Sorry for the delay. This shouldn't have taken so long, but I had a really hectic week.

Disclaimer: I own nothing you can recognize.

"Geez Berry, I didn't say anything. What? Now you're hearing voices?"

'Fuck. Me. If she keeps looking at me like that, I might not take responsibility of my actions.'

This time, Rachel was closely inspecting the blonde's face and there's no possibility for her to miss how Quinn's lips didn't move to speak the last line and, unless the ex-cheerio is suddenly a ventriloquist, it can only mean one thing.

"Yeah. Yes, I think I am."

...

"Rach? Is that you?" Hiram asks upon hearing the front door slam shut. He walks out of the kitchen, where he was starting dinner, with his rainbow apron and a ladle, and meets her in the hall.

"Dad. Hi," the girl answers distractedly.

"You're early, aren't you?" He checks his watch, confused. "Did you forget you had Glee Club?"

"Yes- I mean, I'm early but no I didn't forget about Glee, I just left because I wasn't feeling well, so I decided it'd be best to come home and rest."

"Oh honey, what's wrong?"

"Just a headache, Dad, nothing to worry about." Rachel smiles through her lie reassuringly.

"You sure?" The short man eyes his daughter suspiciously.

"Of course." Rachel exhibits her best hundred watt smile, desperate to end the conversation and go to her room to think.

"Hm, okay. Still, go take some Advil and lie down a bit while I make dinner. I can send your Daddy to your room when dinner is ready in case you want to sleep?"

The brunette sighs and nods gratefully, even though she's pretty sure sleep is not going to happen any time soon. She starts heading to the stairs when an idea strikes her.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Rach?"

She waits for him to face her before making her question.

"Do you know what happened to the Annie video tape I had when I was little?"

He lifts a finger to his chin, seemingly thinking hard. 'Yeah, Leroy burned it and then buried it in the backyard one day while you were in ballet class, but you can never know that.'

"Hm, the one you used to love so much? I have no idea, really. I remember how you used to watch it every night." He pauses for a second. 'Every goddamn night for five years.' "Strange things that happen." He shrugs. "But you have it on DVD now, don't you?"

"Yes. I was just wondering." She forces a smile and nods towards the stairs with her head. "I'll be in my room."

"You go rest, cupcake."

···

"I knew it," Rachel spits as soon as she closes the door behind her. She kneels in front of her movie collection shelf, picks up the empty box of her Annie video tape and opens it with a huff. After a few minutes of silently ranting away about the newfound betrayal on her Daddy's part, she puts the box back on the shelf and sits on her heels.

"So, I'm really a psychic." The crazy statement falls from her mouth and echoes in the silent room making her cringe.

It's reason enough to put her in a psychiatric hospital.

Freak, self-obsessed diva, gleek, among other less accurate nick-names, and now: mental. Great. Just great.

But it has to be true. She knows it's the only explanation to all the bizarre events of the day. Well, not all, because Quinn thinking that she's hot is still inexplicable. But she'll focus on that later.

The matter at hand now is to find out what is going on with her. How did this happen, why, what exactly is "this" and what is she going to do about it? Since this morning she has been feeling quite lost and if there's something Rachel Berry does not tolerate, it is the lack of proper order and structure in her life.

So, if this new "skill", is going to be a part of her life- at least until she discovers how to get rid of it- might as well learn as much as she can about it.

She takes a few deep breaths and nods once to herself, standing up with renewed confidence. With pen and paper at hand, she sits at her desk, feeling finally at charge of the situation and writes in her neat and straight-forward calligraphy:

"Meticulous study of possible mind reading ability."

If she's doing this, she's doing it right, and that requires a diagram, a list of points to consider, hypothesis, possible causes, consequences, range of the ability...

"Hm, maybe I'll need a Power Point."

···

After three hours of intensive research on the Internet without a break- stopping only when her Daddy came to her room to announce that dinner was ready and she told him she was still feeling rather sick and that she would eat something later- she has found several serious looking pages with an immense amount of information about electrical charges in the human body, nervous receptors, sound waves and a whole lot of other terms she's not very sure of.

The reason why she leaned towards these topics was a very annoying itch in her right hand and the hunch that her little encounter with Mr. Watt this morning has everything to do with her new ability.

She has also found some other eccentric pages where people relate their experiences in this field and make up crazy theories that doesn't convince her at all. Because, really, microchips inserted by the government through the water to control our consumerism that sometimes fail and provoke the person to hear radio transmissions in their heads? No. Just, no.

So far, the mind reader diva is still pretty helpless.

She sighs and leans back on the chair, letting out a long breath of exhaustion. What is distressing her the most, is the fact that there's a whole new power in her hands, and she doesn't know how to use it. What can she do with it? Can it hurt someone? Is it even moral?

The gold star clock on her night stand says it's almost 10 pm and she figures she should eat something and inform her dads that she's still alive.

After a quick stop in the kitchen, she follows the sound of the TV that's flowing from the living room. Rachel stops in the door way for a second, preparing herself mentally to be in the same room with two other thinking heads, squares her shoulders and steps in the room.

"Dad, Daddy."

"Baby girl, how are you feeling?" Leroy asks with his soft, concerned voice. Hiram is cuddled next to him, intently watching his favorite quiz show.

"Better. I just needed to rest my brain and... regain some control of the situation." The last part of her statement is whispered and the tall man looks at her strangely.

"Have you eaten anything?" Her Dad speaks finally, while the host- a man who looks like he bathed his hair in gel and displays a too wide smile- recounts the points of the contestants.

"Yes. I just had a protein milkshake, which, not only lacks of fats and unnecessary carbohydrates, still providing enough nutritive value, but it's also tasty."

Hiram nods approvingly while the other man lets out a good laugh.

'Bet my Elton John Special Edition Collection, it's Woman's Health's fault.'

The girl can only roll her eyes and bite her tongue to refrain from making a comeback.

"Good girl," her Dad says with pride in his eyes. "Come on, sit here with us for a bit."

He untangles Leroy's arm from behind his back and makes room between them. As soon as the brunette is seated, the taller man resumes his previous position, enveloping his daughter in a side hug. She sighs contently and melts into her Daddy's warmth and smell of fabric softener.

"Copper!" Hiram cries excitedly, breaking through the little bubble of comfort her Daddy offers.

She turns her head and has to fight hard to stifle a laugh a her Dad's antics.

"And the correct answer is... silver! The most conductive metal is silver! Fantastic Jenny, five points for you!" The host announces cheerily.

"Meh, whatever." Hiram grumbles.

"The next question is for you Mike. For 5 points, what is the capital of Australia?"

Rachel glances at her Dad who's scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Ah, I'm pretty sure it's Sydney."

'Hm, no. I think it's Canberra,' Leroy's voice resounds loud and clear through her mind just before that Mike guy answers.

"Canberra."

"And that's... correct!" Mr. Creepy Smile says.

"What? This game is rigged."

The brunette giggles and her Daddy nudges her discreetly, giving her that look that clearly says: 'You know you are exactly like him' except this time, she actually hears his thought.

"It's okay, honey. That was a tricky one." Leroy tries to comforts his husband. The petite girl smiles adoringly at her Daddy's special way of making the other man happy.

"And the last one, for 10 points, what English writer asserted that "All art is quite useless?""

"Who even knows that?" Hiram huffs indignant.

'Oscar Wilde. The Picture of Dorian Gray,' echoes the fleeting thought of her Daddy.

"I-I'm not sure of this one..." the contestant stammers. Leroy grabs the remote and starts channel surfing.

"I know, babe. That show is ridiculous, and the host scares me. I don't even know why we watch it."

"I just love it when I get some question right."

'I know you do.'

Rachel, who has been watching the exchange and hearing Leroy's not shared comments, can only hug her Daddy tighter and feel extremely lucky that, even if she doesn't know what's going on in her own head and it scares her more than she wants to admit, she'll always have a wonderful, loving family.

···

The next day, the petite brunette is feeling rather rested and fresh. After a satisfying amount of sleep (mostly because of the exhaustion), and a long, nice shower this morning (she completely ignored her elliptical, just in case) she's determined to not let this condition affect her grades and her everyday life.

Last night with her dads went smoothly and she easily handled the intermittent rush of the men's thoughts; Rachel's convinced she'll be able to stand a bunch of teenagers who's main train of thought revolves around sex, self esteem, crushes and video games. Even though, there's still one person's mind who's thoughts make her anxious and give her these funny feelings in her stomach, but Rachel has too much on her plate to focus on that now.

Her internal reflection is cut short when she collides with a Dunkin' Donuts smelling wall on her way to first period.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying at-" She falls quiet upon recognizing the identity of the wall. "Finn."

"Hey, Rach." He waves awkwardly. "Sorry about that, you were walking so fast I couldn't let a word in before you crashed into me."

"It's okay, no one got hurt." Seconds pass by and a palpable tension builds between them. She figures the boy wants to talk about something, that or he stopped her in the middle of the hall only to have a staring contest.

Suddenly she realizes she doesn't have to wait to know what he wants to say. Not letting her ability be an interference doesn't mean she can't use it in her favor. The brunette tilts her head, sharpening her trained ears- like when she was trying to find out who was lip syncing in Glee- even though she realizes it's unnecessary.

'...her in the eye. Look her in the eye. Look her in the eye. Look her in...'

Rachel's brown eyes widen comically. Giving him a fake small smile and a nod, she steps aside and resumes her way to class.

"Rachel, wait!"

"What is it Finn?" She sighs tiredly, spinning around on her heels. "If you have something to tell me, then do it quickly, because we both have class and I don't know about you, but I'd like to keep my record of attendance intact."

"Right. Yes." He squares his gigantic shoulders and takes a deep breath. "I think you made a mistake."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about but I can't help but doubt that statement, seeing as I am hardly ever mistaken."

"I- eh, no. Look, you broke up with me and it was a huge, humongous mistake!"

"Oh. Well, what are your arguments to defend that?"

"Ah... 'cause- I mean... we, er..." 'Fuck! What did Kurt say about meaning... means... meant- meant! The "we are meant to be" thingy!'

"We are meant to be, okay? I know we are. I was there in the choir room yesterday. I can see how you're hurting because of all this." Finn leans to her like he wants to hug her and she takes a half step back. "We've been through all this... shit and then, we finally got together and everything was awesome."

He stops, waiting for her to agree and a thick silence falls between them.

'Shit, shit, shit. Say something, dude, anything!' "We are special Rach. I knew it when you were with Jesse and I didn't lose hope. I never stopped trying." 'Score!'

"I..." The brunette wants to reply and contribute to the discussion but she's bewildered by the boy's thoughts.

"It's okay. I guess you have a lot to think about now. I can wait a little more for you. Just... go to class, I don't want you to be late because of me."

'Yes, you got her man! Now Puck can't say you're a pussy.'

"Right, I... have a lot on my mind at the moment." Truer words were never spoken. "I'll see you later, Finn."

Rachel turns to head to class, when she catches a flash of hazel staring in their direction. The moment their eyes meet, the familiar soft echo rings through her mind like an old song she never really forgot.

'She can't go back with him. She can't. It's the biggest mistake she could ever make.'

Quinn's voice is sad and honest and the other girl has to avert her eyes for some reason she's not sure of. When she walks past the blonde, who's leaning on her locker, hugging her books to her chest, two things catch up with the small diva: a subtle but alluring breeze of lilacs and a faint, 'She deserves better.'

···

The sea of students is currently flooding the cafeteria and Rachel tries to find some familiar face to sit with, shamelessly avoiding Finn's hopeful eyes among the crowd.

"Rachel!" The excited voice stands out from the incomprehensible chatter of mixed thoughts and conversations. "Rach, over here!"

The brunette spots a giddy Brittany waving from a table in the far corner of the cafeteria. Beside the jumping blonde, there's a bored Santana, sipping distractedly out of one of those Cheerios sport bottles.

She makes her way to the pair nervously, holding her lunch bag with her injured hand and fidgeting with her back pack strap with the other.

"Hey, Rach! Sit with us!"

"Hello, Britt. Santana." The shorter girl greets while sitting in front of them.

"Berry."

Brittany seems to be the only one comfortable. The Latina is tapping her fingers on the table impatiently, like there are a million places she would like to be but here and Rachel is at a loss.

"How are you?" The blonde asks with a smile.

"Well, if you are referring to my general state of mind, I'm good, thanks. Although if you meant to ask about my feelings at this very moment, I have to confess I'm slightly confused. It's really considerate on your part to ask, but you'll have to excuse me if I'm a little bit skeptical."

'What is she talking about?' Britt wonders confused. "S? Does that mean she's okay?"

"No, that means she has verbal diarrhea as usual." The Latina scoffs with her trade mark eye-roll. She turns to the future Broadway star with a fake smile- that looks more like a sneer- plastered on her face. "You sure about that, Streisand? What about your little outburst yesterday in the choir room?"

Rachel shifts in her seat nervously. "I was having a hard day. Stress. Nothing a good sleep couldn't fix."

Silence falls around the table and the shorter girl feels even smaller under the scrutinizing gaze of Santana's intense brown eyes. After a couple seconds of tension, the blonde leans to her best friend and whispers loud enough for Rachel to hear.

"So, what do we tell-"

"B." The Latina whisper back harshly. "Remember what you promised?"

'To never get another bird in my locker, 'cause S got in a lot of trouble.'

"But it's not real, it's stuffed. You gave it to me, it has a heart and a little hat, remember?"

A faint blush floods the tan girl's cheek briefly. "What? No! The other thing you promised just a minute ago."

'Not to mention Q in the conversation with Rachel, 'cause she'll hunt us down and kill us slowly.'

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." Britt bats her eyelashes and smiles apologetically, deflating her friend's anger instantly, then turns to the forgotten occupant of the table. "It's good you're good, Rach."

'Yeah, it means we can finally leave to do better things.' Santana stands impatiently. "Yep, wonderful. Now we have to go. C'mon, B."

"See you later, Rach!" The ditzy blonde waves goodbye and skips happily to link her pale pinkie with the tan, awaiting one.

Rachel watches their retreating forms, her sandwich untouched in front of her and her hands in her lap. It's obvious to anyone who was watching or eavesdropping their exchange, how surreal the whole situation was.

Rachel Berry being invited to sit with the Head Cheerio and inseparable friend and having a pacific conversation. The popular pair even showed concern for the self-absorbed diva in public. Now, everybody knows they're together in Glee Club and Rachel is aware of the mild level of tolerance they've reached with her. But this was, at least, unexpected.

Even though, what hit the brunette hard enough to leave her rooted in her chair, even when the bell rings signaling the start of the next period, was Brittany's thought.

'Not to mention Q in the conversation with Rachel, 'cause she'll hunt us down and kill us slowly', she recalls.

What was that about? Why is Quinn suddenly meddling in everything? And most importantly, why didn't she bring any Advil today?

···

Thursday afternoon finds her dragging her feet through the almost empty halls of McKinley and wondering if it's going to be like this from now on. Every morning, she is determined to act and go on with her life normally in spite of the stream of random ideas that don't belong to her and flood her mind at any given moment.

The power, (or curse, like she's decided to call it) seems to drain her usually endless energy. Her dads are beginning to notice how rapidly the painkillers are disappearing from the cabinet, and she has opted for walking from class to class with headphones and having lunch in the bleachers, where the thoughts of the football players and cheerleaders are faint enough to be an inoffensive murmur.

Luckily enough, Glee Club was suspended yesterday because, this year, Mr. Schuester belongs to the Homecoming Committee. She couldn't even protest and make a fuss about it, seeing the perfect excuse to escape to home earlier and avoid Finn's puppy eyes and contradictory mind, among other confusing thoughts.

Rachel's currently heading to the parking lot when a fuming Quinn storms out of the closest bathroom. The blonde stops dead in her tracks when she sees her and their eyes connect for a brief moment. The ex-Cheerio's expression softens almost imperceptibly.

'I could just do it myself-' She cuts herself off with a head shake and her face morphs into cold stone.

With a blurr of golden hair, Rachel is left alone again.

'Fuck Q and her sudden worry for the sake of Glee. If it wasn't 'cause I owe her big, for that time Mami almost caught B and I this summer, I'd tell her where she could stick her little job in.'

As soon as the heated thought is over, a very pissed Santana Lopez and an adorably confused Brittany step out of the bathroom Quinn just left.

'Quinn's angry 'cause we believed Rach was okay... but she said she was okay! Maybe Q's just afraid of showing that she cares. Like Santana.' The blue-eyed girl glances at her companion, who just happens to spot the petite brunette standing awkwardly in the hall.

"Berry!" She barks. 'Awesome, we have half the job done.'

Santana walks to her like a predator cornering its prey, and the small diva steps back until her back bumps against the lockers.

"Santana, it's nice to see you too."

"Cut the crap, Streisand. We know there's something going on with you and if it affects Glee Club, we're all screwed. So spill."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Rachel says in her most convincing tone, but it's hard with the menacing presence of the Latina. She glances over her shoulders and to a slowly approaching Britt, who looks still deep in thought.

'I wonder if S and Q are like, lost twins. Like in The Parent Trap.'

"Don't play with me, Man-hands." The taller brunette hisses, winning back her attention and taking a threatening step forward. 'I so don't have time for this.'

"S." Brittany sing-songs scolding. Santana rolls her eyes but Rachel doesn't miss how she retreats, giving her the much needed space to breath. "We are really worried Rach. You said you were okay but we think you lied."

"Why would you think I-"

"You go mental in Glee Club for no apparent reason," Santana enumerates, "walk around ignoring everyone, have lunch alone on the bleachers and yesterday you fucking ran home when Glee was dismissed."

"We think you're high on painkillers."

"What?" The other two girls say astonished, at the same time. Brittany just blinks unphased.

"Anyway," the Latina shrugs, "you need to spill the fucking bins out. Like, now." 'Or I'll punch them out of you.'

"I don't..." Rachel begins to deny it all over again, but she finds that she can't. The girl's exhausted, and frustrated and she could really use a friend or two to talk to. Sure she realizes who she's faced with, Brittany and Santana were not her first option when she considered telling someone. But, being realistic, are they any worse than everyone else? Besides, they've actually tried to find out, which is more than anyone has done. And maybe it's only because Quinn asked them to, but better yet, she might get some info about the blonde through them.

The short brunette ponders all this under the impatient stare of one, arms folded, foot tapping, Santana Lopez. "So?"

"Okay," she breathes. "Okay, I'll tell you, but not here. We need a better location."

"I'm not going to your house, Berry. No offense, but last time Glee Club had a get together there we had a complete documentary of Barbra Streisand's life. With pictures." Santana recalls. 'And I still have nightmares about it.'

"No, we can't go there either. My dads might hear."

"Your dads don't know?" The two Cheerios are clearly shocked. 'Wow, it must be serious.'

"No one knows, Santana." And the look on Rachel's face is so pained, so anguished, that the Latina drops her teasing tone and adopts a more serious one.

"Okay, Berry." She nods. "I know where we can go."

···

The Head Cheerio's red Camaro pulls out of the drive way and into a pretty neighbourhood Rachel's not familiar with. She follows closely with her car until they stop at an almost empty parking lot; it looks like Santana has led them to nice and colorful park. The sun is reflecting on the pavement and it gives the playground the appearance of a vintage picture taken with an old Polaroid.

She's inspecting the surroundings and wondering how she is going to approach the topic, when a rhythmical tap on her window turns her attention. A smiling Brittany gestures for her to get out and join them.

"Isn't this place nice?" The blonde squeals excited while they make their way to the playground that's so beautifully bathed in an orange glow. "This park is half way to my house and Santana's. It's where we met when we were toddlers, right S?"

"Yeah, Britt." Santana nods with a kind smile that's only reserved for the blonde. 'It's also where we first kissed.'

"I love this place." Britt sighs dreamily.

They reach the swings and the blonde quickly hops into one of them, the Latina automatically steps behind her to push her.

"So, is this place good enough for you?"

Rachel glances around, finding only a few mothers with their children, an old couple feeding the ducks and some runners that come and go. Everybody seems to be quite interested in their own business.

"Yes." She sits in the other swing, reaching the ground barely with her toes and swallows hard. "I really don't know where to begin."

"How about the beginning?"

"Okay." The brunette takes a deep breath and begins to relate her story.

···

"So, let me get this straight," Santana says standing still behind the blonde and holding the chains of her swing while the other girl leans back against her stomach. "You are telling us that you got electrocuted by your elliptical, survived and now you can listen to other people thoughts."

"Well I guess when you put it so bluntly, it does sound ridiculous."

"Right. And now you're going to tell me you have a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt."

"How did you- Well it's not a lightning bolt, it's more like a root. See," She carefully moves the bandage away from her hand, making Brittany gasp and Santana's eyes bulge.

"Okay. I guess I should start calling you "The Midget That Lived" then."

"What-" Then it all clicks. "Santana! This is not funny. What I'm telling you is of crucial importance, you have to believe me."

The Latina sighs, dropping her arms around the blonde girl's neck. "Okay, I'll concede you that you got electrocuted and survived, which is extremely improbable, but whatever. So what? You're alive, congrats, now could you stop moping and acting weird? Well, weirder."

Rachel groans, turning on the swing to face them. "Guys. I can read minds." She says slowly, with her characteristic intensity.

Santana snorts. "Do you really want us to believe you're a psychic or whatever?"

"I am!" She cries. The taller brunette gives her a look that says "yeah, right" and Britt tilts her head at her.

'Aw. Rach is desilusional.'

"I am not-" She stops herself on time and suddenly realizes the easiest way to prove it. "I'll prove it. Think about something, anything."

'Ducks.'

"Anything but ducks, Britt."

The blonde gasps amazed, clearly convinced by Rachel's theory, but her best friend doesn't seem impressed at all.

"Nice try, Berry."

Rachel jumps off the swing and stands in front of them.

"Go ahead, think about something only Santana Lopez would know if you're so sure that I'm lying." The dare in her voice doesn't go unnoticed by the other girl, who looks down at her with a raised eyebrow.

"This is stupid."

"Then you have nothing to lose."

"Whatever." Santana scoffs. 'Might as well get this shit over with.'

She rolls her eyes, showing an extremely bored expression. 'Uh, okay, I don't know... I'm afraid of thunderstorms. I steal my brother's comics 'cause I love Batwoman and... Oh, one time, when I was eight, I kissed Danny Schmitt 'cause he had just kissed B and I thought that way it'd be like-'

"Okay, okay. Enough. Thunderstorms, Batwoman, Danny Schmitt. It is not my intention to know all your secrets."

Santana jumps back like she has just been burned and Britt yelps, losing balance and falling backwards. Fortunately, Rachel's terrific reflexes kick in in time and she catches the blonde by the arm before she hits the ground.

"Santana, for Barbra's sake, be careful!"

The shocked brunette snaps out of it long enough to hug back the scared and shiny-eyed girl and whisper some comforting and apologetic words in her hear. But as soon as Brittany is smiling again, Santana turns her attention back to the diva with an icy glare.

'How the fuck? There has to be another explanation. This is irrational. There has to be a way-'

"There isn't," Rachel cuts off her train of thoughts. "Trust me, I've elaborated multiple different hypothesis, done enough research to write a book and it's the only explanation."

"Right..." Santana nods slowly, processing the news. Suddenly her grip on Brittany tightens and her eyes widen comically. 'Shit! She knows! Fucking shit! About fucking Danny, and the storms and-'

"I won't tell," Rachel interrupts again. She raises her not-injured hand and looks at her in the eye, conveying all the reassurance she can muster. "If you don't tell."

The Latina ponders what she's saying for a second, before grabbing the obviously not manly hand in a firm handshake. "Deal."

Rachel smiles pleased and redirects her hand to Brittany. "What about you, will you keep my secret?"

"Only if you keep mine."

"Uh, I don't know yours, Britt." The brunette says confused.

"Yes you do! About the accordion woman and the mustard bottle, remember?"

Rachel looks at Santana for help and the other girl just shrugs, shakes her head and thinks 'Hey, don't ask me.'

"Ah... right. We have a deal then."

"Wait a minute." The taller brunette raises a perfect manicured finger. "If you can hear what we think since Monday, then you know why B and I..."

"Yes, I know about Quinn." Rachel smiles apologetically. "And although I appreciate her concern for the heart and brains of Glee Club, I don't understand why she couldn't ask herself."

Santana ignores the future Broadway star's boasting. "Yeah, me neither."

"So, what do we tell Q?" Brittany asks with a little voice, glancing up at her.

"I don't know, B." She looks at Rachel with a frown. "Are you going to keep sulking, hiding from other life forms and drowning yourself in pills?"

"You don't understand what it is like," the short diva stamps her feet a little and steps away from them, looking around the park with a frustrated expression. Her shiny brown hair swirls around with the soft warm breeze that brings so many good memories from the summer. She wishes she could go back to then and choose to stay in bed that first day of school. "See that woman over there with the baby? I only have to innocently walk past her or sit on the bank next to her and all these ideas about diapers and Desperate Housewives will invade my head without my permission. Imagine that in a building full of overactive teenaged minds; thoughts bombarding my skull from the inside every single second. Sometimes I don't even know which are mine and which are theirs."

Rachel turns to the girls with tired eyes and rubbing her temples. "I can't control it, I can't turn it off. I thought I could manage, that it would go away eventually and all I had to do was give it time. I'm tired and lost and- and scared. What is this? Why me? Am I the only one?"

Britt surprises the brunette with a sudden hug. It's comforting and she clings to the girl gratefully.

"I want to help you, Rach," the blonde says pouting.

'How do I even get myself into this shit?' Santana sighs dramatically, breaking the girl's embrace. "Fine, looks like we'll have to find a way to get rid of it, or at least a way for you to block all those fucking thoughts."

Rachel doesn't miss how the girl said "we" instead of "you". She beams up at Santana.

"Really?"

Brittany nods fervently.

"Hell yeah. I so don't need Q being a pain in my ass all year, thank you very much. Besides, you're a fucking mind reader, you'll be of great help." The Latina says with a devilish smile. 'And with all the info she just got, I want her on my side.'

"Yeah, you can tell us when Coach Sylvester is near so we can hide before she gets us," the ditzy blonde exclaims happily.

"B, she's a psychic, not a radar."

Her only answer is a frown but before the conversation can move on to some complicated and absurd conclusion of the blue-eyed girl, Rachel interrupts.

"Hey Britt, why don't you show me where the ducks are?"

And with this and a pearly white smile from the cheerleader, the three girls head together to the pond, unconscious to the bond they just created and the new path that awaits for them.

I'm not psychic, care to share your thoughts? ;)