I decided to upload the second chapter on the same day as the first, I hope you enjoy it! The first two chapters are a bit short, but things will kick off soon :)! I still do not own Glee :(
So far, his day was really sucking.
After football practice, Finn found himself cornered by Mr. Schuester, his Spanish teacher. Apparently, Jacob had run his mouth about Finn breaking his stupid camera, and now Finn had a choice: serve two weeks of detention or join Schuester's "up-and-coming" Glee Club. Yeah, Glee Club. The one thing Finn couldn't imagine himself being caught dead in. He'd rather run laps around the track for an hour than be stuck in some room with a bunch of weirdos belting out show tunes. But here he was, being hit with this nonsense.
Finn didn't mind Mr. Schuester too much. Sure, the guy was a little desperate, always trying to make the Glee Club sound like some kind of life-changing experience, but he wasn't the worst teacher. He didn't try to make school a total drag the way some of the others did. The guy had a weird, "I'm-cool-because-I'm-trying-so-hard" vibe about him, but at least he wasn't like the totally uptight teachers who acted like they had a grudge against kids. Finn could almost tolerate him. Almost.
He thought about arguing that Jacob had been using the camera to take photos of a girl's chest, probably for some "private session," but then he remembered that he wasn't exactly a saint in this mess. After all, he was the one who'd made her chest visible in the first place. Yeah, it was Jacob's camera, but Finn had been part of the whole thing, even if he'd only been in the background. It wasn't exactly the kind of thing that'd make him look like a hero, so he wasn't about to try to pin everything on Jacob.
Finn was seriously regretting helping Rachel out. Now he was probably stuck in some stupid club, looking like a total dork in front of his friends, and it sure as hell wasn't winning him any brownie points with Quinn. All of that, and not even a "thanks" from her. Seriously? Talk about ungrateful…
Serving detention would mean a major blow to his mom's sanity. She'd already had enough of his nonsense and probably didn't need to hear about him getting busted for breaking some loser's camera. Two weeks of detention would probably result in a month of her yelling at him, and honestly, he wasn't in the mood for that. So, after a solid minute of going back and forth in his head, Finn figured that joining the lame club was probably the least painful outcome of a terrible situation. It couldn't be worse than detention, and maybe it'd get Schuester off his back.
With a sigh, Finn ran a hand through his hair, trying not to look like he was about to die of embarrassment. "Alright, fine," he grumbled, trying to sound like this wasn't the worst thing to happen to him. "I'll join the stupid Glee Club. Just get me out of here."
Schuester's face lit up like he'd just won the lottery. "That's the spirit, Finn! You won't regret it, I promise. It'll be a great experience for you!"
Finn fought back the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure it'll change my life," he said flatly. "Look, just… when does this start, and how do I get out of it as soon as possible?"
Mr. Schuester didn't seem to hear Finn's sarcasm as he babbled on about how Glee Club would "help him find his voice" and "become a better team player." Finn barely paid attention, zoning out and thinking about how much he'd rather be doing literally anything else—like playing video games, eating pizza, or getting hit in the face with a football. But instead, here he was, stuck in Schuester's never-ending optimism, with no way out.
As Schuester went on, Finn found himself wondering how bad it could really be. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing ever. He'd show up, sit in the back, pretend he wasn't there, and maybe he'd be out in a week. But he knew the type of kids that were in Glee Club. At least he wouldn't have to sit through two weeks of detention. Maybe he could survive this. It had to be better than sitting in a room for hours, staring at a wall.
"Alright, man," Finn said, cutting Schuester off, "just tell me when and where, and I'll show up. But no singing in front of everyone. I'm not here for that."
Schuester beamed like Finn had just signed up to be the next American Idol. "It's going to be great, Finn. You're gonna do awesome!"
Finn just nodded, already regretting this decision. But hey, it could've been worse. At least he was off the hook for detention.
The next day, walking into the choir room felt like someone had dropped a bomb. Literally, jaws everywhere hit the floor. He didn't even have to look around to know what was going on—he could practically feel the eyes boring into him. It was like the whole room had just stopped functioning for a second as they processed the fact that he was actually here, joining their little club of misfits.
He scanned the room, and to his dismay, he recognized every single face. Of course. This wasn't some random group of people—these were the same idiots he'd made fun of or straight-up tormented. The black girl who he'd thrown food at in the cafeteria, her face scrunching up in disgust as the mashed potatoes hit her. The freaky Asian chick who'd been the target of his pee balloons, running for cover as he and Puck laughed like total assholes. The gay guy he shoved into lockers every chance he got, just because it was funny to watch him flinch. And the wheelchair-bound kid—what was his name again?—who Finn had unceremoniously tossed into a dumpster one afternoon, because who wouldn't think it was hilarious to mess with someone like that?
And, of course, front and center, like she was some kind of queen, was Rachel freakin' Berry.
She was sitting there, all smug with that "I'm better than you" look on her face. Finn's stomach twisted. She acted like nothing had ever happened, like she was still untouchable, even though he couldn't shake the memory of how humiliated she'd been just the day before.
But when he walked in, Rachel's eyes went wide. She froze for a second, like she couldn't process what was happening. Her smirk dropped, and her mouth hung open. Finn had to fight not to laugh. He barely stopped himself from smirking. She looked so stunned, like he'd just walked into a room full of her worst nightmares.
How the hell had he ended up here with these people? They were the same ones he'd been picking on for ages, and now he was supposed to sit in the same room with them, pretending like nothing had ever happened?
He thought about turning around and bolting out the door. But no, that'd just make everything worse.
Kurt was the first to snap out of his shock and speak up about Finn's unwelcome arrival. "Mr. Schue! Get him out of here! He probably has a stink bomb stashed in that jersey!" Kurt's voice was dripping with disdain, and honestly, Finn would've loved to have a stink bomb on hand for this exact moment. But, yeah—he didn't.
Mr. Schue didn't waste any time. He jumped right in, looking totally unfazed. "Actually, Finn is the newest member of the New Directions!"
The room fell completely silent. Everyone stared at him, wide-eyed, but Rachel's gasp was the loudest—like someone had stepped on a cat. Finn almost flinched from the shrill sound. It was as if her brain had short-circuited trying to process what she was hearing.
Before Finn could even process it himself, Rachel kicked into gear, and it was like opening the floodgates. Her voice blasted out, rising higher with each word, like a freight train of outrage. Finn swore he could feel her words vibrating in his bones.
"Mr. Schuester, I must express my profound dismay! None of us find this so-called 'joke' remotely amusing, especially given that Finn has long been one of the Glee Club's most egregious tormentors! His history of antagonizing us is well-documented, and to elevate him to this position is, quite frankly, an insult to the integrity of the group!"
He didn't know if she was trying to make a dramatic statement or if she just wanted the entire town of Lima to hear her. Honestly, he wouldn't have been surprised if the sound echoed all the way to the next county.
"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Berry," Finn shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm joining this club because, I don't know, I want to 'express myself' or something."
He wasn't about to tell her the real reason he was here—this whole mess was the last thing he wanted. But, hey, if he made it sound like he was some deep, artsy type, maybe it'd make him look cool to the guys. He ignored the eye rolls that followed his words, and tried not to laugh at the way Rachel's face turned an even brighter shade of red when he casually threw in the bit about her "panties."
Mr. Schuester continued his lecture, addressing the group. "I know the football team hasn't always treated you guys well, but here in Glee, we accept everyone! If Finn wants to express his love of music with the world, why should we be the ones to stop him?"
Well, that was probably the gayest way to phrase anything in the history of ever. And of course, he pulled that whole speech out of his ass, but Finn wasn't dumb enough to turn down help right now.
The group continued to murmur their disapproval, but Schuester quickly shut them up, diving into his so-called "Lesson of the Week." Shit. Did he seriously just sign himself up for another class? Finn couldn't help but feel lost when Mr. Schuester started rambling about ballads. Ballads? Wasn't that some kind of bird, or maybe a weird type of duck?
He was promptly corrected that ballads weren't some weird duck species, but just love songs and all that sappy garbage. Perfect. So his options for who to serenade were Wheels-Mc-Gee, Gay Peter Pan, and Biggie-Not-So-Small. Great. Fingers crossed he didn't get stuck serenading a dude—because if the football team found out, they'd probably have him castrated on the spot.
Mr. Schue pulled names out of a hat to assign teams. Pansy ended up with ChinaTown, Cripple got Aretha—blah, blah, blah. Of course, Finn got stuck with Rachel. Seriously, this was the worst possible outcome of this situation. If Finn could manage to get through this project without blowing his brains out, Quinn would probably finish the job for him. No way she was cool with him singing about his feelings and fuck-all-else with a reject like Rachel Berry.
Rachel didn't seem thrilled with this arrangement either. She sat on the other side of the room, arms crossed and wearing the kind of pout that made her look like a toddler who hadn't gotten their way.
Finn wasn't about to make any effort to walk over and break the silence. There was no way in hell he was going to be the one to start a conversation with her. If she wanted to talk, she could make the first move.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, she finally trudged over to him. Her ballet flats made a whole lot of noise with each step, and Finn just stared straight ahead, ignoring her approach as best he could. It wasn't like he wanted to make this any worse, but he sure wasn't going to make it better either.
"Well, hello, it seems we're partners on this assignment, Finn," she said, her voice laced with reluctant resignation and a hint of annoyance.
Instead of engaging, Finn just shot her a look of complete indifference.
"I think we should maximize our time as partners on this project and set up a schedule that suits both of us!" she said, matter-of-factly.
Finn considered firing back with something about how her schedule was probably as open as her mouth, but held back, not wanting to waste any more brain cells on this conversation.
"Uh-huh. Yeah, any time after 4 PM works… got football practice before then," he muttered quickly.
Rachel, who seemed happy with his response, flashed him a smile that could've been a little too big for her face, then handed him a small card.
"Does tomorrow at five o'clock work? If so, please come to the address listed on this card!"
He gave a quick nod, barely paying attention to anything she said—he probably absorbed about half of it. As she walked away, he took a glance at the card.
It was pink, dotted with tacky little gold stars. In fancy cursive, the name "Rachel Barbara Berry" was emblazoned front and center. Below it, all her personal details—phone number, address, probably her blood type, too—were neatly print
Please God, kill him.