Artie Needs Game

The Power of Pucksaurus

Artie knew he needed to step up his game. Big time.

He and Tina were fundamentally past the whole fake stutter fiasco. If Artie was being honest with himself, he couldn't really remember why he was so pissed off in the first place. Yes, she shouldn't have lied because, dammit, it stung. And if he was being fair then he probably shouldn't have wheeled away without letting her explain either, or told her that he thought they only had their disabilities in common. That only led to trouble. In the form of a really blotchy, angry Tina, rounding on him outside the auditorium after Glee rehearsal two days after he'd left her crying in the hall, yelling that if he didn't understand that their friendship was based on more than her fake-stutter and his wheelchair, well then maybe they shouldn't be friends.

After she'd calmed down and apologized first for lying to him and second for yelling at him, he said he was sorry too. They had smiled at each other, shaken hands, hugged and arrived at a truce of sorts. They would work on being friends. They would shelve any talk or hint of more-than-friendship, and just work on repairing the dents in what they had.

That was all good and well, except…well, except somewhere along the way to a fully-restored friendship, Artie had stopped being the wounded soul and returned to being a full-fledged adolescent boy. One whose mouth went dry every time Tina spoke to him. One whose cheeks flushed every time Tina smiled at him. And forget it if she ever touched him – he just about lost his mind the other day when she draped her arm across his shoulders.

Thing is, he couldn't count on Tina to make the first move. She knew that she had fucked up royally by lying, and so she was determined to take things slow. He knew this because he'd winked at her the other day in an attempt to flirt with her, and although she had blushed a bright furious red, she hadn't flirted back. In fact, she'd told him jokingly to stop embarrassing himself.

He'd have to be more…obvious…if he was going to get her to react the way he wanted her to. Which was to jump in his lap and kiss him silly.

The problem was, the last time Artie had tried to be forward with Tina, he'd informed her point-blank that his penis was still in full working condition. Not exactly what he was going for this time around. No, he was going to be smooth this time. He was going to sweep Tina off her feet with his Casanova-style moves.

Artie was good at Math and Chemistry. Artie was great at video games. Artie was a good singer, and more than good on the guitar. But Artie was no good at getting girls. He'd need some help with this one, and he knew just who to ask.

"What the hell are you doing lurking around my locker, Wheels?" Puck slammed his locker shut and looked furtively down at the boy sitting calmly in a wheelchair, hands folded across his lap. "If anyone sees you here, I'm going to have to throw something at you so they don't actually think I'm letting you talk to me."

"Fine. Toss some candy in my face if a jock rounds the corner." Artie said, shrugging nonchalantly. "Just nothing that's going to hurt."

"Make it quick, dude, then you won't have to get anything hurled in your face. I just tormented some freshman chick into giving me this bag of Sour Patch Kids. I don't really want to waste them on you."

"I need your help. Far be it for me to actually understand it, but you're the resident playboy of McKinley High. And I need some game." Artie said, matter-of-factly.

Puck snorted. "Oh? So of course you came to the source of suave – the Pucksaurus. Lemme guess -you want to get with that punk-goth Asian chick from Glee. I've been watching you make googly-eyes at her for weeks. I'll give you this, your taste isn't half bad, Abrams." He smirked. "I bet she'd be into some pretty freaky shit, too. What makes you think I'm going to help you?"

Artie rolled his eyes and tried fervently not to think about whether or not Tina would, in fact, be into anything naughty.

"Tina. Her name is Tina. And yes, I do want to…ahem-'get with her.'" Artie paused. "And I know you're going to help me, because ever since you came over to my house so I could tutor you in Math because Coach Tanaka threatened to kick you off the football team if you didn't bring up your grades and we ended up playing Super Smash Bros. Brawl on my Wii, I think you think I'm an OK dude."

"Shh! Not so damn loud, Abrams. If anyone finds out I hung out at your place, my rep is going down the drain, dude." Puck glanced around to see if anyone was even remotely cool was coming down the hall.

"Well, hurry up, tell me what to do and I'll get out of here." Artie retorted.

"Dude. It's easy to get into a chick's pants. Trust the Puckzilla. Girls dig a man's man. A bad boy. They want to be told what to do; they want to be told they're not good enough for you. They fall over themselves trying to be what they think you want them to be, just so you'll toss them a glance."

"Are you sure?" Artie ventured. "That doesn't sound…right."

"I'm the man. You came to me for advice. So take it or leave it, Abrams. But I got Quinn by telling her she looked fat in her little cheerleading skirt and telling her I couldn't be with anyone who was too much of a goody-two-shoes to drink that wine cooler."

Puck slung his backpack over his shoulder, shoved Artie lightly on the shoulder just in case anyone was looking, and headed down the hall.

Well. I suppose no one can say Puck didn't get with Quinn, Artie mused.

Puck's plan it was then.