Hello, dear readers.
First, I want to apologize for the slow updates on Damn Implications, it's on it's way, I swear. But this isn't about that, or my stories.
The wonderful ClareBelle26 and I have been working on a brilliant idea for a collaboration piece that she came up with. It's my first collab so I was excited and a bit nervous for the result. It came out even better then I hoped. I blame it on Clare, she's really awesome :)
Updates for this should be more regular since it's easier with two people.
Also, virtual cookies to the person that recognizes what song the title is inspired from.
Follow in my footsteps quickly now, before they fade away.
Mr. Shue walked into an unusually quiet room; he paused after he had stepped only a few feet into the room. He looked around at the expressions of the twelve kids, studying them, trying to find a reason why it was hushed. He placed some books and papers on the table, sitting in front of the students. Rachel usually spoke up and prattled on about some idea, but today she just sat there, with her hands folded carefully in her lap.
Mr. She stood and sighed heavily, hoping someone would speak up before he delivered the idea, which he was praying would bring them back together as a club. For weeks now, they had been slowly drifting apart and, steadily losing interest in what many had deemed a second home.
Deciding that no one was going to speak up, Mr. Shue dragged the black board in front of the group. No one's interest was perked; many just gazed into the distance. Mr. Shue finally lost his patience and slapped the board with his hand, ignoring the sharp pain that sprung across the soft skin.
Few jumped, but few really cared. Many focused their dull eyes on him, waiting for Mr. Shue to speak but not questioning why there was a board. He turned his back to them and began to write, in big letters.
"Homework," Puck yawned, "Brilliant."
That comment from Puck, made Mr. Shue bite his lip harshly, as he finished scribbling the word and slapped the chalk back down on the bench. He moved away from the board and gestured for everyone to read it, trying to diminish the annoyance that was currently streaming through his veins.
"Sympathy?" Kurt read out, raising an eyebrow questioningly. A few people murmured, seconding his question without actually saying anything.
"Commonly confused with empathy," Mr. Shue responded, "Sympathy is something we've all been lacking for one another, we don't understand what we're all going through"
"Hell," Artie supplied, "Hell is what we're all going through."
"Yeah Mr. Shue," Quinn sighed, "For most of us, it's our Senior Year. Right now the pressure is really on and with the extra boot camps and, all the homework."
"And relationship drama," Finn continued for her, glancing quickly at Rachel. She clenched up at his words but refused to turn and look at him, she just continued to gaze at the board.
"You guys have empathy for one another," Mr. Shue agreed, "But you guys don't really get what's happening with one another, do you? Sure, you feel sorry for one another, there's pressure for everyone. But you guys aren't really a team."
He shrugged his shoulder and sat down on his desk, studying them all for a minute.
"So what's the homework?" Tina asked, tilting her head towards the board.
"We're singing sounds about being sympathetic and all that walk-in-another-shoes crap?" Santana asked, jutting her jaw out slightly.
"No Santana," Mr. Shue said patiently, "We are going to walk in each other's shoes"
Silence descended across the club, but no one was staring off into the distance now. They were all looking at Mr. Shue; there expression's a mixture of annoyance, anger, boredom and curiosity.
But hey, Mr. Shue thought, at least they're paying attention.
"Mr. Shue?" Brittany raised her hand.
"Yes Brittany?" He replied, smiling at her expectantly.
"Can I not walk in Rachel's shoes, they are really small and ugly," The blond requested, wrinkling her nose up in distaste. A small rumble of laughter echoed from the students, even Rachel's cracked a small smile, despite the insult.
Mr. Shue felt himself begin to relax and realized for the first time how nervous he was.
A small, jittery part of him still worried. The part that reminded him how many times they'd barely scraped by when everybody had wanted it more than anything, the part of him that kept a secret watch over the bathrooms during passing time, tallying the number of times his kids got slushied.
Ask him, he knows the numbers for each of them, weekly, monthly, sorted by color and averaged by gender, popularity and sexual orientation.
The truth tastes like raspberry concentrate and it's this:
They could walk away. They might.
And what he's about to put them through will either save them or break them apart beyond repair.
"Brittany has a point."
Mr. Shue takes one look at Rachel's opening mouth and narrowed eyes and hastens to clarify.
"I want all of you to come up to the board and write your name and after that, your shoe size."
He looks at them expectantly. They look back.
This is it.
For a long, terrifyingly long, moment nobody moves. He clenches his fists and feels the urge to pray, the first time since Kurt's father had been hospitalized, what now feels like forever ago.
Mike stands.
Mr. Shue breathes again. The kids turn around to look at him, all with identical faces of surprise.
It's an accepted fact that Mike is a follower. But nothing's been normal lately.
They all look at him, expecting him to say… something. Mike avoids their curious stares, eyes on the ground, hands deep in his pockets. Obviously uncomfortable, out of place.
A realization hits him like a hard kick to the stomach.
He wouldn't recognize the sound of Mike's voice.
Well, he thinks to himself as he hands the chalk to the boy with a proud smile, I can fix that. Maybe this challenge will be good for him too. Rachel stands with her usual dramatic flair and even as Mr. Shue turns her, he notices Mike quietly take his seat, fading back into the background again.
Mike's face is blank and Mr. Shue can't tell if he's relieved or disappointed.
"Although I already know none of you will ever be able to truly appreciate my position since I'm much more talented and passionate I'm willing to let you try."
Rachel smiles brightly at them, the one where she stretches her lips too far and it looks too fake, too insecure.
In the background, he can see the other members shaking their heads. Artie, who has actually looked up and met his eyes for the first time in weeks, looks away, withdrawing back into his turtleneck. Santana's mouth is a thin quivering line, storm clouds clearly brewing.
Mr. Shue shakes his head.
This he can fix.
"Rachel, I want you to apologize to your Glee Club for that. It was untrue and completely uncalled for."
Large brown eyes blink back at him, mouth hanging open in shock. Yes, he's serious.
Some part of her must have realized that because she glances around the room uncertainly and swallows her protest. Santana folds her arms and glares, waiting.
Since Mercedes has shown up less and less, the Latino has slowly taken over the roll of Second Best.
It's not going so well.
"Well, hobbit? I is waiting."
Mr. Shue pauses just a moment too long, waiting for Brittany to step in. She doesn't. She was the only one who'd ever really been able to control the other girl, get her to back down, stop a fight before it got ugly. There're been far many of those lately, since she and Santana-
Well, he didn't know the details.
But he'd found Santana crying in the choir room one day after school. He'd tried to help but she had swung between threatening his child making abilities and screaming about cheap contact lenses.
"Rachel?"
He can see her on the verge of giving in, lower lip trembling.
She looks too young. Much too young and uncertain and scared.
Mr. Shue glares at Finn, who doesn't notice, willing him to take his girlfriend's hand, encourage her. Something. The boy's gaze is unfocused, mouth parted slightly, staring into space.
"Fine."
Internally, he winces. She sounds so lost.
But he knows this is part of the reason they're here, splintering apart so painfully. Rachel is special, yes, but spoiled. And with Kurt at Dalton, without a friend to keep her grounded, she's only gotten worse. If he's honest, it's partly his fault.
She's incredible fragile when it comes down to it and he's always been weak.
"I'm sorry."
Rachel sits and the room takes a deep breathe.
One by one, they trickle to the front and write their names. A smile here, a laugh there. Mr. Shue can feel something unexplainable start to wake up a little, thaw out. But Rachel sits stonily in her seat and says nothing, lower lip trembling.
She's his best soldier and he prays she won't be a casualty of war.
He looks down at his blackboard and breaks out into a wide smile.
Maybe, just maybe, he can fix this.
Tell us what you think, we're both dying to know!
Did you like the mesh of our styles? The way the story is heading? Any songs your dying to hear?