You Drive Me Crazy || Sam Evans

60. Makeover

"Okay, as you all know, as national champions, we get to host the annual Show Choir Rules Committee meeting," Mr. Schue announced.

"Please tell me you're gonna ask what '1/3 vintage' meant last year?" Tina asked.

"Or like, why some teams get to sing six songs and other ones only do one?" Sam chimed in.

"I wanna know who rigged Sectionals last year," Melanie added, raising her hand.

"Let it go," Blaine and Artie said at the same time.

"I'm just saying it made no sense," Melanie muttered, raising her hands in defense.

"Speaking of competitions, shouldn't we start, like, preparing for ours?" Jake added.

"I have some ideas, which I am working on very hard," Mr. Schue nodded, though he didn't seem very convincing. "Uh, well, I don't really want to give anything away right now..."

Melanie zoned out, turning to Tina. "He has no ideas, does he?" she whispered.

"Not one," Tina confirmed, shaking her head.

"Excuse me?" Brittany called out, raising her hand.

"Yes, go ahead," Mr. Schue said.

"Um, I'm not sure if what you were saying was actually important 'cause I wasn't listening, but I'd like to make an announcement," Brittany said, moving to the front. "First, I'd like to know if anyone can prove that Blaine was actually born in this country." She earned a thumbs-up from Artie while Blaine shot her an incredulous look. "Second, I'm wrapping up the election by selecting Artie as my running mate."

Everyone clapped—except Sam, who looked down, shoulders slumping. Melanie noticed and stopped clapping, her brows knitting together in concern.

"I think by bridging the human-slash-robot divide, we'll ensure that both students and vending machines will be voting for us," Brittany continued.

"Still not a robot," Artie muttered.

"Brittany, that's not fair. This isn't a popularity contest, it's about who's got the best ideas. It's about believing you can make a change, right?" Blaine argued, smiling in disbelief.

"What is that taste in my mouth? Is that sour grape?" Artie quipped, turning to blaine.

The bell rang before Blaine could reply, and as everyone moved to leave the choir room, Melanie slid into the seat next to Sam who sighed as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

Sam gave a small shrug. "I don't know. It's senior year, you know? And I feel like I have nothing going for me..." He trailed off, his voice quieter now.

He didn't want to say it out loud, didn't want to admit just how lost he felt. His grades were bad, really bad. He hadn't told Melanie how much he'd been struggling in school—partly because he didn't want to stress her out when she was already anxious about senior year, but mostly because he was embarrassed.

What if she realized he wasn't cool enough, or smart enough, or talented enough? What if she figured out he had nothing going for him and left?

"That's not true," Melanie said, pulling him from his thoughts.

Sam looked at her, doubt in his eyes. "I'm not on the football team anymore. I'm not even on the swim team. My grades aren't great..." He shook his head.

"Grades aren't everything," Melanie assured him, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly before moving her hand down into his. "And you don't need a letterman to be important. Besides, if there's anyone in this school who I know is gonna make something great of themselves, it's you." She squeezed his hand, offering him a small, encouraging smile.