Mr. Schue was late to glee yet again (the third time this week Rachel had pointed out huffily) and Finn was pretty sure he had seen him sneaking into the immaculately sterilized chemistry lab on the second floor with Ms. Pillsbury so he reasoned they had a while.
Rachel wasn't talking to him because he apparently 'completely failed to adequately address her needs or pay proper attention to her interests,' or something like that.
("Which leaves Sunday afternoon open for a matinee of Hairspray, which is a must-see for any young theater-goer. Though I of course lack her distinctive physical attributes, I believe my rendition of Good Morning Baltimore would make me a terrific choice for Tracy Turnblad."
"...Is that the one where they get buried alive?")
Finn had to admit, he was fairly excited for the glee club trip to New York that weekend. Sure Rachel hadn't stopped talking about the Broadway shows she would be dragging him to in order to begin his "finer cultural education," whatever that meant, but he'd overheard Artie planning a trip to Times Square on Saturday which actually sounded like a lot of fun.
Plus, they were totally going to kick butt at Nationals, because they'd been practicing for like, ever; so long in fact that even Finn had managed to run through the dance routine 80% correctly just the day before.
This, Kurt had informed him while Artie appeared mildly disturbed, was a clear sign of the coming apocalypse. Artie had continued to seem scared, so Finn tried to reassure him that he'd ruled at that video game when he was a kid, and Bruce Willis was really awesome, so no worries.
Given the way everyone turned to look at him like they did when Brittany announced the sheet music tasted like purple, he was pretty sure he'd made a mistake.
Anyway, he decided that afternoon that this trip was going to be awesome, and only partly because he would finally get some private time with Rachel that didn't involve her two gay dads bursting in her room every ten minutes or Kurt trying to gouge his own eyes out with a nail file on the couch. Sharing a bedroom with your gay step-brother who hated your girlfriend's guts really sucked sometimes.
"All right guys," announced Mr. Schue as he walked in to the choir room ten minutes late, smelling strongly of disinfectant and hand sanitizer, and holding a sheet of paper. "Room assignments for the trip this Friday!" He posted the page on the bulletin board and gestured for them all to take a look with a broad smile.
Finn pushed his way through the assembling group to see his own name on the list, right next to Puck's. Perfect. Puck winked at him and sidled his way up to Santana who was giggling with an ecstatic Brittany. That would mean he would definitely have the room alone with Rachel for the trip, especially since Ms. Pillsbury had signed up to chaperone, and he was pretty sure that would keep Mr. Schue occupied.
Though, he thought he should probably warn Puck that Santana would probably be spending most of her time with Brittany over the trip, because he didn't want Puck to feel like a third wheel. Or was it the fifth wheel? He could never remember.
(When he did bring the subject up with Puck a few hours later over an old school game of Apocalypse on Kurt's x-box, Puck had grinned widely and said something about planning on being the gear shift, if you know what I mean, and Finn really, truly didn't, but let it slide anyway because he'd just gotten his head blown off.)
"Tina and I have worked out a complicated scrunchie routine to alert each other of any sexual activity that may or may not be occurring in our room this weekend," Rachel announced, evidently having forgiven him, as she appeared by his side.
Over a year of dating and a very reluctant Kurt filling the position of spiritual guide (Kurt's words, not Finn's, whose suggestion of 'love guru' was shot down) had taught him that this was Rachel-Berry-speak for 'We're all set, and I'm very excited.'
It had not, unfortunately, taught him to not flush with embarrassment when he saw Mr. Schue staring at them with open-mouthed horror. He was probably going to call Finn into his office again for an excruciatingly long talk like the one he had to have about hot tubs and anatomy after the whole Puck and Quinn thing came out.
"That's uh, that's great." A large part of him was relieved that Quinn was rooming with Mercedes, because he had a feeling that if both his ex and current girlfriend had to stay in the same room together the only use they would have had for a scrunchie would be to strangle each other with.
Before his imagination could run too wild with the fantasy of Quinn and Rachel fighting over him, preferably in mud, a scathing voice interrupted it.
"Sucks to be you, Artie. Don't forget to make a salt circle before you go to bed to ward off Captain Queerio over here."
Finn had no clue what salt had to do with anything, other than according to Kurt it causes bloating, but he was absolutely sure Kurt had just been insulted, and possibly called fat. Before he could jump to his almost-kind-of-step-brother's defense Artie had wheeled himself forward abruptly so Puck had to jump out of the way to avoid his toe being crushed.
"Don't be an ass, Puck," he said calmly, in that very Artie way of being angry without actually sounding angry. Finn supposed that in the absence of the ability to kick over chairs, one had to make adjustments.
"Besides, salt wards off vampires and demons, moron, not gay people," Kurt chimed in matter-of-factly. Finn turned to look at him and saw that Kurt seemed unaffected by the insult and was resting his hands placatingly on Artie's wheelchair.
"Please, I've seen that stupid Twilight movie. Vampires are totally gay." Puck's words lacked the venom they would've had just a few months ago, and if Finn didn't know better he could've mistaken the smirk twisting Puck's lips for affectionate.
"Twilight is an insult to vampire lore, don't you dare try to group me with Edward Cullen. And also, why exactly have you seen Twilight?"
From there the conversation dissolved into the girls debating the merits some sort of teams that he didn't think had anything to do with sports and a chick named Taylor's abs while Kurt rolled his eyes so hard Finn was slightly concerned about him pulling a muscle, if there were muscles in the eye, that is, and Puck muttered something about his sister and tried to pretend he wasn't blushing.
Although he had little idea what had just happened, he was confident that Kurt didn't need his help anymore. He'd still shove Puck into a locker later, because he was pretty sure that was what brothers did, but he would also help him up and invite him over for an afternoon of video games because he knew that was what best friends did.
Mr. Schue, on the other hand, looked like he needed some very serious help indeed as he had collapsed over the piano, his head in his hands, massaging his forehead. He always seemed to do that when he lost control of the club, which, Finn observed, seemed to be rather often.
When Rachel screeched something about 'classic love story for the ages,' and Kurt mimed gagging to her face Mr. Schue finally snapped out of his daze.
"Enough!" Everyone stopped mid-sentence and obscene gesture to look at their frazzled teacher. "Now I'm assuming everyone is satisfied with the rooming arrangements?"
The group of kids looked amongst themselves and shrugged. A chorus of 'sure' and 'I guess so,' rang out, and Mr. Schue seemed appeased by that.
"Great," he said, his all too forced smile back in place. "Now I'm sure we can incorporate the Twilight franchise into our weekly assignment then..."
"Uh, Mr. Schue? Since our performance is Saturday, don't you think maybe we should focus on coming up with a set list instead of a new assignment?"
Finn was kind of relieved for Artie's interruption since Kurt had been twirling his scarf into something that vaguely resembled a whip, and even though he was getting used to the idea of having a new brother, he wasn't sure he really wanted to have to visit him in prison on weekends and holidays and stuff.