"Is there something that you want?"
Half an hour had passed since the girl had gotten punched, and likewise half an hour had passed since he was due at glee club, but Puck felt compelled to stay with her. He didn't really know why – she wasn't hot enough to make trying to get into her pants worth it, especially not with that monster attitude she had. But he hadn't been able to get the sound of her violin out of his head ever since he first heard it. He tried jamming out on his guitar, he tried talking to Brittany, he even tried putting a pillow over his head, but nothing worked. It just wouldn't leave. He needed to know more about her.
She was lying on the cot, propped up by a couple pillows that he knew felt like corrugated cardboard, her right ankle wrapped inexpertly in an Ace bandage. The looks she was currently giving him suggested that her ankle was probably the only reason why she wasn't currently kicking the crap out of him for sticking around.
"I…"
He wracked his brains for something to say.
"Your parents going to be here soon?" he finally asked lamely.
"Unlikely," she answered huffily, rolling her eyes. "They'll probably expect me to walk home."
Puck grimaced.
"That's rough," he said, sitting down on the edge of the cot. The only other chair in the office was Mrs. Blumenthal malfunctioning rotating one, and while he normally would have relished the thought of the quiet rebellion that was sitting in a teacher's chair while the teacher was out of the room, it would probably break as soon as he sat down and totally ruin any first impression he was making with the girl. Not that he had much of one now that he had tried to punch this kid's lights out in front of her, but maybe this girl didn't know about Puckasaurus. At any rate, he sure as hell wasn't going to sit on the floor.
"Hey," he said, a thought coming to him. "What's your name?" He couldn't believe he'd gone this entire time without even bothering to ask.
She actually warmed a little at that. Well, sort of. She didn't up the ante on her glare again, so that must have been a good sign.
"Avery," she said. "Avery St. John. Yourself?"
"Noah Puckerman," he answered. "But everyone calls me Puck."
And then the most remarkable thing happened: she smiled. She was one of those girls who tended to smile with her entire face, teeth and eyes and everything. Puck noticed she had awkwardly small teeth.
"Puck?" she inquired, looking genuinely interested. "Like the Shakespearean fairy?"
Puck frowned, not knowing quite how to respond.
"No…" he answered slowly, furrowing his brow. "Like my last name."
Her eyes were all wide and earnest now. It was kind of freaking him out.
"Are you not familiar with the characterization of A Midsummer Night's Dream?" she asked, all prim and inquisitive.
Puck snorted a little.
"That sounds like an English teacher question," he said, rolling his eyes.
"Only if you hadn't read the book," she said, smirking a little. He noticed she was actually kind of pretty when she smiled – it was a pity she didn't do it too often. Her cheeks were so round and rosy, her eyes so dark and rich; it was a lot to take in. He was so used to Quinn and Santana's diminutive button noses, Brittany and Tina's small, plain eyes, that Avery's strong features seemed to him like they were carved deeply into marble and stained with saturated hues. She looked like a painting to him. He figured most artists would want to find something interesting to paint – you know, a big nose or a lopsided mouth or something. Something to make the painting stand out. That's what Avery looked like; one of those paintings.
"Say," he said, a thought coming to him. "What dirt do you have on that overgrown gorilla?"
"Beg pardon?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"You know," said Puck, dropping his voice a little. "Azimio was practically tripping over his feet he was so excited to knock you out. But I've never seen anyone chicken out so fast." Puck knew he was onto something, because she started looking real uncomfortable. She had been pretty good at hiding whatever she was thinking for a while there. I mean, she was still kind of looking at him like she thought he was made out of dirt, although he was certain that saving her from Azimio gained him a few points in her favor. And she told an outright lie to Ms. Blumenthal without batting an eye. But now she started to look pretty uneasy. She drew back and didn't answer.
"Come on," he said, putting on his famous smirk in a latch-ditch attempt to make her warm to him. It didn't really work. "You can tell me! I won't tell anyone. Promise." He wasn't entirely sure why he was working so hard to make her open up. He had already established that trying to get into her pants just wasn't worth it, and she was turning out to be a right pain in the ass to boot, if a strangely sneaky-hot one at that. But he knew he couldn't simply pass up such a bad-ass just because she looked at him like he was made of slugs. If he could convince her to join glee club long enough to play some crazy and impressive violin solo in the middle of one of their songs, Nationals would be in the bag. No other team would have a violinist. She was so good she could probably win the entire thing by herself, he just knew it.
"If you must know," she said slowly, re-crossing her arms defensively over her chest, "he's paying me to do his homework for him."
Puck felt like he should have been knocked as flat as a pancake out of shock or something, but to be honest, he really wasn't surprised. She had always struck him as one of those gifted-and-talented chicks who gets straight-A's in all of her AP courses and is a star member of the debate team or the Mathletes or something. You know, a Hermione Granger type. Maybe that's why she was so mean to him and Azimio. Stupid people must piss her off.
"Gee," he said. "And he tried to break your face over it? How much is he paying you?"
"That's none of your concern," she said icily. "He's not skimping any of his payments, if that's what you're wondering."
"No, not at all," he said hastily. He had been doing so well at keeping her cordial. "I'm just wondering… why do you do it?"
She looked like she was about to open her mouth and say something when there was a knock at the door. Ms. Blumenthal eased the door open a crack.
"Avery, dear? Your father is here to bring you home."
"Excellent, finally," she breathed, tossing her legs over the side of the cot. She eased herself up gingerly and, balancing her weight on her right leg, hopped over to the door where she could grab Ms. Blumenthal's stooped shoulder for support. But then she hesitated, looking over at him.
"Take it easy, fairy. Thanks for the sympathy."
And with a final hop and a smirk, she was gone.
