Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk, Ian Brennan and their associates do. Believe me, if I owned Glee it would be a very different show. For a start, Sue would be even more evil and conniving than she already is, and Rachel would have been locked up in Kurt's basement until after Sectionals. No, make that after Regionals. Nationals. She can just stay there, okay?

Oh, and if anyone I know in real life is reading this, you will notice one of my characters is heavily based around a person I really know. I hope I did them justice :)

An important thing - there are a couple of things in this chapter that could be seen as offensive. For example, to curly haired people (I'm not laughing). This is written purely from the point of view of Sue Sylvester and nothing in it is intended to make a stab at anyone - I'm just getting into character. Another thing: in this story it's not the norm to wear your Cheerios uniform outside of practice.

Sue's POV

The Sue McKinley Cheerleading Academy for Girls

Sue's Office

Thursday, 12pm

Dear Diary,

It is thought by many of the most delusional in this world that the deal I made with Figgins at the end of last year was out of charity to William Schuester's absolutely ridiculous Glee Club (matched only in ridiculousness by Schuester's absolutely ridiculous hair cut), which, under the influence of only the most professional and civilised methods of blackmail, I eventually convinced Figgins to keep running for an additional year. Among these mindless delusionals is William Schuester himself; after the Glee Club's embarrassing nosedive defeat at Regionals, which was admittedly not a part of my plans (I had voted for them to win, in hope that I could take the easy way out and avoid blackmail to keep Glee Club alive and running), I paid him a visit in his pathetic melancholy state and expertly fed him some absolute balderdash about actually caring about and admiring the club and what he does with these kids. HA!

The truth? I do not care about Glee Club. I am incapable, and refuse, to care about something under the vindictive wrath of the racist animated Disney characters threatening to jump out with knives and pitchforks to attack the old, young and sexually insecure from William Schuester's INSULTINGLY GREASY hair. But, more specifically, the club is pivotal to this mission. My mission with Lady Face. The lady and I; we need to keep this club open, for as long as possible. It is rudimentary.

While the earlier stages of the plan are, so far, running smoothly, I do admittedly face one setback. Being a direct descendant of God, I often fear that the constant presence of thoughts of cherishing and bettering the lives of the ostracized children that study Spanish at my school has prevented me from being honest with myself and allowing my exclusively charitable person to recognise my own faults and weaknesses. Yes, it's true that I may go as far as to admit that there are several limitations I must face in my mission to obliterate every last curl on Schuester's ungrateful head. Although, of course, I could never come to admit this to Schuester himself. Several thousand unborn babies would indubitably wail at a loss of dignity as the confidence boost repulsively engorged his ego so drastically that his already inconceivably large head swelled to the size of a large, hairy, ignorant pregnant stomach – with curls. Any pregnant woman within a five thousand yard radius would painfully miscarry within the next quarter of a second.

No…the insulting nature of William Schuester's curls is already responsible for the molest and massacre of one unfortunate generation…the biggest limitation to one Sue Sylvester will, therefore, be obliged to remain for the scrutiny of this diary only. And here it is.

I just do not give myself enough credit.

Because Sue Sylvester wasn't born to the most powerful three parents in existence for nothing. Oh, no. Sue Sylvester is brilliance.

I realised this today as I was walking ever so inoffensively past Figgins' office, with absolutely no intent on eavesdropping, when it just so happened that I noticed three small, skinny and visibly quaking frames practically collapsing in pure terror just inside the door. Again, my natural instincts halted me and I felt the usual yearning to nurture.

"Come closer," I heard the authoritative voice within mutter. Despite my evidently firm belief in respecting others' pride and privacy, against my better judgment, I leant against the door and peered inside, my fear only peaking for these underprivileged children as I spotted a coy finger curling upwards and inwards as it was shallowly brandished towards them from across the Principal's desk.

Ah, Figgy. He was obviously at such displeasure to our more unfruitful escapades in the bedr- I MEAN, he was obviously at such a loss to the stark lack of sex in his already precarious marriage that he was willing to seduce the nearest person available, and what better than a whole group of horny, pubescent teenage school students that just so happened to attend my school? Deciding it was for the best to protect the dignity of mankind, and lodging no other ulterior motive at all, I marched straight into the office, closing the door and taking a seat in the far corner of the room, opening up my diary to a note page and poising a pen inconspicuously at the paper's edge.

"Continue," I said simply. Gloriously indifferent, if I may say so myself. Which I may.

"So," Figgy began, attention once more focused entirely on the teens before him. "Before we begin with the finer details of coming to school here at McKinley, let's make our introductions. I'm Principal Figgins, and I have worked here for six years so I am certain I am well equipped to deal with any problems you may have settling in." He turned in his chair to face the student on the right of the group. "And you are?"

The fairly short girl took a confident stride forward, bouncing on the balls of her feet slightly and opening her glassy eyes wide as she stated, with much heavy emphasis, "I'm Lauren." As I subtly surveyed her, taking in her superbly abysmal green and black star-print jeans and pink Lady Gaga t-shirt, I felt immediately threatened. My gaze rose to her straightened pink-red hair and it abruptly dawned on me why this was. Oh, sweet virgin of Madonna, not this. First sneaky gays had somehow found their way into my school, and now sneaky spring-heads? Apparently straight hair or not, Sue Sylvester can never be fooled, and knows just when a sneaky member of Schuester's vermin clan is in her midst.

"Igirisu kara kimashita," Lauren said in a sing-song voice that I wholly understood, as I evidently have the skill to fluently speak most worldly languages. "That means 'I come from England' in Japanese," she amended. The others just gaped at her with an expression somewhere between bewilderment and hesitant, almost sympathetic confusion (as though they thought she had just come from a mental asylum, which she probably had) as she continued.

"Most people agree that I'm…kind of strange. I can be loud and in your face. But there's also a lot more to me than everyone thinks. I love my friends, and if you hurt them, I'll hurt you." Her gray-blue eyes darted manically from person to person, her lips a hard-pressed line, as though daring them to question this statement. When no-one did, her expression seemed to soften, and she let out a small, giggly breath. "I love poems; especially love poems. And pandas. Macabre things like skulls and vultures, too. Oh, and I love to sing, more than anything. I can be a nice friend if you get to know me, or so I've been told, but I guess I can be kind of a bitch, too." She pulled a face; her lips pressed together and to the side of her face, puckered up, as her large, clear irises darted up to the ceiling in a submissive expression, set under flutteringly long black eyelashes, as though to say, 'Oh well, that's me. Take me or leave me.'

My pen scrawled frenziedly across the page at her words. New student. Loves to sing. Yes… interesting…very interesting indeed. By the looks of her, she certainly doesn't seem afraid to stand up for herself. And I'm sure she has the drive and bitchiness to get wherever she wants and be good at it. Yes…I can use her, she can join the club…She would indisputably make this process easier, and devilishly enhance Glee Club. I smiled to myself slightly as I considered it. Wouldn't one Rachel Berry be absolutely thrilled?

Next, the boy in the middle, with shoulders like a coat hanger. "I'm Ritchie Adams!" He spun on the spot theatrically, giving his best cringe-worthy show smile. His dark face glowed with a sheen resembling that of William Schuester's hair after several days gone without wiping it on someone, as he turned and beamed at each person in turn, his overexcited expression rotating and changing position sporadically, like some kind of mechanical curly-haired clown. Curly-haired…

My eyes flickered to the three students as a whole and I realised that all three of them had the nerve to at least sport a hint of curls on their bulbous heads. How utterly ridiculous. What in the name of my father gave them the idea that they could march straight into my school and downright hairily defy my authority, without a second thought? It was disgusting. "I like drama and theater." It appeared that this was all the dark-haired teen had to offer, so the last student, standing comparatively tall and subdued on the left of the group, took a small - yet apparently confident - step forward.

In spite of my lazily carefree faça- self, I found myself staring at this boy for an alarming length of time. He had a very distinctive appearance; his light brown, wavy mop sat neatly on his pretty head, the silken strands curling inwards ever so delicately, and yet with pinpoint precision, to frame his heart-shaped face. His lips were slightly pink. He had on a black t-shirt with a picture of a peculiar black-haired man with a stoop; the words 'Death Note' printed in spidery lettering underneath. There was also a bizarre sophistication to the way he held himself. At first, he seemed to exude an air of timidness, throwing a nervous glance in the direction of Lauren and Ritchie as he emerged from the little corner he'd been discreetly making for himself while they talked. Still, there was an undertone of comfort in his own skin; an infinitesimal spring to his shallow step that gave hint to a past of overcome obstacles and newfound buoyancy.

"And you are..?"

"Sam Lightowler."

XXXXXXXX

Sam's POV

"Age?" Figgins presses.

"16."

"From?"

Why is he interrogating me and not the others, when I'm clearly the least interesting?

"Colorado, though I've never been to a proper school before."

"Best make sure they know you're not from Africa kiddo, or else the whole student population will be calling you Cady Heron."

I look up into the eyes of the middle-aged woman sitting in the corner with a notebook in her lap. Her gaze is stern, and the only coherent thought I have is that she looks like the type to have watched that film.

I avert my eyes. "If you're wondering why, I guess it's for loads of reasons, but the main reason is that my parents always figured that everyone gets bullied in high school. In fact, you go to any school – elementary school, middle school, no matter where it is – and you can't escape it. And it's worse for some people than others."

Principal Figgins nods slightly. "Why do you think that is? Did your parents think you would have it worse than the others kids?"

"Yes, and I can see why. Other than the fact that I'm obviously gay, I have autism, and although it's mild, my parents didn't want to put me in for all the trouble. Besides, I've always loved reading and drawing, so I'd have been the typical target anyway. Not even football could prevent from that."

I can feel the eyes of Ritchie and that severe-looking blonde-haired woman boring into me at my words, and I can't say I'm surprised. It comes as an astonishment to pretty much everyone I meet how very blunt I am about my sexuality. But why hide it, when it's relevant to bring up? I'm not ashamed, and being gay is often at the heart of many issues in my life, whether I like it or not. I'll admit that thinking about how my sexuality has such a large influence on my life can really upset me, though. My parents could tell from an early age that there was something different about me, and they didn't want that to land me in any unfavorable situations at school, so they homeschooled me. They were constantly at ease with the idea that I would be happy. And for a while, I was.

What happened afterwards doesn't matter. Or rather, I wouldn't like to talk about it; to anyone that isn't gay, at least. And I've never met another homosexual before, strange as that is. It would be nice to have someone to share my thoughts with.

There's something I can't quite shake. A weird feeling. Uneasy. Tweaking at my nerves. As the principal rambles on about rules or lessons or something of that sort, I glance across to the woman in the corner to see her scribbly away chaotically in her notes. Muttering vaguely, too quietly to hear, between erratic breaths; her pupils visibly bulging as her clear eyes widen frenziedly, a single, fat vein protruding on her wrinkled forehead. Looking at her, the uneasiness in my stomach bubbles more violently. I'll have to watch out for her. I know a psychotic teacher when I see one, and this is one psychotic teacher with a sudden earth-shattering inspiration, all right. Who knows what she could be plotting?

XXXXXXXX

William McKinley High School

The Corridor

Thursday, 1.05pm

For the first time in what felt like months, Kurt was in high spirits. In just a single day, it appeared as though he'd achieved a jock-equivalent status at school, and for once in his life, no-one had a bad word for him. He'd also been shopping the night before, and had managed to snag the pair of extra-tight Versace skinny jeans he'd had his eye on for months. What's more, he was sure that two cute guys had totally just checked him out as they walked past, and he beamed with his head held high, unashamedly loving every second of the attention. With a giggly Mercedes eternally attached to his arm, he trotted leisurely along the corridor on the way to the library for his free period, sashaying his Versace-clad hips to give the jocks trailing behind them - in something of a popularity procession - a clear view of his pert ass.

"Nothing wrong with giving them a taste of what they're missing, right 'Cedes?" he muttered lowly into the diva's ear. "The fact that Matt is permanently single when he's such a great dancer and Brittany's given him offers on multiple occasions is a tad suspicious if you ask me. And," he added as the boy in question overtook them and shot the pair a cute lopsided smile, causing the counter-tenor to beam wider, "I wouldn't say no."

"Pfff. Sure. You know who that smile reminded me of?" Mercedes questioned, a critical stare encompassing her features as Finn Hudson sped up to walk alongside them.

"Hey, Kurt. Hey 'Cedes. You two seen Rachel anywhere?"

Mercedes leaned in to Kurt almost menacingly - though her eyes were fixed on the quarterback, who was conveniently looking elsewhere - and said with a voice heavy with meaning, "You still wonder, don't you?"

Kurt barely had a chance to blush a dark shade of pink at her words when he felt the familiar sensation of his space being invaded, and he wondered vaguely why the hell he couldn't go for just one day without turmoil as his feet were swept three feet off the ground. Too busy yelping and flailing in complaint at the uncalled for abuse to his favorite England-bought form-fitting sweater, he failed to notice that the harsh hands grasping him in a claw-like clasp sported sharp nails and were uncharacteristically bony of Neanderthals; that is, until he was carried kicking and screaming into an office suspiciously full of trophies and set down with a clunk into one of the suspiciously stern-looking chairs opposite a desk with a little sign bearing the suspicious words 'I hate William Schuester. Keep out'.

"So, um…" Kurt glanced nervously around the office. It was clear to him now: there were only two things that could threaten his perfectly placed, carefree façade. One, being called a fag. And two, being under the scrutiny of Coach Sylvester. Everyone knew she was one to be avoided; she was absolutely loony-raving crazy, made half the students in school cry just by batting an eyelid at them and at least terrorized the others enough for them to want to flush their heads down the toilet at some point during the day (A/N: Yes, that was a shameless Harry Potter book 1 reference, teehee.) The scariest thing about her, though, was the fact that she seemed to be under the impression that she was helping them by doing so.

"Why did you want to talk to me?" Kurt finished.

She surveyed him with an air of haste and determination. "Four reasons, Lady Face. The last is of the highest importance, so first I'll just run these three by you."

Kurt stared at her. Her eyes were popping out of her face more than usual. There must be something really important she had to say.

"First of all, I'd like you to begin wearing your Cheerios uniform at all times, not just during practice." The coach leaned under her desk and tugged out a large plastic bag, splitting it open so that half a dozen identical red and white uniforms came spilling out into a protesting Kurt's scrambling arms. "And when I mean at all times, I mean at all times. I have something in mind that will require you to represent the Cheerios around the clock. This should be sufficient. Keep one separate for sleeping in."

"But-"

"Number two. Ever since that day you told me you thought you may be losing your father because of your sexuality…well, I've always felt somewhat protective of you, Lady Face. Which is why I'm doing you a favour now. Despite my short lifespan, I've come across many gay men, and I've had to deal with many a gay man's troubles. So believe Sue Sylvester when she tells you that there are definite tell-tale signs of typical gay men. Yes, definite signs." She began to slowly circle her way around the desk, apparently refusing to even consider sitting, as though she thought the idea alone an insult to her authority. "Spot a man with well-kept light brown wavy hair and a heart-shaped face? You're on the money. Quite tall. Large head. Pinkish lips. It's not unusual for them to sport black t-shirts, often bearing a rather peculiar image of a dark-haired man wearing eye-liner, stooping above the two tell-tale words 'Death Note'. Code, you know. For 'I'm gay'. Fools the idiots every time." She tutted slightly under her breath. "So, Lady Face, if you see such a man – and believe me, I've seen plenty of them hanging around recently – do not let me down. You know how much I love to help with your lady troubles."

Kurt just sat there, finally lost for words. Whatever he had been expecting, it was not this.

"And now, number three." Coach Sylvester leant across to her desk to pick up her cup of tea, satisfied at the stunned look on Kurt's face. "The way you handled the jocks that day…that one, distant day…it seems so far away, so insignificant…just a memory, and yet unlikely as it seems, it was bound then, as it is now, to change both our lives forever."

"Um. That was yesterday, Coach Sylvester," Kurt pointed out, clearly uncomfortable.

"And yet, we both remember it as though it were yesterday. Funny how the mind works, that way…wouldn't you agree, Lady Face?"

Kurt kept quiet, bewildered.

"And so…that one faithful day, I had a revelation, Lady Face – wait." She stopped talking abruptly, her glassy eyes regaining focus for the most fleeting of moments as she looked him in the eye.

"Before I carry on, I have to make sure of one thing. You do intend on continuing this battle against the jocks, don't you? I feel it's about time they got a piece of your gloriously bitchy mind."

Kurt was startled by her sudden change in tone, and the fact that she was defending him against the jocks, but his voice was sure and steady as he replied vehemently, "Absolutely. I actually have another idea up my sleeve, but I'd rather keep it under wraps for now, if you don't mind. I intend on implementing my plan tomorrow."

"Very professional," she praised, eyeing the boy with approval. "I'll be keeping an eye on you. Making sure you're giving them all the trouble they deserve. It's good practice for the future." Just like that, she switched back to her usual glassy-eyed, loony-raving self. "So, that one faithful day, I had a relevation, Lady Face. In that short instant in time, I stopped and looked at my life and looked at yours and realised that you were the child I never had."

"Excuse me?" Kurt was thunderstruck. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Oh – I see, I understand that may have sounded a little odd." She reached over to her desk to recover by realigning her William Schuester sign before straightening up and amending, "Of course, I'm far too young to have a child. What I meant is, the child I could never see myself having. I'm far too independent and self-reliant to feel the typical insecure yearning to give birth. I'm also the daughter of God, so such humanly hormonal imbalances are naturally beneath me." She took a sip of tea. "Besides, all the misguided children I have to protect on a daily basis from contact with William Schuester's moth-rotten head – the curls of which he frequently fills with sweets with which to lure them - might as well be my own. In fact, I'm sure they consider themselves as such."

The lips that Kurt would usually take pride as being forever pressed together in a taut, dignified, sceptical line had now lost all sense of control as he gaped unintelligibly at the cheerleading coach. He did so for several minutes as the woman before him continued to visibly bask in her own greatness before he finally stood up and stated simply, "Um. I'm leaving." No response.

He left the office. He was pretty sure Coach Sylvester wouldn't notice for, say, 35 minutes.

XXXXXXXX

Sue's POV

The Sue McKinley Cheerleading Academy for Girls

Sue's Office

35 minutes later

Damn him! Just when I get the chance to introduce him to the mission, he leaves! Just like that! After all that brainless chitchat! How on Earth did he manage to escape the Sue Sylvester? And when? All I know is he's not here now. Damn Lady Face. He'd better do something entertaining with the Neanderthals tomorrow. Still, at least his masterful escape (and masterful it must have been, to get past me) proves that he's better at deception than I thought, and that only proves him a worthier candidate for Head Cheerleader. Yes, that's what I've intended to make him since plotting for this mission began…I've said it from the start, he has just the right balance of snarkiness, bitchiness and level-headedness needed to perform his righteous duties as Head Execu- Cheerleader, and with the whole of the team behind him - as well as the whole of Glee Club – together, the lady and I…we will be able to fulfil this operation...

An operation that will prove all the more deliciously bitchy and emotional - as well as cause optimum distress - with the help of Lauren Simons, and - especially - one Samuel Lightowler.

If I'm setting out on this bitch-slap journey, why not enjoy the ride?

Until tomorrow,

The brilliant Sue Sylvester.

A/N: Any other Death Note fans? :)