“Cool.” Finn ordered two root beer floats, missing the irony in Mercedes’s voice. As he waited for the floats, he looked around the place and then turned back to Kurt and Mercedes. “Aren’t you two in that singing club?”
Mercedes and Kurt shared a glance. Kurt still couldn’t talk. How was it possible that Finn Hudson knew something—anything—about him? Mercedes had to answer. “Yup, we are.” She sipped her milk shake. “What’s it to you?”
Finn stared at his shoes. He was grateful when the counter girl handed him his two root beer floats. It gave him something else to look at. He was a little embarrassed that he’d been so moved by Rachel’s performance after school. “I, uh, saw Rachel. Singing after school. She said you were going to perform. At the recital.”
Oh my God, Kurt thought. It was so adorable how Finn couldn’t speak in complete sentences. “Friday,” Kurt managed to croak out.
Finn smiled at them. Even Mercedes felt her knees weaken. It felt good to have a popular, gorgeous jock talking to them like they were human beings. “Well, good luck,” Finn said. “I’d better, uh, get going with these.”
“Finn.” Quinn ran her tube of lip gloss across her lips and opened and closed them several times to distribute the gloss evenly. She watched as Finn placed the diet root beer float on the table in front of her. “What were you doing over there?”
“What? Oh.” Finn slid into the booth. One of the defensive ends walked by and held out his hand for a high five. Finn slapped it. “I was just talking to those guys.” He pulled the wrapper off his straw and stuck it into the float.
“I saw that.” Quinn took a tiny sip of her float. Had he remembered to get frozen yogurt? And diet root beer? It tasted awfully sweet. And Quinn hadn’t got a body like hers eating full-fat ice cream. “But why were you wasting your time talking to them? They’re, like, a thousand miles beneath you.”
Finn slurped his float. Quinn could be so… harsh. “I was just being friendly.”
“Well, you should save it.” Quinn took another sip of her float and then pushed it away. She could practically feel her skirt waistband getting tighter. She was certain that Finn had messed up her order because he’d been too busy talking to that gay guy and that girl who had no business ordering a milk shake. “Some of the Cheerios are planning a prank at the fall music recital on Friday. Something to really embarrass that Rachel girl.”
“What?” Finn almost choked on his float. “Why would you want to do that?” Was it because Finn had been talking to Rachel in the auditorium? Quinn couldn’t tell he was attracted to Rachel, could she? Suddenly, Finn thought of that creepy old movie where the crazy girlfriend throws the guy’s bunny into a pot of boiling water.
“Do you really need to ask?” Quinn tapped her spoon against the sticky table. “It was humiliating how that crazy nobody ranted about the Cheerios’ voting booth on the morning announcements. In front of the entire school.” She rubbed her lips together again. “She definitely has to pay.”
“I don’t know.” Finn wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It doesn’t seem like that big a deal. She was just expressing her opinion, right?”
“What gave her the right to do that?” Quinn crossed her arms. “What would happen if we let her get away with it? There’d be total social revolt if all the losers could talk about us like that.” Quinn coï€hat.” Qui C could tell Finn was unconvinced. She bit her lip. She was losing him, and she didn’t even really have him yet. She never would have had to work this hard to get Puck on her side. He would have done whatever she wanted, without her having to beg.
If she wanted Finn, though, she didn’t want him to be halfheartedly hers. She needed his full cooperation in this relationship, or they wouldn’t become the resident It couple. She reached out and put her hand on Finn’s. He dropped his spoon, but she didn’t take her hand away. “Some of the football players are coming, too.” She fluttered her long lashes at him. “Are you in? Or are you out?”
Finn stared at her perfect pink fingernails. They were so...
Quinn tapped her fingers against Finn’s hand, prompting him. Even though he didn’t know her that well yet, he could tell she was the kind of girl who was used to getting what she wanted. If Finn couldn’t give that to her, some other guy would be more than happy to.
“Okay,” he heard himself say in a voice that didn’t sound like his own. “What do you need me to do?”
nine
Choir room, Wednesday morning
On Wednesday morning, Rachel demanded that the Glee kids get passes out of their study halls to come to the choir room for an extra practice session. For half an hour, they crowded around the piano singing “Tonight” and trying to do the steps she’d storyboarded for them last night while watching the movie version of West Side Story for inspiration. They had run through the routine half a dozen times before Artie wheeled over to the side of the room.
“What are you doing?” Rachel demanded. She had on a white puff-sleeved button-down under a wool herringbone jumper, but she still managed to move with as much energy as a professional dancer, or at least a Cheerio during one of Coach Sylvester’s “elimination” practices. “We haven’t nailed the footwork yet.”
“You don’t want to see me dehydrate.” Artie pulled a bottle of water from his backpack and took a swig. “It’s not pretty.”
“I’m with Artie. I think we could all use a break,” Mercedes admitted, throwing herself down on one of the plastic chairs. “My bones are not used to working this hard.”
“I’m starting to work up a sweat.” Kurt touched the back of his hand to his forehead. “And I can’t pull off the sweaty look.” He grabbed a folder and fanned his face.
“Y-y-yeah, Rachel,” Tina said. “We’re tired. Plus, I’ve got homework to do for tomorrow.”
Rachel clenched her fists at her sides in frustration. Two days. They had only two days to perfect theirþ€ perfect F routine, and it wasn’t there yet. They were good, but not great. If they wanted to impress the whole school, they didn’t have time for paltry things like water breaks. She’d heard that when Madonna was getting ready to go on tour, she’d practice for eighteen hours straight without even taking a pee break.
Still, Artie was in a wheelchair. Maybe she needed to give him a break. But was it too much to ask that the rest of them—with two working legs—work a little harder? Pick your battles, she thought. She sighed and sat down on the piano bench. “Five minutes.”
Mercedes leaned back in her chair. “I’m not going to practice,” she sang, improvising. “I said no, no, no.” The others, except Rachel, laughed.
“Have you all seen the Lady Gaga video for ‘Just Dance’? I love it.” Tina took a sip from her Diet Coke bottle.
“She’s Eurotrashtastic in that. It looks like an American Apparel commercial.” Kurt loved American Apparel, but the closest one was in Dayton, an hour’s drive away. He went there once a month to stock up on tight-fitting T-shirts, knee-length cardigans, and whatever came in turquoise.
Tina sang a few lines from the song, her platform Mary Janes sliding across the linoleum tiles. Her black-and-red plaid skirt, the flaps held together by five giant metal safety pins, flared out as she moved.
“Damn, girl.” Mercedes started humming the backup part. “You’re feeling the Lady Gaga today.”
“What’s goin’ on, on the floor?”
“Tina, what else have you been hiding from us?” Kurt raised his eyebrows as everyone watched her in amazement.
Rachel rolled her eyes. Sure, she was happy Tina was coming out of her shell. Maybe singing would give her enough confidence to overcome her stutter. But that didn’t mean Rachel wanted to see Tina steal the show away from her.
“You should save those moves for next Friday night,” Rachel blurted out. “You don’t want to use them all up on us now.”
The others exchanged glances. “What’s next Friday night?” Artie asked cautiously.
“Um, just the homecoming
dance?” Rachel’s eyes widened. “We can all celebrate our dazzling recital performance at the dance next week.”
“How would we do that if we’re not th-th-there?” Tina flopped down into one of the plastic chairs and took a giant sip of water. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t agree with the Andy Warhol saying that everyone gets fifteen minutes of fame. It was a little too egalitarian. She’d prefer it to be based on ability instead.
“You’re not going?” Rachel had always dreamed about going to high school dances. She’d had a closet full of play clothes when she was growing up, and her dads would help her transform the dining room into a ballroom.
“Hell to the no,” Mercedes said, staring down at the piano. She would have liked to go, but only with Kurt, and if he was going to ask her, he probably would have done it by now. She glanced at him. He was adjusting his ha¾jushe no,is ir.
“I’m not really equipped for dancing in large crowds of people.” Artie rolled back on his wheels. The only person he could imagine going with was Tina, and it would probably be embarrassing for her to be the only one with a date who had wheels.
“I get n-n-nervous in crowds.” Tina fiddled with the black leather cuff bracelet on her left wrist.
“None of you are going?” Rachel couldn’t believe it. “The homecoming dance is one of the seminal events of any student’s high school career. Kurt?”
“I’ve considered it.” Kurt touched his hair. He was wearing his favorite Marc Jacobs button-down and the only pair of jeans he would wear, his Rock & Republic dark-wash skinny jeans. “I just bought an awesome new Tom Ford suit on eBay, and it would be the only place I could wear it.”
Rachel clapped her hands. “Yes! Let’s all go, then.” She found it disturbing that Kurt knew so much about fashion.
“I just said I’d considered it.” Kurt glared at Rachel. Must she always be so peppy? “But I don’t really want to deal with the popular kids. They’ll be out in full force, probably drunk and ready to terrorize.” He smoothed his shirt. “It’s a really great suit. I don’t know if I can risk it.”
“This is shameful, everyone!” Rachel slapped her hand down on the piano. She felt as angry as she had after seeing the Cheerios charging students to vote. “Why should the jocks be the only ones who are allowed to participate in McKinley High’s activities? They’ve already got most of the funding for their sports and clubs, and they get away with throwing slushies in everyone’s face. We can’t take it lying down.”
Artie straightened his tie. “That’s because they’re the beautiful people.” Although Tina was prettier than anyone else in school, in Artie’s opinion. The blue streaks she’d put in a few weeks ago were like ribbons in her long, shiny black locks. He even liked the crazy eye makeup she wore—bright pinks or bright blues in electric cotton candy colors. And she was a nice person, which was priceless. “Beautiful people historically have been able to get away with anything.”
Rachel threw her hands up in the air. “That doesn’t make it right!” She turned to Tina, sensing a potential ally. “Tina, you’re a great dancer. Wouldn’t it be fun for you to get all dressed up in a…” She stared at Tina’s Goth outfit. “In a… fancy black dress and some new spiked leather bracelets? And step out on the dance floor and show people how to do it?”
Tina shook her head. “I-I-I don’t think so.” She stared at the floor. “I can dance in front of y-y-you guys, but not the whole school. Someone would probably trip me, just to see how I landed.”
“You guys.” Rachel stepped back. This was shocking. “We have to go. We have to show the rest of the school that we won’t be pushed around or influenced by what everyone else thinks.” Last spring, Rachel stayed home from the Under the Sea end-of-the-year dance, pretending that she was busy working on her MySpace page. But really she was too embarrassed after the school president fiasco to face the student body. She wasn’t going to let that happen again this year. Date or no date, she wanted to go to the homecoming dance.
Kurt sighed. While he admired Rachel’s change-the-world spirit, it also just made him tired. “That’s all very nice and good in theory, but it’s just not practical. The rest of the school does push us around, and everyone is influenced by what they think.”
“I’m with Kurt.” Mercedes looked sad. “What’s the point of going and calling more attention to ourselves? I’m not exactly hard to miss—I’m one of ten black kids at this school, and I’m not exactly a toothpick.”
Artie and Tina were nodding in agreement. Rachel wanted to...
Rachel stared at the clock above the door, wishing it were time to move on to the next class. The choir room felt stifling all of a sudden. If the Glee kids were this timid, maybe she shouldn’t be putting all her eggs in the Glee basket.
What she needed was a plan B.
ten
Miss Pillsbury’s guidance office, later on Wednesday
Miss Pillsbury had been the guidance counselor at McKinley High for only a year and a half, but she was a vast improvement over Ms. Delzer, who’d been forced to resign after a local military recruiter pled guilty to bribing her to encourage particularly athletic students to enlist. She fled the state before charges could be brought against her. Miss Pillsbury was young, with orange-red hair cut in a perky bob, and she didn’t walk through the halls with that burned-out look in her eyes that most teachers got after a few years. She had wide eyes that made her look like a Precious Moments figurine.
“Rachel, what can I help you with today?” Miss Pillsbury smiled sweetly and crossed her hands on her unnaturally neat desk. Behind her, her computer monitor showed a screensaver of inspirational phrases flashing through black space. Rachel read YOU CAN DO IT and HOLD FAST TO YOUR DREAMS and THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER: GO AHEAD AND EAT IT before she had to look away. A large potted tree loomed in the corner of the room, its fronds reaching toward the sun. Shelves of study guides and college catalogs lined the built-in bookshelves, though Rachel suspected that most of them had never been touched. McKinley High students were not an ambitious bunch.
Rachel wiped her feet on the WELCOME mat inside the door. Even though they were indoors. Rachel had heard that Miss Pillsbury had a thing about dirt. “I am in serious need of guidance.”
“You came to the right place.” Miss Pillsbury, in her kelly green blouse with a giant bow at her neck, looked like she should be going door-to-door selling Girl Scout cookies. “Have a seat.”
Rachel glanced over her shoulder as she sank into the vinyl ar´o t should bmchair opposite Miss Pillsbury’s desk. One glass wall of the guidance counselor’s office looked out on the main hallway, and Rachel kept getting the creepy sensation that someone was making puckered-lip fish faces against the glass behind her head. “I think I’ve gone as far as I can go at McKinley High.”
Miss Pillsbury blinked. Her voice was like a glass of warm milk. “Okay, Rachel. Tell me why you think that. Are you not being challenged?”
“I’ve read online about performing arts high schools—like in Fame?—and I just feel like I might be a better fit at a place like that.” She imagined the perfect schedule—vocal training, aerobics, tap dance, dramatic arts, lunch.
Miss Pillsbury nodded noncommittally. She occasionally had gifted students come to her about their fears of not realizing their potential, but far more often she found herself talking to students who had no interest in realizing their potential. Rachel Berry was an interesting case. She was one of those students whom teachers either loved or hated; although she got excellent grades and participated in class with a zeal that most students could only muster for lunch, her personality was a little… abrasive. “Are you having a hard time fitting in at McKinley?”
“What? No.” Rachel raised her nose in the air. “I mean, I don’t care about fitting in. That’s not what this is about.”
Miss Pillsbury nodded her head slowly. She never saw Rachel talking to friends or hanging out with groups of people in the cafeteria. Not that Miss Pillsbury could blam
e her for that. The cafeteria was one of the filthiest places in the entire school. A kitchen sink housed more germs than the handle of a toilet, she had read, and she was pretty sure the sinks in the cafeteria were not immaculate. Suddenly, she felt a little woozy. She quickly squirted some of her liquid hand sanitizer into her palms, letting the lemony smell waft its way into her nostrils. It had a calming effect. “What is it about, then?” She was used to asking students series of questions, trying to get the teens to figure out what they wanted out of life and why they were here.
Rachel took a deep breath and stared at the rack of self-help pamphlets behind the desk. Miss Pillsbury wasn’t listening at all, which didn’t seem like an excellent trait for a guidance counselor. Rachel spoke in a calm voice. “It only makes sense that someone of my caliber and talents receive the training to match.”
Miss Pillsbury rubbed her temples with the tips of her clear-polished nails, trying to tell herself that if only all her students were this ambitious, her job would be much easier. “Yes, I can see your point.”
“Good.” Rachel beamed.
But Miss Pillsbury had heard about Rachel Berry’s tendencies to overreact. The counselor tried to keep an empathetic look on her face. “Rachel, I know you are a very talented young lady. I heard you sing during the announcements, and I think you were quite lovely.” Which was true, although when Rachel was singing this morning, all Miss Pillsbury could think about was how unsanitary the microphones must be, with multiple people using them. They had to be hotbeds of spittle and germs.
“Thank you.” Rachel nodded. She sensed Miss Pillsbury’s hesitation, but as a school administrator, wasn’t she obligated to attempt to satisfy the nee¼ativ heige nds of her students?
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