Hiya there, guys! As it's my birthday, along with Eva Peron's, I've decided to treat you with a new Finchel story of mine.

Please remember that I'm French and, as always, my grammar will never be on point. To expect perfectness would be indeed unfruitful.

I'm pretty excellent at well, everything.

I know that doesn't exactly sound modest, but I'm never modest, with the exception of my fine couture, although my skirts have gotten a little provocative in the past; I don't recall hearing any complaints, well, except for the enlightenment of learning Quinn and Holly had drawn another pornographic picture of me on a wall. How do they even know I have a freckle on my hip? Notwithstanding the fact, truth is, I'm the epitome of an exemplary human being.

I'm excellent at everything.

With the exception of drawing.

But who needs that? Art isn't limited to drawing, there's so many options. Photography, creativity, theatre, playing an instrument, at the very least! Thats exactly why I'm in Ms. Gully's art class, only, I wasn't expecting her to evidently have a drawing fetish. You know, I can evidently be Picasso, as well as Patti LuPone, it isn't hard to sloppily run your brush over a piece of paper and call it "Moonshine Delight," but it's just not what I want to do with my life.

I sigh and look down at my lap. Next to me, Noah sits sloppily, hunched over, with a bored expression on his face. I laughed when I realized most of the football team had joined the Art class, seemingly unaware that this wasn't going to be their dozing off period. She's a tad bit strict, also loud and overbearing. But she's enthusiastic.

I feel poorly for those who haven't found their passion, as Ms. Gully and I have, yet. Without something, mine being Broadway, to revolve your life around would be quite boring. You wouldn't know what to thrive for, you'd settle for being anything everyone wasn't.

I stand here today to tell you that addictions are vacuous. They're for feeble minded people who have a simple life and simple thoughts, like the first men who roamed on our Earth millions of years ago. However, to have parallel thoughts and actions to someone and esteem someone is a completely different notion that you should never lose hope on. For me, that person is Barbra Joan Streisand.

My dads were always big fans of her hence my middle name as well as Jennifer Aniston hence my first name (Which is completely ridiculous considering I am idiosyncratic and should never be viewed otherwise just because of the fact my name happens to correspond with some other idols of mine.). Barbra's fascinating story as well as other totems such as and namely Judy Garland, Patti LuPone, Lea Salonga and Samantha Barks inspired me to become a Broadway actress myself. I am, undoubtedly and often times named, The Mini Barbra.

I stand at a vertically challenged 5'2, so it's only fitting that I am the Mini versionesq of such talent and brilliance, and of course, considering I myself am ever so dexterous I was able to acquire such a perfectly acceptable nickname.

Oh, well. Not everyone can be as talented as I.

Reaching for my bag, I mentally note that Ms. Gully is speaking of shading, shading. I really loathe shading. "What flavour is it today, Berry?" Noah quips.

My mouth curves into a smile. "Fresh watermelon," I shove the spherical, pink EOS lip balm into his vision line. "My—"

"Your favourite," He comments, the sly smile I wore mimicking on his smaller, drier lips.

"How did you know?"

"You've worn it like, every week, for six months now. I think I know."

"Yeah, well," for lack of a better word, I say this stupidly. Noah is my cousin, though, and since we've known each other for our whole lives, and we're—despite him not wanting to talk about it in school—family, for the better part.

I have a bit of a fixation of my own, I concur. Along with Barbra, my stuffed animal Todo, gold stars and 'berry' puns, I'm completely obsessed with lip-balm, namely EOS'.

"Mr. Puckerman and Ms. Berry, would you care to inform the class on what you're speaking of so candidly!" Ms. Gully screeches, pushing her spectacles higher on the bridge of her nose.

"Depends," Noah winks. "You wanna hear it?"

Quinn, in front of us, groans. "Can you stop being so immature? And God, Berry, stop talking so much." The girl next to her smacks her arm playfully.

"Enough!" Ms. Gully fumes. "Now, I'd like to go over the basics of our new project if you don't mind."

The thing is, Ms. Gully fully believes in projects, especially in groups. Whilst I usually get stuck with my perverted cousin, she does switch them up from time to time. The projects are alright albeit a bit tedious and, if I wasn't tied to him, I'd probably just do all the work without Noah, but somehow his Mom always finds out of our wrongdoings. Aunt Sarah has a Jewish sense, like me.

"It's time to express."

Express?

"Art is just that, too! So for this project, I want you all to express yourself by finding something you use everyday, and create it. Find your fetish! I think it's quite simple."

Why am I in this class?

She continues, to my relief and chagrin, "I think it's time we express a little more, so I picked this," She walks to the front of the classroom and waves her hands. "To start us up. For example, if you use a lot of pencils, you can make a pencil case. Likewise with cameras, and, um," She taps her blushing chin.

A boy mumbles, "Condoms."

"Everybody understand?" Nobody replies. "Good! Come to me if you need any assistance, your partners will be posted on the board!" She points to a piece of paper pinned.

The bell rings promptly, and after assessing my things I run up to the board, posthaste. My crush of a little over a year groans. I smile, because even in agony, Finn Hudson is damn cute. But what could be so horrible? His partner, mayhap?

I run up to the piece of paper and only skim it briefly before I'm pushed away by some Jock.

"Her art sucks, man," I hear him whisper to Puck. My heart stops and then starts up again.

I'm partnered with Finn Hudson.