A/N: I don't know if it's clear enough but this takes place the summer before senior year and explains (my version, at least) of how Quinn joined the Skanks, dated that skateboarder in his forties, dyed her hair pink, etc. I hope someone likes it.

Quinn's hair was still chin-length and it pissed her off.

In a fit of manic depression caused by being dumped by Finn for that little munchkin Rachel, Quinn allowed for her silky, flaxen locks to be chopped off to show that she was above all of this high school drama, to show that she could be beautiful without hiding behind a curtain of hair, to show…something.

Whatever. It was Nationals, she was in a foreign city, she had just been dumped (okay, not just but still), and she needed to do something dramatic.

Well, it was June now; she was done with dramatics.

Quinn's mom was initially displeased with her daughter's new haircut, but to her credit, she didn't show it. Much.

"Oh, Quinnie!" she had cried when she saw her daughter at the airport. All the Glee Club members and Mr. Shue were jetlagged, airsick, and humiliated by the fact they were still the same old Lima losers as before, Quinn especially. Quinn waved half-heartedly goodbye to everyone and quickly walked to the family car, not wanting to get into a fight with her mother in front of everyone.

"You hair," continued Judy Fabray. She attempted to run her fingers through Quinn's hair but Quinn quickened her pace. "I like it, Mom," Quinn said defensively and batted her mother's hand away. Judy's blue eyes widened as Quinn roughly stuffed her suitcases in the trunk.

"Of course, dear. It's just…" Judy bit her lip as both Fabray women buckled themselves into the car. "It's a little too short, don't you think? I mean, how are you going to style it now? And I saw the most beautiful chignon in the new Elle when I was in the salon to get my highlights touched up! I was thinking you could've put your hair up like that for you grandmother's birthday dinner but now—"

"It'll grow back, Mom," Quinn had said firmly.

But it hadn't. It hadn't even grown back one freaking inch.

Quinn felt like a complete and utter loser, something she vowed never to be again since her final days as "Lucy Goosey", on a beautiful June morning in Lima, Ohio and it wasn't even eleven a.m. for God's sake!

Quinn fished out a piece of paper from her desk and picked up a pen. Reasons I am a loser, she wrote.

1. Finn broke up with me.

2. For her

3. My hair hasn't grown. At all.

4. I'm no longer on the Cheerios.

5. I lost prom queen.

6. I ate four Pop-Tarts last night.

As soon as she had finished writing, Quinn ripped up the piece of paper into tiny little confetti and sighed. She was done with feeling like a loser. She wasn't "Lucy Goosey" anymore, that was a step in the right direction. But being head cheerleader meant nothing if girls like Tina Cohen-Chang could snag a football player with amazing abs with her weird Goth getup. Being celibacy club president was a joke; the freaky germaphobic counselor was the treasurer and membership was dwindling now that she couldn't twist the arms of her fellow Cheerios and force them and their boyfriends to participate. All she had left was Glee Club now. Instead of being comforted by that thought, Quinn was repulsed.

In about three months, she would walk back into McKinley High and see Rachel and Finn holding hands, kissing, and generally being annoyingly love-dovey. Then glee practice would start and she'd have to stand in the background and sway while Finn and Rachel looked into each other's eyes and harmonized another Journey song Mr. Schuester would force them to perform.

Not to mention the fact that it was her senior year so now her parents, despite being divorced and hating each other's guts, would join forces and nag her about college. Did she take her SAT? Did she take the ACT? Did she take any SAT subject tests? Did she choose a top school yet? Did she choose a safety? Was she joining enough extracurriculars? Was she joining too many extracurriculars that her GPA was being dragged down as a result? Was she applying early action or early decision?

Quinn felt pressured to erase the embarrassing sophomore year in which she had gotten pregnant and prove to her parents, her teachers, or any students who still snickered about the fact that the president of celibacy club got pregnant that she was not going to end up like those unmotivated, slacker moms who worked in the local Wal-Mart and didn't care about getting laid off because there was always unemployment.

In other words, Quinn didn't want to be a loser. But she was one; there was no denying it.

"I'm a loser", crooned The Beatles from the radio downstairs in the kitchen. Quinn rolled her eyes at her mom's lame choice in radio station. As she went downstairs to switch the dial to something more hip, she reflected on the lyrics, singing softly along when she knew the words.

I'm a loser

And I'm not what I appear to be

Of all the love I have won or have lost
there is one love I should never have crossed
She was a girl in a million, my friend
I should have known she would win in the end

Quinn paused before the radio and let the song finish. How appropriate, she thought sardonically.

What have I done to deserve such a fate
I realize I have left it too late
And so it's true, pride comes before a fall
I'm telling you so that you won't lose all

I'm a loser
And I lost someone who's near to me
I'm a loser
And I'm not what I appear to be

The song finished and Quinn quickly turned it to a Top 40 station, despite the fact that they were playing that annoying Nicki Minaj song she hated, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall. I'm a loser, I'm a loser, she kept repeating to herself.

"Quinnie, is that you?" asked Judy from another part of the house.

"Yeah," answered Quinn as she rummaged through the cupboards for those chocolate chip Pop Tarts she bought last week when she was on her period and desperately craving chocolate.

Judy came in, patting away the sweat caused by an hour's worth on the treadmill with a white towel. "What are you doing?" she asked Quinn, keeping her eyes fixed on the fattening Pop-Tarts her daughter was holding. Quinn guiltily put them back and got out the Special K instead.

"Just eating breakfast," answered Quinn.

"So any plans for the day?" asked Judy Fabray brightly.

"I don't know," Quinn said through a mouthful of cereal. She ignored her mother's tightened mouth, which usually signaled disapproval.

"Maybe you can invite all your little friends from Glee Club over today," suggested Judy.

"Maybe," responded Quinn non-committingly.

"I don't want you sitting inside all day, alright?"


"I mean it, Quinn. It's summer. You should be hanging out with your friends, going to the pool—not stuck inside all day watching MTV."

"I know."

"You know why don't you call Santana or Brittany over? I haven't seen them in awhile—"

"Okay, I'll call them later."

"You know what you should do? You should ask Coach Sylvester if you could be on the Cheerios again. It'll look good on your applications and you need to get some physical activity. I'm sorry, sweetie, but sitting on stools and singing isn't going to—"


Quinn didn't mean to sound so irritated, but she couldn't help it. She quickly finished her cereal and intently avoided looking into her mother's eyes. "I'm going for a run now, okay?" she said falsely cheerfully and ran upstairs to pull on some running shoes and grab her iPod.

Ten minutes later, Quinn was at the intersection of two main streets, waiting for the stupid light to change. It was eleven a.m. and she could feel her hair sticking to the back of her sweaty neck. Another negative thing about having this short bob was that she couldn't pull her hair up into a ponytail anymore. Quinn pushed the 'WALK' button impatiently. She was a hot, sweaty mess and she wanted to get to the trail at the local park and run in peace before she saw anyone from school and became immediately self conscious.

To her dismay, she heard the same annoying Nicki Minaj song again blasting obnoxiously from someone's car. Quinn turned to glare at the offensive driver but to her horror, it was someone she recognized from school.

Mercedes Jones was driving her father's sedan and singing along to the car radio. Someone was in the car was with her. Quinn squinted to see who it was and flushed with embarrassment when she realized it was Sam Evans, her ex-boyfriend. Sam kissed Mercedes on the cheek, furthering Quinn's mortification. Sam and Mercedes are, like, dating now?

Quinn stared straight ahead, praying that they wouldn't notice her. But then a car's horn honked and Quinn knew without even looking that she was caught. She pasted a fake smile on her face and self-consciously started to fix her hair. She was over Sam, definitely, but she still liked to look good whenever she encountered any ex-boyfriends. Today, however, she was dressed in a plain white tank top and navy blue shorts with her blonde hair sticking to her face. Not her best.

"Going on a run?" called Mercedes.

"Yeah!" called Quinn back.

"Hey, text me later! A bunch of us are going to the mall this afternoon!" Mercedes gestured, making a pretend cell phone out of her hand. Quinn nodded, having no intention to actually follow through. "A bunch of us" inevitably meant the rest of the Glee Club which meant Finn and Rachel too. Quinn was not in the mood to deal with them; she was still licking her wounds. Thankfully, Sam nudged Mercedes to let her know that the light was now green. Even more thankfully, they drove off without a second glance.

Quinn crossed the street, feeling more like a loser than ever. Both of her ex-boyfriends had moved on and here she was, still single. Quinn felt ugly and she needed validation and she needed it fast. She pulled out her cell phone to text Santana and Brittany to moan about her lack of love life, lack of popularity, and lack of abs. Just then, however, a beat up 1970s mustang rolled down the street noisily and honked at her.

Quinn jumped, startled by the noise and prepared to glare at the driver who was about to pass her in a minute. The driver, a long haired man in his late thirties with piercing green eyes, gave her a wink as he passed by. Quinn flushed, both revolted and pleased by the compliment.

She put her phone back in her pocket and kept heading to the park. Quinn flicked through her song list and started to blast "Don't Cha" by the Pussycat Dolls.

Don't cha wish you girlfriend was hot like me, Quinn mouthed as she ran, leaving behind her insecurities and anxieties.

But only temporarily.