Mercedes thought that was a little extreme. She’d thought that the Hipsters were sort of charming, but maybe it was because she was used to performing with Mrs. Wilkins. Kurt clearly had a long way to go in the whole selflessness department.
Come to think of it, he hadn’t even asked how she was doing. Nor did he seem to care that they were both extremely tardy. He slammed his locker shut, popped a piece of peppermint gum in his mouth, and whipped out his cell.
“Any chance I can have a package shipped to your house? I just bid on a vintage straw fedora that was made for my beachwear, and I can’t let my dad see it.” He was now tapping furiously on the screen. Kurt was somehow one of the only kids in school who managed to get around the McKinley High official no-cell-phone-during-school-hours policy.
At that precise moment, Mercedes’s ears perked up to a familiar sound. The purposeful squeak of athletic shoes on the shiny linoleum unmistakably belonged to Coach Sue Sylvester and her less imposing lackeys Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce. Today, Coach Sylvester was sporting a navy blue tracksuit with red and white stripes.
Upon spotting the two renegades, Coach Sylvester immediately pivoted on her heel and changed course. She never missed an opportunity to belittle an underling.
“I’m not nearly as concerned about your blatant disregard for punctuality as I am about your obvious intention to injure my eyes by wearing that hideous outfit. At least now I know why they call it seersucker. That’s right, because you, my friend, are a sucker. Get to class, Porcelain. You, too, Queen Latifah,” Coach Sylvester barked before powering down the corridor.
“B-T-dubs, Colonel Sanders, changing the bow tie does not make it a new outfit,” Santana added, and sashayed off after Coach Sylvester.
Before falling in line, Brittany regarded him with a cocked head and her usual gentle, childlike voice. “Whenever people wear all white, I think they sometimes look like toilets. Is that why she called you Porcelain?”
Kurt shook his head dejectedly. He gave Brittany a condescending pat on the top of her blond high ponytail before she scampered off to follow her leader.
“Well, girl’s got that right. People do give you a lot of crap,” said Mercedes, cracking a smile.
“True. But they actually had a point!” Kurt insisted. He took Mercedes’s hands and begged. “I look awful. You have to help me find a way to fix this. I refuse to ruin my impeccable wardrobe record over something so silly.” He flicked his man-bangs out of the way.
Mercedes rolled her eyes. He really seemed to be entirely missing his dad’s point. But maybe she could come up with something to make Kurt Hummel a more giving person.
“Fine. But you know what it’ll cost ya.…” she said as she finally started toward the art room. A squeal of delight took the place of Kurt’s answer.
Mercedes had a feeling there would be a hot-from-the-oven cinnamon bun waiting with her name on it tomorrow morning. If only it came with a side of super-fresh summer plans. Now that would be the real icing on the cake.
three
Choir room, Monday afternoon
It was generally understood that the last week of school at McKinley was not meant to be productive. It was hard enough getting the students, who usually had the attention spans of goldfish, to focus during the long school year without the added distraction of yearbooks and skin-baring summer outfits. Of course, a handful of the more strict teachers, like Mr. Hausler, took a stand against this lackadaisical attitude by scheduling their final exams for Monday or Tuesday of the last week. They did this purely to inflict their power one last time before they had none for three months. At least that was Artie Abrams’s theory. Why else would they want to ruin everyone’s fun? They clearly enjoyed torturing nervous juniors (such as themselves) who were getting ready to apply to colleges by forcing them to study extra hard when they should be having fun.
Mercedes wasn’t the only one with the future on her mind. Most of the members of New Directions were starting to think about their post-McKinley plans. Summer had certainly crept up on them, and senior year was not far behind. The summer months always had a habit of speeding by faster than Kurt picking through clothes at a Prada sample sale. But at least there was a little more time to goof off before buckling down during the final stretch to the finish line next year.
The Glee kids trickled into the choir room in no particular rush. Having completed nationals, they really didn’t have much to practice for. The only performance left was the end-of-year rally. No one cared too much about that.
Puck sat in the corner, casually strumming his acoustic guitar to what sounded like Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out.” An enthralled Mike Chang sat on the steps nearby, flipping through Puck’s copy of the McKinley High Thunderclap. Each page was bursting with suggestive notes and hastily drawn hearts. Mike’s fingertips lingered on a phone number written in silver Sharpie, which took residence next to a smudged lipstick kiss.
“Dude, teach me your ways,” said Mike as he marveled at a dirty letter from sophomore Cheerio Amanda Dunlap. It was so detailed that it took up the entire page—and made Mike’s eyes bug out when he read it. Puck’s brief stint in juvie hadn’t really hurt his reputation at all. It might have even helped it. Chicks were into bad boys.
“Brosef, it only takes one. Get some chick to write ‘I want you’ somewhere noticeable, and the rest is cake. Girls love to compete. Especially when it comes to sluttiness,” Puck explained, idly plucking the strings of his guitar. “I even got a few digits from dudes, too.” His palms shot up in defense. “Not that I’m into that, but everyone tries with the Puckster.” Puck punctuated the statement by winking at Quinn across the room. She folded her arms protectively across her body and turned to Sam, as if looking into his blue eyes could erase the memories of her and Puck’s scandalous history.
“Can I, like… borrow your yearbook? To, um… sign it?” Brittany asked while fidgeting with what appeared to be a rabbit’s foot key chain. She had traded with Lauren Zizes her chocolate cupcake for it. Lauren had told Brittany that if she planted it in her backyard, it would grow a real bunny. Brittany planned on naming it Zac Efron. She also hoped it would be at least half as cuddly.
“What did I tell you? Works like a charm.” Puck yanked the Thunderclap out of Mike’s hands and passed it to Brittany.
“Hey!” Mike protested as Tina gave him a light warning slap on the side of his head.
Brittany grabbed the book and skipped back to her seat. She plopped down, eagerly flipping it open to the club section to begin her annual ritual of defacing the New Directions group photo. It was strange because she herself was in it. Brittany carefully wrote the word slut over her own picture before moving on to draw a mustache on Rachel’s perfect smile. Brittany giggled proudly, then started jotting down random phone numbers on her left forearm.
“Why aren’t you entering those into your phone?” Tina asked. Brittany’s motives for doing anything were always entertaining.
“Because my arm’s always with me,” Brittany replied in her hushed, monotonous voice.
Santana looked extremely bored. “Why are we here again? If something doesn’t happen soon, I’m bouncing to get an iced cappuccino.” She stifled a yawn.
“We are here because it is still the last week of school, which means Glee isn’t over,” Rachel butted in. “Some of us are committed to exercising our talents year-round, not just when it’s convenient. Also, Mr. Schuester said he had an announcement.”
Santana rolled her eyes and started inspecting her French manicure.
“Mr. Schu always has an announcement,” Kurt pointed out. Several heads nodded in agreement. They were used to going along with Mr. Schuester’s crazy schemes, but he always liked to make a big show of revealing whatever it was he had cooked up. He sought to keep them interested by using suspense, but it was mostly just annoying. Must have been the showman in him.
Rachel rose and marched to the front of the room. “While we are waiting, I also have som
ething to share. I just wanted you all to know that this summer, I am—”
“Wow, now I’m really going,” Santana interrupted as she headed for the door, pulling a confused Brittany with her. “I’m so not into sad stories. And this sounds like one. As in, your life—it’s sad.”
That didn’t really hurt Rachel’s feelings, but it just proved her point further. Santana will never have what it takes to be a star, she thought. Not like me. She cleared her throat and began again. “As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted—I have designed an intensive summer schedule for myself that includes training in everything one needs to become a full-fledged star.” The sea of blank faces did not deter her.
Rachel adjusted the strap of her sundress and continued. “Why am I telling you this? Not because I want you to do the same. I know you won’t. I will continue to be the bar to which all of you are measured.”
At this, Mercedes emitted a loud scoff. How does someone become so conceited? Rachel should be studied, she thought.
“Anyway, I just wanted to invite you all to the ballroom-dancing exhibition that Finn and I will be in at the end of the summer. He’s taking classes with me.” A chorus of laughs filled the room.
Finn’s stomach lurched. What has Rachel gone and done now? He felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. It was a familiar sensation. Some of the guys had drenched him once after a football game, the first time Coach Beiste had finally led the Titans to a victory. But even that had felt sort of good, because they had won and stuff.
But now Finn was at a loss. This was the first he’d heard of any sort of dancing class. Why do girls always plan crap without asking? Finn wondered. Just a few minutes ago, he was happily spacing out, thinking about cheat codes on all the video games he had been neglecting of late. He had also mapped out all the sleeping and eating cereal in his sweatpants that he was going to do. Maybe even some basketball at the park with Puck. But, nope, no dancing class.
Finn’s one summer obligation (which he already was trying to get out of) was a “family bonding” road trip to Graceland with his mother and the Hummels. His mother had always loved Elvis, and apparently so had Burt Hummel. Kurt was clearly in it for the rhinestone costumes. But Finn was not looking forward to spending hours upon hours crammed into the backseat of his mother’s car while “Hound Dog” played on repeat. Now he had two miserable things to weasel his way out of without hurting anyone’s feelings. Just great.
Rachel really was an evil mastermind. By announcing her surprise in front of a group, she must have thought he would agree to it on the spot so he wouldn’t embarrass her. It was the same reason that men proposed to women in crowded restaurants or ice rinks. Finn was a little perturbed. Most people didn’t put up with Rachel’s presumptuous acts, but she often took advantage of his soft spot for her. But this time, it was so not cool. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure that she’d promised she was never going to pull something like this again, whether they were together or not. A public humiliation for personal gain thing, that is. Oooh, maybe I can use that against her, Finn thought as a smile formed on his lips. Rachel smiled innocently back at him.
Puck could hardly contain himself. “Dude, do you have to wear those nut-hugger pants? I heard they make your junk smaller.”
Finn slumped in his chair.
Rachel tried to read Finn’s weird body language as she took her seat next to him. Why didn’t he look excited? Peculiar.
“All right, all right, everyone, let’s calm down,” Mr. Schuester said as he briskly entered the choir room. Brittany and Santana followed, looking like two children who’d been caught stealing from the cookie jar. Santana plopped back down in her seat and crossed her arms.
“Okay, so I know you are all excited to be finishing your classes, but I still need you guys to focus.” Mr. Schuester looked a little too happy. It was the classic look of a teacher who was about to have a long vacation, Tina concluded. Maybe he was going to take that trip back to New York with his friend Bryan Ryan to see a bunch of Broadway shows. Then again, it could have just been all that vitamin D he was soaking in. Tina understood. Even though her personal style looked as if she would much prefer to spend her days in a dark coffin than a field of daisies, she was always happier when the sun came out.
“Now, I know that we had been practicing the ‘Airplanes’ mash-up. You guys sounded great, but I think we should go back to the drawing board for Friday’s rally performance. Maybe something a little… fresher. Any ideas?” Mr. Schuester bit his lip. Delivering bad news made him really nervous.
“Ah, hell no!” Mercedes stood up. “That’s not fair. I’ve been working on that song for weeks!”
It seemed Mr. Schuester could never please everyone. He had given up that battle long ago. “Mercedes, I’m truly sorry. But this will all make sense in a minute,” Mr. Schuester said as he shook his head.
Typical, Mercedes thought. She felt like she was always fighting for her voice to be heard. I wonder what it would be like to be the leader of something. Whatever. She at least deserved to know what exactly had ousted her solo. “Spill it, Schuester,” she said, jutting her hip out and putting her hand on it. She meant business.
In the far back, Sam Evans fidgeted. Sometimes, the way Mercedes interrogated people reminded him of his mother when she was angry. Everyone seemed to argue a lot in Glee Club—though he wasn’t really sure why he had been surprised when he discovered that a club based on dramatic performance was full of drama, both onstage and off. At least the arguments in here didn’t consist of grunting and insulting one another’s moms, like with the football team. He pictured Rachel Berry in a “yo mama”–off with Tina Cohen-Chang. It was silly enough to make him forget the awkward scene playing out in front of him.
“A few weeks ago, Rachel approached me with some concerns,” Mr. Schuester began.
“There’s a shocker,” Kurt muttered under his breath.
“She told me about the lack of opportunities in Lima for you to keep practicing during the summer,” Mr. Schuester continued. Rachel’s expression became increasingly smug. “It got me thinking—a lot of you probably feel the same way.”
Now Mercedes was intrigued. For once, she might actually agree with Rachel. What was next—a downpour of locusts? Floods? Because this definitely seemed like the beginning of some sort of apocalypse.
“At first I thought that everyone could audition for the Lima Community Musical,” Mr. Schuester said. “But unfortunately we all know that the auditions are practically rigged by the members of Vocal Adrenaline.”
He was right about that. Kurt had tried out last summer, only to be stopped six bars into “Mr. Cellophane” (his old go-to number) with the one phrase a performer never wants to hear at an audition: “Thank you for coming.”
Mr. Schuester rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. “So… I worked really hard to find something for you guys. And, well, I didn’t want to say anything until I had confirmed it with the elementary schools but”—he paused for effect—“there is going to be a McKinley High Summer Youth Music Camp this year!” Mr. Schuester stretched his arms out as if he were a magician who’d just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. The news hung stale in the air.
Santana finally broke the silence. “And this involves us how?” she snapped grumpily. Clearly, someone had been deprived of her caffeine fix.
Mr. Schuester’s smile widened. “Well, that’s the best part. You guys are going to be the counselors! You are going to coach the kids and help them put on performances. We could even have a mini mash-up day. It’s going to be so great!” He looked around for some sort of reaction. There was a little less enthusiasm than he had hoped. “You guys are in, right?”
“Well, I am,” Artie chimed in. “I like kids—we see eye to eye.” He wasn’t joking. Kids were usually around the same height as Artie when he was in his wheelchair. He sometimes got sick of staring up at everyone. Also, he found summer without Glee Club sort of boring. O
f course, every year Artie always had lots of big ideas about new hobbies he could take up during the summer months. They never really came to fruition, though. It would definitely be nice to have something planned other than the usual pattern of sitting at home and watching Battlestar Galactica DVDs he would inevitably fall into by mid-July.
“That’s the spirit.” Mr. Schuester put his hand on Artie’s shoulder. “This is the perfect opportunity for you guys to give back to the community and help some underprivileged kids have some fun. Plus, don’t forget, young minds are very impressionable. Maybe we can even recruit some future New Directions members!” Mr. Schuester had seen this as one of his main selling points with the group. They had all worked so hard to lift the club up from the trenches in the past few years. Surely they wouldn’t want to see it fall to pieces after they graduated. That had happened to him once before, and it didn’t feel good. He looked around. “Come on, guys! Is Artie still the only one with me?”
Kurt considered what Mr. Schuester had said about giving back to the community. This would technically be seen as helping others, right? “Kids generally don’t dress well. They smell funny and have tiny hands. But sign me up, and somebody tell my dad,” Kurt said, thanking his lucky stars for such a prompt answer to this morning’s dilemma. He then slid the unlock button on his touch-screen phone, logged on to his favorite shopping blog, and stopped listening.
The same point had resonated with Puck, who still owed several hours of community service for his court sentence. It was part of his post-juvie deal. “I’ll do it. Does this, like, count as real service? Because the last time I tried to help a cripple, they said it didn’t count and stuff.” He popped a toothpick into his mouth and started chewing on it.
Mr. Schuester sighed. Maybe he should reconsider who was going to be allowed near the impressionable young minds. Still, he needed everyone in the club to sign up. Younger kids could be an even bigger handful than moody teenagers. “You really have got to stop using that word, Puck. Artie is a person. But yes, it should.”
Summer Break Page 3