Hey! Look who's decided to do a Glee fic…

… Me. Yeah, me. Sheesh. I know. I know. I suck at updating, but I have a whole boring, empty summer ahead of me and I promise I will update often. I have a story arc planned out! No writer's block for me!

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"Girl with the dumb name! If you can't stick that aerial landing flawlessly, then maybe you can try sticking your landing when I kick you off this team!" screamed Sue Sylvester.

It was a normal day at Cheerio practice. Sue Sylvester was psycho, Quinn was ice cold, the usual.

"I'll be sure to do that," I muttered under my breath. This was not what I signed up for when I decided to join the cheerleading squad my freshman year. Sue Sylvester is one crazy bitch. At least now we have a mutual respect for each other (inward scoff), but she still refuses to call me by name.

She stalked over to the CD player on the practice field and nearly knocked the device over when she all but punched the repeat button. Within seconds, Britney Spears's "Toxic" blasted from the speakers and we started the routine again.

I purposely botched my landing once more just to piss Sylvester off. She gave me a death glare, but didn't say anything. She knew I got the point. I knew how to land the damn thing. Just as Quinn reached the top of the pyramid, Sue yelled "Practice is done for the day. I want you all to run five miles when you go home. And you better do it, because I'll know if you don't!"

Eager to escape any other possible reprimands, I practically sprinted off the field into the changing rooms.

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It was still light out after practice, and I considered leaving and going home right then, but I knew I needed to type up an AP French essay and AP Chemistry lab report for tomorrow. It was going to be a long night. I scoured around the hallways for one of the janitors who usually opened the media center doors for me when I needed to use the computers. Instead of finding one of them, I ran into my friend's Spanish teacher. Mr. Schuemacher, I think? They all just call him Mr. Shue. I don't know why anyone would want the nickname "Shoe" but I guess that's how things go. He looked at be curiously. Kids are not supposed to be wandering the halls at six after extra-curriculars are done.

"Can I help you?" he asked me.

"I was just looking for one of the custodians."

"They all went home already. Principal Figgins wanted to lock up early because of the recent thefts. Is it something I could help you with?" He didn't sound suspicious of anything, so I figured I could get off by telling a fib.

"Oh, no, thank you. I just thought I left something in the Media Center. Thanks for your help, Mr. Shue." I turned to go.

"Have you been in any of my classes before?" He interrupted my exit.

"Uh, no. I'm a sophomore, and you teach junior classes."

"Oh. So, I guess I'll see you next year then?" At this point, I turned around because he seemed like a polite guy and I didn't want to blow off his attempts at conversation.

"I actually take AP French, not Spanish. Sorry… Actually, I was trying to get in the Media Center to type up an essay for French, and a lab report." Mr. Shue's facial expression changed as he realized my predicament.

"They have computers for public use at the library if that helps," he supplied.

"Tried that. You need a library card, and they cost fifteen bucks to get."

"Oh. Hey, listen. I can drive you over there and we can get-" This conversation just took a turn for the incredibly awkward.

"No, it's okay, really, I can just write them by hand. She doesn't deduct that much-"

"Really. I insist." It was as if a big flashing light was telling me 'This is all a plot to rape you' but he seemed so sincere and it really would help me, so I agreed.

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Surprisingly, the car ride was not entirely awkward. Mr. Shue tried his best to strike up conversation.

"So you're a sophomore in AP French? How did that happen?" Mr. Shue asked me.

Sigh, where to begin? "Well, I started school a year late because I was born and lived in Wales for awhile, where my birthday did not make the cut-off date for Class of 2013. I was born July 31st and they put me in what you would call Class of 2014. When I moved here, I went to a charter middle school to catch up to the grade I should be in but ended up moving a grade ahead as well. So, I became part of the Class of 2012 and have to take advanced classes. That's why I'm a sophomore in AP French."

"So what other classes do you take?"

"AP English 11 Language, AP Chemistry, AP Statistics and Honors Advanced Math II, Honors American History I, Honors Advanced Economics, Theatre Arts II, and Acappella Choir."

He let out a long whistle. "Wow. That's a heavy courseload… Did you say choir?"

"Mhmm."

"You know, I'm just signed back on as director of Glee Club, and we don't have a lot of members. We're always looking for more. If you like to sing, you should consider it."

"Thanks, but, Ms. Sylvester really does not like Glee Club, as I'm sure you know, and cheerleading takes up the majority of my time."

"You're part of the Cheerios?"

"Secretary"

"I wasn't aware they had a secretary."

"President and Secretary. I don't do much. Make copies and stuff, document routines."

"Oh."

It seemed our topic of conversation had run its course. Luckily, we arrived at the library only moments later. Mr. Shue parked right in front of the entrance. I burst from the car as if I were an escaping prisoner. I hoped he didn't notice that I was so eager to get out. Mr. Shue's cellphone rang before he could get out of the car. The caller ID spoke in a robotic tone, "Terri calling", in pauses in between Kanye West's "Golddigger". A look of worry plastered his facial features. Must be the wife.

Next thing I know, Mr. Shue's shoving a ten and a five in my hands and mumbling something about "Wife… pregnant…gotta go". Then he sped out of the parking lot, and that was the last time I saw Mr. Shue for a few weeks.

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A/N- You know the drill.