A/N: An update! It's like magic. Thanks for the reviews and enjoy, gang!

It was Tuesday and it was very early, much earlier than one would expect to see students walking into McKinley High's front doors. But Quinn had serious business to attend to-she had lost a notebook. A notebook containing her battle plans for prom. And not knowing the whereabouts of those plans simply would not do. She had spent hours tearing apart her room the night before when she realized it was missing, and now she was going to retrace her steps starting from Monday afternoon in hopes of finding it.

Last period was always Glee, so she headed to the choir room. She peaked through the dim window and tested the doorknob. Unlocked. You'd figure they'd lock a room with instruments in it. Pushing open the door and flipping on the lights, she made a beeline for her seat. She was both relieved and uneasy to discover the notebook sitting in her chair. Picking it up slowly, she glanced around the room. It felt foolish, but she couldn't shake the feeling of disquiet. Certain she was alone in the room, she sat down and immediately turned to the page full of Berry-related notes. Still there, looks fine. Quickly thumbing through the rest of the book, she felt satisfied that its pages were undisturbed.

Throughout the day, Quinn found herself examining faces in the hallway closely, looking for any signs of someone who may have read some or all of her notebook. No one seemed especially suspicious. Well, other than the usual suspects. She knew Mercedes and Kurt were up to hijinks, but didn't think it would include anything so elaborate as stealing her notebook. And of course, there was always Santana, who was looking quite smug. But several periods passed and nothing happened. Rachel never confronted her, copies of the notebook pages weren't taped to every locker door. It seemed like maybe she really had just forgotten it in her rush to leave class. Her concern slipped from her mind when she arrived back in choir room again at the end of the day.

"All right, guys. So this week's theme was … ." Mr. Schuester looked expectantly at his students. Rachel's hand shot up first—well, first in a list of one. His eyebrows knitted slightly, always hoping the other kids would show even a quarter of her enthusiasm. Preferably never more than half of her enthusiasm, just to be on the safe side. "Yes, Rachel?"

"Improvisation!"

"Yes, and that's why we're going to head to the auditorium for today's lesson. I want you guys up on stage, doing skits. I've got some exercises that I think will really get your creative juices flowing and help us get an edge in our performances. Fun, right?" A few of the students made tired faces at one another; nobody said anything. He cleared his throat, "Right. Can I get some volunteers to get the prop cart from storage?" Once again, Rachel's hand and Rachel's hand alone. "Great, thanks, Rachel. Santana, how about you help—"

"You have got to be kidding. Me? Go into the creepy basement with a girl who could be related to the Leprechaun? Nuh-uh."

Before Mr. Schue could argue, Quinn jumped in, "I'd be happy to help Rachel, Mr. Schue."

"Thank you! You see, that's a team player. You could take a page out of Quinn's book, Santana."

With a fake, syrupy smile, "I'm sure I could, Mr. Schue. Thanks for the advice."

Quinn whipped around in her chair, eyeing Santana. Is she hinting? Did she find the notebook? I'm so screwed if she found it. What if she did copy those pages. What if—

"All right. Quinn, Rachel you guys head to the basement, use the service elevator. Everybody else, let's hit the stage!"

"Coming, Quinn?" Rachel was already on her feet, looking at her expectantly.

She was still staring at the smiling Santana, who was sauntering out of the room behind Brittany and Artie. "I—yeah. Lead the way." How can I find out? Break into her locker maybe … .

The prop cart was an old, rolling towel bin that had once belonged to the football team. The stenciled letters spelling out "Titan Towels" had been crossed out and someone—Probably Rachel, there's a star dotting that exclamation point—had written "Glee!" beside it. A third message had been hastily added next to that in red. It said, of course, "SUCKS!"

Rachel was listing off successful uses of improvisation on Broadway when the rickety elevator chimed and the doors parted, "I'll get the door!" She ran inside and held the button to keep the doors from closing.

"Thanks, Rach," Quinn pushed the cumbersome bin into the elevator. There wasn't a whole lot of space in there with the two of them and the cart, but she was trying to ignore that as the doors slid shut. The squeaky pulleys and cables rattled to life, lifting them slowly upward. They hadn't been moving for more than a few seconds before the elevator came to an abrupt halt.

Shit.

"Are we stuck?" Rachel pushed the button for the first floor a few times.

"We're stuck." Don't panic, don't panic.

"Oh, well, I'll just press the alarm then."

"Won't work," Quinn muttered. Her face felt hot. This is exactly my damn luck. Or karma. This is probably karma. Damn it, damn it, double damn it.

"Don't be silly," Rachel smiled and pressed the larger red button on the grid. Nothing happened. "Why isn't it working?"

Quinn shut her eyes, "Because I disconnected it."

"Excuse me?"

The small enclosure was feeling smaller every minute. "When Santana and I were still Cheerios, Coach had us doing a lot of her dirty work." She swallowed hard. "One of our assignments was to disconnect the alarm for this elevator—it gets stuck all the time." Opening her eyes, she looked at Rachel imploringly, "It was meant as a trap for Mr. Schue. Look, I completely forgot about it. It was when I was being a bad person, okay? I really regret it. I can't tell you how much I regret this right now."

"While I'm not at all surprised by Coach Sylvester's complete lack of regard for personal safety, I do have to say that… . Quinn? Quinn, are you okay?"

The taller girl had edged away, one hand on the cart, and was now pressed against a wall, eyes darting between self, cart, and door. "No."

"What's wrong?"

Need out, need out, need out. What if we die? What if we run out of air. Oh, God, Rachel talks so much—there won't be any air after five minutes. A small touch on her hand startled her, "I'm claustrophobic."

The other girl's eyes widened, "Oh-okay, don't panic."

"Trying not to," Quinn felt like she might be sick. Can't get sick, that will reduce the space in here by several cubic inches. Oh god. How much air is in here again?

Rachel watched in alarm as sweat gathered at Quinn's temples. She looked around, hoping to come up with a solution to their predicament. And then, it hit her, "Improv!"

"Not the time, Rach."

"No, listen. Everybody will wonder what happened when we don't bring the props. This is the first logical place to look and when they find us, Mr. Schuester can call someone and get us out. All we have to do is keep you distracted until then." Quinn was only half-listening, she was trying to control her breathing. Rachel turned and dug around in the cart. She pulled out a pink, plastic flamingo. She held it aloft and tucked a hand under her chin, grinning. "Guess what I am?"

Small spaces make me panic, they make her crazy."Crazy."

"No, silly! I'm a lawn gnome!"

The blonde's eyes refocused slightly, "You're a what?"

"A lawn gnome," she gestured with the flamingo. "I know it's the kind of juvenile humor Santana would resort to, but I'm perfectly willing to work with my given assets. Short stature can be successfully wielded for comedy. Look, we'll try another."

Quinn watched as Rachel leaned into the bin (the edge comes up fairly high on a short-statured girl) and dug around for something else.

"Ah-ha! I bet you can guess this one," Rachel pulled out a bowler hat, which she pressed lightly onto her head and put a finger over her upper lip. She batted her eyelashes and gestured at Quinn.

Her eyes are pretty, have I written that on my list? Pretty and big. Or maybe just close. Close… space… . Oh lord, stuck in the elevator. Stop it, stop it. Pay attention. "Um, Chaplin?"

"Yes! It just so happens, Charlie Chaplin was very short for a man, but he didn't let it stop him from becoming a legend." Quinn smiled weakly and watched the brunette dive in again for a new prop. "Oooh, here's a good one." Rachel pulled out a faded, cheap-looking football helmet and dropped it on her head.

"I don't know any famous, short football players."

Rachel put her hands on her hips, "Uh, hello?" Quinn shook her head. "Rachel Berry, star quarterback extraordinaire!"

She laughed, her body relaxing a little. Rachel's plan was working. "I am very sorry, Ms. Berry. I thought I was supposed to be guessing other people."

"Mm, trick question I guess," she smiled, lifting off the helmet. As she was turning to find yet another prop, a knock sounded in the elevator shaft followed by Mr. Schuester's muffled voice.

"Are you girls in there?"

Rachel was the first to answer, "Yes! Mr. Schue, we're stuck about halfway to the first floor!"

"I'll get maintenance; we'll have you out right away! Are you both okay?"

"Get us the Hell out of here!"

"We're fine!" Rachel eyed Quinn anxiously, "Please just hurry!"

"Okay, hang tight!"

No choice. They found us, it'll be okay. It'll be okay.

"Well, we've got time for a few more rounds of the guessing game. Let's see what I can find." The star quarterback returned the helmet to the pile and began rifling through the other props. Quinn heard a small giggle from the bin. "Perfect," Rachel lifted her head, "Close your eyes, Quinn."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Trust me, you'll like this one. Close your eyes and imagine you're in a huge open room. A grand hall, even. With marble floors and high ceilings."

She gave the other girl a puzzled look, but complied, closing her eyes.

Marble floors and high ceilings. I can live with that. Maybe some art on the walls. Not art like at Sprouts, that was weird. Something else I guess. Monet? Monet would be okay. Or Renoir.

Her breathing, which had picked up again after shouting, was starting to go back to normal. She was focusing on adding calming artwork to her imaginary grand hall when Rachel spoke.

"Aaaand open." Rachel was holding out a tiara. A few of the rhinestones were missing and a tooth from the comb had snapped off, but it still glittered in the dim elevator light. "How about a coronation ceremony, Queen Quinn?"

The next moments played in slow motion for Quinn. Words caught in her throat, she knew Rachel was referencing her paper and their first movie night, but it felt like one coincidence too many. Maybe God is trying to tell me something? The shorter girl stepped forward, eliminating the small distance between them in the cramped space. Rocking onto her toes, Rachel reached up and placed the tiara on Quinn's head. The imaginary hall and the real elevator vanished; all Quinn could see or think about was Rachel.

Without stepping back, Rachel inspected her handy work. She smiled and her voice took on a shy quality, "You would make a very beautiful queen."

The word "beautiful" echoed in her skull, bumping gently into thoughts, causing them to fall apart like houses of cards. The queen of hearts flickered in her mind's eye while her physical eyes made their own way across Rachel's face. She looked at the eyes she had admired earlier, at the nose that personified character, at lips that helped form the most exquisite singing voice she had ever heard.

Kiss her.

Quinn started to drop her chin, ever so slowly, down and to her right. She wouldn't be able to remember later if Rachel tilted her head up or not. She was certain they were both drawing closer together when—BANG!

The elevator jolted back to life, causing the girls to stumble away from one another. As they steadied themselves, the doors slid open, revealing a concerned looking Mr. Schue and a grouchy Principal Figgins.

Figgins was the first to speak, "Thank goodness! They appear in perfect health—no lawsuits."

Mr. Schue frowned at him and turned to the girls, "Are you two okay?"

Quinn did not feel okay. In fact, she felt as bad or worse than she did at the height of her claustrophobic panic. Rachel's eyes connected with hers, a serious expression on her face. "We're fine," the shorter girl said softly.

I have to get out of here.

Ripping the tiara off her head and casting it aside, Quinn erupted out of the elevator and took off running.

Mr. Schuester called after her and turned to Rachel, "What's going on?"

Rachel watched Quinn's disappearing figure for a moment, looking crestfallen. Registering her teacher's question, she answered, "Quinn is claustrophobic, sir. She probably needs to … to collect herself. That's all."

"Oh, that's terrible. I am so sorry you guys got stuck in there." He turned to Figgins, "You really need to replace this elevator. The kids could have gotten hurt."

Rachel followed behind Schue and Figgins as they argued over the elevator all the way to the auditorium where the Gleeks were waiting to hear what happened. Quinn didn't come back.

Judy could hear Quinn pacing in her room. She had learned with Quinn's sister that sometimes there's just no helping teenagers. In the spirit of non-intrusive parenting, she had resigned herself to waiting patiently for her daughter to come to her seeking advice rather than try to force the issue. Whatever the issue happened to be.

Above the living room where her mother was having a cup of tea to unwind, Quinn was doing the opposite. "Wound up" didn't even begin to describe what this particular Fabray was experiencing.

We almost kissed. That almost happened. That's part of the plan, right? It's part of the plan. She stormed around her room, wringing her fingers. So what happened? What went wrong in there? You almost kissed and the elevator interrupted you. Only the elevator isn't my problem. What's my problem? Is it Rachel? Is she the problem? No, I don't think she is. Almost kissed. Her pacing slowed down. I wanted to kiss her. Her feet stopped in front of her mirror, where she stared into her own anxious face. "Not part of the plan," she told her reflection. That's my problem.

After forty solid minutes of frazzled, circular inner monologue, Quinn ventured out of her room. She tiptoed into the kitchen and cracked open the fridge, hoping not to draw attention to herself. Face buried in the cold, she continued to try to make sense of her hyperemotional last 24 hours.

First the missing notebook, then Santana, and now this. I feel—

"Looking for the milk?"

"Jesus!" Quinn jumped backward, causing a package of string cheese to fall out of the fridge door and hit the ground.

"Quinnie, language."

"Sorry, Mom. You just," she bent down and retrieved the cheese, "startled me, that's all. Um, I was looking for milk, actually."

"We're out. I'm going to the store tomorrow. Can I fix you anything? You didn't eat much dinner."

Tucking the cheese back in its place, Quinn shook her head, "No thanks. Thirsty, I'll just drink some water."

"Mm hmm," Judy got a glass out of the cupboard and handed it to Quinn, who walked over to the sink to fill it. Judy leaned casually against the counter, silent.

After a long swig, Quinn topped the glass off with more water and turned around. She watched her mother; her mother watched her. It was unnerving. Tapping her nails against the outside of her glass, she gave in, "I'm a little stressed out."

"I see that. School?"

"Sort of."

"Boy trouble?"

Quinn frowned, "Definitely not."

"Care to talk about it?"

"Not really."

Judy shrugged, "Okay, I'm here if you need me." She pushed away from the counter and made to leave the room.

"Wait! I mean, I just have a—a question."

Feigning surprise, her mother turned around, "Yes?"

"It's just that, well, there's this situation. It's complicated." She gave her mother a stern look, "Nobody is pregnant." Judy nodded appreciatively. "What would you do if… ." If what? You planned to trick a girl into liking you and then ended up liking her yourself and almost kissed her? I bet Mom would love that question. "What if you want something you're not sure about?"

"Not sure about how?"

"Not sure if it's right to want it?" As an afterthought, she added, "Or maybe you don't deserve it?"

Judy folded her arms, "Is this something bad for you?"

"No, not really. Not at all, actually."

"Does this something belong to anyone else?"

"Nope," Quinn took another sip and smiled into her drink. Her mind wandered back to Rachel and Finn's fight over the necklace.

"Does this something make you happy?"

Does she? Quinn thought about movie nights, about the failed dates, about how Rachel kept her from having a meltdown in the elevator. "Yes."

Judy looked at her daughter's face, which had grown somber and a touch astonished. She would swear that this was boy trouble, but she didn't say anything about it. "Well, Quinn, I think you should go for it. And," a pause for emphasis, "you deserve to be happy, honey. Don't let anybody tell you differently."

Quinn smiled at her mother, "Thank you, Mom."

"Anytime. Try not to pace anymore tonight, okay? I don't want to have to replace the carpet in your room." And with that, Judy left.

Moms are amazing. And a little scary.

It had been a mostly sleepless night for Quinn. She wrestled with her feelings, the prior events, and her mother's advice. A few hours before dawn, she decided that, though terrifying, being attracted to Rachel wasn't that bad. Of course, there was still the occasional hiccup if she thought about it too hard.

I like Rachel Berry and I am okay with that.

This had been Quinn's mantra on her drive to school Wednesday. The revised plan wasn't much different than the original one. She still wanted to be prom queen and this new curve just meant she might enjoy the journey to the crown more.

A lot more, if I'm right about that almost-kiss.

The next step was to take Rachel aside and talk to her about what happened in the elevator. This was proving difficult, as the tiny quarterback was hard to track down that day. Quinn didn't see her until Glee.

Rachel arrived last and lingered at the front of the classroom. Mr. Schue, fearing the worst, ventured a guess, "Do you have something to say, Rachel?"

"I do, Mr. Schue, thank you. Everyone," she waited until all of Glee club was listening, "I am pleased to announce, after careful consideration of a suggestion made to me by Noah, that I will be hosting … a party!"

Puck grinned, "Nice!"

"Detailed invitations to follow, but I wanted to give you plenty of notice so you can write it into your schedules. This Saturday night, starting at 7pm sharp!"

Some smiles and some murmuring went through the group as Mr. Schue motioned Rachel to her seat.

Quinn leaned over a little, "Hey, can we talk? Maybe hang out later?"

Rachel smiled at Quinn, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "I'm afraid this week I'm going to be very busy planning and gathering supplies for the festivities, but you'll be at the party, right?"

Frowning, "Yeah, of course I'll be there. I was just hoping—"

Mr. Schue interrupted her, "Okay, enough chattering. Let's focus here. After yesterday's failed attempt at… ." Quinn, however, was unable to focus on the lesson.

Have I messed this up before it's even begun?