It is Beth's first day of school. Puck is flipping the fuck out.
"Puck," Quinn says through grit teeth when she sees him reaching for the phone yet again, "I swear to God Almighty, if you call that school one more time I will drag you into the backyard by your godforsaken mohawk and tie you to the tree like a freaking dog."
Puck pouts. "I'm worried. What if the other kids make fun of her? What if they think her dress is ugly, or that her hair is too curly, or that her laugh is stupid?" He runs a hand back-and-forth over his godforsaken mohawk frantically. "What if they don't let her play with their building blocks? She'll be so left out. She'll be forced to live the life of a rebel. Shave her adorable little head of hair into a mohawk, become obsessed with sexy, but questionable role models, she'll start cleaning pools for a living!"
"It's kindergarten, Puck. Kindergarten. And anyways, just because your first day of school was awful, doesn't mean hers will be."
Puck whimpers at the mention of his first experience with that abomination of a social standard called school. "I should call."
Quinn swats his hand away. "If Shelby is playing it cool, we have to play it cool." She grabs the phone.
"Are you calling the school?" Puck asks, confused by her mood swings but also relieved.
"No." She rolls her eyes. "I'm calling Santana. If anyone can get you to stop acting like a sniveling mess of lame, it's her. Besides, I have work in an hour and somebody has to make sure you don't get your grubby little hands on the phone."
Puck huffs and leans on the counter he has kept a vigilant station by. He watches Quinn dial Santana on the other side of the counter. "What if she's crying? Shelby said she was upset when she dropped her off."
"She isn't crying. Hey, Santana? Yeah, Puck needs a babysitter. You available?"
An hour later, Santana is knocking on their door as Quinn is about to leave through it.
"Perfect timing." Quinn compliments.
"As always." Santana nods. "Where is Captain Jew-hawk?"
"Sitting by the phone like a lost little kid."
Santana goes back to find him. True to Quinn's word, he is staring longingly at the phone. His hand twitches towards it every few seconds, but he manages to pull it back each time.
GLEE
"God damn it!" Puck swears, throwing his controller down. "Aren't you supposed to be cheering me up?"
"No, I'm supposed to be keeping your mind off of a certain little blonde lady. Kicking your ass in Modern Warfare is the best way to do it. I never said anything about making you happy about this." She glances at him. "Now pick up your remote again so I can whip your sorry little Jew-hawk up and down the stats list like a Commando Barbie Slave Driver."
Puck cringes at that mental image. "Barbie is blonde." He says meekly as he picks up his remote. "… just like Beth. That beautiful little girl!" He fights back a sob. "Growing up so fast! Going to school already! Soon she'll forget all about her badass dad. She won't care about him anymore. She won't care about anything anymore, not her studley Dapuck, not Momma Coo, not her Mommy or her Tia Tana or Buggy Britt or Buggy Kurt or…"
"Puck, shut the fuck up and play this damn game."
"… and then she'll go off in the world and be so damn successful and she won't remember her daddy, this is all the time I'll get with her and she's spending it at school so it's gotta be good, has to be great, and if it isn't then her daddy has to make sure to fix it and…"
Santana swallows. "Puck, stop it."
"… what if they pick on her? That would kill me! Us! Everyone! A sad Beth is a bad Beth! She is a little angel, she deserves to be treated like it, but what if the other kids don't realize that? What if she gets mud on her dress? She would feel so awful because Kurt worked so hard on it and she might try to hide so that nobody notices and then she'll get lost in the school and she'll be alone and scared and sad and…"
Santana can see it happening clearly in her mind. She sees the tears running down Beth's cute little baby cheeks, her soft curls disheveled, her lips puckered in a pout. Mud is splattered on her dress and shoes, a little bit has even gotten on her face. She looks embarrassed, ashamed. She cowers under a desk and cries, apologizing to Buggy Kurt. She stays there until it is dark, and it just gets worse because poor little Beth is scared of the dark. All she needs is a hug, but nobody knows where she is.
It takes Puck a good few minutes to come out of his meltdown before he notices that Santana has snatched up the phone and is currently dialing the school's number. She is pacing, angry, frustrated, frantic. The person on the other line doesn't pick up soon enough.
"Hello, this is Santana Lopez, I'm calling about Beth Corcoran. No, I'm her aunt. Yes, I just wanted to check up on her." Santana worries her lower lip between her teeth as she waits for the other line to respond. Her lips thin into a straight line and she nods several times. "So she's… fine? No mud on her dress? She isn't hiding?" She waits a little bit longer. "Yes. Okay. Of course. Thank you." She hangs up, tosses the phone aside. She and Puck share a look.
It is silent for several moments.
Then, "Quinn does not hear of this."
Puck nods his frantic agreement.
"Brittany either. Neither of them learn about this. In fact, nobody. Nobody knows. You don't even know. I don't even know. What were we talking about? You don't remember, right? Because I don't."
Another nod.
"Santana Lopez is a hard ass. Say it with me. Santana Lopez is a hard ass."
He says it with her.
"Good. Now let me kick your ass in Modern Warfare."
(They play for the rest of the day. They do not have any more breaks in confidence and they certainly do not call the school seven times throughout the next six hours. Though Shelby is pretty confused when she goes to pick up Beth and the teacher tells her to notify Beth's aunt that it is perfectly fine to be nervous for a child's first day of school, but calling every hour is a bit unnecessary.)
Puck and Santana deny any and all allegations that they were the ones obsessively checking on Beth. What phone calls? The receptionist at that school must be smoking something.