The Quarterback's Bestfriend

Michael

I'm sitting in the back row of the chairs, waiting for everyone to show up for Glee Club when Tina storms into the chior room with Mike, going off, "There has to be some kind of show choir competition committee we can complain to."

Blaine comes in the opposite door with Quinn and Kaydon, "I know it sucks, guys, but it's not the end of the world. Heck, you had your set list stolen the day of the competition at Sectionals, and you pulled that one off, right?"

Artie rolls in with Rory, looking as though he's about to blow a gasket, "Well, they can have our Journey and our Dreamgirls, but pilfering my Michael, mm-mm, that's another level, not okay."

"I'm not exactly comfortable having this conversation with Blaine in the room. Clearly, once a Warbler, always a Warbler," Puck spits at Blaine, earning a mixture of reactions, some look as though they agree while the other half, me included, looked at him like he was dumb.

Blaine was baffled, quickly turning back to meet Puck's golden hazel eyes, "Uh, wh-what? "

"Dude, you told them what we were gonna do. You're like a modern-day Eggs Benedict. He's on notice as far as I'm concerned."

Before I could voice my opinion, Finn cuts me off, saying in a more eloquent way what I was intending, "We should all be on notice. I mean, next to Vocal Adrenaline, the Warblers are the best Glee Club in the state, and for a lot of us, this is our last shot at a championship, so we should stop complaining about the Warblers and figure out how to beat them."

Mr. S walks in, "I couldn't have said it better myself, Finn. I'm less worried about our set list right now and more interested in getting us in the right mindset to crush those guys. Which is why our lesson for the week is," he turns to his whiteboard and writes five letters: WWMJD? "What Would Michael Jackson Do?"

"He'd fight back. He'd say Regionals is ours, MJ is ours, and if they want it, they can pry it from our sequin-gloved hand," Finn suggests, earning my murmur of agreement and a high-five, the most voluntary physical contact I've given him since I came back home.

"Mm-hmm. Straight up. In 1983, MTV said they wouldn't air his "Billie Jean" video. What'd he do? He fought back. They aired it, and the Thriller album sold an additional ten million copies."

Blaine looks around and his face told it all, he had a plan and it was a good one, "I know what Michael would do. I think he would take it to the streets."

We gather in a parking garage, on an empty level, dressed in black with leather jackets, waiting for the Warblers to show up. Everyone except Blaine and Santana hide out of sights until our signal to come out. A bunch of footsteps echo through out the garage, "Well we're here."

Blaine and Santana stand there and unhood themselves. "We got something to settle. Both of us want to use MJ, but only one can."

"We're having a Jackson-off, Nick at Nite. Winner gets the King of Pop for Regionals," Santana tells them the terms of the showdown.

I unzip my jacket and take out my camera from my bag. I decided to take pictures of tonight's Jackson-off. Watching performances full of passion and emotion is beautiful to watch, so I want to capture it in photigraphs.

Sam hits my shoulder, lightly pointing at my camera, "Why aren't you singing, you love MJ? And why do you have your camera?"

"What, us against the two of you? You really think you're that bad? Is that what they teach you at that little public school of yours?"

I shrug as Santana snaps, their cue to reveal themselves. "It's time to see who's bad."

The Warblers:
Ba, ba, ba, ba
Dow, dow, dow,
Dow-dow Dow,
Dow, dow, dow-dow
Dow, dow, dow, dow-dow
Dow, dow, dow