Rachel strides out of Quinn’s bedroom to the expanse of the foyer. It’s so quiet in the house and her ears strain for any hint of floorboards creaking or footsteps falling. She doesn’t hear anything and so she ascends up the stairs. The kitchen is on the first floor, but she has a slight detour to make first.
It’s easy to tell which bedroom belongs to Quinn. There’s a WMHS pennant on the door with a small, shining cross underneath. Rachel takes a sweeping glance down the hallway, just to make sure she’s alone, before she pushes the door open.
She looks around the room for just a minute as she formulates her plan. She’ll have to ask Quinn’s mom to help her arrange the details and she makes a mental note to call when Quinn isn’t home. She pads down the hall and finds her way to the kitchen. She fills two glasses of water, one for herself and one for Quinn, before she heads back. She tries to conceal the grin that she knows is threatening to reveal her plan.
It’s quiet in the room now. There’s only the sounds of a few strums here and there. Maybe some vocalizing, and lyrics sung. Quinn didn’t even have to concentrate on the chords anymore. It was more of a muscle memory now. Her lips mouthed out words and her vocal chords produced sounds, but her mind and her eyes wandered.
Quinn’s fingers stop and a dead silence bathes her. She pauses for a few seconds before taking the guitar by the neck and the bottom, placing it on the bed. Rachel was taking so long, she was becoming restless. Damn chair. She began to wheel it toward the door. She grabbed the handle and looked around the hall, “Rachel?”
Rachel hears Quinn’s voice coming from her room and hurries back to the room with two glasses of water. She must have been gone longer than she thought and she hoped it didn’t raise suspicion. She handed Quinn her drink and settled back onto the bed, where her phone lay, mid-buzz. Another call from Finn, she suspects. She ignores the sound again and looks to Quinn, who is still bent over her guitar.
“Have you always played?” She asks. Quinn seems so skilled and practiced, like she’s been doing this forever (but to be honest, Rachel wouldn’t know the difference). Maybe she just has a lot of time to work on it.
Quinn plays a little riff and Rachel watches her fingers pluck the strings.
“Do you think you could teach me to do that?”