A/N: Wowwie-wow-wow! Can you guys BELIEVE IT? It is exactly the one year anniversary of when I posted the first chapter of this story. Ohmygosh, I am feeling so nostalgic right now, you don't even know! XD Also, I am feeling kind of embarrassed… Because the last time I updated this story, according to the site, was 1/16/11… WHICH IS, LIKE, ELEVEN FREAKING MONTHS AGO! Dx I have this horrible feeling, like I overslept for my own birthday party, and I ran downstairs after throwing on the first robe I saw, but then I discovered that everyone had already left. And they had taken their presents with them! Because, seriously? How many of you SUPERDUPERAWESOMEAMAZING-CAN-I-PLEASE-JUST-TAKE-THIS-MOMENT-TO-SAY-HOW-GRATEFUL-I-AM? readers/reviewers of mine are actually going to care if I update this story? You've probably lost interest by now. Have printed out copies of this story and then ceremoniously burned it, whilst chanting my penname in an angry manner over and over again, to smite me for abandoning you guys and taking FOR-FREAKING-EVER to update this story! :( But I promise, I have good reasons! Noble, even!

I will post those lengthy-but-hopefully-charming reasons onto my profile page, so you can click my username, head over there, scroll down to the bottom of my About Me thingy, and read it if you wish. If not, then please forgive me, know that I love you guys, read on, and don't forget to reviewreviewreview, because they truly do brighten my day. :) Constructive criticism is always welcome, just no flames, please.

And without further ado, here it is, ladies and gentlebutts, chaaaaapteeeerrr niiiiiiiyyyyyynnnneeeee!


Chapter Nine

Rachel entered the classroom with a fresh bounce in her step. She hadn't feel this happy in weeks – she and Finn were going to get back together soon; mega-talented Jesse St. James was going to help her pen the next greatest hit; and though she wore a new sweater, no immature jock-brain had thrown a Slushie in her face all morning.

She breezed by Finn, took her seat. His neck followed after her, twisting almost owl-like on his shoulders.

"You look…chipper," his eyebrows scrunched together, as if he were surprised by his own word choice.

Rachel arranged her notebook and folder neatly on her desk before meeting Finn's friendly brown eyes. "I feel on top of the world!" she bubbled. "As if Barbra herself just told me I'm destined to play her in a biographical Broadway play."

One corner of Finn's lips tugged upward; Rachel's jubilance was contagious. "I'm really glad to see you out of your slump."

Rachel's eyes stole a quick glance at his oh-so-kissable mouth: her thoughts jumped to Jesse – "You're just too good to be true; can't take my eyes off of you," hands through her hair, their lips meeting, roar of the crowd – then quickly snapped back to Finn.

Heat spread beneath her cheeks, and she quickly propped her chin in her hands, spreading her fingers against the side of her face to conceal her blush.

Finn turned back around after sharing another smile with Rachel, leaving her alone to her conflicting thoughts.

What is your problem, Rachel? You can't imagine lip-locking Jesse when Finn Hudson, the love of your adolescent life, is RIGHT THERE! You have far more class than that.

She stared at the back of Finn's head, appreciating the shine of his dark hair. Remembered the firm shape of his lips, contrasted by their softness. She could practically feel his hands, warm and slightly calloused, cupping her face gently.

Her heart gave a familiar flutter. Yes, Finn was the one she wanted; the one she loved. The One: period.

So why had she been thinking about kissing Jesse?


Puck was on his way to lunch when he noticed Quinn rummaging through her locker. It was the second time in two days he'd found her alone, as if the fates were helping him out, giving him ample opportunity to woo her back.

Hoisting his backpack further up his shoulders, Puck marched over to Quinn with the air of a veteran solider heading back into a fresh battle: determined, wary, and with that familiar tingle of excitement for a new adventure, no matter how disastrous it might turn out to be.

"Hey, Quinn," he greeted. Used to, he called her 'MILF' or 'baby mama,' but after seeing how his playful nicknames had hurt her feelings, he'd put a stop to that. Still, he had to stop himself from some sort of snide teasing, which was one of the ways he best flirted.

She turned to look at him, peering up from those beautiful, full eyelashes. Puck momentarily forgot why he was standing there – such was the power of Quinn's beauty.

"What do you want, Puck?" she asked. She sounded tired.

"Can't a friend just drop by without getting any grief about it?" He asked a bit too innocently.

The shadow of a sleepless night cast faint circles beneath Quinn's eyes. She didn't look pissed off at him, which was good; but she did look exhausted, the deep kind that settles around your bones, dragging them down with the weight of the world. Exhausted from life.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Puck's tone instantly switched over to genuine concern. Instinctively, he reached out a hand and rested it on the shoulder of her lavender cardigan, worn over a brightly-clean white lacy babydoll dress.

Quinn's lips pressed into a thin line, so tight that the area around her mouth faded a shade paler. She looked down at his hand; seeing it set off something within her, slapped a sense of reality into her dreamlike state, and immediately her posture straightened to its usual primness, and indifference wiped her face clean of any emotion. But she didn't look like her typical bored and bitchy self, for her eyes showed the flicker of a tentative warmth.

"Puck," said Quinn quietly. "I'm really sorry." She grabbed his hand between both of hers; his was big and warm and slightly calloused from guitar playing, and hers was slender and delicate and cold as ice. She looked right into his eyes and held his gaze for a single, throbbing, mutual heartbeat.

Puck wanted to say something, anything, but any sort of word evaded him.

Quinn gave his fingers a squeeze that spoke of finality; a squeeze of her fingers curling over his, just beginning to grow warmer from his body heat, encasing Puck's hand in a safe cocoon that he never wanted to be released from. But then Quinn was dropping his hand, flashing him the smallest of smiles that didn't even begin to touch her eyes, and turning away, walking down the hallway with her head held high on a stiff neck.

Leaving Puck's brow to draw into a furrow as he brought his fingers to his eyes and stared at them, equal parts bewildered and amazed, as if wondering if his hand might now sprout flowers or turn into gold.


Will walked into the teacher's lounge at the beginning of his lunch break and was immediately taken aback by the mouthwatering smell of desserts.

His eyes jumped to the circular table smack in the middle of the room; it held at least a dozen opened white boxes overflowing with pastries, doughnuts, miniature pies, slices of cake, cupcakes, muffins, and croissants galore.

"Whoa." The impressed word slipped from his mouth in a mumble as his eyes widened at the extremely savory sight.

"Oh, hello, William! Wonderful afternoon, isn't it? Help yourself to a fresh baked good from Made With Love bakery. They're my treat."

Will's head swiveled to find none other than Sue Sylvester standing at the opposite end of the room, over by the espresso machine. Her tracksuit was pure white with silver stripes down the sides and around the cuffs. A modest amount of silver glitter dusted atop her light blonde head, giving her the impression of glowing.

The whole look, combined with the tone of voice that was actually genuinely sweet and not falsely saccharine, made her appear...and Will thought he would never, in a million, billion, trillion years use this word to describe Sue...angelic.

"Sue...you did this?" Will asked, a bit stupidly. "You bought all of these desserts?"

Sue pulled her freshly refilled mug of steaming coffee from the machine and waltzed toward him with an innocent bounce to the step of her pure-white-with-silver-shoelaces Nikes.

"Why yes, my dearest William," she said, giving him a big, kind smile that made her dark blue eyes twinkle for once with friendliness rather than ruthless menace. "Think of it as a symbolic gift from me to all of my colleagues; the sweetness of these delectable treats are the food version of the new sweet-as-pie me."

Yeah, thought Will, maybe if that pie was made of venom.

He raised his eyebrows. So Sue was playing into the bet. And quite well, truth be told. Though the whole I'm-a-newborn-angel look was a taking it a bit far, sort of Rachel-Berry-esque in its metaphorical drama.

Will approached the table of treats with caution, as if they had sharp fangs and would jump out and attack him with even the slightest provocation.

"Why do I feel like this is more of a Trojan Horse?" said Will, bending at the knees and sticking his hands on his hips. Now that his gaze was level with the desserts, he inspected the boxes. They didn't appear to be dipped in arsenic or laced with laxatives, but you never knew.

"Why does it smell like a Pillsbury Dough Boy family reunion in here?" Beiste's booming voice inquired as she entered the room. Will stood and turned toward Beiste, Emma, and a few other teachers standing in the doorway.

Some of the group stared at the desserts with smiles on their faces, while Beiste and Emma stared in disbelief at Sue.

"Sue got us all catering," Will said, sharing a three-way eyebrows-lifted look with Emma and Beiste. The staff entered the lounge; all but Beiste and Emma rushed to the middle table, grabbing paper plates and stacking them high with their selections.

"Greetings, my wonderful co-workers!" Sue trilled, clasping her hands together and grinning from ear to ear. "Please, help yourself to the food. There is plenty to go around, and if we run out, the International Bank of Sue will be happy to call in for more, maybe even adding a pizza or two."

"Wow, Sue," said Emma, not bothering to fight back the smirk stretching across her face. "You sure are taking this bet seriously."

"Oh, well, you know me, Emma," said Sue, making Emma's eyes pop open wider. Sue had actually gotten her name correct? "Always looking out for the good of mankind. And, of course, always one to win whatever competition I'm in." She gave Will a good-natured slug on the shoulder with her fist and chuckled warmly as if they had all just remembered an old inside joke.

"It's like Invasion of the Body Snatchers: Part II," Beiste said with no hint of humor. It was actually pretty scary to watch Sue Sylvester being as companionable as your favorite aunt.

Sue smiled at Beiste. "I didn't peg you as the science-fiction type, Shannon," she said. "Which is a sad sign of how my ignorance and stereotyping is hindering me from getting to know my lovely co-workers."

"Um…" said Beiste. What she was thinking was: SHANNON! Sue just called me by my first name? Not 'Beiste,' or 'Beiste-y,' or some random insult, but SHANNON?

This was just too weird. Will didn't know whether to laugh or back away slowly. He turned to Emma for her reaction and saw, surprisingly enough, that she was smiling.

Emma had decided she liked New Sue. Sure, it was temporary – the longest Sue had to keep this up was only for a week – but that just gave her all the more reason to appreciate this kind version of the cruel cheerleading coach. And who knew? Maybe Sue would come away from this experience learning a genuine, valuable, life-changing lesson that being nice was a much better alternative than being mean.

Their lunch break went by quickly, ending with Will, Emma, and Beiste ultimately giving into the temptation of the delicious desserts (though their eventual resign of boycotting had less to do with their trust in Sue, and more to do with the fact that those who had been gobbling down her treats didn't appear to be sick or bothered or dead yet).

The bell would ring soon; Will needed to get back to his Spanish classroom so he would be there before his students arrived. Sue was the first to leave the room, and it was only then that Will was able to catch sight of the back of her tracksuit.

The word 'ANGEL' was spelled out in silver glitter along the back of her jacket, with a jaunty halo ringing around the top of the G. A pair of silvery wings sprouted out on either side of the word, stretching up to her shoulder blades and curling to a stop just short of her neck.

Again, Will was caught between the desire to laugh out loud or to back slowly, very slowly, away from her.