Summary: Am I stupid? Never before have I wanted an honest answer so much. Never before have I felt so sure that I would get one. As I look into her eyes I know that her next words will either break me apart or send my whole world upside down.
Rating: T (for right now)
Author's Note: I got encouraged to translate my original german story. Here it is! I'm still a little nervous about it, but with the great help of a native english girl, I will give it a try. I will continue to write the story in german first and will always update the english version a little bit later. Fortunately, there are already a bunch of finished german chapters. We will see how everything works out.

Disclaimer: Glee - sadly I own nothing.

Hope you like it!

(1) Welcome to the madhouse

I'm sitting on the passenger side with my head pressed against the window. Exactly where we're driving to? I don't know. The glass is amazingly cool; it feels like I'm pressing a cold bottle of soda, beer or something similar against my forehead. Everything else feels uncomfortably hot.

Luckily I changed my clothes again before leaving the house. I had actually wanted to put on the scarf that I bought last week. It makes me a little sad to think that I can't wear it, because it looks incredibly good on me and I'll probably have many more weeks to wait.

Earlier, when I marched out of the house, fully dressed, I nearly fainted. Its summer and I really should've taken note of the quiet hum of the air conditioning in the house; only because of it had my room seemingly felt like a pleasant autumn day for wearing a jacket, scarf and boots. Besides, according to my mother it was about 30 degrees in the shade yesterday and I suppose it's highly unlikely for something like that to change overnight...but then shouldn't the glass too be really warm if everything else is so hot?

I straighten up in my seat and start to inspect the transparent material. A quiet "Hm..." escapes my lips as I press my sweaty fingertips against the glass. At some point someone probably explained to me why it feels the way it does but I can no longer remember. What is glass even made of anyway and why is it transparent? Aside from the fact that people would end up driving into trees if it weren't...

It's one of those moments in which it's as though I can feel a jab to my heart; one of those all too frequent moments in which I think about whether everything is fine with my mind, with me. I don't know if I would describe myself as stupid, as I have often heard at school. It always hurts to hear that word because it's not true – at least I hope it's not. I'm smart enough anyway to know that I'm different. With this thought, I sigh and let my head fall back against the window.

"Is everything all right, honey?" It seems that the sound from my mouth was louder than I thought, loud enough to draw my mother's attention to me. I don't need to turn my head to know that every now and then she turns her eyes off the road and looks over at me.

"Everything's fine. I'm counting trees and just got confused. I don't know how many I've already seen and have to start all over again" is my simple answer. There really was no point in worrying her about my latest bout of self-doubt.

It's not like I haven't spoken to her about it before. I've asked her more than once if I'm stupid. For instance, on days when I was teased and came home from school crying. Or the days when I once again brought an 'F' on an exam home with me. She would look at me every single time, with this gentle look on her face and insist that I was definitely not stupid. She said that I was special and simply not created for this 'study and exam' pressure.

A hand finds its way to my knee and presses encouragingly: "Are you sure? You've been acting strange for days now. All serious and thoughtful."

I look down at her hand and notice how the corners of my lips twitch slightly upwards; this contact has never failed to cheer me up a little. "I'm just nervous. I like new people, but I never know if they like me too."

Half a year after graduating high school and all I've done is just sit around at home. Besides going out with friends or visits to the dance studio, I've done nothing. I was just glad that I had actually managed, somehow, to graduate. Which wasn't easy considering learning really isn't one of my strengths.

"It's time that you got out of the house more and start something with your life, Brittany." In this moment I realize the car isn't moving anymore. It appears that I was too distracted to even notice we had stopped moving.

My mother puts the car into the parking position and pulls the hand brake. After taking off her seat belt she turns to me: "You shouldn't be nervous. You're such a bright and cheerful person, they'll love you."

My gaze wanders over the illuminated neon sign above the entrance of the building. Does it make any sense to light up a sign in broad daylight? The radiation can hardly be seen through the bright sunlight. I have to smile a little. The whole building looks like a totally derelict warehouse from the outside. I never imagined it to look like that but the charm enchants me.

My fingers find the closure of the seat belt and open it: "The youth center is called 'Glee Club'? Like that school choir thing? "

"Well they try to give the lives of young people a new perspective through music and dance so the name seems quite appropriate." My mother replies and opens her door about to exit the car. I grab her arm and hold her back. I need to think carefully about what to say next as I don't want to hurt her feelings. After all, she got me this job.

"I know you want to support me, but I'd like to go inside alone... if that's okay?"

Only for a brief moment she seems a little taken aback, but then she shakes her head and gives me an encouraging smile: "Of course it's okay."

She can't stop herself from bending over to me and placing a short soft kiss on my cheek: "Have a nice first day. Everything will be all right."

A quick "Thank you!" shoots out of me and with a sudden movement I jump out of the car. The first few steps I'm going backwards, beaming to my mother, waving one last time and then I'm facing in the direction of the large steel door. I vaguely notice that the car has started behind me again and was leaving the parking lot.

It's hard to believe that dark, troubled thoughts had plagued me only a few minutes ago. After all, this place and everything is so new and exciting.

When my mother told me about this youth center a few weeks ago and made the suggestion that I could work there a few hours a week, I wasn't so sure if such a job was for me. I'm still not grown up yet and I'm not trying to convince myself that I am, like many of my friends do.

Why does anyone want to be grown up so fast? Some of my friends have tried to explain it to me - Growing up means that they can leave Lima. But that makes no sense at all. Lima isn't that bad. I mean, there are loads of pubs, amusement arcades, a cinema and we even have a gay bar.

I notice my cheeks turn slightly warm as I reflect on the bar. It really was an interesting evening when I stumbled there with some of my friends. Shaking my head, I try to banish these thoughts; I have to concentrate now. I tilt my head back and look at the neon sign above the entrance of the building again. Does it look so run down inside? The large sooty containers stood on each side of the door remind me of homeless people who live under a bridge and sit around a fire at night, telling stories. Do homeless children also come here? I wrinkle my forehead and try to remember what my mother told me about this place.

"The center is operated by an organization that wants to teach children and young people with poor backgrounds or with no future plans. To give them a safe haven where they can learn new things and possibly find out what they want to make out of their lives."

Future plans. I don't have any of those. Maybe I'll find them behind that door too.

I lay my head thoughtfully to one side and suddenly jump, startled as someone behind me clears their throat and begins to speak, clearly angry: "How much longer are you going to just stand there?"

Surprised, I take my arms from behind my back, not even aware that I had even crossed them, and turn around to the voice.

She's smaller than me and petite. If it wasn't for her very dark brown eyes, which sparkle gloomily at me, I would probably have just greeted her cheerfully and apologized for blocking the entrance, but with the way she looks at me, all I can do is open my mouth slightly – all the words remain stuck in my throat.

I don't know why, as from her stature she doesn't look very threatening, but her gaze gives the impression that she could go off on me at any moment: "You're still standing in the way."

I quickly take a step aside. I notice how I'm totally staring at her like I'm mentally challenged, but I can't take my eyes off of her. Mouth still slightly agape, eyes wide open; focused to absorb as much as possible of her.

She is very attractive - dark hair, darker complexion. She must come from some great, distant country. While I can't remember a country where people look like that, I'm convinced she definitely comes from a far away paradise.

But mostly I can't stop staring, because I'm wondering how a person can seem so harmless and wonderful in appearance yet her posture and her eyes are able to express something totally different? It was unsettling – she baffled me.

"You can close your mouth now." she almost hisses and goes without saying another word past me into the building.

Fortunately, my body is frozen in place and I'm not able to follow her directly, even though I think about it. With a loud bang she flings the door shut behind her which I would probably have got right in my face if I could have moved.

I wasn't aware that I was holding my breath until I notice the lack of air supply and start to inhale and exhale again. After another moment, I shrug my shoulders and walk towards the door. "Not every human being is a ray of sunshine..." I hum and have to smile at myself. The girl is probably just having a bad day. I can't imagine that anyone could always have such a negative aura. Besides I shouldn't dwell so on every complete stranger I meet.

What awaited me inside the building, I really hadn't expected. I step into a very large bright room, filled with chairs that look really comfortable, especially the large cushions of the corner sofa. Briefly, I feel the need to run over there directly and throw myself into them. Unfortunately, I'm not here for that. Maybe later... hopefully later.

I let my gaze wander; over the bar and over the large stage at the other end of the room. If the room were empty except for the stage, it would be the perfect concert venue. It probably still is.

Fascinated, I go several steps further; I feel like a kid at Christmas. Everywhere there's something new to discover and I'm wondering how much longer it will take before I can't take in anything more from sheer sensory overload. Also, I wonder why I hadn't heard of this place before; I would have liked to have hung out here after school, with its pool tables and soccer tables - probably because my interest in learning would have disappeared altogether if I had.

From the corner of my eye, I sense movement and turn myself in its direction. A curious pair of eyes are looking at me. Has he stood there the whole time? I smile and lift a hand to greet him: "Hi!" Because of my good mood I nearly bounce towards him.

Wait, what's that on his head? It almost looks like a dead animal. Why would someone breed a dead animal on their head? Should I tell him that it doesn't really look good at all? That probably wouldn't make a good first impression. However, with the way he was looking me up and down it's not like he was making a good impression either.

His gaze wanders over my entire body, his mouth twisted into a grin and finally, he keeps his eyes focused on my breasts. "Hello, you must be Brittany."

I nod in agreement, even though my boobs definitely aren't called Brittany: "Today is my first day here and I have no idea where I need to sign up."

He stretches out his hand and I shake it: "You've found exactly the right person. I'm Puck and would love to play your personal tour guide." He winks at me and keeps hold of my hand more firmly than necessary. I notice how he strokes his thumb just above my wrist; the whole time his eyes not managing to remove themselves from my upper body for very long.

It makes me slightly uncomfortable, and just as I'm thinking about how I can make this clear to him as friendly as possible, someone else does the work for me: "Damn! She also has eyes, Puckerman!"

The same voice from outside. She sounds almost icier than when I heard her last, but this time her mood isn't directed at me; in fact she helped me out of an awkward position with it. I turn my head in her direction and smile slightly. She probably doesn't even notice.

She stands there, a few meters away, with folded arms and looks at Puck, unimpressed, "If you think that a woman feels particularly good when you look at her like a piece of meat, then you've really not the faintest idea."

"Considering how clueless I am, I got you into bed real quickly then, didn't I Lopez." Puck, with the funny hair, shoots back.

This conversation should confuse me, to a certain extent it does, but I simply can't get over his hairstyle."You slept with him? Despite the hair?" I ask louder than intended. The words were in my head and simply had to get out somehow even though I hadn't planned for them to.

When I see his slightly transfixed and taken aback expression, I place a hand over my mouth and mutter a string of indiscernible excuses.

I'm sure he's about to send some sort of counter my way. Or maybe she would. After all, she seems to like him somehow, if she had sex with him. Even though she wasn't exactly friendly to him a few seconds ago...

The laughter makes my head shoot up, fast. She's just standing there, laughing.

Her eyes still appear too hard, but her facial features are more relaxed than before. She looks at me, amused, and makes a prompting head movement to the right: "Come on. I'll take you to the boss."

I follow her immediately. I even try to quicken my pace to be able to walk next to her. Again and again I have to turn my head slightly and try to interpret her expression. She doesn't say a single word and I don't know if I should say something. Actually I'd like to tell her that she is beautiful when she laughs. Perhaps she would do it more often if someone would only tell her. Maybe the laughter would even reach her eyes and get them to shine. If it wouldn't be totally weird to say something like that to a completely stranger, I would probably do it.

"Here we are." She points to a door and then just keeps walking. She goes straight away, and the brief view that I'm able to catch of her face before, reveals that she has returned back into her own dark thundercloud.

Although I don't know her, I'm keen to know what's going on in her head. Something about her fascinates me. Something about her makes me curious and sad at the same time. But just because I don't know her now, that doesn't mean it has to remain that way: "Hey...what's your name anyway?"

I'm convinced that she won't answer. She has almost disappeared around the corner of the small corridor, but then she looks briefly back at me again.

"Santana." is all she says, before disappearing completely from my view.

For a long time I can't stop staring at the now empty spot. My first day at work hasn't even officially started yet and I've already taken something on - I'm going to get to know Santana and I try to make her smile.

x x x

The words coming out of his mouth are definitely English. However, his accent reminds me way too much of the Bollywood films that my little sister loves to watch. She has a strange preference to watch the films in their original language with subtitles - I think it's way too confusing to pay attention to text that flickers at the bottom of the screen while also watching. Besides I don't understand why they need more than 200 minutes to tell a story that's retained no longer than half an hour in my head.

If I wasn't constantly imagining that the small man in front of me could jump on his desk at any moment, swinging his hips to strange music, perhaps I could concentrate on what he is telling me. Subtitles wouldn't be such a bad thing right now.

He introduced himself as Mr. Figgins. Has he really always been called that or was he given that name when he reached America by boat? He can't have been born here, or else he would speak the language better. After all, I have Dutch ancestors and still can't speak Dutch. I know maybe a couple of words, but I probably wouldn't get very far in the Netherlands by cursing...

As far as I was able to follow him amidst my mental digressions, which unfortunately occur way too often, he explained the fundamental procedures: they opened six days a week from 3 p.m. Closed by 10 p.m. The employees start, due to preparations, at 1 p.m. and work in shifts. Sunday was the day of rest. However there are occasionally performances that day in which case funds must be collected.

I squint my eyes and try to remember more things. What's left of the conversation in memory so far isn't that bad, but I think most of the stuff my mother already told me before...

"Normally we don't hire anyone without a job interview, but your dance video has really convinced us and we urgently need a replacement." comes from my new boss and I'm torn from my thoughts. Did he just say something about a video? How I could be getting the job without even introducing myself first is a mystery to me...

I look at him quizzically: "What video?" The only videos that I can think of in connection with dancing aren't particularly impressive. Rather a little embarrassing.

"With your written application, we got sent a montage of your dancing abilities. You're really good and your style is fantastic."

A blush shoots upon my face. Of course I have dance videos. But these videos should never come into the hands of other people – They're private! No one should see me jump around about my room to loud, turned up music, wearing just a tank top and panties. I actually thought that nobody knew this passion of mine. The recordings are only on my laptop. A few on my phone. So how come they're in the hands of this man? Or had I lost my phone again?

Almost a little panicked I pull my purse to me and rummage around inside. Of course I know that Figgins is looking at me. My fingers close around the phone and I pull it out. If it's still there, I can't have lost it.

"Has your phone been ringing? I haven't heard anything." Figgins seems to be a bit irritated by my sudden outburst. I am too. Why did I get the job through these videos? It's not that I have enough space in my room to dance properly. I can bounce around a bit and its fun, but it doesn't look pretty good.

Slowly, I look back at him: "Have you really given me the job because you like my style or...?"

He shakes his head and looks at me questioningly: "Of course. What other reason could there be?"

The only other reason I can think of is that my butt looks really good in tight pants. Perhaps that sounds a little self-absorbed, but my butt is something I'm very proud of: "Well...this video..."

However I'm able to carry on no further. There is a short pounding on the door and without even waiting for a response a pretty small young girl steps into the room: "You asked to see me, sir?"

She talks very fast and it all sounds extremely pompous. Isn't it also a little rude to just burst into a conversation? But that's fine with me; I probably would have talked myself into a hole otherwise.

"Yes, Rachel. But as you see, I'm actually still in the middle of a conversation with Brittany." He nods in my direction and it almost seems as if Rachel hadn't noticed me at all up until that moment.

She briefly looks me over, then nods: "Nice to meet you, Brittany." However her interest in me doesn't appear to be overly great, because she turns immediately back to Figgins: "I'm sorry, but unfortunately I only have time right now. I have to start the preparations for the singing lessons. Without vocal exercises I can't show my students, how a piece of music sounds when it's expressed absolutely perfectly. I also still need to finish the choreography for the dance lesson this evening."

I had faded out her voice after the "Sorry", but the words 'dance lesson' somehow manage to ring in my ear and I cock my head curiously. It seems that I'm more superficial than I thought; this girl, in her strange knitted sweater - I would never have classified her as a dance teacher. Doesn't my grandmother own exactly the same sweater? Or is it the equal sweater? I have never been able to remember the difference between these two words. Why is she even wearing a sweater in the summer?

Figgins clears his throat and he slides a bit uneasily back and forth on his chair: "Exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. But first..." He stands up, pulls out a trash can from under his desk and hands it to me: "Would you be so kind to empty this into the container? You have to walk the aisle to the left and out through the door at the end."

I accept it and inspect it skeptically; at home I take the garbage out only if it's in fact already overfull. This one is perhaps only one-third filled with paper and I would definitely take at least another week to get it completely full. But I probably shouldn't contradict my boss.

So I nod and smile: "Happy to help!" While exiting the office he tells me to simply leave the garbage can in front of the door when I've got rid of the content. Why he wants me to do it, is a puzzle to me. However, I've already made the decision not to question him.

Now that I'm outside the door I need to first orientate myself a little. That this building would have so many aisles, I wouldn't have thought before. Maybe someone should draw me a map until I can find my way around on my own. Figgins told me that my first few days will mainly consist of watching so I could surely use them to picture myself a small map.

After about two steps, I can hear a muffled, shrill outcry. It surprises me and I inevitably flinch. The shrill voice is clearly Rachel's and is shortly thereafter mixed with a loud male shouting.

With eyes wide I look back at the door. I can't understand what they are arguing over, but the aggressive sounds shock me a little. I have a feeling that my eyes will jump from their sockets at any moment, if that's even possible. Thank God I am no longer in that office. My eyes drop to the trash can again and a surprised tone leaves my mouth as acknowledgment sinks in. Figgins was aware that his conversation with Rachel would take this turn. That's why he sent me away. I have to smile. It remains, however, only until I hear Rachel swear loudly at which I quickly make my way to the dumpster.

x x x

"Of course I'm coming over tonight, Abuela." At first I am uncertain as I step into the backyard and hear the voice. It sounds familiar, but yet so different - so much gentler and kinder than I have heard before.

My feet don't want to go any further as I hear and then see her in front of the containers. She has her back turned to me and her dark hair falls smoothly over her shoulders. It shines beautifully in the sunlight.

"Unfortunately, I have to work and can't make it earlier." I'm about to ask, who she's speaking to when she turns her head slightly and I discover the phone at her ear.

She sighs and shortly afterwards, continues to speak in this gentle tone. But it also sounds a little resigned: "I know that I have to do this job. Still, I don't like it very much."

Maybe I should just go back inside, or slam the door more loudly one more time. I feel like an intruder who shouldn't see her like this. However, I can't bring myself to call her attention to me. She seems so different. So nice.

What happens next makes my heart skip a beat: She laughs. Though not this half-hearted laugh; her entire head falls back and she laughs at the top of her lungs. Light wrinkles manifest around her eyes and a dimple appears on her cheek. Now she not only sounds different, she looks different too.

It's a wonderful sight. It triggers a feeling which disperses through my body. I don't understand why, I don't even really know her yet, but something stirs within me. I notice the corners of my lips shoot upwards and I feel the need to simply laugh with her. Luckily I can control myself and don't do it, yet I continue to stare at her with this silly grin on my face.

Our eyes meet and it dawns on me why I was able to take in every movement of her face during her laugh attack – because it had been turned towards me. And now she's discovered me. My fingers dig into the trash can as she briefly tears her eyes open in a caught manner until finally, I see her features harden once again.

"I have to hang up, Abuela. I'm looking forward to later." Her tone of voice hasn't changed. It's still soft.

Briefly she holds her breath; her gaze wanders restlessly back and forth between me and the container. Then she turns her back on me again. She wants to speak quietly, mumble, but I still hear her words perfectly well. They sound honest and incredibly loving: "I love you, too..."

If I had previously felt like an intruder, I feel even more out of place now. This conversation wasn't meant for my ears. Her entire body stance tells me that whilst the quiet tone of her phone tells me that she's already ended the conversation, yet she still remains turned away from me. Tense.

"How long have you been stood there?" There it is again - the icy and harsh voice, which doesn't sound like her at all now that I've heard her 'real' voice.

I notice my fingers have slowly begun to hurt and I loosen my firm grip on the trash can a bit: "For a while..." Should I just go to the container and dispose the garbage now? But she's still standing in front of it.

Still, slowly I begin to move: "In any case long enough to ask myself who Abuela is?"

She turns to me and folds her arms over her chest. She tries to act cool, but all I can see is her uncertainty. She can't keep eye contact. Every time she looks at me, her gaze immediately falls back down again: "That's none of your business."

"Isn't it hard to always act so mean?" I ask her, almost directly in front of her now. I don't know why I had to say it. It's not in my nature to make judgment on something or someone so quickly. Her eyes widen as I stretch out my hand in her direction to open the container behind her. With a jerk she harshly pushes my hand away.

"What the hell are you doing?" She tries to back away from me, but after only one step, her back is pressed against the container. The way she looks at me for a moment, trapped; was it only the current situation in which she felt trapped?

My hand hurts slightly from her strike. She delivered an amazingly strong hit, but somehow it doesn't bother me, though I can't understand why she did it in the first place. I point with one of my fingers behind her: "I just tried to open the container."

Only now I realize how close I got to her and how my hand movement must have appeared. I take a step back and look down at my shoes: "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to touch you. I mean...you seem as if you could need a hug right now, but I didn't intend to do that. Such things only happen when people are friends and we don't know each other yet...although I'd really like to change that."

When I look up again after my impossible rambling, her eyes are finally on me, her eyebrows raised slightly: "You want to get to know me? I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Why not?" Maybe I should just say that I find her nice. Although that would be somewhat exaggerated. She's interesting for sure, but whether or not she's actually nice? I don't know yet. There is something about her that I can't grasp. At least what I just saw was nice and I'm keen to learn which of the two sides belongs to the real Santana.

Just as she opens her mouth to say something the door behind me opens: "There you are, Santana."

For the second time within a few minutes one of my conversations gets interrupted. About the one in the office I'm not even mad at, but now I'm feeling a little frustrated. It was going mostly well with Santana. She wasn't jumping at my throat and she even seemed to relax a little.

"I need you to come inside. Rachel is going crazy!" the dark-skinned girl at the door finishes.

x x x

Even if I hadn't run after Santana and the other girl, who on the way briefly introduced herself as Mercedes, I would've found the right way despite my bad sense of orientation - the commotion coming from the large main room is unbelievably loud.

Maybe I should hide small devices that make a noise at the push of a button around everywhere. Perhaps then I would be fast at home here and able to find my way around. Maybe I could just ask Rachel if she would record me a tape. Her voice would be really hard to overhear.

Although I hardly understand a word Rachel says, every now and again my name sounds over to us, which causes Santana to throw me interested looks. I'm sure she's wondering what I have to do with Rachel's bad mood, but I can't even explain it myself. I didn't even see her for more than five minutes so I'm pretty sure I had no opportunity to say something stupid. Still, I think I'll prefer to stay a little behind the other two when we finally reach the hall – just in case.

This turns out to be a good decision. As soon as she sees us, the little bundle rushes in our direction, gesticulating her finger furiously at me: "What did you do to get the job?"

Slightly roughly, Santana pushes the raving Rachel back a little. Yet she seems unfazed by this action and stares even more dark and gloomy in my direction. I have to admit, it's quite intimidating.

"You must have stretched and strutted around in front of him in your tight clothes. Someone like you can only show off with their body."

"What have I..." and again I am interrupted. This time it's Santana who steps in front me, shielding me from Rachel: "Someone like her? What is she exactly, Hobbit?"

"She...she is...you know exactly what I mean! And it seems to be true. Why else would she be the new dance teacher when I already took over the job just the other week?" Although I'm not quite sure what she meant by saying 'someone like you', I'm quite happy that she ignores the question and I don't need to hear the answer. Something tells me that it wouldn't have been very nice.

"Annoyingly, you take over everything, even though you have no idea how to do it. You're a lousy dancer. She might be good, so she has the job now." Santana shoots back immediately. Her tone has reached a new level of irritability. At last it seemed like she was actually being nice to me.

Rachel clenches her hands into fists and her face is so red that I can imagine it's certain to explode at any moment. Fortunately, Santana stands in front of me, so I won't be hit by chunks of flesh when it happens...

"Without a job interview? There's something really suspicious going on."

Now it's Mercedes' turn to clear her throat: "Sorry Rachel, but there were really a lot of complaints about your teaching methods. Do you remember the thing with Sugar Motta two weeks ago? It amazes me that her father hasn't sued this place yet."

"Sugar has absolutely no talent and I only made that clear to her. It's not my fault that no one else has been honest with her and I had to destroy all her dreams." She stretches out a bit and tries to glare at me across Santana's shoulder: "I was only doing my job, a good job, which I have honestly earned and which someone is now stealing away from me."

"Firstly." Santana starts and builds herself up slightly in front of Rachel: "you can't dance at all. You're probably a good vocal coach. Once I heard somewhere that you can sing pretty well. I unfortunately can't judge, because I always put in ear plugs when I see you move your mouth. But when you try to dance, it looks as if someone has set your pants on fire and you're flailing about to extinguish it."

Somehow all of this reminds me of a tennis match. If tennis however were half as interesting, I would probably watch it more often. With every ball exchange, the players wouldn't groan so ridiculously, but instead scream insults at their opponent.

Just when Rachel starts to open her mouth again, Santana raises her index finger and shakes her head: "I'm not finished yet. After first comes second."

I'm bouncing from one foot to the other. Somehow the whole situation is enthralling, but I don't really feel comfortable. After all, I'm the trigger of all of this and I actually should defend myself and not be defended by Santana. Although for some reason I liked it.

"Secondly, you didn't deserve the job. You just took it after Mike quit so suddenly. That it was only a temporary solution was clear to everyone else except you. You, with your big hobbit feet, have simply no rhythm. I don't know why it comes as such a surprise to you now. Maybe because you still live in Middle-earth believing to be the chosen one."

Immediately after Santana has finished her rant, Rachel scoffs and she rolls her eyes in annoyance: "If I didn't know better, I might think you can actually read a book. But why are you even here right now? It's stated in my contract that I'm not required to work shifts with you."

"Well..." Santana turns around and I immediately notice that her eyes have lightened up a little. Although she still looks angry something is different. She almost seems slightly amused and satisfied: "Since Trouty Mouth is sick and your gay Care Bear no longer works here, we're understaffed. So live with it and get out of my way."

I'm beginning to wonder if anyone here likes anyone else at all. I haven't experienced so much shouting and bad vibrations in a place for a long time. And I'm sure I haven't even been here two hours. I glance at Mercedes. She makes a nice impression. Maybe I should ask her about that stuff later.

"Oh and by the way, Berry" As I hear her voice again, I have to turn around immediately - Santana is in fact still in the room. I actually thought she would already be gone. For a moment her eyes look directly at me and they seem almost gentle, then she looks back to Rachel. Her eyes take on a different, more threatening expression: "Leave Brittany alone. Lima Heights...you know what I mean."

Just when I want to reply; just when I want to go after her and thank her, I hear laughter and footsteps behind me. A male voice, I think it's Puck, calling my name and I turn around.

I just glimpse a flash of red flying towards me, before it hits me; cold and totally unexpected. My eyes begin to burn and on my lips I taste something sweet and sugary. My face, my hair and everything that has been hit by the liquid, feels instantly sticky. But the worst part is the burning in my eyes.

"Welcome to the Glee Club!" is shouted by at least two male voices and they start to laugh.

A soft heartbroken whimper escapes my lips and I don't even know if it's because of the stinging pain in my eyes, which is now also in my nose, or whether it comes from the crippling humiliation that I feel all of a sudden.

x x x

Thank you so much, Holly :-)