A/N: Hi! Thank you all for reviewing the previous chapter. I would like to mention 'ajunebuga' who was the first reviewer to rightfully guess who 'Satan' is. I have to say that I'd thought I'd been cleverer with hiding who it was but so many of you guessed correctly! You're too smart for me, I guess. Anyway, I know it's been a very long two weeks but here's a new chapter of The Contract.

The elevator doors opened with a whoosh and I immediately peeked past Quinn, trying to catch a glimpse of this 'Satan' character. I could see only an empty room, though. Slightly let down, I followed her out of the confines of the metal shaft, the sound of her high heels echoing throughout the wide expanse. I glanced down at my own shoes. They had heels, too, but not like hers did. She had to have grown at least four inches with them on.

I found myself surrounded by large, incredibly provocative wall-hangings. Quinn seemed unfazed as she glanced at them, as though she'd seen them a million times before. I supposed she had. I, however, felt extremely uncomfortable. I ducked my head as we continued on to an empty desk sitting at the end of the office of grandeur.

The wallpaper around us was the sort of wallpaper I associated with elegance. The wall-hangings were a contrast to the furniture, which held a regal air. The room screamed 'money, money, money' and I was as jealous as I had ever been.

Quinn had seated herself at the desk and was currently looking through the papers atop it. I stood back, wary, and watched her. "Uh," I started cautiously, "Are you meant to be doing that?"

"No," she replied. Then, she looked up at me mischievously, her green eyes flashing. "But I'm sure Santana won't mind."

I blanched. "Santana?"

"She's the Company Director. We went to high school with one another. We were on the cheerleading squad," she replied haughtily.

I shrugged off her words. Sure, my best friend was also Santana, but that didn't mean she was the same Santana. Santana had been working as a prosecutor for years. She wouldn't lie to me. Besides, there was bound to be more than person with her name of in New York City.

"So, are we just going to wait here?" I asked, trying not to appear uncomfortable.

"That's the plan, intern."

We waited. Quinn continued to shuffle through the seemingly important pieces of paper, so I occupied myself by observing the décor of the room. There didn't seem to be any giveaway signs that this Santana was my Santana, yet somehow I couldn't rid myself of the sneaking suspicion that it was her. How would I deal with it if it was? Would I pretend to be shocked? She'd know that I'd lied to her, too. I needed to calm down. I couldn't let Quinn see me like this. My job was officially of a higher rank than hers was, so I needed to get a grip. I was going to impress this woman, whoever she was, and I was going to be the best assistant Noah Puckerman had ever known.

But I wasn't going to give him sexual favours.

Reluctantly, I let my eyes wander over to the bookshelf in the far corner. My feet followed my gaze and before I knew it, I was having a right old snoop. The bookshelf was filled to the brim with Playboy back issues, the sight of which stirred guiltiness deep within me. Was I kidding myself? I would never fit in at my new workplace.

I was scanning the back issues when I afforded myself a curious peek at the framed photographs on the top shelf. When I noticed who starred in them, I gasped audibly.

"What?" Quinn snapped, lifting her glare from the papers she was currently holding. "What is it?"

"Nothing," I replied automatically, not turning to look at her. She grumbled a little about my incompetence and returned to her own prying. I tried not to breathe too quickly as I stared at photo after photo, recognising myself and others that I knew among the printed memories.

There was a photo of our college graduation; Santana in Sam's embrace, I hugging Kurt and Brittany in joy. We were all wearing those silly graduation caps and our ceremonial robes. Also present were photos of Santana and I at various parties and get-togethers. There were photos of her and Sam at Finn and Sarah's wedding – Sam and Finn were best friends – and pictures of Santana's engagement party, which had occurred two years ago because they wanted to wait a few years before they blew all of their savings on the actual wedding.

My hand travelled up to gently tap one of the photo frames. They couldn't possibly be real, could they? They couldn't be. They just couldn't.

"Quinn," sounded a voice I knew only too well. I jumped and turned towards the direction it came from, only to be rewarded with the sight of my best friend. She was dressed impeccably, as per usual, in her tailored black skirt and blazer combo. Her long, black hair was pulled up into a high pony and her make-up was minimal. I'd always seen her as a lawyer when she dressed this way. Now, I saw her as a notorious businesswoman.

"Santana," Quinn replied, hastily standing up. She tried to look innocent, as if she hadn't been prying about in the other girl's paperwork. They hadn't noticed me yet, although Quinn would surely introduce me in a matter of moments. I had to run. I had to do something. I couldn't just stand there and wait for her to notice me! She'd lied to me, and to Sam, and to Kurt and Blaine and everyone.

I'd lied too, but it was different.

"What are you doing here?" Santana asked. Her voice was cool, calm and collected. She didn't sound like herself. "I see you've been through my papers."

Quinn looked nervous, but only for a second. It seemed that she wasn't afraid of the Latina. They had a strong friendship, I realised. I'd thought I'd had one with Santana, too. But obviously not, considering she'd lied to my face almost every day since college. "Of course I have. I'm a fabulous assistant."

Santana scoffed and for a moment I was reminded of my Santana, my best friend. But Santana wasn't what she seemed to be. "Yeah, right, tell that to Mike. He's been wondering where you've been all morning."

"I'm helping," Quinn replied, "I'm showing Puck's new assistant the ropes."

Thankfully, they still hadn't afforded me a glance. I had time to calm myself – at least a little bit. How had she gotten away with it? Where had she been on all of those days when she'd claimed to be at Stanford Law?

"So, he's got another slut has he? Fucking brilliant." Santana smirked, settling down in her desk chair. Me? A slut? Ouch. I tried to hide behind the bookshelf, although it really didn't matter. They weren't interested in what I was doing.

"Not exactly," the blonde muttered. She leant down to whisper in Santana's ear, something that sounded vaguely like; she can't even touch-type.

"Right. Well, why'd you bring her here then?"

I gulped and hid my face behind a wall of my wavy brunette locks. I wished that I didn't need the money so badly. I could just walk out and pretend that I'd never seen anything. I could return to my blissful, ignorant life and pretend that everyone around me wasn't lying about their careers. How could she? She'd lied to me for years. I couldn't even comprehend how she'd managed it, let alone why she'd done it in the first place.

"Aside from her inexperience, she's promising."

Santana made an uninterested sound. "What's this ones name?"

"Rachel Berry."

I winced and slowly turned toward them, lifting my eyes to meet Santana's with defiance. "Yes?" I questioned. My voice sounded a lot stronger than I felt.

My best friend's eyes widened upon recognising me. She struggled for words and for a moment I felt smug. "Quinn," she finally spat out, "Could you give us a moment alone, please?"

The blonde seemed a little taken aback – not to mention confused. Silently, she nodded and sent me small sneer as she went to go and wait in what I presumed was Santana's bathroom.

I wouldn't look away from Santana. I wouldn't look weak. I met her eyes with confidence as she raised her eyebrows at me. For a moment, I wondered if we were both going to burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. But we didn't. We only stared. "So… an audition, huh?" She quipped, referring to my previous lie.

I crossed my arms and made myself seem as imposing as I possibly could. My petite stature and large doe-eyes didn't help my cause. "I was going to tell you in a week or so. I couldn't say the same for you, Miss Company Director."

Santana seemed to be at loss for words again. Eventually, she returned to her quick witted self. "I didn't think it mattered. Both my jobs, my real and my fake one, are equally boring."

"You didn't think it mattered?" I snapped. Santana and I argued often, so she didn't flinch at my tone. I wondered if Quinn would have if she had still been present. She was probably eavesdropping, though, I realised. "Does Sam know?" I hissed.

"Of course not," she said quickly. "He wouldn't approve of a job like this."

I wasn't offended in the slightest. "I'm pretty sure that he wouldn't mind, San. He's a personal trainer. Not exactly a priest."

She shrugged. "There's a lot of things Sam doesn't know about me. I'd like to keep it that way."

There was a warning laced in her words; and for a moment I was reminded of the old Santana. The Santana who had called me cruel names and made sure I'd never made new friends in college. The Santana who had tried to steal Finn and countless other suitors away from me. The Santana who had hated me and who I had hated in return. But then she smiled at me and I forgot about the old Santana. She was still my closest friend.

And then that smile turned into a smirk.

"What?" I snapped, "What sordid, evil plan are you hatching?"

She sat back in her chair and crossed her right leg over her left. How she did that with her black, strappy stilettos was beyond me. "This is perfect timing," she whispered to herself, "Why didn't I think of telling you the truth sooner?"

I sent her a glare. "I don't know, maybe because you're a horrible best friend?"

"Oh, shut up," she told me. She hadn't meant it cruelly but I still took offense – I was Rachel Berry after all. "This is fucking fantastic."

I tried to remain glaring at her but I couldn't help it when my expression turned to one of curiosity. "What is?" I asked.

"Puckerman's a Jew; you're a Jew."

I raised my eyebrows. "Yes. And?"

She hadn't stopped talking. "And your legs," she said, "He won't be able to resist! Why didn't I think of this before? I can control you."

"Excuse me? You cannot control me."

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows. "Really, Rach? Don't you remember what happened in Cancun?"

I remembered. Oh, did I remember. "Yes," I said quietly, "That happened."

"Well, you wouldn't have turned into that little sexual deviant and gone after that fancy-pants rich boy if I hadn't hypnotised you with my Santana powers before hand."

I gaped. "You did not convince me to do any of that!"

"I so did."

I stomped my foot against the expensive mahogany flooring because I loved the drama of it. "Damn it," I groaned, "You're right. You really did."

She smirked. "So, first off, you're gonna want to know why I want Puckerman out of this fucking business."

I blanched; all drama forgotten for now. "B-but San… he's my boss."

"No, Rach. I'm your boss."

I shifted uncomfortably. "Oh."

She chuckled and continued. "I want Puckerman out of here because he's a threat. I worked my way up the ladder here; pulling myself up off of the bottom floor and all the way to the top. I'm respected. I'm feared. And along comes this man-" Much to my surprise, she slammed her fist on the table in a very dramatic way. I wondered if she'd gotten the idea from my foot-stamping. "Along comes this man who sleeps his way to success. I admit, I would have done it back in college, but I'm a different woman. I have self-respect and quite honestly none of the guys here would satisfy me like Sam does with his-"

"Okay," I said quickly, cutting her off, "I get it. Sam's great in bed. You've told me only a million times. It's the thing I hear the most other than complaints about his comic book obsessions."

"And that movie Avatar," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "You'd think that nearly ten years later he'd be over that fucking film."

I shrugged. "I don't know. Some movies never get old, like-"

"Funny Girl," she whined in a pathetic impersonation of my voice. "I know, I know, Rach. Your love affair with good ol' Babs is never ending."

I scowled.

"Anyway," she started again, "I don't want Puckerman stealing my job. So, naturally, I want him fired."

"I'm sorry, San. I really don't know what I could-"

"I'll get to that. You see, what I really need is a big publicist's nightmare. Puckerman's not only the Editor in Chief of Playboy Magazine. He's also the son of the late Sarah Puckerman."

I tried not to gasp too audibly. I wondered how I hadn't put two and two together. Kurt left enough celebrity gossip magazines around the apartment that I should have been a deity of celebrity culture. Sarah Puckerman was legendary. Now that I thought about it, I could see the family resemblance. I wondered if my bosses hair would be curly, too, if he grew it out long enough. I thought it would be a rather funny sight.

"Really?" I whispered when I regained my ability to speak. "I loved her in her last film."

"She was a hag," Santana said mercilessly.

The woman had been a famous actress; earning an Oscar for her final film a few months after her untimely death in a plane crash. Her children, Noah and Jasmine, had accepted her Best Actress award almost indifferently. That had been four years ago now. "Honestly, the woman made me look like a harmless puppy. She was a nightmare for her agent. I'm sure they had a party after her funeral – and not a mournful one either."

"I don't think you should be saying that so loud," I warned her, "Quinn is in the next room. I think she's involved with Noah."

"Of course she is," she muttered, "Quinn's always thrown herself at whatever – or, rather, whoever – can get her to the top. If she just so happened to end up married to Noah Puckerman, she'd be one of New York's biggest socialites. It started with her obsession with becoming Prom Queen in high school and it's ended up as what it is now. Don't get me wrong, I like the girl and everything, but I don't trust her like I trust you."

I supposed I should have felt a little smug. Strangely, I didn't. "I don't know, San. She seemed like she liked him a lot."

"I'm not surprised." She reached for her packet of cigarettes and lit one; taking a long drag before giving me a pointed look. She knew I hated her smoking around me. I'd figured that it was another lawyer thing – but now I obviously knew that that wasn't the case. "Puckerman does have a way with women. Normal women, that is. But I know you won't fall into his traps."

I shook my head, trying to grasp what she was hinting at. "I don't understand," I said, finally.

"I thought you were the smart one," she smirked. I coughed as her tobacco smoke billowed in my face. I glared at her and she grumpily put her cancer-stick out in her ashtray. Then, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair, she presented the plan. "I want you to make Noah Puckerman fall in love with you."

I felt like we'd taken a step back and forgone our friendship for a partnership of a slave and her master. "What?" I hissed.

"I know you can do it. If I teach you how to dress again, like I did in Cancun, then I'm sure you could pull it off. And you're an actress, right? You can do this easily."

I struggled for words. "I know you're my best friend, San, but I don't know why I'd do it. I'm sure you won't lose your job-"

"I will lose it," she assured me. For a moment I saw a weakness in her; something that told me that this job meant more to her than anyone really knew. "I know I will. He's everything this company needs. He's a fucking top shit Editor in Chief and I'm sure he'll be fucking amazing at my job, too."

"I don't think I can," I told her sincerely. "It's just not me to scheme."

She laughed at that one. "Please. Your middle name is 'Scheme'."

"Actually, it's Barbra-"

"I know, Rach. I'm your best friend for a reason."

She sent me that look; her eyes all wide and innocent, her bottom lip trembling slightly. Santana didn't use 'the look' often. In fact, I'd only seen it used once - when Sam had broken up with her for the first and only time three years ago. I knew that this time, however, she was using it on purpose.

"Why did you lie to me about your job?" I asked her.

I saw her eyes widen further and her hand itch toward her box of expensive cigarettes. I wished she'd quit. She was shortening her life-span; destroying her lungs. She withdrew her outstretched fingertips when she noticed where my antagonised stare fell. "I didn't want you to give me your disappointed face."

I didn't know how to respond to that one. "Sorry?"

"You know… that look you give people that you feel sorry for. You're giving it to me now."

I tried to make my face appear neutral. "I am not."

"You were. Now you just look constipated."

Neither of us laughed like we usually would have.

"I did go to Stanford," she insisted, "At least for a little while."

She took a deep breath and I waited patiently for her to continue. "I just couldn't do it. I didn't want to be a prosecutor like daddy. I wanted to boss people around and things like that, sure, but I just wasn't good at Law. I tried to host parties and things there but the people there were way too serious to even know what fun is."

I knew one thing for sure; Santana hated fun-killers.

"Then I met the Business students; people who were controlling and manipulative like me. Most of them knew how to have a good time. I stayed in Law school for the rest of the year and ended up transferring. I was going to tell everyone eventually. It's just that when Sam proposed to me; he said something about how much of an amazing lawyer I was going to be. He seemed so happy, you know? I didn't want to say anything and ruin his day. Then his day turned into his year and here we are two years later, and he still doesn't know."

I shook my head. "I understand why you transferred. I just don't understand why you kept it a secret from everyone at the time."

"My parents still don't know," she said quietly, "I couldn't tell daddy. I made sure that he never found out that the Stanford bills had changed format and everything was fine. He would be ferocious if he knew. It's always been our thing; Law. I don't think he'd understand that I just didn't love it like he did."

"I'm sure everyone would understand-"

"I can't say anything now. They'll know that I've lied to them for so long. I'll lose Sam and I'll probably lose my parents, too."

I didn't know how to respond. I wasn't about to tell her that she'd done the right thing – in fact, what she'd done had been stupid and completely unnecessary – but I wasn't about to reject her friendship, either. I made my way around the desk and pulled her into a hug. When she leant down and rest her head on my shoulder, I swore that I could feel salty tears soak through onto my blouse. I didn't say anything, though, because I knew Santana Lopez would never admit to crying over such a thing.

"Please don't tell anyone," she whispered.

I wanted everyone to know. I really, really did. However bad Santana thought she had failed her father, she still had an extremely successful job. Probably even more successful than the job she'd led us to believe she had. But I wouldn't betray her trust. She was right – Sam hated liars. The reason that they'd broken up for that short period of time three years ago was because she had lied to him.

"Don't worry. I won't say anything to anyone."

I unwrapped my arms from around her and watched as she hastily tried to fix her pristine attire. Her hair was still in perfect condition, although I could tell mine was all over the place thanks to her height.

"Thanks," she said, recovering, "I knew I'd made a good choice when I stopped hating you back in college."

I laughed uneasily. "Yes."

"So," she began, shuffling the papers on her desk once more in an attempt to distract herself. "You gonna help me or what?"

I paused. "I really mean it when I say I can't."

"Why not?" She snapped, eyeing me carefully. "You're not ditching your best friend for Puckerman, are you?"

I quickly shook my head. Then, realising that yes, I technically was, I started to nod. "I don't know," I said finally. I stopped my erratic head movements. "The only reason that he gave me this job was because I promised not to fall in love with him."

Santana smirked and threw her hands up in the air. "Well, that's it then, isn't it? I guess you're on Team Santana."

I stared at her, puzzled. "No. Did you even listen to me? He'll fire me if I go along with your plan. I can't fall in love with him."

"Exactly," she chuckled, "My plan is to make him fall in love with you. I never said anything about you doing the same thing."

"Yes, but, wouldn't I have to pretend to reciprocate his feelings - even a little - so that he would fall for me?" I questioned her blankly.

The Latina snorted. "That's bullshit, Rach. I was in love with my dentist Dr. Carl and never once did he make a move on me. Well, unless it was when I was under the anaesthesia. And he sure as hell knew that I certainly wouldn't have minded if he got his rape on-"

I waved a hand at her to stop her before I had to cover my ears to block out her words. "Please stop," I snapped. Then, "What's in it for me?"

Santana stared at me, her eyes wide. "Well, you can have my deepest respect-"

"I already have that," I replied, surprising both her and myself, "What else are you offering?"

She seemed to be deep in thought. "I guess Puckerman would be able to help you with your acting career. I can't really offer you anything. I don't have money to give away and nor do I have the kind of connections he has – although I do have the better job. He must still be in contact with his mother's agent. If you can make him fall in love with you then I'm sure he'll do anything to make you happy."

My stomach tightened in anticipation as I thought about pursuing my Broadway dreams again. I'd never wanted to let them go, although poverty had forced me to. I knew that I could be a star if only I were given the chance. Noah Puckerman was that chance. And I wasn't Rachel Berry if I didn't take every opportunity that was thrown at me – even if it questioned my morals.

"You haven't mentioned the rest of your plan," I stated.

Santana's lips curled up at the corners; revealing a smile that could probably make babies cry. It wasn't ugly – it was just terrifying. "Well, obviously we're going to take him for everything he has."

"How so?" I questioned. I didn't believe for a second that what I was doing was ethical. I would never have done it if Broadway hadn't been mentioned. Santana had made a fabulous point. If Sarah Puckerman's agent couldn't get me work, I didn't know who could. I was a great actress; I knew it better than anyone. I could pull this off. I could make Noah Puckerman fall in love with me.

"You date him for a while and show him what love is like. I guarantee he'll propose to you within the year."

My grin fell. "What?" I snapped, "I didn't know I had to marry the guy!"

Santana looked at me as if I were stupid. "It's the best thing I can think of. You get to keep half of his possessions when you divorce him, and the press will believe your side of the story if you make yourself likeable enough."

I couldn't reach my jaw as it had fallen to the floor. "Are you actually serious?" I gawked. "You cannot be serious, San. This is just too far. I don't even think a man like him could fall in love. He's a player, a sexist pig-"

"He's done it before, Rach. He fell in love big time before he got the job here. Don't you remember back when we were in college? He went off of the rails when he got dumped by his fiancé; Mercedes Jones."

"Mercedes Jones?" I whispered; awestruck. "As in… the Mercedes Jones?"

"The one and only," Santana said, giving me a knowing look. "The woman hailed as the next Aretha. He loved her, but she left him for that Packer's linebacker. Guy's name was Bubba or something equally fucking weird. Puckerman was devastated. I understand why. I mean, have you seen that Bubba guy? He must have felt real shit about himself after being dumped for that."

"They fell in love, though," I told her, "They have lots of little babies now."

Santana looked disgusted as she rolled her eyes. "Eugh. Children. The root of all evil."

I gave her a chastising stare. "Sam wouldn't want to hear you say that."

"And Trouty Mouth never will hear me say that," she smirked. "So, you want to hear the rest of the plan?"

"Yes."

"Well, you marry the guy. Then you divorce him in a way so despicable that New York will remember your name forever. You drag him down to the ground and then pound his head into the fucking pavement." She hit the desk again for emphasis. "You tell the press about his drinking habits, his drug addictions and his obsession with both female and male prostitutes. You come across as the innocent, naïve girl who hailed for Ohio, and he comes across as the evil man-slut who destroyed your faith in old-school romance. Then wham; he gets fired and I get to keep my job."

I actually laughed. "Santana, you're forgetting one very important factor. If Noah is as rich as you say he is, his lawyers will wipe the floor with me. They'll know that I've lied and I could possibly even go to jail. They'll destroy my reputation so severely that I'll never, ever see my star on the Walk of Fame."

"No, Rachel, you're not getting what I'm saying. I'm not saying that we blatantly lie about all of these things. We build up the proof against him along the way."

"You want me to influence him to take drugs and hire prostitutes?"

"Perhaps," she said thoughtfully. "But most likely you won't have to. Just call a dealer to the house and then call the paparazzi."

"It's not that simple," I said, shaking my head, "Besides; I really don't want to ruin his whole life."

She gave me a meaningful look. "You've said it yourself. He's a sexist asshole with an agenda. He wants to ruin me. He's told me as much. Also, Rach, I don't think you're going to get a better opportunity than this."

I was only half-convinced until she the magical world of all that was beautiful in my world fell from her lips.

"Broadway."

That was it. I was a goner.

I saw my name in shining lights above time square, a Tony in my shaking hands as tears of happiness clouded my vision. I heard myself belting out the final note of Don't Rain on My Parade in front of a sold-out crowd. There was a gold star above the name Rachel Barbra Berry on my dressing room door. The lights above my mirror twinkled, mimicking the ones I would see on the stage later that night. I could see myself in that mirror. I looked radiant, happy – no, I looked complete. I needed Broadway and Broadway needed me.

"You don't have to worry about any of the marriage stuff yet. First of all, we need to dress you to impress. Then we'll work on that attitude adjustment."

I nodded slowly; the sound of a crowd roaring in my ears.

"We doing this or what?"

The crowd was applauding me. They were clapping for me; something I'd craved my entire life. Community theatre back in Ohio could never be enough. I knew that, truly, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, I would never be happy working at Playboy. Santana was offering me a way to stardom. I just had to reach out and take the risk – no matter how utterly devastating the consequences could be.

"I think we are," I replied.

She squealed a little and jumped up from her chair, wrapping me in her arms once more. "We're taking him down," she hissed in my ear, "I'll get to keep my job."

And I'll get to be a star, my conscience supplied.

"Can I come out now?" Quinn called from behind the bathroom door nearby. We broke apart and watched as she slowly opened the door. She peeked out at us and seemed relieved when Santana didn't yell at her. "Thank God," she exclaimed, "I was beginning to feel like I was in one of those Saw movies. No one should have to look at tiles for that long."

She walked toward us, seemingly not realising the conspiring that had been going on. Santana had never said it; but I was smart enough to know that she didn't want the plan known to anyone else. That meant that, at least at work, I didn't know her.

"Did you find the intern here to be up to your standards?" The blonde drawled. She leant against Santana's desk and stared at her old high school friend, waiting for a reply. I wondered what she wanted to hear.

"She'll do," my best friend said coolly. I ducked my head and hid my knowing smile. Maybe Santana should have followed my footsteps and gone into acting.

The two ex-cheerleaders began a friendly rapport that I couldn't quite keep up with. I drifted off and began to imagine the stage lights on my face once more. I couldn't wait for that dream to be a reality. Absently, I wondered if I could really capture the attention of a man like Noah Puckerman. If Santana was right, I could.

Ten minutes later, I trailed after Quinn, back towards the elevator where we'd come from. She didn't say anything to me, although I didn't think that the silence was filled with hostility. We weren't exactly friends - but we definitely weren't enemies. As the elevator doors shut, I saw Santana wink at me. The wink said it all; Welcome to the dark side. We have cookies.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Please review, it would mean so much to me. I love to wake up to your thoughts on my work, it just makes getting up and going to school/work/a tennis match so much easier.