A/N: So the last chapter was so long I decided to split it into two parts, and then I felt like I had so much extra space I kept adding to it- so now we have two long chapters instead of two moderate ones (or one super long one). Enjoy!
The game had somewhat fractioned off afterwards. Caroline noted that keeping drunk high-schoolers all focused on one thing was a ridiculous task, and while Stassi had originally followed after Dalton and Roxie, even she had returned after a minute or two.
And now they were all spread around in the living room, though still in various states of undress, making out or dancing or drinking—take your pick.
"Hey." Andrew approached her, looking embarrassed. "I brought you a new drink, but I guess—" He stared as the freshman tipped her cup upwards, draining the rest of the alcohol and slamming the cup on a table before taking the wine cooler he'd half-extended toward her.
"Thanks," she sighed, taking another drink as she gave him an appraising look. "You put your clothes back on?"
The boy blushed further. "The game is over," he reminded her. "I mean, you—you aren't still going—" Caroline laughed at his incoherence: when she'd started breaking rules and run out of shoes and leggings, she'd opted to lose her underclothes first and keep her dress covering as much of her body as possible. It turned out to be an excellent strategy, though she had ended up commando. The sophomore sighed in self-deprecation and took a drink. "Okay, so one more way I'm definitely not the smoothest in the group."
"I think it's sweet," Caroline told him. "Anyways, much more honest than some people." She glared over in Teddy's direction, where the junior was pressed closely to Rhi, barely dressed in a thong and her bra and unbuttoned blouse, then to Dylan and Katie, who were groping each other on the couch. "Where's Liam?" she asked, suddenly curious as to why the other notorious best friends were separated.
"Um, he got pissed about something and threw a lamp," Drew confessed, taking a step sideways to glance into the other room. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on Michelle and Everett while he tries to clean it up." Caroline wobbled to the boy's line of sight, watching in vague amusement as the gawky sophomore ignored the broom and dustpan next to him as he tried to grab the broken pieces with his hand and place them on a coffee table.
"Teddy's an idiot." The girl's green gaze targeted the aspiring director in surprise, though he seemed much more interested in his drink than her reaction. "He knows you're the most amazing girl in this school, and he just let his insecurities get the better of him."
She pushed back her honey-brown locks as she looked at him curiously. "You really think so?"
"Trust me," he assured her, looking up to place a hand on her shoulder. "I am the King of Cowards- I know what spineless looks like."
"You're not a coward Drew," she told him reassuringly.
"No, Liam is not a coward," the sophomore rejoined, taking a sip from his cup. "He wants something and he goes after it. Me? I can't even get up the nerve to apply for a performing arts charter school in Cleveland."
"An arts school? You mean for directing?"
Andrew nodded. "It's got state-of-the-art editing equipment and high-end classes—really amazing stuff. It's the opportunity of a lifetime, and I'm too much of a wimp to even fill out the paperwork."
Caroline shook her head. "Andrew, I've seen your stuff—that short film at the skate park, and the one about Star Wars and high school? Those were amazing." She smiled at him, and his face gradually returned the gesture. "You have a lot of talent, and you're a great person—you deserve to have everything you want." She giggled and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't ever be afraid to go after—"
Suddenly his lips were on hers, and the freshman blinked in surprise before returning the kiss.
On the side door steps, Roxie pulled the quilt she'd found tighter around her shoulders. It was freezing outside, and she felt stupid and alone, but she refused to go back into the party. The brunette thought Dalton had been following her, as well as Stassi calling, but it must have just been her imagination. She knew she shouldn't be surprised—she was just a dull freshman that barely talked and only had her voice going for her, and now that she'd quit the club she didn't really even have that. She supposed everyone had invited her here to try to get her back, and now that she definitely wasn't, they'd probably just ask her to leave.
The door banged open, and she heard the plodding of padded feet on cement.
"Wow, it's cold!" Dalton commented loudly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stood in socks and board shorts, and Roxie could see him rubbing his hands vigorously on his bare arms to stave off the chill. She continued staring straight ahead, forcing herself not to react to him as he came closer.
He placed a hand on her blanketed shoulder "Hey." When she remained motionless, he tried again, "Rox, come on—it's just Michelle being herself. Well, herself drunk, but still just as tactless as she is." He rounded on her, trying to make eye contact, and she stared right through him. "Roxie?"
The small girl held back the tears that were accumulating and pressed her lips firmly together. Maybe if she said nothing he would be quicker to leave her.
No such luck; instead, the sophomore set his face and scooped up the tiny girl, blanket and all, and carried her back inside the mud room over his shoulder. The girl protested and wriggled, but he stubbornly held on and walked her to the beat up couch where she'd gotten the quilt in the first place.
"Okay, what's going on?" he demanded.
"I'm not coming back, Dalton: I can't," she retorted angrily, her voice raising dangerously close to an actual yell.
"I know that," he said.
"Then why the games?" she asked, feeling her eyes burn as tears began to surface. "Why take me through all of this—inviting me here, having Stassi help me get ready, being so nice—why are we still pretending like I'm worth anything without what I can give to the team?"
The boy's eyes widened in surprise, and he reached out to grasp both of her hands in his. "I'm not doing this for the team," he insisted. "When it comes to you, I don't care about the team. I don't care if we're winning Universals or if we're so bad the audience is throwing slushies in our faces on stage. You know what matters to me? You. On the team or off it, with or without us—I want you to have whatever you want. So…just tell me what's going on so I can fix it, whatever it is."
He was drunk—she knew that; he would never be so frank if he wasn't. And so was she; she should just tell him to back off and leave her alone and—"I have JIA," she admitted, her face flushing scarlet as she realized what she said. "I mean—"
"You have what?" the sophomore asked, and the small girl sputtered as she tried to backtrack, but he wouldn't relent. "What's JIA?"
Roxie bit her lip. "Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis," she told him quietly, checking the door behind him to make certain no one else could hear. "I've had it for as long as I can remember, and it's awful. My joints hurt so much sometimes that I have to take pills, and the "swim team" I joined is actually a water therapy Coach Roz is running with hospital funding." She looked at him miserably. "That's why I can't dance or run—why I had to quit the team. Because I'm a crippled freak."
"Rox—" Dalton said softly, reaching out to put his hand gently on her shoulder, but his tone infuriated her.
"Don't!" she shrieked, and he pulled back in shock at her volume. "Don't do that!" She narrowed her eyes into slits as her tears began to flow angrily and she bristled at his expression. "I don't need your pity—I don't need anything from you. I never should have told you!" She fidgeted as she stood and began storming away. Dalton, however, was taller and faster.
"Roxie, come on," the boy insisted, slowing her and replacing his hand on hers even as she turned away from him. "It's not pity. It's caring- you matter to me, so I care about what's in your head, and I wish there was a way to make it better." He brought up a thumb to her eye as she finally looked back at him and brushed away a fresh tear under her glasses. "I just…I don't know what to do. Has it always been like this?"
She shook her head. "It used to be worse," she replied softly, looking down at her hands as she opened up to him. "I was in a wheelchair for a while when I was little, and they thought my vision might get really bad—like I could have gone blind." She glanced at him and back away as she noted his surprised expression. "I was able to go off the meds in the last couple of years, but New Directions has just been really hard on me I guess…"
"I can't believe you'd put yourself at risk like that for us," Dalton murmured.
Her brown locks tipped sideways as he tilted her head up at him with a small smile. "I didn't just do it for you," she told him. "I did it for me. Glee was one of the best things that's ever happened to me." She suddenly felt very brave as she wrapped her hand around his. "You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me."
The smile that lit up Dalton's face warmed the small girl inside and out and she happily accepted his kiss as he leaned in close. When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead gently on hers and they smiled at each other affectionately.
"Did I tell you that you look good tonight?" he whispered. "Like sexy good?"
She felt her face heat up as she looked down, "Stassi picked it out." The freshman had been quite surprised when the junior had appeared on her doorstep an hour before the party; had stormed into her bedroom and ransacked her closet. When she found an entire section dedicated to Roxie's own personal designs, she'd seized them immediately and declared them impressive, demanding that the freshman throw out her geek-chic fashion in favor of the more vibrant rocker flair.
Dalton grazed a hand along her shiny blue skirt. "You should wear stuff like this more often- it's really hot," he complimented her, and she giggled softly as the two leaned back onto the couch.
Hayley, meanwhile, was irritated and on a mission. She was done watching Stassi act like she was better than her—so what that she'd made out with some goodie-two-shoes bi-Cheerio? Based on the amount of necking Nina seemed willing to admit to, that didn't seem hard at all. And if the stupid junior wanted to pretend that she gave a shit about the pipsqueak freshman more than her (not that she cared), then she would just find someone else to occupy her time with.
Which explained how, far too many drinks in to remember, she was now half-saddled with Rhi as the blonde flitted back and forth between her and every person they came across. The rebel had jerked her away from Junior Abrams, where the other girl had drunkenly suggested to any and all open ears retiring to a room for a "private party", and while Hayley didn't want to be caught in the open with the artist, she could think of an easy fix to her problem, and he was happily finishing his beer in the middle of the floor.
The rebel sauntered slowly to Walt's side, her short shorts and crop top hugging her sleek and tanned figure perfectly.
"Hey Devil," she purred at the stocky boy stripped down to his boxers. He nodded, but his eyes didn't leave whatever he was focused on out on the dance floor—no doubt a certain slutty lushy blonde. Perfect. "So Rhi and I were thinking of making up a VIP section upstairs, and we figured we could use some company to help make it interesting. You in?"
Walt was nodding distractedly, and Hayley gaped at him as she realized he hadn't actually been listening to her at all. She turned toward whatever had caught his attention, but, to her surprise, she realized his eyes were intensely focused not on Rhi, but on a pair of, albeit very attractive, beautifully toned dancer legs…attached to a freakishly tiny body.
"Seriously Walt? Harrison?" Speaking the girl's name aloud apparently was enough to shake him from his trance, and he snapped his head toward the streak-haired girl in poorly managed denial.
"What? Who? Her?" he gawked. "No way; I was, uh, looking over at—"
"JabberJaw Hepburn," Hayley insisted, eyebrows still arched in disbelief as she glanced back at the tiny girl in black lace bikini briefs and a sweetheart bra. "Seriously, Walt? Was the kiss that good?"
"I'm not looking at Michelle," he repeated stubbornly.
"Well, based on your boxers you sure aren't looking at her brother," she retorted with a smirk. She smacked his bare chest. "A piece of friendly advice, player? Forget about it. Put that admittedly hot little ass in your spank bank and keep walking, because your chances with Princess Purity over there, as the resident player of McKinley, are less than zero. In fact," she added with a cruel glint in her eye. "You probably have a better shot with Billy Elliot than Doris Day."
She reached over and took his drink, downing it in a series of gulps. "Now, you can either grab a new bottle of Captain Morgan and hang out with two hot plastered girls upstairs like a man, or you can stay out here pining over something you'll never get like a little pansy. What do you say?"
The half-naked boy glanced appreciatively at the Asian girl beside him, then cast a fleeting look at the tiny freshman before stealing the shot he'd gotten for Ashwin (who was now making out with Emma on the couch) and grinning as he spun off toward the kitchen to grab a bottle of booze and follow the girls upstairs.
Annie was having a great time: she was Sophie; she was with her friends; she was with Hayden. She could die right here and be perfectly content (well, not really—her big Broadway debut still awaited).
The song on the speakers faded as it ended, and she giggled happily and leaned in to kiss the smiling blonde in front of her. A moment passed, and he responded, tangling his hand in her hair as he pulled her closer and tracing a hand up her cami along her torso.
Someone whistled from across the room, and they broke apart for breath. Annie giggled, but then she realized that Hayden, burning red with embarrassment, was fumbling for his cane and pushing people aside to exit the room. She called after him, but he either couldn't hear or ignored her.
She broke into a run as she weaved around the crowd and caught up with him as he pushed open a random door down the hall. She chased him into what was apparently a study and huffed, "What happened?"
"I shouldn't have come here," he replied shortly, facing away from her and staring at a bookshelf of thick medical volumes.
"What do you mean? I thought things were going fine," the brunette asked in puzzlement, confused at when he had felt out of place. "Everyone thinks you're great," she insisted.
"The fact that they like me is the problem," he said angrily, finally turning to face her. "It makes you think that this—" he gestured between the two of them "—is a good idea, and it's just not, Annie, okay? You're that beautiful popular Cheerio girl and I'm the blind loser."
"You're not a blind loser, and I wouldn't be friends with anyone that thought that you were," she argued back, taking a step toward him.
He shook his head. "You say that, but you don't get it. What it's like to be like me? To only see the shadows of the real world? To have to be accommodated for everything because you can't do the basic stuff everyone else can? We can't do normal stuff like go see a movie or check out a gallery; not the way you would with Sean Mayhew or some other guy. And you've seen my books, my cane—I'm a freak Annie."
Annie's eyes narrowed, the alcohol fueling her anger irrationally. "You think I want Sean Mayhew or some guy like that? I've dated guys like that and you're ten times what they are! There's lots of things we can do together on a date that normal couples do, and I know you've seen movies because we've talked about Pitch Perfect and you even said you loved that gross scene where that girl's making puke angels, so don't tell me that we can't connect." She strode forward and poked him hard in the chest repeatedly. "You know what I think? I think you're afraid—you've spent all this time feeling misunderstood and making yourself out as the angsty loner kid and now you're afraid that someone will get close and all of that frustration" (poke) "will seem like complete and utter nonsense. Because you're not alone," (poke) "you're not as different from all of us as you think," (poke) "and yeah—I really like you because I know you think I'm beautiful and all sorts of nice things and you see me, even if it's not with your eyes—it's with this." She took his hand and squeezed it in hers. "And this," she added, pushing their palms up against his chest over his heart. "And you're just a coward if you think you can pawn this off as—"
She found herself cut off as he pressed his lips against her, kissing her angrily and fervently in a ball of emotion. The Cheerio kissed him back just as hard, and the momentum drove them against the wall, where a stray medical journal flopped to the ground beside them. They ignored it, however, as their tongues fought for dominance, with Hayden pushing her sideways so they were pressed against the end table, and she released one hand's grip as she guided them to the couch before diving back into his embrace.