Beware Those Blue Eyes
"If you could go back in time and tell yourself one life-altering thing, what would it be?" Quinn, who's sitting in the corner hugging my Nightmare Before Christmas pillow, poses the question to the group of us at large. We all swivel our heads back to look at her in surprise; this is the most she's said all night. I don't know how and I don't know why, but somehow she was invited to the weekly 'girl's night' that Mercedes, Rachel and I usually have. I don't even know why we started having girl's nights, but now we can just gab for hours like the kind of companionable BFFs that you only see in chick flicks. If I didn't enjoy it so much, I'd be freaked out. They actually bring out the girl in me. Presently, we're sitting around my bedroom nursing sodas and eating Tostitos with homemade dip. Life is good.
"What?" Mercedes tilts her head.
Quinn, the formerly fearless Queen Bee cheerio and currently preggo loser, shrinks back a bit. She hugs my pillow to her chest and gazes at Mercedes, affronted.
"I was just asking." She huffs.
"That's an interesting question." Rachel compliments unexpectedly. Now we all look at her, totally bamboozled. She's the last person I would expect to support Quinn Fabray in anything. She tosses her dark hair, un-phased by the attention. "If I could go back in time and tell myself something life-altering…" she thinks about it, lips pursed. "Never trust Kurt." She finally decrees, her forehead scrunching with some unpleasant memory. Mercedes and I know what she's talking about, but neither of us comment because we don't want Quinn to go apeshit about the fact that Rachel, completely sober and of her own free will, hit on Quinn's babydaddy on Kurt's advice. "What about you, Mercedes?"
"Me? Nothin'. I got no regrets." Mercedes states audaciously. I admire her for being able to say that, especially because it's true. She lets things roll off her back. Even after having an unrequited crush on Kurt, she didn't regret chasing him or writing his name in the margins of her notebook. "What about you, Regina George?" She crunches a chip loudly.
Quinn untwists the lid on her water bottle (she's steered clear of the pop) and takes a huge drink. She coughs a little, presses a hand to her chest. "I guess…" she casts her eyes down at her pregnant stomach and I wince. It must be so hard to be with child when she's only a kid herself.
"I wish I could go back and tell myself that I have everything I ever needed in Finn. And I don't need anybody else. No matter how irresistibly…" she pauses, "tempting that other person is."
"Mhmm." Mercedes says in this low tone. Now she's the one in on the secret. Rachel and I share a look and I shrug. Mercedes will tell us after Quinn leaves, no doubt (Finn's mom is picking her up at the preschool-friendly hour of nine thirty at night).
"What about you, Tina?" Rachel voices. I flush, feeling their eager stares burning me. The truth is stuck in my throat, because I know how much damage it can do.
"I don't know." I shrug and pick up my stuffed panda bear, turning it around in my hands. "I guess… I guess I'm with Mercedes. I have no regrets." It's scary how easily the lie slips out- then again, maybe not. I've been lying to everyone since the sixth grade when I had to give that damned speech.
"Hey, what's up with you and Artie?"
I try not to let emotion flicker onto my face at the mention of his name. Quinn looks like she really cares, but I don't even want to get into it right now. I haven't even told Rachel or Mercedes.
"Nothing's up." I continue twirling my stuffed animal, picking at one threadbare ear.
Quinn is about to protest this, I'm sure, when Rachel diverts our focus elsewhere. "OH MY GOD!" She yells. "You have a Spice Girls CD?" Her eyes are stuck on my CD/book shelf, trained to the Spice World album that I'd forgotten to burn when I went punk rock back in seventh grade to "complete" my weird kid image.
"No way! You?" Mercedes snorts at me and tosses her pop can into the already-overflowing trash bin.
"Oh, come on!" Quinn stands up and goes to the bookshelf, grabbing the CD. "God, I remember these guys." She laughs fondly. "Can we put it on?"
"Gimme." Rachel demands, holding her hand out. Quinn tosses it to her, and Rachel pops the disk into my computer. Mercedes stands up, lets out a whooping holler, and the dance party officially begins. I get up and dance with them, singing along to Wannabe, but I'm distracted. I think about what Quinn said.
If I had to send a message back in time, I know exactly what it would be, and where I'd send it to. I'd send it to myself, on the first day of grade 10, walking into the food and nutrition class and seeing Artie Abrams, the only boy who could make me tell the truth, for the first time.
The message I'd send: Beware those blue eyes.
So this was 95% personal rant with 5% new story mixed in. Boys suck. Seriously. And while we're on the subject of guys, WHY are they so damn confusing? If they want girls to stop being so "complicated", they should return the favour. Give to get, you know? ANYWAY... jeez, sorry for the outburst. Please review and tell me what you thought =)