Fic: Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus (Puck/Rachel) R
Title: Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus
Author: glasheen25
Movie Adapted: How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Puck, Finn, Quinn
Rating: R
Word Count: 5021
Notes/Credits: I just want to say a huge thank you to my beta ndnickerson and also to fuzzy_paint and wishfulclicking for all the work they have put into the reel_glee challenge.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit. Written for the reel_glee challenge.
Summary: Puck has dumped Rachel just hours before prom and she’s struggling to understand exactly why...
Lying curled up in a tight ball beneath the comforting warmth of her pink-and-white striped blanket, a fresh stream of tears ran down Rachel’s cheeks as she gazed at her prom dress. For weeks now, Rachel had stared at the dress longingly, unable to resist running her fingers over the fabric every time she walked into her room.
What the hell is wrong with me? she wondered with a miserable sigh, the half-eaten pint of rocky road ice cream dripping a sticky mess from her bedside table onto the floor. The ice cream was just another catastrophe on the day that should have been the happiest in her life up to now. (Discounting, of course, the opening night of Les Miserables in which Rachel was cast in the dual role as both Fantine and Eponine as no other pupil in McKinley High had managed to audition to her obviously very high standards.) The ice cream would mean an extra hour on the elliptical trainer on top of her seven a.m. tap class. Rachel might be in the middle of an emotional crisis but that was no excuse for being sloppy with her exercise regime.
At a soft knock on the door, Rachel sat up in her bed with a start. “Just a minute,” she called out, suddenly terrified that Puck was at the door. A star always had to look her best and as a future star (self-professed, admittedly), Rachel refused to be seen looking anything other than perfect. Busying herself with concealer and running a brush quickly through her hair, Rachel forced a wide smile before pulling the door open.
“Quinn?” she exclaimed in surprise on seeing the blonde girl, still in her Cheerios uniform, standing at her bedroom door. “What are you doing here? I thought Ms. Sylvester was flying all the Cheerios by private jet to LA to have their hair and make-up done by some celebrity stylist.”
“Yeah, there was apparently some money left in the budget,” Quinn commented with a vague shrug before sitting on the bed beside Rachel. “But I had a chemistry test, so I couldn’t go. Anyway, enough about me. What happened between you and Puck today?”
Sighing heavily, Rachel dabbed a tissue delicately under her eyes. “Noah dumped me. I mean, can you believe that? Prom night and the star of the McKinley High production of Phantom of the Opera hasn’t got a date. I bet Sarah Brightman never had to suffer such injustice.”
“Probably not,” Quinn agreed with a solemn nod, tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear.
“Noah was so sweet when we first got together,” Rachel revealed with a tearful sigh as she wiped a hand across her damp cheeks. “On our first date, he took me to see Atonement, which, as you know, is my third favorite movie of all time.”
“Puck took you to see Atonement?” There was more than a hint of disbelief in Quinn’s voice. “We are talking about Puck? The same Puck who paintballed that poor freshman for admitting that he had watched every episode of Dawson’s Creek?”
“Well, I might have guided his choice of cinematic viewing,” Rachel allowed grudgingly, much preferring the first version of events. In truth, Puck had wanted to go see Saw VI. Maybe Rachel should have taken that as a sign.
“This is going to be awesome,” Puck declared excitedly as he pushed his way into the movie theatre, the door swinging back and almost hitting Rachel in the face in the process. “I heard that one of the guys gets his eye ripped out by a samurai sword and Finn said that there’s an epic fight scene involving a blow torch and a chainsaw.”
Smoothing a hand over her carefully styled hair, Rachel turned her head to give Puck a measured look. “I think Finn has given you some misinformation, Noah. Atonement is a period movie and to be perfectly honest, I don’t think blow torches were even invented back then.”
“Atonement, what the hell is that?” Puck shot back, dumping some cash on the counter and demanding a ridiculously oversized container of popcorn. “You want anything?”
Rachel shook her head firmly in answer. She was already at her quota for her daily intake of calories and the future star of both Spring Awakening and Wicked couldn’t run the risk of gaining even a single pound.
“Atonement is the movie you’re taking me to see, silly,” she informed Puck with a dazzling smile before taking his hand and pulling him eagerly towards the ticket desk. “It’s a sweeping epic, set in England during World War Two, and I know you’re going to simply love it.”
“I doubt it,” Puck grunted, but he squeezed Rachel’s hand in his all the same and didn’t even complain when she started regaling him with her plans to perform a Valentine’s Day duet with him in front of glee club.
“Noah even cried at the end of the movie,” Rachel informed Quinn dreamily, grabbing a pink patterned throw pillow from her bed and clutching it to her chest. “It was so sweet.”
Plucking a chocolate from the open heart-shaped box that was tossed dejectedly on the bed, Quinn eyed Rachel uncertainly. “That’s so unlike Puck. The only time I’ve ever seen him cry was in kindergarten when Karofsky flushed his army man down the toilet.”
There was another time, of course, but Rachel tactfully ignored the subject of baby Beth and Quinn hadn’t the heart to bring it up.
“Your prom dress is so pretty,” Quinn gushed in a bid to change the subject, standing up and holding the purple hued dress to her narrow frame. “You are going to look absolutely stunning tonight.”
At her words, Rachel broke down into another deluge of tears. “I was going to look stunning, Quinn. The operative word is was. You know what the media are like. In a couple of years, when I’m famous and my face is splashed all over US Weekly, some gossip mongering journalist will dig up the thoroughly pathetic story of Rachel Berry going dateless to prom. I will never live it down. Maybe I should call Jacob,” she added as an afterthought, dabbing at her eyes with the crumpled tissue in her hands. “I presume he hasn’t found a date yet for prom.”
“My God, Rachel, Jacob Israel?” Quinn shot back disbelievingly, immediately grabbing the phone out of her hand and pushing it into the deepest recesses of her book bag. “You’re desperate, not crazy.”
“You’re right,” Rachel sniffled, though her tone sounded doubtful, her mind already formulating the bare beginnings of a plan.
--
“Some lucky lady is going to get a taste of the Puckerman love machine tonight,” Puck declared with a sly grin, taking an eager gulp from his bottle of beer. “A guy like me is not built for the monogamous life. I don’t why the hell I stayed with Rachel for so long. She must have drugged me with some crazy love potion or something.”
“Rachel’s pretty cool and she’s hot,” Finn shot back defensively, nosily pulling another beer from the fridge and throwing himself back into the kitchen chair. “I swear, I don’t know why you broke up with her in the first place.” Eagerly tucking into the spread of cheese sandwiches and chips that Carole had left out for the boys, Finn shoveled a handful of Doritos into his mouth.
“She was freaking crazy,” Puck groaned, following Finn’s lead and reaching for one of the sandwiches. “Do you know on our first date that she made me bring to her Atonement and I had to fake cry at the end of the movie?”
“Dude, you cried during a chick flick?” Finn echoed incredulously, crumbs spraying from his mouth in a disgusting display across the table. “How do you still have both of your eyebrows?”
Lounging back lazily in his chair, Puck shrugged before taking another swig from his bottle of beer. “She was telling me all this stuff, like how she really respects a guy who’s comfortable with his emotions and all that kind of bullshit. Anyway, it was totally worth it,” he exclaimed crudely, draining the end of his beer. “I ended up getting to second base with Rachel that night.”
That was a complete lie and by the dubious glances Finn was aiming in his direction, it was obvious he knew it as well.
Rachel had looked beautiful that night, her dark hair hanging in a single plait down her back. She had been wearing blue, Puck remembered. A pale blue dress held up by two tiny lengths of ribbon. Her shoulders had been mostly bare and Puck had wanted to press his lips to the bare skin badly.
“This is just so sad,” Rachel murmured quietly, a hand swiping across her face as she gazed inconsolably at the screen.
Puck hadn’t been paying attention to the movie for a least an hour now, his eyes straying to gaze at Rachel every chance he got. Her mere proximity was distracting. Apart from the vague scrabble of someone’s hand digging into a bag of popcorn, the movie theatre was deathly quiet.
“Yeah,” he mumbled unconvincingly, trying to feign some semblance of interest in the movie. “I'm digging the battle scenes, babe. Who knew a girly movie like this would have so much blood and gore?”
Rachel flashed a brilliant smile at him and Puck used the encouragement to drape a hand over her shoulder. Her skin felt soft under his fingers and the tips of her hair tickled at his skin and the whole effect was magical.
They didn’t even kiss that night, though Puck had wanted to. Badly. The sky had been an expanse of twinkling inky-black when Puck finally pulled up outside Rachel’s house.
“See you tomorrow,” Rachel had grinned, the press of her lips warm against his cheek before she practically skipped into her house.
--
“You did sleep with Puck, right?” Quinn asked curiously, the two girls sprawled out on Rachel’s bed and staring lazily at the infomercials that were playing on the television.
It was a glorious afternoon, the sun beaming in through the open window. Outside, Quinn could hear the raucous cheers of children splashing happily in their wading pools and the faint roar of a neighbor mowing the grass.
Turning over on her side, Rachel gazed at Quinn through pained eyes, her hair falling in a tumble of sleek brown over her shoulders.
“You know, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Quinn interjected softly, sensing Rachel’s reluctance to speak.
“Noah was so sweet. He was loving and tender and the experience was quite unlike how I expected making love to him would be. But of course you already know that, don’t you?” she aimed at the blonde cheerleader with a snide grin that, for a minute, brightened the gloomy expression that had lingered on her face.
Quinn, her hair splayed around her head like a halo, sighed deeply while considering Rachel’s question. Unlike Brittany and Santana, who could make light of their sexual conquests, joking and laughing about the pitiful attempts their eager lovers had made to satisfy them, because Quinn’s sole sexual encounter had left her pregnant and alone, the notion of sex was anything but frivolous fun to her.
“I was pretty much wasted, Rachel, so I can’t say I remember that much about it,” Quinn answered evasively, turning onto her stomach and fidgeting distractedly with the bracelet dangling from her wrist. Though Quinn had regained her perfect figure through hours of turning cartwheels and performing tumbles at Cheerio practice, the pale silvery lines that still ran spidery thin over her stomach were like a brand that would forever bind her to baby Beth.
“Now, I’m not saying that the sex was perfect,” Rachel informed Quinn with a prim nod as she gazed at her friend intently. “I mean, nobody expects sex to be perfect the first time,” she continued, her brown eyes widened for emphasis.
“Sure,” Quinn agreed with an uncertain shrug.
“Well, of course, I did,” Rachel cut in then, causing Quinn to look at her with an amused expression. “But I’ve come to accept that not everyone can be a sexual genius in bed.”
The hallways were quietly bustling, the last of the students fumbling in lockers for books before trailing in reluctantly to class. Puck, rather predictably, was doing none of the above. His book bag slung lazily over his shoulder, he was sauntering down the corridor with an equally idle Karofsky by his side. Normally, this display of nonchalance would infuriate Rachel and would prompt a timely lecture on the importance of an education to his future. Today, though, Rachel just smiled brightly before taking Puck’s hand in hers and dragging him over to her locker.
“Here, this is for you,’ she informed him with a bright smile as she reached into her locker and withdrew a carefully wrapped box.
“But it’s not my birthday or anything,” he informed his girlfriend in surprise, and Rachel didn’t miss the way he shot a furtive glance over his shoulder before accepting it. Maybe the pink glittering wrapping paper topped with rainbow colored ribbons was a bit much, Rachel mused thoughtfully. She always did go a little overboard wrapping presents.
“It’s not a ninja star, is it? Because if it is, that would be awesome,” Puck exclaimed, tearing at the wrapping paper impatiently.
“Not exactly,” Rachel replied with a patient smile, though she did aim a look of disapproval at Puck when he carelessly tossed the wrapping paper onto the floor.
“It’s another book,” Puck muttered disappointedly, glancing dejectedly at the vivid pink writing scrawled across the cover. (Rachel, in an enthusiastic bid to introduce Puck to more intellectual endeavors than watching UFC fight night on ESPN, had started slipping copies of her favorite books into his locker. Her efforts hadn’t been entirely unsuccessful and she had it on good account that Puck’s grades in English had soared in the months since they’d started dating.)
“What the hell is this?”
“This,” Rachel smiled widely, taking the book out of his hands and displaying it delightedly, “is Fabulous Foreplay: The Sex Doctor’s Guide to Teasing and Pleasing your Lover. I can’t believe you haven’t heard about it. Everyone’s talking about it. Fabulous Foreplay is on The New York Times bestseller list and Dr. Phil was discussing it on his show last week.”
“No, I can see what it is, Rachel. Contrary to what you believe, I can actually read. What I mean is, why the hell you are giving it to me? I’ve never had any complaints about my performance before. The Cheerios think I’m like some kind of sex god, for Christ’s sake.”
“They do?” Rachel replied with a disbelieving smile, starting to thumb carefully through the pages. “Here,” she pronounced brightly, placing the book back into Puck’s hand, opened on the requisite page. “I want you to pay extra attention to the importance of setting the scene because I feel you have the potential for massive improvement in that area. Also, I’ve made out a spreadsheet to monitor the improvements in our sex life, how many times I orgasm in a single session and so forth. I’ve hung it in your room over your bed.”
“My room?” Puck demanded, his expression quickly turning to horror. “How did you get into my room?
“Your mom gave me a key. She thinks I’m such a good influence on you, you know? We’re actually having lunch together this weekend.”
Puck’s mouth was agape, his face blazing red. Whether it was with anger or shock, Rachel couldn’t tell.
“Honey, I have to go,” she beamed, pressing her lips to his cheek before tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “Poe and Dickens await. Call me later, okay?”
“You gave Puck a sex manual.” Quinn sounded both horrified and bemused by that revelation. “What the hell were you thinking? Puck thinks he’s some kind of sex god and he’ll see you buying that book for him as a direct attack on his masculinity. Guys don’t dig that kind of thing. Couldn’t you have just made some suggestions to spice up your sex life in a more subtle way?”
“This is ridiculous,” Rachel exclaimed, her fingers reaching instinctively for the gold necklace hanging delicately around her neck. (The necklace had been purchased as a surprise for Puck and had his name spelled out in gold letters that dangled daintily from the chain. Puck had been less enthusiastic about the necklace than Rachel would have liked, even suggesting that she keep the piece of jewelry for special occasions, like out of town trips and the like. Rachel had obviously ignored him.) “You name your boyfriend’s penis and buy him a sex book and suddenly it’s like you’re the worst girlfriend in the world or something.”
“You named Puck’s penis?”
“I might have,” Rachel replied evasively, unwilling to divulge the fact that she had three separate names for Puck’s penis, Puckasaurus being her favorite. “Now, how do you think I should wear my hair?”
--
The kitchen, which Carole Hudson had left spotlessly clean that morning, was now a chaotic mess. Empty bottles littered the table, and the linoleum was sticky with spilt drink. Puck didn’t even notice; lightheaded from the alcohol, he clumsily reached for his bottle of beer before glancing at Finn.
“You know, she was practically planning our family.”
“Planning your family as in making vague references to the children you might have ten years from now?” Finn asked hopefully, his bottle of beer opening with a hiss.
“More like planning our family as in making a photo album of our future family, using Photoshop to combine our faces.She even had their names spelled out in some kind of sparkly stuff under the photos. It was really creepy shit. The Shining had nothing on it.”
“And you didn’t call the cops?”
“It was actually sweet, in a psychotic Fatal Attraction kind of way,” Puck shrugged, a hint of a smile on his lips as he remembered the enthusiastic way Rachel had introduced him to all of his future (albeit fake) children.
Pushing his chair back from the table with a noisy scrape, Finn collected the beer bottles and buried them deep in the recycling bin. “It was actually quite sweet,” he repeated teasingly, puckering his lips up and blowing kisses at his friend. “Sounds to me like you still want a shot at creating your little fake Photoshopped family with Rachel Berry.”
“Unless you want to wake up tomorrow with a giant penis tattooed on your forehead, I would shut the hell up.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Berry. Whatever you say,” Finn intoned with mock seriousness, ducking just in time to avoid the shoe Puck threw at his head.
--
Running a brush through Rachel’s long brown hair, Quinn carefully teased out a section and pinned it into a tight roll on her head. “Cinderella will go to the ball,” Quinn declared jokingly, spraying the carefully styled hairstyle liberally with copious amounts of hairspray. “Seriously though, you should go, Rachel. You have put so much work in on the prom committee, that it would be a shame not to.”
Rachel’s dressing table was cluttered with lotions and creams and the air was heavy with the mingled smell of cheap hairspray and sweet perfume. Glancing curiously at the mirror, Rachel was gratified to see that her long hair had been transformed into a sleek chignon, which displayed her pretty face to its best advantage. Quinn was right, Rachel considered inwardly, as she slid a glittering clip into her hair. Serving as chairperson on the prom committee, she had invested huge amounts of time on ensuring the Broadway themed night would be perfect. Not that Rachel had received much gratitude from her fellow committee members. Her demands for musically synchronized fireworks had been met with the rolling of eyes and barely concealed laughter. And was it really too much to expect that Gordon Ramsay be hired for the catering?
“Do you think Puck has a thing for Santana?” Rachel burst out unexpectedly, prompting Quinn to look at her in surprise.
“Why do you ask?” she replied, rubbing some lotion experimentally into her hand.
“They are always chatting and fooling around together and a few days ago, I caught them flirting shamelessly in the locker room,” Rachel revealed, her cheeks coloring slightly as she caught the gaze of the other girl.
“It’s probably all Santana,” Quinn shrugged, taking a seat beside Rachel at the dressing table and starting to brush some pink polish onto her nails. “You know, I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Rachel shot back dismissively, though the tense expression on her face suggested otherwise. “I mean, I’m clearly a more suitable candidate to serve as Noah’s girlfriend. I’m an avid sports enthusiast. I can converse freely about both UFC and the weaponry used in all areas of martial arts. And I’m obviously vocally superior to Santana.”
“Clearly,” Quinn agreed, trying with difficulty to keep a serious expression on her face. “Is this what all this is about?” she asked, the realization only just dawning on her.
“Yes,” Rachel admitted reluctantly, brushing some blusher onto her cheeks to disguise her reddening cheeks. “I mean, I don’t even know what he sees in her. Santana’s terrible at algebra and last week, she missed all the high notes when she sang Unfaithful.”
“And did you confront him? "
“He denied it, of course,” Rachel responded with a heavy sigh, dabbing a little perfume onto her wrists. “Then I tried calling him to firm up our plans to go see the McKinley Elementary production of Les Miserables but he wasn’t answering my calls, so I called him and called him.”
“How many times a day?" Quinn demanded, cringing inwardly. “Please tell me we're talking single digit figures, Rachel.”
“Ten,” she replied blithely before reluctantly revising her answer to fifteen. “Okay, seventeen,” she admitted after a moment's pause.
“You called Puck seventeen times in one day?”
“They weren’t all phone calls,” Rachel pleaded desperately, trying to make Quinn understand that this was a perfectly normal, healthy thing for a concerned girlfriend to do. “Some were love letters that I slipped into his locker at recess and two were MySpace videos of me singing the Whitney Houston song, I Will Always Love You.”
It wasn’t working. Quinn looked perfectly horrified.
“Then he said I was acting like a crazy person and dumped me,” Rachel continued, sighing miserably and reaching for a chocolate before reconsidering and tossing it away dejectedly. “It was so humiliating, Quinn. I was like Jennifer Aniston in the depths of despair after the whole Brangelina incident. That’s the life of a celebrity, I guess,” she mused with a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I’d better get used to it.”
Quinn could only smile. “Rachel, Puck’s right, that is crazy behavior. You’re acting like a freaking psychopath. To be honest, I’m surprised he hung around after the sex book incident.”
"You really think?" Rachel asked thoughtfully, glad she hadn’t mentioned the appointment she had made at Vera Wang to Quinn.
“Yes,” Quinn chimed in with a sympathetic grin. “Give him a few days to calm down and he’ll come back. Just tone down the crazy, okay?”
Catching sight of her watch, Quinn visibly grimaced, realizing that time was running short. “Crap, Rachel, I’ve got to go unless I'm going to go to prom in my Cheerios uniform,” she apologized, reaching for her purse and slinging it onto her shoulder.
“Ms. Sylvester would like that,” Rachel cut in knowingly, turning around and gazing at her friend through mascara-laden eyes.
“Finn probably would too,” Quinn grinned, reaching for her backpack and shrugging it onto her shoulders. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
--
Puck could never claim tidiness as being one of his strong points. His room was generally a chaotic mess, clothes strewn wildly all over the floor and the laundry basket overflowing. The greasy remains of yesterday’s dinner were discarded on his desk beside shiny new textbooks that had hardly been even opened. In the midst of all the chaos of the candy wrappers spilling out of the wastepaper basket and the questionable smell emanating from the bathroom, Puck’s tuxedo was hanging in his wardrobe, a note attached neatly to the hanger by a length of purple ribbon.
Rachel, he knew instantly, in awe of the fact that Rachel Berry was capable of both infuriating him and endearing herself to him in the same moment.
Rachel had chosen his tuxedo. Rachel had insisted he shave his hair. Rachel had supervised his purchase of the black dress shoes she informed him that he simply had to wear and it had been Rachel who had booked him for a dance lesson with an elderly grey-haired woman called Dora, which had possibly been the most awkward half hour he had ever spent in his life.
Picking up the note, Puck couldn’t stop a bemused smile from spreading across his face as he read it.
Dear Noah,
I hope you approve of my choice of tuxedo for you. I know, you wanted to go the whole Dumb and Dumber direction but I think you will agree that this choice of attire will set off my fuchsia dress far more effectively. (Just in case you don’t know, fuchsia is a member of the purple family, lying roughly between Mulberry and Violet.)
Lots of love,
Rachel ★
P.S.: Lilies bring on my allergies and pink peonies clash horribly with my skin tone.
Rachel had also given him a complete set of grooming instructions, going so far as to also include the necessary products, packed neatly into a heart shaped box. Maybe it was a tad excessive, but then Rachel had been intimately familiar with the inside of his bedroom and had probably discovered that a bar of soap and a can of deodorant were the extent of his toiletries. (Not that Puck had any intention of actually using the girly looking bottles with names that scared him and promised that a single use would turn him into one of those girly guys who wore pink and got their hair cut somewhere other than Supercuts.)
Wrapping the bow tie around his neck, Puck fumbled with the smooth purple satin before finally conceding defeat and calling for his mother.
It was almost six o’ clock and Noah Puckerman had somewhere he needed to be.
--
The world renowned, ‘rumored to have worked with Kate Moss and Johnny Depp’ photographer Rachel had flown in for the pre-prom reception in the Berry household had had to be canceled. The previous night, in a fit of self-pity, Rachel had declared tearfully that to have the night photographically documented would just add further insult to injury. That didn’t stop her dads, though, from taking about a million pictures. Now, slicking a little gloss onto her lips, Rachel felt her spirits lift a little at the prospect of attending prom. The deep pink dress clung flatteringly to her curves, and despite her emotional turmoil, Rachel’s skin glowed with a persistence that could only be ascribed to her enviable genes. As chair person of the prom committee, Rachel was already anticipating a very favorable mention in Principal Figgins’ speech.
Spritzing a final spray of sweet perfume onto her wrist, Rachel was just reaching for her jewel-encrusted clutch when the sharp trill of the doorbell startled her.
"Puck," she exclaimed in surprise, taking a tentative step down the stairs and gazing at him quizzically. “What are you doing here?”
When Rachel dreamed of prom night, she imagined Puck arriving in a silver Bentley with a choice of no less than three corsages to ensure the correct match to the shade of purple of her dress. Puck would be very dashing and would have acquired manners that would keep even the Queen of England happy.
“I’m taking you to prom, of course,” Puck answered lightly, his hands held awkwardly behind his back. “I’m sorry for being such an asshole.”
In reality, there was no corsage, just a wilted flower looking suspiciously like it had been plucked from the Berry garden. And transportation would probably be limited to Puck’s beat-up truck.
“Here, this is for you,” he murmured, red-faced, tentatively offering the flower to Rachel.
The flower, though not the exotic orchid she would have liked, was at least purple.
“You read my note,” she declared happily, taking the flower and slipping it behind her ear.
"So you will come to prom with me?” Puck asked hopefully, a relieved smile breaking across his face as Rachel threw herself delightedly into his arms.
“I would be honored to, Noah,” Rachel beamed, sighing in sheer contentment as she melted into her boyfriend’s arms for a long and tender kiss. “There’s just one thing. What am I going to do with him?” she wondered uncertainly, gesturing up the stairs to where Zac Efron, her back-up date, was sheepishly standing.
No one could ever accuse Rachel Berry of being unprepared.
Author: glasheen25
Movie Adapted: How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Puck, Finn, Quinn
Rating: R
Word Count: 5021
Notes/Credits: I just want to say a huge thank you to my beta ndnickerson and also to fuzzy_paint and wishfulclicking for all the work they have put into the reel_glee challenge.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit. Written for the reel_glee challenge.
Summary: Puck has dumped Rachel just hours before prom and she’s struggling to understand exactly why...
Lying curled up in a tight ball beneath the comforting warmth of her pink-and-white striped blanket, a fresh stream of tears ran down Rachel’s cheeks as she gazed at her prom dress. For weeks now, Rachel had stared at the dress longingly, unable to resist running her fingers over the fabric every time she walked into her room.
What the hell is wrong with me? she wondered with a miserable sigh, the half-eaten pint of rocky road ice cream dripping a sticky mess from her bedside table onto the floor. The ice cream was just another catastrophe on the day that should have been the happiest in her life up to now. (Discounting, of course, the opening night of Les Miserables in which Rachel was cast in the dual role as both Fantine and Eponine as no other pupil in McKinley High had managed to audition to her obviously very high standards.) The ice cream would mean an extra hour on the elliptical trainer on top of her seven a.m. tap class. Rachel might be in the middle of an emotional crisis but that was no excuse for being sloppy with her exercise regime.
At a soft knock on the door, Rachel sat up in her bed with a start. “Just a minute,” she called out, suddenly terrified that Puck was at the door. A star always had to look her best and as a future star (self-professed, admittedly), Rachel refused to be seen looking anything other than perfect. Busying herself with concealer and running a brush quickly through her hair, Rachel forced a wide smile before pulling the door open.
“Quinn?” she exclaimed in surprise on seeing the blonde girl, still in her Cheerios uniform, standing at her bedroom door. “What are you doing here? I thought Ms. Sylvester was flying all the Cheerios by private jet to LA to have their hair and make-up done by some celebrity stylist.”
“Yeah, there was apparently some money left in the budget,” Quinn commented with a vague shrug before sitting on the bed beside Rachel. “But I had a chemistry test, so I couldn’t go. Anyway, enough about me. What happened between you and Puck today?”
Sighing heavily, Rachel dabbed a tissue delicately under her eyes. “Noah dumped me. I mean, can you believe that? Prom night and the star of the McKinley High production of Phantom of the Opera hasn’t got a date. I bet Sarah Brightman never had to suffer such injustice.”
“Probably not,” Quinn agreed with a solemn nod, tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear.
“Noah was so sweet when we first got together,” Rachel revealed with a tearful sigh as she wiped a hand across her damp cheeks. “On our first date, he took me to see Atonement, which, as you know, is my third favorite movie of all time.”
“Puck took you to see Atonement?” There was more than a hint of disbelief in Quinn’s voice. “We are talking about Puck? The same Puck who paintballed that poor freshman for admitting that he had watched every episode of Dawson’s Creek?”
“Well, I might have guided his choice of cinematic viewing,” Rachel allowed grudgingly, much preferring the first version of events. In truth, Puck had wanted to go see Saw VI. Maybe Rachel should have taken that as a sign.
“This is going to be awesome,” Puck declared excitedly as he pushed his way into the movie theatre, the door swinging back and almost hitting Rachel in the face in the process. “I heard that one of the guys gets his eye ripped out by a samurai sword and Finn said that there’s an epic fight scene involving a blow torch and a chainsaw.”
Smoothing a hand over her carefully styled hair, Rachel turned her head to give Puck a measured look. “I think Finn has given you some misinformation, Noah. Atonement is a period movie and to be perfectly honest, I don’t think blow torches were even invented back then.”
“Atonement, what the hell is that?” Puck shot back, dumping some cash on the counter and demanding a ridiculously oversized container of popcorn. “You want anything?”
Rachel shook her head firmly in answer. She was already at her quota for her daily intake of calories and the future star of both Spring Awakening and Wicked couldn’t run the risk of gaining even a single pound.
“Atonement is the movie you’re taking me to see, silly,” she informed Puck with a dazzling smile before taking his hand and pulling him eagerly towards the ticket desk. “It’s a sweeping epic, set in England during World War Two, and I know you’re going to simply love it.”
“I doubt it,” Puck grunted, but he squeezed Rachel’s hand in his all the same and didn’t even complain when she started regaling him with her plans to perform a Valentine’s Day duet with him in front of glee club.
“Noah even cried at the end of the movie,” Rachel informed Quinn dreamily, grabbing a pink patterned throw pillow from her bed and clutching it to her chest. “It was so sweet.”
Plucking a chocolate from the open heart-shaped box that was tossed dejectedly on the bed, Quinn eyed Rachel uncertainly. “That’s so unlike Puck. The only time I’ve ever seen him cry was in kindergarten when Karofsky flushed his army man down the toilet.”
There was another time, of course, but Rachel tactfully ignored the subject of baby Beth and Quinn hadn’t the heart to bring it up.
“Your prom dress is so pretty,” Quinn gushed in a bid to change the subject, standing up and holding the purple hued dress to her narrow frame. “You are going to look absolutely stunning tonight.”
At her words, Rachel broke down into another deluge of tears. “I was going to look stunning, Quinn. The operative word is was. You know what the media are like. In a couple of years, when I’m famous and my face is splashed all over US Weekly, some gossip mongering journalist will dig up the thoroughly pathetic story of Rachel Berry going dateless to prom. I will never live it down. Maybe I should call Jacob,” she added as an afterthought, dabbing at her eyes with the crumpled tissue in her hands. “I presume he hasn’t found a date yet for prom.”
“My God, Rachel, Jacob Israel?” Quinn shot back disbelievingly, immediately grabbing the phone out of her hand and pushing it into the deepest recesses of her book bag. “You’re desperate, not crazy.”
“You’re right,” Rachel sniffled, though her tone sounded doubtful, her mind already formulating the bare beginnings of a plan.
--
“Some lucky lady is going to get a taste of the Puckerman love machine tonight,” Puck declared with a sly grin, taking an eager gulp from his bottle of beer. “A guy like me is not built for the monogamous life. I don’t why the hell I stayed with Rachel for so long. She must have drugged me with some crazy love potion or something.”
“Rachel’s pretty cool and she’s hot,” Finn shot back defensively, nosily pulling another beer from the fridge and throwing himself back into the kitchen chair. “I swear, I don’t know why you broke up with her in the first place.” Eagerly tucking into the spread of cheese sandwiches and chips that Carole had left out for the boys, Finn shoveled a handful of Doritos into his mouth.
“She was freaking crazy,” Puck groaned, following Finn’s lead and reaching for one of the sandwiches. “Do you know on our first date that she made me bring to her Atonement and I had to fake cry at the end of the movie?”
“Dude, you cried during a chick flick?” Finn echoed incredulously, crumbs spraying from his mouth in a disgusting display across the table. “How do you still have both of your eyebrows?”
Lounging back lazily in his chair, Puck shrugged before taking another swig from his bottle of beer. “She was telling me all this stuff, like how she really respects a guy who’s comfortable with his emotions and all that kind of bullshit. Anyway, it was totally worth it,” he exclaimed crudely, draining the end of his beer. “I ended up getting to second base with Rachel that night.”
That was a complete lie and by the dubious glances Finn was aiming in his direction, it was obvious he knew it as well.
Rachel had looked beautiful that night, her dark hair hanging in a single plait down her back. She had been wearing blue, Puck remembered. A pale blue dress held up by two tiny lengths of ribbon. Her shoulders had been mostly bare and Puck had wanted to press his lips to the bare skin badly.
“This is just so sad,” Rachel murmured quietly, a hand swiping across her face as she gazed inconsolably at the screen.
Puck hadn’t been paying attention to the movie for a least an hour now, his eyes straying to gaze at Rachel every chance he got. Her mere proximity was distracting. Apart from the vague scrabble of someone’s hand digging into a bag of popcorn, the movie theatre was deathly quiet.
“Yeah,” he mumbled unconvincingly, trying to feign some semblance of interest in the movie. “I'm digging the battle scenes, babe. Who knew a girly movie like this would have so much blood and gore?”
Rachel flashed a brilliant smile at him and Puck used the encouragement to drape a hand over her shoulder. Her skin felt soft under his fingers and the tips of her hair tickled at his skin and the whole effect was magical.
They didn’t even kiss that night, though Puck had wanted to. Badly. The sky had been an expanse of twinkling inky-black when Puck finally pulled up outside Rachel’s house.
“See you tomorrow,” Rachel had grinned, the press of her lips warm against his cheek before she practically skipped into her house.
--
“You did sleep with Puck, right?” Quinn asked curiously, the two girls sprawled out on Rachel’s bed and staring lazily at the infomercials that were playing on the television.
It was a glorious afternoon, the sun beaming in through the open window. Outside, Quinn could hear the raucous cheers of children splashing happily in their wading pools and the faint roar of a neighbor mowing the grass.
Turning over on her side, Rachel gazed at Quinn through pained eyes, her hair falling in a tumble of sleek brown over her shoulders.
“You know, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Quinn interjected softly, sensing Rachel’s reluctance to speak.
“Noah was so sweet. He was loving and tender and the experience was quite unlike how I expected making love to him would be. But of course you already know that, don’t you?” she aimed at the blonde cheerleader with a snide grin that, for a minute, brightened the gloomy expression that had lingered on her face.
Quinn, her hair splayed around her head like a halo, sighed deeply while considering Rachel’s question. Unlike Brittany and Santana, who could make light of their sexual conquests, joking and laughing about the pitiful attempts their eager lovers had made to satisfy them, because Quinn’s sole sexual encounter had left her pregnant and alone, the notion of sex was anything but frivolous fun to her.
“I was pretty much wasted, Rachel, so I can’t say I remember that much about it,” Quinn answered evasively, turning onto her stomach and fidgeting distractedly with the bracelet dangling from her wrist. Though Quinn had regained her perfect figure through hours of turning cartwheels and performing tumbles at Cheerio practice, the pale silvery lines that still ran spidery thin over her stomach were like a brand that would forever bind her to baby Beth.
“Now, I’m not saying that the sex was perfect,” Rachel informed Quinn with a prim nod as she gazed at her friend intently. “I mean, nobody expects sex to be perfect the first time,” she continued, her brown eyes widened for emphasis.
“Sure,” Quinn agreed with an uncertain shrug.
“Well, of course, I did,” Rachel cut in then, causing Quinn to look at her with an amused expression. “But I’ve come to accept that not everyone can be a sexual genius in bed.”
The hallways were quietly bustling, the last of the students fumbling in lockers for books before trailing in reluctantly to class. Puck, rather predictably, was doing none of the above. His book bag slung lazily over his shoulder, he was sauntering down the corridor with an equally idle Karofsky by his side. Normally, this display of nonchalance would infuriate Rachel and would prompt a timely lecture on the importance of an education to his future. Today, though, Rachel just smiled brightly before taking Puck’s hand in hers and dragging him over to her locker.
“Here, this is for you,’ she informed him with a bright smile as she reached into her locker and withdrew a carefully wrapped box.
“But it’s not my birthday or anything,” he informed his girlfriend in surprise, and Rachel didn’t miss the way he shot a furtive glance over his shoulder before accepting it. Maybe the pink glittering wrapping paper topped with rainbow colored ribbons was a bit much, Rachel mused thoughtfully. She always did go a little overboard wrapping presents.
“It’s not a ninja star, is it? Because if it is, that would be awesome,” Puck exclaimed, tearing at the wrapping paper impatiently.
“Not exactly,” Rachel replied with a patient smile, though she did aim a look of disapproval at Puck when he carelessly tossed the wrapping paper onto the floor.
“It’s another book,” Puck muttered disappointedly, glancing dejectedly at the vivid pink writing scrawled across the cover. (Rachel, in an enthusiastic bid to introduce Puck to more intellectual endeavors than watching UFC fight night on ESPN, had started slipping copies of her favorite books into his locker. Her efforts hadn’t been entirely unsuccessful and she had it on good account that Puck’s grades in English had soared in the months since they’d started dating.)
“What the hell is this?”
“This,” Rachel smiled widely, taking the book out of his hands and displaying it delightedly, “is Fabulous Foreplay: The Sex Doctor’s Guide to Teasing and Pleasing your Lover. I can’t believe you haven’t heard about it. Everyone’s talking about it. Fabulous Foreplay is on The New York Times bestseller list and Dr. Phil was discussing it on his show last week.”
“No, I can see what it is, Rachel. Contrary to what you believe, I can actually read. What I mean is, why the hell you are giving it to me? I’ve never had any complaints about my performance before. The Cheerios think I’m like some kind of sex god, for Christ’s sake.”
“They do?” Rachel replied with a disbelieving smile, starting to thumb carefully through the pages. “Here,” she pronounced brightly, placing the book back into Puck’s hand, opened on the requisite page. “I want you to pay extra attention to the importance of setting the scene because I feel you have the potential for massive improvement in that area. Also, I’ve made out a spreadsheet to monitor the improvements in our sex life, how many times I orgasm in a single session and so forth. I’ve hung it in your room over your bed.”
“My room?” Puck demanded, his expression quickly turning to horror. “How did you get into my room?
“Your mom gave me a key. She thinks I’m such a good influence on you, you know? We’re actually having lunch together this weekend.”
Puck’s mouth was agape, his face blazing red. Whether it was with anger or shock, Rachel couldn’t tell.
“Honey, I have to go,” she beamed, pressing her lips to his cheek before tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “Poe and Dickens await. Call me later, okay?”
“You gave Puck a sex manual.” Quinn sounded both horrified and bemused by that revelation. “What the hell were you thinking? Puck thinks he’s some kind of sex god and he’ll see you buying that book for him as a direct attack on his masculinity. Guys don’t dig that kind of thing. Couldn’t you have just made some suggestions to spice up your sex life in a more subtle way?”
“This is ridiculous,” Rachel exclaimed, her fingers reaching instinctively for the gold necklace hanging delicately around her neck. (The necklace had been purchased as a surprise for Puck and had his name spelled out in gold letters that dangled daintily from the chain. Puck had been less enthusiastic about the necklace than Rachel would have liked, even suggesting that she keep the piece of jewelry for special occasions, like out of town trips and the like. Rachel had obviously ignored him.) “You name your boyfriend’s penis and buy him a sex book and suddenly it’s like you’re the worst girlfriend in the world or something.”
“You named Puck’s penis?”
“I might have,” Rachel replied evasively, unwilling to divulge the fact that she had three separate names for Puck’s penis, Puckasaurus being her favorite. “Now, how do you think I should wear my hair?”
--
The kitchen, which Carole Hudson had left spotlessly clean that morning, was now a chaotic mess. Empty bottles littered the table, and the linoleum was sticky with spilt drink. Puck didn’t even notice; lightheaded from the alcohol, he clumsily reached for his bottle of beer before glancing at Finn.
“You know, she was practically planning our family.”
“Planning your family as in making vague references to the children you might have ten years from now?” Finn asked hopefully, his bottle of beer opening with a hiss.
“More like planning our family as in making a photo album of our future family, using Photoshop to combine our faces.She even had their names spelled out in some kind of sparkly stuff under the photos. It was really creepy shit. The Shining had nothing on it.”
“And you didn’t call the cops?”
“It was actually sweet, in a psychotic Fatal Attraction kind of way,” Puck shrugged, a hint of a smile on his lips as he remembered the enthusiastic way Rachel had introduced him to all of his future (albeit fake) children.
Pushing his chair back from the table with a noisy scrape, Finn collected the beer bottles and buried them deep in the recycling bin. “It was actually quite sweet,” he repeated teasingly, puckering his lips up and blowing kisses at his friend. “Sounds to me like you still want a shot at creating your little fake Photoshopped family with Rachel Berry.”
“Unless you want to wake up tomorrow with a giant penis tattooed on your forehead, I would shut the hell up.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Berry. Whatever you say,” Finn intoned with mock seriousness, ducking just in time to avoid the shoe Puck threw at his head.
--
Running a brush through Rachel’s long brown hair, Quinn carefully teased out a section and pinned it into a tight roll on her head. “Cinderella will go to the ball,” Quinn declared jokingly, spraying the carefully styled hairstyle liberally with copious amounts of hairspray. “Seriously though, you should go, Rachel. You have put so much work in on the prom committee, that it would be a shame not to.”
Rachel’s dressing table was cluttered with lotions and creams and the air was heavy with the mingled smell of cheap hairspray and sweet perfume. Glancing curiously at the mirror, Rachel was gratified to see that her long hair had been transformed into a sleek chignon, which displayed her pretty face to its best advantage. Quinn was right, Rachel considered inwardly, as she slid a glittering clip into her hair. Serving as chairperson on the prom committee, she had invested huge amounts of time on ensuring the Broadway themed night would be perfect. Not that Rachel had received much gratitude from her fellow committee members. Her demands for musically synchronized fireworks had been met with the rolling of eyes and barely concealed laughter. And was it really too much to expect that Gordon Ramsay be hired for the catering?
“Do you think Puck has a thing for Santana?” Rachel burst out unexpectedly, prompting Quinn to look at her in surprise.
“Why do you ask?” she replied, rubbing some lotion experimentally into her hand.
“They are always chatting and fooling around together and a few days ago, I caught them flirting shamelessly in the locker room,” Rachel revealed, her cheeks coloring slightly as she caught the gaze of the other girl.
“It’s probably all Santana,” Quinn shrugged, taking a seat beside Rachel at the dressing table and starting to brush some pink polish onto her nails. “You know, I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Rachel shot back dismissively, though the tense expression on her face suggested otherwise. “I mean, I’m clearly a more suitable candidate to serve as Noah’s girlfriend. I’m an avid sports enthusiast. I can converse freely about both UFC and the weaponry used in all areas of martial arts. And I’m obviously vocally superior to Santana.”
“Clearly,” Quinn agreed, trying with difficulty to keep a serious expression on her face. “Is this what all this is about?” she asked, the realization only just dawning on her.
“Yes,” Rachel admitted reluctantly, brushing some blusher onto her cheeks to disguise her reddening cheeks. “I mean, I don’t even know what he sees in her. Santana’s terrible at algebra and last week, she missed all the high notes when she sang Unfaithful.”
“And did you confront him? "
“He denied it, of course,” Rachel responded with a heavy sigh, dabbing a little perfume onto her wrists. “Then I tried calling him to firm up our plans to go see the McKinley Elementary production of Les Miserables but he wasn’t answering my calls, so I called him and called him.”
“How many times a day?" Quinn demanded, cringing inwardly. “Please tell me we're talking single digit figures, Rachel.”
“Ten,” she replied blithely before reluctantly revising her answer to fifteen. “Okay, seventeen,” she admitted after a moment's pause.
“You called Puck seventeen times in one day?”
“They weren’t all phone calls,” Rachel pleaded desperately, trying to make Quinn understand that this was a perfectly normal, healthy thing for a concerned girlfriend to do. “Some were love letters that I slipped into his locker at recess and two were MySpace videos of me singing the Whitney Houston song, I Will Always Love You.”
It wasn’t working. Quinn looked perfectly horrified.
“Then he said I was acting like a crazy person and dumped me,” Rachel continued, sighing miserably and reaching for a chocolate before reconsidering and tossing it away dejectedly. “It was so humiliating, Quinn. I was like Jennifer Aniston in the depths of despair after the whole Brangelina incident. That’s the life of a celebrity, I guess,” she mused with a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I’d better get used to it.”
Quinn could only smile. “Rachel, Puck’s right, that is crazy behavior. You’re acting like a freaking psychopath. To be honest, I’m surprised he hung around after the sex book incident.”
"You really think?" Rachel asked thoughtfully, glad she hadn’t mentioned the appointment she had made at Vera Wang to Quinn.
“Yes,” Quinn chimed in with a sympathetic grin. “Give him a few days to calm down and he’ll come back. Just tone down the crazy, okay?”
Catching sight of her watch, Quinn visibly grimaced, realizing that time was running short. “Crap, Rachel, I’ve got to go unless I'm going to go to prom in my Cheerios uniform,” she apologized, reaching for her purse and slinging it onto her shoulder.
“Ms. Sylvester would like that,” Rachel cut in knowingly, turning around and gazing at her friend through mascara-laden eyes.
“Finn probably would too,” Quinn grinned, reaching for her backpack and shrugging it onto her shoulders. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
--
Puck could never claim tidiness as being one of his strong points. His room was generally a chaotic mess, clothes strewn wildly all over the floor and the laundry basket overflowing. The greasy remains of yesterday’s dinner were discarded on his desk beside shiny new textbooks that had hardly been even opened. In the midst of all the chaos of the candy wrappers spilling out of the wastepaper basket and the questionable smell emanating from the bathroom, Puck’s tuxedo was hanging in his wardrobe, a note attached neatly to the hanger by a length of purple ribbon.
Rachel, he knew instantly, in awe of the fact that Rachel Berry was capable of both infuriating him and endearing herself to him in the same moment.
Rachel had chosen his tuxedo. Rachel had insisted he shave his hair. Rachel had supervised his purchase of the black dress shoes she informed him that he simply had to wear and it had been Rachel who had booked him for a dance lesson with an elderly grey-haired woman called Dora, which had possibly been the most awkward half hour he had ever spent in his life.
Picking up the note, Puck couldn’t stop a bemused smile from spreading across his face as he read it.
Dear Noah,
I hope you approve of my choice of tuxedo for you. I know, you wanted to go the whole Dumb and Dumber direction but I think you will agree that this choice of attire will set off my fuchsia dress far more effectively. (Just in case you don’t know, fuchsia is a member of the purple family, lying roughly between Mulberry and Violet.)
Lots of love,
Rachel ★
P.S.: Lilies bring on my allergies and pink peonies clash horribly with my skin tone.
Rachel had also given him a complete set of grooming instructions, going so far as to also include the necessary products, packed neatly into a heart shaped box. Maybe it was a tad excessive, but then Rachel had been intimately familiar with the inside of his bedroom and had probably discovered that a bar of soap and a can of deodorant were the extent of his toiletries. (Not that Puck had any intention of actually using the girly looking bottles with names that scared him and promised that a single use would turn him into one of those girly guys who wore pink and got their hair cut somewhere other than Supercuts.)
Wrapping the bow tie around his neck, Puck fumbled with the smooth purple satin before finally conceding defeat and calling for his mother.
It was almost six o’ clock and Noah Puckerman had somewhere he needed to be.
--
The world renowned, ‘rumored to have worked with Kate Moss and Johnny Depp’ photographer Rachel had flown in for the pre-prom reception in the Berry household had had to be canceled. The previous night, in a fit of self-pity, Rachel had declared tearfully that to have the night photographically documented would just add further insult to injury. That didn’t stop her dads, though, from taking about a million pictures. Now, slicking a little gloss onto her lips, Rachel felt her spirits lift a little at the prospect of attending prom. The deep pink dress clung flatteringly to her curves, and despite her emotional turmoil, Rachel’s skin glowed with a persistence that could only be ascribed to her enviable genes. As chair person of the prom committee, Rachel was already anticipating a very favorable mention in Principal Figgins’ speech.
Spritzing a final spray of sweet perfume onto her wrist, Rachel was just reaching for her jewel-encrusted clutch when the sharp trill of the doorbell startled her.
"Puck," she exclaimed in surprise, taking a tentative step down the stairs and gazing at him quizzically. “What are you doing here?”
When Rachel dreamed of prom night, she imagined Puck arriving in a silver Bentley with a choice of no less than three corsages to ensure the correct match to the shade of purple of her dress. Puck would be very dashing and would have acquired manners that would keep even the Queen of England happy.
“I’m taking you to prom, of course,” Puck answered lightly, his hands held awkwardly behind his back. “I’m sorry for being such an asshole.”
In reality, there was no corsage, just a wilted flower looking suspiciously like it had been plucked from the Berry garden. And transportation would probably be limited to Puck’s beat-up truck.
“Here, this is for you,” he murmured, red-faced, tentatively offering the flower to Rachel.
The flower, though not the exotic orchid she would have liked, was at least purple.
“You read my note,” she declared happily, taking the flower and slipping it behind her ear.
"So you will come to prom with me?” Puck asked hopefully, a relieved smile breaking across his face as Rachel threw herself delightedly into his arms.
“I would be honored to, Noah,” Rachel beamed, sighing in sheer contentment as she melted into her boyfriend’s arms for a long and tender kiss. “There’s just one thing. What am I going to do with him?” she wondered uncertainly, gesturing up the stairs to where Zac Efron, her back-up date, was sheepishly standing.
No one could ever accuse Rachel Berry of being unprepared.