The plaid sweater .
The red beret .
And that award winning smile .
She strode down William McKinley halls perfectly poised, and not a single speck of humiliation dared dwell upon her . And yet they still mock her . Some more than others , but respect still in all of their eyes . Respect for how she surpasses them harassing her . And somehow takes in all of the crap she gets, and turns those rags into riches .
The girl known as Rachel Berry is a con artist . She has an anal personality, which is theatrically large enough to hide her second ego . Which is exactly what she needs to convey .
The raspy whispers .
The drunken bastards and loud, blaring music .
The occasional moans from behind rusted trash cans .
Rachel stared into the empty, soulless eyes of the young man who stood before her . The soulless eyes that distracted you from the jagged scars on his wrist . The soulless eyes filled with nothing but pure addiction . They both knew what she wanted and came for . And she would do anything to get it .
The desperate pleading .
The shaky hands .
The instant feeling of relief as soon as she inhales the thin white powder .
The cocaine engulfed her entire system, and she wiped the random falling strands of hair from her face . Sweat beaded on her forehead as she coughed her lungs out, adjusting to the sudden buzz . She dropped to her knees and shuddered from sudden chilled wind that ran down her spine .
"Kid , you want another shot ? It'll cost you though," the man called to her . She shook her head no, but she craved more . As much as she wanted, she knew better . She was smart .
Rachel Berry has a secret . But you'd never guess it .
You can't see past her ridiculous get-up .