"Do you want to go get ice cream?" After dinner, I'd gone up to my room to get ready to go out with Puck which is where my little brother finds me now. Dawson, who was younger by only 18 months and a handful of days, and I are incredibly close. We were attached at the hip, or at least we used to be, before Puck.
"Sorry, D. Puck and I are hanging out."
"Oh." Dawson's face fell. "Well, maybe tomorrow."
I nod. "Yeah. Sure. We can go after dinner."
Downstairs, I run into Mom. "I'm going out with Puck."
The look on her face is less than thrilled. "Honey, don't you think it's about time we got to meet the boy you spend all your time with? You've been together for what, a year?"
I shift my weight from one foot to another and cross my arms over my chest. Outside I can hear the rumble of the bike pulling up to the edge of the road, never pulling into the driveway. "On and off, yeah. But, Momma, you know Puck. We've known each other for ages."
"That's just the thing, Maisie, we know Noah, the friend. We want to get to know Puck, the boyfriend."
The big hand on the clock next to the door is etching closer and closer to the 7. If I make Puck wait for much longer, he'll be pissy for the rest of the night.
"All we want is one dinner."
"Okay. Fine. I'll talk to him. But you have to promise me Daddy won't threaten him or anything."
Mom laughs. "I promise."
I close the door behind me with a smile on my face. A smile that quickly dissipates when I see Puck's scowl.
He thrusts the extra helmet into my chest harder than necessary. "You're late."
"It was five minutes."
"Seven. But it's fine," he says in a tone that means it absolutely was not fine.
The argument dropped as we sped off. Wrapping my arms around him, I breathe in his scent and all my anger evaporates.
We end up at a dive bar next to the one and only church in town. A rusting sign advertises KARA KE TON GHT. The inside is as decrepit as the outside. The crumbling walls are white, or at least they were once upon a time. There are more people than this place could logically hold, causing the air to be uncomfortably warm.
Puck leaves me immediately to score us drinks. I began squirming my way to the back corner where I had my sights set on a miraculously empty table. He slides into a seat across from me, a beer in one hand and a mystery blue drink in the other.
"Shark attack," he says, sliding the glass to me.
I pop an alcohol-soaked gummy shark into my mouth. Up on stage, two older guys in worn-out cowboy hats are singing a rendition of Country Roads. By the looks of it, they're about to fall off the stage or throw up, at any moment.
"We should do that," I say wistfully.
For a few minutes, we didn't speak at all. Puck goes to get another beer and I decline another drink. I was tipsy enough from the Shark Attack. If I drank anymore, I'd cross the border into being drunk and that wasn't an option for me. When Quinn and I became captains, we made a pact always to be perfect. Which meant never getting drunk. We tried including Santana and Brittany, but it lasted a whole three days before we were dragging them out of a party drunk off their asses.
The bar manager took the stage after a college girl in cutoff shorts and a tank top crowned about lost love.
"Next up, we have Noah and Maisie! Come on up!"
I shoot a confused glance at Puck but he doesn't seem confused at all.
"Come on," he says, nudging me out of my seat.
It only takes Puck a moment to pick Love the Way You Lie for us to sing. "It's Eminem, and Rihanna, totally badass," he explains.
Up on stage, it feels like a billion pairs of eyes are staring back at me. Then the music starts and I relax. I know the song, so I don't need the lyrics. I forgot how much I love singing. I don't get to do it often, but when I do, it's freeing, like I could just let go of everything and fly away.
A chorus of applause erupts from the crowd.
"That was incredible," I exclaim, high off of the adrenaline from performing in front of a crowd.
"That's my girl! You were great!" Puck pulls me into a kiss right there on stage. "Let's get out of here," he whispers against my lips.
We stumble to the parking lot, focusing solely on one another. A new performer is starting to sing, now muffled through the wall. We began to slow-dance in between two rows of cars.
"Mom and Dad want you to come to dinner tomorrow," I mention. Maybe since he's in a good mood now, he'll agree.
Puck groans, slowing our spin, pulling away. It's slight, but to me, it feels like a mile.
"You know I don't like meeting parents."
I tug my bottom lips in between my teeth. "I know, I tried to tell them that."
He sighs, brushing his hand over my hair, and pushing it out of my face. "Will it make you happy?"
Happier than anything had ever made me before. I nod, the corners of my lips creeping up.
"Okay. I'll be there." He dips me low. "It's almost midnight, Cinderella; let's get you home."
Two days after dinner with my parents, the entire student body is packed like sardines on hardwood bleachers. The Gym still smells like sweat from earlier classes. We Cheerios are smack dab in the center, Santana on my left, Quinn to my right. Coach Sue and Brit sit in front of us.
My eyes scan for Puck. He's in my row but in the section all the way to the right. He's flanked by Mike and Matt. Finn is notably missing. He's already looking this way. He winks when he notices me. I blow him a kiss back but he's already turned his attention away.
The assembly starts and I'm instantly bored. I begin to run lines in my head for my next role: playing Wednesday in Lima's production of The Addams Family. Next to me, Santana is giving her cherry red nails a thorough inspection. Quinn isn't doing much better at acting interested. Her chin is digging a hole in her palm, and it looks as though she may slip into a peaceful slumber at any moment.
Principal Figgins hands the mic over to Mr. Shuester who introduces Glee Club, and suddenly I'm very interested. Quinn perks up as well, sitting up pin rod straight and narrowing her eyes. The Glee Club, now known as the New Directions, takes the stage dressed in blue and black.
That's when the horror begins. The song of choice was Push It by Salt-and-Pepa complete with ass-smacking and hip trusting. Either Mr. Shue was an absolute creep or somebody went behind his back.
Peeling my eyes from the train wreck happening in front of me and zeroed my sights on Mr. Shue who had taken a seat in the front row. Most of his face was blocked from view, but I could make out the raised arch of his eyebrow and the way his mouth formed into an O. Clearly, it was the latter.
As the song draws to a close, we are silent, stunned. Then Jacon Ben Israel, a creepy geek infamous for his online gossip blog and sexual harassment of the entire female population of McKinley, stands up and cheers. The crowd goes wild from there, nearly every student joins in the chorus of excitement.
The bell rings signaling the end of the day and we rush for the doors, pushing and stumbling over one another while Mr. Shue ushers his group off of the stage.
Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting on the floor in front of a large mirror in the Cheerios locker room getting ready for the football game. I'd lost Quinn, Santana, and Brittany in the crowd when we were leaving the gym and they had yet to reappear.
As I'm reapplying mascara to my left eye lash, the girls slide into the room and beeline for me.
Santana plops herself down on the floor, nudging me over with her shoulder so she has more mirror space. Britt looms over us, spinning from side to side, her skirt raising up to show off her red spandex. To her right, Quinn releases her long blonde hair from its ponytail, brush in hand.
"We're joining," she announces, the brush gliding through her hair with ease.
"Joining what?"
"The Glee Club," Santana answers for her with and eye roll.
I toss the mascara tube back in the pink makeup bag in my lap. "And we're doing that, why?"
"Finn. You saw how that thing was undressing him with her eyes. I can't lose him." Quinn's eyes catch mine in the mirror. My heart breaks when I see the pleading in them. Quinn didn't particularly love Finn, I knew. But he was safe. He was the one who she could take home to her parents. As long as they were together, she remained on top. With him, she would be perfect.
"It'll be fun, like it used to be," Britt mentions. The four of us loved singing, or at least we used to. When we were eleven, Santana was gifted a karaoke machine. We spent countless nights or the next three years, belting just about every song from popular girl groups, wearing different colored boas. We were determined to become the next Spice Girls. And then high school hit and we made the Cheerios and the karaoke machine was shoved in the closet to collect dust.
So Britt was in, which meant Santana was too. Three against one. My hand was being forced.
"Okay," I sigh, standing up and brushing off my uniform.
"Great." Quinn tightens her ponytail, game face on. "Let's go girls, we have a crowd to impress."
A week and a half later the stress of keeping a secret was starting to get to me. Only a couple of days after I joined, Puck started to get annoyed that I was blowing him off. I kept coming up with excuses. I had tutoring with Mike. I was talking to Mercedes because we had a project in Photography class together. I'm visiting Aunt Jean.
It all boiled over to today. Puck and I are sitting on the hood of his mother's minivan waiting for his little sister, Hannah to get out of Ballet. I take a sip of my slushy. I hadn't said more than a sentence since we parked twenty minutes ago, two lost in my thoughts.
"You okay?" Puck asks finally after I refuse a gummy worm.
The word vomit falls out of my mouth before I can stop it. "I joined the Glee Club."
I clamp a hand over my mouth, eyes wide.
Puck tenses, then he laughs. "Really funny, Monteith."
"I-I'm not kidding."
"Why the fuck would you join the Gay Club?"
"Quinn wanted to keep Berry away from Finn and she wanted support." Puck's lips straighten, his eyebrows furrowing at my words, but I chalk it up to him being capital P pissed about the Glee of it all.
"It's kinda fun, actually. Maybe you could join." It's a long shot, of course, but a piece of me is holding out hope.
Puck scoffs. "I'd rather saw off my left testicle than join those losers."
A pain shoots through my heart. Doesn't he realize I'm one of those 'losers'? "But-"
"Just drop it, Maisie!" He snaps loud enough to make the woman in the car next to us look our way.
The class is over now, and a group of eight-year-old girls in matching leotards and tutus disperse into the parking lot to find their respective rides. I gather up our trash and hop off of the van as Hannah tosses her bag in the back seat. The trash can is across the parking lot, pushed up against the wall next to the front door.
I turn around just in time to see Ms. Puckerman's van leave the lot and then speed down the street.
No use chasing it. The license plate was barely visible now. I willed myself not to cry. Perfect girls don't cry. But then again perfect girls have perfect boyfriends who don't leave them in parking lots. God, why couldn't I quit him?
I can't stop the tears from falling when I realize my cell phone is dead. Great, just fucking great. Taking a moment, I wipe away tears even though new ones are forming. Maybe there's some sort of phone inside I can use. I reach for the door just as it swings open, knocking into me slightly.
"Maisie? Are you okay?" It's Mike.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to act normal. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." My voice is higher than normal. "My dear boyfriend seems to have forgotten me here."
We stare at each other. We both know he didn't forget shit.
"Come on, I'll give you a ride," Mike offers.
He places a hand on my shoulder, which feels weirdly comforting. He guides me to his 2005 white Chevy Malibu, coming over to my side first to open the door before rounding to the driver's side and getting in. It's warm even without the heat on and it smells like the Old Spice cologne he uses.
"So, what are you doing here?" I ask. "Aren't you a little old for an eight-year-old's ballet class?" A forced smile pops up on my face as I slip into our normal banter.
Mike smiles back, his eyes focused as he turns the car on the road. An old familiar Beetles song plays on the radio. "I come here sometimes to use the dance studio."
This surprises me. We had been friends for years, but this somehow had never come up. "You like to dance?"
"It's my favorite pastime. I saw Footloose for the first time when I was nine and I've been hooked ever since. There's just something about it…"
His smile grows and I can't help but reciprocate. "Tell me about it."
As he begins, I close my eyes and rest my head against the window.
Before I know it, I'm being shaken awake. "We're here, Maisie."
The post-sleep blur clears and I look out to see we're now parked in the driveway.
"Sorry about that. I hadn't meant to fall asleep," I tell him embarrassed.
"Don't be. Me talking about dance tends to bore people."
"You didn't bore me," I say quickly. Just my luck to upset two guys in one night.
Mike smirks, squeezing my shoulder. "Mais, I'm only joking. I know." He looks over at my front porch which still has its light on. "Do you want me to walk you to the door?"
I shake my head, getting unbuckled. "No, it's okay. Thanks for the ride though."
"Anytime."
Just before I close the door after I get out, I recall something Mike had said before I had fallen asleep about his parents not supporting him. I lean my head in the car. "Oh and about the dancing thing, maybe you should consider joining the Glee Club. We're a little weird, but we'll support you, no judgment."
"Thanks, Mais. I'll think about it."
He waits until after I had closed the front door before backing out of the driveway. Puck wouldn't have even waited for me to reach the porch, I think bitterly.
Upstairs in my room, I plug my phone in and find a text from Puck.
Sorry.
Seriously, that's all he could give me after leaving me stranded? I lock my phone and close my eyes, falling into a peaceful sleep.
I was having an amazing romantic dream in which my perfect boyfriend had surprised me with a bouquet of yellow daisies, my favorite flower, that was bigger than his face.
I force myself awake with a gasp, sitting straight up in bed, because when my boyfriend moved the flowers to reveal his face, it wasn't Puck. It was Mike.
