A/N: I don't own Glee nor the characters within. Here's to my 100th story on ffnet! How classic that it's for my collection of Pezberry Week fics? :D

So, yes, as I say above, this is my collection of Pezberry Week fics. A different theme assigned for each day of this seven day cycle ending on Valentine's Day, I'm going to do my best to have an entry for each day. Wish me luck. *grins*

Day One: Alternate Universe

"They're still doing that?" a husky voice asked.

Looking up from where she was scrubbing blue slushie out of her sweater, Rachel blinked. Standing in front of her was an older girl, possibly in her early twenties, dressed in a scaled down version of one of Sue Sylvester's track suits, red and gold with the top unzipped to show a white shirt underneath. Her deep black hair was pulled up in a high ponytail that reminded Rachel of how the Cheerios wore their hair, but what was strikingly different was that this woman was more beautiful than any of the cheerleaders Rachel had seen. She had darker tan skin, full red lips, high cheekbones, and striking brown almost black eyes that Rachel couldn't help staring at.

Then, scrambling to gather her wits when a fine eyebrow raised, Rachel licked her lips and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she replied neutrally, dropping her gaze to go back to dealing with her sweater; she hoped the fact that she was standing in front of the woman in only a pencil skirt and white camisole wasn't terribly embarrassing, "I don't know as to what you are referring to."

"The slushies," the woman offered in return. "I would have thought that would have died five years after I graduated." Studying Rachel, she pursed her lips. "That's not going to come out," she pointed out.

"Like I don't know that," Rachel almost snapped, then slid her gaze back to the woman. "Sorry. I'm going to be late for study hall, and that never puts me in the best of moods." She normally wouldn't have apologized – wasn't it obvious that she was going to be late for class? – but for some reason she didn't want to insult this woman. She hadn't given her reason to, anyway.

Anyway. Rachel tried to stretch out the sweater, willing the water to wash all of the syrup away. "And I'm going to have to do the best I can because I forgot to repack my emergency slushie replacement outfit for some reason. I can't believe I did that. I never do that." She glanced at the woman, half of her mind on trying to figure out why she was bothering to talk to her.

The woman turned to the mirror, shrugging off the gym bag she had slung over her shoulder and pulled a makeup bag out of it. Taking mascara out of it, she leaned closer to the mirror. "I take it this happens often?" she asked, slightly muffled, "I mean, I get it. That sweater. That's a unicorn, right? I can't believe you don't expect to get slushied."

Rachel frowned. "I refuse to let preconditioned notions of female beauty and style have any hold on me," she said stiffly, shutting off the water. She immediately started twisting her sweater, trying to wring out as much water as she could.

The woman snorted. "Let me give you a tip. Don't do that. High school? It sucks." She shrugged, putting the mascara away and replacing it with clear lip gloss, "And this is coming from the old HBIC of these halls. Now." She turned to the mirror, quickly and efficiently swiping the gloss over her lips and smacking them together, "You're already making things worse for yourself with your wardrobe. Hell, if I wasn't on the payroll and liable to getting sued, I'd slushie you myself."

Who was this woman to speak to her like that? Obviously not looking at her while she draped her sweater over the sink, Rachel walked behind the woman to pull six paper towels out of the dispenser. Then, holding two in her hand and stuffing the others into the waistband of her skirt for easy access, she pulled her sweater up and laid it on top. Pulling two more paper towels out with her left hand, she sandwiched the sweater between them, and began trying to squish out as much of the dampness as she could.

However, Rachel's lack of response didn't deter the woman from speaking to her. Studying her out of the corner of her eye, she undid her already perfect ponytail to put it back up again, "You really going to wear that sweater?"

Gritting her teeth, Rachel glared down at her sweater. "I don't have a choice. I can't go around in my underclothes."

"Sucks for you." Nodding at her reflection, the woman bent to grab her gym bag. Sliding her makeup bag back into it, she rummaged for a second more. Barely catching a flash of black before a shirt smacked into her back and shoulder and jaw, she had to scramble to prevent it from falling into the sink. In doing so, her sweater plopped to the floor. Feeling ruffled and incredibly put off, Rachel stared at it, slowly moving her gaze to a William McKinley High Athletics Department t-shirt now in her hands. What?

"When you give that back to me – 'cuz you will; I'm not giving it to you – you can drop it off with Coach Beiste. I don't have an office yet." Flashing white teeth in a smile that wasn't necessarily nice, the woman picked up her gym bag and made her way to the door of the bathroom. Pausing with her hand pressing into the ugly green, she scoffed, "Unicorns. Really?" and slipped out.

Staring at the t-shirt in her hand, Rachel didn't know if she wanted to look a gift horse in the mouth or not. But… Who was that woman? If she was teacher or aide, she certainly didn't act like one.

But, her sweater was still on the floor. Crouching to pick it up, she set it onto the sink and slowly slipped the black shirt over her head. It was certainly going to look weird paired with her skirt, and it was a couple of sizes too big, but at least no one would see her camisole. As she pulled her hair out of the collar, an unfamiliar light flowery scent made its way to her nose, and she sniffed delicately. Was that perfume or laundry detergent?

The warning bell rang, knocking her out of her thoughts, and she quickly turned her attention to her sweater. Well, at least now she could drape it over the back of her seat in study hall. Hopefully that would help dry it.

Walking up to her boyfriend during the break between second and third period, Rachel waited for him to comment about her shirt (he had, after all, given her a ride that morning), but instead he just leaned down to kiss her cheek, pulling her under his arm, barely interrupting his conversation with Puck and the other jocks in glee club.

"No, I'm telling you, man, she's insane," Puck whistled, "I mean, instant bend her over and show her the Puckasaurus moves kind of insane." He pantomimed doing so and smacking an invisible ass.

"Oh yeah," Artie nodded, exchanging grins with Mike, "Megan Fox hot."

"No, no," Sam looked back and forth between Puck and Artie, lifting his hands in a check it out motion, "Naya Rivera hot."

Finn's face lit up, and he let out a loud whooh. "No. You're playin' me."

Artie raised his hand. "Honest to god truth, man."

Starting to feel like she was just an arm rest, Rachel cleared her throat. "Is this really the conversation to have with a lady around?" she smiled hopefully, doing her best to ignore Puck's mouthing of 'Lady?' and Sam's responding shrug, "Hi guys."

Rolling his eyes, Puck nodded at her, the other boys doing similar actions. Removing his arm, Finn turned to her, "Rache, look, you're the one who walked over to us."

Rachel frowned. "Yeah, so?"

"So…" Finn resettled himself on his feet, "You're, like, talk-crashing."

Puck, Sam, Mike, and Artie nodded.

Rachel stared up at him. "So you're saying I'm 'in the way'?"

Looking up, Finn's eyebrows furrowed. When he looked down, he shrugged. "Well, yeah. Pretty much."

Stung, Rachel took a step backwards. "Oh. I see." Keeping her voice quiet, she still managed to pour as much scorn into it as she could, getting even angrier at her boyfriend's longsuffering expression, "Okay." Turning on her heel, she walked a couple of seconds before pausing dramatically and looking over her shoulder, "Oh, and I'm sorry, but you can't come over tonight anymore. Turns out you'd only be in the way."

"But… But you said your fathers wouldn't be there!" Finn protested, eyes widening in alarm.

Rachel gave him a tight smile. "Too bad."

As she walked away, she heard several different versions of, "Buuuuurn," from Finn's friends, and it made her feel, if not a hundred percent, at least a little better. She loved Finn – she really did – but sometimes he was so… Such a dullard.

Just having dropped off the woman's t-shirt (washed and ironed and crisply folded, thank you very much) with Coach Beiste, Rachel looked up when the woman's voice greeted her the moment she stepped out of the football coach's office, "I see you haven't taken my advice."

"No, I haven't," Rachel agreed, turning on her heel to give the woman a dismissive smile. She was quite satisfied with her simple dress and tights outfit.

The woman, dressed in pretty much the same outfit as the day before, had the smallest hint of a smirk on her face. She shrugged. "It's your dry cleaning bill."

"It is." Shaking her head, Rachel glanced at the door of Beiste's office. "I returned the shirt. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Really, don't." Studying Rachel, the woman's gaze drifted down to Rachel's legs.

Rachel's eyes widened. Was she… Was she checking her out? Stopping herself from taking a step back, Rachel tried to decipher the expression on the woman's face. Oh no. Was karma coming back for what she'd done to Sandy Ryerson? And if she was… How unprofessional was this woman?

The woman crossed her arms. She tilted her head. "You're a runner."

Blinking, Rachel opened her mouth. Looking right and left, she asked incredulously, "How do you know that?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "I'm not just the new track coach for my looks, smokin' as they are. You have the physique. Not to mention the legs."

Track coach? Part of Rachel's discomfort eased, and she relaxed on her heels. But, "We have a track team?"

That made the newly identified track coach roll her eyes again. "Yes. Underutilized and underrepresented, but it exists. And under me," she smirked heavily, "We will become more than just the 'After School Losers'." Shaking her head, the woman walked forward, stopping just to the side of Rachel, "Santana Lopez is not going to be a coach to any losers."

Santana Lopez. Finally, Rachel had a name.

But Coach Lopez wasn't finished talking yet. She raised an eyebrow. "When do you run?"

Her tone didn't brook any chance to ignore the question. Rachel resettled her books in her arms. "I try to run every day."

"How long?"

"For at least an hour, longer on the weekends and when I have time or am working on a new solo for glee club. You'd be surprised at how much it helps to be running when trying to arrange vocal arrangements – "

Lopez raised her hand. "Unicorn, did I ask for your life story?" She looked at Rachel pointedly. "No. And glee club. I should have known. Going for the ultimate 'Slushie Me' bull's-eye on your forehead, huh?"

U-Unicorn? Spluttering, Rachel drew herself up straight. "My name is Rachel Berry."

"Fine. Berry." Completely ignoring Rachel's exasperation, the woman continued, "How far?"

…If this woman hadn't been a teacher, Rachel would have found some way to walk away already. Instead, she coolly met the coach's gaze, "Enough."

The woman's expression didn't change. "Do you run with anyone else?"

Scrunching her eyebrows together, Rachel shook her head. "No…"

Displeasure crossed the woman's face, and she took a step back. "Great," she seemed to whisper to herself before turning her eyes back to Rachel, "Guess I'll just have to make do with you. The track. After school. You're trying out." Then, without waiting for an answer, Coach Lopez gave her an arrogant smirk and disappeared into Coach Beiste's office.

Already turning to stomp after her – Rachel couldn't join track! She already had a full schedule! – the warning bell rang. Groaning loudly, Rachel glared at the open door and stormed off down the hall.

Though it didn't surprise her, Finn's skepticism and amusement at the new coach's demand still bothered her. "You? On the track team?" Grinning at her, her boyfriend shook his head, "You can barely watch me play basketball or football." Turning to Puck, he raised his voice, "Hey, is track even a sport?"

Puck shrugged. "How should I know? I only watch for the girls running."

Rachel glared at Finn. "Just because it doesn't involve personal contact or violent bone-crushing impacts, does not mean it's not a sport, Finn." Not that she felt any loyalty to Coach Lopez or the track team, or anything like that, but Rachel was once again faced with the knowledge that if given a topic harder than "What color is this?" Finn was rather pinheaded and unimaginative.

"Don't be silly," Finn gave her his usual lopsided smile, leaning in to kiss her.

Melting immediately, Rachel lifted a hand to hold his head where it was, only letting it drop when Finn moved back. He smiled confidently, "At least it's not like you're trying out for cheerleading. Yeah, like that's a sport."

Rachel's mouth dropped open, and she pushed back from him, hitting the back of her chair. "Cheerleading's a sport, too," she exclaimed, "And, what, I wouldn't be able to become a cheerleader, either?"

Finn frowned. "Hey, don't put words in my mouth." His frown turned into a confused expression, "How is cheerleading a sport, again?"

Letting out a wordless huff, Rachel stood up from her chair. "You know what?" she asked, pushing her hair behind her ears and crossing her arms, "I am going to go to that try out. And when I get on the team – because I am – I am going to show you just how much of a sport track is." Advancing on Finn, she jutted her finger into his face, "And just for your information, I could become a cheerleader if I damn well wanted to. Damn well." Scooping up her backpack, she glared at him, "That's two days in a row you can forget coming over, Finn."

Stomping past Quinn and Brittany as they walked into the choir room, Rachel stopped to stare at the two cheerleaders. "Good afternoon, ladies. May I just say congratulations on your last win at the Regional Cheerleading competition?" she stated firmly, glaring at Finn, "At least William McKinley has one sports team that are champions. Hopefully soon that'll become two."

As she exited into the hallway, she could hear Quinn's, "Okay, what just happened?"

"She's scary," Brittany replied, "But I think she complimented us…?"

Shaking her head, Rachel made her way to the girls' locker room.

"You're almost late. And you better have stretched already," Coach Lopez barked as Rachel drew near, tightening her ponytail. Tugging on it one more time for good measure, Rachel picked up her jog. Feeling undeniably scrutinized as the woman took in her P.E. shirt and shorts and athletic shoes, Rachel tried to keep herself from shivering in the cool fall wind, telling herself the blush caused by the woman's assessment of her was from the cold. "It's good I came here at all," she admitted, coming to a stop at the outer track line, "And I've stretched, some."

"Hmm." Pulling her clipboard up, Lopez scratched a couple of things down, then turned dark eyes back onto her. "Okay, this is how this is gonna go. You do whatever I tell you to do. Without complaining, or whining. You're what, fourteen?"

Rachel bristled. "Sixteen."

"Sophomore?"

"Junior."

A smile curled the corner of Lopez's lips, and she smirked at Rachel. "Imagine that. Must be your height."

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Just how long have you been a teacher?"

"None of your business." Lowering her clipboard and pulling up the stopwatch hanging around her neck, the woman gestured at Rachel to pick one of the lanes, "One lap, warm up speed. When I say go, go." Barely giving her the chance to get into position, she called out, "Go."

Pushing off from the asphalt, Rachel drew her arms into her body and pulled her knees up, feet still slapping loud as she jogged at a relatively fast pace. Regulating her breathing as she made her way around the track, she wasn't surprised to see Coach Lopez practically tapping her foot, hand on her hip as she waited for her. Passing her and slowing down, Rachel turned back.

Looking at her stopwatch, the woman jotted another note down onto her clipboard. "Okay," she pointed Rachel at the start line again, giving nothing away with her expression, "Sprints. Go to the first quarter and come back. Got it?"

Setting her feet and arranging her fingers and palm, Rachel nodded.

"Go."

Running a couple of more drills and throwing out caustic remarks every now and again, which, while being mean and managing to make Rachel grit her teeth every now and again, did get Rachel to step up her speed, the track coach allowed Rachel to have a short break to head to the bathroom and grab a drink of water. When she trotted back up, using the back of her hand to wipe her mouth, Rachel groaned but dutifully got into position when the woman smirked evilly, telling her that she was going to run a mile, full speed. "The mile, then that's it for today. Jumps and other, prop related, try outs on another day."

Rachel groaned, "Another day?"

"Ey! That whining I hear, Miss Berry? What did I tell you?"

Grumbling, Rachel shifted her weight as she waited for the starting yell. It was a good thing she hadn't used up all of her energy already, but she knew she was still going to be drenched in sweat when this was all said and done. Ugh. Maybe she'd actually have to use the shower in the locker room –

"Go!"

The next morning, Rachel strode up to Finn's locker. When he looked up at her cleared throat, she immediately did a twirl to show him her new letterman jacket. "See?" she asked haughtily, lifting her chin, "I got on the team."

"But… What about glee?" Finn protested, slamming his locker shut and following her to her own locker when she turned to go.

Rachel paused with her hands on the lock. "I don't know what you mean." Looking at him out of the corner of her eye, she pulled her locker door open.

"Glee. Singing. Hello? How are you going to do both track and still give glee your all?"

Almost dropping the book she was putting into her backpack, Rachel slowly turned to her boyfriend. Taking in his severe look, she barely managed to keep her voice level, "Excuse me? Just what, exactly, are you asking me?"

As more time passed after Rachel's reveal, Finn seemed to be getting his second wind, and he straightened, giving her a pointed look. "Rachel, singing's your life. Glee's your life. If you split your attention, how are you going to do your job as a glee captain?"

Anger and disbelief curled around Rachel's heart. Was Finn – he was actually – Trying to rein in the shout that bubbled up in her body, Rachel turned to fully face Finn. "Tell me something, Finn," she crossed her arms, voice low and forcefully controlled, "Not only are you a co-captain of glee as well, but you're also the quarterback, Finn! Are you telling me that you're not giving glee your all?"

"What? No!" Trying to backpedal verbally, Finn shook his head. A wide frown across his face, his eyebrows lowered over his eyes, "That's completely different. Me and glee and football – that's completely different."

"Why?"

"Because it is!" Huffing, Finn closed his eyes, hand tightening around his backpack strap, "Rachel, look." He opened his eyes, "I'm used to it. I'm just saying that… With Sectionals coming up soon – "

"They're in three months," Rachel threw at him; though by no means that was a long amount of time, it was still sufficient enough to allow ample amount of time to practice an amazing routine that would guarantee them the win, so using the term soon was ridiculous.

"Soon-ish," Finn amended, looking exasperated, "That you won't be able to focus and, and help our team to victory."

Rachel held up a hand. She couldn't believe she was hearing this. "So," she barely got out calmly, "Because I would be involved with another extracurricular activity, I wouldn't be concentrating on glee enough?" The words tasted like bile in her mouth.

Slowly, as if he was expecting a booby-trap, Finn nodded.

That did it. "I already have extracurricular activities!" she burst out, voice rising, just barely stopping herself from jumping into her boyfriend's face, "May I remind you I'm in all of the clubs on this campus? That I'm also enrolled in ballet and often compete in ballet competitions? That I'm still even singing in singing competitions?"

Sucking in a deep breath, she cut Finn off before he could open his mouth, "And what is it you do? Practices three times a week, one or two games a week? Wow. That's a lot. Really, it is. It's not like you have every single one of your days busy like I do!"

Finn's jaw clenched, and as he looked around to see who was watching them, he lowered his voice, sharp and cruel, "Why are you being so selfish, Rachel?"

Selfish?

Throwing his hands up, Finn took her stunned silence as a chance to get his say out, "See? You're already doing so much. How can you hope to keep glee above them all? It's not like anything else you're doing is important."

Rachel's palm exploded into heat as she watched in morbid satisfaction as Finn's face whipped back. "Leave," she pushed out through a closed throat, her voice never having sounded as livid as it did at that moment, "Walk away."

Slowly turning back to her, Finn raised a hand to his cheek. "Rache," he started, face going slack with shock and sudden realization, "I didn't mean – "

Yes you did. "Go."

"Rache – "

"Get out of here, Finn!"

Finally, he did, slinking down the hall. Watching his tall frame get smaller the farther he got, Rachel mechanically finished getting her books she needed for that day, shutting and locking her locker before making her way to the nearest bathroom.

That was three days in a row she'd gotten angry at Finn, that he'd managed to insult her. He had never been the smoothest guy, unintentionally putting her down many times, and she'd managed to brush them off for the most part. But not lately.

Lately, it had hurt more. And she didn't know why.

"Hey! Berry. The rest of your try out today, along with meeting the rest of the team."

Startled, Rachel broke out of the flow of students, quickly walking back the way she had come to catch up with Coach Lopez. "Today?" she used as a greeting, noting the raised eyebrow that got, "I can't do it today."

"Because…?"

"Because I'll already have had P.E. as my last class, right before I have to meet you out at the track."

Lopez shook her head. "Field, not track."

Okay, like that was better. "Field. Meet you on the field." When the woman didn't respond, still looking at her with that one eyebrow up, Rachel sighed. "I'll be too exhausted."

"Oh, is that all?" Stopping suddenly, making Rachel come to a quick stop as well, Coach Lopez leaned in close. "Berry," she lowered her voice, smirking, "Haven't you heard the saying 'No pain, no gain'? Well, apply that here."

Staring at the older woman, taking in her arrogant expression and flawless beauty, Rachel felt a strange feeling start to coil in her stomach. "But…" she tried to get out.

Lopez shook her head. "Nope. At least you won't have to change and risk being late, huh?" Straightening, she tilted her head. "You like that letterman jacket, don't you?"

Her tone made it clear she already knew the answer, but Rachel nodded anyway, trying to swallow the feeling away. "I, uhm, I'm already being treated a little better," she admitted.

"And no slushie facials?" The knowing look came back to her coach's eyes when Rachel sheepishly nodded. "Exactly. And to keep that…" she pointed at Rachel, "You's best be there after school."

Again with the outrageous dialect. This woman truly was the strangest teacher Rachel had ever known. And with teachers like Sandy Ryerson and Sue Sylvester and Ken Tanaka and Emma Pillsbury and William Schuester and practically every other teacher that was or had been working at the school, that was saying something. Honestly, Rachel thought maybe it was because Coach Lopez was trying too hard, the weird slang. Because if that truly was the woman's daily vernacular – heaven forbid! – that would just be sad.

But… Sighing, Rachel dropped her shoulders. "I'll be there," she reluctantly nodded; maybe she could ask the P.E. teacher to go light on her that day. That wouldn't be so bad.

"Of course you will." Throwing up a hand in a flippant goodbye, the coach gave her an amused at her expense smirk, sauntering off.

Once again watching someone walk off, Rachel drew in a deep breath. She had a lot to think about.

She had joined the track team, she and her boyfriend were fighting over said track team, and Santana Lopez, the young new track coach for William McKinley High School who did look strikingly enough like Naya Rivera, Rachel allowed, was completely equipped with the means to throw Rachel off her even keel.

In no uncertain terms, that particular meeting of elements was probably more dangerous than she could predict.