Needing

Rachel Berry doesn't only listen to show tunes. They're her usual preference, yes, but sometimes she'll come home after a couple of slushie facials, blast adult contemporary into her headphones, and forget (if only for a minute) about football and Cheerios and the baby. More and more often, she'll catch herself turning on a pop/rock station and singing along to the choruses; but that's all right, because it deludes her, for that minute, that life doesn't have to go according to plan.

And technically, her life is on the track she laid out for it. She already has this chapter of her autobiography all mapped out: in high school, she'll be the underappreciated starlet with a big voice and a bright future, and it'll only be a few years before they realize what they missed out on with her. Rachel Berry doesn't care whether she's liked, because she doesn't need any Lima losers on her side—but she does want to be respected, and her MySpace page is testament to how well that attempt is going.

Vowing to show them all up someday doesn't always cut it. So she isn't entirely surprised to find herself humming along to Finn's car radio after he offered her a ride one Thursday, though she's not quite sure how to respond when he calls her out on it.

"I didn't know you listen to Coldplay," he says in that ambling voice of his, glancing at her in the rearview mirror as he pulls out of the parking lot.

Rachel abruptly cuts off the note she's hitting and improvises with an embarrassed little laugh, "My passion may be ballads and classic musical numbers, but to consider myself a seasoned artist, I have to be familiar with all genres of music, including contemporary favorites. Besides, the melodies of teen favorites are simple enough that it's hard not to instantly learn them upon hearing them."

Finn looks like he doesn't know what to make of this, like he never knows what to make of anything Rachel has said to him these past few weeks. "Oh," he says simply, turning onto the road. When he turns up the volume a little, she notices and can't conceal a grin.

"Where's Quinn?" she asks—she's blanking on what else she could say, and she is, truth be told, rather curious. "I heard at school that she's living with you now, so I assumed that you would give her a ride, too. It's common sense, really, since you would have the same destination, if that's accurate."

"She's, uh, taking the bus back to my place," says Finn. "I have to be at work in half an hour, and—my house is in the other direction, so I won't have time to drop her off there first, but you're right on the way."

Rachel nods. "Makes sense," she says, laying off the verbosity for once. "How's the job?"

"It's okay, I guess," Finn shrugs, his usual easygoing smile in place. "I have to remember to act like I'm paralyzed from the waist down, but it's kind of nice not to have to be on my feet."

He pauses for a second, noticing that she's picked up humming again, and his smile widens. "Thanks for helping me get the job, Rachel. That was really cool of you. Mom only has to chip in a little now to pay off all of Quinn's medical bills."

Rachel had started to smile back, but it fades now that he mentioned Quinn. "You're welcome," she says with a bit of a sigh. Every moment shared, every conversation exchanged—it always comes back to Quinn.

It's a little while before either of them speaks again, Finn driving at a crawl, Rachel humming along to the radio more often than not. As he's pulling into her neighborhood, though, Finn asks, "Is—something wrong? You usually talk a lot more than this."

He looks so concerned for her, driving her home as a favor, his eyebrows crinkled in a frown; and he likes the way she dresses, and he's playing adult contemporary, and—no. It's not like she needs to be honest with him, because Rachel Berry doesn't need anyone, so she just pulls her books closer to her chest and says, "I'm all right. I just have a lot to think about—I have an algebra test tomorrow, sectionals are coming up, and I have to make sure I don't fall behind on my MySpace schedule. I would sing something on our set list, but Mr. Schue thinks that Ms. Sylvester is leaking our selections to the other schools, and I don't want to put us at any further risk."

"Oh," says Finn, dumbfounded. "Well, if you ever need anything—a ride or something—let me know."

"That's my house," she says, grateful for the timing: she's not sure how to respond. "Thank you for the ride, Finn," she adds, and she scrambles out of the car before he has time to reply.

Once she feels reasonably confident in her algebra skills, she posts a Coldplay video late that night, the same song Finn was playing in the car. The Cheerios tease her for her song choice—"Trying to broaden your appeal, Berry?"—but she isn't disheartened for long.

Rachel Berry doesn't need anyone at all.