The gavel banged down and Rachel could feel her life ending. Her credit score was plummeting already. God. Her eyes widened in terror as she heard the judge drone on something about "good deeds and a sense of empathy for her fellow man". She interrupted him. "Sir, if I might." The small courtroom seemed a bit stunned. "I don't see how tricking that girl off the stage so I could sing my own performance is that big of a crime."

A few chuckles filled the room. The judge gave them all harsh stares before speaking again. "She fell eight feet into a cellar!" He wags his finger at the other injured singer, who was sitting in a cast and wheelchair, her arm in a sling. "Now, Miss Berry." He cleared his throat, looking at her paperwork. "You have a relatively clean criminal history. In fact, this is your first offense. I'm going to take it easy on you." She froze on the hysterics. Oh, great, she thought. He's letting me go! She could already feel her bank card being warmed up from the celebratory swiping that would likely ensue. "You're going to do a community outreach program in West Lima." Her mouth fell agape.

"I'm from East Lima," she said, as if he needed to be informed. She gestured out the window to the quaint little side of Lima; it was far more well-preserved than its Western counterpart. He deflated a little. "You're going to be helping underprivileged youth," he went onto explain. "I even have a foster family set up for you. You're going to live life without all of your privileges. That attitude of yours is exactly what landed you here to being with." Before she could protest, he slammed his gavel down for finality. "Dismissed," he grumbled, exiting to his chambers.

She stood for a moment, a bit unsure if she should cry or start pulling her hair out. It was going to be a long summer.

There he stood, bending over the yard with a pick-axe. Whoever said landscaping was easy had clearly never done it in the dead of summer in West Lima, Ohio. There were surprisingly few trees in this area of town. But that's exactly why he was there. The area just needed a little loving. He threw his shoulder back before driving it into the earth again. He swore he could almost here it groan as he separated dirt from grass.

An old, worn-down bus managed its way up the road, stopping in front of the street. It sighed a bit as the doors opened. A few dozen people got off. A lot of people in West Lima weren't quite privileged enough to drive cars. He just chose to walk wherever he went. For whatever reason, this interested him today.

The usual crowd shuffled off, already knowing where they were going. Then, something unusual happened. A pair of expensive-looking penny loafers hit the pavement. The brass on the buckle of them shined, causing him to squint. His gaze traveled up her long legs until it met her face. She was wearing a fur hat, a button-down coat, white gloves, a short, black skirt, knee-high socks, and shoulder-length hair. He rolled his eyes a little. He could pick them from a mile away.

He continued to watch her, his elbow leaned up against his pick-axe. She made the mistake of approaching another passersby. "I'm from East Lima!" she declared proudly. The man looked her up and down, seeing his opportunity. "Rachel Barbra Berry, at your service!" She outstretched her hand before he grabbed her arm, beginning to drag her off.

"What're you…no!" She began to fight back. He stood, contemplative for a moment. She obviously wasn't the brightest crayon in the box. Then again, neither was he. "Hey," he finally piped up. Both assailant and Rachel glared at him. "Let 'er go." He walked over, towering over the two. From shoulder-to-shoulder, he already had the man outdone. He stood somewhere over 6'3", brown shaggy hair and an impressive wingspan. The man only took a moment to make up his mind that it wasn't a fight he wanted to pick. He scampered off, nearly urinating himself.

He outstretched his hand to her. "Finn Hudson," he said, trying to be polite or something. She observed it before cleaning it off with a tissue. He frowned a little and withdrew it, casually sliding it back into his pocket. "I bet you're not from around here, are you?" He was being a bit facetious at this point, though her radar for that sort of thing was lackluster at best. "East Lima," she said, flipping her hair. The smell of her perfume wafted. He felt his nose crinkle a little. "You definitely took the wrong bus." He turned his back to her before grabbing his axe.

Oh, god. This is where it all ended for her. It was a shame, too, because she might have considered hiring him as her personal bodyguard for when she won her first of many Tony's. He swung it over his head and she winced. "Wait!" she yelled, causing him to stop. "What!" he snapped back, alarmed. "Don't yell when I've got this thing in my hand! You'll end up bein' one of those talking puppets they keep in boxes at the museum." She stared at him blankly. "You weren't going to murder me and dispose of my corpse in the Ohio River?" He returned the blank stare, though his had a touch more confusion in it.

He shook his head a little, noting her suitcase. "You might want to get that thing inside," he mumbled. She pursed her lip, looking down at her hot pink suitcase. "And why is that?" He continued to dig at the ground, grunting. A few beads of sweat wiped down his forehead. "I'm your "troubled youth", Rachel." He stood tall again, admiring the puzzled look on her face. "And my mom hates it when you're late for dinner."