Authors' note: Hi, I'm Lori (aka joker to the thief) and this is Mags (aka maggiequeen). We've been working on this fill for linty_goodness over at the LJ puckrachel drabble meme for months and finally (FINALLY), we're ready to release our baby out into the world. It's a multi-chapter full of Glee goodness and familiar faces, and we hope you enjoy it. So welcome to our AU bubble! Join us, won't you?

PS, if we owned Glee, you better believe you'd know it ;)

The tiny brunette is tap-tap-tapping her shoe to an internal rhythm as she waits in the dark interior of McKinley High's auditorium. She's been waiting here so long, she is pretty sure all the exposure to this environment was seriously lowering her cool factor. But taking a good look around, she allows herself an evil grin. A few hours from now and this haven for loserdom would be the scene of the most legendary prank she had ever done. Just then, the auditorium door opens and in scurries a hooded figure, heading straight towards her. "And of course he even moves like a cockroach," she mutters to herself. In a slightly louder voice, she says, "Do you have them?"

The person in front of her fidgets like a little bitch before finally nodding.

"Good. And you followed my very detailed instructions to the letter to prevent this from ever being traced back to me? No paper trail, no fingerprints, no anything?"

Repeated vigorous nodding causes the person's hoodie to slip back and reveal the reddish brown fluff that characterized one Jacob ben-Israel. "Y-yes." At her glare, he manages to squeak out a few more words. "I drove out to a store two towns over and I wore a hoodie to cover my hair and I stayed out of range of the cameras and wore gloves and used cash."

At that information and the full realization of her genius plan, she feels positively (dare she say it?) gleeful. Looking at the sad waste of DNA in front of her, she snaps her fingers. "Well, then why are you still standing around there for, Jewfro? I haven't got all day."

This seems to wake him up from his trance and he shifts about a little and clears his throat. "Well, you see…there's a teeny, tiny problem."

She turns on him so fast, he almost gets whiplash. "What?" she growls.

He gulps audibly. "There's a door that leads to the upper levels of backstage and the rafters but um, well…it's locked."

She rolls her eyes. God, why couldn't she have some minions with brains for a change? She replies in a deceptively sweet voice, "Well, Jacob, that's what I'm here for." With that, she brandishes one of her most prized possessions: her deluxe lock pick gun. Within seconds, the door is open and she is stowing her baby back in her bag. She is about to step in when a hand on her arm stops her in her tracks.

Jacob's hand. On her arm.

She resists her automatic reaction of ripping his whole fucking arm off (because, sadly, she still needed him to pull off her plan) and turns to him with a dangerously calm expression on her face. Already, he looks like he's about to have a heart attack. Not to mention that he's still holding on to her arm.

He quickly lets go of said appendage and visibly attempts to compose himself. "T-there's also the question of my…payment."

She doesn't censor the look of supreme disgust on her face. "A deal's a deal, fartface. You do this for me…and I'll acknowledge your presence in public." At the light that appears in his eyes, she warns. "But touch me with your clammy little hands again and I'll rip your balls out through your mouth. Now start climbing."

Jacob shudders and nods, quickly dragging the extremely wieldy piece de resistance of her entire plan with him. With a finger, she tests the tautness of the nearly invisible wiring of the mechanism she had rigged for this special occasion. A glance upwards reveals the main bulk of it and a shaky Jewfro climbing to the top with his load. She frowns when she sees a weird red blinking light when she looks up but she dismisses it as just another theater thingy.

The sound of wheezing from the direction of the rafters brings her back to the matter at hand and she laughs. It was way cool having minions. At least that way, she could just sit back and watch the shit fly without getting her hands dirty or having nasty things like fingerprints lying around. Not to mention this kind of enterprise would put her in serious jeopardy of breaking at least two nails. She just had a mani-pedi done yesterday (Cherry Crush, thank you very much) and she really didn't want to ruin Mei-mei's hard work.

"And I'm supposed to just dump everything here?" cries a thin wavering voice from several feet above.

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, loserville, we've been over this. Keep up, will ya? If my calculations are correct – and they are – this is gonna deliver the payload at the exact time and the exact target."

"You did this?" The distance is not enough to mask the note of astonishment and skepticism in the boy's voice.

Crap. She couldn't let it be known around school that she understood physics blindfolded. Next thing she knows, she'd be a (gasp) nerd. "What? You lookin' to make something of it, dweeb?" she growls, injecting the right amount of menace to her voice.

"N-n-no, of course not," he squeaks.

"Good." She glances at her watch and realizes that she only has 10 minutes left for study hall. "I'm out, loser. That thing better be full or else you'd better get used to living in dumpsters. Well, more than usual, I mean."

"I won't let you down—", scrabbling sounds and a shriek, "Oh shit! ...no wait, I'm okay!" Jewfro cries out. She rolls her eyes yet again, comforted in the fact that if this was her lucky day, she'd not only get an awesome prank out of it but also the possibility of Jewfro in a full-body cast. The thought alone makes her grin.

As Rachel Berry walks out of the WMHS auditorium she can barely contain the devilish laughter from spurting out of her. Noah Puckerman and his merry band of losers would never know what hit them.

"You're plotting something. You have your scheme-y face on. I'm not really sure I like it, B," declares Quinn Fabray in her signature breathy whisper.

The girl in question, who was applying another coat of lip gloss, meets her best friend's gaze in the lighted vanity mirror she had built in her locker. She doesn't say anything for a while, merely finishing her primping before tightening her Sue Sylvester-approved ponytail and fluffing the ends. Finally, she turns to face the blonde, her skirt swirling about her thighs.

"Don't worry your little head about it, Q," Rachel says with a smirk and a half-mocking pat on said head. "Let's just say this afternoon is going to be incredibly fucking interesting. Not to mention colorful." With one last glance at her reflection, she loops her arm around Quinn's and winks. "And don't lie…you know you love it."

Quinn tries to keep a disapproving expression on her face before finally laughing in agreement. Arm in arm, they sashay down the hallway towards third period Chemistry, their Cheerio skirts swishing a rhythm as they walk. Almost automatically, the crowd parts as they pass in a cloud of perfume and popularity.

In the world of high school, there is always a hierarchy. For those few schools that purport that they have a 'culture of acceptance and equality'…fuck that. They don't know jackshit. In William McKinley, there are the usual suspects: the jocks, the cheerleaders, the student council, the math geeks, the AV club, the drama club, the stoners, and the reform school wannabes, each clique moving up or down the hierarchy depending on the week. But in change, there are always a few constants.

One was that Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry were always on top.

They were, without a doubt, the undisputed rulers of WMHS. Forget the jocks; one twitch of a skirt and a little 'come-hither' eyes and they were nothing more than underlings. No, the true leaders of the pack were two innocent-looking morsels of hotness in red and white, two girls as different as night and day. Quinn was the epitome of blonde perfection, WMHS's resident Queen Bee, all rainbows and unicorns and cute kittens. Everyone loved her, boys wanted her and girls wanted to be her. As for Rachel…well, no one ever messed with Rachel Berry and her fabulous evilness. A badass who managed to terrorize each year level with a sexy smile and candy apple lip gloss, her own best friend called her the love child of Darth Vader and Snow White. You either were scared to death of her or you wanted to fuck her. And sometimes, it was both.

But it wasn't always that way. Back when Rachel was still a motherless little second grader with skinned knees and a penchant for climbing trees, Davey Karofsky (a douchebag even at 8 years old) pushed her down during recess just for the fun of it. Pretty soon, all hell had broken loose at the playground of Crestview Elementary and the new girl, this angelic blond thing with pigtails and a look of fury on her face, was marching right up to Davey's face and telling him off for being a 'big old meanie'. Rachel was so surprised at someone standing up for her, she almost forgot to release Davey from the choke hold she had him in.

(What? Her dad was a Mossad-trained FBI agent who thought that little girls should know how to defend themselves.)

(Even if that meant Krav Maga lessons at 4 years old.)

From that day on, Quinn became Rachel's very best friend, her sister. They saw each other through elementary and junior high, through 6th grade homeroom and Sue Sylvester's summer cheerleading boot camp (word was it was based on Green Beret trials), through boyfriends and puberty.

Now they were deep in high school and all the crap that went with it. And if sometimes Rachel felt like the overlooked dark horse beside the golden girl, it didn't matter. Because she loved her best friend and they were in it together. The way she saw it, her best friend could have the limelight all she wanted; she preferred working her badass powers in the shadows anyway. Quinn needed to be worshipped; Rachel just needed to be feared.

As they continued walking to class, Rachel is reminded of another constant. Which was that the bottom level (like, basement low) was always, always reserved for the glee club. Oh, each member was a loser in their own right but the prize of most extreme case clearly went to one Noah Puckerman, aka the king of the gleeks.

Speak of the devil, she thinks as she spies him making his way down the corridor, with his trademark guitar case slung on his shoulder. To be honest, she really didn't know what to make of him most of the time. He didn't fit in anywhere. For one, there was the whole issue of having two moms, one of whom was a teacher (ugh, if that wasn't the kiss of death in high school, nothing else was). Then there was the fact that he didn't actually talk but when he did, it was like he swallowed a fucking dictionary. Practically everything out of his mouth was about songs or bands no one had even heard of or his 5-year, 10-year, even 25-year plans. He never hung out with anybody or chilled like a normal guy, which just solidified the belief that he was a fuckin' snob who thought he was better than anyone else. God, he was just…weird.

He was walking with his head down in all his flannel glory when a random meathead in a letterman's jacket bodychecks him into the locker. Instead of retaliating (you know, like a normal person would), Puckerman just sighs, adjusts his thick-framed glasses and kneels down to inspect the guitar case he had dropped in the impact. Satisfied that his guitar was fine, he stands up and runs a hand through dark, close-cropped hair.

"B, you're watching that guy again." Quinn's whisper interrupts her from her thoughts.

Puckerman's head suddenly shoots up (the unshielded look of alarm flashing behind his glasses is absolutely delicious) and he looks at them. Mortified to be caught looking at Noah Puckerman of all people, she sneers at him. "What are you looking at, Puke-rman?"

His only response is a tensing of his jaw before he starts walking away. Satisfied that a crisis was averted, Rachel slips into her customary seat in Mrs. Jones' class with a sigh. She looks at her watch and grins. Two more hours until showtime.

After lunch, all the students are herded into the auditorium like cattle. Settling in next to Quinn, Rachel spies Principal Figgins up in front with Will Schuester, the glee club director-slash-Spanish teacher. He was a nice enough dude for a teacher (even if she totally agreed with Sylvester's thoughts regarding his hair) but she thinks that clearly all that product did something to his brain because who would want to be in charge of glee club voluntarily? And the way he set up this little performance for his club like he honestly thinks that it will make it cool somehow…she shakes her head in dismay. If he were any dumber or more naïve, he'd be Brittany.

Right on cue, in comes Santana Lopez, her fellow Cheerio and sometimes frenemy, pinky-to-pinky with Brittany Pierce. They stop at their aisle and Santana merely looks at the poor freshman Cheerio unlucky enough to be occupying the seat next to Rachel's.

By the time she sits down, Rachel idly observes. "You sure you wanna sit there? I think you scared the poor girl so much, she peed in her pants."

Santana waves off her concern. "Bitch, please. Girl's bladder wouldn't even think of doing that in my presence."

"Hey B! Hi Q!" Brittany enthusiastically says, as if they hadn't seen each other just the period before.

Rachel rolls her eyes covertly but joins Quinn in greeting the blonde. Sometimes, she wondered about these two. You couldn't find a weirder pairing. Santana was a bitch for the sake of being a bitch, the poster child for Skanks Unlimited, while Brittany was just a sweetheart. Dumber than oatmeal but a complete sweetheart nonetheless. Sure, she knew about the 'sweet lady kisses' that happened whenever Santana couldn't find anyone new (or, you know, breathing) to warm her bed but most of the time, it was like they were two halves of the same person, one not being far from the other.

Pretty soon, Figgins is asking everyone to settle down, to the jeers of some of the puck heads down in front. He starts of in his droning little voice about the new school year and the plans for the next semester, blahbbity-blah-blah. While he's going on about the increased budget for the school's marching band (seriously, did they really have to have a fundraiser for feathers on their hats?), Quinn leans in.

"Donnie's been asking about you again."

Rachel rolls her eyes at the mention of Quinn's second cousin from Dalton Academy. "Please. As if I'd ever be caught dead with a guy named Donnie."

"Give him a chance. I mean, after that one date, he was really into you," Quinn whispers.

"Yeah well, you know me. Love 'em and leave 'em," she replies flippantly.

"Honestly," Quinn huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. "You don't want that sort of rep, B."

"Who knows, maybe I do," Rachel smirks. At that point, Figgins had turned the mike over to Schuester, who was talking on and on about the history of glee club, how they've been working hard to make it to Sectionals and if students joined, they'd be special by being part of something special.

"Yeah, like retard kind of special," Santana mocks from her left. The Cheerios and jocks in the vicinity snicker when they hear it.

Soon, Schuester is introducing New Directions and the curtains rise to a chorus of faint applause, laughter and a few boos. There are 5 people on the darkened stage dressed in red shirts, jeans and white Chucks. The lights go up with the first beats of the song and there they were, the basement level trolls of McKinley High. Puckerman is up in front, belting out the song like nobody's business.

Just a small-town girl

Living in a lonely world

Journey? Really? Okay, so maybe Puckerman can sing, big deal. But god, could they be any lamer dancing and twirling to an '80s pop (you better believe she's not calling this shit rock and roll) hit? And when the black girl goes up to sing the next verse, she cringes. Girl could be Aretha but what was Schue smoking when he had her sing this? She was like Whitney Houston on crack (well, more crack anyway) with runs going where runs shouldn't have gone. Scratch what she said before; even Journey didn't deserve this wrongness.

They go through a few more verses (and honestly, it's making her head hurt that the dude in the wheelchair was a better dancer than the rest of them) before it all mercifully ends. They are bowing to the sound of a few sympathetic people clapping when Rachel finally perks up. It's almost time.

She grips Quinn's hand in excitement. "Get ready, Q," she whispers giddily.

(Five) The glosers make another bow.

(Four) Schuester makes another desperate plea for members and announces the times for the next auditions.

(Three) Figgins thanks the New Directions again ("Nude Erections," comes another witticism from Santana, and Rachel rolls her eyes.) and tells everyone that the assembly is now officially done.

(Two) She sees Puckerman signal one of the stagehands to the side.

(One)

But instead of the curtain going down as expected, pulling on the rope sets off a chain reaction. A cable attached to the rope is released, a wire is triggered, a pulley is activated…

…and gallons and gallons and gallons of blueberry slushie is released from 5 specially-designed buckets hanging from the auditorium rafters, straight on the heads of the glee club members still on the stage. It lands with a sick, satisfying splotch and splatters on the feet of the teachers unfortunate enough to be in the front row.

There is complete and utter silence for a few seconds before it becomes complete and utter chaos. Students are laughing so hard, they are wheezing. There is outraged shrieking from Lady Fabulous over on stage (well, at least she thinks it was the gay kid; with the amount of slushie she used, they all looked like blue blobs from afar), as he and the rest of the club are now slipping and sliding in flavored ice. Ms. Pillsbury is hyperventilating because of the slushie that got on her sweater. Figgins and Schuester are shouting and trying to keep order. The popular kids are keeping up the taunts and the jeers amidst their laughter. But in the midst of the mayhem, Puckerman is standing shock-still, his angry eyes staring directly at her.

Well, she can't disappoint the boy. While Quinn is giggling beside her and her friends are giving her well-deserved pats on the back, Rachel looks right back at him and blows him a kiss. Take that, freak.

"That's her!" she hears someone shout over the pandemonium. Whirling around, she catches sight of that fat chick from her AP Calculus class with one hand holding on to the collar of a squirming Jewfro and the other hand pointing straight at her. And worst of all, she had Coach Beiste right behind her.

Well, shit.

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