Glee_ The Beginning_ An Original Novel (Glee Original Novels) - Sophia Lowell.mobi

by Sophia Lowell

  Quinn raised her eyes from the pack of money in her hands. She immediately felt her back straighten. Who the hell was Rachel Berry, one of the biggest losers to ever walk the halls of this school, to talk to her that way? Quinn only knew her name because she’d copied off her world history midterm last year in Mr. Prospero’s class. She opened her mouth to say something scathing in response, but Brittany, who was too blond for her own good, spoke up instead.

  “What’s the second thing?” she asked, tilting her head to the side as if she had water in her ear.

  “We don’t care what the second thing ¿€second ththe ¿€secis,” Quinn interrupted. She stood up so that Rachel wasn’t able to look down on her. “Now, if you don’t mind, kindly step aside and let the people you cut ahead of in line vote.”

  “The second, and more egregious, thing,” Rachel said in a louder voice, “is that you’re charging people to vote. It’s hardly fair!” While she loved to be the center of attention, that wasn’t why she was challenging the Cheerios. She just couldn’t stand there and watch as they made everyone else do exactly what they wanted.

  Quinn could practically feel the steam rising out of her ears. “Maybe if you didn’t spend so much on your librarian-meets-preschooler ensembles, you might be able to buy yourself enough votes to win. And then you could shut up.”

  “But that would take a lot of votes,” Santana Lopez spoke up, eyeing Rachel’s outfit. “A whole lot.”

  Brittany and the kids clustered around the table started to giggle nervously, and Rachel took a step backward. She opened her mouth to say something, but her mind was a blank. Why was it she could never think up the perfect comeback until an hour after she needed it?

  But this time, she didn’t need one. “Excuse me, coming through.” Elbowing through the crowd to her rescue was… Kurt Hummel? Kurt, wearing an asymmetrical kelly green sweater with buttons down one arm, pulled his black leather Gucci wallet out of his back pocket. He was tired of Quinn Fabray and her pretty, plastic friends bossing everyone around just because their pores were invisible and their breasts were perky and their hair stayed in place even as they did cartwheels during the halftime show. He pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill and tossed it carelessly onto the table. “I’d like fifty votes for queen, please.”

  Quinn made a face. “For who?” She glanced around helplessly, as if to say, How could anyone be expected to deal with this? “You?”

  The whole cafeteria seemed to burst into laughter. Rachel hadn’t noticed how many people were actually watching the scene play out. She flipped her hair—flattened from her encounter with the slushie—behind her ears. Without thinking, she snatched back the fifty-dollar bill Kurt had tossed on the table. She didn’t know what the hell he was doing, but it wasn’t worth fifty dollars. He was already walking away with the confidence of someone who has made his point, his shoulders thrown back proudly, and the idea of adding anything else to the Cheerios’ already oversaturated coffers made her apprehensive.

  Rachel followed him out into the hallway, ignoring the stares of people over their half-eaten lunches. She didn’t mind being stared at, or even laughed at. It was better than being ignored. But even so, it was nice to have someone else stand up behind you, even if it didn’t totally make sense.

  “You didn’t have to do that!” Rachel called after him, her words echoing in the empty hallway. She strode up to him quickly and held out the fifty-dollar bill.

  Kurt eyed the money for a moment before grabbing it with his thumb and forefinger. “I guess this means neither of us will be queen.”

  Rachel smiled. She had to respect Kurt for managing to be so confident even though he was such an outsider. Rachel was always seeing him climb out of the Dumpster b½€the Dumps">“ b½€they the parking lot after the football guys had tossed him in. He’d dust himself off, straighten his clothes, and go on with his day. Quinn Fabray, head of the almighty Cheerios, had practically called him gay in the crowded cafeteria, and he hadn’t even seemed flustered. “You know,” she said, hiking her backpack on her shoulder, “my two dads had to go through the same kind of thing when they were in high school.”

  Kurt’s blue eyes narrowed slightly. “You have two dads?”

  “They’re great.” Rachel nodded. “Sometimes I forget that not everyone has two dads.”

  Kurt eyed her thoughtfully. She thought maybe he was going to say something about being gay, but instead he said, “I heard you sing on the announcements this morning.” He pursed his lips and looked as though he was debating what to say. “You were actually okay.”

  Okay? For some reason, this sounded like a huge compliment coming from Kurt. And since she hadn’t actually been showered with compliments for her performance this morning—the slushie and a few eye rolls were all she’d got—her heart started to soar. “Thank you,” she said, with uncharacteristic modesty.

  “You might be interested in what Glee is doing these days. Stop by the choir room after school and check us out.” By us, she knew he meant the Asian-American girl with the stutter and Mercedes Jones. But if Glee was actually a club again, there must be more members. “Oh, I don’t know. I spoke to Mr. Ryerson last year about joining Glee. He made it clear that I would never get a solo—he said something about the importance of having only male soloists. Anyway, I got the sense that he doesn’t appreciate true talent when he hears it,” Rachel said.

  “True, Mr. Ryerson isn’t exactly the most inspiring Glee Club faculty adviser,” Kurt responded. “But don’t worry. He’s never around. In fact, the next couple of weeks he’s really not around. Apparently our pastel-clad fearless leader is attending Ohio’s annual doll collectors’ convention. Anyway, we’ll be practicing this afternoon and, to be honest, we could use some more talent.”

  “I’ll have to check my schedule,” Rachel bubbled. “But, yeah, maybe I’ll think about it.”

  Kurt’s blue eyes stared her down. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

  “Maybe,” Rachel said as he walked away. She tried to wipe the smile off her face. It would be interesting to check out this group and see what they could do.

  Back in the cafeteria, the clamor around the voting table had been replaced by an orderly stream of voters. Quinn poked Brittany in the ribs. “Great job on the sign. It might have been more effective if you’d spelled all the words correctly.”

  Brittany blinked and took a carrot stick from the small Tupperware container on her lap. “You know I hate grammar.”

  “Spelling isn’t grammar,” Quinn responded, but there was no point with Brittany. Of course, Quinn should have known better than to leave something important to her. “I’ll fix it,” Quinn snapped, grabbing a black marker from her bag. She waited until there was a lull in the voting before hopping onto the table. The entire cafeteria was going to try to look up her short cheerleading skirt, but le±€skirt, buE into HOMCOMING.

  “It’s a little crooked,” Finn Hudson said as Quinn took a tiny step back to admire her work. “But it looks good.”

  Quinn glanced down at Finn. “Thanks.” He was gorgeous, all right, in that all-American, apple-pie-eating way. When Quinn was eight and picturing her wedding, complete with a Vera Wang princess dress in pale pink and ten thousand white tulips lining the aisle, the groom looked exactly like Finn. He was so tall that, even standing on the table, Quinn didn’t feel like she was towering over him, and his light brown hair was always rumpled in the same boyish way.

  Quinn held out her hand. “Help me down.” Santana was staring at her. Quinn knew that practically every girl at McKinley had some level of crush on Finn. But it was too bad for them, because Quinn had recently decided that this was the year she’d become Finn Hudson’s girlfriend. Or, more accurately, this was the year that she would allow Finn to become Quinn Fabray’s boyfriend.

  Finn grinned. Instead of grabbing her hand and helping her step down onto the chair she’d used to climb up, Finn simply reached up and grabbed her around the waist. He swept her off the
table and held her for a moment before setting her feet down on the orange linoleum floor.

  “Not exactly what I meant, but thanks.” Quinn giggled, then lowered her eyes and looked up at Finn through her thick lashes. Quinn and Finn. Finn and Quinn. Maybe it was a little too Dr. Seuss-y, but it made sense. Finn Hudson was easily the best-looking guy in the school, and he was also the star quarterback—if you could use the word star when talking about a team that had lost every one of its preseason games. But that hardly mattered. And Quinn had worked so hard to impress Coach Sylvester and become head Cheerio.

  If she and Finn were an official couple, they’d be shoo-ins for homecoming king and queen. Quinn was already planning to wear her hair in a way that wouldn’t get messed up when Principal Figgins or whoever announced the winners placed the plastic tiara on her head.

  “You look like you’ve been really busy. I mean, collecting votes and all.” Finn had a habit of staring at his feet when he talked, just glancing up when he reached the end of his sentence. It was endearing, but Quinn kind of wished he’d be a little more confident.

  “A Cheerio’s duties are never done,” Quinn quoted Coach Sylvester. She glanced over Finn’s shoulder, and her gaze landed on Puck Puckerman, Finn’s teammate and one of his best friends. Puck was always doing something he shouldn’t do, and now he’d fashioned a slingshot out of two pencils and a rubber band and was trying to aim a grape at someone at the other end of his table. He looked stupid with his silly Mohawk carved into what would have been beautiful, glossy black hair. But, still, there was something about him. Sex appeal, her mother might have called it if she were talking about a movie star. Puck exuded it. Something raw and dangerous that made Quinn shiver whenever she thought about being alone with him.

  “What are you doing after school?” she heard Finn ask, and she dragged her eyes from Puck before Finn finished his‰n fone wid h sentence and his big puppy-dog eyes met hers.

  “Practice, as usual.” Somehow Quinn’s eyes were magnetically drawn back to Puck. This time, however, he seemed to sense it, and a cocky half grin came across his face before Quinn could look away. Great. He was definitely going to tease her about that later, and she would have to pretend he’d imagined it all. Quinn felt her face flush, but she recovered quickly.

  She turned to Finn and put her hand on his bare arm. “What are you doing tomorrow? Will you come to Celibacy Club with me after Cheerios practice? Maybe we could go out for frozen yogurt afterward.” Quinn was tired of waiting for Finn to make a move, so she’d decided to just ask him out herself. Though they’d been friends for the past year, Quinn and Finn weren’t a couple, and Quinn was ready to lose her single status for a while. After all, a queen needs her king.

  “Yeah, I’d like that.” Finn couldn’t get over the feel of...

  three

  Choir room, Monday after school

  After school on Monday, the hallways of McKinley High emptied out as students scuttled off to extracurricular activities, sports practices, or, in the case of McKinley’s many underachievers, detention. The choir room, across the hallway from the auditorium, was empty except for the remaining members of the Glee Club: Mercedes, Tina, Kurt, and Artie Abrams, one of the few McKinley students in a wheelchair. The large room, lined with thick soundproofing materials, had tiered platforms designed for optimal acoustic quality. During the day, the choir room was inhabited by the band geeks, who were, for some unknown reason, seen as higher on the social totem pole than the Glee kids. Lining the walls were lockers in which students could store their musical instruments, and the shelves were filled with sheet music. A blackboard on the front wall listed the marching band’s set list for the upcoming football game—“We Will Rock You,” “Another One Bites the Dust,” and the main theme from Star Wars—as well as the jazz band’s practice schedule: THIS WEEK: MONDAY THRU FRIDAY, 6:30 AM. And at the very top of the board, in big letters, it read: FALL IN LOVE WITH MUSIC RECITAL: THIS FRIDAY. A shiny black grand piano sat on the floor next to a full drum set, the drumsticks sitting on the round black stool, waiting to be used.

  The evidence of the thriving band program seemed only to highlight the paltriness of the Glee program, which had devolved over the years from a group of several dozen kids to the four students in the room. Since its glory days in the 1990s, when McKinley High had been a regular threat at regionals and sectionals, Glee Club had fallen on hard times. With budget cuts and littleschos aince its student interest, the role of staff supervisor for Glee had become something of a joke. It had been handed off from teacher to uninterested teacher, and under creepy Sandy Ryerson’s mostly apathetic guidance, the club had virtually disappeared.

  That is, except for the handful of students who were still willing to spend time after school, risking further social censure, just to sing.

  Unfortunately, the group of four wasn’t exactly meshing. As Mercedes, the most accomplished singer, belted out the lyrics to West Side Story’s “Tonight,” the others hummed and sang backup vocals, but something was missing. It wasn’t that they were bad. They weren’t. Tina had a lovely alto, even if she lacked confidence. Amazingly, Kurt could hit a high F. And Artie’s voice was deep and rich. They just weren’t enough.

  “We sound like a bunch of amateurs,” Kurt announced after Mercedes’s voice trailed off, vocalizing what everyone was thinking. He stuck his hands into the back pockets of his gray skinny jeans. “No offense, Mercedes,” he quickly added, seeing her face cloud over. “It’s not you. You’re awesome.”

  “I know.” Mercedes cleared her throat and stared out the window at a group of boys in soccer shorts tossing a Frisbee. “We’re just… not clicking.”

  “We’re running out of time,” Tina reminded the group, although no one had forgotten. They all could see the huge letters looming at the top of the blackboard. “The show is on Friday.”

  “We’re going to be humiliated. Further.” Artie rolled his wheelchair around in a giant circle. The collar of his white button-down shirt was stained blue. “I got slushied twice this morning.”

  “That’s just wrong.” Kurt shook his head knowingly. The jocks in this school were animals. Strong, sinewy, sweaty animals.

  “We just need to get it together,” Mercedes announced, clapping her hands. She’d been singing in her church’s choir since she was eight, and she could bring tears to the eyes of the crankiest old lady with her rendition of “Amazing Grace.” She was the shining star of the Glee Club, and she’d be damned if she was going to be humiliated in front of her peers. The other kids in Glee were great, too—at least, individually. They just needed a little extra something to tie it all together. They would just have to keep singing until their tongues fell off. “Take it from the top. Again.”

  “Again?” Tina moaned, sinking down into a chair. She loved singing, but she wasn’t sure about doing it in front of the entire school. She’d agreed to do the show only because everyone else wanted to do it, but now she was having second thoughts. “We need more than practice.”

  “Yeah, we need to stop whining and just get it right. I’m definitely not going to make a fool of myself onstage.” Mercedes shot a piercing glare at each one of them. “Are you with me?”

  They started again. Halfway through the song, which had improved slightly with this round, the door to the choir room flew open, clanking loudly against a rack of music stands. In the doorway stood Rachel Berry, looking like she’d stepped out of an episode of The Brady Bunch in her corduroy skirt, collegiate sweater, and kneesocks. The grin on her face stretched from ear to ear. The sight was so un€igh Berryso expected—for everyone except Kurt—that all the Glee members stopped singing, their voices trailing off into silence.

  Not for long. “That was a fairly reprehensible rendition of a Broadway classic. Artie, you were flat; Kurt, you were sharp. And girl whose name I don’t know yet”—she pointed at Tina—“you need to actually open your mouth when you sing. And Mercedes…” She trailed off when she saw the look on Mer
cedes’s face.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Mercedes replied, hand on her hip. She took a step forward, as if she were about to tackle Rachel. “Who died and made you Simon Cowell?”

  “Are those sequins on her kneesocks?” Tina whispered to Artie, eyeing Rachel’s white kneesocks. They were, indeed, trimmed with gold sequins. “And she’s giving us advice?” Still, Tina made sure she opened her mouth when she said it. She knew she had a problem with enunciation.

  Rachel remained unflustered. She plastered a bright yet determined smile on her face and stepped into the room, her ballet flats smacking gently against the linoleum floor. “After much consideration, I’ve decided to join you in Glee Club, even though I’ve had professional vocal training practically since birth and am overqualified for anything this school can offer.” She paused while the room remained silent. “And after hearing that travesty you call a performance, I’m confident that I’m exactly what you need to take you to the top.”

  Tina and Artie glanced at each other in confusion, and Kurt nervously ran his hand through his hair, ruining the carefully sculpted look he’d spent twenty minutes perfecting in front of the bathroom mirror, one spray of Frédéric Fekkai aerosol hair spray at a time. Had he been so blinded by her talent that he’d forgotten completely that Rachel Berry was an irritating, brown-nosing know-it-all who had an almost intuitive way of alienating every person in the room? Had he made a huge mistake by inviting her to the rehearsal?

  He glanced at Mercedes, who was looking Rachel up and down with an unamused look. In fact, she looked positively pissed. “I don’t know who you think you are, Little Miss Pink Heart-Shaped Barrettes, but you’re not our coach, and no one invited you here, so maybe you should just shut your mouth and stroll back to your Disney movie.”

  “Actually…” Kurt took a deep breath and faced the group. “I invited her.”

  Mercedes blinked. “What?” She stared at him as if he’d just told her he’d killed her puppy.