Author's Note: Hey there. Here's me doing a fan fiction for St. Patrick's Day. This one is a Sugar-Rory fic (mainly in Sugar's point of view), with the other characters involved in this. That's so you guys will know. This is also my second supernatural fic (well, not really supernatural; I have it for adventure, but oh well). If anyone's wondering if I'll continue the first supernatural fic, "Nine Lives Kind of Girl", yes I will finish it. Recently, I've gotten ideas for my Samcedes fic that is up right now, along with "Teach Me How to Love" and a new fan fic that I'll publish later on; and I'll type them all when I have the free time (school work's been bumming me lately). Anyways, I hope you enjoy this one, and I'll update the others soon. I hope so…at least.

Summary: People see just trees, flowers, the sky, the sea, the people, the birds, the bees – everything nature has to offer. Simple, right? There's more of chance that they don't see much beyond. That, too, is simple. You just have to use your imagination.

Featured Pairings: Sugary (Sugar/Rory), Klaine (Kurt/Blaine), Implied!Brittana (Brittany/Santana), Rydique (Ryder/Unique), Implied!Wildehart (Kitty/Joe), Implied!Jarley (Jake/Marley)

| | What People Don't See | |

This day is a pretty uneventful one, for I have been stuck sitting by myself in the cafeteria with this pink glitter pen and a blue composition notebook for the past five or so minutes of free period at school. I wanted to write something. Maybe draw a picture of a dancing pony or make a list of things I want for my birthday, which is about a month or two from now. I wanted a lot. Wait – lemme scratch that – I want too much. An IPad mini, of course (sometimes one tablet is never enough; and this one was smaller so I won't lose it or have it weigh me down). Maybe another pair of heels for when junior prom comes up. I could always use another perfume set.

See what I mean? I want too much. My daddy makes a lot, though. He's, like, one of the most decent money makers in today's society – and no, I did not just over-exaggerate that.

I glanced at the white IPhone I had with the purple case on it. I forgot I was listening to Nicki Minaj's The Boys when I was in my train of thought for a minute. I could just randomly write my favorite lyrics of my favorite songs in different colored pens. I did that when I posted a piece of paper with all of the celebrities in the world that I liked. I had to put Channing Tatum and Robert Pattinson in big letters in the middle of the page, though, since they are both my future husbands. I can care less about what the public says about Kristen Stewart and Jenna Dewan; those guys are mine.

The song had ended, and then something quiet and tiring started to play. I couldn't tell what it was because of the people having the many conversations amongst themselves. I assumed it was either that Kelly Clarkson song, Already Gone, or that Adele song, Someone Like You. I just allowed the song to play throughout, and then went back to my blank composition notebook page. Maybe if I was in an area with not much people talking and stuff, I could get some thoughts out more. That was always the sucky part about the lunch period.

I really wanted to relax and write something in my journal. My mom told me I could write about my feelings each day, but that was what my video camera at home was for. I wanted to be creative for at least a minute. School has been taking over me like some crazy alien from one of those crappy movies. No matter what I thought of, nothing clicked. It was even harder for me to think with the people at the basketball and football table howling like wolves.

I turned to my left to take a glance at the athletic punks. They were cheering on some blonde guy in the bunch. I knew who he was, though, since we both have the same Art class. His name was Ryder Lynn. You would expect someone like him to be the head of the bunch and say some mean things about the new freshman, or ditch class like it doesn't mean a thing in the world. He's actually different. He actually cares about school work, regardless of it being boring or not. He's nice to everyone in the school, too. When the football jocks had left to slushie a junior boy, he had gone to help some brunette girl named Marley Rose with her Geometry homework, which seemed to be a pain in her ass.

There were some other jocks over there, too, but they were completely the opposite of Ryder. Jake Puckerman was one of them. Good God, he may be cute, but he's a total bean head as well. He claims to be such a badass ever since he transferred into this school. I can totally see that after learning that Noah Puckerman was his half older brother (I'm totally yawning at such sarcasm).

And then there was a blonde boy named Sam Evans. Like Jake and Ryder, he was such a cutie and totally a catch for anyone. He just says rude things to people when he's sometimes "in the moment", or whatever the heck that just meant. One time he actually had the nerve to call a poor wheelchair kid Stephen Hawking. I didn't see a resemblance between Stephen Hawking and that boy. That paraplegic boy is twelve times cuter in my personal opinion. A while later, he told a friend from a couple of my classes that he literally had Chewbacca's ass attached to his back. I'll admit that he didn't have the best hair in the world; but it was one thing unique (although a bit strange) about him, and Sam just had no right to say things about him.

There was one that sat at the end of the table by the name of Blaine Anderson. He was an okay kind of person. I mean, the popular guys usually just use him as a resource for homework and such (I don't see that as being popular, really), but yeah. He was an okay person. He probably didn't know that Sam and Jake were both using him for History and English homework. How could he, though? He always wanted to be a part of a big group that actually liked him and stuff. He even joined a group of pips at his last school. See what I mean?

I was just about to go and change the song on my IPod to something with Beyonce or Gwen Stefani when I heard Jake laughing at some boy that started to walk towards them. I turned my head again at that point, and I could see a boy who wore all green like he was supposed to be a human shrub. Well, actually, his shirt reminded me of those cupcakes with the really soft frosting, but that's not the point.

"Hey there, Irish." Everyone in the school has been calling him Irish since he first came, which is insane. No one would even defend the poor little guy – not even Brittany S. Pierce, one of the girls on the Cheerios that offered to let the foreign exchange student stay at her house.

The foreign exchange student looked at the many jocks sitting at the table before him. Some exchanged giggles when they looked at how the boy was dressed, and the food he had on his tray: a whole garden salad with French dressing, some celery, and some tortilla chips with guacamole in a small, plastic container. Okay, at that point, I just thought he was overdoing the green a bit. At least he ate healthy, though.

"Hello there, lads," he spoke in his best, thick Irish accent. He sounded older than he looked, which was pretty unusual to my ears. "Mind if I join you?" He had the most charming smile on his face. It's like he brushed his teeth ten times a day with Crest toothpaste and a whole wash rag to get that perfect shine. And aside from the much green he had on, he had a very cute smile and pinch-able cheeks. They looked soft and fat like a baby's bottom.

Sam looked very disapproving of him. Why wouldn't he be? He's just another one of those high school air heads. "Beat it, little old man!" he called, throwing an orange peel at his shirt. It didn't put much stain on there, but I knew that the boy was getting upset by that action.

"Learn some English!" Jake called, putting a straw in his mouth and shooting a spit ball at Rory's face. Out of nowhere, the guys had been calling to him, treating him terribly. Almost panicking, the boy just left out of the lunch room with his food in his hands. Maybe he was going to head out to the courtyard or something. Who knows?

I could've said something. I really could have. But the popularity food chain at this school is really…well, strict. Once you make a compliment about a loser or a new kid that no one likes, that officially makes you a loser. I don't get why it should be that way. The glee club at this school is full of so-called losers – I happen to be one of them – and it's full of former jocks, two cheerleaders, and…well, there's the richest girl in the school (that's me, if you didn't know).

I had my head turned for a minute to change the song on my IPod to The Fear by Lily Allen, and turned back to see that the boy had ran to the door to leave. That's when I just felt bad for him immediately.

For a small Irish boy, though, he ran like an American Olympic champion. Impressive, no?

As usual, the school day was incredibly boring. I had at least two substitute teachers from two different classes after lunch, and I just slept in those without a care in the world. Heck, I even popped my ear buds back in my ears to listen to The Climb by Miley Cyrus, and I didn't even realize that my IPod was playing while I slept and the fact that it was on low battery. So for the last two periods of class, I was forced to actually do work in class.

Actually, I didn't do that, either. I spent my time working in my notebook on a picture I randomly drew. But whatever.

I contacted my mother and told her that I had to stay afterschool for something. What she didn't know was that I was actually going to find that Irish boy from earlier. I overheard a conversation he had with his mother over his cell phone, and he needed some time alone. I figured I would go see where he went. I mean, he's really not that hard to miss if you're not color blind. I'm just sayin'. Plus, he was probably lonely or something.

I had retrieved my books from my locker. Those God-awful books were heavy. The Geometry book was the heaviest. I have no idea how many pages there are, but they're a real pain in my ass. That book alone could break your hand; but add that to the History and Chemistry books we have, and you could break your back. You know, if all of our homework was given to us in worksheets or over email, it would be so much easier. Oh no, though. They actually want you to take the whole book. How unhealthy of you, public schools.

I put my overly heavy books in a pink bag that I brought with me in case I had to carry a large load of stuff (which I did), and walked down the hall. God, my left arm hurt quickly. It's like going outside on a sunny day, and already sweating for ten seconds without even doing anything. That happened one July, and I could never go outside in heat waves again.

I walked past the boys' bathroom, which always smelled like urine and whatever waste dirty little boys stored in there, and I could've sworn I heard someone crying inside. It was deep and echoed, so I couldn't identify the person quickly. I wasn't sure if I should check on them or not. And not that many boys would be heard crying in the bathroom anyway (that was literally girls' job – sorry, Aspergers).

But I actually did it. I placed my books and stuff on the floor and walked back to the men's bathroom door. I leaned my head close to it, and listened in on the sobbing. It sounded like the little Irish boy from earlier. After that moment when I first heard him speak, I could easily identify him from the rest of the people in this school.

I opened the door just a crack – what the heck; it smelled so foul in there – and I called to the person inside. "Hello? Is there a damsel in distress?" I just had to; I mean, from what I hear, the phony and dependent boys cry like little girls sometimes. Not that I intend on being rude; this damn Aspergers always gets me.

The boy didn't respond. I could hear heavy breathing inside. I think he was startled by me calling, and stopped crying and…well, whatever he was doing. He wasn't coming towards the door for the next ten seconds. Did he have laryngitis or something? Did he lose his breath? How was I supposed to know? I was standing outside of the boys' bathroom, listening onto a foreign exchange student cry his feelings out.

I hesitated to do this at first because of the boys' bathroom smelling like 2-week old pee and something that came out of an old pipe; but I searched around me to see if the coast was clear, and I went on inside the room. It was the same color on the inside as the girls' bathroom, at least. I looked around the corner, but I didn't see anyone. That would mean that I would have to check the stalls. Gross.

I peeked underneath the stall doors, but didn't see any feet. Good thing no other boys were in the bathroom to see me waltzing in here out of nowhere. It was when I made it to the last stall that I saw a pair of small, white shoes and dark pants legs that I tensed up a bit. He probably would look at me crazy or something and think that I wasn't allowed in the boys' bathroom (which is pretty much true).

I pushed the door a bit to see if it was open. To my surprise, the boy on the other end slammed the door closed in my face, and secured the lock on it. Well, if he was puking or having some type of massive diarrhea, then of course, I wouldn't wanna see what was going on in there. But he was crying, and he didn't sound sick.

"Hello?" I called again, wondering if he would ever speak to me.

"Go away!"

That was the only thing he said. It sounded pretty low and depressing. I heard sniffles on the other side of the door, too. He was probably homesick or something. I totally understood that. I mean, going to Minnesota for summer camp for three months without your parents, cozy bed, and your trusty electronics is a real downer.

I leaned closer to the door to see if he wasn't out in space somewhere. "I just want to talk," I spoke nervously. Okay, something was seriously going on. "Maybe even…" I bit my lip for a second. Whoever knew that I would be nervous to talk to someone? I'm never nervous when I'm talking to people like Joe, who is in a few of my classes this year (especially when Sam isn't around to talk trash about him on some occasions). "…maybe even, you know…be your friend…" Those were the last few words I said, and I felt something in my chest for a brief second. Something almost…overwhelming, if you ask me.

When I didn't hear anything on the other side of the door, I felt like giving up for some apparent reason. How is it that when I try to be friends with people, it ends up being a waiting game for me? I'm probably one of the most friendliest people in this joint. I can give a thousand dollars to raise money for vending machines. Come on.

At that moment, I heard the latch on the door click. I stepped back, startled for a second because I didn't think he would come out that quickly. When he did, I looked up at his face. It was wetter than Niagara Falls. And his eyes were tomato red. How long had he been in here crying by himself?

I was a little timid because I was worried for him, and having the assumption that those guys from earlier were doing too much to upset him. Maybe they were. I wasn't sure, though. "Did…did something happen?" I asked with a couple of stutters. "See a romance drama or anything?" I wanted to keep the humor up a bit, but it didn't seem like it was helping. He had that pool of tears dripping down his little baby face.

I only looked down at my shoes for a second because I wasn't sure on what else to say, and then I saw traces of blood dripping down. I followed the path from where it came from, and then I saw some cuts on the Irish boy's wrist. This was suicide? I didn't know.

"W-wait! Why are you cutting yourself?" I asked in so much panic. I saw a blade in his right hand and snatched it from him. He had only been here for five days, and he chooses to commit suicide? Was it those dimwitted football jocks again? Those jerks.

He shook his head at me in defeat. "I just can't take it anymore," he told me. He voice sounded so hoarse, and he couldn't look me directly in the eye. "I've been humiliated today, pretty much." He stuck the not-so-bloody hand in his pocket. The tears seemed to dry a bit, and that was a good sign. However, he didn't look okay at all.

"What happened? Who was messing with you?" I asked anxiously.

He didn't answer right away; so I assumed that it had been getting very serious before this point in the day. He looked at me with those red blood-hound eyes and that upside-down smile. "Every football player, pretty much. And occasionally, the hockey and basketball players do so as well. I apparently don't know why, but it obviously has to do with me."

I just looked at him. I almost had no words. You know how in those black and white films where no one talks, but it's just facial expressions? Well, it's that – in my head, at least. "I don't really see why, either."

He looked at me with his eyebrow inched up on his head. "Really?" he asked me.

"Well, yeah," I replied. "You're just different from everyone else. It's not really that big a deal, right? Everyone is different."

He sighed for a moment. "I know, but I'm…well, more different from everyone else than anyone can ever be." I frowned in confusion because I obviously didn't know what the hell he was talking about. "And I try to fit in with people at this school, showing them how much I want to be their friend, and…"

And what? He just paused himself. I couldn't figure out what he was trying to say. "And?" I asked, waiting for more of the answer.

"I just feel like I don't have a place here." He looked down again. The blood was about to dry on his wrist, and already there was a small puddle of blood on the floor. It was like I was living in some horror movie, like The Devil Inside or Sinister. But those kinds of horror movies had people possessed by the devil, and this guy was nowhere near that. He was more sane and adorable to watch.

I couldn't stay in here any longer, I knew that much. It felt so awkward to stand in the boys' bathroom and talk to this guy about jocks bullying him throughout the school day. And my stuff was outside, too. Someone could easily snatch it, and I would have to hear a long lecture from my dad when I get home. I headed to the paper towels and grabbed about three sheets, placing them in some water and ringing them out. "Give me your wrist."

He was shy to do it at first, but he came along easier than I expected. I noticed that he tensed up a bit once the cold water hit his scar on his left wrist. One time I scratched the bottom of my foot with some glass, and the cold water helped it a lot. I hoped it helped for him. Actually, it sort of did. The blood was going away, and the scar seemed to heal just a bit.

"I want to hang around with you for a bit," I told him, grabbing some more paper towels to dry his wrist off with.

"Why? Don't you have better things to tend to?" He must wanted to be alone so he could do worse damage than he already had done. I won't let him, though. I can't let an adorable Irish kid die young.

"Well, yes." I said, drying his wrist off. "I have to get to know and help a friend in need who obviously needs my help." I looked at him with a very bright smile, which seemed to be my specialty in my glamorous looks (I don't mean to brag, but my mother always told me that).

The foreign exchange student grinned halfway. "I'm guessing that's me now, eh?"

I winked, which made his smile grow a bit more. "Duh, of course."

Unexpectedly, we turned towards the boys' bathroom door. A male janitor had come to clean out some of the bathrooms and dust for a bit when he noticed me standing there and tending to Rory's injured wrist. He just had the most confused look on his face, and I knew I had to get out of there fast.

I walked hand in hand with the Irish guy and whispered, "Maybe we shouldn't do this here."

We had taken our stuff and gone to my place. I asked my parents if it was okay him being here since he needed my help. They told me that I could, and we contacted the boy's parents before heading up to my room. I'm not sure if my room was too colorful or not, but he seemed to like it. I had so many bright colors like pink, orange, baby blue, and yellow. Some people occasionally told me that my room was fruity, but I could care less.

I allowed him to lay on my bed. He didn't say anything, really. He was just staring at the ceiling, looking so dead. It was almost creepy. I imagined him full of life and stuff; but ever since those jackasses had been messing with him, he's been putting himself down. I wasn't sure if he minded at all, but I turned on my laptop and started putting Say by John Mayer on repeat. I wasn't sure what kind of music he was into; so I just randomly chose something. I mean, anything with R&B or pop wouldn't be the best song for this type of situation, unless you were at a high school party, or you were "in the mood" or whatever people talked about these days.

I didn't want to take away any possible space he had on my bed. So I grabbed the soft, pink cushion seat to sit on, and I laid my chin on the edge of my bed to study him. He seemed to be deep in thought. I've always wondered what people thought, you know? Usually the boys from America think about race cars, hot girls, and being rich or in the NBA. What did this guy think about?

"So…you wanna talk about books?" That was probably the stupidest and most random question I've ever asked. But he never said anything since we talked in the school bathroom. I just wanted to start up a conversation.

He just shrugged at me. "Books are okay." That silence again. He probably wasn't up for talking. I knew that after seeing him depressed about a few minutes ago.

I waited on him to say something. Maybe he was waiting on me to say something. How was I so sure, though? "Look, I know you're still…uncomfortable after what you almost did and stuff. I know I was; I literally had to walk into a boys' bathroom for the first time. And you almost –"

He shrugged again, his eyes still on the ceiling. "Yeah, I know." Of course he didn't want to say anything more about it. This makes me wonder if his parents will ever find out about this.

I ran out of things to say for a moment. It got quiet for another few seconds. Then, I came up with the simplest idea I've ever had. It sounded cliché, but I was certain it would work. "You know how people daydream and stuff?" I asked. At first I thought he would be still and silent again, but he nodded understandably. "And you know how people have their own personal happy place?"

He nodded. "Of course."

I shrugged for a moment, figuring out the obvious. "Well, we could do that, you know?" I told him. "Dream of that one happy place you have to get away from all of your problems."

I was a bit tense when he turned his head towards me with almost approving eyes. "You think so?"

I shrugged again. "Of course. I mean, the world we live in right now is pretty much like a waste dump of some sorts, but there are always happy places we can escape to, right? Like how Toys R Us is an escape place for little children, or how the bar is an escape place for lonely old men." He looked confused after I said that, but he hasn't been in America for that long, so what would he know anyway?

I looked around, trying to think of my happy place. I had so many, though. It was so hard to choose between the library, the bank, the mall, and the cupcake shop downtown where I bought some delicious pastries for my birthday once. After that day, I pretty much went there all of the time. The best I could do as an example was randomly pick something. "My escape place would probably be…Miami, Florida," I told him. I had only gone there once, but it was extraordinary. "I had gone for family vacation, and the sun and water had helped me cheer up when all of the fun was drained out of me."

The boy on the bed nodded for a second and then looked confused again. What else was there to be confused about? "Wait, where's Miami again? The edge of Florida, or…?"

Okay, he really doesn't know much about America.

"Somewhat, yeah," I told him so he would be reminded. He nodded understandably and looked back at the ceiling. I just looked him and waited. I know he had a happy place. I just had to figure out what it was. "So, what's yours? I know you have one. Everyone pretty much has one."

It took him about five seconds to get his thoughts together, but then he finally thought of something. "Would you mind if we closed our eyes first?"

I never really thought of that before. Closing your eyes was a good technique, though you would just end up falling asleep or something like that. But I followed along and shut my eyes closed. I could hear his thick accent as I saw nothing but pitch black in my eyes. "Now imagine you're walking out of a building. It can be your house, the school, a library – any place you want."

I nodded, though my vision probably wasn't as clear as his. "Okay." I continued to listen to him. As I did, I come to learn that his voice got dreamier by the second. I just couldn't get enough. It was like he was telling some type of bedtime story.

"When you first step outside," he told me with that dreamy voice, "it's bright and sunny. The grass is green, the sun is as yellow as sunflowers, and the air brushes swiftly against your face. It's summer bliss that just never goes away."

I smiled. How could I not? It's like he was born to be a storyteller. Not those creepy, old men that sit in the comfy chairs by the fire with a random book to read to everyone; this guy was different than that. He sounded so magical; it was crazy.

I felt myself getting a little sleepy. The school day pretty much bored the heck out of me. I faintly heard the music on my laptop as I started to drift off to sleep. Wait – I left that thing on? I was so busy tending to the Irish boy; I didn't even notice. Well, it was a little low, so that kind of explains it. Maybe my parents will come in and turn it off or something. They did that when I left my radio on for hours on end.

I noticed that when I tried listening to the boy speak, his voice became audible to me. Did I lose my hearing? Oh well. I pretty much fell in a deep sleep after that. I totally needed it after the school day I've had.

Author's Note: Well, there's the first part of the fic. I know people ship Sugar with Artie, but I miss how adorable these two were. And I've been seeing a few stories about Rory and suicide. Well…here was my version of how it turned out. Oh and BTW, the story is kinda different than Glee, for Jake and Ryder appear when Rory first transfer. Yeah, it's fan fiction. I run things my way.

Part two will come soon. I hope you enjoyed it!