Lila Anderson has returned for her sophomore year at McKinley High. After losing regionals, the Glee Club is officially at the bottom of the food chain, but when Lila comes back for the school year with a new look, she gets more than overlooked in t...
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✧.*
KURT beamed like he was soaking up the whole city at once.
"A year and a half ago," he started, "The New Directions were nothing but a group of six misfits stumbling our way through a rendition of 'Sit Down You're Rocking the Boat.' Now here we are—at the top of the show choir heap. Nationals."
I blinked, taking a moment to absorb it. Nationals. We were really here. We were about to go toe-to-toe with the best choirs in the country. And we were going to win.
"I wanna hit up Central Park," Tina said, "Get my frolic on."
Puck chimed in. "I wanna throw stuff off the Brooklyn Bridge."
"Guys, hold on. I mean... we still have two songs to write."
"Okay, Mr. Bossy Pants." Kurt rolled his eyes.
"I know we're technically here to win," I said, raising an eyebrow at the group, "but come on. We're in New York together. Can we not think about singing for five seconds?"
"I think we have some time for a tune before we leave," he said, before launching into 'NewYork, NewYork'.
I groaned, making sure to be loud enough for him to hear me.
"Guys!" Rachel called. "I have news. To celebrate our impending win at Nationals, I got us all 13 tickets to Broadway's longest running show ever—'Cats'!"
"Whoo!" Brittany cheered.
"You might wanna check the dates on those tickets, Rachel. Cats closed about eleven years ago."
Rachel looked just as confused as the rest of us. "He did seem crazy," she admitted, wrinkling her nose. "He charged my credit card by swiping it through his butt crack."
~~~
Kurt is practically vibrating with excitement as he waves a laminated menu in the air.
"Did you know I can get ahi tartare and a steak sandwich at three in the morning from their all-night dining menu?" he say. "I feel like Eloise."
I'm slouched on the hotel carpet, legs crisscrossed, notebook resting on my knees. My pen is poised mid-air, waiting for something brilliant to flow through me. But the page is still blank. Has been for twenty minutes.
Across the room, Brittany leans back against the couch, legs in the air like she's doing yoga on another planet. "I have pills for that."
"All right, guys! This is your time," Mr. Shue announces. "You're on creative lockdown until you finish our songs for Nationals. I want at least two solid verses by the time I get back."
Tina raises an eyebrow. "Aren't you gonna help us?"
"I, uh... I'll be right back. Just going to the theater to... handle some paperwork," he mumbles, already backing toward the door.
