𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲, quinn fabray.

005; an old friend helps her make a new friend.

The glee club had gotten three new members since the football game. Dylan wasn't surprised when Mike Chang and Matt Rutherford had walked through the door, but she had been less optimistic when her eyes landed on Puck.

He had to be up to something. Why else would he join?

Also, more bad news for the glee club; Rachel had quit because Sue had brought back Sandy Ryerson, a teacher who got fired for touching a student, to direct the school musical. Quinn had since taken her solo in 'don't stop believin'', but had ran out of the room with a hand over her mouth only moments into her first rehearsal.

Dylan furrowed her eyebrows, her curiosity getting the best of her. She looked to Brittany and Santana, Quinn's best friends, but quickly found out they were more interested in whispering between themselves than helping Quinn. So, rolling her eyes at what she was about to do, Dylan sneaked out of the choir room during their five minute break, soon entering the girls bathroom closest to the choir room.

She grimaced at the sound of vomiting coming from the only occupied stall. Slowly, she knocked on the door, speaking slightly louder than she usually did, "Quinn? Are you in there?"

"What do you want?" Quinn snapped, out of breath. Seconds later, the door flew open, revealing Quinn stretched over the toilet, her cheeks flushed pink.

"Uh, well, Santana and Brittany didn't come to check on you. Thought I'd come. The choir room was starting to smell like sweat, so. . ." Dylan pursed her lips, looking everywhere but in Quinn's direction as she absentmindedly nodded her head.

"What? So, you're just being nice? On purpose?" Quinn questioned, and Dylan stood still for a moment, before just shrugging her shoulders, not being able to come up with an answer. Truthfully, if she were intensely interrogated for an answer as to why she followed after the cheerleader, she wouldn't be able to give an in depth answer. A very vague, 'I just felt like it,' would be her answer. She simply felt obliged to. . .help her.

"Are you sick?"

"What?"

"Is that why you're vomiting and stuff? Are you sick, or are, like, you hungover or something?" Dylan asked, before a thought popped into her head, "you aren't pregnant, are you?"

"No! No, of course not. I just have a. . .a stomach bug or something," Quinn stuttered and stumbled on her words, lying rather terribly.

Dylan could never stay serious in any situation, so she accidentally let a laugh slip without even realising it was coming, "dude, no frickin' way. You're pregnant? Aren't you, like, the mayor of the celibacy club?"

"What are you doing here? You're clearly not helping me at all."

Dylan frowned, "I don't really know how to help people. Never really been pregnant before, can't give you any words of advice." Quinn raised her eyebrows at Dylan, as if to say are you serious right now? and Dylan soon realised her mistake. "Not in a rude way, just. . .don't know how to help. Do your parents know?"

"No, of course they don't. They'd kill me. And no, I'm not overreacting when I say that. If my dad finds out I'm not his perfect little daughter he'll lose it," Quinn admitted, and Dylan stood awkwardly still again. That story sounded far too familiar to her, it was almost funny.

"Yeah, I get that."

"It's not the same though. I can't go back now. If I have this kid, it's gonna be, like, a permanent thing. My life will change forever. My parents will hate me if they find this out," Quinn stressed, as Dylan slid down the wall of the bathroom, growing too bored of standing, clearly not intending to leave anytime soon.