The glee club were struck in horror. Really, every member of the glee club knew where they stood on the social food chain. Or so they had thought. Now that Finn and Quinn had experienced their very first slushee facial, every member had questions regarding their own status, and dressed for rain just in case a slushee came their way.
Dylan's shoulders were tense, but that may be due to the stares being sent her way by a particular cheerleader. She wished they were glares. She's feel a whole lot better if they were. Quinn's anger was always a whole lot easier to deal with than her hurt.
The bleachers were chilly, especially with the idea of an icy facial in thought. But privacy took precedence. Dylan, like the glee club, knew what kind of person she was (or more accurately what kind of person people thought of her as). And a list of higher priorities, alongside the fact that her reputation (particularly amongst the showchoir lovers) had never been worse, left her feeling an indifference towards changing that fact. She will be what they thought.
Mike had warm hands and smooth lips, and unlike the boys Dylan had become used to, he smelled pure, though his intentions may not be so clean. His grip on her waist was firm, his awkward frame lingering below her. Dylan mistook his hesitancy for nerves, and she realised she was wrong when he stopped.
She lay on her back, elbows propped. A quirked eyebrow, perhaps a hint of irritation. "What's wrong?" She was breathless, air hot and stuffy.
He stuttered slightly. Hesitancy, she was certain this time. She recognised his struggle to order words in a way that didn't offend her. She braced for them to pierce her, eyes cold and face stoic. "I. . . I don't know, should we—" he paused, scratching his neck and tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. "Wouldn't you rather do this somewhere more. . ."
She shot him a dry look. When Mike suggested they get to know one another on a random Tuesday following football practice, she hadn't realised he'd be so picky. She'd assumed his wants were what most would want from her. She hardly expected a budding friendship to be formed, nor was she sure she wanted that. "Should I have bought you dinner first? I totally forgot that was the gentlemanly thing to do," her grin twitched, as she sat straighter, twirling the end of her hair.
Mike blinked, teetering on which move to make. "No, I, uh, just, when I said we should go out," he elaborated, "I meant, you know, out out. Like, for real."
Dylan quirked an eyebrow. Confused. Now she teetered. She considered asking Mike the question she truly wanted to know, 'did someone put you up to this?' But she decided not. Instead, she said, "look, man, I'm not really into that commitment thing, so. . .we can either get back to what we were doing before or. . ."
"Well, I'm not really into the making love in a public place thing so—" Mike inhaled a sharp air, sensing a misstep. Dylan cleared her throat, cheeks flushed, though not from before. Not anymore.
"What, is this the part where you shame me?" She was defensive, he noticed. And he stuttered for an apology, though he didn't know what to say. Had he been shaming her? Certainly, in his honest opinion, 'hanging out' under the bleachers was hardly an activity that should be honoured. She scoffed, shaking her head at his halfhearted attempts, "so, like, what? I can't make out with people without being ridiculed?"
"No. Well, I don't know," Mike spoke in a hushed voice, fingers skimming along the grass which he sat on, "maybe you should work on developing something more. . .meaningful."
He didn't know what to expect. An honest and open conversation was what he hoped for. His initial intrigue towards Dylan had stemmed into many delusions, and he wondered if maybe she was the type of person who was 'different once you talked to her'. Though clearly, she was as she always was.
"Fuck you." Spitting in his face would have startled him less. Perhaps he should have listened to Puckerman when he raised the question to him ("what do you say about me asking Dylan out?"—"pfft, you're wasting your time, man.") her shoulders tensed once more, though with more power behind them this time around. "If I wanted a freaking pep talk about meaningful relationships, I'd talk to Schue. I wanted sex, I-I thought you wanted sex!"
"When did I say I wanted that?!" Her exclamations clearly rubbed off on him. Maybe in hindsight he should've remained more calm. He was sceptical of students nearby hearing them.
She threw her hands in the air, "Wha-? That's all anyone ever wants, you—!" She struggled for the right words, heaving herself from the ground and thrusting her arms in his directions, displaying her frustration before she stormed away, huffing, ""making love", Jesus fucking Christ!"
*****
Glee club and football didn't make for the most complementary 'mashup', no matter what words Mr. Schue fed them. Seemingly, Coach Tanaka had reached a boiling point. Understandably, he wasn't much of a fan of the budding relationship blossoming between his fiancé and a certain glee club director.
Dylan's nostrils had yet to become accustomed to the stench that flowed through the boys locker room. A mix of feet and boyish hormones led to a pungent smell. Would it be dramatic to say it made her eyes water? She didn't think so.
"Wouldn't it be more appropriate for you to use the girl's locker room?" Kurt spritzed his hair with some form of canned product, eyes narrowed sassily in the mirror in his elegantly decorated locker. Dylan wasn't sure if he intended for the mist to sprinkle her face, but it did nonetheless. And the snarky tone he spoke in inclined her to think he also wasn't happy with her.
"I was just about to ask you the same thing," she quipped. Kurt hardly found her funny. She cleared her throat, her devilish smile from before melting, playing it cool. "The Cheerios weren't . . .comfortable with me in there." Kurt glanced at her, and perhaps under different circumstances, he would've allowed the pity he felt for her to seep through.
Quinn, even despite her faults, was seemingly an easy girl to grow to love. Like she had impacted the rest of the glee club, Kurt couldn't say he didn't feel some sort of responsibility towards her too.
Ever since JBI's story had gone school-wide, the piercing stares being sent Dylan's way got all that more penetrating. It was only Rachel, who had surprisingly kept her word and her mouth shut, whose stare wasn't so menacing. As was Noah Puckerman, whose stare was always indecipherable. Perhaps because he knew what to expect from her. Or perhaps because he didn't believe the deceitful words of Jacob Ben Israel.
Lockers slammed and muffled chatter carried on. The room felt eerily quiet to Dylan. But that was just Kurt's silence deafening her. The stare of the star quarterback was more all consuming though, perhaps the most penetrating of them all. Though Dylan wasn't sure why he felt so, there was a hint of betrayal there nonetheless. She dared to make eye contact, but he instantly darted his attention into his locker, playing it cool.
It was on the tip of her tongue, begging to be spoken aloud. The truth, 'I didn't do it.' Something—she didn't know what—something complicated from within stopped her. The week had already been harsh to her ( or maybe that was her own doing ), with her tangle of lies leaving the thing between her and Quinn on the rocks ( or trampled on completely ), and with her session with Mike still lingering in her mind, her body shivered.
Speaking of,
"So, Mike Chang, huh?"
She glowered at Puck, begging him to make her day that bit worse. "Spare me," she rolled her eyes, finally shutting her locker. She frowned, a thought striking her, "did you put him up to that?"
"You think I think of you often enough to be bothered to do that?" He questioned, leaning against the row of lockers, arms crossed, cool. "For reasons beyond my knowledge — I'm starting to think there's something seriously wrong with him, like he was dropped on his head or something —I think he likes you."
She huffed, "gross."
"I won't argue with that," he almost snorted at his own comment, until a figure squeezed between them, the owner of the locker barricaded by the bitter pair. Even despite it being his locker, Puck still looked offended by the rude interruption, especially when the boy joined the conversation, uninvited, as if he had the right.
"Mike Chang, hey?" he mused, rummaging through his locker, before sending a cool smile Dylan's way. An honest, casual grin. "He's a good man."
She stumbled, glancing at Puck, who, for reasons beyond her knowledge, held a look of extreme irritation. "Um, right. I can't say he's the man for me unfortunately."
Billy James had a damning smile. Every girl thought so, though his status befuddled the boys of McKinley. With the craze that followed him, you would think he were the quarterback of the school. See, there was one evident difference between Billy James and Finn Hudson, aside from Finn's lack of cool and Billy's inordinate amount of it: one had respect.
Billy was cool. He wore leather jackets, though not in a desperate sense. He leaned on lockers and girls swooned. His teeth were perfectly aligned and he never exerted himself too much. He was just cool.
"Hmm, shame," he only said, and following two squirts of cologne, he proceeded to depart. "See you around."
Then there were two, again (if Kurt and his still lingering hairspray and Finn's overwhelming stares counted for nothing).
"Anyways," Puck started again, following Dylan from the locker room, "what's going on with you and Berry?"
"Wha-? Nothing, nothings going on." Unexplainable panic ('what was that about?' ). Her cheeks flushed, though Puck hardly noticed, his own wants taking precedence. "Why?"
He shrugged, though clearly there were questions he was eager to ask, "you guys just seem. . .cosier recently. I was wondering if she talks to you about. . . stuff." Puck never practiced the art of subtlety.
She halted her walk, mild confusion, major disgust. "If you're thinking of asking Rachel Berry out, I'd say 'forget it'."
"Why not? I'm a stud! Girl's are totally into that. And even though she's totally nuts, she's still technically a chick," he persisted, shrugging his shoulders. His tone, confident and unmoved, led Dylan to believe he was certain his words were the truth.
She scoffed, "yeah, a chick you continuously tormented. You think it's possible for her to think of you as anything more than the guy who threw slushees at her?" She fixed her backpack, newly "bought" from a local thrift store , on her shoulder, seemingly now avoiding eye contact. "She might not have a lot of respect for herself, and she would probably say yes, but she deserves a whole lot better than a boy like you. You should respect that and ruin a more deserving girl's life."
There was a beat of silence. There was a reason Puck and Dylan's relationship always narrowly balanced on rocks.
"You know, you've got a lot of mouth, for being the most hated girl in school and all."
Her father was a good man.
The words spoken from a woman blinded by love for a lost man were never reliable. But falling on the ears of an innocent girl, blinded too by the desperation for a nuclear family, she clung to them like truth. Though as she began to grow in height, and as she began to see the real truth in the comparisons between her family and in the families of others, clinging to her mother's hardly sober words became more of an uphill battle.
There was another fight that day. The 'big kind', stemming from a meeting in the principal's office. It simmered for a while, but then dinner came around and Alex spoke too much and Dylan too little and the whole place stank of lies. The whole charade was futile. Eating dinner at the table like a family was futile.
Dylan was angry. There was only so much of it her small figure could hold.
"Why'd you do that?"
Shoes off, Noah sprawled along the edge of the bed, flicking a tattered comic book with one hand and gripping a sticky lollipop in the other. Dylan was too busy pondering over how he had gotten the lollipop (he had mastered thievery by age five), she just barely heard his question.
She considered playing dumb—"what do you mean, that?"—but it was quite obvious what "that" he was referring to. "You know why."
His eyes flickered between the pages of the comic, so enticing, and her, legs pulled to her chest, cheeks flushed and eyes sunken. She was embarrassed. Tossing the book aside, he scrambled up to sit beside her, back against the wall, legs stretched long to the beds edge, shoulder nudging hers. Maybe if she were smiling, he would've snorted at the entire situation. So dire and for what?
"You can't pick a fight with someone because they called you a name," he looked at her, but found it worthless. She stared at the wall before her. He was never much for comforting (which is perhaps why he never tried, unless with her). "Santana calls everyone names. You should know not to take it personally."
He should know Dylan takes everything personally. She swallowed harshly, "what would you've done if, say, Finn Hudson said the same thing to you?"
"That's different."
"How so? How I feel about her is the same as how you feel about him," she spoke pointedly, though she still didn't move. He, intending to jump in, was cut off almost immediately by her. "You hate him—"
"It's still different."
She finally turned to him, only with the intention to glare at him. "You only care now because you have a crush on her. You would've been on my side before."
He rolled his eyes. Dylan, unknowingly, had a flare for the dramatics, at least in his opinion. "I am on your side. It's just. . ." There was a brief moment of silence. Then he spoke again, "you're treading on thin ice, man. You could've gotten expelled."
Finally, she exhaled a deep breath, having calmed down. "I wouldn't've." She fell into silence, fidgeting with her hands and lowering her eyes, desperate for an answer, "Do you like her better than me now?" She would never truly ask though.
Dylan never thought of Noah as funny, but still he cracked jokes, even at the wrong times. "Look, if I need to suffer through school, I'm making sure you're right there with me." She smiled at him nonetheless, and even accepted his hand when he offered his.
You could say time had changed them. Or maybe it was the mistakes they'd made that had caused the rift. A friendship, once believed to be held by unbreakable chains, was seemingly only held by withering strings, now practically frayed to bits by time. They weren't who they had been, and she was sure that, if he were to offer her his hand now, she would sooner spit in his face than send a smile his way.
"And you've got a hell of a lot of confidence for a guy who refuses to admit he's lost all his buzz," she refused to look at him, but she made sure every ounce of her hurt was mixed in her words. Now they penetrated, but the next phrase was more comparable to a stab, even despite it been spoken in a hushed whisper, "You fucking Lima loser."
*****
Sometimes Dylan convinced herself that she had a wondrous imagination, that her mind was simply playing tricks on her and the stares following her were a fiction. But she certainly felt it today, some sort of presence following her.
She shuffled past glee club members sporting raincoats, avoiding eyes with everyone but Rachel, who's eyes remained soft and pitiful. She rolled her eyes, tearing her attention away from her as she continued towards her destination: her locker. Staring at the torn pages and useless clutter that littered her locker, she wished she were more organised. But still her mind was elsewhere. She was certain someone was watching her, and not in the way she had become accustomed to, especially this week.
Someone was really watching her.
Being the Quarterback shouldn't be this stress inducing. Finn Hudson was sure of that. But with a melting blueberry slushee the culprit of the tingling sensation in his hand, he could think of nothing more than the humiliation he would feel if he couldn't go through with what he assured the team he would be able to do. God, Dylan was right, he thought, bouncing between his heels and his toes, staring at his target from the other side of the corridor. I really am spineless.
She allowed her eyes to flicker along the length of the corridor, meeting eyes with a letterman-jacketless Noah Puckerman and trying to do the same with Mike, though understandably he looked away with flushed cheeks, a regretful frown on his face. No, it wasn't them. But then who? She shut her locker and intended to proceed to her next destination: spanish class. A six foot tall coward blocked her path.
She scanned his shamefaced figure, and her eyes stopped momentarily on the dripping cup in his shivering hand. Her chuckle was humourless. "You've gotta be kidding me," the facial expression she sported, a lack of seriousness and a drip of sarcasm, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Go on then, take aim. You know you want to."
His body practically convulsed with disagreement. "You know if I had a choice, I wouldn't. I-If I don't, the other guys will kick the crap out of me!" He spluttered for excuses, but he knew that was all they were. Excuses, for his lack of maturity, his lack of strength. "You can't say you don't deserve it, a-after what you did. Quinn was really starting to trust you, you know?"
Her eyes flickered back down to the icy mush in his hand, her frown deepening. "You're talking a lot, Finn. I'm not gonna disagree with you," she adjusted her shoulders, perhaps bracing herself. "So throw it."
An army of glee club outcasts finally caught up with them, no doubt with good intentions but Dylan couldn't help but wish they weren't there to see her get humiliatingly hit in the kisser with a slushee. Rachel crossed her arms firmly, glaring pointedly at the boy she had spent so long longing over. "Back off, Finn, and leave her alone."
For once, it seemed Dylan and Finn thought the same. Doing this in front of them made it that much more difficult. Dylan met eyes with him again, mustering venom, "I'd do it again." His face fell, and his eyes widened ever so slightly, but Dylan caught it. She repeated her words, only harsher this time, so much so that the glee club members who set out to defend her sat in befuddlement and Rachel stuttered on her words, keen on keeping her word but itching to help. "I'd do it again, and I would feel equally as sure about it. So go ahead and—"
The slap of cold ice shut her up. Blue stained her cheeks, her lip quivered, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of deja-vu fall over her. Chunks of ice fell from her hair and this time she was sure of the stares. The silence felt so strong it could haunt her. She choked on her words, which only startled those around her who had faced the wrath of a slushee facial before more, "you're a coward, Finn. Now you're showing everyone what I already knew. You're weak."
She huffed and shook out the damp sleeves of her hoodie, and stomped away, much like she had the first time she had ever been slushied. Hearing the urgent steps following behind her (and the clicking of Artie's wheels), she turned to order them, "I don't want help, I don't need your help," in the cold, she struggled for breath, her shoulders quivering as did her hands. Who knew a slushee cup could hold such power? "Just. . .leave me alone."
*****
Even though she would never willingly admit it, the choir room had become a safe haven for Dylan, a place to take refuge against the storm of stares that were continuously pelted her way. She supposed it was the same for the rest of the glee club members, outcasted and repeatedly teased. But Dylan always had a hard time seeing the world from the shoes of others, and so she simply concluded that her life must be that much worse.
Assuring herself that she was given a life much worse than anybody else was her only way to justify her anger. But when the cold truth slapped her occasionally—that maybe there were others who suffered to a similar degree—her anger would only grow. She never truly believed she was special, but she liked to imagine she was. She was special in that she had been granted this life for the reason that she would be equipped to handle it in a manner better than anybody else. But she wasn't special, she knew that. She was just unlucky, and that made her feel a lot. She didn't like to let her face speak her emotions.
Absentmindedly, she strummed the guitar, humming a Fleetwood Mac tune, though her mind was elsewhere. She couldn't deny that the twinge in her heart was there, following after her like the stares of the swarms of students did. But she couldn't place a reason for the why?
Did she truly care what they thought of her so much? Or was it just that she cared what Quinn had thought of her? Don't be stupid. Despite never having much of it, Dylan craved for that sense of control, over what she was feeling and how she could influence others to feel similarly. So now, with an aura of confusion suffocating her, she could do nothing but sit in it and ponder.
Why had she so rapidly become attached to the ways Quinn made her feel?
And why had she so quickly mutilated it? Out of caution, she assumed (or fear, though she would never admit that Quinn had made her feel a wave of intimidation every time a glance was spared her way).
The creek of a door and the halting shuffle of combat boots snatched Dylan's attention. At the sight of the intruder, Dylan's throat went dry. What to say? Tina was never much of a talker, so it wasn't a shock that she hardly made a move to excuse herself for the interruption. Dylan stood, though shyly, and held the guitar by its neck in one hand, scratching her own with the other.
She went to speak—what, she didn't know—but struggled for sound. Then simply said, "I'll get out of your way." However, she didn't move. She waited, anticipating Tina's next move.
An explanation of sort, maybe. "I saw you from the window," she only said, motioning to the slightly draped window of Mr. Schue's office. Between the two shy girls, it was evident one of them must grace the next step, the awkward tension separating them being built by no one but themselves. Tina was brave enough to do so. "I know it wasn't you."
Perhaps she could play dumb again, protect herself from an honest conversation. She knew she would have to talk about it eventually. With Rachel or Puck or Quinn or even Mr. Schue, who had sent her befuddled glances ever since. Maybe she should have expected Tina's curiosity.
"So what? You think I should come clean too?" She sat again at the piano's bench, guitar sat at her feet. She met eyes with Tina, them round and translucent. The walls she built were never strong enough to prevent those around her from seeing the truth in her eyes. Tina could see Dylan's hurt, but what she could do about it, she didn't know. "What good will that do? Everyone believed it quickly enough."
Tina sat next to her, hands on her lap, considering the order of her next words. "You don't have to keep pretending to be the person everyone thinks you are." It was hard to predict how Dylan would react, but still, these words that had sat at the top of her tongue weeklong needed to be spoken aloud. She awaited a reaction.
There wasn't much of one. Should she have been surprised? "I've tried to change peoples minds before. My pleads have hardly made much of an impact." She inhaled a deep breath, prepping for the truth, her true worry. "What if I tell the truth and still no one believes me?"
"They'll believe you."
By 'they' she certainly meant the New Directions. But still, even with Tina's words being spoken with conviction, she was conflicted. "And how do you know that?"
Tina hardly skipped a beat. "Because they see the good in people," she shrugged, a shy smile on her face. "I know I don't know them all too well, but I do know that no matter what, they'll accept me for who I am."
"Yeah, well, I'm not so certain there's much good to me," Dylan admitted. Her sudden urge to be honest puzzled her, though she went on. "Even when I try to make people feel better I still end up making things worse."
Again Tina shrugged. "Come clean. Tell them the truth. And you can finally let them see the good in you that I've seen," she noticed Dylan's hesitancy, and though she would never admit to being scared, Tina could see it clear as day. Boldly, she reached for Dylan's pale hand, and, with fingers entwined, Tina's grip firm, Dylan's lesser so, she sent her a warm smile. "You can be the better person you want to be, Dylan. You're allowed to be yourself."
Dylan's shrugged her shoulders, that funny feeling in her heart resurfacing, a warmth she hardly recognised. "And what if I don't know who I am?" Spending so much time as a label, as what other people had already assumed her to be, she was never granted the chance to grow freely from that. And so, who was she?
"Then let them help you find out," Tina said, still smiling, still sure. "And me. I'll help you find out, if you'll let me." Dylan thought. She was tired of this previously seamlessly endless battle, undoubtedly. Was it worth a shot? Tina's assertive words and warm aura seemed trustworthy, but still, Dylan knew well enough that people could master the art of lying. What to do?
She tightened her grip on Tina's ring-clad hand, rolling her eyes but a smile fought it's way to surface. "God, this club's so fucking dramatic." She scratched below her eye, letting out a deep breathy chuckle. "Fine, okay, I'll—I'll start being myself or whatever." She paused in thought, and grimaced at the thought of being open with the club.
"This is going to be really awkward."
*****
Dylan wondered if it were Rachel who had knocked some sense into Finn. Or if it were his girlfriend, or maybe even a man he had grown to admire in Mr. Schuester. But nevertheless, he had came crawling back to the New Directions. He and Dylan had yet to interact, or even take notice of each other, surprisingly.
Still, the glee club welcomed him back with open arms, and even despite her conflicted feelings towards the Quarterback, Dylan hardly objected, but instead perched against the piano. Coincidentally she stood next to a blonde beauty, deprived of the comfort a Cheerios uniform offered her.
"So what do you think about my welcome back gift to the club, huh, guys?" Members eagerly accepted Finn's offer, but one held back. Dylan eyed him, and when one cup was left on the tray, Finn finally glanced her way. He pursed his lips, likely in regret, and thrusted the tray in Dylan's direction.
Caught in two minds, whether to ignore Finn and ruin the feel-good mood of the room, or simply accept the offer like the rest of the club did, she looked to Tina, maybe for guidance. Only receiving a nod, she rolled her eyes but still reached an arm out and took the slushee. Finn could do nothing more but nod, and still Dylan didn't take a sip, but simply allowed the cup to tingle her fingers.
"I'd like to propose a toast, to Mr. Schue," Finn started, raising his plastic cup. "You we're right about glee club and football being a killer combination." Uplifted cheers erupted from members of the club as they applauded Mr. Schuester.
Quinn twisted the straw through the ice. Without her Cheerios uniform, it was as though a part of her being was missing. Who was she, if not the head cheerleader? Mr. Schue, even amidst welcoming Finn back, took notice of her downcast figure, "you okay, Quinn?"
"Do I look okay? I'm devastated. Now that I'm off the Cheerios, I'll start every day with a slushee facial," she expressed her worries, and, as she did, eyes flickered between the blonde and the brunette next to her.
Tina narrowed her eyes in Dylan's direction, urging her, go on, now's your chance! Still, maybe it was the discomfort that flooded through her at the thought of opening up to a group of (practically) strangers. She didn't make a move.
Rachel was never great at keeping her word. Usually, her actions were powered by the intention to improve her own status. Still, even without her status on the line on this occasion, she burst. "I-I've had enough of this!" She turned to an evidently startled, and perhaps a bit embarrassed, Dylan, urging her as Tina did, only in a much less subtle manner. "Tell them the truth."
She flushed a dark maroon, her shoulders tense, "shut up, Rachel!" There was no going back from Rachel's outburst. If the glee club hadn't already concluded what she was insinuating, they were still sure there was something deeper going on.
One look in Rachel's eyes, and Dylan knew she had had enough of keeping her word. A simple shrug of her shoulders and she let rip, "Dylan didn't threaten Jacob, Sue did." There was a beat of silence. Quinn finally looked up from her slushee and Finn froze, his smile of glee from before nowhere to be seen.
Mr. Schue was the first to speak, "Dylan, is that true?"
The room glanced to the discombobulated teen, pinching the bridge of her nose and huffing out, "Jesus—Rachel." Before she had the chance to confirm or deny, Rachel jumped in again, eager for the club to believe her words to be true.
"S-She must have wanted to stir some drama in the club, you know? To bring us down! So she settled on blaming Dylan. But it wasn't her," she got it off her chest, though her words were frantic. Scanning the room, and seeing the lack of reaction, perhaps out of shock (though they later would realise they shouldn't have been), Rachel panicked all the more. "She even gave Jacob a pair of her undies to get him not to run the story! Really, she did the opposite of what she'd been accused of."
Her fingers remained pinching the bridge of her nose momentarily. Eyes were on her, as she'd become accustomed to, but this time there was an extra presence, burning the side of her cheek with her regretful stare. How could she have been so stupid, jumped to such conclusions, and believed a word that JBI wrote? Perhaps her hurt blinded her, but still an excuse so weak couldn't ruin the guilt that seeped her heart.
She spoke her name, "Dylan. . ." but then fell into silence. An apology felt futile. Would it make a hint of a difference? It seemed Dylan was going depths to avoid her eye, which only made her feel all the worse.
Finn stared at the ground, flustered and remorseful, "Dylan, I'm. . .I'm so sorry, I—" he choked on his words, suddenly silenced by many similar thought whirring through his mind at a mile a minute.
A halfhearted chuckle was followed by words spoken through a thin smile, "don't, seriously it's—you know, it's whatever." Her words hardly felt honest, and if Dylan were easily read, many would have been able to hear her confliction through her lack of conviction. Still she glanced up at Finn and mustered a forgiving smile, "seriously. Hey, it's not like it's the first time someone threw one of those things at me. And besides, you were bound to toss me one eventually. I know how I can be."
She glanced at Tina. And suddenly she was in a forgiving mood. Maybe it was through her desire to cement her companionship with Tina as something more similar to true friendship, or maybe she was sick of being lonely. Still, she held her hand out for Finn, "call it a fresh start." Finn, smothered in sceptical shock, stood still for a second too long, and Dylan suddenly grew wary. Standing with an empty outstretched hand suddenly felt more humiliating than getting greeted with the cold arms of a slushee. "Come on, man. Make the most of this rare forgiving mood. I can go back to glowering at you just as easily."
His hand clasped hers, and they shook.
Gleeful chatter broke out across the choir room, moods elated from the drama of the previous week finally being squashed. Still, a retired loner still lingered next to an ex-cheerio captain. It felt as though words were spoken, even if neither of them wished to move.
Finally, Quinn glanced up at Dylan, brave enough to make a move. Dylan beat her to it, a true forgiving smile stretching across her cheeks, "it's okay, really."
"You should've just told me." Quinn words were softly spoken, but she was evidently exasperated by the questionable actions of the girl before her. However desperate, she may never get a verbal conclusion as to why Dylan had acted in the way that she had, but her actions and decisions in the future will offer her a rough idea. She chose not to question her, but to attempt at comfort.
The dark brunette half-heartedly shrugged, and struggled to place her words in an order that was true. There were still moments were her actions even surprised herself, and if Quinn were to ask why she hadn't just spoken up for her own sake, she wasn't sure what her answer would've been. A lie, most likely. "Yeah, well. . ." She mumbled, fumbling with the hem of her sweater. "I knew the truth would have gotten out eventually, knowing how tightly zipped Rachel's lips are and all that."
The truth will get out eventually. It always does. Quinn glanced at the ground, her dainty hand caressing her rounding stomach. Dylan hadn't noticed, for she was too busy avoiding eyes with the girl who had made her feel so conflicted weeklong, the question still plaguing her mind, "why?"
Why does Quinn make her feel so?
*****
Dylan when Mike wants more:
Dylan when Tina tells her to come clean:
Dylan when the New Directions are 'shocked' to hear the truth:
Dylan when asked to have an honest conversation:
Tina Cohen-Chang is the loml, honestly.
And, yes, Rachel can't keep a promise to save her life but she did the right thing by telling the gang. They must know that Dylan is not all bad.
What do we think of this chapter? Again, there's a lot going on with Finn and Dylan, a little tension between her and Kurt, a lot more tension with her and Quinn (with more to come—I don't believe in fast-burning ships).
Also, Mike Chang, sir, what are you doing?
Also we were introduced to Mr. Cool, Billy James. He will play a very, very major role in Dylan's story so play very close attention to him.
Quinn when she was told Dylan threatened JBI:
Quinn now that she knows it was Sue:
Billy James: