Comfort Zone (Episode 3.07) (1/2)
Title: Comfort Zone (Episode 3.07)
Author: lennoxave
Pairing,Character(s): Ensemble, emphasis on Will, Sue, Beiste, Quinn, Finn, Santana, and Artie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~11,400
Spoilers: Through 2.22 "New York" NO SEASON 3 SPOILERS
Summary: Emma makes the teachers teach each others' classes, Finn tries to figure out what he wants to be when he grows up, Quinn wants to be a better person (but Santana is making it so hard), Artie gets back in the game with one of the new girls, and I joyously ignore every spoiler/bit of casting news we've heard this summer. This is why I love fanfic, y'all.
Author's Note: This is written like it's an episode of the show, so I mostly deal with outward reactions, rather than the characters inner thoughts and feelings. Part of my Fantasy Season 3 series. And if you've been following along, no, you didn't miss any chapters. I'm doing select episodes, so I skipped from episode 5 to episode 7. Also, I have big girl job now, so updates are going to be somewhat delayed (obviously), but I'm definitely still doing this.
Episode 1: Magic Kingdom
Episode 2: What You Want
Episode 5: Past, Present, and Future Tense
So, here's what you missed on Glee: the clubs are competing to get this trust fund money that will fund them for life. There are some new kids in glee club, including Abby, the nicest, most enthusiastic person ever, and Lola, a geek who is . . . not, so much. Santana's dating this girl named Jen, but she still in the closet to everyone but Brittany (well, she thinks she is, but everyone already knows because they have eyes). But she and Brittany aren't talking after a big fight they had. Finn and Rachel are together but both sort of freaking out about college in their different ways, although they seem like they want to make it work (no pun intended) in New York. Artie's been single for a while now, much to the relief of the female population of McKinley High, 'cause he can be kind of a jerk sometimes. Quinn realized that she's kind of horrible, and Mercedes advised her to go see Emma about it.
Also, this has nothing to do with anything, but last time we found out what some of the kids wanted to do after high school, so here are some more results from Ms. Pillsbury's career counseling sessions: Mike just wants to dance, Mercedes is thinking about studying theology, and Santana wants to be a power lesbian (although she may have used different words than that. Still, she basically aspires to being Bette Porter.).
. . . And that's what you missed, on Glee!
Comfort Zone (3.07)
Will sat across the lunch table from Coach Beiste and frowned.
“Shannon, I can't possibly give up our Tuesday night rehearsals. It was hard enough to choreograph thirteen kids, but seventeen? We need all the help we can get.”
Beiste drummed her pencil on the table. “It's not like I wanted to lose half our starting line to injuries, okay? These frosh are small and they can barely figure out which direction to face on the field. I need Karofsky and Puckerman there to tell them what to do or else it's going to be like a moose rearranging fishing equipment on the Titanic.”
Will screwed up his face at her analogy, but he went back to looking at his schedule. “Okay, the kids aren't going to like this, but I could move our extra Tuesday practice to Friday after school--”
“No, you couldn't,” Sue Sylvester cut in as she walked over to the faculty fridge. “My Cheerios have their weekly Taekwondo lessons then.” She reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a full-sized blender that appeared to be filled with whole eggs.
“You make your cheerleaders learn martial arts?” Beiste asked.
“Of course,” Sue said, plugging the blender into the wall. “They've gotten soft without me training them. Like a squad of Pillsbury Dough Boys. Besides, you should always be prepared. That's what they taught me when I was a Boy Scout.”
“But . . . cheerleaders don't do anything,” Beiste said, still disbelieving. “They what, stand on each others' backs and sometimes do a cartwheel?”
Sue's eyes narrowed, and Will instinctively winced. “Oh, god,” he whispered under his breath.
“You think my cheerleaders don't do anything?” She walked up to Beiste dangerously. “Do you think any of your gorillas could handle doing an aerial stunt 20 feet up in the air?”
Beiste stood. “Do you think your Bratz dolls could run an iron-man football game?”
“Guys, guys,” Will said, and he put a hand each on Sue and Beiste to push them apart. “You both coach very different, equally challenging disciplines. There's no need to fight about it.”
Sue shrugged his hand off of her shoulder. “Says the man who teaches kids how to walk back and forth across a stage and yell on pitch with slightly more acumen than Katy Perry.”
“Sue, you coached a glee club. You know how hard it is.”
“Exactly.”
Will rolled his eyes. “Can you back me up on this?” he asked Beiste.
“She has a point,” Beiste admitted.
Will pulled his hand away from her like he had touched a hot stove. “What?”
“I'm sorry,” she said, “but there's no way coaching glee is as hard as coaching football.”
“Which isn't nearly as hard as coaching cheer-leading,” Sue put in.
“Are you kidding? Building harmonies alone is clearly--” Will started, and the group began an all-out bickering session.
From the doorway of the teacher's lounge, Emma looked horrified at the display in front of her.
* * *
“This is absurd,” Sue said.
“An outrage,” Beiste agreed.
“I can't believe you're making us do this,” Will sighed.
They were crammed together in Emma's office. Emma just looked at them sternly.
“You're all being silly,” she said. “So you're each going to teach a practice of each others' groups so you can learn to appreciate what your coworkers do.”
Beiste glared at her. “This opens us up to sabotage in the competition for the trust money,” she pointed out, and she flicked her head without any subtlety at all toward Sue.
“But no one will, right? Because no one wants their own group messed with,” Emma said.
Sue stood up. “This is stupider than a Palin family reunion. I'm taking this to Figgins.”
Emma tsk-ed. “I don't think he'd be happy about how you've all been acting. And it would be such a shame to see all that money go to the Dulcimer Club.”
Sue sat back down. “You grew a backbone. When did you grow a backbone?”
“You were probably off bribing a state senator,” Will offered. Sue tilted her head to consider it.
“We really don't have a choice, do we?” Beiste said.
“No, you really don't,” Emma smiled. The three coaches looked morose as they got up and exited her office. “But cheer up! Educating yourself can be fun!”
“As fun as eating a muskrat while sleeping on hot coals,” Beiste grumbled.
Sue looked at her. “I still have no idea what you mean eighty percent of the time, but I think you might be right.”
* * *
Abby and Lola walked together down the hallway. As they passed Artie's locker, Artie gave Abby smile, which she shyly returned.
“Ooooh, looks like somebody's got a boyfriend,” Lola sing-songed.
“Shut up,” Abby said, but she clutched her books a little tighter to her chest.
“Apparently I struck a chord.”
“Do you think--” Abby stopped. “I mean, we're friends, right, Lola?”
“Yeah.”
“Good friends.”
“Sure.”
“Tell me the truth,” Abby said. “Do you think he likes me?”
Lola glanced back over her shoulder to where Artie was now talking to Sam.
“He might,” she said. “The real question is, do you like him?”
“He's smart, cute, funny, and an amazing singer,” Abby said. “What's not to like?”
“He's not very cool,” Lola pointed out.
“Is that seriously your only metric when it comes to guys?”
“Although,” Lola mused, ignoring that comment, “he is on the football team. And you'd always get really good parking spots.”
Abby looked at her like she was crazy. “That . . . wasn't really the first thing that popped into my head.”
“He's not the crème de la crème, but he'd certainly do.” Lola seemed to have forgotten Abby was there.
“So . . . you're saying I should go for it?” Abby asked.
Lola shook herself out of her reverie. “Oh, yeah. If he asks you out, totally.”
They continued walking to their next class, with Lola throwing one last look back at Artie.
* * *
“You made me a book?” Finn looked down at the thick stack of papers Rachel had passed him from across their table in the library. His forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“It's not a book,” Rachel said.
“It is, too. It's got a cover and binding and everything.”
“It's a plan, Finn. You haven't made any progress since the last time we talked about college.”
Finn squirmed under Rachel's intense gaze. “It's hard,” he tried to defend himself. “I don't even know what I want to do with the rest of my life.”
“When you were a kid, didn't you ever dream about what you were going to be when you grew up?” Rachel asked.
“Yeah, but I always wanted to be, like, a space marine or a ninja or something,” Finn said. “I don't think there are a lot of ads for those on Monster.”
“You really never wanted to be a profession that actually exists?”
“Ninjas are totally real. You just can't see them because they move so fast.” Finn thought for a second. “I guess I wanted to be a cowboy for a while. Do those still exist? Or Mr. Schue was talking about gauchos the other day. I could be one of those, although Kurt sometimes gets mad about their pants.”
“I don't think you can be a gaucho--” Rachel said.
“Aw.”
“--but that's what the plan's for,” Rachel said, patting his hand. “There are checklists, and personality tests, and all sorts of things that will help you decide what you want to do.”
“Rach, I appreciate it,” Finn said. “But . . . I think this is something I have to figure out on my own.”
Rachel frowned a little, but she nodded. “All right. Just . . . keep the book?” she said. “For if you get stuck?”
“Okay,” Finn said, and he slid the packet into his backpack.
* * *
Santana was sashaying past the lockers the way she always did when a sudden buzzing made her jump up in alarm. After checking to see that the coast was clear, she pulled out her phone and slipped into an empty classroom.
“Hey,” she answered the call, her voice low and breathy.
“Hey, yourself,” Jen said back.
“Not that I don't look for any excuse to skip Physics, but what's up with calling me during the school day?”
“Got bored. It's been a while since I've seen you.”
“We had dinner two nights ago.”
“That's a while!” Jen insisted. Santana laughed. “Anyway, I heard about this thing going on in Columbus tomorrow night and I was wondering if you wanted to check it out?”
“Define 'thing',” Santana said.
“It's . . . a movie.”
Even though they were on the phone, Santana raised her eyebrows incredulously. “A movie?”
“A film. A . . . foreign film,” Jen winced. “In French.”
“Babe,” Santana whined, “if I actually wanted to read, I would buy a Kindle.”
“Okay, but it's foreign,” Jen said, “which means there will probably be super-hot girls in it without their shirts on. Europe's way more open about that kind of stuff than the States.”
“French girls without shirts means armpit hair,” Santana pointed out, “and I'm so not into that. Although, if I am going to be a lesbian--”
“Santana?” Jen sighed, her voice halfway between amused and annoyed, as though they had discussed stereotypes before.
“Fine,” she relented. “But if it's boring, promise me we can just make out in the back row?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Jen replied. “I should get back to class. I'll see you then?”
“Yeah,” Santana grinned. “See you.” She hung up the call with a smile still on her face, and she bit her lip a little as she stared absentmindedly at the now-silent phone.
“Who was that?” Quinn asked from the doorway. Santana's eyes bugged out of her head.
“No one!” she said a little too quickly. “Just a person. I met. At a place. My mom!” Santana finally settled on a story. “Car trouble. She needs me to pick her up after school.”
“Yeah, that's definitely what it sounded like,” Quinn rolled her eyes.
“Don't you have someplace else to be?” Santana snapped. “Like, maybe you could hit the psych ward, or the elastic-waistband pants section of Sears?”
“Santana . . .”
“Shouldn't you be screwing someone over? Or isn't it about that time of year you always get kicked off the Cheerios?”
Quinn was visibly annoyed now. “I don't--”
“And Mercedes just took pity on you again,” Santana sneered, “so when you peace-out on her this time, you'll have to pencil it in around all the empty spaces on your social calendar because you have no friends.”
Quinn narrowed her eyes. “It's funny that you of all people should say that.”
“Why?”
“Because now that Brittany doesn't talk to you? No one else does, either.”
Santana let out a growling noise. “You are such a bitch,” she spat, and she stormed past Quinn out of the room.
Quinn glared at Santana as she left, but after a moment she sighed and leaned her head forlornly against the door frame.
* * *
“This is absurd,” Kurt said.
“An outrage,” Rachel agreed.
“I can't believe you're making us do this,” Mercedes groaned.
“Guys,” Will said, “I think this will be a good learning opportunity.” Beiste snorted from her seat off to the side of the choir room. Will shot her a look.
“Thank you, William,” Sue said as she sauntered over to him. “Now, if you and the Texas oil refinery that is your head don't mind taking a seat, I have a rehearsal to run.”
Finn leaned over and whispered into Kurt's ear, “Oh god, what do you think she's gonna make us do? Eat glass? Juggle chainsaws?”
“No,” Sue cut him off. “The agenda for today is that I'm going to sing, and then we're going to dissect all the things that made my performance great.”
Seventeen mouths dropped open.
“It's like Rachel's running rehearsal or something,” Santana muttered.
“Shaggy? Jazz nerds?” Sue said. Brad huffed at being referred to that way, but he signaled the other musicians and they started to play.
“ I'm the top,” Sue sang, and Kurt and Rachel exchanged twin looks of horror. “I'm the Coliseum.”
“Cole Porter is rolling over in his immaculately decorated grave,” Kurt said, slack-jawed.
“I'm the top,
I'm the Louvre museum
I'm the melody from a symphony by Strauss.
I'm a Bendel bonnet, a Shakespeare sonnet,
I'm Mickey Mouse.
I'm the Nile - I'm the tower of Pisa.
I'm the smile - of the Mona Lisa.”
She looked pointedly at Will.
“You're a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop.
But if, baby, you're the bottom, I'm the top.
I'm the top, I'm Mahatma Ghandi.
I'm the top - I'm Napoleon brandy.
I'm the purple light of a
summer night in Spain.
I'm the National Gallery.
I'm Garbo's salary,
I'm cellophane.
I am sublime, I'm a turkey dinner.
I'm the time - of the Derby winner."
This time, Sue sang to Beiste.
“You're a toy balloon that is fated soon to pop.
But if, baby, you're the bottom, I'm the top.”
Sue finished the song to polite, if forced, applause from the glee club.
“All right, now who wants to tell me the first thing I did better than Will Schuester?” she asked.
Everyone in New Directions groaned and slid down in their seats.
* * *
“Finn?” Sam jogged down the hall to catch up with him after glee.
“What's up?” Finn asked.
“I have a favor to ask. Tomorrow night, I have a date with Mercedes, and my dad was going to look after Stevie and Stacy, but he got a call about a contracting job in Cleveland so he's going to be gone. And I would ask Quinn to babysit, but she was giving off her Eye of Sauron vibes in glee today, so I was wondering if maybe you'd be able to?”
“Sure!” Finn said. “What would I have to do? Just sit there and make sure they don't burn the place down?”
“Basically,” Sam said. “Y'know, just make them PB&Js for dinner and get them to do their homework.”
“Sweet. I can handle that.”
“Awesome,” Sam said. “You're really doing me a solid. I haven't had any alone time with Mercedes in forever, it's been driving me a little crazy.”
“Understood,” Finn said. “I'll be at your place around five?”
“Sounds good.”
* * *
Artie rolled down the hallway flanked by Puck and Lauren on one side and Brittany, Mike, and Tina on the other.
“I've given it a lot of thought recently,” he said, “and I think it's time King Arthur Abrams was back on the prowl.”
“Sweet,” Puck said, and he put out his hand for a fist bump. Brittany just stared at Artie blankly, and Tina and Lauren both rolled their eyes.
“Really?” Lauren said. “'King Arthur'? Are you looking to go after Queen Latifah with that ridiculousness?”
“I don't think that would work,” Brittany said. “Royal marriages are hard to negotiate. Just ask Lord Tubbington.”
“Is a lord really royalty, though?” Mike asked. Tina poked him in the ribs.
“The point is,” Artie said, “I think Abby and I would make a super-hot couple, but I don't know how to go talk to her. I mean, I know girl would be crazy not to want to get up on this--” He made a hand gesture to indicate his body and Tina rolled her eyes again.
“Oh my god, how do you manage to be both the most arrogant and most insecure person I know?” she said. Then she thought about it. “Besides Rachel.”
“Just, do you think she'd like me?” Artie asked.
Tina sighed and hooked her arm around Brittany's. “Speaking on behalf of the delegation of your exes,” she said, and Brittany nodded, “you're a pretty cool person when you're not being totally insensitive.”
“What? I'm not insensitive.”
“Dude, you're totally insensitive,” Puck said.
“I'm not insensitive. You're insensitive.”
“I'm offensive,” Puck declared proudly. “It's totally different.” Lauren patted his arm in agreement.
“Just talk to her and be nice,” Tina brought the subject back on track. “Ask her to get coffee. Girls aren't weird alien creatures who are out to get you.”
“Coffee,” Artie repeated, and as they turned the corner he caught a glimpse of Abby leaving her locker. “I could do coffee.”
* * *
“I did great,” Sue said as she walked with Will from the school building to the football field.
“You did terribly,” Will said. “Brittany tried to escape through the back windows.”
“She would've made it, too, if she hadn't lost half a year of Cheerios training.”
Will rolled his eyes. “She'd be dead if she had stayed on the Cheerios. You would have shot her out of a cannon.”
“There was a net, William,” Sue said with the air of someone who had made the same argument many times. They came upon Beiste.
“Well, I hope you can do better with my guys than Sylvester did with your group,” she said to Will, relishing in Sue's failure.
“I wouldn't plan on it,” Sue said.
“Okay, guys, huddle up,” Will called. The football players jogged over from where they'd been doing stretches.
“All right, let's start with some basic plays,” he said. He looked at Finn. “Play action. Defense, you know what to do?”
“Got it,” Mike nodded.
“Then let's break,” Will said. The two sides started lining up. There was a player in the backfield, a younger, smaller one, who looked a little lost.
“Coach?” he asked timidly.
“Yeah?” Will said.
“What's my route?” the kid said.
Will surveyed the field and then put his hand on the kid's shoulder. “Trust your instincts,” he said. “Just do what feels right.”
“. . . Okay . . .” the kid said doubtfully.
Will hurried over to the sidelines. “Watch this,” he told Sue and Beiste. “This is going to be a teachable moment.”
Finn called hike and the play started. The defense was already putting pressure on him, but he looked down field and saw Puck open. He reared back and threw the ball.
It would have been an excellent play if the kid Will had advised to trust his instincts hadn't run straight into Puck before he could catch the ball.
Beiste blew her whistle. “Teachable moment?” she looked at Will incredulously before running out to see if her players were all right. Sue just stood off to the side, laughing into her hand.
Will glared at her and threw his clipboard at the ground.
* * *
The next day, Artie rolled up to Abby's locker.
“Hey,” he said. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Sure,” she replied. She looked at Lola and shot her a nervous smile before walking over to a quieter spot with Artie. Lola watched them talking, and Artie laughing, and Abby nodding enthusiastically.
They began to make their way down the hallway, and Abby turned around to smile broadly at Lola and give her a thumbs-up. Lola put on a too-big grin and gave her thumbs-up back.
Once Abby turned back around, though, the grin vanished and Lola scrunched her face up, clearly starting to formulate a plan.
* * *
“. . . so, I think all of the horrible stuff I did last year--selling out Santana, cheating on Sam, being terrible to Finn--I think all of that was a reaction,” Quinn said.
“To having been pregnant?” Emma asked from across the desk in her office.
“To more than that,” Quinn said. “When I was pregnant, I was at the bottom of the high school pecking order. I was like a completely different person, because if you don't have any status in the first place, you don't have to spend all of your time worrying about it.” She looked down at her lap. “But after I gave Beth up for adoption, the thing that was holding me down was gone and . . . I guess I thought that getting back everything I'd lost would make me happy again.”
“It didn't, did it?” Emma said.
“No. I'm not sure it ever made me happy in the first place.”
Emma made a note on the file in front of her. “So, what do you think would make you happy again?”
There was silence as Quinn collected herself. “I want to have something real. I want to succeed on my terms, for once. I want to make connections with people that have nothing to do with getting them to fear me or our mutual loathing of the lower social classes at this school.”
“Instead of being popular, you want to have friends,” Emma smiled.
Quinn let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Well, that's definitely something we can work on,” Emma said. “Did you have any thoughts on how to go about it?”
“I've hurt a lot of people in high school,” Quinn said. “Like, a lot. So, I feel like I should probably apologize to those people.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small notepad. “I made a list.” There was a beat. “Which is really the first step to being a complete and total loser, isn't it?”
“There's nothing uncool about good organizational habits,” Emma said, but her voice was distracted. She pursed her lips in thought. “Quinn, I'm not saying that this isn't a good idea, but we need to talk about what you're planning on getting out of this.”
Quinn knitted her brow. “What do you mean?”
“Would you say it's a fair assessment that part of your obsession with being popular is a need to be in control?”
“I guess.” Quinn shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“Well, the thing about apologizing is that you aren't in control of other people's reactions,” Emma said. “You can't go into this looking for forgiveness, because you might not get it. You can't do this because you want to feel better about yourself by having people say they like you again. You have to do this because you want to be a better person. You can't have any expectations of forgiveness, and you need to let the people you're apologizing to know that you don't have any. That you're not doing this for external validation, but so you can start to forgive yourself. Does that make sense?”
Quinn frowned, but she nodded. “Yes,” she replied. She spoke her next words haltingly, like she had just come to a very important realization that she was taking great pains to put into words. “I can't do this because I want to be forgiven. I have to do this because I don't want to keep being the type of person who doesn't apologize for her mistakes.”
“Bingo,” Emma said.
“That's good,” Quinn nodded, tearing up a little bit. “I think I'd like that.”
Over her shoulder, Will walked up to Emma's door. He was about to knock, but he stopped himself when he saw she was with a student. Emma only took her eyes off of Quinn for a second to nod slightly when Will put his hands up to signal that he was leaving, but it was enough to distract her student.
“Mr. Schue!” Quinn exclaimed, and she quickly wiped her eyes.
He opened the door just enough so he could poke his head in. “Sorry. I'll come back later.”
“It's okay,” Quinn said hurriedly, and she shoved her notebook into her purse. “We were just talking about . . . college stuff.” She got up, threw her backpack over her shoulder, and made her way toward the door.
“Quinn?” Emma called. Quinn stopped and looked back. “We'll go over your list next time, okay?”
“Okay,” Quinn said. She pushed her way past Will and out the door.
“I'm really sorry about that,” Will said. “If I had known you were with a student . . .”
Emma shrugged. “It's fine. She's just still a little jumpy about coming here.”
“I know I can't ask what that was really about,” Will said, “because if you told me you'd have to kill me--”
“True. Occupational hazard.”
“--but can you at least tell me if she's okay?”
Emma thought about it. “I think she will be.”
Will smiled in relief. “That's good to hear.”
“So, what brings you by this morning, anyway?” Emma asked.
“We've done a couple of these teach-each-others'-classes sessions, and you've made your point,” Will said. “Can we just call the rest of them off?”
Emma smiled. “Oh, I don't think so. Shannon told me she's working with the Cheerios and glee today, and that, I quote, 'This is going to be easier than washing a thoroughbred down in Tahiti'.”
“You don't know what that means,” Will said. “She might have admitted that we all have very difficult jobs and we should stop this right now.”
Emma studied him. “You really don't want to coach the Cheerios, do you?”
“I'm worried about Shannon, too,” he said. “I wouldn't be surprised if Sue had a psychotic break in the middle of practice because she wasn't the one in charge.”
“Sue's way calmer this year,” Emma said, but as she thought about it, her face grew more concerned. “Well, if nothing else, I think you could both outrun her.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” Will sighed.
* * *
Rachel looked across the lunch table at Finn. “Babysit?”
“Yeah,” Finn said. “I think it could be really fun.”
“You want us to babysit. Together.”
“That's . . . what I said?”
“It's just,” Rachel started, “given your previous experience thinking you were going to be a teen father, isn't the idea of looking after a child with your significant other a little . . . off-putting to you? I mean, it's a little off-putting to me, and I wasn't even involved in that situation.”
“Huh,” Finn said. “I'd never really thought about it like that. Yeah, that is kind of weird.”
“I hope you don't think I'm terrible for not wanting to do this.”
“No, it's cool,” Finn said. “And, I mean, I can totally handle this on my own. It's just two kids. What could go wrong?”
“Exactly. I have complete faith in you,” Rachel said, and she leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek.
* * *
“All right,” Sue Sylvester yelled through her megaphone. “I've called you out for a special lunch-time practice for two reasons. One, of course, is that being out on the field after they've sprayed the herbicides builds character. The other is so you can show Mr. Librarian-Vest and Andrea the Giant here how much more difficult cheer-leading is than anything else in the world. Except for living with hepatitis. Or wake-boarding behind the Exxon Valdez. Or anything else I've ever told you is harder than cheer-leading. Okay?”
The Cheerios all nodded in unison.
Sue stepped back and pressed the megaphone (much harder than she needed to) into Beiste's hands.
“You don't even have a chance at this,” she said.
Beiste rolled her eyes. “Okay,” she yelled through the megaphone. “Let's start with some clapping exercises.”
The Cheerios all started laughing.
“What?” Beiste asked.
“Coach?” Brittany said. “We don't really do that. Unless we're making fun of other squads. Or the football team.” She turned and looked at Quinn. “That's what we're doing when we're at all of those football games, right?”
“That sounds about right,” Quinn deadpanned.
“Well, what do you guys do, then?” Beiste asked.
As if she'd planned it, Sue hit a button on the sidelines desk, and the latest song to top the Billboard Hot 100 started blaring through the speakers.
At the sound, the Cheerios literally leaped into action. Cheerleaders started to do cartwheels and round-offs and handsprings, and they eventually danced themselves into two enormous pyramids surrounded by girls being tossed insanely high into the air.
When it ended, Beiste's jaw dropped.
“I always forget how good Sue is at this,” Will muttered to himself.
Beiste raised the megaphone to her mouth. “Hit the showers. I give up.” She dropped the megaphone on the grass. Will walked over and picked it up.
“For the record, I, uh, I also give up,” he said to the retreating cheerleaders, and he gingerly set the megaphone back on the ground.
* * *
Kurt was checking his hair in his locker mirror when Lola came up to him.
“I have a proposal for you,” she said.
Kurt frowned. “You have a glint in your eye. Is somebody getting whacked?”
“It's nothing bad,” Lola rolled her eyes. “I just want a make-over, is all.”
“And just because I'm gay, you think I'll give you one?” Kurt huffed.
“You re-hairspray your hair after every class. You have at least three different skincare products in your locker alone. You wear clothes with bondage straps on them, okay? You could be more of a raging heterosexual than Wilt Chamberlain and you would still be Makeover Guy.”
“I don't know who that is, but I suppose you make a valid point.” Kurt gave his hair a quick spray and closed his locker. “What are you going for, exactly?”
“Hot. I'm going for hot.”
“Hm.” Kurt looked thoughtful. “What's the catch?”
“Why would there be a catch?”
“You're a calculating schemer. I am, too, so I know one when I see one. If I do this for you, who am I screwing over?”
Lola let out an annoyed sigh. “Maybe I'm just a geek who wants to try being a pretty girl for once.”
“I feel like I should make you a white t-shirt with the word 'nerd' emblazoned on it.”
Lola looked confused, but she let it go. “C'mon. Are you going to give up your chance to pull a She's All That on someone?”
Kurt's eyes flicked from her plain t-shirt to her off-brand jeans to her boring shoes. His resolve was weakening. “You did clean up well for the Adler and Ross.”
“I just need a little style direction. Help me become the me I've always wanted to be.”
“That sentence was so pathetic now I have to do it,” Kurt said. “All right; I'll meet you after school and we'll work something out.”
“Excellent,” Lola said, and she walked away from Kurt with a triumphant grin on her face.
Part 2
Author: lennoxave
Pairing,Character(s): Ensemble, emphasis on Will, Sue, Beiste, Quinn, Finn, Santana, and Artie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~11,400
Spoilers: Through 2.22 "New York" NO SEASON 3 SPOILERS
Summary: Emma makes the teachers teach each others' classes, Finn tries to figure out what he wants to be when he grows up, Quinn wants to be a better person (but Santana is making it so hard), Artie gets back in the game with one of the new girls, and I joyously ignore every spoiler/bit of casting news we've heard this summer. This is why I love fanfic, y'all.
Author's Note: This is written like it's an episode of the show, so I mostly deal with outward reactions, rather than the characters inner thoughts and feelings. Part of my Fantasy Season 3 series. And if you've been following along, no, you didn't miss any chapters. I'm doing select episodes, so I skipped from episode 5 to episode 7. Also, I have big girl job now, so updates are going to be somewhat delayed (obviously), but I'm definitely still doing this.
Episode 1: Magic Kingdom
Episode 2: What You Want
Episode 5: Past, Present, and Future Tense
So, here's what you missed on Glee: the clubs are competing to get this trust fund money that will fund them for life. There are some new kids in glee club, including Abby, the nicest, most enthusiastic person ever, and Lola, a geek who is . . . not, so much. Santana's dating this girl named Jen, but she still in the closet to everyone but Brittany (well, she thinks she is, but everyone already knows because they have eyes). But she and Brittany aren't talking after a big fight they had. Finn and Rachel are together but both sort of freaking out about college in their different ways, although they seem like they want to make it work (no pun intended) in New York. Artie's been single for a while now, much to the relief of the female population of McKinley High, 'cause he can be kind of a jerk sometimes. Quinn realized that she's kind of horrible, and Mercedes advised her to go see Emma about it.
Also, this has nothing to do with anything, but last time we found out what some of the kids wanted to do after high school, so here are some more results from Ms. Pillsbury's career counseling sessions: Mike just wants to dance, Mercedes is thinking about studying theology, and Santana wants to be a power lesbian (although she may have used different words than that. Still, she basically aspires to being Bette Porter.).
. . . And that's what you missed, on Glee!
Comfort Zone (3.07)
Will sat across the lunch table from Coach Beiste and frowned.
“Shannon, I can't possibly give up our Tuesday night rehearsals. It was hard enough to choreograph thirteen kids, but seventeen? We need all the help we can get.”
Beiste drummed her pencil on the table. “It's not like I wanted to lose half our starting line to injuries, okay? These frosh are small and they can barely figure out which direction to face on the field. I need Karofsky and Puckerman there to tell them what to do or else it's going to be like a moose rearranging fishing equipment on the Titanic.”
Will screwed up his face at her analogy, but he went back to looking at his schedule. “Okay, the kids aren't going to like this, but I could move our extra Tuesday practice to Friday after school--”
“No, you couldn't,” Sue Sylvester cut in as she walked over to the faculty fridge. “My Cheerios have their weekly Taekwondo lessons then.” She reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a full-sized blender that appeared to be filled with whole eggs.
“You make your cheerleaders learn martial arts?” Beiste asked.
“Of course,” Sue said, plugging the blender into the wall. “They've gotten soft without me training them. Like a squad of Pillsbury Dough Boys. Besides, you should always be prepared. That's what they taught me when I was a Boy Scout.”
“But . . . cheerleaders don't do anything,” Beiste said, still disbelieving. “They what, stand on each others' backs and sometimes do a cartwheel?”
Sue's eyes narrowed, and Will instinctively winced. “Oh, god,” he whispered under his breath.
“You think my cheerleaders don't do anything?” She walked up to Beiste dangerously. “Do you think any of your gorillas could handle doing an aerial stunt 20 feet up in the air?”
Beiste stood. “Do you think your Bratz dolls could run an iron-man football game?”
“Guys, guys,” Will said, and he put a hand each on Sue and Beiste to push them apart. “You both coach very different, equally challenging disciplines. There's no need to fight about it.”
Sue shrugged his hand off of her shoulder. “Says the man who teaches kids how to walk back and forth across a stage and yell on pitch with slightly more acumen than Katy Perry.”
“Sue, you coached a glee club. You know how hard it is.”
“Exactly.”
Will rolled his eyes. “Can you back me up on this?” he asked Beiste.
“She has a point,” Beiste admitted.
Will pulled his hand away from her like he had touched a hot stove. “What?”
“I'm sorry,” she said, “but there's no way coaching glee is as hard as coaching football.”
“Which isn't nearly as hard as coaching cheer-leading,” Sue put in.
“Are you kidding? Building harmonies alone is clearly--” Will started, and the group began an all-out bickering session.
From the doorway of the teacher's lounge, Emma looked horrified at the display in front of her.
* * *
“This is absurd,” Sue said.
“An outrage,” Beiste agreed.
“I can't believe you're making us do this,” Will sighed.
They were crammed together in Emma's office. Emma just looked at them sternly.
“You're all being silly,” she said. “So you're each going to teach a practice of each others' groups so you can learn to appreciate what your coworkers do.”
Beiste glared at her. “This opens us up to sabotage in the competition for the trust money,” she pointed out, and she flicked her head without any subtlety at all toward Sue.
“But no one will, right? Because no one wants their own group messed with,” Emma said.
Sue stood up. “This is stupider than a Palin family reunion. I'm taking this to Figgins.”
Emma tsk-ed. “I don't think he'd be happy about how you've all been acting. And it would be such a shame to see all that money go to the Dulcimer Club.”
Sue sat back down. “You grew a backbone. When did you grow a backbone?”
“You were probably off bribing a state senator,” Will offered. Sue tilted her head to consider it.
“We really don't have a choice, do we?” Beiste said.
“No, you really don't,” Emma smiled. The three coaches looked morose as they got up and exited her office. “But cheer up! Educating yourself can be fun!”
“As fun as eating a muskrat while sleeping on hot coals,” Beiste grumbled.
Sue looked at her. “I still have no idea what you mean eighty percent of the time, but I think you might be right.”
* * *
Abby and Lola walked together down the hallway. As they passed Artie's locker, Artie gave Abby smile, which she shyly returned.
“Ooooh, looks like somebody's got a boyfriend,” Lola sing-songed.
“Shut up,” Abby said, but she clutched her books a little tighter to her chest.
“Apparently I struck a chord.”
“Do you think--” Abby stopped. “I mean, we're friends, right, Lola?”
“Yeah.”
“Good friends.”
“Sure.”
“Tell me the truth,” Abby said. “Do you think he likes me?”
Lola glanced back over her shoulder to where Artie was now talking to Sam.
“He might,” she said. “The real question is, do you like him?”
“He's smart, cute, funny, and an amazing singer,” Abby said. “What's not to like?”
“He's not very cool,” Lola pointed out.
“Is that seriously your only metric when it comes to guys?”
“Although,” Lola mused, ignoring that comment, “he is on the football team. And you'd always get really good parking spots.”
Abby looked at her like she was crazy. “That . . . wasn't really the first thing that popped into my head.”
“He's not the crème de la crème, but he'd certainly do.” Lola seemed to have forgotten Abby was there.
“So . . . you're saying I should go for it?” Abby asked.
Lola shook herself out of her reverie. “Oh, yeah. If he asks you out, totally.”
They continued walking to their next class, with Lola throwing one last look back at Artie.
* * *
“You made me a book?” Finn looked down at the thick stack of papers Rachel had passed him from across their table in the library. His forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“It's not a book,” Rachel said.
“It is, too. It's got a cover and binding and everything.”
“It's a plan, Finn. You haven't made any progress since the last time we talked about college.”
Finn squirmed under Rachel's intense gaze. “It's hard,” he tried to defend himself. “I don't even know what I want to do with the rest of my life.”
“When you were a kid, didn't you ever dream about what you were going to be when you grew up?” Rachel asked.
“Yeah, but I always wanted to be, like, a space marine or a ninja or something,” Finn said. “I don't think there are a lot of ads for those on Monster.”
“You really never wanted to be a profession that actually exists?”
“Ninjas are totally real. You just can't see them because they move so fast.” Finn thought for a second. “I guess I wanted to be a cowboy for a while. Do those still exist? Or Mr. Schue was talking about gauchos the other day. I could be one of those, although Kurt sometimes gets mad about their pants.”
“I don't think you can be a gaucho--” Rachel said.
“Aw.”
“--but that's what the plan's for,” Rachel said, patting his hand. “There are checklists, and personality tests, and all sorts of things that will help you decide what you want to do.”
“Rach, I appreciate it,” Finn said. “But . . . I think this is something I have to figure out on my own.”
Rachel frowned a little, but she nodded. “All right. Just . . . keep the book?” she said. “For if you get stuck?”
“Okay,” Finn said, and he slid the packet into his backpack.
* * *
Santana was sashaying past the lockers the way she always did when a sudden buzzing made her jump up in alarm. After checking to see that the coast was clear, she pulled out her phone and slipped into an empty classroom.
“Hey,” she answered the call, her voice low and breathy.
“Hey, yourself,” Jen said back.
“Not that I don't look for any excuse to skip Physics, but what's up with calling me during the school day?”
“Got bored. It's been a while since I've seen you.”
“We had dinner two nights ago.”
“That's a while!” Jen insisted. Santana laughed. “Anyway, I heard about this thing going on in Columbus tomorrow night and I was wondering if you wanted to check it out?”
“Define 'thing',” Santana said.
“It's . . . a movie.”
Even though they were on the phone, Santana raised her eyebrows incredulously. “A movie?”
“A film. A . . . foreign film,” Jen winced. “In French.”
“Babe,” Santana whined, “if I actually wanted to read, I would buy a Kindle.”
“Okay, but it's foreign,” Jen said, “which means there will probably be super-hot girls in it without their shirts on. Europe's way more open about that kind of stuff than the States.”
“French girls without shirts means armpit hair,” Santana pointed out, “and I'm so not into that. Although, if I am going to be a lesbian--”
“Santana?” Jen sighed, her voice halfway between amused and annoyed, as though they had discussed stereotypes before.
“Fine,” she relented. “But if it's boring, promise me we can just make out in the back row?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Jen replied. “I should get back to class. I'll see you then?”
“Yeah,” Santana grinned. “See you.” She hung up the call with a smile still on her face, and she bit her lip a little as she stared absentmindedly at the now-silent phone.
“Who was that?” Quinn asked from the doorway. Santana's eyes bugged out of her head.
“No one!” she said a little too quickly. “Just a person. I met. At a place. My mom!” Santana finally settled on a story. “Car trouble. She needs me to pick her up after school.”
“Yeah, that's definitely what it sounded like,” Quinn rolled her eyes.
“Don't you have someplace else to be?” Santana snapped. “Like, maybe you could hit the psych ward, or the elastic-waistband pants section of Sears?”
“Santana . . .”
“Shouldn't you be screwing someone over? Or isn't it about that time of year you always get kicked off the Cheerios?”
Quinn was visibly annoyed now. “I don't--”
“And Mercedes just took pity on you again,” Santana sneered, “so when you peace-out on her this time, you'll have to pencil it in around all the empty spaces on your social calendar because you have no friends.”
Quinn narrowed her eyes. “It's funny that you of all people should say that.”
“Why?”
“Because now that Brittany doesn't talk to you? No one else does, either.”
Santana let out a growling noise. “You are such a bitch,” she spat, and she stormed past Quinn out of the room.
Quinn glared at Santana as she left, but after a moment she sighed and leaned her head forlornly against the door frame.
* * *
“This is absurd,” Kurt said.
“An outrage,” Rachel agreed.
“I can't believe you're making us do this,” Mercedes groaned.
“Guys,” Will said, “I think this will be a good learning opportunity.” Beiste snorted from her seat off to the side of the choir room. Will shot her a look.
“Thank you, William,” Sue said as she sauntered over to him. “Now, if you and the Texas oil refinery that is your head don't mind taking a seat, I have a rehearsal to run.”
Finn leaned over and whispered into Kurt's ear, “Oh god, what do you think she's gonna make us do? Eat glass? Juggle chainsaws?”
“No,” Sue cut him off. “The agenda for today is that I'm going to sing, and then we're going to dissect all the things that made my performance great.”
Seventeen mouths dropped open.
“It's like Rachel's running rehearsal or something,” Santana muttered.
“Shaggy? Jazz nerds?” Sue said. Brad huffed at being referred to that way, but he signaled the other musicians and they started to play.
“ I'm the top,” Sue sang, and Kurt and Rachel exchanged twin looks of horror. “I'm the Coliseum.”
“Cole Porter is rolling over in his immaculately decorated grave,” Kurt said, slack-jawed.
“I'm the top,
I'm the Louvre museum
I'm the melody from a symphony by Strauss.
I'm a Bendel bonnet, a Shakespeare sonnet,
I'm Mickey Mouse.
I'm the Nile - I'm the tower of Pisa.
I'm the smile - of the Mona Lisa.”
She looked pointedly at Will.
“You're a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop.
But if, baby, you're the bottom, I'm the top.
I'm the top, I'm Mahatma Ghandi.
I'm the top - I'm Napoleon brandy.
I'm the purple light of a
summer night in Spain.
I'm the National Gallery.
I'm Garbo's salary,
I'm cellophane.
I am sublime, I'm a turkey dinner.
I'm the time - of the Derby winner."
This time, Sue sang to Beiste.
“You're a toy balloon that is fated soon to pop.
But if, baby, you're the bottom, I'm the top.”
Sue finished the song to polite, if forced, applause from the glee club.
“All right, now who wants to tell me the first thing I did better than Will Schuester?” she asked.
Everyone in New Directions groaned and slid down in their seats.
* * *
“Finn?” Sam jogged down the hall to catch up with him after glee.
“What's up?” Finn asked.
“I have a favor to ask. Tomorrow night, I have a date with Mercedes, and my dad was going to look after Stevie and Stacy, but he got a call about a contracting job in Cleveland so he's going to be gone. And I would ask Quinn to babysit, but she was giving off her Eye of Sauron vibes in glee today, so I was wondering if maybe you'd be able to?”
“Sure!” Finn said. “What would I have to do? Just sit there and make sure they don't burn the place down?”
“Basically,” Sam said. “Y'know, just make them PB&Js for dinner and get them to do their homework.”
“Sweet. I can handle that.”
“Awesome,” Sam said. “You're really doing me a solid. I haven't had any alone time with Mercedes in forever, it's been driving me a little crazy.”
“Understood,” Finn said. “I'll be at your place around five?”
“Sounds good.”
* * *
Artie rolled down the hallway flanked by Puck and Lauren on one side and Brittany, Mike, and Tina on the other.
“I've given it a lot of thought recently,” he said, “and I think it's time King Arthur Abrams was back on the prowl.”
“Sweet,” Puck said, and he put out his hand for a fist bump. Brittany just stared at Artie blankly, and Tina and Lauren both rolled their eyes.
“Really?” Lauren said. “'King Arthur'? Are you looking to go after Queen Latifah with that ridiculousness?”
“I don't think that would work,” Brittany said. “Royal marriages are hard to negotiate. Just ask Lord Tubbington.”
“Is a lord really royalty, though?” Mike asked. Tina poked him in the ribs.
“The point is,” Artie said, “I think Abby and I would make a super-hot couple, but I don't know how to go talk to her. I mean, I know girl would be crazy not to want to get up on this--” He made a hand gesture to indicate his body and Tina rolled her eyes again.
“Oh my god, how do you manage to be both the most arrogant and most insecure person I know?” she said. Then she thought about it. “Besides Rachel.”
“Just, do you think she'd like me?” Artie asked.
Tina sighed and hooked her arm around Brittany's. “Speaking on behalf of the delegation of your exes,” she said, and Brittany nodded, “you're a pretty cool person when you're not being totally insensitive.”
“What? I'm not insensitive.”
“Dude, you're totally insensitive,” Puck said.
“I'm not insensitive. You're insensitive.”
“I'm offensive,” Puck declared proudly. “It's totally different.” Lauren patted his arm in agreement.
“Just talk to her and be nice,” Tina brought the subject back on track. “Ask her to get coffee. Girls aren't weird alien creatures who are out to get you.”
“Coffee,” Artie repeated, and as they turned the corner he caught a glimpse of Abby leaving her locker. “I could do coffee.”
* * *
“I did great,” Sue said as she walked with Will from the school building to the football field.
“You did terribly,” Will said. “Brittany tried to escape through the back windows.”
“She would've made it, too, if she hadn't lost half a year of Cheerios training.”
Will rolled his eyes. “She'd be dead if she had stayed on the Cheerios. You would have shot her out of a cannon.”
“There was a net, William,” Sue said with the air of someone who had made the same argument many times. They came upon Beiste.
“Well, I hope you can do better with my guys than Sylvester did with your group,” she said to Will, relishing in Sue's failure.
“I wouldn't plan on it,” Sue said.
“Okay, guys, huddle up,” Will called. The football players jogged over from where they'd been doing stretches.
“All right, let's start with some basic plays,” he said. He looked at Finn. “Play action. Defense, you know what to do?”
“Got it,” Mike nodded.
“Then let's break,” Will said. The two sides started lining up. There was a player in the backfield, a younger, smaller one, who looked a little lost.
“Coach?” he asked timidly.
“Yeah?” Will said.
“What's my route?” the kid said.
Will surveyed the field and then put his hand on the kid's shoulder. “Trust your instincts,” he said. “Just do what feels right.”
“. . . Okay . . .” the kid said doubtfully.
Will hurried over to the sidelines. “Watch this,” he told Sue and Beiste. “This is going to be a teachable moment.”
Finn called hike and the play started. The defense was already putting pressure on him, but he looked down field and saw Puck open. He reared back and threw the ball.
It would have been an excellent play if the kid Will had advised to trust his instincts hadn't run straight into Puck before he could catch the ball.
Beiste blew her whistle. “Teachable moment?” she looked at Will incredulously before running out to see if her players were all right. Sue just stood off to the side, laughing into her hand.
Will glared at her and threw his clipboard at the ground.
* * *
The next day, Artie rolled up to Abby's locker.
“Hey,” he said. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Sure,” she replied. She looked at Lola and shot her a nervous smile before walking over to a quieter spot with Artie. Lola watched them talking, and Artie laughing, and Abby nodding enthusiastically.
They began to make their way down the hallway, and Abby turned around to smile broadly at Lola and give her a thumbs-up. Lola put on a too-big grin and gave her thumbs-up back.
Once Abby turned back around, though, the grin vanished and Lola scrunched her face up, clearly starting to formulate a plan.
* * *
“. . . so, I think all of the horrible stuff I did last year--selling out Santana, cheating on Sam, being terrible to Finn--I think all of that was a reaction,” Quinn said.
“To having been pregnant?” Emma asked from across the desk in her office.
“To more than that,” Quinn said. “When I was pregnant, I was at the bottom of the high school pecking order. I was like a completely different person, because if you don't have any status in the first place, you don't have to spend all of your time worrying about it.” She looked down at her lap. “But after I gave Beth up for adoption, the thing that was holding me down was gone and . . . I guess I thought that getting back everything I'd lost would make me happy again.”
“It didn't, did it?” Emma said.
“No. I'm not sure it ever made me happy in the first place.”
Emma made a note on the file in front of her. “So, what do you think would make you happy again?”
There was silence as Quinn collected herself. “I want to have something real. I want to succeed on my terms, for once. I want to make connections with people that have nothing to do with getting them to fear me or our mutual loathing of the lower social classes at this school.”
“Instead of being popular, you want to have friends,” Emma smiled.
Quinn let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Well, that's definitely something we can work on,” Emma said. “Did you have any thoughts on how to go about it?”
“I've hurt a lot of people in high school,” Quinn said. “Like, a lot. So, I feel like I should probably apologize to those people.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small notepad. “I made a list.” There was a beat. “Which is really the first step to being a complete and total loser, isn't it?”
“There's nothing uncool about good organizational habits,” Emma said, but her voice was distracted. She pursed her lips in thought. “Quinn, I'm not saying that this isn't a good idea, but we need to talk about what you're planning on getting out of this.”
Quinn knitted her brow. “What do you mean?”
“Would you say it's a fair assessment that part of your obsession with being popular is a need to be in control?”
“I guess.” Quinn shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“Well, the thing about apologizing is that you aren't in control of other people's reactions,” Emma said. “You can't go into this looking for forgiveness, because you might not get it. You can't do this because you want to feel better about yourself by having people say they like you again. You have to do this because you want to be a better person. You can't have any expectations of forgiveness, and you need to let the people you're apologizing to know that you don't have any. That you're not doing this for external validation, but so you can start to forgive yourself. Does that make sense?”
Quinn frowned, but she nodded. “Yes,” she replied. She spoke her next words haltingly, like she had just come to a very important realization that she was taking great pains to put into words. “I can't do this because I want to be forgiven. I have to do this because I don't want to keep being the type of person who doesn't apologize for her mistakes.”
“Bingo,” Emma said.
“That's good,” Quinn nodded, tearing up a little bit. “I think I'd like that.”
Over her shoulder, Will walked up to Emma's door. He was about to knock, but he stopped himself when he saw she was with a student. Emma only took her eyes off of Quinn for a second to nod slightly when Will put his hands up to signal that he was leaving, but it was enough to distract her student.
“Mr. Schue!” Quinn exclaimed, and she quickly wiped her eyes.
He opened the door just enough so he could poke his head in. “Sorry. I'll come back later.”
“It's okay,” Quinn said hurriedly, and she shoved her notebook into her purse. “We were just talking about . . . college stuff.” She got up, threw her backpack over her shoulder, and made her way toward the door.
“Quinn?” Emma called. Quinn stopped and looked back. “We'll go over your list next time, okay?”
“Okay,” Quinn said. She pushed her way past Will and out the door.
“I'm really sorry about that,” Will said. “If I had known you were with a student . . .”
Emma shrugged. “It's fine. She's just still a little jumpy about coming here.”
“I know I can't ask what that was really about,” Will said, “because if you told me you'd have to kill me--”
“True. Occupational hazard.”
“--but can you at least tell me if she's okay?”
Emma thought about it. “I think she will be.”
Will smiled in relief. “That's good to hear.”
“So, what brings you by this morning, anyway?” Emma asked.
“We've done a couple of these teach-each-others'-classes sessions, and you've made your point,” Will said. “Can we just call the rest of them off?”
Emma smiled. “Oh, I don't think so. Shannon told me she's working with the Cheerios and glee today, and that, I quote, 'This is going to be easier than washing a thoroughbred down in Tahiti'.”
“You don't know what that means,” Will said. “She might have admitted that we all have very difficult jobs and we should stop this right now.”
Emma studied him. “You really don't want to coach the Cheerios, do you?”
“I'm worried about Shannon, too,” he said. “I wouldn't be surprised if Sue had a psychotic break in the middle of practice because she wasn't the one in charge.”
“Sue's way calmer this year,” Emma said, but as she thought about it, her face grew more concerned. “Well, if nothing else, I think you could both outrun her.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” Will sighed.
* * *
Rachel looked across the lunch table at Finn. “Babysit?”
“Yeah,” Finn said. “I think it could be really fun.”
“You want us to babysit. Together.”
“That's . . . what I said?”
“It's just,” Rachel started, “given your previous experience thinking you were going to be a teen father, isn't the idea of looking after a child with your significant other a little . . . off-putting to you? I mean, it's a little off-putting to me, and I wasn't even involved in that situation.”
“Huh,” Finn said. “I'd never really thought about it like that. Yeah, that is kind of weird.”
“I hope you don't think I'm terrible for not wanting to do this.”
“No, it's cool,” Finn said. “And, I mean, I can totally handle this on my own. It's just two kids. What could go wrong?”
“Exactly. I have complete faith in you,” Rachel said, and she leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek.
* * *
“All right,” Sue Sylvester yelled through her megaphone. “I've called you out for a special lunch-time practice for two reasons. One, of course, is that being out on the field after they've sprayed the herbicides builds character. The other is so you can show Mr. Librarian-Vest and Andrea the Giant here how much more difficult cheer-leading is than anything else in the world. Except for living with hepatitis. Or wake-boarding behind the Exxon Valdez. Or anything else I've ever told you is harder than cheer-leading. Okay?”
The Cheerios all nodded in unison.
Sue stepped back and pressed the megaphone (much harder than she needed to) into Beiste's hands.
“You don't even have a chance at this,” she said.
Beiste rolled her eyes. “Okay,” she yelled through the megaphone. “Let's start with some clapping exercises.”
The Cheerios all started laughing.
“What?” Beiste asked.
“Coach?” Brittany said. “We don't really do that. Unless we're making fun of other squads. Or the football team.” She turned and looked at Quinn. “That's what we're doing when we're at all of those football games, right?”
“That sounds about right,” Quinn deadpanned.
“Well, what do you guys do, then?” Beiste asked.
As if she'd planned it, Sue hit a button on the sidelines desk, and the latest song to top the Billboard Hot 100 started blaring through the speakers.
At the sound, the Cheerios literally leaped into action. Cheerleaders started to do cartwheels and round-offs and handsprings, and they eventually danced themselves into two enormous pyramids surrounded by girls being tossed insanely high into the air.
When it ended, Beiste's jaw dropped.
“I always forget how good Sue is at this,” Will muttered to himself.
Beiste raised the megaphone to her mouth. “Hit the showers. I give up.” She dropped the megaphone on the grass. Will walked over and picked it up.
“For the record, I, uh, I also give up,” he said to the retreating cheerleaders, and he gingerly set the megaphone back on the ground.
* * *
Kurt was checking his hair in his locker mirror when Lola came up to him.
“I have a proposal for you,” she said.
Kurt frowned. “You have a glint in your eye. Is somebody getting whacked?”
“It's nothing bad,” Lola rolled her eyes. “I just want a make-over, is all.”
“And just because I'm gay, you think I'll give you one?” Kurt huffed.
“You re-hairspray your hair after every class. You have at least three different skincare products in your locker alone. You wear clothes with bondage straps on them, okay? You could be more of a raging heterosexual than Wilt Chamberlain and you would still be Makeover Guy.”
“I don't know who that is, but I suppose you make a valid point.” Kurt gave his hair a quick spray and closed his locker. “What are you going for, exactly?”
“Hot. I'm going for hot.”
“Hm.” Kurt looked thoughtful. “What's the catch?”
“Why would there be a catch?”
“You're a calculating schemer. I am, too, so I know one when I see one. If I do this for you, who am I screwing over?”
Lola let out an annoyed sigh. “Maybe I'm just a geek who wants to try being a pretty girl for once.”
“I feel like I should make you a white t-shirt with the word 'nerd' emblazoned on it.”
Lola looked confused, but she let it go. “C'mon. Are you going to give up your chance to pull a She's All That on someone?”
Kurt's eyes flicked from her plain t-shirt to her off-brand jeans to her boring shoes. His resolve was weakening. “You did clean up well for the Adler and Ross.”
“I just need a little style direction. Help me become the me I've always wanted to be.”
“That sentence was so pathetic now I have to do it,” Kurt said. “All right; I'll meet you after school and we'll work something out.”
“Excellent,” Lola said, and she walked away from Kurt with a triumphant grin on her face.
Part 2