Rachel: Good morning, Quinn. Good luck with terrifying everyone today!

Quinn: Dork. I'll see you at school. Maybe I'll wear my lucky hat.

Rachel looked at her phone one last time before stowing it away. She hadn't been this nervous to go to school since Noah stopped being her friend. There were a thousand thoughts tumbling around in her head– the changes the summer brought, the highs and lows, the things that could go wrong, the possible confrontation with Finn and the rest of the Glee club. She looked down at the strap on her messenger bag where the fire flower and Baby Bowser Junior were pinned. She took a moment to worry them with her thumb, allowing the smooth enamel to soothe her.

She had this. They had this. With one last fortifying breath, she marched into the school.

"Rachel!"

It was all the warning she had before the entirety of Brittany's body was wrapped around her, legs and all. Rachel staggered only for a moment before holding them both steady. Brittany was heavier than she looked. Rachel assumed it was purely because of the amount of muscle the Cheerio had in her legs.

"Good morning, Brittany." Rachel smiled, recovering from her surprise. "Are you prepared for school today?"

"Oh yeah. I have my super lucky umbrella ducky socks on, Santana gave me three sweet kisses this morning, and my mom made laks og eggerore. Also, I like your hair. It makes you look like Lady, but curlier. "

"That sounds like a nearly perfect start of the day for you," Rachel agreed. "And thank you for the compliment." At least, she was mostly certain it was a compliment.

"I know! The only thing that would have made it better is if–"

"Britt! We talked about this!" came Santana's aggrieved voice.

"Scizzors, blanket, top?" Brittany asked curiously. "Duh, Santana, I know we don't play that at school."

Santana's entire face darkened and she narrowed her eyes at Rachel, daring her to laugh. Rachel knew better, thank you very much. She wasn't going to ask either. Either the game was far more innocent than it seemed or far more raunchy. Knowledge in either direction was a source of danger, judging by the sheer malice in Santana's gaze. Malice that disappeared when she refocused on Brittany.

"Jumping on people without warning," Santana patiently reminded her.

It would never stop amazing Rachel how completely Santana's personality changed when speaking to Brittany. Perhaps she was only Brittany's Santana with people she loved. Many thought Brittany was stupid and Santana was there to dumb it down for her, but it was far from the truth. English was Brittany's third officially recognized language (alas cat and duck were not recognized). Santana merely gave Brittany the time, and the words, to help her process faster.

"Oh! I forgot! Sorry Rach, I could have killed you with my wicked thigh muscles."

"Yes, but you also have excellent control," Rachel countered, helping Brittany settle on her own two feet.

"You're right, I am so in control," Brittany agreed. She snapped her fingers three times in Santana's direction, a serious look on her face. "Juice Box, Sunglasses."

Rachel made sure to keep her features absolutely still as she watched a cocktail of irritation, adoration, offense, and appreciation cross Santana's visage.

Rachel cleared her throat, trying to ease the slight tension. "Brittany, you forgot the magic word."

"Oh yeah," Brittany beamed before turning her somber gaze back to Santana, "Abracadabra, bitches."

Rachel might have stopped breathing. The look Santana sent her felt like a hot curling iron jabbed into her gut. With what looked like utmost patience, Santana dug into her bag and pulled out a pair of square black sunglasses and a box of apple juice.

"You only have three of those left for the day," the Latina pointed out.

Brittany donned the sunglasses and slurped from the juice box. "I do what I want."

Santana and Rachel exchanged glances then.

"Treasure Troll."

"Santana. Thank you for the compliment. I too think my stomach is the source of all wish magic."

Brittany peered over her sunglasses. "Sorry, Rach, but that's Santana's–"

"Cookies!" Santana blurted. "Brittany, didn't you bring cookies for the dolphin here?"

"Oh yeah! Thanks for reminding me!" She leaned over and pressed a sloppy kiss to Santana's cheek and handed her the juice box as she dug through her bag.

"Ta da!" Brittany proclaimed, pulling out a pink pencil case. She offered it to Rachel.

Rachel took it with some trepidation. The dark glee in Santana's eyes worried her. She opened the box to find cookies. They were perfect circles with cat faces on them and they smelled strangely delightful.

"Thank you, Brittany. Did Santana help you bake them?"

"Oh no. We're not allowed to bake together anymore. Mamma was so mad, I've never seen her hands move so fast. I could barely understand what she was saying."

"Ah, well, my fathers have the same problem. They are strictly forbidden from cooking together unsupervised."

Brittany nodded sagely. "No one wants to burn down the house, unless there's insurance money involved." She perked up, "So since Santana couldn't help make them, Lord Tubbington did. He kneaded the dough."

Rachel, who had picked one up to have a nibble, paused. "Lord Tubbington can bake?"

"Rachel, cats make biscuits all the time," Brittany said as if explaining things to a child.

Rachel's face spasmed and Santana snickered.

"Oh Brit, I think Berry is just a little worried about how sanitary it is."

"Oh! Don't worry, Rach, I made Lord Tubbington wash his paws twice! We even sang Three Blind Mice to make sure it was long enough."

Rachel was frozen. Even behind the glasses, she could feel the look Brittany was giving her. It was that genuine, innocent, I'm happy I made these for you aren't you happy too? look. Rachel looked at the cookie already halfway to her mouth. Oh the things she did for the ones she called friends. How many spiders did one eat while sleeping? She could stand a possible cat hair. Unfreezing, she popped the cookie into her mouth.

She was surprised to find the flavor quite good. Key lime, if she wasn't mistaken. The icing was rather delicate as well. One chew, then two, she was beginning to relax when she felt the cat hair curling around her tongue. She coughed, covered her mouth, and then reached in and pulled it out. It was three inches long.

Santana's face was somewhere between pure glee, disgust, and grudging respect. Brittany gasped.

"I can't believe he got hair in the cookie dough! I'll tie his hair back next time." She promised, pulling the pencil box out of Rachel's hand.

Rachel swallowed everything in her mouth in one horrifying gulp. "The flavor was good. I appreciate the thought even if I couldn't fully enjoy them."

Brittany brightened a little. "Happy first day of junior year!" She pushed her sunglasses back up and turned to Santana, holding out her hand. "Juice box."

"Britt, you'll only have two left to last the rest of the day," Santana countered.

"I do what I want," Brittany repeated, "And I want to drink juice."

Santana grumbled and handed her a new one. Brittany jammed the straw in the box and stuck the straw into the corner of her mouth. She held out her pinky to Santana.

"Let's roll."

Santana linked their pinkies and shot Rachel one more irritated, bewildered glance as they walked away.

Well, at least now Rachel was prepared to face absolutely anything this morning.

Rachel was not prepared to face absolutely anything this morning.

"What do you mean you've scheduled us to do a performance over lunch? A costumed performance? Over lunch? On the first day?" Rachel asked in disbelief.

Everything had been going so well, too. She was still slushy free, a personal record for the first day of school, she'd seen Quinn in passing, and Noah threw her a ziplock bag full of his mother's halva in between first and second period. This was the best first day Rachel had in years and Mr. Shue was ruining it.

"Rachel, Regionals is going to be in New York this year! I thought you, of all people, would be excited." Mr. Schue was looking at her with the same mix of bewilderment, irritation, and earnestness that he seemed to employ on every woman in his life.

"I am excited," Rachel explained, "I simply think this is poorly planned."

Mercedes snorted from her desk, "Because you weren't in charge of it?"

"No–"

"To pedestrian for you?" Kurt sassed.

"I believe Jay-Z and Alicia Keyes did an absolutely fantastic collaboration on the piece, I simply don't–"

"Tina, what do you think?" Kurt asked.

Tina's eyes darted around the room and sunk into. "Um, I kinda get the vibe this is about something else entirely. So I want to stay out of it. But if I have to, the song is good, but maybe not today?"

Mercedes groaned. Rachel dipped her head in Tina's direction, "Thank you for your sincere opinion."

"Oh, please, like you're some queen. Puck–"

"This is not about Puck." Rachel's tone was frigid. "Or what Puck has done to me. This is about the fact that we haven't sang together in months. That the piano is a key piece of the song and unless we have the track just lying around, we'll be without it singing in the middle of the Quad. And need I remind you, that's where we'll be singing. In the middle of the Quad, at lunch, where everyone will have access to food to throw. I sincerely hope to gain new members, but I prefer it not to be at the expense of being pelted with food scraps when it could easily be avoided. And watching us be pelted, would certainly not endear us to anyone who might wish to join. Not only that, but expecting us to all have outfits ready at the drop of the hat is ridiculous!"

"Your sense of fashion is ridiculous," Kurt counters.

"You're telling me Miss "I spent ten hours a day going over our past" doesn't have everything prepared?" Mercedes asked with obvious disbelief.

Rachel counted to ten. She couldn't believe she was getting this angry, but her summer with Puck and Quinn, and her shopping trip with her daddy had caused something to shift inside of her. She was tired of the unfairness of everything. She wanted it to change. It didn't matter if she already had a decent plan on how the vocals should go, or who should sing each part. What mattered was that Mr. Shue had that strange glint in his eye that meant he was either trying to get into someone's pants or he was trying to intimidate someone, and first days were hard enough without that miasma of middle-aged hormones hanging over them.

"Rachel, I appreciate your concerns, I really do." Which Rachel knew to mean that he absolutely did not. "But I've already passed it by Principal Figgins, and I have shirts, chains, sunglasses, and hats. So there shouldn't be any costume issues. You just need black bottoms."

She took dark pleasure in watching Kurt wince. "An email notice, at least, would have been appreciated."

"Noted," Mr. Shue replied kindly, which is to say he had his earnest look on again.

No wonder her Aunt Sue wanted to destroy him.

He clapped his hands twice, "Alright guys, we'll do a little practicing before lunch. Spread the word."

"Um, Mr. Shue?" Tina raises her hand hesitantly. "We have thirty minutes left? This is Spanish?"

"Oh. Right." He sat back down on his desk and reached for his planner. "Where's–"

Puck popped his head in, "Hey, Mr. Shue, Coach Beiste needs to see Rachel."

Mr. Schue frowned. "Aren't you supposed to be in my class right now?"

"You kidding? I learned more Spanish watching taped telenovelas with my mom this summer than I did all last year. I'm all for a class I can sleep in but I figure a little weight lifting and an easy A will do the Puckasaurs some good. So, Rachel?"

Rachel stood, curious.

"Wait, Rachel. Why does Coach Beiste want anything to do with Rachel?"

There was that spark in Mr. Schue's eyes again, and Rachel wondered exactly what Coach Beiste had done to anger him.

"No es asunto tuyo, pero estoy seguro de que se trata de su posición como receptora abierta." Puck shrugged casually, stepping into the room and holding out the slip to Mr. Schue with a smirk.

Mr. Schue blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Right, uh..." He glanced at the slip and frowned. "Go ahead, Rachel."

Gathering her things, she follows after Puck, who snickers as soon as the door is shut behind him. "His face? Did you see it?"

"Telenovelas? Have you been holding out on me, Puckerman?" she teased.

Puck slung his arm around her, "Nope. Mom wants to learn another language to get a promotion. She got a book from the library but thought hearing people use it might help. The last month, she's been taping them and then we watch them one evening a week with dinner. I was skeptical at first, but I've learned like ten new swear words and the storylines are nuts. One dude died, came back to life, and now he's either a twin or a triplet. So he might not have cheated on his wife."

"So it's almost as dramatic as high school?"

"Babe, they wear dresses with crystals and heels as high as their hair. High school could never be as dramatic."

Rachel laughs. "So, do you know what Coach Beiste actually wants?"

Puck shrugs, "Definitely about football. She does so many things differently from Coach Tanaka though. Like I'm doing gym with her this period, and she asked what I wanted– to gain, maintain, work on the football related muscles, balance… Coach Tanaka showed us how to use the weight machine and that was it."

"That's rather exciting," Rachel exclaims, a new bounce in her step. "I wonder if she'll help me with a new regimen. I believe that mine is more than adequate, but I am always open to feedback. Oh, please "spread" around to the other Glee members, we're apparently doing a performance at lunch in the Quad. Mr. Schue has outfits."

Puck's eyebrows raised. "What? I'm all about randomly bursting into song at certain times, but, lunch? In the Quad?"

"I've resigned myself to getting the most out of it that I can, and hoping he doesn't expect us to reuse the outfits, but I wish that actual forethought was involved. It feels as if, if you'll permit me to use a football metaphor, we're running onto the field in ill-fitting pads and no helmets and everyone in the stands will be cheering for the other team."

"I'll allow it," Puck frowns, shakes his head, then smirks, "But, I think if we can practice in a death trap with slides, we can definitely deal with a little corny improv."

"We are two reasonably good looking Jews," Rachel smirks back.

They cut through the gymnasium. As they neared, they heard a raised voice which Rachel immediately recognized as Finn's. Puck seemed to as well, frowning. They slowed as they drew nearer to the officer. The door was cracked open enough that they could see Finn gesticulating wildly.

"What do you mean I have to try out? I'm the star quarterback!" Finn fumed.

"Hudson, everyone has to try out. Some already have. Evans came to the early tryouts and proved he had what it took. You'll get your chance to try out. Today at 4:30. But if you think raising your voice to me is doing you any favors you've got another thing coming."

His voice changed immediately into that sad, kicked puppy tone that Rachel knew far too well. "I'm sorry, Coach. Football means a lot to me. I didn't mean to."

"You're lucky I didn't put you in detention. If it happens again, you will be." Some papers were shuffled. "Get out of here, Hudson. I have a meeting with another student."

"Right, Coach."

The door opened and Finn came out, head ducked down. He looked up quickly, as if sensing them. He scowled at Puck and then turned his dopey eyes on Rachel. "Rach! I've been looking–"

Coach Beiste called out from the office, "Berry, get in here!"

"Yes, Coach!" Rachel slipped from behind Noah, out of Finn's reach, and slid into the office, closing the door behind her.

Coach Beiste's office was surprisingly well kept. There were a few old team pictures and several trophies hung around the room, and it didn't smell like stale sweat. There was a nice fresh overtone. Her desk was filled with several stacks of files that she'd obviously been rifling through. She gestured to a folding metal chair in front of her desk.

"Have a seat."

Rachel smoothed her skirt underneath her legs and sat. "How may I help you today, Coach Beiste? Are you settling in well?"

The coach looked up, with some humor in her eyes, "Figgins should have hired you for the welcoming committee."

"Principal Figgins means very well," Rachel demures, "But he can be a bit… wishy-washy."

Coach Beiste snorted. "That's one word for it. But I didn't call you here to talk about that. Good news, we've figured out the locker situation."

Rachel perked up, "Already?"

"It took a bit of arm twisting, but you'll be allowed to use the cheerleaders locker room for practice and our home games. I'm already reaching out to the hosts of our away games to see what we can come up with."

"Thank you." Rachel was genuinely touched. Of all of the clubs and teachers she'd had in this school district, Coach Beiste was the only one who had genuinely and proactively tried to accommodate Rachel without acting as if she was a terrible bother.

"The plan will be that you and I will go into the boys locker room together before the game when everyone is suited up, at half time, and right after the game. Then you'll go shower and change and we'll meet back up. I'm going to send you home with the plan. I'd like it if you can have your parents go through it and approve it."

"Absolutely," Rachel nods.

"Here's the rough up of the practice schedule. I understand you're in Glee, too. Is this going to be a problem?"

Rachel looked over the schedule. "I believe that most of our important Glee competitions are after football season is over. As for practices, as other football players, and several cheerleaders, are also in Glee, I believe we'll be able to schedule Glee practices around them satisfactorily."

A shrewd look entered the coach's eye. "You don't think Mr. Schue will be a problem?"

Rachel shifted slightly, falling into more of the "business mode" she adopted with her aunt.

"Mr. Shue," Rachel says slowly, "is one of those people who are convinced they're the good guy, the underdog. He thinks he's the plucky hero destined to overcome and win. And while I understand a certain amount of self-centeredness, I think he forgets that he isn't the main character of some story. He usually treats adult women as either oppressors, enemies or prizes to be won. As for students, he likes to "help" in ways that make him look good. He likes to think he's a mentor saving wayward misfits."

Coach Beiste huffed a laugh. "Do you study psychology in your free time?"

"Oh, no. But my fascination with Broadway includes not only the songs, but the story as well. This has helped my reading comprehension and critical thinking skills, allowing me to recognize certain themes and tropes even in real life. I, for one, can certainly recognize main-character syndrome as I sometimes suffer from it myself. I've also had to suffer through several unfortunate episodes of Dr. Phil, but those don't count for anything."

Coach Beiste laughed fully this time. "Thank you for your candor. I won't ask about him again, it wouldn't be fair of me. Back to business. We received a significant donation to buy all our players a brand new set of pads and state of the art helmets. We have a company coming on Saturday from 9 to 12. You only have to stay until you've been fitted. If you happen to have any measurements you can give me as a ballpark, it might make things go faster."

"Give me a moment." Rachel pulled a piece of paper from her bag and began writing measurements. "Will they need to know the length from shoulder to hip?"

Coach Beiste leaned back in her chair. "I'm not sure, but why not?"

Rachel hummed and kept writing.

"How do you know all of these?" Beiste asked curiously.

"I've been in dance and martial arts from a very young age. Especially for dance, the costumes can be quite expensive, and no one wants to pay that much for an ill-fitting costume. It doesn't help that I'm rather petite. It became easier to occasionally check measurements at home and memorize them than to guess a size."

"Martial arts?" Coach Beiste asked.

"Capoeira," Rachel replied. "Lots of foot work and kicking. It's why my legs are so strong. Of course, dancing helps. I also spend time every morning on the elliptical and practice yoga."

"Any upper body besides the yoga?"

"I started doing more push-ups with Puck this summer, and other body weight exercises."

Beiste nodded. "Keep that up. During practice, we'll check your grip. I might teach you a few gripping exercises."

Rachel perked up. "I do enjoy learning new things. Do I need to be at tryouts tonight?"

"We could use the extra bodies, but it isn't mandatory. I didn't give enough notice."

Rachel's smile practically gleamed. Finally, someone who understood the idea of giving notice and proper scheduling. "I should be there."

Beiste nodded, "Thanks, Berry, that's all I needed. Here's a pass in case you're late to your next class."

"Thank you, Coach. I'll see you after school."

Rachel left with a skip in her step. Hopefully with two people scheduling practices and taking up half of the Glee members time, Mr. Shue would fall into place without too much complaining.