A/N: This was inspired by a gorgeous image of Quinn with a pink mohawk that teadalek posted on tumblr. The title's from the Pink song of the same name.

It's all your fault
You called me beautiful
You turned me out
And now I can't turn back
I hold my breath
Because you were perfect
But I'm running out of air
And it's not fair


The machine between her legs suddenly cuts off into silence and it's kind of poetic, the power she has to bring it to life only to render it quiet, just as easily.

She wishes she weren't here, though. She'd rather be taking her new favorite toy for a ride out of town, maybe toward Chicago or something.

Instead, though, she's here.

She tugs the helmet off and hasn't even dismounted the Virago when Jacob Ben Israel shoves a microphone in her face.

"Quinn Fabray, rumor has it you joined a lesbian biker gang over the summer and plan to storm Washington for the right to marry."

She runs one hand over her pink mohawk, looking over her aviators into one of the sideviews to make sure her hair hasn't been totally flattened. "I just want to get through senior year."

"Yet, you don't deny that you've embraced the Sapphic sisterhood?"

"Why, do you have pictures?" She has both feet on the ground, now. Jacob's still ridiculously short.

"Are... are there pictures to be seen?"

"If I promise to show them to you, will you make sure no one touches my bike?" She turns and saunters toward the school.

There's no point in waiting for an answer, because she's pretty sure he passed out.

In the hall, she can feel everyone's eyes on her and is particularly aware of the fact that a good percentage of the eyelines are aimed directly at her ass, even though they try to look away before she can see them. People seem afraid of her, a lot like they did when she wore the red and white uniform.

She prefers it this way.

"Damn, Quinn." Puck falls in step with her and almost walks into three people because he's too busy trying to get a peek at what's under her open leather jacket. "You're really making me hope what I heard isn't true."

"And what is that?" She asks, removing her sunglasses and hooking them in the ripped vee of the black t-shirt she's wearing.

"That you can't find an identity of your own, so you're stealing mine." Santana's on her other side and she's much better at multi-tasking, because she manages to check Quinn out without any potential interpersonal collisions. "It's a good look on you, though. Just don't try to fuck Britts and we'll be fine."

"Yes, it's true and no, I don't plan to bang your girlfriend." She stops at her locker, but she keeps her eyes trained down to the end of the hall where Rachel stands with Finn. "Kind of have my sights on someone else."

All three of them watch as Rachel pushes herself up on her toes to fix Finn's collar.

Santana scoffs and shakes her head. "The least he could do is build her a step ladder."

"I don't think he knows how," Puck offers. "When we had the option in wood shop, he built a spice rack for his mom."

"You think they've done the nasty, yet?" Santana asks. "Because I don't even know how that would work."

"Shouldn't you be going down on your girlfriend in a closet, somewhere?" Quinn shoots at the cheerleader next to her.

Puck whistles. "Shit, what happened to you this summer? You're totally ranking high on my badass meter."

Quinn glares at him, "If that's some kind of code for a boner, I will break it off."

"If that's what it takes to get you to touch- Ow, you're pinching my arm."

The bell rings and everyone scatters toward the first class of the year. Quinn somehow managed to have her free period scheduled first thing in the morning and she wonders if that means she'll be able to sleep in on a regular basis.

"Quinn?"

She turns and there's Rachel. They're the only two people in the hall. She doesn't give any verbal reply, she just offers a raised eyebrow.

"May I walk with you?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm heading to 104."

"So am I. I'm not sure what I'll do with a study hall, first thing in the morning."

"Catch up on sleep," Quinn suggests.

"It's senior year, I feel like I should bide my time better than that." Rachel's quiet for a moment, but Quinn's sure it's just a lead in to more talking. She's right. "Quinn? I think it's great. That you've... embraced who you are."

"And, who is that, exactly?" She knows what Rachel means, but she can't pass up any opportunity to put her on the spot.

"Well, people are saying you're a lesbian. And I've tried to correct them and explain that the Kinsey scale actually has plenty of room for variation. While it's entirely possible for you to identify as a Kinsey six, you may also be more like me and fall somewhere in the middle."

As cool as Quinn has been all morning, this one single statement has her tripping over her own boot. She catches herself on the door frame to the classroom. "In the middle, you said?"

"I'm around a two point four. Predominantly heterosexual, but more than incidentally homosexual," Rachel rattles off because, of course, she has it memorized. "Granted, I don't have much practical experience with the same sex, but the scale takes into account things like emotional attraction and being open to possibilities."

"So, what you're saying is, Finn should be worried when you head off to college." Quinn drops into a seat at one of the desks and Rachel's left with the option to sit next to her or all the way in the back.

Rachel chooses the seat next to her without any other consideration. Likely because she can't just leave Quinn's statement hanging between them. "Finn and I both realize that we may not even be together after graduation. If we were to still be dating, I wouldn't cheat on him, though."

"And there goes your college experience."

"There would still be plenty of other things to occupy my time."

"Sure. You'd just be giving up your chance to advance to a Kinsey four or whatever."

"You don't score points for activities. Well, not directly."

While Rachel's caught up in that thought, Quinn asks for a hall pass and stays away for the remainder of the class period.

She wants to make sure no one touches her bike.