Rachel padded into the next room and drank in the sight of the king-size bed. She got a running start and dove onto the bed like a five-year-old. The soft, 800-thread-count white sheets enveloped her, and she snuggled in them.
As she tried to clear her mind and fall asleep, her thoughts kept turning back to Finn. Had he really gotten over her that easily? Was she really still in love with him? Maybe she just wanted what she didn’t have. Snap out of it, Rachel Berry, she thought. Rachel was a big star now. She really didn’t need the affections of some high school senior in Lima, Ohio. They lived in completely different worlds now, anyway. Still, a tiny part of Rachel hoped that Finn might just change his mind tomorrow when he caught a glimpse of her in all her glory—the new and improved (and Kurt-engineered) Rachel. Some old emotions would definitely get rustled up.
For the next few hours, Rachel drifted in and out of a restless sleep. No matter how she seemed to arrange herself in the gargantuan bed, she couldn’t get comfortable. But Rachel knew it wasn’t the bed. Her mind was in overdrive trying to process all that had happened to her in what had seemed to be just the past twenty-four hours. She had gone from dreaming of stardom in her childhood bedroom and having a silly fight with her boyfriend to being a jet-setter in her own private plane.
Rachel pinched her arm. Hard.
“Ouch!” she screamed out to no one at all. She looked around at the darkened room, expecting something to have magically changed. Nope. Everything looked exactly the same. Giant bed. Flat-screen television. Fancy lamp. Not home.
This was exhausting. Rachel flopped around like a fish out of water. Her stomach grumbled loudly. Ah, so she was just hungry. That was totally fixable! She fumbled for the light switch, excited to have something to do that was within her control. She located the room-service menu and gave it a quick once-over. There weren’t too many options, though, and a goat cheese salad seemed like a weird choice in the middle of the night.
Maybe it was just a sense-memory, but Rachel suddenly developed an insane craving for a slushie. After all the years of torment she had suffered involving the frozen beverage, it even surprised her that she would want one. But she did. Really badly.
It didn’t take her long to find a twenty-four-hour mini-mart near the hotel. The glowing fluorescent sign was even visible from a few blocks away, like a beacon. It felt really good to get outside and stretch her legs. She had been on the plane for so long and then spent the rest of the evening languishing on a bed the size of four Coach Beistes (and the McKinley football coach was a hefty woman). The summer air had finally cooled, and Rachel was pleased to be on a little adventure. She felt like she hadn’t breathed in fresh air in ages. Her lungs had probably gotten used to the dirty environment of New York City.
Ding-dong. An electronic bell went off as she entered the small, run-down store. The old man sitting at the cashier’s counter peeked out from behind his newspaper long enough to bow his head ever so slightly at Rachel, like some cowboy from a spaghetti-western movie.
“Good evening, sir.” She smiled at him. He raised his eyebrow suspiciously, grunted, and went back to reading an article about a recent increase in cow-tipping crimes in the area. Apparently, Lima teenagers were really bored.
The loud yet familiar hum of the slushie machine in the corner overpowered the sound of the crackling portable radio on the counter. Rachel thought the song was “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles, but she couldn’t be sure. The liquid churning around inside the machine was purple—which meant that it was grape! Grape had always been Rachel’s favorite flavor to get slushied with back at McKinley. She would always lick her lips while washing her face in the girls’ bathroom.
In the process, she had become quite the expert on slushie flavors. She could break down the pros and cons of each one like a sommelier in a fancy restaurant rambling on about the characteristics of different wines. She also knew which colors stained clothes the worst. For example, red was absolutely killer. Rachel had cried once after Dave Karofsky cherry-slushied her while she was wearing her white sweater with a yellow cat on the front. Unfortunately, the sweater did not have nine lives.
But that was all behind her now. Slushies were purely for her enjoyment, not an unexpected icy bath. Rachel chose a jumbo-size cup and filled it to the top with the bright purple liquid.
At the register, Rachel noticed the latest edition of Superstar Weekly—a trashy celebrity tabloid magazine that she used to often see Kurt or Mercedes devouring before the bell rang. Rachel didn’t like to admit it, but she was also a fan. Looking at pictures of celebrities used to inspire her. She knew that one day there would be a picture of her wearing sweatpants in a grocery store parking lot with the caption “Rachel Berry—she’s just like us! She shops for groceries!” They would be designer sweatpants, though.
All of a sudden, Rachel remembered that she was a celebrity now! Grabbing the magazine, she ignored the cover story about how Scarlett Johansson and Ryan Reynolds might have hooked up again and flipped through it, scanning the pages.
“You gonna buy that, kid?” Mr. Grumpypants Cowboy narrowed his eyes at her. “This ain’t no freebie store. Pony up.”
Rachel nonchalantly tossed a twenty-dollar bill at him before walking out the double doors. “Keep the change.” She thought she heard him mumble something about teenagers stealing money from their parents as she left.
Rachel sucked in her breath. There she was, wearing a plum-colored strapless cocktail dress and sky-high nude heels in the “Who Wore it Better?” section. None other than Miley Cyrus took up the other half of the page wearing the exact same thing, only with silver shoes. Rachel was the clear winner, winning by a landslide with 73 percent of the reader vote! Kurt really knew what he was doing. Rachel sipped her slushie happily as she started off back to the hotel.
In the parking lot, Rachel felt like she was being followed. “Is that Rachel Berry?” she heard someone yell. Rachel spun around and used the only weapon she had: the slushie. She threw the icy drink right into the face of a man who was quickly retreating. She craned for a better look at his face, but it was covered under a mess of curly hair. He was really dirty—now slushie-covered as well and probably homeless.
The man stumbled around in the darkness, trying to shake off the purple ice. “I knew her!” he shouted as he scampered off into the shadows. “Big star now! But… I knew her!”
Rachel shuddered and quickened her pace to get back to the hotel. That was definitely weird. Something about the whole situation gave her the creeps. She doubted the man had actually known her—he was probably just crazy and had read her name somewhere. But something about him was oddly familiar…. The curly hair, that voice. No, it couldn’t be. It’s just been a long day, she decided.
Rachel brushed the thoughts aside as she climbed back into her giant bed. She finally felt tired. If tomorrow held as many surprises as today had, Rachel Berry certainly needed all the beauty sleep she could get.
eight
Principal Figgins’s office, Tuesday morning
It’s so good to have you back at McKinley, Rachel!” Principal Figgins was much more enthusiastic about her presence than Rachel had ever seen him before. Normally, when Rachel visited his office to complain about the acoustics in the choir room or came to him with suggestions of ways he could encourage the students of McKinley to practice better hygiene, he would have his secretary, Mrs. Goodrich, tell Rachel that he wasn’t there—even though Rachel could see him inside, clipping his fingernails or drinking his coffee. The front of his office was made up of large glass panels, after all.
“I don’t usually encourage dropouts to return and set examples for the students. But for you, I’ll make an exception!” he said in his thick accent through a wide smile. “Did you know Oklahoma! is my favorite musical? Mrs. Figgins, too, especially loves ‘The Surrey with a Fringe on Top.’ ” He brought his educational administrators are awesome mug to his lips, sipping loudly.
Kurt, who was sitting in
the chair next to Rachel’s, winced at the gross sound. Rather than bothering her, Principal Figgins made Rachel weirdly nostalgic for McKinley High. The welcome he’d given her, as opposed to the way he used to act around her, had Rachel looking forward to her evident reunion with her former Glee Club costars later that day.
“Well, if you and Mrs. Figgins ever visit New York City, there will be two special orchestra-section tickets with your name on them,” Rachel answered, wondering if she would ever actually have to make good on that deal. She sort of hoped not. It sounded like a pain in the neck. “So, what did you have in mind for my performance at the rally?” Rachel asked, getting down to business.
For some reason, Figgins looked concerned. He looked to Kurt, who interjected, “Don’t worry, Mr. Figgins. We already have it all worked out. Rachel will be singing ‘Many a New Day’ from her current starring role as Laurey on Broadway.”
“Sounds great. Look, whatever you want to do is fine with me. As long as there is no monkey business, I am a happy man.” He stood up to shake Rachel’s and Kurt’s hands. He did it like a politician, with both hands. Figgins had recently read an article in Men’s Health about body language. Apparently, a two-handed shake was a “gentle power move” and showed everyone that you were in charge but still their friend. As they stood, he threw in, “It’s so very exciting to have two McKinley High alumni who have become such big stars.” Rachel assumed he was talking about both her and Kurt. Principal Figgins was often a very confused person. Kurt wasn’t a star; Rachel was. There were playbills with her name on them to prove it.
She was about to laugh at this silly mistake when a familiar flash of red crossed her line of vision. Rachel would know that red anywhere. Cheerios. But there was something she didn’t expect to see. “I’m sorry—but was that Mercedes in a Cheerios uniform?” Rachel asked Figgins, who had taken out his handkerchief and begun polishing one of the many ornamental brass birds that lived in his office.
“Yes, Mercedes Jones is head Cheerio now,” he said without missing a beat.
That couldn’t be right. Mercedes and Kurt did have a brief stint on the Cheerios once. But, it was basically just a weird rebellious move the two of them made against Mr. Schuester. Rachel couldn’t even remember why they had done it in the first place. Something about not getting enough solos? That wasn’t the point, though. Coach Sylvester was awful to Mercedes, forcing her to diet and making her so weak that she almost fainted at school. Even after the whole debacle, which resulted in Mercedes’s swift departure from the squad and subsequent personal protest through the consumption of Tater Tots, she said there was no way she’d ever join up again.
It just didn’t make any sense that she’d be leading a huge group of them now, wearing one of the uniforms that she’d despised so much. Rachel burst through the glass doors of the principal’s office and past Mrs. Goodrich (who now beamed at her and became speechless in Rachel’s presence). She ran out into the hallway, but she was pretty slow in the extremely difficult shoes Kurt had made her wear. They were black pumps with a red sole and a platform base. The red sole supposedly meant they were really special or something, but Rachel just thought they were really hard to walk in.
She finally caught up with the gaggle of red-uniformed girls with high ponytails. “Hey!” Rachel yelled. It stopped them dead in their tracks. The girls slowly parted like a red-and-black sea. Except in this instance, the part of Moses was being played by none other than Mercedes Jones. Also noticeably absent were Quinn Fabray, Brittany Pierce, and Santana Lopez—practically the holy trinity of cheerleading. At least at William McKinley High. They were probably off getting iced lattes or buying protein powder for Coach Sylvester.
Mercedes was stone-faced as she approached Rachel like a jungle cat that was about to pounce on its weak prey. “Can I help you?” she asked in a tone that was less than friendly.
“Mercedes, it’s me—Rachel! I’m back for a visit!” Rachel shifted back and forth in her tall shoes. The look on Mercedes’s face was starting to resemble a fire-breathing dragon.
“I know who you are. I’m not stupid.” Mercedes still had that hip-jutting thing down. “Even though you always treated me like I was.”
That was so not true. Why was Mercedes giving Rachel so much attitude? More important, though, Rachel wanted to know why Mercedes was leading a group of Cheerios around like she was in charge of them. Rachel ignored Mercedes’s previous comment, deciding not to dance around the subject any longer.
“Is it true?” Rachel gestured to the whms top and cheerleading skirt. “Are you not only back on that terrible squad of robots, but now you’re also their leader?”
“Why should it matter to you?” Mercedes shot back. “You left, Miss Thang. How’s your fabulous life treating you?” It was obvious that she really didn’t think Rachel’s life was fabulous. Mercedes’s expression was somewhere between bored and angry. She looked like she had more pressing things to do than stand here and talk to Rachel.
This was so odd. Rachel thought all her friends would be so happy to see her. Granted, she and Mercedes had butted heads from time to time in Glee Club back in the day—but this was just plain mean. Wasn’t it all water under the bridge by now?
“Mercedes, don’t be ridiculous,” Rachel said, stepping forward to take Mercedes’s hand. Maybe a softer approach would be better. “What are you doing? You hate everything the Cheerios and Coach Sylvester stand for.”
Mercedes pulled away from Rachel’s touch like she had poisonous skin. “Maybe I used to. But a lot has changed around here since you abandoned us like that.” She lifted her arm in a grand sweeping gesture toward the pack of girls behind her. “These are my girls now. And they appreciate me a lot more than you ever did.” Mercedes snapped her fingers. Heather Sims quickly shuffled up to Mercedes and handed her a bottle of water.
The whole scene started to weirdly remind Rachel of the musical Chicago. Mercedes looked like the character Matron “Mama” Morton with the way she was bossing around her bunch of hot teenage murderesses. Maybe the comparison was a little extreme. But at the very least, most students at McKinley High would probably agree that the Cheerios did a good job of killing everyone’s self-esteem on a daily basis.
Mercedes took a sip of water and focused her attention back on Rachel. “Sorry, talking to you wore me out. Got a little thirsty. Are you done wasting my time now?”
Rachel was taken aback. She was used to Mercedes being sassy, but it was like she was a clone of Coach Sylvester now. Maybe she was just grumpy from being on that gross Cheerios diet. Coach Sylvester always made all the girls drink a concoction made with cayenne pepper, maple syrup, lemon juice, and water. Brittany had once told Rachel that it contained magical powers that made her go higher on her flips.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, we have to go practice our routine for the rally.” Mercedes turned to leave.
“Wait!” Rachel yelled. She had an idea. “Why don’t we collaborate and perform together at the rally? I’m already doing one song on my own, but it would be great to sing with you again!” Rachel could be so brilliant.
“I really don’t need you. My talents are great enough to stand on my own, and the Cheerios appreciate that. Plus, all my fans would be really disappointed if I ruined my song by including some high-school dropout who is just trying to make herself feel better about leaving. So, thanks—but no thanks.”
Kurt finally caught up to the scene. He reluctantly bowed his head toward Mercedes. “Hello,” Kurt said.
Mercedes regarded him with equal disdain. “Ugh. Don’t even get me started on you…” She appeared to be searching for the words that would do the maximum damage. “You gator.”
Rachel had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but by the look on Kurt’s face, she knew it wasn’t anything positive. He was crestfallen.
Mercedes tightened her high ponytail. “Get out of my way,” she snapped at Kurt before strutting off with the pretty pack of wolves.
�
�What’s a gator?” Rachel asked as the group disappeared around the corner.
Kurt dropped his head. “A gay traitor,” he answered, his voice full of sadness and shame. “We made it up during one season of Project Runway, when one of the contestants backstabbed his partner during judging.” This was a fond memory for Kurt, and he looked wistful for a moment. “Apparently, Mercedes has become even more ruthless than Quinn ever was as captain.” Kurt sighed. “At least she remembers that we used to be friends. She never liked you to begin with.”
They started to stroll down the hallway. Rachel resisted the urge to go to her locker, which was coming up on their right. “I got the scoop from Ashley Enea after you bolted from Figgins’s office. After the camp—and the whole Santana thing—Mercedes went totally nuts. So when the Cheerios asked her to choreograph a hip-hop routine for nationals, she ditched Glee to help them loosen up. After they totally won all East Compton Clovers–style, she was, like, their super funk hero or something,” Kurt explained.
What is this “Santana thing” that Kurt keeps mentioning? Rachel was about to ask him when the bell rang, signaling the end of a class period. All of a sudden, hundreds of students poured out into the hallway from every direction.
Because it was the last week of school, most of them were carrying copies of the new Thunderclap rather than textbooks. This edition had a red cover, with silver and black vertical stripes. It was completely different from the yearbook Rachel had brought to school what seemed like only a few days earlier. It was strange to think that the new one didn’t contain her picture at all. It bummed her out a little. Especially because this year, her picture would have been a senior portrait—large and glossy with a quote of her choosing underneath it. She had been planning to use a Judy Garland quote: “Always be a first-rate version of yourself, instead of a second-rate version of somebody else.”
Summer Break Page 7
