Summer Break

by Sophia Lowell

  “Sweet deal.”

  Mercedes had already decided to join a few minutes ago, but she wanted to keep Mr. Schuester on the edge of his seat. She didn’t agree with her solo’s being taken away, so she was staging a silent protest. Mr. Schuester looked straight at her, all hopeful.

  “What do you say, Mercedes?” His smile melted her icy shield.

  “Fine. But it’s only because I want to prevent those little girls from becoming Cheerios,” she offered.

  “Well, in that case,” Quinn piped in, “I’m in, too. Unlike Mercedes, I want to teach them that they can do all the things they want to do in high school.” Her golden curls bounced as she spoke, which usually happened when she was fired up. “Plus, they should at least know that they would be entering into a slushie-covered existence in Glee.”

  Sam quickly followed suit, not at all provoked into joining by the sharp kick Quinn delivered to his left shin or anything.

  One by one, the rest of the club agreed to spend a major portion of their summer helping out at Mr. Schuester’s camp. Everyone had different reasons. For Tina and Mike, it was nostalgia. They had spent the previous summer together as counselors at an Asian camp, and it was actually how they’d started dating in the first place. It might be cute to try it again. Like a little “campiversary.” And this camp’s lunch probably wouldn’t consist of soup with chicken feet in it, which Tina had hated with a fiery passion.

  Santana caved to avoid having to babysit her little cousin Lola all summer long while her aunt worked. The kid could be such a pain. Santana discovered this the hard way last summer when she and Brittany had spent an entire afternoon tied together with a Hello Kitty jump rope as the little girl’s “prisoners.” When Kurt pointed out that Santana was going to be looking after many children instead of just one, she replied, “Duh. You are forgetting about the obvious perk: hottie dads.” Her unwavering goal to meet cute boys continued to astound those around her. Brittany usually fell in line with Santana, so no one was surprised by her decision to join up.

  “I think it will be fun dressing up our new little onions. Maybe some in, like, gnome outfits. Because gnomes are little. And children are little.” Somehow, Brittany’s sentences always managed to come out like the haiku poems they had written in English class last semester—they usually didn’t make much sense and left the audience to fill in the gaps.

  “Do you mean ‘minions,’ Britt?” Kurt asked.

  Brittany giggled. “No, silly, I’m pretty sure gnomes don’t have cold hands. But they do wear hats.” She thought Kurt knew stuff about fashion. Kurt dropped his face into his palms, emitting a loud smack. He didn’t even know why he continued to try with that girl.

  There were only two holdouts left. Mr. Schuester turned to Finn and Rachel, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the whole conversation. Everyone knew that if there was one thing to fear, it was a silent Rachel. It usually meant a storm was coming. Sure enough, Rachel’s mouth twitched a little at the corners. It was one of the early warning signs. “We can’t do it without you guys,” Mr. Schuester begged. He hoped to appeal to Rachel’s need to be needed.

  “Of course we will, Mr. Schu,” Finn answered for the both of them. Clearly, he was eager to abandon Rachel’s inspired dance-class plan. Maybe he could even get out of the dumb road trip to dumb Elvis’s house, too. Besides, he and Rachel were practically the Glee team captains. How would it look to the rest of the group if they didn’t join up, too?

  “Speak for yourself, Finn.” Rachel’s tone was laced with the verbal equivalent of poison. “I, for one, will not be spending my summer teaching a bunch of misbehaved brats the words to a Miley Cyrus song. I have much better things to do with my time.”

  Mr. Schuester was puzzled. Hadn’t Rachel been the one asking him for some outlet to perform this summer? She had practically begged, and for once, he had listened. Now she was the one student who didn’t want to participate?

  “Don’t look so shocked, Mr. Schu. If you had bothered to look over the Star Power Summer calendar I so generously provided you with, you would know that I have a very tight schedule. You would also know that I’ve even secured a meeting with the Hayes-Carson Agency for Stage Actors! They don’t take interviews with just anyone. I mean, it’s on Broadway.” Rachel puffed up with pride.

  “Do you mean this?” Mr. Schuester rummaged through his folders and held up a piece of paper that was covered in multicolored boxes and glittery stickers. “I found this in my mailbox in the main office. I thought it was a joke.”

  Santana snickered. She loved when Rachel got dissed by anyone, but it was especially funny when it was a teacher.

  “Working hard to make your dreams come true is no joke. But you know what is? All of you.” Rachel calmly gathered her things, shooting daggers at Finn all the while.

  Nobody tried to stop her. They had witnessed this scene several times throughout the school year, so no one really paid much notice to her tantrums anymore. She was like the girl who whined wolf. For Rachel Berry, it was all about the grand entrances and exits. She turned on her glittery red ballet flat and made for the door. Her long, dark hair whisked behind her.

  “I hope you all have a fun summer with your glorified babysitting,” she added before making a swift final exit.

  “Looks like we just got some practice,” said Mercedes as soon as Rachel was out of earshot.

  Quinn shook her head in disgust. “That girl is unbelievable.”

  Mr. Schuester had bigger fish to fry than a hissy fit. He turned to the rest of the group. “So, what song should we sing for our future campers at the rally on Friday? They’re coming to hear us perform.”

  She may not have been there to hear it, but apparently the show did go on, with or without Rachel Berry.

  four

  Breadstix restaurant, Monday evening

  Would you like another root beer?” the bored-looking blond waitress asked Finn. She was pretty much the only waitress who ever worked at Breadstix. She raised her eyebrows at him quizzically. He was trying to fold a straw wrapper into the shape of a ninja star, like he’d seen Puck do once. He was failing at it.

  “Oh, uh… not yet. Thanks.” He’d sucked the first one down at record speed. Finn hated confrontation, and whenever he knew he was about to have a difficult conversation, his mouth got extremely dry. Waiting for Rachel to show up after her epic scene in Glee Club that afternoon had him particularly parched. It brought back memories of the time he got his wisdom teeth pulled and Dr. Howell had dressed his mouth with cotton balls. Finn gulped down the free glass of tap water the waitress had delivered along with the soda. He felt a little better. He should probably stop drinking so much soda, which his mother was always telling him to.

  His mom usually gave pretty good advice. Taking Rachel to Breadstix for dinner that night was even her idea. She said that sometimes, when girls got upset about things, they just needed a little reminder to show them that you weren’t a jerk—a nice gesture. He thought she had a point. Even though he totally didn’t have to invite Rachel to dinner or anything, he hated being at odds with anyone. At least their crazy history had given him an advantage when dealing with her outbursts. All it took was a little coddling, really. Tonight, Finn was willing to “take one for the team” and calm her down. No one had asked him to. But Finn was that sort of guy—he just did nice stuff.

  Also, maybe Finn did feel the tiniest bit guilty that he hadn’t really stuck up for her earlier. Good thing he had a little money saved from his grandmother’s annual birthday check. Maybe later, when she was filled up on her favorite Bottomless Salad Bowl, he could even try to persuade her to ditch her psycho summer plan and be a counselor at Mr. Schuester’s youth camp.

  Finn plucked a few breadsticks from the basket on the table. He bit into one, but it was so stale that it crumbled down the front of his shirt, leaving a trail of prickly crumbs everywhere. It didn’t even really taste that good. Maybe it was time Lima found a new “it” restaurant.
The scent of garlic hung heavily in the air, and the lighting was adjusted just low enough to mask whatever stains the carpet was sporting.

  He looked around anxiously. The place was pretty empty, being a Monday night and all. The only patrons dining besides him were an elderly couple slowly eating minestrone soup in a corner booth and a young mother and her toddler at the adjacent table. The boy was smearing marinara sauce all over the table like he was finger painting, while the mother was trying to wipe his face. Every time she got close, he emitted a high-pitched shrieking sound.

  Finn winced as he tried to ignore the awful noise. How did kids manage to hit the exact note that made the little hairs stand up on his arms every time? Even Rachel couldn’t hit notes as consistently as this kid. Though maybe the goose bumps Finn was experiencing were a combination of the shrieking and the air-conditioning, which was on full blast. The restaurant was probably overcompensating for the hot summer weather outside. Lima could get pretty hot, even at night.

  Finn’s eyes darted to the door. Rachel wasn’t mad enough at him to stand him up, right? That would blow. He’d given up cheeseburger night at home for this. Finn took the two half-eaten breadsticks and started practicing an awesome drum solo on the table. Recently, he’d found some of Burt Hummel’s old Genesis records in the basement. Those guys weren’t too bad. Especially the drummer, Phil Collins, who he’d thought was just a singer whom soccer moms and grandmas were into. Probably because his mom and grandma were into him. But the dude had mad drumming skills.

  He was just finishing up a sweet breadstick/water glass rendition of “Invisible Touch” when Rachel appeared in front of the table. She was wearing a short blue dress covered in white polka dots, fiery red lipstick, and an expression of disdain. Finn scrambled to stand up. That’s what you were supposed to do when a chick arrived, right? Or was that just with princesses? Finn wasn’t sure, so he did it anyway.

  She still seemed pretty ticked off. Finn wished he’d gotten that second root beer. “I’d, uh… pull out your chair for you but…” he stammered as he gestured to the booth.

  “Sit down, Finn.” Rachel had to work extra hard to stay mad at him. He was so cute when he was trying to be chivalrous. She gathered her shiny brown tresses to one shoulder and slid into the booth across from him. He sat wide-eyed and looking the very definition of innocent. Still, she reminded herself, he’d clearly asked her on this date because he felt he had something to apologize for. Well, he did. But Rachel figured she might as well enjoy dinner before addressing the elephant in the room. It wasn’t too often that a high school boy paid for a meal.

  The waitress came back around, and Finn ordered for the two of them. Rachel didn’t normally like letting someone else take the reins, but she wanted to see if Finn would choose the right dish for her. She liked creating little tests for people in her mind. It was one of the best ways to judge a person. That afternoon’s incident had been one test that Finn had failed. At least he knew that she liked to avoid carbs, she considered as Finn ordered her favorite salad.

  “Feeling better?” Finn asked as he cleaned the last of his spaghetti and meatballs off his plate and stifled a burp. It had taken him about five minutes to polish it off.

  Rachel picked at a suspicious-looking spinach leaf with her fork and looked up at him. She decided to go for it. “I know you were hoping that this date was going to make up for the fact that you totally hurt me today, but it doesn’t.” Her fork clanked loudly as she dropped it in her bowl. “And I can’t believe you answered for me when Mr. Schuester asked if we would join his ridiculous camp!”

  The little boy at the next table threw his sippy cup on the floor and screeched.

  Finn hated to point out the hypocrisy in Rachel’s last statement, but he couldn’t help himself any longer. “It wasn’t anything like you signing me up for some stupid ballroom-dance class without asking me, was it?”

  Finn did have a point there. Not that she would admit it. “That was supposed to be a surprise. A fun thing to do and a way to improve your dancing skills,” Rachel shot back. “I thought you would like it.”

  Finn wasn’t buying that one. Rachel knew that choreography was one of his least favorite parts of Glee Club. Granted, he’d gotten better at it in the past few years, but it still wasn’t his idea of a cool way to spend his downtime. He suspected that Rachel’s “surprise” element of it all was pretty much so that he’d have a hard time saying no to her. “You know how I feel about dancing, Rachel. Come on. Admit that it was a gift for you, not me.”

  Rachel narrowed her eyes and crossed her dainty arms over her chest. He noted the absence of her gold-plated finn necklace, which still made appearances from time to time depending on Rachel’s mood, the day of the week, or where they stood with each other. “I will do no such thing. And don’t try to persuade me to cancel all my classes and auditions to be a counselor with you guys, either.”

  Man, she’s good, Finn thought. “How did you know I was about to do that?”

  Rachel sighed heavily, clearly exasperated by having to explain something so simple to such an ignoramus. “I don’t know why it’s so hard for everybody to accept my talents and my intent to nurture them. Even naturals like me have to hone their skills, Finn. I simply cannot be expected to make any progress in my burgeoning career while looking after a crowd of whining children all summer.”

  The little boy at the next table burst into tears, and the mother frantically tried to quiet him with a toy helicopter. Rachel raised her eyebrows as though this random act had somehow illustrated her point about what little monsters children were.

  The waitress appeared and began clearing their empty plates. “Any dessert for you kids? Some chocolate ice cream? Tiramisu?” Finn’s mom always ordered the tiramisu, and he usually finished it off for her after she started complaining about how many calories were in it. It was pretty tasty. All those layers of cream and chocolaty stuff.

  “Yeah, some of that,” Finn responded, grabbing Rachel’s uneaten Parmesan roll off her plate before it disappeared with the waitress for good. “And two spoons,” he called after her, flashing two fingers on his hand.

  Finn thought Rachel was being extremely selfish. “I know, but don’t you ever want to give back? You could, like, nurture someone else’s talents for once.”

  He sounded like Mr. Schuester, reciting some stupid speech and acting all noble and self-important. Finn chomped the rest of the roll and continued talking with a full mouth.

  “I think it would be kind of sweet to see you teaching some tiny versions of yourself to sing.”

  He clearly wasn’t getting it. Rachel wasn’t going to budge on this one. Glee Club would just have to survive without her for the next three months. And if Finn continued to be such a jerk, he might have to as well.

  Rachel slid out of the booth. “Well, maybe I’m not sweet. And you are completely missing the point. This summer is my time to shine.” As she stood up, her skirt accidentally came up for a split second. Finn couldn’t help looking and instantly forgot what they were arguing about. “Did you even listen to anything I just said?” Rachel asked a blank-faced Finn as she smoothed the fabric down. She hoped no one else had seen it ride up. The last thing she wanted to do was put on a peep show in a nice restaurant. The two of them had already been drawing enough attention with their bickering. Earlier, she had sensed the pair in the corner watching them as if they were characters in a dinner theater production. The old couple probably didn’t get out too much.

  “Excuse me,” the waitress said, shoving Rachel out of the way to make room for the massive square of tiramisu that was cleared for landing. She placed it in the center of the table, presumably for the two of them to share.

  Finn outstretched a spoon toward Rachel. He seemed to finally notice that she was standing. “Are you leaving? We haven’t even eaten dessert yet. Come on, sit down.”

  “If you had bothered to ask me, I would have told you that I don’t like tiramisu.” It was funny.
Rachel thought she had come here tonight to receive an apology from Finn. Instead, all she’d gotten was more crap about the fact that she didn’t want to work at Mr. Schuester’s music camp. She needed to get out of there. “And, yes, I’m going home. Enjoy your dessert. Hope it’s sweet enough for you.”

  She was out the door before Finn had even taken a single bite.

  For the second time in the same day, Rachel Berry had made a grand exit. That had to be a record. As he ate his dessert in silence, Finn couldn’t help but wonder if the show was over, or if there was a third act to this ridiculous production.

  five

  Lima Allen County Airport, Monday evening

  Rachel scrambled up onto the hood of her little previously owned maroon Saturn. She’d parked in the fields near the Lima Allen County Airport, perfectly positioned to watch the takeoffs and landings (should there be any). It had been a long time since she’d come to this spot. When she was little, her dad Hiram went through a phase where he was really interested in all things aviation. He built model planes and painted names on the sides of them, just like the old war fighters used to. Except he would always dedicate his to his little princess, painting The Beautiful Miss Berry or Rachel’s Pride on the wings. The letters usually looked pretty shaky, unlike the smooth script she had seen on the ones at the air show. But he tried.

  From time to time, if they happened to pass the little airport, they would stop and get out to watch the planes. Hiram would try to explain the mechanics of how things like wind speed affected the planes to Rachel and her other dad, Leroy, but they never understood it too well. Her favorite part was when they would play the game they’d dubbed “Where to? Where from?”

  It was pretty much what it sounded like. A plane would take off—where to? A plane would land—where from? “Istanbul!” Hiram would yell. “Lima, Peru!” Leroy would joke. Rachel’s answer was almost always “New York!” It was more than likely that the planes were just tiny commuter jets or private planes coming in from somewhere nearby, like Dayton, Ohio. But it was fun. She was lucky to have such great dads.