McKinley High cafeteria, Monday lunch
The smell of undercooked Tater Tots and watery macaroni and cheese wafted from the kitchen of the McKinley High cafeteria as the student body rushed into the lunchroom. The popular students, the Cheerios, the jocks, and the beautiful and/or rich kids who wore expensive jeans. Clustered around the most coveted cafeteria real estate, the tables near the long wall of windows that overlooked the courtyard. The football players, with their characteristic brio, squirted milk through straws and lobbed pieces of canned fruit at one another in their continued efforts to dominate the animal kingdom. They believed they were at the top of the food chain, and everyone else agreed.
"I can't eat this food," one of the cheerleaders moaned as she waved her fork in the air. A piece of spongy macaroni dangled from the tines. "It's like I'm on a forced diet."
"Coach Sylvester did say you looked a little sluggish on your flips," the girl next to her whispered. "Maybe its not a bad idea."
The tables in the middle of the cafeteria were taken up by various middle-of-the-road groups, the wannabes, closest to the popular kids, eyeing them enviously. The tables along the wall were home to the more ostracized groups, the goths, the band geeks, the kids who picked their noses in class, and, in the farthest corner, near the tray return, the Glee kids. Tina Cohen-Chang, a pretty Asian-American girl with a blue streak in her shiny dark hair, spooned some blueberry yogurt into her mouth and tapped her foot on the floor as she hummed the latest Lady Gaga tune. "Did you see that terrible girl on Idol last night? The one with the jazz version of 'Imagine'?"
Kurt Hummel flicked his hair out of his face. "John Lennon rolled over in his grave." His eyes scanned the cafeteria. He didn't love sitting in the back, away from all the beautiful people, but it seemed that McKinley High was not ready for him. He was the best-dressed kid in school, but that didn't stop him from getting thrown in the Dumpster by guys who had never even heard of Alexander McQueen. If he leaned to the left just enough, he could see Finn Hudson's head as he devoured a slice of greasy cafeteria pizza. Oh, to be a greasy pepperoni on that piece.
"Oh no, they're not," Mercedes Jones squealed, elbowing Tina in the ribs and pointing. Mercedes, one of a handful of African-American students at McKinley, sometimes felt like an outsider and was defensive. "Those Cheerios are charging for homecoming votes!"
Tina and Kurt turned in the direction indicated by Mercedes's accusatory finger. Smack in the middle of the cafeteria, head Cheerio Quinn Fabray and her two slightly less pretty sidekicks, Santana and Britanny, had hijacked a table and turned it into a voting booth. A giant sign on a piece of Day-Glo pink poster board read VOTE FOR HOMCOMING KING AND QUEEN: $1 A VOTE! SPONSORED BY THE CHEERIOS. The girls, in their crisp cheerleading uniforms and matching glossy lips, were doing a brisk business, with eager students handing over the change from their lunch money for the privilege of filling out one of the homecoming ballots.
"Charging for votes?" Mercedes snorted. "That's how they tried to hold down people in the South back in the day. They didn't get away with it then, so how can they do it now?"
"Are you g-g-going to go over there?" Tina asked, nervously chewing on her fingernail. She hated confrontation. Mercedes sighed. She leaned back in her chair and chomped on a slice of green apple. "What's the point?"
"Is that that Rachel girl from the announcements?" Kurt tapped Mercedes on the arm and pointed in the direction of the voting booth.
Rachel Berry, now de-slushied and wearing a navy blue V-neck sweater that was only slightly crumpled from being stashed on the top shelf of her locker, approached the Cheerios table.
The sight of people handing over dollar bills to Quinn Fabray for their God-given right to vote made Rachel feel slightly sick or maybe it was the sight of the congealed pieces of Mac and cheese that someone had flung against the plate-glass courtyard windows. Some of the pasta had slid down the window, leaving behind a slimy trail.
"Two things," Rachel said, stepping in front of freshman girl in a Victoria's Secret Pink sweatshirt. "First, you spelled homecoming wrong on your sign."
Quinn raised her eyes from the pack of money in her hands. She immediately felt her back straighten. Who the hell was Rachel Berry, one of the biggest losers to everyone walk the halls of this school, to talk to her that way? Quinn only knew her name because she'd copied off her world history midterm last year in Mr. Prospero's class. She opened her mouth to say something scathing in response, but Britanny, who was too blond for her own good, spoke up instead.
"What's the second thing?" she asked, tilting her head to the side as if she had water in her ear.
"We don't care what the second thing is," Quinn interrupted. She stood up so that Rachel wasn't able to look down on her. "Now, if you don't mind, kindly step aside and let the people you cut ahead of in line vote." "The second, and more egregious, thing," Rachel said in a louder voice, "is that you're charging people to vote. It's hardly fair!" While she loved to be the center of attention, that wasn't why she was challenging the Cheerios. She just couldn't stand there and watch as they made everyone else do exactly what they wanted.
Quinn could practically feel the steam rising out of her ears. "Maybe if you didn't spend so much on your librarian-meets-preschooler ensembles, you might be able to buy yourself enough votes to win. And then you could shut up."
"But that would take a lot of votes," Santana Lopez spoke up, eyeing Rachel's outfit. "A whole lot."
Britanny and the kids clustered around the table started to giggle nervously, and Rachel took a step backward. She opened her mouth to say something, but her mind was a blank. Why was it she could never think up the perfect comeback until an hour after she needed it?
But this time, she didn't need one. "Excuse me, coming through." Elbowing through the crowd to her rescue was... Kurt Hummel? Kurt, wearing an asymmetrical kelly green sweater with buttons down one arm, pulled his black leather Gucci wallet out of his back pocket. He was tired of Quinn Fabray and her pretty, plastic friends bossing everyone around just because their pores were invisible and their breasts were perky and their hair stayed in place even as they did cartwheels during the halftime show. He pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill and tossed it carelessly onto the table. "I'd like fifty votes for queen, please."
Quinn made a face. "For who?" She glanced around helplessly, as if to say, How could anyone be expected to deal with this? "You?"
The whole cafeteria seemed to burst into laughter. Rachel hadn't noticed how many people were actually watching the scene play out. She flipped her hair flattened from her encounter with the slushie behind her ears. Without thinking, she snatched back the fifty-dollar bill Kurt had tossed on the table. She didn't know what the hell he was doing, but it wasn't worth fifty dollars. He was already walking away with the confidence of someone who has made his point, his shoulders thrown back proudly, and the idea of adding anything else to the Cheerios' already oversaturated coffers made her apprehensive.
Rachel followed him out into the hallway, ignoring the stares of people over their half-eaten lunches. She didn't mind being stared at, or even laughed at. It was better than being ignored. But even so, it was nice to have someone else stand up behind you, even if it didn't totally make sense.
"You didn't have to do that!" Rachel called after him, her words echoing in the empty hallway. She strode up to him quickly and held out the fifty-dollar bill.
Kurt eyed the money for a moment before grabbing it with his thumb and forefinger. "I guess this means neither of us will be queen."
Rachel smiled. She had to respect Kurt for managing to be so confident even though he was such an outsider. Rachel was always seeing him climb out of the Dumpster by the parking lot after the football guys had tossed him in. He'd dust himself off, straighten his clothes, and go on with this day. Quinn Fabray, head of the Almighty Cheerios, had practically called him gay in a crowded cafeteria, and he hadn't even seemed flustered. "You know," she said, hiking her backpack on her shoulder, "my two dads had to go through the same kind of thing when they were in high school."
Kurt's blue eyes narrowed slightly. "You have two dads?" "They're great." Rachel nodded. "Sometimes I forget that not everyone has two dads."
Kurt eyed her thoughtfully. She thought maybe he was going to say something about being gay, but instead he said, "I heard you sing on the announcements this morning." He pursed his lips and looked as though he was debating what to say. "You were actually okay."
Okay? For some reason, this sounded like a huge compliment coming from Kurt. And since she hadn't actually been showered with compliments for her performance this morning, the slushie and a few eye rolls were all she'd got. Her heart started to soar. "Thank you," she said, with uncharacteristic modesty.
"You might be interested in what Glee is doing these days. Stop by the choir room after class and check us out." By us, she knew he meant the Asian-American girl with the stutter and Mercedes Jones. But if Glee was actually a club again, there must be more members. "Oh, I don't know. I spoke to Mr. Ryerson last year about joining Glee. He made it clear that I would never get a solo, he said something about the importance of having only male soloist. Anyway, I got the sense that he doesn't appreciate true talent when he hears it," Rachel said.
"True, Mr. Ryerson isn't exactly the most inspiring Glee Club faculty adviser," Kurt responded. "But don't worry. He's never around. In fact, the next couple of weeks he's really not around. Apparently our pastel-clad fearless leader is attending Ohio's annual doll collectors' convention. Anyway, we'll be practicing this afternoon and, to be honest, we could use some more talent.
"I'll have to check my schedule," Rachel bubbled. "But, yeah, maybe I'll think about it."
Kurt's blue eyes stared her down. "Maybe I'll see you later."
"Maybe," Rachel said as he walked away. She tried to wipe the smile off her face. It would be interesting to check out this group and see what they could do.
Back in the cafeteria, the clamor around the voting table had been replaced by an orderly stream of voters. Quinn poked Britanny in the ribs. "Great job on the sign. It might have been more effective if you'd spelled all the words correctly."
Britanny blinked and took a carrot stick from the small Tupperware container on her lap. "You know I hate grammar."
"Spelling isn't grammar," Quinn responded, but there was no point with Britanny. Of course, Quinn should have known better than to leave something important to her.
"I'll fix it," Quinn snapped, grabbing a black marker from her bag. She waited until there was a lull in the voting before hopping onto the table. The entire cafeteria was going to try to look up her short cheerleading skirt, but let them look at her bloomers. She was the president of the Celibacy Club, after all, and they could look all they wanted. They just couldn't have it. Quinn popped the cap off the marker and quickly wedged an E into HOMCOMING.
"It's a little crooked," Finn Hudson said as Quinn took a tiny step back to admire her work. "But it looks good." Quinn glanced down at Finn. "Thanks." He was gorgeous, all right, in that all-American, apple-pie-eating way. When Quinn was eight and picturing her wedding, complete with a Vera Wang princess dress in pale pink and ten thousand white tulips lining the isle, the groom looked exactly like Finn. He was so tall that, even standing on the table, Quinn didn't feel like she was towering over him, and his light brown hair was always rumpled in the same boyish way.
Quinn held out her hand. "Help me down." Santana was staring at her. Quinn knew that practically every girl at McKinley had some level of crush on Finn. But it was too bad for them, because Quinn had recently decided that this was the year she'd become Finn Hudson's girlfriend. Or, more accurately, this was the year that she would allow Finn to become Quinn Fabray's boyfriend.
Finn grinned. Instead of grabbing her hand and helping her step down onto the chair she'd used to climb up, Finn simply reached up and grabbed her around the waist. He swept her off the table and held her for a moment before setting her feet down on the orange linoleum floor.
"Not exactly what I meant, but thanks." Quinn giggled, then lowered her eyes and looked up at Finn through her thick lashes. Quinn and Finn. Finn and Quinn. maybe it was a little too Dr. Seuss-y, but it made sense. Finn Hudson was easily the best-looking guy in the school, and he was also the star quarterback. If you could use the word star when talking about a team that had lost every one of its preseason games. But that hardly mattered. And Quinn had worked so hard to impress Coach Sylvester and become head Cheerio.
If she and Finn were an official couple, they'd be shooins for homecoming king and queen. Quinn was already planning to wear her hair in a way that wouldn't get messed up when Principal Figgins or whoever announced the winners placed the plastic tiara on her head.
"You look like you've been really busy. I mean, collecting votes and all." Finn had a habit of staring at his feet when he talked, just glancing up when he reached the end of his sentence. It was endearing, but Quinn kind of wished he'd be a little more confident.
"A Cheerio's duties are never done," Quinn quoted Coach Sylvester. She glanced over Finn's shoulder, and her gaze landed on Puck Puckerman, Finn's teammate and one of his best friends. Puck was always doing something he shouldn't do, and now he'd fashioned a slingshot out of two pencils and a rubber band and was trying to aim a grape at someone at the other end of his table. He looked stupid with his silly Mohawk carved into what would have been beautiful, glossy black hair. But, still, there was something about him. Sex appeal, her mother might have called it if she were talking about a movie star. Puck exuded it. Something raw and dangerous that made Quinn shiver whenever she thought about being alone with him.
"What are you doing after school?" She heard Finn ask, and she dragged her eyes from Puck before Finn finished his sentence and his big puppy-dog eyes met hers.
"Practice, as usual." Somehow Quinn's eyes were magnetically drawn back to Puck. This time, however, he seemed to sense it, and a cocky half grin came across his face before Quinn could look away. Great. He was definitely going to tease her about that later, and she would have to pretend he'd imagined it all. Quinn felt her face flush, but she recovered quickly.
She turned to Finn and put her hand on his bare arm.
"What are you doing tomorrow? Will you come to Celibacy Club with me after Cheerios practice? Maybe we could go out for frozen yogurt afterward." Quinn was tired of waiting for Finn to make a move, so she'd decided to just ask him out herself. Though they'd been friends for the past year, Quinn and Finn weren't a couple, and Quinn was ready to lose her single status for a while. After all, a queen needs her king.
"Yeah, I'd like that." Finn couldn't get over the feel of Quinn's warm palm on his arm. It was worth putting up with Celibacy Club, Quinn's second-favorite after-school activity. Going to a Celibacy Club meeting didn't sound fun at all, but it was a small price to pay to get to spend some time with Quinn. She was the hottest girl in school, even if she could be a little harsh sometimes. But the competitive edge she got from all that time spent with the Cheerios had probably made her so driven. And her lips they were heart-shaped and looked like the softest lips Finn had ever seen. He'd be crazy not to be into her, and Finn Hudson was a lot of things, but crazy wasn't one of them.
A/N
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