One year. That's all you have to suffer through. And suffer you would. Being the new kid is always shitty, but especially so when you're a high school senior. From what you've already seen of your new hell, Barden High - the spirit posters and club ads – it will take every ounce of your willpower to make it through this final year. This place makes that school from High School Musical look like a campus full of withdrawn, angry hotshots.

Colours are freaking everywhere and the cheerleaders you saw earlier actually looked happy as they ran around the track, tossing their arms in the air every so often, imaginary pompoms flailing, you imagine. And don't even get yourself started on the catastrophe of mirth you encountered as you walked up to the school's main door. You'd been a little early because as the new girl you don't have any idea where you're going and need to find the office, but you hadn't been prepared for, well, that.

People. Singing. Everywhere. That comparison to High School Musical wasn't a freaking joke. Students here are weird, man, singing a cappella. In groups. On purpose. You're so not meant to be here. Yes, it's supposed to be like the best art school in the state, but a cappella is too far. Just give yourself a nice little study cubicle where you can set up your laptop and portable mixing board and leave you alone with your headphones.

Eventually you find the office, of course, and the man behind the counter is fatherly and helpful. As much as you like him, you hate him, too. He's everything your father wasn't. But, you reason, that doesn't matter anymore. You get your locker number and code and a whole sheaf of paperwork that you'll toss in your bag, if the school's lucky. More likely though, the pages will find themselves in a recycling bin before the end of the hour.

It's during that classic fight with your locker (in the bottom half of the row, no less) that a shadow gets cast before you and you can feel someone's presence behind you.

"Can I help you with that?" The voice is instantly mesmerizing, female, and intoxicating. "They're such a pain and you must be new here."

You turn, a snarky comment at the ready on your tongue, but when your eyes meet the cool piercing blue of the redhead in front of you, what comes out is a breathy, "Marry me," instead. You flush, too fast and too violently, but before you can apologize and take the words back, that voice is ringing out in delicious peals of laughter, and her lips are parted in a friendly smile.

"At least take me to dinner first," the stranger flirts, giving you the once over and then, finally, a wink. "I'm Chloe," she introduces herself and sticks out her hand.

"Beca," is your response and you reach out to take the shake. Quicker than you can follow, the offered hand pulls you into a tight hug and that delicious voice whispers in your ear.

"I think we're going to be fast friends."