She was ready. The other candidates had given their speeches; hers was next. It was the best position to be: her speech would be the last one they hear. She nervously smoothed her dress. It was white, floral and sleeveless, approachable. No dark suit; that was too severe, and made her look even smaller than she was already. She made sure her makeup accentuated her eyes, so that even from the back of the auditorium she didn't appear to be a faceless entity. Her bangs were swept back, hair down, softening her appearance. Nobody other than her dads had seen her speech, not even Finn.

Principal Figgins was introducing her now, so she stood up, smiled down briefly at Kurt, who looked stiffly ahead, and walked to the podium, leaving her notes behind. Watching the others speak helped her realize that standing behind the podium would be a mistake—it dwarfed her. So she removed the microphone and strode to the edge of the stage in front of it. A pause to compose her thoughts. Finn in the front row looking proud and encouraging. It was time.

"Three weeks ago," Rachel began, making sure the mike worked and she could be heard, "the Tunisian people voted in their first free election, and the Libyans overthrew a brutal dictator. They are celebrating their freedom now, but the truth is, all of them face an uncertain future in a hostile world. What's worse, many of them won't have the skills to succeed in that world, because one thing dictatorships do very well is keep their people in a state of perpetual childhood, where all major, adult decisions about their future are made for them." She paused for one second before continuing. "In a very real way, you and I are in a similar situation. In a few months we will all be set loose in an uncertain, hostile world with the right to vote, presumably equipped with the proper skills to function in that world. That's what schools are for, after all. But I have to ask you," she pointed out at them, "Do you feel prepared for this? Do you honestly think this school is doing its job to prepare you for adulthood? Think about it—when all of us turn eighteen we will be expected to vote intelligently on issues involving international politics. Science. Economics. Do any of you truly feel you know enough to make informed decisions on them?" Many in the crowd were shaking their heads. She shook hers in sympathy. "I know I don't."

The students were stirring. Rachel noticed fewer bent heads over cell phones than when the other candidates had been speaking. Good. Now it was time to lay it on a little harder.

"Many of you, me included, found it harder to get jobs this summer. I was lucky—I can teach dance, but that isn't a skill I learned here at McKinley, thanks to the way funding for arts programs is prioritized around here. Imagine what it's going to be like when we have to compete with everyone else out there in the real world for fulltime jobs. Do you think an employer is going to give us a break when we can't write a proper sentence, simply because this school cut an English teacher position while the Cheerios got their dry-cleaning done in Europe? I think not."

Whispering and isolated clapping. Sue Sylvester glaring at her. Her English teacher beaming. Ok. Let's keep them riled up. She squared her shoulders and began pacing back and forth on the stage relentlessly, fueled by outrage.

"I'm tired," she said simply. "I'm tired of feeling powerless. I'm tired of an institution supposedly committed to preparing us for adulthood having its mission corrupted by misguided alumni, and starved of funding that isn't sports-related. I'm tired of an institution where the student body is openly allowed to be terrorized by privileged thugs." Rachel glared and pointed at Azimio in the 6th row. There were murmurs of "Yeah", and some applause. Then she stopped, tightly gripping the microphone, facing them. "And I'm tired of a student government whose main function, it seems, is to generate apologetic requests for changes to the cafeteria menu. "

There was cheering mixed in with applause now. Rachel looked down at Finn. He was giving her the hottest look she had ever seen. But she still had work to do. The audience was at a turning point. She could feel its energy, and it was with her now. It was time for the hard sell.

"Now, it's easy to just stand up here, rattling off a list of grievances," she continued, then giggled guiltily, "Even though it does feel kinda good! But listing the grievances and not coming up with at plan to address them is a waste of all of our time."

The auditorium was silent, Rachel realized, shocked. She hoped what she had to say next wasn't going to be anticlimactic.

"If you elect me President, the first thing I will do is task the newly-elected Student Council to begin collecting input from you. I want to know what you think you need to become productive adults out in the world, what you think the school can do to bring it about, and where the school fails in doing so. I will preside over the Student Council meetings to make sure every suggestion is evaluated for value and practicality. Those that make the cut will be presented by me to Principal Figgins. And just to make sure the whole process is completely transparent," she grinned mischievously at Figgins, who kept trying to keep up a smile," I'm going to ask Janet Mansfield, editor of the school newspaper, to print all of the suggestions, accepted or not, along with the official reasons for the rejection. " She pointed to Janet in the audience. "Hey Janet, is that ok with you? "

"Absolutely!" Janet yelled back, grinning. More cheering.

"What's more, if we feel issues have been unjustly rejected by the school administration, my parents, who are lawyers, have offered their services to help us take the issues to the school board." Lots of cheers. Figgins did not look happy.

"My administration will take back our school media from special interest cliques, and put it back to serving all of us. No more gossip." She chuckled at some scattered boos, "Well, okay. Maybe not as much." Cheers again.

"We will enlist the help of bloggers and video artists among us to actively investigate areas of this school that can be improved when it comes to fulfilling its mission. And if I can persuade Jacob Ben Israel to devote more of his efforts to helping all of us instead of pushing smut and rumor, I will die a happy woman."

Even Jacob laughed at that. And now the appeal.

"Now, I know other candidates have been up here promising change." She looked back at the now uncomfortable-looking candidates. "But let's be realistic. No single individual can bring about the kind of change they promised or the change I'm proposing. Besides, who am I to decide what you need? I'm not here asking to insult your intelligence; I'm here asking you to let me be your advocate. Let me work with the Student Council to try and make your visions for this school a reality." She paused before continuing.

"I'll be honest with you. We may not be able to get everything done in one year, in time to affect you personally. We've been shortchanged, bullied, and ignored far too long: some problems have become too deeply rooted for quick solutions. But many of you have younger brothers and sisters who could benefit from a school that can actually help them, and I think the least we can do is start a precedent of effective student government so that they and everyone else can benefit from our groundwork. I'm offering myself to start the ball rolling." Applause and cheering.

"I know most of you don't know me," she said softly, looking slightly down, "Or only know of me because of who my boyfriend is." She looked down fondly at him. "I'd like to change that. If I become President, I will establish a formal process by which you can submit your input, especially if you wish it to be anonymous, but I would love it if some—hopefully most-of you could approach me in the hall, or the cafeteria, or in class, and present it to me personally. It would mean a lot to me to be able to place a face as well as a name to your ideas, as I try and help bring them about. Thank you for listening, and I appreciate your vote."

Rachel Berry had been in the spotlight before. She wasn't a stranger to the warm glow of an appreciative audience, or even a standing ovation. But this had a completely different feel to her. This loud, raucous cheering and applause wasn't just a thank-you for a performance, an acknowledgement of a job well done, an affirmation of her talent. It was a group of people with whom she had grown up, but barely knew, saying, "We believe in you."

She felt the solid, cool smoothness of the brass ring pushed into her hand as she bowed, and walked back to her seat.