Living Just to Find Emotion, a glee fanfic

Chapter One:

Five

Original characters featured:

Halley Akerman (Ariel Winter)

Harvey Akerman (Zachary Gordon)

Hannah Bradley (Galadriel Stineman)

Tate Burnett (Ansel Elgort)

Savannah Carmichael (Madison Iseman)

Julian Cavaliere (Hunter Parrish)

Frankie Cavallini (Selena Gomez)

Ethan Chandler (Joe Keery)

Scott D'Angela (Noah Centineo)

Joey Dooley (Nick Robinson)

Blaze Foster (Daniel Sharman)

Link Foster (Dylan Everett)

Alicia Hernandez (Bianca Santos)

Landon Holt (Josh Peck)

Vanessa Lewis (Laura Harrier)

Lily Masterson (Alyson Stoner)

Nia Mills (Amandla Stenberg)

Grant Murray (John Lithgow)

Allison Robinson (Vanessa Hudgens)

Prateep Singh (Suraj Partha)

Camilla Von Alven (Yael Grobglas)

Ruby Warren (Paulina Singer)

Liesel Wagner (Gina Stiebitz)

Mr. Wright (Blair Underwood)

Nadia Yazdan (Medalion Rahimi)

Sean Yamazaki (Nam Joo-hyuk)

Chad Zinman (Alexander Ludwig)

Wheezy (Joey Bragg)

The glee club begins with five.

There had been seven sign-ups, but who cares that Dixie Normous is probably not the unfortunate name of an actual student, or that Frankie Cavallini didn't even show up to the auditions last Friday? There are five students in the choir room, and that's just enough. After all, ten years ago from today the New Directions had only five members, much like this group – an artsy iconoclast, an adorkable nerd, a very fashionable and eloquent young man, a wannabe superstar with a sharp tongue, and an insufferable brunette with a powerful voice – and they had gone on to win Nationals two years later.

Besides, when Allison's sister joins, the club will be halfway to becoming eligible to compete.

"You would think these were the decorations for a six-year-old girl's birthday party," says a boy wearing a cheerleading uniform, in a half-amused, half-bored tone, as he picks out a blue sequined mermaid tail from a cardboard box. "Did you guys do The Little Mermaid?"

Marley stops wiping the windows and turns to look towards the Cheerio. Judging by the quality of the fabric the teen is holding up, Marley opens her mouth to tell the Cheerio that the costume looks even older than she is, but another boy speaks up first. He's younger than the cheerleader, with hair the same shade of chocolate brown, straight and neatly parted over to one side, falling onto his forehead.

"Oh, you would have made a beautiful Ariel," he says, flashing Marley a wide, if a little crooked, grin. Marley furrows her eyebrows, a bit uncomfortable. She doesn't know if it's her imagination or if this kid's teeth had actually just twinkled. The boy is wearing a button-down white shirt and a baby blue bowtie, but despite his clean-cut appearance, his devilish smirk gave him an almost roguish edge.

Marley returns her attention to the cheerleader. "I think that's from long before my time here."

"I hate mermaids. I always hated mermaids," says Halley Akerman, the only girl in the club, bitterly. Marley had noticed Halley's tendency to talk like she's reprimanding you during her audition last Friday. "Why would you want to have a fish tail instead of legs? What's the point of being able to breathe out of water when you can't even move around?"

"I don't think mermaids wanted to be mermaids," the boy with the bowtie disagrees in a gentle tone, dusting his hands off. Marley had noticed that every time he'd return from moving a cardboard box to the room next door, he'd hold his arms out in front of him, as far from his body as possible, and clap his hands together to get them as clean as possible. "It's not like they had a choice."

"Their parents had the choice not to fuck in the first place," chimes an older-looking boy, one with a huge tattoo on his arm – a tree with branches venturing out in different directions – and a hint of stubble on his cheeks and along his jaw.

Marley, stepping off the chair she'd been standing on to move it to the right, turns to look at him. "Let's watch our language, okay? I'm sorry, I forgot your name."

"Landon."

"Okay, Landon, and everybody else," she continues, trying to steady her tone – Marley's never reprimanded anybody before, unless Jake Puckerman counts, "I know school's over but as long as you're still in this building, there'll be no swearing."

Landon and the Cheerio groan, Halley Akerman raises an eyebrow as though she doesn't quite buy Marley's rule, and the boy with the bowtie smiles and says, "Of course," with a sharp nod.

The last boy in the room ignores the turn the conversation had taken. "Actually, it is impossible for human being to have sex with a fish, so if mermaids did exist, they would be an entirely different species to both human beings and fish as opposed to an amalgamation of the two. In fact, I imagine them as belonging to the fish class while somewhat resembling humans, kind of like the mermaids in Harry Potter."

"If a human can have sex with a dog and have half-human half-dog babies, then how come a human can't have sex with a fish and have mermaid babies?" asks Landon.

"You don't really believe those stories, do you?" Halley Akerman asks him in a tone that ages her sweet voice, and she gives the older boy a pitiful look. "The ones about women having half-dog babies?"

The boy with the bow tie, dusting his hands yet again, states, "I think half-dog babies are just werewolves."

"No," Halley tells him, waving him off with her left hand. "Werewolves are a different thing."

"You don't know those stories aren't real." Landon answers Halley's question, his tone as forceful as hers had been. "It could be true. Humans and dogs are both mammals."

"Humans and dogs are extremely different mammals," the last boy, the condescending one, argues. "How would their gametes even fuse in the first place?"

"I don't know much about genetics," Landon states, "but if two different species can give us mules and zonkeys and ligers, then I'm pretty sure there's a possibly humans and dogs can fu-"

"Ahem." Marley clears her throat loudly.

"Fine," Landon continues with a groan. "If ligers can exist, then there must be some chance that a human and dog making love-" the Cheerio groans and Marley shakes her head, "-could lead to babies."

"That's completely different." The last boy's voice gains in volume and pitch. "Zebras, horses, and donkeys are very closely related – much more closely related than human beings are to dogs. What's more, their offspring are born sterile. A dog and hyena mating I could get behind-"

The boy is interrupted when Halley Akerman picks up a rather small box and lets out a loud groan, having underestimated how heavy a smaller box could be. Marley will later learn that the box contains old dumbbells.

"Here, Halley – I've got it." The condescending boy stops in his lecture to grab a box out of Halley's hands. Halley Akerman makes no effort to hand it over to him, but she doesn't protest when he takes it from her. "We'll take care of the boxes," he says, smiling, and looking over his shoulder to the other boys in the room. "You should take a seat."

One would assume that Halley had just been insulted, judging by the look on her face. "I'm not going to sit around doing nothing," she retorts, picking up a box that had been near to her feet, and promptly leaving the room. The condescending boy hurries after her like a puppy following its owner, unaffected by the weight he's carrying.

"I still don't see how half-human half-dog people are different from werewolves," the boy with the bowtie thought aloud, shifting his weight onto one leg and seeming to have stopped doing work.

"I think the difference is that a werewolf is a human being who becomes a wolf once a month," Marley explains her view – her own years in middle and high school had been the Golden Age of supernatural teen TV shows, "but a half-human half-dog is kind of like a mermaid, where they have both human- and dog-like characteristics."

As Halley and the condescending boy re-enter the room, her a few steps ahead of him, Landon says, "So, a werewolf has, like, werewolf DNA but a half-human half-dog has both human and dog DNA, and what you see depends on which genes are dominant, or co-dominant, or whatever."

The response Landon receives from the condescending boy, Halley's friend, is different this time. The corner of the boy's mouth pull downward dramatically and he nods in approval.

"Is this debate over now?" the Cheerio asks, letting out a long breath just before he speaks. "If we keep talking about people having sex with animals, we're gonna be spending all night mopping my vomit off the floor."

"Check this out," the boy wearing the blue bowtie hisses excitedly, holding up a pair of skintight faux leather pants. The Cheerio jokingly lets out a wolf-whistle, and the preppy-looking boy continues, "You guys did Grease!"

Marley can't help but break into a wide smile as she finishes wiping the corners of the last window, turns to look at the Bad Sandy costume, and steps off the red chair.

Halley Akerman wrinkles her nose. "Ugh. I hate Grease."

"Well, yeah, it's dumb," the cheerleader agrees, "but it is fun. I'd love to do Grease."

"I'd like to do something else – something McKinley's never done before," Marley says sitting down on the chair she'd been standing on, her smile not wavering, "but I did have a lot of fun in that costume."

Of course she did. She'd had her first kiss in that costume.

"You were Sandy?" The boy with the bow tie breaks into a more innocent grin than the devilish one he'd shot Marley earlier. "That's awesome."

"Does that mean we'll get to hear your version of Hopelessly Devoted to You?" asks Landon.

Marley laughs. "No."

"Is there a DVD we can watch?" the boy with bow tie asks eagerly.

"Maybe. I didn't get one."

"You got to hear all of us sing," the cheerleader says, his voice light and bordering on teasing. "It's only fair that we get to hear you too."

Marley laughs again and ducks her head.

This would be the first conversation this particular group would share in the choir room. The first of many senseless arguments, and the first of many laughs.

The first day of school is always nerve-wracking, especially for the kids who don't have any friends, or who stuck out for reasons other than having some kind of great skill. Marley had spent most of her school years being that kid, the one who didn't have many friends, who wore clothing from Walmart and sometimes hung out in the kitchens because that's where her mom worked.

Marley hadn't anticipated that she'd wake up last Monday, on her first day as a teacher at McKinley High School, feeling exactly the same way she did on her first day as a student. She wondered if her blazer looked too cheap, or worse, if it made her look too old, and worried that she'd have a hard time making friends. She almost considered it unfair how things didn't seem to just magically change for you once you leave behind your teen years and enter adulthood, how all the insecurity you'd once felt didn't just vanish overnight and get replaced with a sense of easy confidence.

Marley had a million and one questions for Principal Murray, mostly in the "how to teacher" vein.

"Is that enough to take us to Nationals? Or to put on a musical, at least?"

"Do I need to make a lesson plan for glee club?"

"How long does it take to recover from an appendectomy?"

She could have Googled that last one, but the words tumbled out of her mouth just as fast as the thought had occurred to her.

"Oh goodness," Mr. Murray said, furrowing his eyebrows and scratching his head. "A few weeks? I've read it'd be a few weeks – Linus told me he'd be out soon, next week, I think. I should have written it down somewhere – I think I did. I must have. I should have done more research, or called the doctor – are you allowed to call somebody else's doctor? I mean, if I'm his boss… Oh, no, what if he can't walk properly when he comes back?"

It didn't help ease Marley's nerves that Mr. Murray, a white-haired and half-bald man, was a rather anxious and frantic person who seemed to second guess himself with every question Marley had.

Mr. Murray had met up with Marley in his office, shown her to Mr. Linus Weathersby's classroom, where she would be substituting as a History teacher while he was recovering from having his appendix taken out during the last week of the summer, and had just walked her into the teachers' lounge, a large, white room that resembled a miniature cafeteria and welcomed a lot of sunlight.

Marley felt like a sophomore again, wondering where she would sit and who she would talk to.

"We have ramps," came the low, authoritative voice of a woman – a woman who must have been about the same height as Marley, maybe a little bit shorter, but stood taller with the help of six-inch heels, an upright posture, an unusually long neck, and the tendency to look down at others with her chin lifted into the air.

Marley had never met anyone so glamorous and commanding.

"Camilla Von Alven," the woman said, offering her hand to greet Marley.

"I'm-"

"Marley Rose," Camilla Von Alven finished, with a smile that didn't seem to reach her eyes. "The glee club lady."

"Yes."

Marley returned the smile, but she couldn't help but feel uneasy. Rather, she felt intimidated. Perhaps it was because being back at McKinley High made Marley feel like a teenager again, and not in a fun, exciting way. Camilla was beautiful, with plump lips, big blue eyes, golden curls that fell past her shoulders – Marley's own blonde tresses were the result of grocery store hair dye – and a tight fitting white dress that hugged her curves.

Marley didn't know whether Camilla made her question her sexuality or feel insecure.

"Marley," Mr. Murray explained, placing a hand on Marley's shoulder, "It was Camilla's idea to restart the glee club. Wonderful idea, wasn't it?" Mr. Murray beamed at Camilla.

"Yes," Marley said, nodding. "Thank you for that. If it weren't for this post, I would have probably been working at a Taco Bell or something."

"Oh, you're welcome," Camilla smiled again, showing off the whitest set of teeth Marley had ever laid her eyes on. "I would have done it myself if I weren't so busy with-"

"The Cheerios?" asked Marley.

Camilla looked confused for a moment, and shook her head. "No, the Muckraker."

"The school newspaper?" Marley recalled. The McKinley Muckraker seemed an odd thing to be proud of.

"Oh, The Muckraker's was awarded the best high school newspaper in Ohio last year," Mr. Murray explained, clapping his hands together excitedly. "All of Ohio. The senior editor is brill- oh, Brad!"

Mr. Murray was looking in the direction of the door, past Marley, and waved someone over. Marley had instantly recognized the man who'd joined her and her superiors – he was tall, with light brown, almost golden blond, hair and a greying beard, and he wore frameless glasses.

"Marley, I'm sure you've met Brad," Mr. Murray grinned, throwing an arm around Brad's shoulders. Brad looked back at Marley, seeming unfazed. "He's been the orchestra instructor here for years!"

"Hi," Marley smiled at Brad. "It's really nice to see you again."

Brad stared back blankly.

"Brad has promised that he and some of the members of the orchestra will help out with the glee club whenever you need them to," Mr. Murray explained, his wide grin never faltering. Uncertain, Marley looked at Brad, who simply nodded and then walked off. "I've never seen him so excited before! He even said he'd tell some of the orchestra kids to- oh, we have doughnuts!

"Make yourself at home, Marley," Mr. Murray told her, gesturing to the tables, and then turning to explore the selection of Krispy Kreme doughnuts that had been laid out beside the coffee maker.

"If you need anything," Camilla told her, with a sharp nod, "Cheerios to dance backup, or something, let me know."

On that note, Camilla had ended the conversation and turned to prepare herself a mug of coffee.

It wasn't that Marley had wanted to spend her breaks hanging out with the principal, silent Brad, and a thirty-something year old woman who made her uncomfortable, but standing at what felt like the front of the teacher's lounge and looking around the room at the tables that filled it didn't help remove the "insecure teenager" feelings that had been brewing inside of her all day. Where she sits and who she hangs out with seemed like such a juvenile problem, and yet, there she was fretting over exactly that.

Furthermore, most of the teachers at McKinley looked as though they were nearing their hundredth birthday. It was a bit depressing. Marley did spot two familiar faces, a Ginger with an Old Hollywood hairstyle polishing grapes as she spoke to a tall, brawny brunette who had been eating a chicken. She didn't want to force a conversation with Mr. Schue's wife and Coach Beiste, but she felt better knowing she had the option to.

"You're coming with me," came a sweet, animated voice from Marley's left. Marley looked down to see a petite young woman, probably close to her own age, with dark hair, brown skin, and a wide smile. She was very pretty – not in the scary, Camilla Von Alven way, but in a warmer, more welcoming way.

The young woman hooked her arm through Marley's and began to lead her to table at the back of the room.

"I hear you're taking over the glee club – my sister Emilia would love to join," the girl began to ramble excitedly. Marley wasn't sure whether to let her ramble or to interrupt her in order to get a word in. "She's super into Broadway and that sort of thing… always singing around the house. I'm sure she must have signed up already – she must have been the first! Murray asked me to be the director, you know? It seemed like a bit much, being a nurse and a glee club director- oh, I'm Allison, by the way."

"I'm Marley."

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here," Allison continued, having led Marley to a table where a very good-looking blond man sat alone, eating a sandwich – gosh, she was awfully peppy. She seemed nice and all, but if Marley was going to be hanging out with Allison, she wanted to be able to talk at the very least. "All of the other teachers are literally a million years old."

"They definitely look like they're literally a million years old," Marley said, poking fun at Allison's choice of words.

Allison laughed, sat down at the table, and then looked up at Marley. "What are you doing? Sit down."

Marley looked questioningly at the blond man who, with his mouth full, gave her a smile and a shrug as if to say he didn't mind her joining the table.

"Okay," said Marley, taking a seat and slipping her bag off her shoulder. She didn't know what she was doing exactly, since she'd always been more comfortable sitting alone than sitting with strangers or people she didn't hit it off with, but it seemed the only alternative was to stand around awkwardly until Mrs. Schuester called her over.

"You look really young," said the blond man, having finished his sandwich. Marley wished that McKinley's staff wore nametags, since nobody seemed to introduce themselves until after they'd started talking. She would later learn that his name was Julian and that he was the coach for McKinley's soccer team. "Are you a student teacher?"

"No, I'm a teacher teacher," Marley answered, immediately shaking her head. What the hell is a teacher teacher? "I graduated in May. I'm Marley, by the way. Marley Rose."

"Pretty name," he said, smiling. His smile made Marley a bit uncomfortable – flattered, but uncomfortable – so she opted to distract herself by taking her lunchbox out of her bag. "Suits you."

The insecure teen in her couldn't help but suddenly feel self-conscious about what her new cool friend and some cute guy would think of her cutesy purple lunchbox with two kittens on it.

"I'm really glad you're here," Allison repeated her earlier statement, her energy level never diminishing. "I might go crazy working with all these boomers. Half of them can't even hear. It's usually just me and Julian." Allison waves her hand between herself and the blond. "And we have Gabrielle during the swimming season – she'll be here next week, I think."

"So, this is your first job?" asked Julian.

"No," Marley shook her head. "I worked at Target in college."

"I meant your first real job," he corrected her, with another smile. "Your career."

Marley shrugged.

She knew in her mind that teaching was her career of choice, but had never defined it as such. Marley was definitely happy that of all of the substitute teaching posts in all of Lima, she'd ended up here, director of the very glee club she herself had once been a part of. After all of the financial struggles she and her mom and gone through over the past few years, Marley finally had a college degree, a decent job, and on top of all that got to do music for a living.

It shouldn't have felt like something was missing from her life, but it did nonetheless.

"I guess so. Yeah."

Last Friday afternoon, Marley sat in the middle of the auditorium feeling like a little child behind Mr. Schue's large metal desk. Her last memory in the auditorium was performing Don't Stop Believing for him alongside her teammates and the New Directions alumni, while he sat at this very desk. Marley felt a little lonely, being the only person in the audience, her smiling face illuminated by the desk lamp, but was eager to begin nonetheless.

The first student to step onto stage was a tall boy with cocoa brown hair. He had worn a guitar over his renowned red and white cheerleading uniform.

Marley took the guitar as a good sign.

"Hey," he said, lifting a hand off his guitar to give a small wave. "I'm Tate Burnett. I'll be singing Everything I Own. By Bread."

Marley grinned upon hearing that Tate was going to audition with one of her all-time favorite songs, and was more ready than ever to kick this off.

Tate began plucking on his guitar in a slow melody, and Brad played along on his piano. Marley hoped Tate's singing voice would be as good as his guitar playing.

"You sheltered me from harm
Kept me warm, kept me warm,
You gave my life to me
Set me free, set me free,"

Tate's voice was incredibly light, almost delicate, with a breathy quality to it. It contrasted with his height and athletic build, but Marley enjoyed his soft timbre just fine. She checked off his name after he sang the first verse, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

"The finest years I ever knew,
Were all the years I had with you,"

As he sang, Tate couldn't keep from bobbing his head and moving his shoulders. From where Marley was sitting, she's sure she noticed him tapping a foot to create a beat only he could hear.

Clearly lost in the performance, Tate began to strum more aggressively when he reached the chorus, building the song up and dancing on the spot more freely.

"And I would give anything I own,
I'd give up my life, my heart, my home,"

Marley found herself moving her head to the music as well, and sang along to the song softly, as Tate, using only his guitar and expecting Brad to follow his lead, slowed the song down once again.

"I would give everything I own,
Just to have you back again."

Will Schuester's New Directions had left quite the mark on William McKinley High School. The club had been home to two quarterbacks of the football team, four head cheerleaders, three prom queens, two student body presidents, two valedictorians, and two salutatorians. Tina Cohen-Chang's idea of hosting a Sadie Hawkins dance every November has become a revered tradition for the girls of the school. In the boys' locker room hangs a framed football jersey with the number five on it. The trophy that the club had won at Nationals back in 2012 is on display in a glass case outside Principal Murray's office, just a few feet from the door, and is often overlooked in favor of the school's more noteworthy prizes.

The only student in all of McKinley who must have noticed that trophy was Tate Burnett. He'd wondered for years why the school no longer had a glee club, but had been happy to settle for the next best thing – the Cheerios. Not only did being a part of the school's cheerleading team give Tate the opportunity to perform, it also gave him a decent level of popularity and security.

On Monday, Tate had walked into school with an unusual amount of gloominess. He normally high-fived, greeted or nodded at people he knew, but on Monday he high-fived, greeted, nodded, and shared stories of his summer adventures with less enthusiasm than usual. Tate had always loved firsts – first meetings, first dates, first kisses, the first days of school, and best of all, New Year's Day – but the first day of his junior year did not feel like a first.

"Hey, Tate!" Ruby Warren called, offering Tate a smile and wave. "How was your summer?"

"Same as always," Tate answered with a half-smile. "Worked a lot, and finally finished A Dance to the Music of Time. The summer carnival was a lot of fun, though. Ethan almost fell off the Ferris wheel because he thought he could jump-"

"Oh, I heard about that!" Ruby's eyes lit up, and for a moment Tate thought that she might have been eager to talk about what an idiot Ethan Chandler was. "Kelly told me. Yeah, and she also said that Vienna went back to Australia this summer."

"Yeah. Not for long."

"I was wondering where she was, because she wasn't at that Fourth of July party, you know?"

"I know. You asked me about her, remember?"

Ruby ignored what Tate had said and continued gushing over Vienna. "It's like, why even throw a party if V's not going to be there, right?"

"It was the Fourth of July, and Frankie's always throwing parties-"

"I thought she'd be with you," she interrupted, giving Tate a hopeful and questioning look. "I haven't seen her today."

"She's out on the track, practicing," Tate said, bored. This was about the eighth conversation he'd had about Vienna that day, and homeroom hadn't started yet.

Ruby clapped her hands together enthusiastically. "Oh, I should go catch up with her."

To Tate's surprise, the conversation was over, and he was left alone.

Tate didn't like being left alone in a crowd, but his solitude didn't last very long.

One at a time, he'd be joined by some friend of a friend, who'd talk to him for a minute or less, ask him at least two hundred questions about Vienna, and then skip off to join someone more important. Tate was fairly used to this, having hung around the popular kids since he'd been in middle school. A lot of popular kids were just chasing after people more popular than they were. What had been rather jarring to Tate that Monday, however, was how often Vienna's name had come up.

"Something must have happened over the summer," Tate said at lunch, sitting across from Vienna in the cafeteria. Glancing briefly at her lunch tray, he wondered if she always received twice as much French fries as everybody else. "It's like we became juniors and you turned into Beyoncé or something. Even Brynn's obsessed with you."

"I was wondering what that fan account was all about," Vienna sighed, lazily tossing a ketchup-drenched French fry in her mouth.

Tate raised an eyebrow, to which Vienna replied, "Sarcasm. I'm speaking your language here, weirdo."

"Let's put the brakes on the sah-casm, V," Tate said, putting on an exaggerated version of Vienna's Australian accent. He always sounded more British when he tried to imitate her. "Some of these psychos might actually do that. Next thing you know, there'll be imagines and fan art and fan fiction-" Vienna laughed, but wrinkled her nose, clearly repulsed at the idea. "You don't know these Cheerios like I do. They like to act all cool around the nerds and the losers, but they're like putty when the football players look at them."

"I know. Your sister couldn't look Peter in the eye this morning, and when she did…" Vienna dusted her hands and twirled a strand of hair around her finger, performing a head bobble. "The whole shebang. It was painful to watch."

"Seriously?" Tate groaned, taking a bite of a Granny smith apple. "Of all the idiots she has to go for-"

"Oh my God! Vienna Harper?"

Tate and Vienna looked up from their seats to find that the sweet voice that had interrupted them belonged to a girl with big green eyes and light brown hair. Tate recalled that her name was Lily; he'd met her earlier that day when she signed up for the Cheerios.

"You're Vienna Harper," she said cheerily, her arms trembling and the red plastic tray in her hands shaking. Tate gave V a look, as if to say, "See."

"The Vienna Harper. Star of McKinley Vienna Harper."

"That is my full name, yes," Vienna said with a crooked smirk.

Lily laughed an embarrassingly loud and high-pitched laugh that made Tate want to hit her over the head with his apple. "It's so nice to meet you. I just transferred, actually. I'm a junior, like you. I already heard so much about you."

Vienna simply nodded. Tate didn't know whether or not to silently keep eating his lunch. He didn't like the idea of some annoying, shrill girl hovering over his head as he ate.

"Yeah, I heard that you were actually trying to get them to start a girls' football team. That would be really cool! I would love join, you know, if that actually happens."

"Oh, yeah," Tate chimed in. "V has been asking Coach Beiste for ages, but there's not enough girls who'd want to join."

Lily looked at Tate with wide eyes, as though she hadn't even seen him sitting beside Vienna until he'd spoken.

Irritated, Tate said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot how rude it was to interrupt people's private conversations."

Tate had earned a "disappointed mom" stare from Vienna, but he didn't care. Lily nodded, taking the hint, and gave Vienna a shy, solemn smile.

"I'll see you around."

Lily was just barely out of earshot when Vienna told Tate, "Chill. I'm still yours."

Tate furrowed his eyebrows and took another bite of his apple. He knew V was just teasing, but his annoyance wasn't because he didn't like sharing his friend. Vienna should have seen why he'd been bothered, but she really was thick sometimes.

"Sean's been looking for you," she said. "He has some exciting news for you." She spoke in an exaggerated tone, as though she found the thought of Sean having news for Tate ridiculous. "You should go find him."

Tate shrugged, thinking he'd run into Sean at some point. "He's probably off making out with Aubrey somewhere."

Sean must have been making out with his girlfriend for a full one and a half hours, because Tate didn't see him until the last lesson of the day, and by then Tate had forgotten that Sean had been looking for him, with some apparently exciting news to deliver.

"Psst! Vienna's friend!" hissed Scott D'Angela from the desk on Tate's right. "You got another pen?"

Sean, who'd been sitting beside Tate, laughed.

"It's not funny," Tate said, rolling his eyes. "We've shared classes since kindergarten. You'd think he'd have learned my name by now."

"Come on," Sean said nonchalantly. He was doodling trees and lizards in his notebook, pretending to take notes. Tate, on the other hand, payed attention best he could and wrote down everything he needed to remember. "You're probably used to this."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know," Sean replied, as though the answer was obvious. Tate looked up from his own notebook, blank-faced.

Sean let out a sigh and said, "People not noticing you." Tate furrowed his eyebrows, and Sean continued to talk while drawing flames coming out of a lizard's mouth. "The cheerleaders are the DUFFs of this school."

"What?"

"Haven't you seen that movie The DUFF?"

"Oh," Tate said, raising his eyebrows in realization. He then scrunched up his nose. "You sound like your girlfriend. It's like she's brainwashed you."

"She didn't brainwash me. She's been a bit weird today. There's something off about her during school hours."

"How do you mean?" Tate asked curiously, returning to copying down notes from the blackboard. It seemed like Sean wanted to talk about his girlfriend troubles, but underneath his attentiveness, Tate wasn't ready to move on from The DUFF conversation. "She's her normal prissy self."

"She's not prissy. You don't know Aubrey like I do," Sean said, letting his pen fall onto his notebook and slumping down in his chair. He seemed to have gotten bored of drawing. "She's different when there's nobody around, like… It's just hard. She makes me-"

"Hard?" joked Tate, and Sean tried to stifle his laughter. Their Spanish teacher, Mrs. Velasquez, didn't take well to giggling in her class.

"Well, yeah."

After a pause during which both boys looked in the direction of their teacher to find that she wasn't paying attention them, Tate asked, "Are you saying I'm Vienna's DUFF?"

Sean chuckled again, having ripped out the page of doodles from his notebook. "I'm not saying you're ugly or fat. I'm just saying that most people would pick V over you. Like, if you guys were drowning or something."

Tate stopped his notetaking once again to look at Sean, hoping for an elaboration on that last statement. More specifically, Tate was hoping for an explanation that didn't make him feel like shit.

"Most people," Sean said, ripping the sheet of paper in front of him into little scraps. "Not me. I would totally pick you."

Tate once again returned to his notetaking, but his mind was preoccupied. He'd never really thought of himself as Vienna's DUFF before – he always thought that they were seen as equals, that everybody knew they came as a set.

"It's nothing to do with you," Sean continued, with a guilty look on his face. That look didn't make Tate feel much better. "It's the cheerleading uniform, really. It makes you look like you're just there to support her."

"I only joined because there was no other way to perform at this school," Tate said sheepishly, staring down at his desk. "Except orchestra, and that weird Renaissance club if it counts."

"Oh!" Sean snapped his fingers and jerked upright. "That's what I meant to tell you! They're starting up the singing club again."

"The glee club?" Tate asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Yeah," Sean said. "I heard Mrs. Von Alven telling that guy from the Muckraker to put out an ad for it. What's his name? Your friend."

"Landon? He's not my friend."

"The one who looks like he doesn't shower," Sean thought aloud.

"That's Landon."

"And then I saw the glee club teacher pinning up the sign-up sheet," Sean continued. He became very peppy all of a sudden. "I wanted to sign up myself! She's really hot."

"Why don't you?" asked Tate.

The taller boy shrugged. "Nah. I've got a lot going on right now. It seems kind of lame, anyway. I just thought you'd be interested."

Tate smiled and leaned back in his chair.

This was exactly what he needed. Just that day, he had felt his life grow stale, as though he was living the same day over and over again, and learned that being a cheerleader made him less interesting than his jock best friend. Tate had wanted a glee club for two years now, and it resurfaced at just the right time, at a time he needed something of his own, something to set him apart from Vienna, and to bring some much-needed fun into his boring life.

After Spanish, the last lesson of the day, Tate made a bee-line for the noticeboard and wrote his name on the first line of the sign-up sheet for the New Directions.

The next student had walked onto stage as Tate pulled his guitar strap over his head. He looked at her, a short, fair-skinned girl with sleek dark hair that fell well past her shoulders, and promptly lowered the mic stand before walking off the stage.

She thanked him as he walked passed her to leave, handed Brad a sheet of paper, and then took Tate's place.

"Hi," she spoke forcefully, in a sweet, almost squeaky voice. She stood upright, and it almost seemed that standing tall made up for what little height she had. "I'm Halley Akerman. I'll be singing Moonlight by Ariana Grande."

Halley looked at Brad and gave a firm nod.

"The sun is setting
And you're right here by my side,
And the movie is playing
But we won't be watching tonight,"

Halley's singing voice was a lot richer than her speaking voice. She retained a light and breathy tone despite its richness, and stared straight ahead as she sang. Marley didn't know whether it was directly at her, or at the air above her head.

"Every look, every touch
Makes me wanna give you my heart,"

Halley remained still, her feet apart in an authoritative stance, but began to sway gently, shifting her weight from foot to foot. The more she sang, the more fluid her hands became, painting in the air in sweeping movements.

"I be crushin' on you, baby
Stay the way you are,

'Cause,"

Halley's voice gained power on the chorus. Marley smiled, happy to have found herself a strong belter this early on.

The teen shut her eyes as she held the bigger notes, opening them briefly, and closing them again as she shifted into a bright and breathy falsetto.

"I never knew, I never knew
You could hold moonlight in your hands,"

Marley checked Halley's name off her list, taking pride in having found her first powerhouse singer.

"'Til the night I held you
You are my moonlight,
Moonlight."

The first person to be slushied in the fall of 2019 was a mousy freshman girl with golden brown hair – bushy, like Hermione Granger's – and glasses that seemed to magnify her blue eyes.

The second was Halley Akerman.

The differences between the first girl and Halley were apparent – the girl was frozen for a few moments, while Halley promptly wiped the bright red slushy off her face with the palms of both hands. The first girl had been slushied for daring to greet a football player with a sweet, shy smile, while Halley had been slushied for daring to ignore one while he hurled insults at her. The girl's eyes welled with tears in response to the chorus of laughs that her slushying had triggered.

Halley had been slushied before, so there was no point in crying about it. When she managed to force her eyes open and keep her jaw from clattering, she looked at her offender – Chad Zinman, who was far too tall, far too mean, and far too stupid for his own good.

Halley saw Chad laughing, but couldn't hear him over the roars of laughter that came from the students who surrounded her. He dropped the empty slushy cup to the ground and high-fived his equally dumb friend, Ethan Chandler.

"Hey, Akerman," Zinman called out, crossing his arms over his chest like some kind of tough guy. "There's a big spill that needs cleaning." He gestures to the cherry slushy that's splattered all over the floor, around both his and Halley's feet. "Easy five bucks, right?"

Really? Halley thought. This idiot is making fun of me for having a job?

"I didn't know it was your time of the month, Zinman," Halley said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. "Didn't your mom tell you you're supposed change your tampon hourly?"

Zinman clenched his jaw shut – he was trying to think of a comeback, Halley noticed. She'd seen that look so many times before. Some onlookers, including Chandler, oohed.

Halley walked past the two boys before the exchange could go any further. She didn't make any effort to weave through the groups of people who'd stop to stare at her; if anything, most students simply moved out of the way when they saw Halley coming.

Halley made a pit-stop at her locker to pick up the spare shirt she'd kept in there, and within minutes, she was in the nearest girl's bathroom, having washed the cherry slushy out of her hair using shampoo she'd taken from a hotel over a year ago, and swapping her contacts out for her glasses.

Halley was always prepared. She was prepared to get slushied on a daily basis. She was prepared to ignore Joey Dooley's constant doting on her and his dorky pick-up lines. She was prepared to have all of her homework done before 8 p.m. every night so that she could watch The Umbrella Academy, or whatever else she'd be watching at the time. She was prepared to hand in a paper on Macbeth that wouldn't be due for another two months, and she was prepared to go off to college in three years without to having to lug too much baggage to CalTech with her, thanks to Marie Kondo. It was certainly a lot of fun playing God and creating the exact path she envisioned for herself.

"That's what you get for reminding the teacher to assign homework," came the grating voice of Frankie Cavallini, who'd just stepped out of one of the bathroom stalls. She began to wash her hands at the sink beside Halley's, and Halley watched the older girl in the mirror. "Or was it a knee-jerk reaction to that sweater?"

Halley rolled her eyes as Frankie sent a pointed look to her yellow cardigan. "I would have done it over the sweater."

"Maybe you should keep that slushy for yourself, Frankie," Halley replied, taking off her stained and soaking wet cardigan. "Your throat is probably burning from choking on some guy's dick."

Frankie let out a chuckle – the kind of laugh that said she didn't take Halley seriously, but Halley knew that wasn't true. Frankie shook off her hands, and Halley felt a few droplets hit her own arm and cheek.

"I'll save some dick for you," Frankie joked. "It's probably time to let out the bats you've been breeding in your vagina."

Frankie fluffed her hair and left, and Halley disappeared into a stall to change her shirt.

She was already almost ten minutes late to Math class, but the Math teacher, Mr. Wright, liked Halley, so when she stopped to consider joining the glee club, she didn't worry about walking into class a little bit later.

'Sign up for the glee club!' it had said, in bold letters across the top of a bright yellow sheet of paper, and underneath that was written, 'The New Directions needs your talent!'

Dorky, thought Halley, smiling to herself.

Joining the glee club seemed like fun. Halley did already have a lot on her plate, but she was getting a little tired of telling herself that some day, far in the future, all of this torture, the slushying and the insults, would be worth it. Halley needed something to make her school life more tolerable now. She needed something fun and good in her life now.

Besides, it was many months before lacrosse season would start, and having one more artsy extracurricular activity would look good on college applications.

Having made her decision once and for all, along with a mental note to Google this year's show choir competition dates later, Halley wrote her name in the neatest cursive, just underneath Tate Burnett's haphazard scrawl.

With a firm nod, she headed off to Math class, where Mr. Wright greeted her with an annoyingly pitiful smile. It was only the second day of school, but everyone in the classroom were already working through some Calculus problems, or at least making it look like they were while they were chatting with their friends. The class sounded like a flock of hens cackling, Halley thought.

"Halley!" he called, raising his hands in excitement, and his voice booming to make sure he'd be heard over all the chatter. "I'm so glad to see you. I've saved you a seat in the front row."

Halley breathed a sigh of relief – she didn't want to sit at the back in between Blaze Foster and a stoner with a man bun – but as Mr. Wright gestured to a seat in the front row, she followed his gaze to find that she'd be sitting beside Frankie Cavallini.

"What?"

Mr. Wright blinked. Halley had corrected and reprimanded her teachers plenty of times before, but she'd never spoken so rudely to Mr. Wright.

"What?" came a shrill voice from behind Halley. Frankie had leapt out of her chair and quickly walked over the Mr. Wright's desk. Halley had noticed a long time ago that while Frankie sure sounded like a doofus when she spoke, there was very little that she missed.

"You cannot make me sit next to her!" Halley complained, her voice high with rage.

Mr. Wright held both hands up in defense. "Ladies…"

"I'll sit at the back," Frankie said quickly. Halley crossed her arms tightly across her chest and gave a sharp nod. "I'll pay attention, I promise."

"You don't want to end up in this class again next, do you, Francesca?" Mr. Wright asked, still smiling. Halley noticed Frankie lower her head out of the corner of her eye. "I think Halley over here will be a good influence on you."

"But-"

"There'll be no excuses, girls," Mr. Wright interrupted Halley's pleading, holding up a finger. "Halley, we're on page twelve."

Accepting defeat, Halley and Frankie shared a disappointed, exasperated look and took to their seats.

"This is an eleventh grade Math class," Halley said, slipping her backpack off her back and pulling out her chair. "Aren't you a senior?"

"Aren't you a sophomore?" asked Frankie, picking her phone up off of her desk. In no time, she's scrolling through Instagram. "You seem to be in quite a rush to get to nerd college."

"Don't worry, Frankie," Halley replied, sitting down and placing a notebook and a textbook on her desk. "In just three years, I'll be at CalTech and you'll have this place all to yourself again."

"Can't wait."

Frankie didn't dislike her life.

Sure, this summer wasn't that great. She got to go to Argentina, but couldn't hook up with any hot Argentinians because she'd contracted chlamydia for the second time in the past year. Fortunately, according to her doctor, she's good to go now.

She was just a little confused. A part of her thought that getting chlamydia twice in one year probably meant that she should make some major lifestyle changes. Another part of her was just realized that her life could go back to normal, and that nobody had found out about her having chlamydia this time. Frankie knew she should probably become more careful, but she also knew that the end of this episode, and the fact that nobody'd found out about her STD this time around, had her incredibly excited for her life to return to normal.

"… we don't all call our grandmas 'abuela,' we don't all speak Spanish when we're angry, we're not all sassy all the time-"

"You're sassy," Frankie said, interrupting Alicia's deadass boring rant on how Hispanic women are portrayed on TV. Even while driving, Frankie had noticed that Nadia, sitting in the passenger's seat on her right, had tuned out Alicia's droning and was distracting herself with her cell phone.

"We're not all obsessed with Selena as if she's the only Latina superstar to ever exist."

"I like George Lopez," Frankie said. "You know, in the seventh grade, Jenna Sondheim said I had a big head like he does. I don't have a big head, do I?"

"You've got volume for days," Nadia spoke up, not looking away from her phone. "That girl's hair is flatter than her chest. She was probably just jealous that you had the best hair in the class."

"Shut up! You hair is so much better than mine!"

"You guys are literally so cute," Alicia called from the backseat. "This is real feminism. I wish I took a video to post on my story-"

"Um, Frankie?" Nadia interrupted.

Frankie made sure not to take her eyes off the road as she put her blinker on to turn left, but Nadia's tone made her want to stop driving altogether. "Yeah?"

"Did you get chlamydia this summer?"

"What?"

"LOOK OUT!" shrieked Alicia.

Frankie gasped and slammed hard on the brakes.

It was too late. Frankie had already hit something.

"You killed him!" Alicia yelled breathlessly, holding a hand to her chest. Frankie rolled her eyes – Alicia was way too dramatic – but her heart was racing and her mouth hanging open in shock.

"I didn't kill him," Frankie said, trying to steady her tone. "See."

Frankie watched through the windscreen as a boy about her age scrambled to his feet. His backpack was laying on the ground, and a book and a few loose papers were now sticking out of the bag.

Frankie at first recognized the dark blue bicycle, and then she recognized the boy. She breathed a sigh of relief at the realization that she'd hit Landon Holt and not anybody important.

"Wow," breathed Nadia. "This is the last time I carpool with you."

"Me too," Alicia agreed. She had stopped clutching her chest like an old lady, but was now using the same hand to fan herself. "Last year, you almost killed, like, sixteen people."

"No," Frankie argued. Her voice sounded more piercing than she intended it to. "I almost killed the same guy sixteen times. And it wouldn't happen if this stupid intersection had a stop sign!"

Landon had picked his backpack up off the floor and had swung it over his shoulders, only to realize that one of the straps were broken. She heard him let out a muffled, "Fuck!"

Annoyed, Frankie pressed down on the horn, causing Nadia to raise a hand to her ear, and yelled, "Get outta the way!

"Besides," Frankie continued, turning her head and lowering her voice to talk to her friends. "It's only Landon. This'll be the highlight of his week."

"You know this hobo?" asked Nadia with a wrinkled nose.

"He's not a hobo. He goes to our school," Frankie explained, gazing out of the windscreen once again. Landon was tying the broken strap of his bag together and yanking on it to make sure it was secure. "He just likes looking like a hobo."

Alicia groaned and turned her attention to her nails. "Can't he move a little faster? We're going to be late."

"He's just trying to get my attention," Frankie said, raising her chin and tossing her hair over her shoulder. "He's been obsessed with me forever."

Once again, Frankie pressed down on the car's horn, this time longer and harder.

"I can see that," retorted Nadia, gazing straight ahead at Landon, who was now flipping Frankie off with both hands.

Frankie rolled her eyes as Landon got onto his bicycle and rode away.

"Finally," she breathed, waiting until he was a safe distance from her before she followed.

"Anyway," Nadia began in a rather melodramatic tone, "as I was saying – before Frankie almost killed us all – it says you got chlamydia this summer."

"Where does it say that, Nadia?" asked Frankie, annoyed. "The Muckraker?"

"Yeah. See." Frankie looked at Nadia, who was leaning over to show her the Muckraker's latest post.

"Don't distract her!" yelled Alicia from the backseat.

Frankie ignored her, grabbing Nadia's phone and reading as she drove more slowly, still clutching the steering wheel.

"Son of a bitch," she growled through gritted teeth. For all of Landon's claiming that the Muckraker was known for addressing the "real issues," he sure liked to share gossip when it came in handy. "It's a rumor."

"Yeah," Nadia said, snatching her cell phone out of Frankie's hand. "Didn't you get chlamydia last year? Why are they trying to bring back old news?"

Before Frankie could reply, Alicia asked, "It doesn't say anything about what I did at that Fourth of July party, does it?"

"And what did you do at that Fourth of July party, Alicia?" Nadia asked in an amused tone.

"Daniel and Regan," Alicia said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "I'm not on there?"

"No," answered Nadia. "Just some long-ass article about the new Aladdin… something about reducing waste… something about how The Notebook promotes toxic romance, and of course, the Frankie thing."

"I guess my thing is more gossip-worthy," Frankie said, pulling into the school parking lot. She felt irritated and smug about that at the same time. "Don't worry. I'll take it up with the editor, and everyone will be talking about your sex life instead."

The second boy who stepped onto the stage didn't seem to care very much about the dress code. His dark hair was fairly short, but messy. He had on a short-sleeved t-shirt, making no effort to cover what looked like a tattoo on his left forearm. And he desperately needed a shave.

"I'm Landon." Landon Holt, Marley recalled. "I'm going to sing No Woman, No Cry by Bob Marley."

He spoke snappily, as though he was in a hurry. There was no trace of warmth or gentleness in his voice, and Marley was reminded of Halley Akerman. Or Kitty Wilde, an icy little girl who Marley sometimes found herself missing.

Brad played the song in an upbeat, bouncy rhythm that Marley couldn't help but bob her head to.

"No, woman, no cry," Landon sang in a rich chest voice. "No, woman, no cry."

He hadn't adjusted the microphone before starting, so he had to remain bent over. He tapped his hand against his thigh to the rhythm of the song, and couldn't keep his feet or shoulders still.

"No, woman, no cry,
No, woman, no cry."

Marley smiled, and checked off next to his name. She couldn't help herself from tapping her pen against the side of the notepad, to the rhythm of the song.

Landon finally adjusted the microphone, not pausing in his singing to do so. His voice remained steady and almost assertive, as though he'd sung this song a million times before and it was now second nature to him.

"'Cause - 'cause - 'cause I remember when a we used to sit
In a government yard in Trenchtown,
Oba - observing the hypocrites - yeah!
Mingle with the good people we meet, yeah!"

It was a little strange to hear a Bob Marley song in an American accent, but Marley quite enjoyed the more soulful quality Landon brought to No Woman, No Cry.

Landon's voice was different to Tate's, fuller and a little husky. The two boys even looked very different - Landon came across as rough-around-the-edges and a bit carefree. Their one similarity was that neither of them could help but dance along to the music.

"Good friends we have, oh, good friends we have lost
Along the way, yeah!
In this great future, you can't forget your past;
So dry your tears, I say. Yeah!"

Landon didn't make any eye contact; his eyes seemed to be darting all over the place. Despite that, Marley did get a sense of confidence from his, and could see him losing himself in the music.

Letting out a breath, Marley appreciated the diverse set of voices she'd heard so far, and leaned back in her chair to enjoy the rest of the song.

"No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry. Eh, yeah!
A little darlin', don't shed no tears:
No, woman, no cry. Eh!"

Camilla Von Alven, McKinley High's vice principal and one of its best teachers, had achieved a lot in only five years at the school, having led its cheerleading team to Nationals for all five of those years – with the Cheerios winning the last three competitions – and with the English grades of the upperclassmen increasing by almost ten percent on average since last year. But what Mrs. Von Alven was most proud of was the school's award-winning newspaper, The McKinley Muckraker.

Mrs. Von Alven couldn't take all the credit, however, for taking the Muckraker from the scrap papers the art teachers laid down on their classroom floors and turning it into something out of Gossip Girl. It was a sixteen-year-old Landon Holt, having attempted to start a club called Jews for Climate Action, who'd proposed turning the newspaper into a webzine in order to save paper. It must have been his short attention span and straightforward nature that made for a webzine that the other students just couldn't stop reading, with to-the-the point headlines, brief recaps, and best of all, unflattering pictures of the popular kids.

It was not uncommon to walk down McKinley's hallways and hear a chorus of gasps when someone's cell phone would let out a short ring, alerting them to some new hot gossip, or just a confirmation of what they'd already heard.

"Oh my God," laughed a petite Cheerio with cocoa brown skin, leaning over to her friend to give the other girl a look at the screen of her phone, "Frankie Cavallini had Chalmydia this summer."

"No way," gasped her friend, a VSCO girl with her golden blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. "She told me she couldn't come to my party because she was going to Argentina."

"Maybe she got it from some Argentinian guy."

Across the hallway, a girl with blue highlights in her dark hair let out a loud grunt while looking down at her phone. "Wait- Tommy hooked up with Keira last week? He told me he was single!"

"What?" The scrawny and pale boy beside her who had been leaning against his locker jerked upright. "He told me he was gay!"

Landon knew that his peers were reading the Muckraker, but he was blissfully unaware of the influence his newspaper had over most students.

Landon had just swapped out his Geography and History textbooks for his Math books and his copy of Pride and Prejudice, shut his locker, and turned around to head off the English when he was met with a hard slap across his face.

Landon raised a hand to his left cheek – he was sure he had felt long fingernails against his skin – and stared quizzically at the taffy-haired brunette across from him. It was Frankie Cavallini, who looked at him with fire with her dark eyes.

"How dare you?" she hissed.

"Is everything okay, Greta?" Landon asked, walking past Frankie to get to class, clutching the only working strap of his backpack. He knew the girl well enough to know that making a scene over something trivial was right of her playbook. He hadn't expected her to follow him, but follow him she did.

"Don't pretend you don't know why I'm mad at you," she cried out from behind him. Her voice was shaky because she had to walk very fast to keep up with him. "There's only one reason why I'm willing to be seen around with you when you're dressed like Seth from The Simpsons." Typical popular girl, insulting you before starting a conversation to keep you from getting to cocky about the attention they're giving you. "Chlamydia? Where did you hear that?"

"Evie wrote that post," Landon said carelessly. "Take it up with her. Besides, if you were just a little less shallow, you wouldn't even care about what the article says about you."

"It's a lie, you know."

"No, it's not."

"Okay, it's not," Frankie had caught up with Landon, jogging up on his right, "but nobody needs to know about it. How did Eva find out about this anyway?"

"Evie."

"Whatever."

"Didn't you read the article?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer. "That Dawson Dawson guy from Greenside kept bragging about how he slept with you, and then it got out that he had chlamydia. Then one of your so-called friends sent in a tip saying she saw that you azithromycin pills in your bag. But-"

"Which friend?"

"I can't you that," Landon replied, and after a short pause added, "Kelly O'Brien."

Frankie let out a loud gasp. "But she's always so nice to me!"

"Yeah, to your face," he said, amused. Landon usually assumed that girls as disingenuous as Frankie Cavallini knew better than to trust the people who played the same games that they did. "Kelly O'Brien isn't exactly who you think she is – wait 'til next week, you'll see."

Frankie gasped loudly yet again. "What is it? What did she do?"

"I can't tell you," Landon said, and after a pause, "She shoplifts." Frankie gasped a third time. "Kleptomania runs in her family. Evie and Abby know all about it – ask them."

"Edie and Ashley – got it."

Landon slowed down to a halt, stopping in front of the school's main noticeboard and scanning the titles on the sheets of paper scattered across it. He'd taken a longer route to English for a reason – Mrs. Von Alven had told him to place an advertisement on the Muckraker about the school's new glee club just minutes after Landon had attended an assembly in the gym, where the senior class were lectured about applying to colleges. That hour made Landon want to apply to a bunch of colleges and then hang himself instead of sitting around, waiting for their responses. Hearing Mrs. Von Alven's news about the new glee club was lucky. Landon had never been lucky before, so he had to act on his newfound luck before it went away.

"You really just confirmed what everybody was already thinking," Landon told Frankie, who was looking up at him with her lips pursed and hands on her hips. In all the time he had known her, Frankie seemed to believe she was the Queen of the United States of America, and that belief made her fascinating and exhausting to be around all at once. "I heard you didn't sleep with anybody at some Fourth of July bash-"

"My Fourth of July bash." Typical popular girl, Landon thought, wanting credit for throwing some dumb party.

"Dead giveaway." Landon spotted what he'd been looking for – a yellow sheet of paper with 'Sign up for the glee club!' typed across the top in bolded letters, held up on a clipboard. He picked up the pen that was tied to the clipboard, and scribbled his name on the third line, just beneath Halley Akerman's. "This is all karma for sleep-"

"Sleeping around, yeah. I've heard those jokes."

"I was going to say for sleeping with a guy named Dawson Dawson."

Landon dropped the pen, and was about to leave for class, when it suddenly dawned on him that for the past few minutes, he'd been talking to Frankie Cavallini, a girl he was very used to seeing around school, but very rarely had actual conversations with. "What do you want from me anyway?"

"You signed up for the glee club?" Frankie asked, ignoring his question and looking up at the glee club sign-up sheet. She had an eyebrow raised and her tone seemed to give off disgust more than anything else.

"Yes."

"Seriously?" she asked, her eyebrow still raised and chuckling as she spoke. "Why?"

"It's none of your business why," Landon answered, and after a pause, "I am going to be a singer-slash-saxophone player. Or a singer-slash-sculptor, whichever's easier."

"Singer-slash-sculptor?" she laughed a little louder, and more rudely, that time, her tone still heavy with judgment. "So, sometimes you're going to sing, and sometimes you're going to get paid for playing with clay."

"Well, becoming a singer-slash-ninja seemed a little unrealistic," Landon joked, and just then Frankie picked up a pen and wrote her name on one of the sign-up sheets. Landon had to do a double take to make sure that what he really was seeing was Frankie Cavallini writing her name on the only yellow sheet of paper pinned to the board – the glee club sign-up sheet.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Why are you signing up for glee?"

"It's singing, right? And dancing?" Frankie checked, shrugging casually as she finished her name off with a heart above the 'i' in 'Frankie.' "Seems like fun."

"You," confusion bled from Landon's voice, "think glee club sounds like fun?"

"You don't need to sound so surprised," she said, placing her right hand on her hip. "Us popular kids like to have fun, too. And look," she nods at the list, "Tate signed up too."

Typical popular girl, Landon thought again. They judge you for doing the same things they do.

Landon saw a horde of other students move past him in a hurry, and told Frankie, "Look, if you're not going to tell me what you want, I'll just-"

"I want an article," she explained, taking a step closer to Landon and lowering her voice, "saying that the whole chlamydia thing was a misunderstanding, that Dawson lied about hooking up with me, that I was taking those pills for bronchitis or something, and that I didn't sleep with anyone at that party because I wasn't feeling so good."

Landon was impressed by how well Frankie had thought out her cover story.

"Because of your bronchitis?" he asked, and she smiled and nodded with a lot of enthusiasm. "I can't do that."

Frankie's smile faded and her shoulders lowered in defeat. "Why not?"

"I believe in journalistic integrity."

"Come on," Frankie softened her tone, and moved another step closer to Landon. "I'll do anything you want me to do."

"Sell your car. Get a Prius instead."

Frankie rolled her eyes and raised her hand to her chest, moving it slowly along one side of the V-shaped neckline of her top. "I'm serious – anything. And anywhere you want." Her lips curled into a slight smile, the kind of smile Landon often saw bullshitters wear when they're bullshitting. "Besides, this isn't just about the article, and the whole chlamydia thing. I really do like this thing between you and me?"

Landon scoffed, amused. He'd gone to school with Frankie since kindergarten and this was probably the longest conversation they'd ever had. "We have a thing?"

"Yeah. You tell me I'm shallow, I insult your outfit," her smile widens as she drawls out her words, "I almost run you over, you flip me off, we come to school and pretend not to know each other-"

"My favourite part of our relationship."

"-we have great conversations like this," Frankie raised her eyebrows playfully and gestured to the air between her and Landon, and he couldn't help but chuckle. She narrowed her eyes and whispered, "I think they call this vigilant sexual tension."

"Hmm," Landon smirked in amusement. "I would have gone with irritation."

This time Frankie laughed, and she lightly shook her head.

Walking around her to head to class, Landon said, "I'll see you tomorrow morning. Try not to kill me next time, Frannie."

"I already told you," Landon heard Frankie call as he walked away, "Don't call me Frannie."

The third boy Marley had met on Friday was, in his appearance at least, very different from the first two. He was quite a bit shorter than the other two, and he had certainly spent some time that morning making sure he looked good. His brown hair had been parted neatly down the side and fell onto his forehead, and he wore fairly dressy pants and had topped off his look with a bow tie.

He was pretty, Marley thought, like a character from Gossip Girl.

The babyfaced boy, who couldn't have been older than fifteen, adjusted the microphone to suit his height and smoothed out the collar of his shirt.

"Hello," he said, his tone upbeat. He paused, smiling widely, and Marley realized that he was expecting a response.

"Hey," Marley said cheerfully. She then realized she was a little far from the microphone, and sat up in her seat so that she can lean closer to the microphone. "I'm happy to have you..."

She drew out the last word, as if to ask the boy for his name.

"I'm Link Foster," he said, smiling wider. Even from afar, Marley could see that Link had sort of a cheeky, overconfident smirk. Or perhaps it was the way he spoke with lightheartedness and conviction all at once. "I'm going to be singing Runaway Baby by Bruno Mars."

Again, Brad manages to play the song with a bounce, this time in a faster tempo to the three performances that had preceded Link's.

Link was immediately dancing. He was a few feet from the microphone, snapping his fingers and moving from side to side, and he aggressively grabbed the mic stand and pulled it towards him just before he began to sing, not breaking eye contact with Marley.

"Well looky here, looky here, ah, what do we have?
Another pretty thing ready for me to grab,
But little does she know that I'm a wolf in sheeps clothing,
'Cause at the end of the night it is her I'll be holding,"

Marley recognizes Link's talent immediately. Not only did he carry a stage presence that was difficult to ignore and bubbling with energy, his smooth tenor voice hit every note effortlessly, and the boy made sure to add huskiness and growls where he saw fit, elevating his performance.

Link raised his hands and clapped the beat of the song as he sang the pre-chorus.

"I love you so,
That's what you'll say,
You'll tell me baby, baby, please don't go away
But when I play, I never stay,"

Link stopped his clapping and stood still, spreading his arms outwards in a pose.

"To every girl that I meet here, this is what I'll say,"

Marley chuckled and immediately checked Link's name off her list. The young boy was quite the performer and had bouts of confidence, and it was always great to watch someone genuinely have fun while they were performing.

Marley was very entertained by just how extra Link had been.

"Run, run, runaway, runaway baby,
Before I put my spell on you,"

Link began moving again, almost talking with his hands and relying on his knees to do most of his dancing.

Despite his refined appearance, there was something very youthful about Link that went beyond his baby face. He carried sort of a mischievous charm, and his voice was more boyish than manly, which only seemed to add to that charm.

"You better get get getaway, getaway darling,
'Cause everything you heard is true,"

Marley wasn't sure if she'd imagined it or not, but she thought she saw Link wink at her. She chuckled again; the whole scene seemed a little funny.

"You poor little heart will end up alone,
'Cause lord knows I'm a rolling stone,
So you better run run runaway, runaway baby."

Link grinned as he sang the last two words, and wrapped up his performance with a bow.

It had only been a few days, and Link already hated going to school on a motorcycle. Link couldn't get off the chopper fast enough, immediately taking off his helmet and shoving it into his brother's hands, and using the front camera on his phone as a mirror while he smoothed out his hair. Later that day, Link made sure to ask Ruby Warren, a senior, for a ride to school for the rest of the week.

Link's knack for making friends everywhere he went sure came in handy.

"Hey, Link," called Vanessa Lewis, a petite Cheerio with long legs and dark skin. She had an army of other Cheerios with her, some with their eyes wide, darting between Link and Vanessa, and others too engrossed in their own conversations to even notice the exchange.

Vanessa hooked her thumbs through the straps of her backpack, tilted her head to the side and offered him a sweet smile. "I've been meaning to ask – what are you doing tomorrow? After school, I mean."

"I don't know," Link shrugged, returning the smile. "What are we doing after school tomorrow?"

Vanessa smiled wider and for a brief moment, her head lowered. Link even saw a flush of bright pink cross her face, and some of her friends were clearly trying to hold back their giggles.

The moment was ruined when Link heard Blaze, his brother, scoff loudly a few feet away from the scene. He was adjusting the kickstand on his bike for some reason – Link assumed it was because it made him look cool.

"Actually," Vanessa glanced briefly in Blaze's direction, and then returned her attention to Link, "There's a party at Frankie's tomorrow. You should come."

"Sure," Link replied, winking at Vanessa. "But I'll see you later?"

Vanessa flashed Link another dazzling smile and nodded, before walking off with her friends, their jovial chatter fading away.

Link performed a small fist pump on the spot. He heard Blaze scoff again, and turned to him.

"If you have anything to say…" is all Link said to his brother, rather irritably.

Blaze pulled one strap of his backpack over his shoulder, and carelessly replied, "I'm not saying anything."

Blaze not saying anything somehow made Link feel like he was being lectured.

It might have seemed like Blaze didn't care about anything, but Link knew his brother better than that, and what Blaze was was not a boy living his life without care, but rather one who sat back, as far back as possible, because that's what you do when you're too cool to join in, and judged and scoffed at everyone else.

As Link waved at Emilia Robinson, a girl he knew back in middle school who was on the other side of the students' parking lot, he felt Blaze brush past him, walking ahead of him toward the front steps of the school.

A lanky boy with black hair and glasses rushed past Link, and then Blaze, bumping into Blaze and nearly dropping the violin he'd been carrying.

"Do you have a problem?" called Blaze, as the boy picked up his violin by the handle of its case and turned to face Blaze, his head ducked and his eyes on the floor.

Here we go, thought Link.

"I'm so sorry," the boy – Link couldn't quite remember his name, but he did know he was a sophomore, like Joey – said, still avoiding eye contact with Blaze, who moved closer to him. "I just-"

"Are you blind, Wheezy?"

Link walked faster to catch up with Blaze. Fortunately, Blaze walked right past the sophomore after calling him "Wheezy" and headed on.

"What's the matter with you?" Link demanded as he reached his brother on the steps of the school's entrance. "Were you seriously picking a fight with the guy with the respiratory problem?"

"You mean Wheezy?" Blaze asked. He seemed his usual dismissive self; not at all concerned in the way Link was. "It's fine. Everyone knows he's a jackass."

"He has a respiratory problem, Blaze," Link explained slowly, as though he were talking to a child. "Don't you think it's kind of mean to call him Wheezy?"

Blaze didn't respond.

As the pair entered the crowded hallways of McKinley, Link continued. "You can't go picking fights with every guy who looks your way."

"And you can't go making out with every girl who looks your way."

Link stopped walking and turned to his brother, who had stopped walking as well. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Yet again, Blaze didn't respond, and instead simply licked his lips.

"Look, if you see me around…" Link paused and pursed his lips, looking around, "Just act like you don't know me."

"Fine," was all Blaze had said, and the two parted ways, heading in the same direction but losing the other in the crowd.

Link's annoyance had subsided when his eyes met with Savannah Carmichael's.

"Hey, Link," she said, approaching him with a big smile, both hands on her hips, and a proud, hopeful look in her eyes. He'd seen that look on many girls before her – it was a look of showboat-y confidence put together with a desperate need for male approval. Link realized that it was because she was wearing her red and white cheerleading uniform, and had her buttery blonde locks pulled back into a high ponytail.

Those Cheerios skirts were already Link's favorite thing about high school.

"Savannah," Link replied, painting on his signature crooked smirk. "You look beautiful."

"Oh, I look normal," she said, briefly glancing at the ground.

"That's what I said, wasn't it?"

Once again, Savannah's eyes fell to the ground, her smile never faltering.

"I'm sorry," Link continued. "You're probably used to guys saying dumb things like that-"

"No." She shook her head. She never stopped smiling, Link noticed – it felt like the pair were caught in a smiling contest. "You're sweet. Guys never say those things, not to me."

"Oh, come on. You're not going to give me that spiel about how you were geeky and awkward in middle school, are you?"

"I was!" Savannah said, raising her eyebrows and letting out a laugh. Gosh, girls really did love talking about themselves. "I had braces and I was kind of a Koreaboo. Going through my K-pop phase… and I had e-girl hair…"

"You would have made a cute e-girl," Link said, taking one of her hands in his and playfully swinging it back and forth. "So, do you have a ride to Frankie's party tomorrow?"

"I was just gonna Uber, or go with one of my friends."

"We'll Uber together," Link told her. "I'll meet you at The Sugar Shack. We could get something to eat before we go."

Like a Disney princess, Savannah let out a deep sigh. It was very endearing; Link almost chuckled, but he knew that laughing would have killed the moment.

Savannah was girlfriend material. She was pretty, sweet, a cheerleader, on the student council, and had straight As, or so Link had heard. She was the kind of girl Link would date for more than just one or two weeks. He'd been planning to have some meaningless fun during his first few weeks at McKinley, but pretty girls were Link's kryptonite. He could not help himself sometimes.

He supposed that this was how Blaze felt about fighting.

"Okay," she nodded.

"Looking forward to it." Link winked and gently let go of Savannah's hand. "I've got to go meet up with a friend. I'll catch you at lunch."

"Of course."

Link wandered off. He made sure that Savannah would be far behind him when he'd found another girl to lean close to, whose hand he wanted to hold.

"You're a geek, Link," said Nia Mills, playfully hitting Link on the arm, after he'd shared a few facts about the Andromeda Galaxy. "How do you even know this stuff?"

"I read it somewhere," Link replied. "I like studying astronomy. I have an affinity for pretty things." He tugged gently on a strand of Nia's hair. "Is it not obvious?"

"Keep your greasy hands off my hair," she said with a smile. "You know how much time this takes in the morning?"

"You could show me. I'd love to see you in the morning."

Nia stood a little straighter and narrowed her eyes. "So, what do you say to teaching more about all of that space stuff, nerd? There's a planetarium pretty close to Breadstix, you know."

Link felt his own ego grow to twice its original size. He didn't even have to steer Nia towards asking him out; she'd done it all on her own.

"How's Saturday?"

Link felt like a kid in a candy store. In middle school, girls are shy and awkward. When Link would ask a girl out, they would often blush or look away. High school girls are a lot more receptive.

Except for Hannah Bradley, a senior Link had met the other day when he'd signed up for a few clubs.

He had offered to spend lunch on Thursday helping her put up campaign posters – she was expected to be both valedictorian and student body president this year. She also wore glasses and had red hair – she was the quintessence of the "hot nerd girl" archetype, and Link sure liked himself a strong willed woman.

"Oh, come on. You could be my tutor."

Hannah rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile, keeping her eyes glued to the poster she was taping to the wall. "From what I've heard, you're doing fine on your own."

"Fine isn't great," Link grinned, not taking his eyes off Hannah, as he moved to lean against the wall. "Mi español no es mucho fantástico."

Hannal laughed and continued on down the hallway. "Ask somebody else. I'm busy."

"Too busy for five minutes at The Lima Bean?" asked Link, following after her.

"Yeah." She stopped beside a home economics class and held the last poster up to the wall beside the door. Link tore off a piece of Scotch Tape and handed it to her. "I've got to work on my campaign speech, and I've already got this big paper to do… And I was told to find orchestra members who'd be willing to play for the new glee club."

Hannah pressed down on the tape with her thumb. "Besides, you're a freshman. I'm not interested in going out with a freshman, especially not one who's all flash and no heart."

She dropped her hands and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Excuse you," Link said playfully, poking Hannah on the arm. "If I have no heart, what is it you're breaking right now?"

Hannah laughed again, and Link felt his stomach drop. It was the kind of laugh adults do when little kids innocently say something silly or inappropriate.

"That's all of them." Hannah took the Scotch Tape from Link and gave him a warm smile. "Thanks for your help. I'll see you around."

If there was anything Link hated, it was being treated like a child. That sorry, patronizing look in Hannah's eyes reminded him of the way Blaze often looked at him when cute girls were around and Link was trying hard to make an impression on them.

Except Hannah had smiled, and she laughed at Link's jokes. That means she's not a hard no; she's just a tougher nut he's got to crack. Link was up for the challenge. Hannah was, after all, just an archetype for a new kind of girl he's got to impress now that he's in high school. The hardnosed, serious girl who doesn't buy cheesy pickup lines. The intellectual humanitarian who's more impressed by meaningful conversation than by meaningless flirting and old-fashioned chivalry.

Link could be the guy for the Hannahs of the world. Of course he could. He had a sensitive side, an artistic side. He could polished and have perfect grades, but that didn't mean he lacked heart, and if he could show the rest of the school just how much heart he really had. The girls of McKinley would be falling at his feet.

And so, Link had immediately headed to the cafeteria to track down an old friend from middle school.

"Joey, we're signing up for that glee club."

"Hi!"

The last student of the day, yet another tall white boy with rather dark brown hair, greeted Marley with a wide, toothy grin. He didn't look like an athlete like Tate, and wasn't as unkempt as Landon nor as pristine as Link. His hair was a bit messy, and he wore a dark shirt that had Captain America's shield printed on it and an unbuttoned red and white plaid flannel over it. If it weren't for his wide grin, that Marley couldn't help but return, he would have looked like the lead in a teen movie about a shy boy who's been in love with the prom queen since the third grade.

"My name is Joey," he said, still smiling, pulling the mic stand a little higher. Marley already knew that - he may have been Frankie, but judging by the heart over the 'i' in Frankie, Marley assumed she was a girl.

Joey immediately shook his head. "Actually, name's Joseph. Dooley. I just don't really like to be called Joseph. I-"

"Oh, it's-" Marley stopped herself, and then leaned over the desk, closer to the microphone. "It's okay. You may-"

"I didn't know if that was relevant," Joey said. "If you need my full name."

"It's not. It's not relevant."

Marley was a little curt, but she really couldn't tell, just by looking at him, whether he'd be any good or not. Actually, he looked like he might downright suck, and Marley was a little worried. What were the odds that all five of the kids who'd auditioned would be any good, especially when taking into consideration Tate's guitar skills and Halley's powerful belts? Marley didn't know, but Joey might have.

"Okay," Joey smiled widely again, and Marley felt a little guilty for wishing he'd hurry up and get to singing. "I was going to bring my guitar, but I forgot."

"It's okay."

"I didn't know there'd be a pianist here." Joey turned to Brad to say, "Hey."

Brad stared back blankly.

"I'm not great on the guitar anyway. I'm more of a drummer."

Marley smiled. "That's really great, Joey."

The boy grinned at her comment, and Marley didn't hesitate to ask, "What song have you prepared?"

"Oh, I wouldn't-" Joey shook his head vigorously, "I wouldn't say I prepared... that much."

"That's okay."

"But I want to sing This Town," Joey said surely, "by Niall Horan. He was in One Direction."

"I know him. I mean, I know of him."

"It's a really good song," Joey said, placing a hand on his chest. "I'd like to dedicate it to someone very special to me."

"Okay." Marley's tone had raised in pitch as she spoke the last syllable, making her response sound more like a question.

Brad began to play as soon as the last word escaped Marley's mouth. Joey glanced at the man briefly, taken aback, but began bouncing to the rhythm of the song. His energy level and earnest smile reminded Marley of a little puppy.

"Waking up to kiss you and nobody's there,
The smell of your perfume still stuck in the air,
It's hard,"

Joey's voice was a little nasal, but he definitely had talent. He was doing a lot more than merely carrying a tune; it seemed that he was pouring his all of his puppy-like energy into the slow song. If he hadn't been so blunt, Marley wouldn't have been able to tell that he didn't rehearse all that much.

"Yesterday I thought I saw your shadow running round,
It's funny how things never change in this old town,
So far from the stars,"

The solemn tone of the song didn't wipe the smile from Joey's face or keep him from dancing, bouncing from foot to foot, waving his hands and shimmying his shoulders.

There was something Marley had found very captivating when Joey performed - like Link who came before him, Joey was having bucketloads of fun.

"And I want to tell you everything
The words I never got to say the first time around
And I remember everything
From when we were the children playing in this fairground
Wish I was there with you now,"

Joey's voice gained in volume, and there was an incredibly smooth quality to it. He was not as refined as Halley or Link, or as rough as Landon, but instead meets them halfway. His voice jumped from note to note freely and landed naturally rather than with neat precision.

"If the whole world was watching I'd still dance with you,
Drive highways and byways to be there with you,
Over and over the only truth
Everything comes back to you."

Marley checked Joey Dooley's name off her list, letting out a breath of relief as Joey closed his eyes, smiled, and hummed the last line of the song.

Joey was not like Link.

It didn't take a rocket scientist, or someone half as smart as Joey himself, to figure this out. It seemed easy to be Link, to smile at a pretty girl, have her become putty in your hands, and to walk away like the exchange between you two had never happened.

But Joey's smart. Too smart. He didn't want easy. He wanted Halley Akerman, and he's wanted her since the second grade when she loaned him her purple pencil when nobody else had bothered to. Halley wore a PowerPuff Girls t-shirt that day, with only Blossom on it. Joey always liked Blossom the most.

Even when he looked at a fifteen-year-old Halley, he still saw the bossy and astute girl he'd fallen in love with all those years ago, wearing black-framed square glasses, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and wearing that Blossom t-shirt.

"It's Carl Jung's ideas on archetypes that really resonate with me," Joey explained to Halley and her twin brother Harvey after they'd taken their first Psychology class. "There are so many symbols that humans have taken the same meaning to over hundreds of years, and across cultures."

"It's interesting, yeah, and probably true," Harvey nodded, "but it's only good to know."

"Only good to know?" Joey demanded. He raised his voice, horrified. "Only good to know?! Nothing is only good to know, Harvey. I don't believe every piece of information has to have some sort of practical application – back me up here, Halley."

"No, I'm with Harvey on this," Halley said carelessly, staring down at a piece of paper she was clutching in her hands. "Empiricism over rationalism, always. If it's pointless, let's not talk about it."

"Well, empiricism is nothing without rationalism," argued Joey. He sure liked to argue sometimes, especially with Halley, because she always questioned his ideas and stood her ground. "You need logical understanding in order to come up with any functional gameplan. You can't find a cure for a disease without the years of research that had come before you."

"This feels like more of a philosophical conundrum," Harvey observed. "Idea versus execution."

"Yes, and the idea is nothing but an idea without empirical evidence to back it up and if nothing is done with it," Halley said with a sharp nod.

Joey let out a sigh. "We are just such an old married couple, aren't we?"

Both Halley and Harvey let out a groan.

"I had breakfast, like, an hour ago," Halley said with an eyeroll. "Do you need to start this so early in the day?"

Joey smiled and shrugged, and felt Harvey give him a smack up the back of his head.

As Joey rubbed his head, Halley waved the piece of paper in her hand and said, "Harvey, switch with me. I got OCD."

"I know that, Halston," Harvey said. "I can't do anything to change your genetics."

Halley rolled her eyes. "Come on. Switch with me. What have you got?"

Harvey looked down at the paper in his own hands. "Borderline Personality Disorder."

"That's awesome! You need to switch with me!" Halley tried to grab the piece of paper from Harvey, but he held it out of her reach. "Gimme!"

"No!"

"Halley, I've got-" Joey paused to shove his hand into his pocket and pull out a crumpled up piece of paper. He smoothed the paper out with his thumbs, and read the name of the mental disorder he was told to write a paper on aloud. "Intermittent Explosive Disorder."

Halley grabbed the paper from Joey's hands and shoved her own piece of paper, much smoother than his, into his hands. "Thanks!" She started down at the paper. "Intermittent Explosive Disorder. Awesome."

Joey didn't mind being stuck with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder to write about. He was just worried about all of the homework and assignments they were already made to do.

"A calculus test next week," he trailed, counting on his fingers, "a paper on an assigned mental illness, a paper on cytokines-"

"It's not a paper on cytokines," Halley said. Her tone reminded him of his Biology teacher's tone. "It's a paragraph on cytokines. How do you suppose we write a whole paper on cytokines, you ferret?"

"Oh, I wasn't really listening in class," Joey said. "Lucky for you, though. What would I do without you?"

"Ugh," Halley groaned, and walked away from Joey and Harvey.

"You know," Harvey said, slapping Joey on the shoulder, "I never would have become friends with you if I'd known you'd be this obsessed with my sister."

Joey couldn't imagine what his life would look like without having Halley to chase.

At lunch, Joey had been sitting at a table in a far corner of the cafeteria, with Harvey and Prateep Singh, another sophomore, and someone both boys knew from the AV club.

"They're pointless," Harvey argued, the spoon of pudding in his hand shaking as he talked. "The only good scenes with Ewoks in them are the ones where they die."

Joey gasped loudly.

"Are you kidding me?" Prateep asked, equally peeved and passionate. "Cute and harmless on the outside, but dangerous when it counts – what's not to love about Ewoks?"

Harvey swallowed a spoonful of chocolate pudding. "They're stupid. They look like Teddy bears. And they don't fit into the Star Wars universe at all."

"Different planets have different atmospheres, Harvey," Joey claimed. "They fit in perfectly in Endor."

"The bottom line is that Ewoks are awesome!" Prateep finished, earning an eyeroll from Harvey.

"So awesome!" echoed Joey.

"Joey, we're signing up for that glee club."

Joey, Harvey, and Prateep looked up to see Link Foster standing at one end of their table, facing Joey.

"Okay," Joey smiled, staring up at Link. "What's a glee club?"

"It's singing," Link explained. "Come on, let's go sign up. Auditions are tomorrow." He eyed Joey's empty lunch tray. "You've eaten. Let's do it now."

Joey began to stand up. "Okay-"

"I'm sorry, but we're having a pretty important conversation here, freshman," Prateep said.

Link furrowed his eyebrows. "You were yelling at each other about Ewoks." He returned his attention to Joey, and tilted his head towards to door. "Let's go."

"We'll finish this in class," Joey told Prateep.

He said goodbye to his friends, grabbed his backpack, and followed Link out of the cafeteria and into the hallway.

"I saw the sign-up sheet earlier," Link explained. "Halley's auditioning. It's the perfect opportunity for you to show you a whole other side of yourself."

"But you don't like Halley," Joey said. Link offered tried to get Joey to go on double dates with him and always told him that there were nicer girls out there than Halley. Then again, he did help Joey out when he wanted to.

"Of course not," Link said as the pair approached the bulletin board. "She's mean. It's like she doesn't have a brain-to-mouth filter."

"She's honest."

Link spotted the sign-up sheet for the glee club and immediately picked up the pen to write his name it. "She's always calling us weird names, like wombat or Twinkie."

"She's very creative."

"She's a steamroller."

Link handed the pen to Joey, who added his own name to the list. "She's ambitious."

"She's always correcting people, even teachers."

"She's really intelligent."

"She's selfish."

"Fiercely independent."

Link let out a sigh. "Nobody in this school likes her except for you and her brother, you know."

"Well, most people are of average intelligence," Joey argued. "That's why it's called average intelligence. Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Yeah," Link said, as the steered Joey away from the noticeboard. "Even though she's all of those things, I know you like her. And I think if you stopped trying so hard to impress her and just acted like your normal self, she might like you too."

"I know," Joey agreed. Halley was a lot more patient with him when he was debating or babbling. Whenever he complimented her or asked her out, she would roll her eyes, insult him, or walk away.

Joey, however, was shrewd enough to have noticed that she never said no. Anybody who knew Halley Akerman knew that she had no problem saying no.

"There aren't a lot of people in the glee club. There's no way in hell she won't notice you there. Plus, you'll get to be more than just her brother's annoying friend.

"Besides," the younger boy continued, "it's not only about Halley. Girls love guys who can sing and dance. If we join the glee club, can you imagine how the girls in this school would be all over us?"

"Oh, I don't want all the girls," Joey said, smiling and shaking his head.

"Just explore your options," urged Link. "Halley might like you eventually, but does this really mean you should sit around waiting for her?"

"I don't have to. It just makes more sense. Why would I want to go on a date with girls I don't even like?"

"For fun," Link said with a shrug. "There is a list of the kinds of girl every guy has to sleep with before he dies, you know."

"An official list?" Joey asked, skeptical. "Who determined this list?"

Link pointed a thumb towards his chest. "Me."

Joey laughed. "Okay, so what's on this list?"

"Plus-sized girl," Link began, his tone upbeat and singsong-y, "black girl – fun fact: the first time I had sex, I crossed both of those off the list. Then there's half black girl. Redhead girl. Girl who's taller than you. Girl who wears glasses during sex. Half Asian girl. And a Lebanese girl."

"Your list is arbitrary," Joey observed. "Half Asian, half what? And where exactly from Asia should her roots be from? And why Lebanese and not Syrian or Jordanian, or something else?"

"Because Lebanese girls are hot," Link grinned. "Like Mia Khalifa."

"Does she go to our school?"

"She's a porn star." Link shook his head. "You're getting bogged down with all the details."

"Well, not only is your list random, it's also highly improbable." The bell rang, and as the two boys headed down the same hallway to go to separate classes, Joey's voice trailed off. "For one, redheads are less than two percent of the world's population. The chances of meeting a redhead, or a Lebanese girl, and having her consent to sex with you are very low…"

It's Tuesday.

Liesel's horoscope had promised that big changes and grand adventures would come her way today. This was something she'd read before, time and time again, but despite the fact that no prediction seemed to deliver, Liesel can't seem to shake her trust in them. Her sisters call her gullible, but she fancies herself a believer.

She doesn't know what had compelled her to look at the noticeboard – the big one, covered in sign-up sheets, advertisements, and vandalism – but she's found herself staring at the board with great interest, her eyes darting from one side to the next every time she spotted something new that caught her eye. Perhaps she's looking for a new hobby, something to bring some excitement into her life.

The list of students who'd been accepted into the glee club had been pinned up yesterday, printed on a bright yellow sheet of paper. Across the top, in bold letters, 'The New Directions' is typed, with 'September 2019' just underneath it. There are five names listed, and beneath those names is a message: 'The New Directions needs your talent! Meetings are Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday at 4 p.m. Attendance at least once a week is compulsory.'

The message is almost dorky, Liesel thinks, and then it occurs to her that she's reading a poster, or something, for a glee club. If she's right about what the glee club is, then it sure sounds like fun. More specifically, singing and dancing seems like fun. Doing those things in front of people who were silently, and sometimes not so silently, judging you seems mortifying.

Liesel takes a closer look at the names on the sheet.

Halley Akerman

Gosh – Halley Akerman? Seeing Halley's name on that list makes Liesel want to join the club ASAP and stay the hell away from it at the same time.

Tate Burnett

Joseph Dooley

Lincoln Foster

Landon Holt

The only name Liesel recognizes besides Halley's is Joey Dooley's – she may have heard Tate Burnett's name before, probably from her sister Hanna – and Liesel is neither more nor less eager to join the club knowing Joey is in it. Her eyes are drawn back to Halley's name, and she once again, finds herself worrying about the judgment she'd be subjecting herself to by performing for an audience.

It'll be fun, but you might not be good enough, said that annoying voice in her head. You do love singing, and you're good at it, but can you imagine how many people would laugh at you if you sucked? You're a ginger – you don't need to be the girl who sings showtunes on top of that. Oh, but you'd be so good – this is the one thing you can actually do! Then again, would Halley be happy to see you?

It's pointless, Liesel decides, to stand here staring at that list, hoping that she would stop going in circles, and that an answer would just come to her. She'll go home and pick yes or no out of a hat. Or she'll forget about the glee club, which wouldn't be ideal, but it's certainly a lot better than standing around and basking in her own anxious indecision.

Liesel turns to head to her locker, and thud!

Liesel had seen red, and a large white number 6, before she bumped into the football player. She stumbled backwards, and looked up, feeling both guilty and scared.

"I'm so sorry," she says quickly, offering an apologetic smile – not that Liesel knows how to smile, speak or breathe in a way that was anything but apologetic.

"Watch it, Weasley," hisses the football player, a beefy blond named Chad Zinman. Chad walked off without giving Liesel a second glance.

Of all the people in this school who Liesel could have walked into, it had to be a big, scary-

Liesel's thoughts are interrupted. Of all the people who Liesel could have walked into, it had to be number 6.

Most people wouldn't think much of this. Some might say it feels like a sign. But to Liesel, nothing feels like a sign. It is a sign. It is the universe handing her the answer when she couldn't find it on her own, and who is Liesel Wagner to argue with the universe?

With that, five becomes six.

Songs featured:

Everything I Own by Bread – sung by Tate Burnett

Moonlight by Ariana Grande – sung by Halley Akerman

No Woman, No Cry by Bob Marley and the Wailers – sung by Landon Holt

Runaway Baby by Bruno Mars – sung by Link Foster

This Town by Niall Horan – sung by Joey Dooley

Question:

Were there any relationship dynamics that you enjoyed in particular, be it Halley/Frankie, Joey/Link, or five current members of the new New Directions? Are there any pairs or groups of characters that you'd be interested in seeing in the future?

Next chapter:

Solo

While the glee club struggles to find their groove, Marley experiences some trouble fitting in with her fellow staff members, especially when one of them happens to be a not-so-friendly face. When Frankie receives some bad news, she decides to make some much-needed changes in her life. Allison pushes her sister Emilia to join the glee club, but Emilia's new friends seem to be steering her in a different direction.