It'd been almost two years since the accident, and his mom was insisting that it was time for things to get back to normal. He'd missed most of his last semester during the 8th grade, between hospital stays, rehabilitation and physical therapy. He'd had to get a tutor and work extra hard over the summer, so that he'd have any hope of going to high school with his friends and classmates. And he had.

It's the end of his freshmen year and his mother has planned a "big party" for his 15th birthday. She'd said it was like his "coming out," and she was so excited that he didn't have the heart to tell her that those were usually for girls. He'd told her he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea. After all, things hadn't been the same since he came back to school. He wasn't even sure he had enough friends to justify a party.

He'd taken to referring to the time when he wasn't in the wheel chair as just "Before." Before the accident. Before the chair. Before he was a social outcast. Just Before. Before, he'd been fairly likeable. Not really popular by any means, but maybe slightly above average as far as school hierarchies went. He was funny, was the thing. He was good with one-liners and he could make people laugh. They liked to be around him. He had one of those infectious personalities, he supposed.

So, while he didn't hang out with them much on weekends or anything, when the cool kids had parties, he got invited. And he had a good time. If things had been the same as Before, he'd probably be dating a cheerleader, or it would at least be in the realm of possibility. He didn't think he was being presumptuous or big-headed by assuming that. That's just where his life was headed.

But it wasn't Before, and the cheerleaders didn't notice the regular people, let alone Wheelchair Kid. You could say that he was below their radar.

So, when his mom hands him a stack of invitations for his big party, he smiles blandly at her and nods his head, before proceeding to throw them in the trash. He can count the number of people that he would invite to this thing on one hand, and he doesn't need invitations for that.

When the big day arrives, Tina's there, of course. She scolds him for not telling her himself. Him mother (traitor) had called her, asked her to help spread the word. Luckily, Tina knew him better than his mother, at least since After. So, she'd only brought Mercedes, a girl she knew from show choir.

Mercedes was nice enough, if very loud. A sharp contrast to Tina, who didn't say too much in the first place, and when she did, she said it quietly. He's always figured it had to do with her stutter, something she says she's struggled with for as long as she can remember. Though, in the year that he's known her, he likes to think that not only does she talk a bit more, but she also stutters less. At least around him anyway.

It's just the three of them for a while, and he can see his mother stressing behind her finely-honed fake smile. Even though he really couldn't have cared less about this whole thing, he knew she really wanted this for him. And he suddenly feels guilty for not mentioning it to more people.

Luckily, the people he did mention it to (a couple guys from Jazz Band – Johnny, Nick and Brad) did show up. And it was only really awkward for a few minutes before Tina, his awesome Tina, suggested they play some Rock Band. Needless to say, that kept them occupied for a good bit of time and he had to admit that he was happy (for his mother, but also for himself) and that he was actually having a pretty good time.

Only, apparently, Tina hadn't been the only person his mother had called. Because right in the middle of a particularly difficult guitar solo, Quinn Fabray walks through the door.

She stands there awkwardly, watching them all stare at her dumbly, until his mother swoops in and scoops her up in a big hug, gushing about just *how long* it's been since she's seen her. Quinn smiles tightly and he tries not to scowl or point out that *obviously*, there's a reason for her absence.

He can feel Tina's eyes on him, and he's dreading that particular conversation, but he nods in Quinn's general direction, says, "Hey." He may be a lot of things, especially since Before, but rude is not one of them, particularly in front of his mother, at the party she threw for him. So, he decides to play nice.

The Quinn Story is something Tina's been trying to get out of him almost since the first day they met, on the first day of 9th grade. He was still uncomfortable with the chair, so he'd already made a spectacle of himself, between dropping his books and running into things, or forgetting that his wheels were locked. His mother had offered to hire someone to assist him, but that thought was simply to horrifying to even consider.

So, he'd rolled himself into the cafeteria, looking for some familiar faces. Only, the faces he saw weren't looking at him. Like, not just not seeing him, but actively avoiding looking at him. He remembers feeling something in his chest tighten as he passes table after table and no one will meet his eyes. And when they do, it's to smile sadly at him, pitying him. He can't really blame them, he supposes. He wouldn't really know what to say either. "I'm sorry" sounds too trivial, somehow, but it's not like they can act like nothing's changed. The big, clunky wheelchair kind of makes that impossible.

He sits there, tray of food resting in his lap, as he starts to feel the familiar sting in his eyes. Oh, *that* would make this situation better. He's about to turn around and roll right back out when he hears a small voice speak up from behind him.

"Y-y-you can sit here?" She says it like a question and he turns around to look at the girl, her black hair hanging in her face, eyeliner accentuating her eyes. Her cheeks are slightly pink and she looks like she's trying to hide behind the curtain of hair. When he doesn't immediately say anything, she drops her eyes to the table.

"I-I-I mean, if you w-w-want." She peeks up at him again, looks scared of what he'll say.

"You don't mind?" he asks her, and she shakes her head quickly.

"N-n-no." She looks around and shrugs. "No one else w-w-wants to." He looks around, too, and nods, wheels himself up next to her as she shoves a chair away from the table.

"I'm Artie," he tells her, holds out a gloved hand. She smiles, and it's the prettiest smile he's seen in a while. She takes his hand firmly, holds onto it a little longer than necessary.

"I'm T-T-Tina."

They'd been pretty much inseparable ever since, each other's only friend really. They had some other acquaintances, of course – classmates, or Jazz Band, or show choir. But she was the only one he'd really considered his friend since he returned to school. All of his other *friends* from Before had all eventually decided it was too hard to be the Wheelchair Kid's friend. They tried to talk to him at the beginning, but being seen with Wheelchair Kid pretty much became as much of a social suicide as being seen with that show choir freak, Rachel What's-Her-Face. He's sure it would have bothered him more if he didn't have Tina by his side, but since he did, he honestly didn't think about it much. With her there every day, pushing him around, everything just seemed sort of easier.

So, understandably, she's not that happy with him when he brushes off the Quinn thing. He hadn't really seen her the first few days, but eventually, she'd approached him, wearing her brand new JV cheerleading uniform. She looked … different, to say the least.

The last time he'd seen her had been while he was still in the hospital. Her mother had brought her to visit and she'd been quiet, not looking at him. He knew she blamed herself for what happened – the accident. No matter what anyone told her, she refused to believe otherwise.

Quinn Fabray was his neighbor. She lived across the street, a couple houses down, and they'd been friends since elementary school, when their mothers had forced them to play together after school. Her parents were out a lot, either working or attending parties or church functions or whatever rich people did with their time, so she was at his house a lot. Sometimes, she even spent the night (though once they hit middle school, his mother made her sleep on the couch instead of with him). She was a tomboy back then, rolling around in the mud and climbing trees with him and the rest of the boys. The other girls made fun of her sometimes, because she was a little chubby thing, with round cheeks that, with her golden hair, he thought made her look like an angel. He never hesitated to tell her she was beautiful, and she would blush and shove him, tell him to stop trying to make her feel better. His mother would tell her she'd grow out of her baby fat soon, and he noticed that Quinn liked to hug his mom a lot. Like, more than he did. He supposed it was because her own mother wasn't much of a hugger.

The day that Before became After, they were climbing the giant tree in his backyard. The older they got, the higher they could go, and his dad had even attached some steps and platforms, to make their climbing easier (and safer). They were almost at the top, his mother eyeing them from the kitchen window. He knew it made her nervous to see them so high, but his dad was always reminding her that kids climb trees all the time. Kids would play and get in trouble, and they had to let them. He always thought his dad was a really smart guy.

They were sitting together on one of the platforms (the highest), talking about nothing and everything. Her hair was down that day – he remembers because she usually had it back in a ponytail. And she was wearing a dress. She hated it, of course. Made climbing trees harder, but her mom had brought it back for her from Paris, so she loved it despite herself. They were 13, and he liked to think of her as his girlfriend, even though he'd never asked and they didn't really act like it. But, sometimes she let him hold her hand when his mom would drop them off at the movies. And sometimes at school, she'd reach out for *his* hand, because when she was with him, the other girls didn't make fun of her as much. They talked to her like she was their friend, and she loved being one of the cool kids. He knew that when they attended the big 8th Grade Farewell Dance, they had a very good chance of winning King and Queen. He hadn't asked her to go yet, though – that was months away. But he knew she'd say yes and it would be the best night of his life.

But, we all know how this story ends. He never got to go to the dance and Quinn Fabray was never his girlfriend. That day on that platform, with their initials carved into the little heart she'd put in the corner, he did something impulsive that both of them would regret for the rest of their lives.

Her golden hair was caught in the breeze and she smelled like the vanilla lip gloss she liked to wear. The yellow dress was lower cut than the t-shirts he was used to seeing her in, and he couldn't help it when his eyes wandered down to her chest, a layer of sweat glistening there. Her cheeks were flushed and she was smiling at him, at something he'd said. And without thinking (though he'd thought about it a lot), he leaned in quickly, grabbed her face, and kissed her. It lasted less than a second.

He had startled her, you see. And she squealed against his mouth, jerked away from him quickly. He lost his hold on her face and her knees shifted into his chest as she jumped away from him. He fell back quickly and the platform suddenly wasn't under him anymore. He saw her face contort in horror and she reached out for him, but he was already falling backward. He threw his arms out, tried to grab onto something, but the fall was quicker than his reflexes. He hit the ground hard, heard a sickening snap, felt wetness on his head. His vision blacks out and all he can focus on is the pain that seems to be everywhere. He blinks repeatedly, tries to clear his vision. He can hear Quinn screaming from far above him, but he can't make sense of what she's saying. He tries to lift his head, but it feels too heavy, somehow.

He sees light start to seep in and then shapes start to form. He can see the tree in front of him, can vaguely make out a yellow streak moving quickly down the tree. He tries to talk, tries to tell Quinn to get his mom, but then he hears a door slam and his mother's panicked screams. He sees Quinn jump the short distance from the tree, and she stumbles on the ground, crawls toward him. His mother is beside him then, touching his face, feeling the back of his head. She pulls her hand away and it's bloody and he suddenly feels like he might be sick. The spots in front of his eyes are getting bigger and he tries to reach for his mother, and then Quinn is beside her, handing her the phone. She's sobbing into the phone and he wants to tell her to calm down, that whoever is on the phone won't be able to understand her. But he can't make any noise come out and then he can't even see her anymore. Just hears her screaming, Quinn whimpering somewhere near his head. She's holding his hand and he tries to squeeze it, but he just can't seem to move at all. The last thing he remembers from that day is Quinn Fabray whispering his name.

It's three weeks later when he sees her again. She's wearing the yellow dress and she already looks really different. She looks like she's lost a lot of weight and her face is very pale, like she hasn't been outside since that day, either. Their moms whisper on the other side of the room, while she sits primly and stoically next to his bed. He overhears them talking about how Quinn hasn't been eating. How she cries all night. How she blames herself.

He still has a tube down his throat, so he can't talk to her. Can't tell her it's not her fault. When she won't look at him, he grabs her hand. She closes her eyes and he sees tears stream down her face. He wants to brush them away, but there are so many tubes, he doesn't think he can reach over. So, he just rubs his thumb along the top of her hand, waits for her to look at him. When she does, he almost wants to look away. She looks just as bad as he feels. She whispers that she's sorry. He shakes his head, but she keeps talking. Says it was stupid to pull away, that she wanted him to kiss her. Her mother comes over then, touches her shoulder, tells her they need to go. He squeezes her hand tighter and she leans down, quickly kissing his fingers before standing. She looks at him for a long moment before leaning over and pressing her lips to his forehead. She smiles at him from the door and it's the saddest thing he's ever seen.

She doesn't come back after that. His mom tells him that her mother doesn't think it's good for her, seeing him. That it depresses her and that her mom's worried. She's in counseling, apparently. She's lost twenty pounds and she won't go to school. He understands why she won't come see him, but it also hurts. A lot. It's an unbearable ache in his chest that gets worse as the weeks pass. Some of the other kids from school stop by now and then, but it's all very artificial. None of them know what to say or how to act. He feels guilty when he thinks it, but sometimes it seems like things would've been easier on everyone if he'd just died. It seemed that grieving over someone who was still alive was just awkward and uncomfortable.

Those were the loneliest months of his life.

Until Tina. And when Quinn Fabray approaches them slowly in the hallway, Tina doesn't understand why he stiffens in his chair. She stops a few feet in front of them, and he feels a sick sort of pleasure that her eyes still look just as sad as they last time he saw her. Of course, then he feels guilty for feeling that way. He's just never had it in him to be mean.

She says hello to them, introduces herself to Tina. Call herself "an old friend of Artie's." He asks her how she's been. She lies (he could always tell) and says she's been just great. She got in shape over the summer and tried out for the cheerleading squad. She's really good, apparently, and she's made lots of new friends. She's gotten really involved in her church and goes three times a week. He nods blandly in all the right places and honestly can't think of anything to say to all of that. While he was lying in a hospital bed and enduring months of grueling physical therapy, she'd kept all of his friends and gotten popular. Great.

He tries not to sound too bitter when he says he's happy for her, and he knows that she knows he's lying (she could always tell). She's gotten everything she's always wanted, after all. And he's … in a wheelchair. For the rest of his life. When she plasters a bright, fake smile on her face, he can't look at her anymore. He tells her he has to go and wheels away before Tina can have a chance to push him. She rushes after him, bends down next to his ear and asks what that was all about. He tells her nothing. The Quinn Fabray thing is absolutely nothing. And it hurts when he realizes that it always was. After a few weeks of casual nods and hellos in the hallways, they start ignoring each other. Eventually, it stops hurting so much.