Tina is having the second crappiest day of her life. She wakes up late for school because she forgot to set her alarm. Speed-walking to McKinley (all she can really do in her chunky boots) she slips on a patch of ice and tears her new black pants at the knee. She'd be okay with it and call it part of her fashion statement if her pants weren't also caked in mud and her knees, bleeding scratches.
She is late to first period and misses a pop quiz in chemistry (of course). Ms. Spencer gives her an icy look when she stumbles into class during the quiz and tells her that if she's going to be late next time then not to bother showing up at all. She sits out the rest of the period in a musty corner of the library.
Luckily, the next three class periods goes by without a hitch. She's on her way to lunch, thankful for once that Mercedes and Kurt's incessant gossipy chatter will distract her. She suddenly feels ice cold wetness on her face and trickling down her back.
"Heads up, freak," says a jock. His cronies laugh and fistbump each other. Tina stands still in the middle of the hallway and by the time she's composed enough to react, they're halfway down the hall.
Of course, she'd have to be slushied now. She sniffs her sticky wet hair. Lime. Ugh. And of course it had to be her least favorite flavor. She feels the icy wetness seep down the back of her pants and into her boots.
Great.
It's lunch period so there aren't too many people around to jeer at her some more. She heads to the nearest girl's bathroom.
Once inside, she loses it. The slushie, the quiz, the people staring and snickering, losing her best friend, it's all just too much right now. Crying and biting her lip in an effort not to sob, she drops her messenger bag on the floor and flips her head and hair into the sink. She tries to rinse as much out as she can but since she still smells like that gross artificial lime, she resorts to shampooing with the hand soap. The pink, gooey industrial cleanser always seemed to take a layer of epidermis off along with grime, but she tries not to think about that as she applies a copious amount to corn syrup-sticky hair.
Once done, she turns on the hand dryers.
Nothing.
She slams her fist against the silver button but it mocks her by sputtering a few times and then shutting off. She sighs. Wonderful. Her hair is wet, her pants are luckily black but they're also damp and as she takes stock of herself in the mirror she can see that she looks like a drowned rat. Red rimmed eyes, straggly wet hair. She has started to buy waterproof mascara so that doesn't run.
So there's that.
She tries to dry her hair the best she can by squeezing it in a clump of toilet paper. Sighing when it's clearly not gonna work, she gathers her things to leave.
As she turns for the door, she catches a flash of red. She wraps the bright red strand around her index finger and looks at the reflection. She feels a little calmer.
It'll be okay, she tells herself. Sure, she's missed lunch, but she has study period next and maybe she can sneakily eat a granola bar. But first she has to get changed. Her locker and change of clothes are at the other end of the school, and she hurries out the door.
She's in front of the choir room when Puck passes by.
" 'Sup T-T-Tina," he says as he struts by, not even looking at her.
She can't take it anymore. She thought she'd be okay but maybe not. All the anger and frustration from the last few days just boil over.
She's thinking of the Fuck You Red hair as she says very loudly, "I don't stutter!"
He turns around, and as she looks at him--all imposing in his red and white letterman jacket and sports duffel bag--she remembers the seemingly hundreds of taunts and slushies that he's been behind.
When will she learn to just keep her mouth shut about certain things??
"I know, Cohen. Damn, take a joke once in awhile."
She takes a deep breath. Besides Artie and Mercedes (who presumably told Kurt), she's never told anyone that her stutter was fake to begin with. Everyone else probably thought she went to a really good speech therapist or something.
Well, she started this; she might as well finish it.
"I don't stutter...anymore. I--I never did to begin with."
Silence. She sees his brows knit together when he realizes…
"Are you freaking serious? You made up a stutter?"
"Yeah."
"What the hell for?"
"I was shy and…I didn't want people to talk to me or--or bother me."
He looks at her up and down, and she's never felt this uneasy. She suddenly feels sorry for all of those frogs they make kids dissect in Anatomy. She squirms a little. He takes in her rumpled clothes, her damp hair.
"Well, that worked out pretty well, huh?"
"Yeah."
"That's pretty fucked up, though."
"I know," she replies. Boy, do I know, she thinks. "We all have our little lies though don't we?"
She thinks she sees something click behind his eyes, but after a moment it's gone.
She continues, "I just didn't want to live mine any longer."
They're both looking everywhere but at each other. The whole school knows he's in glee but that doesn't mean he likes being seen talking to the gleeks. He finally looks at her uncomfortably, unsure what to do next. She doesn't know either. He shifts his duffel bag to his other shoulder. Her fingers play with the pins on her messenger bag. She waits for him to say something, so that she can be dismissed.
"Well at least you can string together an entire sentence in under an hour now. I have to say that makes you a shitload less annoying."
She smiles a little, her eyes still downcast.
"Anyways," he mumbles as he starts to walk away, "I can't stand around all day listening to your life story."
She doesn't point out that he kind of just did.
He turns around suddenly. "Where are you off to?"
His question, seemingly out of left field, startles her.
"I—I…"
"'Cause Karofski and his douchebags are hanging by the parking lot exit," he explains.
"Oh. Okay. Thanks," she says as they both walk away. She alters her path to her locker a little, avoiding Karofski--and taking her right into the path of Artie.
He looks at her wet hair, her disheveled appearance and his face scrunches up in that way it does when he's very concerned. She'd be happy about this if she wasn't having such a bad day.
"Are you okay?"
She sort of can't believe he's talking to her again after what seems like forever. She's caught off guard to say the least.
"I—yeah. Just got slushied."
"Oh."
"I'm going to go get my change of clothes," she says in a rush, not meeting his blue eyes. She quickly steps around him and hurries off.
"Okay," he anwers quietly, but she's already gone