Chapter 10

Thursday 9th May

1:15 p.m.

Walking down to the bleachers with Ellie and Genie. Oh my Jeez, Ellie is so cool. And also super smart. It's unbelievable. She also has good taste in guys, which is always a plus. Sam came up behind me in Astronomy and slapped my ass with a ruler, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

"Who is that?" she asked in her sexy English accent.

"That's Sam," I told her.

"Annie's in love with him," Genie dropped in, and I slapped her.

"Am not," I denied.

"Are too," Catherine decided to say as she was walking past.

"No I don't!" I stomped my foot in the fashion of a 7 year old who couldn't get their Barbie house.

They just laughed, which was both embarrassing and infuriating. Then I glanced at Sam, who was flicking through an Astronomy book thicker than Finn's skull, a look of utmost concentration on his face.

"He's cute. Like, a lot cute," Ellie commented.

"He sings. And plays guitar. And is the Quarter back-" Genie's telling her as we're walking, when I interrupt her with: "And also posts pictures of you and him making out and what not on Facebook, and tells the whole school we got to 'Second base' whatever the hell that is,"

"You're just annoyed because you love him but you don't want to, and you don't know what second base is," Genie points out.

"What is it!" I ask them, almost at boiling point.

"Ask him," Genie suggests.

"I have to go and get something from my locker," I announce, storming off in a manor too scarily alike to Rachel Berry's for my liking.

1:25 p.m.

The locker halls are practically empty, because it's warm and everyone is outside. As I head to my locker, I round a corner, only to be confronted by...

"Oh hey there Barbie," Santana smiles sarcastically, and I throw it right back.

"I actually have a present for you. Your hair should definitely have some highlights, and I think I've found the perfect colour,"

I frown, not knowing where the Latina is going, and then I feel it. The blueberry scented slushee on my top, some on my jeans, and all in my hair. I bite on my lip, resisting the urge to put the sassy bitch on her ass as the slush drops from my hair and slides down my face and shoulders.

"Stay the hell away from Britany, capeiche? Because if not, I's be giving you a lot more than a slushee facial. I'll do the whole treatment and you know's I will. So don't start this okay Barbie? It'll be a situation which you will lose control of very easily," she does the whole sassy Latina thing with her fingers and her 'know's' and 'I be's'.

"You've made your point Santana. So why don't you take you and your bitchiness and go somewhere the fuck else?"

"Whatevers. See you in glee. You should get cleaned up," she smirks, turning on her heel and strutting away, "That stuff stains,"

I heave a massive sigh, looking down at myself.

And then, who should walk round the corner, but Sam Evans. He's wearing his Number 6 football shirt, and white shorts, which means he's going out onto the felid to practise.

I'm expecting him to smirk, and walk right past. But he leans on one of the lockers across from me, and takes in my new blue appearance.

"Yes? Would you like something? You wanna take a picture? Put that on Facebook too? Go on; please. Humiliate me further," I hold out my arms, feeling defeated then let them slap down to my sides again.

"Wow. Someone's glass is half empty today,"

"It really is," I slide onto the hard floor.

"I never took you as a pessimist,"

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly feeling optimistic right now,"

"God, you even manage to look hot covered in slushee," he crosses his arms and comes over.

"You have a really weird concept of hot," I frown at him.

He looks at me, and we both crack a grin.

"Come on then Fredricks," he offers me a hand, "Let's get you cleaned up,"

I just look up at him.

"Sorry, would you rather walk around school like a human blueberry?"

I choose normality, and accept Sam's hand. He leads me to the boys' gym/locker/shower room. There are a couple of sophomores in there, but he sends them right out.

Then I remember that I'm really quite mad at him, and he remembers that he's pissed me off, so we just stand there awkwardly until Sam breaks the silence.

"Look, I don't wanna make this at all uncomfortable, believe me, that's not what I want, but uh – well, you're gonna have to take your top off," he concludes, pointing at the the wet material and scratching the back of his head.

"Fine," I undo the belt around my waist, and then pull the top off over my head, dropping it to the floor.

I watch his eyes looking me over, and glance down at myself. Oh Jeez. The blue slushee had soaked through the thin material of my top, and actually stained my skin, sucessfully making me into a Na'vi speaking moron.

Sam gets me to lay down on one of the benches, and then dissapears for a minute. He returns, set with flannel and bodywash. He settles down, kneeling to my side, pouring some soap onto the flannel.

"I look like a fucking Avatar,"

Sam looks up at me from under a slightly wet fringe, a cute smile playing on his lips.

"Well, I happen to like that movie," he informs me, setting to work, rubbing in a small circular movement on the stained skin.

"I've never seen it,"

He stops short at that.

"Okay; for one night we're putting our stupid…whatever it is, aside, and you can come over and watch it,"

"Alright, deal. But seriously, you don't seem the…type to like that kinda stuff," I admit.

"Oh yeah. I'm totally into all that shit. I saw it 6 times in the Cinema, and pre-ordered the DVD,"

"You're a Dork," I observe.

"Yeah. And it's not just that either. I've got a giant ass 3D tv," he grins proudly.

"Alright for some," I mutter, although secretly I like this idea. At least, I do when he's being like this.

"Almost done, and then you can take a shower, I promise," Sam smiles, concentrating on my right hip.

As he rubs the flannel over it, I take a sharp intake of breath. Ouch.

He stops. "Is something wrong?" he asks, worried.

I feel nothing, so I shake my head, and he carries on. He goes over the same spot, and I sit up suddenly. It feels like someone is hitting a really new bruise, and that's insane, because Sam was nothing but gentle. I poke at the piece of skin, and feel a small bobbly bit; almost like a lump. It hurts. And it freaks me out. I motion for Sam to give me his hand, and the blonde boy complies.

"What does that feel like to you?" I ask, ignoreing the flicker of electricity that jolts through me when our skin makes contact. He knows it's hurting, so he slides his fingers over the questioned area, applying the lightest of pressure.

"It feels like, I don't know, like a lump or something,"

I blush, feeling embarassed.

"You should probaby get that checked out,"

I shake my head, and Sam's eyes follow me as I get up and peel my jeans off. Even my underwear is dyed blue. "I probably just hit it during Cheerio's practise or something," I shrug, thinking that maybe If I don't make a big fuss out of it it won't be a big deal. I fold up my jeans and place them on the bench, heading off to the shower room.
I try not to get water on my face because me without makeup on is not a good look. Considering that Sam could walk round the corner and see me totally naked, I almost shower in my underwear. Surprisingly he stays put. I wash my hair, and rinse myself off using the shower gel which smells like Sam. I turn off the shower, and wrap myswelf in one of the red towels provided, before grabbing my underwear and heading back out. Sam is just hitting one of the big red punch bags on the other side of the room. He looks kind of upset, so I don't disturb him. I dry off a little, sliding on my panties and towel drying my hair before wrapping the towel round me again. I go over to one of the mirrors which are fixed to wall, esspecially designed to so as the guys can check themselves out whilst working out. I check my makeup, which has stayed pretty much in tact, except my eyes are a little dark and smudged but I decide it looks cool. I glance over at Sam. He punches the bag really hard once more, then sighs, and puts his arms around it, leaning his forehead on the bag too. I feel like just running over to him and grabbing him into a massive hug, and cuddling into his chest. Instead, I walk over. When he turns around he does a double take. God knows why, but his guard is down, even I can tell. I decide to take advantage of that.
He turns right round, and looks at me for a minute, sighing. Then, to my surprise, he runs a finger down my arm and catches my hand in his. I look right into his eyes, and he only breaks it by saying 'come on', and leading me to to his locker.

He opens it, and takes out his football shirt, with the big 6 on the back. I put on my bra, and slip his shirt over my head.

"You know something is wrong when a girl wears your football shirt better than you," he laughs slightly, "It looks really hot actually,"

I grin, tugging at the hem of the shirt. It's oversized, and comes to near the top of my thigh. We sit on a bench, facing eachother. We're quiet for a while, both staring at the wooden bench. I watch Sam trace patterns on the wood with long, somewhat delicate fingers.

"You have really big hands," I comment quietly, breaking the silence.

He turns them over once or twice, studying them. "I have normal sized hands for a boy. You just have small hands because you're a girl,"

"Actually, that is very stereotypical of you Sam! I don't have small hands," I study my own at arms length, "I have quite big hands for a girl,"

He laughs, obviously finding my concern amusing. "No you don't; here," he holds his own hand up for me to place mine against. When I do I feel the same jolt of electricity, which makes my whole body wash through with tingles.

"Oh," I mumble, embarassed, as his hands totally own mine.

He laughs, and slides his fingers through mine. When I glance up, he aviods my eye contact.

"You should really get that bump on your stomach checked out," he points our intertwined fingers at his shirt.

I shift uncomfortably. "As I said; it's probably nothing,"

"And you're probably right! I'm not saying you aren't. But you're freaking out, I can see it. Wouldn't you rather have your mind at rest?" he tries to get me to look at him. His words make sense. I look up, our faces almost touching. Then he drops his gaze down, and back up again.
"And also, it's kinda freaking me out too," he lets the smallest smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

I allow myself to smile, because the thought that he might actually care makes me feel all warm and gushy inside. "Fine. I'll go,"

He grins victoriously, then it fades and he takes both my hands, staring as he flops them around. I let him because I can tell that he's about to open up big time. The way he has to keep physical contact, and looks anywhere but me.

He takes a deep breath, and starts: "Look, you're right. You're hot, and new, and I'm the QuarterBack, and it just seemed right. I don't know why I thought being an asshole would make you like me, but the other girls just think it's typical. They don't really care about personality. They just know that I'm the QuarterBack, with the sexy abs and surfer dude hair, and immense guitar skills. I guess I felt insecure. Stupid I know because I'm a guy, but the fact that you didn't go for that kinda knocked me down a peg. I know I behaved like a total douche, and I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that. But you know how- how it is, with the whole repuation thing," he stutters and takes a breath, "It matters. It's like, if you put one foot out of place that's it. This is high school, and you don't get another chance. I was a complete dick. And…and that's not me," then he stops, his cheeks flushed, looking like he's afraid he's said too much already.
There's more to him. I know it. This has proved to me that he's not another stereotypical asshole jock. I just need to keep chipping away that wall which he situates himself behind. And to get, you have to give.

"I know what you mean. Being new is hard. I moved her to live with my Dad, step-mom and step-brother. I moved here, all the way from California, but I don't tell people that. You know what the sereotypes are. Goody-goody, spoilt, bitchy LA girls. And they'd probably be right," I breathe deeply, forcing myself not to cry, "I did somethings I wasn't proud of, and after the past few months I'd had, I couldn't deal with anymore whispers or stares. So, I came here as Annie Fredricks, for a new start,"

We both look up at each other, Sam's eyes peircing mine.

"Kind of…like a mask?"

Oh my Jeez. This can be one of two things: he can see straight into my soul with those gorgeous eyes of his. Or, he's doing the exact same thing.

I lean over and whisper: "Exactly like a mask," his hair tickling my cheek as I pull away.
I pick up my clothes on the way out, leaving him to think about our conversation. I'm scared that he'll realise we'd just opened up to eachother, and he let me see his non-asshole side, and that it freaks him out enough that he just starts being an even bigger ashole. Then my whole plan just back fires.

The bell has already gone, and I'm already like, 20 minutes late to lesson. I hurry to my locker, and shove my slushee covered clothes in there, then make my way to last class. Personal education. Basically sex ed. Not that we get taught anything unless Miss. Holiday is here. I hesitate by the door, considering how much of a slut I look. All I'm wearing is Sam's football shirt which barely covers my ass, and black high heeled ankle boots. I make a mental note to bring spare clothes with me for enevitable future happenings. Then I take a deep breath and replace my mask. I am hot Cheerleader/apparent lesbian, and then I can push the door open.

"Miss. Fredricks, would you care to tell me why you're 20 minutes late to class?" Mrs. Rupert asks dissaprovingly, looking me up and down.

I smile politely and say: "no, not really,"

She grumbles something all teacher-y and grunts while I take my seat next to Puck.

"If I'm not mistaken Barbie, that is Sam Evans football shirt. And you're wearing blue panties,"

"In a nutshell; Santana thinks that I'm trying to get on Brit or vise versa, so she poured slush all over me. Sam just pointed me in the right direction,"

"She shower room?" he asks skeptically.

"Sam wasn't in the shower with me! He stayed out by his locker, and then lent me the shirt okay?"

"You sure he didn't take a little peak?"

I throw Puck a death glare, and he holds his hands above his head before sinking into his chair. I breathe out a sigh.

Sam Evans p.o.v

'And…and that's not me' I replay the scene in my head, and mentally kick myself again. Nice one. I dropped my mask, and totally opened up to her. Smooth. Another thing: she's going to show up at glee, wearing my football shirt. I mean, it could be anyone's shirt, except that everyone knows my team number is 6. And if they don't, someone who does know will point it out. This is where the rumours will kick up even more. Esspecially since everyone knows she 'said hello to Third base' on Saturday night. Why did I say that?

"Sam," I jump at the sound of my own name.

I look around, and see Mercedes. She's sitting to my right, on the table next to me.

"What's up?" I whisper back.

"Have you heard?"

I frown, no recodnition on what she could be getting at. I hope I'm not about to hear a rumour or anything. I don't like rumours, and I know that Mercedes is one of the biggest gossip's around, no offence to her or anything. Mercedes is nice, but is quite prior to the gossip which is spread around school.

"Mr. Schue is going to get us to do Rocky Horror!" she grins excitedly.

"I've never seen it," her face drops, so I hurry to to redeem myself, "But I have heard of it. Isn't it like, really rude though?" I ask.
According to my Mom it's all transvestites in latex and maids in uniforms and sparkly hats.

"Not rude as such. Just risque. But you better watch it quick because you'll be playing Rocky," she arches an eyebrow.

"Right, well, thanks," I smile, not sure why she raised her eyebrow at me like that. As if she knows something I don't, or she's in on something I'm not. Which is normally the case.

I stare at the book in front of me. Silent reading for half an hour. I hate English. It's reading and writing; the two things I'm worst at. Obviously when I transferred and my Mom had to fill out all of the forms, she wrote down that I'm dyslexic. But they don't actually do a lot. What can they do? The teachers go easy on me, I guess, but from where I'm standing that's not help, that's sympathy. And it makes me feel even more dumb. I start to get a headache, and the words on the page begin to jumble.
After I've made the same mistake 5 times and the headache doesn't go away, I decide to bail. I grab my books and shuffle up to front, mumbling something to the teacher who nods with that horribly patronising sympathy smile. I escape quickly, and go to my locker. Once I've placed all my books inside, I head to the gym. Coach Beiste will kill me if there's a mess in here. I fold up Annie's towel's, putting them into the laundry basket, then go to the punch bag. I need to get in focus. Look in the mirror; what do I see? Sam Evans; Jock, Bieber look-a-like, girl magnet. Aw, who am I kidding? I guess I'm not ugly as such. I've never been acused of that, but does anyone really like the way they look? Give or take counting Santana. And everyone in glee club says: 'I'm in love with myself and I'd never change a thing' but I don't believe that. For me, it's my lips. I act as if it doesn't bother me; I'm lying. I get really pissed off when people call me 'Lady Lips' or 'Trouty Mouth', those 2 being the obvious favourites. But it's not like anyone really bothers to get to know me. So much for judging a book by it's cover. I step right up to the mirror, examining my face from all angles. Yep, it's true; guys are insecure too. They worry just as much as girls. Well most guys do. I do.
Normally when I start to worry, I just tell myself that I'm the QuarterBack, and where I walk, there will be girls staring, and then I feel better. I smile, flexing my biceps, which have admittedly gotten better since I started on the weights and punch bag.
I got a facebook inbox the other day from this senior girl, which was about 3 paragraphs long, just telling me that I'm perfect and hot. It was weird. I've never been appreciated like that. Maybe in peoples minds, but no one had the confidence to actually say it to me. Not until then anyway. I'm not gonna lie, I felt so good about myself. I pulled a senior. The hottest girl in the senior year, too. Jennifer Bailey. We got to talking, and she's actually really nice. I might be getting a job in her Dad's new resteraunt when it's open, which will be good. Still, this inbox: my abs are amazing, my arms are huge, my hair is sexy, my lips are pouty and kissable. Ego boost much. I wonder if Annie thinks I'm hot.

"Oh my God," I close my eyes. I actually need to stop thinking about her. This is getting stupid.

I shove my letterman jacket into the red locker, and close it, heading to the choir room.
My guitar sits in the corner next to Puck's, and music is the one thing besides Na'vi that I can read well. I go over, pick it up, and start plucking at the strings. Rumour has it that Mr. Schuester is setting a solo project. Might aswell get ahead. I guess I've been practising so much with the guys for our late welcome to Annie, and with football I don't actually know that much about what's going on at home. Ridiculous, I know. I mean, I didn't even know that Stacy was going away on a school summer camp thing until 2 days after she'd gone. It's for like, 3 weeks, which is ages. And she may be annoying, but she's also persistantly cute and bossy, and has this idea in her head that she has authority over me, which is funny. So on the whole, I'll miss her, yes. But the good news is that the number for Annie is just about finished, so hopefully we'll get to do that soon. Through the soft tune I hear footsteps, and I turn around.

"Hey Sam, sorry, I didn't see you there," Mr. Schue apologises, as he puts his bag on the piano, and starts taking out sheets of paper.

"S'okay . I was just practising. I decided to cut the last half hour of English," I explain, resting both arms across my guitar.

"Why?"

isn't just another nosy teacher, so I take a deep breath.
"I'm dyslexic. Normally I put up with it, but today has put me in a really pissy mood, and all of that silent reading did my head in, so here I am. I know that Glee doesn't start until 3, but I'll leave if you've got papers to mark or something," I shrug, letting it all out in one big breath.

It's sort of Annie who's put me in a pissy mood. She has the wierdest effect on me. I don't like it. Esspecially with what she left me with earlier. Last think I want is to be getting myself in knots worrying about that bump on her stomach. It's irritating. Like and itch I can't reach to scratch.

Mr. Schue is looking at me, frowning. "Is that why you couldn't tie your shoe laces?"

I nod, ducking my head in embarassment. What 17 year old guy can't tie his own shoe laces? That should've been something I learnt in kindergarten. I didn't. I was badass, and ran around with them flying everywhere. I lost count of the number of times my teachers would shout at me for leaving them undone. I would try and tell them: "I can't do it!" and they would reply: "Don't be stupid boy, it's easy,". I'd get so angry. I really couldn't do it. It wasn't until I was 13 or so that they actually discovered there was a reason to my struggles.

"Sam, dyslexia is nothing to be ashamed of!" Mr. Schue comes over, taking a seat next to me.

"Are you kidding? It's a learning dissability! It's just a posh word for saying that I'm more stupid than everyone else! And even if I try I can't excel. And I'm trying. I try really hard," I keep my eyes on my hands.

Mr. Schue sighs. "Come on buddy. You're usually so cool and together. You're the QuarterBack! You've had girlfriends. You know, you've changed a lot since you've been here,"

I shake my head, laying my guitar on the seat behind me.
"No, I'm not…different. Well, I am, but just not- I just-" I stumble over my words and breathe slowly, "Believe me, I'm still as dorky and goofy as I was when I started here. Only difference is I've learnt how to control it around other people,"

"Sam," Mr. Schue leans forward, "What you're saying to me is that you act differently around people because you're ashamed of who you are. That's not what Glee club is about. That's not what you're about. You should never be anyone but yourself. People liked you just the way you were. I know it sounds really cliché. Plus I think you'd get on a lot better with Annie if you did that too," Mr. Schue looks at me with a knowing smile.

"Is it that obvious?" I groan, perplexed.

"Only to the trained eye," he assures me.

"I don't know what to do. She thinks I'm total ass most of the time," I admit.

"Annie isn't the sort of girl who'll be content with a little bit on the side. She'll see the hint, but won't take it. You've gotta go all out. Sweet 'n' Sour. You gotta find the balance," Mr. Schue claps me on the back.

I guess all of this does make sense for Annie's type of person.

"Thanks Mr. Schue," I smile at the teacher.

"No problem buddy. And hey I was thinking you could do that number you and the guys have been working on for her on Monday?"

I nod, grinning now as the bell goes and all the other Glee kids start to file in.

Brittany and Santana walk in first.

Santana does not look happy.

I just look at them.

Brittany surprisingly comes and takes the seat to my right.

"Hey Sam," she smiles, ruffling my hair.

"What's up Brit?" I ask, paying no attention as Santana takes a seat 2 rows behind us.

"Is that a trick question?" the ditzy blonde questions critically.

"Nope," I hold my hands up above my head, "no tricks. Not smart enough for that,"

"Me either," she beams wide, and high fives me.

It makes me feel not so alone. Brit is pretty cool.

"Santana's being so weird but it still turns me on," she mumbles, glancing down at her hands.

I turn, and look at the latina, who's sitting there, legs and arms crossed, scowling.

"Shut the guppy mouth," she spits, and I just smirk.

The girl has some serious sexual frustration going on. With Puck obsessed with his new Cheerio, (who is a damn fine piece of ass, I'll point out) and me and her breaking up, it's obvious that she's not getting any. She'll probably fix that sharpish though. She's probably hooked up with half the guys in school based on fear alone, the same way that Puckerman gets free lunch money every day.

I sit back and watch the door: Finn, Mike, Tina, Mercedes, Artie, Puck, Lauren, Quinn and Rachel all flow in, in their two's and three's. No Annie.
After 10 minutes Mr. Schue makes a point of asking, but everyone just looks at one another, confused. I glance at Santana, who's looking even more evil than usual, with that 'I'm the Bitch' smirk pastered across her face. She's obviously pleased as punch that Annie isn't here, and I wanna know why.

"She was in class, but I came straight here. I never saw her after that," Puck pipes up from the back, shrugging.

I sigh, sinking into my chair.

6:00 p.m.

Home.

Glee went really slow. We talked about Rocky Horror. Mr. Schue didn't say too much about it; just told me to check out the movie. And all the girls were giving me this really dirty/smug smile, which made me feel seriously uncomfortable. Apart from Santana, who just sat there looking bored.

I get home, and drop my backpack.

"oHonniefpHoney, where's your shirt?" is the first thing Mom asks.

I close my eyes momentarily, then answer:
"I must've left it in my locker or something,"

"Okay, just make sure you have it home tomorrow. Those football shirts cost money you know!" she raises her eyebrows, and slides dinner at me.

"Yeah, I know," I mumble, whilst shovelling down the food as fast as I can.

When I've finished, bareing my thoughts from earlier in mind, I go upstairs, and walk into Stevie's room.

"What's up man?"

"Sam! Don't just walk into my room dude! It's not cool!" the 8 year old shouts, scowling.

"Whatever. You missing Stacy yet?" I ask, flopping down on his Lego Batman bed sheets.

"Hell no! Don't you notice how Mom and Dad are like..not stressed?"

"Parents are always stressed. It's their job," I argue.

"Whatever. Where are all your girlfriends then Sam?" he asks, giving me this cheeky little kids grin.

"That's none of your punk ass business!"

"You mean you got dumped?"

Damn! The kids 8 years old and he's smarter than me.

"No! I dumped Quinn, remember? And Santana was just…" I trail off, not really knowing how to explain the phraze 'friends with benefits' or 'social boosting' to an 8 year old.

"The boobs?"

I let my jaw drop.

"What? No? Why aren't you still playing with your Star Wars collection?"

"The girl across the street… Well, she got them out the other day. I was just using my binoculars that you gave me and-"

"Stevie, I gave those to you to watch…birds and stuff, not across the street girl! That's sick," Sick as in Genius… Nancy is totally hot.

At half 6 I escape to my own bedroom, and get into an intense marathon round of Black Op's with Puck and Mike.

"Ha!" I shout down the mic at Puck, who I just shot, twice.

"I'll kick your ass Evans, and you know I will,"

"Uhuh, that's if you can prise yourself away from Genie long enough to do it," I reply.

I'm getting some typical shit which Puck is spewing, when I become aware of a weird noise. I pause the game, and Mike and Puck grumble at me through the headphones. I listen intently and hear…

"Oh my God,"

I curse silently as I hear moans of pleasure coming from my older sisters room in the attic, right above me.

"What the hell is that?"

"My sister," I say through gritted teeth.

"Woah, I thought she was like, 6-"

"21"

"Damn. That's some crazy fucking shit right there. It's not even 7 and she's getting some…"

"You're just jealous," I respond to Puck.

"Dude, I need to meet your sister,"

I just shake my head, and press resume, trying to get rid of all the thoughts of why Annie didn't show…

No, I haven't stopped thinking about her all day…

Annie's p.o.v

3:05 p.m.

I go to my locker, and grab my plastic bag, filling it with all my wet clothes. I'm just about to head off to glee, when I feel my phone start to vibrate (it's tucked into the side of my underwear). At the risk of flashing everyone my blue panties, I take it out, and press the accept button.

"Hello?"

"Annie, we need you to come home immediately today please," I hear my Father's voice on the other end.

"Well, can't it wait? I have glee now,"

"No, right now Annie, it's very important," he's using that 'I'm very serious' tone.

I sigh, perplexed as the phone clicks and my Dad hangs up.

So, things in the house have been awkward since the whole 'getting completely wasted at the Rachel Berry party and letting Sam bring me home smashed, then asking Blaine in front of Janie if he'd heard me having sex at all' thing. In fact, no one has spoken since Saturday morning. Except me and Blaine.

I grab all of my stuff, and shuffle out of school, to the car.

I bang the door on perpose when I get home, then run into the laundry room and empty my bag into the wash basket.

"Annie!" I hear Janie cry from the living room.

I brace myself, and go in.

"What on earth are you wearing?" Dad exclaims, clearly shocked by my attire.

"I spilled something down me, and one of my friends lent me a top," I lie.

"A top? Jesus Christ Annie, you're barely decent!" Janie rambles, then Dad inturrupts her by saying: "That's a boys football shirt. I can tell,"

"Well, yes Sherlock it is but-"

"But nothing! Are you meaning to tell me that you walked around school like that?"

I huff at my Dad. "Well yes but-"

"I told you we should've sent her to Carmel. The standards are so much better," Janie says as if I'm not even in the room.

"Oh really? You wouldn't know anything! You've never stepped foot inside McKinley!" I shout, enraged.

"Can we all calm down, please," I hear Blaine's voice behind me, and I roll my eyes.

He's always the peace maker. Then: "Why are you wearing Sam's football shirt?"

"I'll explain later," I widen my eyes at the boy, giving him my 'listen to me or I'll kill you in your sleep' look. He senses the tone.

"Why did you pull us both from our Glee rehursals?"

"Your behaviour the other day was unacceptable," Dad starts.

I frown at Blaine, who shrugs back, equally confused.

"Coming home so drunk," Janie clarifies.

"Now, we've never really had a lot of rules," Dad carries on, "But that was crossing a line. You were both a mess, and the whole situation was potentially very dangerous,"

"And so we reached a conculsion for punishment," Janie takes over again. It's clear that she pushed Dad into this. He would've been fine with just a warning. I've heard all his rebel stories from the past. But oh no, this woman has to take it a step further. "You're both grounded, until next Wednesday,"

"You're obviously aloud to attend school/glee related things. Now go to your rooms, and think about your actions," Dad finishes.

My jaw drops. Grounded? I've never been grounded in my entire life! I mean, it's not really like I go anywhere, but still. Grounded? Blaine just shakes his head as if to say 'Leave it', then leads me up to our rooms.

I get in the shower, and pull the curtain round whilst Blaine sits on the toilet seat demanding answers.

"I got slushee'd by that bitch Santana," I growl.

"Why?"

"Because Brittany, bless her ditzyness, came up to me at my locker yesterday and kissed me out of the blue! Which then kicked up the rumours from Saturday night, spurred on by Jacob's stupid blog," I groan.

"Ah, yes. I've heard. And seen,"

I poke my head around the shower curtain and glare.

"What? It's everywhere! You know that you're half of Dalton's wank material now?"

"Fantastic. You spent the night making out with girls," I scrub myself down. 'So did you though' I think to myself.

"I know. It's weird,"

"A good weird or a bad weird?" I quiz.

"In truth?" he laughs, "I don't really remember. But when I kissed Rachel.." he voice sounds awestruck.

"mm," I encourage.

"It…it felt good,"

I stop the shower. Mostly for effect.

"It felt good?" I stick my arm out., demanding a towel, astonished.

"Yeah, it did," he replies calmly, handing me a warm towel which I wrap myself in before pulling the shower curtain back and stepping over the side of the bath.

"Well that's new,"

He nods.

"Kurt didn't take that too well did he?" I guess, eyeing my brothers tired expression.

When Blaine shakes his head, I go over and give him a big wet, just-out-of-the-shower hug, which he returns greatfully.

Jeez, it's all going down in the sexuality department.