Sam Evans looked around at UCLA's imposing campus that covered quite a bit of Los Angeles, California. He had came a long way—Lima, Ohio, to be exact. He had graduated from McKinley High near the top of his class, despite struggles with his dyslexia; Sam had received a full-ride to UCLA on an athletic scholarship, thanks to his prowess on the field as quarterback for McKinley's Titans. The campus bustled with life, and Sam was excited that it was so different from the smallness of Lima. He missed his family, who had recently overcame their financial struggles. Dwight and Mary Evans were incredible parents who kept their family bonds strong, even when their money was weak. Stevie and Stacie, Sam's younger siblings, were also strong and together they had made it. They'd been ecstatic when Sam had gotten his scholarship to an amazing college like UCLA; they were so proud of him. Sam smiled to himself. His family was the greatest. Sam even missed his ex-girlfriend, Quinn Fabray. She had been beautiful, and they had great chemistry, but Quinn had been unfaithful. She'd cheated on Sam a few days after they had both promised their virginity to each other; Sam had initially wanted to give her another chance, but with Quinn going off to Yale University they'd decided on an amicable split. Even so, Quinn was still a good person at heart, and Sam would miss those rare moments you could see the real Quinn bubbling to the surface. Sam was knocked out of his reverie about his old life in Lima by a bubbly ball of a girl-
"I'm so sorry!" she nearly squealed. Sam ran his fingers through his blonde hair (a very dirty blonde now, since Sam had stopped dousing it with lemon juice), fixed his green eyes on her hazel ones, and smiled lopsidedly. She was short and curvy; Sam's 6'0 frame towered over her. She was dressed casually in black tights, a sleeveless pink blouse, and pink and cork wedges. Most peculiarly, she had a huge pink and black striped bow perched on her shoulder-length ombre hair. Her skin resembled slightly darkened caramel. The girl waved her hand back and forth in front of Sam's face.
"Helloooooo! I'm trying to apologize here," she huffed. Sam chuckled.
"No need to apologize, ma'am. I'm fine. Sam Evans, at your service," he drawled. Sam held out his hand to her, and she grasped it firmly and shook.
"I'm Charlotte. My friends call me Char, and I'm a world-renowned klutz! Nice southern accent, by the way. You're the cutest piece of Southern fried hospitality, I've seen in a while," Char exclaimed. Her voice was bubbly and she talked a mile a minute. For a minute, Sam was reminded of Rachel Berry, but the girl's open friendliness quickly squelched the comparison. Char toyed with her bangs and shifted her eyes to the right. She begin to edge away as she said,
"Sorry again to bump into you! I have to get going." She muttered under her breath, "Mercy's going to kill me for being late."
"See ya around, Sam!" Char called. Char hurried away, and Sam was left watching the energetic girl bounce away. He hoped everyone else was as receptive to his Southern hospitality as Char. He hardly knew anyone on campus, except Mike and Santana—who'd somehow ended up at UCLA with him. Sam walked on the bright green grass headed toward his dorm, Netherfield, when he heard the distinctive sound of Santana.
"Guppy Lips!" she exclaimed.
"Satan," he greeted back warmly. Santana slung an arm over his shoulder. Santana Lopez was a fiesty, Latina that didn't tolerate any bullshit. She had lovely dark hair and a petite, lithe frame. She also had a thing for lady kisses and underneath her tough exterior was a heart of gold. It took Sam a little while to unearth her softer side, but once you were her friend Santana protected you fiercely. Santana was dressed simply in a red top and dark denim jeans. She walked with a purpose.
"Where are you headed to, Trouty Mouth?"
"My dorm, Netherfield," Sam answered causally. He was used to Santana's nicknames; instead of insulting, Santana's insults had become endearing. The terms Sam once hated he had begun to embrace.
"Mine, too. It's a far cry from Lima Heights Adjacent, but I still have razorblades in my hair, just in case these Sun Valley twerps get too complacent. You know how I roll." Ever since high school, Santana had projected this tough exterior—a product of Lima Heights Adjacent. She was quick to fight, and quick to remind people of her razorblades in her hair. She never knew when she would need them, but Santana was convinced that they were necessary.
They walked through the campus enjoying the nice California weather. The sun was beaming, and UCLA had gardens blooming on every other side of the campus's walkways. The fragrance of flowers wafted through the air and settled into the trees bursting with the vibrancy of life. Pink, yellow, orange, and red petals covered the ground in abstract patterns—it was beautiful. Their feet echoed faintly against the concrete ground with intricate insignias of UCLA's mascot. Santana was lost in thought about the pretty blonde girl she had seen earlier. She had caught a tidbit of the blonde girl's puzzling conversation—something about a drug peddling cat. Sam was thinking about his new teammates, and being a part of the Bruins. The Bruins was UCLA's football team, and his buddy Mike had also earned a spot, although his scholarship was academic.
Sam and Santana had finally made it to Netherfield when Sam caught sight of the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. A large group of people were standing near the building adjacent to Netherfield—in the group he saw the familiar face of the girl he'd met earlier, Charlotte. The person talking to the group was a curvy girl with smooth dark-skin. Sam stared at her with the initial thoughts of 'not my type,' but the girl was exquisite. Even from a distance her large, brown doe eyes were mesmerizing. She wore a soft yellow blouse that made her skin pop, and slightly skimmed her considerable cleavage. Her professional slacks were practically molded to her bottom half—her ass could make a preacher sin. Black heels made her taller, but Sam could tell she was short, and she had soft black curls that framed her face. Her lips were shapely and the tips of Sam's ears burned red as he thought of the things her lips could do. Her button nose was adorable and made Sam want to lay a soft 'boop' to it. Quinn had been the only girl Sam had seriously dated. Despite Sam's conventional attractiveness, Sam didn't sleep around or go after girls he couldn't see a future with. One glimpse of this girl had captivated him—who was she?
"Come on! What are you waiting for?" Santana tugged at Sam's arm. "Let's go find our rooms, Lady Lips." Sam allowed himself to be dragged noticing the beautiful girl and her group had moved on, but vowing to find her.
A month later, Sam hadn't found his mystery girl and had dubbed her Le'aw Tiyawn. He hadn't told any of his friends about her (he thought his obsession was a little pathetic). Sam's dyslexia had made it hard for him to write out his feelings, but he'd discovered he had the ability to draw insanely well. Growing up, Sam was a hardcore nerd. He was obsessed with comics (Marvel over DC, thank you very much), and his favorite movie was comprised of blue people with a fictional language (Na'vi) that he had learned. Sam's infatuation with his mystery girl had began to manifest itself in his comics. He began to draw her over and over again, painstakingly making sure to get the slope of her nose and the curve of her check exactly right. This continued until he had full sketchbooks of nothing except her.
"Sam!" Mike called. "The fraternity is having a meeting in like, ten minutes, dude. You've totally been spacing out on me."
"Sorry." Sam scratched his head absently. "Don't worry. I'll be there. I was just thinking...about the party the frat is throwing next week."
Mike laughed, "Dude! I heard it's going to be epic. Omega Beta Epsilon gives the best parties on campus. Maybe you'll even find a girl to—you know.." Mike trailed off suggestively, but Sam just shrugged.
"I don't know. I'm not that interested in meeting any girls. I just want to cut loose."
Mike side-eyed Sam; he'd seen the way girls lustfully looked at Sam, but Sam seemed to never reciprocate. He hadn't seen him with anyone since Quinn. He often wondered if Quinn had messed Sam up with her cheating ways, or if Sam just played for the other team. Either way, he'd be there for him. Sam had been there for Mike, when Mike's dad virtually disowned him for not following typical Asian tradition and wanting to become a dancer. Sam was Mike's best friend, no matter what.
"Hey..this has nothing to do with Quinn, right?" Mike asked. Sam thought of his mystery girl and laughed.
"No, man. This has nothing to do with Quinn. I'm totally over her."
Mike nodded. At least his best friend wasn't perpetually heartbroken. He didn't know if he could handle Sam crying on his shoulder—he got enough of that from his girlfriend, Tina, over some stupid show called, Glee, and some dumbass writers Tina called RIB+, who apparently kept sinking her ships.
Mike smiled, "Alright, then. Let's head over to the OBE house for the meeting."
"Mercy!" a bubbly voice yelled out. "Can you PLEASE help me find something to wear? I just changed my schedule, which means new classes, which means new boys, which means new dick, which means new opportunities, which means I could meet my future hubby and live happily ever after. And all this depends on you helping me find a bomb ass outfit, so get your behind in here and help me!"
Mercedes Jones giggled to herself. Her best friend, Charlotte, had always been a little high strung and excitable, but they got along like long-lost sisters. She rounded the corned in Charlotte's dorm room to see Charlotte standing beside a mountain of clothes taller than the both of them, with her lips pouted and her arms crossed.
"Char...you look like a five-year old having a tantrum," Mercedes rolled her eyes, "and where in the world did all these clothes come from?" Char sidled up to Mercedes, hugged her, and wailed,
"A girl's gotta have options! Now, pretty please with cherries and tots on top, help me."
"Tots?" Mercedes laughed and wrinkled her nose, "that sounds disgusting, Char." Char turned and glared at Mercedes. They'd been best friends ever since Charlotte heard Mercedes and her angelic voice at their elementary school's Christmas recital. She was so happy that they made it to UCLA together, but right now a husband was riding on the line. Mercedes caught Charlotte's death glare and giggled again,
"Fine. I'll dress you to perfection, girl." Mercedes began rooting through Charlotte's mountain of clothes and finally found her an outfit. She held it out for Charlotte's approval and Charlotte scurried to find a matching bow; bows were kind of her thing, and she tried never to leave the dorm without one.
Mercedes plopped down on Char's bed while she waited on her to get dressed. She thought back to her life in New York and her ex-boyfriend, Shane. She had been sure that Shane was going to propose to her and they'd attend NYC together with cocoa babies in their distant future, but instead she got a gentle and insistent break-up. Her parents were almost as devastated as Mercedes. Carl and Patrice Jones loved Shane; they even invited him over for dinner every Sunday. Shane was a big fixture in her life, and even if everything wasn't perfect, they loved each other and that was all that mattered-right?
Shane had said they had "irreconcilable differences." Bullshit. They had been together all of high school. They'd attended every single prom together. Mercedes was always at every football game to cheer on her linebacker, and Shane was always at every concert to cheer on his Grammy winner. Admittedly, towards the end of high school their relationship had felt stagnant, but Mercedes assumed it had been because they hadn't had sex yet. She thought it'd change when they finally got engaged—it would put some fresh air in their relationship, but it hadn't happened that way. Still, they were the "it" couple of their high school. What had she done wrong? She sighed loudly and Char yelled from the bathroom,
"Girl, you better not be in there sighing about damn Shane again. You're better off without him. You and your voice are going places, so quit moping already."
Mercedes laughed, "Yes ma'am!" Somehow, Char always knew what she was thinking. They both just kind of got each other. Char emerged from the bathroom,
"What do you think, Mercy?" Char twirled. Mercedes nodded her approval of Char's outfit, and together they left the dorm and made their way to their respective classes. Charlotte had Art 1305, while Mercedes had Music 1300; Mercedes waved Char off as she continued to class. Mercedes had been singing as long as she could remember. Music was her passion, and she hoped to follow the path of her idols—like Whitney and Adele. Mercedes had graduated The New York Academy for Girls and Boys as valedictorian, and was a shoe-in for NYC, but after her split with Shane, she decided California was more appropriate. Her dreams were big, and UCLA was definitely the place for her. It was a bonus that Char had already prepared to attend here, so she could share her amazing college experience with her best friend.
Mercedes entered into the building where her class was being held. She sat down in a seat in the back and observed the other people in the class—one guy she noticed was an Asian guy who played for the Bruins. She recognized him from the dorm tours she gave for the university. He was sitting next to a blonde girl who kept talking about a Lord Tubbington—whatever that was. There also was a light-skinned black boy and a tall gangly guy, with a mess of brown hair. There were a couple of other people in the class, but it was a relatively small class. Then the teacher walked in—she was a little blonde lady who almost looked like she bounced on the soles of her feet as she walked. She oozed happy and pep.
"Hola, classe! Welcome to Music 1300," she shimmied her hips. "I'm your professor, Holly Holliday, but call me Professor Holly, por favor. I will instruct you in the nuances of musical language, and we will forge into the dashing dangers of dance. Keep your ears opens and your limber limbs stretched, because we have one heck of a journey ahead of us."
Mercedes smiled at the energetic Professor Holly. She had feeling she was going to enjoy this class.
Char was lost. Utterly and completely lost. She hated being out of control. She bit back tears stinging the back of her eyes.
"Ugh, where is my class?" she yelled at the blooming tree in front of her. She kicked the tree's trunk. Char began to walk aimlessly; she glanced down at her schedule. Why was the art building so hard to find? It was an all white brick building—how hard was it to spot? UCLA's campus was huge, but Char prided herself on her sense of direction. Lost in thought about her epic sense of direction and how it had never failed her before, she caught sight of white bricks. It was the art building.
Char begin to run; she hoped she wasn't that late. Being late was such a bad impression—she burst into the class and every head turned toward her. She almost cursed her stupidity. She should have slunk into class slowly and quietly, but she kind of acted first and thought later. Now any potential husband prospects in the class probably thought she was always late everywhere, and therefore inexcusably incapable of being a wife. Ugh!
"Nice of you to join us, Miss," intoned the bespectacled professor. Char smiled sheepishly and slid into the only open seat, which happened to be next to the blonde she'd bumped into almost a month prior. The professor resumed his boring lecture on the fascinating origin of paint brushes. Char sighed. She had hoped this would be a more hands-on art class. She loved to create, not to listen. She glanced sideways wondering why the blonde—Sam—hadn't recognized her yet, but he was engrossed in his sketchbook. A sketchbook—that was so cool. Char had bought tons of sketchbooks over the years, but she never had the patience to actually draw in them. Each sketchbook had maybe one or two drawings, and then it ended up somewhere forgotten while Char forged ahead to her next flitting fancy. Sam wasn't paying attention to the droning lecture any more then she was. A month wasn't that long, but they had only met briefly after Char had bumped into him, because she had to run and catch Mercy's tour to support her. Maybe Char just wasn't that memorable. She looked again at his sketchbook. It almost looked as if he was drawing a girl...with soft black curls framing her face and a button nose. Char squinted at the picture, now losing all pretense of just "glancing." The picture looked just like...
"Mercy!" Char gasped. She quickly covered her mouth. It was way louder than she had intended. The professor paused his lecture and looked over his glasses at Char.
"If being tardy wasn't enough of an grievance, now you must make random outbursts in attempts to liven up my class, I presume?"
Char blushed, "Sorry, professor. I didn't mean any harm." The professor harrumphed, but continued his lecture. Char blew out a breath in relief, but her outburst had caught the attention of Sam. He leaned close to her and whispered, "Don't I know you?"
"The klutz?" Char said.
"Right!" Sam exclaimed. "Nice to see you again, Char." He inclined his head, and Char remembered why she had initially made her outburst.
"Sam..." she began, "what are you drawing? You seem really talented." Sam's face turned an incredible shade of red. He stuttered, "U-u-um. It's just this girl. Well, actually, it's the girl." He unconsciously rubbed the back of his neck, and said in a rush,
"I saw this girl, like a month ago. She was gorgeous, but I didn't have a chance to talk to her. I've been looking for her everywhere, but I can't find her. So, I've kinda been obsessed with drawing her and Ican'treallystop."
Char giggled at Sam's embarrassment. "Oh," she nodded, faking disinterest. She then squealed internally. Mercy had a secret admirer! A cute, tall, blonde admirer with sculpted abs, big hands, and full lips. This was the perfect way to get Mercy over Shane. Sam was way cuter than Shane anyway, and Sam's southern sensibilities were too charming. Sam had went back to his sketchbook—his cheeks still stained a faint pink, and Char paused her inner monologue and gave him the once over. He even had on a Omega Beta Epsilon shirt, which meant that maybe even she could snag one of Sam's frat brothers after she played matchmaker with Mercy and Sam.
Char's wheels began to turn in her head.
Char met up with Mercedes for lunch. Char had decided to sit on her knowledge of Sam's adorable crush until next week, which was the Omega Beta Epsilon party. It was the perfect opportunity for Sam and Mercedes to conveniently bump into each other, and from what Char heard the OBE parties were crazy wild and always packed. This meant that she could have a little fun after she had played matchmaker. She couldn't wait. Mercedes had been shaken after her break-up with Shane, and Char was determined to see her best friend happy. She almost starting bouncing on the ground with glee when she noticed Mercy's raised eyebrows.
"You're way more bouncy and cheerier than usual, Char. Did your thirsty pursuit of a husband actually pay off?" Mercedes asked.
Char toyed with her bottled water. They had bought food from one of UCLA's many cafes and decided to eat under one of the cherry blossom tree. Char had gotten water, a turkey wrap, an apple, and a vanilla yogurt; Mercedes had opted for a chicken salad sandwich with tots and apple juice. Char took a swig of her water, and snatched one of Mercy's tots before answering.
"No, Mercy. I just had a really good day in class!" Char smiled brightly. Mercedes raised her eyebrows even higher; she eyed Char skeptically and asked dubiously,
"But, didn't you say you got lost? You know how you are about lateness."
Char waved her hand impatiently dismissing Mercy's suspicions. "No, girl. It was still a good day." Char nodded furiously and hurriedly steered the conversation into a more appropriate topic. Char smiled innocently, "Mercy, have you heard of the frat Omega Beta Epsilon?"
Mercedes took a sip of her apple juice and snorted. "Yeah, I have. That's the 'party party, woo' fraternity." Mercy continued disapprovingly, "I thought frats were supposed to be about being a brotherhood, not beers and babes." This was going to be slightly harder than Char thought...unless she played her trump card. Char poked her bottom lip out and knitted her eyebrows together forlornly.
"Mercy..." she began imploringly, "they're having a party next week, and you know how many guys those parties have. And you know I've never ever, ever had a boyfriend in my whole entire life. You and Shane walked blissfully down our school's halls, while I was stuck as the perpetual third wheel. You are going to move on from Bubba, find a husband and win Grammy after Grammy. Meanwhile, I'm going to be the friend everyone pities and that girl who stands by when all her friends get married, while she is always, always, always, ALWAYS, a bridesmaid. Like, I'm going to have 16 male cats, to replace my need for affection and my vagina is going to shrivel up and die from disuse. This party could save my pathetic love life, and I need my best friend there!"
Mercedes's eyes had widened at Char's heartfelt monologue, and then she had began to laugh. Mercedes exclaimed between snorts of laughter, "Girl, you are too damn much." Mercedes wiped tears from her eyes as she finally stopped laughing. She looked at Char who still had the wounded puppy expression on her face. Mercedes sighed in defeat. "One party?"
Char squealed and hugged Mercedes tightly. "Thank you, Mercy. I love you, soooo much. You're my girl. Oh, we're going to have so much fun. We have to go shopping. Oh, yay. Mercy, thank you!"
Mercedes rolled her eyes at Char's antics, but giggled. The things she did for her friend.
Sam walked across campus consumed with thoughts of his mystery girl. Char had been acting sort of weird when he'd saw her in his art class. For a second it seemed as if she'd recognized his mystery girl, but as soon as he'd seen the flash of recognition in her eyes, it had disappeared. Sam shook his head and rubbed his tired eyes. UCLA's professors and these 2 a day football practices were no joke. He had met a lot of new people, though, and it sort of took his mind off his mystery girl. Sam had no idea why this mystery girl mattered so much, but when he'd seen the beautiful girl it was almost like there was some sort of invisible string tying him to her. It was frustrating that he hadn't caught so much as another glance at her. Sam made it to the football field and began to change. He thought of the little brown haired guy he'd met earlier. The boy had walked up to him, and introduced himself as Kurt. Sam chuckled to himself as he remembered their introduction...
"Hello, I'm Kurt. Nice to meet you..." Kurt trailed off waiting on Sam to supply his name.
Sam blinked bewildered at Kurt, before he realized that Kurt wanted to know his name,
"Oh! I'm Sam." Kurt grasped Sam's hand and shook.
"Nice to meet you, Sam. So, I'm kind of a Fashion major, and I notice little details that others miss. And, well, don't take this the wrong way, but I totally recognize what years of lemon juice abuse look like and I know just the way to treat it!" Kurt smiled brightly.
Sam was taken aback. He self-consciously ran his fingers through his hair and gaped stupidly at Kurt.
"Um..."
Kurt took a step back nervously and said with an embarrassed tinge to his voice, "Sorry. I didn't meant to offend you. As a matter of fact, it wasn't even about your lemon juice abuse, although this color does suit you better, it's obvious from your ends that you messed with lemon juice and stopped. Anywho! I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink...with me..?"
Something clicked in Sam's head. Kurt was hitting on him. Sam chuckled.
"Kurt. I'm sorry, but I'm not gay. You seem cool, though. We could definitely hang out, just you know...not like that."
Kurt blushed furiously, "I apologize for my assumption! But, so...you used lemon juice for strictly heterosexual attraction purposes?"
They had both laughed at that and from there had established a tentative friendship.
Sam snapped out of his flashback and continued to dress out for football practice. Maybe he could take out some of his aggression from not finding his mystery girl out on the field. Go Bruins!
Sam came out of practice sweaty and tired. Mike had bade him farewell, because he wanted to get washed up and go out on a date with his girlfriend, Tina. Sam didn't know Tina personally, as she and Mike were in a long distance relationship before they'd ended up at UCLA, but she seemed nice enough. Sam trudged back to his dorm after washing up in one of the huge showers in the locker rooms. His first thoughts were of his mystery girl, and after finishing up his homework he started a new drawing of her. He was working on her illuminating smile, when a knock resounded at his door. He hurriedly picked up his other sketches that he used as references and tucked them into his desk. The knocking got louder.
"Coming!" he yelled. He opened the door and there stood a pretty blonde girl with piercing blue eyes.
She talked in an innocent, lilting voice, "Hi. Sam, right? When I talked to Lord Tubbington of the phone, I told him you had unnaturally large lips, but he didn't believe me." The girl fished a phone out of her pocket and snapped a picture of Sam. She smiled. "Now I have proof for Lord Tubbington!"
Sam stood in his door—confused, "Er..." The girl blinked at him. Then she giggled. "Oh. Tana asked me to return this History book to you. She kinda forgot and fell asleep after our Lady Kisses that she told me not to tell you about. Oops. I have to get back to Tana now. Bye, Sam!" She handed Sam the book and ran off, her blonde ponytail bouncing jauntily. Sam shook his head and closed his door. That must've been the Brittany girl that Santana was crazy about. Sam was glad that Santana had found someone to make her happy. She'd never fully came out back home, because she was sure that her grandmother would disapprove. Her grandmother was very old-fashioned, but Santana loved her more than anything in the world. So, Santana kept a piece of herself locked away, and that was a big part of where her rage originated from.
Sam returned to his drawings, but fell asleep mid-sketch. He was beyond tired.
Sam woke up to his roommate walking in. "Whose the chick, dude?" Finn asked. Sam looked around to see his sketches strewn across his desk and over the floor. Sam quickly snatched them up-"Nobody."
Finn chuckled, "Sure, man. You've just been drawing her for like a month now." Sam finished picking up his drawings and took his sketchbook to go for a walk, but more importantly to avoid Finn's questioning. "Catch ya later, Finn."
Finn watched Sam leave. Finn Hudson was the second string quarterback for the Bruins. He'd known Sam briefly when Finn joined McKinley's middle school choir club, because he had a puppy crush on this brunette named, Rachel. Finn's mom moved them before Finn matriculated to high school, so he never got see if his little school boy crush could have became something else. It was the biggest coincidence that him and Sam ended up roommates. They hardly knew each other—a few weeks in middle school was barely nothing—but had become close friends. Or so Sam thought.
Finn had noticed Sam's obsession. At first, he thought that Sam's weirdness was because he was on steroids. Sam was first-string quarterback, and Finn kind of wanted his spot. He had initially suspected steroids as the only way Sam could have beaten him out for that spot. He was wrong, though; Sam's weirdness had something to do with that stupid sketchbook he always carried. One day Finn had "accidentally" saw the sketchbook, and it was filled with drawings of this curvy, beautiful girl. A girl that happened to be in Finn's music class, but Finn had decided not to tell Sam. Mike, Sam's best friend, was in their class, too. Since Sam still hadn't figured out who Mercedes was, Finn wagered that Sam hadn't told Mike. He laughed to himself. Finding his mystery girl was right in front of Sam's stupid, blonde face, but he was so insistent on keeping it a secret.
Which gave Finn plenty of time to make his move.