Predator

Chapter Seven

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The band excruciatingly bangs out the school song, loudly. I feel another headache coming on as I sit down on the edge of the bleachers. I don't have to look up to know that the entire glee club is staring at me. They sit together on the opposite side, even Finn and Puck. They're probably wondering why I'm all the way over here. Mr. Schuester and Quinn are not.

I also don't have to look up to know that Quinn is watching her former fellow Cheerios do their stunts, wishing she were back out there. Wishing she wasn't stuck with a baby, like I am. I almost feel sorry for her.

I turn my attention back to the presentation before me. I hate pep assemblies. Well, I do now anyway. There's nothing in the world for me to feel peppy about.

I glance at my flat stomach, knowing that it won't be so for much longer.

I think that this is finally beginning to sink in. I've been denying it for awhile, even since before I took the test and found out. I think I knew it the moment the thought rose in my mind. So why has it taken so long for me to accept it? And if I have known for that long, why do I still have no idea what to do? I know that I would never get an abortion, but do I give it away? Do I keep it, even though it's his?

God, I haven't even told my parents yet! How the hell am I supposed to tell them something like that? I'm their only child, their perfect daughter! They'll be so disappointed! What if they disown me like Quinn's did? Could they possibly do that?

I'll have to put that off for a little while longer, as much as I know it's a bad idea. But I really need to focus on other things right now.

I'm watching a skinny cheerleader do a flip when my vision unintentionally spots the glee club. I was right, some of them are looking at me. Including him. He's all the way across the gym but I know he's looking at me with those pleading eyes, like he always does. What I don't know, however, is what exactly they plead about. Not to tell anyone about him? Or to start acting like my old self again? Not that he cares. Like Santana said, I carry the weight in this club. He couldn't care less about my situation.

Boom! Boom! Boom! I'm sitting close to the school band, particularly the guy who plays bass drum. The noise is starting to make me feel nauseous...shit.

I feel his eyes on the back of my head when I get up and burst through the gym doors. I wonder if he even has a clue.

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Oh, how I hate Spanish.

A naive, over-achieving Rachel Berry had chosen a desk in the very front row on the first day of school. We haven't changed seats since. The most uncomfortable part of my day is this period, where there is literally no way to avoid looking at Mr. Schuester. We mutually make an effort to avoid eye contact with each other. Right now, he stands leant against the whiteboard and surveys the classroom with a dull expression.

My peers are especially bored today, which is why nobody is volunteering to answer any questions. I'm not really bored, but I remain silent for obvious reasons. I can tell that Mr. Schuester is starting to get irritated.

"I really doubt that not a single one of you can handle this," he says monotonously. "Come on, this is from last month. Say a phrase using a pronoun and a verb in past tense."

I watch his eyes slowly drift across the room, and they land on me. I instantly glare at him with a look that says 'Don't you dare pick me!'. He audibly sighs. "Rachel?"

I don't have to think very long before something comes to mind.

"Usted arruinó mi vida," I answer stiffly.