Evening lovelies! I really have nothing to say here. *insert generic A/N as you please*
Thanks for reading and reviewing. I APPRECIATE YOU. (you matter.)
"FRENCHY!" Sue yelled at me through her megaphone.
I sat up straight with a jolt. "Yes, Coach?" I slurred sleepily.
Within the first week of brass band Sue had taken to calling me 'Frenchy'. It caught on with the rest of the brass band. I changed my facebook picture to Frenchy from Grease as a tribute, but Rachel kept trying to talk to me about how great a Sandy she'd make, and how she'd appreciate it if I practised Frenchy/Sandy scenes with her sometime (apparently she owns a large pink wig that would be just perfect) so I changed it back to my new favourite picture of Artie and I on my roof. Don't even ask how we got up there. Or back down again…
Anyway, Sue's voice had dropped to her low mess-with-me-and-die tone and I cursed myself for dozing off yet again. "If you fall asleep in a pre-performance warm up again, I will get that German octopus to predict the exact time of your death and tattoo said date in hieroglyphics on my elderly neighbour's guide dog. Then I will kill the octopus and blame it on you."
I nodded seriously and called out over the noise around me. "Won't happen again, Coach!"
"What was that?" she asked mockingly. "I'm sorry; I don't speak lazy-teenage-mouth-breathing French!" I cocked my head in confusion. She stormed off to the Cheerios who were on the other side of the football field.
It was game night. Brass band and the Cheerios were unveiling the Mission: Impossible number at halftime. Also, apparently there's a football game on. Pfft.
It was cold and drizzling, which Finn seemed really excited about for some reason. He kept pointing it out to Quinn and oh - she just hit him. Ouch.
"You pumped?" Mike Chang floated over from hanging with the football guys to where I was with the brass band. The game was starting pretty soon, and they were all doing embarrassing kinds of warm ups – Finn appeared to be 'shaking it like a Polaroid picture' as the kids say nowadays, his arms, legs and hips wobbling in a manner I previously thought to not be humanly possible. Azimio hit him in the head for it. Shame, really. It was quite entertaining. Puck was jogging up and down with his knees high, his aim seeming to be to knee himself in the nose if possible. And Mike Chang was circling laps around where I was standing like some kind of adorable puppy creature.
"Do all sports guys do those weird warm ups?" I asked him, worriedly. As a former 'sports guy', I was concerned that I too once looked that ridiculous.
"What weird warm ups?" Mike asked, hopping around me still, as if he were auditioning for the fabled Ministry of Silly Walks.
"Oh god you don't even know you're doing it," I said, panicked. "THAT MEANS I DID IT TOO." I shook my trumpet in the air dramatically.
Mike's hopping slowed briefly and he looked quite confused. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, before cartwheeling around the obscenely large tuba case next to me. "So… I'm gonna go. Can't wait to hear you play!"
I grinned like a serial killer. A happy serial killer. Ok, that probably wasn't the best simile. I… grinned… bigly? "Thanks, man. Best of luck to your shiny self! You'll be awesome."
He was upside down so he kind of waved goodbye with his feet. I chuckled absent mindedly. Mike was an awesome dude.
The game started somewhat… tragically. I've never really understood football - basketball was pretty much a no brainer, you know, run, get ball, throw ball in thing, try not to fall over - but football always baffled me. Through my amazing skills of deduction I had deemed the Titans to be absolutely shit. The amount of guys in the McKinley red who were underneath piles of large blue creatures who were apparently also high school guys just may have given it away. I saw Mike take an extra large guy down, which was awesome until an even bigger guy plonked himself on top of Mike. Ouch. I really didn't know why all these football guys kept making fun of Kurt for being gay; they seemed to be getting more man-on-man action than he's ever dreamed of.
My phone buzzed. "I CAN SEE YOU. BAHAHAHAHAHA – Artie."
"STALKER," I replied maturely.
"You look like a British tomato in that uniform," Artie observed wisely.
"Drugs are bad, you know."
"THEY TELL ME TO GO TO REHAB, I SAY NO NO NO."
About 10 minutes later I got a call from Mercedes. "Get yo ass over here. We're bored."
It was hard to hear over all the noise on both sides of the phone.
"WHAT?" I yelled, to emphasise this.
"I SAID GET YOURSELF UP HERE NOW. WE'RE AT THE BACK IN THE SOUTH STANDS."
"I should probably wait 'til halftime. I'll talk to you then. Oh wait… I'm in the halftime show," I said intelligently. "Yeah, I'll come now! It's not like I'm watching the game or anything."
I made a vague excuse ("my dog locked its keys in the car") to Sue and hiked up the stands to where everyone was sitting – way at the back in some dramatic corner where the seats were sparsely filled. Rachel was pouting. I was pretty sure this was because she'd wanted to be up the front where she could scream out all her sexual frustration about Finn with the excuse of "THIS IS SUCH AN EXCITING GAME I SUPPORT THIS TEAM SO MUCH OH MY I MAY EXPLODE FROM SUPPORT". Only the game wasn't that exciting so maybe that excuse wouldn't fly.
Something kind of weird happened. Not weird, really. Just… a first. I saw Tina, and she smiled at me, and the beasts that the inexperienced would call butterflies (seriously, if they create that much of a fuss how can they be such little things? I'm thinking they're antelopes, or whales) that roam my stomach remained utterly unfazed. My heart wasn't trying to leap out of my mouth either. It was a bit disconcerting, but I dismissed it. Tina and I've been together for long enough for my ridiculous puppy love to have run its course, haven't we? I still care about her. This is normal.
"Ciao!" I beamed at all of them, taking off my brass band hat and plonking it firmly on Artie's head.
"How do I look?" he asked everyone, pouting and tilting the hat at a jaunty angle.
"That hat is a sin against nature," Kurt scowled.
"Suits Artie though," I chuckled. "He's pretty fly for a white guy."
Mercedes gave me an exasperated look. "Honey, you are too white to say that."
"What? I'm European," I insisted, putting on a Pepe Le Pew French accent. "I am… how you say… exotic!" I announced, performing a hair flick worthy even of Kurt.
"I've seen you dance," Mercedes giggled. "And, honey, you are as white as they come."
"Pfft," I waved my hand dismissively. Artie threw my hat in back my face.
We sat around for a while, attempting to converse over the whistles and roaring crowd. Tina didn't really say much to me, which was surprising because we hadn't really seen each other in a couple of days. Normally she'd be all over me. I shrugged internally, not really bothered. A voice in my head asked why not. I ignored it.
Artie and I were trying to get the others to participate in our discussion on whether or not the Blues Brothers is the best movie in the entire universe. Rachel certainly didn't participate – most likely because her ovaries were exploding over the sight of Finn running around all sweaty before her very eyes. At some point I let slip that my brass band name was now Frenchy. Kurt and Artie swore they would call me that from that moment on. I tried to make Kurt wear the brass band hat for revenge. He hit me. His hands were so soft it was kind of strange – like getting bitchslapped by a fluffy blanket or… a puppy. I told him this. He blanket-puppy slapped me again.
Half time was fast approaching and Artie shoved me off his lap.
During my brief tumble down the stairs I caught a glimpse of Sue having a heart attack or something similar from where-the-fuck-is-the-first-trumpet induced rage.
"You're gonna get it, boy," Mercedes laughed with deep satisfaction at my impending doom.
I began to hurtle myself down the stairs, with Artie calling "RUN FORREST, RUN!" after me.
I sat down at the back between the other trumpet dude and the tuba guy. Sue pointed at me, mouthed the word 'octopus', and stalked off to her Cheerios.
The clock ticked down the last 20 seconds. I watched Mike leap somewhat majestically over a pile of guys to receive the ball, only to be squashed at the last moment by yet another sibling/descendant/clone of Hagrid.
The siren blared across the field, and the people in the brass band were jerked to life. Books, homework, phones, iPods and even Scrabble pieces that had been occupying the band members suddenly went flying as people hastily grabbed their instruments and fussed around with the music. The footballers cleared off the field and were replaced with Cheerios.
I actually had no idea what the Cheerios were going to do with this. There had been a few rehearsals we'd had with them, but Sue wouldn't let us look at them because we'd send telepathic loser waves through our eyes at them. Or something like that.
Santana, the head cheerleader, made some generic cheerleader hype inducing comment that I didn't hear or blocked out of my mind due to disinterest. It was the cue, apparently, because the heavy 5/4 rhythm was blaring out of the snare drums and the Cheerios were clapping in time (I know! I was shocked too) whilst doing some kind of low-key routine that would soon explode as the music did.
And the music did explode. What had started with just a few of the instruments playing something that vaguely resembled the theme at a tense, low volume blasted into life with the trumpets and horns. I was looking at my music, but it was very difficult to concentrate. There were very pretty girls in very short skirts being tossed very high into the air in front of my very eyes. The music took over when we got to the chorus again. It was loud and tense and majestic and aggressive and sweet and powerful all at the same time. And I was part of what made it. Big ensembles like this were a dream to play in – sometimes you just felt like you were at the movies listening to some epic soundtrack to a war or a battle or something, but actually it was just you and your friends being awesome.
It was over quickly, and the crowd was cheering from both sides. Although I saw nothing but the aerials I was sure the Cheerios' routine had been pretty fucking sweet.
The crowd became noticeably less excited when the sirens rang out again and the game resumed. I supposed that was why the Cheerios were so good - because the team they were cheering for were so shit.
I put my trumpet back in its case and moved to find Artie and co. again when Dean, the bass player of the jazz band, and Ivan, the drummer, appeared behind me. They weren't in the brass band because they neither played brass instruments nor could spare any time that wasn't devoted to jazz band or their extreme bromance. Seriously I had actually never seen them apart. They rivaled even Artie and I.
"Good work, young padawan," Dean said, flicking his hair out of his eyes. He sported possibly the most epic bowl cut ever.
"Thanks, Obi-Wan," I attempted.
"I'm Yoda now," he explained as though I should have assumed this. "Ivan's Obi-Wan, you're Luke; our young, naïve apprentice."
I pouted. "Can't I be Chewy?"
Ivan pointed the drumsticks he was for some reason always carrying at me. "You're Luke, deal with it."
"Fine," I said, swearing to organize a Star Wars marathon in the near future.
"Also, we've been asked back to the Lima Bean to perform as a trio this Saturday," Dean said, grinning proudly. "They're planning to pay us in money rather than coffee this time as well."
"Cool beans," I said, and they mumbled goodbyes and stalked off. The game was still on, with the Titans failing very badly. I looked up every time I heard 'Chang' from the commentators, but usually it was only because he'd been crushed by some other steroid-pumped youth, so I kind of gave up in paying attention.
"Having fun, are we?" came a snide voice next to me. Santana, long time bitch and Cheerio slid through the band and stood in between me and my music stand, incredibly close to me.
"I don't know what you want me to say here…" I said uncertainly. Santana and I hadn't spoken before. Well, once she'd gone off at Dean for not knowing a song she wanted to spontaneously sing and I may or may not have ripped into her… which had resulted to a glare off every time we made eye contact. Also she was mean to Tina. This prompted more glaring.
Anyway, we didn't know each other and the looks she was giving me were very furtive and significant and I wasn't sure what to make of them.
She prowled around and stood behind me, continuing to talk right in my ear in her sultry voice. "Let's just say, you're giving off huge vibes of sexual tension and it's not at your little girlfriend."
I don't know how I didn't expect this. "I'm sorry," I said, in cold civility, turning to face her again. "But I'm not interested."
"I wasn't taking about you and me," she sneered dismissively. "I was talking about you and-"
I cut her off. "Tina and I are going great."
She scoffed. "No you're not," she said simply. "She's been sending off rays of luscious losery lust herself."
My face contorted into skepticism and confusion. "At?"
"Mr. Cripple Pants over there."
Why do people keep saying this…?
I laughed scornfully, but my insides twisted. "Uh huh. Sure."
"Coach Tenaka's blind Aunt could spot it from her holiday house in Fiji."
"Totally," I deadpanned, though I was somewhat confused. "And, uh, what are your ingenious theories on who I've been sending rays of sexual tension to?"
Her eyes sparkled with delight and cruelty at the same time. "You don't even want to know," she spared me and began to stalk off in the direction of the stands.
"I don't believe you!" I called out weakly, more trying to convince myself than her.
She turned back, laughed and pointed. "Just look for yourself."
Tina was sitting across Artie's chair.
No biggie, I do that all the time.
Tina's arms were around Artie.
I also do that all the time…
"Oh, and Frenchy?" Santana called back, one hand on her hip, one hand gesturing emphatically. "Not that I was interested, but since you blew me off, you ain'ts never gonna get up on this."
I really wasn't concerned about that, so I didn't bother answering.
I found myself walking up the stands rather quickly and furiously. My legs were angrier than my head was. I knew I was being irrational or jealous or douche-bag-y or whatever, but I was kind of worried. I mean, stuff with me and Tina wasn't always great… she seemed kind of disappointed or annoyed with me most of the time… but I thought we really cared about each other and –
And nothing.
We do care about each other.
Maybe I could ask her about it. Not like in an accusing way… but in a I've-heard-things-from-a-few-people-and-what's-going-on way.
Before I registered what was happening I was standing a step below all of my friends. Tina stood above me and she wrapped me in a hello hug.
"Nice playing Andre," she smiled sweetly.
"Uh thanks," I said, not really looking at her.
She studied my face. I panicked, and tried to look as normal as possible. I didn't know how my face felt when it looked normal so I couldn't really make it up and I'm pretty sure I just ended up making worse faces.
"Is there something wrong?" she asked.
"Nope," I lied, continuing to make weird faces.
"Really? Because usually when something's wrong you just say it's not but I know that you-"
"Is there something going on between you and Artie?" I blurted out, in a harsher, more accusing tone than I had intended.
I had only just dared to look at her as I said it, and now as she stared at me with disbelief and an array of other things spilling across her face I averted her eyes. "What?"
"I've just heard it from like… a lot of people that there is or was something going on," I said lamely, still not looking at her. The game did something exciting at that point and the crowd became forgivingly loud. But not for long.
"Which people?" she demanded, as soon as the uproar ended, trying to meet my eye.
"Just… people."
"People you trust more than me?"
"No," I admitted truthfully. Jacob Ben Israel and Santana probably weren't the most reliable sources… I was beginning to regret brining this up. A lot.
Tina eyed me furiously. I could feel Artie, Kurt and the others' gazes on us. I stole a glance at Mercedes, who gave me a stern look. I decided not to try that again. Kurt had his hands at his mouth in shock.
Tina gathered herself up and regarded me coolly. "I should be asking you the same thing," she declared in a low voice.
"What?" I asked, utterly confused.
"Is there something going on between you and Artie?"
There was an audible but quickly hushed laugh from Artie.
I could almost feel how ridiculous my expression of shock was. "Um… what?"
Even though most people around us were screaming or chattering loudly, it seemed like there was complete silence.
"You heard me," Tina hissed. "There must be something going on between you two considering the amount of time you spend together."
"We're just friends!" I put my hands up in surrender. Does she actually think...
"Not many guys blow off their girlfriends constantly to see someone who's just a friend," Tina said, sounding dreadfully hurt.
Nope, she's just making a point.
Guilt panged in my stomach nonetheless.
"It's just… he's my best friend," I attempted lamely.
"And I'm your girlfriend," Tina fumed. "Don't I mean anything to you?"
"Of course you do! But Artie does too…"
"You've known me the same amount of time you've known him. Why is he so much more important to you?"
"He's not more important to me," I defended myself. "And, we just clicked, you know?"
"Did we just click?"
I hesitated. Bad move.
"I come after everyone and everything else. I'm not important to you."
"It's not like that at all!" I tried again earnestly. "Please, Tina."
"Please what?" she demanded, staring at me. "You're supposed to adore me, and put me before everything else, and want to see me, and want to be with me. You're supposed to be my boyfriend."
This was sounding a lot like… the end. "I… I'm sorry Tina. I'm really sorry I wasn't what you expected or," I took a breath, "deserved."
We held each other's gaze for a moment. It was sad.
"P-past tense," she said quietly. Tina only stuttered to push people away.
"What?"
She looked disappointed and sad and annoyed and hurt all at once and it killed me that I was the cause of it.
"This is it, isn't it?" she said quietly.
I shifted uncomfortably. "It doesn't have to be…" I tried.
"I th-think it should be," Tina stammered, and pushed past me down the stands. Mercedes and Tina followed dutifully, having watched the entire episode in shocked silence. Kurt looked conflicted, but stayed. I stood there kind of shocked, not really knowing what to do and Kurt appeared around me quietly in a warm hug. Artie regarded me gravely, scrunching up his face in sympathy.
The crowd was still cheering.
I wasn't.