Chapter 1: New Year, New Faces

Okay. You can do this, Rachel Berry. You're a star. Just breathe. You're smart, you're sexy, and you're talented. Nothing is going to get in your way. Nothing.

16-year-old Rachel Berry took a deep breath as she pushed open the doors to McKinley High School. She knew that transferring to Lima, Ohio––probably one of the least exciting places to live in the United States––wouldn't be an easy feat. But she decided that this was only a minor setback for her career. She could deal with a year or two of simple community theater. Who knew? Maybe living in a pathetic excuse of a town in Suburbia would give her some inspiration and experience to draw back on for future roles.

Smiling brightly, she clutched her books to her chest, nodding politely at the students passing by her. People stared, and a few pointed and whispered and giggled, but that wasn't a problem. Any attention is better than none.

Rachel finally found her locker and proceeded to carefully organize her books and binders in it. She clucked her tongue slightly, knowing that she'd need to bring lots of supplies from home the next day in order to give her new storage space some flair. A boring locker would simply not do.

Deciding that for now all she could do was keep her locker clean, Rachel carefully slid her geography book in between her science binder and the copy of Barbra Streisand's biography that she always had with her for luck. Barbra was her icon. No, even that word wasn't strong enough: Barbra was simply her. It wasn't just the looks that they had in common: it was the talent, the attitude, the star-quality, a phrase that Rachel's fathers used all too often, especially when talking about her. Nodding decisively, Rachel closed her locker, all set to go to English class.

"Nice sweater, dwarf. I think Mrs. Clause wants it back though." Rachel frowned, turning around to see five girls, clad in red-and-white cheerleading uniforms, laughing at her. Rachel peered at her sweater. It was one of her favorites––a dark green sweater with two white reindeers leaping across it. Granted, it wasn't very season-appropriate, but it could still pass.

Rachel huffed, deciding not to give the girls the satisfaction of lashing out at them. She simply did what she always did when someone tried to put her down: she put her chin up, ignored the laughter and snide comments, and walked straight on to class.

17-year-old Quinn Fabray tugged nervously at her Cheerios uniform. It was 3:55. Only five more minutes.

While Quinn didn't adore cheerleading, it certainly comforted her. It gave her a sense of belonging, that she was a part of something. Even better, a part of something that made her popular. She glanced at Brittany and Santana, her best friends, who were sitting to her right. They were in the middle of a back-to-school, "test on what you remember from last year" Spanish test, and Santana was giving Brittany her answers to copy off of. Quinn rolled her eyes. Could they be any more obvious?

Quinn sighed and tried to finish her own test. She only had one question left. It was an easy one, but for some reason she just couldn't concentrate.

"Eyes on your own paper, Brittany," called out Mr. Schuester, the Spanish teacher. Brittany immediately scooted away from Santana, looking remorseful.

"I can't help it. I didn't know we had a test today."

"That's because we weren't supposed to know," hissed Quinn, exasperated. She just wanted to finish the damn test and go to Cheerios practice.

Before she could write down her final answer, the bell rang. Oh well. At least she got most of the other questions right. She'd probably get a 90.

Tossing her test in the basket on Mr. Schuester's desk, Quinn walked out of the classroom. Why was she so distracted today? This was no way to start off her junior year of high school.

"Hey, Quinn, wait up," called Santana. Quinn stopped and waited for her and Brittany to catch up with her.

"Ugh, I hate it when teachers give tests on the first day back. It's like they want to fail us," groaned Santana.

"What are you complaining about? You're hispanic, you speak Spanish at home," retorted Quinn.

"Okay, I'm going to ignore that vaguely biased and slightly racist comment––" Quinn shot her a confused look "––because I know that you're still fresh off of your pregnancy hormones from last year."

Quinn stopped dead in her tracks and whirled around in a flash to face Santana.

"I thought that we were never going to mention what happened last year. Ever." Quinn's voice was menacing and dangerous.

"What? It's not my fault you––"

"Don't," warned Quinn, her eyes flashing. Santana raised her eyebrows, shooting her hands up, as if to say "don't get offended".

"Sorry. I didn't know you were still sensitive about it."

"How could I not still be sensitive about it?" asked Quinn, her voice strained. "Look. It doesn't matter, because we are never going to bring it up again. Understand?"

"Alright, chica. Don't get your perfect panties in a bunch," replied Santana. Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Jeez, what is up with you today?" asked Santana.

"Nothing." Quinn stopped in front of her locker, opening it. "I just want to go to Cheerios practice and go home."

"Fine. I'll see you at practice." Santana and Brittany walked away towards the gym.

Quinn shook her head as she grabbed her books from her locker for her homework. It was just cruel to give homework to students on the first day.

Rachel stood in front of the signup sheet billboard, analyzing each and every signup sheet posted. Ordinarily, she would've signed up for every club, but something about starting a new school year in a new school made her a little pickier than she usually was about extracurriculars.

There was the Jewish Student Union––Rachel would definitely be signing up for that one to honor her roots. Going through her bookbag, she carefully pulled out a fresh sheet of gold star stickers. She carefully signed her name on the line, then placed a gold star next to it. The gold star was a metaphor for Rachel becoming a star. Metaphors were very important.

Rachel proceeded to sign up for the Debate Club, the School Newspaper, the Gay-Straight Alliance (for her dads), the Young Democrats club, the Chess Club, the Spanish Club, the English Literature Club, and...

One sign-up sheet caught Rachel's eye. New Directions! Glee Club: Sign Up Sheet.

"A glee club?" Rachel asked aloud to herself, prompting giggles from a few students to her left. Rachel ignored them. For some reason, everybody was laughing at her today no matter what she did.

Rachel knew that she couldn't miss out on an opportunity to sing and get the lead. She hadn't been in a choir since she was little, when she pretended to be Catholic to be a part of the local church's choir. Of course, when they found out that she was Jewish, they promptly kicked her out, but it was nice to be able to get up there and sing her heart out, even about things that she didn't necessarily agree with. And it was nice to be the star, even of just a mere all-girls church choir.

Rachel smiled as she signed her name on the signup sheet for the glee club, but frowned when she saw that other people had signed up, too. Granted, not many, but still, more than one or two. Rachel usually liked working alone and guaranteeing that she would be in the spotlight, but she shrugged, knowing that she'd probably beat them out for the role of soloist. She wanted to put two gold stars next to her name, but decided against it; she didn't want to run out of stickers before the end of her first month back at school.

As she was turning around to leave, she accidentally bumped into someone. Reflexively closing her eyes and stumbling blindly backwards, Rachel's back hit the signup sheet, sending a few sheets of paper tumbling down. A few members of the football team jeered and clapped.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" growled the girl Rachel had bumped into. Rachel slowly opened her eyes to see a blonde girl in a red-and-white Cheerios uniform (as Rachel had learned they were called) sprawled on the floor, rubbing the side of her head.

"Oh! I––I'm so sorry. Are you hurt?" asked Rachel, extending a hand to help the blonde up.

"No." The blonde grabbed her hand to help herself up, but ended up dragging Rachel down with her. With a small scream, she toppled on top of the Cheerio, causing more laughter from the small crowd of students who'd progressively gathered nearby.

"Oh. My God." The blonde covered her face with her hands, embarrassed. Rachel, even more embarrassed than the cheerleader, immediately scrambled to her feet, her face turning bright red.

"Sorry again," she said in a small voice. The blonde girl groaned and helped herself up, rubbing her back and her head.

"Are you okay?" asked Rachel tentatively.

"Fine," said the blonde dryly, brushing herself off and looking Rachel sharply in the eyes. "Some people just need to watch where they're going."

"I suppose you're referring to me and not you," said Rachel quietly, looking down, not daring to look her in the eyes.

"What are you all looking?" retorted Quinn loudly to the group of clustered students who were still staring at them. She waved her hand at them. "Get out of here! Go!"

Rachel took in the blonde girl's figure. She was beautifully slim, the way a cheerleader was supposed to be. Then again, she probably starved herself, a path Rachel had vowed to never go down, though she had been tempted to many times. Her blonde hair was in a high ponytail and curled perfectly––too perfectly. Rachel suspected a curling iron had done the job. The blonde turned back to Rachel, her hazel eyes staring straight into Rachel's brown ones, and Rachel felt herself become self-conscious and hot all over. What is wrong with me? Rachel never felt self-conscious, but something about the way the blonde was looking at her made her feel like she was staring straight into her soul.

"I..." stammered Rachel, then cleared her throat in an attempt to calm herself down and extended her hand. "I'm very sorry that I knocked into you. I should've looked where I was going."

The blonde pushed Rachel's hand away and scowled. "Whatever," she grimaced, moving on down the hallway. Rachel couldn't help but look at the way her hips moved as she made her way down the hallway. She suddenly shook her head, putting a hand to her forehead. Was she feverish? She surely was. It would explain the strangeness she felt when she bumped into the blonde. Or maybe it was the beginnings of brain damage, or maybe her back hitting the wall had injured her nervous system in some way. Whatever it was, Rachel didn't want to acknowledge it right now. Exiting the school, she tried to grasp the feeling of excitement she'd felt as she was signing up for glee club, but her head was swimming with images of the blonde girl. Rachel had been attracted to girls before; that was no secret to her or her dads. And her dads, being gay, had no problem with it. But Rachel had never felt something so impromptu, so sudden as what she'd felt when she bumped into that cheerleader.

Stop it, Rachel, she told herself. Just calm down. You're fine. You're absolutely fine. Remember what you told yourself this morning: nothing is going to get in your way this year. Nothing.