Glee: The Beginning (9 page)

‘I’m with Kurt.’ Me rcedes 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
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to pull out her hair. She couldn ’t believe they were all giving up without a fight. Had they never seen a Broadway musical?

Didn ’t they know that you had to never give up? Always keep fighting? It was even more frustrating because she could tell they
wanted
to go – she could read it all over their faces

– but they were too terrified. Why? Because some of the popular kids would make fun of them?

Rachel stared at the clock above the doo r, wishing it were time to move on to the next class. The choir room felt stifl ing 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.

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ten

Miss Pillsbury’s guidance office, later on Wednesday
M
iss 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 milita ry recruiter pled guilty to bribin g her to encourag e particularl y athleti c student s to enlist. She fled the state before charges could be brought against her. Miss Pillsbu ry 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 Pillsbu ry smiled sweetly and crossed her hands on her unnaturally neat

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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 suspecte d tha t mos t of the m had neve r been touched. McKinley High students were not an ambitious bunch.

Rachel wiped her feet on the WELCOME mat inside the doo r. Even though they were indoors. Rachel had heard that Miss Pillsbu ry had a thing about dirt. ‘I am in serious need of guidance.’

‘You came to the right place.’ Miss Pillsbu ry, 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 armchair opposite Miss Pillsbu ry’s desk. One glass wall of the guidance counselor ’s office looked out on the main hallwa y, 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 Pillsbu ry blinked. Her voice was like a glass of warm milk. ‘Okay, Rachel. Tell me why you think that. Are you not being challenged?’

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‘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 Pillsbu ry nodded noncommittall y. She occasionally had gifted students come to her about their fears of not real-izing 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 thos e student s who m teacher s eithe r 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 Pillsbu ry nodde d her head slowly. She neve r saw Rachel talking to friends or hanging out with groups of people in the cafeteria. Not that Miss Pillsbu ry could blame 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. Suddenl y, 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 calmin g effect.

‘Wha t is it about,

then? ’ She was used to asking student s series of questions,
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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 selfhelp pamphlets behind the desk. Miss Pillsbu ry 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 Pillsbu ry 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 easie r.

‘Yes, I can see your point.’

‘Good.’ Rachel beamed.

But Miss Pillsbu ry had heard about Rachel Berry’s tenden-cies 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 Pillsbu ry could think about was how unsanita ry 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 Pillsbu ry’s hesitation, but as a school administrato r, wasn ’t she obligated to attempt to satisfy the needs of her students?

‘I could certainly look into performing arts schools for you, do a little digging around. But are you sure you’ve exhausted
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the creative outlets McKinley has to offer? There’s jazz band, and the school musical coming up this fall. Oh, and Glee Club.’ Looking over Rachel’s shoulde r, Miss Pillsbu ry spotted a thumbprint on the glass wall. Her hands itched to grab her bottle of Windex. ‘I hear they’re looking for new members.’

Rachel sank back in her chai r. ‘I know about Glee Club. They specially requested that I join and give them help, so I did it.’ She shrugged. Her crisp pale pink polo shirt with the puff sleeves was still unsullied by slushies toda y, and she was hoping to keep it up. ‘But they just don ’t take it seriousl y. Plus, Mr Ryerson hardly counts as a trained vocal coach. He isn’t even there for practices.’

‘How long have you been a member?’

Rachel stiffened. ‘Since Monda y.’ Her voice was defensive. Miss Pillsbu ry nodded, as if this were a somewhat reason-able amount of time. ‘Well, maybe what they need is someone like you to help them take it seriousl y.’ Miss Pillsbu ry caught a glimpse of Will Schuester out in the hallwa y, handing a paper back to a student who had a scowl on her face. ‘Why don ’t you give it a couple more weeks with Glee and see how it goes? It seems awfully early in the school year to be making such large life decisions.’

‘I just feel like the clock is ticking on me. . . . I won ’t be this young and trainable foreve r.’

‘I know.’ Mr Schuester was still talking to the girl, and Miss Pillsbu ry hoped that if she timed it right, she could leave her office right when he was finished and they could walk to the
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teachers’ lunchroom togethe r. She grabbed the Tuppe rware container of triple-washed chopped carrots and lettuce on the corner of her desk and stood up. ‘But there ’s a lot to offer here, and a student with your talent can really make a differ-ence and stand out.’

‘I guess you’re right.’ Rachel got to her feet. Her one reser-vation about attending a specialty performing arts school was that she would just be one of man y, many talented students. Maybe she wanted to stay in the small pond, where she could pretty much be the biggest fish imaginable. ‘I’ll stick with Glee for a while, at least. Maybe I can turn the group around. Thank you for the encouragement.’

‘Anytime, Rachel.’ Miss Pillsbu ry hoped the girl wouldn ’t take that literall y. She got the feeling that Rachel would use her as a therapist if she could. She walked Rachel to the door and grabbed her purse from the coat tree in the corne r. ‘Good luck with Glee.’

Rachel felt better as she walked out of the office. That was, until she saw that the giant banner that stretched over the main trophy case announcing the Fall in Love with Music recital on Friday had been completely desecrated. MUSIC had been crossed out, and A PILE OF POOP had been written above it. Students were nudging each other and laughing as they passed it, and Rachel felt her cheeks flush with ange r. Maybe she could be good for McKinley High, but it clearly wasn ’t good enough for her.

‘On second thought, Miss Pillsbu ry, I would still like the
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information on the performing arts schools. Just to keep my options open.’ She flounced down the hallway to her locke r.

‘What was that all about?’ Mr Schuester stared down the hall after the pouting girl, who looked vaguely familiar to him. He’d been trying to explain to a sophomore why she had failed his Spanish exam, but just as she walked away he managed to overhear the end of Miss Pillsbu ry’s conversation.

‘Is someone looking into performing arts schools?’

Miss Pillsbu ry locked the door to her office. Even though she was anywhere from well liked to easily ignored by the students, she had a paralyzing fear that some of them would sneak into her office when she wasn ’t there and do something vile on her carpet. ‘Yes. Do you know Rachel Berry?’ she whispere d to Will. Althoug h she generall y didn ’t discuss students with other teachers, Will didn ’t count, as he was her lunch budd y.

‘Sure, she was in my class last year,’ he said. ‘Now she’s singing on the morning announcements, right?’

‘Exactly.’ She shook her head as she caught sight of the desecrated banne r. ‘I’m going to have to call a janitor to take that down.’ She couldn ’t even look at it.

‘Rachel is really looking to transfer to another school, with bette r music programs? ’ Mr Schueste r slung his leather messenger bag across his shoulde r. ‘That’s such a shame. She can really sing.’

The two of them walked through the quiet hallways to the faculty lunchroom. ‘It is a shame.’ Miss Pillsbu ry paused in
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front of the trophy case. ‘I know McKinley has a rich Glee histo ry.’

‘Exactly. See those trophies? When I went here, we won sectionals every year, and we even won regionals. Once.’ He stared at the shiny brass statuette of a figure singing into a microphone. ‘We had so many kids trying out for Glee that we had alternates, and second alternates.’ He glanced at Miss Pillsbu ry. ‘We ruled the school. You should have seen us.’

‘I would have liked to,’ Miss Pillsbu ry said softly, wondering what Will looked like as a teenage r. Probably just skinnie r, with the same mop of curly hai r.

Mr Schuester turned his head, and his eyes rested on a Cheerios troph y. One, two, ten, fifteen Cheerios trophies, all with brass girls raising pom-poms. There was nothing wrong with physical abilities, Mr Schuester thought. But the school used to be able to cater to more students than just the phys-ically gifted ones. Things had really gone downhill since his days as a student, when someone with musical talents was just as admired as someone who could toss a football, or throw a fat pitch down the middle of the plate, or execute the perfect round-off.

It kind of broke his heart.

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eleven

McKinl ey High hal lway, Thu rsday mo rning

C

‘

an I copy your English homework? I forgot to do it.’ Brittany pulled her long blond hair back into a high ponytail as she walked down the hallway with Santana and Quinn. Her Cheerios uniform showed off her long, slender legs.

‘Brit, the assignment was an essay on “How I Spent My Summer Vacation”.’ Santana pulled a lip gloss from her hobo purse and smeared some on her lips. ‘I think Mr Horn would know that you didn ’t go to Nicaragua to visit your granny Maria.’

‘Shoot.’ Brittany ’s face fell. ‘What did
you
do this summe r, Quinn?’

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Quinn rolled her eyes. Although Brittany and Santana were allegedl y her best friends , she was always surprise d that Brittany managed

to function as well as she did,

considering her nearly nonexistent IQ. Quinn would much rather just enjoy the walks from class to class with her friends than listen to Brittany ’s inane questions. Eve ryone knew who they were. And eve ryone always stared at them, in the good, envious way, not the broccoli-in-your-teeth

way.

As she was formulating a clever response to Brittan y, she felt her backpack vibrate. Quickl y, she dug through it for her iPhone, a back-to-school present from her doting fathe r. It was a text. She didn ’t recognize the numbe r, but when she clicked on it, she knew right away who it was from. She could practically hear the challenge in Puck’s flirtatious voice.
Bail
on yr girlfriends and meet me in the janitor
’
s closet by the libe.
It
’
s not under the bleachers, but gotta see u
. Quinn ’s heart thumped so loudly she was sure Brittany and Santana could hear it. Although the two of them were her closest friends, they couldn ’t, under any circumstances, find out about her and Puck. Santana for obvious reasons –