Somehow Finn managed to get a 73 on the first US History test, it isn't a brilliant grade but he feels it is a good starting point. Of course, even from the best starting point there is the potential for things to go wrong. With his date with Quinn on Tuesday and the 4th of July celebrations of Wednesday, when Finn goes into school on the day of the second test he hasn't picked up his textbook outside of class since Sunday.
Fortunately for Finn, the number of study hours the class is scheduled to take before they can be made to sit the test clashes strangely with the summer school timetable and so the US History class get to spend the first two hours of their day in the library. Finn spends the time frantically going over his class notes and dreading the examination that awaits him. During the test he forgets the dates for the Battle of Shiloh and the name of the Union commander at the Battle of Gettysburg. He tries to make up for it in the long answer question about how slavery was a factor in secession, recalling Mr. O'Neill's advice for writing literature essays, (That sometimes you have to look at what the question isn't asking as much as what it is) he applies the same technique and writes not only about slavery, but also everything he remembers about sectionalism, States' rights, 'Free Soil', the election of Lincoln and the Battle of Fort Sumter. It is the longest answer Finn's ever given in a History test and the only time he's ever exceeded the suggested answer length. He hopes it'll be enough.
Ms. Defoe wants everybody to bring their current project to class tomorrow and unless he throws something together before then, Finn's going to be presenting the classic 'invisible man in a snowstorm'. Puck wants another rehearsal of his latest composition (Ten Inches) so they'll be ready to perform it at Conrad's. The laundry hamper is so far beyond overflowing that it isn't even funny. Despite these facts when Finn gets home, he kicks off his sneakers, pulls his sweaty polo shirt from sticking to his back; then yanks it off over his head and collapses onto his welcoming mattress in his sweatpants and socks.
He wakes from his nap a few hours later feeling grottier than he had before he fell asleep because of the stifling air in the room and how hot it is, his skin feels like it's been dipped in honey. He kicks his pants off and throws them in the direction of the ever-growing pile of dirty laundry, then crosses through to the bathroom. He stays under the refreshing spray of the shower until the water begins to run so cold that it's unpleasant.
Returning to the bedroom wrapped in a towel, he throws open the window to tempt in a breeze and then unearths an antique electric fan from the assortment of junk beneath his bed. He sets the device up to clear the choking atmosphere of his bedroom and redresses in the sweatpants and the only clean shirt he still has in his dresser. Aware that the laundry situation has reached critical mass, he gathers up the pile of wrinkled clothing that has become a small mountain in the corner and spends half an hour separating out the clothes by color, fabric and most in need of an immediate wash. When the sorting is done, he takes the primary laundry pile down to the utility room and loads it all into the machine.
He watches cartoons in the lounge as the machine goes through its cycle, then transfers the first load into the tumble dryer. He collects the next load from his room and starts the washer up again, then heads back to the front room to resume watching TV. He browses the listings until he finds an afternoon flick that has a reasonable write-up, he comes into it twenty minutes late but manages to piece enough of the plot together to enjoy the rest.
His mom arrives home as he's ironing the largest creases out of the first load, while the second load is still in the dryer. She peers into the utility room and watches him curiously, "You're doing laundry?"
"I need clean clothes for tomorrow night," He rationalizes.
Seeming to accept this as more plausible than her son having developed an onset appreciation for doing housework, she accepts the answer. "Dinner should be about an hour," She informs, turning away and leaving him to his work. He manages to finish the ironing and put his freshly-laundered clothes back in his dresser just in time to head downstairs and eat the meal his mom's prepared.
When he heads back up to his room after dinner the fan is still running and the air is pleasantly cool. The light on the answering machine is blinking so Finn presses the button and listens to Puck's profane tirade directed at him for not having shown up to practice. Finn considers calling back, but decides it'll be easier to stop by the Puckerman household after school tomorrow and rehearse the new number then. With his mind turned to their set at Conrad's, Finn digs around in the drawer of his desk for the scrap of paper Will had given him on Monday and dials the older man's number.
"Yo."
For a second he thinks he's dialed the wrong number, then he recognizes the voice, "Bryan?"
"Oh. Yard sale guy." Finn wonders idly if Will's roommate is genuinely bad with names or just trying to be a pain in the ass.
"Is Will there?" Finn requests.
There's a muted yell of 'Schuester, phone!' and then Will answers, "Hello?"
"Hey Will." Finn settles on the edge of the bed and twines his fingers in the blankets distractedly. "My band's playing at Conrad's again tomorrow night and I wondered if you wanted to come see us play."
"Are you the only ones playing?" The older man asks and the undertone of wariness isn't as well hidden as he probably thinks it is.
"I wish," Finn snorts. "No, we're not quite good enough to be headlining. We're splitting the bill with that chick band, The Guise." (Puck is irritably perky about this turn-up and Finn suspects he is going to have to stop another conversation with amps being used as an unsavory metaphor for genitalia).
"So you're not going to abandon me all night," Will surmises.
"I'll be free to hang for some of the time," Finn agrees. "But, hey, this could be your chance to put my lessons to the test."
"What lessons? You gave me a self-esteem manifesto, taught me how to offer to buy someone a drink and told me that my chosen profession is a universal turn-off," Will summarizes sardonically.
The young man pointedly ignores the teasing, "So will you come?"
"I don't see why not," Will decides.
"Cool." Finn gives the time that his band will be playing, listens to a humorous anecdote about Will's frustratingly incompetent colleague and hangs up the phone with a wide grin on his face.
He takes the phone out of the cradle again a few moments later to call Quinn and tell her about the performance, ignoring the mocking voice in his head asking why his girlfriend is the second person he's calling.
"I kinda thought we were gonna be in the green room," Quinn complains, arms folded over her chest.
"I don't think this place has a green room," Finn justifies their position on a table at the edge of the stage.
"Whatever," His girlfriend dismisses, pulling her hair back.
"I wanted to see the leprechauns," Brittany laments quietly, sucking up her soda with a bendy straw.
Santana blew them off for who-even-knows, Sam's suffering another of his postponed hangovers and so has his forehead glued to the tabletop and Puck is too busy watching the all-female band on stage to take part in the conversation.
"So, this is fun," Quinn remarks sarcastically.
Finn sighs. It seems somewhat paradoxical that they had so much to say to each other when they were all in school together and yet now that they're each off doing other things they don't have any stories to tell one another.
"How long til you're on?" Brittany questions.
"Five minutes less than the last time you asked," Finn answers sharply. He runs a hand through his hair again in frustration, displacing the style he'd neatly combed it into earlier that evening even further; but he's beyond caring about it.
On stage, The Guise reach the end of the their current number and take a quick break before starting the next one. Puck wolf-whistles at the group's lead singer. Finn wonders whether Santana would care that her occasional boyfriend doesn't seem to have noticed she isn't here; he suspects that the Latina is distancing herself from Puck slowly as her imminent move to Rhode Island draws closer.
"Hey Finn."
The young man looks up at the sound of his name and smiles for the first time in half an hour, "Hey Will, you made it."
The older man nods and looks around the crowded table for an empty seat. Finn shifts his own seat over and stands up to bring a chair across from one of the less-populated tables nearby.
"Guys, this is Will," Finn introduces. "Will, this is Brittany and my girlfriend, Quinn. You already know Puck and Sam."
Sam lifts his head up from the table long enough to say hello and then thunks back down with a groan. Puck looks round and quirks an eyebrow to acknowledge the new arrival, then turns back to ogling the girl belting out a high note about rebelling against the corrupt authority who are oppressing the free-minded youth masses.
"It's nice to meet you," Will inclines his head towards the girls, smiling politely. Brittany stares vacantly while Quinn smiles thinly and taps her nails on the tabletop. The older man visibly squirms and turns his attention back to Finn. "That's, uh, that's a cool t-shirt."
Finn looks down at the Deep Purple t-shirt he uncovered during the mass laundry session of the previous day and smiles, "Yeah. It was my dad's."
"Doesn't it fit him anymore?" Will inquires.
There's a heavy uncomfortable silence. "My dad's dead," Finn answers.
"Oh." Will's expression flickers to somber like the flip of a switch and he stands up quickly to make a retreat,"I'm just gonna grab a drink."
"So that's your friend, huh?" Quinn remarks when the older man has gone.
"He didn't know," Finn defends.
"My point exactly," She argues. "You can't have known this guy very long if he doesn't even know the basic things about you."
He bristles, (Will may not know every little detail about him, but at least he and Will can stand to be in the same room without arguing) and stands up sharply, "I'm going to go talk to him."
He finds Will at the bar waiting for his order to be served, from the look on his face when Finn approaches he'd probably have run off without the incentive of waiting for his drink to keep him there.
"It's not a big deal," The young man insists, leaning on the bar beside his friend and looking forward as he speaks. "He died when I was a baby."
"It's a big deal," Will insists. "I'm not looking to be someone's father figure, okay?"
Finn blinks and then laughs sharply, "Is that what you think this is? Believe me, my mom's had half a dozen men trying to be a father figure to me since I was a kid and I learned quickly I can do without one. I want to be your friend, that's all."
The older man looks over at him, "Just friends?" He questions, bright green eyes searching for something.
"I'll be your friend and your wingman if you ever need it," Finn declares, smiling brightly and holding a hand out. "That's all."
Will takes the hand, then pulls Finn forward into a hug. The younger man is startled at first, but then eases into it and pats Will on the back until the embrace breaks.
As they turn to head back to the table, Finn collides with someone heading up to the bar.
"Sorry," He apologizes immediately as he helps to steady the stranger. Then he takes in the silk shirt and the primly cut bangs and realizes that it isn't a stranger after all.
"Fancy running into you in a place like this," Kurt remarks, one eyebrow rising with smooth control.
"Hello Kurt," Finn greets politely, letting go of the other boy abruptly.
"So, how are you doing?" Kurt inquires stiffly, dropping a hand to his hip and giving him a once over.
"Good," He answers brusquely. "You?"
"Also good..." The shorter boy looks across to Will, then the other side of Finn to see who else might be accompanying him. "Well, I should be going," Kurt steps round him. "It was nice to see you."
"Yeah, and you," Finn answers.
"So who was that?" Will inquires, having been stood on the periphery of the exchange.
"My mom's boyfriend's son," He answers.
"And the reason for all that tension is?"
"A long story," Finn answers the prompt.
"Okay, you don't have to tell me," Will remarks, shrugging nonchalantly.
"Fine," Finn sighs as they sit back down at their table. Puck and Sam are both still oblivious to the conversations going on around them, Quinn and Brittany have gone to the bathroom and the music is so loud that there's little chance of anybody overhearing. If there's a time to talk about this, it's now. "My mom and his dad got together towards the end of our Sophomore year. I didn't mind that Mom had a new boyfriend, but Kurt was... He had a crush on me." Will's eyebrows rise with intrigue, but he doesn't interrupt. "I didn't have a problem with the fact that he was gay, I mean; that's his business, but I told him I wasn't interested and he didn't listen."
"So what did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," He insists. "But I mentioned it to some of the guys from the football team and they decided to act on my behalf. They pushed him against lockers, threw his books in the pool, egged his house; stuff like that. I told them to lay off, but they wouldn't listen to me. Anyway, his dad came round our house one night after all their lawn furniture had been nailed to the roof of their house and he accused me of being a part of it. I argued back, Mom stood up for me and that was the end of their relationship; torn apart protecting their stupid kids."
Will frowns and pats Finn's shoulder reassuringly, "But you said they were dating now?"
"Yeah, they got back together this summer," He replies. "That's sorta the worst part."
The older man's frown deepens, "I don't understand."
"It's like, now that I've graduated and I'm not gonna be around anymore, they're getting back together. Does that mean that I'm the only thing that's been standing between my mom and happiness? Has taking care of me all my life been holding her back?" He exhales heavily, but it feels good to voice his thoughts and fears aloud. "I feel so lousy when I think about it."
Will's hand on his shoulder squeezes. "If she chose to stand up for you despite the problems it caused her, that was her decision."
"But what if-?"
"Don't start with 'what if?'," Will asserts. "I walked the long road of 'what if?' when my marriage fell apart. 'What if I'd been home more?', 'What if we'd been to a counselor?', 'What if her sister wasn't a massive bitch?'. It doesn't get you anywhere, Finn."
The young man forces a smile, "It still sucks."
"Yes it does," Will agrees, holding his bottle aloft so they can toast the sentiment.
"What's with the man-loving?" Quinn remarks, slipping into her seat.
"Male bonding, you wouldn't understand," Finn jokes. She narrows her eyes at him in return, so he slides his chair towards hers and settles an arm round her shoulders reassuringly.
The Guise finish their first hour and clear the stage so that the Dirty Muthafuckas can play the first half of their set. Sam moans at the loss of the cold wood against his throbbing forehead and Puck is too busy trying to chat up the lead singer of the other band to help Finn with his drums. He checks over the confusing percussion notation he took down earlier in Puck's garage and then hesitantly plays out the opening drum line to Ten Inches.
He repeats his actions from a week before and keeps an eye on Will as much as he can throughout their performance. The older man vanishes from the table some time during I Wanna Fuck Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Three guesses who wrote that one, and the first two don't count) and Finn doesn't catch sight of him again until Lima Loser when he realizes that he's talking to a woman at the bar. He grins and beats out his solo with more enthusiasm than is needed.
Will and the woman escape from Finn's view again as the Dirty Muthafuckas first hour comes to a close and so, as The Guise come back on for the second half of their set, he heads over to the table.
"Did you see where Will went?" He asks.
Quinn stops flicking peanut shells across the tabletop and looks up at him witheringly, "No."
"I saw him with a woman in a Radiohead shirt," Brittany answers. "She had black hair though, shouldn't he find a woman with red hair?" Finn feels a stab of concern when he realizes that the ditzy blonde has recognized Will from the prank at the diner, but Quinn seems to dismiss the comment as another of Brittany's peculiar musings.
"Somebody kill me," Sam pleads, laying back in his chair with his head hanging over the back.
Quinn's lips purse in concern and she holds a palm to his forehead, "You're burning up." She reaches down for her handbag and pulls the reluctant bassist to his feet.
"Where are you going?" Puck demands.
"To get him some fresh air," She answers firmly, not at all intimidated by his effort to act as a human wall between her and the exit. "And some aspirin from the drug store on the corner. Don't worry, I'll have him back before you have to go back on."
"Well, just make sure you do," Puck declares lamely, stepping aside.
When Puck leaves to order a drink and leer at The Guise from the sidelines it leaves Finn and Brittany alone at the table.
"I saved you some red ones," The blonde remarks, passing a packet of Skittles across to him. "It was hard because I kept having to put them back when I got a red one, but I know that you like them, so..."
"Thanks Brittany," Finn smiles softly at the girl's kind act and pours the candy into his palm. She bites her lip at the sight of the dozen or so strawberry candies and so he holds them out invitingly, "We'll share them." She beams and picks one up, popping it into her mouth and swinging her legs cheerfully.
"So how's working at the coffee place going?" He asks.
She tilts her head from side to side, an ambivalent gesture. "It's okay, I guess. I miss seeing everybody though."
"You're seeing us now," He consoles.
"Not Santana," She points out the absence sadly. "They all leave me alone eventually." Finn is reminded of the time he met Brittany in the morning before school and found her red-eyed and distant, when he'd asked what was wrong she told him that her cat had died with the same neutral tone one might used to comment on the weather. Even when she is feeling extreme emotions, Brittany's voice doesn't waver. "Dave Karofsky, Kevin Thompson and West Brody all broke up with me. Most guys I sleep with don't give a damn in the morning, even you went back to Quinn a few weeks after we hooked up."
Finn flinches as he's reminded of the longest running lie he's ever told. To try and save face after the Quinn&Puck backstabbing fiasco of Sophomore year and to convince his friends that he'd lost his virginity, Finn claimed to have slept with Brittany at a party during summer vacation. Santana tried to debunk the rumor, but after he told her he knew about the twin moles on Brittany's inner thigh even the Latina accepted the story as the truth. (He'd actually seen the distinctive marking after accidentally walking in on one of Santana and Brittany's drunken fumblings).
"It wasn't about you, Brittany," He assures. "Quinn and me... It was just complicated."
"You love each other," She prompts.
"Yeah," He answers, pushing the doubting voice at the back of his mind aside.
"Nobody's ever in love with me," The blonde laments meekly. "Not even, San. Come September she'll be on the east coast and I'll be here in Lima, serving coffee."
Finn reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind Brittany's ear, she looks up at him; astounded by the gentle gesture. "You'll find someone," He states firmly, full of conviction. "Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow; but someday right in in dull little Lima, Ohio someone will see how amazing you are, Brittany, and they'll sweep you off your feet and love you until the day they die."
Her wide blue eyes blink slowly before she asks, "Do you really think so?"
"I do," He asserts.
She smiles shyly and takes another Skittle from his hand, "Thanks, Finn."
Will reappears at that exact moment, dropping into the seat beside Finn and ducking down. His neat curls are disheveled and his t-shirt is wrinkled.
"What happened to you?" Finn asks, observing the disordered details with fascination.
"A woman named Shelby," The older man answers. "I bought her a drink, we talked, she wanted to screw in the bathroom."
The young man recalls his friend's policy on one-night-stands, "That didn't go over well, huh?"
"She wasn't inclined to stop," Will agrees, making efforts to smooth down his shirt.
"You should have just told her you're an accountant," Finn suggests with a teasing grin. When the older man lowers his brows in response, he holds out his palm with an innocent smile, "Skittle?"
Quinn brings Sam back in time for the band to play their second hour and finish out the live entertainment for the night. One of the bar staff switches on the jukebox after they're done and the lounge is filled with an eclectic selection of chart hits and old classics. Will doesn't make another attempt at talking to a woman for the entire night and so as they're leaving, Finn talks to him and promises to think of somewhere that Will might be able to meet less drunk, less horny women.
Finn's first paid shift at Ringo's is as uneventful as his trial shift had been. When the Sunday shift sets itself up to be the same he comments on it to Joolie.
"This isn't exactly mile-a-minute, adrenalin pumping action; no," She replies sarcastically. "Welcome to retail."
On his lunch break he walks the three blocks to Oakland Parkway to visit Brittany. The blonde has noticeably settled into the job and keeps up with the busy lunchtime rush without becoming too flustered. As Finn's lunch hour is coming to an end, Brittany gets a five minute break from behind the counter and comes to sit by the window with him.
"How's work at the record store?" She asks.
"Almost entirely uneventful," He responds. "Is it always this busy?"
"Not all the time," She assures. "There's a rush in the morning and at lunchtime. Less so at about 6pm when people are heading home from work. The rest of the time it's pretty quiet, I like to sit and draw."
"Draw what?" He asks, anticipating dolphins.
"It's a surprise," She answers with a tiny smile.
"So what's with all the leaflets," He queries, to provide another topic of conversation. He gestures to the small pile of bright colored fliers sitting on their table and most of the other tables too.
"Some are from advertisers, others just get left behind by people," Brittany explains. Sifting through the pile on their table the pair laugh at some of the silly messages and slogans, but one advertisement in particular attracts Finn's attention.
"Brittany," The balding guy behind the register calls the blonde back to her work.
"I gotta go," She says, standing up. "I'll see you tomorrow, Finn."
"Yeah," He agrees, folding the flier that had caught his interest and tucking it into his pocket. "See ya."
Finn takes a bran muffin back to Ringo's for his colleague, she thanks him by introducing him to the highly entertaining 'Make up stuff about the customers lives' game. By the end of the day, they have sold CDs to many interesting people, such as: a master of Mullet-Fu, a nymphomaniac who is a closeted-cowgirl and the teenage clone of Sean Connery. Finn is feeling more optimistic about spending his summer working at the record store than he did the day before.
Brittany unveils the drawing she's been working on in Art class on Monday. It shows her waiting at a bus stop with a big, brown-eyed wolfhound sitting on the bench beside her. The dog is wearing a checked shirt that is instantly familiar to Finn.
"What are those red circles on the bench between them?" Ms. Defoe inquires.
"Skittles," The artist answers.
"I see," The teacher remarks. "What do they represent?"
"They represent Skittles," Brittany replies plainly.
"I see," The teacher repeats, frowning and handing the sketchbook back to the blonde.
Finn reluctantly hands his own sketchbook to Ms. Defoe and waits anxiously as she looks over the half-assed sketch he filled a page with.
"Is this really how you want to portray your identity?" She asks with a disappointed sigh. "You have three more weeks to produce something insightful, please try to make use of that time."
He takes the sketchbook back and promises to try harder. His problem is that he doesn't know at all how he wants to portray his identity, his feelings about his place in their community or any of the other stuff Ms. Defoe likes to discuss with the class.
Tina C has drawn an elaborate portrait of herself surrounded by soap bubbles, each one reflecting a different expression. Finn still thinks Brittany's drawing is the best piece of the day.
Although it's out of his way, Finn drops Brittany off at the coffee shop before driving to Puck's place. Mrs. Puckerman answers the front door and directs him on through to the garage, informing him that the others are already there. As he takes the three steps down into the cluttered garage Finn realizes that 'the others' include more than just his band mates.
"Hey Finnocence," Santana smirks up at him from where she's lounging on the dilapidated couch.
"What's she doing here?" Finn asks Puck as he crosses the room and bends down to slide up the garage door.
"I missed seeing you guys play, so I figured I'd hang out for today," The Latina answers his question. "It's not like I have anything better to do." He figures that last part is probably the truth as to why she's here.
"Oh dude," Sam groans as the light from outside hits him in the eyes.
"Sorry," Finn apologizes as he heads over to the Aries and opens the trunk. Puck helps him carry the drums into the garage and then slams the door down again, returning them to the dank gloom. It's not the best way they could set things up, but they've learned from past experience that it's easier to keep the garage cool in the hottest weeks of the year with the use of numerous electric fans rather than relying on a breeze.
"So do we have our next gig booked?" Finn questions as he stands the bass drum upright and looks around for the tom holders.
"I'm working on it," Puck answers, kicking aside an empty soda can that's been left by a fold-out lawn chair. "Conrad's been stonewalling me. Won't book us again til next month so I'm making some calls to places over in St. Mary's."
Finn grits his teeth to hold in his groan as he hangs the pair of toms off their respective holders. St. Mary's is nice enough, especially if you're going out to the lake with some friends or with a girl, but Puck's not a fun person to carpool with long distance and so gigging anywhere outside the city limits is a pain in the ass.
"Why won't he book you again?" Santana queries. "I mean, did you guys totally blow on Friday or something?"
"Well, not totally," Sam responds.
"He just said something about not wanting to feature us too much, too soon," Puck overrides, glaring at his sometimes girlfriend. "If we keep rocking the place every weekend, how will they find someone good enough to replace us once we're famous rock stars playing stadiums across the country?"
"Book the next group of high school boneheads with guitars and delusions of grandeur?" She suggests, her smile saccharine and acidic.
Her insult stings the drummer, but he accepts that's largely because she isn't far off base. The past couple of weeks have been a fun taste of what-might-be but he's still planning on heading off to OSU when the summer ends; Sam's got a place in Ivy Tech in Indianna. The only one still entertaining the idea that the band are gonna stick together through anything and go on to fame and fortune is Puck.
He pauses in setting up the drum kit, spinning the cymbal in his hands loosely. "Is there any point rehearsing today if we haven't even got a gig yet?"
The lead guitarist turns to glare at his band mate, "We're already three hours behind because you're dumb enough to go to summer school. We're not stopping completely just because you want to."
"We're two hours behind at the most," Finn argues (It would take a hefty miracle to get Puck working before 10am). "And I'm not dumb for wanting to graduate, asshole."
"Graduating is for pussies!" Puck snaps.
"So are all rehearsals like this?" Santana asks Sam derisively.
"Only the good ones," The bassist returns with an ironic smile. He pushes his shaggy hair out of his eyes and elaborates, "We'll probably have a song called Graduating is for Pussies penned by August."
"So what's your plan?" Finn challenges his friend, oblivious to the mocking commentary coming from the couch. "Just keep playing gigs for a hundred bucks each?"
"Of course," The mohawked teen responds. "This is the plan, dude. We've been wanting this since seventh grade."
(It all seemed so much simpler back then). Finn deflates, losing the energy to keep fighting, and slides the cymbal onto its stand, "So what are we gonna play first?"
They pass the afternoon playing through their best songs and working the kinks out of some of the newer ones. The tension from the argument eases out quickly and Finn and Puck return to the camaraderie they've shared since grade school when little Finn Hudson had finally stood up to his bully and given Noah a bloody nose. The two of them have been friends so long that neither can stay mad at the other for long (Ignoring the notable exception that left them not speaking to each other for half a year. So much so that Finn has to note that for all that their relationship may appear to have returned to what it was, he's never truly stopped feeling the twinge of betrayal when he thinks of Puck and Quinn together).
Santana watches them play with disinterest, texts on her cellphone, makes disparaging remarks and makes out with Puck during their interludes. When Esther wanders into the garage late in the afternoon, the Latina calls her 'Pester' and refuses to share the couch. The little girl sticks her tongue out and returns fire by calling the older girl 'Fake-Tan-a', the sight of a preteen girl scoring a verbal bulls-eye on Santana Lopez's biggest aesthetic insecurity chalks up at least a dozen points on the cosmic scale.
Checking his watch repeatedly as five o'clock approaches, Finn finishes up the song they're playing and then sets his sticks down.
"I've gotta get going," He remarks casually.
"Already?" Puck responds. "So you got here late and now you're leaving early?"
Finn rolls his eyes and starts unscrewing the snare drum from its stand. "I've got stuff to do."
"Stuff," Puck repeats. "Like what?"
"Just, you know..." He shrugs and trails off vaguely, setting the snare drum down and disconnecting the hi-hat. "School stuff, dinner and I'm meeting Will."
"You know, I'm getting pretty fucking sick of this Will guy," Puck comments, lifting the strap of his guitar over his shoulder and setting the instrument down.
"Who's Will?" Santana asks (Because the day Santana keeps her nose out of other people's business is the day Hell serves roasted pork wings on an ice rink).
"Some old guy Finn keeps bringing along to our shows," Sam answers.
"He's not old," The drummer defends his friend. "He's only, like, thirty," (-six). He ducks down to detach the bass drum pedal and so he doesn't see the thoughtful expression pass over Santana's face.
"If you're going, will you give me a ride?" She requests, standing up and gathering her belongings.
"Sure, why not?" He answers frustratedly.
He loads the pieces of the drum kit into the trunk of the Aries and slams it closed audibly. He bids a tense goodbye to his band mates and climbs into the driver's seat.
"So where do you want me to take you?" He prompts Santana, eager to be rid of her company.
"Could you take me home?" She requests.
"That's halfway across town," He points out.
She gives him a disgusted look, but sighs, "Fine, just drop me off by St. Rita's; I'll walk from there."
They make it out of the Puckerman's neighborhood and onto the 81 before she starts up a conversation, "Do you remember that guy from the diner?"
Aware that he's walking on thin ice, Finn keeps his tone carefully blank, "Yeah."
"He had that yard sale," She continues. "You got some records, right?"
"Yeah, I did."
"Funny," She hums the word, smiling dangerously across the car at him. "A couple of days after that yard sale, Quinn called me to complain about some lame party you'd dragged her to with a bunch of guys playing old records."
"Yeah, that is weird," He plays dumb.
"Cut the crap, Hudson," The Latina demands. "You told me to stay away and then went after him yourself, didn't you?"
"It's not-" He glances across and realizes that she's grinning wickedly.
"I can't believe it, Finnocence. So what set-up have you got going on him? You've gotta let me in on it."
"It's not like that," He insists firmly.
"Okay, whatever." She snorts and slumps low in her seat. "I can't believe it though," She adds a moment later. "Here I am thinking you're some lunkhead and you've been reeling this guy along without me knowing."
He stops for a red light on the corner of East McKibben Street and looks her firmly in the eye as he speaks, "Stay away from him."
"What, are you getting defensive of your victim now?" She teases.
(She wants to see how hard he can play?), "I have photos of you snorting cocaine at Matt Rutherford's party last summer."
There are two pictures to be precise (And one is a little blurry), but his unsteady drunken aim with the camera had managed to capture photographic proof of her recreational drug habit in the background of his shots of the cool, glowing neon fish tank.
She blinks, the razor-sharp grin beginning to slide from her face. "What?"
"You heard me," He declares bluntly.
"Well, what are y-?"
"I know Jacob Ben Israel is working for the Lima News," Finn continues conversationally, turning to face the road and speaking with complete calm. "If those photos should happen to make their way into an exclusive article about the growing drug problem among Lima's youth... I don't think your daddy would be very happy, now would he?"
"Why should I care?" She retorts. "I'm getting out of this backwater in a month's time anyway."
"But is your daddy really going to pay for you to have your own apartment in Providence when he learns about your nasty little habit?" He arches an eyebrow and speaks with false concern.
"You're a bastard," Santana bites.
"And you're a bitch," He returns casually, taking the hand brake off as the light changes to green. "I won't do anything so long as you stay away from Will."
She scowls at him with every ounce of sass she can muster, but he knows he has her pinned down like a specimen in a butterfly collection. "Fine, I'll stay away from your buddy," She sneers the word.
He pulls the car to a stop alongside the Allen County Museum, right next to the hospital, and she climbs out readily.
"You know, Hudson," She remarks, leaning in through the window. "You're a real fucker."
"Bye Santana." He ignores her insult and waves, smiling insincerely, until she pulls away from the car and heads off down the street. Pulling away from the sidewalk with a cheery smile, he merges with the after work traffic and mentally calculates how many points on the cosmic scale he can attribute himself.
"You cooked side dishes?" Finn asks, looking over the serving dish of roast parsnips and the bowl of garden peas with bewilderment.
"Pizza alone isn't a balanced meal," Will retorts, loading his plate with vegetables before he'll accept a slice a Hawaiian from Finn.
"It's totally balanced, that's why the boxes stack," The younger man argues.
"And pineapple is a fruit," Bryan chips in. "Fruit is good for you."
"Why are you on his side?" Will demands.
The blond shrugs and reaches into the box for a second slice, "He bought the pizza."
It's true. Finn learned at about the onset of puberty that a good way to get into his mom's good graces was to take away the stress of cooking dinner from her; he had offered to bring along pizza when they were talking on the phone last night in the hope that Will would be similarly relaxed without the chore of cooking a meal to see to. The side dishes were an unanticipated complication.
They finish the pizza and watch a couple of episodes of the Simpsons, then Bryan finally withdraws from the lounge in favor of his bedroom and provides an opportunity for Finn to reveal his reason for stopping by.
"So, uh, how would you feel about speed dating?" The young man prompts as Will flips through the stations in search of something less mind-numbing than the top ten countdown show that had started playing when the cartoon sitcom ended.
"Why do you ask?" Will questions warily.
Finn digs the flier he'd taken from the coffee shop out of his pocket and passes it across to the older man. "There's one running at the community center near Baxter Park," He explains.
Will reads over the flier, one eyebrow arched skeptically, "This sounds like a horrible idea."
"It's a genius idea," Finn insists. He'd expected reluctance and the need for persuasion (The pizza had been an attempt to evade it) and so has arguments prepared. "If you meet someone and hit it off; great, and if don't meet anyone you like, there's no obligation to see any of them ever again. Besides, the whole concept is that you only have, like, two minutes to talk to someone, so it'll give you a chance to practice introducing yourself and get over your tendency to screw it up."
The older man runs a hand through his hair and watches the flier like it might bite him, "I don't know. This all seems a bit sketchy to me."
The younger man sighs and makes the offer he knew he'd probably have to make, "I'll go with you, if you like."
Will looks up from the flier and watches Finn with the same wariness he gave the flier, "Why would you do that?"
Finn shrugs and gives a lopsided grin. "I'm your wingman," He declares. "Besides, if it turns out to be as bad as you think we'll bail and go get something to eat."
"Not pizza?" Will inquires.
"Okay, no pizza."
"And you'll pay your half of the bill?"
"Not a problem," The young man assures.
"Fine," The older man agrees to the conditions and reluctantly phones the number on the flier there and then, so that Finn knows he isn't going to chicken out. "Two eligible bachelors confirmed for next Friday's 7pm meeting," He confirms once the call has been made.
"Oh fuck." The younger man gapes as he realizes the mistake he's just made.
"What?" Will asks, concerned.
"Oh, it's nothing. Just, Quinn's gonna deep-fry my balls if she finds out about this," Finn explains.
"You said it yourself, you don't have to actually go on real dates with any of the people you meet," The older man reminds. "If you explain it, I'm sure she'll understand."
"No. Quinn runs on insane chick logic when she gets mad," The young man assures. "She'll make out like I'm cheating on her with the whole of Ohio."
"The whole of Ohio," Will repeats under his breath. "'Hole of Ohio', that does kinda sound like a brothel."
Finn blinks, then laughs when the older man gives a cheesy grin. "Okay, so I keep it under wraps. Like, deep under wraps. Like 'on a picnic at an ant colony' under wraps."
"That sounds like a sensible plan," The older man agrees.
The television cuts to an ad break and the shrill jingle of the first commercial sends Will scrambling for the remote to resume his quest for a watchable TV show.
On Friday night as he's getting dressed in his room, Finn is startled by the ring of the telephone. He considers leaving the machine to answer the call, but changes his mind on the fifth ring and slides over to the bedside table to pick up.
"Hello?"
"Hey Finn," Quinn greets and knocks the young man's heart rate up a few notches out of anxiety. "Are you doing anything tonight?"
"Uh, yeah," He answers hesitantly. "Will and I are gonna..." He trails off when he remembers exactly who he is talking to and tries to cover his tracks, "Just hang out at his place."
"Well, can you blow it off? I want to see that new comedy about the sorority girl who enrolls at Harvard."
"Gee, that sounds great," (Like a brick to the face), "but I mean, I already told Will I'd go, so..." He hears Quinn's frustrated huff and goes into immediate damage control mode. "I work at the mall on weekends though, I'll stop by Stadium 12 before I start tomorrow and get us two great seats for the first showing after my shift finishes."
The huff changes to a light chuckle, "You can be a real goofball, you know."
"I try," He returns mischievously.
He spins on the railing at the bottom of the stairs on the way down, heading into the kitchen and going directly to the freezer for a Hot Pocket.
"Are you playing somewhere fancy tonight?" His mom questions from where she's grating cheese.
"Huh?" Finn queries, turning the dial on the microwave.
"What's with the tie?" She drops subtlety and asks.
"No gig, just trying to look good for..." He trails off for the second time in under five minutes. He fiddles with the striped tie, "Just wanted to look nice."
She hums a disbelieving sound and lets the matter drop. "So, are you playing anywhere this weekend?"
"Puck found some bar in St. Mary's that's willing to pay us for six hours work," He answers.
"Six hours?" She repeats.
"So, yeah, I'll be home late that night," He remarks, taking a slice of tomato from the pile she's already prepared.
"Well, just make sure you're not doing anything next Friday," She requests, swatting at his hand as he reaches for another slice.
"Why?"
"Since you boys are going away to college soon, I thought it might be nice to have Burt and Kurt over for dinner," She answers.
(Oh joy, there will be enough fillet of awkward silence for all!) "Okay, I'll make sure Puck knows I can't make next Friday."
She narrows her eyes at his reluctant tone, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to, honey."
"No," He insists. "No, I think it's a great idea." He tries, fiercely, to feel the enthusiasm he's putting into his words, but can't quite manage it.
"That jacket makes you look like a car salesman," Finn observes.
"I am a car salesman," Bryan answers.
The younger man frowns in consideration, "I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse."
"Whatever." The blond shrugs and takes a pull of his hip flask, "Bring on the ladies!"
"I'm, uh, sorry about this," Will apologizes as Bryan charges ahead of them down the hall. "I'd have warned you, but I didn't know he was going too until he started getting ready an hour ago."
"It's not a problem," Finn assures. "Just remember, tonight is about you."
"Right." The older man nods, anxiously pulling at the sleeve of his sweater. "Do I look okay?"
Finn wants to laugh at his friend's concern because it's so misplaced. The burgundy sweater and faded blue jeans show off his tight frame in such an appealing manner that if Finn were into guys (Which he's totally not, he just looks sometimes because he can appreciate the effort guys have put into getting pumped. Besides, girls like a guy who's in touch with his feminine side and comfortable with his own sexuality; there's like, magazine articles about it and stuff) he would be all over him in a heartbeat.
"You look amazing," He assures. "Do you remember the instructions I gave you?"
Will rolls his eyes and lists them, "Don't be scared, act friendly and subscribe to your fascist idea that accountancy is some kind of crime against romance."
"You embellished that last one a little," Finn acknowledges.
"I'm just a little reluctant to follow your advice on this one," The older man explains. "You haven't been to one of these things either."
"No," He admits. "But I know how girls' think."
"Then please, impart onto me your wisdom; O Master of the female brain," Will retorts dryly.
"If you get uncomfortable talking about yourself, use AHD," Finn answers, taking the challenge unflinchingly.
"Pretend I have an attention deficit?" Will queries, confused.
"No, AHD," The younger man repeats. "Aspirations, hopes and dreams."
Will's confused expression intensifies, "Aren't those all the same thing?"
"Not to a woman," Finn assures. "Take my girlfriend, Quinn, for example: She aspires to be a vet. She dreams of opening a little breakfast bar in a major city, but she'd never actually pursue it, and she hopes there will be world peace one day, which is different to a dream because she thinks it might really happen."
Will thinks it over as he holds the front door open for the younger man. "I still don't see where the difference is."
"It's subtle," Finn agrees. "You don't have to understand it all really. Just remember that if you ask a woman about her hopes for the future there's a good chance she'll talk your ear off."
The community center parking lot has a few dozen cars parked in it when they arrive. Will finds a free space and then the three of them head to the front entrance. A man in a cowboy hat and large-framed glasses charges them the ten dollar entry fee, then checks their names off on a register and hands them stickers to write their names on.
"'Hello my name is... being controlled by an evil puppet master and has gained a life of its own. Fetch help!'" Finn suggests, leaning on the counter and waiting for Will to hand him the marker pen.
"I don't think that will fit on the label," The older man answers with wry amusement, peeling his sticker off and placing it over his breast.
"'Hello my name is... too hard to pronounce'," Finn prompts as Bryan uses the pen.
"Here," Bryan slaps the sticker onto Finn's shirt and takes the blank one for himself. The sticker reads 'Yard sale guy'.
"I think mine was better," The young man remarks, but doesn't make a move to peel the label off.
The guy behind the counter passes across a questionnaire for each of them to fill in and directs them towards a room down the hall for when they've finished.
"Tick the box that represents how important each trait listed is to you in regard to your ideal partner," Finn reads from the form. "In which A means 'Not At All Important' and E means 'Very Important'." He frowns and taps his pencil against his cheek. "Do you think if I put all Cs, I'll get a mermaid?"
Will snorts and looks up from filling in his own boxes, "Are you gonna take this seriously at all?"
"Hey, I'm deliberately trying not to meet someone I like," The younger man reminds. "I don't want anything that Quinn can hold against me if she ever finds out about this."
In the room down the hall they mingle about with the rest of the customers, a crowd of men and women of varying ages; though most seem to be in their thirties to forties, until a tiny blonde woman walks in and addresses them all.
"Okay everybody, I hope we're all ready to part-ay!" She gives a loud whoop that isn't echoed by anybody. "My name is April Rhodes and I'm gonna be in charge of y'all this fine evening." She beams at them through bubblegum pink lip gloss.
"Is it too early to run away screaming?" Will whispers.
Finn swallows his laughter and whispers back, "We might as well get our money's worth." The woman in charge may be a petite bundle of excitable energy who is pushing forty but dresses much younger (Honestly, that skirt is even shorter than she is) but the evening can only improve, right?
Everybody gets handed a number, the women's numbers correspond to one of the tables in the three rooms that have been booked by the speed dating service; the men's numbers dictate which table they will start at and then proceed to navigate in a clockwise direction until they've visited every table in every room. Finn dislikes that the men have been given the task of traveling around while the women get to sit and wait for their dates to come to them, not only for the fact that he'll have to make sense of the bizarre system and probably screw it up, but also because their numbers are assigned based on alphabetical listing and so he and Will are going to be neatly separated for the evening by the distance of at least one room at all times.
"Here's how it's all gonna go," April announces cheerily. "When the bell rings-" She cups a hand to her ear and waits for her assistant to apathetically demonstrate the bell before continuing, "-the fellas start talking." She holds her left hand out. "When the bell rings again-" Another pause so the bell can be rung, "-the gals start talking." She holds her right hand out parallel to her left. "When the bell rings a third time-" The ring is quicker this time, even the assistant seems to be getting irritated with the pantomime his colleague is putting on. "-you get a minute to fill in your score card, ranking how you think the date went, and then you mosey on over to the next person." She crosses her arms over so her hands are pointing away from one another. "At the end of the evening we'll check your scorecards against the questionnaires you filled in when you arrived and give you a list of your best matches. Then we come back here and enjoy ourselves til closing time."
Finn tells his first date honestly that he's here as moral support for a friend and not actually looking for a date. She acts affronted and takes out her scorecard to mark him as zero in all categories, taking great care to do so in plain view. He isn't overly concerned by it but decides to play along with the other women for the next hour or so to avoid another stony silent five minutes.
"'Yard sale guy'?"
"Actually it's pronounced Yarrid Sol Goi."
"Is that foreign?"
"It's Russian."
He's having a lot of fun telling wild lies and inventing cool identities; the skills of imaginative storytelling Joolie taught him in their game to make the long, boring shifts seem less tedious are really coming in handy, and some of the women are friendly, funny and have interesting stories about their own lives. When he finishes filling in the scorecard for his seventh date and heads into the next room to meet girl number eight he has a shock in store.
"Tina C," He greets pleasantly, taking his seat. (She's even written 'Tina C' on her name-tag, with an exclamation mark punctuated with a star).
"F-Finn," She answers, brushing her hair over her face shyly. "What are you d-d-doing here?"
"Oh, you know," He shrugs, "Just chillin'. How about you?"
She pulls at the hem of her fingerless gloves timidly. "I don't know if you know any Asian p-parents, but they kinda s-suck about letting their kids d-d-date," She explains. "I'm sorta hoping to meet someone to p-p-pop my cherry before summer's over. I don't wanna be the o-only virgin in the Freshman class."
Finn is a little stunned by the shy girl's blunt admission. "So where are you going to college?"
She ducks her head, suddenly melancholy. "I haven't actually g-got a place yet. I'm w-waiting to hear back."
"I'm sure you'll find somewhere," He says encouragingly. "... and about the virgin thing; most of the popular kids aren't having as much sex as they claim they are. You won't be the only one."
She chews her lower lip, "R-r-really?"
"Hey, I'm dating the head of the Celibacy Club," He professes.
It takes him a few moments to realize the depth of his admission and he wants to take it back almost immediately, he's been denying it for so long that letting it slip seems like such a huge mistake. At first he tries to convince himself that Tina is a classic example of a 'Have a nice summer in the back of the yearbook' kid and so it's not like she's gonna tell anyone, but then he considers how hypocritical it is to tell her she shouldn't be worried about her virginity when he's having a panic attack at the thought that someone might know about his. When he has this small revelation, he starts to cope with his confession.
"That sorta sucks, that you're dating Quinn Fabray," Tina says with a little smile. "You're hot for a jock."
He laughs and feels the last of his panic dissolve. "Well, you're cute for a goth chick," He replies.
Two tables later he sits down opposite a blond with dark eyes, trim cuticles and a hungry expression.
"I'm Terri," She introduces herself the instant the starting bell sounds.
"Nice to meet you," He smiles pleasantly.
"So, 'Yard sale guy'...?" She reads from the name-tag and frowns.
He gets the impression that she might be susceptible so he experiments with a new lie. "It's a nickname," He tells her. "I don't like my real name."
"What is it?"
"Methuselah," He says the first weird name that comes to mind. "And I can't exactly shorten it to Meth, can I?" He adds with a sly grin.
"Why not?" She prompts blankly. He doesn't know how to answer that and so there's an awkward silence until she sparks up the conversation again. "You look a little young," She accuses.
The dating service is open to anyone aged eighteen or up, but if she wants to challenge him he's fully prepared to lie wildly. "I have a genetic disorder that affects my appearance. I look eighteen but I'm really twenty-eight."
"Wow," She remarks, impressed, then leans forward to whisper conspiratorially. "Is it contagious?"
"Sadly no, but I don't think you'd really need it anyway," He assures.
A faint blush rises on her cheeks and she preens vainly, "Would you believe I'm only twenty-nine?"
(No. Seriously, who does she think she's kidding?) "Really? I'd have guessed younger."
"So, Yard sale guy," She prompts. "What do you do when you aren't flattering women at speed dating nights?"
"I work in computers," He lies smoothly. Broad answers seem to be accepted more easily.
"Really?" She rests her chin of her hand (Finn doesn't miss the way her posture makes her rack really noticeable and guesses that the movement was deliberate), "I don't know much about computers. I can send e-mail and work a spreadsheet, but everything else is confusing to me."
"It's simpler than it looks," (He's not going to admit that his actual experiences with a computer have involved a lot of 'ctrl+alt+del' and blue screen errors), "There's RAM and ROM and, uh, the hard drive." She nods blandly as he lists buzzwords and so he quickly changes the topic. "So, what are your goals?"
"I'm assistant manager at a local store and I'm really sure that I'm going to be promoted up to a manager's position in the next quarter," She answers.
He starts to tune her out automatically, but a tiny detail catches his attention and he puzzles it over. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?" He interrupts.
"Terri Delmonico," She answers with a gracious smile. Alarm bells start sounding in Finn's head, but his suspicions are confirmed when she continues, "I was married, but I went back to using my maiden name after the divorce."
"Will you excuse me, I have to-" He pushes his chair away from the table and starts walking backwards towards the door; his mind is filled with a chorus of expletives and he's having difficulty thinking of an excuse, "-pee," He finishes lamely.
One room over he finds Will chatting amiably to a young woman in her late twenties. They both look up as Finn hurries over and the young man pauses as he notices the half-moon reading glasses his friend is wearing. Amid the panic filling him, Finn feels a kick to the chest that leaves him winded for a single instant, then he shakes it off.
"Can I borrow your date for a second?" He requests, smiling politely at the young woman. She doesn't looked pleased, but since he's pulling the older man up by the elbow she doesn't have much choice but to let him go.
"Finn, what's the matter?" Will asks once they've moved into one corner of the room.
"We need to leave, right now," He instructs firmly.
"Do we have to, I mean-?" He looks over to the woman he'd been sat with wistfully.
He doesn't know how the older man will take the news that his ex-wife is here, so Finn settles for a half truth, "My ex is here."
"Your ex?" Will repeats suspiciously.
"Yes. We had a horrible break-up. Messy, messy break-up. I really don't want to see her, so let's just-"
"You told me Quinn is the only girlfriend you've ever had," Will cuts across the rambling.
(Well, he tried). "Your ex is here," Finn corrects himself.
"Terri is..." The older man mumbles to himself, eyes going wide. "You're right, we should-"
The bell to signal the next move sounds.
"Come on," Finn suggests, heading towards the door. "We'll slip out when nobody's looking."
Their escape plan is foiled almost immediately when a couple of the women from the room Finn abandoned come out in search of him and a couple of women from the room they've just left come out to ask Will why he's skipping ahead several places in the assigned order. In under a minute most of the customers, both male and female, are crowding the hall and order has been completely lost.
"We could really do with a distraction," Finn mumbles to the older man.
A mere moment later a loud voice speaks up. "Does this mean it's time to switch?" Bryan inquires with a huge, drunken grin. "Great, okay; all the guys who swing both ways line up in front of me!"
There's an outcry from one or two horrified men and a lot of disturbance in the wake of Bryan's announcement. As the pint-sized powerhouse April Rhodes yells over the ruckus and attempts to restore order, Finn and Will escape away into the evening air.
They stop at a late-night diner on West Market Street and hunker down in a booth by the window. Finn catches the other man's eye across the top of the laminated menu numerous times and eventually the twitch of Will's lips explodes into full blown laughter, which the younger man joins in on wholeheartedly.
"Did you arrange for him to say that in case things went wrong?" Finn asks curiously.
Will shakes his head emphatically, "That was pure Bryan."
"So that was a total disaster," The younger man summarizes when they finish laughing.
"Well, I had fun at least," The older man dissuades. "And I did actually talk to some women."
"Progress," Finn declares with a renewed grin.
When the waiter arrives, Will orders a bacon sandwich and Finn asks for a vanilla ice-cream sundae.
"So did Terri..." Will aims for a casual tone and doesn't quite manage it. "Did she look like she was doing okay?"
"She might have found a time machine," Finn answers. When the older man gives him a strange look, he explains, "She told me she was twenty-nine."
Will chuckles, "Yeah, she did that while we were still married. She's going to be twenty-nine until she's fifty."
There's an awkward silence until their food arrives, at which point they settle in for conversation pointedly not about Will's ex-wife and Finn lets the older man steal spoonfuls of his sundae without complaint.