Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Glee Universe. No copyright infringement intended.
I
.
It's the smile that first gives her away.
Kurt Hummel catches it immediately, his gaze zoning in on the sudden smile on Rachel Berry's face. It's a smile he's never seen on the girl before, and Kurt has seen Rachel Berry in every emotion known to man. The petite brunette can be dramatic from time to time, but this expression is new and… different. It's almost… embarrassed, and Kurt can't just let it go.
"What's that smile about?" Kurt asks, nudging his friend with his shoulder.
Sensing she's been caught, the smile slips from Rachel's face, only to be replaced by a look of confusion. "What smile?" she asks.
"The one that was on your face a second ago," Kurt points out. "Moments after you looked at your phone. In class, no less. It's very unlike you."
Rachel blushes a dark red, ducking her head to hide it. "It's just a meme," she says, obviously lying.
"Oh," Kurt says, raising his eyebrows. "Can I see it?"
Rachel's smile returns, and she quickly searches through her phone for a funny picture Kurt hasn't yet seen. It's required, because how is she supposed to explain to her best friend that he might not actually be her best friend anymore? How is she supposed to tell him that his position has been stolen by a nameless, faceless person in her phone?
When she finds a suitable picture, she shows it to Kurt, and they share a small giggle before returning their attention to the front of the classroom where their teacher is demonstrating an example of the cosine formula at work. Her phone buzzes in her lap three more times before the lesson is over and she's able to check her phone without having to hide it under her desk. The smile she was trying to hide is back in full-force as she spies the now-familiar contact, saved as a moniker she doesn't know, but believes.
Pretty Girl: Distract me.
Pretty Girl: This is me here, dying of boredom.
Pretty Girl: And… I'm dead. You did this. I hope you're happy.
Rachel just shakes her head, her thumbs already typing as she and Kurt weave through the students filling the corridors between classes. It's only the second period of the day and Rachel is already exhausted.
Little Star: And you call me dramatic.
Little Star: No, don't die. Stay with me! What am I supposed to do without your daily snark and biting sarcasm?
Little Star: Just for the record, I would be extremely SAD if anything happened to you.
She presses send on the last text just as they reach their English classroom and Kurt, ever the gentleman, opens the door for her and she slides through, whispering her gratitude. Before Kurt can release the door, four other people walk through the open door. The first two don't acknowledge him at all, the third shoots him a beaming smile, and the fourth offers him a timid, though grateful smile. It's enough of a gesture to force away his imminent scowl.
Muttering under his breath, Kurt finally enters the classroom and moves directly to his seat beside Rachel. They sit comfortably in the third row, just far enough from the back not to be distracted by the talkative students in the last row, and not close enough to the front to be picked on constantly by the teacher.
"I see they turned you into a doorman," Rachel comments, resisting the urge to turn her head and look behind her, where they can both hear the incessant voices of the four most popular students in school: Noah Puckerman, Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce and Quinn Fabray.
"At least I didn't end up shoved against the doorframe," he mutters. "That's a win for me, I suppose."
Rachel rolls her eyes. "They're horrible," she says, shaking her head. "I can't wait to get out of this place."
"Tell me about it."
When Rachel's phone buzzes, she immediately lifts it from her lap to check it before the lesson starts.
Pretty Girl: Nope. YOU are the dramatic one in this relationship.
Pretty Girl: I'm still here. Unfortunately. Attendance is a must.
Pretty Girl: Believe me, I would be sad about it as well.
For a moment, Rachel's eyes bug out at the sight of the first message. Words like 'relationship' should never be used in texts between two people who haven't actually defined anything.
Little Star: Relationship?
Little Star: Good girl. Stay in school.
Little Star: I'm glad we actually agree on something. Today HAS to get better.
Kurt clears his throat, getting Rachel's attention. "Are you sure you're just looking at memes?" he asks.
Despite herself, she blushes again and, thankfully, their English teacher, Mr Pope calls for attention. Rachel faces forward, ignoring Kurt's pointed look. He definitely knows she's lying - has been for quite some time - and he's desperately trying to be patient. Kurt Hummel is not a patient person, and Rachel Berry is making it very difficult for him.
"Oh, boy," Rachel mutters.
"What?"
"Look," she says, gesturing towards their teacher, who looks especially enthusiastic about something. They're definitely in for it now, and some of the students even brace themselves for the impromptu quiz that's bound to be produced.
It's not.
It's so much worse.
"Today, we're going to discuss your final project of the year," Mr Pope says, smiling widely. "How does it feel to hear that? This will be the final paper you ever write for me, ladies and gentlemen."
That piece of news receives a subdued response because they're all too worried about the almost permanent smile on their teacher's face. Rachel even sits straighter, just knowing she isn't going to like whatever this man is about to say.
Kurt leans towards Rachel and whispers, "If his face stays that way any longer, it's going to need the True Love's Kiss to wake it up."
She giggles behind her hand. "You're going to get us in trouble."
Kurt just shrugs, his attention returning to Mr Pope as he continues with his - dangerous - explanation.
"I've been thinking about what topic to give you for quite some time, and I've decided that I'm going to allow you to pick your own. Within reason, of course."
This news is much better received, arousing a bit of a cheer from the class, but the fact that Mr Pope doesn't react is enough to make the more academically-inclined students wary. There's more to come. There always is.
Mr Pope takes a step forward, his smile still in place. "I thought you would appreciate that," he says. "The only thing is that you'll be working in pairs," he adds, putting his hand out to keep his students quiet; "which I have already picked for you."
The sudden protesting is almost comical, but Mr Pope looks unaffected. Rachel is halfway to going into shock, her heart rate rising to dangerous levels at the very idea of having to work with anyone other than Kurt.
"Quiet, quiet," Mr Pope says. "It's not going to be that bad."
Rachel turns to Kurt, eyes wide. "How can he say that?" she hisses.
"It would be better if we could pick our own partners," he whispers back.
"I've got the pairs here," Mr Pope says, stepping back and lifting a piece of paper up off his desk to read off the names. "Brittany Pierce and Michael Chang, Noah Puckerman and Finn Hudson, Shane Tinsley and Mercedes Jones, Lauren Zizes and Rick Nelson, Becky Jackson and Dave Karofsky, Azimio Adams and Jacob Ben Israel, Matt Rutherford and Suzy Pepper, Rachel Berry and Santana Lopez, and Quinn Fabray and Kurt Hummel."
For the longest moment, nobody in the class reacts. It's just silence: shocked and unadulterated silence.
Mr Pope pushes through the silence, enjoying it as the reality of his assignment sinks in. "This project is going to count for forty percent of your final grade, so I expect you to put in sufficient effort to produce your best work.
Rachel turns to Kurt, horrified. "Oh. My. God."
Kurt just shakes his head, his own panic making his hands tremble. "We'll talk to him," he says, his shoulders tense. "We can ask him if we can switch."
Mr Pope raises his hand to halt the protests that are surely to come, once they really begin. It's just a murmur at the moment as the shock settles in. "Don't bother coming to me to switch partners," he says, sounding disinterested. "I drew from a hat, I swear. Contrary to what you surely believe, I'm not trying to punish you or ruin your lives. Make it work, or I'm going to fail you."
With the sound of that, the murmuring dies. Mr Pope doesn't need to add that, if he does indeed fail them, they don't graduate. It's definitely one way to put the fear of God into his students, because there are no protests whatsoever.
"We're going to die," Rachel says. "Oh, my God, I'm going to fail. I'm going to fail. Oh, my God, I'm not going to graduate. I'm going to be stuck in Lima, all because Mr Pope decided to mix things up. Is he trying to kill me? He's trying to kill us, Kurt."
Kurt is inclined to agree with her, but he holds his tongue. At least one of them has to remain calm, and it's usually him in this particular relationship. "It's going to be fine," he says, placing a hand on her forearm. "It'll be fine."
"How can you say that?" she asks pointedly, glaring at him. "You have to work with Quinn," she hisses. "I have to work with Santana. How is it going to be fine?"
Kurt forces himself not to turn around when he hears the familiar laugh of one Santana Lopez. "I'll probably end up doing all the work anyway," he offers, even though he doesn't believe it. Quinn Fabray is their graduating class' expected Valedictorian, and it's doubtful she's going to slack at all. "You as well, right?" he says. "Maybe it'll be better that way."
"But we don't have time for that," she argues, her eyes betraying her panic. The remainder of their senior year is already jam-packed with projects, assignments and rehearsals.
Mr Pope claps his hands once to get the class' attention. "Now that you've all gotten over the initial shock, can I hand out the project brief?"
As expected, he receives no response.
"Shuffle about and meet with your partners," Mr Pope instructs. "I won't be giving you too many of these periods free so I expect you to make good use of this time. I suggest you get together with your partner now, try to think up some project topics and discuss suitable meeting times. The end of the school year is just shy of three months away, and I'm expecting impeccable work. From both partners."
Rachel audibly gulps, suddenly sure that Mr Pope would be able to tell if only one person did the work. Sometimes, teachers have that habit of knowing their students.
Mr Pope makes quick work of handing out the project briefs to every student. "Get moving then," he says.
Neither Kurt nor Rachel move a muscle. No. They don't even turn their heads. This is asking too much. Even though their teachers do nothing about the clear bullying in the school, they are aware of it and usually do their best not to aggravate it. But this? This is practically feeding the 'losers' of the school to the popular kids and sitting back and watching it all unfold.
"Rachel? Kurt?" Mr Pope asks when he reaches their table. "Aren't you going to find your partners?"
Rachel doesn't even look up at their teacher. Kurt is the one to take the project briefs from him, offering a tight smile. "We were just waiting for these," he says through gritted teeth.
"Oh, good," he says, quickly moving along.
Rachel looks at Kurt. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"It's going to be fine," Kurt says again, though he sounds less convincing this time around. "It could be worse."
"How could it be worse?"
"Your partner could be Quinn," he grumbles, and Rachel smiles sympathetically. "Or Puck."
"At least you know Quinn won't try to kill you," she says, shaking her head. "Santana has actually threatened my life before, you know? I'm going to die, Kurt. She's going to kill me."
"She's not going to kill you, Rachel," he says. "She needs you to pass this project."
Rachel is about to respond when a shadow falls over them, forcing her to look up to see none other than Quinn Fabray standing over them, her eyes displaying her patented cold glare.
"Berry," she says. "Hummel."
Rachel clears her throat. "Hello, Quinn."
Kurt breathes out through his nostrils. "Quinn," he says carefully. "Are you coming to sit here?"
The blonde cheerleader glances over her shoulder, eyeing the seat beside Santana that she just vacated. "I think that's best," she eventually responds to Kurt. "We'll probably get more work done away from Puck and Santana's bitching."
Kurt is sufficiently caught off guard by Quinn's surprising candidness, and his raised eyebrows give him away. Rachel uses the opportunity to rise from her own seat, absently knocking her elbow with Quinn's and stumbling a bit. Why is she standing so close anyway?
"Sorry," she mumbles, shaking her head and offering her seat to Quinn, before looking at Kurt. "I'll see you later," she says. "Wish me luck."
"Good luck," both Quinn and Kurt say, which, if it weren't so awkward, would probably be amusing.
Rachel looks at Quinn, her eyes locking on hazel for the first time, and Rachel can't mistake the look of understanding in them. It's unsettling, in how foreign and familiar it feels, and she immediately steps back. The two of them haven't really had any sort of contact since their sophomore year, and Rachel definitely doesn't want to start now because that last conversation definitely didn't end well.
There were tears from her and such... defeat from Quinn.
Quinn looks away first, and claims the seat Rachel has just vacated. She settles herself, back perfectly straight, as she produces a notebook from her bag and opens it to a fresh page.
Kurt and Rachel exchange a perplexed look, which is broken by the sound of Santana's voice.
"RuPaul," she barks from the back of the classroom, making Rachel jump. "We don't have all day here."
Steeling herself, Rachel makes her way towards Santana's table. It's obvious the Latina made no effort to prepare for her arrival, but she reads very little into it as she slips into Quinn's former seat. Rachel doesn't speak first, choosing rather to prepare her own notebook for note-taking before she places the project brief in front of her. Forty percent of their mark just doesn't seem fair. But, as she reads what is required of the project in its entirety, she figures out why.
It's… a lot of work.
"So," Rachel finally says, turning to look at Santana, who is literally glaring at her. "Have you read through the brief?"
"What do you think I've been doing while I waited for your slow ass to get here?"
Rachel forces herself to focus on her breathing. "Do you have any ideas about a topic then?"
Santana narrows her eyes as a smirk spreads across her face. "We could look at how having mommy issues affect a kid's development," she says.
Despite the unexpected comment, Rachel doesn't react. It's well-known in this school that Shelby Corcoran, Coach of Vocal Adrenaline, is her mother… who doesn't want her. It's still a sore spot for her, and Santana Lopez just loves to hit her in it. "Or, we could look at the effects of too much meaningless sex on emotional development," Rachel finds herself saying.
Santana immediately sits up. "What did you just say to me?"
"Nothing," Rachel says flatly, returning her attention to her notebook. "Just brainstorming."
"Well, brainstorm better," Santana huffs, grabbing for Rachel's pen and notebook. In the centre of the page, she writes: 'Fucking Torture,' and then circles it twice.
"Real mature," Rachel comments dryly as she takes the notebook back, tears out the page and scrunches it up. On a fresh page, she writes 'English Project Topic.' They're barely a few minutes into this new partnership, and Rachel can feel her stomach dropping further and further. There's no way she's going to be able to survive this.
"Your handwriting looks like bird shit," Santana says.
Rachel ignores her. "We have to consider if we can find suitable literature for whatever topic we decide on," she says instead, fully aware that she sounds patronising. She finds she doesn't care.
"Are you going to insist on it being boring?" Santana asks.
"Are you going to pull your weight if I don't?"
"Why? Are you worried I'll be the reason you flunk this course?"
Rachel, once again, doesn't react. "I would think you would want to graduate, or are you so keen to keep reliving your glory days that you'd be willing to stay another year?"
Santana glares at her. "At least I have glory?"
"And, if you keep this up, it's all you'll ever have," she returns, almost automatically.
Santana's glare hardens, but it's nothing like a Quinn Fabray glare, and Rachel's been on the receiving end of those one too many times to be affected by Santana's. "Can we just focus on this stupid project?"
Rachel sighs. "Fine," she breathes. "Let's start somewhere simple. What interests you?"
Simple.
Of course.
.
By the end of the lesson, Rachel is about ready to pull out her own hair - or Santana's. Someone's, definitely. As a result, she leaves English in the foulest mood. She just can't understand why Santana is so determined to make everything so difficult. Would it kill her to be civil enough to make plans to meet up? Rachel mourns for the rest of her high school English career,.
"God, you look awful," Kurt says, looking sympathetic as they leave the classroom together. Thankfully, they share a free period, which they usually spend in the choir room. "Was it that bad?" he asks, coming to a halt and allowing her to lead the way out of the classroom.
"I'd rather not talk about it," she grumbles.
Kurt gently pats her shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"Was yours just as bad?" she asks.
Kurt bites his bottom lip in thought, contemplating what he should tell her. Particularly if her first meeting went so spectacularly badly. "Surprisingly, no, it wasn't," he finally says.
"Really?" she asks, frowning at the very idea of Quinn and Kurt actually managing to get any work done.
"I'm just as surprised as you are," he admits. "Believe me."
"What happened?"
"Well, she was very open to my ideas," he explain. "She was receptive and offered up all sorts of ideas of her own. It was odd actually talking to her, so I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."
Rachel's frown hasn't ceased. Like everyone in school, she has a certain idea of Quinn Fabray. She's the Head Cheerleader, Student Counsel President, Valedictorian, Head of the Tutor Centre, President of the Celibacy Club and Head of various other clubs such as the Red Cross and the Model United Nations. She rules the school with an iron glare. Her word is gold, titanium, platinum. Her word is the law and, over the years, she's managed to build a reputation as both a heartless bitch and a fierce protector of her own. Rachel knows there must be a softer side to her, but she's never witnessed it first hand.
When they get to the choir room, Kurt moves straight towards the piano and Rachel drops herself into a chair. She tilts her head back to look at the ceiling and lets out a frustrated groan.
"Oh, come on," Kurt says with a slight laugh. "It couldn't have been that bad."
"It was worse," she grumbles, lifting her head back up and looking at him. "I promise you one of us is going to end up killing the other? It's going to happen, Kurt, and I'm still so young, you know? I have so much life left to live. I haven't sung on Broadway yet. I haven't even had sex. I mean, I don't even have a will yet."
"Wow," Kurt says, absently shuffling through the sheet music atop the piano. "Easy there, Drama. Nobody is going to die."
"Just you wait," she mutters as she takes out her phone to check her messages. Despite her awful mood, she does crack a smile at the sight of a certain name.
Pretty Girl: Is relationship the wrong word? What would you call this then?
Pretty Girl: Is it possible both to love and hate school?
Pretty Girl: I'm afraid you spoke too soon.
Little Star: I don't know. The word 'relationship' usually means something more than… friendship. Is that what this is?
Little Star: No. The words 'love' and 'school' should never exist in the same sentence.
Little Star: Oh, no. What happened?
Pretty Girl: It does mean something more than… friendship. I thought that was what this was, but correct me if I'm wrong.
Pretty Girl: Not even the sentence: 'She's my high school love'?
Pretty Girl: Shit. Shit happened, and is continuing to happen.
Rachel resists the urge to squeal because her Pretty Girl has just acknowledged that this thing they're doing exists in the category of more. It's exciting and frightening and Rachel knows she should be more careful with her heart, but she also knows it's already gone. She's already handed it over to a complete stranger, and she doesn't even know if she would want to take it back.
Little Star: No, you're not wrong. I'm just… surprised.
Little Star: Ask me again one day. I may or may not change my mind.
Little Star: So, just life in general, then?
Pretty Girl: Good surprised? Or bad?
Pretty Girl: I will remember this. You should know that I remember everything.
Pretty Girl: Life = Shit. You just get me.
Little Star: GOOD, Pretty Girl. Definitely good. We're in a relationship. How could that possibly be bad?
Little Star: I don't know if I should be worried or impressed by that.
Little Star: I do get you, and you get me, don't you?
"Aha," Kurt suddenly exclaims, and Rachel almost jumps right out of her seat. "I've found the perfect song," he says. "Come on, Rach; let's sing your frustration."
She giggles softly as she bends to put away her phone in her bag, just as it buzzes again.
Pretty Girl: We're in a relationship. Wow.
Pretty Girl: Definitely impressed. I've been trying to impress you from the very beginning.
Pretty Girl: I like to think so, yes. I'm still learning, though.
Definitely, wow.
.
By the time Kurt and Rachel roll into Glee that afternoon, Rachel's foul mood has dissipated somewhat. She's managed to avoid Santana all day and focus on other things, like the fact that she's in an actual relationship. Wow. If she can focus on only that, then this day can be salvaged.
Somehow.
Hopefully.
Outside of the choir room, Rachel has to face off with the popular kids and, inside the choir room, she has to deal with divas. It's exhausting, really, and all Rachel wants to do is sing… or text her Pretty Girl. It's a toss-up at this point.
There's bickering and nasty words said, before Mr Schuester can get them under control. Rachel doesn't even know why everyone is having such a conniption anyway. Nationals is weeks away, and everyone already knows she's going to be singing the Solo. It's the only chance they have at winning, and they have to know the truth of it.
So, it's an exhausted Rachel Berry who finally makes it home, just in time to have dinner with her fathers before she goes up to her bedroom in an attempt not to get buried by her unless homework.
And, God, that English project. She doesn't even want to think about it as she rather works on her Spanish conjugations. She has a functional email to prepare and sentences to translate. The class has been much better ever since they got a real Spanish teacher to teach it, and Mr Schuester switched to... History, she thinks. Maybe, now, Rachel actually stands a chance.
Still, she works diligently until she's done. It's just before ten o'clock, and she uses the opportunity to get ready for bed. Her nighttime routine is vigorous on a normal night, and tonight is no different. She usually takes her time, hoping to waste it until it's time.
Because, at exactly ten thirty, Rachel gets the text she receives at this exact time every weeknight.
Pretty Girl: Go online.
As if she's not already prepared. She's sitting at her desk, staring at the chat window on her computer screen, waiting.
Little Star: Already there.
Pretty Girl: X
.
GoldStarRBB: Pretty Girl?
SkySplits94: Hey you!
GoldStarRBB: How was your day?
SkySplits94: Today has honestly been the worst day… Why can't we just be done with this place already?
GoldStarRBB: What happened?
SkySplits94: Everything.
GoldStarRBB: Like?
SkySplits94: You can't see me, but I'm rolling my eyes. And I'm growling, possibly. School is honestly the devil and my friends are driving me crazy with all their drama. It was just a bitch fest of complaining today.
GoldStarRBB: That's high school, I guess. It'll be over soon.
SkySplits94: Clearly, you had a better day than I did.
GoldStarRBB: If you would stop being so stubborn and allow us to meet, I think I could have improved your day quite considerably.
SkySplits94: Well, someone's definitely feeling herself today… Is there a specific reason?
GoldStarRBB: Well, you DID say we're in some sort of relationship. It turned an awful day into a great day.
SkySplits94: I'm glad I could help.
GoldStarRBB: You always do.
SkySplits94: And… now you're making me blush.
GoldStarRBB: Mission accomplished.
SkySplits94: Cute.
SkySplits94: Why was YOUR day so awful?
GoldStarRBB: Have you ever encountered people who you're convinced exist just to test you?
SkySplits94: Oh, yes. I'm quite certain my own best friend is one of those people. I think I almost slap her on a daily basis.
GoldStarRBB: No, PG, what did I tell you? Violence is never the answer.
SkySplits94: I'm learning.
GoldStarRBB: Good girl.
SkySplits94: I'm sorry your day was as awful as it was. You should tell me next time. I know some cracking (read: CORNY) jokes that could brighten up anyone's day.
GoldStarRBB: I'll remember that for next time. Though, you should know that just talking to you at all makes my days better.
SkySplits94: Ditto, LS. Some days are a struggle to get through, I know, but I kind of have no choice but to keep going. If I want to get out of this place, it's what's expected of me.
GoldStarRBB: Is that why you do it?
SkySplits94: Do what?
GoldStarRBB: Keep trying as hard as you do? Or is it to do with your parents?
SkySplits94: Both, I suppose.
SkySplits94: I don't know. It isn't even about wanting to make my parents proud. I just want to be seen.
GoldStarRBB: I see you.
SkySplits94: Little Star, you don't even know who I am.
GoldStarRBB: Sometimes, I feel like I do. And I would know you if you just allowed us to meet, you know? I don't know why you keep insisting on hiding who you are.
SkySplits94: I have my reasons, as I suspect you do too. It's better this way… At least for now. I promise we'll meet before graduation.
GoldStarRBB: Can I just point out that that is in like three months? That's an incredibly long time for my paranoid brain to come up with reasons why you refuse to meet me.
SkySplits94: Oh yeah? Like what?
GoldStarRBB: Well the most obvious is that you have two heads...
SkySplits94: Funny, Little Star. Real funny.
GoldStarRBB: I think you're probably the most gifted person at getting sarcasm across through your writing. Congratulations.
SkySplits94: I think you're learning a little too much from me, you know that? What else?
GoldStarRBB: I mean, in all seriousness, it's an obvious worry that you're not actually who you say you are, right?
SkySplits94: Are you?
GoldStarRBB: I can assure you, Pretty Girl, that I have only one head.
SkySplits94: Seriously.
GoldStarRBB: I am an eighteen-year-old girl with extreme mommy-issues and a complex about my slightly larger than normal nose. I love music. It's probably my favourite thing in this world.
SkySplits94: That's all?
GoldStarRBB: I also have ten toes and ten fingers.
SkySplits94: Now that you mention that, you're perfect.
GoldStarRBB: Two ears, two eyes, one mouth and one nose. I am fully abled, bisexual, and I honestly cannot wait to meet you.
SkySplits94: Little Star.
GoldStarRBB: Hmm?
SkySplits94: It's getting late. I should probably get to bed, otherwise I'm going to be a complete zombie tomorrow. I've been known to turn into a raging bitch when I'm sleep-deprived. Well, more so than usual.
GoldStarRBB: Wait. You didn't tell me… Are you who you say you are?
SkySplits94: Only you would know. Honestly, you are probably the only person on this planet who knows who I really am, and I'm including myself in that. I'm learning all about myself right along with you.
GoldStarRBB: Do you find yourself almost as fascinating as I do?
SkySplits94: Wow, you really do know how to make a girl swoon, don't you?
GoldStarRBB: I try.
SkySplits94: Goodnight, my little star Xx
GoldStarRBB: Goodnight, my pretty girl :*