Mercy's POV

I woke up early, to noises almost unfamiliar. I almost couldn't place it. Thump. Clank. Bang. The sound of something clattering to the floor, followed by someone's cursing. Dad.

I opened my eyes, squinted, and stared high up into my ceiling. The sound of my parents in the house was unfamiliar. My eyes casted down, over the ancestral paintings, past my flat screen and to my window. Past it, there was a clear sky that the weather man warned us about, and the beginnings of other estates next to us.

Clank. Clink. Thud.

I sat up, looking out that window again. It was going to be the first morning since Thursday that I wouldn't be waiting for Santana to pick me up. I didn't know how long this was going to last. I was going to try and call her before I left the house. What time was it?

Thud. Swish. Clank. More cursing, some laughter, and then a crash.

I cringed slightly, not in the kitchen but feeling the echoes of impact. Mom was going to kill dad for putting dents in all our appliances. I got up, and looked at my bedside clock. It was 6:30 a.m. In an hour or so I needed to be gone. I grabbed for my phone and dialed Santana's number.

She didn't pick up, but I left a message reassuring her that everything was fine and that I missed her. I reminded her voicemail to give me details on her whereabouts very soon, or there'd be consequences to pay. I slipped on some house shoes. Outside my room it was now quiet, my squeaking slippers all I could hear as I shuffled down the hallway.

Mom's voice is filtered through the sounds of an early breakfast. She told dad to get out of the kitchen very impolitely. I walked down the stairs and into the living room before plopping down on the couch. Dad's sitting on one end of it watching TV and chewing gum. I crawl over to him and lay my head down on his lap.

"You," He says, rubbing my back, "Are just in time for a background on Egyptian history."

I shift around and get comfortable. "World history was sophomore year, dad. I'm in politics and government now."

"So? The past doesn't lose its meaning just because you've lost interest in it, Mercedes."

"Okay." I agree. "Let's have at it."

Dad loved all history related things. I didn't care about it, but I was the only bird left in the nest so I had to endure it. James didn't care either, but DJ and Jeremy l did. Elijah was the oldest of us, and by the time I was ten he was in college, so I don't really know if he liked the History Channel or not.

Dad's been gone a lot these past few months, more now than ever, so we haven't got to do much together. Even if it was just watching a rerun about the Great Pyramids and their Book of the Dead.

"Hmm," Dad hummed in wonderment over something amazing about King Tut. "Really? That's fascinating."

Dad talked to the TV on every occasion and for every channel. If it was basketball, Kevin Durant needed to get his head in the game if he wanted to be anywhere near Jordan status. If it was the cooking channel, no one had anything on Paula Dean. And in this case the History Channel, where everything was intriguing and important.

This entire weekend has been a calm before the storm experience. I've been wondering what to expect when I returned to school today, and what to say to keep Santana's cover intact. If anything at McKinley would truly be different after what happened on Friday, or if everyone would return to the same old, same old.

"How's Santana?" Dad asked after fifteen minutes of intense listening.

"She's okay. You know, she's still lively as ever." I wasn't sure why, but talking about Santana was exhausting. Like every time someone brought her up I suddenly felt tired, too tired to even give a good response. There was something so heavy about the burden of Santana and her ways. I didn't know if I had it in me to keep protecting her.

"Your mother informed me about her a couple days ago, Mercy."

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Oh no, not again. He was going to scold me for being her friend. Our quality time was going to be spent arguing with each other.

"What did she say?" I ask.

"That Santana got into a fight, and the whole encounter was her fault."

"Nothing's ever entirely someone's fault alone." I say, "Besides, she's confused. And she's having a tough time right now. It's sad."

He sat back further into the couch, adjusting both of our positions. He picked up the remote. "I just don't understand why you surround yourself with people like her."

"Because I love her and she's my best friend."

"Is it because you're like her, too?" He continues like I didn't just explain myself. "Confused and sad?"

Why did I come downstairs? "No dad, I'm fine." I say, but I know it's too late. He's done listening to me all together. Now if I say anything at all, I'm adding fuel to the flames.

"That's what it looks like to us."

"Who's 'us'? Who even told mom about this?" I bet it was Quinn. I bet on my life that it was Quinn.

"Your mother and I are really concerned about you, Mercy."

I sit up from his lap. This conversation wasn't going to end well. "What are you concerned about?"

"Your place at McKinley. Clarice thinks we should get you an interview for one of the private schools by where I work."

"Why would you do that? You work on Wall Street Dad! That's in New York!"

"Watch your mouth." I got quiet immediately.

"Now," He turns the volume down on the TV. "She wants to see if you would do better at a private school in Manhattan. New place, new people, new lifestyle to get you ready for the future. Plus it's twenty minutes away from where I work. I could sell my condo and get a bigger one to accommodate our needs."

"She wants to get me away from Santana."

"Clarice was going to talk to you more about this over breakfast."

"I don't wanna talk." I shiver, curling up on the couch. "Do you want me to leave Ohio?"

"This seems a bit overzealous, even for Clarice. But she's never liked Santana. Or Quinn, and she doesn't care too much for Kurt either, which sums up all of your friends. My opinion though, is that you should stay. Only because it's your senior year. Despite your choice of friends, I don't want you to leave them behind."

"Mom doesn't care about that, though."

"She wants you to thrive in a better environment. With better people." The remote was on his lap now, and the faint sound of bacon sizzling was in the background. Surely mom could hear this unfolding. Or maybe not, this house was huge.

"She already set up an interview, didn't she?"

"The Friday before Christmas break. So you can decide whether you want to come back to Ohio by January or not." I knew it.

"I'm eighteen. You can't do this to me."

He nods, "We know that. This is only a suggestion."

"I don't want to go. I want to stay here. Nothing's going to change that." I say, and mean it one-hundred percent.

"It might. We've noticed how you've acted lately. You're miserable, and it's our fault. We're never around, Mercedes."

"I've learned to deal with that, Dad. This isn't news." Why were they doing this now? What was going on?

He repositioned himself in his seat, looking uncomfortable."We're worried about you. We don't want you around those people. Living with me and visiting mom when I do every month would be great for the family."

"Now you and mom want what's best for the family?" I say, feeling my anger rise.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks.

"When did you two decide that you still had a child at home? When did this happen? Yesterday?" I stand up and walk around the coffee table, not believing this was happening to me.

I can feel dad's glare on me as I pace. "Don't talk to me like that, Mercedes. You don't mean that, you know we care about you. We're doing the best we can."

"You didn't care when I started taking antidepressants last year. Nobody noticed my grades slipping away just like my friends. No one's here to make sure I don't relapse again. Nobody listens. Nobody cares. You were always too busy with your meetings and mom's always at fancy dinners with her buddies."

"How dare you say that, Mercedes!" He shouts. "That's not true and you know it."

"You're trying to get rid of me. I'm making mom look bad. She has an election coming up right? In November." I'm talking fast and hysterically, this is bad. I can feel my sanity tumbling down. Dad's yelling at me now, telling me to remember who I'm talking to. That usually snaps me out of it, but not this time. I'm vicious.

"I bet James is failing out of college, just like Elijah. Does he want to be a rapper too? What about DJ? Isn't this his sixth year in college? Wait, no, better: Jeremy got Ashley pregnant. He did, didn't he? He always said they were serious. Hope he's serious enough to make it last; child support for rich guys is brutal." Dad's face is the color of a heart attack. The contortion of his face is monstrous. I've never seen Dad this mad before. Not even when the stock market crashed in August. He's going to get up and slap me into another century any minute now.

But then, his body relaxes and he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He shakes his head a few times, and takes a sip from his mug on the coffee table. I wonder if he hates me. "This is about you, Mercedes. Not your brothers."

No, dad's disappointed. That's even worse. I feel my crazy-angry high recede back into the defective part of my head. Now I'm disappointed in me, too.

"I wish I understood why you're so mad at us. All of us. We love you Mercedes." He stops and sighs again. He's tired.

"I'm not mad." I lie. "I'll go to that interview."

"Thank you." He smiled and turned the volume on the TV back up. Good for him, he got what he wanted. But I didn't. When do I ever?

I go upstairs silently and get ready. I don't see what I'm putting on, I don't care. I lost thirty minutes between yelling and talking to dad. I don't have any time to sulk. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth until I bleed. I watch myself in the mirror.

Yesterday was a good day. It's already bad today when yesterday was only eight hours ago. I don't understand. How can I fall so far off the map in eight hours? Well maybe not. Maybe I slipped long ago when I wasn't even a junior yet. It happened and I don't remember how, where, or when but yet here I am. I don't know how to go back. Nothing works.

My hands reach up to the medicine cabinet and I find the empty bottle of Celexa. I ran out two weeks ago, but I still look at the bottle to remind myself that I don't need them. I look at the bottle of muscle relaxers. It's full. I take two and brush my hair violently and slap a headband on.

I'm slipping on my Sperry's and I'm about to disappear from this damn house when mom comes in. She smiles and lays a plate of bacon on my desk then leaves. I watch her escape before shutting my bedroom door again. I bite off a piece of fried pork. It tastes like bullshit. I throw the pieces away and practically float downstairs. Those muscle relaxers are kicking in early. I can't feel a thing. I tell mom and dad bye over my shoulder and walk out the door before I hear a reply.

As I drive, I faintly remember Sam saying I could trust him with whatever I have to say. I might have to take him up on that offer. Maybe he'd actually listen.

Sam's POV

I knew that there was something wrong with Mercedes when I first saw her today. I haven't seen her all day until fourth hour as usual, and she looked bad. Not bad like she became ugly, or something. I guess that's the wrong word. She looked tired, miserable, depressed. I couldn't find a correct adjective. I turned around in my desk to say hi, and she replied but it was softly. She was looking at me but she was seeing something else.

After class ended and lunch began I stopped her before she walked out of the room. She was picking up her books and still had that look on her face.

"Bad news?" I asked.

She jumped, startled, then glanced up at me. I was right in front of her, but she still seemed completely surprised. "What?"

"You look stressed out. Or sad. Or something." I point to her face to verify my point. "Something happened?"

"No," She said, walking ahead of me. "Nothing's wrong."

I walked with her to her locker, not believing it for one second. She put up her books and pretended like I wasn't there. "I'm taking you to lunch. We're going to talk about this."

She stopped pretending I didn't exist and turned towards me. Her eyes were puffy. "I don't have anything to talk about."

"Then let me take you to lunch anyway."

"I'm not hungry."

It was like she was trying to be difficult. "Just come with me."

"Why?" She asked, shutting her locker door.

"Because I want to spend some time with you. Do you not want to spend time with me?"

I was trying to be persuasive, but she was putting up a fight all on her own. I almost wanted to give in just to not be bothersome, but I knew she needed somebody. If not to talk to then just to be there.

After a while of just staring at me, she nodded. "Okay."

She followed me to my car and I opened up the door for her. She smiled before getting in. I was going to take us to Tastee Freeze's for the largest helping of tater tots known to man when she spoke up.

"It's just this thing with my parents."

I turned my head, and wondered what she was talking about. "Thing," I repeated.

"It has to do with going to school here." She clarified.

"Here? Like at McKinley?" I was confused. "You mean like at a public school, right?"

"Sort of. Um…" She stopped and looked down at her hands. I merged onto a busy street, we were almost there.

"My mom wants me to go to a private school near my dad's job." She replied.

I felt my stomach drop. But I just got to know you. "Is his job close by?"

"No," Mercedes chuckled, though there was no humor in her tone. "He works in New York."

I almost ran into the truck in front of me. "Oh."

"Yeah." She said. My attitude was reflecting hers. Defeated. "It's so complicated because my mom really wants me to go. And I have an interview at the school in a month."

"What school is it?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask, I was so mad when dad told me I didn't even think about it."

"But you don't want to go," I said. "Right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, just don't go."

"I can't do that Sam." She said, shaking her head.

I didn't reply for a moment as I pulled into Tastee Freeze's drive-thru. I was behind two other cars. "Why not?" I asked.

"Because I don't say no to my parents."

I know the feeling. "You can do it though. I know you can."

"That's easier said than done, I've never told them no." Mercedes said.

"Just be honest."

"It's not that simple."

"You're right it's not. But that doesn't mean you can't do it. Talk it out with them. When I was in therapy-group therapy, actually-we had to talk it out amongst each other. Like RPing. But without the costumes and amazing storylines."

"Why were you in group therapy?" She asked. I knew she would.

"That's for another conversation at another time. Right now we're talking about you. " I sighed. "Though I can't deny that it helped me a lot. It's like a blueprint to all your conversations."

"Okay."

The line was taking forever, but we were almost at the callbox. "Alright, let's try it."

"What? No!"

"Yes." I replied, "So let's say I'm your dad."

"What?" She said, incredulously.

"I'm your dad," I repeated. "Tell me why you want to stay at McKinley. Tell me if you think going to the interview is even necessary."

Mercedes turned her head away, visibly uncomfortable. "I can't."

"Why not?" I asked, offended. "You think I'm not good at role-playing?"

"No, I believe that-"

"Because I'm great at role-playing. I'm been to the Comic Con on more than a few occasions. Plus, I got compliments in GT about it."

She just looked me. "I just can't. This is weird."

"Weird yes. Impossible? No. Now come on."

For a moment she focused in on me. I must seem like the weirdest person in the world, wearing a black V-neck and Big Star jeans, talking about group therapy and RPing.

"Okay, um-" She started.

"Dad." I interjected.

"What?"

"You have to get into the role-playing, Mercy! That is the number one rule to an effective RP."

"Okay." She started again. "Dad?"

I did my best impression of Donnel Jones that I could. "Yes?"

Mercedes gave me the craziest look. "I know you and mom really want what's best for me, but I don't think it's necessary to go to that interview."

I made a timeout gesture with my hands. "Stop."

"What now?"

"You have to be direct with what you say. You can't say, 'I think' or 'I believe'. It has to be cold hard facts. Say it like it's your way or no way." I leaned closer and looked her straight in the eyes. "I know this is crazy but just do it."

She nodded, suddenly determined. "Dad," She said. "I can't leave Ohio. This is my home, my everything. All of my friends are here and I'm not going to give that up for a private school in New York. I don't need to go to that interview because I've already decided."

I motioned for her to keep going.

"Now it may seem like I'm jumping the gun," She reached up and ran her fingers through her hair. I was momentarily distracted. "…But I'm only being honest. It's my senior year and-"

Someone behind us honked their horn very loudly, and I remembered that we were still in the drive-thru at Tastee Freeze.

"Damn!" I said, squeezing the steering wheel tighter. "We were right there."

"Sorry," Mercedes said, like it was her fault. "We'll really do it next time. And even though we didn't finish, you really helped me. Thanks." She smiled.

I felt myself swell with pride. "You're welcome."

"What about you?" Mercedes asked me, after we pulled into the parking lot of a park by the school. We had twenty five minutes until lunch was over and I felt like the time was running away.

"What do you mean?" I replied, stealing one of her tots. She glared at me.

"Well," She said, "We've discussed some of my issues, it's only fair I hear some of yours."

"You have a point." I chewed slowly and thought for a minute. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything you're willing to say."

"Okay. I'm really passionate about comic-related things, and I have an obsession with superheroes and the movie Avatar." I started. Mercedes was looking at me expectantly, so I continued.

"I wasn't so obsessed with superheroes until my parents almost got a divorce a couple years back. Superheroes never let anything get the best of them, so I tried to model that attitude." I reached for another tot and wasn't maimed in the process. Mercedes was just listening.

"Basically," I said. "When they fought I would be the messenger, because my siblings were way too young to understand what was happening. I couldn't have an opinion because that meant I thought someone was right and that the other person was wrong."

"That must have been difficult." Mercedes said.

"It was. That's when my like for supernatural things became hardcore. It wasn't real anyway, so I was free to believe in whatever." I shifted around in my car seat and cracked the windows open a bit. "Plus, the comic-superhero thing isn't an individual hobby. Millions of people felt the same way I do. I didn't know this entirely until I went to Comic Con my first year. I thought the people were just weirdos that dress up."

"And role-play?" Mercedes said. I nodded. "Those kind of weirdos?"

"Yes," I agreed, giving her a look. She laughed. "And that was fine, but I figured out we were all there for the same reason. Plus, watching Avatar at full volume really drowned out the arguing."

"Wow. That was easy."

"What was?"

"Talking to me about yourself." She said. "I just asked, and you did it."

"Yeah, well," I replied, "That was one of my easier subjects."

"What's one of the harder ones?"

"Why I was in group therapy." I said.

"Oh."

I looked at my phone. "It's almost time to go. You ready?"

"Yeah." She crumbled up her trash and put it in the sack of eaten food. "Hey, Sam?"

"Huh?"

Mercedes smiled. "I heard you were going to try out for the football team."

I rolled my eyes. "What about it?"

"I was just wondering if there's a bit of motivation behind this desire to be on the football team." She said.

Instantly I was suspicious. "Like what?"

"Hot cheerleaders maybe?" She asked me.

"I can't believe you'd automatically assume that," I replied, offended. "God."

"Sam." Mercedes said.

"I'm not going after cheerleaders."

She just looked at me.

"Seriously. I don't like those girls."

"Oh please, Sam. Are you not a teenaged guy?"

"Maybe." I said.

Mercedes laughed. "Whatever."

After school I had a lot on my mind. Mercedes might be leaving, and I had signed up for multiple ACTs that were just on the horizon. Plus I needed to get a job, plus I still needed to grow balls and tell mom I didn't want to date Quinn. God, I didn't. Quinn was sweet, and gorgeous. Not to mention very flirty, but I still didn't want to date her. Not when Mercedes was still around.

I impressed coach Beiste and I hardly did anything. I ran the field in a little bit more than twenty seconds-granted I was out of good shape-and she put me on the team. She promised she'd have me a specific spot by Friday, but to still dress out and come to practice.

Puck immediately congratulated me as well as the other jocks. Finn slapped me on the back, which I'm assuming is his seal of approval, though I didn't want it nor need it.

"You gonna stay the rest of practice?" Puck asked, as I continued to walk off the track.

"I have tutoring." I lied. I did have tutoring, but not on Mondays. I was going home.

"Oh, yeah. Gotta stay eligible." Puck said while nodding, as if this summed up my need for tutoring.

I pointed at him. "Exactly." Idiot.

I went home to a loud household. Stacey stole one of Stevie's action figures, which only someone brave does. He was chasing her around the living room. I dropped my backpack on the floor and calmly walked to the scene of events. I was going to assume that mom was taking a bath or something.

"Hey guys, stop." I grabbed Stevie by the shoulder and kept him at bay while Stacey stopped running.

"Now Stacey, give Stevie back his stuff. You know thievery is not cool. And how can a thief be a princess?" I reasoned, giving her a look.

"But Stevie said I was a big fat loser!" She argued, pointing at her brother.

"Why would he do that?" I asked.

"Because she lost at Monopoly!" Stevie exclaimed.

"Only after you lost five times in a row!"

"You're just jealous!"

"Jealousy or no jealousy, you were wrong for what you did. Both of you two." I interjected.

"Stacey, you are not what Stevie says you are. You're what you believe you are, remember?" She bobbed her head up and down.

"But you also know that stealing is wrong. So I'll wait, but both of you two are going to apologize to each other and give their belongings back." I let Stevie go and crossed my arms expectantly.

Stevie walked toward Stacey reluctantly. "Stacey, I'm sorry I called you bad names."

"I forgive you." Stacey looked up at me. I gestured for her to go on. "And I'm sorry I stole your toy." She returned the action figured and Stevie smiled before taking off towards his room.

I was about to leave too whenever I felt Stacey grab my hand. "What is it?"

"Uh, Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

She looked down at her sock covered feet. "Victorious isn't on yet, so could I stay with you until it's on? I don't like being downstairs by myself."

I nodded, already taking her up the stairs with me. "No one should ever be by their self wherever they are. Let's go."

How was this chapter? You like it? Hate it? Think Mercedes has lost her mind? I love sam in this chapter. I was reading one of my favorite stories, Just Listen and was totally inspired.

Please tell me what you thought, I'm begging you. I could really use some reassurance that you still like where the story's going. So? What are you waiting for? Be like Nike and JUST DO IT.