"OW!"

"Nark."

"Okay, hold up."

I could see that Mr. Schuester was getting pretty fed up with us, and we hadn't even gotten through our first rehearsal of the year. First, Rachel had showed up with our entire set for Sectionals planned out, as though she was going to run the show this year. Then Brittany, Quinn, and Santana had to split early because their Cheerios tryouts conflicted with rehearsal, which couldn't have been an accident. And now I was the icing on the cake, rolling over Mike Chang's toes without an ounce of remorse.

"What just happened?" Mr. Schue demanded to know, looking squarely at me for an explanation. I looked over my shoulder, searching for the troublemaker and feigning innocence.

"His wheel just happened," Tina spat, clinging protectively to Mike, an accusing glare directed straight at me. "To Mike's foot." I rewarded her spite with my most charming smile.

"His foot got in my way," I insisted, shrugging. "Er, sorry, Mike. Next time, don't take up half the stage with your over-exaggerated moves and I'll be able to steer clear of your toes."

"Artie," Mercedes hissed, putting her hands on her hips as she leaned over me menacingly. Beside her, Rachel mumbled something about "immature relationship drama" under her breath, as if she'd never let her own issues interfere with rehearsal. (Who could forget "Run Joey Run"?) Kurt adjusted his bangs and made a show of rolling his eyes at us and sighing deeply.

Mr. Schuester threw up his hands in surrender. "This rehearsal is officially post-poned," he told us. "Half of the girls can't even be here, the rest of you aren't taking it seriously, and I could be at home working on my first week's lessons for Spanish class. I'll see you all tomorrow."

I thought I was off the hook as I followed the others out the door, keeping a safe distance from Mike as he limped along beside Tina, milking it for all it was worth. But it turned out that I wouldn't be getting off that easily. Before I could wheel out the door, Mr. Schue called me back. "I need to see you, Artie."

With a sigh, I pivoted to face him. He was leaning against the piano, one hand massaging his temple, as he beckoned me back in. I obliged, rolling myself up to the piano. He took a seat on the bench, and I felt grateful that he wasn't going to talk down to me. As feelings of shame set in, I looked down at my hands, suddenly embarrassed. I was never the one to cause Mr. Schue problems.

"I couldn't help but noticing that things changed over the summer," Mr. Schuester began, tactfully. He said no more, but I knew that he meant that things with Tina and I had changed. And that Tina had obviously moved on.

"Yes, sir," I mumbled, feeling about two feet tall. (Okay, so from where I sit, I'm not much taller than that. But you get the idea.)

"Listen, Artie," he began, and I could tell he was struggling to come up with advice. He probably gets a bit tired of dealing with our problems all the time, being that he's an adult with his own issues, like a nasty divorce we all know a little about. To him, we're just silly kids. "I know you aren't a big fan of Mike Chang right now, but rolling over his toes isn't going to solve your problems."

But I did feel a little better, although I couldn't admit that. Instead, I just gave a nod like I knew Mr. Schuester, with his vast adult wisdom, was right. He patted my shoulder reassuringly, standing up again as though this chat had been nerve-wracking.

"All I ask is that you check your personal issues at the door next time," he said. "But if you want to talk about it, Artie, I'm here."

But talking about it was the last thing I wanted to do right now. I just wanted to go home, lock myself in my room, climb in bed, and listen to my iPod shuffle dedicated exclusively to break-up ballads. Yes, I was that pathetic.

Tina had dumped me nearly three months ago, but it hadn't been so difficult until we'd returned to school. Until school started, I'd been able to basically avoid the problem. Having spent the whole summer at my special camp for the physically disabled, I focused on hanging out with my camp friends, trying fun activities adapted especially for me and my needs, and avoiding any contact with people back home. I didn't even write to Kurt and Mercedes, for fear that they would mention Tina.

Finding out about Mike had been a nasty, nasty shock. It happened at lunch on our first day. I had been dreading lunch because I'd eaten with Tina, Mercedes, and Kurt last year. I was anticipating an awkward problem since although neither of us wanted to talk, I was sure neither of us would want to leave the lunch table. But Tina never showed up at our table. Mercedes and Kurt said nothing about it, but gave me these obvious worried looks until I finally spotted Tina and her new lunch crew. She was sitting with Mike, Matt, and a bunch of older kids I didn't know, laughing hysterically at something.

Tina and Mike were holding hands across the table.

"We should have told him," I heard Mercedes scolding Kurt as I stared across the cafeteria, dumbfounded. "He was going to find out eventually. Artie? Artie? I'm sorry, Artie."

"Now I know how Shawn and Angela felt when Cory and Topanga split up," Kurt had muttered, and I would have been surprised that he was familiar with Boy Meets World had I not been so distracted.

Not wanting to relive the lunch scene in my mind, I pushed my wheels as hard as I could, making my way down the halls quickly in hopes that my dad would already be in the parking lot waiting on me. It wasn't until I got outside that I realized I'd be stuck waiting until 4:00 for Dad. I was still supposed to be in rehearsal. I cursed my bad luck, knowing that even if I called him, I still wouldn't be able to get away in time to avoid talking to anyone. But as I waited for Mercedes or Kurt to find me and lecture me about my behavior, I was in for an even worse encounter.

Mike wasn't limping now and Tina was gone, which made me think he'd been playing it up for sympathy before and made me hate him even more. "So, it seems I've offended you," he began, amicably, and my hatred for him surged. If looks could kill…

I grabbed my wheels again and began pushing furiously, heading down the little paved ramp onto the asphalt, intending to keep going as long as it took for him to go away. That asshole had the nerve to follow me, remaining a few paces behind at first until I felt a slight tug of resistance. Having been literally pushed beyond my limits, I turned to give him a piece of my mind.

"Do not under any circumstances touch my chair," I threatened, my teeth clenched in fury as I stared him down. He let go of my handles and took two steps back, holding his hands up in submission.

"What can I do to get you not to hate me?" Mike asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. I scoffed at him. He had some nerve, wanting both my ex-girlfriend and my friendship. I couldn't understand why it mattered, when we had never been friends in the first place. And then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me.

"Feel guilty, do you?" I asked, smirking knowingly at him as I turned my chair to face him squarely. He played dumb, of course, but I knew better. "So, that's it. You feel bad for hurting the wheelchair kid's feelings, and you want me to tell you it's okay so you don't have to feel like a jerk. Well, it's not okay and you are a jerk."

"And you're a jealous idiot who doesn't know what he's talking about," Mike blurted out, reddening as he spoke. I gave him a satisfied smile, having received exactly what I wanted. I was sick of his act. He was always playing the part of that cool guy who was liked by everybody. But I was determined to mess that up.

"That's it, let it all out," I directed him. "Well, if you don't mind, this jealous idiot has places to go today."

"I didn't mean to say that," Mike replied, automatically. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck, evidently trying to go on and play the part of the cool, likable guy as if he hadn't just blown his own cover. "Artie, look, I don't blame you for hating me…"

"And yet you're stalking a guy who clearly hates you," I replied, coolly.

"Yeah, because I'd like to change your mind," he said, taking a knee beside my chair as if trying to get on my level. It had the opposite effect, only making me feel like he was being even more condescending. "Look, I know your dad usually gives you a ride, but he isn't here yet, is he? So let me drive you home instead. We can talk, go get a shake or something…"

Mike Chang had lost his mind.

"What about Tina?" I asked.

"She left already," he told me. "She doesn't know anything about this. Look, when she and I got together, she told me your break up was mutual. But my sore toes on my right foot tell me that's clearly not the case. If I'd known, Artie, I would have given things more time…"

Against my better judgment, I wanted to know more. Folding my arms across my body, I scowled and asked the question I couldn't resist asking. "And precisely how much time did she give it?"

He bit his lip nervously. "We've been dating since July."

I pivoted sharply, wheeling angrily in the opposite direction. July? "I think I've heard enough."

"Artie, please, wait!" He knew better than to reach for the handles this time, but he did jump in front of me and block my path. I really, really hate it when people feel the need to get in my way, as if it isn't hard enough for me to go where I want.

"Fine," I conceded, not even understanding my own motives for giving in to his request. "But I'm ordering a large shake, a burger, and fries at your expense, and you have half an hour to sweet talk me into not hating your guts."