She kills the time before lunch scanning the bookshelves in the lodge. They're mostly abandoned romance paperbacks and Reader's Digest compilations.

"Pretty motivating, right?" asks a voice behind her.

Quinn turns to find a brown haired girl with freckles standing behind her. She's wearing a Catcher in the Rye t-shirt. "I..." Quinn glances back at the shelf, quickly getting it. "Yeah, great literature always gets me going."

"You're new."

"I take it you're not, then?"

"This is my fifth run. Twice last summer. Once in the winter. And I was here in June." The girl holds out her hand. "I'm Scout."

"Quinn, first time," she says, accepting the handshake. It's brief and professional and Quinn can't help but already think that Scout's a little bit weird. She's also shorter than Rachel. "So, you write a lot, then?"

"Nah, I just can't stand my parents." Scout drops onto the striped couch that sits across from the fireplace.


"Over-supportive." Scout puts a foot up on the edge of the couch and rubs at a smudge on her converse. "I'm kidding. They're great." Her gaze moves from the shoe to Quinn. "I'm that asshole who just bitched about my stable parents to someone I don't even know. Sorry. I have a mouth problem."

Quinn actually finds it funny and laughs as she takes the open spot on the sofa. "It's okay. It's kind of nice to know that that stuff still exists."

"I'll remember that the next time my mom decides to show up at one of my girlfriend's band gigs with a poster that says, 'My daughter's banging the drummer' in glitter paint."

Quinn doesn't know what to say to that.

"She wouldn't really do that," Scout says. "She hates glitter paint."

"Your mom sounds cool. My mom would definitely not do that. With or without glitter paint. Not that I have have a girlfriend. I'm not... My best friend is, though."

"Into musicians?" Scout offers a smile and it's enough to let Quinn know that it doesn't have to be a conversation.

"Something like that." She takes the opportunity for a subject change. "What are you writing?"

"Same thing I've been working on. The great American novel. But with zombies."

"Bound to be a classic."

"I'm hoping. How about you?"

Quinn shrugs. "Not sure. I have a couple ideas." She's been considering something semi-autobiographical, since this is supposed to be therapy and she figures writing it all down will help.

A few more people enter the lodge and she notes how different the atmosphere is than cheer camp, where there's a scramble to form unions with the right people. As it stands, she's kind of okay just having met Scout and calling it a day. They stick together through the meal, which is fine with Quinn, because at least she's palling around with a veteran.

After lunch, she's tired and decides to nap before doing anything else. It's maybe not the most productive use of her time, but this is supposed to be some kind of healing process for her and she wants to sleep.

It's too quiet, though. It reminds her of night at home, by herself, even when her parents were still very much not divorced.

She turns the clock radio back on, but lowers the volume so it's more like melodic white noise. It seems to do the trick, because as soon as her head hits the pillow, she's already drifting. For an undetermined amount of time, she hangs in the balance of wake and sleep while a partial dream plays out behind her closed eyes.

Beth, I hear you calling, but I can't come home right now

Her eyes push open and the song's so clear in her head, she's positive it has to be playing on the radio. But as she strains to listen, she only hears the lyrics to "In the Still of the Night" from the tinny speaker.

She must have dreamt it. Or the radio picked up another channel. Even though the oldies station was the only thing she could get it to pick up with any real signal. Most likely part of the dream, though.

Does it even matter? It's just a song.

Whatever the case, the forty-six seconds of sleep she just experienced isn't nearly enough to constitute a nap, so she closes her eyes and tries again.

This attempt is much more successful. She falls into a legitimate dream, complete with the Cheerios turning into zombies and Rachel in a t-shirt that boasts the cover of some undetermined romance novel. When she wakes up, it's three hours later and she's pretty sure whatever she just witnessed is supposed to be classified as a nightmare, but it's so absurd, she can't justify being scared by it. More than anything, she's upset that she slept so long, because now she's back in the position of killing time before a meal.

For being on a writer's retreat, the writing seems to be the easiest responsibility to shirk.

If she at least sits in front of the laptop, she thinks maybe she'll find motivation. She wants to write, she really does. It's just that she doesn't know where to start.

She does know that she wants to get out of the bedroom for a while, so she grabs the computer and moves to the other area of the cabin. Once she's sitting at the table, she reaches for the information packet that's sat untouched, until now, and flips to the page with the wifi access instructions.

Once she's logged in as QFabray, she immediately launches Facebook. She still doesn't have any other replies to her status, which is fine because she's about to update it.

Out of habit, she checks to see if Santana's logged into Facebook Chat. She isn't. Quinn contemplates what to write that won't give away her location or what she's doing, but before she can think of anything, a message pops up.

Rachel B. Berry [4:33pm]
Hello, Quinn.

Rachel B. Berry [4:33pm]
How's your vacation going?

Rachel B. Berry [4:33pm]
I trust your trip to wherever you've gone went smoothly?

Crap. She forgot to log back out. It's not that she minds talking to Rachel, they can kind of have conversations at this point. But she's an impatient instant messenger.

Quinn Fabray [4:34pm]
Hi. It's good. And yeah.

She's immediately taken back to the memory of her dream.

Quinn Fabray [4:34pm]
Have you ever fired a hunting rifle?

Rachel B. Berry [4:35pm]
Are you hunting?

Rachel B. Berry [4:35pm]
And no. I'm an active member of PETA!

Quinn Fabray [4:36pm]
I'm not. It was just a question.

Quinn Fabray [4:36pm]
Would you? Ever?

Rachel B. Berry [4:36pm]
Hunt? Quinn, are you familiar with the concept of PETA?

Rachel B. Berry [4:37pm]
www . peta . org

Quinn Fabray [4:37pm]
I know what it is! And I'm not talking about killing animals.

Rachel B. Berry [4:38pm]
Oh. Then what are you talking about?

Rachel B. Berry [4:38pm]
And where are you that this is a topic of discussion?

She figures a vague answer is safe.

Quinn Fabray [4:39pm]
The woods.

Rachel B. Berry [4:39pm]
But you're not hunting? Is this Cheerios survivalist camp?

Quinn Fabray [4:40pm]
It's not, but that's funny.

There's suddenly a sound from the bedroom, something low and abrasive that immediately makes her skin crawl.

She's frozen in her seat until it dawns on her what it actually is. The clock radio alarm.

Heart still racing from the initial start, she pushes her chair back and moves into the room. The on/off switch is right next to the one she used to turn on the radio, so she assumes she accidentally activated it at some point. She shuts off both the alarm and the music, then makes a mental note to always use her cell phone if she needs to wake up on time for something, because if that sound breaks her out of any deeps sleep, she might be launched into some kind of serial killing rampage.

When she returns to her computer, she's met with a series of messages.

Rachel B. Berry [4:41pm]
Are you camping?

Rachel B. Berry [4:41pm]
Is it a family trip?

Rachel B. Berry [4:42pm]

Rachel B. Berry [4:42pm]
Are you still there?

Rachel B. Berry [4:43pm]
Dads are ready to go to out early dinner.

Rachel B. Berry [4:43pm]
Then we're seeing a movie. I don't know what, yet.

Rachel B. Berry [4:44pm]

She feels a twinge of jealousy knowing that there are people who can just hang out with their parents and actually have fun. Or that there are parents who are actually supportive enough to make signs about things. Maybe that had been a joke. But that Scout girl seems to have something in common with Rachel, which is that their parents probably don't close out the day with three glasses of scotch.

Not that her mom is the worst. She isn't. They get along. Quinn's basically allowed to do whatever she wants, as long as she's not getting pregnant. Maybe that's part of the problem.

She wonders what her life would be like if her high school social endeavors were clipped by things like family game night or even just a reasonable curfew.

She hasn't even seen any kind of punishment from Judy since she moved back home. She's hardly even heard her mother raise her voice. Not that she ever really did before, that was her dad's area of expertise. Even then, he was never one to yell, he'd just speak in curt tones that told Quinn he was angry.

She spent most of her life avoiding anything that would piss either of them off, anyway.

At least, up until Beth.

It's nearly time for dinner, so she shuts the computer and haphazardly shoves the information packet to the center of the table before leaving the cabin.

She sits with Scout at dinner and they're joined by a kid named Danny. Quinn can't help but think of the correlation to The Shining. Between that and the living tribute to Harper Lee sitting across from her, she kind of feels like she's in some kind of Disney movie about literary characters at summer camp.

It's a cute idea. Maybe she'll save it for later.

After the meal, there's a voluntary icebreaker hosted by Adam. It seems he and Rachel share a similar view on the concept of "voluntary" because he spends ten minutes making sure everyone's planning to stay in the lodge for the activity.

It's not half bad and it's kind of nice to get to know the names of everyone she'll be seeing around for the next two weeks.

By the time they're done, it's practically dessert hour and everyone's high on the excitement of getting to know each other, even Quinn. There's something about meeting new people and being able to freshly present herself that makes her feel good. None of these people know her, so this is a chance to just be Quinn, some girl from Lima who has no idea what the hell she plans to write.

When she finally returns to her cabin, she realizes she actually has to log off of the wifi connection, or else it will eat up her allotted time.

Maybe she'll get some writing done, after all.

She grabs her laptop and moves to the bedroom. As much as she likes the wider space during the day, now that it's dark, it's a little too open. It's weird, because she doesn't like small spaces, but the well-lit bedroom feels much larger than the shadowy living room.

Especially with the door closed.

It's not until she heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth and the light from the bedroom hits the edge of the table that she realizes she doesn't remember straightening up the information folder. But it sits right where it was when she first found it.

It's not totally absurd. When she was pregnant, she forgot stuff all the time. She was also a little compulsive. Actually, she still is. Always was. But aside from the time when she was incubating Beth, she's been known to have a pretty decent memory. Finn used to get annoyed with how easily she recalled every single time he'd pissed her off.

Still. It was just a folder. She probably was just thinking about something else. Especially after meeting so many new people.

That doesn't keep her from making sure the door locks when she goes back into the bedroom.