended. "Okay, Jenny. Your turn." Quinn smiled as she sat at her desk to touch up her lipstick. Jenny groaned in response and slinked down the ladder from her bed. She trudged over to the closet and chose a silky black jumpsuit. Deciding to elevate her outfit, she reached for the fierce pair of Louboutins that Quinn had heroically rescued from a bush just weeks ago. Their vibrant red soles made a statement of daring fashion. "Just one of these nights, I'd love to have a secret society meeting in my loungewear," she sighed, a hint of humour lacing her voice as she stepped into her ensemble, the fabric billowing slightly with each movement. "Yeah, because nothing screams 'high society' like a dirty hoodie and UGG boots." Quinn teased, "Hey, do you have today's lecture notes? I was meeting with Professor Larkin and... lost track of time." "Nope, I didn't go today," Jenny replied flatly, "Which shade of eyeshadow should I wear?" "What!? What do you mean you didn't go to class?" Quinn whirled around, "I got bored," Jenny shrugged, waving off the seriousness of the situation. "So, I went to Starbucks, grabbed lunch at Wendy's, wandered all the way to the music hall, jammed with some people, nailed an epic guitar solo, made out with the bassist because she was hot... and a bassist. Now, I have a date! Then I came back here." Jenny walked over to her desk, flipped open her laptop, and plugged in her keyboard and drum pad. "Then I made this!" she said proudly. With a ceremonious button press, she unleashed her current music loop into the dorm. A gentle piano intro filled the air, gradually accompanied by a simple yet resonant drum beat and the rich tones of a cello, creating a tapestry of sound that enveloped the room. "It has that classic coming-of-age movie vibe, don't you think, Quinn?" she inquired, her voice brimming with enthusiasm as they both swayed to the rhythm. Quinn then shook her head, removing herself from the moment and paused the music. "It's lovely, Jen. But why did you skip out today? This is Yale, not a community college." "I know, I know," Jenny replied, rolling her eyes. "But sometimes it just feels like an endless cycle of lectures and textbooks. I needed a break, you know? Plus, I can't pass up a chance to jam." Quinn crossed her arms, unimpressed. "But you can't keep skipping class like this! You know how important these lectures are, especially when finals are coming up. You can't just wing it with your 'music career' that you're too scared to admit you want to pursue." "I'm 'daddy's little scholar,' babe. Hard economically imbalanced truth is, rich kids don't receive fails." Jenny quipped, her tone laced with defiance. "It's about the principle, Jenny!" Quinn threw up her hands in frustration. "You're going to class on Monday, and you will ask someone, very politely, what you missed." "Not fair to lecture me, Quinn. Especially when two of your high school friends abandoned their classes for, like, three weeks to direct a musical!" Jenny shot back, her eyes narrowing. "I'll handle Mercedes and Mike when I get the chance. My priority is you." Quinn insisted, unwavering. Jenny shook her head, her tone shifting to one of disbelief. "No... it's really not. I'm an adult, Quinn, and so are your friends. I can make my own choices," she replied, her frustration mirroring Quinn's but stemming from a different place. "Jenny..." Quinn said softly, "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Can we go now?" "Ladies, we have an issue." Marie-Alice Hébert declared in her unmistakable French accent from the head of the table, "And ze issue is Beef McIntosh." A few of the women exchanged puzzled glances while Jenny, seated directly across from her, couldn't help but interject. "Oh, Marie-Alice, it's pronounced Biff," Jenny clarified. It's a short 'I' sound." "Vrai, I said it. It's Beef." she asserted. "Biff. Regarde-moi, c'est Biff. B-i-i-ff." Jenny repeated, articulating the pronunciation. "Yes, I know. I'm saying it right, am I not? Beef." "It's Biff, girl," Jenny reiterated, a touch of exasperation creeping in as she leaned closer, determined to make her point. "Be-if?" Marie-Alice furrowed her brow. "Close enough," Jenny sighed in defeat. "Je m'en fiche! It's a stupid name for a stupid man. Who even names their child 'Biff' anyway?" Marie-Alice scoffed, flicking her wrist. "Oh, you said it right just now!" "What? Beef?" The secret society members groaned collectively. "Yes! You said it right!" Jenny exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief. "It's 'Biff'! Just... forget it for now." Marie-Alice rolled her eyes dramatically. "C'est une perte de temps! We have bigger fish to fry, non? This man is the issue, not his name." "Biff is hot. I don't see any issue with him..." Georgia, an heiress, shrugged from the other end of the table. "Agreed," piped up Lisa, another member who had been quietly observing the exchange. "But what exactly is the problem with him?" With a serious expression, Marie-Alice straightened in her seat. "Our newest addition, Quinn Fabray, has reported to me that he has threatened her and questioned her academic integrity." As she spoke, Quinn nodded affirmatively, her vulnerability evident as she sat among the other members. "And while I understand his sentiment that it's unusual for Quinn to have earned a spot in the student mentee program as a freshman," Marie-Alice continued, giving Quinn a scrutinizing side-eye, "she is still one of us." "And it's not just me. Biff McIntosh has been threatening other women in the mentorship as well." Quinn added, Marie-Alice leaned forward, her expression serious. "We cannot let this behaviour go unchecked. If Beef thinks he can intimidate those in our circle, we need to make it clear qu'il est inacceptable!" "It's... Biff." Jenny mumbled, "Ah, mon Dieu, Jennette! I will BUY your property and evict you! Shush!" Lisa leaned in, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe we should confront him directly? Show him that we won't be intimidated?" Quinn hesitated, her voice soft but firm. "I don't know if that's the best idea. What if it makes things worse? He might retaliate." " I agree with Quinn," Marie-Alice said. "Confrontation may not be the way to go. Instead, we need to gather more evidence of his behaviour. Show it to someone in authority." "Girl, please. Like the Dean will actually do anything. Beef—Biff is untouchable, and we're all untouchable here. I ceremonially lit a tree on fire just for kicks yesterday!" Georgia exclaimed her nonchalance at odds with the gravity of the situation. The rest of the group slowly turned their heads to face her, their expressions a mixture of incredulity and concern. "She's right," another socialite, Madeline, chimed in with a wry smile. "Not about the whole tree business—that's a bit crazy. But even if we amassed a mountain of evidence, Biff could easily turn it into a 'his word against ours' fiasco, and then we'd be stuck." "That's why... bear with me, ladies..." Jenny paused for dramatic effect, "We dig up some serious dirt that not only hurts his rep... but hurts Yale's rep." "THE SCHOOL?!?!" the secret society members gasped in unison, their eyes wide with shock and intrigue. "If we can expose something big enough, it'll not only tarnish his reputation but also reflect poorly on Yale's prestigious image. They won't be able to overlook it then." Jenny tossed her shoulder, smirking knowingly. "How do you suggest we go about that?" Quinn asked, her voice still soft but now laced with curiosity. "The first step is to gather information," Jenny replied, leaning back in her chair with a confident smile. "We could start by discreetly talking to other women he may have targeted. If we can get testimonials or witness accounts, we'll have the ammunition we need. Then, something tells me he's not much more than just a pretty face. Trust Fund pays a team of professionals and students to write his work." "That I can attest to. I have a girl in one of my labs who's here on a scholarship. She's low-income from the middle of nowhere, and Biff pays her generously to write his essays." Lisa said, swirling her cocktail glass. "I bet we can dig something up at his parties, too!" a member named Delilah added, "Delilah, you just want an excuse to party," Marie-Alice deadpanned with a teasing smile, rolling her eyes but allowing a hint of laughter to escape, as the rest of the group found some much-needed levity amidst the tension.
Marie-Alice leaned back in her chair, her laughter mingling with the others, but her gaze quickly turned serious again. "But in all seriousness, we need a plan. We can't rely on mere gossip or parties to expose him. We need something solid." "How about we create a network?" Lisa suggested, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "If we band together, we can keep track of any incidents that happen, and who knows? Maybe more women will come forward if they see that they're not alone." "A network? Like, expand our ranks? Invite... commoners...?" Marie-Alice sputtered, and she abruptly stood up, "Meryl Streep, Jennifer Beals, Hillary FREAKIN Clinton, Angela Bassett! All were members of this secret society. Keyword: SECRET!" She shouted, pointing at the other girls. In disbelief, the French-Canadian started to curse like...well...like a French-Canadian. "Well... we're all young and upcoming socialites, right? Shouldn't we build some publicity for our platform?" Jenny suggested, "Think about how this could help our reputation in the long run!" "Okay? But we can't just walk out to campus and say, 'Hey, we're a secret all-female sorority who owns a speakeasy underneath a night club, who wants to join,'" Georgia retorted, "Like, come on." "Of course not!" Quinn replied, "We'll make an entrance. My suggestion? We start at Jodie Foster's clambake. That's the event of the year! And wouldn't it be awesome if she endorsed us?" "Jodie Foster? THE Jodie Foster? Academy Award-winning actress Jodie Foster?" Marie-Alice burst out in laughter, "Sure... I 'totally' have her number. Let me just call her up right now." Marie-Alice picked up her phone and pretended to dial a number, mocking Quinn. Quinn humbly stared at the table. Georgia took a sip of her drink, considering the idea. "But let's be real—how do we get people to actually take us seriously? We need to showcase that we mean business and aren't just some trendy social group." "By... stealing Jodie's spotlight. We take over the party planning and pull all the stops. I'm talking big catering, big entertainment, make her clambake a billion times better!" Jenny offered, "Marie-Alice and I went to one of the most prestigious private music schools in Canada. We have tons of big Canadian industry connections from seminars and workshops. I know a guy who works with Michael Bublé. That's right, Michael Bublé." "Oh my god, that man does something to me every time I hear him sing," Madeline swooned, "Yeah, he does something to everyone when he sings!" Jenny replied, "I can totally get him to fly to Connecticut. The guy I know owes me." "I can make some calls, get some stage space, and maybe add a carnival. We can pull local vendors and have them set up shop at the clambake." Delilah said, "It'll be good for the community." "Create a healthy buzz and take Biff down," Quinn smiled. Then he'll have no choice but to hightail it out of Yale." "Well, well, well. This is beginning to sound like a real plan," Marie-Alice mused, clinking her martini glass against Quinn's in a toast. "I'll have to really sit down and process it, knowing the history of this society's quiet operation, but I can definitely see the vision forming." "Bien sûr...Ali! Apportez-nous une autre tournée de boissons, s'il vous plaît." Quinn called out to the speakeasy's bartender. "Right away, Miss Fabray," Ali replied, continuing his craft with grace and impeccable style. Jenny and Marie-Alice exchanged fascinated glances. Surprised and very impressed that Quinn picked up their language so quickly. On a lively Saturday night, the parking lot of McKinley High was filled to capacity with cars of all shapes and sizes, their headlights cutting through the dusk. Students and families who arrived late had no choice but to park along the sides of the street, creating a line of vehicles stretching in both directions. Guests crowded the entrance of the auditorium, tickets and programs in hand. Never has a school musical created this much buzz at McKinley as this year's production of Grease. Inside the auditorium, the atmosphere was a whirlwind of activity, teeming with a frenetic energy that mirrored the excitement outside. Students dashed across the stage in a flurry of movement, their voices mingling with the echo of prop boxes colliding and scripts rustling. Backstage, costumes swirled as cast members rushed to prepare for the show—props were tossed haphazardly, with lines and sheet music flying through the air as if caught in a performance of their own. The air was thick with the sound of frustrated curses as actors tinkered with broken headsets and searched for misplaced headpieces. At the same time, students rehearsed the choreography and went over their stage directions. Artie, the co-director, nimbly wheeled through the crowded backstage, his mind racing with last-minute adjustments and details as he made rounds, ensuring everything was set for a spectacular opening night. "Thirty minutes to curtain, everyone! I want to see costumes on and scripts put away; you should know your lines by now! Santana, ease up on the eyeliner! It's theatre, not a rock concert! And Brittany, your costume is on backwards! Let's fix that!" he called out briskly, his voice carrying clearly above the din as he rolled past the girls, who offered sheepish grins in response. "What?! Kitty told me I had it on correctly!" Brittany exclaimed, a furrow of confusion etching her brow as she struggled to adjust her costume without taking it off completely. "Britt, sweetheart, this isn't going to work," Santana replied with an exasperated roll of her eyes. "You're going to have to go to the bathroom and change. Tina is going to flip if you tug too hard on that fabric. Come on, let's hurry." With a determined huff, she ushered her ex-girlfriend toward the bathroom. Santana adjusted her short wig in front of the mirror while waiting for Brittany to fix her costume. "You know, I've always been curious about how I would look with a short perm," she mused aloud, a playful smile creeping across her face as she primped her reflection, experimenting with her new look. "I guess we finally have our answer!" "Are you nervous at all? Rizzo is a huge part!" Brittany asked from the stall. She struggled to keep her voice steady while wrestling with her costume. "Nervous? No way. Santana Lopez doesn't do nerves," she replied confidently, tossing her synthetic curls back with a theatrical flourish. "Are you okay in there?" "N-no... Can you come in and help me? I'm all tangled up, the shirt hooked on my bra clip!" Brittany's voice broke slightly, and the struggle was evident as she tried to keep her composure amidst the wardrobe malfunction. Santana sighed hesitantly, "Britt, I don't think that's a good–" "What? Good idea to see me in my bra because we're broken up?" Brittany cut her off abruptly, her tone surprisingly sharp and volatile, "I don't care right now. Help." "Alright, fine. Just… don't move, okay?" She pushed the door open carefully, stepping into the cramped stall. Brittany was tangled in a mass of fabric, looking both embarrassed and desperate. "I'm really stuck, San. I didn't think changing would be this complicated." "Changing is not complicated at all…" Santana started, but Brittany interrupted, clearly frustrated. "Oh, quit it, Santana! It's not about the clothes!" "Then what is it about?" Santana asked, her hands deftly working to untangle the mess of fabric. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks pretty straightforward. It was a mutual breakup, and we're still friends. Best friends. I can't do long distance with you while I'm in college." Brittany sighed, her shoulders slumping as she finally craned her neck to meet Santana's gaze. "It's just… everything feels different now, you know? I thought I could handle this, but my mind keeps wandering back to us." Santana paused, her fingers halting for a moment. "Britt, I get it. It's hard. But tonight's about the show, right? We can talk about… whatever later. I'm going to focus on embodying Rizzo while you kill it as Cha-Cha." "I love you, Santana. I want–" "Santana, Brittany. Let's get on with it!" Artie called out from the hallway. "Britt-Britt, I promise we'll talk later. You can tell me everything you need to say, okay?" Santana removed the fabric from Brittany's clasp and handed it back to her. "Get dressed; I'll see you out there." She placed a light kiss on her cheek and stepped out of the stall. As Santana stepped out of the stall, the buzz of excitement from backstage engulfed her. She could hear Artie rallying more students, his voice cutting through the chaos like a conductor leading an orchestra. With a quick glance back at Brittany, who was still working to adjust her shirt, Santana felt a pang of concern. She wanted nothing more than to ease Brittany's worries, but their conversation had to wait. " "Alright, let's pull it together, people!" Artie called as he got everyone's attention. "Fifteen minutes until we start! If you're not on stage, I want you in the wings and ready to go!" Santana positioned herself confidently in the wings, feeling the familiar adrenaline surge through her. The auditorium was filling up, the gentle murmur of the audience buzzing with anticipation. Spotlights flickered overhead, casting bright beams that danced across the stage, and she could hear the distant chatter and laughter from the crowd. "Gosh, it feels incredible to have my car back!" Kurt exclaimed with a look of pure delight as he eased the vehicle to a stop at a red light just a few blocks shy of their old stomping grounds, McKinley High. He glanced over at Rachel, a playful grin on his face. "Do you think we could actually drive it all the way back to New York? I mean, just imagine the road trip!" Rachel let out a melodious giggle, the kind that brightened the entire car. She raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Kurt, we live in an apartment... in Bushwick, may I add," she noted, her tone teasing yet practical. "It's not exactly the safest place for expensive things, you know? Besides, where would we even drive it? New York isn't exactly known for its speedy traffic flow. You might spend more time sitting in gridlock than actually on an open road!" "So...Grease!" Kurt smiled as he pushed the gas at the green light, "Are you excited? Finn, Mike and Mercedes have been working really hard!" Rachel smiled, but there was an underlying complexity in her expression. "Yeah, I'd say I'm excited," she replied, her voice light despite the weight of her words. "I think watching the musical will help Finn and me move on from each other... and, more importantly, help me move on from that awkward dinner party at your parents' last night..." Her smile lingered, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, hinting at the residual discomfort from the evening. "I'll have to apologize again for that," Kurt said earnestly, guilt tinged in his tone. "That was my dad's idea to have the whole gang over, and I thought it would be a fun evening." "Hey, hey, it's okay!" Rachel insisted, her smile reappearing, this time more genuine. "I loved catching up with Mike, Mercedes, and Santana. It was nice to hear them laughing and reminiscing, even if the dinner felt a bit like an episode of a reality show gone wrong." She rolled her eyes playfully, grateful for the familiar company despite the uncomfortable moments. Kurt turned on the familiar road the two had taken for four years. The bright lights of McKinley High shone in the distance. "Jeez, how are we going to find a place to park? Look at that! Cars are lined up on either side of the street like a parade!" Kurt narrowed his eyes, scanning the area. "It wasn't this hectic for us when we did 'West Side Story' last year." "Well, remember, most of the cast is part of Glee Club. People are still reminiscing about our iconic Nationals win!" Rachel responded, her excitement bubbling over. "Which… let's not forget, we were the reason we have that title. Oh my gosh, Kurt! You're right! This is just ridiculous! How dare they take our credit for it." "Ummm, or is it because Grease is a really popular musical?" Kurt replied, eyes darting around to find a space. Rachel narrowed her eyes playfully. "Okay, fine, you might have a point. But we still have a right to be a little dramatic about it. We've earned our place in McKinley's musical history, after all!" Kurt chuckled, finally spotting a space just a bit down the street. "There! That's our golden ticket!" He pointed enthusiastically. "Sweet! Let's hope nobody else sees it first," Rachel said, her voice tinged with competitive spirit as Kurt expertly maneuvered the car into the tight spot, swinging the vehicle with remarkable ease, just like his father taught him. Once parked, the two friends leaped out of the car, gripping each other's hands tightly as they sprinted across the street toward their old school. "Alright. Remember what we talked about. No matter how many times people ask, we stick to our five-autograph limit." Rachel said as they rounded the corner down the hallway. "I'm more concerned about running into 'you-know-who'..." Kurt sighed, "Oh, you'll be fine," Rachel assured him, brushing off some lint from his shoulder with a comforting gesture. "Awww. Rachel, look! It's your locker next to my locker." Kurt cooed, and the two giggled as they made their way over to their old lockers. "Haha, remember when you got out of that date with Mercedes by saying you had a thing for me?" Rachel teased. "Yeah, it still burns my ass to this day!" Mercedes laughed, surprising them as she appeared from around the corner. Rachel and Kurt raced towards their friend, enveloping her in a warm embrace. The joy of reunion was evident in their laughter. "Oh my god, guys! I'm so glad you came to see the musical! Like I said at dinner, these kids are ready to bring the house down." Mercedes articulated her words with sass and excitement. "How are you feeling? Tell us everything!" Rachel replied, sharing her enthusiasm. "Well, life has been crazy busy! It's not easy balancing UCLA classes and recording backup vocals... or having Puckerman always hit me up for sugar mamas' phone numbers. But life is good. I'm thrilled that I came back to help Finn run things. I can tell directing both the show and Glee Club has been boosting his confidence." "That's amazing to hear, Mercedes." Kurt smiled. He was happy that his brother was getting back on his feet. "You two have to come backstage and say hi! They're going to freak when they see who's here!" Mercedes pleaded, jumping up and down. "Okay, okay! Lead the way, 'Cedes!" Kurt and Rachel followed Mercedes to the auditorium backstage, a place they used to call home when they were students. The backstage of "Grease" was in a frenzy. Students sprinted left and right, nearly colliding with Kurt and Rachel as they prepared for the first number. The trio couldn't help but giggle as they watched the scene unfold. Feeling nostalgic about their own opening night of "West Side Story" a year before. "Hah! I distinctly remember almost putting Rory Flanagan in a headlock because he accidentally spilled water all over the back of my Maria costume," Rachel burst out laughing, her face lighting up with the memory. "Poor kid was introduced to the wrath of pre-curtain Rachel Berry that night." "Oh my god, I remember that! You were a force of nature!" Kurt chuckled, shaking his head. "Rory didn't stand a chance. But to be fair, he did deserve it for that water spill." Mercedes rolled her eyes playfully. "And I think he still has trauma from that moment." Rachel laughed, throwing her head back. "Well, I can't say I blame him! But it all turned out okay in the end. We put on an incredible show!" "Speaking of incredible shows," Kurt chimed in, glancing towards the bustling stage, "I can't wait to see what these kids have in store for us. I know Finn has put his heart into this production. So did you and Mike, Mercedes." "Nope. It was all Finn and Artie! Mike and I just helped with the vocals and choreography." Mercedes replied, "Speak of the devils!" Finn wheeled Artie toward the group, flanked by Mike and Tina. Tina spotted them first, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree. She excitedly dashed over, throwing her arms around Kurt and Rachel in a tight hug. "Kurt! Rachel! I can't believe you came!" she exclaimed, her voice brimming with pure delight. "Well, there was no way we were going to miss the star of the show, Tina Cohen-Chang!" Kurt replied, "Let it go down in high school musical production history that you will be the best Jan ever portrayed!" "Hey, Rachel..." Finn waved awkwardly from afar. Rachel softly waved back. They hadn't spoken at all since the dinner party when he found out she was seeing someone new. Rachel couldn't blame him. Finn was her ex-fiancé, after all. "Tina!" A panicked voice pierced through the clamour of the rehearsal, calling out from behind the gathered group. Sophomore Marley Rose, who played the leading role of Sandy, sprinted frantically toward Tina. The look on her face was one of sheer panic; her wide, blue eyes gleamed with urgency and fear, almost as if they might burst from their sockets. Marley was pinching her skirt away from her hips, her fingers bright red as she tried to tug the too-tight fabric from her skin. The skirt clung a little too snugly to her figure. Tina stared at the younger girl with shock and confusion. She had just adjusted her costume less than two days ago. "I'm sorry..." Marley babbled, her voice trembling. "I—I've been starving myself..." Kurt, Rachel, and Mercedes exchanged bewildered glances. Marley was a tiny toothpick for a girl her age. This was definitely a mystery. "How could you have possibly gained two inches in a single day?!" Tina asked, her voice laced with both worry and exasperation. "I don't know!" Marley exclaimed, "Maybe we can hot glue an elastic band on..." Tina suggested, urgently snapping her figures at one of the guys to fetch her sewing kit. Kitty stood silently by, a smug grin stretching across her face. "Mercedes, Kurt, I think we should go find our seats..." Rachel guided her friends out of the chaotic backstage toward the audience. As the night sky in New York City twinkled above the busy streets. Cassandra July rolled lazily to her front as Brody's phone rang at the edge of the bed. She flipped over the screen to see Rachel Berry's contact photo above the call button. "Oh, this is going to be fun..." She thought, smiling smugly. "Well, hello, Schwimmer. How's Ohio?" Cassie snickered as she answered the phone. Rachel pressed the phone against her ear, leaning against the sink in the girls' bathroom at McKinley. She could hear the roaring applause from the auditorium in the background. The school's production of "Grease" had just ended, and Rachel couldn't wait to scramble out of the auditorium; she couldn't wait to leave her old high school. There were too many memories here that she'd thought she left behind, memories of Finn. "Cassandra? I was calling for Brody." Rachel said, her brow furrowing in confusion as she registered the familiar yet unexpected voice of her dance teacher. She glanced at the screen to double-check that she hadn't mistakenly dialled the wrong number, a hint of dread creeping into her as she tried to process the unforeseen reply. "Yeah... he's in the shower... soaping up his incredibly chiselled physique," Cassie replied, smirking, "Do you want me to leave a message?" "I'm sorry... I-I don't, I don't understand." Rachel babbled, trembling. "Uh, let's see. You blew off your playdate with the hottest piece of ass at NYADA to go visit your loser ex-boyfriend." Rachel froze in place at the remark; her stomach dropped as Cassie continued. "Said hot ass was lonely, distraught, didn't know what to do with himself. He was more than happy to help me choreograph a new routine when I called him up." Oh...my...god... Rachel couldn't believe this was happening. She gripped the edge of the sink, bracing for Cassandra July's following words. "And one thing led to another, and next thing you know, he's at my place and...you know..." Cassandra waved her hand dismissively. Rachel cringed at the thought, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to maintain her composure. "So... you and Brody?" Rachel let out a heavy, weary sigh, "Why?" "Why don't we consider this one of those nasty life lessons," Cassie replied, "Auditioning for an off-broadway play, throwing yourself at an upperclassman, and telling me... that I need to get into the game? Me? I-I need to get back in the game?" A humourless chuckle escaped her lips, "I think you were overreaching and needed a reminder. I am the game, Schwimmer. You are what you have always been: A privileged, self-indulgent, dime-a-dozen––" Suddenly, the line went dead. Rachel, overwhelmed by the bitter words, quickly pressed the end call button, desperate to escape the onslaught of Cassie's judgment before she could hear more. Things couldn't possibly get worse. Rachel needed to grab Kurt and return to New York... NOW. She was officially done—done with Brody, done with Cassie, done with McKinley High... done with Ohio. She opened her messages app and sent Kurt a quick message. 'I'm ready to go now. Please' –Rachel Rachel wiped her tears as she walked out of the bathroom. She quickened her pace towards the front exit, desperate to leave her former high school. "Hey, you missed the curtain call," Finn called out behind her, stepping forward to catch up. Rachel turned around and found herself just a few feet away from her ex-boyfriend. She shakily dropped her phone in her clutch and looked up to meet Finn's eyes. "Have you been crying?" He asked softly, "No... I'm fine." Rachel replied. She spun back around to the exit. She only managed to take three steps before Finn stopped her again. "For two years, I was the guy you came to with every little problem..." His breath hitched, his shoulders slumping, "Are we going to pretend we're not even friends anymore?" "I just– I shouldn't have come here." Rachel shrugged, slowly turning back to him, "It's too weird..." "Then why did you?" "For Kurt and..." Rachel started. Finn gazed down at the floor. "And for you!" She added, pulling his attention back to her. "You know, everything was really, really good tonight. I had a couple notes, but they were small. You have a gift teaching these kids." Finn chuckled, "Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me. And believe me, the whole time I was directing the musical, I was thinking, 'What would Rachel do'? You're kind of my moose." Rachel giggled softly, "It's 'muse.'" "I know," Finn smiled, "I just wanted to see you smile." his eyes twinkled at Rachel, "Now, will you tell me what you're upset about?" Rachel paused, contemplating whether or not she should tell him. "I'd rather not..." "Were you crying about me?" Finn pressed, "I wasn't crying about you," Rachel replied, "Oh... it's about him. Brody," Finn said, disappointed by her reply, "I didn't think you would move on so fast..." "You don't know that." "I know you. I know you have four different types of crying. There's the fake crying when you want something, which always involves a tissue. Singing while crying, which obviously can't be right now. The disappointed crying involves sobbing..." Finn took a deep breath before continuing, "And the crying over a guy or girl. This one I know very well... because it used to be reserved for me." Rachel sighed, shrugging in defeat. "Well, told you we shouldn't talk about this." "Maybe we shouldn't talk about anything anymore..." Finn countered, unwavering. They both stood in silence briefly. "Is that really what you want?" Rachel broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "No contact, not even in song. When you come back to visit... I don't want to know about it." "Yeah... I think that's good," Rachel replied, her voice laced with reluctance, accepting his proposal though her heart ached. "I really don't know what's going to happen between us, but... I know you used to be the guy who made me feel like the most special girl in the whole world..." she paused, her eyes welling with unshed tears, "And... it doesn't feel that way anymore... Now, it feels sad and confusing." BOOM. At that moment, it felt as though a bomb had detonated in the hallway, shattering the fragile reality of their relationship. Finn's entire world seemed to collapse around him as he painfully absorbed Rachel's words. Devastation coursed through his body, a cold realization settling in that Rachel had fallen out of love with him. "And whatever happened with this Brody guy made you cry, and... this...doesn't?" he asked shakily. Unwilling to hear what Rachel had to say next. Suddenly, Kurt appeared in the hallway. "Hey. Mr. Schuester said he wanted to see you in the choir room." Kurt made his way over to the ex-couple. "Bye..." Finn quickly left them alone, darting into the classroom. "Are you okay–" Kurt started, "I just want to go home." Rachel cut him off, leading him toward the doors. "I thought this was home..." "It doesn't feel like it anymore." Blaine raced out of the choir room, sprinting to catch up with them. "Kurt, wait! I need to talk to you." Kurt and Blaine locked eyes. Kurt froze, unsure of what to do next. On the one hand, the reason why he returned to Lima was to see Blaine and resolve the issue... on the other hand, it all felt pointless now. "I-I'm not interested..." Kurt cleared his throat, walking away from his ex-boyfriend. Rachel was right. They both had closure in New York. There was no point in going back. Feeling defeated by Kurt's rejection to hash things out, Blaine sadly shuffled back into the choir room, where the cast of Grease happily celebrated their opening night. His heart was pounding, his ears were ringing, and cheers and laughter were reduced to a muffle in the background. Blaine made his way to the back of the classroom and slinked down onto a chair, his head buried in his hands. Fighting back tears, the young Warbler slowly looked up at the joyful crowd of students. Some people danced carelessly, some shovelled pizza in their mouths, and some excitedly shared their favourite parts of the show. Sam wobbled his way up to where Blaine was seated, handing his friend a slice of pepperoni pizza. Blaine smiled weakly, accepting the offer. "Did you... talk to Kurt?" Sam gently nudged him, Blaine's heart sank further at the mention of Kurt's name. "No… I don't blame him. It's all my fault," he replied, his voice a mere whisper choked with sadness. "Who wants to talk to the person who cheated on them?" The admission felt like a weight pressing down on him as he looked away, unable to meet Sam's eyes. "He doesn't love me anymore…" The words hung heavily in the air between them, a painful truth that Blaine was struggling to accept. Sam placed a comforting hand on Blaine's back, the warmth offering a small measure of solace. "Hey, man. You'll be okay. You have us!" he said, gesturing towards Tina and Artie, who were engaged in animated conversation by the snack table, laughter spilling over as they shared stories. "We'll get you through this." At that moment, despite the pain swirling within him, Blaine felt a flicker of gratitude for his friends—perhaps the small spark of support would help him navigate through the darkness. As the cast party went on, Santana ambled over to the snack table, her eyes gleaming with mischief. The table was laden with an enticing variety of treats, from colourful bags of chips to sugary confections. With practiced stealth, she began to scoop generous handfuls of the displayed snacks into her purse, choosing her favourites—the zesty nacho cheese chips and the chocolate-covered candies. Like any college student, she wouldn't pass up stuffing her pockets with free food. "You were great as Rizzo tonight," Brittany slinked behind Santana, hugging her waist and resting her head on her shoulder. "And you did amazing as Cha-Cha," Santana replied, leaning into her touch. After a moment, Brittany awkwardly pulled away, eyes focused on the table. She traced circles with her fingernail on the tablecloth, unsure what to say. She then took a deep breath and gazed at Santana. "So... are you going back to Louisville?" she asked, gesturing to Santana's purse filled with goodies. "I have mid-terms this week, Britt. I'm sorry I have to..." Santana gently held her ex-girlfriend's hands, "Playing Rizzo in the school musical and seeing you was fun... but college is my life now. I have to put McKinley High in the past." "Put... me in the past? Us?" Brittany muttered quietly, "No, Britt-Britt. Never you." Santana reached out to caress Brittany's face, her thumb wiping away her tears, "I meant what I said that I'm happy that you're not seeing anyone new." "I feel like there's a 'but' coming..." Brittany replied as she closed her eyes, bracing for impact. "But, I need you to move on. Please, baby. Just for now." Santana continued, "I do too. If we are truly meant to be together, then we will come back to each other eventually. We can't force it." As the weight of Santana's words settled heavily in the air, Brittany began to sob in her ex's comforting embrace, her body trembling with the intensity of her emotions. The sight of her hurting brought tears to Santana's eyes as well, the pain echoing in her chest. "Santana, I can't. I love you," Brittany cried, her voice thick with desperation and love. "I love you too, Brittany," Santana whispered back, her own heart shattering a little more with every word. "Trust me, this is hurting me so much, you don't even begin to understand." Brittany took a shaky breath, pulling back just enough to look into Santana's eyes. "Then why do we have to do this? It feels wrong to let go when everything in me says to hold on." "Because sometimes love means making hard choices," Santana replied softly, her voice trembling with emotion. "We both have so much ahead of us—school, our dreams. If we keep holding on too tightly right now, we might just end up losing everything." Brittany shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "But what if we end up losing each other for good? What if this is the last time I get to be with you like this?" "We won't lose each other," Santana assured her, brushing her fingers through Brittany's hair. "We just need to take a step back. It's not about forgetting; it's about growing. We have to trust that what we have is real, that it can survive this distance." "And if it doesn't?" Brittany's voice wavered, her fear palpable. "Then we'll know we fought for it," Santana replied firmly, though her heart felt heavy. "But I have faith in us, Britt. I really do. I believe that if we're meant to be, we will find our way back." "Okay... I'll try to move on..." "That's my girl." Santana smiled, "And we'll always be best friends. Dating or not, that title is for life." Their moment was interrupted as Sugar burst into the choir room, a wide grin on her face and fizzy bottles of cider clutched tightly in her hands. "I brought cider!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious. "Let's toast! To a successful opening night!" Mr. Schue announced, raising his plastic cup to his students. Brittany and Santana leaned on each other, smiles flickering on their faces, as they raised their arms in celebration. Joining their friends amidst the vibrant chaos, they momentarily forgot their heartache in the spirit of the night. Kurt padded into his dimly lit bedroom, the familiar scent of dust and worn fabric enveloping him like a heavy blanket. His heart raced as he moved toward his suitcase, which lay open on the bed, still half-packed from his previous hurried preparations. He glanced around the room, taking in the scattered reminders of a life he was determined to leave behind. Still, he didn't have the energy to gather up the little trinkets and memories kept in his room that had once meant so much to him. Kurt just had to go. Ohio wasn't home anymore. Maybe it never was. He and Rachel had to leave that chapter behind. He had to leave Blaine behind. Kurt had Vogue.com, his dream job. He had New York City to call home, a city full of other gay men to date. He dumped the fresh load of laundry Carole had done for him earlier that day and finally decided to toss in some extra things he had left here before moving to New York. Kurt zipped up his bags and began to make his exit. He opened the door to find Finn climbing the stairs on his way to his bedroom on the other side of the hallway. Finn stopped and turned around to face his brother. "Skipping out on your own cast party?" Kurt folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "Yeah... I didn't feel like I belonged there..." Finn replied dejectedly, "I was just a fly on the wall." "What is that supposed to mean? You literally directed the play." Kurt raised his eyebrows, "Everyone there was so happy. I didn't want to bring down the mood." He shrugged, "Finn..." "Come on, Kurt. I've met this Brody guy. He has everything Rachel wants. I can't compete with him." Finn continued, a note of defeat creeping into his tone. "So, no contact was your solution?" Kurt questioned, his voice tinged with concern. "I need her to stay away from here... away from me. Whenever she's in Lima, she's wasting time that she should be spending in New York—following her dreams, being a star," Finn concluded, sadness and determination interwoven in his words, "You too, bro. You don't belong here; you belong out there with Rachel!" "Will you be okay?" Kurt pressed and stepped toward his brother. "I am finding myself. I have the tire shop, and I'm coaching the Glee Club while Mr. Schue is gone. It's only a start, but it's better than nothing." "I'm proud of you, Finn." Kurt smiled, "Go catch your flight. Burt's waiting in the car," Finn urged, his tone shifting to one of encouragement, prompting Kurt to embrace the adventure ahead, "Keep an eye on Rachel for me, okay?" "As long as you do the same for Blaine..." The stepbrothers hugged each other tightly and went their separate ways. Finn retreated to his bedroom, flopping down on his bed while Kurt loaded his bags into Burt's truck.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
So, here's what you missed on Glee...
Rachel and Finn are broken up with Finn staying in Lima to coach Glee Club while Rachel is moving on with a ken doll named Brody. Brody decides to betray Rachel by hooking up with her dance professor who hates her.
Quinn and her new Canadian friend Jenny plot to destroy Biff McIntosh with the help of a bunch of secret society socialites. They plan to overtake the famous Jodie Foster's annual clambake by adding more glitter or something, but don't worry this somehow connects to destroying the rich guy's reputation, we won't tell you how because that's how Glee works.
Kurt and Blaine are also broken up because Blaine is still at McKinley and Kurt is off playing dress up with a famous fashion magazine editor. That is so sad. Especially knowing that Blaine left Dalton to go to school with Kurt and then he just leaves. How rude! Where does Blaine live anyway is Dalton and McKinley are an hour away from each other? Are the Warblers good or bad now? Is Sue good or bad now? Who is good and who is bad?
And that's what you missed on... GLEE!
Marie-Alice Hébert, the striking heiress of the illustrious French-Canadian Hébert dynasty, was just twenty-one years old but possessed a poise that belied her youth. Her mane of fiery red-dyed hair tumbled in waves around her shoulders, a bold statement that perfectly complemented her piercing blue eyes—two sapphires that glowed with intensity and intelligence. She exuded an aura of confidence that drew people to her, captivating peers and adults alike. It was no wonder that her family was revered in their community and considered a cornerstone of social standing and prestige in Quebec. People worshipped the ground her family walked on. In high school, she reigned supreme among her peers, not through intimidation but through a genuine leadership style—a blend of compassion and assertiveness that inspired loyalty and admiration. Her presence was magnetic, allowing her to navigate the complexities of teenage social dynamics with remarkable ease and elegance. Whether attending formal events or casual gatherings, Marie-Alice effortlessly carried the weight of her family's name, embodying the enduring spirit of the Hébert dynasty. Since her Acadian ancestors found New France, now called Quebec, centuries ago, the Héberts were responsible for upholding their name with honour. They were expected to lead and carry a legacy through tradition. So, what could such a dazzling and reputable young socialite be possibly doing on a random November afternoon? Marie-Alice Hébert was walking through the wet grass in 'who knows and who cares where,' Connecticut, USA, with a bunch of oblivious, whiny, rich American college girls and Jennette Tremblay. Her stilettos dug holes into the soil as she and her secret–not so secret– society climbed the slight hill. They had a plan—a plan to destroy Biff McIntosh's reputation and have him kicked out. It involved making a big splash at Jodie Foster's clambake and revealing themselves as an organization. All with the intention of knocking Biff down a couple of social rankings. They attracted women who had been threatened by him or used by him. They had them confess while they dug up any dirt Biff tried to hide. If it impacted the university's status as an academic superpower, Biff would have no choice but to be expelled and kicked out of the mentorship program. God, this was such a cheesy plan. As if it were ripped from a Hollywood set. She looked at her ensemble with anything but pleasure. There were seven of them, including Marie-Alice. Each girl wealthier and more excruciating than the next. There was Georgia Bloomberg, daughter of Michael Bloomberg, a famous tycoon and the mayor of New York. Georgia had a rebellious and sarcastic streak that sometimes made her too crass to be around. However, her cleverness was as valuable as her wealth. Which was why she was Marie-Alice's right hand. Unfortunately, she often used her wit to cause trouble. Delilah Kraft was a junior finance major with a significant case of the party bug. It was indeed a mystery how she could dance and drink all night and come to class on time the next morning. Her father owned the Patriots football team, but Delilah was far from a team player. She was overly ambitious and self-absorbed. Marie-Alice was genuinely surprised Delilah didn't jump to take the credit for their plan. But she was popular among the Greek life, she'll give her that. Lisa Hayashi's family filled four seats on Harvard University's admissions board, yet she chose Yale for her biochemistry studies. Her family owned properties and businesses in almost every US state. She was shy, forgettable sometimes, but strangely overeager to take Biff McIntosh down at the last secret society meeting. Madeline Berlusconi's family had a successful string of hotels all over Las Vegas. She was the girl to go to when something needed to get done—if she remembered. However, despite holding one of the high academic records in the engineering science program, she often came off as ditzy and absent-minded. Jennette Tremblay grew up with Marie-Alice in Montreal. She was all over the place, could never sit down, and could never hand in a paper on time to save her life. However, Jenny had connections. International connections. Her parents worked everywhere, including the IOC, the Canadian embassy, numerous federal councils, and the government. Needless to say, nothing went on in Eastern Canada without the Tremblay's permission. Jenny herself had connections to the music industry through playing music professionally when she was younger. It was weird to think that the girl who had mastered almost every instrument chose to pursue law here at Yale. Then there was Quinn Fabray... Jennette's... friend. Marie-Alice hadn't yet formed a proper opinion about her. Her father was a senator, and her mother owned some jewelry stores. However, Quinn was far from the level of wealth that was usually represented in the secret society. She was gorgeous, effortlessly so. Marie-Alice didn't like her. She still felt apprehensive about the plan to reveal the secret society. But the girl was full of secrets Marie-Alice had recently uncovered with some dedicated snooping. It was honestly bold of Quinn to attempt to tarnish Biff McIntosh's reputation knowing the dirt on her. Despite receiving generous cheques from him, her father, Russel Fabray, disowned her. Presumably, to maintain his reputation as a family-orientated man, he kept his daughter financially stable. She was impregnated by a juvenile delinquent. Her 'national winning' show choir group went viral in 2011 for a terrible performance involving a make-out session between the two captains. Quinn was a cheerleader. Cheering for one of the most reputable teams in the country under the coaching of the disgraced Sue Sylvester. Everyone has an embarrassing past; it would be unfair for Marie-Alice to base judgements on that. There is something about Quinn, though. As Marie-Alice got to know her, she learned that she was more than just a bright-eyed freshman. Marie-Alice was intrigued but also cautious. She concluded that Quinn Fabray couldn't be trusted. Not yet. Quinn didn't seem like the type of girl to humbly back down without dragging some people with her. Jenny seemed to pay no mind. "Jennette will be ze first to go..." She muttered, loud enough to catch Georgia's attention The two fell back as the rest of the group marched toward their destination. "What do you mean?" Georgia furrowed her brow, "She'll be ze first to be caught in Quinn Fabray's inevitable downfall if this plan backfires. Keep your distance." ... "Madeline, are we there yet?" Jenny groaned as the seven girls trudged up the hill. It had been a long walk from the parking lot, and the young socialites started slowing down from fatigue. They stopped to take a break, taking in their surroundings. As they stood there, the girls looked out at the vast field that sprawled before them. It was expansive and inviting, with patches of colourful wildflowers dotting the landscape, swaying gently in the crisp November breeze. While the meadow was not as grand as the sprawling estates their families owned, it held a promise of something extraordinary—a blank canvas just waiting for inspiration to strike. "Oh... we're already here. I'm just meeting with the property owner who is leasing out the field. You didn't have to come..." Madeline replied. Jenny's eyes widened in surprise, her fatigue momentarily forgotten. "This whole field is ours?" she exclaimed, stopping mid-step, her jaw practically dropping at the revelation. She looked around, taking in the expansive meadow that stretched out before them, with vibrant wildflowers blooming in patches under the grey November sky. "Uh, yeah? The best money could buy, and I have a lot," Madeline shrugged. "You wanted to make this clambake shine, right? I thought we could use this whole space and make it a festival, like Coachella." Quinn, who had been catching her breath, perked up at the mention of a festival. "You mean, like, live music, food stalls, games?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with imagination. The idea was beginning to take shape in her mind, a whirlwind of possibilities blooming alongside the wildflowers in the field. "Uhh, yeah, Quinn. Do they not have festivals in Idaho?" Georgia smirked, "I'm from Ohio." Quinn shot back, "A winter carnival sounds great for the clambake. We could make it a Thanksgiving theme." Delilah suggested, "Wait, is it winter now or still fall?" Lisa chimed in with a quizzical expression, brow furrowing in thought as she glanced at the colourful leaves still clinging to the trees nearby. "Sometimes I forget November exists..." Madeline deadpanned. She reminded Quinn of Brittany S. Pierce sometimes. They had to be related. "Okay, as much as I would love to discuss what season we're in right now, like we're back in kindergarten, what the hell are we actually doing here?" Georgia piped in, clearly agitated. "We have a field, great. But someone, please explain how and why we are using it, how this plan is supposed to take down Biff, and why anyone in their right mind would willingly be outside in this frigid weather?" "We're going to amp up the spectacle that is Jodie Foster's clambake. We're going to pull this off festival-style using what we suggested in the meeting: vendors, food trucks, games, and entertainment." Delilah replied, "Jodie Foster's clambake is the most anticipated event of the year. People will come rain or shine." Lisa added, "This will effectively take Biff down a peg because there's nothing more damaging for a spoiled brat than having their ego deflated," Quinn interjected, driven by an intense determination. "He's 'Mister Party Man,' right? The embarrassment of realizing that people chose to attend our event instead of his would crush him. The moment he realizes we've eclipsed him, it'll be much easier to dig up the skeletons hidden in his closet, especially when he's no longer the king of the hill." "Biff may be hot, but he's a tool! He doesn't belong here at Yale," Jenny declared, her tone fierce. "If you gave him the bar exam right now, he would crumple like that McDonald's wrapper over there." "We all know Biff has a big fortune. We all do here. We can give colleges all the money in the world to help us boost our image. But even money can't fix a calumniated academic reputation. Especially at one of the country's most prominent Ivy League schools." Madeline said, "We'll gather enough buzz to make a rumour stick, and that's the most important thing for our plan: How to make the news travel fast." "Maybe the rumours we start about Biff McIntosh could turn out to be true?" Jenny said with a mischievous glint in her eye. Georgia raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Are we talking scandalous rumours or just the standard ones?" "Both!" Delilah grinned. If we can exaggerate just a little, it might blow things out of proportion. Who wouldn't want to hear the juicy details?" Quinn nodded, her enthusiasm bubbling. "Exactly! It'll stick if we can suggest that he's not just a party boy but somehow involved with shady dealings or something ridiculous like that. People love a good story." "Well, Quinn Fabray. You have it all figured out. Don't you?" Marie-Alice scoffed, putting her hands on her hips, "What's your angle here? So you can kick Biff out of Yale and take his internship in New York?" Quinn crossed her arms, unfazed by Marie-Alice's sarcasm. "I don't need Biff's internship; I'm perfectly capable of earning my way without stepping on anyone's back," she shot back, her tone steady. "This is about more than just me. It's about the principles of fairness and student integrity." Marie-Alice rolled her eyes. "Principles, huh? It sounds more like you're just angling to take his spot at the top of the social food chain. Just admit it—this is all personal." "So, are you not on my side anymore?" Quinn shot back, "I'll support uplifting women and taking down jerks. I don't support tarnishing the traditional secrecy of this organization. I don't support rash decisions. Quinn, I'm giving you access to my life and the legacy I inherited from past leaders. I just need to know that I'm investing in something beneficial." "Marie-Alice, I know Quinn. I know that she has everyone's best interest at heart." Jenny said, defending her roommate. "Mais en fin de compte, only one student can take the internship with the NYPD. We take Biff down... who's to say that Quinn won't try to ruin another student mentee's reputation to ensure she takes the spot." Marie-Alice shrugged dismissively, "Marie-Alice, that's not who I am," Quinn said firmly, her voice rising slightly with frustration. "I've worked too hard to be reduced to some kind of backstabbing villain. This is about standing up against someone who thinks he can flaunt his privilege without consequence." "We all flaunt our wealth, Quinn." Delilah raised her eyebrows, "We're literally socialites, daughters of the richest families in the country." "That's exactly my point, Delilah," Quinn shot back, her frustration evident. "Just because we come from money doesn't mean we have to act like it gives us the right to trample over others. Biff thinks he's untouchable, and someone needs to show him he's not." "Okay, but stirring the pot like this could backfire," Marie-Alice warned, her arms crossed tight. "We need to be smart about how we approach this. If we create a mess, it'll reflect on all of us." "Marie-Alice has a point," Lisa chimed in. "We can't afford to tarnish our own reputations while trying to take down Biff. We need to be strategic, not reckless." "What's so reckless about a festival?" Madeline countered, "I agree with Quinn and Jenny. I think this could work out for us." "Fine. I'm tired of this badinage. Show me that this will work." Marie-Alice reluctantly gave in, "Je te le dis, Quinn. Si ça échoue, c'est de ta faute. If this sucks, it'll be on you." Lisa raised her hand. "I'll take charge of promotions. Social media is my playground; I'll make sure the hype starts building immediately." "I can handle the food vendors," Madeline chimed in. "I have connections that can get us the best gourmet trucks. I can even get the catering companies that serve my father's hotels and my Uncle Saul's restaurant. You haven't tried Sicilian food until you had Saul Berlusconi's." "I'll contact Jodie Foster's team as well as the student council." Georgia piped in, "I have Michael Bublé's assistant on the phone already. Get me a bottle of whiskey and some Cartier bling, and I can get Shania on board, too." Jenny waved her phone at the group. Quinn gasped at the thought of meeting Michael Bublé and Shania Twain at famous actress Jodie Foster's clambake. Her friends, Puck and Mercedes, lived in L.A., and Quinn would be meeting more famous people in New Haven. "Alright then. Let's get to work!" Marie-Alice clapped her hands enthusiastically. Then she sauntered over to Quinn and leaned over her shoulder. "I'm serious about my words, Quinn Fabray. I'm watching you." She whispered. Rachel slammed the trunk of the taxi with more force than necessary and gripped her suitcase so tight the handle cracked. Her expression was stone-cold and menacing. Kurt wore a similar expression as the two stormed out of the street and into their apartment building. Neither of them were having it. Kurt had no interest in calling Blaine back despite the many voicemails his ex-boyfriend left him. Rachel was ready to face whatever was waiting for them inside their loft, Brody. Oh, that sneaky plastic Ken doll! This so-called charmer, with his perfectly sculpted muscles and disarming smile, had made the questionable choice of dating Rachel's merciless dance professor. Brody's decision felt like a personal betrayal after everything they'd shared. Not too long after the musical, they had just left Ohio, taking the closest flight possible back to New York. They had agreed—Ohio had nothing left for them, no roots, no connections worth holding onto. Burt, Carole, and Rachel's dads can fly to New York to see them over the holidays. But that was the extent of their commitments; they had no intention of returning to Ohio, not even for a fleeting festive gathering. ... Not until Mr. Schue's wedding... But that singular event was to be the last tether; after that, they were cutting ties for good. "Oh, I'm so mad!" Rachel exclaimed as she and Kurt waited for the old rattly elevator in the lobby. "I'm furious!" Kurt echoed, nodding his head in agreement. "I can't believe Cassandra would do this!" Rachel exclaimed, throwing her hands up in disbelief. "I can't believe Brody would do this!" "You were right all along, Rachel!" Kurt responded, his voice dripping with a mix of anger and hurt. "We shouldn't have left Brooklyn. We didn't need to go to Ohio for closure. Blaine closed our chapter the instant he cheated on me!" "Mhm, I should've seen it coming," Rachel murmured, shaking her head as they waited. "Cassie was just way too eager to hand over her air miles to us!" A sigh escaped her lips as they both braced themselves for the storm brewing inside their home. When the elevator finally clanked open, the two best friends practically shoved each other inside, fingers repeatedly jabbing the button as if it could somehow speed up their ascent. Steam threatened to burst from their ears as the elevator groaned and rattled, a relic of an earlier time. Finally, they reached their loft's floor, and with pent-up energy, they stomped their way toward their door. "They really need to fix that damn elevator!" Kurt huffed, irritation lacing his voice as he kicked the elevator's door frame before they finally stepped into the hall. "Agreed!" Rachel grumbled back. She whipped out her keys from her jacket pocket and fumbled with the lock. The sliding door rolled open, and Kurt and Rachel burst inside. Inside the loft, they were met with a jarring sight: Brody was lifting weights in front of the TV, completely at ease, as if he belonged there. Who cared that they asked him to house-sit. He was now an unwelcomed guest. "Oh, hey, guys! I wasn't expecting–" "OUT!" Kurt and Rachel shouted in perfect unison, pointing at the exit. Brody stood there momentarily, perplexed, but then did what he was told. "I'M MAKING TEA DO YOU WANT SOME?" Kurt clumped over to the kitchen sink and forced open the top of the kettle. "CHAMOMILE WOULD BE GREATLY APPRECIATED, THANK YOU!" Rachel shouted back from her bedroom. "I'M SO MAD!" "ME TOO!" Rachel stormed out of her bedroom, her determination visible as she approached Kurt. They stood just inches apart, faces set and eyes blazing with mutual animosity toward the situation they found themselves in. "Shall we sing about it?" Kurt suggested, a sardonic edge creeping into his voice as he glared at Rachel. "Hell, yes! LET'S MATCH PITCH!" Rachel carefully traced her finger along the well-worn pages of her script, the familiar lines rolling off her tongue in a whispered cadence as she stood outside the audition room. The air was thick with anticipation, and the scent of old wood and polished floors filled her nostrils. Rachel had arrived much earlier than she had initially intended. She was supposed to go to her "The Glass Menagerie" audition after dance class, but she skipped out that day. Rachel Berry was never one to miss class, especially with the price of her tuition. However, she didn't feel inclined to attend Cassandra July's dance class, not after her phone call with Cassie, where her dance instructor 'kindly' informed her that she had invited Brody over. Rachel hated Cassie for many things: How she would single Rachel out in class, the long, excruciating warm-ups, and her insulting nicknames toward her students. But the reason Rachel hated her the most was sleeping with Brody. But standing there, just outside that audition room, Rachel whispered to herself in determination: she wouldn't allow a man—or any woman, for that matter—to thwart her dreams. Her aspirations were too valuable, too real. "Rachel Berry?" A voice suddenly called out from within the audition room, breaking the spell of her introspection. She quickly shoved her lines back into her purse, the crinkled pages a chaotic jumble then smoothed out the wrinkles from her carefully chosen outfit—a fitted black dress that shouted professionalism while still embracing her artistic flair. Deep breaths fueled her confidence, and with one final glance in the reflecting glass, she stepped forward, ready to seize the moment. As she entered the room, her heart pounded in rhythm with her aspirations. This was her first off-Broadway audition, a pivotal opportunity that could launch her career into the limelight she had always dreamed of. If she nailed this, if she won the coveted role, it could serve as the defining starting point of her journey in the world of theatre. She felt the weight of that potential pressing down as she stepped into the unknown, ready to seize the moment. Kurt's stomach let out a disconcerting growl as he gingerly extracted the contents of his McDonald's bag. He was unsure whether this was a rumble of hunger or a rumble of nausea. With rent and groceries so expensive in New York, he had opened many take-out bags throughout his time working at Vogue.com. Except whenever his boss, Isabelle Wright, took him out for a fancy lunch. He missed Carole's ham, her casserole, her wings, and pretty much everything that was served at his parents' house during that awkward dinner party. He was glad Blaine wasn't at that dinner party. It was too bad Kurt would not be going back to Ohio—at least, not for a while. "What are you eating?" Chase, one of Vogue's editors, leaned against the doorframe. Kurt held up the bag, a hint of mock pride in his voice. "A Big Mac and fries... truly the height of elegance." He rolled his eyes, attempting to deflect his own embarrassment. "Yikes, isn't that like the third night in a row?" Chase grimaced, Kurt chuckled softly, shaking the fries out of their carton and watching the golden sticks tumble to the side of his burger. "Yup. Couldn't muster the energy to cook this week," he admitted, a hint of weariness creeping into his tone. "Your trip back to Lima didn't go as planned, did it?" "No... I mean, the musical was nice to see. But, I didn't resolve much with my ex." Kurt shrugged, chomping down on a fry. "Can I offer you a suggestion to help get your mind off him?" Chase stepped closer, his casual demeanour shifting into something more earnest as he snatched a fry from Kurt's scattered pile. "Please," Kurt responded, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. "A few friends and I are heading to a gay mixer tonight at that nightclub nearby. It should be a lot of fun, and I think you'll enjoy it. What do you say?" Chase's invitation sparkled enthusiastically, a refreshing escape from the mundane. "I would, but I'm not twenty-one." "I'll get you a fake I.D.––a good one. I know a guy," Chase smirked mischievously. He took Kurt's pen and scribbled on a sticky note, "Here's the address and time. Enjoy the burger." He tossed the note onto the table with a flourish, leaving Kurt both intrigued and tempted by this unexpected diversion from his troubles. A vibrant sea of Yale students, alumni, and enthusiastic members of the New Haven community gathered outside the gates of the highly anticipated Clambake festival, eager for a night of fun and festivities. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement as colourful bumper cars whizzed past while the chaotic laughter and screams on the tilt-a-whirl filled the air. The carousel, adorned with sparkling bulbs, illuminated the night sky with a mesmerizing display of neon pinks, oranges, and greens, creating a magical ambiance that beckoned guests to join the merriment. Food trucks lined the edges of the festival grounds, offering a tantalizing array of culinary delights that wafted temptingly through the air. While the signature clambake took center stage, its enormous pots bubbling with a savoury mix of succulent seafood and various fixings drew in crowds with inviting aromas. Shellfish, corn, and flavorful seasonings melded together, promising a feast for the senses. Music bands took turns performing as they hyped up the crowd for Michael Bublé and Shania Twain. Two stars, despite having an American crowd tonight, who were the most anticipated acts to see. Local merchants displayed their artisanal products, ranging from handmade soaps to canvas paintings. It went without saying that the annual Yale University clambake, hosted by the award-winning actress Jodie Foster, was a hit. All thanks to Quinn Fabray and the secret society, which was to be revealed tonight, to Marie-Alice Hébert's dismay. Quinn and Jenny happily skipped hand in hand down the field, taking in the sights and revelling in their success. "I can't believe we pulled this off! The clambake is a hit!" Jenny squealed, "Believe it, Jen!" Quinn replied, "Oh my god! Look how many celebrities are here!" "Me and the ladies of the society called every famous person we knew," Jenny beamed with pride. "Of course, not everyone could make it, but Nicole Kidman sends her love." The two friends then paused in line at the mini-donut truck, their mouths watering at the sight of freshly fried treats dusted with sugar, ready to add a sweet layer to their blissful evening. As they stood waiting to place their order, a sharp voice broke through their excitement. "Jodie Foster's team says we have ten minutes until she presents her endorsement. I want you two backstage in five. Allons-y!" Marie-Alice sauntered up behind them, her tone flat and unyielding, before she turned on her heel and walked away with an air of impatience. Quinn raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Jesus, what's up with her lately?" she murmured, concern etching her features as the festival continued to buzz around them. "Let's be real. She's pissed at you," Jenny replied matter-of-factly, a slight shrug of her shoulders in an understanding of the dynamics at play. "You're about to unveil one of the oldest secret societies in the Ivy League. That club has been passed down to her—there's a lot riding on her." "It was a group decision! We wanted to gain trust and influence among the population while gathering intel about Biff McIntosh!" Quinn exclaimed, throwing up her hands in frustration. "Ehhhh, more like six against one..." Jenny mumbled, "One bag of mini-donuts, please." Quinn and Jenny could hardly contain their excitement as they clutched their donuts tightly and sprinted toward the stage, adrenaline surging through their veins. This was the moment they had eagerly awaited—the grand unveiling of Yale's historical and exclusive all-female secret society, a pivotal first step in their audacious plan to dismantle Biff McIntosh's grip on campus. Meanwhile, backstage, Marie-Alice Hébert stood poised with her current entourage of socialites, anxiously waiting. Former members, all wearing disgruntled faces and expensive diamonds, stood impatiently with the girls. Clearly, they were not thrilled to hear the news of their club being outed. All eyes turned on Quinn and Jenny once they arrived. "Marie-Alice, are these the girls?" one of the alumni asked, fixing her gaze on them. Her tone was far from friendly and dripping with skepticism. "Oui," Marie-Alice replied curtly, her fingers tightening around her clutch, a flicker of discontent shadowing her expression. "So you're the ones who are bent on exposing our organization and trying to expand our ranks," another former member chimed in, her well-manicured finger jabbing accusingly toward Quinn and Jenny, highlighting the gravity of the situation. Quinn and Jenny exchanged anxious glances, the weight of the moment settling over them like a dense fog. In unison, they gulped, feeling the tension thicken in the air. The first alumna stepped closer, and a spark of recognition ignited in Quinn. This woman—where had she seen her before? "Well, well, well, Quinn Fabray. I thought your name sounded familiar. You're the girl whose water broke at the 2010 Midwest Show Choir regionals. Paige Wells, I was in Carmel High's Vocal Adrenaline," the woman said, crossing her arms with a smug smile. "That competition was only two years ago. How is that possible if you graduated college?" Quinn furrowed her brow. Paige shrugged nonchalantly, "May or may not have been invited back to perform a couple of times. What the judges don't know can't hurt them." Quinn couldn't wait to tell Mr. Schue that their rival Glee Club had cheated using adult members. "Anyway. A few former members and I heard about your little plan to unveil our secret society, so we had to make an appearance. We also expect that this will blow up in your face, and Marie-Alice will have no choice but to step down as the current leader," Paige sneered. Uh oh... Quinn didn't know that part. That was why Marie-Alice was so salty toward her. "Anyway," Paige continued, rolling her eyes, "a few of us have been keeping tabs on your little operation. Do you think revealing the society is going to help you take down Biff? You might want to think twice. This isn't just a game; it's a well-oiled machine." A former member with a stern expression spoke up, "You young girls think you know everything. The powers that be won't take kindly to this kind of disruption. You could really be putting this organization at risk, and years and years of tradition and honour would be wiped away. Honestly, I blame you, Marie-Alice. What were we thinking putting a Canadian in charge?" Marie-Alice was visibly taken aback by the sharp criticism and sputtered, "I-uh-I'm..." She took a moment to compose herself before straightening her posture. "Look, maybe we didn't handle this the best way, but we have a concrete plan to confront Biff McIntosh. This society holds significant potential for influence, and we want to harness that to make a genuine difference." Paige smirked, clearly unconvinced. "And you really think that's going to happen? You think you're equipped to change just because you have one member who's..." She paused, scrunching her face in disgust as she gestured to Quinn, "Middle class?" "My family's income is not middle class," Quinn couldn't help but jump in, her tone firm. "We're not here to fight against anyone; we're here to create opportunities. If revealing the society means we can bring about positive change, then so be it. Keeping it a secret only serves those who want to maintain the status quo. Let arrogant assholes like Biff get his way." "This Biff guy sounds like a real tool..." The group of socialites whirled around in surprise, only to find that it was none other than the celebrated actress Jodie Foster herself, a prominent alumna of Yale and the glamorous host of the event. Quinn could hardly suppress the urge to scream. "The name's Jodie. Nice to meet you all. So it's your organization that put all of this together?" Jodie smiled, "I'm impressed; this has been the most successful clambake I've thrown! I know this was a group effort, but who do I have to thank for leading this?" Marie-Alice's face lit up, eager to step forward as the epitome of poise. However, before she could say a word, Jenny swiftly nudged Quinn forward, pushing her into the spotlight. "Quinn Fabray! She made all of this happen." Jenny declared, her voice filled with pride and determination. The unexpected exposure startled Quinn. "Hi..." Quinn waved nervously, "Well, Quinn. I just got off the phone with Meryl Streep; sometimes we brunch together. She was telling me how atrocious it is to out this secret society she loved so dearly." Marie-Alice's jaw hung to the ground as she stumbled back. Oh, they were screwed. Jodie continued without a beat, "But then she said... 'I think it's about time they pulled in some girls below their tax bracket,' which I think means she's on board." she added with a twinkle in her eye. Paige's smug demeanour faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. "Even if Meryl is on board, that doesn't change the fact that you're meddling in something you don't fully understand. This isn't just about you, it's about—" "Tradition," interrupted another alumna bitterly. "Are we really going to let a couple of college kids redefine what we've built?" "Jesus, you girls sound so stuck up." Jodie rolled her eyes, "I agree with award-winning actress Jodie Foster, Paige." Georgia piped in, "I thought only 'current' members get a say in this. Your dusty ass graduated." "Yeah, Georgia's right! I'm with Quinn!" Lisa said, "Me too!" Delilah chimed in, "And me," Madeline added, "Et...moi..." Marie-Alice agreed reluctantly, "I still have my doubts, but as the current leader, I'm choosing to see this through." "Au revoir, Paige. Why don't you jet off back to Ohio? I bet your cattle are missing you." Jenny smirked as she crossed her arms. Quinn, a fellow Ohioan, shot her friend an offended look. "We don't all have livestock..." she whispered. Paige, followed by the rest of the former members, stormed out in defeat. "Ew, that was so cheesy, I'm gonna puke." Georgia said, "Like... 'My Little Pony' type shit." Meanwhile... in Lima... Finn slammed the door of his truck with an irritated thud, the sound echoing in the damp air as he stepped onto the stone path leading to the Hudson-Hummel house. Gritting his teeth, he stormed inside, the tension in his shoulders almost palpable. As he walked, he fished for his house keys, tugging at the hem of his cape that fluttered behind him, its fabric thick against the cool breeze. He raced up the stairs, the wooden steps creaking under the weight of his heavy rain boots, which were still dripping from the storm outside. As he reached the top, Finn's foot slipped unexpectedly on the final step, sending him off balance for a moment. He hastily regained his footing, his heart racing, only to feel an overwhelming sense of frustration as he pushed open the door to his bedroom, the chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind. The superhero assignment he had given to the students in Glee Club was turning out to be a colossal disaster. Finn stomped over to the full-length mirror on the back of his door, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he looked. He scanned his reflection, taking in the sight of his mismatched attire. Finn wore a snug blue long-sleeve thermal shirt that clung to him, coupled awkwardly with bright basketball shorts that seemed out of place. His joggers, soaked from the rain, squished underfoot as he moved, creating a squelching sound with every step. Adorning his torso was a large yellow treble clef cut-out, hastily taped to his shirt, now damp and peeling at the corners due to the rain. It flapped loosely against him, not quite staying put like he had hoped. The vibrant yellow of the cut-out contrasted sharply with the deep blue of his thermal but only served to enhance the overall absurdity of his outfit. To top it all off, a cheap, bright yellow cape from the dollar store hung around his shoulders, the fabric billowing behind him like a flag of defeat, its edges obstructing his arms and making him feel even more constricted. He couldn't help but facepalm at the realization—yes, he wore this ludicrous ensemble to school. Finn trudged over to his bed and flopped down, groaning in frustration. His students were fighting like nobody's business, and their 'Sectionals' competition was right around the corner. He reached for his phone and dialled Mr. Schue's number. Whenever Finn and his friends fought when they were in Glee Club, Mr. Schue always knew how to handle it.
*Hi, this is Will Schuester. I can't come to the phone right now, so please leave a message.*
"Damn it…" Finn muttered under his breath, frustration boiling over as he flopped back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to figure out a plan to steer his group back on course. He then scrolled through his contacts and stopped on Rachel's. Rachel would know what to do... Oh, wait... Finn's heart sank as he remembered that he and Rachel weren't speaking to each other. The thought added another layer of frustration to his already overwhelmed state, and he let out a deep sigh, knowing he'd have to find another way to salvage the situation. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Burt Hummel slowly opened and poked his head in. "Hey, buddy! Thought I heard you come in," Burt smiled at his stepson. "Hey Burt..." Finn mumbled weakly, "What's with the face? And the... uh... outfit?" Burt furrowed his brow at Finn's costume. "I'm doing a superhero-themed week in Glee Club," Finn replied, "I named it 'Dynamic Duets.' I'm trying to have some of my students settle some issues with each other." "Not going as planned, I'm guessing?" Burt chuckled, "Nope. Jake and Ryder are constantly tackling each other! Marley and Kitty are throwing hissy fits left and right, and the Warblers just stole our Nationals trophy!" Finn crossed his arms and frowned, "And, of course, Blaine had to go back to Dalton and join the Warblers again!" "Yikes..." Burt's sympathy was evident, concern flickering in his eyes. Finn buried his face in his hands, the weight of it all pressing down on him. "I shouldn't have taken over Glee Club, Burt. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not a teacher!" "Hey, hey. Don't be like that! The Hudson-Hummels don't mope around!" Burt lightly pushed Finn as he sat beside him. "If you're not a teacher, then become one! Go to community college and get qualified! Give it a shot next semester." "Yeah, but what will I do in the meantime? I can't keep leading these kids down." "Finn, you had your set list stolen minutes before your performance, and you stepped up! Think of all the kids you recruited over the years. Think about the musical you just directed!" Burt said, "Mr. Schue didn't leave the Glee Club to anyone; he believed in you!" "Yeah, but that was with a whole different team..." Finn paused in realization, "A whole... different... team." he muttered. Finn sprang up, and a lightbulb flickered above his head. He knew how to get his Glee Club ready for Sectionals. Maybe Finn knew what he was doing all along... he just needed the right idea. "Listen up, everyone! I need your attention!" The Dean's voice boomed over the feedback of the microphone, causing a few startled gasps as it reverberated throughout the grassy expanse of the Yale University clambake. The lively chatter of students and faculty gradually faded into a respectful silence, all eyes turning eagerly toward the stage where the Dean stood. "I have proudly served as your Dean for many joyous years," he continued, his tone filled with warmth and nostalgia. "As I gaze upon this incredible turnout, I am truly overwhelmed. Never in my tenure have I witnessed such enthusiasm at an event. It fills me with immense pride to see that the spirit of Yale continues to thrive, a passionate flame that unites us all even after all these years." The crowd erupted into a cheerful round of applause. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to welcome to the stage a truly remarkable individual. Please put your hands together for the honourable, decorated actress and distinguished Yale alumna... Jodie Foster!" The crowd roared as Jodie Foster stepped onto the stage; Quinn, Jenny and the rest of the secret society followed closely behind. As the audience cheered for Jodie, they also exchanged confused glances at her surprise guests. "Thank you, everyone! It has been an immense pleasure to be able to host this clambake every year!" Jodie smiled, "And wow! Look at the turnout! The carnival rides, the local market, the door prizes, Michael Bublé and Shania Twain! This is truly a spectacle!" However, amidst the celebration, Quinn couldn't help but nervously glance at Marie-Alice, the current leader of their storied secret society. Marie-Alice's gaze was cold and piercing, her eyes burning with a fierce intensity that made Quinn's heart race. The moment felt heavy with tension; it was the precise juncture for the long-awaited reveal of their all-female secret society, an esteemed organization intertwined with tradition, luxury, and the connections of prominent socialites and influential figures. With so much at stake, Quinn realized how precarious her position was; Marie-Alice could very well lose the society's treasured legacy due to Quinn's actions. The stakes were higher than ever, and the atmosphere, rife with excitement, also held an undercurrent of impending change. "Don't blow it..." Marie-Alice mouthed, "Now, you may all be wondering how this all happened..." Jodie Foster continued, "This group of girls behind me, Yale's exclusive and historical all-female secret society, gathered all of the resources to make this clambake shine! And I am proud to support this organization, endorsing it as the most influential, preeminent, respected institution at Yale University!" Marie-Alice walked over to the front of the stage and graciously took the microphone from Jodie. "Merci, Jodie Foster. Bonsoir, Yale University. For those who may not know me, I am Marie-Alice Hébert, the current leader of this distinguished, long-standing organization. Today, I am immensely proud to announce that the foundation of our secret society is built upon the values of maintaining academic integrity and empowering our remarkable female scholars who exemplify poise and ambition. Together, we are committed to blazing a trail for the lawmakers, scientists, writers, and educators of our future." The crowd listened intently, captivated by her words and the promise of what lay ahead. "Jennette Tremblay, Delilah Kraft, Madeline Berlusconi, Georgia Bloomberg, Lisa Hayashi, myself, and... Quinn Fabray..." From the audience, Biff McIntosh perked up at the mention of Quinn's name, his eyes narrowed on the blonde. The moment Marie-Alice spoke Quinn's name, a ripple of whispers spread through the crowd. Quinn felt a mix of pride and anxiety wash over her as all eyes turned toward her. " Quinn Fabray has been an exemplary member of our society," Marie-Alice continued, her voice steady and full of conviction. However, Quinn knew she was faking it. "Her dedication, intelligence, and fervour for change embody the ideals we stand for. I am honoured to officially announce her as the newest inductee into our prestigious society." Quinn forced a smile, trying to mask her nervous energy. The applause erupted again, but a nagging doubt lingered in the back of her mind. She caught Biff's gaze from the audience, eyebrows raised as if questioning her legitimacy. Ignoring him, she focused on Marie-Alice. "We are expanding our ranks and creating a united network of young women across campus. We will host weekly meetings to discuss innovative policies and how we can honour Yale University's incredible history while embracing the much-needed modern changes of today." The commitment was clear, a promise of progress tinged with the electric anticipation of change. Biff's expression darkened, skepticism radiating as the cheers surged around him. He straightened his tie, his clapping becoming half-hearted, almost mocking amidst the joyous atmosphere. "Well done, Fabray..." He muttered, "Now it'll be twice as embarrassing when I take you down..." As the night unfolded, the air was thick with celebration and the intoxicating scent of champagne. Backstage, the atmosphere was electric as the girls revelled in the exhilarating success of their clandestine operation. With laughter bubbling in their throats, they clinked their crystal champagne glasses together, the gentle chime echoing their triumph. Step one of their ambitious plan to take down Biff McIntosh was complete, and the exhilaration coursed through them like a rhythmic pulse. Quinn and Jenny excitedly cheered with the rest of the socialites. Delilah, perched on a plush velvet stool and swirling the delicate bubbles in her glass, broke the celebratory spell with a thoughtful furrow of her brow. "So…if we're not a secret society anymore, then what exactly are we? Just a bunch of rich girls who hang out?" she mused, the hint of uncertainty lacing her voice as she took a sip from her flute. "We need a name!" Jenny replied enthusiastically, Georgia, leaning back against the wall with an exaggerated sigh, rolled her eyes dramatically. "Nooo! Please, not a corny-ass name about friendship and rainbows," she groaned, "I've always thought that the Yale University all-female secret society was the perfect name." Marie-Alice shrugged, "But we're not secret anymore..." Madeline shot back, "Then we'll be Yale University's women's society." Quinn declared, "It's sophisticated, short, and classy. Like us." "Mmm, I like it!" Lisa replied, "Me too!" Delilah piped in, "All those in favour?" Georgia asked. One by one, she received enthusiastic nods, and all seven hands shot up in agreement. "Then it's decided," Marie-Alice smiled, "We shall be named Yale University's women's society! Salud!" The girls erupted in cheers, raising their champagne flutes once again, their spirits soaring amid the animated chatter and the carnival music that surrounded them, wrapping them in a tapestry of jubilant sounds. "So, we planned this clambake festival... why aren't we enjoying it?!" Jenny exclaimed, "Quinn! I'll race you to the bumper cars!" Quinn and Jenny chugged the rest of their champagne, feeling a little dizzy from how much they drank before, and clumsily ran out into the crowd. "Miss Fabray!" A voice called out to Quinn, stopping her in her tracks. It was Professor Valerie Larkin, her mentor. Quinn's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, warmth washing over her despite the crisp November evening air. Her beautiful professor was here… at her clambake... Quinn felt her heart race, her pulse quickening as she fought the urge to swoon at the sight of Valerie. "Valerie... hi..." She replied, "What are you doing here?" "This is Jodie Foster's annual clambake, is it not?" Valerie teased in response, "Quite the spectacle you and your friends threw, Quinn." Quinn swallowed hard; she couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed and tipsy at the same time. Why was it that her encounters with her crushes always seemed to happen when she had been drinking? "Thanks," she blushed, "Do you want to talk somewhere a little quieter?" "Sure..." Valerie replied, a small, inviting smile gracing her lips as they stepped away from the jubilant noise, seeking a more intimate corner of the festival where their conversation could unfold amidst the soft rustle of leaves and the distant melodies of celebration. "So... what do you want to talk about? Is it about the last paper you assigned me? I promise it's almost done—" Quinn began, her nervousness causing her to ramble. Valerie laughed, placing a soft hand on her student mentee's shoulder, "No, I'm not here to talk about school." Even with Quinn inebriated, she knew Valerie's tone was extremely flirty. Quinn's heart raced even faster at Valerie's touch, a sweet thrill weaving through her. "Oh, really? What's on your mind then?" she asked her voice barely above a whisper, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. Valerie leaned in slightly, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Well, I can't help but think about how you managed to turn this clambake into a complete masterpiece. The New York program would be thrilled to hear about this. I'm impressed, Quinn." "Well, it was a group effort. I'm really serious about this mentorship, Valerie." Quinn shrugged humbly. "Were you always this charming? Or is it the alcohol?" Valerie titled her head, Quinn laughed, the sound a mixture of nervousness and excitement. "A little bit of both, I think. But I'd say you bring out the charm in me," she replied, biting her lip, the words slipping out before she could fully process them. Oh, no. That was her professor... Get it together, Quinn! Valerie raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. Their eyes met, locking in place. A small giggle was shared between them. "Oh really? Is that right? What else does that charm of yours bring out?" Valerie leaned impossibly closer, almost challenging Quinn to do something. So she did. Feeling a rush of courage mixed with the effects of champagne, Quinn took a deep breath and leaned in closer to Valerie, closing the space between them. Her heart raced as she brushed her lips softly against Valerie's in a tentative kiss. The sensation was electric, sending shivers down her spine as she pulled back slightly, searching Valerie's eyes for a reaction. Valerie's surprise quickly morphed into a delighted smile, her gaze twinkling with mischief and approval. "Well, that was bold," she said, her voice playful yet charged with an undercurrent of seriousness. Quinn's cheeks flushed even deeper, realizing the boldness of her action. "I'm… I'm sorry if that was too forward," she stammered, her confidence wavering as the weight of the moment settled in. "Not at all," Valerie replied, her expression softening. "I think it was exactly what this moment needed. You caught me off guard, Quinn, but in a good way." Reassured but still trembling with excitement, Quinn smiled back, her heart filled with arousal and anticipation. "So, where do we go from here?" she asked, her voice steadying. "My place..." Valerie whispered in response and crashed their lips together. As they made out, a shadow lingered in the background... then there was a shutter sound of a camera.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
So, here's what you missed on Glee... The whole Glee Club, except for Rachel and Kurt are going back to Ohio for Thanksgiving. Which is weird because, like, weren't they all just there? Who is funding these constant trips back home?
Quinn made a splash at Jodie Foster's clambake but kind of not in a good way because the Quebecois leader doesn't like her for that. Neither do the former secret society members, neither does Biff McIntosh. Yikes, Quinn. You're making a lot of enemies! But at least she finally got it on with her professor.
Finn is prepping the Glee Club for Sectionals but he doesn't really have a plan, but the New Directions never really do.
And that's what you missed on.... GLEE!
Quinn stirred sleepily as the gentle morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm golden hue across the room. The soft rays danced on the walls, illuminating the space with a serene glow. With a groggy grunt, she rubbed the remnants of sleep from her heavy eyelids, adjusting to her dorm room. Except... this wasn't her dorm room. As she blinked away the haze, panic gripped her heart. This wasn't her dorm room. The walls were painted a cheerful shade of blue and adorned with artwork and photos that didn't belong to her. This wasn't her dorm room. Every detail of the unfamiliar space assailed her senses: the faint scent of vanilla wafting through the air, the soft hum of an unknown fan, and the distant sound of laughter echoing from somewhere outside the window. Quinn sprung up from the queen-sized bed, eyes frantically darting from corner to corner. This wasn't her dorm room. Her blonde locks were tousled and frizzy, her makeup was smudged, and she... Where were her clothes? Her gaze darted from a stack of books on a nearby desk to a pile of women's clothes tossed carelessly on the floor leading up to the far side of the bed, and still, there was no trace of her own attire. Quinn slowly turned her gaze down toward her side of the bed, hoping for a familiar sight, and there it was—her dress, wrinkled and crumpled from the night before, lay bundled up, along with her heels near the rug, along with... oh. Was that her bra and underwear? Then reality struck. Memories from last night at the clambake festival flooded her consciousness; this was Valerie's house—Valerie Larkin, her professor and mentor at Yale. The realization settled heavily in her chest: she had slept with her professor. Panic turned to disbelief as she processed the implications; she had indeed slept with her professor. Her professor... who had a husband and a child. The same professor who chose Quinn as her TA. "I just slept with my professor..." Quinn muttered, eyes wide as saucers. Quinn scrambled out of bed, suddenly wide awake, and began picking up her belongings scattered across the room. She quickly threw on her dress and strapped on her heels. Wobbling out of Valerie's bedroom and down the staircase, she cursed internally with each panicked step. The front door was so close that she almost sprinted toward it. "Quinn?" A familiar voice called from the kitchen. Fuck. Quinn hesitated, mentally reprimanding herself, and stepped back to peek into the kitchen. There was Valerie, her professor, clad in a house coat and slippers, standing by the kitchen island. Valerie's hair was perfectly tousled in a way that was both alluring and picturesque, while Quinn felt like a deer caught in the headlights. "Would you like some coffee?" Valerie asked cautiously, holding the coffee pot. "I don't—I don't know..." Quinn stammered, frozen in place. "Come here anyway," Valerie replied, gesturing to the small breakfast table by the big window. Quinn padded over to the table and slid into her chair, gingerly accepting the coffee. This could not be happening... "Um... so... uhh..." Quinn stuttered, trying to find the right words. "Last night," Valerie interjected. "It was a mistake," Quinn finished. She had seen movies like this before and knew this was always what the professor would say. "Was it, though?" Wait... that wasn't the response Quinn was expecting at all. Well, well, well, Quinn. What were you going to do now? Quinn took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I… I didn't mean for things to go that far." Valerie leaned back against the counter, studying Quinn with an expression that was both curious and amused. "And yet, they did. You seemed to enjoy it." Quinn exhaled, face flushing. She very much enjoyed it. "Quinn, listen." Valerie continued, reaching out to touch her hand, "You... woke me up! I have been so unhappy with my marriage, and I–" "That's not really my problem, Valerie." Quinn cut in. "I'm focused on making sure this doesn't ruin either of our reputations." Valerie's brow furrowed slightly at Quinn's interruption, her hand still lingering over Quinn's. "I understand your concern, but you have to realize this isn't just about reputation. We shared something real last night. Don't you feel it, too?" Quinn pulled her hand back and sat up straighter. "Real or not, it was a mistake. I wanted to keep things professional. I never meant to cross that line, and now..." She hesitated, searching Valerie's eyes for understanding. Then, soften to a low whisper, "What if someone finds out? What if your husband finds out?" Valerie sighed, her expression shifting to one of frustration mixed with empathy. "I've been unhappy for a long time, Quinn. You have no idea how isolated I feel. And then you came along, and everything else faded away. I thought maybe, just maybe, we could explore this." Quinn shook her head, feeling a mixture of emotions boiling inside her. "Look, I can't be the reason for your happiness if it means tearing apart your life. I respect you too much for that." "I could say the same about you," Valerie shot back, a hint of challenge in her tone. "But I want to take that risk. I want you to consider it, too." "I want to consider it... but I don't want you to lose your job over me..." Quinn paused, "Over anyone..." "What do you mean by 'over anyone,' Quinn?" Quinn took a deep breath. Quinn inhaled deeply, knowing this was the moment to lay it all bare. "Biff McIntosh is out to get me," she confessed, her voice wavering slightly. "He wants the sabbatical in New York. I know only one student in the mentorship program will be awarded the internship, and he's trying to dig up dirt on me, anything to make sure I'm out of the race." Valerie's expression shifted from frustration to concern as she processed Quinn's words. "Biff? But why would he target you like that? There are four other people in the student mentorship program." "Because I have what he wants, and he thinks taking me down is the only way to get it," Quinn replied, urgency creeping into her tone. "I can't afford to have any scandal attached to me, especially not right now." Valerie leaned closer, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What kind of dirt could he possibly dig up? You haven't done anything wrong, have you?" "No, but… if he finds out about last night, or if anyone suspects something isn't professional between us, he'll pounce. He's ruthless. This is about my future," Quinn explained, her voice now steady. "Quinn, I promise you, I won't let Biff get the chance to hurt you. I'll talk to him, make it clear that this is between us, and that I won't tolerate any underhanded tactics." "NO!" Quinn interrupted, "You can't! That is what Biff wants. This is my fight." "I'm a professor; I need to tell the board that a student has been threatened." "Biff is literally counting on you to speak out. That's his plan." Quinn shook her head, her frustration growing. "Valerie, please! If you go to the board, it'll just draw attention to us. Biff will know something is up and use it against us. I need to handle this quietly." Quinn stood up and placed her hands on Valerie's shoulders, staring intensely into her eyes. "Please..." she whispered and kissed her softly. Valerie took a breath, her eyes flickering with intensity. "Then we deal with it together. But don't you dare think that you have to go through this alone? I want to stand by you, whether dealing with Biff or facing the consequences of our actions. Our connection is worth fighting for—don't you feel that?" Quinn hesitated, her emotions a swirling mix of fear and desire. "I do feel it. But I'm scared, Valerie. I'm scared of what it could mean for both of us." Valerie's expression softened, and she reached out again, this time wrapping her fingers around Quinn's as she pulled them from her shoulders. "We can be cautious, but don't push me away. Let me help you. Together, we're stronger." Quinn felt the warmth of Valerie's hand seep into her skin. The connection was undeniable, yet the risks were daunting. "Okay. But… if we do this, we must be careful and keep things discreet." "Okay..." ... Quinn ran up the stairs of the student residence building as fast as she could. Her heart was pounding, her head was aching, and her thoughts were jumbled. She darted around the corner and sprinted down the hallway, most likely waking up other students as she raced by. Quinn fumbled with her keys as she manically tried to unlock the door to her dorm. She burst inside and started pacing frantically. Jenny grumbled sleepily and slowly rolled on her side, confused by the ruckus. "Quinn… It's the first day of fall break, and I was trying to enjoy a little sleep," Jenny mumbled, her voice thick with nighttime drowsiness as she rolled over, reaching for her glasses. She blinked in the dim light, taking in Quinn's dishevelled appearance. "What on Earth happened to you last night? You look like a final girl in some high school prom slasher movie," she continued, trying to stifle a yawn but unable to hide the bemused expression on her face as she sat up in bed, curiosity overtaking her initial irritation. "Umm... I was at Valerie's last night..." Quinn replied cautiously. She was still in disbelief about what happened. Jenny cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brow. Her expression then faltered when she came to the realization. "TABARNAK! Our PROFESSOR?" She clasped her hand to her mouth in shock and jumped down from her bunk. "NOT SO LOUD!" Quinn hissed. Then she slammed the door shut, raced over to the window, and closed the curtains. She then gripped Jenny's arm and dragged her into their walk-in closet. "Are we about to make out right now?" Jenny teased, raising an eyebrow as she stumbled slightly in surprise. Quinn shot her a wary look, her cheeks flushing. "No... well...I mean, no! Definitely not! Focus, Jenny. This is serious." "What happened between you and Mrs. Larkin?" Jenny asked, emphasizing the 'Mrs.' in Valerie's name to remind Quinn that she was not single. "She and I... spent the night. Doing adult activities..." "Excuse-moi? Qu'entendes-tu 'adult activities? Ce qui c'est passé? Je jure que j'espère que ce n'est pas ce que je pense que vous dites... Mon dieu, Quinn, tu es incroyables. Qu'est-ce qui est passé? Dites-moi!" Jenny rambled in French rapid fire. Her Quebec accent thick and hard to comprehend. "Jenny! English!" Quinn urged, running a hand through her messy hair in frustration. "Right, right! Sorry!" Jenny said, switching back to English but still breathless with excitement. "Just... tell me what happened! Did you two actually...?" "Yeah..." Quinn admitted, "Holy shit, bud," Jenny exclaimed, "You're an absolute hoser! Do you think that this is going to help your case? Biff will have a field day if he hears about this. He won't hesitate to snitch on you and take that internship position from you." Jenny rubbed her temples in frustration, "Marie-Alice will have your ass as well if she finds out." "That's why you need to keep your mouth shut, Jennette Tremblay," Quinn replied firmly, locking eyes with her friend. "Seriously, though. Why'd you do it?" Jenny pressed, her voice softening as she leaned closer, genuinely wanting to understand. Quinn slumped against the closet wall, her heart racing. "I know, I know! Do you think I didn't think this through? It just... happened. I didn't plan for it." "Do you have feelings for Valerie?" Jenny investigated, desperate to know more. "Possibly? I don't know." Quinn shrugged, "We're figuring stuff out." "What about Rachel Berry?" Quinn shook her head vehemently, frustration and resolve flashing across her face. "Rachel and I are never going to happen, ever! But maybe this is exactly what I need to move on and figure things out for myself!" Jenny flinched at the blunt reality of Quinn's words. "So let me get this straight," she said cautiously, folding her arms across her chest. "You slept with your professor, who also happens to be your mentor, the one responsible for signing off on your internship with the NYPD next semester. And now, you're planning to leave Yale for an entire week to head back home to Ohio for Thanksgiving, completely oblivious to what could happen while you're away! You're going to come back and date this professor until finals, right before you skip off to New York, blissfully taking your sabbatical without even considering that, hey, maybe sleeping with your professor could be a huge conflict of interest! Because it is, Quinn!" "Well, what else am I supposed to do? I'm not using her to get ahead, Jenny!" "Hmm, well, you leave for Ohio in two days. Better figure it out." Two days later, Quinn has not figured anything out... Quinn paced around the dorm room frantically. She opened her suitcase, took out her clothes, folded them, and then refolded them. Her mind was in a new level of chaos, experiencing an indescribable frenzy. From the comfort of her bed, which was strewn with an array of plush pillows and a half-open textbook, Jenny watched her roommate with an amused expression. She could hardly hide her entertainment at the spectacle before her as Quinn's hair flopped wildly with each hurried movement. Finally, Jenny put her book down, closing it with a soft thud, and turned her full attention to Quinn. "I don't really know what I could say that wouldn't land me a shoe to the face," she remarked playfully, a teasing smile dancing on her lips. "So, I think I'll start with, 'Are you okay?'" "No!" Quinn exclaimed, "It's Thanksgiving. It's the first time I've been home since starting the semester. My sister's in-laws are coming, and I have a middle seat on the plane." Quinn listed rapid fire. "Are you not looking forward to Thanksgiving with your family?" Jenny inquired, surprised. The corner of Quinn's mouth turned down as she shook her head vehemently. "I was excited at first, but then my mom dropped this huge bombshell—my sister's husband is bringing his parents along!" Quinn's voice heightened with agitation. "And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I found out that Glee Club's sectionals are scheduled for Thanksgiving Day! I have to make sure I can watch the new kids perform since Finn is coaching them this year. He was so sweet to invite all of us grads back. It feels like my entire holiday is going to be chaos!" Jenny raised an eyebrow, curiosity piquing her interest. "What's the issue with your sister's in-laws? They can't be that bad, can they?" "Mary-Anne and Charles Thompson are the worst! Especially during the holidays!" Quinn groaned, "They are extraordinarily traditional and mega-conservative. Charles can't sit through a single dinner without launching into a political rant, and Mary-Anne? Oh, she's just an evil, evil bitch. Last Christmas, my family was invited to a party her sister was hosting. Mary-Anne brought her own tablecloths, cutlery, and hand towels." "Yikes..." Jenny winced, "Yup, that's why I'm leaving earlier. Help my mom prepare." Quinn replied, "Okay, but you'll be seeing your friends, right?" Jenny offered, "Ah, yes, my ex-boyfriend, whose ex I almost kissed last month, the father of my biological child, and Tina." Quinn rolled her eyes, "No, no!" Jenny interrupted, shaking her head with a laugh. "I meant your best friends—the ones who aren't me!" Quinn gave her a thoughtful smile. It would be nice to see Mercedes again, and it's been a while since she'd caught up with Santana and Brittany. Rachel... Quinn couldn't help but think what would happen if Rachel was home. Mercedes told her she flew back to Lima for the school musical but mentioned it was probably Rachel's last trip and that she had fully embraced living in New York... staying there. Quinn couldn't blame her; she didn't have much to come home to either. However, there was still a chance, a tiny one, that Rachel would be in Lima. They haven't talked much since she visited Quinn last month. Quinn blamed herself for that entirely. She let her stupid feelings get in the way of being a good friend. Quinn should have known better that all she and Rachel could be were friends. And now she had ruined that, too. As she thought about it more, Quinn realized that she had ruined all her high school friendships. Other than a few phone calls here and there, she had never really made an effort after they graduated. Mike, Kurt, Mercedes, Santana, and Rachel were all home for the school musical. Quinn could have made the time. She called Brittany only twice. God knows how long it had been since she called Sam. But as she continued to reflect, another thought struck her with conviction: the phone worked both ways... "You got like, super quiet there, Quinn..." Jenny piped in, snapping Quinn from her trance. "I... I think this will be my last trip to Ohio. I'll have Thanksgiving dinner because I promised my mom. But after that... I'm not looking back. Sectionals will be my swan song." Quinn replied, "Swan song, huh. How poetic and original," Jenny smirked, "Yeah, well, it feels fitting," Quinn replied, the weight of her decision looming heavy in the air. "I need to move on from this place. It's time to close that chapter, you know? I mean, I'm thriving here at Yale. I'm at the top of my class, I've got a practicum lined up in New York, and Valerie is an incredible mentor, teaching me so much during our sessions." "Sessions? Is that what we're calling it?" Jenny snorted, "I can practically feel you two undressing each other with your eyes in class." Quinn threw a shirt at her roommate's head. "Oh, shut it, Tremblay..." she giggled, "Valerie and I may be having... relations, but that doesn't obstruct what I'm taking from this mentorship." "Alright, whatever," Jenny tossed the shirt back, "But what does this have to do with never going to Ohio again?" Quinn sighed, looking out the window for a moment. "I don't know. It just feels like I needed this fresh start. But, it cannot actually be a fresh start unless I let go. High school was... complicated, and I don't want to keep dragging those memories with me." "But what about your friends? Don't you think they'll miss you? Don't you want to see how they've changed?" Jenny pressed, "I do, I really do," Quinn admitted. "But every time I come back, it just reminds me of what I've lost—what I messed up. I think keeping my distance is the easier option." "Messed up... are you talking about what happened between you and Rachel?" Jenny asked softly, "Among other things..." Quinn sighed, "Well... I can't say much without sounding like a hypocrite. I'm the only one in my old friend group who went to college in another country," Jenny shrugged. "But I don't dwell on the past or how often I call people. You shouldn't either." Quinn hesitated, biting her lip. "What if they don't want to hear from me? What if they think I've just abandoned them?" "You're saying a lot for someone who hasn't yet set foot in the airport. How about you stop reorganizing your suitcase and get going?" Jenny encouraged, giving Quinn a playful shove. Quinn smiled, resolved yet anxious. "Alright, you win. I'll see for myself once I reach out. I just hope it doesn't blow up in my face." "It won't; everything will work out. Just trust yourself and hold your head high. And please forgive yourself for the whole Rachel thing. As for the in-laws at dinner, you could always call me if it goes sideways," Jenny said, offering her a comforting grin. "Go to Sectionals because it's fun, not just an obligation. And remember, they're your friends for a reason. They'll understand that you've been busy. I bet they're DYING to hear about your scandalous escapades with our professor," she teased, nudging her again with a giggle. "Now, finish packing before you start second-guessing yourself again!" Quinn laughed, more hopeful than she had been in a long time, and returned to her suitcase with renewed determination. "Okay, okay! I'll text you as soon as I land." "Feel better now?" "Of course!" Quinn zipped up her suitcase and hugged Jenny goodbye. She dragged the bag behind her as she walked down the hallway to the elevator. Quinn Fabray was going back to Lima, Ohio!
**Email: <[email protected]> / <[email protected]>**
**Inbox:**
**<IvanVonHovenTalents.com>**
**Subject: Glass Menagerie**
**Message: Dear Rachel Berry,**
We regret to inform you that your audition for the role of Laura Wingfield in "The Glass Menagerie" did not meet the expectations we were hoping for. Your passion and energy during the performance were commendable, but unfortunately, there were other candidates who more closely fit our vision for this particular production.
We understand that this news can be disheartening, as we recognize the hard work and dedication you put into your audition. We appreciate your talent and encourage you to keep pursuing your dreams in the theatre. Remember, every experience is a stepping stone toward improvement and growth.
Please feel free to reach out in the future, as we would love to see what else you may bring to the stage.
Best wishes, The Casting Team **Ivan Von Hoven Talents** Rachel didn't bother reading the rest of the email after the initial disappointment. She gingerly closed her laptop and tossed it to the side of her bed. Rachel pulled her covers over her lap and let out a heavy sigh. She had already grown tired of the generic responses that offered little more than empty encouragement like "You gave it your all, kid! Keep trying!" or "Come back another time!" Rather, she was searching for a meaningful connection and constructive feedback that could actually help her improve. As her thoughts spiralled, one name stood out sharply in her mind: Cassandra July. The renowned dance instructor was known for her unyielding, even harsh, critiques, but Rachel respected that. At least Cassandra didn't sugarcoat her opinions; she delivered direct, incisive criticisms that often stung but ultimately pushed her students to improve. In a way, Rachel appreciated that brutal honesty more than the empty encouragement she had received lately. She was still undeniably furious with Cassie for what she had done with Brody. "Hey, you're in your first year of college! Don't expect to get the roles right away!" Hiram Berry said on the other line of the phone call. Rachel had called her dad before opening the message to read the email with him. "Yeah, Dad, I know." Rachel replied sadly, "I was looking forward to calling you with good news." "Hey, honey. Whenever you call your father and me, it's always good news to us!" Hiram assured her, "Are you coming home for Thanksgiving? If it's about money, we can cover the plane ticket!" "I'll let you know as soon as Kurt and I discuss our plans. I promise." Rachel's mind began to wander back to the strained emotions stirred by her audition as she tried to put on a brave face for her father. "Alright, honey. Let me know soon. Bye!" "Bye, Dad," Rachel turned off her phone and placed it on her bedside table. She wasn't sure about going back to Ohio yet, and it didn't feel like home anymore. She and Kurt vowed to start a new chapter in New York. It would be silly to go back. Then, Rachel's curtain opened, and Kurt sleepily walked into her room, flopping down on the bed. "Good morning, sunshine. What's with the face?" Kurt asked, "I'll tell you on the walk to the subway. Ready to go to work?" Rachel replied, "Ugh, is anyone ready to go to work?" Kurt grumbled, springing back, "Are you ready for school? Knowing Cassie and Brody will be there?" She rolled her eyes playfully. “I can’t spend the rest of the semester avoiding my teacher, Kurt. I’ll just have to suck it up and face the music.” With that third sigh of the morning, Rachel grabbed her bag—it was time to face the day head-on despite the emotional weight in the air. "Coffee first." "Of course!" ... Kurt and Rachel clutched their steaming coffees from the familiar coffee cart nestled on the corner of bustling streets, enveloped in the vibrant chaos that characterizes New York City. Despite the chilly late-November breeze that nipped at their faces, they huddled together, warmth blooming from their cups and their shared laughter, breaking the cold air as they wandered through the throngs of shoppers and tourists. "So, are you going to tell me what's been upsetting you today?" Kurt asked his best friend as he hooked his arm through hers. "I found out I wasn't cast in 'The Glass Menagerie.' I found out this morning." "Aww," Kurt replied sympathetically, reaching out to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "But the NYADA showcase is this week. So, I'm going to spend the whole holiday long weekend prepping for it to make sure I get in!" Rachel replied, "Speaking of NYADA, did you submit your application?" "Yes," Kurt smiled confidently, "And I put it on Vogue.com stationary so it will stand out!" he declared, "Thank you for convincing me to try re-applying after the dinner party." "Of course! I know you love working at Vogue. But Kurt, you're so talented! I think you would love it at NYADA!" Rachel said enthusiastically, and Kurt nodded. "I'm really feeling good about us staying home for the long weekend." she continued, "Don't you?" she asked. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah..." Kurt stammered, still unsure about being in New York instead of Ohio for Thanksgiving. "We don't have to go back just because there's a show or it's a long weekend." Rachel chuckled, "Right, no." Kurt replied, picking up the pace, "I mean, even though it's Thanksgiving, and Sectionals, and... all of our friends are there, and I miss my dad..." his voice trailed off. "I know. I miss my dads too."Rachel said as she sipped her coffee, "But every time we go home, it makes me feel sad. We're not moving forward, you know?" Kurt hummed in thoughtful agreement, allowing her words to resonate. "Even though we don't have boyfriends, we still have our dreams!" She continued, "And our ambitions!" "And each other!" Kurt declared happily, Rachel wrapped her other arm around him in a warm, playful embrace as they strolled along the crowded sidewalk, the city's vibrant energy humming around them. "You are the only significant other I need in my life," she said, laughter bubbling in her voice as she lightly teased, "I just have to, you know, forget about Finn and Brody." "Forget about Blaine," Kurt piped in, rolling his eyes. "Let's forget about any guy who's ever broken any girl or guy's heart!" Rachel concluded passionately, her voice rising with conviction. "We are on the verge of becoming the best versions of ourselves! Can't you feel it?" "For the first time, probably because it's easier to drink your Kool-Aid than go against you..." Kurt nudged her playfully. He and Rachel both giggled, "I believe you." "Look at our life! Look at this city!" Rachel exclaimed, throwing her arms wide as if trying to embrace every fragment of the vibrant scene around them. Her eyes sparkled as she took in the kaleidoscopic array of people rushing past, shops festooned with dazzling holiday decorations, and the majestic skyline that towered against the crisp blue winter sky. At that moment, it felt as if the world held limitless possibilities. "I promise we are going to have the best Thanksgiving ever!" Rachel said sincerely, hooking her pinky with Kurt's "Pinky promise." With a renewed spirit, Kurt and Rachel crossed the street, jogging toward the subway station, their laughter mingling with the thrumming heartbeat of the city as they prepared to catch their train. "So, have you told everyone that we're not going back to Ohio for Thanksgiving?" Kurt asked as they stepped downstairs into the underground. "I told Tina, Mercedes, and... Quinn," she replied, hesitating to mention Quinn. Kurt raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh, you two are still talking? You know... after...?" He let the question linger, not wanting to dredge up any uncomfortable memories but clearly curious about the status of their relationship. As they stood on the platform, the flickering lights and the rhythmic sound of the approaching train added to the atmosphere, making the moment feel even more significant. Rachel sighed, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered her answer. "I don't know what that was," she admitted, shaking her head slightly, "But of course we do! I just... I don't want to make anything awkward if nothing awkward happened." She shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant, but a hint of uncertainty lingered in her eyes, hinting at the complexities of her feelings. The train roared into the station, drowning out the rest of her thoughts as they prepared to board, leaving behind the questions yet to be answered. Quinn heaved her suitcases onto the edge of her neatly made bed, the fabric of her luggage rustling softly against the comforter. As she climbed onto the mattress, she closed her eyes momentarily, allowing the familiar scents of home to envelop her. The comforting aroma of the lavender-scented detergent her mother always used mixed with the faint trace of the vanilla air freshener that lingered in the room. The softness of her well-worn mattress cradled her, and the plush pillows, still bearing the faint imprint of her teenage dreams, welcomed her back. The stuffed animals perched on the shelf, guardians of her youth, stood as a testament to simpler times. Quinn allowed herself to refamiliarize herself with her childhood bedroom before her mom would call her down to help with Thanksgiving prep. It wasn't Thanksgiving yet; it was only Monday. However, Judy Fabray had to make sure everything was perfect to the very last detail. Especially knowing who's coming. Aunt Helen, Judy's sister, tended to beeline toward the bar. Not long before, her husband, Uncle Phil, would say something inappropriate. Their kids, Wesley, Jamie, and Lilly, were human tornados. Quinn usually hid her more fragile possessions whenever they escaped the basement playroom and headed to her bedroom. Aunt Gwen, Judy's other sister, had an obsession with taking over the cooking and serving. She had yet to actually host a family gathering herself, though. Her husband, Uncle Norm, was the complete opposite—he seemed to have an innate ability to vanish whenever help was needed, opting instead to lounge on the couch, wrapped up in sports games rather than family dynamics. They had two kids, Abbie and Serena. Serena was Quinn's age, and Abbie was two years younger. The three of them used to be close. Keyword: Used. Tradition dictated that Grandma Paulie and Grandpa Greg were always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Grandpa, with his graying beard and hearty laugh, would settle into a favourite chair only to drift off into the world's most extended nap, clutching a cold beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other. Meanwhile, Grandma, ever vigilant, would ensure that all the tablecloths were washed immediately after everyone departed, her meticulous nature demanding that even the remnants of the feast followed suit of cleanliness, reflecting her desire for order amidst the joyous chaos. And then... there were the in-laws... Her sister, Frannie, was ambitious with her efforts to expand the family circle, so she decided to stir the pot this Thanksgiving by inviting her husband, Johnathan's parents, Mary-Anne and Charles Thompson. Unfortunately, 'bigots' was too benign a term to accurately encapsulate their personalities, while 'stick-up-their-bum' didn't quite do justice either. They were indeed the worst kind of in-laws, the ones every person hopes to avoid in their married life. Every day, Mary-Anne and Charles peppered Frannie with a barrage of ten questions about when they planned to have children. When Frannie answered with her standard response of 'Not yet,' they quickly chastised her, their condescending comments filled with thinly veiled disappointment. They make snide comments about her parents' divorce. They're passive-aggressive and condescending towards Quinn. Their home was a fortress of their beliefs, with at least five Bibles plastered in every room, an imposing reminder of the dogma they created, ensuring their presence couldn't be overlooked. Adding to the stress for Judy and Quinn, the Thompsons had decided they would spend the entire long weekend at the Fabray house rather than checking into a nearby hotel. Quinn felt an overwhelming urge to seek refuge at her friends' homes—the Lopezes or the Joneses—until the Thompsons finally left. Sorry, Mom. "Quinnie! Can you come downstairs, please?" Judy called out, Quinn sighed and reluctantly rolled out of bed, making her way towards her mother. Let the chaos begin. As soon as she reached the living room, Judy thrust a neatly stacked pile of crisp white sheets and pillowcases into Quinn's arms. The unexpected weight nearly toppled her backward. "Mom, what?" she exclaimed in surprise, struggling to balance the sheets. "I just picked them up today at Sheets-N-Things," Judy replied, her tone matter-of-fact as she gazed at the stack. "I washed and ironed them—all four sets," she added, wiping off an imaginary speck of lint from the pile. "Please take them to the guest room." "Four?!" Quinn sputtered in disbelief, her brows knitting together. "Why in the world do they need four sets of sheets?!" "Mary-Anne says she doesn't like sleeping in the same sheets for more than two nights." Judy replied, her voice lowering to a solemn whisper, "Lucy Quinn, when I say those sheets better be flat and tucked tight around the mattress, I mean it. No creases, no lines, no wrinkles. I want to be able to bounce a quarter off that bed," she warned. No way was that true. Quinn bet a million dollars that Mary-Anne said that to intentionally throw off Judy. "Oh my god, Mom," Quinn whined, "Not a peep out of you, Quinn! You chose to come home early," Judy retorted sharply, clearly unravelling at the seams. "I am falling apart as it is! I spent all day working on last-minute centrepieces just because Frannie said the ones I had were wrong!" Judy began pacing in agitation, her distress palpable. "I need you to pick up our dresses from the dry cleaners; Mary-Anne insists we wear white. Then there are appetizers to prepare, and I need alternative recipes for Wesley since he has yet another new allergy. Lilly is such a picky eater, and don't get me started on the housework—I need to vacuum the blinds, wash the curtains, and wipe the windows…" Quinn interjected, "Mom, deep breaths! It's just Thanksgiving. We can't control what the Thompsons think or say." "Quinn!" Judy snapped, her tone sharp. "This is not a joke. I need you to take this seriously. Please help me." "Okay, mom! I'll help when I can. I'm also meeting with the Glee Club at McKinley today, and we're going out to Breadstix for dinner afterward." Quinn replied, trying to stay calm. Judy's eyes widened in horror. "That's only one night, Mom! Thanksgiving is still a few days away!" Quinn reassured her. Judy pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly trying to calm herself. "I just don't want any disasters this year, Quinn. Last year was bad enough." Quinn's phone chimed with a new message from Finn. "Okay, mom. I'm going to make the bed in the guest room, tidy up the ensuite bathroom, and then stop by the dry cleaners on my way to McKinley, okay?" she proposed, trying to defuse some of the tension. "No. Wrinkles," Judy reiterated firmly. "Got it." Quinn Fabray stepped slowly across the stage in the empty auditorium at McKinley High, breathing in the familiar surroundings of her old school. She smiled and sang the first line... "I'm sittin' in a railway station. Got a ticket for my destination..."
Oh, oh...
As her melody filled the air, she felt a familiar presence drawing closer. The sound of footsteps welcomed her, and soon, she was joined by her good friend Noah Puckerman strumming his guitar. "On a tour of one-night stands. My suitcase and guitar in hand..." Quinn turned, her face lighting up as she reached out to hold his hand, their friendship as strong as ever. Together, they harmonized beautifully as they continued the song: "And every stop is neatly planned. For a poet and a one-man band..." As their harmonic voices filled the space, the lights of the auditorium gradually illuminated, casting a warm glow that highlighted the stage where so many memories had been made. "This wave..." Mike Chang sang as he entered through the audience section. "Wave..." Santana Lopez harmonized as she followed him.
Is stringing us along...
"Along..." Santana riffed, smiling at Mike.
Just know you're not alone...
Mike jumped up on the half-wall and spread his arms wide, greeting his friends on stage. "'Cause I'm gonna make this place your home..."
Everyday's an endless stream of cigarettes and magazines...
Mercedes made her way down to the stage, hugging Santana on the way.
And each town looks the same to me, the movies and the factories...
And every stranger's face I see reminds me that I long to be...
Finn came in from the other side of the stage, surprising everyone. Quinn dashed over to give him a hug.
The trouble, it might drag you down...
If you get lost, you can always be found...
Just know you're not alone...
"Know you're not alone," Mercedes sang, beaming at her friends.
'Cause I'm gonna make this place your home
Oh-oh-oh-oh-ahhh...
Know you're not alone...
When my music's playing...
Oh-oh-oh-oh-ahhh...
All six of them formed a circle on the stage, their voices melding together, echoing off the walls of the auditorium as they vocalized the final lines of the song, a powerful decrescendo that filled the space with hope and love. "Home for the holidays," Quinn said softly, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity, "Just like we promised." As they all stood there, the glow of the lights enveloping them, it was clear that no matter where life took them, they always had this place, this moment, and each other. "Guys, I-" Finn began, "Dude, if you start crying. I'm going to kick your ass." Puck cut him off. Giggling, he stretched out his arms, "Group hug!" The former New Directions huddled in laughing as they almost stumbled. "While singing in the auditorium brings back so many happy memories... your girl is hungry. I 'needs' to 'gets' my Breadstix on." Santana chuckled as they separated. "Breadstix it is! Which name is our reservation under?" Mercedes piped in, "It's mine, guys. My treat." Finn replied, "I'm so happy you all came back." Except for two—Kurt and Rachel—Quinn kept scanning the auditorium to see if Rachel would come in. The group of former grads went their separate ways again, leaving the auditorium to jump into their cars and drive to their beloved Italian restaurant. Quinn started to drift towards the backstage when she suddenly felt a gentle pressure on her shoulder. She turned to find Finn standing there. His hand lingered on her shoulder for just a moment longer, causing her to pause and fall slightly behind the rest of their friends. "Hey," Finn said softly, "Hey," Quinn smiled back. Her expression, like Finn's, was warm and welcoming. She had missed her friend. She looked at her friend, whose ex-girlfriend she had almost kissed. Her expression slightly faltered. Finn, sensing the slight change in her expression, gently reached for Quinn's right hand. He lifted it delicately, his fingers brushing against her skin as he examined the silver charm bracelet adorning her wrist. A promise gift he had given her before he left for the army. "You kept it on..." Finn chuckled softly, "Well, I did promise to keep it on until we both came home," Quinn replied, wrapping her other arm around him. She looked up at her ex-boyfriend, observing the nervous twitch in his face. So, they were both hiding things from each other, definitely not the first time. "Are you okay?" They both said in unison, "Sorry! I-" "Sorry," he added quickly, his tone now more earnest. "You first." "Just... nervous about Thanksgiving. My sister's bringing her in-laws." Quinn shrugged hesitantly. "Yeah, same. Really worried about Sectionals and going against Dalton Academy." Finn replied, "You'll do great," Quinn reassured him, "We beat the Warblers before, we can do it again." "Yeah, but that was before we graduated," Finn countered, his brow furrowing with concern. "These kids I'm coaching—they've never performed before." Quinn thought for a moment, her expression shifting to one of encouragement. "Then walk them through it. Ask for some advice from us at dinner. Surely, Mercedes has some tricks to help calm the nerves before she belts out those high notes." Finn's face broke into a knowing smile, a flicker of gratitude evident in his eyes. Unbeknownst to Quinn and the rest of their friends, he had surprises in store for them this week. They separated from their embrace and walked away. Quinn went out into the parking lot while Finn returned to the choir room. Quinn stood on her front porch, her breath visible in the chilly evening air, a light shiver running through her as she hugged her sweater tighter around herself. The sound of tires crunching on gravel broke the quiet, and she turned to see Santana's car pull into the driveway. With a playful grin, Santana rolled down her window, her dark hair spilling over the edge as she leaned out. "Get in, loser. We're going to Breadstix." Quinn rolled her eyes and made her way to the passenger side. As the door shut behind her, she offered her best friend a slightly awkward side hug. Once they were buckled in, Santana swiftly shifted into reverse and aggressively swung out of the driveway. Tires screeched as she floored the gas and zoomed down the quiet street. Quinn almost jolted out of her seat. She barely had a chance to brace herself as they sped away, the wind whipping through her hair from the open window as the force pinned her back in her seat. Quinn forgot why nobody carpooled with Santana. Now, she was definitely reminded. Quinn frantically searched for the button to roll the window back up. "Did you forget your jacket again?" Santana teased, glancing over at Quinn, who was now trying to adjust her hair after being tousled by the wind outside. "Maybe," Quinn replied with a laugh, shaking her head as she rummaged through her bag for her phone. "But the thought of Breadstix warmed me up instantly." "Mhmm, okay, Miss' Yale University.' Apparently dressing for the weather is outside your bubble of academia," Santana smirked, "Isn't it freezing in Connecticut?" "Don't you get fined for having this much junk piled up in your car?" Quinn continued teasingly, eyeing the various fast-food wrappers and crumpled receipts cascading across the dashboard. The state of the backseat was even worse; it was completely inaccessible, buried under a mass of shoes, bags, and an absurd amount of women's lingerie that clearly didn't belong to Santana. It looked like Santana had been... busy since her break-up with Brittany. Santana needed to seriously clean out her car. "Mmm, so, fill me in. What's up with this Biff dude?" Santana asked as she cut sharply around the corner. She whizzed around traffic, receiving angry honks from other drivers in her wake. "Well, he's also in the student mentorship with me and a few other students. He thinks I'm undeserving of being in the program because I'm a freshman, and he's trying to undermine me," Quinn explained, "Being Professor Larkin's TA has been so enriching and—SANTANA!" Santana slammed the brakes as the light turned red. "Oops," She chuckled, "Sorry, got distracted. I was touching up my makeup." With that, she flicked her hair back confidently. She sneaked a quick look in the rearview mirror, adjusting her lipstick before turning the music up a notch, filling the car with the upbeat lyrics of the latest pop hit. "Yeah, well, your vanity is going to get us killed one day," Quinn joked, shaking her head with a smile. "But back to Biff. He just doesn't get that I've worked hard to be here." "Pfft, who cares what he thinks? You're basically a genius," Santana said with a wave of her hand. As soon as the light turned green, she floored the gas pedal again. "So, how's college life treating you, San?" Quinn asked, curiosity piquing as the streetlights blurred past them. "It's, like, super boring," Santana admitted, her tone tinged with a hint of annoyance. "But it gives me something to do, I guess. What do you think about journalism as a career? I could pepper people with uncomfortable questions and get paid to do it! Plus, I'd look absolutely amazing on camera!" "You're not going to move to New York and become a big star?" Quinn asked, "And live with Kurt and Rachel? Please," Santana scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically, "Unlike you, I don't want to get with Rachel." Quinn's jaw dropped. Who the hell told her? "Oh don't be like that, Fab-gay. Era tan obvio y notable. Senior year, you were practically drooling every time Berry creaked open her loud mouth." Quinn felt her cheeks heat up as she tried to deflect. "Okay, maybe I admired her talent, but that doesn't mean I was drooling! It's called respect for a fellow performer." Santana shot her a flabbergasted look, a smirk playing on her lips. "Uh-huh, sure. Respect. That's what we're calling it now." ... Somehow, Quinn and Santana made it to Breadstix unscathed. They excitedly opened the restaurant doors and waited inside. Santana told the hostess they were under Finn's reservation and were led to his booth. Finn, Mike, Mercedes, and Puck cheered as they arrived, standing up to greet the girls. "Quinn! You survived Santana's driving!" Mercedes laughed, "Come here, girl." she wrapped her arms around her best friend. "I barely survived, and that's why I'm coming home with you," Quinn replied. Mercedes then squeezed her tighter. "Don't worry, your majesty, I'll protect you from Santana's reckless wrath!" She giggled, pretending to shield her away from Santana. After they pulled away, Quinn climbed into the middle of the booth between Mike and Puck. Santana sat at the end beside Mike. Finn and Mercedes slid into the other end of the booth beside Puck. It was a tight space, but the six of them made it work. The waitress came and placed glasses of water and utensils in front of them. "Hello, everyone! I'm Debbie, your server for today! Are we celebrating a special occasion?" She smiled warmly at the group. "We're celebrating coming home, seeing our chosen family, and a win at Sectionals!" Finn announced, raising his glass. His friends clinked theirs together, toasting their reunion. "Okay! I'll get started with your drinks, then." The waitress smiled as she wrote down their requests. Before long, Debbie returned, balancing an impressive array of drinks on a tray. She carefully placed each glass down, ensuring they were within reach. Then, she efficiently collected their menus, ready to take their food orders. "So I have written down: Two chicken parms, one half-lasagna, two baked zitis, and one carbonara with a... family-sized platter of breadsticks." Everyone stared at Santana. As the waitress left, the group started up their chatter again. They laughed about funny incidents, complained about mid-terms, reminisced about the good old days in high school, 'Funk' week in Glee Club, and shared dorm-mate horror stories. "So, I'm at this party one of my pool-cleaning clients invited me to," Puck began, leaning back with a smirk, ready to regale them with another misadventure, "And these girls come up to me asking if I want a drink and hand me a solo cup. They have brought in this keg, right? Well, the nozzle was super messed up, but nobody knew. The girls try to pour me a drink, and the nozzle spays beer everywhere! It knocks the cup out of my hands and I'm just in shock! So, I said... you girls need another cup!" The booth erupted with laughter, the kind that pulled at their sides as they imagined the scene. "Guys," Puck continued, "I'd like to propose a toast." "Another one? Look at you all sentimental." Mercedes teased, "To almost all of us keeping our promise to come home for Thanksgiving. Cheers!" As their glasses clinked together again, the joyful chorus of "Cheers!" echoed around the booth. The vibrant Italian music mingled with the lively chatter of other patrons, creating a symphony of sounds that wrapped around them like a warm embrace as they celebrated their reunion. "Speaking of almost all of us coming home, has anyone heard from Rachel or Kurt?" Santana asked as they placed their drinks back down. "Mmm, no." Finn replied, looking at Mercedes and silently asking her. Mercedes shook her head. "I know Blaine's been texting him, but Kurt won't text back," Mike shrugged, "Well, Rachel emailed me," Quinn chimed in, her voice tinged with concern. "She said she wasn't sure what she was doing for the holidays yet. I guess that means she's staying back in New York." Quinn couldn't help but ponder Rachel's decision, feeling a twinge of guilt about the circumstances that had led them there. As she spoke, her gaze unintentionally met Finn's, a silent understanding passing between them. "I'm really sorry about what happened between you two, Finn," she murmured, a soft sincerity colouring her tone. In her mind, a flood of thoughts raced by: More like... I'm sorry I tried to kiss Rachel just hours after you broke up with her and then spent the entire time we were together pining for her. But, of course, Quinn didn't say that out loud. "No, no. It's cool. It's... for the best." Finn replied, trying to sound reassured. "Well, I think it's sweet that you and Rachel still keep in touch, Quinn." Mercedes said, stirring her Sprite with her straw. Yeah, sweet. Yes, it was sweet. Not sweet. It was pleasant. There, pleasant. They had a pleasant friendship, nothing else. Quick, Quinn! Be casual! "Well, she basically emails me every other week to remind me I haven't used my train ticket to New York," Quinn responded with a casual shrug, a small smile playing on her lips. Nice save, Quinn. "I'm trying to keep straight As at Yale. I'm a student TA, and I'm preparing for a work-study sabbatical in New York next semester," Quinn continued, "And I just got tapped to be in the only female secret society at Yale. Former members: Hillary Clinton, Jennifer Beals." "You go, girl." Puck playfully tapped his straw over Quinn's drink, prompting a collective chuckle. "Well, I, for one, love to talk about everyone who is here," Finn piped in, "I have a favour to ask." "Okay, shoot," Mike replied, "So, all of us sitting at this table are winners. Thanks to our collective efforts, our New Directions are the team to beat this year. Along with Britt, Blaine, Sam, Artie, Joe, Sugar, and Tina, I've got some new kids who could really use some guidance as they gear up for their first performance," Finn explained, enthusiasm lighting up his features. "Marley is quite shy, but she has a strong voice." "I'll take Marley," Santana said decisively, her competitive spirit coming to life. "I could spare a little Lopez attitude for charity," she added with a wink. "Jake's got star quality, but he thinks he's too cool for show choir," Finn continued, moving down the list. "I'll work on my brother then. It'll be good to get some family bonding time in," Puck suggested with a smirk. "And then there's Ryder, our football player who needs a little confidence boost," Finn said, his focus laser-sharp. "Sounds like my guy. I'll take him," Mike raised his hand. "Unique is a powerful belter, but I need her to work on pulling the reins a bit," Finn added, "I'll do it," Mercedes asserted confidently, a smile playing on her lips. "And then… there's Kitty…" Finn hesitated, biting his tongue, trying to find the best way to articulate his most challenging case, "She's… a bit much…" "A bit much is one way to say it..." Mercedes murmured. Santana snorted, and Mike struggled to stifle a giggle. "I'll work with her," Quinn smiled as Finn sighed, relieved. The waitress returned with their orders and Santana's big portion of breadsticks. The group of friends happily dug into their meals. "Rachel..." Kurt grunted, straining as he wrestled with the heavy, frozen turkey. He finally managed to heave it into the grocery cart with a thud. The two roommates were excitedly navigating the bustling aisles of the supermarket, revelling in anticipation of their first Thanksgiving celebration in Brooklyn. The air was tinged with the scent of autumn, and their cart began to fill with ingredients that would soon transform their modest apartment into a warm and inviting feast for two. Well, Kurt filled the cart. Rachel trailed along, getting distracted by impulse snacks. Kurt kept swatting his hand at her, reminding her of their budget. "Mhm?" Rachel replied absentmindedly, her eyes glued to the back of a box of stuffing, absorbed in reading the ingredients and cooking instructions. "Never mind..." Kurt muttered. "What's our dessert?" he questioned, hoping for a sweet finish to their meal. With a swift motion, he added a sturdy bag of crisp orange carrots to the cart, making it rattle slightly. Rachel snapped out of her daze, finally looking up to meet Kurt's gaze. "Oh! I was thinking pumpkin pie. Classic, right?" She grinned, her eyes lighting up at the thought. Kurt nodded, feeling relieved. "Definitely classic. But do we need whipped cream? Or is that pushing our budget?" Rachel bit her lip, contemplating. "Maybe we can find a can that's on sale? I'm vegetarian now so we don't have to buy the expensive non-dairy stuff. It's not Thanksgiving without whipped cream, after all." Kurt pushed the cart towards the dairy aisle, with Rachel closely behind. After finding a two-for-one coupon on the floor, they snagged two cans of whipped cream. Feeling accomplished, they made their way to the front of the market and lined up for check-out. As they waited in line, Kurt scrolled through his Facebook. "Aw, Rachel look! All of our friends are home in Ohio. Here they are at Breadstix." He passed his phone for Rachel to see, "Puck, Quinn, Mercedes, Santana, Mike. Gosh I would love to see them again." "It's touching to see, Kurt. But we're New Yorkers now! We'll have just as much, if not more fun here in Bushwick." Rachel replied, Kurt shrugged, trying to suppress a grin. "Because nothing says 'Thanksgiving' quite like a kale salad drizzled with organic olive oil. I can hardly contain my excitement. I can already hear the NPR podcast in the background." "You make fun, but I'll have you saying that this is the best Thanksgiving ever soon." Rachel declared with an exuberant smile as she perused through his phone, looking for social media updates or inspiration. "Oh, my god, Rachel..." Kurt tugged on her sleeves to get her attention. "What?" "Rachel... this turkey is thirty dollars..." Back in Rachel and Kurt's apartment's cozy living room, the atmosphere was infused with a casual air of domesticity. Kurt dumped his cloth laundry hamper bag on the couch and flung the bag over his shoulder as he hummed "Being Alive" from Company. He then sorted through his lights and darks, creating separate wash piles on the cushions. Rachel slid open the sliding door and strolled in, balancing four fresh baguettes in the crook of her arm. She cringed at the sight unfolding before her. "Kurt... are you dumping your dirty laundry on the couch?" "Yeah? Do you want to add to it? I'm doing a load of air-dry only darks first." "You are such a guy... Anyway, I bought these baguettes for stuffing!" Rachel gently placed the bread on the table, "I thought it would be better than a processed loaf of store-bought bread." Kurt paused, glancing over at her with a puzzled expression, furrowing his brow in confusion. "Rachel... I already bought bread for the stuffing, remember?" He gestured with a finger, emphasizing his point. "You were with me when we picked it out—how could you forget?" Rachel's eyes widened in realization, and she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Shit, you're right." Rachel replied, a hint of embarrassment creeping into her tone. "With finding the extra carrots in the back of the fridge, and now this... Rachel, this is a lot of food for two people! We can only store away so much." Kurt exclaimed, "Well, I invited Brody. We'll have another mouth to feed." Rachel shrugged. He could bring some leftovers home to pack away as well." "Since when were you talking to Brody again? I thought you ghosted him for sleeping with Cassie." Kurt furrowed his brow, "Cassie didn't come to class today, so Brody taught the lesson instead. I was about to walk out, but then he reminded me that we weren't actually dating, so it would be silly to be angry at him." Rachel explained as she leaned against the table, "Also, we both agreed that Cassie is smoking hot. If she wasn't so cruel to me, I would want to sleep with her, too." Now gathering his dark clothes and shoving them into a nearby hamper, Kurt paused to consider this new information. "Can I invite someone over for Thanksgiving, then?" "Sure, one of your coworkers?" Rachel replied, "Who?" Kurt hesitated for a moment, contemplating. "Well, it's more like my boss. Isabelle Wright mentioned she'd stop by with some friends. But honestly, I think she was just being nice." He chuckled lightly, yet a hint of hopefulness shone through his eyes, imagining the lively potential of Thanksgiving with an expanded guest list. Rachel smiled appreciatively. "Well, it'd be nice to have a concrete answer, but we've still got a few days to sort it out." She grabbed a knife from the counter and sliced a sliver off one of the baguettes, the crust cracking slightly as the knife glided through. "Paws off, Rachel! We may have company!" Kurt teased, "Okay, last call for darks before I go downstairs to the laundromat." "Okay, let me see what I have," Rachel replied, already heading toward her room with swift determination. She dashed off to find her laundry. Rachel followed Kurt down to the laundromat as they discussed their upcoming Thanksgiving plans...
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Fabray Residence, Lima, Ohio USATuesday November 20th, 2012, 3:05pm 3 days till Sectionals "Do we make an entrance? I feel like we should make an entrance." Santana asked as she sat at Quinn's vanity, touching up her mascara. "Come on, girl, we've been strutting in and out of that school so often that the students are probably rolling their eyes at us by now," Mercedes replied, chuckling softly as she flipped through the glossy pages of a fashion magazine spread out on the bed. Santana and Mercedes were hanging out in Quinn's bedroom as Quinn ran around the house downstairs, preparing for her brother-in-law's family's arrival. The trio was supposed to hang out before returning to McKinley to help Finn with Glee Club rehearsals. Still, Quinn got caught up in last-minute cleaning and prepping with her mother. Apparently, Mary-Anne and Charles Thompson decided to drop in a day early, sending the Fabrays into a panicked frenzy. Santana played with her hair as she stared at her reflection, "I think it's stupid getting this worked up about family. Mi familia is never this stress-inducing." "Mm, same here. Quinn should be looking forward to spending Thanksgiving with her family, not running around like a headless chicken," Mercedes said, her brow furrowing as she turned to face Santana, her thoughtful expression softening into a smile. "By the way, are you and your folks coming to their dinner too?" "Yeah, then we're having ours the following evening." Santana responded, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder, "Besides, if her sister's in-laws are that insufferable, I have to see the trainwreck for myself." "Damn, before or after Sectionals?" "After? Duh. We're not old. The Lopez family parties until sunrise. Wanna come over?" Mercedes bit her lip in thoughtful consideration, "I would, but I'm hanging out with Sam for the long weekend before I fly back to L.A." "Are you and Trouty still dating?" Santana raised an eyebrow, "I thought you split over the summer." "It's been on and off for a bit, but I'm just looking to be friends." Mercedes shrugged, "Gotta tell you, though. I think Sam has his eyes on Britt." In an instant, Santana slammed her mascara tube down onto the vanity, her expression morphing into incredulity. She spun around to face Mercedes, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You can't just believe everything that Sugar and Tina tell you, 'Cedes. They love to stir the pot!" "It's honestly based on my own observations, San. I've seen the way he looks at her," Mercedes shot back, her expression softening as she tried to reassure her friend. "But look on the bright side! At least Sam hasn't actually made a move yet." Santana crossed her arms, an exasperated frown on her face. "My ex-girlfriend can date anyone in the world, just not Trouty Mouth. That would just be wrong." "Sweetie, she's your ex," Mercedes chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. "I don't really think she needs your permission on who she dates now," She closed her magazine and set it aside, "I don't love that Sam's into other people, but I can't control what he does. All I want is for him to be happy; we'll pick up where we left off sometime in the future if that's what God wants. Didn't you say the same thing to Brittany?" Santana hummed in response, carefully but hesitantly considering her words. Suddenly, Quinn's door swung open, and Judy Fabray stormed inside. "Santana Diabla Lopez and Mercedes Chantelle Jones! You come downstairs this instant and help us clean! Don't make me call your mothers!" "Yes, Ms. Fabray! Right away!" Mercedes and Santana scrambled out of their best friend's bedroom and raced downstairs. As they descended the stairs, they found Quinn frantically circling around the dining room table. One hand was smoothing her hair down while the other was diligently rolling a lint roller over her crisp white striped dress. It was a chaotic but strangely comical sight; once the queen bee of McKinley High, now she resembled a hot mess teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Not a breakdown as big as "Skanks," but close. "Oh, my God! They're coming! I can't do this alone!" Quinn exclaimed as she paced back and forth, "I need one of you guys with me!" "I'll happily volunteer." Santana smirked as she stepped forward with a confident stride. "A foul-mouthed Mexican lesbian? No way." "I'm Dominican..." "You think the Thompsons would care? They're very much pro border. Mercedes, you're Christian. They'll like you. Let's just hope they're not racist toward you," Quinn declared, a hint of desperation creeping into her tone. "Racist?! WHA—" Mercedes sputtered, taken aback by the bluntness of the statement. Before she could articulate a proper rebuttal, Quinn grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards the front door, where Judy stood with an impatient look. Santana shrugged dismissively and decided to follow along. Judy opened the door and the Fabrays sighed, relieved. It was just Quinn's older sister, Frannie. Her husband must have been out with his parents to buy some time for the girls. Judy hugged her daughter and helped her with her bags. "Welcome home, Francine. I hope the drive here wasn't too arduous," Judy greeted warmly, enveloping her daughter in a tight hug as she helped her with the bags balanced in her arms. "Hi, Mom. Hello, Quinn. I'm surprised to see you home so early." Frannie replied, her voice cheerful as she placed a comforting hand on Quinn's shoulder. She then turned to greet her sister's friends. "Hi, Mercedes, Santana. Long time no see." "The three of us came home early to help Finn prepare for Sectionals. And I'm helping Mom prep for Thanksgiving dinner." Quinn explained as she rolled the suitcases to the side and closed the door. "I'll help in any way I can, Mom. Johnathan is taking his parents for a drive around Lima. Hoping that will give us some calm before the storm," Frannie reassured, "I really wish Johnathan didn't bring up staying here for Thanksgiving, though. I know he means well, wanting his parents to get to know our family better. But the holidays are stressful enough as it is." "Aunt Gwen will be here later today. On Thursday, Aunt Helen will be coming first with Wesley to help with dinner prep. Uncle Phil will come later with the twins after judo practice." Judy said, "Still haven't heard back from Granny." "Oh my god, Jamie and Lilly took up judo?" Quinn let out an exasperated sigh. She couldn't help but feel like that was foreshadowing for property damage. Suddenly, there was another knock on the door. Quinn, Judy and Frannie exchanged nervous glances as Mercedes and Santana stood helplessly in the back. No doubt it was Johnathan and his parents behind the door. Judy reluctantly stepped forward and opened the door. Johnathan stepped into the house first, hugged Judy, and kissed Frannie on the cheek. He wore dark jeans, a crisp white button-down, a tie, and a red sweater. He smoothed down the side part of his sandy brown hair. Quinn approached, tentatively expecting an embrace but instead receiving an unexpected high-five from him, which felt more awkward than welcoming. "Hello, Quinn's friends," Johnathan awkwardly waved at Mercedes and Santana, "Quinn, welcome home." Under her breath, Santana leaned toward Mercedes, a bemused look crossing her face. "Either her brother-in-law is weird, or his parents had just given him hell before coming here," she whispered, receiving a nod in agreement. "Million bucks says it's the latter," Mercedes muttered, "Johnathan! I need you to take my bags!" A sharp voice called him from outside. "C-coming, Mother!" Johnathan stammered, the colour draining from his face as he rushed out of the house to help Mary-Anne Thompson, his mother, who was no doubt ready to assert her presence. Cruella has arrived. He sprinted past his father, Charles Thompson, who already wore an annoyed expression. "Boy, I can't believe she even had to ask!" Charles scolded, fixing an annoyed gaze on his son before turning to Judy with a forced grin. "Judy! How are things?" He stepped forward, embracing her with faux enthusiasm, before tossing his bag to Frannie. "Can you take care of that for me, Frannie? You're such a doll." Frannie stood frozen for a moment, a mixture of confusion and disbelief crossing her features as she processed the request. Meanwhile, Quinn could only stare wide-eyed as she watched her older sister, her role model, dutifully obey the man with the superficial charm. It felt surreal, and in that brief moment, they all stood on the precipice of chaos, each of them aware that the holiday madness had only just begun. Johnathan returned to the house, panting and trembling with four large bags in his grip. Santana and Mercedes rushed over to help him. "Thank you!" He managed to wheeze out, catching his breath. Mary-Anne Thompson, Johnathan's mother, made her grand entrance shortly thereafter, strutting into the house with an air of confidence. Pouting her perfectly painted lips, she removed her oversized sunglasses, tossing them aside as if shedding a layer of her persona for the occasion. Locking eyes with Judy, she greeted her with drawn-out, pretend cheek kisses that bore the essence of forced etiquette. “Judy,” she said, her voice dripping with insincerity, “How wonderful to see you again... did we arrive at a bad time?” Her eyes travelled disdainfully to the apron Judy wore and the feather duster in her hand. Oh boy. "No, Mary-Anne, of course not," Judy smiled, clenching her teeth, "We're just touching up." Mary-Anne raised an eyebrow in skepticism. “Touching up, huh? You know, dear, I could always help you with the preparations if you need an extra hand,” she offered with a saccharine sweetness that barely concealed her judgment, “I know since the divorce things have been difficult to handle.” Woop, there it is. Judy's smile tightened. "That's very generous of you, Mary-Anne, but I think we've got everything under control." Mary-Anne smiled coldly and turned to Quinn, "Quinn, how wonderful that you're back. I've been telling all the ladies at church about you studying at Yale." “Nice to see you too, Mary-Anne…” Quinn replied, sarcasm lacing her words, and her smile was thin, nearly nonexistent. “These are my friends, Mercedes and–” "And you must be the maid," Mary-Anne addressed Santana, her tone condescending. "Take these bags to the guest suite, gracias." Santana’s eyes narrowed, and smoke spilled from her ears, fury practically radiating from her. “Excuse me–” she began, but before she could launch into a tirade, Johnathan interjected, his voice strained and stressed. "JUDY!" Johnathan choked out before Santana could give Mary-Anne a piece of her mind, "You said you had some wine and some appetizers right? Mother, you love a good pinot!" As Johnathan's plea echoed through the room, everyone felt the tension shift, the holiday madness finally beginning to unfold around them, each moment a precursor to the chaos they all knew was waiting just beneath the surface. "Ah, yes! Wine!" Judy exclaimed, a hint of relief washing over her as she seized upon the distraction. "I thought, since it's such a festive occasion, we could start with a lovely pinot noir I picked up at the market. Let me grab it." "While we would LOVE to stay and chat..." Mercedes cleared her throat, "Quinn, Santana, and I should go to Glee Club now. So nice meeting you!" With that, Mercedes and Quinn briskly guided the still-fuming Santana out of the house and toward Quinn’s waiting car, the external world outside offering a welcome escape from the brewing storm inside. William McKinley High School, Lima, Ohio USATuesday, November 20th, 2012 3:30pm As the shrill sound of the bell resonated through the school corridors, signalling the long-awaited end of the academic day, Blaine, Artie, and Tina hurriedly gathered their belongings. The trio swiftly made their way out of the History classroom, their footsteps echoing against the cold, tiled floor. They threaded their way through the throngs of students, all eager to escape the confines of the school and dive into the freedom of the afternoon. "Finn says he has a surprise for us this week," Artie said, his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he adjusted his glasses. Blaine pushed his chair from behind, navigating his friend to the choir room through the sea of students eager to go home. "Dear God, please not another Britney week..." Blaine deadpanned, Tina walked beside them, her hair bouncing with every step. "I can't wait to see what it is!" she exclaimed, a smile tugging at her lips. The girl was unusually chipper today, and it didn't go unwelcomed, as the boys preferred a sweet, kind Tina to a bitter one. As they rounded the corner, Brittany, Sam, and Sugar filed out of their English class, catching up with the group. "Ehhh, what up Docs?" Sam greeted his friends with an impression. "Bugs Bunny? Are you running out of ideas?" Artie smirked as he gave his friend a fist pump. "Nah, Britt and I watched Looney Tunes reruns at her house last night," Sam replied. The rest of the group exchanged intrigued glances. Since when did Sam and Britt hang out alone? "Did you guys get Finn's text about the surprise in the choir room?" Sugar piped in, "I hope it's a hamster," Brittany smiled excitedly, "Aw that would be so cute! The hamster could be the Glee Club mascot!" Sugar cooed, her enthusiasm infectious, as she envisioned the small creature scurrying around to bring joy to their rehearsals. As they trailed toward the Glee Club room, their voices blended into a symphony of chatter, filled with playful banter and light-hearted shoving. However, their lively conversation fell abruptly silent as they approached the door to the choir room. "Oh…" Sugar began, her voice trailing off, her excitement abruptly dimming. "Well, that's not much of a surprise…" "I thought I saw Quinn's car in the parking lot." Artie added, pursing his lips. "You know... the more they come visit, the more it starts to lose its effect," Sam sighed, "Why didn't she tell me she was here..." Brittany murmured, her tone revealing a twinge of hurt as she stepped closer to the door; her curiosity piqued, but her heart slightly deflated. The New Directions were face-to-face with the former members. The grads smiling proudly at their younger friends. Quinn Fabray, Noah Puckerman, Santana Lopez, Mike Chang, and Mercedes Jones took their places in the middle of the choir room. Santana perched on the piano with Quinn and Mike leaning beside it. Mercedes sat in the rolling chair beside Puck. The current Glee Club members exchanged glances, their features unenthused and unfazed by the unexpected visitors. Yet, the newest members of the group appeared genuinely shocked and wide-eyed, their surprise palpable as they took in the sight of the beloved alumni. "Oh, come on, guys! Don't be like that," Blaine urged. He made his way over to the grads and wrapped them in a tight embrace. The rest of them followed suit. "Alright, everyone! Take a seat!" Finn clapped his hands as he walked into the room. "Do you guys realize that standing before you are legends?" The Glee Club cheered at the smiling alumni. "Every single one of these guys could be president of the United States one day," Finn continued, "I don't know about that," Artie retorted through his grin. "And lucky for us, they've agreed to help us–" "Hang with the new chumps," Puck finished, "And see if some of our sheer awesomeness doesn't rub off on you," he said, giving a mock gesture of wiping dust off his shoulders along with Mike, "It will." Finn unfurled his lesson plan, flipping through the pages with enthusiasm. "When you hear your name, pair up!" he called out, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Puck, you're with your brother," he announced, nodding toward Jake, who beamed back. Puck sauntered over to Jake's side and gave him a fist bump. "Mike, you're with Ryder," Finn continued, gesturing to Mike, who shot finger guns at Ryder, who returned the playful gesture with gusto. "Marley, you're with Santana." Beside Brittany, Marley timidly looked up, her cheeks slightly flushed as she smiled nervously at Santana. "Kitty, you're with Quinn," Finn announced next, prompting Kitty to spring out of her seat in a burst of enthusiasm. "I'm so excited!" she squealed, her voice ringing with eagerness as she rushed to wrap her arms around Quinn, who looked pleasantly surprised by the sudden embrace. "Oh," Quinn yelped, taken aback. "Wade? Mercedes." Mercedes beckoned for Unique to come stand by her. "Sashay!" She giggled, "Enchanté," Unique replied, strutting over with flair, embodying a sense of confidence that lit up the room. "Your mentors are here to help you with whatever you need! Singing, dancing--" "Birth control," Quinn interjected cheekily, her tone dripping with sarcasm. The unexpected comment drew a ripple of laughter from Kitty, who found herself thoroughly entertained. "You're so funny and self-deprecating," Kitty mused, "We're so much alike!" Quinn's eyes widened in response, and an ambiguous expression crossed her face as she thought, "Um, okay?" "Wanky," Santana snorted, unable to contain her amusement. "The worst mistake is to underestimate the competition," Finn explained, "The Warblers are ruthless." As Finn passionately articulated their upcoming performance at Sectionals, Quinn felt an unrelenting gaze directed at her. She turned to see Kitty's sparkling eyes filled with admiration, a little too intense for her comfort. A peculiar mix of flattery and unease washed over her as she smiled outwardly while grappling with the unexpected attention. What is up with this girl? "For our showstopper, we are doing Gangnam Style!" Finn continued enthusiastically. Ew, why? ... After their first Glee Club Sectionals rehearsal, Quinn quietly drove herself home. Santana decided to go home with Brittany, and Mercedes stayed longer with Finn and Mike. She cherished the brief silence in her car as she drove to her doom. The doom in question was her sister Frannie's in-laws, Charles and Mary-Anne, who had taken over their house for the Thanksgiving holiday. The dreaded Thanksgiving guests have been here for less than a day and have already pushed her poor mother's limits. Judy had texted her before she got into her car, telling her that she had decided to go to work on her day off and that Quinn was on her own with the Thompsons. Thanks, Mom. Quinn had barely reached the first step before being called to the kitchen. Mary-Anne wants tea. Fantastic. "Here is your tea, Mary-Anne," Quinn muttered, forcing a small smile as she handed her sister's mother-in-law a piping hot cup of Earl Grey. Mary-Anne took a sip, and immediately, her face contorted into a look of disapproval. "Under steeped," she sighed, her tone dripping with disdain. With a flick of her wrist, she placed the cup back on the tray and passed it back to Quinn as if it were a piece of contaminated trash. Quinn felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment as she took the offending cup back. She bit her lip, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. "Sorry, I'll steep it longer next time," she replied, forcing herself to keep her tone steady. Time seemed to stretch as she turned away, her heart pounding with the familiar tension that always accompanied the Thompsons' visits. As she walked toward the kettle, she overheard Mary-Anne whispering to Charles. "I don't see how they can get this simple thing so wrong. It really is a shame." Mary-Anne lamented, her voice dripping with condescension. Determined to keep her composure, Quinn brewed another cup of tea, taking extra care to ensure it met the lofty standards. When she finally returned with the fresh cup, she barely caught a glimpse of any approval as she set it down before Mary-Anne. She then excused herself, telling the in-laws she had lots of homework to do and retreated to her bedroom. At least they liked that she was a student at Yale University. Quinn had almost reached her desk when she heard her name again, this time coming from the downstairs entertainment room attached to the kitchen. She entered the room to see her brother-in-law, Johnathan, with Charles. Both had worse puzzled expressions as they flipped through the channels on the TV guide. "Can never get these damn machines to work!" Charles gruffed, slapping the remote against his hand, "It's bad enough that the liberal government spies on us through these trinkets; now we can't even watch the game?" "Quinn? Can you help us out? We wanna watch some golf." Johnathan asked, prompting an exaggerated sigh from Quinn. She switched to the sports network and dropped the remote onto Johnathan's lap. "There," she said, feeling a mix of exasperation and short-lived relief as she made her escape back to the comforting solitude of her room. "Quinn!" She stomped over to her door and swung it open. "WHAT IS IT NOW!?" she barked, exasperation spilling from her tone. "There's an Asian lady at the door. She says she knows you." came Charles's informative but tedious reply. "Tina, I'm upstairs! Come to me please!" Tina slipped past Charles and quickly ran upstairs to Quinn's room. "Yikes much? Who are they?" Tina asked, her brow furrowed in concern as she assessed the tense situation that enveloped them both. Quinn sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You have no idea. They're my sister's in-laws. They've turned my house into a battlefield of passive-aggressive comments and unsolicited advice." Tina raised an eyebrow, her expression both amused and sympathetic. "Sounds like a total nightmare. Do they always come in like this?" "It's our first Thanksgiving with them visiting Ohio," Quinn replied, plopping down on her bed. "It's like they have a timeshare in my misery. My mom's already working on her day off to escape them, and I'm left here to play nice with the Thompsons." "Do you want to go to the mall with me and Sugar?" Tina suggested, rubbing her friend's back. "Can't. My mom didn't specify when she'll be home. Frannie's out with my Aunt Gwen getting some last-minute grocery shopping in, my sister's husband, Johnathan is useless. So I have to babysit them." Quinn lamented, the weight of obligation hanging heavily in the air as the tumultuous Thanksgiving holiday loomed ahead. "Sorry, Q. I appreciate you taking the time to help me with my Brown application, though!" Tina lightened up, "Us Ivy Leagues gotta stick together!" "You... you think Brown is an Ivy League?" "The hell, Fabray? It's literally on the Ivy League list!" Tina exclaimed, folding her arms defiantly. "Just because you go to a college that people talk about in movies doesn't mean–" "Okay, okay, Tina! I'm sorry!" Quinn raised her hands defensively, "Let's work on your essay." With a determined nod, Tina pulled out her sleek laptop from her bag, the familiar hum of technology filling the air as they settled into a collaborative rhythm. The two girls dove into the task at hand, poring over Tina's essay prompts, revising her ideas, and carefully proofreading the text. As they worked side by side, a comforting sense of camaraderie began to weave its way through the stress that had momentarily enveloped Quinn, casting a soft light on the daunting day ahead. "So, are you ready for your big Sectionals solo?" Quinn asked, "Not really, to be honest," Tina shrugged, "I've waited for four years to get a solo and it's not even in English!" "Aren't you Korean?" "Well, yeah. I was born there. But I was adopted by a Chinese family, and I've never visited South Korea." Tina rolled her eyes. "We're only doing Gangnam Style because it's viral right now!" "I think Finn's on to something, though. Do you want to go back to only singing Journey songs?" Quinn raised her eyebrow. But she did agree with Tina. It was a very odd choice. Tina smirked sheepishly, her defences slightly lowering. "No… not quite, but it's just so cheesy!" "Regardless, I really think you'll do great! Remember how you absolutely crushed 'ABC' last year?" Quinn encouraged her, hoping to inject a bit of confidence into her friend. "Gosh, that was such a fun performance!" Tina smiled, "I could argue that your performance was our most important win! You united the Glee Club again with the Troubletones' loss." Quinn playfully nudged her friend, placing her head on her shoulder. "After you convinced Santana and Mercedes to come back," Tina countered, giggling. "Oh, come on. They wanted to be back so bad, I think they just wanted to be tough," Quinn waved dismissively, Just then, Tina's Blackberry chimed loudly, jolting them from their conversation with the unmistakable sound of an incoming text. Curiously, she reached over to pick it up, eager to see who was on the other end. "It's my mom, I have to go. Sorry, Quinn. I'll see you tomorrow." With that, Tina began to gather her belongings, shoving her books into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. She stood up, casting a quick apologetic glance at Quinn before making her way toward the door, the faint sound of her phone buzzing in her hand as she read her mother's message. "No, please! Don't leave me with—" But before Quinn could finish her plea, Tina had already shut the door behind her and rushed downstairs. Just two minutes later, the low hum of an engine rumbled outside, followed by the sound of tires rolling over asphalt. "Them..." Quinn sighed, a sense of resignation settling over her as she prepared to face the impending chaos alone. "Quinn! Can you come downstairs, please?" Two minutes... it took two minutes before they disturbed her peace again. William McKinley High School, Lima, Ohio USAWednesday November 21st, 2012, 7:30am2 days until Sectionals The following morning, Quinn navigated her way into the bustling parking lot of McKinley High, the vibrant scene unfolding in front of her as the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon. The sky was a breathtaking canvas of oranges and pinks, casting a warm, golden hue that illuminated the brick façade of the high school—its windows glinting as if winking back at the day ahead. As she parked her car, Quinn noticed the shadows elongating across the asphalt, where students congregated in lively clusters, their animated voices creating a symphony of laughter and chatter that filled the air. Some leaned against their vehicles, while others energetically exchanged stories as they hugged their backpacks to their chests. A gentle breeze rustled through the nearby trees, their leaves whispering secrets of the season as Quinn stepped out, glancing at her watch. 7:30 in the morning, time for another Sectionals rehearsal. "It gets dark so much this time of year," She thought as she closed the door behind her, clicking the button on her keys to lock her car. As Quinn walked towards the front door, she was flanked by Santana on her right and Brittany on her left. "The Unholy Trinity is back!" Brittany cheered. Quinn couldn't help but smile hearing the trio's nickname from Sophomore year. "So, Britt and I were thinking..." Santana started, her voice playful as they strolled toward the school, a hint of mischief dancing in her tone. "Which is always a bad idea," Quinn quipped with a smirk, her raised eyebrow teasingly skeptical of whatever plan was brewing in Santana's mind. "That we should give the Glee girls a little number. Show them how to capture the audience's attention and snag points for charm." Santana continued with a hint of sass in her delivery, "We were the true stars of the New Directions, anyway." "Santana, I'm not wearing a Cheerios uniform again," Quinn replied, "Can't imagine it would even fit you anymore," Santana teased back, a smirk etched across her lips. "But trust me, this isn't about donning anything fancy. We're just aiming to give them a little taste of what real talent looks like," she shrugged playfully, her tone filled with indefatigable spirit. Quinn couldn't help but be intrigued. "What do you have in mind then?" Brittany, ever the dedicated dreamer, rummaged through her oversized bag and, with a triumphant flourish, pulled out a crumpled piece of sheet music. "I was thinking we could do 'Come See About Me.' I love that song!" Brittany declared, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. The simple mention of the song sparked a flicker of excitement in Quinn's heart; it was a classic, one rich with emotion and energy—perfect for their impromptu performance to inspire the new girls. "Mmm, okay!" Santana and Brittany squealed excitedly as the trio made their way to the choir room. Meanwhile, across the school, the boys were assembling in the auditorium, ready to refine their choreography under Mike's focused direction. In the choir room, the 'Unholy Trinity' had no trouble settling the girls in, each taking charge in their own way. Stepping into her role as the leader, Quinn distributed copies of 'Come See About Me' to the accompanying band, ensuring they were fully prepared for their unexpected performance. With eager determination, Kitty dragged her chair closer to Quinn, the legs screeching against the floor, breaking the momentary silence with an abrupt noise. "Along with being beautiful, the three of us are National Show Choir Championship goddesses." Brittany announced, her voice ringing with pride. "Five of us..." Tina and Sugar piped in, "Sorry I forgot you guys were here," Brittany mumbled, "What Britt means to say is that we are winners! Which is why Finn has asked us to come and shower you with the inspiration that is the Unholy Trinity," Santana declared, "We knew each other so well that I could tell by the slightest quiver of Santana's upper lip which way we were going to move." Quinn explained, "Whether our hips would shake or shimmy." "Now, you girls have to be tight out there, okay?" Santana added, gesturing to her small audience, "The judges love the feminine quality that the Warblers just don't have." "It's about being individuals," Quinn said, her tone firm and confident, "We're all different... but it's also about synchronicity." The New Directions exchanged puzzled glances, brows furrowing at Quinn's last statement. "Can you give us an example?" Marley suggested, Quinn exchanged glances at Santana and Brittany; that was precisely what they were going to do. "It's been a few months, but I'm sure the three of us can come up with something on the fly." The girls erupted with cheers, begging the 'Unholy Trinity' to give them a show. As Quinn, Santana, and Brittany turned towards the band, they all fell into their positions, hands confidently planted on their hips, ready to captivate their audience.
I've been cryin'...
Ooh, ooh!
'Cause I'm lonely...
For you!
Smiles have all turned...
To tears!
The tears won't wash away the fears...
That you're never gonna return...
That eases the fire that within me burns...
It keeps me cryin', baby, for you...
Keeps me sighin', baby, for you...
So, won't you hurry...
Come on, boy, see about me...
Come see about me...
The three of them poured their hearts and souls into the song, their voices blending beautifully, creating a rich tapestry of sound that filled the room. Their stage presence was magnetic, drawing every eye in the room and leaving their fellow performers breathless, utterly captivated by the undeniable talent and chemistry that radiated from the Unholy Trinity. However, amidst the applause and enthusiasm, Marley sat perched at the piano, her complexion suddenly paling, looking decidedly unwell. Her mentor, Santana, noticed it first. "Hey, are you okay? You look like you're going to hurl..." she asked, concern etched on her face as she stepped closer to Marley, gauging her condition. Marley then sat up straight and plastered on a smile. "I think I'm just really tired from rehearsal," she replied weakly. Marley turned to jump off the piano, slinging her bag around her shoulder. Santana and Brittany decided to follow her. Then, the other girls filed out of the choir room, leaving Kitty with Quinn alone. "Hi..." Kitty beamed at Quinn, her expression filled with unfiltered admiration, which made the older blonde feel a mix of flattery and discomfort. "H-hi?" Quinn replied back cautiously. Something about Kitty's relentless enthusiasm felt a bit overwhelming, as though the younger girl was placing her on a pedestal that Quinn did not feel she deserved. "You were absolutely terrific as always, Quinn!" Kitty gushed, her wide eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'm just so happy you're my mentor! I know I'm going to learn so much from you!" Quinn felt her heart warm at the compliment, yet the exuberance in Kitty's voice also struck her as a little too intense. "Thanks, I'm delighted to help..." she replied, her voice softening. "I have a free period. Would you like to walk with me to my car?" Kitty asked, her invitation accompanied by a bright, eager smile that radiated admittedly infectious energy. Before she could answer, the Cheerio dragged her mentor out of the choir room and into the hallway. "Now that we're alone, can I tell you a secret?" Kitty asked, holding her binder tight against her chest. "Of course," Quinn replied, taking in the halls of her alma mater. "If Finn hadn't paired us together, I would've thrown such a hissy." Quinn creased her brow, looking down at the younger girl. "Why is that?" "Because you're Quinn Fabray, and I idolize you," Kitty replied matter-of-factly. Then, the girls stopped at her locker. "You're Cheerios royalty. Can I show you something?" Kitty opened her locker door to reveal a photo of sophomore Quinn Fabray posing with a mega-watt smile and a photoshopped halo on the top of the pyramid, captioned 'WWQFD' underneath. Quinn's jaw dropped at the sight, her eyes widening in disbelief. She was momentarily at a loss for words, completely taken aback by the revelation that her legacy still resonated deeply with others in ways she had never anticipated. She didn't know what to make of this. "Every day, I ask myself, 'What Would Quinn Fabray Do?' That's the caption under your photo," Kitty explained proudly, "Nearly half of the Cheerios squad has this as their mantra. You're our Jesus! Although you'll never be Jesus. But you're second place." Quinn stared at the poster, mouth still agape. She then turned to the younger blonde. "It's really nice to know that people still remember me here..." She said slowly, "Remember you? Oh, no. We aspire to be you. Me especially." Oh... okay... Quinn took a half step back, feeling both astonished and a little creeped out. But Kitty Wilde seemed like a nice girl, so she decided to let it slide. She turned her gaze past Kitty and landed on Marley Rose, who was talking to Puck's brother, Jake. Marley looked a little out of it during rehearsal, and Quinn couldn't shake a growing concern for her well-being amidst the revelry surrounding them. "What's up with Marley? She seemed a little out of it during rehearsal," "Oh, that one? She's sweet as pie, and I tried to be a good friend to her. But ever since she started dating Jake Puckerman, I fear she's on the wrong path," Kitty replied somberly, closing her locker door, "Word is he's pressuring her to swipe her V-card with him." Well... that sounds familiar... "If that were to happen," Kitty continued, "Well, no one knows the dangers of a good girl mixing with a Puckerman better than you." Quinn knew exactly what she meant. Quinn with Puck, Finn with... Rachel. Rachel! Quinn gasped. She could not let this boy mess with Marley. She turned on her heel and stormed back into the hallway towards Jake Puckerman, who was now talking to his older brother. "Oh! Speak of the devil I knocked up. Hey, Q," Noah Puckerman greeted, his voice booming as he reached out for a hug, but Quinn coldly declined his affectionate gesture, a frown etched across her face. "Stay away from Marley," Quinn warned, staring daggers at Jake. "Excuse me?" Jake shot back, "I got this, little bro," Puck said as he nudged his brother aside, "See that furrowed brow, lips pursed, hand on her hip?"He explained, pointing out Quinn's expression, "This is what I like to call 'Loopy Quinn.' It's an irrational state she only reserves for Puckermans." "Noah, listen to me. Your brother is messing with Marley's head! He's pressuring her to have sex with him," Quinn replied, "Who told you that?" Jake raised an eyebrow, "I don't need somebody to tell me that the biggest womanizer in school is trying to take advantage of the naive girl who just wants to fit in and be loved. Especially if the womanizer's last name is Puckerman," Quinn turned her gaze to Noah. "Hey! Not cool, bro!" Puck lightly shoved Jake. "I'm a lot of things he's not. I would never do that to Marley," Jake argued, "I don't believe that," she shrugged, walking away. "Quinn, I think you being out of line here. Can we just talk about this?" Puck pleaded, She turned around again with a hand on her hip. "The only way you're going to win Sectionals is if Marley is at her best. If you keep distracting her, Jacob , she's not going to be." Quinn stormed out of the hallway to go back home. William McKinley High School, Lima, Ohio USAThursday November 22nd, 2012, 3:45pm Sectionals tomorrow! Thanksgiving... today... "Okay, guys. I know it's been a day, I know you're all hungry for turkey, but we really need to get this choreography tight!" Mike exclaimed as he replayed the tape, "Shoulders back, shorter turns, count your steps. Five, six, seven, eight!" It was after school at McKinley High, and the Glee Club were all in the auditorium rehearsing for Sectionals. The New Directions followed Mike as he ran them through the choreography. Just returning from their girls' lunch, Mercedes, Santana, and Quinn watched the new kids from the side of the stage. As the teens shuffled, albeit a little sloppy, to 'Gangnam Style,' Santana sneakily began to tip-toe over to the kids' backpacks. "Santana! What are you doing?" Quinn hissed, trying to keep her voice low enough not to alert Mike or the others, "Get back here; they need to practice!" "Grabbing Marley's bag," Santana replied, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk that spelled trouble, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief as she stealthily approached their backpacks lined against the wall. Mercedes and Quinn exchanged confused and exasperated glances. Leave it to Santana Lopez to stick her nose, literally, in other peoples' business. Ignoring the steady rhythm of the rehearsal behind her, Santana plopped Marley's backpack onto a nearby stool. She began to sift through it with a determined focus, her expression shifting to gleeful concentration. Pens, notebooks, and an assortment of personal items cascaded to the floor, caught in the whirlwind of her search. With every item she discarded, Mercedes groaned, shaking her head at her friend's antics. At the same time, Quinn glared disapprovingly with her arms crossed. Dancing at the centre of the stage, Marley took her spin too early and spun around, eyes glancing at her mentor. Santana kept digging through her bag, unbeknownst to catching Marley's attention. The younger girl curiously marched over to her mentor. "Why are you going through my bag?" Marley asked, her voice a blend of confusion and irritation as she approached Santana. Santana remained focused on her mission, grinning widely as she replied, "It's all part of being a mentor, you see." Her hands continued to dig through the depths of Marley's bag, her eyes scanning for something that piqued her curiosity. Then, triumphantly, she pulled out a small, innocuous box and held it up for inspection. "What do we have here? Hmm?" she mused. She showed Marley the box of laxatives, raising her eyebrows, "And don't tell me it's because the cafeteria food binds you up." Marley's face transformed from confusion to embarrassment to panic. "Those are, like, from months ago," Marley quickly explained, "I forgot they were in there." "Hmm, sure," Santana nodded sarcastically. She then caught a glimpse of Kitty in the corner of her eye. They locked eyes for a second before Kitty looked away. "Not so sneaky, are you, Wilde?" Santana thought as she narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "I know you're up to no good." ... Quinn entered the choir room to find her purse... and sanity. Today was Thanksgiving. Today was Thanksgiving with her family. Today was Thanksgiving with her sister, Frannie's mother and father-in-law. Today was her mother's first dinner hosted since the divorce. Today was– "Hi, Quinn!" Kitty Wilde skipped into the room, snapping Quinn out of her panicked trance. "Hello, Kitty, shouldn't you be home by now?" Quinn smiled warmly at the younger girl. "Yes, however, I was told you were still in the building. I was hoping to snag some last-minute show choir advice from my favourite mentor—my mentor, mentor." The blonde Cheerio winked in reply, eyes sparkling. She hopped onto the piano, legs swinging back and forth in anticipation. "Kitty, can't this wait until tomorrow? I–" "Please?" Quinn sighed, then regained a cheerful composure. "Try to make eye contact with the judges. And don't be afraid to give them a flirty little smile, maybe even a wink," She said as she demonstrated a flirty wink, "You're really doing them a favour. You're reminding them of their youth, and what might have been." "I'm going to write that down," Kitty replied, her voice chipper. She leaped off the piano, wrapped her arms around Quinn in a quick hug, and exclaimed, "You're the best mentor ever! See you tomorrow!" As she made her way to the exit, Santana strolled in. "Hola," Kitty muttered curtly to Santana, rolling her eyes as she slipped past the older girl, effectively cutting off any chance of conversation. Santana watched Kitty disappear down the hallway with a conniving smirk creeping across the tiny sophomore's face. Santana frowned, shaking her head as she walked towards Quinn. "That bitch is pure evil!" Santana exclaimed, gesturing to the cheerleader, who joined the other kids in the hallway and left the two girls alone. "I think she's sweet," Quinn stared at Santana in disbelief. "Really?" The Latina scoffed, "Then why is she giving my girl laxatives? I found them while I was going through Marley's bag at rehearsal. The pretty little liar gave them to her. I can sense it thanks to my psychic Mexican third eye... Half-Mexican."
"This is what my psych professor calls projecting. We were just going over a behavioural study last week. You're projecting Kitty onto me," Quinn shrugged as Santana leaned over the piano, "Santana, we've graduated. It's really time to get over this." Santana straightened up, folding her arms defiantly, her weight shifting onto one leg as she eyed Quinn critically. "Get over what?" she questioned, her tone dripping with sass. "You being jealous of me," Quinn concluded, Santana took a moment to stare at the blonde, crinkling her face incredulously. "And why would I be jealous of you?" She snarked, "And please don't tell me it's because you're in some lame secret Nazi sorority." "Look, the society, and I helped Jodie Foster throw her annual clambake, and that professor I was talking about, well..." Quinn smirked, pausing for effect, "She's thirty-five, smokes a pipe, took me on as her TA. She's divorcing her husband, who hasn't touched her in years, and... I'm dating her." "Wow. Twitter Update!" Santana announced humorously, "Quinn is all excited about another person defining her life." "And what are you excited about, huh?" Quinn shot back, her voice low and menacing as she rested her elbows on the piano, "Shaking pom-poms in Kentucky? You want everybody to think you're such a badass, but really you're just a scared little girl with low self-esteem." She narrowed her eyes at her friend, "Who's too frightened to chase her dreams." "Did Professor Patches teach you that one between quickies on her office couch?" Santana retorted, "Does she get soooo turned on by teen moms who never visit their kid?" And just like that, the girls had both touched a nerve. Quinn landed the first blow, her hand swiftly slapping Santana's face. Santana eagerly returned the violent gesture. "What are you guys doing?!" Brittany exclaimed, walking into the scene unfolding in front of her. In front of her, Quinn and Santana stood awkwardly, both wincing as they instinctively rubbed the sore spots on their cheeks. Quinn glanced at Santana, the unspoken agreement passing between them like a silent signal, and they both relaxed slightly, lowering their hands. The palpable hostility simmering between them diminished as they recognized the need to defuse the situation for Brittany's sake. "Nothing, Britt, nothing at all," Quinn sighed. She grabbed her purse and walked away, "See you at dinner, San." "Quinn was always a genius slapper," Santana mumbled, Quinn sat at her vanity and opened up her makeup kit, pulling out a colourful array of lipsticks to wear tonight. Her mom gave her a few minutes to prepare before the guests arrived. The aroma of Thanksgiving dinner wafted from the kitchen up the stairs to her bedroom, a delicious yet harsh reminder of what was coming. Quinn decided on a red lip to complete her look. At Mary-Anne Thompson's request, she wore a white dress with white flats. As she applied her makeup carefully, there was a soft knock on the door. Mercedes slowly opened the door, peeking her head in. Quinn gave her a nod, inviting her friend to come in. "Hey..." Mercedes said softly, sitting down on the foot of Quinn's bed. She wore a beautiful purple dress and a black cardigan. Her hair was done up and curled, "How are we feeling?" "Awful. I'm planning an escape route as soon as the first passive-aggressive comment leaves Mary-Anne's lips," Quinn replied, shuddering at the thought of her sister's mother-in-law's harsh remarks at the dinner table. "Don't worry, girl. I got your back, Santana too," Mercedes reassured, her tone steadfast, though Quinn felt a flicker of uncertainty at the mention of her other friend. "I don't know about Santana, we didn't exactly leave on good terms this afternoon after rehearsal," Quinn shrugged, "Yeah... I heard about that," Mercedes admitted, leaning back against the bed's plush comfort, her fingers twiddling nervously. "Rachel says hi..." "Okay? Tell her hi back?" Quinn creased her brow, "Why are you telling me... this..." she trailed off, eyes widening in realization. Silence hung between the friends; Mercedes tried to avert her gaze. Quinn rested her elbows on the vanity, burying her head in her hands. Of course, Of course, Santana, in a fit of unrestrained rage, would spill the beans about Quinn's secret crush. She remembered the time when Santana told Rachel what happened between her and Finn. "I can't believe she told you..." Quinn groaned, her voice muffled. "I can't believe you didn't," Mercedes replied, "Thought we were best friends." "We are, 'Cedes," Quinn retorted, lifting her head to meet Mercedes's gaze, "But come on, you, Kurt, and Rachel have been attached at the hip since Junior Year." "Q, I love the girl. But I don't tell her everything," Mercedes replied, "Nobody does. For her own sake, of course." She grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the vanity, "Let's go downstairs, my parents are here." The girls stepped downstairs and walked over to the living room, where Judy, Mercedes' parents–Dr. Sean and Tasha Jones, Mary-Anne, Charles, Johnathan and Frannie were gathered. "Hi, Sean! Hi, Tasha!" Quinn smiled warmly at Mercedes' parents. "Quinn, you look lovely. I brought my sweet potato pie, your favourite," Dr. Tasha Jones said, her warm smile lighting up the room as she approached Quinn with open arms. Quinn stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Tasha in an affectionate hug. "I see you're fitting into Yale just fine. Your mother was just telling us about the internship program." "I love it there! But you must be really proud of Mercedes for getting into UCLA," Quinn replied, "Oh, we are, honey." Dr. Sean Jones piped in, "We were a little apprehensive of Mercedes pursuing a music degree at first. But, when I heard my baby sing in that 'Disco Inferno' video. I knew she was going to be all right." "But there's a backup plan, of course," Mary-Anne 'delightfully' added. Quinn and her mother, Judy, tensed up at Mary-Anne's remark. Mercedes shifted nervously. The actual Thanksgiving festivities had yet to begin, but the impending storm of Mary-Anne's judgment loomed over them all. Cue the controversial statement from her husband, Charles. "I mean she has to lose a bit of weight to–mmph," Charles began, his voice laced with unfiltered bluntness before Jonathan, quick on his feet, shoved an hors d'oeuvre into his father's mouth, cutting off the potentially disastrous statement. Maybe Johnathan Thompson wasn't useless after all. "Judy, these crab cakes are just divine!" Johnathan laughed nervously, "You have to send Frannie the recipe." Then, there was a knock on the door, easing the tension. Judy and Quinn both let out a sigh of relief. Thankful that the conversation was coming to a pause. Judy's sister, Aunt Helen, and Quinn's thirteen-year-old cousin, Wesley, entered the foyer. Helen rushed over to engulf Quinn in a tight embrace. Wesley, who was now at least a foot taller than her, was too preoccupied with his Nintendo DS to acknowledge anyone. "Uncle Phil gave it to him this summer for his birthday. I've been wanting to run it over with my car every day since then," Aunt Helen muttered, casting a sideways glance at her son, "Enough chit-chat, Judy, where's the wine?" Judy firmly held her sister's shoulder, "Helen, the Thompsons are here." she warned. "No way! The monster-in-laws?" Aunt Helen gasped. She immediately smoothed down her dress and touched up her hair. "Yes, it was my husband's idea..." Frannie chimed in, wrapping her arms around the older woman, "Hi, Aunt Helen. Hi, Wes." "Hey," Wesley grumbled; his voice was two octaves deeper since Quinn last saw him as well. Aunt Helen snatched the game from her son's hands and shoved it into her purse. Prompting a groan in protest. "Wesley Caleb Lewandowski, I'll be damned to give Mary-Anne Thompson any reason to critique me. You stand up straight and tuck in your shirt for pete's sake!" She hissed. She then pushed her son down the hall to the living room. Just as Judy began to close the door, Dr. Miguel Lopez softly pushed it open again, flanked by his wife, Maribel Lopez, holding a large crockpot. Santana stood behind her parents, frowning as she locked eyes with Quinn. She hadn't changed her clothes since rehearsal, wearing a tight black dress and matching pumps with a lacy white see-through jean jacket. "Judy! Feliz Día de Acción de Gracias!" Maribel and Miguel said in unison, "The Lopezes are here!" Judy called out, taking the crockpot from Maribel. Mary-Anne and Charles exchanged disapproving glances at the mention of the Lopezes, their expressions darkening. "Hey, Miguel!" Sean clapped Miguel on the back as they exchanged warm greetings, "It's been too long, brother." "Maribel, Miguel, I'll introduce you to the family," Judy guided Santana's parents towards the living room. Dr. Jones and Frannie followed behind, leaving Santana and Quinn alone in the foyer. "Happy Thanksgiving," Santana mumbled, looking down on the floor with her hands behind her back. "Sorry about slapping me yet?" Quinn smiled smugly, "And for telling Mercedes about me liking Rachel?" "As long as you're sorry for slapping me," Santana retorted, Quinn chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Alright, I'm sorry for that too. But can you blame me? You caught me off guard!" Santana raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "I guess I can let it slide... for today. Thanksgiving truce?" "Truce," Quinn agreed, extending her hand for a shake. Instead, Santana pulled Quinn into a quick side hug. "Just don't let it happen again. I, like, love you or whatever." She shrugged, Quinn laughed softly at her best friend, "Deal. I love you or whatever too. So, are you ready to face the monster-in-laws with me?" "Is 'Cedes here?" Santana asked, pursing her lips. "Yup. But the rest of my family isn't here yet so I'll be up and down the hallway." Quinn replied, peering out the front window. "Is your mom letting us drink wine?" Santana suddenly lit up. "Nobody wants to see you wine-drunk, San," Quinn rolled her eyes in response. She lightly pushed her towards the living room, where the rest of the Thanksgiving guests were gathered. "Judy! Come here, little sis! I have a full load of food!" Aunt Gwen swung open the front door, holding a large casserole dish. Cousin Serena and Cousin Abbie wobbled behind their mother, holding equally large serving bowls as well. Uncle Norm stood idly by with nothing in his hands. Typical Carlson family. "Oh, and I picked up mom and dad!" "Where is my little Yale scholar?" Paulie Fischer strolled into the house, searching for Quinn. "Where's the beer?" Greg Fischer grumbled, beelining towards the garage. "HI-YA!!!" Quinn's seven-year-old cousins, Jamie and Lilly Lewandowski, burst through the garage entrance adorned in their judo uniforms, nearly knocking Grandpa Greg over. "Jamie! Lilly! Be careful with Grandpa!" Uncle Phil chased them into the house, gripping their formal clothes. Soon after the twins disappeared, there was a loud crash and shatter. No doubt it came from them. "You know what, Santana? I have some liquor stored away in my bedroom. Let's grab it," Quinn sighed, exasperated. She, Santana, and Mercedes quietly rushed upstairs to her bedroom. "Okay, okay, okay. So, my entire super dysfunctional family is here! Yay!" Quinn giggled nervously, pacing around her bedroom as Santana and Mercedes watched from her bed, "Aunt Gwen brought more food than she said she was bringing. The twins are destroying the house, and Uncle Phil and Aunt Helen have pretty much given up on them. Wesley is alive as a stone without his video game. Uncle Norm and Grandpa are already yelling at the TV. Mary-Anne is having the 'give me grandkids' to Frannie and Johnathan, and Charles is probably saying something racist to your parents, Santana." In a moment of desperation, Quinn swiped the wine bottle from Mercedes and took a generous swig, hoping to steady herself amidst the delightful chaos that was her family. "Damn, Fabray!" Santana exclaimed, impressed, "College life has definitely taught you how to hold your alcohol." Quinn wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a slight grin spreading across her face as she embraced the mayhem outside her door, ready—or at least somewhat prepared—for whatever was about to unfold next at Thanksgiving. "All right. I feel buzzed. Let's get back out there." Just as Quinn reached for the doorknob, her cousins, Abbie and Serena, barged in. Tall and blonde like Quinn, wearing self-satisfied grins and modest dresses. All three cousins had matching crosses hung around their necks. "Heard there was wine in here?" Serena asked, "It's nuts downstairs." "Santana, Mercedes, these are my Uncle Norm and Aunt Gwen's daughters. Serena goes to the University of Illinois, and Abbie's in her Junior Year." Abbie eyed Quinn with a hint of disdain. "Wow, Quinn," she said, crossing her arms. "I'm surprised you even remember us at all. You never bother to call, and it's like you've forgotten we exist until there's a family gathering. Speaking of family gatherings... where's your daughter?" she and Serena snickered. Quinn felt the tension crackling in the air, and before things could escalate, Santana was quick to intervene, stepping forward with a fierce protective glare. "Wow, Abbie," Santana shot back, "You're kind of a–" "OKAY, Santana!" Quinn interjected, raising her hands in a bid to defuse the brewing storm. She shuffled to the foot of her bed and bent over. "Here, drink." Quinn handed a bottle of liquor to her cousins. Serena took the first swig and reluctantly handed the bottle to her younger sister. "Tell mom, and you're toast," She muttered a warning, "All right ladies, let's go." The five girls, all buzzed, walked out of Quinn's room and descended downstairs, where their family gathered. In the entertainment room, Miguel Lopez, Sean Jones, Uncle Norm, Uncle Phil, Grandpa Greg, Johnathan, and Charles sat huddled on the couch, eyes fixated on the game playing on the screen. Beers were clasped in their hands, and their synchronized shouts filled the air every time their team made a play. Wesley lounged comfortably across an armchair, his eyes laser-focused on his Nintendo DS, clearly having scavenged it from his mother's purse. In the corner of Quinn's eye, Jamie, already dishevelled and missing one of his sneakers, chased his twin sister around the house, both shrieking with laughter. Lilly, looking frazzled, had already managed to tear a hole in her tights. Aunt Helen stood by exasperated as she watched her kids, third glass of wine in hand. In the kitchen, Granny, Judy and Tasha Jones prepared the sides as Aunt Gwen and Maribel Lopez set up the table in the dining room. Meanwhile, in the living room, Mary-Anne sat opposite her daughter-in-law, Frannie, who looked distinctly uneasy under the scrutiny of her mother-in-law. Quinn's protective instincts kicked in, and she hurried toward the living room, determined to rescue her sister from the mounting tension. "Weird time to say this, but holy crap, 'Cedes! It's a blonde hair convention up in here, us and our parents stick out so badly." Santana chuckled, glancing around at the sea of light hair that filled the space. "I know right? We're surrounded by white people and it's a nightmare!" Mercedes replied, deftly dodging the flying sneakers belonging to Jamie, who continued his playful chase, making her statement all the more poignant. About fifteen minutes later, the enticing aroma of dinner wafted through the air, signalling that the meal was finally ready. The adults, except for Quinn, Santana, Mercedes, and Serena, began to gather around the elegantly set dining room table, their voices mingling in cheerful conversation. Meanwhile, the girls found themselves relegated to a makeshift kids' table nearby—a simple folding table that seemed almost too small for the gathering. Santana was squished between the twins, Jamie and Lilly, who threw dinner rolls at each other. Santana took hits from the bread in the crossfire. Mercedes sat between Abbie and Wesley, who finally looked up from his game. Abbie looked done with everyone at the table. Meanwhile, Serena and Quinn occupied opposite ends of the table, their expressions locked in a friendly yet competitive face-off, both girls ready to assert their dominance in whatever conversation came next. "It's so nice to bring your friends here, Lucy ," Serena shot an icy look to Quinn, gesturing to Santana and Mercedes, "Thanksgiving is usually a time for family, but you were always the... unconventional type." "I don't think you noticed, Serena. But both Mercedes and Santana's parents are here," Quinn bit back, "You could've brought your friends too. You were going on and on about driving here in your new car." "Quinn? Why are you not Lucy anymore?" Jamie asked innocently, mouth full of mashed potatoes. "Oh, I'll answer that, Jamie," Serena leaned back in her chair, arms folded, "Cousin Quinn and I were in the same class every year until she switched to public school. She was a... late bloomer. Tiniest girl in our class from Kindergarten to the eighth grade." She explained with a smirk, "Everyone called her Little Lucy; kids would pick her up and pretend to drop her on the playground, hide her crayons where she couldn't reach." Quinn gripped her knife and fork tightly, cheeks flushing as Serena aired her dirty laundry to their little cousin. "One day, when we were thirteen, someone picked her up and threw her over their shoulder. Quinn fell and broke her nose so severely that she had to get a nose job. I think that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Quinn started being mean and judgy towards everyone. She finally hit puberty in the summer before high school and grew taller and curvier. She changed her name to her middle name and switched schools. From all the tossing around the bullies did, she had a knack for cheerleading. Can't explain the gay acapella singing, though." Serena added, and Abbie snorted. "It's show choir, Serena," Quinn cut in, eyes narrowing, "And I have a National title. Also, it wasn't the bullying that got me on the Cheerios; I did gymnastics." "Serena, honey," Judy smiled warmly as she placed more rolls on the kids' table, "You and Quinn sang with the youth choir at church, remember? You girls always had such lovely voices, I don't know why you stopped singing." "My question is why you stopped cheerleading, Quinn," Charles chimed in from his spot at the adult's table, "Didn't Coach Sue invite you back after your... issue?" "Speaking of which, Tasha and Sean, you two are truly blessed for sharing your home for Quinn while Judy went through her crisis," Mary-Anne added, smiling smugly. "Mary-Anne, Russell and I got a divorce," Judy corrected her, turning bright red. "Umm, thanks? Sean and I may be dentists, but as medical professionals we are very passionate about advocating for proper sex-ed in our school system," Dr. Tasha replied, "Sex-ed? Why should we traumatize our children with that graphic information?" Mary-Anne countered sharply, rolling her eyes as if the suggestion alone was the height of insanity. "Agreed!" Uncle Phil raised his glass in support of Mary-Anne's statement. Aunt Helen sighed heavily, rubbing her temples as if to ease the growing tension, and reached for a glass of wine, pouring herself a generous amount. Charles leaned forward, his tone shifting to a more accusatory pitch. "You know, Quinn, an award-winning organization like the Cheerios would have never turned you away! You could have been captain from your sophomore year right up to graduation instead of... well, having to watch that Mexican lesbian take the spot in that ridiculous campaign commercial." He gestured animatedly, almost knocking over his drink in his fervor. "Excuse me? That 'lesbian' is my daughter!" Maribel shot back protectively. Miguel stared daggers at Charles. "WHAT?! Her?" Charles dropped his utensils and pointed bewilderingly at Santana. Santana threw her hands up defensively. "Lord have mercy!" Grandma Paulie cried out, her voice a mixture of horror and incredulity as she threw her hands up, palms facing the ceiling, as if the revelation had struck her like a bolt of lightning. Amidst the commotion, Quinn stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. With fierce determination, she slammed her fork down onto her plate, the sound echoing through the tense air. "Hey, Charles," she declared passionately, her voice steady yet forceful, "I'm a lesbian too!" The declaration landed like a bombshell, and in unison, Mary-Anne and Grandma Paulie screamed, "NOOO!" Their voices merged in a dramatic outburst, enveloping the room as shocked as if the world had just turned upside-down. "What? How can you be a lesbian when you have a kid?" Wesley furrowed his brow, now invested in the conversation. "What's a lesbian?" Lilly asked, "LUCY QUINN FABRAY YOU HAVE A CHILD?!?" Grandma Paulie exclaimed, nearly fainting in her husband's arms. Quinn nodded sheepishly, "Her name is Beth and she's two..." "TWO?!? Oh, Gregory! Our favourite grandchild is a lesbian who had a child out of wedlock!" her grandmother sobbed in Grandpa Greg's arms. "FAVOURITE?!" Frannie, Wesley, Serena, Abbie, and the twins shouted in unison. Staring at their grandparents in disbelief. "This is outrageous!" Grandpa Greg boomed, "Who's the man that defiled you?" "Noah Puckerman, dad. It doesn't matter now; it's old news, and Quinn gave her up." Judy piped in, visibly shaken and clutching at her own emotions, trying to anchor the situation. "Doesn't matter? Judith, how could you let this happen?!" Paulie momentarily lost her composure, her voice trembling with disappointment. "She had the child with the boy; they have to get married!" "WHAT?" Quinn, Santana, and Mercedes exclaimed in unison, "Don't act surprised, Quinn. You should've thought of that before you went to bed with him!" Mary-Anne snapped, "I had to marry your Uncle Norm after we found out I was pregnant with Serena," Aunt Gwen admitted, "Otherwise I would've never married him." "Mom, seriously?!" Serena gasped, and Abbie's jaw dropped to the floor. Uncle Norm shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Yup. That's why we're getting a damn divorce, Norman! I can't take it anymore!" The room fell into an almost unbearable silence, the weight of Aunt Gwen’s declaration hanging heavily in the air. Uncle Norm, looking both bemused and irritated, finally spoke up, his voice strained. "You can't just drop that on everyone like this! We're family, and—" "This is just a preposterous display from everyone!" Mary-Anne huffed, crossing her arms, "I advise you take your sinful selves down to the church right this–" "SHUT UP MARY-ANNE!" Frannie shouted at the top of her lungs, "OH MY GOD! You are so annoying! Johnathan and I brought you and Charles here to be closer to my family, not pick them apart? It's been relentless! ALL WEEK long, it’s been one critique after another. And you know what? It’s not just this week; it’s been ongoing ever since I married your son!" Mary-Anne suddenly fell silent, her heart racing as she sank into a nearby chair, staring at her daughter-in-law in disbelief. The sharpness of Frannie’s words lingered in the air, and the shock on Mary-Anne’s face spoke volumes about the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. "My mother divorced my dad because he was awful. Quinn didn't mean to get pregnant, and I love my sister regardless of who she marries. Mercedes will have a fantastic career in music. The Lopezes are American citizens. The twins are SEVEN; of course, they're going to be rowdy. YOU DON'T NEED TO SLEEP IN NEW BEDSHEETS EVERY NIGHT YOU'RE IN THIS HOUSE. It's a miracle that you and Charles, the most hateful people on this planet, raised such a wonderful son like Johnathan. And guess what? WE'RE PREGNANT!" Frannie announced, The atmosphere in the room thickened with an oppressive silence, the kind that prickled at the skin and made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Everyone's eyes were fixed on Frannie, their expressions a mix of disbelief and astonishment. "Knew it! Ha!" Uncle Phil cut the silence, "I can see that your-" Before he could finish his thought, Aunt Helen's voice sliced through the air like a knife. "Phillip! In the car, NOW," she commanded, pointing sternly toward the foyer with an expression that brooked no argument. "You've lost the right to speak tonight." Her tone was firm and unwavering, leaving no doubt that she was dead serious. The air crackled with tension as everyone awaited Uncle Phil's response, the profound quiet punctuated only by the soft rustling of clothes and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Uncle Phil cleared his throat and scurried off to the car. "Happy Thanksgiving, everyone." he mumbled, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, as he softly closed the door behind him, leaving the sense of unease still crackling in the air. "WELL!" Miguel clapped his hands together, "It's been a lovely dinner, but Maribel, Santana, and I have to go. Gotta prepare for our family's Thanksgiving tomorrow." "You know what? Us too..." Dr. Sean Jones added, his eyes darting around the room, perhaps searching for a way to smoothly exit the escalating tension. "Thank you very much for inviting us, Judy." "Phil started the car, and Wesley has an appointment…" Aunt Helen announced, rising from her seat. She deftly grabbed the remaining wine bottle off the table as if it were a shield against the ongoing awkwardness. "Come on, kids, time to head out." "Mommy, we didn't even have pie yet!" Jamie whined, "Jamie, I don't think this is the time for pie," Lilly replied, reading the room perfectly despite her young age. The twins held hands as they followed their mother and older brother. "Mom, I'll drive you home..." Serena chimed in, taking Aunt Gwen’s hand and leading her toward the front door. "Aunt Judy, I'll swing by tomorrow to collect our dishes." "Bye, Aunt Judy," Abbie offered, gently guiding Uncle Norm from the dining room. The Carlsons, Lewandowskis, and the Joneses began to spill out of the house in a cascade of awkward farewells and murmured goodbyes. Mercedes glanced back at Quinn, mouthing 'I’m Sorry' as she left with her parents, the weight of unspoken words lingering heavily between them. The Lopezes were the last to navigate the exit. "What a wonderful Thanksgiving!" Santana smirked smugly, throwing a final word over her shoulder before closing the door. "I hope mine is as fun as this. See you at Sectionals, Quinn." With the door clicking shut, the room was left in stunned silence, containing only Judy, Quinn, Frannie, Johnathan, his parents, and the grandparents, enveloped in an atmosphere of unresolved tension and unspoken emotions. "Are we going to ignore that our daughter left us here even though she was our ride, Pauline?" Greg asked quietly, "We'll worry about Gwen later. I need some explanation, RIGHT NOW," Paulie seethed, her voice trembling, "I don't even know where to start!" "Granny, I'm really, really sorry," Quinn mumbled, her voice cracking under the weight of her shame. "Which part, Lucy? That I have a great-granddaughter I don't know about? That you had her when you were sixteen? That it was with that Jewish troublemaker?" "That she's a–" Charles cut in, "Oh, shut it, Charles. It's 2012, for Pete's sake," Greg grumbled, "For once, I agree with Gregory about this... thing," Paulie admitted, "I don't get it, but clearly I have to change since I had a grandbaby kept hidden from me!" "No, Granny. We kept it from everyone," Frannie replied, smoothing out her blonde waves, "Actually, Johnathan and I were going to adopt Beth and surprise everyone by saying she's ours. But Quinn's friend's mom got to her first... well, her teacher's ex-wife technically did. It's complicated." "Super complicated," Quinn said, tears streaming down her face, "I was so ashamed, Granny. Noah and I gave her a good life, giving her away. I would've never went to Yale, Puck would've never enlisted in the air force if we didn't." "You should be ashamed of yourself," Mary-Anne snapped, "I've had my doubts about this family ever since Johnathan brought Francine home. I'm glad my intuition was correct. I waited four years for a grandchild. Now, hearing the news about your pregnancy, Frannie. I've never been more disappointed. My grandchild will not be raised in this filth." "Mother, stop it..." Johnathan warned, his fists clenching at his sides, barely containing his anger. "No, Johnathan. Your wife's family is a disgrace. You married a disrespectful, dishonourable woman—" "Pack your bags, Mother. You too, Father. You're not staying in this house. This is my family now, and you cannot treat them like this!" Johnathan’s voice rose, and the desperate need to protect his wife and her family ignited a fierce determination within him. "Agreed," Judy nodded her head, "Get out of my house." Mary-Anne opened her mouth in protest, but nothing came out. She glowered at the Fabrays, then quietly shuffled upstairs with her husband in tow. Minutes later, a taxi was called, and they were gone. "Francine, I'm proud of you. I'm so happy about you and Johnathan." Judy walked over and wrapped her arms around Frannie. "Us two, honey," Paulie and Greg joined the hug. Quinn and Johnathan watched from the side of the room. Johnathan pulled her into a comforting side hug, rubbing her shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't do that earlier, Quinn," he whispered, "Don't be. I understand how difficult it is to please your parents," she replied, leaning in, "More than you know." More than you know...
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Sam Evans reached into the back pocket of his tailored dress pants, pulling out his sleek, reflective sunglasses with a casual wrist flick. He expertly flipped them open and slid them up the bridge of his nose, the sunlight glinting off the lenses. With a confident gesture, he ran a smooth hand through his styled hair, leaving it perfectly tousled as he scanned the bustling scene around him. Across the backstage, Blaine Anderson sat hunched over in a quiet corner, his heart heavy with emotion. He dabbed at the corners of his eyes with a finely pressed handkerchief, the fabric soft against his skin. After taking a moment to collect himself, he pushed the 'end call' button on his phone, the sound feeling like a finality as he secured the device back into his pocket with a sigh. Meanwhile, Brittany S. Pierce stood behind the thick, velvety curtain that separated the performers from the audience. She took a deep breath, nerves tingling in her fingertips, and peeked out to scan the rows of eager faces. Her eyes darted around, searching diligently for Santana's familiar figure, hoping to catch a glimpse of her supportive smile. Sitting off to one side, Artie Abrams adjusted his crisp shirt, ensuring that every button was neatly fastened. He cleared his throat before launching into a series of vocal warm-ups, his rich voice resonating softly in the back. In another corner, Tina Cohen-Chang focused intently on her sewing kit, pulling out her pin cushion with delicate fingers. She carefully tucked it back into the kit, her mind racing as she quietly mouthed the lyrics to her solo, each word flowing smoothly like a melody in her heart. She practiced the notes in her head, determination etched on her face as she prepared for her moment in the spotlight. The senior New Directions caught a glimpse of each other, and the five of them gathered in their own little show circle. "This is it, guys. Our first competition as grads," Sam began, smiling softly, "This will set the precedent for our last season in the Glee Club." "Even with Nationals at the end of the year, this feels like our most important performance! Everyone came home for this," Tina piped in, "I love you guys. Let's do this," Blaine added earnestly, his gaze filled with warmth and determination. "Hands in." As their hands came together in the centre, the united energy of their shared experiences and dreams seeped into the air, binding them in their mission to shine brightly on stage. Quinn took her seat in the audience behind Sebastian Smythe and the new Warbler's captain, Hunter Clarington. Hunter looked impossibly more smug than Sebastian. "Why hello, Quinn Fabray," Sebastian turned around to face the blonde, "Didn't take the New Directions long to drag themselves back to Lima." Quinn couldn't help but roll her eyes at his tone. "Here for Thanksgiving, Sebastian," she replied coolly, the edge in her voice betraying her annoyance, "What are you even doing here? Didn't the Warblers kick you out for the slushee and Finn's photo?" Hunter, leaning somewhat closer, interjected smoothly, "I invited him back," His voice oozed charm. Still, there was an undertone that sent a shiver down Quinn's spine, "Sebastian has what it takes to call the tough shots. He knows how to win. Speaking of which..." Hunter gazed into Quinn's eyes, his expression mischievous and menacing, "I believe congratulations are in order, Quinn." he extended his hand, "First Yale Freshman to land a TA position. Quite impressive." Quinn leaned back in her seat and folded her arms, brows furrowed. "How did you know?" "Biff McIntosh is a friend of mine." Hunter shrugged slightly, the corner of his mouth curling in a smug smile. "Of course, he is," Quinn spat out, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. ... "Ehhh! Sexy Lady! Woop, Woop, Woop, Woop, OPPA GANGNAM STYLE!" The New Directions belted out the final lines of their first song, their voices ringing through the vast auditorium like an electrifying burst of energy. The atmosphere was charged, with bright golden lights sweeping across the stage, illuminating their enthusiastic faces. As the last notes danced in the air, more golden confetti cascaded above, showering the performers in a sparkling cloud. "BA BA BA DA DA DA! OPPA GANGNAM STYLE! HEY!" THUMP! Marley Rose, the quiet brunette sophomore, suddenly collapsed on stage. Gasps filled the auditorium as the New Directions froze, their vibrant energy instantly dissipating as they turned their attention to Marley. The band, poised to transition into the next song, hesitated, playing the initial notes tentatively. Artie quickly waved his hands, signalling the musicians to stop. Jake and Ryder sprang into action without a moment's delay, rushing to Marley's side. With urgency and care, they hoisted the limp girl onto their shoulders, their faces etched with worry. The rest of the Glee Club followed closely behind, their earlier joy replaced with concern as they murmured, unsure of what had just happened. "GO, GO, GO!" Finn's voice cut through the murmurs, laced with urgency. He bounded from the wings of the stage, leaping off with determination as he urged his friends to evacuate their seats and move towards the exit. In a fluid motion, Finn slipped past Mike, his focus unwavering, and sprinted toward the choir room, his heart racing with concern for Marley’s wellbeing. Puck took Quinn's arm and pulled her up the stairs to the exit. Mercedes, Mike, and Santana rushed behind them. "She needs room! Breathe, girl, breathe!" Unique exclaimed, her voice rising above the chaos as she spread out her arms, creating a protective boundary around Marley to allow space for those tending to her. Quinn and Santana froze by the doorframe. Santana crossed her arms, shaking her head in disbelief. "Is there anything she could eat?" Kitty chimed in, her voice laced with urgency. Her gaze met Santana's for a fleeting moment before she quickly turned away. "I knew it..." Santana muttered, "I knew she had something to do with this. Believe me now, Fabray?" After ensuring that Marley was alright, Quinn turned her attention to the visibly shaken figure of Kitty Wilde, who stood just a few paces away in an empty classroom. The atmosphere was thick with tension as Kitty clutched her arms tightly around her waist, trembling slightly as soft sobs escaped her lips. Quinn couldn't help but let out a derisive snicker, deciding to release old Queen Bee Quinn. She sauntered toward Kitty, the sound of her heels echoing on the tiles as she began a slow clap. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Quinn declared, looming over the trembling sophomore, "You think you're so tough..." Kitty whirled around, wiping her tears with the back of her hand as she faced Quinn. The two blondes stood just a few feet away from each other. Kitty blubbered, taking in deep breaths as she tried to compose herself. "H-huh?" she stammered. "I gotta give it to you, Kitty. You had me fooled," Quinn said, glaring at the younger girl and shaking her head in disbelief. Kitty sniffled. Her expression was one of pure distress. "I-I don't k-know what you're t-talking about—" "Oh, spare me the sobs! You're practically dripping with guilt. I know you gave Marley an eating disorder," Quinn snapped. "She... she was..." "She what? She 'stole' your boyfriend?" Quinn rolled her eyes, "We Glee Club girls stole each other's partners all the time. But we never, ever even considered pushing each other into being bulimic..." Quinn stepped closer, pointing a finger at Kitty. "I did-didn't–" Kitty replied, "I'm not done," Quinn interrupted, wagging her finger, "The irony of it all. You paint yourself as this carbon copy of me, the perfect and popular Christian girl. You and the Cheerios have posters of my face in your lockers captioned 'What would Quinn Fabray do,' and you pull this stunt? Listen here...You want to be me, Kitty. You want to be me so much that you did it! Congrats." Kitty was paralyzed with fear. She stared nervously in her role model's eyes. "Congratulations, you have become Quinn Fabray... The old Quinn Fabray before joining the Glee Club." Quinn opened her arms in a grand gesture, "You're callous, you're insecure. Nobody likes you; they're just afraid of you. They worship the ground you walk on." She narrowed her eyes, her voice dropping into a chilling whisper, "But it's lonely at the top, isn't it? Nobody calls you on the weekend, do they?" Kitty's voice barely escaped her lips. "I never wanted to hurt anyone... I just wanted to fit in." "You're fifteen years old, Kitty. You haven't even begun your life yet! High school is such a tiny, unimportant fraction of your existence. In ten years, will you be proud of yourself for who you were as a teenager and move on, or will you dwell on the past, regretting the choices you made? Missing out on what life will offer you because you wanted to be popular?" "I… I didn't mean to hurt Marley," Kitty stammered, desperation creeping into her tone. "Didn't mean to? You should have thought about that before you gave in to your jealousy," Quinn shot back, her voice rising like a crescendo. "Do you think it's acceptable to take your insecurities out on someone who's already vulnerable? Newsflash, Kitty: Not everything revolves around you. Nobody wants to invest their time and energy in someone so selfish and vain. You're envious of Marley because she's approachable and a talented singer. And you? You're just Sue Sylvester's lackey." "Please, stop it..." Kitty whispered, her voice small and shaky. Quinn leaned in closer, her expression hardening. "Stop it? Oh, but we're just getting started. You need to hear this. You idolized your perfect little fantasy of being me without ever realizing that I was pregnant when I was your age. Oh, and I was in the closet! Glee Club has shaped me into the woman I am today. I was horrible to Rachel Berry and Mercedes Jones, but they still believed in me. I don't know where I would be without them or anyone in the Glee Club." Kitty's shoulders slumped, and she looked down, finally understanding the gravity of her actions. "I… I'll try to do better," she said weakly, "I'll be nicer to Marley, I'll try." Quinn wasn't convinced. "Trying isn't enough, Kitty. You need to change. The Glee Club will stand by you because they know your worth better than any social ranking will..." She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. "But honestly? I don't care what you do anymore. Finn can't force me to be your mentor." With that, Quinn turned on her heel, her heels clicking sharply on the tile as she stormed out of the classroom. She left Kitty standing there, trembling and alone, the weight of her decisions settling heavily in the silence that followed. Kurt Hummel woke up groggily to the sound of his ringtone. He was sprawled out on his bed, glittery streamers stuck on his sweaty face, sometime between ushering his Thanksgiving guests out of his and Rachel's apartment and cleaning up. Kurt had passed out from partying too hard. However, the aftermath loomed over him—a sea of discarded party decorations, trash, and clothes scattered around the room. The living room was a chaotic landscape of remnants: colourful party favours tossed haphazardly on the floor, crumpled napkins strewn about like confetti and half-eaten dishes still bearing the evidence of last night's indulgence. A platter of pumpkin pie lay abandoned on the coffee table, its once-smooth surface marred by errant fork marks, while another table struggled under the weight of empty champagne bottles and an assortment of mismatched glassware. His boss, Isabelle Wright and her entourage of drag queens sure knew how to throw a bash. Kurt reluctantly fished out his phone from the chaos of his bedside table, not bothering to examine the caller ID, and mumbled a groggy greeting, his voice rough and thick with sleep. "Hey, Kurt," Blaine's voice crackled from the other line, "Is it too early?" "No, it's fine." Kurt rubbed the sleep from his eyes, "How did it go last night?" Blaine sighed heavily, abruptly gasping Kurt's attention. That was not a happy sigh. "We lost. Marley passed out on stage right after we finished our first song. We think it's because she hasn't been eating. The Warblers won." Kurt sat up immediately; his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. "W-What does that mean for you guys now?" He asked, still shocked by the news. "It means our season is done, Kurt. No Regionals, no Nationals. No... Glee Club, at least, not until September. I heard Sue's taking over the choir room for the Cheerios." Blaine replied sadly, "Oh my god! What does that mean for you, Blaine?" Kurt exclaimed, "I changed schools to be with you and the New Directions," he sighed, "Now I have neither. To be frank, I feel lost. I can't go back to Dalton. I... signed up for the Cheerios, Tina did too." "WHAT!? Why?" Kurt blurted out, the shock coursing through him like ice water. "Because we wanted to be part of something, Kurt. This is my senior year!" Blaine's desperation was palpable, each word weighted with an urgency that only intensified Kurt's concern. "What about Finn?" Kurt asked, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the implications of it all, hoping against hope that there was a glimmer of good news in the chaos. "What about Finn?" Blaine retorted, his tone sharp and defensive. "He graduated; he can go wherever he wants." "Directing the New Directions was really important to him, though," Kurt replied, worried about his brother. "Listen, Kurt, I have to get ready for school. Sue wants me there early to pick up my uniform," Blaine said, "I'll talk to you later, bye." ... Kurt sighed, setting his phone down with a sense of dread lingering in the air. He trudged out of his room, the exhaustion from the previous night still hanging over him like a fog. As he made his way to the kitchen, the enticing smell of breakfast wafted through the apartment. He found Rachel standing by the stove, expertly flipping pancakes for herself and Brody, her new boyfriend, who wasn't awake yet. They had reconciled after the Cassie debacle, and despite Kurt's reservations about Brody sticking around longer than he preferred, Rachel seemed genuinely happy. "That was Blaine, they lost." Kurt announced, prompting a gasp from Rachel, "Apparently, the new girl, Marley, passed out on stage and the Warblers won." "Oh, my God. So, wait. That's it then... what are they gonna do now?" Rachel asked, wiping a plate clean. "I don't know," Kurt shrugged, moving to the table to help his roommate with the Thanksgiving cleanup, "I just feel bad for Blaine. If he was still with the Warblers, he'd be on his way to Regionals." "Should... I call Finn?" Rachel hesitated, placing the dishes into the sink. "If you think it'll make hum fell better," he mumbled, walking to the coffee table to pick up the champagne flutes. Rachel fidgeted her hands, averting her gaze from Kurt. "No, I don't. It'll probably make him feel worse, actually." "Well, our friends' feelings aside. It's really woken me up to the idea of making the most of the chances that you have. I've got one more chance of getting into NYADA, and I can't blow the audition," Kurt explained as he took the glasses back to the kitchen. "It's not your last chance! You can still reapply!" "No," Kurt shook his head, "I can't live my life chasing something the universe tells me I'm not good enough to achieve." "Not the universe," Rachel rolled her eyes at her best friend's exaggerated tone, "It's just Carmen Tibideaux." "Is there a difference?" He replied in a fake posh accent, "Speaking of Carmen, has she started passing out her golden tickets for the Winter Showcase yet?" "No! It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm not getting one," Rachel huffed in defeat, slamming a dish rag down on the table, "Alexandra Blasucci was the last freshman to get one in the past seven years, and she was practically RAISED on the Broadway Stage." "Hmm, well. One can still dream!" Kurt replied, "Let's put some music on and get this apartment back into shape before we have to get ready for the day." "Okay, but not so loud. Brody is still sleeping," Kurt stifled a groan. ... "Okay, everyone, take five," Cassandra July announced, her voice echoing slightly in the spacious dance studio. "Next, we will be working on our timing because you all seem to be moving at a five-second delay this morning. It's painful," she snarkily addressed her dance class. A collective chorus of sighs emerged from the class, their fatigue evident as they exchanged glances and stretched their tired limbs. Cassie paused to observe the weary faces of her students, who were slumped against the mirrored walls, wiping the perspiration from their foreheads. "Lazy Idiots," she muttered, sounding a bit like Sue Sylvester. Rachel, visibly worn, shuffled over to her water bottle sitting on the floor nearby and took a generous swig. The cool liquid offered a momentary refreshment as she gently dabbed her forehead with a small cloth, trying to revive herself. Brody, always the easygoing presence in the room, sauntered over and playfully grabbed her water bottle, flashing her a charming smile. "You're almost empty, I'll go fill it up for you," Brody smiled at Rachel and rushed out of the studio to the fountain. "Why, thank you, Brody!" Rachel called after him, her tone brightening as a hint of gratitude laced her words. She couldn't help but shoot a smug grin in Cassie's direction, a gesture that suggested her teaching assistant had chosen her side in this brief, unspoken rivalry. Cassie folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at her student. The animated chatter among the students suddenly dissipated when a mysterious figure gracefully entered the room. The dancers gasped in shock and excitement; it was the Dean of NYADA, Carmen Tibideaux. Obviously, she was here to reward one student with a coveted invitation to her Winter Showcase. The class straightened their postures and lined up in front of Carmen, presenting themselves to her. With each step Carmen Tibideaux took forward, anticipated silence filled the studio. Students quickly moved out of her path, their faces falling in disappointment as she strolled past them, her sapient gaze sweeping across the room. The weight of unspoken hopes and dreams hung in the air, each dancer tinged with a combination of yearning and anxiety, wondering who among them would be chosen for the coveted invitation to her Winter Showcase. She made her way through the sea of NYADA performers until she stopped in front of none other than Rachel Barbra Berry. She gingerly slipped a letter into Rachel's hands. Rachel snapped out of her frozen state and accepted the paper. Opening it with care, it said: Carmen Tibideaux cordially invites Rachel Berry to perform in the 2012 Winter Showcase . A wave of disbelief and elation surged through her, igniting a newfound energy that coursed through every fibre of her being. This was a moment she had worked tirelessly for, and somehow, it was real. Eighteen-and-a-half-year-old Jennette Sofie Tremblay was a simple girl. Well, it was simple when it came to what she wanted. She wanted to create music. Her life was extravagant, wealthy, and exciting. Born in the bustling city of Montreal, Canada, to two very wealthy socialites, the youngest and only girl of five kids. Her parents, often strict and traditional, supported her through everything. They gave her an array of new shiny guitars, sound mixing machines, amps, plug-ins, and drum kits. They travelled with her all over the world, including her post-graduation present, the 2012 Summer Olympics in London. They gave her the best French and English tutors, which cemented her bilingualism from an early age. New dolls, new clothes, cars, bikes, shoes. Jenny, indeed, was the stereotypical spoiled youngest child. So how could the girl who got everything she wanted be at the school of her nightmares? Okay, nightmare was a strong word to describe Yale. It wasn't so much the school as it was her major. She hated studying Law. She loved music and wanted to pursue it instead. But Jenny couldn't tell her parents that. Her dad went to Yale, Uncle Henri, and her older brothers, André and Gabriel, went to Yale. The look on his face when Jenny received her letter of acceptance was a tell-all for her as to why going to Yale University was important. Jenny wanted to be in New York. It wouldn't be hard; she had recently received a hefty inheritance from Uncle Henri. There was a specific goal she had in mind since the age of three after taking her first piano lesson. Pop was for white girls, and R&B seemed slightly on the nose. She could sing, but it didn't interest her much. No. She wanted to write. She wanted to conduct. She wanted to create. However, she had made her decision. Jenny was not like the other rich girls she had been forced to befriend her whole life. She was humble... to a degree. Yale University stood as a gift to her parents, a stepping stone in the dynasty of their family legacy, even as they perpetually clashed with their own sentiments toward the country that housed it. They hated anglophones and the States, and Yale was an American college with English speakers. Tied down with the emotional weight of making her parents proud, she only had one option; live vicariously through her new friend, Quinn Fabray, who was gifted the opportunity to study under an internship program in New York. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. How the tables have turned. The girl who has everything stepping back to place another girl in the spotlight. Quinn better win that spotlight. Then, Jenny might have a chance to pursue a career in New York City. Not only that, she genuinely wanted to help her. Admittedly, Quinn Fabray had become her first real friend. Not an associate, not a superficial companion whose wealth was the only thing she had in common. A real friend. Biff McIntosh was bright, not academically or anything; he was people-smart and knew how to work his career. He had a good memory, and he had drive. Ambitious. For the mentorship, he was just as deserving as Quinn Fabray. However, Biff was an ass. A relentless one. Jenny would do anything to take him down. So she could send her roommate to New York. "That's why I'm going to pretend to date Biff," she declared confidently as she and Quinn packed their bags after their lecture. "No," Quinn responded, her voice firm as she swung her bag over her shoulder, "I'm not putting you through that." "Come on, Quinn! The society's been getting some buzz after the clambake, but we're getting peanuts of information on the guy!" Jenny urged, following her friend out of the room. Her voluminous curly hair bounced with every stride, reflecting her fervour to turn the tides in their favour. "Well, maybe we're going too far about taking him down. I want to be awarded the internship based on merit, not whether or not he has skeletons in his closet," Quinn shrugged, uncertainty etched in her expression, "Things have kind of changed since I..." Quinn stopped Jenny in her tracks and scanned the hallway. Leaning close, she shifted her voice to a low whisper, "Since I'm dating my professor..." "And... does anyone know about you and Valerie other than me?" Jenny whispered back, folding her arms. "Nobody here..." Quinn replied quietly, "And we'll keep it that way..." "Duh," Jenny acquiesced, rolling her eyes. "But Biff is just as determined to sabotage me, Jen," Quinn sighed, and the girls continued their route back to their dorm, "When I was in Lima, I found out that Biff is friends with the Dalton Academy Warbler's captain, Hunter Clarington. I don't know how much the Warblers, mainly Sebastian, told him about me." "Who knew that show choir had such fierce competition," Jenny snorted, "Regardless of what Biff knows, I can't imagine it being scandalous enough to pull you out of the TA program. Again. It's show choir." "You're right, Jenny," Quinn nodded in agreement, though her worry hadn’t fully dissipated, "It's probably nothing. When's the gala tonight?" "8pm, and it's catered," Jenny replied, checking her phone, "Of course, Marie-Alice wants us there early to set everything up, even though she’s hired an army of service staff." "Could... that be my fault?" Quinn pursed her lips sheepishly. The girls stopped in front of their residence building. "Perhaps. She still pissed at you," Jenny responded nonchalantly, "I have to go to the dry cleaners and pick up my dress. Wanna come with?" "No, that's okay, I'm just going to head back to our dorm. I'll see you later." Quinn and Jenny went their separate ways. Jenny headed towards the residence building's parking lot, dialling her driver, while Quinn swiped her student card, unlocking the main lobby. Quinn decided to stop at the dining hall before heading to her dorm room, excited to snag a BLT for lunch. She passed the student kitchen, then the lounge, then the showers. Oblivious that someone... was following her. She happily took the wrapped BLT sandwich from the prepared meals section and propped it on the panini press. A shadow lurked behind her as she hungrily waited for her sandwich. Once the panini press chimed, signalling that the BLT was ready, Quinn quickly took it off the heat and plopped it on her paper plate. The mysterious figure loomed closer. Quinn cut her sandwich diagonally and placed the knife gently in the bin. Satisfied, she took her plate and turned around only to be met by the figure who was following her, named–– SPLASH! She then found herself drenched in ice...red ice, freezing cold, cherry-smelling, sticky... ice. Quinn gasped in shock as a torrent of icy, sticky liquid cascaded over her. Before she could comprehend the situation, her precious sandwich was sent tumbling from her hands onto the floor. Freezing cold, sticky, cherry-smelling red ice. The cold was biting, sending shivers through her body, and the unmistakable scent of cherries flooded her senses. A miserable realization hit her – it was a slushie, freshly dispensed from the nearby convenience store's machine, unmistakably vibrant and red, now dripping down her clothes. "OH, MY GOD!" Quinn shrieked, her teeth chattering uncontrollably from the shock of the icy deluge. She wiped the slush from her eyes and looked up at the figure who had just turned her day upside down. It was Biff McIntosh. Smirking proudly as he triumphantly grasped the plastic cup. "Heard throwing slushies used to be your forte in high school, Quinn," Biff snickered, "Quite the mean girl you used to be. This is Yale University; imagine how many students here were victims of bullying because they were geniuses. Imagine the look on their faces when I tell them what your... hobbies were." "W-what d-do you want-t Biff," Quinn growled, shivering. "Oh, just giving you a taste of your own medicine, Fabray. I heard that you're keen on sabotaging me," Biff retorted, "I'll be honest with you. When I was doing my research on you, I wasn't coming up with much. You know how to cover tracks." "Congrats for wasting your time when you should be studying," Quinn shot back, "I recently received a diamond of information," Biff continued, "In the Midwest, there's been a trend of weaponizing slushie drinks. While I thought, 'Hmm, slushy drinks, harmless weapons,' I found out something else. A Lima Times article from last January reported a sixteen-year-old boy being taken to hospital after getting a slushie to the face." Quinn's expression faltered slightly. She knew who he was talking about– Blaine. Sebastian threw a rock-salt-laced slushie at him during their Michael Jackson sing-off. "How unfortunate," Quinn narrowed her eyes, a clump of ice slowly dripped down her face, "Wonder who did it." "Funny you say that, Quinn. Apparently, that poor boy went to your high school," Biff replied, "It would be safe to assume you had some sort of connection to that, former bully and all. Wouldn't be surprised if you did it. How unfortunate would it be for our law school's prestigious image if people found out we're entrusting a dangerous criminal." "Some law student you are. This is just a coincidence! That would never hold up in court." Quinn sneered, her voice laced with contempt. "Coincidence, indeed," Biff nodded, "But since it prompted a reaction from you just now... I think it's worth it to keep digging." He extended his hand towards Quinn's face, fingers delicately collecting the clump of slush on her cheek. "You got a little something on your... everywhere," Biff chuckled menacingly. He turned around and sauntered away. "KURT!" Rachel exclaimed with an enthusiastic grin, her voice echoing through the expansive main lobby of the Vogue.com building as she called out for her best friend. The sleek marble floors gleamed under the bright overhead lights as she hastily jogged across the polished space, her heels clicking rhythmically with each hurried step. As soon as she reached the elevator, she frantically pressed the button rapidly to his office floor. The elevator doors slid open with a smooth ding, and without a moment's pause, Rachel darted out, her skirt swishing around her legs as she navigated through the stylishly decorated office. She made a beeline to the receptionist's desk, which stood boldly at the center of the bustling office—a hub of activity surrounded by chic decor and swaths of fashionable colour. Noelle, the receptionist, was engrossed in a meticulous filing of her perfectly manicured nails, unperturbed by Rachel's dramatic entrance. Rachel, feeling breathless and a bit flustered, dramatically slumped over the desk, placing her hands on its surface as she tried to catch her breath. "I'm here... I'm here for Kurt Hummel," Rachel announced between exhausted gasps. Noelle barely looked up, her gaze still focused on her nails as she replied with a nonchalant sigh, "Do you have an appointment?" "Kurt's just an assistant. Do I need to make an appointment for someone whose job is to make appointments?" Rachel furrowed her brow. Her frustration was evident as her hands lightly tapped on the desk. "Ma'am, this is Vogue.com. We don't take drop ins for anyone." Noelle replied without a hint of warmth, her tone cool and matter-of-fact, as if reciting a well-rehearsed line. Rachel sighed, feeling the tension rise, but she was determined to see her friend. "It's okay, Noelle," Kurt approached the desk, placing a warm hand on Rachel's shoulder, "You can give her the visitors pass." "The things I do for you, Kurt," Noelle smirked, shaking her head, "You're lucky you're my favourite." Kurt took Rachel's hand and led her down the hallway to Isabelle's office. Isabelle Wright, his boss and the fashion whisperer, sat confidently at her desk, her fingers flying over the keys of her laptop, deep in thought. "Isabelle! Rachel's here!" "Hi, Rachel, how are you?" Isabelle looked up immediately, her face lighting up with a warm smile as she set her laptop aside, "Thank you so much for hosting Friendsgiving. My friends said they had a marvellous time." Rachel's spirits lifted at the compliment. "Well, I'm feeling fantastic today! I dropped by to give Kurt some wonderful news!" she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Isabelle's interest was piqued as she leaned in closer. "Which is...?" she and Kurt asked in unison, their faces a blend of curiosity and anticipation. "I got into the NYADA Winter Showcase!" Rachel squealed, "What!? No way!" Kurt exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her. "Congratulations, Rachel!" Isabelle chimed in, her enthusiasm matching Kurt's as she beamed at her. "You absolutely deserve this. I knew you could do it!" Rachel's heart raced with joy. "Thank you so much! I can't believe it! I can't stay for long, though. I need to rehearse. I want to make sure I look and sound my best for the performance." Inspiration danced in Isabelle's eyes. "You know what? I have just the thing for you!" She stood up from her desk with grace and walked purposefully over to a stylish wardrobe tucked in the corner of her elegant office. She opened the doors with a flourish, revealing an exquisite collection of fashionable pieces. "I have a stunning sparkly white dress that would be perfect for the showcase. You will shine like a star under the lights!" Rachel gasped in astonishment, her breath momentarily caught in her throat at the sight of the breathtaking dress that hung before her. It was an elegant, floor-length creation, lavishly adorned with a cascade of sparkling silver jewels that danced in the light, creating a mesmerizing pattern that drew the eye. The sweetheart neckline gracefully framed her collarbone, promising to accentuate her curves in all the right ways. The fabric, a soft and luxurious material, shimmered as if woven with starlight, reflecting the hopes and dreams that swirled within her heart. Each detail of the dress seemed to whisper of future moments filled with beauty and grace, urging her to imagine the magic of the night ahead. "Isabelle, it's beautiful... are you sure I can have this?" Rachel mused, "Not have, borrow, but absolutely! You're doing me a favour, actually." Isabelle replied, "Oh, Rachel! Please take it!" Kurt urged, "You'll look so elegant!" "Okay! Thank you so much!" Rachel nodded her head enthusiastically; she rushed over to give Isabelle a hug. As she glanced at the time, realizing she was on a tight schedule, Rachel hugged Kurt one last time before making her way out of the office, her heart swelling with joy and anticipation for what lay ahead. With the promise of the showcase looming, she could hardly contain her excitement, knowing she would soon be taking center stage in that stunning dress. Quinn reached up to turn off the shower faucet, and as the water ceased its cascade, she wrung the excess from her long, blonde hair, watching the droplets fall like tiny pearls onto the warm tile below. She had just spent the last half hour scrubbing red dye from her hair and body. Quinn forgot how annoying the cleaning process after a slushie facial was. Biff McIntosh gave her the cherry-smelling harsh reminder earlier, prompting an enraged, hangry, public meltdown and an embarrassing slushie-covered walk to her dorm room to collect her shower caddy and towel. With each step, she could feel the sticky remnants of the slushie sliding down her arms, making her skin feel gross and uncomfortable. Quinn could see the drips of red dye on the bathroom tile leading up to the shower stall as if she had her period and free-bled on her way to the showers like a modern-day Carrie White. Huffing in irritation, Quinn reached over to grab her plush robe and towel, the fabric soft against her skin as she wrapped it around herself. She meticulously twisted the towel around her head, securing it in place to soak up the remaining moisture, and tightened the soft belt of her housecoat against the chill that lingered in the air. With her flip-flops squelching against the damp floor, she stepped out of the communal bathroom and cautiously moved back toward her dorm, casting quick glances down the dimly lit hallway, hoping against hope that no one would be around to witness her dishevelled state. She swung open her door and stormed inside her dorm room. Back from the dry cleaners, Jenny sat cross-legged on her bed, enjoying a stir-fry bowl and watching a movie on her laptop. "What up, Fabray?" Jenny acknowledged her roommate, eyes fixed on the screen. Quinn couldn't help but roll her eyes dramatically. "What up? Ohh, I'll tell you 'What up,' Jennette," she retorted, venting as she paced back and forth like a storm cloud. "I just spent half an hour in the shower, trying to scrub Red 40 out of my hair!" Her voice was laced with exasperation. "Pfft. Nice going, Quinn. I thought you were over the bad dye jobs," Jenny chuckled, her mouth full of broccoli and rice as she gave a lighthearted jab, her eyes still focused on the movie. "Is that why you're so mad?" "I didn't try to dye my hair! Biff McIntosh gave me a slushie facial," Quinn snapped, pacing back and forth faster. "Qu'est ce que c'est un slushie facial?" Jenny asked slowly, her French accent thick as the tension in Quinn's aura. "It's something kids do in Ohio. We throw slushies at each other... well, mostly at the unpopular kids." Quinn replied, somewhat defeated, as her shoulders slumped and she glanced at her roommate for some semblance of understanding. "Hold up…" Jenny swung her legs off her loft and hopped down with animated urgency. "You're telling me Biff McIntosh, a man well into his twenties, actually tossed a slushie in your face? Did you report it?" "No? What would that accomplish?" Quinn replied, a trace of weariness in her voice. "In high school, we couldn't even get our principal to punish the jocks who threw them at us. I'm sure it's no different here at Yale." Quinn shrugged dismissively, but beneath the surface, she couldn't shake the feeling of injustice lingering in the air. "Why did he toss a slushie in your face, though?" Jenny's brows knitted in confusion. "Because he knows that the society and I are trying to undermine him!" Quinn replied, pulling her outfit out of the walk-in, "I don't even know how he found out. Yes, I know I said I could handle him, but there's just this... toxic quality about him that's really unsettling. It tells me that he could be dangerous..." "I can explain that..." Jenny fidgeted nervously, "While you were in Ohio, Lisa's lab partner, the girl who has been writing Biff's essays, decided to cease her services to him. She said that our secret society 'inspired' her. Knowing you're part of the organization now, it set some alarms off for Biff, and he got suspicious." "Oh no..." Quinn sighed, "Look at it this way," Jenny said, attempting to obscure the tension with optimism. " Biff is clearly provoked. Why else would he go after you instead of defending his integrity? Because he's hiding something." she concluded, reassuring her friend. Quinn let out a frustrated sigh, pacing again. Now, she was wearing her outfit for the Winter Gala. She opted for the sparkly black dress and the hairstyle she wore in her 'Never Can Say Goodbye' performance, which she performed alone for herself. (The New Directions usually did that) "But why does he have to take it out on me? I mean, I didn't even do anything to him! I just want to focus on my own life, not become some target for his insecurities." "Yeah, but your life is in the way of his opportunity to go to New York?" "It would all be so pointless if neither of us get the internship, you know," Quinn unwrapped the towel from her head and threw it on the space heater, "Like, there are six students total in the mentorship program here." Quinn started to braid her hair into a low bun. "It won't be pointless because he is still scamming his way through Yale!" Jenny countered, "And come on, I thought we were manifesting getting the internship." "It all comes down to the exam next week, Jen," Quinn replied, "Sure, our reputations help influence the board's decision, but ultimately it comes down to the test scores. It's all scare-tactics to throw each other off our game." "Okay, then show him that you're not affected by him! If he shows up at the Gala, the society girls and I have your back!" Jenny smiled as she stepped into her heels, "Speaking of which, we should probably go before Marie-Alice has our heads." With a newfound resolve, Quinn took a deep breath, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ears. "Biff doesn't scare me," she declared, "Nothing scares me, I'm Quinn Fabray." The Winter Gala was in full swing, brimming with vibrant energy and excitement, thanks to the tireless efforts of Quinn, Jenny, and the women's society. Laughter and chatter filled the air as guests mingled under a canopy of twinkling fairy lights that illuminated the evening. Quinn glided gracefully around the elegantly decorated tables, her presence commanding attention amid the festive atmosphere. She wore a stunning black dress that shimmered under the soft glow of the lights, each reflective thread catching the eye as she moved. Despite being the last week of November, the night was surprisingly warm, creating a comfortable environment that encouraged guests to linger and socialize. "Quinn Fabray, some news for you," Georgia Bloomberg, clad in a stunning navy gown, slinked up behind her and passed her a drink, "The Gala is a resounding hit. We've gotten more girls to speak out about Biff." "Fantastic, Georgia. Anything we can get would be great. Jenny was seriously considering fake dating him to dig up his secrets," Quinn replied, clinking her dress with the young socialite. "God, Jenny's horrible at relationships. Sorry, I know you're besties," Georgia said before she sipped her scotch. "I will say... When this is all over, and we take Biff down, I might take him out for a spin. I like 'em vulnerable and sad; they tend to stay in their lane better." Quinn smirked, her lips curving into a devious smile. "Once Biff is outed as the total jerk he really is, you can do whatever you like with him," she said, her tone light yet laced with determination. "But what's the latest on his scandal?" "Pretty boy's lawyers covered him up well. Delilah had to do some dedicated detective work, but this is him stumbling drunk into a public park fountain and... well, he took off his clothes... in broad daylight." With a sly grin, Georgia handed Quinn her phone, swiping to a short video clip. She pressed play, and the screen flickered to life, revealing the scene of Biff McIntosh making a complete fool of himself, the laughter of onlookers echoing as he flailed and splashed in the water, completely oblivious to his surroundings. "What a tool!" Quinn laughed as she replayed the clip. "A viral tool, no doubt about it. Lisa posted it on her Twitter page, and it exploded. She had all two million of her followers engaging with the video," Georgia added, her tone triumphant. The two shared a conspiratorial laugh, revelling in the delicious irony of Biff's downfall amidst the Winter Gala's festivities. "Quinn," Marie-Alice Hébert said cooly as she sauntered towards the girls, "Puis-je vous parler, s'il vous plaît? A word?" "Yeah, sure..." Quinn set down her drink. She gingerly followed Marie-Alice away from the bustling Gala, the vibrant atmosphere fading into the background as she prepared for whatever critical discussion awaited her. When they reached the empty library, a sanctuary of quietness, Marie-Alice motioned for Quinn to sit. With a mix of apprehension and curiosity, Quinn cautiously obliged, perching herself on the edge of a plush armchair. The library's faint scent of aged paper and leather-bound books contrasted with the vibrant atmosphere just outside the door. "First, I would like to say welcome back to New Haven, Quinn. I hope Ohio has treated you well," Marie-Alice started; her remark was more of a declaration than a genuine interest in Quinn's short visit home. "Thank you, Marie-Alice," Quinn replied, smiling at the French-Canadian socialite, "Why am I here, though?" With a swift motion, Marie-Alice pulled a stack of printed photos from her designer purse and scattered them across the ornate table between them. Quinn leaned forward, her brow furrowing as she recognized the images – there she was, lips locked with Valerie at the clambake, sunlight glistening off the water in the background, oblivious to the impending storm hovering over her. "What is this?" Quinn batted her eyelashes at Marie-Alice innocently. Mentally, she was desperate to devise a solution out of this mess in front of her. "Don't be coy, Fabray. Zat photo... c'est toi and your professor, Valerie Larkin. Kissing." Marie-Alice huffed, her arms rigidly crossed over her chest, blue eyes flashing with indignation, "I stuck out my neck for you, traître!" "You don't like me... why?" Quinn snarked, resting her chin on her fist. "You haven't given me a reason to like you yet." Marie-Alice aimed a piercing look at Quinn, her voice rising with conviction. "You intentionally outed our secret society to expose a man who ruffled your feathers. Now, I know the truth." Leaning in closer, she narrowed her gaze, "You were trying to cover your tracks the entire time, and I caught you red-handed!" Quinn rolled her eyes, unable to resist a retort, "Didn't take you as a stalker, Marie-Alice..." "And I didn't take you as a filthy liar but here we are!" Marie-Alice fired back, her cheeks flushed with frustration. "I thought Canadians were supposed to be nice," Quinn huffed, "And that was our first kiss, at the clambake." "Es-tu sérieuse?!" Marie-Alice exclaimed, throwing her hands up in disbelief, her sophisticated demeanour momentarily shattered. "You're telling me that minutes after our secret society introduced ourselves, minutes after I warned you not to blow it, you went and ruined it all! Do you know how bad this would look for me if someone found out? Do you know how lucky you are that it was me who took the photos?!" "Look, Marie-Alice, I–" "Save it," Marie-Alice snapped, "I want you to acknowledge that your actions have consequences. This isn't just a game, and it isn’t just about you." "What do you mean by that? This is about my internship," Quinn stood up, "All of this," she waved her hand at the girl, "I didn't need it. I just wanted to put Biff in his place." "We all want to put Beef McIntosh in his place, Fabray. We all want to put rich assholes in their place. But you don't do it by hurting others." Quinn shot back, her tone lifting slightly. "You think I wanted to be a part of this secret society just to blow it up? I thought I could trust you and that you'd appreciate the risk I was taking to be with Valerie. You know that I will fight back with my hard work. I plan on winning this internship with merit." "Trust is earned, not given freely, Quinn," Marie-Alice said, her tone softening ever so slightly. "And right now, it feels like you've thrown my trust out with yesterday's trash. How the hell is this academic integrity when you're dating your professor. How the hell can you sit here and say that you didn't want this? Jennette trusted you! Doesn't THAT mean anything?" Jenny... Quinn felt the weight of those words sink into her chest, a knot of guilt forming. It meant everything; she realized that now. Momentarily caught off guard, she surrendered to the gravity of the situation, letting down her facade and slowly lowering herself back into the chair, her heart heavy. Quinn's shoulders sagged. "So, what do you want from me? An apology? I’m really sorry if I’ve jeopardized anything for you. I didn’t mean to." The sincerity of her voice rang in the stillness, echoing off the library walls. "I want you to pass that damn test and win the sabbatical. You're going to go to New York," Marie-Alice replied, her voice trembling but her gaze unwavering, "Let these photos be... motivation." Quinn’s brow furrowed in confusion as she leaned forward slightly. "What do you mean by motivation?" "Because if you don't pass, I'm sending these photos to the board. I'll ensure that freshmen are never awarded the student mentorship program again." With one last nod, Marie-Alice exited the library, and Quinn was left alone once more with the weight of her situation. The weight of her decisions. University was just like high school. She took a deep breath, the festive sounds of the Gala spilling into the library. The laughter and music felt distant now, overshadowed by the significance of Marie-Alice Hébert's ultimatum. Rachel Barbra Berry, the unbridled star of Lima, Ohio, was nervous. Nerves were a good thing in show biz, right? Nerves were a good thing at her first-ever Sectionals, especially knowing their setlist was stolen; they won. Nerves were a good thing when Rachel had to face off against her closest girlfriend, Mercedes Jones, for the role of Maria in West Side Story. She won the part. Nerves were a good thing whenever she talked to Quinn Fabray; Quinn didn't hate her. She got to call Quinn Fabray her friend. But now, standing outside Carmen Tibideaux's prestigious Winter Showcase, Rachel's nerves intensified. This exclusive NYADA event was a beacon of musical talent where only the elite performers were invited to showcase their skills. Freshmen rarely had the chance to take center stage unless they had already achieved a notable career on Broadway before even stepping foot into high school. Rachel knew this was a golden opportunity—one that could propel her dreams of stardom to new heights. As she waited for her turn to shine, she felt the weight of expectation resting on her shoulders. Still, she also felt the thrill of possibility that lay ahead. "Are you ready?" Kurt slinked up behind Rachel, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm not sure," Rachel mumbled, playing with the sparkly gems on her white gown. "Since when was Rachel Berry 'not sure' about anything, huh?" Her best friend chuckled, then stepped in front of her, "You got this." "How are you feeling?" She replied, "I know Carmen was a bit harsh about your audition. You didn't have to come." With a bright, defiant grin, Kurt reassured her, "I wouldn't miss this for the world, Rachel. Sure, Carmen told me I need to delve deeper into my emotional expression, but now that I've got her feedback, I'm ready to try again with renewed determination." Rachel and Kurt linked arms and went inside. Taking a deep breath, Rachel linked arms with Kurt, drawing strength from their friendship as they prepared to step into the venue together. With each step they took through those grand doors, Rachel felt the energy of the Winter Showcase pulsating around her, ready to embrace whatever was to come. "Welcome to the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts' annual Winter Showcase." Carmen Tibideaux addressed the room, "While this is a competition, it is also a celebration. Each year, our faculty chooses ten students who exemplify the best of what we are trying to achieve. Our first performer is Alexandra Blasucci." As Alexandra stepped gracefully onto the stage, her movements smooth and confident, Rachel felt the music pulse softly in the background, a distant yet lively melody. Unable to quell the tide of her nerves, she quietly slipped out of the room, seeking refuge in the vast staircase of the main lobby. The grandeur of the showcase faded momentarily as Rachel paced back and forth, her mind racing and her heart thumping louder with each passing second, caught between the thrill of possibility and the fear of failure. "Hey," Brody smiled, climbing up the stairs towards her. "Hey. Hi." Rachel stammered, smiling back. "You're nervous," Brody guess was spot on, "I was, too, at my first showcase. Just remember what I said when we first met. You're here because you are the best of the best." "That's very sweet," Rachel giggled, but it didn't calm her nerves. "I know I may not be a-- typical beauty. No one's gonna ever pay me to walk the runway on Fashion Week, or I'm not gonna cure cancer, write the Great American Novel..." Brody furrowed his brow in confusion. Where was she going with this? "But if you give me a stage to sing on... I know in my gut that there's no one that could beat me." "Nice pep talk. I didn't know you could be so calm," Brody replied, Rachel chuckled, "Oh, God. I'm terrified! But I know who I am and I know what I can do." Brody stepped closer, "Well, I may not be able to cure anything either, but I'm smart enough to know never get in the way of a woman on a mission." He took Rachel's hand in his. "So, break a leg." In a fleeting moment of courage, Rachel halted him, placing her hands on either side of his face and kissing him softly. It was an impulse she hoped would ease her nervousness, a fleeting beacon of reassurance amidst her chaos. But as she pulled away, she felt an unexpected emptiness; the spark she had expected to ignite between them simply wasn’t there. From all the books, movies, and musicals she has seen, she always described kisses with the right person as magical. It produced a spark; it provided the answers to the universe. Instead, she found herself searching for that elusive feeling in Brody, struggling to summon it, but it eluded her grasp. There was, however, a flicker of hope nested in her memories—a forgotten yet fond recollection of the spark she had once felt with Finn long before life led her down this complicated path. The spark honestly died before Finn proposed, but Rachel refused to believe it at first. And then, her thoughts danced to another name entirely: Quinn. In that name, Rachel found the thrill she sought, the electric connection that stirred her heart. "Rachel, you're up!" Kurt called out from the top of the stairs. "Kurt, that was amazing!" Rachel squealed as she squeezed her best friend in a tight hug. Kurt had just concluded an impromptu solo performance of "Being Alive" from the musical Company. To his astonishment, he had been called upon by Carmen Tibideaux herself for a second chance at his audition—a request that felt like a dream come true. Audiences rarely witnessed something like this, especially in the midst of the esteemed NYADA Winter Showcase. Rachel, known for her own relentless ambition and drive, had seen the flicker of doubt in Kurt’s eyes and decided to give him a little push. After a heartfelt and encouraging pep talk, she had sent him on stage, and it was clear that he had entered with a newfound sense of confidence that shone through with every note he sang. "Rachel... can't breathe!" Kurt gasped dramatically, and Rachel, still buzzing with pride, reluctantly released her hold on him. "Sorry! I'm just so proud of you! That had to be your best performance ever. There's no way Carmen will reject your application to NYADA now." She beamed, "I can't believe she gave me a second chance!" Kurt shook his head in disbelief, "I think I was a little pitchy near the end, but otherwise it was pretty good, right?" "Pretty good? Kurt Hummel you were PERFECT!" Rachel exclaimed, "I second that!" Brody piped in, holding Rachel's coat, "Should we celebrate?" "Absolutely!" Rachel nodded, "Just give me a second, okay? I'll meet you two outside, I need to make a call..." With that, Rachel wrapped her coat snugly around her shoulders, the fabric providing a small shield against the winter chill, and made her way over to a large window overlooking the bustling streets of New York City. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. The young diva scrolled through her contacts until she landed on Finn Hudson. Her thumb hovered the call button for a few long seconds, then exited his profile. She instead scrolled slightly up to the 'F' section, stopping on Quinn Fabray. She hesitated, too, but ultimately decided to go through with it. Meanwhile, in New Haven, Quinn Fabray gently pushed the massive wooden doors of the library open, stepping out into the crisp night air. The chill wrapped around her, and she hugged herself tightly, her heels wobbling slightly on the uneven pavement. Her mind was still whirling from her conversation with Marie-Alice, and the distant sounds of the Winter Gala tugged at her. Quinn could hear the lively chatter and music a few paces away, the pungent aroma of a cigarette coming from a catering staff member on his break. She could use a cigarette right now. It wasn't the wisest decision to quit cold turkey last year; the temptation never disappeared. Quinn had almost made it to the party's entrance when her phone suddenly buzzed in her clutch. It was probably Jenny who was wondering where she was. She zipped open her clutch to pull out her phone. It was Rachel Berry. Her heart skipped a beat, and heat filled her cheeks. Quinn quickly accepted the call before it went to voicemail. "H-hey, Rachel." she greeted, trying to maintain her composure. From the bustling streets of New York City, Rachel smiled at the sound of Quinn's voice. "Hi, Quinn. How are you?" "Good, I'm good. I'm just at a black tie event right now. You?" "How fancy," Rachel quipped, "I guess I could say the same thing. I just did my Winter Showcase, and I wanted to tell you it went well!" "Of course, Rach. You're so talented," Quinn blushed, lip quivering nervously, "What did you sing?" "Being Good Isn't Good Enough," Rachel replied, also feeling butterflies in her stomach. "Streisand, of course." "And... O Holy Night, your favourite." Quinn's heart started pumping rapidly; she couldn't help but giggle. "How did you know?" "I remember you mentioning it in Glee Club," Rachel said, "Quinn, performing at the Showcase, seeing Kurt perform, too. I... I um... it made me think about second chances. It made me think about you. I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly when I visited you at Yale." "Rachel, it was my fault. You're right... I was drunk..." Quinn trailed off nervously, "I didn't mean to kiss- I mean, make things awkward." "So... it was a kiss?" Rachel's face flushed, her eyes lit up with hope. "I don't know. I'm not the best at handling emotional situations," Quinn quickly replied, saving face. There was silence on both ends of the call for a minute. Both girls' hearts sank in disappointment. "Do you... forgive me? I don't want to ruin our friendship," Quinn mumbled, "Of course, nothing can ruin what we have..." "What do we have?" Quinn asked softly, genuinely curious. "We have..." Rachel pondered at the thought, "We have each other. I-I was thinking, Quinn. If you do get the internship... you should come live with me and Kurt. Of course, we should talk about it, and I know you'll probably be getting a dorm. But, I don't know, I think living with your friends would be better with coping! I mean interning with the NYPD sounds like it could be graphic and-" Quinn chuckled at Rachel's adorable ramble, "Rach, I'll maybe consider it... but I'm leaning towards the housing provided for me. Of course, I'll come visit you and Kurt, though." "I... have to go now, Quinn," Rachel said softly, almost regrettably, "I’ll talk to you later." "Bye, Rachel," Quinn replied, disappointment mingling with warmth in her chest. With that, both girls felt a wave of nervous energy settle inside them. Quinn squared her shoulders, her determination solidifying as she marched toward the Gala, more resolute than ever to secure that internship.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
So, here's what you missed on Glee...
Marley collapsed on stage during Sectionals solidifying the New Directions' loss. But they did Gangnam Style as their dance number while the Warblers executed complex gymnastics routines on the stage, so it's safe to say it's not entirely Marley's fault...
Quinn came back to New Haven and immediately got slushied by Biff McIntosh, who know has it out for her. Marie-Alice has it out for her too, and Santana because she slapped her...
Rachel sang at the big NYADA Winter Showcase and everyone loved it. She kissed Brody, but she didn't feel much for him. But she'll keep dating him because Rachel isn't one to let things go...
Jenny is feeling sad about staying at Yale, the New Directions are sad about losing, Rachel is sad because Quinn doesn't want to move in with her, everyone is sad. Must be the seasonal depression...
And thats what you missed on... GLEE!
Finn Hudson stood frozen in the doorway of the Glee Club room, his fingers nervously twisting the cap of a bright red marker as he took in the sombre atmosphere that enveloped the space. The New Directions, usually vibrant and full of life, looked utterly defeated. Their faces wore expressions of sadness and tension, shadows of despair hanging heavily over them. It was a painful sight that Finn had witnessed before—memories of past competitions flooding his mind. He recalled the sting of their twelfth-place spot at Nationals in New York and the heartbreak of being manipulated by Jesse St. James. Those days were different, though. Those days, they won Sectionals. This new Glee Club, however, lost before they even started. The Senior students looked devastated. The new kids looked lost. It was not a happy sight. Yet, amidst the collective gloom, Finn clung to a flicker of hope; they were still together. It had taken some convincing, but Finn had managed to persuade Principal Figgins to book him enough time in the choir room to prepare the Glee Club for the upcoming holiday concert. He glanced at his watch, a simple reminder that it was time for rehearsal. With a deep breath, he plastered a smile across his face and strode into the center of the room, determined to lift the spirits of his friends. But no one matched his enthusiasm; their faces were blank, draining the warmth from his smile as they sat in boredom, lifeless and seemingly resigned to fate. Finn stepped back and pivoted to the whiteboard. The marker squeaked against the glossy surface as he wrote: Regionals. "Seriously, Hudson? That's what you choose to write?" Kitty scoffed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her body language mirroring her disdain. "I agree. Way to rub it in our faces that we're not going to Regionals, Finn." Tina pouted, "Look, I know it's been a rough week. Losing Sectionals wasn't what I had in mind either," Finn replied, his voice steady yet pleading, "But come on! You've all been moping around school like a bunch of… what's that sad donkey from Winnie the Pooh? Eeyore? Anyway, you just need to get motivated again!" "How? There's no competition to be motivated for anymore," Joe sighed, "Well, we still have the holiday concert, Mr. Schue's wedding, prom, and-" "Not performances, Finn, competitions," Brittany said, "I miss the competitive spirit." "I know you do, Britt. I do too!" Finn replied, "But is that really why we all joined the Glee Club? I thought we joined because we love music. Like it or not, we still have things to prepare and fundraise for. Does anyone have an idea on how we can sell at the holiday concert?" A heavy silence settled over the room again, the gloom palpable as Finn's hope began to wane. "Maybe we could do a bake sale? It worked for our Regionals one time," Finn shrugged, trying to ignite some excitement. "Well, that was because Puck spiked the cupcakes with Mary Jane," Artie explained dryly, the hint of sarcasm lacing his words. "I'd be willing to cut off my dreads and sell them for some extra cash," Joe bizarrely suggested, his eyes wide with the seriousness of his offer. Kitty slowly turned her head, her eyes narrowing as she squinted at him incredulously. "To who? Jamaican kids with Rastafarian cancer or as rigging on a haunted pirate ship?" she retorted, her tone laced with contempt. Sam nodded his head decisively, "I can sell more of my se–" "This is silly," Tina interjected, "I know exactly how we're going to fundraise." She bounced out of her chair and stood beside Finn in the middle of the room. "The Men of McKinley Calendar!" she declared enthusiastically, "Let's face it. This is the cutest crop of Glee boys we've ever had!" "I think that's great!" Marley agreed, "And it's December so it's the perfect time to sell them. As long as we get them done before winter break." "Thanks, Marley," Tina smiled, "I was hoping you'd agree with me... knowing you're the one who ruined Sectionals for–" "Tina," Finn cut her off, not wanting to delve into that sensitive territory. "Sorry, back on track. There are six guys, so each one can take two months," Tina continued, "I think Blaine should be December! You can do a sexy Santa thing... Sexy Claus!" Blaine leaned back, staring at his friend with a perplexed look. "I'm in, as long as I can take my shirt off," Sam piped in, adopting a mock Texan accent that brought a few chuckles around the room. "Wait. Why does it have to be just the men?" Artie asked, his brow furrowing in curiosity. A hint of nervousness crept into his tone. "Why can't we objectify the girls too?" "Because girls are the ones who buy stuff. We're responsible for the consumer-driven economy," Kitty explained, arms still folded, "Those Twilight books are poop on paper, and we turned them into a billion-dollar industry." "Team Jacob!" Unique chimed in, giving Joe a high five. "This could actually work!" Finn lit up, "Tina, you're in charge! You and the girls can set up the photo shoots and themes. Boys, pick your months and work on your concepts!" The room buzzed with supportive applause and cheerful laughter. The kids immediately grouped off, brainstorming their months. All except for Artie, who sat quietly, feeling a growing sense of discomfort as the energy in the room shifted joyfully around him. ... The next day, Brittany S. Pierce happily skipped down the hallway with a bag of jellybeans in hand, the sugary candy spilling out on the floor with every leap she took. Brittany was starting to feel a lot better about things. She had a rough few months, having to repeat Senior Year, breaking up with Santana, and losing Sectionals. However, winter break and the New Year are approaching. The young dancer was thoroughly convinced that 2013 would be her year. She just needed to get through the last few weeks of 2012. Luckily for Brittany, Sam had been helping her a lot. He seemed like the only person who really understood her. They've been going out a few times, and Brittany genuinely enjoyed it. Sam Evans was no Santana Lopez, but he was wonderful in his own way. "Hey, baby," Sam greeted her with an Elvis impression. "Hi," Brittany giggled, "Wanna go off campus for lunch after our meeting with Figgins?" "Of course, my treat," Sam replied, taking her hand and spinning her around. "Sexy teen imbeciles," Principal Figgins started the conversation as the two blondes sat down, "The SAT scores are in, and you have managed to receive the highest and lowest scores ever recorded at McKinley." he narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "Yes!" Sam pumped his fist triumphantly, "I knew it. Secret genius." "No, Mr. Evans," Figgins shook his head, "Brittany S. Pierce has received a near perfect 2340 on her exam." Brittany's mouth fell open in astonishment, her wide blue eyes shimmering with surprise. She seemed unable to process the information at first, soaking in the reality of what she had just heard. "How?" Sam furrowed his brow. "Clearly she cheated!" Figgins exclaimed, "No, no! I didn't cheat! I swear!" Brittany exclaimed, her voice rising as she fervently defended herself. "I've been working really hard with Ms. Pillsbury since September! You can call her in to prove it! Sure, I did mark some answers randomly, but doesn't everyone do that sometimes?" Her eyes darted between Figgins and Sam, seeking support. "I've been studying a lot, too, Principal Figgins," Sam chimed in, "It's just hard for my parents to afford regular sessions with my dyslexia specialist. I had to choose the answers at random a lot. What's my score?" "You got a score of 340," Figgins replied, his voice dry and clinical, "which in clinical trials is routinely bested by monkeys." Sam's heart sank as the numbers registered in his mind, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. "Oh my god," he thought, his cheeks flushing bright red as he fought to maintain his composure. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the walls of the office close in around him. "Sam, don't worry," Brittany reached for his hand, but he moved it away, "You don't need to go to college–" "I... I have to go," Sam's voice cracked as he scrambled from his seat. He could feel tears prick at the corners of his eyes; humiliation surged within him. Without another word, he rushed from the office, the hot tears flowing down his cheeks as he escaped into the hallway. Rachel Berry walked into an empty classroom at NYADA, clutching a fresh, thick booklet of lines. She walked around the studio, mouthing her words and plotting her stage directions while waiting for her audition results. After a few moments, Rachel took a seat on a nearby chair, holding the script in her lap like a treasured artifact. The title, *Come To Me, Grandmother; A Journey into Alzheimer's*, emblazoned on the cover, resonated deeply with her. Written by Electra, a fellow student with an artistic flare, Rachel felt the weight of the material immediately—raw, emotional, and undeniably personal. Her classmate, Electra, strolled into the classroom. "Your audition was great, Rachel, I don't need to hear it again. This film is part of my senior thesis, and I would like you to be a part of it." "Your script, Electra. It's so raw and personal," Rachel replied graciously, "I was just wondering... is the film about you and your grandmother?" Electra scoffed at Rachel's inquiry, her tone carrying a hint of pretentious artist's snobbery. "The grandmother slipping into dementia is an allegory..." she retorted, "Ye-yes... of course," Rachel quietly mumbled, mentally kicking herself. "...Of the end of the world," Electra finished, Rachel raised an eyebrow, "You would be playing both me and my grandmother." So... it was about her and her grandmother. "Yes, I would be honoured," Rachel nodded her head. "Great," Electra smiled, "One thing, though... You will have to be topless in the ballroom scene with the character, Titus." She turned on her heel and walked away. Rachel's expression faltered at those words. What? Her mind raced, trying to process the sudden shift from excitement to discomfort. The idea of baring herself, both physically and emotionally, made her heart pound and her stomach twist. She never expected that this deeply personal project would come with such an intense and vulnerable request, and for a moment, all her aspirations seemed to hang in the balance. "I'm a strong, confident woman. I asked Quinn to move in. I almost made it out of Agent Provocateur without giggling," Rachel muttered to herself in self-affirmation, "And let's face it; my breasts are my prizewinners." "You almost made it, but you didn't." A familiar... strangely familiar voice spoke out behind her. Rachel whirled around to see her... clone? Ghost? Hallucination? Reflection? Yes, reflection in the full-length mirror. No doubt a reflection of her consciousness. Rachel Berry stood face to face with Sophomore Rachel Berry, clad in her Mary Jane flats and modest school-girl clothes, wearing her signature know-it-all expression. "Let's face it," Little Rachel continued, "You make Brody turn the lights off when you're cuddling. You're too scared to admit to Quinn that you've been pining for her well before she joined Glee Club. You have a beautiful body, but are you ready to expose yourself to the world?" "That's what all great artists do," Rachel replied, "They expose themselves." She stormed out of the room, leaving her fifteen-year-old reflection alone in the mirror. Rachel marched into the dance studio, plopping her bag down on the piano. "Expose their souls, not their flesh." Little Rachel appeared again in another mirror. "But it's all part of the same package!" Rachel tried to reason with... well, herself, "Am I really expected to bare my soul if I'm ashamed of the body that holds it?" "Well I think a little shame is a good thing," Little Rachel shot back, putting her hands on her hips. "Yikes, was I always this shrill?" Rachel thought, "And snobby?" "You're not a porn star, though your new hair and makeup makes you look like one," Little Rachel gestured to her older self's new appearance. "That's mean!" Rachel gasped, "I'm sorry, but your hair has gotten out of hand." "Point taken," she shrugged, "I'm still doing it, younger me. You can stay in the past, living your little perfectionist teacher's pet life with your delusional Quinn-Finn love triangle." "Hmmph, fine. Have it your way." Little Rachel pouted, "But I'll have you know, Barbra would NOT approve of this!" Her reflection then faded away, leaving Rachel to face her decisions herself. Kurt Hummel rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he shuffled groggily towards the fridge, the cool air hitting him like a gentle breeze. He pulled out the milk carton, its surface glistening with condensation, and set it down on the counter with a thud. Next, he opened the cupboard and pulled out the brightly coloured cereal box, the familiar logo instantly bringing a smile to his face. He shuffled over to the dining table and sank into a chair, the hardwood cool against his legs. With anticipation, he prepared his coffee using his brand-new French press, savouring the rich aroma that filled the air as he poured hot water over the freshly ground beans. Kurt then propped his chin against his hand as he poured the milk into his cereal bowl. He was up earlier than usual as his boss, Isabelle Wright, was preparing for the Winter Holiday photoshoot. Everyone at Vogue.com has been in a frenzy about the article since September, but today was armageddon. As he dug his spoon into the cereal and took a bite, he savoured the crunch, the bustling sounds of the city beginning to awaken muffled in the background. Just then, Brody wandered into the kitchen, his hair slightly tousled from sleep, plopping down at the table beside Kurt with a relaxed demeanour. He reached for the cereal box, pouring himself a generous serving that cascaded into his bowl, the sound of the flakes clinking together breaking through Kurt's morning slumber. Kurt stirred again, slightly shifting his gaze to acknowledge the other guy with a brief nod. But then, his eyes widened in surprise as he did a double-take. Brody... wasn't wearing any clothes. Kurt's jaw hung open, and his grey-coloured eyes widened in shock. He stared at Brody bewilderedly as the young dancer casually ate his breakfast. Rachel happily strolled in and kissed her nude boyfriend on the cheek, completely unfazed. She took in her friend's incomprehensible expression across the table. "What?" She asked Kurt, Kurt, still dumbfounded, raised his voice, "Your boyfriend's bare ass is on one of my vintage flea market chairs!" he exclaimed, the absurdity of the moment crashing over him like a wave. "Hey, I'm not ashamed of my body," Brody shrugged, munching away, "I wanted to show Rachel that I support her choice completely." "Thank you," Rachel smiled, "I was cast in a student film and I'm doing a topless scene!" Kurt's eyes went impossibly wider, and his heart sank at the thought. "No, you're not..." he lamented, his voice tinged with desperation as he tried to reason with her. "Rachel looks smoking!" Brody piped in, "Rachel is a serious actress," Kurt replied, glowering at the couple, "She doesn't do nudity!" Rachel rolled her eyes as she sat down and peeled her banana. "Look, man," Brody said with an air of arrogance, leaning back in his chair as if he were about to deliver a profound life lesson. "As performers, that's a question we all have to face. If you want to win an Oscar, you have to show your boobs." He started listing names with a flourish. "Kate Winslet, Jennifer Connelly, Kathy Bates…" "I don't get it," Kurt shook his head in disappointment, "A year ago you were all plaid skirts and 'Do you think Finn likes me?' Now you're slutty Barbie, asking misogynist Ken to sleep over, doing pornos. What's happening to you?!" "I'm growing up, Kurt. Maybe you should, too," Rachel snapped, her voice sharp with frustration. She reached for her purse, the leather creaking, and hurriedly slung it over her shoulder. She exited the apartment with determined strides, leaving a whirlwind of tension in her wake. "I'm going to do it with or without your support," she called back, her tone resolute. "Not if I can help it..." Kurt muttered. He quickly finished his breakfast, dumped his bowl in the sink, and stormed to his room, "Brody, get some damn clothes on and leave!" "Alright, alright, jeez," Brody threw his arms up defensively and returned to Rachel's room. Santana Lopez leaned heavily against her dorm room door, exhaling deeply as she finally closed it behind her. The familiar scent of her space, a mix of laundry detergent and the faint aroma of her favourite candle greeted her as she trudged across the cluttered floor. With a frustrated kick, she sent her well-worn runners flying into the corner, where they landed in a heap along with her backpack, overflowing with textbooks and notes, then flopped down face-first on her bed. She didn't bother removing her Cardinals uniform; that was a post-nap task. Today was a long day for Santana; her last two final exams were scheduled back to back, and her last cheer practice of the semester was immediately afterward. Nevertheless, Santana was done with her first semester at the University of Louisville. "Hooray," She thought sarcastically, rolling her eyes slightly as she buried her face deeper into the soft fabric of her bed. Whatever—she would deal with all of it later. For now, all she craved was to let the exhaustion wash over her, if only for a few fleeting moments of respite. Suddenly, the faint sound of Alanis Morisette's "You Oughta Know" broke her precious silence. Her damn ringtone blaring at an inopportune time. "Noooo, why?" the Latina's voice cracked as she whined. She buried her face further into her pillow's soft, inviting fabric, wishing desperately for just a bit more silence. Her favourite song kept playing on repeat, and her phone nearly vibrated off the bed. Santana released a string of muffled curse words and grabbed her cell phone. She propped herself on her elbows and glanced at the screen. "What do you want, Porcelain?" she sighed, half-amused, half-annoyed. "Hey, San. I have a problem that needs your attention," Kurt replied quickly. Santana could hear the subway sounds on the other line, "How quickly can you get to New York?" "What could you possibly need from me? You work at a fashion magazine now, surely it can't be a makeover," Santana groaned, rubbing her temples. "It's Rachel. She has gone completely off the rails!" "Pfft, what else is new?" She snorted, "Santana, this is serious! She's in trouble." Kurt pleaded, Santana shot up from her position, adrenaline surging through her as she leaned against the wall with her arms crossed and legs crossed in a casual yet attentive posture. Rachel Berry, without a doubt, was the most annoying and stuck-up girl she'd ever met, but the bond they shared as members of the Glee Club meant that beneath the sarcasm and playful jabs was a deep-seated care for each other. The relationships they forged were strong; it never took much for the group to put aside their differences and band together in times of need. "W-what do you mean trouble, Lady Hummel?" she furrowed her brow. ... In New Haven, Connecticut, Quinn Fabray sat at her desk, buried in textbooks and lecture notes. She had a psychology podcast playing at two times speed on her computer and lecture recordings on a tape recorder. Her hands were covered in pen and sharpie... so was her forehead. It was crunch time for Quinn and everyone who attended the prestigious Yale University. But, especially Quinn. She was determined to outperform the five other contestants in the student membership program. She needed to win the internship in New York; there was a lot riding on her. Marie-Alice knew about her rendezvous with Valerie, her professor and mentor. Biff, her rival, was determined to expose her. And, of course, she could never pass up on an opportunity to see Rachel every day in New York. But that wasn't important. Learning about the criminal mind and justice system was important! So here she was, covered in ink, couped up alone in her dorm room. Frantically trying to force information into her exhausted brain. Admittedly, she had been at this for hours and was losing energy. Also... she locked Jenny out of their dorm. Oops. Her phone rang, breaking her out of her intense studying. Quinn was going to ignore the call but decided a small break would serve her well. "Hey, San. What's up?" Quinn answered, pressing the phone to her ear. "Well, Fab-gay. I finished all my finals for the semester, my cheer season is on hiatus, Rachel is doing a nude scene, MIT called Britt after hearing about her SAT score, and I had sushi for lunch–" "Hold up." Quinn cut her off, "Rachel is doing what?" "Jeez, Q," Santana feigned injury, "You don't want to hear about my fabulously eventful day? That's just plain mean." "Santana, I–" "Just kidding," she snarked, "Kurt called me a few minutes ago. He's asking you and I to come to New York and give Berry an intervention. He texted you, like, a million times." Quinn furrowed her brow as she moved her phone to her face. A couple of missed calls and unanswered texts from Kurt appeared in her notifications. "Q, you there?" "Yeah... why does he need us?" Quinn replied curiously, "Because apparently Rachel didn't listen to him," Santana said, "You know the midget. Once she has her mind set, there's no turning back." "And you think she'll listen to us?" Quinn scoffed, stifling a giggle, "The two girls who made her sophomore year a living hell?" "No... the two girls who made amends with her and care about her," Santana countered, firm yet sincere. "She can't do a topless scene in a student film, Quinn! That's absurd!" Quinn's hazel eyes widened, her pupils... a little dilated. Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink, and she felt a flutter in her... downstairs. Rachel naked... she would pay to see that movie. "She's... she's doing a topless scene?" Quinn asked, her voice breathless, tinged with disbelief and unbidden intrigue. "Oh, keep it in your pants, Fabray!" Santana exclaimed, a hint of laughter in her voice, clearly amused by Quinn's reaction.
Santana had a point. Rachel was nothing if not stubborn and ambitious, attributes that had propelled her forward more often than not. However, with those same traits came recklessness; Rachel usually forgot to weigh the consequences of her decisions. Yes, she was turning eighteen this month, living independently, and dating an upperclassman. Yet, opting for nudity in a cringe-worthy student film? That was a choice bordered on sheer folly. "I can come down for like a weekend, San. But I have the big internship exam coming up, I have to prepare for finals, figure out what I'm doing over the break, whether or not I'm going back to Lima," Quinn explained, "Then come with me this weekend, Q," Santana pleaded, "Please, you need the break. Besides, you're trying to snag a four-month New York internship! You've only been there once!" "Okay, okay. We'll go," Quinn chuckled, "We can go shopping, I guess. Get it all done before the holiday rush." "Girl, the holiday rush started well before Black Friday. You are so late," Santana teased, "I'm going to nap now. Text me when your leaving and everything, okay?" "Okay, bye," Quinn responded, a smile spreading across her face as she pressed the 'end call' button. She took a moment to gather herself, closing her textbooks and notebooks and shutting her laptop with a soft click. The room fell into a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the ambient sounds of the world outside her window. She then slowly pulled out her drawer and gently picked up a slip of paper. A train pass from Connecticut to New York that has never been used, despite Quinn buying the passes for both her and Rachel. Quinn could have the whole weekend in New York. Today was Wednesday; she could leave Friday and meet Santana at the station. Leave Monday morning and be ready for her exams on the following Tuesday. It was a perfect plan, a little slice of freedom before diving back into the stress of school... into the stress of keeping her reputation intact. "You're seriously leaving me? Again?" Jenny exclaimed, her voice laced with frustration as she and Quinn reached for their steaming cups of coffee from the counter. The café was a cozy refuge from the swirling snowflakes that danced outside, blanketing the campus in a soft layer of white. Through the window, they could see students bundled in colourful winter coats, their breath visible in the chilly air as they meandered between buildings. "I don't know what you mean by leaving, Jenny. It's finals week, everyone is going home soon," Quinn replied, taking two cup sleeves from the bar. "Yeah, it's our last weekend together before the break! I thought we could have some fun," Jenny shrugged, "Then come with me to New York. You can meet my Glee Club friends, and we'll go shopping," Quinn suggested as she opened the doors to the café exit. As they stepped back into the frigid air, the sound of crunching snow echoed beneath their boots. The excitement of a spontaneous trip began to bubble up within Jenny despite her playful annoyance. "Oh, now I get an invite. And let me guess—you want me to foot the bill for everything?" Jenny rolled her eyes, half-serious yet unable to suppress a smile. Quinn paused and flashed a cheeky grin. “Yes or no, Tremblay? What's it going to be?" Her friend's laughter bubbled over, fully embracing the idea. "Of course I'll go! It's New York City! I can finally meet this Santana Lopez you've been raving about!" Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, the thought of adventure filling her with a sense of freedom amidst the impending stress of finals. ... The following day, Jenny and Quinn sat side by side on a weathered bench in the bustling train station, surrounded by the sounds of rolling suitcases and the distant announcements echoing overhead. They eagerly awaited their train to New York, the air buzzing with excitement. "Wow! I've never ridden in a Taxi cab before!" Jenny said excitedly, "And we're riding coach? We're seriously living on the edge." As she rambled on about the thrill of experiencing city life as a 'commoner,' her exuberance began to draw curious glances from other travellers passing by. They regarded her with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "Jen, I know you're excited," Quinn placed a hand on her shoulder, "But your privilege is kinda showing. Let's dial it down, okay?" "Sorry, It's not often I get to experience middle-class life! You're all so... modest. It's quite endearing," Jenny replied, her voice now slightly softer. "See, honey, it's those comments that set people off." Their 2:00 train screeched to a halt outside; Jenny leaped out of her seat and started to skip towards the train. Quinn shot up, grabbed her friend's coat sleeve and pulled her back. "Easy there. There's an order of who boards first, and you almost left your suitcase behind!" Quinn chuckled, her laughter mingling with the sounds of the busy station as she set Jenny back on the bench. After a few minutes, the girls were ready to climb in. Jenny rolled her suitcase up to an attendant, dropping it by his feet. "Handle with care, s'il vous plaît," Jenny smiled as she stepped into the train car. The employee looked at her with a puzzled expression. Quinn slapped her forehead in exasperation. "Ma'am, this is a carry-on... you can have it in the car with you," The attendant said. The confused Canadian stepped back to face the man. "I know..? So place it in the overhead bin?" Jenny responded slowly, raising an eyebrow, "Et dépêchez-vous, we gotta get the line movin." The attendant maintained his puzzled expression. "Ma'am, you need to take it with you. Just put it under the seat or in the overhead compartment. It's not checked luggage." Jenny blinked, momentarily speechless as she processed the attendant's words. "Wait, so I can keep it with me?" she asked, still a bit bewildered. Quinn sighed and gave their tickets to the attendant. She then grabbed both suitcases and rolled them inside. As they reached their seats, Quinn effortlessly hoisted her bag into the overhead bin, its weight feeling familiar from many trips before. She then gestured encouragingly to Jenny, who happily followed suit, lifting her own bag up with a grin. The girls settled in their seats, enthusiastic for their ride to New York. A few moments later, with a gentle rumble beneath them, the train began to move, gliding away from New Haven like a sleek silver arrow. Outside the window, picturesque snowy fields unfolded into view, blanketing the landscape in a pristine white. Quaint small towns whizzed past, their charming cottages and frosted trees blending into a blur as the rhythmic sound of the train played a song of adventure ahead. "So, who am I going to meet?" Jenny asked, setting down her book and folding her arms, "Give me the full story about your Ohio chums." "Well, you already met Rachel. Rachel Berry was our Glee Club captain. She was a little... annoying and persistent. But damn, that girl can sing. She's also more tolerable now after high school," Quinn explained, "And yeah... I had a crush on her... but she chose Finn." "You 'had' a crush? Come on, girl. It never went away," Jenny teased, Quinn laughed softly, rolling her eyes. "Okay, fine, maybe it still lingers a bit. Kurt Hummel is her roommate; he's been through some rough patches lately, but I admire how resilient he is. He's incredibly fashionable and just got accepted into NYADA last week!" she continued enthusiastically. "And then there's Santana—she's my closest friend. We joined the Cheerios together before diving into Glee Club. She's my ride-or-die, but I'll be honest… she can be a total bitch to anyone who isn't Brittany S. Pierce." "Sounds like a fun group. Can't wait to meet them!" Jenny exclaimed, "You'll meet them after the intervention, Jen. Rachel is my number one priority. Santana and I are coming to New York to get her back on the right track," Quinn replied in a more serious tone, the weight of their mission settling between them as they prepared for the journey ahead. "You really love her, don't you..." Quinn paused, taking in Jenny's words. Love is a big word. She wasn't sure if she'd ever said it to anyone romantically and meant it. She didn't know what love was. Quinn dated Finn Hudson mostly because they were the most popular kids in school at the time and to mask her sexuality. What she did with Noah Puckerman was an act of desperation that... led to... consequences. No, not consequences... Beth. Beth was too perfect to be called a consequence. She and Sam Evans always had a better connection as friends; however, again, it was to keep Quinn in the closet. And then there was Valerie... the first woman she'd ever been with. Dating Valerie was confusing. But then there was Rachel Berry. The feelings Rachel evoked within Quinn were unlike anything she had ever experienced—intense, exhilarating, and impossible to articulate. Quinn sat there, staring out the window at the snow-drenched scenery, grappling with the enormity of her feelings as the train sped ever onward toward the city that held so much promise. "Took you long enough," Santana Lopez smirked as she pulled Quinn in for a hug. "Hi, Santana," Quinn happily returned the gesture, gripping her suitcase. Once the girls let go, she took in the beautiful sights of the Grand Central Terminal. The Grand Central Terminal in December was a breathtaking sight, radiating a festive charm that captivated all who entered. With its soaring arching ceilings painted a deep cerulean and adorned with a dazzling display of constellations, the grand hall felt like stepping into a celestial wonderland. Warm golden lights reflected off the polished marble floors, creating a welcoming glow that contrasted beautifully with the crisp chill of winter outside. As patrons bustled about, the soft echo of footsteps reverberated against the intricate details of the architecture. Massive chandeliers hung like sparkling jewels, their crystals catching the light and casting shimmering reflections across the terminal. The grand clock at the center, an iconic symbol of the station, ticked steadily, reminding everyone of the rush of time in the heart of the city. Outside, frost etched delicate patterns on the glass windows, framing the magical view of the snowy streets adorned with twinkling holiday lights. The scent of roasted chestnuts wafted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of fresh coffee from nearby cafés, inviting travellers to pause and savour the moment. "It's... gorgeous..." Quinn breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, taking in the incredible scene around her. "Why didn't we visit this place during Nationals?" "It's alright," Santana shrugged, "Where's your pet Canadian?" "My roommate, Jenny," Quinn corrected, swatting her friend, "Is on the phone, booking our hotel room so be nice." Santana scoffed, rolling her eyes teasingly at her best friend. Her playful demeanour shifted as her gaze was drawn to a tall figure ascending from the escalator, the noise of the bustling terminal fading to a gentle hum. Time seemed to slow down, and a warm, golden light cascaded down upon the approaching stranger, illuminating her with an almost ethereal glow. The stranger... was a tall, stunning black beauty. She had light brown skin that almost shimmered, voluminous dark curls with blonde highlights coiled down just past her shoulders, parted to the side. She removed her sunglasses, revealing golden brown eyes and the longest natural eyelashes Santana had ever seen. Then, she replaced them with regular eyeglasses that enlarged her golden eyes. She strolled effortlessly across the busy terminal, black heels click-clacking on the tile as she got closer. The girl had a stylish outfit on; it looked designer. Long, light navy pleated trousers covered her slender legs, accentuating her waist with a sleek, thin black belt. A silver chain clipped through the belt loop. Tucked into her pants was a light blue button-down, unbuttoned enough to show some cleavage and two shiny necklaces. She wore a light beige vest over the blouse, with a damn pocket watch. She had a matching beige trenchcoat tossed over her shoulder. She had slim French manicured fingers and a golden watch on her wrist. Santana could see a gold ring with a massive emerald on her ring finger. Santana couldn't help but feel her heart race at the sight of the beautiful stranger before her, captivated by her breathtaking appearance and the confident aura that surrounded her. She almost melted, actually. "Secured the room; we have to check in soon, though." The stranger spoke to Quinn. Her voice didn't quite match her appearance; it was light, squeaky, and slightly raspy when pronouncing her H's and R's... French... No way this was Quinn's Yale dorm mate. The stranger's eyes locked onto Santana's; she swore she saw her pupils dilate for a second. "Hi!" The stranger exclaimed a little too loudly, her enthusiasm infectious. "You must be Santana. My name's Jennette, but you can call me Jenny." With a warm smile, Jenny extended her hand toward Santana, an invitation to connect. When their hands touched, Santana felt a slight jolt—a spark of electricity that sent a thrill through her, igniting an unexpected warmth deep within her chest. "H-hi," Santana whispered, shaking the girl's hand. The handshake lingered, an electric connection that seemed to defy the passage of time until Quinn, watching the interaction, broke the spell with her cheerful voice. "So, shall we head to our hotel now?" The trio made their way to the exit, suitcases in hand. Santana waved down a taxi cab, and the girls piled into the back. The driver navigated through the bustling city streets towards the address Jenny had given, until stopping in front of the Ritz-Carlton. Quinn and Santana's jaws dropped at the sight of the expensive hotel. "No way..." Quinn gasped, "Jenny you booked us a room at the Ritz?!" "Three rooms, actually. Quinn you already share a dorm with me, why would you have to share a hotel suite?" Jenny replied with a casual shrug. As they strolled into the glamorous lobby, Santana’s heart raced at the sheer elegance of it all—the gleaming marble floors, the ornate chandeliers hanging like jewels from the ceiling, and the well-dressed staff bustling about. They made their way towards the shiny front desk, where Jenny began the check-in process. As Jenny checked in, Santana leaned over to Quinn. "What's her deal?" She asked softly, "What? Jenny?" "She's like rich... pretty... pretty rich," Get it together, Santana, she admonished herself internally, trying to regain her composure as they waited. "Yep, and she's been everywhere; her passport is covered in stamps, and she owns, like, three cars. But don't let that intimidate you; she's really down-to-earth. Super sweet, actually," Quinn smiled knowingly, nudging Santana playfully with her elbow. "Especially around you." Santana felt her cheeks warm at the suggestion but quickly brushed it off. "Yeah, right. She’s probably just being nice because I'm, I don't know, the dorm mate's friend or something." "Are you... getting flustered?" Quinn teased her friend as she stifled a chuckle, "You think she's cute!" "NO!" Santana squawked, her cheeks flushed a bright pink as she crossed her arms. "Nope, I saw it! You're such a bull-shitter," Quinn shook her head, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Come on, there was definitely a spark there! I saw it! You two had your own fairytale moment. Just wait until she gets to know you better." Before Santana could respond, Jenny turned back to them, bright-eyed after finishing the check-in. "Okay, ladies! Ready to see our rooms? You're going to love them!" "Thanks, Jen. And you don't mind waiting for a bit while Santana and I find Kurt, right?" Quinn replied as the trio walked to the elevators. "Nah, go help your friend, Quinn. I'll make myself busy." The girls dropped off their suitcases and said goodbye to Jenny. Kurt Hummel waited for his friends at the subway station, leading them to his apartment, eager to keep Rachel out of trouble. After wrapping up shooting the initial scenes of Electra's student project, Rachel decided to head home for the day. The bright sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow across the bustling streets of New York City, but the chill of winter was unmistakable. With her mind still buzzing from the day's work, she made her way toward the subway entrance, aware of the icy conditions that lay ahead. She approached the steep, icy staircase with caution, her boots crunching on the hardened snow beneath her. The freezing air bit at her cheeks, prompting her to pull her jacket closer, seeking warmth against the sharp winter chill. New York City winters were notoriously unforgiving; the wind whipped around her, sending a shiver down her spine as it danced through the narrow streets. The icy tendrils of frost lingered, a stark reminder that snow often melted away, only to be replaced by sheets of ice that coated the sidewalks and public transit steps, turning daily commutes into careful navigation through a winter wonderland gone awry. Nevertheless, winter in New York City was breathtakingly beautiful, especially in December. Silver and gold adorned the entrances of the tall buildings, sleigh bells chimed in the background, and Christmas shoppers rushed from store front to store front. After a gruelling ride to Brooklyn, Rachel decided to call a cab to take her to the Bushwick apartment she shared with Kurt, who should be home by now. The taxi came to a screeching halt, nearly launching Rachel out of her seat. She concluded that taxi cabs would be a thing of the past once she made it big on Broadway. Never again. The young diva made her way to the ancient front lobby and climbed the stairs to the loft. "Hello, Rachel Berry," Tim, their ever-eccentric downstairs neighbour, waved at her from the top of the stairs. He wore the signature hipster beanie over his man-bun, holding his gluten-free vegan croissant. The pastry left faint crumbs on his curly moustache. "Hello, Tim," Rachel waved back, avoiding his rather creepy gaze. "If Kurt is home, I would love to ask him if I could borrow his Russian hat. I'm meeting up with some online friends, but it's rather chilly outside for a beanie." Tim said, "Please have him text me, not call. I hate phone calls." With that, Tim flourishingly disappeared down the hallway, leaving Rachel standing there momentarily bewildered by his peculiarities. She shook her head and continued up the stairs towards her apartment. She dug her keys out of her purse and found the door unlocked. Kurt must be home. Obviously, they needed another chat about leaving the loft unlocked in their risky neighbourhood. "Kurt! The hipster from downstairs with the curlicue moustache wants to borrow your Russian hat," She called out for her best friends as she slid open the door. Instead of Kurt Hummel, who she presumed would be lounging around, she was met with the unexpected sight of Santana Lopez and Quinn Fabray. Santana was decked out in a vibrant pink scarf that popped against her leather jacket while her large hoop earrings danced as she turned her head. Quinn, on the other hand, looked even more stunning than Rachel remembered, adorned with her classic golden cross necklace. The deep wine-coloured dress she wore, patterned with delicate bluebirds, highlighted her graceful figure and complemented her radiant features. "Oh, my god!" Rachel squealed enthusiastically at her friends' surprise appearance, "What are you doing here?!" "Lady Hummel called, begging us to do an intervention," Santana explained, "On who?" Rachel asked, "You..." Quinn replied, locking eyes with Rachel. A gaze that seemed to have stopped time. Jenny was right; she still had feelings. "Me? There's nothing wrong with me," Rachel responded defiantly as she folded her arms, "I'm actually doing quite well here in New York." "Yeah, so explain the whole 'topless scene in a student film' then, Berry," Santana countered, mirroring Rachel's body language with her own defensive stance while Quinn nodded in agreement, never breaking eye contact. "He told you about the student film?" Rachel sighed resignedly as she pinched the bridge of her nose, "Fine, I'll talk. Let's sit down." Quinn and Santana sat on the couch while Rachel sat across from them in the armchair. "Do you guys want anything to drink?" Rachel asked, standing back up and realizing she had guests over and was now hosting in her home. "Actually, I'll take–" Santana began before Quinn elbowed her sharply in the side, silencing her. "Not now," she hissed at the girl beside her, "Rachel, we'd rather you just sit down, okay?" "So, let me get this straight..." Rachel began, "You two came all the way to New York to talk to me just because Kurt called you?" "We're also here to shop," Santana shrugged nonchalantly, her expression dismissive. "And we're here to apologize to Quinn for slapping her across the face very, very hard. As well as leaving her alone with her chaotic family at Thanksgiving," Quinn announced with an icy tone. "In theory," Santana shot back, "We'll just see if that happens." What the hell do you mean 'in theory,' Lopez? "Rachel," Santana turned back to the tiny brunette, calling her by her first name, a rare occurrence, "You cannot do a nude scene." "It's not a nude scene!" Rachel protested, "It's a topless scene!" "Same thing. Topless is a nude as anyone is going to want to see you," she replied, shaking her head. "Well, I would like to see her..." Quinn found herself thinking, yet she dared not voice the thought, recognizing it as inappropriate. "Think about the two-two-two rule," Quinn chimed in, her tone suddenly serious and contemplative. "In two weeks, how are you going to feel about the scene?" "You'll probably feel great about it," Santana added, prompting a nod from Rachel, "You'll feel a nice cool breeze on them skeeter bites. Refreshed even." "Then," Quinn continued, her eyes narrowing at Santana for the crude remark, focusing intently on Rachel, "How are you going to feel about it in two months?" "I don't know," Rachel pursed her lips, "Nervous? Worried it may not even be good?" "Rachel, it's a student film," Santana retorted, "It's not going to be good." "And two years from now?" Quinn pressed on, "How about then?" "Guilty," Rachel confessed, throwing her arms up in defeat, "Just hoping my kids will never see it online." "Oh... they'll see it," Santana nodded knowingly, "And they'll never be the same again." "Okay, wait!" Rachel exclaimed, raising her hands defensively, "Why am I even listening to you? Didn't you have a tape leaked online, Santana?" "Yes, I did," Santana said, "A sex tape that follows me around to this very day. Look my name up on the internet right now." Rachel reached for her phone and opened her search engine app, typing in Santana Lopez. The results that appeared were the campaign ad, Santana's Facebook, her Twitter, and a rather daunting title. "Santana Lopez, nude, lez, boobies, sex tape, Mexican or Dominican, question mark?" Rachel read the screen, her face scrunched in scrutiny. "Booyah," Santana quipped, "That will exist forever." "But, Santana. Some women find it empowering to be naked on film!" Rachel exclaimed, "Yes, but not in a student film that is probably about someone's grandma with Alzheimer's." "Look, Rachel," Quinn entreated sincerely, "We care about you." "And, for once, we actually have your best interests in mind," Santana added, Rachel met Quinn's gaze again. Quinn wished she could get lost in those beautiful brown eyes. "Please, don't do it." "I'll... I'll think about it. Ultimately, it's my decision, right? I want to be taken seriously as an actress." "Seriously, Berry? What happened to your irritating, overzealous attitude?" Santana shot her a glare. "Look, the point is, you're a talented actress. You don’t need to resort to this kind of stuff just to get noticed. There are better ways to break into the industry." "Rachel, think about your future," Quinn added gently but firmly. "This industry is brutal. You don’t want to set a precedent that could haunt you for years." Santana leaned forward, her expression softening slightly. "And it’s not just about the work. It's about how you feel about yourself too. You deserve to be valued for your talent, not for your body." Rachel looked between her friends, feeling the weight of their concern. "You guys really came all this way just to look out for me?" "Rachel, I would drop anything for you," Quinn blurted out, her eyes widened in realization. Silence... uncomfortable silence... "Uhhh, can't say I would do the same..." Santana piped in, cranking her head to Quinn with a bemused expression, "But you and I are tight now, so there's that." As the lunch bell rang, signalling the end of a monotonous morning of classes, Sam Evans slowly closed his locker with a soft clank and took a deep breath. He trudged down the bustling hallway, navigating through clusters of students chatting and laughing, feeling more like a ghost than a participant in the lively atmosphere. His mind was preoccupied as he made his way to Ms. Pillsbury's office. He had been feeling a bit out of it this week. Defeated about his SAT score and feeling pressured about the Men of McKinley Calendar, there was the financial stress the holiday season often brought to his family, too. Stevie wanted a scooter this Christmas, and Stacie wanted the new One Direction Ken dolls. The weight of their expectations tugged at Sam's heart, deepening his sense of responsibility as he considered how to make their holiday wishes come true against the backdrop of their family's tight budget. Each step felt heavier as he approached Ms. Pillsbury's door. "Hey, you wanted to see me?" Sam asked quietly, leaning against the door frame. Ms. Pillsbury and... weirdly, Blaine smiled warmly at him. "What are you doing here?" "Have a seat, Sam," Emma Pillsbury gestured to the empty chair beside his best friend, "Blaine asked me to look in to something for you." Emma reached into her desk drawer and produced a collection of glossy college brochures, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she placed them in front of the blonde. "This is a small sampling of colleges that don't require SAT or ACT scores," she continued, "And they're excellent schools, Sam. They recognize that a test score isn't the best way to measure one's intelligence." "Or creativity," Blaine added, his tone supportive, causing a small smile to flicker on Sam's lips, if only for a moment. "You can always do the SAT's again," Emma explained reassuringly as Sam flipped through his options, "Many kids do that." "Let's say I get into any of these schools," Sam threw the stack down on the desk, "My family still can't afford it." "Yes, you can," Emma countered, beaming at the boy, "Even in this economy, there are hundreds of scholarships out there!" She then handed him a stack of application forms and essay prompts. "What you need is a personal essay about yourself and your accomplishments." "Like what? Like my abs and fish lips?" Sam retorted sarcastically, still feeling apprehensive. "Like the Glee Club, and Student Council," Blaine replied, "And swimming." "Synchronized swimming." Sam corrected wryly, but there was a hint of pride in his voice. "Sam, you've accomplished much more than you give yourself credit for," Emma spoke softly but sincerely, "Why don't you take that home, and think about it." She offered him an encouraging smile, and Sam felt a flicker of possibility in the air, momentarily pushing aside the burden of expectation that had been weighing him down. "Y-yeah... I'll think about it," Sam said, placing the brochures and applications in his backpack and walking out of the office. Blaine followed closely behind. "Hey, what do you think?" Blaine asked, slinging his arm around his friend's shoulders. "It's... a start," Sam shrugged, "I'm really sorry for being a jerk during the photoshoot. I've been dealing with a lot of stress." "No worries, man." Blaine replied, "We all are! Your feelings are completely valid." "I just... I don't know; I just wish that I could have the stuff on my resume to get into a good school. Like two Nationals wins, for example. Too bad the Warblers were pumped up with steroids and outshone us..." Blaine stopped in his tracks, then grabbed Sam, whirling his body around to face him. "What did you say about the Warblers?" "I thought about it last night when I was watching their performance on YouTube," Sam explained, "If you're a gym bro like me, you can see doping from a mile away. Signs point to... oh my god..." "Oh, my god..." Blaine whispered back, "OH MY GOD!" The boys exclaimed in unison, "WE HAVE TO TELL FINN!" "Guys, I'm so happy that you talked me out of doing that movie," Rachel smiled as she embraced Santana and Quinn in a tight hug, "Thank you so much. It's like my dads say: You can't make new old friends." Quinn gazed at Rachel with admiration and relief, "No regrets?" "None," Rachel replied confidently, "Do you have to go so soon? Can you stay longer because I would love to buy you both dinner and take you around New York." "I'm in," Quinn nodded enthusiastically, "It would be nice to check out the program I'll be attending if I get the internship." "Sure," Santana chimed in, Rachel squealed and skipped out of the NYADA auditorium, where her friends gathered, anxiously waiting to see if the young Barbra-to-be was going through with her scandalous decision. They were both grateful that she didn't. "I'm in no rush to get back to Kentucky," Santana declared as they followed Rachel. "Mmm?" Quinn responded, her eyes focused on the adorable brunette skipping out into the hallway. "I think I could get used to New York. It's more my speed. Besides, if you'll be here on that internship, I might as well join you," She continued, "Fab-gay, you didn't even listen to me. Stop staring at the skipping dwarf."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Jennette Tremblay scrolled lazily through the TV channels as she lay sprawled out on her hotel bed. Even the New York Ritz-Carlton hotel seemed to have nothing good on. She ordered room service twice, the first time because she was hungry and the second because she was bored. After all, there was no such thing as wasting money when you were an heiress raised by two of the most affluent socialites in Quebec. Speaking of said socialites, Jenny's phone wouldn't stop buzzing from her parents' constant texts and phone calls, asking her what her Winter Break plans were. Jenny wasn't sure what she wanted to do for the holidays. Quebec winters are unbearable, and Yale's campus would be empty. The thought of a New York Christmas, with glistening lights and festive cheer, teased her imagination, seeming much more appealing. If she could escape this damn hotel room. But not yet. She had promised to wait for her roommate, Quinn Fabray, and Quinn's stunningly attractive friend, Santana Lopez, who were currently attending an intervention for their Glee Club friend, Rachel Berry—a situation that must involve layers of intricate drama given how long it had been taking. "Girl must be super messed up if this intervention is taking this long," Jenny muttered, flicking off the flat screen. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door; Jenny rolled out of the king-sized bed and opened the door. Quinn and Santana trickled in. "Finally! I've been going crazy in here!" She exclaimed, "Jenny... you were allowed to leave the hotel..." Quinn raised an eyebrow, "Anyway, we're going shopping now. You can officially meet Kurt and Rachel." "Sweet!" Jenny quickly gathered her belongings: a chic purse and her favourite pair of heels that complemented her outfit perfectly. She followed the girls out of the lavish Ritz-Carlton, the clack of her heels echoing behind them. Rachel and Kurt were waiting in the lobby's comfortable armchairs as the rest of the group approached them. Jenny nervously tagged along, hiding behind Quinn. She was enthusiastic about meeting her roommate's friends. However, she wasn't expecting to meet this many at once. "Rachel, Kurt, this is my roommate, Jenny Tremblay," Quinn nudged Jenny ahead of her, "She was the one who booked Santana and I rooms here at the Ritz." "Hi, Jenny. It's nice to see you... again," Rachel shook her hand, and their eyes met briefly; both were reminded of that awkward night when Rachel showed up at their dorm. "Hey, Jenny! I've heard wonderful things about you!" Kurt smiled, "Qui est le coordinateur de votre tenue?" "Je crée ma propre garde-robe et je fais venir toutes mes pièces de New York," Jenny replied, "Your French is amazing for an American, Kurt." Kurt laughed, a bright smile spreading across his face. "Thanks! I've been trying to brush up on it. I actually have a great French teacher who teaches my NYADA extension classes—very enthusiastic." "I bet he gives you extra credit for speaking French while singing! Very New York of you." Rachel chimed in, a playful glint in her eyes. "It's so cool that you guys go to NYADA!" Jenny mused, now stepping forward on her own, "It's my dream school besides Juilliard. Composing music is my passion." "What do you do at Yale, Jenny?" Santana asked, weirdly shyly, for her bold personality. "Pre-law with Quinn," Jenny replied, her earlier vigour dimming slightly as she continued. "But Quinn's the criminology expert. My parents insist I follow a path in corporate law." She added this last bit with a trace of sadness, deep down wishing to pursue her true passion instead. "So, ladies. Shall we get our shop on?" Kurt proposed, his excitement infectious, leading the girls out of the lobby and into the bustling streets of New York, filled with the sights and sounds of the city's festive atmosphere. ...
The five young adults, led by Kurt and Rachel, travelled all over the city. They browsed almost every storefront and quickly filled their hands with countless shopping bags. The festive hustle and bustle of the city wrapped around them like a warm blanket despite the cold December air. Inside a charming Christmas boutique adorned with twinkling lights and cheerful decorations, Rachel, Jenny, and Kurt eagerly sifted through a myriad of ornaments and festive decor, their laughter mingling with the joyous Christmas music playing softly in the background. As they debated the merits of different ornaments, Quinn seized the opportunity to pull Santana aside. "What are we doing here?" Santana asked as they stepped into a lavish jewelry store, its display cases glinting like stars. "Well, Rachel’s eighteenth birthday is coming up next week, and I want to give her something special since I won’t be around to celebrate," Quinn shared, her eyes scanning the sparkling treasures before them. "She once told me that, besides her dads, people usually double up on her Hanukkah and Christmas presents for her birthday, including Finn…" Quinn paused, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice, "Actually, Finn forgot about Hanukkah altogether…" "Boggles the mind how she was all over him for so long," Santana scoffed, rolling her eyes, "What are you getting here?" "I remember that last year, she sold her new earrings and donated the money. I don't think she's bought or received new ones since. I thought I could give her a nice pair of earrings," Quinn said, her gaze drifting thoughtfully over the exquisite pieces. A sense of purpose shimmered in her eyes, reflecting her desire to give Rachel something truly meaningful. "Not gonna lie, that's kinda weird. You guys aren't even dating," Santana raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "I promise, it's just a gift," Quinn assured her. "I just want it to be something that brightens her day." Santana rolled her eyes again but couldn’t hide a small smile. "Fine. Let’s find her some killer earrings, then. But if I see you blushing while you give them to her, I'm totally calling you out on it." "No, you're not. I'm still mad at you for telling Mercedes about my feelings for Rachel," Quinn replied, "Now, let's be quick about it. We don't want the others to know where we are." "How long will it take for you to find the perfect set of earrings?" Santana asked, directing her gaze to a row of bracelets. Quinn offered a thoughtful smile. "Well, considering that my mother owns two jewelry stores, and she emails me catalogues every week. Not that long." As they continued to browse, Quinn delicately grazed the glass displays until her eyes lit up upon spotting a pair of exquisite gold mini hoops. They were shaped like stars and adorned with tiny diamonds that sparkled brilliantly in the soft light. A sense of excitement bubbled within her, and she felt a surge of hope that these might be just the right gift for Rachel. "Seems a little on the nose, doesn't it?" Santana peeked at the hoops Quinn had her eye on. "No, not at all..." Quinn whispered, "These are perfect." After purchasing Rachel's golden star-shaped hoops, Quinn and Santana snuck back inside the Christmas boutique to catch up with the rest of the group. Behind the tall rainbow row of decorated Christmas trees, past the Nutcracker display, stood Jenny, Rachel and Kurt. The three were marvelling at the assortment of tree toppers. The toppers were a kaleidoscope of colours and designs, featuring everything from whimsical stars to classic angels that sparkled under the boutique's warm lights. "Gosh, it would truly be amazing to have our own Christmas tree this year, Rach," Kurt sighed wistfully, his eyes gleaming with a mix of longing and nostalgia. "It feels like a must-have for the holiday spirit. Sadly, we sort of blew our holiday savings on retail therapy instead." Rachel nodded in agreement, her fingers lightly tracing the outline of a shimmering gold star on one of the toppers. "Right? Just imagine it filled to the brim with decorations, twinkling lights, and ornaments that tell our story here," she replied dreamily, her voice tinged with hope. "Maybe we'll manage to do it next year when we've budgeted better." "Yeah, but this is our first Christmas living in New York; it wouldn't be as special if it were next year." "I would happily pay for your Christmas tree if it means that much to you guys. I'd love to help you make your first New York Christmas magical," Jenny offered sincerely, her smile warm and genuine. "It's really not a problem for me at all." "Jenny, you're so sweet, but you've paid for half our stuff today," Kurt shook his head, "By the way, have you decided what to do for Christmas?" "Well, it's either fly home to Montreal and be nose-deep in snow, or rot away in my dorm at Yale," Jenny shrugged, "Honestly, I might just stick around here instead, embracing the city's festive spirit." She twirled around with her arms out, almost knocking Santana to her feet. "OH! Sorry!" Jenny turned bright red as she placed her hands on Santana's shoulders to steady her. "It's okay," Santana smiled, blushing as well. "There you guys are! Where did you go?" Rachel asked, her curiosity piqued as she turned her gaze towards Quinn, who had just entered the conversation. Quinn and Santana exchanged a knowing look, "Oh, we were in the front talking to the shopkeeper," Quinn replied casually, trying to downplay their brief absence while shooting a playful grin at Santana, who seemed more interested in Jenny than anything else. "Well, now that we've shopped for three hours, should we get something to eat?" Kurt said, "Absolutely, I'm famished!" Jenny nodded her head enthusiastically, "Same here, I raided Kurt and Rachel's pantry earlier and their snacks sucked," Santana added, prompting an incredulous glance from Rachel. "I know the place! I pass by it on my way to work, but I've never been inside. It's called the Spotlight Diner? It's supposed to be a Broadway themed diner where the staff sings to you!" Santana groaned, rolling her eyes, "Oh, no. Lady Hummel, that sounds horrible! I already had to sit in Glee Club for three years while you and Berry serenaded us with your crusty–" "Sounds awesome! Let's go!" Jenny piped in, "Actually, yeah. That sounds great! Let's go," Santana declared immediately after, practically bouncing on her toes as she followed Jenny closely. Kurt, Quinn, and Rachel exchanged puzzled glances as the two raced ahead. "Does... Does Santana have a crush on her?" Rachel asked Quinn softly. "You just noticed that now?" Quinn chuckled in response. The former McKinley grads, plus Jenny, navigated Manhatten's chilly, busy streets until stopping at the Spotlight Diner right on Broadway, the neon lights beckoning them inside. After, we can hit up Rockefeller! It's just a few blocks away." Kurt said as they walked over to the hostess's desk. The hostess led them to a snug booth, and as Rachel climbed in first, she felt a delightful rush of warmth. She was quickly followed by Quinn and then Kurt. Quinn blushed faintly as she found herself pressed against Rachel, their shoulders brushing comfortably. On the opposite side of the booth, Santana and Jenny nestled closely together, their laughter bubbling as they settled into the tight space, completely at ease. "Hi! I'm Dani; I'll be your server today!" the blonde waitress introduced herself with a radiant smile, her eyes sparkling as she directed a flirtatious glance at Santana as she passed out the menus… or so Jenny interpreted, quickly fixing her hair and leaning forward, eager to catch Santana's attention and distract her from the waitress. "Hi, Dani ," Jenny replied, eyes narrowing at the girl with the fake blonde hair, "We'll start with some waters, please." "Uh, okay..." Dani responded, her brow furrowing in confusion before she walked away, leaving the group to their conversation. "SO, Santana!" Jenny pivoted the focus back to the group dynamic, "Quinn was telling me about you cheering for the University of Louisville. You must be an amazing dancer," Jenny mused, gazing into Santana's eyes. "Yeah... I guess so, but in Glee Club and Cheerios, it was always my ex-girl–" Santana then cleared her throat. "My BEST FRIEND, Brittany. She was the expert dancer." Kurt and Quinn couldn’t stifle their snickers at the playful (and a little pathetic) flirtation unfolding between their friends. Rachel remained silent in her corner, momentarily envious that Quinn wasn’t showering her with the same attention. Not that it mattered, of course. Rachel had a boyfriend—what was his name again? Ah, right! Brody! Yes, Brody. "Musicians!" Rachel suddenly exclaimed, her enthusiasm overtaking her momentary jealousy. "We're all musicians. Isn't that nice? A wonderfully harmonious group." The table fell into a moment of pause, all eyes turning to Rachel as Dani returned with their waters, setting them down with a cheerful clink. "Yeah, it’s really cool that you all met in Glee Club. What was that experience like for you?" Jenny replied, "Well, funny story," Quinn began with a grin, her eyes sparkling with fond memories. "Our Spanish teacher, Mr. Schue, started the club with Rachel, Kurt, and our friends, Artie, Mercedes, and Tina." She paused for a moment, the nostalgia washing over her. "Then Mr. Schue got Finn, me and Rachel's... ex," Quinn hesitated, glancing at Rachel for a nod of approval, "...to join the Glee Club. After that, I joined with Santana and Brittany because I thought he was seeing Rachel! And let’s not forget our cheer coach, Sue Sylvester, who used us as spies... until I got pregnant with Beth." "Spies for... what exactly?" Jenny asked, raising an eyebrow, intrigued by the unexpected twist. "Three years later, we still don't know," Kurt shrugged in response as the girls nodded in agreement, "It seemed like her affinity with show choir changed almost every day." "But, in the end, it didn't matter," Quinn added, "We stayed because we loved to sing, and the New Directions were better friends than anyone else at McKinley." "It's funny. I used to bully Rachel and Kurt relentlessly in high school; now we're just a phone call away," Santana said, clinking her water with Rachel's. "Okay, are you guys ready to take your orders?" Dani walked towards the group again with a notepad. "I'll take the red lentil soup with the grilled cheese, Kurt and Quinn will have the roast beef sliders and fries, Santana will have the cheeseburger and fries, and Jenny will have the club sandwich with the tomato basil soup," Rachel replied as Kurt neatly stacked their menus. "Great! And is this all separate?" Dani asked as she scribbled in her notepad. "Nope. My treat," Rachel smiled, "Don't even argue, guys. This is a thank you gift and a 'Welcome To New York' gift." "So, Jenny. Were you in a Glee Club?" Kurt turned his attention to the Canadian in front of him. "No, I did regular Chamber Choir for a bit. I attended a private performing arts school, so music was in our day-to-day," Jenny replied, sipping her water, "Back at Yale, Quinn was telling me how difficult it was to keep the arts alive at McKinley. It's so weird to think that high schools in the States don't have arts programs." "Yeah, it's pretty messed up," Kurt nodded. "The arts programs are the first to go when funding gets tight. It's sad because so many kids have talent and passion but don't have the resources to explore it. My dad and Mr. Schue are trying their best in Congress to loosen their grip on the arts, but it's still difficult." Jenny nodded thoughtfully, her expression serious. "It's such a shame. I can't imagine my life without music. It's like… essential, you know? It brings people together." Quinn stared at her roommate, looking visibly upset as she spoke. She knew that pre-law at Yale wasn't Jenny's journey. Her heart ached when Jenny's eyes lit up as they arrived in New York. There had to be some way to get Jenny here. "Totally," Santana added, taking a sip of her water. "It can lift you up when you're feeling down or make you feel connected even when you're alone... It got me through my Abuela disowning me, for example. Of course, I remember the first time I belted out a solo—I felt invincible!" Kurt leaned in, clearly enjoying the conversation. "And the friendships that formed through Glee Club! I mean, it was wild. We had our ups and downs, but those moments on stage made it all worthwhile. It's like we were crafting a family." Just as Kurt finished his sentence, Dani returned to the table, balancing a tray laden with their meals. The aroma wafting up was enough to make everyone's mouth water. "Here we are! One red lentil soup with grilled cheese," Dani announced, setting the bowl and sandwich down before Rachel with a flourish. "And for you, Kurt and Quinn, two orders of roast beef sliders and fries." She placed their plates in front of them, the sliders glistening invitingly. Dani set Santana's meal in front of her, leaning in slightly. "I made sure it’s extra juicy, just for you, Santana," she added with a wink. Santana couldn't help but laugh, her eyebrows raised playfully. "Wow, thanks! I'll be the judge of that," she replied, savouring the attention with a smirk. "Wow, those look amazing," Quinn remarked quietly, her eyes lighting up as she surveyed the hearty meal. Jenny seized the opportunity to pivot the conversation. "Absolutely! I've been dying to try this club sandwich," she said, grinning brightly at the others and averting her gaze from Dani. Dani lingered for a moment, still trying to gauge the dynamics. "Alright, let me know if you need anything else," she said, her gaze lingering on Santana for just a second longer before she turned to head back to the kitchen. "Well, that was… interesting," Quinn said, raising an eyebrow and shooting a teasing glance at Jenny. "Don't start," Jenny mouthed back. As they settled into their meals, laughter and conversation flowed freely among the five friends, the vibrancy of their first, but certainly not last, weekend in New York City filling the air with warmth and promise. ... After an enjoyable dinner filled with laughter and shared stories, the group made their way back to the Ritz-Carlton. The atmosphere was tinged with excitement and melancholy as Quinn and Jenny prepared to leave the vibrant energy of New York City behind. They had an early train to catch back to New Haven, a fact that weighed heavily on Jenny, who was clearly reluctant to depart. In the hotel's elegant lobby, Rachel and Kurt stood side by side, their expressions reflecting their sadness at the impending goodbye. They watched as Quinn, Santana, and Jenny busily sorted through their shopping bags piled high with items from their day of retail therapy. "Do you have to leave New York so soon?" Kurt asked as he leaned on Rachel. "Unfortunately, yes. I have to return to Yale to do my finals, and Jenny has to figure out what she's doing for Christmas," Quinn responded with a heavy sigh. Her voice trailed off, blending with the ambient noise of the lobby as her mind raced with the thoughts of her upcoming challenges. "Yeah... and I have to go back to..." Santana trailed off, her mind evidently elsewhere, struggling to find the right words. "College?" Quinn finished, raising an eyebrow. "Yes! College! At Louisville– The University of Louisville," Santana hurriedly replied, a flush creeping onto her cheeks as she stumbled over her words. "Well, Quinn, I– I mean Kurt and I really hope you win the internship and move in with us," Rachel said, blushing a faint pink, "Even if you don't, it would still be nice to see you everyday– err, often." "You too, Jenny. I think you really found your place here," Kurt added, smiling at his new friend. As they shared bittersweet smiles, each of them absorbed in their thoughts, the reality of parting hung in the air, tempered by beautiful memories created in the heart of the city. "Well, since I am obviously not welcome back to New York by Manhands and Porcelain," Santana retorted snarkily, "I'm going to my expensive ass hotel room, all expenses paid for." Before strutting towards the elevator, Santana tossed a flirtatious glance over her shoulder, catching Jenny's attention. "I'm suddenly tired too!" Jenny exclaimed a little too loudly. She grabbed her bags and rushed to catch up with Santana. "So, obviously they're sleeping together tonight," Kurt muttered, prompting a chuckle from the girls. "Great," Quinn rolled her eyes with playful exasperation, "Can't wait to hear about their night on the train from Jenny in full detail." "They could just be going to bed," Rachel shrugged innocently, "I mean, is it too soon for Santana? You know, after Britt?" Kurt shook his head in amusement. "Britt is dating Sam now. At this point, who knows what might happen?" "Does... Santana know Sam's dating Brittany?" Quinn asked, furrowing her brow with concern. "Because whatever happens in that hotel room tonight, distraction or not, Jenny can't stop San from unleashing her rage on the poor guy." "Anyway, Kurt and I should probably return to Bushwick now," Rachel said sadly, "It was so good to see you, Quinn." "Wait! Rachel, can we talk for a second?" Quinn paused to look at Kurt, "Alone?" Kurt nodded and stepped out of earshot to give the girls some privacy. Quinn gently took Rachel's hand and pulled her towards the grand staircase. She stopped to face the shorter girl, only releasing her hold to pull a small box from her coat pocket. "What's this?" Rachel smiled at the blonde, slightly blushing. "Your birthday present," Quinn replied, her voice low and secretive. "But, please, don't open it until the eighteenth, okay? And remember, don't touch your other gifts until—" Before Quinn could finish her thought, Rachel sprang forward, enveloping her in a warm, tight hug. The sudden display of affection took Quinn by surprise, but she melted into it, reciprocating the embrace with equal fervour. "Come here for Christmas," Rachel whispered, her voice soft and earnest against Quinn's ear, "Internship or not, I want you and I to spend Christmas together, please." "I...okay," Quinn breathed, "I'll come here for Christmas." "You were awfully quiet during the train ride," Quinn playfully nudged Jenny as the girls entered their dorm room. "Didn't exactly wanted to leave New York," Jenny shrugged, "But, I'm glad I went with you." Quinn raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So, does that mean you'll be spending Christmas with me in New York? We could hit all the holiday hotspots—ice skating in Central Park, checking out the decorations, maybe even a Broadway show!" "Nope. I'm going home to Montreal to be with my family. My father has already ordered the private jet." Jenny replied, "I leave after your big exam. Sorry, Q." "Well, isn't that the turn around," Quinn said as she rolled her suitcase into the walk-in closet, "You were telling everyone how ready you were to have a Big Apple Christmas!" "Yeah, but... I just really missed my family," Jenny responded with another half-hearted shrug. She plopped into her desk chair and spun it around. "Hmm, okay..." Quinn leaned against the closet door, crossing her arms as she studied Jenny with a knowing smile. "But seriously, are you going to tell me what happened last night between you and Santana?" A mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes, and she waggled her eyebrows playfully. "I didn't have sex with your bestie, Quinn. If that's what you're suggesting," Jenny folded her arms, "We just talked." "Talked about what?" "You know..." Jenny spun around again, "Life, exes, college, hating college..." She stopped her chair again, fidgeting her fingers in her lap. "Hating college, huh," Quinn sighed, "Jennette Tremblay, you're terrible at covering things up. What's really going on?" Before Jenny could respond, her phone buzzed on her desk. Marie-Alice Hébert's contact flashed across the screen. She quickly answered, her voice slipping into French, "Salut, Marie-Alice... Ouais, Quinn et moi venons d'arriver... HUH?! Tu blagues... sacrament! Ouais, en route... okay bientôt." As she ended the call, Jenny muttered in astonishment, "Tabarnak..." The shock was evident on her face as she turned to Quinn. "Tabarnak is like, 'holy shit,' right?" Quinn stepped closer to Jenny, "What's going on? What does Marie-Alice want?" "Surprise secret society meeting in like... two seconds. We gotta go... NOW!" Jenny replied, already one foot out of their dorm. ... Quinn and Jenny burst through the curtain of the dimly lit speakeasy, both panting slightly from their hasty arrival. As they scanned the intimate space filled with hushed conversations and flickering candles, they rushed over to where Marie-Alice and Georgia sat alone at a secluded table. "Where are the other girls?" Quinn scanned the speakeasy for the other members. "This has to stay between the four of us, Quinn," Georgia replied in a low whisper, her gaze darting around to ensure no one was listening. "Because... this will change everything," Marie-Alice added, sliding a thick folder across the table. Quinn's heart raced as they opened the folder, revealing a chaotic assortment of documents. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the name that leapt out at her: Biff McIntosh, her fiercest rival. As they pored over the contents, one file stood out glaringly against the others—two hefty cheques addressed to Yale University Admissions...and the criminal psychology professor mentoring Biff. "Joyeux Noël, Quinn Fabray. Looks like Christmas came early for you." Marie-Alice leaned back in her seat, narrowing her eyes at the shocked blonde. "What is this..?" Jenny asked slowly. "College admissions scandal. Isn't that quite the headline?" Quinn declared, her voice steady as she thrust the file folder into Biff McIntosh's broad chest, the surprise knocking him backward a step. The scene shifted to the following day: Exam day had arrived. The six ambitious pre-law and criminology students who had participated in the Fall Semester Student Mentorship program were poised to take the test that would determine who among them would earn a prestigious sabbatical in New York, interning with the NYPD. "And a cheque to Dr. Lester Birkshire, no doubt regarding your TA position with him, am I right?" She continued, wearing her signature 'Loopy Quinn' expression, "Here, you keep that folder. My girls and I have hundreds of copies." "You best keep your voice quiet, Fabray," Biff McIntosh warned, "Because my guys know about your little relationship with Professor Valerie Larkin." Quinn froze in her place; her expression faltered. "Aww, you didn't know? So, when Georgia Bloomberg came to my dorm for…adult relations..." He leaned in closer, a smirk dancing on his lips. "I had a sneaky suspicion that something was up, especially knowing she's tight with you. My theory was solidified when I found my laptop and my emails open the next morning. So, I did some digging myself." With a flourish, Biff reached into his briefcase and pulled out the stack of Marie-Alice's incriminating photos of Quinn and Valerie making out at the clambake. "Fuck you..." Quinn spat, staring daggers at the man. "Actually, I invited you to do that, but you rejected me," Biff shrugged smugly, "Wow, lesbian student-professor relationship. Quite the headline." "So, I guess we're both undeserving of this internship," Quinn crossed her arms, her unrelenting stare unwavering, "Are we gonna come clean then?" "Please," Biff scoffed, "Why make it boring? I'll expose you when I win the sabbatical." He paused deliberately, his gaze heavy as he looked down at the feisty blonde standing before him, "Something tells me you're ready to do the same. Quinn Fabray, you and I aren't that different, you know. We're both used to getting what we want." "You have no idea what I've been through..." Quinn shot back, "Had a baby at sixteen with a Jewish kid and had your spine compressed in a car accident caused by you. Oh yeah, you've been through a lot," Biff countered, his tone sarcastic, "I remember seeing you at the clambake, clutching that cane of yours. Is it just a prop to garner sympathy from others?" Quinn arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You really are a remarkably ignorant ass," she retorted, her tone sharp. "I actually rely on that cane for support during long events where standing for extended periods can be a challenge." "This pack of cigarettes fell out of your coat pocket," Biff waved the box childishly in Quinn's face. "And Delilah Kraft buys weed off of you," Quinn rolled her eyes, "Wanna keep going?" "You're a fake, just like your diplomat father." "You're too dumb for Yale University; your daddy had to bribe the board to get here." "Your daddy kicked you out." "And your daddy bailed you out." "Students!" The Dean piped in from behind them, addressing the group of now six. The other students must have trickled in while Quinn and Biff were bickering, "The exam room is now open. You all have fifteen minutes of your own volition before the official start time." Quinn and Biff sprinted towards the classroom, squeezing through the door frame at the same time. Quinn was the first to pop out of the door frame, executing a flawless Cheerios-style somersault onto her feet and dashing to the chair. Biff quickly caught up, pulling the chair away from her and hastily sitting down. The other students walked past them and traded puzzled glances. They exchanged silent questions with each other, wondering aloud why on earth Quinn and Biff were so intent on competing for a single seat amid the sea of available desks that filled the spacious classroom. Quinn stomped to the end of the row, slamming her laptop on the desk. Game on, Biff McIntosh.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
On a frigid December night, as the clock inched closer to midnight on the eve of the last day of finals, the historic campus of Yale University lay blanketed in a thick layer of snow. It was Thursday, December 13th, 2012, and the once-bustling grounds were now a hushed winter wonderland, the streets illuminated by the soft glow of vintage lampposts. A small group of students remained, their laughter and cheers echoing in the stillness as they engaged in an impromptu snowball fight, their faces flushed with the thrill of youthful abandon. Meanwhile, in their cozy dormitories, many others were tucked away, clutching giant bottles of alcohol or energy drinks, fueling their late-night study sessions or drowning out the stress of impending exams. Some busied themselves packing up for their eagerly awaited break, while others surrendered to the lure of sleep, exhausted from the week's mental grind. Quinn Fabray tapped her foot anxiously on the polished hardwood floor of the society's speakeasy, staring at her computer screen, refreshing her inbox repeatedly. Her roommate, Jenny, and the society socialites huddled around her in the booth. Eager to see her results. The previous night, Wednesday, December 12th, 2012, Quinn had been immobilized in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, her mind racing incessantly. It had been six long hours since she had completed her final exam, the weight of her performance hanging heavy in the air. Each tick of the clock echoed in her mind, intertwining anxiety and anticipation. It was Tuesday, December 11th, 2012, when Quinn received the bombshell of information. Her rival, Biff McIntosh, was involved in a college admissions scam. It was Monday, December 10th, 2012, when Georgia Bloomberg slipped out of Biff McIntosh's bed and tip-toed to his open laptop. A small flash drive danced in her fingers. Minutes later, she got what she wanted. Georgia turned to close the computer... but then decided against it. It was more fun that way. "What are you doing?" A shirtless Biff McIntosh leaned against the doorframe behind her. "Using your photo printer," Georgia replied casually, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Thought you might want this." With a flourish, she presented him with a stack of freshly printed photographs. "Here's everything you need to take down Quinn Fabray. Take the credit." It was now twelve on the dot. Friday, December 14th, 2012, when Biff McIntosh received an email from the student mentorship program and the NYPD. Congratulations, William McIntosh III... Congratulations, Lucy-Quinn Fabray... We are thrilled to inform you that you and a fellow student have been selected for a coveted spot in the Student Internship in Criminal Psychology program in New York City! Your exceptional academic achievements and dedication to your studies have set you apart as a strong candidate for this unique opportunity. This internship will allow you to gain invaluable hands-on experience in the field of criminal psychology and work alongside professionals who are making significant contributions to the field. We believe this experience will significantly enhance your understanding and prepare you for future endeavours. Please find the internship details attached, along with any necessary paperwork and requirements to get started. We encourage you to contact your academic advisor for any guidance as you embark on this exciting journey. Once again, congratulations on this well-deserved recognition! We look forward to seeing all the great things you will accomplish.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The warning bell rang as Sue Sylvester sat comfortably in her office. Small candles lined her desk as she wrote in her journal. A warm mug of hot chocolate-flavoured protein smoothie lay untouched as that concoction was rather disgusting. So much for being festive. "Dear Journal," Sue muttered as she scribbled in her book. It's Christmas again, that time of year when parents aren't arrested for forcing their children to sit on an old man's weirdly hot lap. The non-existent camera panned around her office, showing off various red Christmas trees that decorated her private space.
That magical season when five seemingly separate storylines are cleverly sandwiched between the lines Archive of Our Own graciously provides their authors and then tied together at the end like a beautiful bow. Like the movie "Love Actually," which I don't think anyone really mcares for, yet it is constantly on cable.
We start our story with Wheels McCripplepants, who obsessively wears racing gloves and button-ups. His purpose in this chapter is to learn his true purpose in Will Schuester's psycho-sexual, Broadway-obsessed Glee Club...
On a frigid December morning in Lima, Ohio, the sky hung heavy with a blanket of monotonous gray clouds, creating a sombre overhead canvas as delicate snowflakes pirouetted through the brisk air. They twirled and danced in soft flurries, slowly accumulating on the ground, where they layered themselves into a thick, fluffy coat that dulls the landscape in hues of white. Students hurriedly streamed out of buses and cars, their laughter and chatter punctuating the crisp air as they made their way toward the inviting warmth of McKinley High School. In one car navigating through the bustling parking lot, Artie Abrams sat silently in the passenger seat. His mother, Nancy, skillfully maneuvered through the maze of vehicles and students, a gentle frown creasing her brow as she surveyed the chaotic scene. "It snows every year, yet everyone acts and drives like it's never snowed before," Nancy Abrams shook her head as she rolled the car to a stop, "Artie, I want you to be extra careful today, okay? The hallways will be slippery with all the snow tracked in, so get a friend to push you around." "Yes, mom," Artie grumbled, grabbing his bag from the backseat, "Let's hope the janitor salted the ramp." As she opened the trunk, Nancy retrieved Artie's wheelchair, expertly maneuvering it out with the ease of someone accustomed to the routine. She positioned the chair beside the passenger side door, her hands steady as she held it in place while Artie prepared to transfer himself. With a firm push, he shifted his weight into the chair, a practiced motion that spoke of years of navigating both his condition and the everyday challenges that came with it. "Extra careful!" She reminded him as she took his backpack and hung it on the handles. "I know, Mom. You gotta get moving now or else you'll be late for work! You spent so much time this morning making sure the driveway was completely cleared off for me," Artie replied, "I really hate that you have to go those lengths for me." "As any mother would, Arthur," Nancy smiled in response, "Bye, honey!" Artie watched his mother pull out of the front side drop-off and then turn around to tackle the ramp. As he rolled along the sidewalk, he could see his fellow peers slip and slide down the icy staircase. The stairs weren't salted. They held on to the handrails for dear life as their sneakers failed to grip the cold surface. He chuckled softly at the sight and prepared to wheel himself up the (hopefully) salted ramp. That's weird... Artie observed the ramp; there wasn't a grain of blue or green crystal in sight. The surface was as smooth as glass... shiny too. Still, Artie pushed on. It may look unsalted, but it would be absolutely ridiculous, dangerous even, if it wasn't. He pushed and pushed until he was almost halfway. As he reached the halfway point, disaster struck. Suddenly, his right wheel lost traction, followed almost immediately by the left. The chair tipped beneath him, and in one swift, unexpected motion, Artie found himself tumbling backwards, the world flipping in a blur of white as he landed hard on the ramp behind him. "Aw damn!" Artie groaned in frustration; his head was throbbing, and his cheek stung sharply. He tried to reach for his chair, but it was too far away. "Help!" he shouted, summoning whatever strength he could muster. "Oh my gosh! Are you okay?" Two freshman girls rushed over to his aid. One girl helped Artie pull himself up while the other rolled his chair closer. "Thanks so much, girls," Artie said, managing a weak smile as he settled back into his chair, relief washing over him now that he was back in control, "Could you give me a hand getting back up the ramp?" "Sure thing!" One girl, who luckily wore snowboots, pushed him up while her friend gathered his books that fell out of his backpack. The freshmen gave him his backpack and waved goodbye as they scurried to class. Artie let out another frustrated groan and wheeled into school. He winced as he pushed on the rims of his tires; looks like he scraped his hands in the fall. A patch of searing hot red covered his cheek, and his head still ached. The winter concert was fast approaching, and now he felt and looked like nothing more than roadkill on a cold highway. Just fantastic. He swung open his locker, and the books spilled out of his backpack again. Artie released another frustrated sigh and angrily shoved the loose papers and books into his locker. History homework be damned. Finn rounded the corner and watched the scene unfold. "Whoa," Finn said, kneeling beside his friend, "Hey, dude, are you alright?" Artie ignored him as he crammed more crumpled paper into the locker. Finn looked up and noticed the rash on his cheek. "Artie, what happened to your face?" Finn pressed, worry furrowing his brow as he reached out to help his friend gather the dropped books. "I fell, okay?" Artie shot back, violently crumpling his book report in his hands as he shoved the project in with his books, "The stupid janitor didn't salt the ramp like he was supposed to, and my wheels don't have chains, so I slipped backwards and tipped over on the ice." He shoved the remaining papers into his backpack and tried to push away from Finn, "It's fine– it's nothing." "No, no, no. Hey, hey, hey," Finn said as he stopped Artie, holding his shoulder, "That's not nothing, that's some pretty serious road rash. Let me take you to the nurse's office." Artie sighed, feeling the weight of his defeat settle in. Compelled by Finn's persistence, he acquiesced, allowing his friend to push him around the hallway. As Artie travelled past the same classmates who had struggled to climb the icy staircase earlier that morning, they walked around him, talking with their friends and gathering their books like nothing had happened. ...
"You hit your head pretty hard," Nurse Gail said as she swabbed a Q-tip on Artie's rash, "I'm going to go call your mother. Lay down until she gets here." "Want me to help you get up on the cot?" Finn asked, sitting up from his chair. "No," Artie replied, crossing his arms, "I don't want anybody to help me with anything. I'm tired of being helpless. I'm tired of everybody pitying me," he rolled his chair backwards beside the cot, "I'm tired of being in this damn chair." In a gesture of frustration, Artie reached down and yanked out the metal side piece of the wheelchair, slamming it against the linoleum floor with a resonating clang that echoed through the small room. Finn sighed, trying to maintain a sense of calm amid his friend's turbulent emotions, "Anyone could've fallen on the ice, man. The janitor didn't ice the stairs either, right?" "Yeah, but they could've gotten back up," Artie fired back, his voice cracking slightly, "Instead of screaming for help until some freshman girls showed up." "Dude, don't bite my head off... but you need some rest. Let me help you up," Finn replied calmly. Finn lifted his friend up on the cot. Artie avoided eye contact the whole time, his face flushed with embarrassment and frustration. "I wish I was never in this chair." Artie whispered as he drifted off to sleep. Part 1: Artie's Dream "Artie... Artie!" Sam Evans shook his friend's shoulder, startling him awake, "Bro, come on. Let's go to 7-Eleven." "H-huh?" Artie blinked twice and furrowed his brow. As his eyes adjusted to the room, he noticed that Finn was replaced by Sam. Weird... his blonde hair was cut like Justin Beiber. Sam hadn't rocked that hairstyle since his Sophomore year. "Puck had an idea of doing a rainbow slushie facial on the Glee Club dorks," Sam chuckled. "Puck doesn't do that anymore..." Artie replied, rubbing the back of his head, "Didn't he graduate?" "No? He's a junior. Bro, are you okay?" Sam raised an eyebrow. Hold up... did Artie time travel back to 2010? "Why are we throwing slushies at our friends?" Artie now sat up and looked at the floor beside him. Where was his wheelchair? "Pfft, since when are you friends with those losers?" Sam snorted, pulling Artie to his feet. "Sam, no! My legs–" Artie yelped, holding onto the blonde for dear life. His feet remained planted on the floor... he was standing... he hadn't stood since he was a kid. "Dude, get off!" Sam pushed him away, "Get it together." "Oh, okay... I'm walking... but I'm not in Glee Club... and it's Sophomore year again..." Artie said in his head as he steadied himself. He took a look at his reflection in the full-length mirror. Gone were his woolly scarf, khakis, and loafers, now replaced by a Titans letterman jacket, jeans, and Nikes. His glasses were gone, too. Now, faint blue rings outlined his pupils, indicating contact lenses. Artie followed Sam out into the crowded hallway. "I'm not paying, go get your wallet," Sam nudged his friend. Jeez, arrogant much? That was definitely out of character for him. "Uhm, okay..." Artie replied, still trying to process this reality. He walked over to his bottom locker but stopped. Kurt Hummel was there, taking out his books. Kurt looked small and miserable. "Hey, Kurt... what are you doing at my locker?" Artie asked, gently reaching out to shake his friend's shoulder. As if his hand was scalding hot, Kurt flinched and quickly scrambled away from Artie's touch. "Wha-what are you talking about?" Kurt stammered, hugging himself protectively. "You heard him, gay boy," Sam sneered from behind Artie, his tone laced with mocking bravado. "This is my boy, Artie's now," he added, crossing his arms with a smirk that suggested he was enjoying this moment much too much. "So take out your crap and leave the money." "No, no," Artie interjected, "You can keep it... I must've gotten confused." Artie guided Sam away from Kurt and down the hallway. He looked over his shoulder and noticed the relief wash over the young Hummel. "Sam, bro, what's your deal?" Artie smacked Sam's arm, "That was really nasty." "Sorry, Gramps," Sam retorted, "I'll play nice, or whatever." The boys made their way to the main exit, where Puck, Finn, Mike, and...Karofsky gathered. "Finally, dude, you took forever," Puck playfully shoved Artie, "Let's go colour the Glee dorks." "Finn!" Quinn called out behind them, clad in her Cheerios uniform and holding... a baby. Brittany and Santana followed closely. "H-hey, babe..." Finn stammered, "It's your turn to change Beth's diaper. We have Cheerios practice and we need to be there early so Britt can get fitted for her human cannonball suit," Quinn gave Beth to Finn along with a diaper bag. "Hey, baby!" Brittany cheered as she wrapped her arms around Artie, kissing him on the cheek, "I'm so excited for you to watch me fly!" Artie instinctively wrapped his arms around the blonde; he caught Santana's jealous glare for a brief second before she moved to kiss Puck. Okay, that makes sense. Santana was still in the closet at that time. Wait a minute... human cannonball?! "Britt isn't that dangerous?!" Artie asked his girlfriend (at the time), "Why did you agree to that?" "It's not like I have another committment," Brittany shrugged, "Yeah, you do. Glee Club," Artie raised an eyebrow. "I wanted to join Glee Club, but they said no," Brittany mumbled, gesturing to the other two members of the Unholy Trinity, "We really have to go. Bye guys!" And with that, Brittany skipped down the hallway, followed by Quinn and Santana. "We should probably get to our slushie prank," Puck opened the doors, and the guys spilled out into the parking lot. Artie, however, felt rooted to the spot, a whirlwind of chaos inside him. He didn’t quite belong here; neither did he want to. "What the hell is happening?" He whispered. "Well, Artie Abrams, this is the life you would have if you never got into the car accident when you were eight," A familiar voice explained behind him. Artie spun around and was face to face with Matt Rutherford. The quiet kid from the first year of Glee Club. "Hey, Matt, what's up, man?" Artie raised his hand for a high-five, but his hand went through the boy. His eyes widened in horror. "Oh... he's a ghost. OH MY GOD, HE'S A GHOST! AM I DEAD?!?" "We ain't dead, bro. This is all a dream," Matt chuckled in reply, "You're still alive, sleeping in the nurses office and waiting for your mom to pick you up." "Okay, then... so, what is this reality?" Artie asked, "Well, you and Finn did join the Glee Club at some point. Will put weed in both of your lockers, but Quinn pulled Finn out because he was getting close to Rachel. You quit because of your popularity," Matt replied, "Neither of you fought to stay in the club. Since you were never in the wheelchair, you didn't get stuck in the porta-potty for Finn to save you. So, Finn continued to be an arrogant meathead. Quinn decides to keep Beth, but she still lies to Finn about who the father is. Since she wasn't Glee Club, Mercedes never found out, so Rachel never told Finn the truth. You ended up with Britt, who will die in..." Matt checked his watch. "Two days, because the Unholy Trinity never quit the Cheerios for the Glee Club, and she ended up doing the cannonball stunt. In this reality, Santana will become so depressed by Britt's death that she never falls in love again and dies of a broken heart before she can express her true feelings about women. Quinn never goes to Yale and, like Santana, never comes out as a lesbian. She and Finn will later live a loveless marriage here in Lima." "Jesus..." Artie muttered, "Puck goes to jail because the Glee Club never supported him or showed him his worth because you never helped him with his community service. Finn is drowned in debt to the baby. Mike never dances and goes to Harvard to become a doctor. Sam never joins the Glee Club and is later influenced to be a bully by you and the football team. The Glee Club also never helped him when his family was struggling with homelessness." "Okay... how about the OG New Directions? Tina, Mercedes, Kurt, and Rachel?" "Kurt will eventually find his way to Dalton and be safer there... but he never joins the Warblers. He coasts through his teenage years. Of course, since Finn never stayed in the Glee Club, Burt and Carole will never get married or meet." "Yikes..." Artie winced, "Rachel will never go to New York, ever. Because the Glee Club would never be successful without you, so her resume is empty," Matt continued, "Mercedes will stay in Lima and become a dentist like her parents. Because nobody could convince Sam to join the New Directions, he wasn't able to film Mercedes' 'Disco Inferno' performance, jump-starting her career. She and Rachel are constantly fighting over solos that, without proper intervention, they become enemies, and the group's chemistry disintegrates. And when the chemistry disintegrates, so does the Glee Club. But the anti-show choir sentiment still stands, so Mercedes, Rachel, and Kurt are bullied daily." "What about Tina!? Please say she turned out okay, please!" Artie pleaded, tears streaming down his cheeks. Matt pointed at an Asian girl nearby who was wearing dark clothes and heavy eyeliner. She kept her head down as she weaved through the crowd, seemingly invisible. "Tina?" Artie breathed, catching up to her. "I-I d-don't w-want any t-t-trouble," Tina stuttered, pushing the boy away. Tina's fate seemed to break Artie the most. The sight of Tina, so diminished and vulnerable, shattered something deep within Artie. He watched in anguish as his closest friend slinked down the corridor, swallowed by the bustling hallway that felt so cold and unwelcoming. "I-I don't want this life. I can't believe my chair would have such a positive impact," Artie cried. "Artie," Matt said, his tone softening, "It's not about your chair. It's about your attitude, the way you overcome adversity inspired the New Directions. Without struggle, without ups and downs, you're an arrogant fool," he explained, placing a non-existent comforting hand on his pal, "Remember when you took Becky out on a date? You reminded everyone that you both were more than just your disability. Remember when you helped Quinn get used to her wheelchair? You reminded her that she had a friend who genuinely understood her pain." "So... what are you saying?" "I'm saying that, yes, life will hurl challenges your way; people will unfairly judge you simply because they don't understand. But your experience in a wheelchair has allowed you to foster empathy and compassion in ways that surpass many of our peers. You advocated tirelessly for ramps in the auditorium—think about what a difference that will make for future students with disabilities! Your courage in sharing your vulnerability isn’t just a personal journey; it has become a source of inspiration for others. You don't have to be a poster boy for a cause, and you certainly are not a cautionary tale. Your goal is simply to remind others to be kind and open themselves to different perspectives. That's the essence of Glee Club, after all—embracing diversity, overcoming adversity, and understanding each other on a deeper level." "Thanks, Matt. Yeah, being in a chair sucks sometimes, but I've come a long way," Artie said, "By the way... what ever happened to you?" "That's a story for another time, buddy," Matt replied, "You're mom is here now, wake up." Wake up...
The next part is about our two favourite idiots: Brittany S. Pierce and the Kentucky Fried Stripper. Fish lips remembers he has a family, and they don't live in Lima, but he needs to be here for a storyline.
"Mom, Dad, I'll do my best to get home soon, but I'm really concerned about the snowstorm," Sam Evans said into the phone, his voice tinged with anxiety as he glanced at the television.
The vivid graphic of swirling snowflakes danced across the screen, framing the serious face of the weatherman, who was animatedly gesturing towards a detailed map of the region. It was a chaotic scene with shades of white and blue marking the areas in Ohio and Kentucky that were expected to be hit hardest. The forecast warned of heavy snowfall, making the roads treacherous. Sam's heart raced at the thought of driving through such harsh conditions, and he could hear the worry echoing in his parents' voices on the other end of the line.
"Yeah, right now I'm at Brittany's place... I could ask if I could stay longer, but I really don't want to impose on their Christmas plans," he conceded, his guilt evident. "I'm really sorry for not leaving Ohio earlier, Dad. I need to be upfront with you... I didn't do well on my SAT's... Yeah, I completely understand. That's exactly why I'm here, I've been working with a specialist that Ms. Pillsbury arranged for me... Yeah... It's been going well so far... No, Mom, I'll see my results on the upcoming report card... okay, got it... As soon as possible, yes...Please tell Stacie and Stevie that I love them... Love you guys, too... bye."
Sam turned off his phone and slumped on the armchair. He reached for the remote and turned off the television. A few quiet moments later, the front door swung open. Jennifer Coolidge–er–Whitney Pierce, with her daughters, Courtney and Tiffany Pierce, entered the living room.
"School is almost done! I'm so excited for winter break! Mom, can I go play now?" Courtney exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. Her blonde braids bobbed enthusiastically as she practically bounced on the tips of her shoes.
In her haste, the youngest Pierce flung her sparkly pink backpack across the room, the bag sailing through the air before landing squarely on Sam's face. Sam winced as he rubbed his jaw; what nine-year-old could possibly be carrying to make a backpack so heavy?
"Not to long outside, okay? It's Brittany's holiday concert tonight," Whitney replied,
"Hiiii, Sam," fourteen-year-old Tiffany sauntered towards him, flirtatiously waggling her fingers, "What are you doing here? Are you spending Christmas with us?" Her eyes lit up at the thought.
"Actually, I think I have to because of the snowstorm," Sam replied, cautiously leaning away from the leering teenager, "If that's okay with you and Mr. Pierce, Mrs. Pierce."
"Awe, that's okay," Whitney replied in her trademark breathy voice, "You can stay as long as you want."
Her eldest daughter, Brittany S. Pierce, slipped through the doorway with a grocery bag in each arm, her car keys dangled from the tip of her finger.
"I got the stuff for dinner. Man the lines were long!" The young dancer chuckled as she headed to the kitchen, not noticing her boyfriend in the living room.
"Britt! Mom said Sam is going to stay with us!" Courtney cheered as she dumped the bin of snowsuits and gloves on the floor.
Brittany furrowed her brow and walked into the living room. "Babe? I thought you were going home..."
"Yeah, well, the roads are terrible right now, and I can't really afford any repairs to my truck if anything goes wrong," Sam replied sadly, the reality of his situation hitting him hard.
"I think it's fantastic!" Tiffany piped in, smiling at the boy, "Sam, you never wave to me when you pass me in the hallway at school!" she whined, playfully nudging him, "Wanna see my room?"
"Back off, munch! He's my boyfriend!" Brittany snapped at her sister, "As if he would go for a freshman."
"As if he would go steady with a super senior," Tiffany shot back, crossing her arms.
"Brittany and Sam are going to get married!" Courtney chimed in, her voice lilting in a teasing sing-song way, even as she rummaged through the mess of winter gear scattered on the floor, finally locating her snow pants.
"No, she's not! She's going to marry the mean girl," Tiffany protested,
"Nobody is getting married!" Whitney cut in, her tone firm as she admonished her daughters to knock it off, the chaos of laughter and bickering filling the room with warm, familial energy despite the storm brewing outside.
"It's not like there's time to get married anyway," The girls' father, Pierce Pierce, strolled into the living room, "Britt, did you get the cans?" He pointed at his eldest.
"Yup," Brittany nodded, "Check the bag."
Pierce walked back into the kitchen and started to pull out various cans of food and tuna. Whitney stepped in, narrowed her eyes at her husband, and put her hands on her hips.
"Pierce, both schools' Christmas food drives were last week. What grocery list did you send our daughter?"
"Whitney, honey, these are our rations," Pierce replied, "Girls, I want you to clean out your rooms; anything you want to keep with you send them to the basement." he called out.
"Pierce, what–"
...
"We have two days until the 2012 Mayan Apocalypse," Pierce explained; Sam and Brittany's family were now gathered in the basement. Brittany stood beside her father, nodding in agreement as if it were a perfectly reasonable statement. Whitney and Tiffany exchanged exhausted glances.
"Sorry, sir... what are you talking about?" Sam asked as he raised his hand.
"I'm talking about protecting my girls, boy," Pierce snapped at the young blond, "Ever researched the Mayan calendar?"
"So, like, is the world going to end or something?" Tiffany scoffed, her voice dripping with skepticism as she rolled her eyes dramatically, "Dad, that's sooo, like, bull."
"I'll tell you what's 'like, bull,' Tiffany," Britt shot back, mocking her little sister's vocal fry, "The government not warning us about this for twelve months."
"Britt? Can I talk to you alone for a second?" Sam gently grabbed his girlfriend's arm and quickly led her upstairs as Pierce discussed the end times.
"Sam, make it quick. I have to go back downstairs and delegate tasks," Brittany crossed her arms. The couple sat down on the stools by the kitchen island.
"What is this? Didn't we go through this with Santa and Rory being a leprechaun?" Sam asked softly, "This seems silly. Can you tell me what's really going on with you?"
"I... I got into MIT," Brittany replied, "Early admission, they want me to make a decision soon. I don't know, Sam. My dad truly believes that the apocalypse thing is real, and I thought that if we could live in the basement for even just a couple of days... we could ignore the outside world, and be young."
"Brittany, our friends, family–"
"Are all leaving! Blaine's going to NYADA, Tina might get into Brown, Artie sent his application to Brooklyn Film School, and honestly, I don't really care about the other kids," Brittany declared, her voice rising slightly with pent-up emotion. "Whether it's college or hiding in the basement, I'm going to come back and feel alone."
Sam felt a pang of heartbreak as he reached out, gently taking her hand in his.
"I just want it to be you and me in Lima," she concluded earnestly, her eyes searching his for understanding.
"What if I don't want to stay in Lima? What if I want to go to college?" Sam countered, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. He moved toward the living room and unzipped his backpack, pulling out a stack of colourful college brochures.
"These are some colleges that don't recognize SAT scores in their admission requirements. They all offer entrance scholarships, and all you need is a personal essay to apply," Sam explained as Brittany flipped through, "Come on, Britt. You can't tell me you don't want to get out of here."
"But what if I go to MIT and I hate it there? I don't even know if I like math that much! I love singing and dancing, we both do," Brittany cried,
"Try it anyway! We have to try, just like we've always done," Sam urged, his voice soft yet insistent.
He moved closer, cupping her face in his hands, focusing her gaze on him, "Look at me."
"No," she said firmly, shaking her head.
"Look at me," he repeated, his tone gentle yet resolute. "For years, people have told us we're not smart enough for college. We have to prove them wrong. If you don't like the math at MIT, that's fine. Let that school help you discover your path. If you have MIT on your transcript, the doors will be wide open for you. You can go where Mike is and dance together, you can cheer with Santana. You have a passion for animals; you could even go to veterinary school. The world is so much bigger than Lima."
"Sam, I—" she started, her voice trembling with the weight of her thoughts.
"If you don't accept their offer, I won't apply to these schools," he interrupted, his voice tinged with a seriousness that made her pause.
"You can't," Brittany whispered,
"I will."
"I'll have to be in and out of Lima before I officially go for more testing," Brittany replied, "Can our relationship handle that?"
"We'll do what we can... but whatever happens, happens. I'm ready to accept that," Sam said, "Are you?"
The air between them sparkled with unspoken truths and unresolved dreams, forcing them both to confront their fears for the future, together.
"I'll accept the offer."
Part 2: The New Direction's New Direction
Sam pressed his pencil hard against the blank sheet of lined paper, the tip digging into the fibres as he stared intently at its emptiness. He drew small circles near the margin, each stroke creating a dark charcoal patch that almost resembled the beginnings of a storm cloud. He hoped that some inkling of inspiration would emerge from the depths of his mind—a word, a quote, a fleeting thought—anything that could fill the unforgiving void in front of him. You think that after seventeen years of being yourself, you would have at least have a page written about you. Seventeen years of growth spurts and scraped knees, twelve years of new friends and teachers. Three years of Glee Club. Yet Sam's page was blank as if he had been absent for those seventeen years of his life. He had the task of writing a personal essay to send along with his college applications. Sam had never been much of a schoolwork guy, but surely he had something about himself to write about. Brittany and Blaine sat across from Sam, watching the blonde; they shared a concerned look. The classroom was eerily silent, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead the only sound breaking the stillness. It had been half an hour since the three of them had settled into the solitude of the empty room, yet not a single word had emerged from Sam's pencil. "What's happening? Is he frozen?" Brittany whispered to Blaine. "I think his confidence is shot, Britt," Blaine replied, "Well, how do we get it back? And quick! We don't have a lot of time." Brittany urged, her brow furrowing with concern as she racked her brain for ideas. "I have an idea..." Blaine said, a spark of creativity lighting up his features as he leaned closer to Brittany, ready to share his plan, "Sam, buddy? Britt and I are going to take a breather. We'll be back soon, okay?" "I'm not going anywhere," Sam mumbled quietly. ... "Artie!" Blaine called out for his friend, who was rolling towards the exit with his mother, Nancy. Blaine and Brittany jogged to catch up with the Abrams. Artie turned his wheel to face his friends. "Britt! You're alive!" Artie exclaimed, wheeling forward to wrap his arms around her. Nancy, Blaine and Brittany exchanged puzzled glances. He noticed their expressions and awkwardly released the embrace. "Erm, I mean... Merry Christmas?" Artie chuckled weakly, "Don't mind him, Brittany, he's kind of out of it. He hit his head pretty hard, tumbling down the ramp because SOMEONE COULDN'T BOTHER TO PAY HIS STAFF TO SALT IT!" Nancy shouted at Figgins, who was walking by. "Artie, before you go home for the day, can we ask you a small favour?" Blaine asked, "Sure dawg, shoot," Artie replied, "We want to use your filming equipment to make a short video for Sam," Blaine explained, "He's feeling really unsure about college and we really want to give him a push. Talk about his accomplishments and everything. If we send you some clips of our friends, could you stitch them together?" "Of course I can! Can't believe he's struggling to write about his accomplishments, he rescued our Nationals trophy!" Artie beamed, "He's a stand up guy!" "Awesome, can we quote you for our video?" Brittany chimed in, ... Over in New York City, Rachel tucked her hair into her knit cap and prepared to step out into the chilly streets of Brooklyn. "Hey, Rach, do you have a second?" Kurt called out to his roommate as she slid open their apartment door. "Not really, I have to meet Brody soon," Rachel replied, "It'll only take a minute! We’re just recording a short message about Sam to help him with his essay," Kurt insisted, his enthusiasm palpable. "Of course!" Rachel stood beside Kurt as he backed away from the tripod, "Sam was completely new to McKinley when he joined the Glee Club, he settled in right away and became an integral member of the New Directions," Rachel declared in front of the camera. "Sam was one of the few people on the football team who stood up for me when I was getting bullied in school. He didn't hesitate to come to my aid at all when I was being threatened by a teammate," Kurt added, ... In the almost empty, dimly lit library of Yale University, Quinn propped her phone against her water bottle, determination in her eyes as she pressed record immediately after a quick chat with Artie. "Sam is the sweetest boy I've ever had the pleasure of meeting... and dating. He and I sang two winning duets together; one of them won us our second Sectionals in a row," she said with a playful smile, her heart clearly full of fond memories. ... "Sam saved Sectionals last year when we were short a member and he moved back to McKinley," Tina said as Brittany recorded her on her phone. ... In her parents' kitchen, Santana leaned against the counter, a smirk playing on her lips as she recalled a special someone. "Trouty Mouth inspired me to take a shot at songwriting," she said, the nickname rolling off her tongue effortlessly. Then, in an impromptu moment, she started to sing teasingly, "Grouper mouth... froggy lips..." her laughter echoed through the room. ... In Los Angeles, Mercedes and Puck huddled together in front of Mercedes' computer. "Hey, Sam!" Puck waved at the screen, "Thanks for supporting me when I was struggling with my Geography class." "Sam gave me the courage to follow my dreams and become a singer," Mercedes added, "Without him, I probably would have never moved to L.A." ... Finn stood in the faculty lounge, captured in a moment of reflection. “Let's not forget when Sam took care of his entire family after his dad lost his job,” he said as Blaine filmed him, sincerity written all over his face. “They were living in a motel, homeless, and Sam supported all of them. That’s amazing. He’s such a substantial person.” ... As the final scene played out, the new Glee kids gathered together in the choir room, their voices harmonizing beautifully. “We love you, Sam!” they cheered in unison, their joy infectious, marking the last clip of the heartwarming video that Blaine, Artie, and Brittany had pieced together for Sam. Sitting in the classroom, Sam watched the video with tears brimming in his eyes, overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support from his friends. “Now, that’s what your essay should be about,” Blaine concluded as he closed the laptop, a warm smile lighting up his face. Sam sat up and wrapped Blaine in a tight hug, "Thanks," he sniffled. "No problem, man," Blaine replied, "Let's get to work," Brittany sat alone in the choir room, holding her phone, Kiki. She stared intently at the number displayed on her screen. This was the guy from MIT who reached out to her, and she was told to call him back. Was Brittany S. Pierce really going to MIT? With a sigh, she exited the contacts app and instinctively scrolled through her camera roll, a digital treasure trove filled with vivid memories of her beloved Glee Club. Each image was a snapshot of laughter, joy, and camaraderie. Her finger hovered over a photo from their rendition of "Rocky Horror" during her sophomore year. In the picture, she beamed in her eye-catching Columbia costume, a swirl of fabric and sequins, as she danced playfully off-stage, lost in the moment. She clicked on another picture. Her heart swelled as she clicked on another picture, this one capturing a joyful evening spent with her best friends. It featured her, Sam, Blaine, Tina, and Artie all gathered around a steaming hotpot at a stylish restaurant in Cincinnati. They had saved up all summer to afford that meal. Another photo captured her and Mike during their dance feature at Sectionals. A... rather compromising picture of Santana that she forgot to delete when she started dating Sam. Pictures of Brittany singing with the Troubletones, moments captured of Britt dancing in her pink bridesmaid dress at Finchel's almost wedding. More photos of her and Santana she couldn't bear to delete after their break-up, like their prom photos. The memories stretched across time, encompassing laughter-filled days at Six Flags, bus rides to competitions, the excitement of the Chicago Nationals, and the (unfortunately) unforgettable experience of New York Nationals. What all of these pictures had in common was that they were Britt's happiest memories. She was with her Glee Club friends, and she was almost always dancing. Yet here she was, contemplating leaving it all behind for MIT, a prestigious institution she could barely define beyond its acronym. She really thought she was going to graduate with Sam and their friends. Don't be like that, Britt. All she had to do was make the most of the last few months with the New Directions. Enjoy Christmas, at least. It was Friday, December 21st... guess the Mayans got the date wrong. "Hello, this is Brittany Pierce, we spoke earlier this month... I'm calling to accept your offer..."
Well, I'm bored already. Let's pull a classic Glee, and confuse our viewers by switching the scene to a whole different State and time. This next part tells the story of my former protégé, Quinn Fabray, who I've never doubted their success at all. Fresh from an utterly absurd and unrealistic win, receiving an internship in her first year in New York. Because where else are we going to send these bright-eyed, unprepared, lazy idiots called the New Directions? Quinn, now abandoning her family for Christmas, has decided to spend time Rachel Berry and Porcelain Hummel for the holidays.
As "Sleigh Ride" by the Ronettes blared on the Grand Central Station speakers. Quinn Fabray navigated or attempted to navigate through the busiest crowd of her life. It seemed as though everyone and their dog had decided to spend Christmas in New York City. Quinn maneuvered through the throngs, her heart racing as she dodged a cluster of tourists snapping photos under the ornately decorated chandelier. Strands of twinkling lights adorned the station, casting a warm glow that mingled with the sound of laughter and chattering voices. Steam from nearby coffee vendors filled the air, carrying the rich aroma of holiday treats, while the distant sounds of Christmas music perfectly framed the scene. Quinn quickly jogged through a small gap amidst the sea of people with her suitcase in tow, scanning the train station for her holiday host, the reason she was here: Rachel Berry. Where was she? "Quinn!" A petite brunette with sparkling brown eyes shoved past the large clusters of tourists and rushed over to her friend. Before Quinn could reply, Rachel wrapped around her in one of her famous warm hugs. She always asked people first, but Quinn assumed she was just excited. Rachel was adorable when she was excited, even when it was about Glee Club solos or whatever Patti LuPone said in a tabloid. "Hey, Rach," Quinn squeezed her back, "Thank you so much for letting me stay with you and Kurt, getting a hotel was impossible." "You didn't even have to ask! Kurt and I will always open our door for our McKinley friends," Rachel finally let her go and took her hand, guiding her out of the station. "So, how's your winter break so far?" Quinn smiled giddily; she hadn't told anyone other than her mom about the internship. She was still trying to figure out how to break the news to Rachel. "Well, I did a deep clean of my dorm room and helped my roommate pack. I made sure to ship off my Christmas gifts as early as possible despite shopping late this year. My mom texted me a few minutes ago, telling me they all made it to Lima. I bought Puck a new motorcycle helmet, Mercedes a cute sweater, and..." Quinn trailed off as she glanced at Rachel. She was wearing the new earrings she had bought her for her birthday. She looked beautiful in the star-shaped gold hoop earrings with the little diamonds. Rachel caught her gaze and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear to show off the bling. "I love them, Quinn. They were my favourite present," She smiled at the blonde. The girls were still holding hands as they made their way out of the station. "I'm glad you love them; you look beautiful in them," Quinn replied, blushing a faint pink, "So, how about you?" "Oh, well, my dads invited me to spend the holidays on a cruise with them, but it didn't really feel festive. They understand, though. I'm so relieved I passed all of my finals, especially Cassie July's dance final." Quinn and Rachel pushed open the doors and stepped out into the bright city winter, which seemed busier than inside the train station. "And you won the Winter Showcase, right?" Quinn asked as the girls walked along the snowy white sidewalk. "I still can't believe it! And that Kurt was given a performance so now we're both in NYADA!" Rachel cheered, giving her a wide grin. "That's amazing to hear, Rach. I'm glad you both are doing well," Quinn replied warmly. The girls then managed to flag down a taxi, scrambling into the backseat. "So, are you going to tell me about the internship? Did you get it?" "Well, I was going to surprise you later, but..." Quinn started until she was cut off by a high-pitched squeal from Rachel. "Oh my god! I knew it!" Rachel flung her arms around her friend, "I can't believe you're going to be living here!" Quinn chuckled, her heart soaring at Rachel's excitement, "Yeah, it's crazy. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. Apparently there was another Yale student who got in, I wonder who it is." With that, the taxi pulled away from the curb and into the bustling streets of New York City, the spirit of Christmas encircling them, ready to weave the fabric of their... friendship into the vibrant tapestry of the city.
While the broadway buffoons sing about whatever that nonsense was about, we fly, yet again, to Canada! God, this story really can get worse. At least this is a non-Glee kid.
Miles away from Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry was Quinn's roommate, Jennette Tremblay, cozied up by the warm fire as the snow fell outside on the streets of Montreal, wrapping presents with her four older brothers in their family mansion. The aroma of cedar and cinnamon mingled in the air as they busily wrapped presents, crafting the perfect festive scene. "Alors... so the best way to organize gifts is assigning a different wrapping paper to each sibling– Jenny! Qu'est-ce que tu fais?!" André Tremblay exclaimed as he watched his sister's wrapping in horror. Startled by her brother's sudden outburst, Jenny turned to him with a furrowed brow, the multicoloured paper in her hands crinkling slightly. "What...? Is there a problem?" "Ouais, tes compétences d'emballage de cadeau sucent," her other brother, Milo, chimed in with a smirk, pointing at the haphazard mess of crumpled tape, wrinkled paper, and lopsided bows that surrounded her. The sight was almost comical, but the brothers couldn't help but laugh gently at their sister's struggles. "Okay? Je ne vois pas ce que vous voulez dire. It's gonna be unwrapped anyway." Jenny retorted, rolling her eyes, "Sorry, I can't wrap like Mr. Know-it-all over there," she added, gesturing dramatically to André, who stood there, arms crossed and a smirk plastered on his face, clearly pleased with his own flawless wrapping technique. "Jen, just do what I do," her (slightly) older brother, Félix, replied, shrugging, "Gift bags, pas de tracas." he tossed a few items absentmindedly into a couple Christmas plastic gift bags. "Fine. Do what you want," André sighed, "Félix, Jenny, your gift-wrapping attempts will be hidden behind the tree in our photo." "Hé, les Tremblays," Gabriel Tremblay walked into the room, "Mama et Papa want us in the living room to take our annual Christmas photo. Take your presents and shove them into the..." He paused mid-sentence, taking in the sight of his two youngest siblings' rather questionable wrapping jobs, "...tree..." "Again, there's nothing wrong with my wrapping! It's not a big deal!" Jenny protested, her frustration bubbling over, with Félix nodding in agreement beside her. As her brothers trickled out of the room with their presents, Jenny decided to slip into the bathroom. She sighed as she slid down the door, pressing her palms against the cool tile. She pulled out her phone and opened her messages, drafting a text for Quinn. 'Feeling icky :/. U make it to NYC, okay?' – Jen.Quinn's response came through, lighting up the screen.'Just now, with Rachel + Kurt. Kurt says hi' – Q.'Whats up' –Q. 'Awkward turtle dinner, I feel :P' – Jen. 'I know that all too well, LOL. Why is it awko taco?' – Q.'Cuz they be obsessin over law school' – Jen.'Fake it till you make it, ig. I rlly gtg TTYL okay?' –Q.'TTYL, have fun' –Jen. Jenny sighed deeply, wishing that Quinn could remain available a little longer to soothe her frayed nerves. A thought crossed her mind: Maybe Santana would be willing to chat? Was reaching out too forward, though? Did Santana even remember her? Jenny slid her phone across the cold bathroom floor in exasperation and buried her head in her hands, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down. After a few moments of silence, Jenny lifted her head, her gaze locking onto the phone as if it held the answers she sought. Slowly, she stood up, wobbling a bit in her heels, and moved in front of the mirror. "You can do this, Jennette," she whispered to herself, pointing firmly at her reflection. "Law school is fine; I'm focusing on my studies instead of jumping into dating; I love Yale. America is... wonderful," she said, crinkling her nose as if the last word was foreign. "Just remember to say it in French... how do you speak French again? I've only been speaking it for almost nineteen years... uhh... America, c'est bien." With a deep breath, she brushed a stray hair behind her ear, resolve building within her as she prepared to face the challenges ahead. The dyed blonde curl bounced forward again, of course. Jenny pushed her glasses up her nose and patted down the dark baby hairs that hadn't been excessively dyed brown and blonde throughout the years. "Mon Dieu... what am I doing?" Jenny bent down to grab her phone and slipped the device into the back pocket of her jeans. Her mother insisted on the entire family wearing matching red sweaters and jeans, like what 'middle class' families do, her words. The reasoning was incredibly tone-deaf; she could've just said she wanted the family to coordinate outfits. Like there was anything 'middle class' about the Tremblays. Stupid, whitewashed, wealthy families always wanted to blend in with the less fortunate. At least in New York, Jenny would be alone, making her own living and not worrying about fitting in with more white people. Too bad that dream won't come true. "J'suis ben bien. C'est beau. J'adore mes etudes." Just as Jenny was lost in her thoughts, the bathroom door swung open, and her mother, Maxime Tremblay, wearing a similar red sweater and dark jeans as Jenny, peeked in with a concerned look. "Jennette? Ça va là-dedans?" Maxime asked, her voice warm but laced with worry, "T'as passé combien de temps ici? Is everything alright?" "Ouais, maman, just... taking a moment," Jenny replied, forcing a smile as she turned to face her mother. Maxime stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She studied her daughter for a moment, her brow knitting slightly, "Ma chérie, if you need to talk or let out some steam, chu là pour toi. You don’t have to hold it all in." "Can... I tell you after dinner?" Jenny mumbled, her gaze drawn to the intricately patterned tiles below. "Bien sûr... as long as you don't 'forget' and hide out in your room," Maxime replied, "Viens-t’en, we need to get those gifts sorted out and join the others in the living room. I need you in that family photo looking absolument magnifique!" Jenny then followed her mother out of the bathroom to where the rest of their family gathered. The seven Tremblays posed before the tall, elegantly decorated Christmas tree, with award-winning smiles clad in their red sweaters as their butler, Cédric, adjusted the tripod. Part 3: Lost in New York After texting her roommate, Quinn turned off her phone and rolled her suitcase to Rachel and Kurt's couch. Both Rachel Berry and Kurt Hummel had a keen eye for aesthetics, particularly Kurt, who was known to be meticulous about everything from room decoration to cleanliness. So, Quinn's expression of mild disgust was unexpected when she finally took in the sight of their couch. There were food crumbs everywhere, Cheeto dust, Dorito dust. The blankets were crumpled in a ball, and pillows fell out of their pillowcases. This couldn't be the same couch she sat on when she visited a couple weeks back. Just as Quinn was about to voice her shock, a chuckle chimed in from behind her. It was Brody Weston, Rachel's current... boyfriend , leaning casually against the large bookshelf with a sheepish grin plastered on his face. Shirtless, of course. "My bad," he said lightheartedly, "I've been sentenced to the couch because my arm accidentally hit her throat while I was asleep. She freaked out, saying I almost 'ruined' her voice." Quinn raised an eyebrow, still processing the scene. "So… is this entire mess from today, or has it been like this for a while?" she asked slowly, trying to understand the situation. "Don't know what 'mess' you're referring to," Brody replied as he held up two fingers, flexing them in bunny quotes, "But, it's winter break after a full semester of dancing my ass off, so I'm gonna be taking up the couch today getting my sleep in before my flight home tomorrow." "Nice to meet you, Brody," She offered him a thin-lipped smile, moving her eyes to the side. Thank the good lord he wasn't sticking around this week. Rachel shoved open the curtain that divided her space from Kurt's and strolled into the living room area, pecking Brody on the cheek. "Brody, thank you for giving up the couch for my friend..." she trailed off as her gaze fell on the messy couch, "Oh, my god." "So... I'm allowed back in your bed?" Brody asked, his eyes lighting up momentarily. Quinn crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping the answer was no. "Absolutely not? That was Kurt's mother's couch! Look what you did!" Rachel exclaimed, "Not only are you cleaning it, but you're sleeping there and getting up early to clean it again before you leave." "Aw, come on, Rach. Don't be like that," Brody groaned, "Are you still mad about the arm thing?" "My voice is my most treasured possession, Brody! It should be handled with care," Rachel shot back, crossing her arms, "Quinn, you can take my bed tonight." "What?!" Brody gasped, Quinn blushed a bright pink, which had now become a habit whenever she was around... or thinking about Rachel Berry. "Yes, Brody. It's better for her back anyway, which was severely injured in a car accident headed to my wedding not even a year ago!" "Your... wedding?!" Brody exclaimed, "Almost wedding..." Quinn murmured quietly, not entirely comfortable with the topic looming overhead. "Yes, almost wedding, thank you, Quinn. Brody, Finn and I are broken up; there's no need to dig into that conversation," Rachel affirmed, her voice firm as she redirected the focus back to the mess at hand, "Quinn and I have some things to do before we meet up with Kurt again. I want this couch clean, please." Brody shuffled to the vacuum beside the couch and began to wipe off some of the food residue as Rachel led Quinn to her room. "Quinn, I'm so sorry you had to see that. Brody and I have been bickering a lot recently," Rachel sighed as she fluffed her pillows. "I take it he's not a fan of Finn," Quinn cautiously ventured. "Finn and I don't like talking about our wedding a lot. It's still a sensitive subject for us," Rachel shrugged in response, "It's strange, really. Brody is all for this 'modern open relationship' concept after what happened with Cassie. Still, Finn is such a triggering topic for him." "I don't think that's fair. You and Finn are still friends; he was your first. Does he feel the same when you talk about your other guy friends, like Puck, Artie and Mike?" Quinn asked, stepping closer to her friend, "Mercedes, Santana... me?" "Actually... he doesn't know I'm bi," Rachel confessed, her cheeks flushing slightly as she avoided eye contact. "Aw, come on, Rachel." "I'll tell him!" Rachel threw his hands up defensively, "But I just need this week to be smooth sailing. I've never spent Christmas in New York before. Well, I never celebrated Christmas before either. My dads were very understanding about me blowing off their holiday cruise, but I could tell that they were upset. I really don’t want to let them down if this ends up being a disaster." "How is coming out to your boyfriend and being your true self a disaster?" Quinn raised an eyebrow, "You're one to talk, Lucy, " "Touché," Quinn bit her lip, "But I promise it won't be. Brody is leaving tomorrow so you don't have to worry about him making a mess or a fuss about us sleeping in the same bed. It'll be you, me, and Kurt." Rachel smiled, now looking relaxed as her shoulders dropped. Quinn tucked her things on the empty shelf Rachel cleared for her, and the girls left the loft to explore the city.
My name is Quinn Fabray, and I am briefly hijacking Sue Sylvester's voiceover to say that I like holding Rachel Berry's hand.
No can do, Preggo. This is my time in the spotlight.
This takes place in New York. Thus, I shall be the one to do the voiceover. It's my fanfiction, after all.
Don't care, Q. Take those enormous jugs of teen pregnancy lactate and waddle back to your scene.
Ugh, fine.
The story continues with William Schuester's most annoying Glee Cult song-sexuals, affectionally known as HummelBerry, flanked by none other than Quinn Fabray...and later, the other gay kid. Oh, and how could I forget Burt 'Baboon Heart' Hummel?
I'd advise you, reader, have a puke bag nearby. I've filled three already.
Quinn Fabray really did like holding Rachel Berry's hand. As friends do, of course. She enjoyed holding Mercedes' hand and Tina's hand... Santana never really let them hold hands. Finn's hands were always clammy, Puck insisted he was too cool to hold hands, and Britt's were sticky with glitter glue or chocolate bars. Rachel's was soft and warm but not weirdly warm. She always kept her nails clean and her palms free from callouses. It was very much like Rachel Berry to be as meticulous about her hands as she was with most things in her life, such as her pre-performance superstitions and her skin care. Her fingers were tiny; Quinn had no idea why she called her Manhands in Sophomore year. Then again, fifteen and sixteen-year-olds were not known to be the kindest cohort. Rachel led her through the crowded city sidewalks, busy sidewalks, like the song "Silver Bells," dressed in holiday style. Almost every tree the girls passed was covered in twinkling lights, red and green ribbons wrapped around lamp posts and benches. Festive music could be heard around them, from storefronts to passing taxis to street performers. The windows of shops sparkled with decorations; some displayed elaborate displays that seemed to bring the spirit of Christmas to life, with animated scenes that captivated the attention of passersby. As they approached Bryant Park, the ice skating rink came into view, glittering under strings of fairy lights. Laughter erupted from the families gliding across the ice, and children pointed with delight at the towering Christmas tree standing proudly nearby. "Bryant Park and Rockefeller Center are the best places to skate, we should totally go!" Rachel tugged on her arm excitedly, "We can also see St. Patrick's Cathedral, shop at Macy's... oh! There's Christmas markets everywhere!" "Sounds like a lot," Quinn giggled in reply, "I wouldn't mind ice-skating." "Of course!" Rachel smiled, "But first, Kurt has been DYING to show you around Vogue.com." "Are you sure it's a good idea to interrupt his work day?" Quinn titled her head. "It's totally fine! Isabelle Wright is going to love you!" With spirits high, Rachel and Quinn pushed through the elegant glass doors of Vogue.com. The lobby was a spectacle in its own right, radiating the sparkling allure of the season, decorated in shimmering shades of silver and gold that complemented the festive atmosphere of the city outside. After a quick elevator ride, the girls stepped onto the stylish main floor. Noelle, the receptionist, sat at her desk with a nail file and her signature deadpan expression. However, this time, she was wearing a Santa hat. "Oh, it's you again..." Noelle sighed, glancing at Rachel, "the roommate. I'll let Kurt know you're here." She lazily slung her arm on the desk, reaching for the phone. "No need, Noelle," Kurt rushed down the hallway to greet his friends, "Welcome to Vogue.com! Noelle, this is my good friend, Quinn Fabray. Quinn, this is Noelle, the glue that keeps me and many other employees intact." "Pleasure," Noelle muttered dryly, turning her chair around to resume her essential nail filing, completely unfazed by the energetic buzz brewing around her. Despite her indifference, there was an undeniable charm in the air, making Quinn feel more at home than she had anticipated. She was meeting the people of New York City. Kurt gave Quinn a grand tour of the inner workings of Vogue. Racks upon racks of designer fashion presented themselves, from breathtaking shoes to elegant belts and stunning dresses that sparkled in the light. The atmosphere felt almost magical as Quinn gingerly ran her hands over the luxurious silky fabrics, feeling a sense of awe wash over her. "You know, Quinn. It's only a matter of time until we give you a New York makeover," Kurt said as he watched his friends surf through the season's latest pieces, "You may have gotten away with babydoll dresses and business casual in high school, but a change is always welcomed." "I second that," Isabelle Wright, editor-in-chief of Vogue.com, approached the trio, "Kurt, I need you to reschedule my interview with Vanity Fair to next weekend before you leave." Isabelle then extended her hand to Quinn, "You must be Quinn Fabray. I've heard good things. Welcome to New York!" "Quinn, Rach, I probably take care of this now. I'll meet up with you guys in the lobby," Kurt rushed down the hallway back to Isabelle's office, leaving the girls with Isabelle. "Or... you can wait for him here, and I can let you girls pick out some things from the vault," Isabelle winked, "Can't leave without a Christmas present!" Quinn and Rachel exchanged glances filled with excitement as they followed Isabelle toward the iconic vault, an exclusive treasure trove known only to a select few. "I want everything in here!" Rachel squealed as she twirled around, holding a dress. Quinn couldn't help but laugh softly as she watched. Then, Quinn's gaze settled on a breathtaking long white gown hanging elegantly amidst a sea of colour in the wardrobe. The fabric shimmered like moonlight captured in silk. "Rachel, you said you wore something like this to the Winter Showcase, right?" "Actually," Rachel stopped pirouetting and stepped closer, "That is the dress." "It fit her perfectly," Isabelle added, marvelling at the gown, "I wish I could see you wear it again, Rachel." "I'd love to! You don't mind?" Isabelle smiled in reply and gently removed the dress from the hanger, "Go try it on." As Rachel rushed toward the dressing room, Quinn settled herself onto a plush ottoman, crossing her legs and feeling a mix of anticipation...and anxiety as she awaited her friend’s grand reveal. "How's it going in there, Rachel?" Quinn called out from where she sat; it's been a few minutes. "I'm okay! I'm just having some trouble with this clasp!" Rachel replied from the dressing room. “Do you need help?” Quinn asked, trying to suppress her eagerness to see Rachel in the dress. "I think I've got it!" Rachel's voice came back, slightly muffled. After a moment, there was a rustling sound followed by a soft thud. "Okay, maybe I could use a little backup." Quinn rose from her seat and tip-toed over to the dressing room, pushing the door open just a crack. There was Rachel, looking impossibly more stunning than before, leaving Quinn momentarily speechless. The sparkly white and silver gown clung to her curves, shimmering under the warm lighting. Her back was exposed with the clasps hanging on either side. Her skin was smooth and soft. Quinn held her breath as she delicately secured the back of the dress together. As Rachel turned to face her, a shy smile lit up her features, transforming her already gorgeous look into something even more mesmerizing "Hi," she whispered, her cheeks flushing just a hint under Quinn's gaze. "Hi," Quinn breathed back, "Is she ready? I have my camera ready!" Isabelle's airy voice cut through the brief silence. Rachel and Quinn stepped out of the dressing room and stood in the middle of the vault. Quinn then returned to her seat as Isabelle directed Rachel through various poses, then a sharp flicker of a camera captured her friend's beauty. After the girls' quick fashion show, Rachel and Quinn said goodbye to Isabelle Wright while Kurt finished his assistant duties and met them downstairs. Kurt, Rachel, and Quinn cheerfully bounced out of the large glass doors of the Vogue.com lobby and into the bustling streets of Manhattan. "Kurt, that was spectacular! I can't believe you got a job here!" Quinn exclaimed, practically skipping down the street as Christmas bells echoed nearby. "I can't believe it either," Kurt chuckled in reply, "You can come visit me whenever, as long as I get a tour of your internship." "Oh, buddy, I don't think you want a tour of the NYPD," Quinn giggled, "I'll definitely give you a tour of NYU during my school days." "Let's take a cab home. I don't want our Vogue bags to catch the attention of any muggers," Rachel said as she waved for a taxi. The unexpected trio piled into the cab, and the driver drove too fast for their liking, swerving through oncoming traffic as he sped toward Brooklyn. "Gosh, if I wanted to experience a rollercoaster ride for a carpool, I would have stayed in Kentucky with Santana," Quinn quipped, and Kurt and Rachel nodded in agreement. "Better get used to it, this is city driving," Kurt replied, After the Glee kids' near-death experience, Rachel led them up to their Bushwick loft to settle down for the day. The couch in the living room was clean, but Brody was still there, in a lunge position and lifting weights in front of the television. Shirtless, of course. Weights and workout equipment were now strewn across the loft. Yoga mats were unceremoniously rolled up in the kitchen while skipping ropes dangled whimsically from the bookshelves. A hefty exercise ball lay directly in their path, and Kurt nearly stumbled over it as he tried to reach the coat rack. "Hey, babe!" Brody smiled at Rachel, oblivious to the mess he clearly created while they were gone. "Brody, is there any reason why you couldn't keep your workout equipment in one place?" Rachel sighed, rubbing her temples. "Well, my gym closed early for the holidays, so I thought I could bring the gym here," Brody shrugged, thrusting his weights down on the floor. "Fantastic..." Kurt rolled his eyes, visibly done with Rachel's boyfriend. "Don't you have your own apartment for that?" Quinn crossed her arms, taking Rachel and Kurt's side. "I promised to stay with Rachel here until I fly home for Christmas tomorrow," Brody replied, "It's fine!" Rachel plastered a smile, throwing her arms up, "Pizza for dinner, anyone?" ... Later that evening, Rachel and Quinn got ready for bed. It was a rather early night as Brody knocked himself out on the couch snoring, and Kurt had some things to review for Isabelle Wright. It was okay, though. Quinn had lots of time to explore the city. "Brody really does work a lot, he doesn't intend to be messy... he just... forgets," Rachel said, gently removing the decorative pillows from the bed. Quinn watched her friend as she stood by the dresser, deftly twisting her hair into a loose braid, the soft blonde strands falling gently around her shoulders. "Rach, you don't have to make excuses or anything. I'm not judging you or your relationship," Quinn replied, gingerly placing her brush on top of the dresser. "Guess I... I don't know... I still feel like that girl from Sophomore year, trying my best not to embarrass myself in front of you," Rachel shrugged, softly chuckling to herself, "Somehow, I still feel guilt about ruining your relationship with Finn." "Finn and I were never meant to be. You were his true love," Quinn shook her head, stepping closer to her side of the bed and lifting the covers. "A lot changed since we were Sophomores. I don't know if I've said this before... but I'm genuinely sorry for the pain I caused you." "I don't think you were ever mean mean..." Rachel replied, "Just... angry?" Her brow furrowing in thought, "I guess that makes sense in retrospect. We were all just trying to navigate so much at that time." Quinn nodded, her expression softening. "Yeah, it was a tough time for all of us. I was trying to figure out who I was, and it felt like I had to put up walls to protect myself." Rachel smiled gently, appreciating Quinn's honesty. "It's funny how we grow up and see things differently. I never thought we'd get to a point where we could have this conversation." The girls climbed into Rachel's bed. They tried their best to keep some respectable space between them as much as the bed allowed. They stared at the ceiling, perfectly still. "And about Brody… I know he means a lot to you, but if you ever feel like he’s not treating you right…" Rachel cut her off, shaking her head lightly against the pillows. "I get it, and I appreciate your concern. He's just… different. But I believe he has good intentions. Sometimes he just loses track of things, you know?" "Mm," Quinn mumbled in reply, turning her head slightly to face Rachel. "So..." Rachel began, trailing off. Her eyes were still fixed on the ceiling above them, but she could feel Quinn's gaze on her. "So?" "So, if you and Finn were never meant to be... then who are you meant to be with...?" "Well, first of all. Finn is a guy and I'm not attracted to men," Quinn retorted, raising an eyebrow at her friend. "That's not what I meant," Rachel whispered, "Not gender... I mean the person." God what a perfect time to kiss her... "Quinn?" "I don't know..." Quinn said, tucking the covers closer to her chin as if they had the power to cloak her feelings and build back her walls, "Are you meant to be with Finn?" "Right now? No. Someday? Maybe... he is my first love, after all..." Rachel sighed, "Brody?" "No," Rachel said firmly, her answer slicing through the air with finality. "Wow," Quinn snorted, "That was quick." Rachel bit her lip, "Because I've thought about it for a while now..." "Oh," Quinn pursed her lips, "You never answered my question, Quinn," Rachel finally broke away from the ceiling and landed her gaze on the blonde beside her. "I answered your question," Quinn countered, once again locking eyes with the brunette. "Not good enough." "I'm seeing my professor," Quinn blurted out, immediately covering her mouth with her hand. "What?!" Rachel's eyes widened, "I'm breaking it off, though." "Why?" Rachel asked, "The wrong people know," Quinn replied, "I could get my internship taken away from me. Does that answer your questions?" "No. Not the 'meant to be' question. Obviously she's not meant to be with you if you're willing to break it off to cover your ass." "Jesus, Rach," "Am I lying, though?" Rachel shrugged under the covers. "No," Quinn twisted her mouth sheepishly, "Rachel, I don't think people like me deserve to find true love." "Bullshit. You need to stop beating yourself up about the past." "Wow, Rachel Berry swears?" Quinn giggled, "Only when Quinn Fabray is being ridiculous," Rachel smiled, "Quinn, you are the most deserving of love." she added sincerely. Quinn opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She was rendered speechless. "Goodnight, Rach," Quinn whispered, "Goodnight, Quinn."