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It started, as so many things did, with one of Mr Shue’s “inspirations”, as Kurt liked to call them.
“Ok, gang, gather round,” he said. He held up a shoe box filled with pieces of paper. “Reach in, pick a song and then find the person who has the same song. That’s your midterm performance partner. We’re looking for material for next year’s competitions, so work hard and do your best.”
After everyone had picked from the hat and paired up, and after Mr. Shue had quieted the group, Mercedes had been paired with Quinn to sing Jody Watley.
So here they were, in Mercedes basement, with Quinn teaching Mercedes the choreography.
Quinn had trusted her to handle the vocal arrangements for their song, and they then spent a long weekend working together so that they sounded like a true duet. After that it was Quinn’s turn to be in charge, choreographing the routine. Mercedes had no idea, the first time she saw that notebook, what she was in for.
It wasn’t just that Quinn was bossy as hell when it came to practice and a perfectionist when it came to performance, she was also a tough, tough choreographer.
They had been going over Quinn’s “simple choreography” for what seemed like hours now and Mercedes felt like she wasn’t any closer to learning it than she had been when she started. Mercedes was about to insist that the choreography was too difficult for her to learn when Quinn said, “Come over here and stand in front of me..”
“Why?” Mercedes asked. She didn’t really think Quinn would pull a prank on her at this point but old habits died hard.
“So I can slushie you, of course,” Quinn rolled her eyes. “So I can help you. Duh.”
“There is nothing “duh” about this death march you call ‘choreography’. You know that moving doesn’t have to involve channelling Coach Sylvester?”
Quinn came over to Mercedes and offered her a hand up, Mercedes accepted and let Quinn manuver her so they were both facing the mirror, Quinn standing behind Mercedes. She put her hands on Mercedes hips and said, “Okay, I’m going to count it out for you. We’ll go slow.” And so Quinn ended up moving Mercedes through the more difficult choreography, moving her into the right positions for turns and footwork and occasionally kicking her in the foot when Quinn thought she was slacking.
Three weeks of practice and Mercedes felt she could do the choreography in her sleep.
“You know what this means?” Quinn said, after an amazing run through.
“Do you want me to say “That you were right” because hell no, I’m not saying that.”
“Not that, though, to note, I was. It means we can go shopping for costumes now.”
This was how Mercedes found herself going shopping for leggings.
“What about these?” Quinn said, holding up a pair of cropped black leggings with lace trim. “Would we have worn these in the 80s?”
“I guess,” Mercedes said. “They look ugly enough.”
They each bought a pair of the ugly leggings, and then went in search of the next store. In front of madewell, Quinn grabbed Mercedes hand and dragged her into the store.
“Look, lace skirts!,” Quinn said, riffling through a rack of black lace skirts. She had Mercedes trapped between the lace skirts and the door and Mercedes knew there was no escape from the vortex of ex-Queen Bee shopping spree. She just hoped she could ride it out without too much damages, like those surfers who got crashed by the waves.
They went from store to store, trying on all the retro-y, vintage-y stuff they could find and then hauling it all back to Mercedes’ house. They both collapsed on Mercedes bed.
“Okay,” Mercedes said, looking over at Quinn, “Practice or try on clothes?”
Quinn leaned over and gave Mercedes a quick kiss on the lips, “Clothes, of course.” She leveraged herself up off the bed and started rifling through the bags. Mercedes licked her lips and could just taste the faint hint of vanilla from Quinn’s lipstick.
Mercedes made a few noises that clearly indicated that she was no longer able to form intelligent thought but Quinn didn’t turn around. Quinn’s back remained turned to Mercedes and she seemed deeply entranced by the lace tanks they had bought. And she spent the rest of the afternoon alternatively ignoring the looks that Mercedes knew she as giving and pretending that everything was as perfect as Mike’s dance moves. Fine, if Quinn wasn’t going to be any help than Mercedes would find someone who would be.
*
“So, how did you know you guys were...” Mercedes waved her hand in a manner intended to indicate “totally gay for each other”.
Two puzzled looks came her way, as Brittany and Santana lifted their heads up from the beach chairs.
“We aren’t lesbians,” Santana said.
“You go out on dates with each other. And make out. And don’t think I haven’t seen the S + B hearts that Brittany draws."
“Sit down,” Santana told Mercedes, “There is much to teach you.
We aren’t gay. We’re bisexual. Lesbians listen to Indigo Girls and have armpit hair. Bisexual girls are like Angelina Jolie, hot and tattooed and with a lot of adopted kids.
We go out with boys, we just do it...together. Like friends."
“You don’t even look at guys on your dates! You rarely even notice hot guys in the hallway. And I have read some of those sexts.”
“I’d marry Santana if she were a boy,” Brittany said. “But you can only marry boys if you want to live in a house on the beach with a maid, a butler and a Mercedes. And I want all of those things.”
So obviously Santana and Brittany were not helpful in the girl/girl relationship department. It meant that it was time to move on to Plan B, someone who maybe knew something (not a lot) about the boy/boy relationship department.
*
So that Friday, with Bliss Triple Oxygen Energizing Mask on her face and Sweet Charity on the tv, Mercedes figured it was now or never.
"Kurt," she started, interrupting Kurt's ode to Chita Rivera, and then she stopped, not sure what to say.
Kurt turned around, "Oh, I know that look. That looks screams boy trouble. I see it way too often in the mirror to not recognize it in others," He paused the DVD-Mercedes knew that he hated to miss any of the musical numbers-and took her hand. "C'mon, dish."
"It’s not boy trouble, exactly...”
“Oh, please, you can’t fool me when it comes to boy trouble. I know all the signs and you have every single one of them. So talk. Who is it? Is it that Sam from Trig or Justin from English or -”
“It’s Quinn”
“Quinn who?”
Mercedes did her best to glare at Kurt but her mask had started to dry and she couldn’t move her face very much.
“Oh, Quinn. So you aren’t having boy trouble but girl trouble. With a girl. Trouble with a girl,” Mercedes punched him in the shoulder to get him out of the fugue state he had fallen into. “Ouch!”, he rubbed his shoulder. “Okay, I can help with that.”
Kurt turned out to be much less helpful than he thought he was going to be. That’s okay, Mercedes was still glad she told him.
*
She’d asked Kurt, Santana and Brittany for advice. It turned out that all of them were really bad at giving advice. But, Mercedes had realized, she didn’t need their advice, she had always known what she wanted to do and today was her chance.
So here she was, performance day, dressed in matching black skirts, lace tanks and knee length leggings and armed with A Plan. Quinn hadn’t done anything since the day they went shopping but Mercedes knew she wanted her to.
The opening sounds of “Looking for a New Love” start and Mercedes let the music carry her wherever it wanted to. The song ended to the cheers of the rest of the Glee Clubbers. Glowing with sweat, Mercedes turned to face Quinn. Quinn smiled but there was something in her eyes, something that Quinn hadn’t let Mercedes see before.
Mercedes smiled back at Quinn, grabbed her hand, and, in front of God and Mr. Shue and everyone in Glee, leaned over to kiss her.