She marched to the guidance counselor’s office, more determined than ever. This time she was not taking no for an answer.
“Miss Pillsbury?” Rachel spotted Miss Pillsbury in the hallway, wearing a pair of baby blue rubber gloves. She was scraping at a piece of gum that someone had stuck to the glass wall between her office and the hallway. “I’m ready for the transfer applications now.”
“Rachel, are you sure?” Miss Pillsbury removed the piece of gum and carried it, on the scraper she kept just for that purpose, to the trash can. Now she needed to Windex the smudge it had left behind, but Rachel was standing there so expectantly. The counselor knew it was her duty to try to talk this girl down from the ledge, but she couldn’t muster up the energy, not with that smudge on the glass.
“One hundred and ten percent.”
Miss Pillsbury sighed slightly and headed into her office. Gloves still on, she grabbed a sheaf of papers from a file holder on her shelf and handed them to Rachel. “It looks like most of these are due soon, if you’d like to make the transfer this semester.” Miss Pillsbury grabbed her Windex bottle with a twinge of guilt. “If you’d like to talk about it more, please do stop by later.”
“Thank you.” Rachel clutched the papers to her chest like a life preserver as she made her way to her locker through the rapidly filling hallways. One of these applications was her ticket out of here, and it was about time she used it. She watched as a guy in a letterman’s jacket slammed a shorter guy into a wall of open lockers and then sipped his slushie as if nothing had happened. She didn’t doubt that every school had its social hierarchies, but none could be as moronic as McKinley’s. If only it were based on real talent—Rachel would immediately reign as queen.
Then she saw him. Finn. He was leaning against his locker, holding a thick math book in one hand. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he wore a gray T-shirt that was starting to fray around the neck.
Rachel stopped walking. Just at that moment, Finn looked up. He saw h € up. He “aw er and flashed a quick smile before turning and walking away.
In her post-performance fury, she’d forgotten about Finn....
But what if wasting away at McKinley gave her the only chance at Finn?
Her brain started whirling. Maybe it didn’t have to be over for Glee Club. If there was a way to keep it alive—to make it better, stronger—and make everyone at McKinley see how good the group could be, then maybe she could stay.
A germ of an idea popped into her brain. The homecoming dance. The entire school would be in the gymnasium. Ready to be wowed.
But she couldn’t do it alone. She was going to need the other Glee kids’ help, which might be hard to get, as they all hated her now.
But she wouldn’t be Rachel Berry if she gave up when faced with a challenge, no matter how insurmountable.
nineteen
Football practice, Tuesday after school
Come on, Brit. You’re looking geriatric today. I’ve got soiled delicates that are fresher than your moves,” Coach Sylvester called through her white plastic megaphone. “All right, none of you have earned a break, but if I don’t give you all one, Social Services will come knocking again, and I don’t need to be subjected to any more Kmart pantsuits. Take five.” She shook her head in disgust. Coach Sylvester was always extra demanding during the week before the homecoming game. The McKinley High football team was notoriously bad, and Coach Sylvester liked to remind the Cheerios that they were the real stars.
Quinn didn’t care about Coach Sylvester’s tough-love insults. She knew she’d been looking good. Great, even. It was because she was furious, and her anger was like rocket fuel to her backflips.
She grabbed her towel from the bench and dabbed at her neck. She’d been watching Puck across the field the whole time, which just made her angrier and even more powerful as she flung her body through the air. All week she’d been waiting for a follow-up to their conversation in the janitor’s closet. But he never tried to get alone with her again, leaving Quinn feeling strangely rejected. Even though she knew it was a stupid game between them, she wasn’t so ready for it to be over.
Yes, she’d told him it was over, but she hadn’t exactly expected him to give up so quickly. Had she really been just a passing fancy? Had Puck just been after her because she was Quinn Fabray, president of the Celibacy Club, and he thought it would be funny to see if he could get in her pants? The thought made her blood boil.
Across the field, she cou H€ield, sh–ld see Puck’s group finish some kind of drill. Football looked so easy compared to cheering. The football players ran around a giant field trying to catch a big ball or trying to stop people from catching it, and they wore big thick pads the whole time, as if they were babies. The Cheerios, in contrast, worked every muscle in their bodies as they launched themselves through the air. Their timing had to be perfect—if it wasn’t, the whole pyramid could come down. She’d like to see those football players try to stand on each other’s shoulders and keep a smile on their faces.
Before she knew what she was doing, Quinn was halfway across the field to the football bench. Toward Puck. She could see Finn—as the tallest guy in school, he was easy to spot—near the end zone. He was busy running plays with his wide receivers, loudly calling out numbers, and she felt a wave of tenderness for him. She knew how important the homecoming game was to him.
“Congratulations.” Puck’s back was to Quinn, and she leaned forward and said the word loudly in his ear.
He turned around and grinned at the sight of her standing behind the bench in her Cheerios uniform. In any other context, such a short skirt on a girl would mean she was a slut, but because it was a uniform, it somehow came off as wholesome and old-fashioned. And hot. Quinn’s hair was pulled back into a ponytail, as it always was for practice, letting her sexy little ears stand out. Puck wished he could put one in his mouth and suck on it like a lollipop.
“On what? Did you see that tackle?” He squinted into the sunlight.
“No, I meant congratulations on going to the home-coming dance with Santana.” Quinn’s voice was clipped, as if she was trying to keep her temper under control. “You guys will make a really adorable couple.”
Puck wiped the sweat off his forehead with someone else’s T-shirt. “You heard about that already?”
“Of course I did. Santana wouldn’t shut up about it all through practice.” Quinn flicked her ponytail over her shoulder. Santana had rushed up to Quinn in the girls’ locker room before practice and thrown her arms around her friend, even though Quinn had just taken off her shirt and was standing there in her sports bra. “He asked me!” Santana had squealed, and Quinn was happy for her for a second—before she realized that Santana meant Puck had asked her. A satisfied grin had stayed on Santana’s face all through practice, and every time they got a break, she’d say something to Quinn like, “I bet he’s a great kisser” or “I wonder if Puck’ll bring me flowers.”
“Hey, you’re not really mad at me? Because I’m going to the dance?” Puck stared at Quinn. Her cheeks were bright red, either from practice or because she’d gotten all hot and bothered over him. Which, he had to say, he liked. Maybe she was having second thoughts about her decision to wait around for clueless Finn to get the guts up to ask her.
“I thought you said you couldn’t stand Santana,” Quinn hissed. A couple of players grabbed water from the bench and looked curiously at Quinn. “You said her voice made your brain want to explode.”
“But she’s hot.” Puck shrugged, grabbing his helmet from the bench. “And available.”
“I can’t believe you.” Quinn tried to look Í€€Puck melook Í€away, but his dark brown eyes had caught her. She felt the familiar flip-flop in the bottom of her belly—a feeling she never got around Finn, no matter how much she wished she did. Some things you couldn’t fake.
“I can’t believe you,” Puck shot back. “In case you don’t remember, I asked you to go to the dance with me. And you t
urned me down, remember?”
Quinn felt the anger rising in her. She’d always had a little problem with her temper. Once, in ninth grade, Mindy Johannes had accidentally let a drop of nail polish fall on Quinn’s Cheerios uniform when she was doing her nails before a game, and Quinn had grabbed the bottle of Petal Pink and poured the whole thing in Mindy’s faux Gucci purse. She hadn’t meant to—she hadn’t even thought about it while she was doing it. And now she felt the same way. It didn’t matter how reasonable Puck was being—that just made it worse. Of course he was right. This whole thing was of Quinn’s own making.
But it didn’t stop her from wanting to hit him. To smack that smirk off his face. And then maybe kiss it.
“Remember?” Puck asked, stepping closer. Quinn closed her eyes. The memory of the janitor’s closet came rushing back to her. Even the smell of floor polish seemed sexy when it involved Puck. This was it, she thought. This was the moment when she would let Puck kiss her in public. In front of the entire football team, all the Cheerios, the whole world. Finn would find out, and maybe he could take Santana to the dance, as a consolation prize, while Puck and Quinn slow danced on the gym floor.
“What’s up, guys?”
Quinn’s eyes flew open. Finn had appeared between them, slapping Puck’s back. His face seemed so innocent and honest, and she felt a stab of guilt. Then he focused on Quinn. “I saw you standing over here. Are you done with practice?”
Quinn forced herself to focus on Finn. Puck could eat his heart out. “No, just on break.” Boldly, she touched Finn’s back. “You looked good out there.”
Finn grinned sheepishly. He was the kind of guy who smiled with his whole face, not just his lips. He was a good guy, Quinn reminded herself. She wanted a good guy, didn’t she? “Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Finn started, then stopped. “Do you… do you want to go to the homecoming dance? I mean, with me?”
Quinn smiled. It was happening. This was what she’d been waiting for. Still, she couldn’t help glancing over at Puck, who had one foot on the bench and was leaning forward to stretch out his hamstrings. “Yes, of course. I’d love to go with you, Finn.”
Puck didn’t even flinch. “Cool,” Finn said. “I’d like to pick you up in my mom’s car, but I think all the guys just get ready in the locker room after the game.”
“That’s okay.” Quinn twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. “I’m going over to Brit’s to get ready.”
“Cool,” Finn repeated. “So I’ll meet you in the gym? At, like, nine?”
“That sounds perfect,” Quinn purred. Still no reaction from...
But it was worth it. She saw Puck look up from his stretch. He looked pissed. Like he wanted to punch something—someone—in the face.
“That sounds awesome.” Finn was, understandably, psyched. Quinn Fabray, inviting him to a hot tub? The dance would be awesome, but the hot tub… even more awesome.
“Good.” Coach Sylvester’s whistle blew, and Quinn started walking backward across the grass. She waved her fingers at Finn, ignoring Puck completely. “Gotta get back to work now.” As she turned her back on the boys, she felt both Puck and Finn staring after her.
She had them both exactly where she wanted them. Puck might be going to the dance with Santana, but he’d be thinking of Quinn.
twenty
McKinley High hallway, Wednesday morning
Care to get a refreshment?” Kurt asked as he sidled up to Mercedes’s open locker. She was putting on grape-flavored lip gloss as she looked into her small locker mirror. “I didn’t get enough beauty sleep last night.”
Mercedes glanced at her phone for the time. “God bless Mr. Horn.” They had first period with the notoriously laid-back teacher. He’d smoked so much marijuana in the seventies that he regularly spaced out in class and let the kids come and go, as long as they promised to do so “peacefully.” He had one of those construction-paper chains hanging behind his desk, the links representing the days left until his retirement, and he tore off one each day and tossed it into the trash. He’d been elected Teacher of the Year four times in a row.
“I need a caffeine pick-me-up.” Kurt checked his reflection in the glass wall of the guidance counselor’s office as they walked past. He fixed his hair. “My mojo has been seriously compromised.”
“Mine, too. Seriously.”
“Nice job in the show!” A thick-necked football player gave Kurt a good-natured shoulder in the chest, slamming him into a row of lockers. “You guys rocked.”
“Thanks,” Kurt muttered, dusting himself off. He was annoyed at Rachel for giving them yet another reason to be mocked. “I preferred it when they just trashed me without reason. I hate that they have something specific to hate me for.”
Mercedes smoothed Kurt’s collar for him. “Isn’t there anything else for people to talk about? It’s not like we’re that interesting.”
“I don’t know. I have a feeling that while we tend to fly under the radar with our nerdiness, Rachel’s presence in Glee happened to bring it all to the forefront.” It was true. Rachel seemed to strike a chord with everyone.
“I knew this would happen.” Mercedes stopped short of sayiî€ short ofžng “I told you so,” but she meant it. “Rachel’s just a diva who never cared about any of us.”
They arrived at the snack bar, a portion of the cafeteria that was open throughout the day for quick shots of sugar and caffeine. Public-school food reform movements that called for fewer sugary and processed foods were ignored in Lima, where the student population was firmly attached to the slushie (unfortunate for nerds).
Kurt nodded slowly as he stepped past the slushie machine—whirring ominously—and the towering stack of plastic cups next to it. “Maybe it was a mistake to invite her into the club. She drove everybody completely insane.”
Still, he felt guilty about the whole thing. Rachel had been his idea, and he wasn’t totally convinced he’d been wrong. When he was a kid, he’d gone away to New York to a tennis camp; his father had wanted to foster some sort of athletic ability in his son, and Kurt had expressed an interest in tennis after seeing old photos of tennis players in their short tennis whites. His instructor, a tall teenage boy named Stefan with golden hair and a backhand like an ocean wave, had insisted he play with boys above his skill level. “It’s the fastest way to improve,” Stefan had said as he stretched his racket into the air and smashed the ball across the net. Kurt could have happily watched him play all day. In any case, Rachel did make the others want to be better. “But I still think…”
“No.” Mercedes was adamant. She leaned over to examine a blueberry muffin wrapped in cellophane. “It’s over.”
“Good morning, McKinley High!” There was a moment of static before Rachel’s voice came over the loudspeakers.
“Speak of the devil, and the devil appears,” Mercedes whispered, making a spooky gesture with her fingertips.
Kurt grabbed a plastic cup. It had a drawing of a plastic cup on it, which Kurt always found bizarrely meta. He knew it was a cup. That’s why he was using it for a drink in the first place.
Rachel’s voice continued over the loudspeaker. “Congratulations to the girls’ soccer team for crushing the Maryvale Flyers in a five-one blowout. Reminder to the French Club members that there’s a meeting in Madame Smith’s room after school. She will provide the baguettes and chocolat.”
Mercedes rolled her eyes as Rachel burst into a song called “Wednesday Week” by Elvis Costello. Where did she get her terrible taste in music? The last thing Mercedes wanted to do was listen to Rachel rattle on. It was cruel and unusual punishment. Maybe she’d start a protest letter to Principal Figgins during Mr. Horn’s class today. Even Mrs. Applethorpe was better than Rachel.
“Now, I have something personal to say,” Rachel’s disembodied voice announced.
“That girl is too much.” Mercedes placed her hands over her ears.
“If she says something about her period, I’m going to pa
ss out,” Kurt said as he pushed the DIET COLA button on the giant black machine that spewed out generic sodas. The cold carbonated liquid sprayed into his cup.
“I just would like to take this time to apologize to the Glee kids. I was wrong. I’d like to h€ I’d lik£ toaward you all Rachel Berry’s Gold Stars of the Week for being talented singers and good human beings.”
Mercedes tugged at her earlobe as if something was wrong with her hearing. “Did she just say what I think she said?”
Kurt nodded in shock. “I heard it, too.” He had thought Rachel Berry was the kind of girl who never admitted she was wrong. He could picture her picking fights over answers on Trivial Pursuit cards and asserting that she was smarter than the board game creators.
Rachel continued. “I hope we can all get over our creative differences in the future, and I hope to see you all at the homecoming dance. Have a happy Wednesday, everyone.”
Kurt and Mercedes stared at each other. “That was uncharacteristically kind of Rachel,” Kurt said as he pulled a five-dollar bill from his pocket.
“I know. It’s weird. She’s so self-involved, I didn’t think she was capable of realizing she’d hurt anyone else’s feelings,” Mercedes said.
Kurt stuffed the change into a pocket of his leather...
Mercedes stopped unwrapping the plastic from her blueberry muffin. Her heart beat faster. “Why? Are you?”
Kurt shrugged casually. “Maybe. That is, if you’d be willing to accompany me.” He could already picture himself walking into the gymnasium in his gorgeous gray Tom Ford suit. Everyone’s eyes would fall on him, wondering where he got such exquisite taste. His shoes! He needed to find a pair of shoes that lived up to the suit. Mall today.
“Okay.” Mercedes tried to sound casual, but she could feel the excitement building in her throat. Kurt just asked her to the dance. It was incredible. He liked her! Now she just needed to find something to wear. “It’s a date.”
Glee_ The Beginning_ An Original Novel (Glee Original Novels) - Sophia Lowell.mobi Page 11
