Rachel Berry stares at herself in the mirror and sighs. Her new blouse, now soaked in slush, lies crumpled in the sink, the running water washing the purple stain away. She places each hand on opposite edges of the ceramic and grips tightly as she tries to collect herself.

One. Two. Three.

She takes a deep breath, the last of her anxiety slipping away. She frowns at the smudge of purple against the white fabric of her bra. Propping her backpack on to the sink next to hers, she unzips the front pocket to retrieve her packet of moist towelettes.

By now, this has become routine. She doesn't even bother to change in one of the stalls anymore. By the time she recieved her tenth slushie to the face, finding Rachel Berry in her bra, vigorously rinsing artificial coloring out of her shirt, has become a common sight for the girls that stream in and out of the girls room by the school exit. It's the one nearest to her locker, which just happened to be the favorite spot for her tormentors. Today however, was different. Please, please, if there exists a higher power out there, please make it so he didn't see her. As she attempts to rub out the stain on her bra, she sighs again as she remembers the humiliating encounter.

By the time the last school bell had rung, she had been in great spirits as she made her way to her locker. Their upcoming performance for the school is just days away, and the thought of glee rehearsal made her feel excited and nervous all at once. The choreography had been finalized and if her partner for the routine just happened to be the school's quarterback, well it was only fate working in her favor. She truly believed that the end result was going to blow their performance out of the water. Her peers will be lining up to get into glee club in no time, if everything were to go as planned.

The little skips in her steps came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the school hallway at the sight that greeted her. Five feet away was Quinn Fabray and the boy that had been invading her daydreams for weeks. Standing close together. She could only see his back from where she was, but from the way the perfect little blonde was giggling so superficially, Rachel knew that he must be smiling. Anybody who bothered to look could probably see the way her shoulders drooped immediately at the sight before her.

Brown eyes met blue, and Rachel saw the smug look that passed through the cheerleader's face five seconds before Quinn had grabbed the back of his head to pull him down for a kiss. The girl's eyes were open as she stared pointedly at Rachel the whole time. The blow to her heart felt like a gunshot wound. She swallowed the gasp that threatened to come out and felt that familiar prickle in the back of her eyes. Rachel had looked away immediately, her gaze swerving to the freshman next to her who was cleaning out his locker.

Suddenly, feeling excited about a mere dance choreography felt like such a foolish thing to do. What was she thinking, allowing herself to be swept up by dreams of Finn Hudson and his beautiful smile? As she walked nearer towards the perfect couple, she kept her gaze firmly focused on the floor as she stared at the buckles on her shoes. Why did her locker have to be so close to Quinn's anyway.

"Berry." Looking up was reflex, and thus she was greeted by freezing cold ice chips to the face. She stood surprised in the middle of the hallway, the syrup running down her face and making its way down her neck, into her shirt.

"Hey! Watch it!" the girl next to her had exclaimed angrily at the jock of the day. Some of the the drink must have spilled over on to her shoes or something. It wasn't until she heard the shrill and grating laughter coming from her bane of existence did Rachel become completely aware of where she was. She was still in the middle of the school hallway, her locker two feet away. And Finn was there. And Finn was going to see her, in all her mortifying glory.

Corn syrup seeped into her eyes as she looked up to find him with his back still facing her. Rachel could see from his stance that he was about to turn around. She made a beeline for the girls room just a few steps away. As she darted through the door, she was eternally grateful that she had rolled her bag in with her, complete with a clean shirt. The thought of having to go back out there to retrieve the blouse in her locker was too shameful to comprehend.

She dragged her backpack towards the third sink as usual, the sound of rolling wheels accompanying her. Rachel stood in front of the mirror and stared at herself, watching the melting slush roll down her face towards the growing stain on her brand new blouse. She should have known wearing white to school was never a safe choice. It was going to take forever to wash it out. She absolutely despised the look on her face. She looked like a puppy that had just been kicked over.

She looked away. Rachel heaved a huge sigh and stood straight, puffing out her chest. So it was another slushie facial, so what? It takes more than a cheap drink to bring Rachel Barbara Berry down. Gingerly, she untucked the blouse out of her skirt and began to undo the buttons. She slipped out of the sticky attire and threw it into the basin with vehemence before turning on the tap.

She looked up into the mirror once more, and all the pep she had managed to instill in herself just a minute ago flew out the window.

And this is where she's standing still, looking at herself, the wet tissue gripped tightly in her hand. What was this, her fiftieth slushie facial? It's only Wednesday and she has already been slushied twice. One for every day of the week. Noah Puckerman. Dave Karofsky. And who was it today? She didn't get a good look. She was too busy forcing herself not to cry. It serves her right for having her head up in the clouds in the school hallway in the first place. Really, it's the one place on earth where she has to constantly be on her feet in case of flying ice and what did she do? Moon over Finn Hudson, that's what.

You need to keep your eye on the bigger picture. Broadway. Fame. Fortune. Rabid fans from all over the world fawning over the best singer that has appeared in generations. What is she doing getting caught up in juvenile high school problems, falling into unrequited love for the most popular boy in school? God, could she be any more of a cliche? Cupping a handful of water, Rachel splashes it on to her face, wiping at her cheeks vigorously. She needs to get a grip. And soon. There's no time to wait for her shirt to dry. She's going to have to finish this later. Picking up the wet lump in the sink, she tries her best to wring the water out before stuffing it into a plastic bag.

She puts on the grey sweater she brought and straightens her posture in front of the mirror, her hands on her hips. Satisfied with the way she looks, she nods firmly to herself and zips up her bag. She's almost at the door when suddenly she remembers something else. Heaving another huge aigh of annoyance, Rachel rummages through her bag again to look for the thick black marker she had brought to school. She leaves her backpack by the door and walks briskly to the fourth stall, pushing the door open with her foot.

There it is.

Squaring her shoulders, she walks right up to the obscene caricature of herself and uncaps her marker. Whoever the artist was, the girl seriously needs some art lessons. And a lesson in anatomy. She presses the pen with slightly more pessure than necessary on to the wood. Rachel colors over the picture furiously, the tips of her fingers turning white with the force of her grip. It's somewhat therapeutic, focusing all of her energy into making one huge black mark on the toilet wall. With one last exuberant stroke, she steps back to analyze her work. Satisfied that there was no trace of the horrendous artwork left, Rachel steps out of the stall and heads to the exit.

She gives it two days, max, before another one of those pictures pop up. That was the fourth drawing she'd had to black out thus far.

She's so immersed in her thoughts, she doesn't even realize the human wall standing right in front of the door until she literally walks into it. A pair of arms grab her shoulders to steady her as Rachel trips and squeals in surprise.

"Whoa. Sorry." She freezes. She could recognize that deep voice anywhere. She hears it in her dreams. She looks up, her eyes connecting with his worried, chocolate-brown orbs.

"Finn?" she squeaked. Instantly, the hands leave her and drops clumsily to his sides. "What are you doing here?" She looks around to look for any signs of Quinn Fabray. The hallway is empty.

"Are you okay? I- well, I saw what happened," he mumbles as he grabs the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Oh." She wishes more than anything that the ground would just open up right now, right at this very moment, and just swallow her whole. Because trying to look Finn Hudson in the eye after knowing that he had witnessed the humiliation that befell her, was close to impossible.

"Hey," he says, his voice regaining some confidence. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she mutters, still embarrassed, her face still highly inflamed.

"Oh. Good, I guess." She frowns as she realized that he had probably been waiting for her.

"How long have you been standing here?"

"Um.. I don't know. Since I saw you go in?"

"That was almost twenty minutes ago," she says, her pulse racing. He's been waiting for her?

"Yeah. I was uh- I was waiting for you to come out." She finally looks up at him and their proximity unnerves her. She doesn't think she's ever been this close to him before.

"Why?" she asks softly. He looks confused by her question.

"I wanted to see if you were okay."

"Why?"

"Why? Well." He grips the back of his neck again and looks at her, almost apprehensively. "Cause we're friends. Aren't we?"

"Friends," she repeats, staring at the stripes across his chest. The word sounds so foreign rolling of her tongue. "Friends," she says again. She likes how it sounds coming out of her mouth. She realizes that he's staring at her and looks up to find him looking at her like she just landed from Mars. But that's nothing new. It's how he always looks at her.

"Am I your friend Finn?" she asks, trying her best to look calm and composed. He looks almost afraid to say his next words.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm your friend right?"

"Right," she says, a grin exploding on her face. "You're my friend Finn."

"Yeah. Cool."

"Cool," she repeats, her heart blooming happily.

She has a friend. And it's Finn.

She's Finn's friend.

"So uh- are you okay?" he asks.

"I'm perfect," she says. She's still standing there, smiling up at him like a maniac, and he's starting to look a little freaked out. Forcing herself to get out of her Finn-induced bliss, Rachel clears her throat.

"We should get going," she says briskly as she turns and heads toward their choir room. "The performance is not going to choreograph itself." She hears his footsteps and struggles not to clap her hands gleefully as he falls in step with her.

"Hey Rachel," he says, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She feels lightheaded at his touch and forces her heart to stay in her chest.

"Yes Finn?"

"I think you missed a spot."

"What?" she asks, confused. He reaches out towards her and suddenly he's touching her, his thumb gently grazing the top of her right ear.

She thinks her heart just stopped beating.

"Your ear's kind of purple," he says, his own ears turning red.

"Thank you," she whispers. He shrugs and smiles, the right side of his lips pulling upward. She wonders if all friends think about kissing their friends lips like she does.

She doesn't have a lot of experience in the department, but somehow she doubts it.