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

by Sophia Lowell

  “Look, we’ve got to face it. We suck. Glee is pretty much dead, anyway, unless we do something to save it.” He fingered the gold watch he’d inherited from his maternal grandfather. “We heard Rachel sing this morning on the PA, and while I’m sure we’d all admit that her self-promotion was startlingly transparent, she was incredible.”

  “Thank you,” Rachel replied primly. She had learned by now to ignore the backhanded parts of compliments and focus only on the positive. With a career in show business in front of her, that was the only way to do it.

  Kurt nodded briefly toward her. He found it slightly shocking that someone so interested in the performing arts could have such terrible style. The kneesocks were atrocious. “Although she may not be what we’re used to, I think € to, I tnlek € tRachel is the obvious solution to our problem.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Mercedes cried out, rubbing her temples. She stared at Kurt. Suddenly, in his charcoal-gray cashmere turtleneck and slim-fitting gray pants, he looked like a stranger to her. Kurt thought she wasn’t good enough? He was supposed to be her friend. She felt as if he’d slushied her pride.

  “Mercedes, you’re awesome, d-d-don’t get us wrong.” Tina was surprised to find herself speaking up. She thought Rachel had sounded really good that morning, too. Way better than Mrs. Applethorpe’s monotonous drone. Tina realized that it might be good for her to be around someone who was so bold and confident. Maybe it would help her overcome some of her shyness. “But we need more than one really strong singer. We need someone who can make all of us better.”

  Mercedes narrowed her eyes. That morning in homeroom, when she heard Rachel sing over the loudspeaker, she’d thought, Damn, that white girl can sing. Mercedes tried to picture the four of them, with no Rachel, performing on the stage in front of the entire school at the Fall in Love with Music recital. Short of some miracle, it was going to be a total disaster. Maybe, just maybe, the solution was standing in front of them in an annoyingly short skirt and sparkly socks. She took a deep breath. “Okay. She can stay.”

  Rachel nodded. She wanted to remind Mercedes that she didn’t exactly need her permission, but for once she held herself back.

  Mercedes glared at her. “For now.”

  “You won’t be sorry.” Rachel sat down on the piano bench...

  Mercedes raised an eyebrow. This was going to be an adventure.

  four

  Mr. Schuester’s Spanish II class, Tuesday morning

  Tina turned around in her seat. “All I could think about last night was how much better we sounded when she sang with us,” she admitted to Artie before the start of Mr. Schuester’s Spanish II class on Tuesday morning. It was the first period of the day, and one of Tina’s favorites. Talking to Artie first thing in her morning made it easier to get through a whole day of teasing. Artie was sweet. And she liked looking at the giant poster that hung on the wall next to her desk: the Picasso ink drawing of Don Quixote on his skinny horse.

  “If only her personality was a little less…” Artie trailed off. He sat at the last desk in the first aisle, the only one that was wheelchair-accessible. He wanted to be diplomatic about Rachel. He was pretty sure she wasn’t a completely horrible person, but she just managed to come off that way. His mom had always told him to say only nice things about people, but that policy wasn’t always practical.

  “Bossy?” Tinat toBosim to say commented, drawing an upside-down skull on the cover of Artie’s notebook. “Annoying? Offensive?” Rachel had told her that she enunciated like a two-year-old, which Tina didn’t think was fair. She had a speech impediment, all right?

  Artie straightened his black-framed glasses and stared at the list of vocabulary words Mr. Schu was going to quiz them on today. “I was thinking loud, but those work, too.”

  Their discussion was silenced by the staticky feedback that came over the loudspeaker whenever someone turned on the mike. “Let’s see what she does today,” Tina whispered, turning forward in her seat to face the blackboard, where the word ser had been incorrectly conjugated by someone on the previous day. Mr. Schuester hadn’t noticed it. Next to the writing, a giant map of Spain was halfway unrolled over the blackboard.

  “Happy Tuesday morning, McKinley High!” Rachel’s cheerful voice boomed into every classroom. “It’s Rachel Berry here, bringing you the morning announcements. In sports news, the boys’ soccer team led a valiant effort against Troy High, but unfortunately the team was defeated in the final seconds of the game. You’ll get them next time, boys!”

  “Is it wrong to want to murder someone for being too cheerful?” Tina asked over her shoulder as Rachel announced, with almost unnatural enthusiasm, the results of the senior government class’s mock trial.

  “I think so.” Artie had meant to tell Tina he liked her LITTLE MISS GROUCHY T-shirt when he first saw her in the hall that morning, but he was afraid she’d think he was staring at her boobs. Was it too late to tell her now?

  “And now I’d like to bring to your attention a disturbing case of injustice that is going on right here at McKinley High,” Rachel continued. Artie and Tina exchanged a worried glance. Had Rachel gone completely off the rails? “Those of you who tried to do your civic duty and vote for homecoming king and queen were probably shocked and appalled to find that certain cheerleaders running the voting booth were charging people to vote.”

  A few students chuckled. “As anyone who has taken Mr. Hillburger’s American history class knows, the Twenty-fourth Amendment prohibits the practice of charging a citizen to place his or her vote. If it’s good enough for the Constitution of the United States of America, I think it’s good enough for McKinley High. If this were happening in Iran, CNN would be running headline stories about it, but because pretty blond girls are doing it here, at our high school, everyone hands over dollar bills.”

  “Is she insane?” Artie whispered. “She sounds like a CNN news update.”

  “I don’t think it’s that f-f-far-fetched to assume there’s something psychologically wrong with her,” Tina whispered back. “Like, clinically.”

  Rachel’s pert voice continued. “In conclusion, I urge you all to boycott the homecoming election because of its blatant unfairness. I’m sure—”

  “I don’t know who you think you are.” A deep, brash voice interrupted Rachel’s plea. The entire school immediately recognized it as the voice of Sue Sylvester, the legendary coach of the Cheerios. She was powerful and opinionated and known for kicking Cheerios off the squad if they cried in publicó€ried in p, Cicó€rie. “But you are way out of line here. Challenging the status quo is a deceitful and insidious tactic.”

  Artie leaned forward. “This is getting good,” he whispered to Tina. The whole class leaned forward in their desks, eagerly listening to the exchange on the loudspeaker. Most people knew not to mess with Coach Sylvester, but Rachel seemed oblivious to that sort of thing.

  “I wish there was video,” Tina answered. Secretly, though, she worried that people would take seriously Rachel’s call to boycott the homecoming election and might even boycott the dance itself. Tina was kind of hoping that Artie would ask her to the dance, even though she knew it was silly. Artie got nervous about things like that, and going to a school dance was probably the last thing he wanted to do. Still…

  “Charging students to vote is unethical and…” There was a nervous note in Rachel’s voice as she spoke to Coach Sylvester.

  “I’ll tell you what unethical is. Unethical is you denying my Cheerios the right to raise money for their tanning needs. These are some talented athletes who are going all the way to the top, and you, young lady, need to stick to your lonely path to unrealized ambitions.”

  Everyone in the classroom burst into laughter. “If Rachel’s starting a fight with Coach Sylvester, she’s even crazier than we thought,” Artie said, shaking his head.

  “I don’t know.” Tina smiled and glanced out the window. It was a sunny day, and the smell of freshly mowed grass came through t
he open window. Maybe what Glee needed was someone who was willing to fight for it. “Maybe we should just stick it out for a while. At least until the performance on Friday.” She shrugged. Maybe she was the crazy one, but she felt they might actually have a chance to sound good in front of the whole school. “Then we’ll know once and for all if Glee is doomed.”

  “I hope it’s not.” Artie leaned back in his chair. Rachel was still bickering with Coach Sylvester. He couldn’t imagine life in high school without Glee after school. He got to hang out with Tina and sing and be someone besides “that wheelchair kid.” There, he was a baritone, someone who could sing the low parts, someone who did a mean rendition of Usher’s “OMG.” He was part of something, not just a single odd piece that didn’t fit in. There, he was normal. “Glee is the best part of my day.” His dark eyes met hers for a moment before returning to his list of conjugated Spanish verbs.

  Tina blushed. That was exactly how she felt. “I… I,” she stammered, having a hard time starting. “I know what you mean,” she said finally.

  Artie nodded. “So if Rachel can help us keep it going, I’m willing to make certain allowances, like putting up with her awful personality.”

  “And I’ll leave you with a musical note in honor of today,” Rachel’s voice came over the PA. Coach Sylvester had stormed out of the room in a huff, probably vowing to get back at Rachel “and your little dog, too.” In a clear, confident voice, Rachel began to sing a verse from an old Rolling Stones song, “Ruby Tuesday.”

  Having taught almost ten years at a middle-of-the-road high school deep in the farmland of central Ohio, Mr. Schuester was fairly good at zoning out when one of his kids started rambling on. That m p€ng on. Tani m p€ngorning, he’d found himself daydreaming about running a bed-and-breakfast in Bali, and he hadn’t heard the majority of Rachel Berry’s morning announcements. On paper, she was the kind of student any teacher should love, but in the flesh she left something to be desired. The previous year, in Spanish II, Rachel raised her hand so often that Mr. Schuester had to turn his desk in a different direction so that she wouldn’t be in his direct line of vision. Her enthusiasm was, in some lights, charming, but in others, just an annoyance.

  When she started singing “Ruby Tuesday,” though, Mr. Schuester’s ears perked up. Despite the poor acoustics of the announcement room microphone and the staticky PA system, it was clear that Rachel was good. Very good, even. For a second, listening to her voice took him back to his own days at McKinley High, back when Glee was full of talented, confident students who loved to perform in front of the entire school and who always brought down the house. He’d been one of the stars himself, and while he wouldn’t say he could have had any girl he wanted, he’d definitely had his fans among female students. But it was always only about Terri, whom he’d married when they were both halfway through Ohio State.

  “See you tomorrow,” Rachel signed off in her chipper voice. “Remember to not vote.”

  Smiling, Mr. Schuester stood up. He gazed across the room at the rows of bored students, some chewing on pencils and some texting under their desks, as if he wouldn’t notice. He’d planned a lesson on conjugating -er verbs today, but suddenly he decided to do something different. Something new and exciting.

  “Guys, how would you like to learn the words to ‘Guantanamera’?” He felt inspired again, thinking about the days when he and his Glee friends would sing and jam together. Everything had seemed so much… happier then.

  The students exchanged glances, as if this were a trick. “Is that a song?” someone asked.

  “Only the most popular song in the history of Cuba.” He...

  Mr. Schuester smiled, too. He was reminded that teaching could be fun.

  five

  Football field, Tuesday after school

  The vast, grassy sports fields that stretched out behind the high school always bustled with activity the second the final bell rang. Boys and girls wearing running shorts and McKinley Athletics Department T-shirts circled the school grounds and neighborhood streets for cross-country practice, and the soccer fields were filled with kids thundering across the grass, scrambling to get a foot on the ball. The football team h¡€€rcled thead command of the centrally located football field, and the Cheerios held their practices in the far end zone. Tuesday afternoon was unseasonably warm, and all the teams—with the exception of Coach Sylvester’s whip-trained cheerleading squad—were a little lazier in their efforts. The runners jogged a little slower, flirting with members of the opposite sex as they ran.

  The football team, especially, in their uniforms and heavy pads, were moving sluggishly. Most of the players were stretched out on the field in various states of repose, pretending to have completed a drill when Coach Tanaka looked their way. The coach was in the near end zone, working with Daniel Duffy, the team’s kicker, who had to this point managed to kick the ball through the goalposts on only one out of twenty-three tries. The rest of the team was under orders to run drills, but something in the warm air made everyone reluctant to move, and concentration seemed impossible.

  Or maybe it was because the Cheerios were acting extra peppy at their end of the field, their girlish voices calling out instructions that the football guys couldn’t understand. In the brilliant September sunlight, with their ponytails flipping as they executed their routines perfectly, they looked like birds. Lithe, acrobatic birds, Finn couldn’t help thinking. He’d been throwing passes across the field to Puck Puckerman, but Puck kept dropping the ball because he was watching the girls as well.

  “Dude, they are so hot.” Puck came up behind Finn and punched him in the shoulder pad. They’d been friends for years, since they played on opposing Little League teams. Puck had hit Finn in the head with a fastball. He’d insisted that Finn was crowding the plate, and Finn had rushed the mound. After the game Finn’s mother took them out for ice cream, and all was forgiven. “It’s cruel and unusual punishment to make us try and practice while they’re out there flipping their skirts up.”

  “I know. They’re really good.”

  Both of them watched as Quinn Fabray started running. Each held his breath as she executed a perfect double flip before spiraling through the air in a move that looked as though it belonged in the summer Olympics. Quinn landed on her feet with an oompf, her ponytail bouncing at the end. She immediately returned to her original position without breaking a sweat. Did girls even sweat? Finn wondered. How come they never smelled like the boys’ locker room after practice? He was pretty sure Quinn always smelled good.

  “Quinn, huh?” Puck glanced at Finn. He took off his helmet and hung it at his side. “You two going out?”

  “I don’t know. Kind of. I mean, I think that we’re going to start hanging out soon.” Finn wiped the sweat off his forehead with his equally sweaty palm. He didn’t really know why Quinn liked him, but he guessed she did, since she’d invited him to the Celibacy Club meeting and then out for ice cream. He’d always thought she was pretty, though, and once she started paying some attention to him, he felt that he should go with it. Only a crazy person would turn down Quinn Fabray. “I’m going to Celibacy Club with her today.”

  Puck raised his eyebrows. “What’s that all about?”

  “I don’t know,” Finn said again. “I guess she’s, uh, into it.” Which was weird, because Quinn was totally hot, and she had this totally sexy way of talking in this kind of quiet voice that soþ vo">she’d yelled at both Brittany and that Rachel Berry girl, and that poor dude that Puck and the other football players were always throwing in the Dumpster. Quinn seemed kind of angry a lot of the time.

  But the way she had touched his arm when she asked him to Celibacy Club was so gentle, and it really had turned him on. He liked her. He really did. He was sure of it—or, at least, half-sure of it. It was just hard to tell. Puck was, like, the tenth guy to ask him about Quinn, and he was really feeling the pressure. If he didn’t ask her to the homecoming dance, did that mean there was something wrong
with him? Or her?

  “You gotta be careful around those church girls,” Puck replied, his eyes watching Quinn as she climbed to the top of a pyramid of girls. “They’re all wild underneath.” It wasn’t fair that Finn got first dibs on Quinn just because he was the quarterback. The team sucked, so how good a quarterback was he, really? Finn didn’t even seem totally into her, which also wasn’t fair, since Puck wanted her. Really badly.

  She’d always been hot but a little too goody-goody for Puck to notice her. But on the first day of school this year, she’d sat in front of Puck in biology. When she lifted her arm and reached back to scratch her shoulder, the neckline of her shirt bunched up, and he caught a glimpse of her pale pink bra strap. Normally, the sight of a bra strap wasn’t a big deal to Puck. After all, that summer he had started a thriving business cleaning aboveground pools, and his success was based mostly on his ability to please lonely older women who wore sexy underwear and lusted after him openly. His abs were ripped, and cougars dug his Mohawk.

  But something about that peek at the pale pink strap against Quinn’s tanned shoulder had gotten him all hot and bothered. Sometimes the image came back to him as he was running down the field or eating a slice of pizza or throwing a slushie into a freshman’s face, and it was so vivid he’d swear he could smell her strawberry shampoo.

  “I don’t know,” Finn said, sounding disappointed. He grabbed a football and tossed it in the air. “I don’t think Quinn’s like that.”

  Across the field, after Brittany and Santana basket-caught Quinn from the top of the pyramid, Coach Sylvester blew the silver whistle she wore around her neck. “Take five, ladies. No, take three. That pyramid was wobbly, and if you think we can make it all the way to the top with that, you are all sorely mistaken. You think this is hard? Try giving yourself laser eye surgery—that’s hard.” She patted Quinn on the shoulder as she passed. “Nice job, Q. That was as close to perfection as these lazy underachievers are going to get.”