Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. I definitely don't own Boys Over Flowers. I wish I could take full credit, sort of.

A/N: I got this story idea from a self-induced marathon of the Korean drama, Boys Over Flowers. Love the show. Love Faberry. So I decided to blend them.

Girls Over Flowers

Summary: Dalton Academy—a school of prestige, refinement and the country's wealthiest students—houses the famous F3. When "commoner" transfer student, Rachel Berry directly offends F3's leader, Quinn Fabray, she becomes their target. Mayhem ensues.

Finn Hudson-Hummel somehow just knew it was going to be a bad day.

He had woken up in the morning with a terrible feeling in his stomach. It had rolled, rumbled, and growled in protest, begging him to stay in bed and forgo what was sure to be a terrible experience at Dalton Academy. Yet he ignored it. Maybe he was just hungry. He was a rather large, growing boy after all.

Finn glanced at the white and dark-gray Dalton issued sweat suit hanging on his closet door. He wasn't sure why he suddenly felt a sense of foreboding.

After a hearty breakfast served in his bedroom suite, a quick shower, and a sharp knock on his door from his butler telling him that his driver had arrived, he was ready to face the day. He was also informed that his step-brother, Kurt, had already left for school.

Later, as the car pulled up to Dalton's looming structure he couldn't help the gulp as he stepped out of the sleek car.

Something just didn't feel right.

Things were eerily quiet as his stomped up the stairs through the embroidered double doors. His footsteps echoed in the hallway as he made his way to his locker. He took a quick look around. Where was everyone? He didn't come any later than usual, and at this time, the hallways were usually bustling with the latest gossip.

Finn stared at his locker, and as he raised his hand to release the latch, a shiver of trepidation shook his frame. The foreboding feeling increased exponentially when he finally opened the metal door.

A blood red 4x4 card with simple black lettering fluttered to his feet.

"What the—" He reached a trembling hand down to pick up the card, only to drop it again with a gasp.

He had been targeted.

"Finn Hudson!" A student sounded loudly from behind him. "He's been red-carded!" The sudden trampling of footsteps should have sent out a clear warning to Finn, but he hardly heard them. All he saw—with startling clarity—was the bold 'F3' printed on the cards face.

"Hey, Hudson!" He finally broke from his stupor from the familiar voice. Noah Puckerman, son of a wealthy NFL player—stood directly to his left cracking his knuckles. "I'm sorry," his gleeful demeanor automatically falsified his apology. "But you know the rules: Whatever F3 says, goes."

As Puckerman took a threatening step forward, Finn took an immediate step back. He took in the multiplying number of students forming behind the mohawked boy, and a quick, barely noticeable glance behind him let him know that the other end of the hallway was currently empty. But if past memory served him right, it wouldn't be that way for long.

When Puckerman loudly cracked his neck from side to side, Finn decided to act on a split second decision.

His backpack landed with a thud on the marble floor and he ran as fast as his feet could take him with the student body hot on his heels.

He had been red-carded by the F3.

Rachel Barbara Berry somehow knew that it was going to be a bad day.

She had woken up with a twinge in her gut, a very slight uncomfortable feeling that could have easily been passed off as early morning hunger. But Rachel knew better. She did have somewhat of a sixth sense, after all.

She was asked by her dads this morning to do what was supposed to be a simple delivery before school. Her fathers—Hiram and Leroy Berry—owned a small, but modestly successful local tailoring business ("Berry's Buttons: If your clothes are a little too airy, get them tailored by a Berry!"), and one of their unique services was clothing delivery. Today's delivery just so happened to be located at the prestigious Dalton Academy.

Rachel had seen numerous pictures and read a few articles about the upper class school, but none of those could even come close compared to the real thing. She looked through the windshield of her tiny blue Prius in awe at the magnificent building.

"This…this can't be an actual school." Rachel muttered to herself. "It looks like a palace!"

She fumbled with her door handle and stepped out of the car as she took in the brick architecture and bright green ivy climbing along the building walls. She glanced down at the beautiful unblemished tile that made up the pathway to giant wooden double doors and took in the massive green lawn that surrounded the pathway on both sides with a quick twirl.

"Wow." The usually talkative girl was thunderstruck at the beauty of the campus.

Rachel yanked open the back door of her car to grab the bagged clothing and wandered towards the school. The closer she got, the more details became noticeable; the meticulously trimmed bushes; numerous business quotes etched into the walkway; and the school's coat of arms embroidered onto the massive wooden doors. The entire school seemed to burst at the seams with wealth.

She glanced down at the receipt in her hands, she was supposed to deliver this to a student that attended here. She shut her eyes, took a deep breath and pushed her way through the entrance.

The interior of the building was probably more magnificent than the exterior. Marble flooring was sprawled out before her on the first floor, along with numerous winding staircases with finely crafted Victorian railings. Her jaw dropped at the large chandelier in the dead center of the room. It took about five minutes for Rachel to realize that she was standing there gaping like an dunce and that she didn't have a clue as to where to go. The main office had to be somewhere nearby.

The sounds of thundering footsteps and distant yells pulled her attention towards the nearest staircase. She took a cautious step forward, wondering if was a good idea to investigate, but the loud scream for help solidified her cause. She ran up the stairs as quickly as possible with the bagged clothing still clutched tightly between her hands. She raced through hallway after hallway and multiple staircases following the sounds of a jeering crowd until she burst through a stairwell door that exited to the roof.

"You're not going to jump, Hudson. Just come down and take your punishment like a man." A boy, from somewhere near the front of the crowd, teased. "You know the drill."

Rachel, panting and out of breath, stood on the tips of her toes only to see a rather tall boy teetering on top of the metal railing along the edge of the roof. What the hell was he doing?

"Leave me alone, or I'll do it—I-I'll jump!" The boy took a threatening step back causing the majority of the crowd to gasp; especially a feminine boy directly to her right.

"What's going on?" Rachel asked to no one in particular, but the feminine boy next to her answered (after a distasteful once over that had the girl feeling particular self-conscious).

"Based on your awfully cheap skirt and sweater combo—" Rachel gasped in indignation. "It's safe to say that you aren't from around here."

He looked around to see that no one was eavesdropping and leaned to whisper conspiratorially into her ear. "You see the bloodied up boy standing near the edge of the roof?"

Rachel stood up on her tips of her toes once again to get a closer look, only to cover her mouth in shock. The boy did seem rather beaten up and he looked absolutely panicked. She nodded her head to affirm.

"That's my step-brother, and he's been red-carded by F3."

Rachel blinked. "Red-carded? Wait, what's…what's F3?"

The feminine boy turned to face her sharply with look that was absolutely catatonic.

"You don't know who the Flower 3—" He paused mid sentence and performed his condescending once-over a second time. "Of course you wouldn't know this —but it doesn't matter. Someone needs to stop him from jumping!"

Rachel furrowed her eyebrows. Though she didn't care for his tone, she didn't quite understand his way of thinking. "So if you're his brother, why don't you stop him?"

He looked absolutely appalled. "Are you kidding me!" He screeched. "Finn Hudson has been exiled by the school's royalty themselves! Me, taking up for him, pretty much guarantee's that I'll be thrown off that roof right along with him, and someone needs to carry on the family name."

Rachel gaped at the boy next to her. He had to be joking, right? Was this high society's way of thinking? If that was the case, she wanted no part in their world.

But wait —

Did he just say Finn— "…Hudson?"

With a quick glance down at her delivery receipt to confirm the name, Rachel began pushing and shoving her way through the uniformed mass.

"Finn!" Rachel panted over the crowd. She swore she would go back to her elliptical routine the moment she left this place. "Finn Hudson!" She waved his bagged navy blue uniform as high above her head as possible. "I have a delivery for—" She finally broke to the front of the crowd and was now face to face with a shocked looking Finn Hudson. She huffed from exertion and put her free hand on her knee to catch her breath.

She really needed to get back into shape.

"I-I have a delivery for you."

The tall boy narrowed his right eye, as his left was nearly swollen shut. "I'm currently in a life or death situation, and you're attempting to delivery me my uniform?"

Rachel shrugged and held out the clothes. "That'll be $56.07, sir. Now if you'll just get down from the railing to pay me…" She attempted. Rachel could care less about the money when the boy's life was in danger.

A roar of laughter emitted from the crowd and Finn laughed humorlessly as he messily wiped at his bloody nose. "You can settle that with my family after I fall," He waved his hand over to throng of students giggling at his display. "Because that's what you guys want isn't it! To get rid of me?"

Rachel slowly laid the bagged clothing on the floor and took a cautious step forward. "Please get down, F-Finn. Whatever it is, I'm sure it can be solved without resorting to such drastic measures—"

"You have no idea what their capable of!" He shouted at the girl. "F3 will make my life a living hell!"

"Seriously, stop being such a drama queen, Hudson. The last thing Dalton needs is your inner bits splattered across the pavement below." A mohawked boy behind her taunted.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do Puckerman!" Finn attempted to adjust his footing on the railing.

But his estimate was off by just a few centimeters.

Suddenly his arms were flailing.

His body began to tilt backwards.

Screams sounded within the crowd along with the artificial snaps of camera phones.

And Rachel, with blood pounding in her ears and a sudden burst of adrenaline, launched herself towards the falling boy.

"And then you saved his life?" A large microphone with a body attached suddenly filled her line of vision in the large conference room.

"Y-yes. I suppose I did. Even though I think I nearly asphyxiated him in the process." Rachel answered the reporter as numerous flashes of cameras temporarily blinded her vision. She remembered lunging for the boy and grabbing the front of his school-issued sweatshirt with all her might. The boy had nearly taken her over the railing along with him if it hadn't of been for the two or three generous students that had gripped her around the waist to hold her steady.

"Sources tell us that you have been offered an honorary scholarship to Dalton Academy from the conglomerate of Fabray Enterprises for your bravery. Can you confirm?" Another reporter thrusted a microphone underneath her chin.

"I-I confirm, I suppose. Though I'm not certain as to why—"

"Did you accept the scholarship Miss Berry?"

At this question, Rachel's shoulders drooped in defeat. "Well, to be honest, There was no way I could refuse." And she really couldn't. Between the excited squeals of her parents and the hardened gaze of Mr. Bellfleur— the Fabray Enterprise representative that had shown up unexpectedly to her home to offer the scholarship—She had no other choice but to accept.

Mind you, she had protested to her fathers the moment Mr. Bellfleur walked out of the door, but after a stern talking to about being ungrateful for a grand opportunity such as this…

"How does it feel to be the first middle-class citizen to be accepted into Dalton's high society ranks?"

She tried not to bristle at the statement pertaining to her class. What did it matter anyway? "Well…even though I rather enjoyed my time at William McKinley High—"

"The local public school?" A reporter interrupted.

Rachel nodded her head. "I'm extremely honored to be accepted into such a prestigious Academy." Her grin for the flashing cameras was entirely false. Starting next week (And only a mere two weeks since the delivery incident), She would be leaving behind the friends she had grown up with, her teachers, the glee club—

"Were you aware that the boy you had saved is the son of the world famous car trader and collector, Burt Hummel?"

"No, I didn't—"

"—and that as an act of gratitude after hearing about your scholarship, Mr. Hummel had purchased the school's notoriously expensive uniform and textbooks on your behalf for the year?"

Rachel's eyes widened in shock. She didn't know that.

"I actually didn't—"

"That will be all the questions for Miss Berry today. Thank you for your time." Mr. Bellfleur interrupted as he gently ushered Rachel away from the podium towards her beaming fathers.

"Your time at Dalton begins Monday at 8am." The representative talked lowly as they neared the exit of the stage. "You're uniform has already been delivered to your home." He paused briefly at the top of the stairs. "We will have very little contact unless there is a serious problem within Dalton Academy."

Rachel tilted her head. "A serious problem?" Her mind was swimming. Everything was going entirely too fast.

The man hesitated shortly before answering. "Academically, and—among other things. Good luck, Rachel Berry."

Rachel wanted him to elaborate, but Mr. Bellfleur walked away towards the podium before she could say another word.

"Any and all other questions will be directed towards me." He stated firmly to the sea of reporters.

Rachel glanced back towards Mr. Bellfleur, but he only nodded his head in her direction with a curt dismissal. Her fathers instantly latched on to both of her arms and lead her out of the building towards their car.

"Our baby girl's first interview!" Her dad, Leroy, gushed happily. "I didn't expect to see this day until you've at least reached Broadway, my dear."

Hiram, affectionately called daddy by Rachel, winked in his husband's direction. "It's because our little angel is a town hero." He ruffled Rachel's hair affectionately. "When did you become so brave?"

"Daddy!" She whined pathetically. "Stop messing up my hair!"

They all laughed good naturedly and continued to walk in silence.

"Dad?" Rachel interrupted their calm with a low voice. "Daddy?"

Her parent paused to look down questioningly at their daughters hesitant tone. She bit her lip under their gaze as she contemplated speaking her thoughts. "I..um…"

They both waited patiently for the daughter to complete her sentence.

"I don't think I can do this." She finally blurted out, shifting her gaze to the floor to ignore what she thought would be her father's disappointed frowns. "Going to Dalton, I mean. I don't think I'd fit in very much…with that crowd."

Leroy hummed contemplatively. "That crowd, hm?"

"Which crowd, honey? The obnoxious crowd, or the obnoxiously wealthy crowd? Perhaps both?" Hiram cut in with a grin.

Rachel let out a small sigh in relief that her parents were taking her doubts in stride, but this was something that she truly wanted to discuss. "Daddy, I'm serious. You saw what those people did to that Finn boy at Dalton! If I hadn't of been there to save him, he would have…he could have—"

"Well, good thing that you were there to save the day, Rachel Berry."

"Daddy…" She whined again. Hiram's playful nature was getting the best of their discussion, so his voice dropped into a fatherly tone.

"Rachel, honey," Hiram started walking his family in a slow stride. "What has having two gay men as your parents taught you in life?"

Rachel tapped her chin in contemplation before answering. "How to throw a punch, dodge and run like hell?"

Leroy and Hiram guffawed at their daughters response. Though it was probably true, it was not quite the answer they were looking for.

"No, no, honey—I mean, well yes— but no." Hiram paused their stride by wrapping an arm around Rachel's shoulder in order to get her to face him.

"What we've taught you was to keep your chin up," He cupped and lifted her chin with his index finger. "Stand strong," He clapped his hands firmly onto her shoulders. "And not to let a single person bring you down, no matter what."

"Have we taught you well?" Leroy questioned. Rachel stared up at her dad and daddy with shining eyes and nodded her head vehemently.

"I'll be okay?" It wasn't too often that Rachel asked for reassurance, but her fathers would gladly give it to her if asked.

"You'll be more than okay." Leroy answered while Hiram spun his daughter back around to continue their walk to the car. "I promise. You'll adjust in no time."

Leroy and Hiram Berry were filthy liars and should be burned at the stake, Rachel ranted internally. Though she was only half joking (Because getting burned at the stake did seem pretty harsh), she truly couldn't see herself adjusting to this life anytime soon.

Even though she had already seen the school when she made that fateful delivery, it was completely different to see it through a student's eyes. She had arrived extremely early just so she could get herself acquainted with the campus.

The first (and only) part of her self-issued tour was the cafeteria—which was not really a cafeteria, but something akin to a grand café. The entire room was made out of wooden paneling and the hardwood floors shined brightly beneath her feet. She wandered around the sparsely populated eating area, taking note of the sleek metal tables, and the hexagonal buffet in the center of the room. She also took in with wide eyes the large drinking fountain (currently filled with orange juice) and crystal glasses lined up on a large table along the wall.

"This can't be real…"

Rachel spotted a staircase in the far corner of the room, and when she went to examine it, a sign chained across the entry way prevented her from going any further. 'F3 Lounge', it read in bold black letters. Rachel couldn't help but scoff. She's been here for less than half an hour and she was already tired of anything that had to do with the "notorious" group. She knew next to nothing about them, nor did she ever want to.

"Ah! If it isn't the tacky commoner that saved my brother's life." Rachel whirled around at the familiar sounding feminine voice that echoed across the cafeteria. "I was wondering when you would get here."

The boy approached Rachel with an arrogant flair. He had a boyish face, with hair parted perfectly on its left. He was wearing the very uniform that she had seen him in those few weeks ago.

"And I have to say that the uniform is a massive improvement to your overall look, don't you agree? My mother designed them herself, after all." He brushed imaginary lint from his own uniform blazer.

Rachel glanced down at her own uniform. Even though she rather liked her beige and navy plaid skirt and the white piped gray cardigan that fit snuggly beneath the signature Dalton blazer, she found no reason to believe that her normal clothes were terrible looking. Knee highs were something that she wore all the time anyway.

The boy gave her appraising look. "Massive improvement indeed."

She fiddled with the red and navy striped tie underneath the collar of her white button up, hidden beneath her cardigan. "Can I help you with something, or…"

"Kurt," the boy proffered his hand for her to shake. "Kurt Hummel. And it so happens that I'm indebted to you for saving my brother's life."

Rachel blinked slowly as a blush rose to her cheeks. "Indebted? I-I really don't think that's necessary—"

"This is going to be the most interesting year yet!" Kurt practically squealed as he wrapped her arm within his own. "You're the first commoner to ever grace these halls."

Rachel frowned at the term he has used twice now. "Why do you keep calling me a—"

Kurt jerked her forward and began to walk at a hurried pace. "You've been the talk of the school since it was announced you'd be attending!" he continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Everyone is incredibly curious about the Rachel Berry."

Rachel stumbled over her feet at the news. "But why—"

"Will you stop walking so slowly!" Kurt shushed quietly while leading her down one of Dalton's many winding staircases. "They're almost here!"

"Who's almost here?" Rachel mumbled absently while taking in her surroundings.

"F3, of course!"

This caused Rachel to immediately stop in her tracks and yank her arm of Kurt's grip. "F3?" She hissed questioningly. "The same group of people that put a hit out on your brother and nearly got him killed? That F3?"

Kurt had the decency to look a bit ashamed. "Well when you put it that way…they don't seem too great."

"Of course not!" Rachel shrieked. "They sound awfu-mmf!"

Kurt quickly clamped his hand on Rachel's mouth and looked around in alarm. When his gaze landed her hers he slowly released his hold. "Don't let anyone hear you say that out loud, do you understand?"

Rachel nodded, her eyes wide and slightly fearful. Kurt took note of her state and heaved out a sympathetic sigh. "You really don't know who the Flower 3 are, do you?"

The girl could only shake her head, still stunned by Kurt's panicked reaction. "Don't you watch television? Pick up a magazine even?"

Rachel shook her head in the negative. "Usually, if it doesn't have anything to do with music or Broadway, I-I don't…"

Kurt gently encircled his arm around hers once more and continued their path to the entrance hall. "The Flower 3, or F3 for short, are the three most wealthy and influential people in the school. As for their parents? Just multiply that influence and wealth by one hundred." Rachel eyes widened in surprise as Kurt continued. "They're practically royalty here."

"And just how does that give them the right to be bullies?"

Kurt chuckled and motioned around the building with his free hand. "They pretty much own the school."

Rachel's jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"How do you think you got that scholarship from Fabray Enterprises? Their parents give generous donations to Dalton annually to make sure their children are happy. Happy kids, means happy heirs to their ridiculously large organizations."

"How unfair."

Kurt shrugged his shoulders. "It's the way things work here. They have a huge fan base in the students of this school."

They finally reached the bottom of the stairs when the first squeal erupted from the small crowd gathered in the entrance hall.

"Ah! Here they come." Kurt pointed to the now-open front doors and the first member of F3 decided to grace their presence.

And she was the most beautiful girl Rachel had ever seen outside of a magazine. The girl had tan skin, similar to her own, with long flowing black hair that curled on top of her shoulders. She was wearing a short, white tube dress, with a blue fur trimmed vest (Rachel shuddered at this. What did that poor animal ever do to her?) and the most expensive pure white pumps she had ever seen. The crowd hooted and wolf whistled at her entrance. And the F3 member's perfectly made up face broke into a smirk.

"She is so fierce!" Kurt mumbled excitedly, then turned to the gaping girl beside him Rachel. "That is Santana Lopez. Heiress of the Lopez Construction Company." He provided. "Our very own Mafia Queen, if you will."

"M-Mafia Queen?" Rachel sputtered.

Kurt nodded. "But you didn't hear it from me." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Her dad is said to be one of the most connected and influential mob leaders in these parts. She's absolutely filthy rich."

Another gasp from the crowd indicated that another member of F3 had walked through the doors. This time it was a tall, lithe blonde that more likely pirouetted through the doors than actually walked. Her long legs were adorned with dark gray dress shorts and a matching blazer adorned her torso. Her striking blue eyes where even more pronounced by the aqua blue under shirt peeking just over the top of her shorts with the same colored (expensive looking) sneakers to match.

Like Santana before her, she was absolutely stunning.

"Do all of them have to look like models?" Rachel couldn't help but complain.

Kurt chuckled in response. "They all have modeled at one point or another."

Rachel groaned loudly. Of course they have. "And who is she, exactly?" Rachel motioned towards the girl who had just bounced over to Santana and offered a suffocated hug. Santana's smile told her that she didn't mind one bit.

"She's Brittany S. Pierce; A dancing prodigy! I have to say that she's a bit odd, but what genius isn't?"

Rachel nodded. The girl most certainly seemed that way.

"Brittany has danced and choreographed for some of the world's best known dance companies, and continues to make royalties from those past contracts."

"At least she has worked hard to make a name for herself." Rachel hummed her approval, but Kurt snorted at the observation.

"Her parents are eccentric treasure hunters. Not to mention that they own and curate over 20 museums around the world." Rachel stared at Kurt in shock. "Believe me when I say that Brittany's been well off long before she's made a name for herself."

She watched as Brittany giggled and bent over to whisper something into Santana's ear until an eerie hush fell over the entrance hall.

Rachel looked around in confusion. "What—"

Kurt shushed the girl with a pointed glare.

"But—" The loud click-clack of heels interrupted her train of thought.

Rachel peered into the entry way with a sense of anticipation that she didn't understand. What kind of person could bring this type of reaction out of people?

But then her breath hitched, and then she suddenly understood why.

The last member of F3 stood in the entry way, with a sense of unbridled confidence and entitlement that sucked all of the air out of Rachel's lungs.

The girl was—

She was —

She was the most stunning girl that she had ever seen.

Her long shimmering blonde hair tumbled in waves over her shoulders. Her face was—

There was not enough adjectives in the world to describe her face. Sharp cheekbones, plump red lips, and the most beautiful hazel eyes she had ever seen…

Rachel's gaze began at the girl's black, high heeled boots, pulled over dark navy jeans. She then made her way up to the girl's solid white and black-buttoned leather jacket. And just underneath her blond curls, a beautifully decorated black and gray scarf tucked neatly around her neck.

Her entire outfit probably cost more that Rachel's Prius.

"Gorgeous. Am I right?" Kurt whispered into Rachel's ear. And she agreed wholeheartedly. "That, my dear, is the leader of F3—"

"Quinn Fabray." Rachel finished Kurt's sentence in awe. She sensed Kurt's surprise at her knowing this information. "What?" She raised her eyebrows. "I don't live under a rock, you know."

Rachel had seen her on countless magazine covers, but they didn't even come close to capturing the beauty of the real thing. She knew that Quinn Fabray's (infamous) mother was the head of Fabray Enterprises; a massive conglomerate with several business around the world. She knew that the girl had become the sole heir to Fabray Enterprises when her older sister married an A-list Hollywood actor. She knew that the girl was quite literally born with a silver and diamond encrusted spoon in her mouth.

…And now she knew that Quinn Fabray was a spoiled bully, and Rachel felt disgusted that Quinn would abuse her power in such a way.

That she would cause a boy to nearly take his own life. Was Quinn Fabray really the leader of this awful group?

Rachel stuck her hands in the pockets of her cardigan and watched with disdain as Quinn parted the crowd with barely a wave of her hand. She scoffed.

"Why does everyone treat her like she's a goddess?" She asked. But when she got no response, she turned to see Kurt clear across the room, motioning frantically in her direction. "Kurt? How did he—"

She turned to face the doorway again, only to come face to face with Quinn Fabray's leather-clad chest.

Rachel quickly backed up a few steps, more out of surprise than fear. Quinn was staring down at her with hard hazel eyes and a neutral face.

"Who are you." Quinn's voice was melodic, but held an edge to it that would have the bravest people fall to their knees. It should have been a question, but Quinn's tone of voice had turned it into a statement.

Rachel stared right back, unflinching. "I'm a transfer student." She tilted her chin in defiance. "Who are you?"

The crowd watching the scene unfold gasped almost inaudibly. Had no one ever stood up to these people?

"You're in my way." Quinn stated in monotone. "Move."

Even though she was kind of blocking the stairway (she was a tiny person, after all), Rachel didn't budge. She continued to stare up at the heir defiantly and couldn't help the gulp when she saw Quinn's perfect eyebrows narrow a fraction.

Her daddy always said that her stubbornness would get her into trouble.

"You have until the count of three."

Rachel fisted her hands in her pocket. How dare she? She wasn't some peon that Quinn could command at will.


Rachel took a steadying breath. Consequences be damned, now she absolutely refused to move.

"Two." Though Quinn's voice sounded uninterested, the hidden edge increased ten-fold. Santana and Brittany giggled behind her.

Rachel physically braced herself.



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