You Drive Me Crazy || Sam Evans

50. Big Brother

Melanie sat next to Sam, tears welling in her eyes as she watched a now wheelchair-bound Quinn finish her performance with Artie.

"Here's a lesson for your board, Mr. Shue: Don't text and drive. Ever. It's the stupidest thing I've ever done," Quinn said seriously before adding with a wry smile, "Besides sleeping with Puck." Her quip earned a few chuckles from the group. "There are a lot of rumors floating around, so let's clear the air. First of all, all my plumbing still works, which is awesome. But my spine was severely compressed in the car accident, which basically means I can't move my feet or legs. The good news is, I'm starting to regain feeling, so with a lot of physical therapy—and your prayers—I stand a good chance of making a full recovery. So no tears. That means you, Tina and Mel." She shot a pointed look at the two girls, who nodded, blinking away their oncoming tears.

"Oh, and I apologize for the number," Quinn added, her tone lightening. "My dance moves aren't as smooth as Artie's yet."

"With practice, they will be," Artie chuckled warmly.

"I promise that by the time we go to Nationals, I'll be out of this chair and dancing on that stage," Quinn said with quiet determination. Applause broke out around the room as Santana and Melanie both rose, moving to give her a hug.

The next Glee Club rehearsal was even more out of the ordinary than the last, as it was being run by none other than Coach Sylvester—who, based on her methods, could easily moonlight as a dictator.

"Five, six, seven, eight!" Coach Sue barked into her megaphone, pacing like a general on a battlefield while New Directions stumbled through a chaotic, out-of-sync routine.

"Stop! Please, stop! This is an embarrassment," she shouted, exasperated. Her gaze zeroed in on Mercedes, who was casually scrolling on her phone. "Hey, Mercedes. Who are you texting?"

Mercedes looked up, unfazed. "I'm not texting anyone. I'm donating to the Obama campaign."

Before anyone could react, Sue marched over, yanked the phone from Mercedes' hand, and hurled it across the room. The phone hit an auditorium chair with a loud crack, shattering into pieces.

"My Droid!" Mercedes gasped, her eyes wide with horror.

"Good news!" Finn announced, entering the auditorium, eyes on his phone. "I booked a tour at the Railroad Museum for Friday, which means we're gonna have an awesome Senior Ditch Day." His enthusiasm faded as soon as he looked up and saw Sue glaring at him. His smile dropped into a frown. "What is she doing here?"

"Hey, Granny Panties! I'm taking over Booty Camp!" Sue yelled right in his face, then turned to address the rest of the group. "Alright, line up now!"

Everyone scrambled into a single-file line, standing at attention as Sue stalked down the row, inspecting them like soldiers.

"You're out of shape, constantly late, and when you're not busy texting, you're whining about choreography you're too lazy to learn." She stopped in front of Sam, leaning into his face. "You're nothing but a coven of tardy—" she resumed her pacing—"narcissistic, bloated bags of cellulite who will stab each other in the back at the first glimpse of a solo in a competition hosted by a late-night horror movie host." The last part was clearly directed at Rachel and Kurt, the latter looking like he might pass out.

"Well, those days are over," Sue declared, spinning on her heel.

Kurt let out a shaky breath, muttering, "She's meaner than Tabatha..." He glanced at Sue, who was already barking new orders.

Melanie gave a small nod, her lips pressing together. "I feel like I should be used to it after all the Cheerios practices... but she still terrifies me."