Glee Fic: Sticks, Stones, and Short Cuts (Mercedes/Sam, PG-15)

[bana05]

Title: Sticks, Stones, and Short Cuts
Author: bana05
Rating: PG-15
Characters/Pairings: Mercedes/Sam, Santana Lopez, glee club
Word Count: 5000
Spoilers: All of Glee thus far.
Disclaimer: Glee ain’t mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.
Summary: Whoever said words couldn't hurt was a bald-faced liar in Mercedes' opinion.
Author’s notes:   Twenty Two of the "Then Came You" series. Rating for naughty words.  Please forgive errors and enjoy!

Truthfully, Mercedes had rarely ever lusted after the popular boys in school. Sure, she saw, visually, guys like Puck and Finn were cute; but she never gave it a thought beyond that. She likened it to window shopping at the mall-stop and admire the really cute outfit on the mannequin and then keep it moving because the likelihood the store had that outfit in her size was slim; and if they did have the outfit, it looking just as cute in her size was even slimmer. Granted, she could make any outfit her own; but at the majority of those prices, it would be a waste of money to do that.

She'd tried with Puck, and in many ways counted that as a success because she'd gained a kickass amigo out of the deal; but there were extenuating circumstances with the Puck Experiment: she'd been popular, he hadn't been, and it'd lasted only a week with little hard feelings when it'd ended.

The Sam Experience was a whole other stratosphere.

After that hiccup of the Homecoming game, the McKinley Titans had been on a tear, winning all of their games, and sometimes unquestionably. It seemed having two quarterbacks made Finn and Sam step up their game, because both were phenomenal in that position; but if Mercedes had to choose one for Sam to play fulltime, it would be cornerback. He could read offenses like a pro and almost caught as many balls as Puck did at wide receiver. The school had started to call him Shutdown Sam.

And then…some girls just started to call him, period.

Intellectually, Mercedes realized those who played the most popular sport in the school would, in fact, be deemed popular in the overall student population; what she hadn't realized was this popularity making a large subsection of the population develop amnesia over the dating statuses of these players. The glee girls would watch in incredulous awe at the way females would flock and hover around the glee members of the football team, and even more so when the boys would eat up all that attention.

Especially after school.

"Can I bash his head in?" Lauren asked, slamming her locker shut with more force than required. Tina and Mercedes winced at the faux deadpan question even as they watched Puck smirk and flex his muscles for a bunch of sophomore Cheerios. The way the girls sighed and giggled almost made Mercedes gag, and she was sure Santana actually did throw up in her mouth a little.

"Were we ever like that?" Quinn asked with an "I smell bullshit" face at the way a freshman Cheerio hopped in Artie's lap and gave him a hug.

"Yep," Tina said, then cocked her head to the side when she saw a non-Cheerio girl slip her hand into the back pocket of Mike's jeans and wink at him over her shoulder. "Excuse me while I snatch her bald-"

"Wrong time," Santana said, catching Tina's book bag to stop her. "Wait until after the halls thin."

"You shouldn't be advocating violence, Santana!" Rachel hissed

"Oh? Well, don't look now, Hobbit, but Frankenteen is about to get smooched and there's no kissing booth anywhere in sight."

Sure enough, a girl made a running leap and managed to clip Finn's jaw; Finn was so surprised he yelped like a prepubescent boy and flailed as if a barnacle had suddenly clamped on to him. Sam went on extraction duty and pulled the girl off. Apparently, Sam was an even better option than Finn, for the girl squealed and shrieked as if Sam were a rock star. The "WTF?" face Sam pulled was so hilarious Mercedes hid her face in her locker and burst into laughter.

"Glad you're amused, Jones," Lauren said, but she snickered as well.

"I mean…I can't blame the girl, you know? Sam has some really nice arms…"

"This is a fair and accurate statement," Lauren conceded.

Mercedes laughed. "Checkin' out my man?"

"Well, you check out mine; I figure tit for tat," Lauren said, but smiled and winked at Mercedes. Mercedes laughed more and they slapped hands. While she and Lauren still weren't super close, Mercedes would always appreciate the wrestler for encouraging Mercedes to assert herself more-even if she did choose one of the most ridiculous methods possible. Mercedes would even say she looked up to Lauren a bit-beyond literally, at least; she didn't let the fact she wasn't stereotypically beautiful sway her from knowing she was the HBiC and of course a guy like Puck had the good sense to want her. Many people thought Lauren had him by the balls, but Mercedes knew it was actually she had him by the heart.

"But what I don't appreciate is some little skank thinking she can push up on my man and I'm right here!"

The girl who was trying to cuddle up to Puck didn't even move, just turned her head and looked at Lauren as if she were short, which was laughable since she was almost as tall as Puck.

"Yeah, I'm talking to you! I ain't stutter!" Lauren called, arching an eyebrow over her glasses. "Back off before I yank you off!"

The girl scoffed yet pulled away, though not before dragging a finger down the center of Puck's chest. Puck had his eyes wide open and his hands up as if he were surrendering, mouthing "Please don't kill me!" to Lauren. Mercedes would've been amused if there weren't a redhead trying to do the same with Sam, but she was even bolder than Puck's raven-haired floosy

This trick had the audacity to pull Sam's head down and whisper in his ear. Poor Sam was much too nice. He was clearly uncomfortable given the way he kept trying to scoot his body back, but she had an iron grip on him. It was the rare occasion Mercedes wished he weren't such a gentleman so he'd shove the girl away, but that wouldn't make him Sam.

"Yeah, could you not ever do that again, especially when my lady is right there," he said, finally able to take a large step back and pointed in Mercedes' direction. Mercedes quirked her fingers sarcastically and gave an overly large smile in response.

"Oh, I didn't know you were dating," the redhead trilled.

"Is this trick crazy?" Santana asked.

The redhead's eyes went wide with faux innocence. "I swear! It's not like they act like a couple or anything; I just assumed they were friends."

Mercedes rolled her eyes; she didn't have time to school this little girl. Glee was about to start.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, Tubbies," the black-haired girl said with a sneer just as they started to turn away. "Guys like that can only date for charity for so long."

The glee girls paused. "What did you say?" Mercedes asked while Lauren stood straighter and squared her shoulders.

"I mean seriously!" the redhead continued even more softly with a scowl. "I don't know why he's with you, anyway! You're nothing but a fat nigger bitch!"

The hateful whisper rang in Mercedes' ear, as did the gasps her friends gave as the disgusting comment reverberated around them. She frowned in disbelief, knowing good and hell well she hadn't heard what she thought she'd heard, but just in case…

"Run that shit back! Run that shit back!" Santana snarled and started advancing, but Brittany wrapped her arms about her waist and prevented her progress.

"I don't have to listen to you, either!" the girl said, but obviously had enough sense not to repeat it now that the entire hallway was looking at them. Santana liked her drama, but she never stirred it for shits and giggles. There was a reason she was about to start some mess in the hallway, and everyone wanted in on it.

"And she doesn't need to repeat it," Mercedes said calmly even though her hands shook like the tambourine in her church. "And I certainly don't need to hear it again-"

"But he will, you know!" the redhead continued, her voice growing with the false sense of security she had since no one had taken a swing yet. "One day, Sam's gonna realize what a gross fat bitch you are and leave you! And I'll be right there, you coon!"

"Wow, she reached way back for that one! Clearly someone's white-trash daddy never left the fifties!" Santana hissed.

"Whatever! You're just a coon who speaks Spanish!" the redhead declared. "I bet that's why Sam dumped you-"

This time, Mercedes grabbed both Santana and Lauren when they lunged for the girls and marched them down the hall in the opposite direction, right by a flabbergasted football team.

"And I dumped Sam, you uninformed puta!" Santana yelled down the hallway. Mercedes didn't stop walking until they were out in the bitter cold, her eyes scanning the student parking lot.

"Why are we out here?" Lauren asked.

"Because we all need to cool down," Mercedes said, "and if we can find the bitch's car, so much the better-"

"She's freshmeat," Lauren said. "No car."

"And don't you go to jail the next time you vandalize someone's hoopty?" Santana asked.

Mercedes closed her eyes and clenched her fist but continued to walk towards the football field instead. The racist heffa wasn't worth the trip to the slammer; but she wanted to hit something or throw something-hard…preferably her fist right in that skank's nose.

"But, really, coon? I thought they only used that term in Florida nowadays," Santana said on a wobbly scoff. Mercedes grabbed the girl's hand and squeezed.

"I'm sorry, Mercedes, Santana," Lauren said.

"Why are you apologizing? They were rude to you too," Santana reminded her.

"Well, the thing is, I am fat, and I am a bitch when warranted, so she was merely stating the facts as they were. But what she called you two…"

They stopped at the fence but didn't go inside the stadium. They would be late for glee, but Mercedes didn't care about that right now. She didn't want to deal with the questions and the pitying looks. This had been the first time she'd confronted the vile word head-on, but this wasn't her first time at the Racism Rodeo; and she knew for a fact it wasn't Santana's first time, either. That didn't mean it didn't hurt whenever it happened, no matter how subtle it was.

"It's bullshit," Santana finished for Lauren.

"Yep."

"I'm going home," Mercedes announced. "I can't…" She shook her head. She didn't have the energy for glee.

Santana nodded and linked her arm through Mercedes'. "Can you drop me off too?"

"Yeah, apologize to Mr. Schue for us?" Mercedes asked Lauren.

Lauren nodded, then impulsively wrapped them both in a hug. Mercedes almost broke down then and there, but she and Santana just returned the hug fiercely.

Not even the radio played as they drove to Miss Renée's salon, both too wrapped up in their thoughts to speak. Mercedes parked in the lot for the strip mall where the salon was located and saw Santana breathe a sigh of relief that the shop wasn't busy. Miss Renée looked at them with concern.

"Aren't you early?"

Santana nodded and plopped down in one of the beauty chairs, using her feet to twirl around in it.

"¿Qué pasa, sobrina?" Miss Renée asked, stepping behind Santana and combing her fingers through her hair, pulling out three razor blades in the process. "What's wrong?"

Santana pulled a nonchalant face. "Oh, nothing but being called niggers and coons at school today-"

Miss Renée yanked a hot comb out of the heater stove and started for the exit, but Santana grabbed her wrist as she passed, unsuccessfully trying not to laugh. "¡Tía!"

"¡Déjame, chica!" Miss Renée ordered. "Let me go so I can handle-!"

"This isn't the first time it's happened," Santana muttered. "If it's not nigger it's spic; if it's not cunt it's whore; if it's not lesbo it's dyke. It just becomes exhausting to have to kick everyone's ass all the time."

"So we don't talk about it," Mercedes said, sitting in the beauty chair next to Santana. "But this is the first time I got nigger to my face. They usually tap dance around that one."

"They have no qualms about spic," Santana said. "I even get wetback, and I'm not Mexican."

"Nobody cares about being accurate when they're disrespecting you," Miss Renée said, placing the hot comb back in the stove and shaking her head. "Black kids up here couldn't understand why I was 'speaking so weird'; because being able to speak Spanish is weird. Then your mother moves to New York and has you and she's so glad tienes buen pelo and I almost cussed her out over that."

Santana sunk further into her chair and glowered. "I hated that hot comb."

"I refused to put the creamy crack in your head until you were ten; and I still think that's too damn early," Miss Renée said.

"Your mom's right though," Mercedes finally said, "You have gorgeous hair, Santana."

"And so do you," Miss Renée said, looking at her sharply. "Don't ever be ashamed of the Africa in you, ladies. I know it's hard…trust me. I didn't come out the womb this assured, but living life and having people tell me I wasn't black or I wasn't Latina because of categories imposed on us by folk who weren't either…and living in this town? If I can get little black and brown and both girls to spend less time hating themselves and more time accepting and loving themselves, then I'm going to take the two-to-four hours their mamas give me for their appointments and make sure they know beauty is more than the straightness and length of their hair or the lightness of their skin, okay?"

Mercedes bit her lip and stared at her reflection thinking about the shirt she'd worn for their "Born This Way" performance. Kurt had asked her what it'd meant and she'd laughingly brushed it off by reminding him she hadn't been born with a weave, but he hadn't quite understood her point and she didn't quite have the energy to explain it to him. And while she had taken some steps by doing "The Big Chop" with her processed hair during the summer, the weave had remained.

"I want it out."

Miss Renée grinned at her slightly through the mirror. "Repite, por favor."

"I'd like my weave out. If you have time this weekend-"

"Honey, I'll do it right now y gratis!"

Miss Renée led Mercedes to the shampoo bowl and gave Santana some instructions in Spanish. Celia Cruz filled the salon space a few moments later and Miss Renée did a salsa step.

"I call it my 'Negra y Orgulla' mix," she explained, drawing Santana to her and twirling the former cheerleader under her arm. "Got me some Cruz, some Sweet Honey, some Billie, some Nina, some Toña la Negra-hell, I even got Christina Milian and Tatyana Ali up on there…me encanta mucha!"

Miss Renée sent Mercedes' mother a text about the impromptu appointment and Mercedes wasn't surprised when she arrived an hour later. By now, Miss Renée had taken out most of the tracks in her hair, but Mercedes couldn't quite look at herself in the mirror. Nevertheless, her mother immediately came over and wrapped her daughter in a hug, and Mercedes' bottom lip trembled.

"I love you so, so much, baby girl, okay?" Mrs. Jones said, pulling back and kissing her daughter's cheeks. Mercedes hadn't cried yet; but she was getting closer and closer to the edge.

"I told your mother what had happened," Miss Renée said. "Not being surprised something has happened doesn't mean you can't be upset or hurt by it. Owning that emotion is half the battle, when you think about it."

Yet, they didn't dwell on it. Mrs. Jones and Miss Renée told stories about their own Afros back in the day, and then their Jheri curls, which made Santana and Mercedes sing the Soul Glo commercial from Eddie Murphy's Coming to America with unadulterated glee. While Mercedes was under the dryer, her mother and Santana went to pick up a pizza for dinner and they ate and chatted while waiting for Mercedes hair to dry. Thirty minutes later, their bellies were full and Mercedes' hair was done.

"Ready for the reveal?" Miss Renée asked kindly.

Mercedes clutched her mother's hand. "Yeah."

It wasn't long, nor had she expected it to be, and the lack of hair made her appear older, like a college student; but the image reflected back at her was still foreign to her. It looked like a sable halo about her head; and when she sank her fingers into it, the tight coils were so soft underneath her fingertips. She nibbled on her bottom lip and frowned.

"You look amazing!" Miss Renée gushed. "Yes, I'm a little biased, but Mercedes…"

Her mother kissed her temple. "You look beautiful."

At that, the dam broke. Mercedes buried her face in her hands and sobbed. It didn't matter her mother was probably even more biased than Miss Renée was, yet Mercedes needed to hear that so badly. What was done couldn't be undone, at least right away; and she didn't want to regret such an impulsive decision. But Miss Renée had been right, even Mr. Schuester, in a way. It was time to stop hiding the things that made her different-she certainly couldn't hide her skin color or her weight, so she shouldn't hide her hair, either. This wasn't to say she'd never go back to a weave or relaxer; but if and when she did, it would be because she wanted to for herself, not to be accepted by folks who'd probably never like her no matter what she did.

"I'll get you a scarf to wear, though," Miss Renée said, patting Mercedes' shoulder. "It usually takes a while for girls to get used to the new look. "Ask your mother someday, Santana; when I went natural the summer after freshman year in college, I hid in my room the whole weekend and ate nothing but patacones and carimañolas…mostly the carimañolas, though."

"Mami's carimañolas are so good-"

"Almost as good as your dad's empanadillas," Miss Renée said with a moan.

"Hmm, when we go up to New York for Thanksgiving, we should have both instead of turkey-"

"Um, sobrina, I'm having my turkey!" Miss Renée said emphatically. "Mama throws down in that kitchen, lest we forget!"

"Between Grandma and Abuelita, I don't think Mami and Papi will even get within ten feet of that kitchen!" Santana said on laugh.

"Can I come too?" Mercedes asked jokingly.

"Or at least bring some food back with you!" Mrs. Jones added.

"You gonna save some of Mama Jones's macaroni and cheese for me?" Miss Renée bartered.

"I got you, girl!" Mrs. Jones said, and the two women slapped hands and laughed. "I'll even add my daddy's collard greens!"

Mercedes' stomach growled even though it was full of the cheese pizza slice she'd eaten, and everyone fell out with even more laughter.

When it was time to leave, Miss Renée gave Mercedes a large hug and a kiss on each cheek, then looked both her and her niece in the eyes.

"Do not give into the satisfaction of slapping the ignorance out of those girls tomorrow, okay?" Miss Renée warned. "You just do you and never break your stride; that's the best vengeance there ever is."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Mrs. Jones said, and hugged Santana and Miss Renée before ushering herself and her daughter out of the salon.

Mercedes drove in front of her mother but parked on the street so her mother could have a space in the driveway. She waited for her daughter to approach, then linked their arms together and came through the side door. Mercedes abruptly stopped and her hands flew to her head when she saw not only her father on the couch waiting, but Sam as well. Both had had serious expressions on their face before finally noticing the women.

"Uh…" Mr. Jones started, standing slowly. "Mercedes?"

Her father didn't seem pleased and Mercedes started to step back, but her mother stopped her progress.

"Doesn't she look beautiful?" Mrs. Jones stressed.

"I…I'm just…did you talk about this before-?"

"You don't like it," Mercedes said flatly, taking in a shuddering breath.

"It's not that simple-"

"It should be," Mercedes said more harshly than intended.

Her father's stance straightened. "You watch your mouth, Mercedes-!"

"I have to watch my mouth, I have to watch my hair, I have to watch my weight; I have to watch my skin! Watch everything to make sure my mere presence doesn't offend delicate sensibilities!" Mercedes ground out, throwing her book bag against the back of the loveseat. "I'm tired! You know what happened to me today? I got called a nigger because a poster child for the 'Aryan race' decided he wanted to be with me and these little white girls couldn't handle it! And instead of beating her face in like I wanted, I had to walk away. I had to walk away! And then I went and chopped off my hair, like a big ol' 'screw you!' to everything-do you know this is the first time in almost eight years I've seen my natural hair, Daddy? I cried! I cried! I cried because Mama said I was beautiful. And Miss Renée, and Santana. They said I was beautiful! And I come in and you like you've seen something beyond repulsive-!"

"Mercedes," her mother interrupted quietly, but Mercedes just shook her head and ran by them up the stairs to her room. Once there, she changed into her nightclothes and buried herself under the covers, wondering if she could sleep everything away.

It wasn't long before a knock sounded on the door, but she ignored it. It was her parents' house; they could go anywhere they pleased, after all. That didn't mean she had to make it easy on them, so she turned her back to the door and hugged the pillow to her face when the door opened. The bed dipped from the extra weight, but the touch on her hip was anything but parental.

"Pam Grier's got nothin' on you, lady."

She let out a watery laugh and turned to face Sam. He lay on his side and used the hand he'd placed on her hip to wipe away her tears.

"Poster child for the Aryan race, eh?"

Mercedes snorted and shrugged. "You and Quinn are two of the whitest people I've ever met in my life."

"And you love us both dearly," Sam reminded her, cupping her cheek.

"I do," Mercedes admitted on a shuddering breath. "God, I remember accusing Quinn of not knowing what Funk was…and she still really didn't, but that was okay, because she knew what hurt was. She knew what mean whispers and ostracism were because of her pregnancy. And that was how we became close. But damn, Sam, does it require mutual suffering for people to feel empathy for each other?"

"That rhymed, you know," Sam said with a grin.

Mercedes rolled her eyes and chuckled. "I can't with you right now…"

"Okay, serious time," Sam promised, and the grin faded. "I don't know what it's like to be black, and I never will. But the next time something like this happens-your father has guaranteed there will be-don't shut me out, okay? You blew right passed me today; I had to find out from Lauren and Tina-and I didn't know where you were; you wouldn't answer your texts…"

Mercedes had noticed the twelve messages from Sam but hadn't even begun to know how to answer them, so she'd ignored them.

"I'm sorry," Mercedes said, breathing out slowly. "I'm not telling you every time it happens."

"Why not?"

"I don't want discussions of racism to dominate our relationship, quite frankly," Mercedes said, and nodded at his incredulous expression. "It's like walking on thumbtacks barefoot-eventually you build calluses, but every now and again you get a particularly sharp tack."

"But-"

"You being here, loving me, that is what I need, okay?" Mercedes said, kissing his lips. "Nothing more than that, boo."

Sam nodded and kissed her forehead. "Want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?"

She snuggled into him. "Please."

The next morning, her father was waiting for her in the kitchen, much to her surprise. Mercedes tugged on the scarf she'd tied on her hair and self-consciously checked to make sure the ends were still tucked into their knot.

"Dad," she muttered, grabbing a granola bar. She wasn't very hungry.

"You didn't look like my baby girl anymore, Mercedes," her father said in response.

Mercedes flicked her eyes to him as she unwrapped her bar. "I haven't been a baby for a long time, Dad."

"I know," he replied on a sigh. "But you looked so grown…and when you get your confidence, you'll knock everyone's socks off."

Mercedes huffed but bit her lip to hide her smile. "Dad…"

"And there'll be people who won't like it…might even cost you a job or two," Mr. Jones said seriously, "but every no is just a sign to point you in your right direction." He came closer and squeezed her shoulder. "Just make sure that direction is always to love, okay?"

She nodded and stared at her bar as she ate, knowing if she looked at her father, she'd burst into tears.

"And that speech you gave, Mercedes?" Mr. Jones continued, his voice now growing rough. "I hate that you experienced that, but what I hate the most is I couldn't do anything to prevent you from experiencing it-"

"Daddy-"

"No, I'm serious," her father continued, squeezing her shoulder again. "I was born after the '60s, yeah, but I was raised by a Depression-era Grandma and a mama who was two years old when Rosa Parks's feet finally got too tired to stand anymore. My brother was in the Black Panthers for a minute and I'm sure my daddy has a longer rap sheet than 50 Cent because of all his sit-ins and marches! All the time I was growing up, I was told it would be different for us; and that's true in many ways, but not in the real ways that matter. And then here you and your friends are, being told it would be different for you, and yet you're still called a word that has got to be among the most vile of any language. And I can't protect you from it, no matter how good and fair I raise you to be."

"Daddy," she whispered, hugging him tight about the waist. He returned the embrace fiercely.

"There's no greater feeling of failure than thinking you let your kids down, Mercedes, and I'm sorry your mother and I couldn't do enough in this world to make it right for you."

"You're the best parents anyone could want," Mercedes assured him.

"I'mma take that lie to my grave," Mr. Jones joked, kissing the top of her wrapped head.

Yesterday's incident was already all over the school, to Mercedes' complete expectation. Santana had asked for a ride to school to avoid taking the bus, so Mercedes swung by to get her. Jacob was there with a microphone in hand as soon as they entered the school; Mercedes glared while Santana literally snarled. Everyone else gave them a wide berth.

"Maybe I should reinstate the Bully Whips," Santana muttered as they walked, Mercedes holding onto her tightly so she wouldn't break free and tackle the whisperers around them. "And then protect myself."

"I'd join," Mercedes said. "I could definitely work a beret."

"When Kurt had said he didn't need us at the beginning of the year, I let it drop…who knows how many other kids are being bullied because of something or another?"

"Then we'd have to protect everybody from everyone," Mercedes said on a sigh.

"Eh, what's so hard about that?" Santana asked, smirking at her.

As they approached their lockers, they noticed the entire glee club hovering around them. Santana paused, almost as if she wanted to go in the opposite direction, but Mercedes tugged her along.

"That's our United Colors of Benetton family, and you can't run away from it."

"All this love is making me break out in hives," Santana groused, but that didn't stop her from catching Brittany's exuberant hug with a fierce one of her own. Kurt tried to one up Brittany, to the point Mercedes had to falter back a few steps to keep her balance, but she appreciated her best friend's hug nonetheless.

"I love you, Mercedes," he whispered softly.

"Oh, boo, you know you're my heart," Mercedes promised. Once Kurt deigned to let her go, she immediately went to Lauren and slapped her hand.

"You didn't send anyone to the hospital, did you?" Mercedes asked.

"Quinn talked me out of it," she said with a small glower.

"Well, I figured we should wait until you and 'Tana got back," Quinn said, hooking her arms through Mercedes' and Santana's. "Only fair."

"We thought Fondue for Two would be a better forum anyway," Tina added.

"Yes. Lord Tubbington has some words he'd like to share," Brittany concluded.

Rachel and the other guys were talking amongst themselves, and Mercedes arched an eyebrow. "What is she up to?"

"I think she's trying to start a march?" Tina suggested, rolling her eyes. "The BSU wasn't enraged enough for her tastes so she's outsourcing-"

"We cannot let that word stand!" Rachel said shrilly, whirling around and punching a fist in the air. "We shall overcome someday!"

Everyone groaned loudly, but Mercedes hugged Rachel while she did so.