Coming of Age in Lima: Chapter 6
Chapter 6. In which shopping happens, juice is drunk, and Fiona hates underpants.
I was so glad when the weekend rolled around. It was a crazy week, and I really just wanted to lie in bed and play video games for two days. Then I heard a horn beep outside. Crap, Quinn! I shoved myself into some clothes, checked to make sure none of my hair had fallen out yet (Kurt, you are a god), and raced outside.
“Get back here!” my mom yelled after me. “You need to buy new underwear!” I went red in the face, darted back, and snatched the notes from her. She managed to grab me a plant a kiss on my cheek before I could escape. Sometimes I swear she just had a kid so she could yell stuff like that across the country. I love my mom, and she loves messing with me.
I threw myself into the back of Quinn’s car, and only then noticed that it wasn’t just the two of us - Santana and Brittany were along for the ride. I don’t know why I was surprised, but I kind of felt this sinking feeling.
“It’s okay,” Santana said from the front passenger seat, her mouth set in that curl she has, “I know all about buying underwear.”
“Not like you ever wear it for long,” I muttered.
“The whole point of underwear is taking it off,” Santana said, settling back into her seat.
“You’re such a slut,” Quinn said, turning her cd player on as she turned onto the highway.
“Oh god,” Santana said, “do we have to listen to this crap?”
“My car, my music,” Quinn replied firmly.
When Quinn did singing lessons, she sang a lot of pop and show tunes and stuff. I mean, that’s all they teach you, right? But as it turns out, she’s not really into that stuff. She liked blues and soul and funk, which is apparently not at all like the word ‘funky’ would suggest.
Another thing you should know is that the nearest good mall to Lima? Is about an hour’s drive away. And since Quinn’s mixed CD only went for twenty minutes, we all got to know the songs pretty well. Not that I minded - me and Brittany were singing in the back, me trying to go up high, and her saying “You sound like a duck,” which lead to me doing my Donald Duck impersonation, and her doing Daffy Duck. Have you ever heard two ducks singing 'Nice Work if you can Get it'? Because I think you need to.
The mall is a place that I don’t go to often. Like, maybe four times in my whole life. It’s too far away for mom and me to drop in when I need new clothes. And while there’s a bus, can you imagine how long that would take? Anyway, between Walmart and Amazon, I’ve got everything covered. Except, as it turns out, no, I don’t.
“Alright,” Quinn said, looking me up and down as I clambered out of her car and stretched in the parking lot. “We’re going to need some new tops. And a cute jacket. And definitely some new pants. Do you own heels?”
“Quinn, we’ve had the conversation about heels - I’d concuss myself going through doorways. And I can’t afford all of that stuff!”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I have my dad’s credit card.”
“And we’ve always got your underwear fund,” Santana added. I glared at her.
“Don’t worry,” Quinn said, grabbing my hand and pulling me along. “This will be fun.”
*
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Quinn and I have very different ideas of fun. I was locked in the change room of American Eagle, throwing clothes over the top of the door even as the evil threesome shoved more in through the gap at the bottom.
“No. No. No,” I said, tossing skirts over. “Definitely no,” I added, throwing a flowery flowy top thing.
“You’re not even trying these on any more!”
“Quinn, none of these even fit. They’re all too small!”
“Which means they’re probably fitting you fine. Your clothes are all too big anyway. Here, let me see what you have on.”
“Nothing. I have nothing on, because nothing here is made in giant size.”
“This isn’t working,” Santana said.
I could sense Quinn putting her hands on her hips. “You’re right. Let’s try Old Navy.”
I pulled my shirt back on, and shuffled out of the room. Brittany looked at me seriously. “You really don’t understand shopping.”
No kidding.
*
We found a pair of pants in Old Navy. A pair of jeans that were meant to be three-quarter length, but in reality just covered my knees. Apparently Old Navy has a whole range for tall people, just not here in the middle of Ohio. “It’s okay,” Quinn said. “Long shorts are still in. And now that we know your size, we can order online.” Great, that meant the shopping trip would never truly end.
Quinn got several tops, all with names like ‘key hole’ or ‘ruffle’, and some cardigans. Even Brittany loaded up with bright things to wear. I felt kind of silly following them through the register, with my one purchase. Quinn saw me eyeing a rack of men’s polo shirts - like the one I was wearing - on the way out.
“Let’s try Forever 21,” she said. “I hear they have some plaids in.”
Forever 21 wasn’t as cool as Old Navy. For a start, it had no men’s section. That’s one of the things that also happened from growing up with Puck - our mom’s would take turns getting clothes for us, and it was easiest just to confine us to one section of the Walmart and let us pick out own stuff. I own a lot of polos and boys’ jeans.
But Brittany was off, cooing at a shirt with ducks on it, and Santana found a singlet thing that had police tape over it, and Quinn was drawn in by the magic of dresses. Which left me standing all alone and all kinds of awkward, until I head a small “Hi,” behind me.
It was Rachel. Holding a sweater with an owl wearing glasses on it. “Oh,” I said. “Hey.”
“You’re out shopping?” she asked, looking around. “With the girls?”
“Yeah. This is Quinn’s present for my birthday. But it’s not turning out so great, you know?” I gestured at the owl jumper. “I just don’t really get this stuff.”
Rachel suddenly got a determined look in her eye. “I can assure you that I am the perfect guide to Forever 21. And also Macy’s.” She grabbed my wrist, and dragged me through the racks. “We’ll find you something.”
Rachel seemed to know me a little better. She knew that there was a difference between something that I might potentially look good in, and something that I would actually wear. She found this giant, baggy grey sports top, like a stretched out cotton football jersey.
“You’ll need something to wear under this,” she said. “It’s a distressed style, so it’ll slip down your shoulders. But a simple black tank top will do. You should check out American Apparel for that.” She also found a black shirt that buttoned up, but it was fitted and the sleeves were rolled up just past the elbow. “This is a cute version of the standard, male business shirt.” She looked up at me and gave me one of those small smiles. “I think it’d look good on you.”
And that’s how Quinn found us. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I think you’ll find the auditions for Ru Paul’s Drag Race were last week.”
Rachel took a step back, so I used the space to hold up the shirts she’d found me. “Hey,” I said, “what do you think of these?”
Quinn eyed them off, and then her eyes flicked to Rachel. “It’s a start,” she said.
“So,” I said to Rachel, as I took them to the counter. “Are you shopping with anyone else?”
“No,” she said. “My two gay dads dropped me off on their way to a GLBT conference. I’m finding my own way home, which I’m sure will be an exercise in maturity and problem solving.”
I wanted to offer her a lift, but a look at Quinn told me that no, that wasn’t going to happen. “Well,” I said, “here, do you want my mobile number? You can call me if that doesn’t work so good.”
“Really?” Her face lit up in this big smile. “That would be great.”
*
We left Rachel thumbing through the racks, and hit up American Apparel, Charlotte Russe, Jamba Juice, and then they had to forcibly remove me from the Gap. What can I say, those knitted jumpers are kind of my thing. Santana demanded we go to Hot Topic, and that was where we ran into Tina and Mercedes.
“Hey!” I said, as Tina gave me a hug.
“Hey yourself, girl,” Mercedes said, giving me a fist bump. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Shopping. I think.”
“Ooh, lemme see what you got!”
“We caught the bus here,” Tina told me are Mercedes pawed through my bags. “Don’t ever catch the bus.”
“Yeah,” Mercedes said from near my knees. “We’re lucky we ran into Kurt here. He’s giving us a lift home, if we can ever drag him out of Macy’s.”
Tina rolled her eyes. “They’re having a Marc Jacobs sale, and he’s determined to find the perfect watch.” She pulled my black button up from Mercedes. “You know what this needs? A sweater vest to go over it.”
Mercedes poked her temple. “Girl, you’ve got sweater vests on the brain.”
Tina laughed, and wriggled away. “What? They’re awesome, but in a secret, stealth kind of way.”
I thought about the people I knew who worse sweater vests. I thought about Mr Schue. “Yeah,” I said. “They’re cool.”
“Come on,” Tina said dragging me off. “I know the perfect one.”
I spent maybe the next forty minutes laughing and joking with Tina and Mercedes. They found me a sweater vest, and then we looked at all the cool sneakers, and Mercedes pawed through their racks of jewellery while Tina tried to find the perfect pair of gloves. I didn’t mean to find them, I was poking through a clearance bin, but once I had them in my hand, I couldn’t let go.
Mercedes tool one look and said “You have to try those on.”
“They’re so eighties.”
And they were. Gloves that went all the way up my arms, in leopard print, with the fingers cut off. I mean, that was pretty hardcore eighties fashion right there. I looked at myself, with my green and white polo and my pink hair, and the yellow gloves. “This isn’t working,” I said.
“That’s just ‘cause you’re not accessorising right. Here,” Mercedes rustled through my stuff again. “Put this on.”
It was the little black tank top from American Apparel. And with that on instead... it almost made sense.
“You have to buy those,” Tina said. “You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t.”
“Those are totally rock star,” Mercedes agreed.
“Where would I wear them?” I asked. “They’re not practical for anything.”
Mercedes pulled out her phone, and punched a number on speed dial. “Kurt, honey. I’m with Finn and she won’t buy these amazing gloves because they’re not ‘practical’.” Yes, she even did air quotes.
She held her phone up to me ear, and I heard Kurt say, “-her that fashion is not about practical, fashion is about letting the inner you out and into the world and looking as fabulous as possible. Practical is so unimportant that it isn’t even on the list. Look, where are you? I’ll come and sort this out.”
“We’ll meet you at the food court, Kurt,” I said.
I had time to hear him yell, “Buy the gloves!” before Mercedes hung up on him.
“You’ve been officially outvoted,” she said.
*
“It’s like this,” Kurt told me as we met up in the food court, wearing the most casual outfit I’d ever seen him in. “There’s this whole, fantastic person that’s locked up inside you, inside everyone. But no one can see what’s inside, just what’s on the outside. Which is why it’s so important to make sure that your outside matches your inside.”
“Or who you want to be,” Mercedes added.
“Or what you want people to think of you,” Tina chimed in.
“He’s right,” Brittany said. “People just want to get inside you.”
We all paused at that insight.
“What she means,” Quinn corrected, “is that if you want people to know something about you, you have to show it to them.”
And I thought about it. About band t-shirts and the posters on my walls. In that light, things like make up and clothes and nails and hair made more sense. Mercedes was bright and colourful and loud, and hell if you couldn’t tell that much about her just by looking at her. It went for all of my friends, even people like Santana with her sneakers and Cheerios jacket on over jeans and a t-shirt that almost wasn’t there.
And then look at me.
Me and my hand-me-downs, and Puck’s spares. While I don’t think I’ll ever be more comfortable than in a pair of jeans, in reality all of my clothes had been bought for someone else. I just grew into them as best I could.
And maybe that needed to change.
Mercedes grinned at me. “I think she gets it.”
*
I tore a pretzel apart as I listened to Tina and Mercedes try to explain music genres to Brittany. They’d tried the same thing with me, but I still didn’t know what the difference between metal and rock really was, let alone any of the stuff Mercedes was into. Kurt and Santana were having the world’s shortest conversation about uniforms.
“It’s cute,” Kurt said.
“I know,” Santana replied.
“But maybe not red.”
“It looks good in red.”
“But not everyone else looks good in red.”
“Duh, that’s the point.”
“Right... but maybe in periwinkle?”
“It looks good in red.”
Her cranky face almost hid the fact that she was stealing the grapes out of Kurt’s fruit salad. Quinn had gone to the pharmacy to pick some stuff up, and seemed to be taking her sweet time. I wondered if she’d notice if I stole her second Jamba Juice of the day.
“Hi guys.”
I looked up, and offered a distracted, “Hi, Rachel.” I think that was the most enthusiastic reaction she got, but it didn’t stop her from sitting down at the table. She looked around, and did a double take when she saw Kurt, her eyes locked on his shirt.
“Is that a crew shirt for ‘Wicked’?”
Kurt gave her a long look up and down. “Yes,” he said at last. “You have quite an eye.”
“I was trying to collect every piece of ‘Wicked’ merchandise available, but my two gay dads refused to let me buy the neon bar light.”
“They were right,” Kurt replied. “It’s in hideous taste. Even for you.” But he was still looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “I’m surprised to see a fan of the show in Lima that I didn’t indoctrinate myself.”
Rachel leaned forwards, her hands flat on the table. “It’s one of my career goals to play the role of Elphaba. And also, of course, the role of Eponine from ‘Les Mis’.”
“You and how many others?” Kurt replied, combing his fringe out his eyes. “While I don’t think I’m vocally suited to any of the roles in that particular production, even I would consider getting a role quite the achievement.”
“I don’t know,” Rachel replied, eyeing Kurt playfully. “I’m sure you could do a credible performance as little Cosette.”
Kurt barked out a laugh, and then they were off talking about musicals. Rachel felt that she was perfect for any and every female lead role, and Kurt seemed ready to fight her for some of them. I sat between them, chewing on a straw and wiggling it between my front teeth, making it bounce up and hit my nose. It was like a game, how many times I could straw myself before they switched to a new musical? But then it was cut short.
“You’re in my seat.” Quinn, with all of the annoyance that she could muster. And Quinn was, like, an expert at that.
“This isn’t school,” Rachel said, smoothing her skirt down over her legs. “I can sit where I want.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. “If you want to sit next to Finn so badly, you can have my seat.” Then he stood up, and sat himself down on my lap, looping his arms around my neck. “If our little rock starlet doesn’t object, that is?”
I grabbed Kurt by the waist, and pretended to throw us both off the seat, making him yelp and clutch at me. “Nah, seriously, it’s cool. Come on Quinn, I didn’t steal much of your drink.”
Quinn sat down, and Santana pushed Kurt’s left over salad over to her. “We need to be going soon,” she said. “I need to be home for dinner.”
“Yeah,” Mercedes said, dropping her conversation with Brittany about baby animals for a minute. “Kurt, you still cool to drive us?”
“Of course,” Kurt replied. “Anything for my girls.”
Rachel frowned. “Do any of you have a timetable for the bus?”
There was an awkward silence. I jiggled my leg, making Kurt bounce. He frowned at me, and then rolled his eyes. “Rachel,” he said at last, sounding like each word was being dragged out of him. “Would you like a lift home?”
Rachel looked at Kurt, then at me, then down to her lap. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“It’s... fine,” Kurt managed. “It’s no trouble. And maybe we could use the time to talk about Glee, since you apparently know so much about competitions.”
“Well, I do write to the National Show Choir Board regularly, and my understanding of the requirements for registration is flawless.”
“That’s the conversation for our ride home taken care of, then,” Mercedes said drily.
Tina rested her chin on her hand. “Joy.”
Rachel ignored them, and when Kurt bent over the table to examine Tina’s streaks, Rachel looked at me and mouthed ‘thank you’. I dipped my head, as if to say ‘don’t worry about it’.
“Come on,” Quinn said, sorting out the bags around her feet. “We’ve still got a few things to get before we go.”
“Yeah,” Santana said, smiling at me smugly. “Like Fiona’s underwear.”
I went red. We’d managed to go a whole hour without her mentioning it. Clearly she had just been biding her time.
“Ohmygod,” Kurt said, slinging his arms around my neck. “This is perfect. Victoria’s Secret is just downstairs.”
“We’re coming with you,” Mercedes said. “We need to get you something fierce.”
“Yeah,” Tina added. “So long as we don’t tell my mom. What? She doesn’t like me going into those stores without supervision.”
“Woah,” I said. “Wait, hang on now. I really don’t need this many people helping me with underwear.”
“Just as well we won’t be helping,” Santana said.
“I like the colours,” Brittany said.
“I’d better come too,” Quinn said. “To make sure you don’t end up with something ridiculous.”
“Don’t you get it?” I asked. “We are not going to Victoria’s Secret.”
Rachel smiled at me, showing her teeth. “I heard they have official NRL gear.”
*
So. Needless to say, we went. It was loud, confusing, and a little emotionally scarring, but we went. I got underpants, and that’s all you need to know. Next time I buy underwear, I’m sticking with a five-pack from Walmart.
Next Chapter
Back to Master Post
I was so glad when the weekend rolled around. It was a crazy week, and I really just wanted to lie in bed and play video games for two days. Then I heard a horn beep outside. Crap, Quinn! I shoved myself into some clothes, checked to make sure none of my hair had fallen out yet (Kurt, you are a god), and raced outside.
“Get back here!” my mom yelled after me. “You need to buy new underwear!” I went red in the face, darted back, and snatched the notes from her. She managed to grab me a plant a kiss on my cheek before I could escape. Sometimes I swear she just had a kid so she could yell stuff like that across the country. I love my mom, and she loves messing with me.
I threw myself into the back of Quinn’s car, and only then noticed that it wasn’t just the two of us - Santana and Brittany were along for the ride. I don’t know why I was surprised, but I kind of felt this sinking feeling.
“It’s okay,” Santana said from the front passenger seat, her mouth set in that curl she has, “I know all about buying underwear.”
“Not like you ever wear it for long,” I muttered.
“The whole point of underwear is taking it off,” Santana said, settling back into her seat.
“You’re such a slut,” Quinn said, turning her cd player on as she turned onto the highway.
“Oh god,” Santana said, “do we have to listen to this crap?”
“My car, my music,” Quinn replied firmly.
When Quinn did singing lessons, she sang a lot of pop and show tunes and stuff. I mean, that’s all they teach you, right? But as it turns out, she’s not really into that stuff. She liked blues and soul and funk, which is apparently not at all like the word ‘funky’ would suggest.
Another thing you should know is that the nearest good mall to Lima? Is about an hour’s drive away. And since Quinn’s mixed CD only went for twenty minutes, we all got to know the songs pretty well. Not that I minded - me and Brittany were singing in the back, me trying to go up high, and her saying “You sound like a duck,” which lead to me doing my Donald Duck impersonation, and her doing Daffy Duck. Have you ever heard two ducks singing 'Nice Work if you can Get it'? Because I think you need to.
The mall is a place that I don’t go to often. Like, maybe four times in my whole life. It’s too far away for mom and me to drop in when I need new clothes. And while there’s a bus, can you imagine how long that would take? Anyway, between Walmart and Amazon, I’ve got everything covered. Except, as it turns out, no, I don’t.
“Alright,” Quinn said, looking me up and down as I clambered out of her car and stretched in the parking lot. “We’re going to need some new tops. And a cute jacket. And definitely some new pants. Do you own heels?”
“Quinn, we’ve had the conversation about heels - I’d concuss myself going through doorways. And I can’t afford all of that stuff!”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I have my dad’s credit card.”
“And we’ve always got your underwear fund,” Santana added. I glared at her.
“Don’t worry,” Quinn said, grabbing my hand and pulling me along. “This will be fun.”
*
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Quinn and I have very different ideas of fun. I was locked in the change room of American Eagle, throwing clothes over the top of the door even as the evil threesome shoved more in through the gap at the bottom.
“No. No. No,” I said, tossing skirts over. “Definitely no,” I added, throwing a flowery flowy top thing.
“You’re not even trying these on any more!”
“Quinn, none of these even fit. They’re all too small!”
“Which means they’re probably fitting you fine. Your clothes are all too big anyway. Here, let me see what you have on.”
“Nothing. I have nothing on, because nothing here is made in giant size.”
“This isn’t working,” Santana said.
I could sense Quinn putting her hands on her hips. “You’re right. Let’s try Old Navy.”
I pulled my shirt back on, and shuffled out of the room. Brittany looked at me seriously. “You really don’t understand shopping.”
No kidding.
*
We found a pair of pants in Old Navy. A pair of jeans that were meant to be three-quarter length, but in reality just covered my knees. Apparently Old Navy has a whole range for tall people, just not here in the middle of Ohio. “It’s okay,” Quinn said. “Long shorts are still in. And now that we know your size, we can order online.” Great, that meant the shopping trip would never truly end.
Quinn got several tops, all with names like ‘key hole’ or ‘ruffle’, and some cardigans. Even Brittany loaded up with bright things to wear. I felt kind of silly following them through the register, with my one purchase. Quinn saw me eyeing a rack of men’s polo shirts - like the one I was wearing - on the way out.
“Let’s try Forever 21,” she said. “I hear they have some plaids in.”
Forever 21 wasn’t as cool as Old Navy. For a start, it had no men’s section. That’s one of the things that also happened from growing up with Puck - our mom’s would take turns getting clothes for us, and it was easiest just to confine us to one section of the Walmart and let us pick out own stuff. I own a lot of polos and boys’ jeans.
But Brittany was off, cooing at a shirt with ducks on it, and Santana found a singlet thing that had police tape over it, and Quinn was drawn in by the magic of dresses. Which left me standing all alone and all kinds of awkward, until I head a small “Hi,” behind me.
It was Rachel. Holding a sweater with an owl wearing glasses on it. “Oh,” I said. “Hey.”
“You’re out shopping?” she asked, looking around. “With the girls?”
“Yeah. This is Quinn’s present for my birthday. But it’s not turning out so great, you know?” I gestured at the owl jumper. “I just don’t really get this stuff.”
Rachel suddenly got a determined look in her eye. “I can assure you that I am the perfect guide to Forever 21. And also Macy’s.” She grabbed my wrist, and dragged me through the racks. “We’ll find you something.”
Rachel seemed to know me a little better. She knew that there was a difference between something that I might potentially look good in, and something that I would actually wear. She found this giant, baggy grey sports top, like a stretched out cotton football jersey.
“You’ll need something to wear under this,” she said. “It’s a distressed style, so it’ll slip down your shoulders. But a simple black tank top will do. You should check out American Apparel for that.” She also found a black shirt that buttoned up, but it was fitted and the sleeves were rolled up just past the elbow. “This is a cute version of the standard, male business shirt.” She looked up at me and gave me one of those small smiles. “I think it’d look good on you.”
And that’s how Quinn found us. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I think you’ll find the auditions for Ru Paul’s Drag Race were last week.”
Rachel took a step back, so I used the space to hold up the shirts she’d found me. “Hey,” I said, “what do you think of these?”
Quinn eyed them off, and then her eyes flicked to Rachel. “It’s a start,” she said.
“So,” I said to Rachel, as I took them to the counter. “Are you shopping with anyone else?”
“No,” she said. “My two gay dads dropped me off on their way to a GLBT conference. I’m finding my own way home, which I’m sure will be an exercise in maturity and problem solving.”
I wanted to offer her a lift, but a look at Quinn told me that no, that wasn’t going to happen. “Well,” I said, “here, do you want my mobile number? You can call me if that doesn’t work so good.”
“Really?” Her face lit up in this big smile. “That would be great.”
*
We left Rachel thumbing through the racks, and hit up American Apparel, Charlotte Russe, Jamba Juice, and then they had to forcibly remove me from the Gap. What can I say, those knitted jumpers are kind of my thing. Santana demanded we go to Hot Topic, and that was where we ran into Tina and Mercedes.
“Hey!” I said, as Tina gave me a hug.
“Hey yourself, girl,” Mercedes said, giving me a fist bump. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Shopping. I think.”
“Ooh, lemme see what you got!”
“We caught the bus here,” Tina told me are Mercedes pawed through my bags. “Don’t ever catch the bus.”
“Yeah,” Mercedes said from near my knees. “We’re lucky we ran into Kurt here. He’s giving us a lift home, if we can ever drag him out of Macy’s.”
Tina rolled her eyes. “They’re having a Marc Jacobs sale, and he’s determined to find the perfect watch.” She pulled my black button up from Mercedes. “You know what this needs? A sweater vest to go over it.”
Mercedes poked her temple. “Girl, you’ve got sweater vests on the brain.”
Tina laughed, and wriggled away. “What? They’re awesome, but in a secret, stealth kind of way.”
I thought about the people I knew who worse sweater vests. I thought about Mr Schue. “Yeah,” I said. “They’re cool.”
“Come on,” Tina said dragging me off. “I know the perfect one.”
I spent maybe the next forty minutes laughing and joking with Tina and Mercedes. They found me a sweater vest, and then we looked at all the cool sneakers, and Mercedes pawed through their racks of jewellery while Tina tried to find the perfect pair of gloves. I didn’t mean to find them, I was poking through a clearance bin, but once I had them in my hand, I couldn’t let go.
Mercedes tool one look and said “You have to try those on.”
“They’re so eighties.”
And they were. Gloves that went all the way up my arms, in leopard print, with the fingers cut off. I mean, that was pretty hardcore eighties fashion right there. I looked at myself, with my green and white polo and my pink hair, and the yellow gloves. “This isn’t working,” I said.
“That’s just ‘cause you’re not accessorising right. Here,” Mercedes rustled through my stuff again. “Put this on.”
It was the little black tank top from American Apparel. And with that on instead... it almost made sense.
“You have to buy those,” Tina said. “You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t.”
“Those are totally rock star,” Mercedes agreed.
“Where would I wear them?” I asked. “They’re not practical for anything.”
Mercedes pulled out her phone, and punched a number on speed dial. “Kurt, honey. I’m with Finn and she won’t buy these amazing gloves because they’re not ‘practical’.” Yes, she even did air quotes.
She held her phone up to me ear, and I heard Kurt say, “-her that fashion is not about practical, fashion is about letting the inner you out and into the world and looking as fabulous as possible. Practical is so unimportant that it isn’t even on the list. Look, where are you? I’ll come and sort this out.”
“We’ll meet you at the food court, Kurt,” I said.
I had time to hear him yell, “Buy the gloves!” before Mercedes hung up on him.
“You’ve been officially outvoted,” she said.
*
“It’s like this,” Kurt told me as we met up in the food court, wearing the most casual outfit I’d ever seen him in. “There’s this whole, fantastic person that’s locked up inside you, inside everyone. But no one can see what’s inside, just what’s on the outside. Which is why it’s so important to make sure that your outside matches your inside.”
“Or who you want to be,” Mercedes added.
“Or what you want people to think of you,” Tina chimed in.
“He’s right,” Brittany said. “People just want to get inside you.”
We all paused at that insight.
“What she means,” Quinn corrected, “is that if you want people to know something about you, you have to show it to them.”
And I thought about it. About band t-shirts and the posters on my walls. In that light, things like make up and clothes and nails and hair made more sense. Mercedes was bright and colourful and loud, and hell if you couldn’t tell that much about her just by looking at her. It went for all of my friends, even people like Santana with her sneakers and Cheerios jacket on over jeans and a t-shirt that almost wasn’t there.
And then look at me.
Me and my hand-me-downs, and Puck’s spares. While I don’t think I’ll ever be more comfortable than in a pair of jeans, in reality all of my clothes had been bought for someone else. I just grew into them as best I could.
And maybe that needed to change.
Mercedes grinned at me. “I think she gets it.”
*
I tore a pretzel apart as I listened to Tina and Mercedes try to explain music genres to Brittany. They’d tried the same thing with me, but I still didn’t know what the difference between metal and rock really was, let alone any of the stuff Mercedes was into. Kurt and Santana were having the world’s shortest conversation about uniforms.
“It’s cute,” Kurt said.
“I know,” Santana replied.
“But maybe not red.”
“It looks good in red.”
“But not everyone else looks good in red.”
“Duh, that’s the point.”
“Right... but maybe in periwinkle?”
“It looks good in red.”
Her cranky face almost hid the fact that she was stealing the grapes out of Kurt’s fruit salad. Quinn had gone to the pharmacy to pick some stuff up, and seemed to be taking her sweet time. I wondered if she’d notice if I stole her second Jamba Juice of the day.
“Hi guys.”
I looked up, and offered a distracted, “Hi, Rachel.” I think that was the most enthusiastic reaction she got, but it didn’t stop her from sitting down at the table. She looked around, and did a double take when she saw Kurt, her eyes locked on his shirt.
“Is that a crew shirt for ‘Wicked’?”
Kurt gave her a long look up and down. “Yes,” he said at last. “You have quite an eye.”
“I was trying to collect every piece of ‘Wicked’ merchandise available, but my two gay dads refused to let me buy the neon bar light.”
“They were right,” Kurt replied. “It’s in hideous taste. Even for you.” But he was still looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “I’m surprised to see a fan of the show in Lima that I didn’t indoctrinate myself.”
Rachel leaned forwards, her hands flat on the table. “It’s one of my career goals to play the role of Elphaba. And also, of course, the role of Eponine from ‘Les Mis’.”
“You and how many others?” Kurt replied, combing his fringe out his eyes. “While I don’t think I’m vocally suited to any of the roles in that particular production, even I would consider getting a role quite the achievement.”
“I don’t know,” Rachel replied, eyeing Kurt playfully. “I’m sure you could do a credible performance as little Cosette.”
Kurt barked out a laugh, and then they were off talking about musicals. Rachel felt that she was perfect for any and every female lead role, and Kurt seemed ready to fight her for some of them. I sat between them, chewing on a straw and wiggling it between my front teeth, making it bounce up and hit my nose. It was like a game, how many times I could straw myself before they switched to a new musical? But then it was cut short.
“You’re in my seat.” Quinn, with all of the annoyance that she could muster. And Quinn was, like, an expert at that.
“This isn’t school,” Rachel said, smoothing her skirt down over her legs. “I can sit where I want.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. “If you want to sit next to Finn so badly, you can have my seat.” Then he stood up, and sat himself down on my lap, looping his arms around my neck. “If our little rock starlet doesn’t object, that is?”
I grabbed Kurt by the waist, and pretended to throw us both off the seat, making him yelp and clutch at me. “Nah, seriously, it’s cool. Come on Quinn, I didn’t steal much of your drink.”
Quinn sat down, and Santana pushed Kurt’s left over salad over to her. “We need to be going soon,” she said. “I need to be home for dinner.”
“Yeah,” Mercedes said, dropping her conversation with Brittany about baby animals for a minute. “Kurt, you still cool to drive us?”
“Of course,” Kurt replied. “Anything for my girls.”
Rachel frowned. “Do any of you have a timetable for the bus?”
There was an awkward silence. I jiggled my leg, making Kurt bounce. He frowned at me, and then rolled his eyes. “Rachel,” he said at last, sounding like each word was being dragged out of him. “Would you like a lift home?”
Rachel looked at Kurt, then at me, then down to her lap. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“It’s... fine,” Kurt managed. “It’s no trouble. And maybe we could use the time to talk about Glee, since you apparently know so much about competitions.”
“Well, I do write to the National Show Choir Board regularly, and my understanding of the requirements for registration is flawless.”
“That’s the conversation for our ride home taken care of, then,” Mercedes said drily.
Tina rested her chin on her hand. “Joy.”
Rachel ignored them, and when Kurt bent over the table to examine Tina’s streaks, Rachel looked at me and mouthed ‘thank you’. I dipped my head, as if to say ‘don’t worry about it’.
“Come on,” Quinn said, sorting out the bags around her feet. “We’ve still got a few things to get before we go.”
“Yeah,” Santana said, smiling at me smugly. “Like Fiona’s underwear.”
I went red. We’d managed to go a whole hour without her mentioning it. Clearly she had just been biding her time.
“Ohmygod,” Kurt said, slinging his arms around my neck. “This is perfect. Victoria’s Secret is just downstairs.”
“We’re coming with you,” Mercedes said. “We need to get you something fierce.”
“Yeah,” Tina added. “So long as we don’t tell my mom. What? She doesn’t like me going into those stores without supervision.”
“Woah,” I said. “Wait, hang on now. I really don’t need this many people helping me with underwear.”
“Just as well we won’t be helping,” Santana said.
“I like the colours,” Brittany said.
“I’d better come too,” Quinn said. “To make sure you don’t end up with something ridiculous.”
“Don’t you get it?” I asked. “We are not going to Victoria’s Secret.”
Rachel smiled at me, showing her teeth. “I heard they have official NRL gear.”
*
So. Needless to say, we went. It was loud, confusing, and a little emotionally scarring, but we went. I got underpants, and that’s all you need to know. Next time I buy underwear, I’m sticking with a five-pack from Walmart.
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