Surviving High School 101

by Tarafina

If these kids wanted to survive their freshmen year, they needed to know who was who, how to avoid them, what not do or say and who to never, ever even so much as look at. PxR

Title: Surviving High School 101
Category: Glee
Genre: Romance/Humor/Friendship
Ship: Rachel/Puck
Rating: Teen
Warning(s): Coarse Language, Sexual Innuendo
Prompt: Senior Year. Established. Outside-looking-in theme. Sophomores explain the dynamics of MKHS to the new Freshmen.
"Who's that?"
"Noah Puckerman. McKinley's resident badass, juvenile delinquent, and sex god."
"And the girl he just pressed up against the lockers?"
"...off-limits." – puckrachel drabble meme
Word Count: 2,436
Summary: If these kids wanted to survive their freshmen year, they needed to know who was who, how to avoid them, what not do or say and who to never, ever even so much as look at.

Surviving High School 101
-1/1-

"If we could all just stay together, please!" Brad sighed, motioning with his hands for the freshmen to pull in closer. Their scared, weak, undersized frames all huddled up together, shoulders slumped, eyes darting, pushed to one side of the hallway as various other students moved past, mostly ignoring them.

It was a new year at McKinley and that meant fresh meat. It also, unfortunately, meant that Brad wasn't enjoying the wonders of AV Club because he had to escort these little jerks around and tell them the ins and outs of WMHS. Principal Figgins told him to stick to basics, point out lockers and classrooms and the daily menu for the cafeteria, but he knew that all of that didn't matter. If these kids wanted to survive their freshmen year, they needed to know who was who, how to avoid them, what not do or say and who to never, ever even so much as look at. He may only be a year older than them, but his sophomore status meant that he was one step higher on the food chain, so he felt a little more confident than the curious but nervous freshmen behind him.

Just then, two Cheerios walked down the hall, parting the students like the Red sea. Pinkies entwined and smiles in place, they walked with hips swaying and ponytails bouncing. Santana Lopez smirked, raising a brow at the freshmen before lifting her nose into the air and continuing on. Brittney Pierce waved, but was soon distracted by the wiggling of her fingers and started staring at them in fascination, mumbling something to Santana, who just shook her head and grinned fondly at her friend.

"Who are they?" one of the pimple-faced kids asked, eyes roving after the short red and white skirts.

"Brittney and Santana," Brad stated, rolling his eyes. "They're Cheerios. Meaning they're cheerleaders - champion cheerleaders - and they won't hesitate to tear you into little pieces…" Sure, they looked nice. The candy-coating always did; but inside, Santana Lopez was the devil, which was probably why she was nicknamed (sometimes fondly) Satan. "Trust me, just steer clear and keep a low profile. No freshmen will get within feet of them and live happy, productive lives…" He shuddered, remembering Jake Wilson, a kid who was in his freshmen year but had to transfer after trying to openly flirt with a Cheerio… He was humiliated so badly, he peed himself in front of everyone and never set foot in McKinley again. He imagined Jake wouldn't go far in his life; probably hole up in an apartment somewhere, never leave – not even for the mail – and he'd avoid so much as looking at girls, let alone flirting with them. Poor dude.

Just then, Brad spotted a group of Letterman jackets coming down the hall and sighed. He stepped back and out of the way, chin down and eyes diverted.

A girl piped up, "Who're—"

"Shhh!" he interrupted, shaking his head.

The group kept moving, some of them chatting or passing a football back and forth, others smirking arrogantly as they swaggered past students who stared after them appreciatively.

When he was sure they weren't in hearing distance, Brad explained, "You ever see a Letterman's jacket, check their hands," he said seriously. "You see a slushee – duck and run! If you learn nothing else, learn that. 'Coz you're gonna get slushied, a lot; freshmen always do…" He shook his head. "So make for a bathroom or hide in your lockers, 'coz that shit stings the eyes."

Worried now, the kids exchanged glances.

"He's lying. He's just trying to scares us," someone piped up. "No way they'd let them do that…"

"You see any teacher's around, kid?" Brad snapped back. "Look, slushies have been happening for like… ever. Losers get slushied almost daily. And the jocks are the worst about it…" He frowned, remembering his own icy experience and giving a shudder for emphasis. "Just stay out of their way, keep your heads down, and don't attract attention."

For the next ten minutes, he covertly pointed out cliques. The goth kids, the AV club (who waved at him cheerfully), the drama geeks, and then—

"Hey, you guys hear that?" one of the freshmen asked, his brow furrowed. Eyes darting around, he paused on a door. "It's like… singing?" He walked toward it, swayed by the sound like a siren was bidding them nearer.

"That is glee club…" Brad darted forward and stopped them from getting closer. "It's a mix of Cheerios and jocks and losers… They sing and dance and they're the least liked group of kids in the school…" He looked over his shoulder, back at the door where sweet music was filtering out. Even though he knew it was wrong, he couldn't help but appreciate it.

"They're really good," a red-headed, freckle-faced kid said, staring.

He couldn't argue that, but he sighed. "Joining glee is like social suicide so just…" He raised his brows. "Don't."

The kids backed up, ducking their heads, nodding along with his advice.

"All right, that's pretty much everyone. You guys got questions, I'll answer them. But I should probably show you the cafeteria, so—" Brad was just about to turn around when he spotted him. Quickly, he got out of the way. Survival instinct kicked in and he immediately checked out his options for either hiding or sacrificing somebody else.

Swaggering down the hallway with a cocky smirk, the Mohawked senior walked toward the group, pausing to nod at a few students before he sneered at the freshmen and faked like he was going to rush them. As they all gasped and jumped away, he laughed and kept going.

"Who's that?" a bespectacled girl wondered, eyes wide and mouth ajar in appreciation.

"Noah Puckerman… You don't wanna get tossed in a dumpster though, just call him Puck." Brad frowned, watching after him as he darted to the left and wrapped his arms around the waist of an unassuming brunette who was looking through her color-coded binders. "McKinley's resident badass, juvenile delinquent and sex god," he listed plainly. He watched, unsurprised as Puck turned the girl around and pinned her next to her open locker, her long, bare leg hitched over his waist and her already short skirt slipping dangerously higher. His mouth slanted across hers possessively and though she'd been mid-sentence, she met his lips enthusiastically, reaching a hand up and dragging her nails down the strip of hair center across his head.

"And the girl he just pressed up against the lockers?" the red-head wondered, brows lifted.

Brad considered the answer. There were a few. Rachel Berry – wannabe (and probably gonna be) Broadway star. Rachel Berry – crazy glee club freak. Rachel Berry – long-time girlfriend of Puck. But he knew the answer that her boyfriend would most appreciate, one Puck himself had been circulating since the year before. Seriously, he told them, "Her? She's… off-limits."

"Yeah, but—"

"Legit," Brad interrupted, staring at them meaningfully. "Rachel Berry, glee diva, is so off limits you might want to make sure you don't stare too long, or—"

"The fuck are you little shits looking at?" Puck shouted at them. He was panting a little and his mouth was swollen from the intense and public make out he'd just been a part of, but his glare was enough to make many of the freshmen shudder.

Jumping, the large group of kids darted their eyes away, staring pleadingly at Brad, like he had some kind of sway around here.

"Noah," Rachel sighed admonishingly, smoothing her hands along his shoulders.

He squeezed her thigh, seemingly calming down almost immediately. "Babe, they were staring…" he half-whined. "Or like, what's that word you use when Jew-Fro's got his pervy eyes on you?"

"Leering," she replied, nodding.

"See?" He fingered the end of her tiny skirt. "I told you these things were gonna get somebody killed."

She smiled. "You like my skirts." Reaching for the collar of his shirt, she kept his attention on her. "They're new and we should be welcoming them with something other than hostility… For all we know, they'll be introduced to McKinley's poor social hierarchy by your Neanderthal football teammates; they're the worst kind of welcoming committee." She stroked his neck with her fingers, making soothing circles. "Why not do something nice for a change and let them know not every jock is looking to hang them from the flag pole by their underpants?"

He frowned at her. "Babe… You know Jew-Fro's already up there… I can only hoist so many at one time. The footballers'll have to find somewhere else to send these geeks."

Pouting, she stepped back, hands dramatically stuck on her hips. "Noah Puckerman!" She tapped her foot purposefully.

"All right, all right," he sighed. "Whatever…" His eyes darted back to the group and stared at them squarely. "Welcome to McKinley, where you'll be slushied, harassed and tossed into dumpsters for the next year… You shut up, stay out of the way, and don't piss anybody off and you might blend in through sophomore and junior year… You don't? And welcome to the next five years of the shittiest slushyfest you'll ever be on the wrong end of." He looked back at his girlfriend. "We good?"

"Well… They look absolutely terrified and I'm afraid one of the boys in the back might have urinated on himself… We really have to work on your 'nice' face." She clucked her tongue. "Still, I can't honestly argue with your summary, so…" She hooked her arm with his and nodded. "Yes, I believe that's good."

"Cool." Turning, he brought her along with him, reaching over to close her locker. But just a few feet away, he tossed back, "And if any of you losers can sing, join glee… We're not guaranteeing no slushees, but at least there'll be somebody there to help wash it off." He gave a half-way friendly smirk and then turned back around. After pressing his forehead to hers affectionately, he walked away with Rachel chattering up at him, his smirk fading into a fond grin as she waved her hands along with her mostly one-sided conversation.

"So that's Puck and Rachel," Brad said, looking back at the half-scared, half-confused group. "I'll warn you now, that's about as nice as he gets and it's only around her… As a general rule, you might want to avoid him, and by association, her. 'Coz wherever she is, you have to know Puck's not far behind. Personally, I use it as an early-warning system… He started the slushies years ago and when he's pissed, he still throws kids in dumpsters…" His eyes darted away in memory of the last time he'd spent third period stuck in a very smelly dumpster, all because he might've whistled when Rachel Berry walked by in a short black skirt that he legit swore he saw red panties underneath. Freshmen year sucked. With a sigh, he glanced back down the hall to the unlikely couple and then faced his freshmen. "Any questions?"

A few hands lifted.

He pointed at a vaguely cute girl. "You."

"So… You said Puck was like, a sex god?" She raised a curious brow. "That mean he's still on the market, or-?"

"Keep your slut hands to yourself, fresh meat," snapped a nearby voice. They turned to see Santana Lopez glaring the curious girl down. "Puckerman's off the market. Permanently." She lifted a brow. "Comprende, puta?" Not waiting for a reply, she told her, "You mess with my Puckleberry and I eff you up!" With that, she moved to stalk away, dangerous warning in her every stomping step.

"Yeah!" Brittney cheered, chasing after her friend. "San, what d'you mean 'eff' her up? 'Coz I thought you only effed me and we—"

Hushing her, Santana put an arm around the blonde and rolled her eyes. "Totally different meanings, Britt."

"Ooh…" She nodded, but then wrinkled her nose. "I don't get it."

As they walked away, Brad shook his head and looked back at his group. "The gleeks tend to stick together. Even if they don't always like each other, they'll always stand up for one another. Santana and Brittney, although Cheerios, are both in glee, so just another reason to avoid them." He stuck his hands in his pockets and frowned. "As for your question, Puck's legendary for his sexploits, but for the last year and a half it's only Rachel Berry on his rotation and I don't see that changing anytime soon." He shrugged. "Any other questions?"

Even fewer hands lifted. Yeah, he could see where the interest really lay. Gossip would always reign king. Brad pointed to a quiet kid in the back.

"So like, why is glee club bad?"

He frowned. "It's… complicated…" Which was code for – I'm just going with the flow of high school and avoiding slushees. "Now… If you'll follow me to the caf, I'll show you what not to eat… ever." Most of the group followed after him, but Brad noticed at least one or two stragglers staring after the glee room wistfully. Warnings aside, there were always a few willing to see if it was worth it. And maybe, if he wasn't so terrified of the icy shower he knew he'd get, he'd see what all the hype was about. After all, four of the jocks were in there and it even roped Puckerman down, a legendary cougar-scoring bachelor until Rachel Berry turned his head. Brad was half-sure glee had some kind of magical properties. Or maybe the rest of the school could learn a thing or two about not focusing so much on status…

He considered the idea the rest of the lunch hour, after answering various questions and making sure all the freshmen knew the basics of high school survival 101. On his way to his locker, he paused near the show choir room door, his hand itching to reach out and see if acceptance truly lay behind it. And then the icy cold reminder of slush dribbling down his head and soaking his clothes reminded him of why he avoided these kinds of things. Unlike the glee losers, Brad didn't have anybody run forward and help him clean off the offensive cherry corn syrup that now stained him, but he figured if he kept his head down and never let himself think the glee club could change things, he might just make it through high school. So he stuck by his original opinion, it involved a lot less slushy facials. He'd have to live with that.

[End.]