A/N: I want to start by once again thanking everyone who have read, reviewed, followed and favorited this story. I really appreciate it. To the reviewers: while I would love to respond to each one, I have learned in the past that I tend to over-share, and sometimes slip and tell where the story is going before I can censor myself, so I try to avoid that. But if you leave a question, I am unable to ignore a question (as long as it's not personal).
Without further ado.
It was a nice day, for February: the wind was crisp but not bitter, hardly any snowfall, and bright but not oppressive sunshine.
However, she was spending the lovely day indoors at an audition that Jesse hadn't even bothered to show up for, leaving her worried about her song selection and subsequent performance, but she supposed she'd had it coming, since she had hung up on him yesterday.
She had sent Jesse several text messages since hanging up on him, but he hadn't responded to any of them. Which she supposed she maybe deserved, she had hung up on him, despite the fact that he'd repeatedly warned her how he felt about the topic at hand and how he would likely react but she'd kept talking anyway.
It didn't make it easier, going into the audition process without his guidance and advice. Sure, she had gone through many auditions before without Jesse St. James, but he had been pointing out her strengths, as well as flaws in her performances, and seemed to know more than she did about song choices in a professional setting, and she really could have used his input.
Instead she'd had to go through dance auditions - thankfully rather basic, she had a feeling the casting committee were more concerned with ability to learn choreography than level of talent - and the long wait for the singing part on her own.
Well, his loss. She had been awesome.
"Miss Rachel Berry?" the dark-haired man in the center of the casting table asked out loud.
"Yes." Rachel nodded, smiling brightly even as she caught her breath after singing her heart out, waiting for his feedback.
"Thanks for coming."
What?
Rachel took a beat, and stared dumbly at the table, its occupants already discussing among themselves, ignoring her. She quickly turned on her heel, left the stage, and picked up her bag en route to the door leading back to the hallway.
So easily dismissed. What I Did For Love should never be so easily dismissed; which meant it was her performance that hadn't impressed the casting group.
She kept her head down as she made her way to the door to get out of the auditorium; she was eager to get out of the building and get home where she could sulk (cry) in peace. Or, more likely, since she didn't have boundaries and neither did any of her roommates, in relative privacy. Or at least in her own space.
She was startled and jumped - there might have been a small shriek - when she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders just as she reached the doors.
"You were great." Jesse assured her, holding her close.
"Not good enough." Rachel mumbled. She could start to question him on where the hell he had been and why was he only now informing her of his presence, but she was just so relieved that he was present to comfort her that she set that discussion aside for now.
"Rachel Berry not being good enough." Jesse commented dryly. "That'll be the day." He pushed the doors open and they walked out. "You were great. I promise."
"They told me to leave!" Rachel exclaimed.
"They told everyone the same thing." Jesse replied. He gave her a studying glance. "You never used to be so pessimistic."
"I never choked in an audition before." Rachel muttered.
Jesse narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't say anything.
"Miss Berry." A feminine voice said from behind them, and both Rachel and Jesse turned to face an older woman just emerging from the doors they had just walked out of. She smiled at Rachel. "A word, Miss Berry."
Rachel glanced at Jesse, who merely smiled at her as he lifted his arm from her shoulders. Without another word, she followed the woman to another door in the hallway, into a small and cramped office.
Inside, the woman leaned against the front of a messy desk, and smiled at Rachel, who had no option but to remain standing by the door. "I wasn't able to introduce myself earlier. I'm Paula, by the way."
Rachel hesitantly shook the offered hand. "Hi, Paula."
Paula smiled at her. "How was your audition?"
Trick question, since Rachel recognized her as the woman at the rightmost seat at the casting table earlier. "Could have been better, I suppose."
Paula chuckled. "Understandable."
Rachel frowned, not quite sure what the woman intended with this talk.
"Well, you're not what we're looking for."
Way to be blunt, lady. Rachel's frown deepened at the statement. She'd already gathered as much from the 'thanks for coming' she'd gotten earlier. See: planned sulking (crying).
"But you're very talented." Paula continued. "But there's certainly room for improvement in regards to what you can bring to the table."
Room for improvement. Everywhere she turned she only faced rooms for improvement. Rachel remained silent, but nodded solemnly.
"We have notes, if you have some time."
Rachel nodded, not sure what else she could say.
Paula glanced down at her notes. "How old are you, by the way?"
"I'm eighteen."
"Student? Working?"
"I'm studying at NYADA." Rachel answered honestly.
Paula glanced up at her. "NYADA."
Rachel nodded.
Paula shook her head, and Rachel was relieved to note there was a small amount of amusement on the other woman. "That's good. Well, our choreographer had notes - a lot of notes, actually - about your dancing."
Rachel looked down, since she already knew that dance was the weakest part in her performing abilities. She'd known it since she'd had to take second place in ballet at the age of ten, and had been repeatedly been reminded every time she'd had to concede dancing lead to Brittany, Santana, Quinn or even Tina in Glee Club. Having Cassandra July nag her into submission just beat that fact into her.
"He said you have commendable coordination, and remarkably light of foot," Paula read the notes she had been given earlier. "You're technically flawless and overall graceful, but you lack natural rhythm when performing planned choreography."
What did that even mean. Rachel was confused, and was sure it showed on her face and disposition.
"You count in your head when doing choreography," Paula explained. "It doesn't seem like natural movement for you."
Oh.
"You learn quickly, though, that's always an advantage." Paula added. "You just need to learn to let it flow more naturally."
Rachel looked up, and nodded. "I understand."
"Now, about your singing..."
Something was wrong with her singing?!
"Broadway classics are always nice, and What I Did For Love is a nice song." Paula acknowledged. She paused, then, as if she became more cautious with her choice of words and didn't want to cut a career short by a wrong selection of words. "But the choice... and your performance, honestly... they were a little... overwrought."
Overwrought?
"You have a nice voice. Nobody can argue with that. But your facial expression makes you look like you're in a considerable amount of pain, and honestly, the tears were too much." Paula admitted. "We appreciated the emotional gravitas, your emotional accessibility to such a powerful song, but it was too much. It's a sad song, but you need your voice to sell it. Tears make it feel like emotional blackmail."
But she cried in plenty (all) of her solos. She wanted to protest, but instead she nodded. "I see."
"It's nothing of the make-or-break level, but you're going to have to be more cautious of how you and your performances come off to an audience," Paula continued. "And please start being more aware of what you sing at an audition; we sit through countless of auditions and the last thing you want is to come off as just another cookie-cutter bright-eyed wannabe ingénue who can sing Broadway."
Rachel felt the words of protest die on her tongue, because she knew - had always known - she was destined for success, but her entire existence in Lima had been that she was a bright-eyed ingénue who can sing Broadway.
Paula looked at Rachel sternly. "You're very talented. But there are plenty of talented people in New York City. What we want to see is a performance that will make you stand out, and make us want to pay attention."
Rachel looked up at her. "What am I supposed to do?"
"You can start by paying more attention to the character sheet and the requirements on the audition announcement, because the only reason our choreographer let you through was because he thought you were too adorable for words - his words. The second part is to try building up a wider selection of audition pieces: both songs and monologues, because you want to stand out, not fall in line with everyone else. I mean," Paula laughed derisively, "you don't sing I Feel Pretty at an audition for West Side Story. That just asking to be kicked out."
Rachel began to truly understand why Juilliard and Tisch didn't allow their freshmen to go to professional auditions: if it wasn't for the repeated statement that she was talented, this would have been a really disheartening review.
Paula reached behind her and after she set aside several pieces of paper, she retrieved a calling card, and began to write down something at the back. "This is my email address, I want you to send me a copy of your CV as soon as possible, I think there's a summer program I can get you into." She handed the card to Rachel. "That's our website address, I want you to sign up for the newsletter, so you'll know when we have a casting call."
Rachel stared down at the card, stunned, since she hadn't gotten this much feedback during her failed audition for The Glass Menagerie last semester. She looked up. "Really?"
"Yes, really." Paula nodded. "We cast for a lot of shows, and you may not be right for this one, and I don't think you're really ready at the moment, but you have potential, Rachel Berry. I'd really rather not be one of those 12 publishers who said no to Harry Potter."
Oh. Rachel was still smiling when she was once again faced with Jesse St. James.
"Good feedback?" Jesse guessed as he looked up and closed the thick book he had been reading while he waited.
Rachel's smile faded into a puzzled frown. She didn't even know Jesse read anything that didn't come in script form. "What are you reading?"
"Doesn't matter." Jesse shook his head, putting his book into his bag. "Well? What did she say?"
Rachel beamed. "She compared me to Harry Potter!"
Jesse blinked. What?
She could read blank expressions pretty well (she had dated Finn Hudson on and off for three years), and she hastened to explain, which she did in excruciating detail. She explained - and analyzed - every word the casting assistant had told her and related it all to Jesse all the way to a nearby pizzeria, which Jesse had led her to while she had talked.
At the end of it all, she looked up to Jesse, who only smiled. She paused, and smiled hesitantly. "What?"
He shook his head, still smiling. "So you're Harry Potter now." Without further elaboration, he reached over and handed her a sheet of paper. "Here's the menu. Since you're apparently not vegan anymore, you should at least get to eat pizza properly."
"Kurt and I call for pizza all the time." Rachel protested, momentarily distracted because, well, he was talking about food and she was hungry: she'd only had a light salad for lunch prior to the auditions, and that was hours ago.
Jesse shook his head in amusement. "You're in New York and you're eating Domino's. That's just wrong."
Rachel lowered her gaze down to the menu, dampening down her disappointment that Jesse didn't have any opinions on what the casting agent had told her. Although she was admittedly used to it: she talked a lot, sometimes beyond the listening attention of the people around her, and definitely beyond the comprehension of a certain tall ex-quarterback ex-boyfriend.
Jesse grinned. "Well?"
"I don't know." Rachel admitted, scanning the menu. Almost everything sounded enticing.
"I'll order something I think you'll like," Jesse nodded. He dug into his bag, and handed her a book. "This is for you." He got up, and headed to the counter to place an order.
Rachel glanced down, and smiled at the cover of Patti LuPone: A Memoir. A book she already had, but the fact that Jesse, who had stronger ties to Bernadette Peters (by way of Stephen Sondheim), would even hold such a book meant a lot to her. She grinned, and idly opened the book to the front page.
She might have squealed a little.
It was a signed copy - okay, it was personalized to someone named Andy, but it was signed - and Rachel giggled as she traced the signature with her fingers. She looked up when Jesse returned with a number and a tray of lemonade. He laughed softly when he noticed she was tracing the signature on the page. "I take it you accept my peace offering?"
"No." Rachel shut the book and glared at him. "Where were you this afternoon?"
"I was waiting for your audition," Jesse answered honestly.
"I was worried! I was nervous, and tense, and you weren't there!" Rachel pointed at him accusingly.
"It was a closed audition, do you know how early I had to be there just so that I could sneak in and sit in that unreasonably cold auditorium?" Jesse retorted. He took a sip of his lemonade. "Besides, that was one of my points about today: you can only depend on yourself when you go into these things. I wanted to see what song you would pick and how you'd do."
Rachel shook her head. "I needed you! I couldn't talk to Kurt, or Santana, or Brody because they would have questions and I couldn't bring them, and the only person I could talk to was you and you.. weren't... there!"
Jesse winced at the unnatural pitch that had gotten into Rachel's voice, but he recovered. "And you did pretty well, right? I mean, you said yourself that what's-her-face told you you had real potential and just needed to work on some things, particularly your audition pieces. And you did that. You. Nobody told you what to sing, what to do, or how to act. That was just you."
Rachel insisted on pouting petulantly.
"So, clearly, you didn't 'need' me. Or anyone, as it turns out." Jesse shrugged.
"You didn't know that." Rachel insisted.
"No," Jesse conceded. "But I know you. And Rachel Berry is a talent worth noting."
Rachel blushed, still not used to someone else having such confidence in her talent.
Jesse tilted his head, his eyes dancing with the boyish charm that she hadn't been able to say no to years ago. "Do you like my peace offering?"
"It's personalized for someone else." Rachel pouted.
"But it's signed!" Jesse pointed out.
"I have a signed napkin." Rachel countered.
Jesse paused, and grabbed the book. "Well, if you don't want it..."
"No!" Rachel grabbed the book back, but Jesse refused to relinquish his hold. "I want it."
"Are you sure, because I would hate it to go to someone who says one thing but turns around and actually doesn't really mean it for, what was it? A signed napkin."
"No. I like it. Signed book, hooray!" Rachel said urgently, with exaggerated enthusiasm.
"But you keep on making ridiculous protests." Jesse argued.
"I want it." Rachel insisted.
Their gazes met in a silent match of wills, before Jesse's lips turned up into a small smile. He released the book. "Well, it's not like I was going to keep it or give it to anyone else, anyway."
Rachel brushed off imaginary dust from the cover, smiling and preening at him. "Thank you, Jesse."
Jesse laughed, shaking his head, before he glanced down at the book on the table between them. "I wanted to give you something, for being pretty rude on the phone yesterday. I found the topic offensive and sensitive, but I didn't have to ignore your messages." He smiled wryly. "All fifteen of them."
"I'm sorry about yesterday," Rachel said softly.
Jesse glanced up at her, silently gauging the sincerity of her statement.
"I just... New Directions mean a lot to me. Some of them are my friends, and Glee Club helped me get to where I am now. I feel bad that maybe because they lost Sectionals some of them won't get the same opportunities I did."
Jesse's gaze went from calculating to sympathetic. He leaned forward, hands clasped, resting his elbows on the table. "Operative word being helped."
Rachel frowned. "I don't understand."
"You've been collecting awards and trophies in song and dance your whole life, Rachel. You would have gotten to New York, regardless of your glee club. Maybe Carmen Tibideaux only accepted you because of your performance at Nationals, but anyone who's seen any of your MySpace videos can tell you're very talented. You were well on your way to any performing arts conservatory." Jesse reminded. "You didn't - and don't - owe your glee club anything."
"I understand that. I do. But as I said, they're my friends. And they're going to need some guidance on what to do now: Now that they won't be going to Regionals, or Nationals."
"There are show choir invitationals going on all the time." Jesse shrugged. "Aural Intensity host one every year for all the teams that Vocal Adrenaline defeats en route to Nationals. Scouts go to that since it's not their fault they keep losing to my supremacy."
"Really?"
Jesse nodded.
"New Directions never got invited."
Jesse laughed. "Because they hate your guts."
Rachel gasped, affronted. "What!"
Jesse nodded matter-of-factly. "They do. Why invite a team with a powerhouse lead vocal and be defeated on their own turf?"
"That's... that's horrible!" Rachel declared.
Jesse shrugged. "I don't choose these things."
Rachel laughed. "Santana would say she's just keeping it real."
Jesse grinned. "Then I'm just keeping it real."
They both took a beat to let that sink in, and frowned accordingly.
"I'm never saying that again." Jesse decided.
"I know! Please, don't." Rachel agreed.
Before either of them could say anything more, their number was called. Jesse stood up when Rachel made no indication to do so. "You're so lucky I like you..." He muttered, turning to the counter to get their food.
Rachel grinned, and stashed her loot away into her bag. She waited until Jesse returned with their pizza slices.
"It's an eight-cheese," Jesse explained, setting the tray down. "I don't know how long you've been non-vegan, and I don't know what meats you eat, but if you're going to compromise the animals, we'll start with their milk."
It looked like goo. Rachel looked dubious, but cheese was cheese and one of the reasons why she couldn't just go back to being vegan, so she took a tentative bite.
Her first "real" New York pizza was undeniably better than Domino's, she could admit that much.
Jesse took a bite of his own slice, and chewed.
Rachel regarded him thoughtfully, and unable to control herself, blurted out: "Did you set that up?"
His chewing slowed until he swallowed and frowned at her. "Excuse me?"
"Did you set that up?" Rachel repeated. "The audition. I know you've been insistent on my gaining more independence and this sets that lesson up perfectly. And I would know what a set up looks like, my dads like to set up my life lessons in ways not unlike this."
Jesse chuckled, having previously encountered the Berry men and their immeasurable enthusiasm for their daughter. "No."
"No?"
"I wish I could, but I don't exactly have a bevy of casting agents or directors at my beck and call." Jesse admitted. "But I admit I'm flattered that you think I could set that whole thing up just to teach you a lesson."
"So you didn't..."
Jesse shook his head.
"Oh." Rachel leaned back. "Huh."
Jesse looked at her with pensive concern. "Are you OK?"
Rachel nodded. "I am. I just... I'm glad she was nice, because she said some not-very-nice things."
"I know." Jesse smiled at her with sympathy. He knew that some casting directors were blunt and just plain rude as if making candidates cry was part of their job description, and he had picked this casting agency because of their past productions and the positive feedback he'd heard about their approach to the casting process. He focused on the issue at hand. "What are you going to do with your dancing, Miss Twinkle Toes '02?"
Rachel paused, and began to giggle. "I can't believe you remember that."
"You meet a girl who won her first dancing competition at three months and their first singing competition five months later, you don't have a choice but to pay attention." Jesse imparted easily. He grinned at her. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"What are you going to do about your dancing?" Jesse asked. "I mean, I'm no expert, but being told I dance like I'm counting in my head requires a certain amount of improvement and practice."
Rachel conceded that point. And paused as what he said registered. "That's... exactly what she said."
"I know. You told me." Jesse took a sip from his drink.
"No. I mean..." Rachel stared at him. "That's what she said. And you quoted it back to me."
"I know." Jesse reiterated, frowning at her, the bewildered look on his face expressing just how confused he was by her questioning.
Rachel grinned widely at him, pleased that he remembered, that he had actually listened. Brody tried, bless him, but he got distracted easily. And Finn... well, she was lucky if he paid attention at all, since she learned early on he tended to tune out five minutes into a conversation not revolving around him.
Jesse had asked a question. Focus. It was about dancing...?
"There's a girl in one of my classes who's really good. She's a sophomore, I think? Maybe I'll ask her for help."
Jesse tilted his head to the side. "And she's good?"
Rachel nodded. "Cassie July likes her."
"And that matters?" Jesse questioned. "You hated her."
"Yeah, she was horrible to me," Rachel demurred. "But she knew her dancing, and she really liked Claire."
"You think she'll help you?" Jesse asked.
Rachel shrugged. "Won't hurt to ask."
"You had to outsource your vocal practice," Jesse reminded.
Rachel smiled. "Yeah, but she's a dancer. She's not exactly competition."
Jesse conceded that point. "Very well." He didn't bother to mention that her supposed boyfriend was a dancer, too.
"And I've thought about what you said, about my goals from our lessons."
Jesse looked at her interestedly. "Really."
Rachel nodded and grinned at him. "I want to sing Bohemian Rhapsody."
Jesse's smile froze, because... well. That's a turn.
Rachel's eyes sparkled with mischief and her grin grew wider at his stunned expression. "Twist!"