Backpacks make pretty good pillows. It worked for me in the taxi I took to get to this godforsaken hellhole otherwise known as Barden University. It also kept me comfortable on the bus the first time I ran away.

My bag was tucked under my head now, while I listened to my new mix on the quad. I closed my eyes and focused, mentally noting all the places that needed tweaking. There weren't too many issues, modesty aside, it was one of my better pieces of work. As the last notes faded, the darkness on the inside of my eyelids got darker. Some jerk was blocking my sunlight.

I cracked one eye open, sarcasm at the ready. Unfortunately, where I expected to find a football toting moron or overeager geek was the gorgeous redhead, Chloe, who wanted me to audition for that stupid a cappella group.

She was crazy to think I would ever set foot on that stage, but she had nice eyes. I sat up and pushed my headphones down onto my neck, which was my equivalent of a warm, friendly greeting. The girl beamed at me.

"Hey! Have you thought about the audition?"

Nope. "I dunno. I'm really not into singing."

"Come on. You have a great voice. You have to try out."

Please. "I don't know. Besides I don't think your blondie friend really wants me to."

"Oh, Aubrey just a little tense. She'll love you once she hears you sing."

Riiight. "I'll think about it. But the whole 'no-instruments' really isn't my thing."

"Just give it a try. And clearly I'm annoying you, so I'll go now."

I blinked. That was oddly perceptive. And honest. All of a sudden, I wasn't so bothered.

"I'm not annoyed." She looked at me suspiciously. "Really. Trust me, if I'm irritated with someone I tell them." The redhead laughed.

"I bet. Well, then I think I'll sit next to you. You do whatever you are always doing on that laptop and I'll read. We can mutually not annoy each other."

She plopped herself down on the grass. Worked for me. I returned my attention to my screen and she opened up a book that had seen better days. I couldn't help but notice the dog-eared pages and tattered binding. I wondered how many times she had read it.

When I was done with the few finishing touches I sat back and looked around me. Chloe was still there. As I turned to face her I met blue eyes peeking out over worn pages. They flashed back down to the book, but not fast enough.

"What?"

"What?" she parroted.

"Don't give me that. I saw you looking at me. What?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit." she mock gasped at my language.

"Rebecca Mitchel, I never."

"Seriously." I refused to be distracted. She blushed a little. Okay, what makes a girl who barges into showers blush?

"I was just watching you work. You were really focused." Now I was blushing a little.

"Um, yea. I guess I kind of zone in."

"It's a good thing."

"What about you?" I decided it was time to change the subject. "Book not good enough to hold your attention?"

Chloe gasped in all seriousness this time. I didn't know people actually gasped.

"This is a wonderful work of literature." She was serious. She just said "wonderful work of literature" and she was deadly serious.

I laughed. "Yea, I've heard the same thing from English teachers about 50 other books."

"Well, every book deserves respect. But some are just…" she sighed happily. I was now looking at her from the corners of my eyes. She probably got that a lot.

"If you say so. What book is it anyway?"

"Pride and Prejudice." It might have been the Holy Grail the way she said the title.

"Jane Austen, right?" I was reaching way back into fuzzy memories of freshman English class. But she looked at me like I had asked if George Washington was the first American president.

"Yes it's by Jane Austen! She is a genius. I love all her books, obviously." Obviously.

"But Pride and Prejudice is just special. I've lost track of how many times I've read it." She looked at me, her eyes suddenly three notches brighter, which was saying something.

"You should read it!"

Uh-uh. "I don't think so."

"You would love it."

About as much as I'd love slow death. "Doubtful."

"The main character is so much like you. Actually," she eyed me thoughtfully, "maybe you're more like Mr. Darcy. Neither of you talk much."

Sounds like my kind of guy. "Still, no offense, I'm not a huge fan of books." Now she was looking at me out of the corners of her eyes.

"You don't read?" As if I'd said I don't breathe.

"Not really. My mom taught me pretty young, but-" I stopped short. I didn't want to go there. That was not the kind of thing I talked about with anyone, never mind strange, bubbly redheads I barely knew. I shrugged. Chloe didn't ask. She just stared at me like a sad puppy. Those blue eyes really were killer.

"Here." She shoved the old hardcover into my hands. "Take it. Read it. Please."

I looked the book and I looked at her. Clearly 'no' was not an option. "Okay, but you really shouldn't-"

"No, no, I insist. Just please, try it." She said, standing and brushing the grass off her jeans. "Trust me it'll be good for you."

If I had a penny for every time I heard that. But I took the book anyway and placed it carefully in my backpack, trying to not tear any of the fragile pages. I figured I'd Cliffnote it and give it back to her later. She was already halfway across the green, but she turned and called back to me.

"Come to the audition!"

Maybe I will.

It took me a solid fifteen minutes to decide whether or not I was actually going to the stupid tryout. So when I got to the theater I was already twenty minutes late. It took me another five to actually move far enough forward that Chloe would see me. Blonde Barbie was next to her, nose crinkled at the sight of me. Probably because I still had the ear spike in. This should be fun. I could have done Kelly Clarkson if I wanted, but I decided this was a good time to test whether or not they could actually deal with my "alternativeness".

So I used the trick I'd picked up ages ago on one of the bus rides I took. I still remember the tiny old lady who'd taught it to me. She'd had a cough that sounded like she'd smoked a pack a day since she was born, but she could still bring the house down. She could definitely take Aubrey with both hands tied behind her back.

When Chloe pulled a hood off my head a few hours later I assumed she'd convinced Aubrey to ignore my lack of traditionalism. Then blondie started going on about drinking blood. I was all set to get the hell out when Chloe told me it was punch. Right. It wasn't a trick I normally would've fallen for, but I could totally see Aubrey as a vampire.

As I looked around at the other new Bellas I figured out why Aubrey had ignored my ear spike. Compared to some of these kids I was freaking Martha Stewart. Ten seconds with that Asian girl and I was already sure she was a serial killer. Fat Amy was certifiably nuts and I wouldn't be surprised if Stacie slept with every guy on campus by the end of the year. Cynthia Rose seemed chill, and definitely gay. Huh. Statistically improbable. What where the odds of having two gay girls on the same 10-person singing team? I eyed Chloe and willed myself not to hope for a third.

It got a lot harder to not hope at the party when Chloe decided it would be a good idea to launch a full-scale invasion of my personal space. She was so close to me I could see the freckle she had right on the crook of her jaw and the smell of alcohol was so strong I thought I'd get drunk just standing there. She touched her forehead to mind and I tried to not think about how close together we were.

"I think we're gonna be really fast friends."

Um. I needed something to say. But smell of alcohol + Chloe's hands on my wrists + the proximity of her lips = fuzzy brain.

"Well, you saw me naked so…" Did I just say that? I did not just say that.

Chloe just laughed like that didn't have fifteen innuendo meanings.

"It's a start." Now there was a comment with subtext.

Okay then. Maybe 3 out of 10 isn't too much to hope for.

Chloe hooked up with three guys that night. Hope sucks.

I take back everything I said about how a cappella may not be stupid after all. Someone needs to tell Aubrey that it is 2012. As in the 21st century. As in we should definitely not be singing "The Sign".

And apparently that someone is not me. My hints ranged from tactfulness worthy of fine diplomacy to the subtlety of bazookas. Nothing made an impact. Admittedly more of them tended toward bazookas, but hey, I was getting pissed.

The problem was that we were actually really good. We might look like a group of misfits and possibly, in Lily's case, asylum patients, but our singing kicked ass. And if we had a set list from this century, we could actually win something. Maybe win everything.

So there I was, singing songs that should be only be seen as bad quotes in 1990s yearbooks, thinking about what music would fit the group best. I would find myself making mixes that would, in Fat Amy's words: bitch slap the Treblemakers "so hard their man boobs would concave." But would little Ms. I-love-tradition-more-than-life let my ideas penetrate her unbelievably thick skull? (For those of you failing to pick up on my delicate hints of sarcasm, that was a rhetorical question.)

It's not like I'm alone in this. Fat Amy actually fell asleep during one of Aubrey's we-will-win-with-tradition speeches. The blondie was so caught up in herself she might not have noticed, but Amy has a pretty loud snore. Cynthia Rose breaks into raps basically whenever Aubrey leaves the room, some of which are pretty good, and all of which point out how bad our songs are. Lily…well, I don't know what Lily is thinking. But I'm pretty sure she wishes there was more room for beat boxing. Stacie, at the very least, hates the uniforms.

And I can see it in Chloe's eyes. She knows tradition isn't going to cut it. Not when a bunch of boys can make rows of teenage girls fall all over themselves with a couple of lines of "Right Round". She'll teach the stupid hand motions and sashays, but she doesn't have the same sparkle in her eyes that she did when we sang Titanium together. She's even tried to get Aubrey to listen to me. If there is one thing I really really hate about that blonde bitch, it's that she shuts down her best friend like I do my computer. I'm no expert on friends, but I'm pretty sure you are supposed to treat them like they're worth more than you precious designer jeans. Especially a friend like Chloe.

All right, this is the first chapter of probably a three chapter fic. If anybody has any books they think would fit Bechloe, just put it in a review.

Note: i do not own pitch perfect or any of its characters.