Chapter 1 - Of Quotes and Roommates
Received: Aug 17, 2012 7:10 am
Believe with all of your heart that you will do what you were made to do. – Orison Swett Marden
Rachel nibbles on her lower lip, contemplating her first text of the morning. Obviously, it was her dads who sent it, being infinitely subscribed to their day-to-day motivational quotes. She scrolls down to check for other new messages but finds nothing, and then sourly thinking of how that makes her one of those girls who never gets a text from anyone else aside from her parents.
Though really, the worst part is her dads never seem to run out of them. Not for the length of Rachel's lifetime maybe.
To date, she has exactly 394 "Motivational Quote of the Day" archived in her phone's external memory. They can literally put together a book and call it 'The Berry Way to Be Okay' (Rachel mentioned it during one of their visits, they shrugged it off with a laugh but the glint in their eyes suggested they were considering the idea).
The brunette releases a groan, setting her phone (as well as her irritation) aside. She loves her fathers. She loves them for trying to be there for her everyday. More often than not, she appreciates the dreamy statements and the Carpe Diem-like feeling they give her. Her reaction to words works naturally like caffeine in that they rile her up immediately with just the right dosage.
But not today. They simply don't fit when she's two boxes away from packing up more than a year of her life at Julliard.
Her phone unceremoniously vibrates again.
Baby girl, are you absolutely sure?
God, sometimes she feels the need to check the living room to see if they're actually there. Knowing a call might come next, Rachel fires off a quick reply.
Yes.
Not even five seconds passed by when her phone buzzes for the third time. Rachel promptly disables the vibrate mode before proceeding to read her inbox.
Do you swear to Barbra you're sure?
Rachel scowls.
How many times have I pleaded for you guys to never, ever bring Barbra again into a serious discussion?
We're hoping the thought of her might persuade you to do the right thing, sweetheart.
I am doing the right thing. Please respect my decision because I don't think anything can change my mind.
She feels awful as soon as she hits the send button. It's impossible to tell if there's any chance she's hurt them already. She knows it's only in her dads' best interest to look after her decisions, particularly the ones that might permanently affect her life. But she can't also help but feel hurt when they don't trust her with these decisions.
Okay, baby. We love you. Always remember that…
It's enough to alleviate her mood in an instant. Love you too, dads...
She does, and all of a sudden, she misses them. She misses home. Funny how it tells her what Lima really is to Rachel Berry. But that place still holds enough painful memories for her to get over her nostalgia in less than a second.
Rachel switches on the stereo, turning up the volume shamelessly. And with the help of Matt and Kim, pushes all her worries behind.
Cause in the daylight, anywhere feels like home.
xxxxx
"You psychotic freak, I'm going to miss you." Rachel mutters tearfully as Shelley, her roommate, hoists one of Rachel's hand-carries over her bony shoulder.
Rachel wasn't going to do this— deal with a goodbye and a doubtful promise to keep in touch. Give it a few months, and Shelley's going to be just someone she went to Julliard with. Then eventually, she'll tell the new Shelley how once she thought she's going to lose her thick brown locks during a hair-coloring session, which the old Shelley stupidly abandoned when a documentary on Isadora Duncan came up on Netflix. She'll tell her the nightmares she came down with in explicit detail, but that she forgave original Shelley right after discovering Duncan's the Barbra Streisand of dancers.
And then this new Shelley will be gone too, to be replaced by Shelley 3.0 until Rachel has enough versions of Shelley that she will have all of them mixed up in her head. And that means all Shelleys will be exactly the same since she won't be able to tell them apart anymore. Rachel imagines being in her deathbed, and thinking about a faceless friend who represents the average of all of her friends she's had before.
"Psychotic only by your standards. Wait until you get to NYU. You'll come running back, trust me," Shelley retorts. "And I can't believe you're leaving Julliard for real. Up to this moment I've been waiting for you to unpack your gold-star panties and nurse your pride instead with a pint vegan ice cream."
"I can still do the latter if you join me while we wait for the movers to arrive" Rachel suggests, wiping at a tear that has rolled down her flushed cheek. Every fiber of her being loathes crying, mainly because of the time someone informed her how her lower lip juts out excessively, making her look like a—
God, that's just going to make her nose snot badly even more.
"Of course, I will. Come here you crybaby." Shelley bawls at last, pulling the tiny brunette into her arms. Rachel's so small that her hands can easily touch the opposite ends of her shoulders.
They drop Rachel's things right by the door before grabbing Rachel's favorite fudge brownie and salted caramel pecan ice cream at the nearest vegan parlor.
"You're going to get back with Carlos as soon as you get rid of me, aren't you?" Rachel says, narrowing her eyes at her friend's laid back reaction.
"Hmmm..."
"Shelley!"
"What, I have a thing for mustaches. And his is the sexiest one I've ever seen in real life."
"Real life?"
Shelley shrugs. "Super Mario. No one can win against him, mustache-wise."
Rachel dramatically rolls her eyes in response, making Shelley chuckle in return.
"Really though, you can do so much better."
"You're one to talk. If anything, I bet you're still hung up on that dive boy version of you."
"Jesse?"
"See right there? You still have that look."
"What look? I don't have a look."
"The one that screams 'I'm still in love with him but I'm totally in denial'." Shelley says coolly.
"How dare you." Rachel pouts.
Shelley laughs. "Okay now, let's be serious. Why are you doing this again?"
"You know why." Rachel responds, taking a spoonful of the heavenly treat. The instant it hits her tongue, her eyes crosses behind her eyelids. This—this is what real orgasm is like, Rachel considers for a moment. Not that she'd know because—well, it's not like she had a real one before. Not with another human being. She has no idea whether she should be mortified or proud of it.
"I'm so glad we did this." The brunette adds, licking her lips to savor the traces of sweet left on them.
Shelley hums in approval, digging her spoon back in.
"I know Jesse St. James' an ass for degrading you in front of potential agents. And the fact that he's your boyfriend("Ex-boyfriend," Rachel corrects automatically) fucks you over but you can't give up like this."
Jesse. To be honest, she hasn't really thought about him a while.
At Rachel's lack of response, Shelley continues, "I just don't understand, Broadway is your dream, and Julliard is your express ticket to it. And you're throwing it all away to study Psychology at NYU."
"It's not even about him, Shells. I'm just beginning to realize that the Julliard way isn't the only way. Come to think of it, not everyone who graduates from it is successful in their endeavors. Some icons didn't even have proper training. All they were armed with is natural born talent." Rachel replies, eyes solemn and filled with determination. There's fact in what she's saying, but statistically speaking…
"May I be frank?"
"Aren't you always?" Rachel teases fondly.
Weighing her words carefully, Shelley replies, "Fine. What makes you think you'll do any better than those people?"
"That's easy." Rachel says confidently. "Because I'm Rachel Berry, and I'm born to be a star."
Shelley gives her a look, and it doesn't take a second glance for Rachel to see it—the cynical expression on somebody's face, every time she speaks of her future success with utmost certainty. To others, it comes across as self-gratification or sometimes even insanity—but it's just the way it is.
Rachel's made to perform. This time though, she'll slow down and take her time.
"Tell that to your new roommate and you'll be butchered in no time."
"I don't think I'll meet someone crazier than you are."
Shelley scoffs. "Doubt it. Bet you a hundred bucks you'll find one on your first day."
Rachel grins. This should be easy. "Sealed."
"For the love of god, don't print something and have it notarized. Jeez, I always forget the paper work that comes with these wagers."
Rachel laughs, because yeah, she's totally going to have their agreement on paper.
The ice cream can's almost empty. Glancing at her wristwatch, Rachel believes the moving van's probably already parked in front of their dorm, waiting to move out Rachel's belongings for good.
The change is exhilarating. But eyeing her bottle-blonde friend now is flagging her excitement. This is goodbye, isn't it?
"Shells, can I ask one last favor from you?"
"Sure, Rachel "born to be a star" Berry."
Rachel's mind bickers, but her heart says it's futile not to try. Right now, there isn't another Shelley in Rachel's life, and she will need this Shelley—the one and only.
So the question wrings out of her mouth timidly. "Promise me we'll get drinks and maybe vegan ice cream at least once a month?"
Shelley's face brightens up, like she's been thinking about the same thing all this time. "Sealed. And make that at least twice a month."
Rachel smiles with contentment. That makes two documents for notarization in one afternoon. She makes a mental note to put this in her planner in case she forgets.
xxxxx
The first thing she notices about New York university is its vastness.
Scale-wise, it's the largest school Rachel's ever been, and her jaw's starting to hurt from gaping all throughout the welcome tour. It may be the thrill of starting anew, but she's finding out that she's going to fall in love with this place the way she did with Julliard. But at this moment, she can already see the countless difference between the two.
Julliard is a building filled with people just like her. NYU is a campus, where everything screams diversity. Rachel clasps her hands together, reveling in its magnificence.
"New students, you may now proceed to your designated dormitories."
Rachel barely hears the call, staying frozen in her place as the group disperses.
xxxxx
When she applied for a slot in the First Year Residence Halls, Rachel's devastated to find out they were already full. In fact, every residential site provided by the school has already been crammed even before the beginning of the school year.
Except for one.
The doorman greets her with a pleasant smile, which Rachel returns just before her eyes settle on the warm colors that paint the Greenwich Hotel lobby. Rachel instantly falls in love—with its Japanese-inspired ceiling, down to its lush brown Tibetan silk carpet.
She still can't believe she's going to actually live here. Everyday of this is just… surreal. Rachel staggers towards the hotel receptionist not bothering at all to hide her enthusiasm.
"Hello there. I'm Rachel Berry, and I'm from New York University," The name of her new alma mater rolls of her tongue deliciously, and Rachel can't help but feel thrilled at the fact that this is the first time she's telling someone she comes from the Big Apple's most prestigious university. "I have here a copy of my approved lease application."
"Ms. Berry, may I see an ID please?"
Rachel reaches inside her bag and pulls out her driver's license.
"Nice picture." The old woman comments with a smile.
Rachel beams, cheeks reddening. "Thanks."
"Hmm. Let's see... Oh, here it is. Rooming with Ms... S-Santana Lopez." She continues speaking to no one in particular. "You lucky duck. Here's your security code. Room 608."
She wants to ask why, but one rarely questions good luck.
Santana Lopez turns out to be slim, golden-skinned, and beautiful.
"Y-you're Santana Lopez? It's nice to meet you. Hi, I'm Rachel Berry, you're new roommate!"
For two seconds, Santana merely glances at the hand being offered to her, and replying, "Okay, I have one rule. Numero uno y solo – keep your hands off my stuff. Intiende?"
Burned by the rejection, the brunette instantly withdraws her hand.
Suddenly, they hear a sharp cry coming from the hallway. Alarmed, Rachel quickly spins on her heels, reaching for the door when she hears her roommate scream.
"Jesus, Gloria! If you need to wail your guts out, do it in your room!" Santana yells over Rachel's head, before turning her attention back at the quivering brunette. "Anyway, are we clear? Got violent reactions? Because it's better if we settle this with a fist fight as early as now—"
Rachel—shocked and literally petrified— stares at the Latina in bewilderment. Rachel had been wrong—Santana is slim, golden-skinned, beautiful and angry. "Uhm…?" Rachel stammers.
"I said, do you understand? Do you speak English?" Santana repeats, already losing her patience.
Rachel forces herself to focus. "I do! And also, I believe you were speaking in—"
"Good. Another thing, no decorations of any kind that will compromise my inner peace, got it?"
"Yeah, though actually, that's more than one—"
"Dios mio, didn't anybody tell you it's disrespectful to keep on interrupting someone? Okay, back to rule number one— no talking while I'm talking."
Rachel nods frantically, feeling the hair on her nape start to prickle.
"No singing in the shower. I have cat ears, which means I have a really sensitive hearing, and to be honest just hearing other people breathe bothers me—"
Oh god, she's going to die here. They'll never find her body. Her dads will be left sending a motivational quote to dead girl everyday. She'll never sing with Barbra, let alone meet her...
"No bringing of stray kittens. And god, don't even get me started on bunnies—"
Thoughts of innocent animals being slew by this woman in front of her, swirls madly inside Rachel's mind.
"And you might want to get out every Friday night, stay up late, join a pagan ritual, and so on. Because well," Santana smirks, eyes a darker shade. "I needs to get my mack on, you know."
No, she doesn't. Rachel doesn't understand any of these rules. She can't tell whether Santana's joking around or terrifyingly serious. Singing is an extension of herself. She can't not sing in the shower or while in the kitchen, that's just impossible. She sings whenever her soul tells her to. Is she being punished for her disobedience? Or did she really just made a mistake?
"Shit, I have to go. Oh, and welcome to NYU, Michelle."
"It's Rachel. Rachel Berry."
"Whatever, Berry."
As the soon as the Latina shuts the door behind her, Rachel exhales a breath of relief. It seems all those years of breathing exercises isn't only helpful during a performance.
She reaches for her phone and calls Shelley.
After a few rings, Rachel successfully reaches her answering machine.
Right, dance rehearsals at eight.
Rachel curls up on her tiny bed, already missing Shelley. And deep down, maybe her old life too.
