Author's Note: I'd been thinking about writing this ever since the infamous slushie scene and Lea Michele's behind-the-scenes of how awful it was to film. That, and I adore Rachel…in all of her flaws and insanities.
***
The slushie is wet, humiliating, and the kind of cold that makes your spine twitch. In an effort not to yell after perpetrator Noah Puckerton—who is already an impressive four yards down the hallway (must be the football)—or send her complaints to Principal Figgins, Rachel uses the method one of her fathers suggested of counting off three reasons why she is a better person than anyone else in McKinley High. On her shaky trek to the restroom, she begins:
One: She is talented. Sure, the Cheerios are blessed—or, rather, indoctrinated—with the kind of stamina and physical capability that might make a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader reconsider her career choice, but Rachel Berry has the voice of an angel and the fortitude to match. Except for Quinn Fabray, most of them won't even pursue Cheerleading as a career. The girls will marry rich and begin a frightening transformation into miserable housewives while the (straight) guys will make an attempt to obscure every inch of their Cheerio pasts upon entering college, not to mention the real world. What a shame; Rachel will likely have her fifth Tony by then.
Two: She is smart. Celibate or not, Quinn and her band of bimbos still have to be among the dimmest people that Rachel has ever met. (The most memorable occasion still remains a day in Euro when a brunette Cheerio whose name Rachel doesn't care to remember asked if it was at all difficult for Cate Blanchett to split time between being an award-winning actress and the Queen of England.) When they do actually notice that Rachel exists, she has simply come to know that their most popular tactic in "distracting" the general populace from their complete and utter idiocy is, well, being bitches. Rachel is above this.
Three: She has style. Even with a blood-red, freezing slushie congealing in her chocolate-colored curls and soaking her white J. Crew cardigan, Rachel knows this. And, even better, she can pull this unfortunate situation off with allure to spare. Puck can carry on looking like the New Boys on the Block reject he is all he pleases.
Rachel finishes her list, mentally replenished for the time being, and makes a hasty entrance into the girl's restroom, praying that no one will be inside. Thankfully, her prayers have been answered at least halfway; she can hear two girls chatting noisily stall-by-stall and decides to make her cleanup session a speedy one.
But the stain is nasty, and surely not one that a few cheap high school restroom paper towels and an empty soap dispenser can solve. A draft hits her for a moment and she shivers.
"Did you check out the highlight of last night?" She catches a girl in one of the stalls calling out in a distant part of her mind. Rachel isn't paying much attention and her time is running swiftly out to make some semblance of a dignified exit.
Though, she ponders weakly as she looks at her reflection—still sticky-faced with a large splotch of ugly pink on her ruined cardigan—she is confident that any appearance for the rest of the day that is devoid of the accompaniment of laughter will be a miraculous one.
Both terrified and helpless, she can only stand stock-still before the sink, refusing to look into the mirror anymore, lest she want to jump off a cliff any more than she already does.
"You mean the one that Quinn sent us? Oh, priceless." Rachel can't even bring herself to care when she hears the toilets flush in synch, signaling an end to her private mortification.
"That Rachel Berry is quite…," Even as she leaves her stall and sees Rachel standing there, she does nothing but pause before continuing, "…quite a piece of work."
Rachel can practically hear the smirk in her voice and can practically feel the effort it takes them to not burst into laughter at the sight of her. However, she can hear one of them give a sudden snort when they actually notice just what kind of predicament Rachel is in. But Rachel just stares down at her hands, pretending to fiddle lightheartedly with the bracelets on her wrists, or the cuff of her stained sleeve as if there weren't a problem in the world. Each of the girls takes the sink on either side of Rachel, smiling knowingly all the while as Rachel tries a bit too hard to just concentrate on the sound of the water running and not them gasping and fighting imminent guffaws.
After what feels like a lifetime, they leave, making clumsy bolts for the door before she hears them nearly choking on their amusement outside.
Wringing bloodless fingers, Rachel still refuses to look up and suddenly finds it more difficult than she'd like to admit to remember why she even comes to school anymore.
***
Please review! Constructive criticism is very welcome.