[Glee fic] beneath the milky twilight (2/?)
Title: beneath the milky twilight
Summary: It was just a bet. No harm could possibly come from a stupid bet. Right? Loosely based on the movie "She's All That".
Rating: T/PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: Language. Mostly AU, with a few canon elements thrown in.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter! I hope you all enjoy the next instalment!
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Previous: 1 |
Chapter 2
The next morning, Puck found himself standing in the school's overcrowded hallway waiting for Rachel to turn up at her locker.
This was going to be a cakewalk. All he had to do was get Rachel on his side, without telling her of course, and the crowds at McKinley high would automatically fall in line, making her popular too. He was sure of it. The people at this school were, for lack of a better word, stupid. They followed the popular crowd like a flock of sheep, no matter what. Heck, they even cheered them on. Once, Finn had walked straight into a closed door, and people still worshiped the ground he stood on. (Puck was half expecting them to put up a shrine with a plaque labelled 'The Door Finn Hudson Once Walked Into', or some shit like that. Did he mention they were stupid? And unimaginative. Obviously.) Such was the life of being awesome. How else do you think Puck, of all people, became student body president? It's definitely not because he actually wanted the job. People just liked him, okay?
So yeah, Puck was absolutely sure the same would apply with Rachel and this stupid bet. He just had to become friends with her first.
But he was sure that would be easy. He could get any girl to drop their panties just by looking at them. It's happened once before. No joke. Oh, who was he kidding? It's happened a bunch of times.
Rachel Berry would be no problem at all.
When she finally arrived at her locker, a purple raincoat wrapped tightly around her body and her head barely discernable under the hood, Puck stood for a moment, watching her as she rushed to collect her things. It was amusing (not cute) the way her head peeked out occasionally, eyes darting from side-to-side, to prepare her for any possible attack.
He took a deep breath and approached. There was no turning back now.
"Hey Rachel," he greeted her. Puck watched as she turned around, the smile on her face fading quickly when she saw him. Flashing Rachel his most charming smile, he opened his mouth to speak, except at that moment purple slush came hurtling towards her face out of nowhere. It was only then that Puck noticed Dave had walked up beside him, a satisfied smirk firmly planted on his face.
Rachel's face was frozen (literally) with shock as she stared at the two of them, and it was like the previous day all over again. She stood gaping for a moment before letting out an indignant scream and stamping her foot. She only moved to grab her bag out of her locker, then slammed the door shut and rushed to the nearest bathroom.
Puck rolled his eyes and turned to face Dave.
"You're not gonna make this easy on me, are you?" he asked rhetorically.
Dave's smirk just widened as he answered, "Now why the fuck would I do that?" Dave walked away, laughing hysterically while Puck was forced to stand there and watch.
Puck groaned in frustration and rubbed the base of his neck. He waited outside the girls bathroom for a little while until he started getting weird looks from the girls passing through the door. Forced to give up for the time being, Puck walked away, telling himself he'd catch up with her eventually. Preferably in an empty corridor where no one else could jump out unexpectedly and ruin another attempt at initiating his fool-proof plan.
.-.
Rachel sighed deeply as she once again wiped corn syrup from her face, this time grape flavoured. She thought she'd been more careful today. After being on the receiving end of two (two!) slushie facials the previous day, she had spent a lot of time today looking around corners, scouring the hallways for any signs of Karofsky. Obviously, she had been unsuccessful once again.
She leaned over the sink and stared carefully at her blurry reflection, blinking cautiously to ease the stinging sensation from the corn syrup in her eye.
"Six more weeks." She told her reflection with conviction. "Just hold on for six more weeks." She tried to smile. She always tried to smile after something like this happened to her, because when you're smiling, the whole world smiles with you. Louis Armstrong said so. (Though sometimes Rachel couldn't help but think that was a whole load of crap. Four years of smiling with nothing but glares and slushies and general hatred back tended to take the shine off uplifting lyrics such as his.)
Rachel removed her raincoat, silently thankful that she'd decided on her lilac one today. It had a higher collar to better protect her clothes. Plus she had tried to keep her hood on as tightly as possible, so her hair had been relatively unscathed. Her clothes were completely dry, thank god, and only her fringe bared signs of her misfortune. Of course, the sticky corn syrup mixture didn't do wonders for her complexion, but all in all, it was an improvement. If that's what you could call it.
She hastily rinsed out her hair, a difficult task while standing over a standard bathroom sink, and then grabbed her emergency hair dryer, trying to get cleaned up as quickly as possible. All the while, she repeated to herself silently, Six more weeks, a mantra she was sure she would be readily repeating during her remaining six more weeks.
The warning bell rang just as Rachel was getting her belongings squared away. She ran to the door and swung it open, only to collide with a very fierce looking Quinn.
"Out of my way, RuPaul," she commanded, pushing Rachel's body away and flattening her against the bathroom door as Quinn and her brainless minions breezed past.
Rachel rolled her eyes and shook her head, choosing not to engage with the angry blonde. It wasn't worth it.
Six more weeks. Just six more weeks.
After quickly retrieving her books from her locker, Rachel hurried to class, taking her seat just as the final bell rang. She turned to her neighbour, Jesse, and gave him a brief smile 'hello'. His brow knitted together, and she knew he was silently asking why she was almost late for class. She sighed and shook her head, and by his corresponding sigh she knew he understood.
Another smile graced her lips as she opened her books and prepared for Mr. Ruben's history class. A small, quiet smile. She loved that Jesse could practically read her mind. Secretly, of course. It was her silver lining in all this misfortune.
Only six more weeks.
.-.
Puck finally saw his opportunity at the beginning of lunch, when he noticed Rachel and her ridiculous purple raincoat peering down the hallway to her locker from behind one of the halls many alcoves.
He walked up behind her and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Hey," he greeted her softly.
Rachel turned, slowly at first but when she saw him, he felt her entire body tense and she immediately backed away, leaving his hand to fall back to his side.
"Why are you talking to me?" She asked accusingly. "Are you going to steal something from me?"
"What? No." He answered, a little annoyed that she automatically assumed the worst. True, he's a badass, but he hadn't done anything to her in, like, forever. (It's also true that he's never done anything to stop Karofsky from bullying her, but that's just... whatever. Not the point.) "I was just wondering..." he began, but the next thing he knew Rachel was turning sharply on her heel and walking away. She just left him standing there like a punk. He looked around at the curious stares from the other kids in the hallway, and continued flatly to himself, "...if you could embarrass me horribly in front of all these people."
Well, fuck. Maybe this'll be harder than he thought.
.-.
Later that afternoon after school, Puck lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and idly strumming his guitar when Santana breezed into his room.
"What's up Loser? Pitying yourself?"
Rolling his eyes, Puck sat up and swung his guitar to the side. "Nice San." He replied, scoffing as she lay down on her stomach next to him, some girly magazine in hand. "You know, you could've warned me about this shit."
"Yeah, I could have. But where's the fun in that?" She answered unfazed and started flipping through the pages, not even bothering to sound sympathetic of his plight.
Puck groaned. "God, you're such a bitch."
She arched her eyebrow, but once again didn't bother to look up from her article 'Ten Ways to Improve Your Orgasm' or some shit. "And this is news?"
Puck scoffed again. "Why are you here, anyway?" When the only plausible explanation came to him, he reached out his hand and trailed his fingers down her arm. It'd been months since they'd done anything together, since he'd had anything but his hand wrapped around his cock. Actually, he'd ended things with Santana just after he and Quinn had gotten together. He never admitted it to Santana at the time (and there's no way in hell he's going to now), but he kind of liked Quinn. A lot. Hence, his brief stint of celibacy as Quinn got her shit together.
"Yeah, right." Santana replied with a satanic laugh and shrugged his hand away. "Don't kid yourself. I know you're probably horny as hell, since we both know Quinn's legs are practically sewn shut." Puck didn't know what to say to that. Obviously her 'best friend' hadn't mentioned anything about that night at the beginning of spring break. And as much as he hated Quinn at the moment, he still cared about her and shit. And yeah, maybe there was this small part of him deep down that hoped Quinn would get bored of this pathetic Ken and Barbie routine and come back to him. But there'll definitely be no chance of that if he went around talking about that night. Santana laughed disdainfully before continuing, "And as much as it would piss Quinn off, I don't do sloppy seconds."
"Who're you calling sloppy?" Puck muttered mutinously, but Santana just rolled her eyes and turned to the page.
When he realised Santana was actually being serious, and seriously not going to have sex with him, Puck sighed inwardly and picked up his guitar again. He sat there absently strumming whatever tunes came to mind while pondering his dilemma with this Rachel situation. Normally, he'd just flash a smile at a girl and they'd be a puddle at his feet, up for anything he desired. The only exception, ever, was Quinn, which was why he dug her so much. She made him work for it. Really work for it.
But then again, even in that situation, she had let him at least talk to her, and he'd been able to slowly worm his way into her good graces. Yep, he was fucking epic! He even got the celibacy queen to thaw out enough to let him in. (And yeah, maybe he kind of let her in as well, but look where that got him.) Rachel on the other hand was too fucking scared of him to even look him the eye. For the first time since he started this stupid bet, Puck was really beginning to think he was fucked.
"So, who's she gonna be?" Santana's condescending voice cut through his thoughts a short while later.
Puck's strumming paused and he shot her a confused look. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Her eyes still focused on that stupid magazine, Santana answered, "You know, the rebound skank?"
"Rebound skank?" he asked, still confused.
Santana rolled her eyes. "You know, the chick you're gonna hook up with to piss the Queen Bitch off."
It was Puck's turn to roll his eyes. He would never understand this friendship between Quinn and Santana. They acted like best friends, but given the chance they'd both stab each other in the back if needed. It's actually happened before. There was this whole thing about the Cheerio captaincy at the beginning of the year that had practically turned the school halls into a war zone. He had to admit, it was kind of hot. Crazy, but hot.
"I wouldn't exactly call her a rebound skank," He finally replied after some thought, his mind settling on Rachel and the bet. "But there is kind of a project."
"Project?" Santana asked, actually deigning to look up from her stupid magazine. "Intriguing. Talk."
Puck shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."
He didn't know why, but he didn't feel comfortable telling Santana about the bet. She was a bitch. She'd probably tell the whole school before he'd even had a chance to get started, and then everything would be shot to hell. Quinn might rule the school, but Santana was the queen of high school gossip. Last year, Brittany had thought she'd gotten knocked up by her boyfriend, and by third period, the entire school was buzzing about it. And Britt's her best friend/lover, so yeah...Not telling Santana anything was the safest bet.
"Oh come on," Santana pressed on. "I need details..." When Puck shot her a dubious look, Santana's evil grin became more pronounced. "What? Did something happen?"
Puck's eyes narrowed. "Well..." he began, hesitant of the delighted look Santana was giving him. "To tell you the truth, she kind of blew me off."
Santana laughed. "I like her already." Bitch. "Why? What'd you do?"
He shrugged his shoulders again. "Nothing. I just walked up to her, and she kinda just ignored me."
She scoffed derisively. "Puck, I know this might be hard for a bitch magnet, such as yourself, to understand..." She ignored Puck's scowl as he muttered mutinously under his breath. "But did it ever occur to you to make a little effort?" Obviously his face looked just as confused as before, because Santana rolled her eyes again before returning to her magazine. "Find out what she likes, where she hangs out. Who her friends are. Idiot" She muttered the last part under her breath, but clearly enough that he heard.
Puck opened his mouth, preparing some scathing retort, when Santana's phone beeped. She put down the magazine and checked the text before getting up. "Britts wants to get her mack on before her dance class. And, who knows, maybe I'll persuade her to skip. Ciao." And just like that, she waltzed out of his room, just as carefree and unconcerned as she had walked in earlier, hips swinging and that mind-fuck of a cheerios skirt swishing as she went.
Puck stared dumbly after her as she disappeared out into the hall, pondering her 'advice'.
Grumbling to himself, Puck got out of bed and placed his guitar carefully in its stand, before heading downstairs for something to eat. What? Thinking made him hungry.
The scene in his kitchen was typical for a Tuesday evening. His ma was busily moving about the kitchen preparing dinner, while his sister sat at the dining table, obliviously coloring or something.
"Hey ma," he greeted, nimbly poaching some food as his mother tried to swat his hand away.
She grumbled something about manners before looking at him. "Was that Santana leaving earlier?" She asked him shrewdly, her disapproval of the young Latina streaming off her in waves.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah." She fixed him with a judgmental glare. "What?" he asked, holding his arms up in surrender. "We didn't do anything."
She continued to stare him down, her eyes narrowed and calculating, before she finally nodded and continued to prepare dinner. Puck sighed in relief, inwardly, of course. His ma was like some mastermind bull-shit detector, or something. No matter how good his 'acting' skills were, she had this uncanny knack for discerning when he was lying. Growing up in this household, Puck quickly learnt not to mess with Mrs. Puckerman.
"Hey squirt," Puck greeted his younger sister, Becca, and took a seat beside her. She looked up at him with an annoyed frown. She hated when he called her that. "What?" he asked her teasingly, and nudged her arm, but she just rolled her eyes and continued colouring. She was getting really good at that. The ignoring him thing, not the colouring. Though that wasn't too bad either.
Puck idly picked up a blue pencil and started shading in the sky, Becca subconsciously moving the paper closer for him to reach.
"Oh Noah..." His mom called from behind the kitchen bench.
"Yeah?" He asked, not bothering to look up.
"I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something..." she continued, but her apprehensive tone immediately put him on edge.
He turned to her and cautiously asked, "What?"
"Well, it's about..." She began, but Puck didn't let her finish.
"I don't wanna talk about that." He scowled, dropping the pencil and pushing up from the table, ignoring his little sister's wide-eyed expression. He suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here.
"But, Noah, he called and he just wants to..." she tried again, but once again, he cut her off.
"I don't care." He stalked out of the kitchen to the foyer, ignoring his mom as she followed behind.
"Noah, we have to talk about this eventually." She said earnestly, wringing the dishcloth in her hands.
"No, we don't." He stated, trying to control his temper. He grabbed his jacket out of the closet and pulled it on, rather more forcefully than necessary.
"Noah, where are you going?" she asked worriedly and normally it'd be enough to make him stop and pause, but he really needed to not talk about this right now. He needed out of there.
"Out." He answered coldly, before storming out the front door to his truck, and ignoring his mother's anxious calls from the front porch.
Puck drove around for a little while before pulling over, his hand gripping the steering wheel. He desperately needed to get his mind off things.
Pulling out his phone, Puck scrolled to Finn's number and pressed 'call'.
"Hey dude, what's up?" Finn's friendly voice filtered through the ear piece.
"Hey man," Puck answered, knowing exactly how to take his mind off all the shit at home. "Is Kurt there?"
"Yeah, why?" Puck could hear the confusion in Finn's voice.
"Nothing. Just needed to ask him something." Puck replied. "Can you put him on?"
"Yeah... hold on a sec."
Puck rolled his eyes as he listened to Finn fumble around his house.
"Hello?" Kurt's haughty voice sounded in Puck's ear.
"Hey, Hummel. I wanted to ask you a question..."
Yeah, this was him 'making an effort'.
.-.
Rachel sat on the floor, her legs spread wide in front of her as she stretched. Her friend and dance instructor, Mike Chang, stood above her, idly chatting about the plan for today's jazz ballet class. Standing up, Mike automatically held out his hand for support and Rachel swung her leg up behind her, stretching towards the ceiling.
"I thought, uh, today we could try something a little different." The quiet Asian said timidly as Rachel switched legs. "I've been messing around with a combination of pop'n'lock moves that are kind of cool."
Rachel tried her best to give him an encouraging smile. "That sounds... interesting." She replied, though she didn't really like the sound of that. Sure, Mike was a genius when it came to choreography, but to her, pop'n'lock mixed with jazz ballet seemed like a recipe for disaster.
They were both busy discussing possible dance moves when Puck, unnoticed by ether of them, strolled up.
"Hey man," he greeted a very surprised Mike, clasping his hand in a manly-handshake. "How's it hanging?"
Both Rachel and Mike stared at him, stunned.
"H-hey, man." Mike eventually replied, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Not bad. You?"
"Yeah, not bad. Not bad." Puck repeated, his gaze shifting freely between Mike and the still gaping Rachel. "Look, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Rachel watched shrewdly as Puck led Mike away from her to talk quietly amongst themselves. Mike looked at Puck dubiously, like whatever Puck had to say was making him uneasy. Rachel knew the pair were friends, having played on the championship football team together, but from Mike's reluctant nodding and noticeable sighs, Rachel felt a similar feeling of uneasiness come over her. This couldn't be a mere coincidence. It was all very strange. Puck, whom she hasn't actually spoken to once in her four years of high school, had tried to talk to her at least twice today. First school, now here. Puck was following her. Why? She didn't know, but it was the only plausible explanation.
Her sixth-sense about these things made her feel weird, almost off balance. Rachel had always believed that she was a little psychic at times. And right now she couldn't quite make out what her instincts were trying to tell her. She had her normal strong feelings of foreboding, but the sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach was more than understandable. During the four years Puck had spent not talking to her, he and his cronies had spent it throwing slushies in her face, terrorizing her friends and spreading hateful rumours about her.
But that's not what made her pause. There was also something else there. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on, and being the highly intuitive young woman that she was, she never liked to discount her woman's intuition.
This only served to put Rachel more on edge.
Finally, the pair broke apart, Mike shaking his head and she heard him mutter softly, "I don't really think this is a good idea, but whatever..."
Rachel's shoulders relaxed expecting to see Puck turn to leave, but then as Mike made his way to the front of the class, Puck came over and stood beside her.
"'Sup?" he asked her casually as he stood there, his arms hanging by his side in what Rachel deemed to be an oafish manner.
"What are you doing here?" Rachel hissed at him, clearly annoyed.
"Dancing." He stated unfazed, focusing his gaze on Mike as he started addressing the class.
Rachel fell silent as she tried to focus her attention on Mike, but her eyes kept flitting anxiously back to Puck. He honestly didn't expect her to partner him, did he? She asked herself, her mind running through a hundred possible scenarios where this was some ploy to humiliate her.
She felt a momentary wave of relief when she noticed Jesse enter the dance studio, his eyes glancing around, looking for her. He was late today, but she could easily forgive him that for saving her from whatever torture Puck had in mind.
However, to Rachel's dismay, when Jesse finally saw her standing next to Puck, her silent pleas were met with nothing more than a confused look. She tried with all the psychic energy she could muster to signal him, but, for what seemed like the first time ever, Jesse didn't understand her. Instead he half-shrugged his shoulders at her, and went to stand next to Brittany, the only girl standing by herself.
Now, Rachel had a very high respect for Brittany, at least talent-wise. She was an excellent dancer. Except, she tended to get distracted very (very) easily, and when she didn't know the next steps, she just made them up. This often resulted in both hit and miss situations. Like the time she and Mike won an award for most original choreography at the Lima, Ohio Amateur Dance (or L.O.A.D.) competitions; or the time Mike ended up in a cast for six weeks when Brittany accidentally caused him to trip over her and spin haphazardly around the dance floor. See? Hit and miss.
Rachel huffed in annoyance at the lack of communication between her and her best friend. He should know that she needed saving right now. Puck's presence alone should have been enough of a reason.
She tapped her foot impatiently as Mike explained to the class what new moves they were working on today. As the dancers paired off and began working through the steps, Mike walked over to her and whispered in her ear, "Just go with it," before turning to the rest of the class to observe their progress.
Rachel crossed her arms over her chest, and studied Puck. There was no possible way she was dancing with him. She turned back to Mike to protest, but he had already moved on to the other end of the studio. At a suspiciously fast rate if you ask her.
Rachel let out an exasperated sigh and decided to 'just go with it'. Though, she was ready to protest (loudly) at the first sign of mischief. Her frustration only doubled when she glanced back at Puck, who was watching her with a determined expression and holding out his hand towards her. She stared at his proffered hand, taking in his tattered jeans and baggy shirt, and scoffed again loudly. He wasn't even dressed properly.
It was disaster right from the start. Puck tried dismally to perform the strange pop'n'lock Mike had demonstrated, his legs bending awkwardly and his arms waving about. And it only got worse from there. Finally, when Puck had failed to properly perform a standard spin, his flailing arms swinging around and almost hitting her in the face, Rachel had had enough.
She placed her hand squarely on his chest and began forcefully backing him out of the room.
"Are you trying to kill me? Or just break my nose?" she asked scathingly, her annoyance with him back at full steam.
"Geez, overreacting much." Puck replied, a little disgruntled. He obviously thought he was doing a swell job.
"What do you want?" she asked, deciding to get straight to the point, and hopefully get whatever torture this was over with.
"What makes you think I want anything?" he retorted defensively.
"Puckerman, please." She scoffed again and held up a hand, signalling her intolerance. "My patience is wearing thin."
Suddenly, Puck looked very nervous. Panicked even. "Err... well... I wanted to talk to you... about..." he answered disjointedly. "... joining... glee club!" It was apparent to her, that he had just made that up.
Rachel's eyes narrowed and she stated matter-of-factly, "You hate glee club."
"Says who?" Puck shot back.
Rachel rolled her eyes disbelievingly. "You and your friends joined the heckling club with the sole purpose of learning how to further embarrass us at our most recent performance."
"Yeah, well, you know." Puck shrugged. "I have a rep to maintain and all." He looked up and finally met her eyes. "I actually, you know, like singing and shit."
"Singing and shit?" Rachel asked incredulously, but Puck just shrugged his shoulders again. Her eyes narrowed. "You probably don't even know how to sing."
Rachel was surprised to see Puck's back straighten at her words, and he looked at her defensively. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "I got mad skills. I can even play guitar."
A little taken aback by his forceful indignation, Rachel appraised him once more. The rational part of her mind was telling her that this was absolutely ridiculous. There was no way Noah Puckerman, of all people, was actually asking her for advice on how to join glee club.
But the other part? The curious and intrigued part found her saying, "Oh yeah?" in a challenging tone, eyebrow raised disbelievingly. She expected him to burst out laughing, to tell her this was all just some elaborate joke.
But instead, Puck stood his ground and he replied in the same defiant tone, "Yeah."
Rachel scoffed again, but she was stubborn and never one to back down from a challenge. "Okay. Then prove it." She bit out. "Audition tomorrow after school. 3:30pm. Don't be late."
Still fuming Rachel turned on her heel and re-entered the dance studio, not bothering to wait for his response. She stood around for a moment, observing the rest of the class, until Mike walked up to her sheepishly and offered to dance with her. She ignored the apologetic smile he was giving her as she accepted. While she much preferred to dance with Mike, she was still annoyed and unsure what all this was about. She knew that if she opened her mouth to speak, a litany of criticism and anger might (would) come spewing out.
Her disgruntled mood lasted until the end of class, when Jesse came over to talk to her. She was still a little annoyed at him for abandoning her in her time of need.
"Hey," he greeted with the usual grin, and took a sip from his drink bottle.
"Hi." She replied tersely.
"What was all the commotion with Puckerman earlier?" He asked, clearly intrigued.
Rachel glanced up at him, a small part of her thinking (hoping) he was jealous of the other man's attentions (however unwanted they might be).
"I don't know. It was very strange. He said he wanted advice to join glee club, which I think is absolutely absurd..." Rachel began her already prepared rant, but Jesse wasn't really paying attention. Instead he was looking over her shoulder at something.
Rachel turned her head to take a look, but all she saw was Mike and Brittany going over some of the new choreography again.
"Jesse?" she asked hesitantly.
"Huh? Yeah... absurd." Jesse replied absentmindedly. It took another moment before he seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he was in. He looked down and smiled at her, swinging his arm casually around her shoulder as he steered out of the building. "Well, what did you tell the imbecile?"
.-.
Puck drove around aimlessly for a while after leaving the dance studio. It had been a somewhat productive afternoon. On the one hand, he had finally made some progress on the Rachel front, at the expense of his dignity, he might add. But on the other hand, it looked like he was going to have join the fucking glee club to get his plan to work. Small price to pay, really. His rep was so badass, that he could take the hit from entering loserdom. Probably even boost the losers' rep a little. Now all he had to do was find some kick ass audition song to sing tomorrow, and it'd be smooth sailing from there.
He was just about to pull into his driveway, when he noticed a rusty old mustang parked in his usual place. Puck's grip on the steering wheel tightened and swore under his breath. What the fuck? All the anger and frustration from this afternoon came flooding back to him.
Instead of heading inside, Puck reversed out, loudly revved his engine and drove away, deciding to head to Finn's house instead. The Hudson/Hummel clan were always welcoming, and maybe Finn and he could go through some audition shit. And maybe after, play a couple rounds of Call of Duty. Anything to avoid being home right now. Anything at all.
Summary: It was just a bet. No harm could possibly come from a stupid bet. Right? Loosely based on the movie "She's All That".
Rating: T/PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: Language. Mostly AU, with a few canon elements thrown in.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter! I hope you all enjoy the next instalment!
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Previous: 1 |
Chapter 2
The next morning, Puck found himself standing in the school's overcrowded hallway waiting for Rachel to turn up at her locker.
This was going to be a cakewalk. All he had to do was get Rachel on his side, without telling her of course, and the crowds at McKinley high would automatically fall in line, making her popular too. He was sure of it. The people at this school were, for lack of a better word, stupid. They followed the popular crowd like a flock of sheep, no matter what. Heck, they even cheered them on. Once, Finn had walked straight into a closed door, and people still worshiped the ground he stood on. (Puck was half expecting them to put up a shrine with a plaque labelled 'The Door Finn Hudson Once Walked Into', or some shit like that. Did he mention they were stupid? And unimaginative. Obviously.) Such was the life of being awesome. How else do you think Puck, of all people, became student body president? It's definitely not because he actually wanted the job. People just liked him, okay?
So yeah, Puck was absolutely sure the same would apply with Rachel and this stupid bet. He just had to become friends with her first.
But he was sure that would be easy. He could get any girl to drop their panties just by looking at them. It's happened once before. No joke. Oh, who was he kidding? It's happened a bunch of times.
Rachel Berry would be no problem at all.
When she finally arrived at her locker, a purple raincoat wrapped tightly around her body and her head barely discernable under the hood, Puck stood for a moment, watching her as she rushed to collect her things. It was amusing (not cute) the way her head peeked out occasionally, eyes darting from side-to-side, to prepare her for any possible attack.
He took a deep breath and approached. There was no turning back now.
"Hey Rachel," he greeted her. Puck watched as she turned around, the smile on her face fading quickly when she saw him. Flashing Rachel his most charming smile, he opened his mouth to speak, except at that moment purple slush came hurtling towards her face out of nowhere. It was only then that Puck noticed Dave had walked up beside him, a satisfied smirk firmly planted on his face.
Rachel's face was frozen (literally) with shock as she stared at the two of them, and it was like the previous day all over again. She stood gaping for a moment before letting out an indignant scream and stamping her foot. She only moved to grab her bag out of her locker, then slammed the door shut and rushed to the nearest bathroom.
Puck rolled his eyes and turned to face Dave.
"You're not gonna make this easy on me, are you?" he asked rhetorically.
Dave's smirk just widened as he answered, "Now why the fuck would I do that?" Dave walked away, laughing hysterically while Puck was forced to stand there and watch.
Puck groaned in frustration and rubbed the base of his neck. He waited outside the girls bathroom for a little while until he started getting weird looks from the girls passing through the door. Forced to give up for the time being, Puck walked away, telling himself he'd catch up with her eventually. Preferably in an empty corridor where no one else could jump out unexpectedly and ruin another attempt at initiating his fool-proof plan.
.-.
Rachel sighed deeply as she once again wiped corn syrup from her face, this time grape flavoured. She thought she'd been more careful today. After being on the receiving end of two (two!) slushie facials the previous day, she had spent a lot of time today looking around corners, scouring the hallways for any signs of Karofsky. Obviously, she had been unsuccessful once again.
She leaned over the sink and stared carefully at her blurry reflection, blinking cautiously to ease the stinging sensation from the corn syrup in her eye.
"Six more weeks." She told her reflection with conviction. "Just hold on for six more weeks." She tried to smile. She always tried to smile after something like this happened to her, because when you're smiling, the whole world smiles with you. Louis Armstrong said so. (Though sometimes Rachel couldn't help but think that was a whole load of crap. Four years of smiling with nothing but glares and slushies and general hatred back tended to take the shine off uplifting lyrics such as his.)
Rachel removed her raincoat, silently thankful that she'd decided on her lilac one today. It had a higher collar to better protect her clothes. Plus she had tried to keep her hood on as tightly as possible, so her hair had been relatively unscathed. Her clothes were completely dry, thank god, and only her fringe bared signs of her misfortune. Of course, the sticky corn syrup mixture didn't do wonders for her complexion, but all in all, it was an improvement. If that's what you could call it.
She hastily rinsed out her hair, a difficult task while standing over a standard bathroom sink, and then grabbed her emergency hair dryer, trying to get cleaned up as quickly as possible. All the while, she repeated to herself silently, Six more weeks, a mantra she was sure she would be readily repeating during her remaining six more weeks.
The warning bell rang just as Rachel was getting her belongings squared away. She ran to the door and swung it open, only to collide with a very fierce looking Quinn.
"Out of my way, RuPaul," she commanded, pushing Rachel's body away and flattening her against the bathroom door as Quinn and her brainless minions breezed past.
Rachel rolled her eyes and shook her head, choosing not to engage with the angry blonde. It wasn't worth it.
Six more weeks. Just six more weeks.
After quickly retrieving her books from her locker, Rachel hurried to class, taking her seat just as the final bell rang. She turned to her neighbour, Jesse, and gave him a brief smile 'hello'. His brow knitted together, and she knew he was silently asking why she was almost late for class. She sighed and shook her head, and by his corresponding sigh she knew he understood.
Another smile graced her lips as she opened her books and prepared for Mr. Ruben's history class. A small, quiet smile. She loved that Jesse could practically read her mind. Secretly, of course. It was her silver lining in all this misfortune.
Only six more weeks.
.-.
Puck finally saw his opportunity at the beginning of lunch, when he noticed Rachel and her ridiculous purple raincoat peering down the hallway to her locker from behind one of the halls many alcoves.
He walked up behind her and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Hey," he greeted her softly.
Rachel turned, slowly at first but when she saw him, he felt her entire body tense and she immediately backed away, leaving his hand to fall back to his side.
"Why are you talking to me?" She asked accusingly. "Are you going to steal something from me?"
"What? No." He answered, a little annoyed that she automatically assumed the worst. True, he's a badass, but he hadn't done anything to her in, like, forever. (It's also true that he's never done anything to stop Karofsky from bullying her, but that's just... whatever. Not the point.) "I was just wondering..." he began, but the next thing he knew Rachel was turning sharply on her heel and walking away. She just left him standing there like a punk. He looked around at the curious stares from the other kids in the hallway, and continued flatly to himself, "...if you could embarrass me horribly in front of all these people."
Well, fuck. Maybe this'll be harder than he thought.
.-.
Later that afternoon after school, Puck lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and idly strumming his guitar when Santana breezed into his room.
"What's up Loser? Pitying yourself?"
Rolling his eyes, Puck sat up and swung his guitar to the side. "Nice San." He replied, scoffing as she lay down on her stomach next to him, some girly magazine in hand. "You know, you could've warned me about this shit."
"Yeah, I could have. But where's the fun in that?" She answered unfazed and started flipping through the pages, not even bothering to sound sympathetic of his plight.
Puck groaned. "God, you're such a bitch."
She arched her eyebrow, but once again didn't bother to look up from her article 'Ten Ways to Improve Your Orgasm' or some shit. "And this is news?"
Puck scoffed again. "Why are you here, anyway?" When the only plausible explanation came to him, he reached out his hand and trailed his fingers down her arm. It'd been months since they'd done anything together, since he'd had anything but his hand wrapped around his cock. Actually, he'd ended things with Santana just after he and Quinn had gotten together. He never admitted it to Santana at the time (and there's no way in hell he's going to now), but he kind of liked Quinn. A lot. Hence, his brief stint of celibacy as Quinn got her shit together.
"Yeah, right." Santana replied with a satanic laugh and shrugged his hand away. "Don't kid yourself. I know you're probably horny as hell, since we both know Quinn's legs are practically sewn shut." Puck didn't know what to say to that. Obviously her 'best friend' hadn't mentioned anything about that night at the beginning of spring break. And as much as he hated Quinn at the moment, he still cared about her and shit. And yeah, maybe there was this small part of him deep down that hoped Quinn would get bored of this pathetic Ken and Barbie routine and come back to him. But there'll definitely be no chance of that if he went around talking about that night. Santana laughed disdainfully before continuing, "And as much as it would piss Quinn off, I don't do sloppy seconds."
"Who're you calling sloppy?" Puck muttered mutinously, but Santana just rolled her eyes and turned to the page.
When he realised Santana was actually being serious, and seriously not going to have sex with him, Puck sighed inwardly and picked up his guitar again. He sat there absently strumming whatever tunes came to mind while pondering his dilemma with this Rachel situation. Normally, he'd just flash a smile at a girl and they'd be a puddle at his feet, up for anything he desired. The only exception, ever, was Quinn, which was why he dug her so much. She made him work for it. Really work for it.
But then again, even in that situation, she had let him at least talk to her, and he'd been able to slowly worm his way into her good graces. Yep, he was fucking epic! He even got the celibacy queen to thaw out enough to let him in. (And yeah, maybe he kind of let her in as well, but look where that got him.) Rachel on the other hand was too fucking scared of him to even look him the eye. For the first time since he started this stupid bet, Puck was really beginning to think he was fucked.
"So, who's she gonna be?" Santana's condescending voice cut through his thoughts a short while later.
Puck's strumming paused and he shot her a confused look. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Her eyes still focused on that stupid magazine, Santana answered, "You know, the rebound skank?"
"Rebound skank?" he asked, still confused.
Santana rolled her eyes. "You know, the chick you're gonna hook up with to piss the Queen Bitch off."
It was Puck's turn to roll his eyes. He would never understand this friendship between Quinn and Santana. They acted like best friends, but given the chance they'd both stab each other in the back if needed. It's actually happened before. There was this whole thing about the Cheerio captaincy at the beginning of the year that had practically turned the school halls into a war zone. He had to admit, it was kind of hot. Crazy, but hot.
"I wouldn't exactly call her a rebound skank," He finally replied after some thought, his mind settling on Rachel and the bet. "But there is kind of a project."
"Project?" Santana asked, actually deigning to look up from her stupid magazine. "Intriguing. Talk."
Puck shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."
He didn't know why, but he didn't feel comfortable telling Santana about the bet. She was a bitch. She'd probably tell the whole school before he'd even had a chance to get started, and then everything would be shot to hell. Quinn might rule the school, but Santana was the queen of high school gossip. Last year, Brittany had thought she'd gotten knocked up by her boyfriend, and by third period, the entire school was buzzing about it. And Britt's her best friend/lover, so yeah...Not telling Santana anything was the safest bet.
"Oh come on," Santana pressed on. "I need details..." When Puck shot her a dubious look, Santana's evil grin became more pronounced. "What? Did something happen?"
Puck's eyes narrowed. "Well..." he began, hesitant of the delighted look Santana was giving him. "To tell you the truth, she kind of blew me off."
Santana laughed. "I like her already." Bitch. "Why? What'd you do?"
He shrugged his shoulders again. "Nothing. I just walked up to her, and she kinda just ignored me."
She scoffed derisively. "Puck, I know this might be hard for a bitch magnet, such as yourself, to understand..." She ignored Puck's scowl as he muttered mutinously under his breath. "But did it ever occur to you to make a little effort?" Obviously his face looked just as confused as before, because Santana rolled her eyes again before returning to her magazine. "Find out what she likes, where she hangs out. Who her friends are. Idiot" She muttered the last part under her breath, but clearly enough that he heard.
Puck opened his mouth, preparing some scathing retort, when Santana's phone beeped. She put down the magazine and checked the text before getting up. "Britts wants to get her mack on before her dance class. And, who knows, maybe I'll persuade her to skip. Ciao." And just like that, she waltzed out of his room, just as carefree and unconcerned as she had walked in earlier, hips swinging and that mind-fuck of a cheerios skirt swishing as she went.
Puck stared dumbly after her as she disappeared out into the hall, pondering her 'advice'.
Grumbling to himself, Puck got out of bed and placed his guitar carefully in its stand, before heading downstairs for something to eat. What? Thinking made him hungry.
The scene in his kitchen was typical for a Tuesday evening. His ma was busily moving about the kitchen preparing dinner, while his sister sat at the dining table, obliviously coloring or something.
"Hey ma," he greeted, nimbly poaching some food as his mother tried to swat his hand away.
She grumbled something about manners before looking at him. "Was that Santana leaving earlier?" She asked him shrewdly, her disapproval of the young Latina streaming off her in waves.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah." She fixed him with a judgmental glare. "What?" he asked, holding his arms up in surrender. "We didn't do anything."
She continued to stare him down, her eyes narrowed and calculating, before she finally nodded and continued to prepare dinner. Puck sighed in relief, inwardly, of course. His ma was like some mastermind bull-shit detector, or something. No matter how good his 'acting' skills were, she had this uncanny knack for discerning when he was lying. Growing up in this household, Puck quickly learnt not to mess with Mrs. Puckerman.
"Hey squirt," Puck greeted his younger sister, Becca, and took a seat beside her. She looked up at him with an annoyed frown. She hated when he called her that. "What?" he asked her teasingly, and nudged her arm, but she just rolled her eyes and continued colouring. She was getting really good at that. The ignoring him thing, not the colouring. Though that wasn't too bad either.
Puck idly picked up a blue pencil and started shading in the sky, Becca subconsciously moving the paper closer for him to reach.
"Oh Noah..." His mom called from behind the kitchen bench.
"Yeah?" He asked, not bothering to look up.
"I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something..." she continued, but her apprehensive tone immediately put him on edge.
He turned to her and cautiously asked, "What?"
"Well, it's about..." She began, but Puck didn't let her finish.
"I don't wanna talk about that." He scowled, dropping the pencil and pushing up from the table, ignoring his little sister's wide-eyed expression. He suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here.
"But, Noah, he called and he just wants to..." she tried again, but once again, he cut her off.
"I don't care." He stalked out of the kitchen to the foyer, ignoring his mom as she followed behind.
"Noah, we have to talk about this eventually." She said earnestly, wringing the dishcloth in her hands.
"No, we don't." He stated, trying to control his temper. He grabbed his jacket out of the closet and pulled it on, rather more forcefully than necessary.
"Noah, where are you going?" she asked worriedly and normally it'd be enough to make him stop and pause, but he really needed to not talk about this right now. He needed out of there.
"Out." He answered coldly, before storming out the front door to his truck, and ignoring his mother's anxious calls from the front porch.
Puck drove around for a little while before pulling over, his hand gripping the steering wheel. He desperately needed to get his mind off things.
Pulling out his phone, Puck scrolled to Finn's number and pressed 'call'.
"Hey dude, what's up?" Finn's friendly voice filtered through the ear piece.
"Hey man," Puck answered, knowing exactly how to take his mind off all the shit at home. "Is Kurt there?"
"Yeah, why?" Puck could hear the confusion in Finn's voice.
"Nothing. Just needed to ask him something." Puck replied. "Can you put him on?"
"Yeah... hold on a sec."
Puck rolled his eyes as he listened to Finn fumble around his house.
"Hello?" Kurt's haughty voice sounded in Puck's ear.
"Hey, Hummel. I wanted to ask you a question..."
Yeah, this was him 'making an effort'.
.-.
Rachel sat on the floor, her legs spread wide in front of her as she stretched. Her friend and dance instructor, Mike Chang, stood above her, idly chatting about the plan for today's jazz ballet class. Standing up, Mike automatically held out his hand for support and Rachel swung her leg up behind her, stretching towards the ceiling.
"I thought, uh, today we could try something a little different." The quiet Asian said timidly as Rachel switched legs. "I've been messing around with a combination of pop'n'lock moves that are kind of cool."
Rachel tried her best to give him an encouraging smile. "That sounds... interesting." She replied, though she didn't really like the sound of that. Sure, Mike was a genius when it came to choreography, but to her, pop'n'lock mixed with jazz ballet seemed like a recipe for disaster.
They were both busy discussing possible dance moves when Puck, unnoticed by ether of them, strolled up.
"Hey man," he greeted a very surprised Mike, clasping his hand in a manly-handshake. "How's it hanging?"
Both Rachel and Mike stared at him, stunned.
"H-hey, man." Mike eventually replied, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Not bad. You?"
"Yeah, not bad. Not bad." Puck repeated, his gaze shifting freely between Mike and the still gaping Rachel. "Look, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Rachel watched shrewdly as Puck led Mike away from her to talk quietly amongst themselves. Mike looked at Puck dubiously, like whatever Puck had to say was making him uneasy. Rachel knew the pair were friends, having played on the championship football team together, but from Mike's reluctant nodding and noticeable sighs, Rachel felt a similar feeling of uneasiness come over her. This couldn't be a mere coincidence. It was all very strange. Puck, whom she hasn't actually spoken to once in her four years of high school, had tried to talk to her at least twice today. First school, now here. Puck was following her. Why? She didn't know, but it was the only plausible explanation.
Her sixth-sense about these things made her feel weird, almost off balance. Rachel had always believed that she was a little psychic at times. And right now she couldn't quite make out what her instincts were trying to tell her. She had her normal strong feelings of foreboding, but the sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach was more than understandable. During the four years Puck had spent not talking to her, he and his cronies had spent it throwing slushies in her face, terrorizing her friends and spreading hateful rumours about her.
But that's not what made her pause. There was also something else there. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on, and being the highly intuitive young woman that she was, she never liked to discount her woman's intuition.
This only served to put Rachel more on edge.
Finally, the pair broke apart, Mike shaking his head and she heard him mutter softly, "I don't really think this is a good idea, but whatever..."
Rachel's shoulders relaxed expecting to see Puck turn to leave, but then as Mike made his way to the front of the class, Puck came over and stood beside her.
"'Sup?" he asked her casually as he stood there, his arms hanging by his side in what Rachel deemed to be an oafish manner.
"What are you doing here?" Rachel hissed at him, clearly annoyed.
"Dancing." He stated unfazed, focusing his gaze on Mike as he started addressing the class.
Rachel fell silent as she tried to focus her attention on Mike, but her eyes kept flitting anxiously back to Puck. He honestly didn't expect her to partner him, did he? She asked herself, her mind running through a hundred possible scenarios where this was some ploy to humiliate her.
She felt a momentary wave of relief when she noticed Jesse enter the dance studio, his eyes glancing around, looking for her. He was late today, but she could easily forgive him that for saving her from whatever torture Puck had in mind.
However, to Rachel's dismay, when Jesse finally saw her standing next to Puck, her silent pleas were met with nothing more than a confused look. She tried with all the psychic energy she could muster to signal him, but, for what seemed like the first time ever, Jesse didn't understand her. Instead he half-shrugged his shoulders at her, and went to stand next to Brittany, the only girl standing by herself.
Now, Rachel had a very high respect for Brittany, at least talent-wise. She was an excellent dancer. Except, she tended to get distracted very (very) easily, and when she didn't know the next steps, she just made them up. This often resulted in both hit and miss situations. Like the time she and Mike won an award for most original choreography at the Lima, Ohio Amateur Dance (or L.O.A.D.) competitions; or the time Mike ended up in a cast for six weeks when Brittany accidentally caused him to trip over her and spin haphazardly around the dance floor. See? Hit and miss.
Rachel huffed in annoyance at the lack of communication between her and her best friend. He should know that she needed saving right now. Puck's presence alone should have been enough of a reason.
She tapped her foot impatiently as Mike explained to the class what new moves they were working on today. As the dancers paired off and began working through the steps, Mike walked over to her and whispered in her ear, "Just go with it," before turning to the rest of the class to observe their progress.
Rachel crossed her arms over her chest, and studied Puck. There was no possible way she was dancing with him. She turned back to Mike to protest, but he had already moved on to the other end of the studio. At a suspiciously fast rate if you ask her.
Rachel let out an exasperated sigh and decided to 'just go with it'. Though, she was ready to protest (loudly) at the first sign of mischief. Her frustration only doubled when she glanced back at Puck, who was watching her with a determined expression and holding out his hand towards her. She stared at his proffered hand, taking in his tattered jeans and baggy shirt, and scoffed again loudly. He wasn't even dressed properly.
It was disaster right from the start. Puck tried dismally to perform the strange pop'n'lock Mike had demonstrated, his legs bending awkwardly and his arms waving about. And it only got worse from there. Finally, when Puck had failed to properly perform a standard spin, his flailing arms swinging around and almost hitting her in the face, Rachel had had enough.
She placed her hand squarely on his chest and began forcefully backing him out of the room.
"Are you trying to kill me? Or just break my nose?" she asked scathingly, her annoyance with him back at full steam.
"Geez, overreacting much." Puck replied, a little disgruntled. He obviously thought he was doing a swell job.
"What do you want?" she asked, deciding to get straight to the point, and hopefully get whatever torture this was over with.
"What makes you think I want anything?" he retorted defensively.
"Puckerman, please." She scoffed again and held up a hand, signalling her intolerance. "My patience is wearing thin."
Suddenly, Puck looked very nervous. Panicked even. "Err... well... I wanted to talk to you... about..." he answered disjointedly. "... joining... glee club!" It was apparent to her, that he had just made that up.
Rachel's eyes narrowed and she stated matter-of-factly, "You hate glee club."
"Says who?" Puck shot back.
Rachel rolled her eyes disbelievingly. "You and your friends joined the heckling club with the sole purpose of learning how to further embarrass us at our most recent performance."
"Yeah, well, you know." Puck shrugged. "I have a rep to maintain and all." He looked up and finally met her eyes. "I actually, you know, like singing and shit."
"Singing and shit?" Rachel asked incredulously, but Puck just shrugged his shoulders again. Her eyes narrowed. "You probably don't even know how to sing."
Rachel was surprised to see Puck's back straighten at her words, and he looked at her defensively. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "I got mad skills. I can even play guitar."
A little taken aback by his forceful indignation, Rachel appraised him once more. The rational part of her mind was telling her that this was absolutely ridiculous. There was no way Noah Puckerman, of all people, was actually asking her for advice on how to join glee club.
But the other part? The curious and intrigued part found her saying, "Oh yeah?" in a challenging tone, eyebrow raised disbelievingly. She expected him to burst out laughing, to tell her this was all just some elaborate joke.
But instead, Puck stood his ground and he replied in the same defiant tone, "Yeah."
Rachel scoffed again, but she was stubborn and never one to back down from a challenge. "Okay. Then prove it." She bit out. "Audition tomorrow after school. 3:30pm. Don't be late."
Still fuming Rachel turned on her heel and re-entered the dance studio, not bothering to wait for his response. She stood around for a moment, observing the rest of the class, until Mike walked up to her sheepishly and offered to dance with her. She ignored the apologetic smile he was giving her as she accepted. While she much preferred to dance with Mike, she was still annoyed and unsure what all this was about. She knew that if she opened her mouth to speak, a litany of criticism and anger might (would) come spewing out.
Her disgruntled mood lasted until the end of class, when Jesse came over to talk to her. She was still a little annoyed at him for abandoning her in her time of need.
"Hey," he greeted with the usual grin, and took a sip from his drink bottle.
"Hi." She replied tersely.
"What was all the commotion with Puckerman earlier?" He asked, clearly intrigued.
Rachel glanced up at him, a small part of her thinking (hoping) he was jealous of the other man's attentions (however unwanted they might be).
"I don't know. It was very strange. He said he wanted advice to join glee club, which I think is absolutely absurd..." Rachel began her already prepared rant, but Jesse wasn't really paying attention. Instead he was looking over her shoulder at something.
Rachel turned her head to take a look, but all she saw was Mike and Brittany going over some of the new choreography again.
"Jesse?" she asked hesitantly.
"Huh? Yeah... absurd." Jesse replied absentmindedly. It took another moment before he seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he was in. He looked down and smiled at her, swinging his arm casually around her shoulder as he steered out of the building. "Well, what did you tell the imbecile?"
.-.
Puck drove around aimlessly for a while after leaving the dance studio. It had been a somewhat productive afternoon. On the one hand, he had finally made some progress on the Rachel front, at the expense of his dignity, he might add. But on the other hand, it looked like he was going to have join the fucking glee club to get his plan to work. Small price to pay, really. His rep was so badass, that he could take the hit from entering loserdom. Probably even boost the losers' rep a little. Now all he had to do was find some kick ass audition song to sing tomorrow, and it'd be smooth sailing from there.
He was just about to pull into his driveway, when he noticed a rusty old mustang parked in his usual place. Puck's grip on the steering wheel tightened and swore under his breath. What the fuck? All the anger and frustration from this afternoon came flooding back to him.
Instead of heading inside, Puck reversed out, loudly revved his engine and drove away, deciding to head to Finn's house instead. The Hudson/Hummel clan were always welcoming, and maybe Finn and he could go through some audition shit. And maybe after, play a couple rounds of Call of Duty. Anything to avoid being home right now. Anything at all.