Hey everyone! Sorry for the biggest delay ever. It's been almost five months since my last update and I know that I left you guys with a huge cliffhanger. I'm finally a high school graduate and I'm going to a great school in New Jersey in September. The story is sadly almost coming to an end. There are only two chapters left. As always, thanks to everyone who has reviewed my story. Your support has been the greatest motivation. Continue to show your support with this chapter. It's not my best chapter, but it's adequate enough. Sorry in advance for any spelling mistakes. Its 2 AM and I'm dead tired!

Ten

Streets of Broadway

TriBeCa

Mercedes was officially lost. After leaving her ex-crush Sam at Billy's Delicatessen in an angry huff, she walked aimlessly down Broadway for what seemed like forever. She was surrounded by street lights, throngs of people, and unfamiliar signs for streets that she had never heard of. It was approaching five in the morning and she needed to find Rachel fast, but had no idea where to start. Sam was her tour guide for New York and the key to finding Rachel and being able to go home. Yet now that she was sure she was never going to talk to him again, she was stuck looking for her roommate by herself. She could ask around for directions, but was sure that the majority of people wouldn't even know who the Cosmic Slices were and what the secret show even was. Normal people would look at her as if she were some crazy college girl hocked up on cocaine. And even if someone knew who the Slices were, which would probably be some hipster, they would treat her like some outsider like those hipster twats at Arlene's did. She was sure Mr. Shue would've known that they were gone by now. She already knew that she was in so much trouble and would possibly get expelled if Mr. Shue knew all the gruesome details of her night in New York. She was running out of time and the anxiety was slowly gnawing away at her.

She kept walking straight, afraid of turning down the wrong street and into some dark alley where serial killers and prostitutes lurked in at night. She tried to walk with crowds and walked with pseudo confidence so that people couldn't tell that she was lost, but that proved to be a challenge. Her head was still spinning and she was swallowing her cries and blinking away tears that were stinging the backs of her eyeballs over her painful heartbreak at the hands of Sam. She was destined to be alone. Shane ruined her pristine reputation with lies while Sam took half of her virginity and dropped her like a bad habit within an hour. It kind of felt weird not having Sam pulling her close to keep her warm or lacing his cold fingers through hers. She already missed his corny, crude jokes and his sonorous laugh that made her smile inwardly. She was comfortable around him, although they only met about seven hours prior. She liked him a lot and it felt as if they had known each other for ages. It was just her luck that Sam the Sex God had ruthlessly used her and already had a much more beautiful girl on his arm. Sam's rejection hurt way worse than Shane's blatant lies and that was because she had given him something so precious, half of her virginity.

Mercedes wanted to punch herself at the sight of Sam's supposed girlfriend Quinn the stalker. She was absolutely gorgeous with perfect strawberry blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a supermodel figure that seemed impossible to attain. Mercedes looked like an oversized troll doll with a bad weave and caked makeup compared to her. Sam and Quinn made a better looking couple, although they seemed like they fought constantly. They looked like the All-American couple, almost a ringer for Ken and Barbie.

Without Sam, Mercedes had no clues as to where to find the secret show. He was the one who knew everything about Finn Hudson and the Cosmic Slices; he even went to school with Finn and knew so much about him that he could produce a biopic movie of his life. He was the one with the overactive Facebook newsfeed with abundant clues to spare and she knew that she should've added him earlier that night when she had the chance. It could take her hours, even days before she'd be able to find the show. However, by then, Rachel and the Cosmic Slices would've been long gone. There were thousands of venues and millions of people in New York City and the odds were definitely not in her favor.

There was a part of her that wanted to go back to Billy's and patch things up with Sam just so that he could help her find Rachel. She knew she needed him more than ever. Yet, the headstrong and stubborn part of her refused to crawl back to Sam after what he did to her, even if that meant staying lost in Manhattan for many hours to come.

Mercedes approached a stop light and waited for the light to turn red. She watched absentmindedly as the cars zoomed down Broadway with a few jaywalkers in the middle of the street. Without Sam as her main source for heat, she was freezing in just her thin yellow blazer. She was shifting her weight from foot to foot, not caring that she was creasing the tops of her beloved blue and orange Nikes. The light finally turned red and the cars came to a sudden halt. She was about to cross, when two girls walked right past her from the opposite direction. She wouldn't have noticed them, except they were laughing so obnoxiously loud that Mercedes couldn't help but want to know what was so funny.

Mercedes sneaked a peek at the girls and immediately rolled her eyes. From the way they were dressed in a mix between bohemian and indie, and the fact that they were drinking lattes from Starbucks, they were definitely hipsters.

She grimaced at the sight of their matching geek glasses and brightly colored skinny jeans. They were hipster wannabes, Mercedes was sure of it. They practically screamed it and you could spot it a mile away. Mercedes wasn't a hipster scholar or anything, but she definitely knew that hipsters didn't wear Hot Topic t-shirts advertising popular mainstream bands like All Time Low and Boys Like Girls or bright skinny jeans that looked like a highlighter vomited. She was definitely not going to miss the hipster and wannabe hipster population when she left New York. Thankfully, the hipster trend had yet to reach the state lines of Ohio. She was about to cross the street and get as far away from them as possible, afraid that they would infest her with their hipster disease, when their conversation suddenly peeked her interest.

"Eh ma god! I cannot wait to see Finn Hudson play. He's so hawt!" the girl with the pink skinny jeans cried in her annoying squeaky voice.

Mercedes stopped dead in her tracks and whipped her head around. These girls knew about the Cosmic Slices, which wasn't that much of a surprise, but was music to her ears. They were her ticket out of this mess. She silently prayed that they knew more about their whereabouts than Sam and his friends on Facebook. She began to follow them, careful not to appear obvious.

"I think the bassist is hawt!" her friend retorted, taking a dramatic swig of her coffee.

"Eww! Ashton? You can nawt be serious! He looks like a washed up Mick Jagger!"

"Did you hear about that girl who's been with them all night?"

"That tramp with the atrocious pink heels?"

"Well, I heard that she's playing the tambourine at the show."

"Are they playing now?"

"Yeah and we need to hurry up! I want to hear Love Lost."

"Excuse me!" Mercedes squeaked.

The two girls stopped and turned around. They examined Mercedes from head to toe, sticking their noses up at her mainstream style and making sure that Mercedes knew it. Mercedes gritted her teeth with bubbling anger. She wanted to cuss them out, but regained her poise, giving them her best fake smile instead. Even though she was so tired of New Yorkers and their apparent rudeness, these girls were her best lead yet and she had to kiss some ass.

"Yes?" Ms. Pink Jeans asked in a cold voice.

"I like your Doc Martens. I have a pair in white," Mercedes complimented. She mimicked their obnoxious, valley girl laugh.

Ms. Pink Jeans and her friend gave Mercedes cheerless, uninterested grins. They remained mum, blinking at her as if she were an idiot. They didn't even accept her compliment. This was so not working, so Mercedes decided to cut to the chase with her next question.

"Do you know where the Cosmic Slices are?"

The two girls, jaws dropped to the floor, exchanged looks of bewilderment. They were shocked that Mercedes, an obvious mainstream girl, knew of the biggest indie band in the New York underground music scene. They eyed her with suspicion.

"Yeah. Why?" Ms. Pink Jeans asked.

Mercedes wasn't going to tell them that she knew the tramp with the pink heels and that they were actually friends. They would certainly refuse to give her any details if they knew that little tidbit. Sex kittens and groupies and anyone associated with them were treated like outsiders. No one liked a slutty leech that sucked the glory out of a band in hopes of fame.

"I want to see them play. I heard they are awesome," Mercedes said with a confident smile. She wasn't much of an actress like Rachel. Yet to her, acting was just lying your ass off and trying your best to make it believable.

"They're playing at Luke's Candy Bar in Brooklyn," Ms. Pink Jeans replied.

Mercedes's confident grin suddenly faltered. They were playing in Brooklyn, which meant that she was forced to take the wretched and ever so scary subway. It was bad enough taking the train with Sam and the rest of Glee Club, but the thought of taking it by herself made her want to shit her pants. She also had no idea how to navigate the vast subway system and was afraid to get lost and probably end up in the Bronx or the wrong side of Brooklyn, not to mention that complete weirdoes and creeps patrolled the practically empty trains and platforms at night. She was reluctant on asking for directions out of fear of sounding like a complete tourist, but had no choice.

"How do I get there?" Mercedes asked.

The girls grinned mockingly at her naivety. Ms. Pink Jeans raised a pencil thin eyebrow and took a small sip of her drink. Her friend placed a hand over her cracking smirk, her eyes cast to the concrete floor. They both looked like they wanted to burst out laughing. Once again, Mercedes wanted to cuss them out, but held herself back.

Ms. Pink Jeans rolled her eyes and pointed in front of her. She was pointing to the train station across the street. "Take that downtown to Lorimer Street."

"Thanks," Mercedes replied with a polite smile.

"Whatever," Ms. Pink Jeans muttered.

Mercedes clenched her jaw as the two girls turned in unison and walked away. There was no time to tell those twats where to gosh. She needed to find Rachel before the show was over.

She raced across the street towards the train station, but stopped dead in her tracks before descending down the steps. She wanted to hurl at the putrid stench of piss. Her eyes instinctively looked up as if someone taller was standing next to her. It was nothing more than Sam's shadow.

Puckerman Residence

352 Central Park East

Upper East Side

"It's nice to see you Mr. Evans," Gregory, the doorman to Puck's building, greeted. He gave Sam a warm, polite smile as Sam trotted through the door of Puck's swanky apartment building.

Gregory was an older Englishman with graying hair and large wire-rimmed spectacles. He'd been working at the building all throughout Sam and Puck's childhood. The boys thought that Gregory was the coolest because he had an official James Bond accent and covered for them whenever they did something stupid. Puck was positive that the word of his big New Year's bash would never reach his parents, thanks to Gregory the doorman. Mr. and Mrs. Puckerman were still in Tel Aviv for the winter holiday and weren't due back until that Friday.

"Hey Big G. Is Puck in?" a sullen faced Sam asked.

Sam, pink from the blistering cold and from the onslaught of tears forming in his eyes, had nowhere else to turn. He tried canvasing the area around Billy's Delicatessen in search for his crush. To his sheer horror, there were at least three different train stations in the area and dozens of people walking around. She could've easily taken one of them in an attempt to escape the madness that his crazy bitch of an ex-girlfriend started. Mercedes was nowhere to be found and there was nothing he could do about it. She was going to try to find the secret show on her own, even though the city was a whole big secret to her. He tried blowing her phone up with incessant texts and calls, but her phone was turned off. He just needed to tell her that this was all just a big misunderstanding.

Unable to do anything more, he took a cab back to his home turf to seek guidance and a little comfort from his best friend, but the comfort part was kind of stretching it. The only consolation was that he could get high before school as a way to try to forget that his epic night out with Mercedes ever happened. Earlier that night, Puck bragged that he had gotten the best pot to ever enter New York from their drug dealer in Tompkins Square. He couldn't stop talking about how expensive it was and that it was grown and cultivated in the mountains of some remote Peruvian village. He promised that the pot had mystical powers with a high that was so strong you'd want to be high all the time. They were supposed to attempt to pick up easy girls at Arlene's and then smoke the pot at Puck's, but that's when Mercedes walked into Sam's life and his quality bro time with Puck immediately took a backseat.

"I believe so Mr. Evans. You can go up and check," Gregory replied matter-of-factly.

"Thanks Big G," he said with a meek smile.

Sam walked into the private elevator, staring absentmindedly at the carpeted floor as the elevator ascended. He quickly wiped away stray tears with the sleeve of his hoodie. He wasn't a crier at all, but the whole thing with Mercedes hurt really badly. It was like being punched in the stomach and wanting to vomit, but not being able to. He tried his best to regain his composure. He didn't want his very judgmental best friend to see him crying. Puck would literally laugh in his face for acting like such a girl.

The elevator finally stopped moving and the doors drew open. Sam ventured out of the elevator and it clicked behind him. The penthouse reeked of marijuana and booze. The large drapes that covered the wall-to-ceiling windows in the living room were closed, giving the penthouse a dark, eerie atmosphere. The only light came from the muted eighty inch plasma TV, which spilled artificial white light onto the carpet. He saw a large ball on the leather couch covered in a satin comforter. There was a bong on the glass coffee table with a small bottle of cheap Russian vodka beside it.

The blond thought that Puck was fast asleep. After all, he hadn't slept since his New Year's bash because he had really chronic insomnia. Puck could go days without sleeping, despite his pot habit. He once even tried ordering marijuana laced sleeping pills from the internet in hopes of being able to have a good night's sleep. Without warning, the ball moved slowly under the comforter and there was a gruff, disgruntled groan. Puck's head emerged from under the blanket. He was wearing large black sunglasses that were sliding down his pointed nose.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Puck demanded in a deep raspy voice.

He let out a violent, smoker's cough and pounded his chest to ease the pain. He had probably hit the bong way too hard last night. There was a part of Sam that wished he had gone with Puck instead of helping Mercedes find the secret show. It sucked that he thought that, but now he felt worse than he did earlier that night. Believe it or not, he was more heartbroken at losing Mercedes than breaking up with his longtime girlfriend Quinn.

"Where's Miss DSL?" he added staring intently at Sam.

He grabbed a cigarette that was tucked inconspicuously behind his ear and placed it between his lips. He grabbed a lighter from his pocket and lit it. The blond casted his eyes to the floor, studying the dirty white carpet under his feet. He didn't know how to tell Puck about the shitty time he'd been having for the past hour. He was sure that his best friend would laugh in his face for being pussy whipped by some girl he just met. Puck wouldn't understand. He was completely immune to feelings and emotions associated with the opposite sex.

"She's gone."

"Did you fuck her?"

When Sam didn't answer and turned a bright red, Puck's lips curled into a smug grin. He cackled in the obnoxious I'm such as asshole laugh that Sam found super annoying. He took a fervent drag of his cig and continued to laugh.

"Right on Sammy boy!" Puck cried. He wriggled out of the heavy blanket and threw it carelessly to the floor. He was still clad in the clothes that he wore to Arlene's.

He yawned loudly and took off his sunglasses. His eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. He grabbed the uncapped vodka and took a hearty swig, wiping the little droplets that ran down his chin with the back of his hand. Puck's willpower was amazing. After a night of binge drinking and smoking solo, he still had room for a little more.

"Did she suck your dick?"

Sam's face immediately contorted with disgust and gave Puck a death glare. Sure, he loved a good blow job, but he couldn't even fathom the idea of Mercedes doing something like that, not now. Unbeknownst to Puck, Mercedes meant much more to him than that. He could truly see himself falling really hard for this girl, even though that was something that only happened in chick flicks. He wanted to hold her hand and show her off to the world. He wanted to hold her close and hear her girlish laugh that made him smile like a lovesick idiot. He didn't know what love at first sight looked or felt like, but his night with Mercedes seemed like it. Even though Puck was his best friend since diapers, there was no way Sam was going to let him objectify Mercedes that way.

"Dude. She's more than that!"

Puck furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and cocked his head to the side with bewilderment. He looked at the blond was if he was the biggest idiot in the world. The last time Puck heard of her, she was just going to be Sam's sexcercism girl who would use her amazing pair of DSL for good. To him, Sam was talking crazy talk.

"What the fuck has gotten into you?" Puck demanded, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. From the look of disbelief etched on his face, Puck knew where this was going and he didn't like it one bit.

Puck wasn't a believer in love, not ever since he got his heart handed to him in a million and one pieces by Lauren Zizes. He was a merciless hit it and quit it type of guy. He repeatedly told Sam, which was every chance he could get, that he didn't have time for relationships and all the feelings that came with it. He only cared about taking a girl to bed and finding the most amusing way to accomplish his goal.

When Sam didn't say anything, Puck edged off his seat and said, "You like her. Don't you Evans?"

Sam couldn't hide it, even if he wanted to. He was practically turning a crimson red at Puck's accusation and had this lovesick expression on his face that made it completely obvious.

He had fallen hard for Mercedes.

He tried to open his mouth and form the right words to explain his unexpected feelings for her. Yet, he couldn't find any words that were worthy enough to describe how amazing she was. Everything about her made his heart skip a few beats. He was smitten by her and wanted to claim her as his own.

Puck threw his hands angrily in the air, still holding the cig between his fingers. "Do I have to school you bro? The whole point of a sexcercism is to get laid and never see the girl again!"

"I know, but I ended up liking her."

"I'm saying this out of love, but you have no balls Evans."

Puck was very blunt with his statements and lacked filters that existed in most normal human beings. He liked to say that he was saying things out of love, but he was just really being a jerk. Yes, he liked this girl a lot even though they just met, but his balls were huge.

"You better watch it Puckerman."

Unfazed by his empty threat, Puck gave him a triumphant smirk. He wasn't backing down. "If she's so great, where is she?" he asked.

The color drained from Sam's pink face. He had no comeback and was practically choking on his words. He wanted to cry, but clenched his jaw as tight as he could to force himself not to do so. There was no way he could tell Puck without getting laughed at. He closed his eyes and swallowed a large lump forming in the pit of his throat. He began to unfold the story to Puck with every gruesome detail in between. When he spoke of Quinn, his hands instinctively balled into fists as if he were ready to punch someone's lights out.

Throughout the story, Puck's smug smirk faltered and turned into a frown. There wasn't an ounce of amusement in his expression. He stopped smoking his cig and placed it in the ashtray on the coffee table. When Sam was done, half expecting Puck to shrug his shoulders, his jaw dropped to the floor. There was this unfamiliar expression plastered on his best friend's face. It was sympathy. Puck actually cared about his issue.

"Damn Evans. That Quinn is a bitch," Puck muttered.

"You actually care?"

Puck remained silent, refusing to answer. He was so macho that he probably thought it was uncool to care about another guy's feelings. Puck was a self-proclaimed badass and a true badass was an unsympathetic asshole.

"Nah man."

"C'mon dude. You care."

Puck shot Sam a look of warning, daring the blond to state the obvious. They both knew the truth, but Puck didn't want it to be verbalized. It would ruin his badass status, which was kind of ridiculous.

"Do you want my help or not Evans?"

"Yeah."

"Never tried this myself, but I have a master plan."