Fic: What Rachel Knows Chapter 4
For the record, I am ignoring the Lucy thing, but if you really want, just imagine that mine takes place in the eighth grade and things fit pretty easily. This is Rachel's POV, so she might make false assumptions about Quinn and nobody has currently been said to go to Quinn's old school.
Chapter 4 After her disastrous gym class, Rachel had been trying to keep a low profile. She wasn’t backing down, per se, because she didn’t do anything wrong, but if Santana had decided that she didn’t like Rachel, then Rachel figured it would be best to stay out of her way. Quinn, though, was staring at her again and, with Santana’s words still in mind, Rachel was making it a point not to look back. Once again, it was just playing it safe. If Quinn wanted to speak to her or something, then of course Rachel would not let a few words from Santana Lopez get in the way of that, but as long as Quinn was just staring from a distance, it was best to keep her head down. No need to rock the boat.
However, this stare felt different. Rachel had experienced a number of looks from Quinn and none had felt like this. It was constant - a quiet hum following her through the halls and in the cafeteria - and, reluctantly, Rachel would have to say, more than anything else, that there was the feeling of plotting in the air.
It was in the hallway that Rachel first discovered a hint of what to come. It was a normal day, pushing through people who were all a little bigger than she was. Her short stature was a bit of a hindrance, but, Rachel reminded herself, she was one of the youngest members of this building and she had time to grow. While she was facing a few more snickers than normal since gym - word spreads fast in high school - nobody was being intentionally pushy, they just didn’t notice her or were not polite enough to move around a smaller person. Typical.
She was walking along the edge of the crowd, close to the walls to avoid the worst of the shuffle, when she was shoved somewhat lightly against the wall. She heard a soft murmured apology and responded in kind, keeping her head down even if she did recognize the voice somewhat.
She continued to head to her next class when a much harder push sent her into a row of lockers and caused her books to fall to the floor.
“Watch it Treasure Trail,” the familiar voice sneered, sparking her to lift her head in shock.
Quinn stood above her, smirking at the shocked stared, before abruptly turning and walking off. She had a distinct swagger in her step that Rachel continued to observe until she turned a corner.
The rest of the day was spent somewhat similarly. The mass of sheep at her school continued to snicker and sneer at her and now Quinn was joining in. Rachel was nervous, unsure of how to respond. She had faced bullies before, she had two gay dads after all, but as her incident with Santana had shown, it wasn’t like she was adept at it or anything. For the most part, she tried to ignore, live and let live, roll with the punches. One day she would be on stage or at the Grammys, anywhere with lights, cameras, and a host calling her name. As she accepts the awards and accolades gifted to her, she will thank all of her old classmates for making her a better person by treated her like she was not one. Moreover, while they watch her on television from their Ohio houses, scraping by with their McDonalds salary, she’ll be becoming the next Barbra Streisand.
Nevertheless, that philosophy was a lot harder to live than say, how did the expression go…she could talk the talk but not walk the walk. She tried to hold her head high and be resilient and persevere, but, things had been escalating lately and the Santana situation was both an example of this and something that Rachel presumed would make things even worse. Sometimes it was just hard to bear the snickers and the teasing and she just needed a quiet moment to collect herself. In some ways, it was a gift that the McKinley had such a disappointing drama curriculum. That it had an auditorium that the school only used for band concerts and practices and the occasional assembly worked in her favor, giving her a place to take solace that nobody else ever seemed to use.
Quinn joining in, though, made everything so much worse. Even steadfast in ignoring the other girl, secretly wanting a friend more than a fan, it had always been nice knowing there had been one person who could not keep their eyes off her. Now that was apparently over. She felt the need to find the underlying cause of this. Tomorrow. Today had been draining enough, she needed some time to get her head on straight and figure things out.
It was, finally, the last class of the day, History, and Rachel was barely able to pay attention to the not so riveting lecture being given by the teacher. She was busy thinking and rethinking her exit strategy, involving a hopefully quick stop at her locker before running to get to her bus just as the door opened. It was not that the bus was exactly a safe haven, but she had a very no-nonsense bus driver and most of the other bus-goers grew up around her and were at least mostly friendly.
Still, though her plan was ready and smart, she was getting more and more nervous as the class grew closer to ending. Mostly because this was one of the classes she shared with Quinn and the other girl was making her anxious. She had walked through the door with an open notebook and spent the entire class scribbling in it earnestly, a somewhat dastardly smile gracing her lips. At first, Rachel had thought it was just some left over work from study hall, which she was only somewhat sure the other girl had that seventh period, but it whatever caused her to smile like that was obviously sinister in nature.
Rachel did her best to ignore Quinn, wanting to focus on the somewhat lackluster lecture (there were not even any PowerPoints), but Quinn’s scratching pen filled her with a sense of foreboding that didn’t allow her to look away.
Though her focus was on the notebook, a complete disregard to their teacher, she would occasionally glance at Rachel and smirk at the somewhat unfortunately obvious attention.
St the end of class, Rachel quickly put away her things, though she waited to do this until the teacher was completely done unlike the rest of the ruffians in her class, and jumped out of her seat, ready for a quick, necessary run to her locker.
She left the room with one quick glance at the still sitting Quinn. The older girl was still sitting, everything put away except for that single notebook which she was glancing over with an anxious expression. With a frown, Rachel exited the room and made her way through the hallway, grunting as that dopey-looking boy from her art class lost control of his limbs and bumped into her, but eventually made it to her locker. She had just put away the rest of her unneeded material when her locker door was slammed shut, narrowly missing her fingers. She yelped, pulling her hand back and cradling it gingerly to her chest.
She glanced up to see Quinn looking at her hand with concern. As soon as their eyes meet, though, it is as if a switch flips and a hard cold smirking face is looking back at her.
"What's the rush,'' Quinn sneers, hesitating briefly, "RuPaul, late for the freak show.''
A part of her wants to laugh. Obviously, Quinn had been working on that for a while, all last period apparently, and even though there is the possibility that the comment was only the first of many, it is slightly hilarious if that was the best she could do.
Admittedly, RuPaul wasn't a horrible insult for the average teenage girl. Rachel had heavy respect for RuPaul as a performer, but she can admit that she is not someone most girls aspire to be compared to.
At the same time, she finds the comparison a little laughable. While she has yet to grow at all in the chest area, Rachel is quite sure it is because she is younger than her classmates and is convinced her bosom will grow with time. Her figure may be boyish now, but she is still pretty sure she will grow. She knows she does not contain the potential to be a classical beauty like Quinn or the fiery ethnic looks like Santana. Her hair is too dull and her nose is too big. While she may be drab in appearance, her voice will take the world by storm. Other than that, though, Rachel sees herself as a very girly girl.
She wears skirts and sweaters with animals and bows and wears her long hair down. She moisturizes daily and has manicures and pedicures. She does not wear make-up, but that is because she doesn't really know how and doesn't want to end up looking like a clown or worse, a hooker.
At least, she doesn’t think she could be confused for a Drag Queen. Santana really only implied - somewhat hypocritically - lesbianism which Rachel is used to because of parentage… but maybe it was more than that. Maybe Quinn chose RuPaul as an insult because she thought it was something Rachel would be insecure about. Maybe she was manlier looking than she thought. Maybe her girliness, combined with her not quite developed body, did create the illusion of a man dressing like a girl.
She always paid for her manicures and pedicures and haircuts because her dads had no idea about anything like that. They weren’t exactly stereotypical in that way, though sometimes Rachel wished they were. They had plied her with pamphlets and instructional videos when she got her first period (not all that long ago) ago), but they really didn't make those for make-up or plucking eyebrows or anything. While her dads are perfectly acceptable in many facets of parenthood, and she wouldn’t trade them for the world, it was times like this she wished she had a maternal figure in her life or at least a friend to count on. She frowned to herself, all these thoughts quickly rushing through her mind.
Quinn was looking at her, sneer, though a little stilted, frozen in place as she waited for a reaction. Rachel looked at her right in the eyes, standing on her tiptoes to maintain eye level, searching for some insight to this rapid change in behavior. It was clear that it must have been Santana's confrontation, but what part of that would have caused such a drastic shift.
She took a deep breath and shook her head disapprovingly at the taller - barely, and she was just a light bloomer - girl and dramatically turned her back, strutting off purposefully. She would not reward Quinn's rudeness. At least, not any more than she already had.
She felt rather than saw the girl’s gaze as it followed her movement. She had to brainstorm how to deal with this. As soon as she figured out what they had been doing in history class, sense Quinn’s piercing gaze is all she can remember.
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The next morning, she walked to school with her color-coded three-part plan in hand. First off, she would not cater to Quinn’s obvious pathological need for attention. It would not set a good precedent. If Quinn spoke harshly to her or maybe shoved her a little, she would not dignify the other girl with a reaction. She would definitely not stare at her for an entire class period, causing her to miss an entire lecture. She would, though, go out of her way to try to be nicer to the girl. Not that she was ever mean, but she could be standoffish, maybe. She just figured, if Rachel was completely, unflinchingly kind to the other girl, there was no way Quinn could see her as a target. At least not without drowning in guilt. Right?
She was still trying to figure out how to compromise on these two objectives, because ignoring and friendliness do not really work all that well together. Nevertheless, when they saw each other in Math, their second period class but the first one they shared, Rachel made sure to give Quinn a quick smile as she walked in.
Not an overly attentive action, she was just acting in common decency. When Quinn accidentally dropped her pencil - and, yes, they were sitting together, but Rachel hadn't planned it - Rachel was quick to snatch it off the floor and hand it back to her.
In gym, Rachel was a still feeling a little wary of Santana, but still made it a point to courteously hold the door open for Quinn as they moved to exit the locker room. Which Santana somehow managed to take complete advantage of, following quickly behind Quinn, with Brittany in hand, and shoving Rachel as they passed, leaving the door to close in her face. With a huff, she pulled the door open again and hurries after them.
Of course, that day would be the day they mix with the boy's class to create a co-ed game of dodge ball. Fantastic.
While Rachel has never been the first pick, competitive instincts and a healthy amount of respect for Rachel's fierce intensity usually places her somewhere in the middle. But, possibly as a sign of her flailing level of respect from her peers, Rachel finds more and more people being chosen before her. When Santana, who is, of course, a team captain, snickers as she picks Georgia, the girl whose clumsiness accidently broke another girl’s nose just 3 weeks ago, Rachel knows it is no coincidence.
For a moment, she wants to scream at the other girl, yell about the unfairness of the situation. Push and fight at them. Rage at Quinn, who was laughing even as she glanced at her with a hint of concern in her eyes. She scowled at the girl, not wanting to deal with the mixed messages.
She took a quick breath, mentally searching through her internal music catalogue for the perfect song. It hit her and she shoved the scowl off her face and gave Quinn a quick smile before putting on the show face she practiced every night in front of the mirror.
You can’t stop an avalanche as it races down the hill
You can try to stop the seasons, girl, but you know you never will
She allows the opening lyrics of Hairspray’s “You Can’t Stop the Beat” to soothe her and hummed along with the melody even as she sang along in her head.
Luckily for her sanity, Noah put her out of her misery, picking her for his team. She was not to thankful, though. The only ones left were Jacob Ben Israel, Kurt Hummel-the rather obviously gay boy who repeatedly rebuffed her offers of friendship, the boy in the wheelchair who normally hung out with that girl with a speech impediment, and a couple of somewhat overweight girls who Noah either figured world make big targets or priggishly didn’t want on his team. Still, she may have been bottom of the barrel, but at least she hadn’t ended up with Santana.
Rachel struts to her team, show face still in place, and stood somewhat near Quinn who had been Noah's first pick after his dopey looking beast-fiend (Flynn?), although Rachel figures Santana’s team would have snatched her up immediately after Brittany if she had first pick. Noah gave her a quick nod of acknowledgement but otherwise ignored her, busy debating with…Flynn (she’s about 75% sure that is his name and while the percentage is not high enough to say out loud, she figures it’s enough to name him in her mind) on the benefits of picking the picking a “fatty” over "homo."
Rachel pushes them out of her mind, resisting the urge to confront and lecture the boys on their ignorance - a PowerPoint was already being created in her mind - and Rachel instead began her stretches. She paid no mind to the fact that nobody else was stretching, she had to prepare her body for any activity, just like preparing herself with vocal exercises before a performance.
She stretched until the others were finished picking teams and jumped up to join her teammates, almost bumping into Quinn, who was standing just about directly behind her. Quinn was staring, again, of course, with her eyebrows raised, seemingly frozen. Rachel cautiously sidestepped the other girl, maintaining a weird sort of eye contact. She really didn't understand how the other girl was so popular, she really was quite weird at times.
She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure the other girl eventually moved, which she was, and happened to catch Santana glaring harshly at her. She sighed and moved into place, confused.
Still, she kept to her original plan, not showing any unnecessary attention but giving a congratulatory high five when the other girl pelted people out of the game. While dodge ball was the sort of unnecessarily violent game that encouraged aggressive behavior in her peers that she ultimately disapproved of, Quinn, smiling exuberantly, was obviously enjoying herself.
Rachel is doing moderately well for herself, as well. Her size and energetic nature plays in her favor, allowing her to dodge any balls coming her way, and she even caught a few, sending people temporarily out of the game and allowing one of her team members to rejoin the game. She has even, though she abhors violence, thrown the red balls at people - happy they were using foam substitutes instead of the rubber balls that hurt more and were a bit too large for her hands, though she has missed every time. She almost hit Brittany at one point, causing Santana to send a ball in her general direction, but the other girl did a split and dodged out of the way, smiling in her direction.
Rachel is ashamed to admit that there was one point when she had a clear shot at Santana, distracted by Brittany, but, in a moment of weakness, chose not to take it. It was, though, very satisfactory to see Santana hit a moment later by Quinn, who shot Rachel a confident smirk. Rachel smiled back, even as she wondered if Quinn had taken note of her moment of embarrassing weakness. She did have to hold back a giggle as Noah also hit Santana, illegally since she was already out, in the rear with a ball as she walked off the makeshift arena. He was lucky the gym teacher somehow managed to miss it.
Rachel worried her lip as Santana stalked off in a huff, middle finger raised in the air - which the teacher also somehow missed. She shook her head at the girl - Santana’s back was turned, so it was okay - and gave a small sigh.
Her attention was torn away from Santana as one of the bright red balls smacked her in the back of head. Once again, the teacher managed to miss the illegal headshot, Rachel doubted that she was even paying the slightest bit of attention at this point, so Rachel abruptly turned to face her teammates - one of whom had just engaged in friendly fire… most likely on purpose.
Since her teammates were the ones who had pegged her, it did not count, so she refused to leave the field and this meant that she could confront her errant team member.
She looked at them all, trying to discern the guilty party, and her sixth sense quickly pointed out the culprit. Also, a laughing Noah was pointing at scowling, yet smirking Quinn.
She huffed, barely swallowing a lecture, and thought of her next move. Quinn's mood swings really were becoming quite annoying, confusing and irritating in equal measure, but the longer Rachel observed her curious, and somewhat contrasting actions, the more the puzzle came together in her mind. Raising her head high and looking Quinn right in the eye, she took a step towards the girl, mouth open and ignoring Noah completely, and she would swear that the girl shivered.
Before she could speak, though, she has once again interrupted by a bright red ball, this time clipping her shoulder. With a sigh of exasperation, she turned to face the other team and watched as Brittany jumped up and down, clapping. Noticing she has Rachel’s attention, Brittany raises both fists in the air, shaking them, and mimics the noise of a roaring crowd.
Rachel smiles at the sight and shakes her head happily as she walks off the field. She watches as the taller girl continues her cheering, adding a little bit of dancing, and only stops to catch a ball that flies in her direction, bringing Santana back in the game.
Honestly, she doesn’t mind being pegged by Brittany in such an honest manner. Sure, her back was turned, but in a game like this that really was her own fault and Brittany, at the very least, was only having a good time. It was probably a good thing that Brittany halted her conversation with Quinn anyway.
She joined the ranks of the others who had been hit out, paying little attention to the ongoing game. Technically, she should be giving it her full attention, there was always the chance a ball would be caught on her side and they would choose to bring her back in, but judging by how teams had been picked earlier, this was somewhat unlikely.
Instead she choose to think about her future and what goals she should be undertaking. She did not have a notebook, nor did she possess a superhuman memory - which was highly unfair in her opinion - but one never knows when genius would strike. Currently she was debating posting videos of herself online.
She had a nice backlog of videos she had been recording recently - it was good to practice her voice and her presence on camera, but it also allowed her to critique her own performance - and had been thinking on posting them online. She really was of two minds about the issue, though. The positives were obvious. She could get discovered and it would also allow her to share her talent and possibly inspire a fan base. At the same time, the videos weren’t perfect. She wasn’t all that handy with a camera and it was only her around. People would be able to see inside her room…Jacob Ben Israel would probably find them! Plus, was there any current, serious stars who had been discovered online. It seemed a little desperate.
Her musings were interrupted by a shout.
“Berry,” shouted Quinn, holding one of the red balls in one hand and the other on her hip, “Back in the game!” Rachel’s brows furrowed in confusion even as she took her place back on the field. This was…weird. Even when Quinn had been watching her all the time, they never interacted, and now that they have been interacting, it usually isn’t …nice.
“In front me,” Quinn hisses, giving her a light push forward.
“What?” Rachel asked, a slight laugh of disbelief escaping, as she tried to position herself to Quinn’s liking.
“I…you’re like my guard. Anybody throws a ball at me, it has to hit you first. Why else would I waste my catch on you?” Quinn sneers, not quite looking at her. From their left, Noah lets out a barking laughing, tossing his ball at the other team before raising his hand for a high five. With an eye roll, Quinn ignores the hand and gets back into an athletic stance.
Rachel also rolls her eyes, at the both of them, but also prepares herself for the rest of the game, which, thankfully, goes rather smoothly.
Afterwards, they all head back to the locker room, Santana and Quinn leading the group, of course, when Brittany stops her.
“Hey, Rachel?” the taller girl questions, lightly halting her trip to the locker room by grasping her shoulder.
“Yes, Brittany,” she replies, keeping an eye out to make sure Santana doesn’t come back looking for Brittany.
“You did, like, really well today. Me and Santana were really… impressed that you overcame… your disabledness.” The girl manages this all with a nonchalant, straight face, her voice the quiet monosyllabic tone, with the slightest hint of confusion, that Rachel is used to from her. In confusion, Rachel shifts her eyes away from the locker room door, giving Brittany her full attention, tilted her head a little in askance.
“What…what disability (Rachel is pretty sure that is what Brittany meant) are you talking about?” she asks, not sure if she wants to know since this has a heavy Santana feel to it. Brittany returns her head tilt of confusion.
“Your …smurfism. We hope you get better soon.” With that, Brittany walks off into the boys’ locker room. Rachel feels torn between going after her to convince that she doesn’t have ‘smurfism’ and just shaking her head and walking off. Considering that any conversation with Brittany would leave her, most likely, even further confused, she heads to the locker room. She doesn’t want to be late, after all.
As she enters the room, she notices that just about everyone is already dressed and just hanging around waiting for the bell to ring. Somehow, this include Brittany, even though Rachel is positive that she had walked into the boys’ room, although she does not that Brittany seems to be wearing someone else’s clothes and they look decidedly male. The only two still changing are Quinn and Santana, which is weird since they were the first in line to make it to the locker room. As the both pull on their shirts, she notices that Quinn is glaring at a smug looking Santana. Everyone quiets as she walks into view and stare at her.
It is decidedly creepy, but one day everyone will be staring at her much more positively, so she ignore them and heads to her locker. She frowns as she notices her lock is open. Quickly pulling it off, she opens the locker and searches through her things. Her body spray and few feminine hygiene items are still there. He backpack seems untouched. The shoes she wears during her non-gym classes rest easy. But her clothes…
“Where’s my clothes?” she shrieks, turning around to face the group of snickering girls. Some of the people don’t make I contact with her, looking at the ground, but most are openly laughing at her. None of them are answering. She notices that Quinn is still glaring at Santana and makes the obvious leap. She walks to the other girl, hands on hip and scowl in place, trying not to let the anger currently rushing in her get out of hand.
“Santana Lopez, what did you do with my clothes?” she asks as calmly as possible.
“Get out of my face,” Santana sneers and shoots a quick glance at Quinn, “RuPaul. I wouldn’t touch your clothes, I might get diseases. But, wherever they are now, I’m sure it’s a better place.”
The bell rings and Santana grabs her bag and a bottle of Diet Coke she must have purchased at the vending machines, clearly ready to leave, but Rachel grabs her arm to prevent her. Santana wrenches her arm away and pushes at the younger girl.
“Don’t touch me,” she snarls, and Rachel notices that none of the other girls are leaving. “If you want to find those disgusting clothes of yours, I suspect you look where they belong, in the toilet. Now, I am going to leave. Have a wonderful day and remember what happens when you mess with Santana Lopez.” And with that, she opens her Diet Coke, and Rachel stares, wondering why she would take a drink at a time like this. Instead, the girl proceeds to throw the drink on her white gym shirt, staining it brown.
Rachel jumps away with a yell, clearly not soon enough, and the class erupts in laughter. She sees Quinn giving a somewhat fake looking laugh and turns away, tears forming in her eyes. Her clothes are obviously sitting in the toilet, but Rachel had at least had the option of wearing her gym clothes. Now she was going to be walking around in dirty gym clothes with a huge brown stain. And her dads were both at work, so she was stranded here. She could probably walk home, but she knew the administration would not let her leave without an escort.
Eventually, the other girls left her sitting in the locker room, not wanting to be late. Rachel felt a hefty amount of distaste for gym. She quietly, not even able to sing through the pain, gathered her stuff, pausing to spray some of her fruity body spray over her, and left the room. She didn’t want to hang around for the next class.
She headed to her locker and made the appropriate switches, grateful that she, at least, had lunch the next period. It was the first of the lunch period and she knew that she shared it with Quinn, Santana, and Brittany, though she obviously didn’t sit with them. She wouldn’t let them see her in this state either. Instead, she grabbed her lunch bag, thankful to not be buying today, and headed off to the auditorium. She spent most of the period alternating between eating and trying to rub out the stain with some water and a towel. It didn’t work to well.
Quinn, meanwhile, was not mean to her for the rest of the day. Rachel was the last to their Art class, not really wanting to be seen by the snickering masses, and went to take her customary seat near Quinn. To her surprise, there was already something on her desk.
Folded on her seat was a light yellow cardigan. Holding it up, she remembered exactly who was wearing an identical one during Math. She looks over at Quinn, noticing for the first time that she was only wearing the dress and not the matching cardigan. She doesn’t want to make any assumptions, but does notice that Quinn is adamantly not looking at her. Ignoring the weird look she is receiving from Noah, sitting in his usual seat in front of Quinn, she puts on the cardigan and buttons it all the way up. She smiles to herself, but per Quinn’s obvious, if unspoken, request, does not bring it up.
She brings an extra pair of clothes with her the next day, hiding them in her real locker, but hopes she doesn’t ever need them. Unfortunately, when she finally pulls them out, it is because of Quinn.
Chapter 4 After her disastrous gym class, Rachel had been trying to keep a low profile. She wasn’t backing down, per se, because she didn’t do anything wrong, but if Santana had decided that she didn’t like Rachel, then Rachel figured it would be best to stay out of her way. Quinn, though, was staring at her again and, with Santana’s words still in mind, Rachel was making it a point not to look back. Once again, it was just playing it safe. If Quinn wanted to speak to her or something, then of course Rachel would not let a few words from Santana Lopez get in the way of that, but as long as Quinn was just staring from a distance, it was best to keep her head down. No need to rock the boat.
However, this stare felt different. Rachel had experienced a number of looks from Quinn and none had felt like this. It was constant - a quiet hum following her through the halls and in the cafeteria - and, reluctantly, Rachel would have to say, more than anything else, that there was the feeling of plotting in the air.
It was in the hallway that Rachel first discovered a hint of what to come. It was a normal day, pushing through people who were all a little bigger than she was. Her short stature was a bit of a hindrance, but, Rachel reminded herself, she was one of the youngest members of this building and she had time to grow. While she was facing a few more snickers than normal since gym - word spreads fast in high school - nobody was being intentionally pushy, they just didn’t notice her or were not polite enough to move around a smaller person. Typical.
She was walking along the edge of the crowd, close to the walls to avoid the worst of the shuffle, when she was shoved somewhat lightly against the wall. She heard a soft murmured apology and responded in kind, keeping her head down even if she did recognize the voice somewhat.
She continued to head to her next class when a much harder push sent her into a row of lockers and caused her books to fall to the floor.
“Watch it Treasure Trail,” the familiar voice sneered, sparking her to lift her head in shock.
Quinn stood above her, smirking at the shocked stared, before abruptly turning and walking off. She had a distinct swagger in her step that Rachel continued to observe until she turned a corner.
The rest of the day was spent somewhat similarly. The mass of sheep at her school continued to snicker and sneer at her and now Quinn was joining in. Rachel was nervous, unsure of how to respond. She had faced bullies before, she had two gay dads after all, but as her incident with Santana had shown, it wasn’t like she was adept at it or anything. For the most part, she tried to ignore, live and let live, roll with the punches. One day she would be on stage or at the Grammys, anywhere with lights, cameras, and a host calling her name. As she accepts the awards and accolades gifted to her, she will thank all of her old classmates for making her a better person by treated her like she was not one. Moreover, while they watch her on television from their Ohio houses, scraping by with their McDonalds salary, she’ll be becoming the next Barbra Streisand.
Nevertheless, that philosophy was a lot harder to live than say, how did the expression go…she could talk the talk but not walk the walk. She tried to hold her head high and be resilient and persevere, but, things had been escalating lately and the Santana situation was both an example of this and something that Rachel presumed would make things even worse. Sometimes it was just hard to bear the snickers and the teasing and she just needed a quiet moment to collect herself. In some ways, it was a gift that the McKinley had such a disappointing drama curriculum. That it had an auditorium that the school only used for band concerts and practices and the occasional assembly worked in her favor, giving her a place to take solace that nobody else ever seemed to use.
Quinn joining in, though, made everything so much worse. Even steadfast in ignoring the other girl, secretly wanting a friend more than a fan, it had always been nice knowing there had been one person who could not keep their eyes off her. Now that was apparently over. She felt the need to find the underlying cause of this. Tomorrow. Today had been draining enough, she needed some time to get her head on straight and figure things out.
It was, finally, the last class of the day, History, and Rachel was barely able to pay attention to the not so riveting lecture being given by the teacher. She was busy thinking and rethinking her exit strategy, involving a hopefully quick stop at her locker before running to get to her bus just as the door opened. It was not that the bus was exactly a safe haven, but she had a very no-nonsense bus driver and most of the other bus-goers grew up around her and were at least mostly friendly.
Still, though her plan was ready and smart, she was getting more and more nervous as the class grew closer to ending. Mostly because this was one of the classes she shared with Quinn and the other girl was making her anxious. She had walked through the door with an open notebook and spent the entire class scribbling in it earnestly, a somewhat dastardly smile gracing her lips. At first, Rachel had thought it was just some left over work from study hall, which she was only somewhat sure the other girl had that seventh period, but it whatever caused her to smile like that was obviously sinister in nature.
Rachel did her best to ignore Quinn, wanting to focus on the somewhat lackluster lecture (there were not even any PowerPoints), but Quinn’s scratching pen filled her with a sense of foreboding that didn’t allow her to look away.
Though her focus was on the notebook, a complete disregard to their teacher, she would occasionally glance at Rachel and smirk at the somewhat unfortunately obvious attention.
St the end of class, Rachel quickly put away her things, though she waited to do this until the teacher was completely done unlike the rest of the ruffians in her class, and jumped out of her seat, ready for a quick, necessary run to her locker.
She left the room with one quick glance at the still sitting Quinn. The older girl was still sitting, everything put away except for that single notebook which she was glancing over with an anxious expression. With a frown, Rachel exited the room and made her way through the hallway, grunting as that dopey-looking boy from her art class lost control of his limbs and bumped into her, but eventually made it to her locker. She had just put away the rest of her unneeded material when her locker door was slammed shut, narrowly missing her fingers. She yelped, pulling her hand back and cradling it gingerly to her chest.
She glanced up to see Quinn looking at her hand with concern. As soon as their eyes meet, though, it is as if a switch flips and a hard cold smirking face is looking back at her.
"What's the rush,'' Quinn sneers, hesitating briefly, "RuPaul, late for the freak show.''
A part of her wants to laugh. Obviously, Quinn had been working on that for a while, all last period apparently, and even though there is the possibility that the comment was only the first of many, it is slightly hilarious if that was the best she could do.
Admittedly, RuPaul wasn't a horrible insult for the average teenage girl. Rachel had heavy respect for RuPaul as a performer, but she can admit that she is not someone most girls aspire to be compared to.
At the same time, she finds the comparison a little laughable. While she has yet to grow at all in the chest area, Rachel is quite sure it is because she is younger than her classmates and is convinced her bosom will grow with time. Her figure may be boyish now, but she is still pretty sure she will grow. She knows she does not contain the potential to be a classical beauty like Quinn or the fiery ethnic looks like Santana. Her hair is too dull and her nose is too big. While she may be drab in appearance, her voice will take the world by storm. Other than that, though, Rachel sees herself as a very girly girl.
She wears skirts and sweaters with animals and bows and wears her long hair down. She moisturizes daily and has manicures and pedicures. She does not wear make-up, but that is because she doesn't really know how and doesn't want to end up looking like a clown or worse, a hooker.
At least, she doesn’t think she could be confused for a Drag Queen. Santana really only implied - somewhat hypocritically - lesbianism which Rachel is used to because of parentage… but maybe it was more than that. Maybe Quinn chose RuPaul as an insult because she thought it was something Rachel would be insecure about. Maybe she was manlier looking than she thought. Maybe her girliness, combined with her not quite developed body, did create the illusion of a man dressing like a girl.
She always paid for her manicures and pedicures and haircuts because her dads had no idea about anything like that. They weren’t exactly stereotypical in that way, though sometimes Rachel wished they were. They had plied her with pamphlets and instructional videos when she got her first period (not all that long ago) ago), but they really didn't make those for make-up or plucking eyebrows or anything. While her dads are perfectly acceptable in many facets of parenthood, and she wouldn’t trade them for the world, it was times like this she wished she had a maternal figure in her life or at least a friend to count on. She frowned to herself, all these thoughts quickly rushing through her mind.
Quinn was looking at her, sneer, though a little stilted, frozen in place as she waited for a reaction. Rachel looked at her right in the eyes, standing on her tiptoes to maintain eye level, searching for some insight to this rapid change in behavior. It was clear that it must have been Santana's confrontation, but what part of that would have caused such a drastic shift.
She took a deep breath and shook her head disapprovingly at the taller - barely, and she was just a light bloomer - girl and dramatically turned her back, strutting off purposefully. She would not reward Quinn's rudeness. At least, not any more than she already had.
She felt rather than saw the girl’s gaze as it followed her movement. She had to brainstorm how to deal with this. As soon as she figured out what they had been doing in history class, sense Quinn’s piercing gaze is all she can remember.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next morning, she walked to school with her color-coded three-part plan in hand. First off, she would not cater to Quinn’s obvious pathological need for attention. It would not set a good precedent. If Quinn spoke harshly to her or maybe shoved her a little, she would not dignify the other girl with a reaction. She would definitely not stare at her for an entire class period, causing her to miss an entire lecture. She would, though, go out of her way to try to be nicer to the girl. Not that she was ever mean, but she could be standoffish, maybe. She just figured, if Rachel was completely, unflinchingly kind to the other girl, there was no way Quinn could see her as a target. At least not without drowning in guilt. Right?
She was still trying to figure out how to compromise on these two objectives, because ignoring and friendliness do not really work all that well together. Nevertheless, when they saw each other in Math, their second period class but the first one they shared, Rachel made sure to give Quinn a quick smile as she walked in.
Not an overly attentive action, she was just acting in common decency. When Quinn accidentally dropped her pencil - and, yes, they were sitting together, but Rachel hadn't planned it - Rachel was quick to snatch it off the floor and hand it back to her.
In gym, Rachel was a still feeling a little wary of Santana, but still made it a point to courteously hold the door open for Quinn as they moved to exit the locker room. Which Santana somehow managed to take complete advantage of, following quickly behind Quinn, with Brittany in hand, and shoving Rachel as they passed, leaving the door to close in her face. With a huff, she pulled the door open again and hurries after them.
Of course, that day would be the day they mix with the boy's class to create a co-ed game of dodge ball. Fantastic.
While Rachel has never been the first pick, competitive instincts and a healthy amount of respect for Rachel's fierce intensity usually places her somewhere in the middle. But, possibly as a sign of her flailing level of respect from her peers, Rachel finds more and more people being chosen before her. When Santana, who is, of course, a team captain, snickers as she picks Georgia, the girl whose clumsiness accidently broke another girl’s nose just 3 weeks ago, Rachel knows it is no coincidence.
For a moment, she wants to scream at the other girl, yell about the unfairness of the situation. Push and fight at them. Rage at Quinn, who was laughing even as she glanced at her with a hint of concern in her eyes. She scowled at the girl, not wanting to deal with the mixed messages.
She took a quick breath, mentally searching through her internal music catalogue for the perfect song. It hit her and she shoved the scowl off her face and gave Quinn a quick smile before putting on the show face she practiced every night in front of the mirror.
You can’t stop an avalanche as it races down the hill
You can try to stop the seasons, girl, but you know you never will
She allows the opening lyrics of Hairspray’s “You Can’t Stop the Beat” to soothe her and hummed along with the melody even as she sang along in her head.
Luckily for her sanity, Noah put her out of her misery, picking her for his team. She was not to thankful, though. The only ones left were Jacob Ben Israel, Kurt Hummel-the rather obviously gay boy who repeatedly rebuffed her offers of friendship, the boy in the wheelchair who normally hung out with that girl with a speech impediment, and a couple of somewhat overweight girls who Noah either figured world make big targets or priggishly didn’t want on his team. Still, she may have been bottom of the barrel, but at least she hadn’t ended up with Santana.
Rachel struts to her team, show face still in place, and stood somewhat near Quinn who had been Noah's first pick after his dopey looking beast-fiend (Flynn?), although Rachel figures Santana’s team would have snatched her up immediately after Brittany if she had first pick. Noah gave her a quick nod of acknowledgement but otherwise ignored her, busy debating with…Flynn (she’s about 75% sure that is his name and while the percentage is not high enough to say out loud, she figures it’s enough to name him in her mind) on the benefits of picking the picking a “fatty” over "homo."
Rachel pushes them out of her mind, resisting the urge to confront and lecture the boys on their ignorance - a PowerPoint was already being created in her mind - and Rachel instead began her stretches. She paid no mind to the fact that nobody else was stretching, she had to prepare her body for any activity, just like preparing herself with vocal exercises before a performance.
She stretched until the others were finished picking teams and jumped up to join her teammates, almost bumping into Quinn, who was standing just about directly behind her. Quinn was staring, again, of course, with her eyebrows raised, seemingly frozen. Rachel cautiously sidestepped the other girl, maintaining a weird sort of eye contact. She really didn't understand how the other girl was so popular, she really was quite weird at times.
She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure the other girl eventually moved, which she was, and happened to catch Santana glaring harshly at her. She sighed and moved into place, confused.
Still, she kept to her original plan, not showing any unnecessary attention but giving a congratulatory high five when the other girl pelted people out of the game. While dodge ball was the sort of unnecessarily violent game that encouraged aggressive behavior in her peers that she ultimately disapproved of, Quinn, smiling exuberantly, was obviously enjoying herself.
Rachel is doing moderately well for herself, as well. Her size and energetic nature plays in her favor, allowing her to dodge any balls coming her way, and she even caught a few, sending people temporarily out of the game and allowing one of her team members to rejoin the game. She has even, though she abhors violence, thrown the red balls at people - happy they were using foam substitutes instead of the rubber balls that hurt more and were a bit too large for her hands, though she has missed every time. She almost hit Brittany at one point, causing Santana to send a ball in her general direction, but the other girl did a split and dodged out of the way, smiling in her direction.
Rachel is ashamed to admit that there was one point when she had a clear shot at Santana, distracted by Brittany, but, in a moment of weakness, chose not to take it. It was, though, very satisfactory to see Santana hit a moment later by Quinn, who shot Rachel a confident smirk. Rachel smiled back, even as she wondered if Quinn had taken note of her moment of embarrassing weakness. She did have to hold back a giggle as Noah also hit Santana, illegally since she was already out, in the rear with a ball as she walked off the makeshift arena. He was lucky the gym teacher somehow managed to miss it.
Rachel worried her lip as Santana stalked off in a huff, middle finger raised in the air - which the teacher also somehow missed. She shook her head at the girl - Santana’s back was turned, so it was okay - and gave a small sigh.
Her attention was torn away from Santana as one of the bright red balls smacked her in the back of head. Once again, the teacher managed to miss the illegal headshot, Rachel doubted that she was even paying the slightest bit of attention at this point, so Rachel abruptly turned to face her teammates - one of whom had just engaged in friendly fire… most likely on purpose.
Since her teammates were the ones who had pegged her, it did not count, so she refused to leave the field and this meant that she could confront her errant team member.
She looked at them all, trying to discern the guilty party, and her sixth sense quickly pointed out the culprit. Also, a laughing Noah was pointing at scowling, yet smirking Quinn.
She huffed, barely swallowing a lecture, and thought of her next move. Quinn's mood swings really were becoming quite annoying, confusing and irritating in equal measure, but the longer Rachel observed her curious, and somewhat contrasting actions, the more the puzzle came together in her mind. Raising her head high and looking Quinn right in the eye, she took a step towards the girl, mouth open and ignoring Noah completely, and she would swear that the girl shivered.
Before she could speak, though, she has once again interrupted by a bright red ball, this time clipping her shoulder. With a sigh of exasperation, she turned to face the other team and watched as Brittany jumped up and down, clapping. Noticing she has Rachel’s attention, Brittany raises both fists in the air, shaking them, and mimics the noise of a roaring crowd.
Rachel smiles at the sight and shakes her head happily as she walks off the field. She watches as the taller girl continues her cheering, adding a little bit of dancing, and only stops to catch a ball that flies in her direction, bringing Santana back in the game.
Honestly, she doesn’t mind being pegged by Brittany in such an honest manner. Sure, her back was turned, but in a game like this that really was her own fault and Brittany, at the very least, was only having a good time. It was probably a good thing that Brittany halted her conversation with Quinn anyway.
She joined the ranks of the others who had been hit out, paying little attention to the ongoing game. Technically, she should be giving it her full attention, there was always the chance a ball would be caught on her side and they would choose to bring her back in, but judging by how teams had been picked earlier, this was somewhat unlikely.
Instead she choose to think about her future and what goals she should be undertaking. She did not have a notebook, nor did she possess a superhuman memory - which was highly unfair in her opinion - but one never knows when genius would strike. Currently she was debating posting videos of herself online.
She had a nice backlog of videos she had been recording recently - it was good to practice her voice and her presence on camera, but it also allowed her to critique her own performance - and had been thinking on posting them online. She really was of two minds about the issue, though. The positives were obvious. She could get discovered and it would also allow her to share her talent and possibly inspire a fan base. At the same time, the videos weren’t perfect. She wasn’t all that handy with a camera and it was only her around. People would be able to see inside her room…Jacob Ben Israel would probably find them! Plus, was there any current, serious stars who had been discovered online. It seemed a little desperate.
Her musings were interrupted by a shout.
“Berry,” shouted Quinn, holding one of the red balls in one hand and the other on her hip, “Back in the game!” Rachel’s brows furrowed in confusion even as she took her place back on the field. This was…weird. Even when Quinn had been watching her all the time, they never interacted, and now that they have been interacting, it usually isn’t …nice.
“In front me,” Quinn hisses, giving her a light push forward.
“What?” Rachel asked, a slight laugh of disbelief escaping, as she tried to position herself to Quinn’s liking.
“I…you’re like my guard. Anybody throws a ball at me, it has to hit you first. Why else would I waste my catch on you?” Quinn sneers, not quite looking at her. From their left, Noah lets out a barking laughing, tossing his ball at the other team before raising his hand for a high five. With an eye roll, Quinn ignores the hand and gets back into an athletic stance.
Rachel also rolls her eyes, at the both of them, but also prepares herself for the rest of the game, which, thankfully, goes rather smoothly.
Afterwards, they all head back to the locker room, Santana and Quinn leading the group, of course, when Brittany stops her.
“Hey, Rachel?” the taller girl questions, lightly halting her trip to the locker room by grasping her shoulder.
“Yes, Brittany,” she replies, keeping an eye out to make sure Santana doesn’t come back looking for Brittany.
“You did, like, really well today. Me and Santana were really… impressed that you overcame… your disabledness.” The girl manages this all with a nonchalant, straight face, her voice the quiet monosyllabic tone, with the slightest hint of confusion, that Rachel is used to from her. In confusion, Rachel shifts her eyes away from the locker room door, giving Brittany her full attention, tilted her head a little in askance.
“What…what disability (Rachel is pretty sure that is what Brittany meant) are you talking about?” she asks, not sure if she wants to know since this has a heavy Santana feel to it. Brittany returns her head tilt of confusion.
“Your …smurfism. We hope you get better soon.” With that, Brittany walks off into the boys’ locker room. Rachel feels torn between going after her to convince that she doesn’t have ‘smurfism’ and just shaking her head and walking off. Considering that any conversation with Brittany would leave her, most likely, even further confused, she heads to the locker room. She doesn’t want to be late, after all.
As she enters the room, she notices that just about everyone is already dressed and just hanging around waiting for the bell to ring. Somehow, this include Brittany, even though Rachel is positive that she had walked into the boys’ room, although she does not that Brittany seems to be wearing someone else’s clothes and they look decidedly male. The only two still changing are Quinn and Santana, which is weird since they were the first in line to make it to the locker room. As the both pull on their shirts, she notices that Quinn is glaring at a smug looking Santana. Everyone quiets as she walks into view and stare at her.
It is decidedly creepy, but one day everyone will be staring at her much more positively, so she ignore them and heads to her locker. She frowns as she notices her lock is open. Quickly pulling it off, she opens the locker and searches through her things. Her body spray and few feminine hygiene items are still there. He backpack seems untouched. The shoes she wears during her non-gym classes rest easy. But her clothes…
“Where’s my clothes?” she shrieks, turning around to face the group of snickering girls. Some of the people don’t make I contact with her, looking at the ground, but most are openly laughing at her. None of them are answering. She notices that Quinn is still glaring at Santana and makes the obvious leap. She walks to the other girl, hands on hip and scowl in place, trying not to let the anger currently rushing in her get out of hand.
“Santana Lopez, what did you do with my clothes?” she asks as calmly as possible.
“Get out of my face,” Santana sneers and shoots a quick glance at Quinn, “RuPaul. I wouldn’t touch your clothes, I might get diseases. But, wherever they are now, I’m sure it’s a better place.”
The bell rings and Santana grabs her bag and a bottle of Diet Coke she must have purchased at the vending machines, clearly ready to leave, but Rachel grabs her arm to prevent her. Santana wrenches her arm away and pushes at the younger girl.
“Don’t touch me,” she snarls, and Rachel notices that none of the other girls are leaving. “If you want to find those disgusting clothes of yours, I suspect you look where they belong, in the toilet. Now, I am going to leave. Have a wonderful day and remember what happens when you mess with Santana Lopez.” And with that, she opens her Diet Coke, and Rachel stares, wondering why she would take a drink at a time like this. Instead, the girl proceeds to throw the drink on her white gym shirt, staining it brown.
Rachel jumps away with a yell, clearly not soon enough, and the class erupts in laughter. She sees Quinn giving a somewhat fake looking laugh and turns away, tears forming in her eyes. Her clothes are obviously sitting in the toilet, but Rachel had at least had the option of wearing her gym clothes. Now she was going to be walking around in dirty gym clothes with a huge brown stain. And her dads were both at work, so she was stranded here. She could probably walk home, but she knew the administration would not let her leave without an escort.
Eventually, the other girls left her sitting in the locker room, not wanting to be late. Rachel felt a hefty amount of distaste for gym. She quietly, not even able to sing through the pain, gathered her stuff, pausing to spray some of her fruity body spray over her, and left the room. She didn’t want to hang around for the next class.
She headed to her locker and made the appropriate switches, grateful that she, at least, had lunch the next period. It was the first of the lunch period and she knew that she shared it with Quinn, Santana, and Brittany, though she obviously didn’t sit with them. She wouldn’t let them see her in this state either. Instead, she grabbed her lunch bag, thankful to not be buying today, and headed off to the auditorium. She spent most of the period alternating between eating and trying to rub out the stain with some water and a towel. It didn’t work to well.
Quinn, meanwhile, was not mean to her for the rest of the day. Rachel was the last to their Art class, not really wanting to be seen by the snickering masses, and went to take her customary seat near Quinn. To her surprise, there was already something on her desk.
Folded on her seat was a light yellow cardigan. Holding it up, she remembered exactly who was wearing an identical one during Math. She looks over at Quinn, noticing for the first time that she was only wearing the dress and not the matching cardigan. She doesn’t want to make any assumptions, but does notice that Quinn is adamantly not looking at her. Ignoring the weird look she is receiving from Noah, sitting in his usual seat in front of Quinn, she puts on the cardigan and buttons it all the way up. She smiles to herself, but per Quinn’s obvious, if unspoken, request, does not bring it up.
She brings an extra pair of clothes with her the next day, hiding them in her real locker, but hopes she doesn’t ever need them. Unfortunately, when she finally pulls them out, it is because of Quinn.