A/N: Usual disclaimers apply. Not my sandbox. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Think about it people, if I was Ryan Murphy, et. al. would I be posting fanfic?
There will be more recognizable characters featured in future chapters. No OFC pairings ahead, but there will be eventual Puckleberry as well as eventual Wemma.
Title taken from The Eagles' song New Kid in Town.
First fic! Enjoy!
I knew this was going to be hard.
I'd only seen my father in a handful of faded photographs. One was from my mother's high school yearbook. The other was one in the local paper in the town he lived in after I Googled him when I was able to obtain a name from the hospital records. He had two pictures in the local paper, actually. One was a five-year-old picture in the local paper of a wedding announcement. My father and a woman who definitely was not my mother with nauseating smiles on their faces.
Not that I cared, really. My mother never told my father I existed, so it's not like I can actually blame him, except I kind of did. It just sucked that my existence was a big mistake and my mother insisted on hiding the truth and lying to me for fifteen and a half years, but that's neither here nor there.
Apparently, my father hailed from a one-horse town out in the Middle-of Freaking-Nowhere Ohio. It was so weird to think of him as an actual, living, breathing human breathing, but he was. He had a wife. He had a job. That yearbook photograph of him I mentioned? There were three actually. One was of him in the Spanish Club. The other was taken six months ago after his Glee Club placed in some competition, but his face had a moustache and devil-horns sketched on it.
Apparently, my father's a geek. And I have his eyes and his chin. The geekiness, however, is apparently NOT genetic. Thank GOD.
And it seems that it was a quality he never out-grew. According to the yearbook, he'd been in the Glee Club when he was in school, and now, according to a newspaper article I found, he was responsible for kids who were not me going to Glee competitions. Further digging told me he was also a Spanish teacher.
Fucking fabuloso.
I mean, seriously how do you tell someone that they're responsible for bringing you to the world, that half of you is them, and you don't know what they'd like them to do about it, but it wouldn't hurt to have lunch every so often. They gave you life. They owe you that much, right?
A million different questions were swirling through my head as the bus pulled up to the stop of what was apparently his house. My father's house.
Up until now, he'd been some mythical creature who I had pretend bike-riding lessons with, fantasy camping-trips, all those Ward-Cleaver-type things daughters supposedly did with their fathers.
Now, I was a block away. I'd be at his door in less than five minutes.
I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
The man I'd recognized from the photographs answered the door.
'Shit,' I realized. 'It's him. This is it.'
My mouth went dry. He was a lot taller than I pictured him.
"William Scheuster?" I asked before I could loose my nerve.
"Yes?" he replied. "You're a little old to be selling Girl Scout cookies, aren't you?"
"My name is Savannah Cavanaugh," I informed him, my voice shaking more than I'd like. "I'm your daughter."
TBC...
Pleeeeeease review? Let me know if I should continue with this story!