A/N: So here's another installation! Thank you guys so much for the kind words. I'm so self conscious about my writing, so your reviews really do make me feel better. Speaking of doubt, I'm not so sure about this chapter, but maybe you guys will like it. It's another from Puck's POV (the next will probably be Quinn's), and it turned out a lot more depressing than I thought it would. Regardless! Enjoy!

To your immense surprise, you receive an invitation to Quinn Fabray's eighth birthday party in the mail. It looks professionally made and flawless – like her – although something about it just isn't right. The card is smooth to the touch, colored with pastels and an artsy flower or two, but it's the neat, handwritten scrawl at the bottom that catches your attention: Please don't bring any gifts. You always figured that the reason for birthday parties was the presents, maybe the cake too, so asking to exclude them is a request that you can't comprehend.

But you received one, and that was good enough for the moment. It worried you that everyone in your class seemed to have an invite at school, and you were left empty-handed and embarrassed. Even Finn could be seen with one crammed into the back pocket of his jeans. You, on the other hand? Nothing. For all you knew, you were more popular than he was; the idea that he'd be invited to a party that you weren't was laughable. But as the day went on and Quinn showed no intention of tossing you a bone, your mood disintegrated rapidly.

She had that affect on you.

Now though, with the card in your hands, you can feel your feet again. The need to contemplate shedding a few tears was gone completely, though you were honestly only thinking about it. You are Noah Puckerman, you don't cry because someone (more specifically: she) didn't invite you to a birthday party.

They always end up being really lame anyways, at least the ones for the girls do. Matt Rutherford might have been sent to the hospital during his, but at least you got a free game of laser tag out of it. Tyler Kowalski gave out gift bags with ninja stars. As cool as a bounce house is, cute little bracelets and party hats really can't compare.

You're just happy that she doesn't hate you enough to make you the only kid in the class not invited to her party. And now you don't have to worry about buying a present. You can't understand why she doesn't want them in the first place, but you won't complain. It's her loss, not yours.

The look your mother has when she sees the card for herself is cryptic and an expression that you don't understand. While your smile widened immensely at the invitation, she furrows her brow and purses her lips. It takes three reads before she seems to comprehend its intentions, but the smile she throws you is false and empty. Even you can see that. But while it nags at a very deep part of your mind, you don't let it affect the excitement you have about spending more time with her.

Even though her birthday is on a Thursday, the party is held on the following Sunday, right after church. Your mother snorts when she is reminded of this, because it's, as she says, "such a typical thing for them to do." Of course they'd want to celebrate the birth of one of their perfect daughters on a holy day. You don't understand the fuss, especially since Quinn pretty much is perfect. It only makes sense that the two would be related and honored on the same day.

Not that you consider her a God or…Goddess, or whatever. You just suspect that if God does want you to be the best, most moral and intelligent person out there, she's a pretty damn good person to emulate, even if she does tend to respond to you rather shortly. Nobody's perfect, and you don't think it can be easy having to put up with idiots like yourself all the time.

Her mother brings a plate of immaculately sculpted cupcakes to school on her actual birthday, and you, as well as the rest of class, can't help but stare at them the rest of the day, just waiting for a chance to taste the butter cream frosting swirled on the top. Just like usual, they're reserved for teasing, another chance for the youngest Fabray to display her power over the rest of you. They're only handed out in the last ten minutes of the day, and you're fairly sure they're the reason you miss five questions on your vocabulary test. You spent all week studying for it, and you knew the words. But that plate of cupcakes was in your direct line of sight, hogging your attention, stealing your focus. It's the only reason.

Your mom isn't happy when you report the score to her later that day, particularly because it was she who helped you memorize all the spelling and definitions, but your father comes home as she's beginning her lecture and her rant is directed elsewhere. As his hands strip the tie from around his neck, he informs the room that he needs the other car for the weekend because his needs to go to the shop for a transmission problem and there's a conference of some sort that he has to attend. Immediately, your heart sinks. You can feel your face fall, the color draining as your parents begin to argue over who needs it more ("I'm the bread-winner here, Shiri. You want me to get fired?" – "Spend a week running this house, then we'll talk, David."), but you've heard the yelling before. You're too aware of how it progresses, so you're sitting on the steps of the front porch before it really starts, prepared to spend a good amount of time saving your ears from destruction.

You even consider walking to Finn's house, since he doesn't live too far away, but it's almost dark and you're not that tough. Having to pass Mr. Nelson's house on the way is something you intend to avoid at all costs, especially because of that new dog he just bought.

The day hasn't gone your way at any point, except maybe with that really good cupcake, but for some reason, you're not ready for it to be over just yet. You don't want to think, you don't want to sleep; you just want to be blank, just like you are at that moment. Sometimes thinking hurts too much. Sometimes you can feel it too much.

At some point, you move to the curb so you can toss around the rocks on the street. You aren't sure how long you're out there, but it's long enough that your mom steps outside for a smoke. She's surprised to see you in the poor lighting from the street lamps, and orders you inside at once, because it's late and you've got a soccer game in the morning.

As you trudge up to your room, the only thing on your mind is the question of whether or not you'll have to walk.

Sure enough, your father ends up with the only working car, but your mother arranges a ride with Finn for the game and Quinn's birthday party the next day. Your team loses, as usual, mainly because Finn is a horribly uncoordinated goalkeeper, but he's by far the best you've got. You'd take over the responsibility, but you're still too short to do any good in that situation. You don't care too much about the loss though, even though winning in sports is really all you've got these days. There are other things on your mind: your parents, your grades, and Quinn's birthday party, to name a few. You're so anxious about the party that you're outside on your porch a good half hour before Finn arrives to pick you up. You tried watching television, doing homework (yeah right), and kicking the soccer ball against the tree in the back yard, but nothing you attempt holds your attention for long enough. All that's on your mind is seeing her and maybe, finally, getting the nerve to apologize for that little incident last year.

Mrs. Hudson pulls up in that aging station wagon, and you slip into the backseat next to Finn with a short hello leaving your lips. He's got that trademark goofy grin plastered on his face, and it looks like his mom has forced a comb through that mob of hair on his head, which causes you to smirk in his direction. Your hair is too long and too messy, but that's just the way you roll. Fancy party or not, that isn't going to change.

But the next thing that catches your eye makes your heart leap into your throat. There is a bag sitting on his lap, one with festive decorations on the side and tissue paper peaking out of the top. He has a present, a gift, and you are going to show up to Quinn Fabray's birthday party empty-handed. But you were told not to bring a present. You saw the directions that explicitly said so. Your mom re-read the invitation multiple times. There was no way…no way.

You turn towards the window as Mrs. Hudson pulls out of your driveway, staring as hard as you can at the passing scenery to try and steady your fluttering heart. But there is no relief. With every block that flies by, you feel more and more nauseous, more and more humiliated that you didn't even bring one, just in case.

It just doesn't make any sense.

The excitement that you had at the prospect of this party is gone immediately, instead leaving a consuming sense of dread in the pit of your stomach. You want to go home. You could pretend to be sick, maybe you could even be sick for real (with the way you're feeling at the present, it wouldn't be a stretch).

Even the walk to the front door of the Fabray's house, which left you mesmerized the first time you trekked it, has lost all of its glamour, all of its appeal.

You just want to die.

Mrs. Hudson escorts you and Finn, who's clutching that stupid bag against his chest, past the balloons on the mailbox and the streamers on the columns to the door, and knocks sharply against the perfectly polished wood. The horrid clenching of your gut reaches its climax as the woman of the house opens the door, the usual carefully constructed smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

She's got crow's feet.

"Carole, darling, so glad you could make it." She does that ridiculous double kiss and hug before ushering the three of you into the house. She instructs Finn to place his gift on the dining room table, while raising an eyebrow approvingly at the fact that you seem to be without one. But she says nothing more about the miscommunication, which surprises you. It doesn't make you feel any better at all, but at least she isn't drawing attention to your empty hands. Perhaps your presence will be lost amongst the rest of the guests and Quinn won't even realize you managed to forget a gift.

At this point, it's all you can hope for.

You know everyone at the party at least by face except for one person: a little blonde girl named Brittany who lives next to Santana. Someone informs you that she's a grade younger than the rest of you, which is why you don't recognize her, but you're almost positive that you wouldn't know her regardless. You've never cared much for branching out, even within your own class. You're good with Matt, Mike, Santana, Quinn, Finn, and the other random, slightly less awesome kids; there really isn't any need to spread your wings further than that.

The party is, without a doubt, the worst one you've ever had the misfortune of attending, and while it starts with your lack of a present, absolutely nothing makes it any better, not even the cake. You meet Quinn's father for the first time in your life, after being introduced by his mom as "that little Jewish boy from her class". He purses his lips and tries to smile, though you can see the struggle behind his eyes.

You don't realize it then, but years later, you come to understand that it isn't just the fact that you're fairly poor and from a broken home that makes them dislike you so intensely. What sets them off is the fact that you are Jewish, and a threat to their daughter's perfect Christian lifestyle.

You don't realize it then, but the look that her father gives you is still enough to make you uncomfortable, just like all those that her mother sends in your direction. Even her sister seems to glare at you, though you've never given her any reason to dislike you.

It's too girly and grown-up. There aren't any cool colors or decorations, just a lot of flowers and a lot of pink and yellow. You knew it would be like this, you knew it, but you thought maybe, just maybe, talking to Quinn would be worth suffering through all the pretentious crap.

But she's avoiding you. You and the majority of the boys there, but that still means you. So you're left standing outside by the food table, shifting from foot to foot with downcast eyes and a heavy heart. You didn't bring a present, her parents hate you, your parents are fighting (as usual), and now you're pretty sure that any chance you had at a friendship with her has disappeared completely.

Just…gone.

Finally, after the presents and the cake (and a shitty game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey), Quinn wanders in your direction, looking as effortlessly immaculate as always in an airy, lilac dress, and all you can do is tuck your hands into the tattered khakis that your mom forced you into. She gnaws on her lip as she fiddles with a scratch on the tablecloth, clearly trying to think of an opening line, but you don't want her to say anything. You just want to escape this party without any more damage than you've already accumulated, and her speaking to you usually doesn't end well.

"I'm sorry your invitation was late," she finally says, and you're sure the surprise is evident on your face. You've never heard her apologize to anyone. Anyone. There you are, a lowly, poor boy that forgot to bring her a gift, and she's apologizing to you. It's her birthday party; you have half a mind to gush about how sorry you are about everything, especially the broken wrist thing, but for some reason the words catch in your throat as you stare at her. Confidence really isn't your specialty, not yet, at least. "My mom wanted to put it in the mail. I don't know why." All you can do is nod slowly, with that glum, dreary fog falling directly over your person.

"Is that why you didn't bring a present?"

You freeze. The only thing that could've made this occasion any worse was her finding out that you had nothing to offer her, so you begged and pleaded with God to save you from that humiliation, keep some pride remaining in your body.

Even he was against you.

Everyone was against you.

Everyone.

"Not that I really care. I got enough, but…I was just wondering."

You can feel it coming, the anger. You're sick of all the wrongs, you're sick of luck passing you by at every opportunity. It isn't fair. You don't care how much faith you're told you need to have, you don't want to have any if this is how it's going to reward you. The muscle in your jaw twitches as you and Quinn stare at each other, and you can see her brow furrowing more and more each second as you try and keep yourself from lashing at her. She's too perfect to deserve your anger. She's too good, too much your opposite.

You almost manage to keep it in check. The chex-mix is right at your fingertips, so you eat a handful after mumbling a quick sorry, and it really does help. With the food in your mouth, you've got something else to focus on besides the growing hatred for the world building up in your soul.

But then she has to come check on her daughter. She has to see why her little Quinnie's spent so much time isolated with the ill-mannered Jewish boy, and you snap. The dam breaks and everything you've felt for the past week crashes out, overloading your already fragile system.

"I hate you," you blurt out as she swoops in behind Quinn, a look of complete shock etched into the older woman's features. "I hate you and this stupid birthday party. It's all stupid…and crappy."

Your breath is coming in quick bursts and your heart is pounding against your chest as the stares start to turn in your direction, but you don't see any of them. You see yourself turning the bowl of chex-mix over the remaining slices of red velvet cake, and throwing a bottle of Sprite against the fence in the backyard. Tears are slowly crawling down your cheeks, you can feel them, but you ignore them. You just…you can't. You can't anything. You just can't.

But lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson is hanging around, waiting for the right moment to extract you and Finn, and immediately rushes to your side before you can cause any more damage. She offers a hurried apology to the Fabray's and then ushers you back to the car with her own son trailing slowly behind looking like an exceedingly lost puppy. Before you know it, the car is parked in the Hudson's driveway, and she's looking at you like a concerned mother should.

"Are you alright, sweetie?" You want to answer, to thank her, but your face is wet and your breath is hitched, leaving your only action to be a languid nod.

"I want to go home," you manage to choke out, and she smiles sadly before starting the car again. The drive is short, and gives you absolutely no time to compose yourself before facing your mom, but it doesn't matter. The second you're in the driveway, you jump out of the car and into the house, crashing into her arms just as she's standing up from the sofa. It's obvious she has no idea what's going on (Mrs. Hudson promises to explain when things have calmed down), but she's there for you. The warm embrace of her arms is so comforting that the tears start falling even faster than before. Yet…everything feels better. You're still angry. You still want to scream at everything, but she's running a hand over your back soothingly and whispering calm words into your ear.

You are eight years old and the world is falling apart, but she is there to catch you.