Catalyst

Chapter 1

Quinn had liked Rachel since fourth grade recital, when she did a version of Hallelujah somewhere between John Cale and Jeff Buckley, although she wouldn't learn that until high school. They'd never been in the same class, but she'd heard the older kids talk about the girl who skipped a grade and had two dads. Most of the talk wasn't good. Rachel had played the piano, slow and mesmerizing, and her voice was the most expressive thing Quinn had ever heard, gracefully moving her from bored and apathetic to amazed with just the first few notes. She could only hear the first few words, though, when her father sucked in a breath and said, "Let's get out of here." The girl wanted to protest, but even at nine, she knew better.

They weren't the only family. About half the people left, leaving the small auditorium to be swallowed by Rachel's voice. She heard her all the way until they reached the doors. Brittany told her later it was the best thing she'd ever heard, and she resented her father with a ferocity that surprised her because she'd never been angry, at least like this, before. He seemed to sense it and took her out for ice cream the next Friday, explaining to her how they'd had to leave because Rachel was a child of sin and just listening to her would inspire the Devil to take her and everyone else.

Still, she liked Rachel. She tried not to be unduly cruel to her and would, on occasion, get something back for her. Rachel would sit with her during recess, every day, but she didn't sing. Occasionally, she might hum a few bars, or whistle, which Quinn took great delight in as her mother claimed it was an unfeminine practice and forbid her to do it. They always shared peanut butter crackers. This might have gone on for who knows how long until Dave Karofsky told his brother, Geoffrey, who ratted her to her big sister, who immediately told her father. The beating and chastisement she got were more than enough for her to break off the friendship with the small brunette and shun Frannie until she let her paint her nails.

Rachel had cried even worse than her but agreed. Shortly after that, school ended, and it seemed as if Rachel stopped talking. Nothing weird happened over the summer; she still saw her at the ice-cream parlor and playing soccer in the empty lots, since there weren't a lot of parks at the time that the child of a gay couple could go to without being harassed, and riding her bike, but she did it all with two boys, not alone anymore. Matt, she knew, and he went to the same vacation Bible school as her. His family wasn't as involved, though, so he didn't have to go to all the Wednesday and Saturday stuff, along with Sunday service, they did.

It made her feel special when the pastor called their house to talk to her father and knew her name and birthday. Other times, she thought she could feel Pastor Kenneth's eyes, judging her for God, when she did something bad. Matt sometimes mentioned his friend Mike, who went to 'Chinese church.' She thought he was being racist until Frannie explained that, no, there really was a church that a lot of Chinese people went to, and they were Christian.

So, since Rachel had two best friends, one pale and one dark, she got two best friends, one pale and one dark. That was more chance than plan, for both of them, though, because even at nine, Brittany and Santana were freakishly codependent, borderline separation anxiety if they had to be parted for anything and Mike was all Matt talked about, and vice versa. Her father said they were all going to Hell, but he said that in the vaguely disapproving, mostly amused tone that meant he didn't really feel it.

She spent the summer learning how to knit with Grandma Miller, learning how to do laundry, and growing two inches, putting her eye to eye with Frankie Belfour, although he later only grew to be 4' 9 1/2''. Fifth grade, they were in the same class and Quinn always felt Rachel's sad, Bambi eyes whenever there was a chance to socialize. It made her stomach knot up, made acid sting her throat, but she only trained her eyes to the board, and Brittany's loopy notes and Santana's emerging smirks, hoping in her secret place, where she kept her prayers, that the small girl would talk to her.