Glee 1. Chapter 1

Rachel grinned sheepishly at her sandbox friend, holding up what looked to be a soap bar of just . . . unconventional proportions. Quinn, being very young at the time, laughed merrily, picking the bar up and flying it around like a plane. Wonderful, Rachel thought, sitting down beside a joyful Quinn.

"I believe this is the start of our official friendship! We're now graduating from the sandbox!" she mentioned, smiling just a bit too brightly considering the situation. Quinn had no qualms, patting the shorter girl's head, and offering her a turn of the monstrous soap bar.

"Sure Ray. Here, try it!"

This was their beginning, the start of the end, you could call it.

….

Years passed by, however the soap remained, as did their friendship. By now, they had split the soap, cut it cleanly in half. They used it, now and again, but miraculously, whenever they would meet together, comparing halves, the pieces would always fit together. Rachel had stated it was fate, that they were meant to be together, as they sat under a tree in the park. Of course Quinn, having grown older, had laughed at the notion, brushing off her seventh grade cheer uniform, and tossing a stone into the water.

"Jeez, Berry you're crazy." Berry. That was what Quinn had resorted to calling her now. No longer were they on a first name basis. Not that Rachel minded, Quinn was her star, her light in the dark. It didn't matter what she was called, as long as Quinn would always shine with her. Not literally, as it was a metaphor, and metaphors are important. It was one of the few things they agreed on.

They had their first sleep over at eighth grade. Rachel always shared her love of Broadway, and music. Quinn had mostly spoken about some humongous guy on the football team. Rachel had seen him. She had to admit, his smile was quite charming, but everything else about him was . . . awkward, as many people were in that grade.

"I can't comprehend what you see in him. He's clumsy, and always smells like Twinkies." Quinn had only shaken her head, a dreamy look in her eyes.

"He's the quarterback, and I'm head cheerleader. We would be the ultimate power couple." Was that what relationships were about? Status? Rachel knew about the hazel-eyed girl's family. They were all about status. Status was the reason why she wasn't allowed to stay over at Quinn's house. Status was the reason why Quinn had to lie to them about conversing with her. Rachel vowed to grow up, and go on Broadway, to not only earn the status as, but live as a loving person, instead of what the Fabray family thrived themselves on, a fake one. They tried to display this loving, flawless family. It was all fake, a family of lies, chips, cracks and dents. Rachel hated that Quinn was sucked into it, therefore once Quinn finished explaining, the smaller girl smiled crookedly at the blonde, leaning over to kiss her cheek, hoping to wash the plastic away. Quinn blushed, a gentle hue dusting her cheeks.

That was when Rachel knew that Quinn wasn't a star. She was better than that. She was the moon, the brightest thing when the sun goes down. Unlike the sun, you could stare at her, without a single repercussion. She was beautiful.

Ninth grade was the start of new things. Finn. Finn had begun joining them on their outings; he was the newest addition to their circle. Quinn had said he was just a friend, despite her constantly pining after him. Rachel suspected something, but even as Finn began claiming a spot in Quinn's heart, she knew there would always be an even bigger vacancy for her . . . right?

Delusional. How could she have even thought she was important to her? Eight plus years of friend ship is nothing compared to some jock boy with a stupid smile. Quinn, her moon, her light in the dark, had left her. She had flaked, to go on a date with Finn. A date. Rachel got them front row seats to see _Wicked_ on Broadway, scheduled their flight, packed their bags, and she had flaked to go on a date with Finn at _Breadstix_. Not even the ice cold slushy thrown at her face that morning had stung this bad.

Status. It was all going back to status. He was perfect for it. He had staked a bigger part of Quinn's heart, all because of status, all because he was a Christian quarterback. He was just _too_ _perfect _for it._ It_ was all that mattered to Quinn.

She held up their fragile friendship, giving 90 as the latter gave – gave what? Nothing, she gave nothing. It was always that way. Rachel going out of her way to spend time with Quinn, to hold her as her parents pressured her into tears. Rachel standing out in the rain for hours as Quinn forgot their planned picnic. She was, and will always be second choice.

"I promise I won't leave you." It had been at one of their many sleepovers. Quinn's older sister Frannie had moved out, heading off to college leaving Quinn the main target of two overbearing parents. She had sobbed, begged, and in the end, would not release her hold on Rachel until she vowed to never leave Quinn alone. She had stayed true to her word, through thick and thin. It was painfully ironic how Quinn would end up departing from Rachel.

Quinn would cancel just about anything. It was either for Santana, or Brittany, or _Finn_, or just that she hadn't been in the mood to hang with Rachel, the "midget diva that couldn't shut her trap".

Soap slipped across her fingers, being crushed under pressure. It was over. _They _were over. It wasn't Quinn and Rachel anymore. Had _they_ really even existed at all?

Her tears were salty, bitter as they ran down her face.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you all for the feedback. Cliché, yes, but I just thought you guys should know. I was having this weird inferiority hiatus, but I'm back, and black. The font, I mean. It's black.

REPLIES:

**YourInnate, well hello there. I like how demanding you are, it really adds some cayenne to my eye sockets. You'll see plenty of Quinn in the next chapter, that is if you're still interested. Wink. Wink.**

** stingslikeabee, I hate bees. Those crazy bastards are always trying to chill in my hoodies, and it's not cool. The only honey I have is a crazy Swedish wife who only cooks blood pancakes. She isn't even **_**my **_**wife. The angst. Well. There's a bit in here. Not sure if that's enough for you. My apologies if it isn't. I'll make up for it in the next. **

** Avarenda, nice name, and "reclaim" is such a fabulous word. You get twenty cyber hugs for that. Quinn does seem like the jealous type, I mean have you seen season one? She gets pretty crazy. **

** Marshmallow, wow, I never knew you could talk. Like. Sorry about all your cousins I keep burning in my drinks. It isn't personal or anything. Just that they're delicious. This has been updated. Hopefully it makes up for all the deceased relatives. **

** itsDraaaaaven, a League of Legends fan? Coolio. Rachel's got a new soap. It's Dove. Sam is cool too though. **

** sarah, hi. Is this special enough yet? It's kind of just getting started I guess. Hmph. **

** anon, it hasn't been abandoned. Kind of slowed, but not abandoned. Yet. Well, it's very unlikely that I will abandon it, but not impossible. **

There were three points in Rachel's life when misery decided to have a dance party on her face. The first being her paternal mother wanting nothing to do with her. The second was getting mauled by Barbra Streisand fans because she was too small to be spotted at the entrance. The third, the painful last blow, was Quinn picking Finn Hudson, insensitive extraordinaire, over herself. The dancing went on strong. How was she to even try to put a stop to it? Turn off the music, perhaps? Pour marbles on the floor, maybe? It would do nothing.

As melodramatic as Rachel was, the absolute nothingness she felt at the moment just topped the line. This was Quinn. She should be immune to this type of neglect. No matter how many times it's happened, she's still managed to build up this false sense of hope only to be crushed by her own stupidity. As she had heard so many times before, when would she stop dreaming of impossible things?

With a handful of signup sheets and a virtually hazardous handful of tacks, you would think throwing a slushy at such an already burdened human completely illogical. You would be right, yes, but nobody would listen to you. Rachel's argyle sweater now rests in peace, the silver lining being her pinky surviving with only a thumbtack lodged into its face.

Rachel pondered quietly, retracing the things she'd done in the past to get to this point. Injured, insulted, disrespected, friendless, little old her, sitting in the school nurse's office trying to not bleed all over the floors. She had regained feeling in her pinky, although that could be construed as a bad thing, for it stung more than that time her dance instructor accidently pirouetted onto her face. How such a thing happened, she will never know.

One thing she did know? Nurse Maurine has the gentlest touch.

"Ow, miss, please, you're cutting off my blood circulation."

"Oh hush, the bleeding won't stop if I don't put some pressure on it. You want real pressure; try playing the trombone while performing heart surgery, now that's pressure."

"I don't believe I've seen trombone playing surgeon listed on your previous occupations application, but that truly sounds impressive." Nurse Maurine's grip tightened. At the sound of a knock, she could finally see her veins flattening slowly, as the woman left to open the door.

Some hushed whispers later, the once white, now cream colored curtains were yanked rather roughly apart, and out popped a trout-mouthed kid with perfectly mussed brown hair. He seemed surprised, outright bewildered at the sight of Rachel. The feeling was mutual.

"Uh – sorry, I really need to lie down. I kinda just guessed nobody would be here." A wistful sigh escaped Rachel's lips, her gaze turned soft as she fiddled with her argyle sweater.

"Your assumption is partially correct. As far as Mckinley cares, no one is sitting on this cheap imitation of a bed." The statement seemed to only perplex the boy more. He scratched at his chin weakly, slouching over to sit next to the rather miniature girl.

"What do you mean by that? Like, people don't think you exist or something? Woah, are you like a superhero? Cuz there's this girl named Invisible Woman, yeah I know totally wicked name, but anyway, her name's invisible woman and she can, guess what? Turn invisible! It's crazy! She's from Fantastic Four, and there's this guy who can stretch his arms out, like way long, longer than around a Ferris wheel twice around, his name is Mr. Fantastic, and he's married to her. They're both in the comic series and movies Fantastic Four, both are great productions by the way. They're coming out with a new movie soon, hey, you know what? If you aren't busy we could see it! Silver Surfer, dude, he looks way awesome." Rachel chuckled gently, slightly charmed by his boyish behavior.

"I suppose you don't feel the need to obtain a resting place at the moment?" His lips quirked up mesmerizingly, teeth sparkling in the light.

"Hah, guess not anymore? You're great at talking, y'know? You sound all smart and stuff." Rachel's own lips curved up just a tad.

"Well, thank you. My name is Rachel Barbra Berry, just if you were wondering, Mr. –?" His grin grew crooked, rather grand lips scrunching upwards.

"Evans. Sam Evans." A James Bond reference? How quaint.

"Sam Evans, I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship." She paused, gesturing to him.

"If it isn't too personal, care to enlighten me on the reasons you had for lying down?" Newly acquainted Sam paled, patting his abdomen.

"I uh – well. Y'know, the cafeteria, no one really warned me about the possible side effects of eating the food." He quickly threw up his hands.

"I'm fine now though! I feel way better. Pepto, and all that jazz." Unable to respond, Rachel simply nodded, patting her skirt for good measure before standing up.

"Well I must be leaving now. It was fabulous meeting you." Sam perked up, hobbling off the bed to scrawl something on a comic book he had somehow hidden from her line of vision. Trying not to guess how he did such a thing, Rachel halted.

"Woah, wait! I – here, take my number!" He pressed the item onto her willing hands. She opened the book, just as he gestured to. Written in almost incomprehensible handwriting were seven digits, placed on the inside of the first edition Avengers comic book.

"First edition? I'm honored you would place something so obviously valuable in my care, however, I'm not sure you've thought this through enough." He scoffed, patting her on the shoulder with a mocking seriousness.

"Please Rachel, if I didn't have ten copies of it, I wouldn't have even ruined its value by writing my number on it." Sam removed his hand, shaking his head.

"Hah, amateurs." He stopped his dramatics, abruptly looking at her carefully.

"By the way, I wasn't kidding about that movie thing, we're still on for that right?" What harm would be done? He seemed nice, a bit geeky, but that was still charming in a strange way. He had fine "bro" potential, or whatever Puck had labeled it.

Rachel nodded her head resolutely. Her first high school friend, how . . . exhilarating!

"Of course, I look forward to our outing." Her potential bro high fived her non-injured hand excitedly, rubbing his other fingers through his boy band hair.

"I'll text you the deets. See you, _Rach._" Rach? She was . . . _Rach_ now? She murmured to herself as she pondered down the halls. Her first nickname! This day was getting better by the second!

Little did she know a little bird's song spreads fast . . . and her pinky still hurt. So, there was still that predicament, which made the day sort of lukewarm.


End file.

Glee, Angst, Romance