"I think you're playing too many dirty hipster douchebag cards at once."

Quinn rolls her eyes and avoids actually looking at Santana as she slams her U.S. Government book against the back of her locker. "My contact order was all screwed up. They'll be here on Friday." Even though she hasn't worn glasses in public since middle school, it's habitual, the way her hand comes up to readjust the frames on her nose.

"Aw, so we get three days of Four Eyes Fabray. Cute."

"Why are you stalking me?"

"Come back to Cheerios."


"Why the hell not?"

"Uh, because I hate it? And because I can eat whatever I want. I can smoke. And I don't have to deal with assholes trying to look under that stupid skirt all day."

"One, it's all going right to your ass. Two, I'm calling repeat on the dirty hipster thing. And three, that's totally a pro, not a con. Anyway, you still have a fan club."

"What are you talking about?"

"Berry's been staring at you like she wants to play doctor or post office or some shit."

Quinn casually glances across the hall to see Rachel, definitely looking in their direction. "Whatever. She's just been trying to suck me back into glee club."

"Call it what you want, she wants to put her mouth on you."

"Not everyone at this school is gay."

"You saying you wouldn't be game for it?"

Quinn smirks and doesn't answer. She just watches Rachel pretend to busy herself with a notebook, then she disappears down the hall.

The bell rings and Santana shoves herself off the row of lockers. "Cheerios. Don't be a loser."

"Begging's kind of a hot look on you."

Santana flips her off and then Quinn's left alone.

She has study hall this period so she's not technically ditching anything. There's no one else under the bleachers, for now, which is fine. She drops into her usual spot and pulls her sketchbook out of her bag. There's nothing really on her mind, so she doodles random images and doesn't even bother to look up when she hears the approaching footsteps.

"What do you want?"

"I thought I'd attempt a second appeal."

Quinn peers at Rachel over the tops of her frames. "The answer was no last week, it's the same this week. And it'll be the same next week."

Cautiously, Rachel moves closer. "How can you be so sure? I know you like belonging to the club, Quinn. You have to miss it."

"Right. I miss being a loser and getting slushied and having to look at Schue's vest collection on a regular basis. No, thanks." She returns to her latest drawing, but her focus isn't on the page.

Rachel sits, primly, next to Quinn, on the edge of the concrete block. "I like your glasses."

Quinn actually pauses and looks back up. "Yeah, well, you also think knee socks are an acceptable look on a high school senior."

"I'll have you know I haven't worn such an accessory at all this school year."

One side of Quinn's mouth turns upward and as she redirects her gaze back to the sketchbook, she mumbles, "Yeah, I know."

"Do you ever find yourself imagining situations that seems highly unlikely?"

"All the time. Usually they have to do with you not speaking."

Rachel doesn't reply and Quinn wonders if she's hurt the other girl's feelings, then immediately thinks it's weird that they're now in a place where that's something she doesn't actually want to do. What she sees is Rachel staring at her, bottom lip just slightly tucked between her teeth.

She considers asking what Rachel's imagining, but it's kind of very-fucking-obvious, as Santana might say.

Quinn knows what's going on in Rachel's mind, or at least she thinks she does, because she's had a lot of the same thoughts over the last year, but the timing was never right and she was always so worried about her reputation.

But now?

Who cares?

One hand slips behind Rachel's neck and pulls her so close that Quinn can smell cherry-vanilla lip gloss. And then she can taste it.

It's not a chaste gentle kiss, but it's not a sloppy mack session, either. She's surprised at how quickly Rachel's tongue brushes against hers and there's a small sound that rings out from the back of her throat when she feels fingers lace through her pink hair.

The encounter lasts about twenty seconds, then there's a few inches of distance between them and Quinn's not really sure which one of them pulled back. Rachel's cheeks are flushed and her lips are just slightly parted, which makes them impossible to resist, so Quinn moves back in for another. It's the same as before, but this lasts a little longer.

When they finally break apart, though, Rachel straightens up and closes her eyes. "That was entirely inappropriate of me. I have a boyfriend."

"Not like he didn't have it coming." Quinn hears the words come out of her own mouth and knows they're the wrong thing to say.

But Rachel just kind of rolls her eyes. "Still..."

"Well, have fun with him." Quinn picks up her bag and drops the sketchbook inside, then digs around for her cigarettes.

"Is it weird that I liked this? Just now?"

"Kissing a girl?"

"Kissing you."

"No. Of course you liked it," she says, lighting up an American Spirit.

"Your humility astounds me."

"You liked it because you weren't supposed to do it. It's always good under the bleachers." Quinn stands.

"Smoking is bad for you."

"So's cheating. And smoking never knocked me up."

Rachel straightens her skirt and rises to her feet. "I shouldn't have kissed you."

"You didn't. I kissed you. Both times. And I'm single."

Rachel gazes at her with the same look from across the hall that morning, but she catches herself and shakes it off. "I should go."

Quinn shrugs and takes a drag. To be honest, she kind of wants Rachel to stay, but she can see Sheila in the distance, so it's better if she goes.


It isn't like it'll happen, again.