Holy shit, this place is huge.

So, he had been really late to glee club. Like, really late. Like, Berry-was-already-halfway-through-her-speech late. She gave him this look as he tried to slouch in surreptitiously, like this how-dare-you-not-wait-for-the-applause-to-walk-in look. He almost threw his backpack to the ground and screamed, "Why is everyone so obsessed with looking at me like I'm a cockroach or something today?" But then he saw Mr. Schue get that confused look he gets when he's onto something, so he ran and grabbed a seat behind Finn, who, even on the riser below him, should have been tall enough to hide him or a least shield him from the blast, if it hadn't been for the fact that Mr. Schue already saw him come in. The only flaw in an otherwise-perfect plan, of course. Mr. Schue even made Berry stop talking so he could interrogate him about his whereabouts, which sure ruffled her feathers, but Finn got up and grabbed her hand and pulled her back to their seats, which placated her a little bit. Then he had to tell this great big whopping lie about how he stubbed his toe chasing down Azimio after he nailed Kurt with the slushie and had to crawl to the nurse's office on his right elbow for a Band-Aid and some antiseptic. Blaine and Brittany didn't look too satisfied with the story, but he just had to trust that when Kurt and Santana got back from the bathroom, they wouldn't care enough about the Avery incident to mention it. Avery was his little secret. But he couldn't count on how long it would stay that way.

So here he was, on a perfectly good Sunday evening, at some overgrown auditorium, to try to find Avery and convince her to join glee club. In any other circumstance, it would have been completely ridiculous, but Avery was worth it. Her talent was worth it. He couldn't wait to see the looks on everyone's faces when they see what she can do. They'd owe him for years.

The place really was humongous, though. There were a bunch of marble statues of buff, naked people lining the walls of the balcony, and the ceiling was big and domed and made out of what was definitely solid gold. He was really proud of himself for finding it, too. He figured that since Avery wasn't in the glee band, she must be in some group outside school, because what else is there to do, really? First he tried Googling her name, but it only came up with a bunch of classical competition's she'd apparently won or placed in (which he had to admit was pretty impressive, seeing her name listed next to all these Asians and Russians under some official heading with the word "international" in the title). It made winning Regionals seem a little insignificant. But then he had a stroke of genius. He clicked on one of her headshots, scrolled down the page, and read her bio. The last time he read was when he was trying to help Artie comb through the Show Choir Rule Book to figure out how to get Sebastian on something good, and he was quite proud of himself for remembering reading as a possibility. And after a long list of teachers and awards and competitions, right at the bottom of the page, it said, "Miss St. John has been a member of the Cincinnati Youth Orchestra since 2006."

And he actually did it. He actually got in his car and drove two hours to Cincinnati just to find this girl and hope she wasn't sick or something and missed her rehearsal. He almost turned around and went back when he remembered that she broke her ankle, but then he realized that you didn't really need ankles (or legs, for that matter) to play violin and kept on driving. It was a good thing he brought along his Zeppelin CDs and cell phone so he could sext the Cheerios he had on speed dial, because otherwise he probably would have fallen asleep on the long drive to Cincinnati.

So anyway, when he was done gaping like a goldfish at the size of the place, he realized that there was an orchestra on the stage. And they were playing. And they were pretty damn good. He scanned the front row of violins for Avery, and sure enough, there she was, sitting right behind the first chair and sawing away like a madwoman.

Well, actually, everyone was sawing away. They were all pretty much rocking out. Really. It couldn't have been classical. It was just too cool. Loud and exhilarating and… damn. It sounded pretty hard.

He took a seat in the shadow underneath the balcony, put his feet up on the seat in front of him, and closed his eyes.

Tap, tap, tap.

"First violins! What dynamic do you have printed 10 measures before rehearsal C?"

"Fortissimo, maestro."

"Well, then, play it fortissimo! I want it to sound like you're running behind a bulldozer, and the bulldozer is catching up! With urgency! Come on, first violins at rehearsal B!"

They played it again and Puck could have sworn there was a bulldozer chasing him, too.

Tap, tap, tap.

"No, no, no, first violins! More! And watch the intonation on that arpeggio! Again!"

They played it again, even more flawlessly than the time before. Puck had to catch his breath.

Tap, tap, tap.

"Firsts, please concentrate on the center of your tone there. I want it like, BAM! Like a wind tunnel. Again!"

They played it a third time, and this time Puck almost fell out of his seat from the force of the wind.

Tap, tap, tap.

"All right, that'll do. That's enough for tonight. Everyone, go home and practice your parts. I don't want to hear any negative reports from your sectional coaches next week. Clarinets, I expect the passage before the recap to be better in tune next Sunday. Cellos, sort out your fingerings and bowings for next rehearsal. Same goes for you, violas. And percussion, don't forget to make those new mallets. Good work, everyone. You can go ahead and pack up."

There was a great rustling of coats and banging of chairs. Puck opened his eyes and jumped up. Avery was already zipping up her violin case with half an arm through the sleeve of her navy peacoat. In his haste to squeeze out of the row of seats, he banged his knee on the arm of a chair. Wincing, he limped quickly down the aisle just as Avery leaped down from the stage, her violin case strapped across her back.

"Avery!"

She started and looked up. Her nose wrinkled and she squinted, looking around for the person who had called her name.

"Avery, over here! It's me!" Puck vaulted over the rows of seats until he was standing right in front of her. She looked him dead in the face, and her expression of confusion morphed quickly to recognition and then suspicion.

"It's you," she said, frowning. "Puck, right? The fairy?"

Puck decided it would be better not to argue with her.

"Yeah," he said. "That's me."

"What are you doing here?" she asked. She didn't look angry, but pleasantly surprised and possibly even flattered. Puck's spirits rose a little; she was already in a good mood. Maybe he had just caught her on a bad day the day he saved her from Azimio and took her to the nurse's office.

"I, uh, I found it on the internet," he said, almost defensively. "It said in one of your competition bios that you were in this orchestra, and then it said that it rehearsed here on Sundays from 4 to 8, so… I, uh, I came because I wanted to ask you something," he finished lamely.

She laughed a little at that, blinking in disbelief.

"You drove all the way to Cincinnati just to ask me a question?"

"Well, I mean, it's a pretty important question," he said, trying not to seem stupid.

"Well," she said slowly, digging underneath her coat to unearth a little clock pendant on a leather cord and regarding it worriedly. "I've got a bus to catch in five minutes if I want to make it back to Lima by midnight."

"Hey, no worries, I can give you a ride. We can talk in the car," he said, perking up at that. Two hours in a car with the suave Puckasaurus? She'd be eating out of his hand by the time they got back to Lima.

She eyed him skeptically.

"Are you a safe driver?" she asked.

"The safest," he responded, making a mental note to turn off his cell phone.

She chewed her lip, weighing her options.

"All right," she capitulated. "Might as well. But if you bring me to a crackhouse or sell me to a brothel, you're going to have to answer to my father."