Quinn Fabray must be an angel. That's the only thought running through my mind as I watch her out of the corner of my eye, drumming lightly on the steering wheel and murmuring the words to the Maroon 5 song on the radio. She really is beautiful; she always has been. It's always given me that much more reason to hate her. That much blithe perfection on the outside paired with such a poisonous interior must be some sort of cruel joke from the heavens, right? At least that's what I convinced myself. That someone could look so irritatingly like a catalogue model while spouting hateful comments and laughter was a deep injustice, and I resented it.

Today, though, her loveliness does not make me want to rip out all her hair, but instead seems to shed a glowing light on everything it touches. I can smile again, I can sing without bursting into tears, and outstanding ideas for regionals are pouring back into my brain as if someone flipped a switch. Today, I don't feel like crawling into my bed and staying there for weeks, and it's all thanks to Quinn. Hmm. What a bizarre day it's been.

It began this morning in the girls' bathroom. I wandered in there for no particular reason, excect that I had nowhere else to go. I had gotten to school early out of habit, and was even halfway to Finn's locker before I remembered, and felt a wave of pain so intense it was almost nauseating. They say you can feel your heart breaking, and now I know that's true. For the first time, it hit me straight in the gut-he was gone. Gone. And I had nowhere to turn, no girlfriends to come stroke my hair and tell me what a jerk he was. I had nothing. And so I turned on my heel and walked straight into the first place where I could not see him. I hadn't even realized I was crying until I felt a hand on my shoulder-Quinn's hand-and looked up to see my tear-stained cheeks in the mirror.

"Are you okay?" she asked me, and try as I might, I could not detect a single trace of contempt or sarcasm in her voice. Her eyes looked genuinely concerned, and it confused me.

"I'm fine."

"I don't believe you." It was not an accusation, I marveled, but an invitation to break down, and I could not help myself. Before I knew it, my gentle stream of tears had turned to full-on sobs. She didn't say anything for a few moments-just stood there silently and watched me gasp and wail, never taking her hand off of my shoulder. It was not until I had pulled myself together and was hopelessly dabbing water on my puffy eyes that she spoke again.

"You need to get out of here," she told me, her voice calm. "You're a mess. You can't do school like this. Come on." I could only gape at her as she started towards the door.

"You-you mean skip school? With you?" I asked, and immediately regretted how childish it sounded. Of course, Quinn must cut class all the time. It would not be a big deal to her. But honestly, the idea had never even occurred to me, and it seemed awfully rebellious.

She smirked, but not unkindly. "Would you rather stay?" I would have rather been anywhere else, and she knew it. I shook my head. "That's kind of what I thought. Now wash your face and let's go. We'll do something fun and be back in time for glee rehearsal." She pushed the bathroom door open, and although I was still completely bewildered by this turn of events, I followed her into the parking lot without looking back.

That's how I ended up here, in the passenger seat of Quinn Fabray's Lexus, with a Frappuccino in my newly manicured hands, and a massive shopping bag at my feet. And she was right-it had been fun. After a brief period of awkwardness, I miraculously found myself giggling along with her as she told me stories about Sam and his raging horomones. She shrieked girlishly when I admitted my brief crush on Mr. Schuester last year, and she shoved me into fitting room after fitting room with heaping armfuls of clothes. Though I still am not sure about some of my new outfits, I cannot deny the surge of giddiness I felt when Quinn pounded on the dressing room door and commanded that I come out and show her. And when she examined my reflection in the full-length mirror and declared it "perfect," I truly thought the simple kindness might do me in, and I would collapse into a sobbing heap yet again. This is what it must be like to have friends.

We're almost back at McKinely now, and the knots in my stomach are tightening up again. What if he doesn't talk to me? Or worse, what if he does? What if he sits next to Santana? Now that is something I surely could not handle. Quinn glances at me and turns down the radio. "Just ignore him. Don't even look at him. Pretend he doesn't exist," she instructs, correctly interpreting my silence.

"Quinn, as co-captains of the club, Finn and I need to have a certain level of comeraderie, and I feel that this split should be as amicable-"

"Yeah, fine. Eventually you'll need to get along. But not today. You're not ready for that. You can sit with me and Sam."

I know she's right, so I don't bother arguing. But I need to ask her the question that's been begging to come out all day. "Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

She doesn't answer right away, and I am suddenly terrified that I asked the wrong thing; that she'll tell me to forget it and pretend it never happened. But she doesn't.

"You were nice to me once when I really needed it and didn't deserve it," she says matter-of-factly, turning off her ignition. "And I feel bad about you and Finn. But mostly," she glances away slightly. "Mostly because I keep thinking 'what if it was Beth?' I know it's crazy, but-she's my daughter, you know? Someday she'll be a teenager and get her heart broken, and I want someone to be there for her when it happens. I can't stand the thought of her being lonely."

I am stunned. This is the first time that I've heard Quinn directly mention her baby, and the loving tone she uses when she says Beth's name is remarkable. This cannot be the same girl who referred to me only as "man-hands" and laughed viciously every time I got a slushie to the face. She has grown up so much. But I cannot say all that, not yet, so I only say "thank you," and hope she knows how much I mean it.

She nods. "No problem." And together, we begin the walk toward the choir room and the boy I love.