These strange steps

16

The delivery gets in just in time.

That does have her scrambling to get ready at around one, rather than twelve, which is what she would've preferred. And no, her hair isn't as perfectly styled as it normally is these days-when Cheryl and Tony get their hands on her, anyway-and her make-up is fairly minimal, but it's all part of what she's going for here, which-

She hasn't been this excited about a role to play since the first night of Les Mis, when she'd been standing backstage, vibrating with tension, wondering if she was ready to take on Eponine at all-if they'd miscast, and should've taken on board someone with more experience, not some green-faced Tisch graduate with the Lima Community Theater as the biggest contributor to her professional background.

The stage had felt like the deck of a ship, wobbling beneath her, until her co-star Ashley had put a hand at the small of her back and said, "You are Eponine. Don't even think about it."

That same sentiment is oddly poignant and relevant now, even if she does feel a little bit ridiculous reminding herself that she is Rachel Berry, and she can definitely do this.

When she's done applying her lipstick, the doorbell rings, and she exhales slowly and-this is almost an automaton gesture-runs her hands down the front of her skirt, until it has exactly the right kind of snap, and then walks. The way she used to, not the way they've taught her to walk in the years since. She basically stalks to the front door, and then-sees Quinn's shadow, more than anything else, and abruptly feels like she's going to pass out.

Quinn Fabray is taking her, Rachel Berry, out on a date.

She's going out on a date with the prettiest girl in school.

That's the kind of stuff that would even make star quality waver, and so she takes a deep breath and then finally opens the door and-

Quinn turns to look at her, and then slowly raises her right hand and extends-

"Holy shit, is that an orchid?" Rachel says, without thinking about what Rachel Berry would have said-because this would've never, ever happened to Rachel Berry.

Quinn sort of smiles and then stage-whispers, "I thought I'd blur the edges a little when it came to budget; I mean, I also no longer own a run-down second-hand Miata, so..."

"It's lovely," Rachel says, biting her lip, and then accepts the flower; it's the same kind of light pink of the dress she wore at junior prom, and ... she's going to take that as not a coincidence. God, if it came with a ribbon, she'd almost be ready to wear it as a corsage, and she looks at Quinn a little helplessly. "Does it need water?"

"Ah, yeah," Quinn says, running a hand through her hair for a second; then she glances at what Rachel is wearing, possibly for the first time, and her eyes widen abruptly. "Woah, that skirt is-"

"I thought... I'd go retro. In light of everything else we're doing," Rachel says, glancing down at the semi-hideous plaid skirt she's wearing. Which, to be fair, still does make her legs look like a million bucks. There are worse things to be stuck in for an afternoon.

"You still own skirts like that?" Quinn asks, her eyebrows slowly climbing, but the look in her eyes is weirdly nostalgic and appreciative. "Because I thought-"

"No, I ordered one from Target," Rachel says, with a small smile, before scanning over Quinn's outfit and smiling wider. "What-hm. I don't want to ask what you're wearing like it's a bad thing, but you definitely didn't wear anything like that in high school."

"Well, I had to improvise," Quinn says, shifting a little awkwardly. "I-apparently look silly in dresses and skirts now, but never wore anything like what I wear now as a teenager, so..."