Notes: Thanks for all the reviews! You guys are awesome. This might be the last chapter for a little while (I have midterms next week). But it's a little longer. I couldn't resist a Bring It On reference, even though it's probably a little OOC for Puck to make it. Chapter title is from 'Hey Modern School Girl' by The Awkward Stage. Also, I realized I've been spelling Schuester wrong. Sorry! I'll go back and fix.

v. Perfumed in gasoline for a girl who's only seventeen

Their caravan had made it to Dayton and to the Holiday Inn where they were spending the night without any further incident. Well, they would have gotten lost but, with a little help from the Google map Rachel had stashed in the glove compartment, they were fine.

Puck had been completely unsurprised when she whipped it out. Trust Rachel to plan ahead.

Mr. Schuester had his panties in a bit if a twist about their highway maneuvering but Rachel had turned on the 'I'm ever so sorry! But I was just so, so excited,' mile a minute yapping that she so excelled at and Mr. Schuester had let it go pretty quickly. Rachel had turned away to hide her satisfied smile.

Miss Pillsbury had kindly stepped in with a question about their itinerary and Mr. Schuester was effectively distracted.

Puck was mildly impressed. He'd heard the rumors that Rachel had been the one to get Mr. Ryerson fired but he hadn't really believed them, despite the fact that Hank Saunders had suspiciously transferred mid-semester. Rachel just seemed so squeaky clean and prissy. Evidence now suggested that she was totally willing to fight dirty. He admired that in a person.

What would it take to get Rachel to use her power for evil? He'd think on it.

Still, at least she was inclined to be manipulative for the name of the Glee Club's best interests and physical comfort. The only reason they were able to stay at this hotel was because she'd managed to reclaim the money the car wash had raised. Allegedly, Rachel had managed to con a bank teller into stopping the check, with a sob story about how the choreographer had tried to make her anorexic. A night in a hotel was infinitely better than getting up at the ass crack of dawn to make the drive. Puck was not a morning person.

So Glee had a nice little money cushion that they absolutely were not telling Figgins about.

The group had been handed key cards, reminded of room assignments and rules, and told to go get some rest. Like a two hour drive was particularly strenuous.

Mr. Schuester had been unwilling to risk property damage and injury by mixing up the room assignments so Puck was sharing a room with Mike and Matt. Mike had been too slow at the 'not it' game and was stuck with the cot. Sucker. Their room was connected to the room Mr. Schuester and Finn were sharing. Artie and Kurt were across the hall.

The girls were on a whole other floor, probably in an attempt to prevent anyone for engaging in, what Principal Figgins had termed, 'any inappropriate conduct unacceptable from McKinley High ambassadors.'

Figgins's head was so going to explode when he noticed that Quinn had started busting out of her Cheerio uniform.

Besides, the girls had a chaperone in each room. What could possibly happen?

Matt and Mike had managed to fall asleep, thankfully neither appeared to be snorers, but Puck couldn't. He'd tried but found he was completely awake, alert and restless. Quietly, he wrote a note, obeying yet another rule, 'someone must know where you are at all times, no exceptions.'

All these rules massively sucked but it was a small price to pay for missing a day and a half of school and getting out of Lima for a bit, even if he was still in the great state of Ohio.

He headed down to the hotel lobby and veered into the restaurant. Actually leaving the hotel would be kind of pushing it, he figured. When he walked in, the hostess asked him if he was with one of the high school groups. She was kind of hot so he was tempted to say no but then the letterman's jacket had probably tipped her off.

"Yeah. McKinley High in Lima."

"Oh! Right this way." She led him to a table that was already occupied. By Rachel Berry, who looked to be working on her Chemistry homework. Typical. Puck hadn't even brought his homework. He would have asked for another table, any other table, but the hostess had slapped a menu down and flitted away.

Stupid hostess.

"Great. What're you doing here, Berry? "Rachel glanced up from her text, "Shouldn't you be getting some crucial beauty sleep?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"Please. Like I need beauty sleep. If I got any more beautiful I'd be lynched by a mob of jealous dudes."

Rachel rolled her eyes, "I won't indulge your narcissism with a reaction."

"That's no fun," he sat down because he probably looked like an ass standing around, "Actually, I can't sleep."

"I would've liked a nap, highway driving always makes me sleepy, but I'm in a room with Miss Pillsbury."

Puck smirked, "Did she bring a black-light?"

Rachel shuddered, "Thankfully, no. That would be far too much information. She did bring a case full of miscellaneous antibacterial products. Some of them homemade. She's currently occupied with annihilating any trace of germs our hotel room has ever contained. I was concerned that the fumes might adversely affect my vocal performance tomorrow."

A waitress with a tray came up to the table and set a steaming cup and a muffin in front of Rachel before asking Puck if he would like anything. He ordered a milkshake and began to peruse the menu. The team was going out for dinner in two hours but so what? He was a growing boy.

"You know, dairy isn't a good idea for your voice so close to competition. You're verse is a critical part of the piece."

Puck waved a dismissive hand, "It'll be long gone from my system by performance time tomorrow." He looked up at her and watched as she visibly reined herself in. She'd been doing it a lot lately. He was curious, "What is the deal with that?"

"Pardon me?"

"That. The thing where you make yourself shut up. Not that I'm not grateful but a couple of weeks ago a freak fresh water tsunami wiping out the state of Ohio wouldn't have stopped your detailed explanation of exactly why I shouldn't have a milkshake. "

"I don't understand. Would you like a lecture?"

"Of course not. That's the point. You would have lectured me because you're Rachel Berry. You learned to sing show tunes before you learned to speak sentences and you lecture people even when they obviously don't give a fuck because you know everything there is to know about the singing and dancing and music. That's your entire personality. That's why everybody hates you." Puck paused and took a breath. Wow. Where had that come from?

Rachel's eyes had gotten shiny with tears and her face had crumpled for a moment but her chin was held high, defiant. Puck found he felt kind of bad. Sure he knew he'd probably made her cry before. The first times he'd gotten her with a slushier, at least. Seeing it was different, though.

The waitress, a woman in her fifties, gave him a dirty look as she set his milkshake down and turned to Rachel. "Can I get you anything else, honey?"

"No. Thank you, though." The waitress left, but not before giving Puck another warning look.

Puck shook his head, Rachel must give off some sort of signal. Some sort of 'I have no mom, love me' signal that women of a certain age picked up on and responded too. Hell, his very own mother did it.

She took a shaky breath, "Leaving aside the fact that you don't actually know the first thing about me, Puck, it has come to my attention that my actions are often... abrasive. You may not believe in Mr. Schuester's words about team work, but I have come to. After working with Mr. Ryerson and experiencing his, shall we say, unorthodox motivational techniques..." she trailed off, bit her lip and studied her placemat.

Yeah, he'd bet that had been tough. He'd kept his distance from Mr. Ryerson during the Acafella's thing, but he hadn't been unable to miss the creepy, hungry, eyes on him whenever he was dancing.

"Despite my talents, I am not twelve people and thus I cannot win alone. Anyway, suffice it to say that I have come to appreciate the atmosphere Mr. Schuester's ideas foster." Rachel focused on him again; apparently also more than ready to change the subject, "Shouldn't you be concerned that your social status will suffer should you be seen with me? Since everybody hates me?"

Puck cringed a little at having his words repeated but was glad she'd moved them back onto more familiar ground. A Rachel Berry with feelings and vulnerabilities and soft, sad eyes was not one he knew how to react to. She wasn't supposed to have feelings, just testicles.

"Who's going to see me? The only people that know us here are in Glee, and so they're seen with you too."

She smiled, "Fair point. You should instigate a sort of Rachel Berry specific 'don't ask, don't tell policy.'

He might not have smiled back at her but he found he kind of wanted to. "I'll bring it up. And hey, not everybody hates you. Matt, for example, is completely terrified of you."

"Oh he is not."

"Oh, he totally is."

"Matt Rutherford regularly tackles guys at least twice my size."

"I'm serious, Berry. He's convinced you've got some sort of twisted revenge plan going and that he won't live to see prom. He insisted on the bed farthest from the door. Go stand next to him tomorrow, start talking, and fish around in your bag. He'll flinch, I swear."

She raised a single eyebrow at him, "Any revenge I may or may not take will not be 'twisted,' Puck. My revenge will be perfectly timed and ingeniously executed for maximum psychological damage, not to mention absolutely impossible to trace back to me." Rachel finished her drink, threw a five on the table and stood up, "By the way, if Matt's farthest from the door, where are you sleeping?"

Puck could only blink as he watched her walk away; sure he wasn't imagining that little extra swivel to her hips. Rachel Berry had just deliberately mind fucked him.

Damn. She just might actually be an evil genius.

The next day she'd taken his suggestion and positioned herself right next to Matt as the team (minus Santana and Brittney, who were the hold up) waited in the lobby.

Except she didn't talk. Rachel caught Puck's eye and started humming 'Every Breath You Take.' Which was so much more brilliant. She hummed louder and louder until she outright started singing out the 'Oh can't you see / You belong to me' part. No one in the club paid her any mind, figuring that she was just warming up, or something.

Matt seemed to be developing a twitch and Puck desperately tried not to laugh out loud.

That was pretty fucking awesome; he had to admit, if only in his own mind.