A/N: Small author's note... I know the random girl in the Skanks was known as "The Mack" but I'm taking out 'The' because I'm making her an actual character, not just a caricature. Enjoy!
"Artie, I appreciate the support, but I've got this," Rachel said, as she hurried out of their first rehearsal to try to catch Quinn and her gang before they left their usual hang-out spot.
Artie pushed harder to catch up, as Rachel seemed set on leaving him in the dust. "With respect, no you don't," he called after her.
That got her to stop. She turned and faced him, tilting her head to the side. "You know, before this summer, she and I were getting pretty close," she said, indignantly. "We bonded over the whole Shelby and Beth thing."
"I'm sure you did," Artie said, calmly. "But look, Quinn and I have a connection. Not-not romantically, not like that, but just as friends. Good friends. And before the summer, I felt like I knew her better than anyone else did."
"Fine," Rachel exhaled loudly and rolled her eyes. "But they might not be behind the bleachers. I happen to know they sometimes hang out on the roof. Um, they like to... throw unmentionables at the marching band."
"You mean the tampons dipped in ketchup?" Artie asked, bluntly, as she recoiled slightly.
"Yes, that." Rachel then gestured at his chair, adding, "I don't know how you're planning on getting up the stairs that lead to the roof."
"Marching band hasn't started practicing yet, so they're not up there." Artie rolled his eyes right back at her, not appreciating the fact that she'd called out his limitations for no good reason like that.
"Fine," said Rachel, rather curtly. "Well, come on, we have to hurry then. Want me to push you across the grass when we get to the field?"
"Nope." He definitely wasn't about to accept that from her. He didn't know if it was just because it was the first day he'd dealt with Rachel in awhile, but she was being extra irritating.
Rachel honestly tried to lose him, but she was wearing impractical heels that day, perhaps in an attempt not to look so weird next to Finn, so he was able to keep pace with her until they reached the football field. The ground beneath the grass was squishy, due to some rain the night before, making it one of the more difficult surfaces for him to push himself over. She did manage to lose him, in spite of her heels sinking in a time or two, and he found himself cursing fate as he watched her beat him to the place under the bleachers where the Skanks hung out.
He knew a little bit about the "Skanks," having asked around. This particular group of girls were made up of two Seniors – now three – and a Junior. The Seniors were Sheila and Ronnie. There was some rumor going around that Sheila grew her own cannabis, fertilizing it with her cat's poop. Ronnie probably could have given Lauren Zizes a run for her money on the wrestling team, if she were the sort of girl who cared about teams. She didn't use her powers for any sort of team, aside from the Skanks. Ronnie liked to threaten other girls, especially Freshmen, into giving her their lunch money. No teacher had been able to catch her in the act and prove it so far. And the Junior was Mack, who Artie remembered from grade school. She'd been in his class for the second round of third grade and several years after that. That was how he knew Mack was short for "Mackenzie." He'd always caught Mack staring at him, and he couldn't decide if she was curious about the kid in the wheelchair or actually checking him out. But the rumor about Mack was that she now liked to make out with truckers at rest stops, and most people thought that was why she was called "Mack."
Ronnie was lighting Quinn's cigarette as Rachel approached, with Artie still desperately trying to catch up. He couldn't make out what she was saying – just looked like she was cautiously greeting them – and then he saw Ronnie say something to Quinn.
Artie caught up just in time to hear Quinn say, "I'm not coming back to Glee Club." And then she spotted Artie and he thought he saw her expression soften ever so slightly, for just a brief moment, before she tensed her jaw and took a long drag on her cigarette.
"We need you, okay?" Rachel went on. "We're going to be putting all these purple pianos all over the school, and we're planning this big, you know, recruiting number. It's going to be a tribute to the Go-Go's. I mean, who doesn't love the Go-Go's?"
"I prefer the Bangles," Sheila said, deadpan.
"O-Okay," Rachel stammered. "Look... we need your tremulous alto and your Belinda Carlisle glamour."
Leave it to Rachel to make the whole thing about Glee Club! What was Quinn even going to think now? Artie wished he could have beat her over to the Skanks and opened with something a heck of a lot more compassionate.
"I'll give you ten bucks if you let me beat her up for you, Quinn," Mack piped up.
"I'm sorry you're so sad, Quinn," Rachel continued, sounding more patronizing than anything else. "And maybe you're not gonna believe me because we were never really close, but, I'm sad not seeing you in the choir room. And we've all been through so much together. We're a family, and this is our year to get it right. We would love to have you back in the Glee Club, whenever you're ready. Okay?"
Rachel turned then, having said her peace, and began to walk away. She looked at Artie like she expected him to follow. But he hadn't just come all this way to lend his support to Rachel, of course, so he stayed put. To his great relief, she left him there with the Skanks.
Of course, that meant he was now alone with the Skanks. None of them looked pleased to see him, least of all being Quinn. Well, maybe Mack looked weirdly pleased.
"Want a smoke?" Ronnie asked, reaching for a pack from her pocket, extending it out to Artie.
"Sorry, but no thanks, I need my full lung capacity for pushing this chair across that field," he said, and he thought he saw Quinn's tough girl grimace falter once more. "I came to talk to Quinn, but you're her friends now, too, so I guess this concerns all of you."
"If you're begging us all to join your stupid singing club, the answer is no," Sheila shot back. "I'm talented, sure, but you can't have me. I ain't about to be nobody's back-up singer. Especially not that little kiss-up, Berry."
"This isn't even about Glee Club," Artie said, quickly. "It's more like a question." He turned and addressed Quinn then. "I just want to make sure you're... okay. For what it's worth... I-I think your new look is nice. That's not what concerns me. It's the fact that you won't talk to us. That you won't text me back or return my calls. That's why I'm worried about you, Q."
"I'm fine," Quinn said, quietly. It looked like it pained her to say more, but after an awkward silence, she continued. "Look, I just- I finally had a summer away from everything and taking a step back made me realize how much I hate where my life is headed. I'm sick and tired of doing things to make other people happy. This year is for me."
"No, yeah, I get that," Artie told her. "I just don't know why you have to cut off everyone who cares about you in the process. Quinn, I care, you know I do, and so does Mercedes... and-and my sister... and Tina and Finn and even Rachel, believe it or not..."
"I didn't see any other way to make a clean start, Quinn said, stiffly. "Don't take it personally."
"I'm trying not to but it's hard." An awkward silence followed Artie's confession, and Quinn refused to look him in the eyes, so he struck up a conversation with Shelia instead, "So, what's your all-time favorite song by 'The Bangles?'"
"Huh?" Shelia replied.
"Well, I know everyone knows them for 'Eternal Flame' and 'Manic Monday' and especially 'Walk Like an Egyptian,'" Artie rambled on. "But I love their cover of 'A Hazy Shade of Winter.'"
"What are you, like, VH1's Behind the Music on wheels?" Shelia asked, with a snort.
"Something like that," Artie muttered. He could see he wasn't getting anywhere, not with Quinn's new friends present, so he decided this was the end of his first attempt at reclaiming Quinn Fabray. "Think about what I said, would you, Quinn?"
She took another long drag from that cigarette and just looked off, with a noncommittal shrug. And this was all he was going to get out of her today, that much was clear. He grabbed his wheels and pivoted, trying to hide how much of a struggle he was having with the terrain as he left.
...
"Why are you guys ignoring Mr. Schuester's assignment?" Rachel wanted to know, as she descended on the Glee Club's table in the cafeteria the next day.
This year, the Glee Club had decided to sit together at lunch. Artie didn't know why but he suspected they'd all bonded over the drama of last year, plus the summer gatherings had gone a long way in solidifying those friendships. They were easily the most diverse group in the whole cafeteria, with representatives of just about any and every clique. And yet without Quinn and also Sam, Artie felt like their group was incomplete.
"Wait, there's a purple piano in here?" Finn turned to find it staring right back at him.
"Wow, how did any of us miss that?" Mercedes said, sarcastically, from where she was snuggled up right next to Shane. Her enormous football player boyfriend was the only non-Glee kid sitting at the table.
"We have to do the number, okay?" Rachel said. They'd run through it only once, but then again, that was more rehearsal than they'd dedicated to some of their competition numbers.
"We have to survive lunch," Artie told her, feeling bold enough to openly argue with Rachel this year. "It's not fair that Mr. Schue put the piano in here. It's too much pressure."
"I agree," Kurt said. "That is like wearing a red dress to a bullfight."
"What's wrong with that?" Brittany wanted to know.
"The point of the assignment was to find people who couldn't help but join, okay?" Rachel persisted. "The more people that we sing in front of, the more chances we have of getting one, okay? It's simple mathematics."
"Which I stopped attending years ago," said Puck.
"No, no. Hold on. Rachel's right." Of course Finn would have to agree with her. "How's anyone supposed to believe we can go to Nationals if we don't even believe in ourselves."
"Thank you," Rachel said, wearing a smile of satisfaction and looking like she wanted to let him devour her face again.
Finn gave a nod to their drummer, who was inexplicably behind the drum kit and ready to go. (Didn't he have to eat?) They got into positions and, right then and there, launched into their spirited performance of 'We Got the Beat,' running all over the cafeteria and annoying all the unsuspecting students who were trying to choke down the contents of their lunch trays.
When they finished their song, they were met with silence and stares. And then, without warning, Becky Jackson tossed a cup of vegetables at Rachel. Someone hit Puck with spaghetti.
"Oh god, no!" Puck exclaimed.
"Food fight!!!" That was Jacob Ben Israel, shouting out the order as he stood in his chair and motioned for his camera man to capture it all. Soon spaghetti was flying everywhere, mostly of it being hurled in the direction of the Glee Club, as they made a beeline for the door, down the hall, and into the safe haven of their choir room.
Mr. Schuester happened to be in his office on his conference period and noticed when they all entered at once, all of them covered in the contents of lunch. Some had gotten it worse than others. Artie, being the easy target that he was, had most of it hanging from his hair.
"I thought slushies were bad, but spaghetti sauce in the eye is so much worse," Finn moaned, as he held the door open to usher them in just as Mr. Schuester stepped in from his office to see what the commotion was about.
"I have pepperoni in my bra," Brittany added, taking her usual seat.
"Those are your nipples," Santana informed her.
"Mr. Schue, if you are trying to break us down to rebuild us, it's working," Mike informed their teacher.
"Not one single person was inspired by our hot lunch jam to try out, Mr. Schue," Mercedes added.
"It's true. You guys sucked ass."
This announcement came from an ethereal voice in the doorway. In walked a very pretty but lost-looking girl with straight brown hair and rather serious, stiff demeanor.
"I'm sorry, and you are?" Rachel looked scandalized by the sudden appearance of an unknown intruder.
"I'm Sugar Motta, and I have self-diagnosed Asperger's, so I can pretty much say whatever I want," said the girl, with a rehearsed quality to her speech. "I'm like a diplomat's daughter."
"How can we help you, Sugar?" asked Mr. Schue.
"Here's the deal," she said, moving further into the room, ensuring she had their attention. "I'm awesome, and I want to be a big, big star. And when I saw you guys singing and dancing in the cafeteria, I thought, 'I am so much better than you.' Sorry, Asperger's."
"Well... great!" Mr. Schue beamed at them, as if to say he told them so. "You see guys, you have inspired an audition. Good job! Sugar, why don't you show us what you can do. Take your time, whenever you're ready."
"Sugar Motta. Why does that name sound familiar?" Kurt whispered to Mercedes.
"Oh, her Dad is the rich dude that donated the purple pianos," Mercedes informed him.
"Get ready to taste some sweet ear candy." And she turned to Brad, who was already inexplicably seated at the piano, even though it wasn't even time for rehearsal. Artie didn't know what else this man did when he wasn't playing for them. She produced some sheet music from her messenger bag and stuck it on his piano. "Hit it, hottie."
She proceeded to subject them to an incredibly awful rendition of 'Big Spender.' As everyone cringed and exchanged horrified looks, Sugar continued with her performance, oblivious to the reactions she was getting.
"Her ears should get to park in my handicapped spot," Artie commented.
"Holy… shhhh-ugar!" Mr. Schue said, jumping up from his seat and hurrying to interrupt her performance, glaring urgently at the rest of them, silently begging them not to say anything.
"Text me, re: the rehearsal skedge," Sugar said, making an awkward gesture.
"Of course," Mr. Schue started to say.
"Mr. Schue, stop speaking. Okay, uh Sugar - we'll be in touch. Thank you. Bye." Rachel hurriedly guided Sugar out the door, then shut it behind her and turned back to the rest. "Okay - I think I speak for everyone when I say 'never gonna happen.'"
"Guys, I know she was…a little rough, but we have always had the policy that everyone who tries out gets in," Mr. Schuester countered.
"Really?" Blaine looked fascinated. "That's the opposite of the Warblers. Every time someone auditioned, they had to go before the counsel, then the counsel had to vote, and the acceptance rate was something like fifty-fifty."
"Well, that's not how we do things," Mr. Schuester countered.
"You're not doing her any good sheltering Sugar from the truth, okay?" Rachel was getting fired up, her voice getting higher and higher as she rambled on. "High school is where you learn it's survival of the fittest. She's gonna drag the New Directions down, and that's not fair for those of us who don't want to spend our lives rotting in this insignificant town. You said the other day that you would do anything to get us to Nationals, okay? And she is gonna keep us from winning that elusive crown. If anything, she is gonna kill all of our chances!"
"But we only have eleven people." Artie chose to speak up, which he'd been doing a lot more lately. "If anything is going to kill our chances, it's getting disqualified for not having at least twelve."
"I might be able to teach her to dance," Mike put in, helpfully. "I've been thinking – and no offense – but I've been thinking a lot of you need some work."
"None taken," Artie said, cracking a smile at his own joke as Mike chuckled.
"But seriously, I'd like to help," Mike said again.
"I'm liking this idea," Mr. Schuester said, rubbing his palms together excitedly. "A dance boot camp. A booty camp. We might even make this our new tradition. Last time we emphasized our dancing, it went well for us."
"Great." Santana stood up then. "Well, as much as I'd love to stay and chat, I smell like marinara sauce and I'd like to take care of this before I go to my next class."
Everyone agreed with this statement. But as they prepared to go, Mr. Schuester stopped Artie on his way to the door.
"I'm going to announce another duet competition at today's rehearsal," he said. "And Artie, as Sugar's biggest supporter, I'd really appreciate it if you'd pair up with her. You're a strong partner."
Artie didn't realize he was "Sugar's biggest supporter." He'd just pointed out that they needed twelve. But he appreciated the compliment Mr. Schuester had given him.
"I'd be happy to do that, Mr. Schue," he told his teacher.
"Thanks, Artie, knew I could count on you."