Title: A Twist on the Tale
Author: Eulphy
Summary: What happens when Glee's VA and ND gets a switch in the long beloved tale. In which New Directions has won two consecutive Nationals and Vocal Adrenaline is the newbie. In which Rachel's the National Diva and Jesse's got two moms and a dad he doesn't know yet. In which everything is just topsy turvy, can the St Berry make it work?
Note: Rachel's a junior here, same as Jesse. Schue is more or less a male version of Shelby - strict and fair, meaning he doesn't favor Finn here. This will be a St. Berry fic and an AU one at that. So, if you prefer Canon than this, go back. But while your here, just remember that its got the twist with the personality too. Like, snarky and insulting Mr. Schue or Rachel – because being on top, that's how I see Shelby and Jesse.
Another warning, Jesse's moms - yes, moms - used a surrogate to impregnate one of them. Guess who the surrogate is...
Also, Shelby doesn't have any familial connections with Rachel. Rachel's got a normal rich and divorced and absent parents - like Jesse in the Canon.
"Why are we here again?" Rachel Berry slumped on her seat, a pout on her lips and a sad look on her eyes. Usually, people would go over the hills to give her whatever she wanted whenever they see her look. But the person directed with the look didn't even have a reaction except for the bland stare.
Will Schuester, her show choir coach, had always seem to be the only one to handle her tantrums and her diva-ness (as some of her teammates would say). He was always the strict paternal figure she missed from her biological father. Nothing could sway him.
This time wasn't even different. He only gave her a raised eyebrow look as if asking, 'Really? This is the best you can do?' And it only made her pout more when he looked back to the program proper he was reading without a second glance.
Rachel sighed, playing with the end of her long dark hair - a habit she picked up from her aunt - and looked moodily at the stage. Nothing seemed to work on him. Not even her crazy diva episodes. Nothing can faze him.
Will Schuester was her (and the others too, she supposed... but morely hers) Dad in all but blood. He hadn't just mentored her (them) with singing during the three years they'd been together. He had been there to take them down a peg or two when they get so high up. He had been there to protect any member of the New Directions - their show choir - when one of their own was harmed. He was there if they needed a shoulder to lean on or someone to listen to the crap that was their life.
Many people - fans - would say that being in ND was a dream. It was the top show choir, a national champion, being part of it would be paradise. Rachel knew that because that was how she thought once upon a time. But it hadn't really been easy despite what she first thought of it.
She remember how, as a young naïve freshman, she had strolled down the halls of Carmel High, ready to take anything on. She had her whole life planned already, afterall.
(A Tony and an Emmy by the time she was 25 and the role of Fanny in Funny Girl, she would say to anyone who would listen)
It had taken Mr. Schue to take her down three pegs to realise that she had to work to get what she want in life. He showed her that her rich, spoiled brat lifestyle needed to be thrown out of the window for her to achieve broadway. He humiliated her, called down her every mistakes and never complimented her. Many who had been treated the same in her year had given up immediately. She didn't.
Truth be told, [now] she was thankful for those insults that he threw at her. She had worked - actually worked and competed against worthy opponents to reach the position she was on now. She had danced and sang more than she had ever done in all her fifteen years of life in that one year just so she could hear him praise her.
(It was all worth it, she know because she can see it with the trophies - national show choir championship trophies on the New Directions's base)
Rachel was no idiot. She knew - just as anyone in New Directions does - that everything that she (they) was now, it was all because of Will Schuester.
Rachel snapped back to reality when she heard Mr. Schue sigh. She gazed at him to see him focused on the simple paper with the program on it. "You can leave, you know." He said. "I can always call in Quinn and have her sit in for you."
Instantaneously, she put her showface on, hiding the grimace that would've formed. She knew exactly what her 'Dad' was playing at. He say that, but there was no question or doubt that her presence there was not wanted but needed. And if she didn't want to, her solos would be given to Quinn. She stayed where she was, a tense formed on her shoulder signifying determination not to give up her spot for Quinn. She woudn't allow that. She finally had taste of fame (even if its not Broadway, its practice for the real deal), she won't give that up. Not willingly.
(They'd have to tie her up and gag her before throwing her to the deep blue sea before she would step down. And it wouldn't be willingly.)
She heard Mr. Schue make a small scuffle on his seat and she knew that he was hiding that smile again. The one which always appear when he won an argument. That smug look of amusement she had detested and found so endearing.
"We aren't here to just watch." He said. "We're here to scope the competition. Remember: keep your friends close. Your enemies closer."
"Yeah, I got you, Daddy Schue." It was what most of the ND veterans called him so he didn't even bat an eyelash or give her a look for calling him that. "But really? I highly doubt they're gonna be worth the competition."
"Icarus fell because he believed he can touch the sun." Mr. Schue wisely informed her.
Discreetly, Rachel rolled her eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be a Spanish teacher, not a philosophy teacher?" She mumbled, looking away from him and hoping he hadn't heard.
Mr. Schue's I heard you killed those thoughts.
"But seriously," She turned the topic another way around. "I highly doubt this would take much of your interest. I mean, they're hardly competition." She snorted at that.
Her Dad just gave her the program proper. "That wouldn't be the case here." He said. "See, there, two of the groups are at a disadvantage. If ever they were to advance, the judges wouldn't just go for the voice, there will still be the pity factor. They're the underdogs afterall."
"The Jane Addams girls are the only one that can probably win here," Her tone was clear. Jane Addams might pass through the Sectionals, but they won't even be worth the battle with ND in the Regionals. "Can't we just watch them and leave? I highly doubt those barbarians can even match with Quinn or Santana."
"Don't be so sure." Mr. Schue pointed at the bottom of the list. There, it said: Vocal Adrenaline (Carmel).
"Didn't they got disqualified last, last year for inappropriate dance moves and lyrics and they never returned." Rachel tried to stifle the guffaws she wanted to let out at the reminder of Carmel's performance during her freshman year.
It was the most amusing performance in all her life. She could recall how Quinn had doubled over her laughter. Clear as day, she can remember how Santana had wanted to go up the stage and show those estupidos how a real seductive dance goes like. Vaguely, she could hear her ex-duet partner's mocking at the lack of proper talent. More importantly, she could recall how their usually calm and colleced Dad had practically exploded at the Carmel's coach, yelling about obscenities in the sacred theatre.
(Okay, a senior member might have ranted at that and Mr. Schue had repeated his words)
"Yes, well," Mr. Schue cleared hus throat, obviously aware at where her thoughts were getiing at. "They have a new coach now, and since she and her kids are an enigma, I decided that we ought to check her out."
Rachel knew what her teacher meant, of course. But she really, really get kicks for riling him up. "Well, if you wanted a date with her, you could've jut ask. What do you need a winggirl for?"
Mr. Schue just gave her a land stare befoe thoroughly ignoring her. She only giggled into her hand. She knew that as soon as the performances start, he'd be inside his little bubble and criticizing every move of the little groups on the stage. It was one of the things he'd taught her, looking and finding the flaws.
(Another was the best insults for untalented numbskulls)
As the formal proceedings begin, Rachel tried not to show her boredom at the lame speeches. Once upon a time, she may at least try to listen or pretend to listen. But after a while, she realised that it was all repetitive. She got tired of it after a while.
"They're starting." Mr. Schue said. "Listen carefully. I want your opinion afterwards."
Rachel wanted to snort at that. She knew that by opinion, he meant her critique. It was one of the things she prided herself in – her ability to listen and discern every high or low note being sung. She looked up at the stage as the lights went down and the Jane Addams Academy was introduced.
Instantaneously, Rachel felt distaste rise up from her inner Diva. She knew that if Santana, her not-friend, could see the performance, she wouldn't hesitate to come up the stage and show them how a real performance was done. Quinn wouldn't hesitate to criticize the way that they dressed in spandex and baggy gold jackets.
(Rachel really had no say in fashion since her everyday clothing consisted of granny sweaters from Poland and skirts from Italy)
"What are you doing?" She heard Mr. Schue ask when he noticed her raising her IPhone (thank you, ND Boosters).
"Taking pictures." She answsered.
"For?"
"Quinn and San." A devious grin plastered on her usually plain and solemn face. "They're gonna have laughs at this."
She heard her Dad sigh and a few movements that was obviously the shaking of his head. She ignored him and took a couple more of pictures before sending them to her contacts, Satan and Barbie. Yep, she thought. Santana and Quinn were going to have a real laugh at that.
She hid her phone away and listened as And I Am Telling You I'm Not Goingfrom Dream Girls was sang as the group's solo. It was insulting to say the least. The song they sang was amazing, it had lots of potential. The soloist was an ethnic minority, so it was easy to project what was needed in the song. But it was too fierce. The song lost its meaning as the lead turned the song to whatever she wanted it to be.
"What do you think?" She faced her Dad, tightlipped and showface on.
"They're horrendous." He only nodded his head, as if the insult wasn't even that bad. When he didn't say anything in between, she continued on. "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going is a stereotypical song for girls like them." She nudged her head towards the stage. "If I were to judge them, I'd give them a 4.5." Before he could say another word, she added. "… over 10."
"Their soloist can hit the right notes." Mr. Schue's tone of voice was bland, obviously saying that he agreed with her scoring and arguing just for the sake of argument. "And it is an iconic piece."
"Iconic piece or not, the song was brutally butchered." Rachel scowled, crossing her legs and biting her thumb – a habit she so tried to stop. "She portrayed too much hatred and bitterness there. The song was meant to be of devoted love and a little bit of adoration. I understand that Jane Addams's girls are… reformed girls, so the song choice is utterly… unbalanced with them." There, she cut the insults a tad because she could feel that some ears were listening on them.
"Hmm, so high school show choir shouldn't try iconic pieces like this?" He hummed, leaning back to watch the group do a hairography.
"Anyone but us," She hid her mouth behind her closed fists. "No."
Mr. Schue didn't say anything else, so Rachel took the initiative to focus on the Jane Addams's faults. She tsk-ed every few seconds and let out sighs of exasperation in more times than she could count with her fingers.
"What in Barbra's good name is that?" Rachel's face distorted into a scowl. The intro for Proud Mary began and as if the clothes weren't enough to show off the poor, pathetic and bla-bla-bla of the disadvantaged youth, they even went to go and sit on a wheelchair. But that wasn't the worst of it. No, it was the fact that they couldn't even wheel themselves properly.
In quick succession, her phone was up and the camera was pointed at the stage. She was in video feed with her ex-duet partner in Skype to complain. If she couldn't do it right at the auditorium (because, let's face it, she's a diva – not Santana), then she'll have to live with throwing insults at them through her phone with her trusted co-insulter. That was what she did for the rest of the minute that passed.
The light soon got back as the Jane Addams bowed. She didn't join the polite clapping and neither did Mr. Schue. He simply looked at her with raised eyebrow, as if asking for her opinion. She thrust her phone at him, showing the whole conversation – which was more of an insult-fest than anything else. When she noticed he was busy nodding off at the insults, she stood and hurried to the snack bar.
It wasn't that she was angry. No, she was pretty full from the vegan mix that dearest Daddy Schue kindly treated her earlier. As she paid for two Still Drinking Water bottle, she decided that she wasn't sad either. She wasn't mad, so that ruled it out. No, Rachel Berry – for the first time since forever – was aggravated and stressed from watching a show choir performance. As she gulped one bottle, she thought of the other two performers and decided to buy five more – just in case.
When she got back to her seat, carrying four bottles of water (she drank the other three), Mr. Schue gave her phone back.
"Interesting choice of words." He told her. "'Barbares. Stupide, Callous barbares qui tentent de détruire la beauté de perfoming Arts.', It would seem my dear student has learned a thing or two in France."
"I prefer this one." Rachel sniggered and pointed at the one after that. "' Quelqu'un d'appeler la police! Ces ... ces chiens ont besoin d'être réhabilitées plus avant qu'ils puissent montrer leur visage en public!'"
Mr. Schue shook his head. "Really, the two of you are simply…" He finished that with a small laugh.
Rachel grinned proudly. It was quite childish but even things like those made her proud. She really, really would do everything – insult someone, force herself to sing a high note, dance a dangerous dance – just so she could hear her Dad compliment her. That was the same view as the rest of the veteran ND (Quinn, Santana, Mike, her). They do what they do because it was what Mr. Schue would be proud of.
"Water?" He asked, looking at the bottles in her arms.
"I'm stressed." Was the only thing she said. And it seemed to be the only thing he needed to hear.
"Haverhurst is next." He told her, as if in warning. "It's a... Deaf Show Choir."
Rachel sat up straight by that and looked bug-eyed at her beloved Dad. "You're joking with me? Please, Daddy, tell me I don't have to sit through such… such tormento." She bit her lips and her eyes got glassy.
He rolled his eyes at her and simply patted her head. "You don't know, Rachel, maybe a fluke could happen."
"They don't need a fluke. They need a miracle." She mumbled and slumped down her seat. She was being childish, she knew, but was her Dad really forcing her to listen to a Deaf choir's attempt to sing. Heck, the word deaf and choir shouldn't even get together like that.
Mr. Schue ruffled her hair and gave her a flash of smiles that were rare even on the best days. She pouted still. She really, fully outright believed that no good can come out of deaf choir performance.
She was proven right when the opening of Don't Stop Believing blared out of the stereos. She applauded the song choice – it was one of her favorite non-broadway songs. But when the curtain was unraveled and they began to open their mouth to – to butcher her beloved Journey favorite, she wanted to consume as much H2O as possible. She felt like her whole being was being sucked.
She tried to be nice with her judgment. Honest to the goddess of Broadway, she did. She knew that they couldn't hear themselves, but still…
"I wish I was deaf." She croaked out, hiding her whole head on her arms. "Please, Daddy Schue, please let me out of this hellhole." She looked at Mr. Schue, her whole face pained as her ears reached the ultimate level of pain.
He twisted his neck to nod her off, his showface slipping for a moment and showing the grimace of his face. That was all the confirmation she needed. She stood up, full height and grimace twisting her face as her sensitive ears rang. She looked around and saw that she wasn't the only one ready to bolt. There were others who were trying to leave as discreetly as possible. They were all hunched and trying to appear smaller as they passed the rows of seat. It was the universal way of trying to be polite and not disturbed anyone.
But she could see, just as she was doing, a boy from across the row had stood up in full height and the distaste was so easy to see. He stalked towards the exit and created a perfect storm out. She couldn't help the chuckle that came out from her and she hurriedly left the auditorium before people could give her odd looks. She didn't manage the same grandiose exit that the boy from earlier did, but as she was walking towards the exit, she gave him an applause – though people thought she was applauding the Haverhurst's kids.
As soon as the doors closed behind her, she felt instant relief. Finally, the noise was gone. She remained on the corridor for a moment, relishing the silence. She was leaning on the wall, looking for some sort of support. She felt the buzzing on her ears slowly fade and she could finally breathe. When she could finally feel her zen returning to her, she grabbed her water bottles and began consuming, trying to wash away her stress.
She sat on the lobby, drinking her ninth bottle (she bought another one) of water and Skype-ing her ex-duet partner. She had relayed the pain her heavily sensitive ears were in as the Haverhurst kids squawked. She told him about the boy with the Diva-potential and he laughed at her, telling her how she was finally finding her other half.
"Oh, shut up." She giggled at his jesting. "But honestly, I really want you back."
"What? Hudson not good enough for you?" He asked.
"No." She couldn't help but snort at the reminder of the tall, lanky jock with a weak baritone. "I mean, your voice mixes up pretty well with my mezzo-soprano or with Quinn or with Santana. That's how much I love your voice."
"Just my voice?" He joked.
"Yep." She nodded seriously.
"Ouch! That's got to hurt." He chuckled, making motions of being shot in the heart.
"Whatever." Rachel shook her head, and when she looked up to see Mr. Schue making his way towards her, she grinned. "Hey, Daddy, the prodigal son shows." She faced her phone towards him, grinning.
"Hey there, Dad." He grinned, saluting.
"Sebastian, how is your stay in Paris?" Mr. Schue nodded his head at the former male lead of New Directions.
"Two words, Dad – Clingy. Mama." Sebastian Smythe, ex-male lead of ND, shuddered at the thought of his mother. "She won't let me out of her sight. It's suffocating."
Mr. Schue shook his head, smiling at the ways of his prodigal son (Santana was the one who called him that). "Well, we all miss you."
"Of course you do. I'm so missable." He laughed at his own corny joke. "Anyway, I can see that you guys need to return to your 'reconnaissance' soon." But before he ended the call, he said, "By the way, Dad, was there any Deaf Choir fluke?"
Mr. Schue sighed, shaking his head. Sebastian's laugh mixed with Rachel's giggles echoed the empty lobby.
"Come on, Rachel, the intermission's about the end." Mr. Schue said.
"Sure thing, Daddy." She said, standing up and following him back to the auditorium. "I'll call you later."
"Video the Carmel's performance for me, Sweetcheeks, I wanna have something to laugh about here." Sebastian gave her a mischievous wink before signing out.
When they were seated back in their seats, Rachel picked up the fallen program proper and looked at the final performers. Carmel's Vocal Adrenaline didn't even have any proper picture. It was so faded that they couldn't see the proper faces. There weren't any special notes like who was the soloist, the duet or whatever.
She compared the black and white blurred photo to New Direction's own. ND featured Rachel at the front, showing her off. Beside her would always be Sebastian (now Finn Hudson). Santana, Mike and Quinn would be a centimeter behind them. The others would be scattered behind. Nevertheless, their faces would be visible at the very least. And her name would always be on the soloist portion underneath the big bold NEW DIRECTION name.
"Hey, Daddy Schue, who is the Carmel's new coach?" She asked.
"A Miss Shelby Corcoran, if I recall correctly." She pursed her lips, trying to discern if she heard the name before. When her mind couldn't give her the information she needed, she asked her Dad about the woman. "I honestly have no idea." He said.
"What about her kids?" Rachel asked. "Don't you have anything on them?"
"Nada." Mr. Schue shook his head. "I pulled out my ears on Carmel after the incident and they never gained my interest."
"Till now?"
"Yes. Till now."
"Why?"
"Carmel's Vocal Adrenaline are the Wild Card now." He said, staring at the stage with a faraway look in his eyes. "We don't know what they're capable of. If they ever move forward, we have no info on any of them. Not Shelby Corcoran. Not her kids."
"I got you." Rachel nodded her head. It was one of the things Mr. Schue imparted on them – the secret to winning. They had to learn the ins and outs of the enemy. They had to know up to what level they are so that they could surpass them tenfold.
It was one of the reasons why ND won as soon as he started to coach them.
Rachel pursed her lips and closed the program as the lights slowly dim. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the worst. Fishing her phone, she was ready to record the Carmel's performance for Sevastian. But if this got to unbearable, she was leaving. She didn't care for whatever it was. Her Dad may not be happy with that, but her sensitive ears were far more important.
Then, the orchestra began to play. For a moment, Rachel wanted to cry in outrage. Wasn't it enough that Haverhurst had decapitated her beloved Don't Stop Believing? Now, Carmel wanted to butcher one of Sondheim's greater works too.
She glared at the stage. The curtain rose but Carmel wasn't there. Oh, now they were bailing from Giants in the Sky. She could see Mr. Schue rolling his shoulder from impatience from her peripheral vision. And then…
"Oh, dear Barbra!" She almost dropped her phone as a high tenor reached her ears. It didn't cause her sensitive ears to hear the tremor of the notes being sang. In fact, she felt like she was in New York watching Into the Woods live. "Dear Sondheim…" She breathed out.
This wasn't a voice for a small town show choir. This was the voice of Apollo (God of Music, Poetry, etc.) This was the voice that was worthy to sing side-by-side to. This was a voice meant to be put in a high pedestal for all the little people around them (bar her – and Daddy Schue too, she supposed) should bow down to and grovel on.
She turned towards the back, hoping to catch sight of Apollo. The spotlight – which was still on stage till the door was slammed open – had followed a young man (because he was one, not a boy like anyone in their age here in the HSSC business) as he made his way down the aisle.
She could see that he was taller than her (but then again, who wasn't?). He was wearing a pink dress shirt. And usually, it would be seen as a gay color, but he looked so delectable on it. She could see his curls from her seat. His face was alight with emotion, as if he was Jack.
(Santana would've easily said, Wanky Wanky.
Sebastian's judgment would be, Super Hot.
Rachel would agree.)
For a moment, she contemplated whether or not he was doing a lipsync. Because a voice like thatcannot be conceivable here in a High School competition. But as she watch the rise and fall of his chest, she could tell that he had some experience with learning the proper breathing pattern on how to let out his pure voice.
Oh, Streisand… She melted when he briefly passed her row. She was close to the aisle, after all. She heard his voice much closer and it was more melodious than all else. She felt herself lean closer as he passed her and she could smell his scent.
(And she wanted to berate herself for acting like a dopey lovesick teenager, but she was far too enchanted to care)
Then, he ran back towards the middle, belting out the jaw dropping high notes. She wanted to cry because it was so beautiful. Then, as he proceeded on, much more calm but with the same passion – or even more passion than the original Into the Woods's Jack had sang the words, he stopped a row or two in front of her and took a pug-faced blonde's hand and kissed it.
Green invaded her vision. She felt something inside her stir. It was something she couldn't understand. She never felt like that before. Not at the same extent anyway.
She was Jealous.
It was truly laughable.
She, Rachel Barbra Berry, star of New Directions, Diva, soon-to-be Broadway star was jealous. And it wasn't even of the talent he possessed or his high vocal range. It was because of a pug-faced b*tch for getting her hand kissed by Apollo.
Yet another deplorable revelation was when she turned to face Mr. Schue. Rachel prided herself on being Mr. Schue's favorite daughter. She was his Dive Daughter. She liked to think that she know of him and his expressions far better than anyone else in ND. But the look he possessed then was something she had never seen before.
He looked thoroughly spooked. It was a laughable idea. Will Schuester? Spooked because a (amazing, hot, delectable) young man with a big voice? But Rachel could see the way his eyes widened and the way he was gripping the paper. It was so crumpled and she paled. How was it that this… this powerful voice managed to do what no one (not even her or Quinn, or Santana, or Sebastian, or all of the above) managed to do?
He managed to cause awe and fear to William Schuester.
Apollo rushed up the stage and much to her surprise, his voice was amplified more. This time, fear struck her whole body. It was obvious that the Techie were working on lowering the mic because, just for a moment, Apollo's voice had consumed the whole auditorium, drowning the large orchestra. How was it possible that a High School Show Choir could possess such strong voice that it was almost too much for a Sondheim?
As the song neared its end, the rest of Carmel entered through the doors. She only looked at them briefly – eyeing the way they smiled nervously and how some guys fixed their ties or some girls twirled a strand of their hair (nervous habits). It was obvious, she felt a surge of pride and kinship for the unknown singer and nicknamed after a god, he was the Star. The rest of his groupies obviously knew that.
Then, Apollo belted out the finale.
There was a loud applause. Everyone stood and gave him a standing ovation. She didn't.
(She'd like to say it was because she was an ND and NDs don't give praise to competition, but it was really because she was too busy gawking/drooling over him to do so)
Much to her surprise though, New Direction's hardass coach stood too. And she saw something she would still question if it was real. William Schuester was smiling as he brought his hands to applause. There were tears running down his cheeks.
And a deep surging jealousy for the young man burst from her.
How was it that this random young man could do what she can't? What did he have that her Daddy Schue would give him not only a standing ovation but also a smile? Why was her Daddy crying … happy tears?
All those answers remained unanswered though, and she focused back on the task at hand.
"Ladies and Gentleman." His speaking voice was smooth and had a lilt in it. She swooned at that. His singing voice was grandiose but his speaking voice was something she could listen to all day long. "Vocal Adrenaline." As he rushed to the back, her eyes followed him.
The Rolling Stones's You Can't Always Get What You Want opened and their voices blended together. Still, it was the unknown soloist's voice that had won over all of the voices. She could see that there were other attractive members of VA, but her eyes would always drift to him and her ears would always filter the others just so she could have a better hearing of his voice.
The second song died down and the third one blended immediately. Again, the soloist took the stage. His voice was warm and inviting. And then, a tall Latina made her way to the front, showing off her… weak Bass.
"Oh, holy theatre goddess, this is a conspiracy!" She hissed.
It wasn't fair. The Latina was barely using the proper breathing. Her voice came from her throat. She could see from where she sat the way her chest constrict from using the air there. Her diaphragm was fairly untouched. Apollo was practically carrying the song for her.
It really wasn't fair. Apollo needed someone to be able to sing him punto por punto. He needed someone of his equal. He needed someone with mezzo-soprano to match with his high tenor. So, in short, he needed her. Because no one in their state, in their age, in this lifetime, could match him like she could. She could already hear it in her mind. The blending of their vocals would be perfect.
As the Carmel took their bow to another standing ovation, she knew that this was it. She stopped the recording she was doing and raised her phone to take a picture. She took another, and another. All of it only had the mystery soloist (Apollo) in a zoom in. When the group left the stage, she picked up the fallen program and scanned over the names. She needed his name. She needed to know everything about him. There weren't even any indication on who he was. And then, her eyes caught a name that could only matched his face, his talent.
Jesse Stephen St. James.
It was a star name, she could tell. And from what she could see, just as her mother picked Barbra as her middle name – she was going to conquer broadway and be a bigger star than Barbra Streisand – he also had a big shoe to fill up with his middle name. She could immediately tell – from his song – that it was meant to be Stephen Sondheim.
Then, her eyes saw a Latina name, Giselle Torres and she recalled the weak Bass that barely melted with Jesse's high tenor.
To take her mind of her jealousy – and planned duets with him – she turned to face Mr. Schue, who was too entranced with Jesse. She tugged the cuffs of his sleeves, asking for his attention.
"Daddy Schue?" When he didn't answer, she bit her lower lips and called out for him in a formal manner. It was obvious that this was serious.
"Yes, Rachel?"
"What are you going to offer him to leave Carmel and come to McKinley?" She asked.
It was Mr. Schue's usual tactic. He would offer a talented person something – a condo, a car, a new model of laptop, anything – just so they would join. Usually, people would be jumping in to join them. But there were still some loyal to their show choir.
(Honestly, those who jumped on the chance to be part of ND weren't worth her time. In her eyes, they could be easily swayed… weak-minded fools.
She preferred those who stayed loyal to their team. That's how it was supposed to be.)
A flash of something – she couldn't tell what but it was something – drifted on his eyes before it was gone. "He's not coming to McKinley." Mr. Schue's tone was bland, empty and she almost missed the words.
"Excuse me?" She practically hissed. "That's outrageous! A voice like his is needed in ND!"
It was true. Such a beautiful lilting voice was on par – or perhaps it had surpassed, Sebastian's own voice. And with the way that Finn Hudson was singing, he wasn't ND quality and she really wanted to kick him out already.
(She suspected that there was money involved in the miracle on how Hudson stayed on the team.)
Wasn't I a good daughter? She almost wanted to ask. Why was Mr. Schue not giving her what she wanted – needed? Couldn't he see that only someone of her caliber can match up to his? That one he can shine alongside her? Why was he denying her of the performance of a lifetime?
I've finally met my match and you're denying me of him. She wanted to yell out.
"Why?" She gritted out when he didn't answer. "Do we need some sort of elevation? I can give away my car, my condo… I can buy a new one for him. ANYTHING."
"Berry," She flinched and her eyes widened. He never called her by her last name. He never spoke to her with such cold tone. What in the? "Stay put. My decision is final."
Rachel – for the first time in a while, put on her showface in front of her mentor, her Dad. She glared stonily at the head of the person in front of her. The image of her Apollo kissing that pug-face's hand and the his duet with the Latina flashed in her mind.
Again, jealousy stirred inside her.
She wanted to throw a tantrum, but she knew it would do no good. She –
Wait.
Her mind backtracked at her conversation with her coach. A small grin made its way on her face, but she put her showface back on before anyone can notice. She took out her phone and texted Andrea Cohen – she was sure that the senior girl she met in that Dance studio lived somewhere in Akron, somewhere near Carmel. She had to know something about Jesse Stephen St. James.
Daddy Schue never said anything about having private duets out of the show choir biz…
So, I got an inspiration after reading Inevitability (by Cris ~ Go read the stories there! Love you, Cris! Don't sue me) and I wanted to do something like that. Some of them may be taken from the second chapter of the fic, but I just… can't explain.
I had started writing this April 8, 2014; 8:24 pm when I got the inspiration while listening and re-listening to Rachel and Blaine (Anderberry!) sing Don't You Want Me and my Glee playlist of Marley's songs, Loser like Me, Sebastian's songs (Sebastian!), and others. I finished and published it at 2:23 am April 9, 2014. I haven't had sleep. So, please be kind with me. Please. I'm just going to get my much needed sleep now. Beta it if you wish. But I say that my head's not focused properly - I typed with my cellphone (during lunch breaks - planning) and tablet (my laptop was with my Ma) and my laptop (just to publish it). Be Kind to this Insomniac
I hadn't watched GLEE in ages (not since Prom Queen – the last episode for me) and I only watched some vids and song performance. BTW, Jesse should totally go to NYADA to get Rachel back. In my honest opinion, It's All Coming Back to Me Now in the Nationals is some sort of serenade from Rachel to Jesse. Because – honest to the heavens above – can you give another ex of Rachel who would inspire such feelings to her other than Jesse?
I meant no disrespect when I kept on b*shing Finn. I like him as a character. I just don't find the same ka-pow in him as I do St. Berry.
(Don't kill me Finchel fans. I'm a St. Berrian. We're not 'fighters')
Anyway, the pug-face that Jesse kissed the hand of… it's Becky. I know! Crazy, right? But since it was Jewfro that Rachel had tapped on the head, and he is obsessed with her, I found the same crazy and obsessed female counterpart – Becky.
BTW, the ND are composed of Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson (who took the place of Sebastian Smythe after he left for Paris), Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez, Mike Chang, Matthew Rutherford, Chris Matthews (he's a VA member in original, the repeater – here, it's in ND who gets the repeater.), and others.
VA has Jesse St. James, Giselle Torres, Andrea Cohen, Shoshandra Mikhails (a canon VA member), Tina Cohen-Chang, Artie Abrams, Noah Puckerman, Brittany Pierce, Mercedes Jones, Kurt Hummel, and others.