Maybe one of Rachel’s plans could have a positive result, after all.
twenty-one
McKinley High gym, Thursday after school
Thursday after school, the decorations committee had its second and final meeting in the gym. The Cheerios and the wannabes had been rushing around the gym for twenty minutes, putting together their assignments—and things looked terrible. The gym looked exactly like a gym. Someone had hung gold tinsel around the rim of the basketball nets, which just made them look like toilets with those puffy seat cushions that grandmothers always had in their houses. Someone else—Brittany, perhaps—had stuck giant cutout letters spelling HOMCOMING on the mats against the wall. A random papier-mâché palm tree stood in one corner.
“This looks terrible,” Santana Lopez announced mournfully. She hadn’t had time to do her part, through no fault of her own. First, she’d been anxiously wondering whether Puck was going to ask her to the dance. She hadn’t even been able to eat anything besides French fri q€es Frenc¦es, she’d been so upset. Then, after he finally asked her, she had so much to think about—which dress to buy, which earrings to shoplift from Macy’s, which bra-and-panties set to wear. She’d completely blown off the decorations project, hoping that everyone else would just pick up the slack.
But everyone else had been equally distracted, and consequently nothing substantial had been done to disguise the gym’s gym-ness. Kirsten Niedenhoffer pressed her fingers to her temples as if she felt a migraine coming on. “Who was in charge of the coronation stage?” she demanded. A low platform at one end of the auditorium had been trimmed with gold tinsel. At the back of the platform stood a curved white arbor that probably had been filched from someone’s garden. “It looks like it belongs at a low-budget wedding.”
The girls stared at one another uncomfortably, and one of them spoke up. “I’m really sorry, but Coach Sylvester was riding us all so hard this week, we just didn’t have the energy to do anything else.”
“And we were all busy selling votes for homecoming king and queen.” A girl named Annie stared longingly at the stage. “It was hard work.”
“I bought a hot-pink minidress with a black lace bustier, and it’s going to look really awful with these crappy decorations,” Brittany whined. “They’re going to make the dress look cheap.”
“That dress makes the dress look cheap,” someone whispered, but Brittany didn’t hear.
“What are we going to do?” Santana demanded. It wasn’t fair that her first date with Puck was going to be in the lame school gym. It was so unromantic. She’d been planning on hooking up with him in the backseat of his car, but how was she supposed to get in the mood when the gym looked more like a place to play dodgeball than the magical wonderland it was supposed to be?
As if in reply, Tina appeared in the doorway, wearing a gray-and-black-striped off-the-shoulder T-shirt over a pair of black leggings. With one arm she pressed an overstuffed black trash bag to her chest; with the other she dragged an equally giant bag behind her on the ground. The bag made a shuffling sound against the hardwood floors, and everyone turned to stare at her.
“Who let the bag lady onto school property?” Santana asked, sending the other girls into fits of giggles. Really, they never should have let someone like that Tina girl come to the meeting in the first place. She’d probably got slushied in the hallway and was now going to do some crazy Carrie thing and throw tampons all over the gym.
“Did you bring some trash to decorate with?” Kirsten asked as Tina approached. “Is that how you do things in your house?”
“It’s not t-t-trash.” Tina carefully set the black trash bags on the floor and opened one. Curious, the girls on the bleachers leaned forward to peer in. Inside were dozens—no, hundreds—of gorgeous, glittery gold stars. “I just took some things home and worked on them.”
Santana’s jaw dropped practically to the floor. “These are amazing.” She snatched a star from the top of the pile. “What did you do?”
Tina shrugged. “I just took the old stars and spray-painted them with fresh gold paint that had a¯intdid rnead a¯in shimmer to it.” She picked up a star and held it by the clear plastic string attached to the top point. “I thought I saw some wire in the decorations boxes. We could string it across the gym like clotheslines and dangle the stars from it.”
Everyone pictured the gymnasium darkened and filled with sparkling stars that dangled over their heads as they slow danced. “That would look really gorgeous,” Kirsten admitted.
“I know,” Tina said with uncharacteristic confidence. A couple of girls were tearing through the bags, separating the stars by size. Tina turned to face Santana. “By the way, your little prank with the smoke machine was really low. We were just trying to perform.”
Santana narrowed her eyes. “Is that what this is about, then? Are these stars doused in arsenic or something?”
Tina rolled her eyes. “No, I just worked on these stars to show you what it means to be above all that.” She smirked. “Besides, unless you’re planning on licking them, arsenic wouldn’t do much.”
Kirsten sniffed at the star she was holding. It didn’t smell poisoned. “That’s really big of you,” she said with only a touch of sarcasm. While she couldn’t let this Goth loser girl totally insult her social betters, Kirsten knew the committee needed these stars for the dance. The palm tree in the corner was not cutting it.
“Besides,” Tina said, with her hands on her hips, “you guys have no artistic skills whatsoever. And you spelled homecoming wrong again.” Tina smiled proudly at everyone. She hadn’t smiled like that since she got braces, in the seventh grade.
Once again, jaws were on the floor. Tina felt a rush of pride in herself. This time she’d stood up to the Cheerios, and she hadn’t even stuttered. And now… everyone was staring at her, waiting for further instructions. From her. “Why don’t you set up those ladders and start stringing the wires across the gym? I’ve got another two bags of stars in my car.”
Tina left the auditorium with her whole body tingling. She’d done it! She’d told the Cheerios what to do, and they were doing it. She had to tell Artie. He had stayed late after school to work on the newspaper—he was writing an exposé on school elevator access. Instead of going out to the parking lot, Tina headed to the newspaper room.
Through the glass-windowed door of the paper room, she spotted Artie sitting in front of a computer, typing away. She thumped her fist on the glass, and Artie glanced up at the noise. In his argyle sweater-vest and short-sleeved button-down, he looked so cute. His shaggy brown hair was in dire need of a haircut. He wheeled himself to the door.
“Hey,” he said, opening the door and wheeling into the hallway. “I thought you were decorating the gym.”
“I had to get another bag of stars from my car.” Tina felt her face flush. She was a little embarrassed that she’d rushed all the way here just to tell Artie about what had happened.
“Did they like them?” Artie asked. When he’d talked to Tina in eighth-period precalculus, she said she was nervous about showing up at the committee meeting. He made fists with his hands and mock-punched the air. “Did you show them what’s what?û€m what’s «hat”
Tina smiled. “Sort of. I showed them my decorations, and they almost passed out.” She grinned at the memory. “And then I t-t-told them that theirs sucked and that their prank was lame. And then I bossed them around.”
“That’s awesome.” Artie was really proud of her. Tina was one of the coolest people he knew, and it made him sad to see her letting people push her around. “I wish I’d been there to see the looks on their faces.”
“At least you can see the decorations.” She looked at him shyly. “I mean, if you go to the dance.”
“I think Rachel was right.” Artie tapped his fingers against his wheels. “I mean, when she said we shouldn’t let the popular kids tell us where we can and can’t go.”
“You want to go?”
“Definitel
y.” Artie suddenly felt nervous. He was actually going to a school dance? He wondered what Tina would wear—something black, no doubt, and really pretty. He didn’t want Tina to leave yet. “What about Rachel? Do you buy her apology?”
Tina chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Yeah. I think, maybe, she’s not as b-b-bad as she comes off.”
“I guess the worst that she did was have faith in us,” Artie said, staring at the floor. “That’s not so bad.”
Tina smiled shyly. “I think we can probably forgive her.”
“Nerds need to stick together.”
She didn’t even mind being called a nerd by Artie. He made it sound like a compliment.
twenty-two
Quinn’s house, Thursday night
It’s lovely, darling,” Quinn’s mother, Judy, said, touching Quinn’s homecoming dress with the hand that wasn’t holding her before-bedtime glass of pinot noir. The dress was on a hanger tucked over the door of Quinn’s closet, and the two of them had bought it over the weekend at a small boutique in Dayton, even before Quinn knew she was going to the dance with Finn. “It reminds me of the dress I wore to cotillion. Back when I was your size.”
Quinn stared at the dress from where she was sitting at her vanity. It was lovely. It was an empire-waisted dress in a delicate buttercream yellow, with a sweetheart neckline and a chiffon skirt that flared out and ended just above her knees. It was ultrafeminine and classy, but there was something about it that was undeniably sexy. Quinn Fabray had mastered the art of looking wholesome while also driving the boys wild. The slender spaghetti straps, made of a pale yellow ribbon, looked innocently seductive against her bare skin. She knew, just looking at the dress, that it was perfect. Most of the girls at McKinley tended to overstate their sex appeal with dresses that were too short and promised too much. Quinn, though, knew that the way to really make the boys ache was to look as pure as possible—so they could wonder what it would take to corrupt you. The dress, she knew, would drivgain, w way6" …e Puck crazy.
Except she was going to the dance with Finn.
“Tell me about this Finn boy, sweetheart.” Quinn’s mother sank down on the edge of Quinn’s queen-size bed. She pushed aside the stuffed teddy bear that Quinn slept with. “Will your father like him?”
Quinn turned on her vanity stool and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Does Daddy like anyone?” Quinn asked, watching her mother in the background. Her father tolerated boyfriends but never really “liked” them. He’d only started calling her older sister Frannie’s boyfriend by his first name when they got engaged. Finn, a tall, handsome quarterback, would definitely be tolerated by her father. Even though Finn was a little weird sometimes, and talked to the school nerds and losers a little more than was strictly necessary, he was superficially the kind of guy her father could reluctantly give his approval to.
Puck, with his Mohawk, torn jeans, and a cocky attitude written all over his face, wouldn’t get past the front door of the Fabrays’ Tudor mansion. His face had DANGER written all over it, and Mr. Fabray would take one look at him and call the cops.
“He loves you, sweetheart.” Quinn’s mother stood up and walked over to Quinn, her heels—which she wore at all times—wobbling in Quinn’s thick, cream-colored carpet. “He just wants you to be happy.”
“I know.” Quinn looked at her own face in the mirror for so long that it no longer seemed like her own. Her honey-blond hair was still sun-streaked from a summer of tennis lessons at the country club and afternoons at the town pool, where all the cute boys hung out to do laps. She tried to picture this girl being crowned homecoming queen in a pretty buttercream dress that set off her tan. That’s what she wanted. To be onstage, next to Finn, her handsome counterpart. “I am. Happy, I mean.”
“Good.” Her mother kissed Quinn on the back of the head. “You’ll make a beautiful homecoming queen.” Quinn watched her mom’s reflection as she disappeared out the door.
Quinn turned up the Lady Gaga song on her iPod so that she could listen while she brushed her teeth. She felt sorry for any teenage girl who grew up without her own personal bathroom. No one ever told her she was taking too long in the shower, or got annoyed when she took a luxurious bubble bath. But sometimes her big bedroom and her big bathroom felt lonely. She considered calling Santana but realized she couldn’t listen to any more of the girl’s plans for how far she was going to let Puck get.
Quinn halfheartedly did her facial routine with the über-expensive Swedish facial products her mother imported because they hadn’t been officially approved by the FDA. Her mother was always pointing out that the time to do something about wrinkles was before they showed up.
As Quinn brushed her teeth, she tried to picture being crowned homecoming queen tomorrow. She was a shoo-in—some of the Cheerios had already looked at the votes and had said there was no competition. And Finn would be there with her. Perfect. She’d got a pair of silver strappy sandals with three-inch heels, higher than she normally wore, just so she wouldn’t look silly next to him onstage.
As she slipped into her white satin pajamas, she couldn’tbecashext teau’tbecash help wondering what it would feel like to slow dance with Puck’s warm, strong hands on her hips. She lifted her thick down comforter and climbed into bed, letting herself imagine going to the dance with Puck. People would be shocked to see Quinn with a guy who had a reputation like Puck’s. Even if nothing happened between them, the rumors would fly. Quinn would never be the pure golden girl again.
But her face felt hot just thinking about him in a suit.
Just as she was about to drift off, her phone buzzed on her nightstand. She lifted up her silk sleeping mask and stared. Look outside, the text message said. It was from Puck’s number.
Was she dreaming? Quinn sat up straight in bed. She kind of hoped she was dreaming. She threw off the covers and opened her curtains. On the street, just past her driveway, half-hidden by the hundred-year-old oak trees that lined the Fabrays’ front yard, was a black Chevy Suburban.
Quinn took a deep breath. What did Puck think he was doing? If her father saw a teenager with a Mohawk lurking in front of their house, she’d be lucky if he just called the police. Puck had to get out of there.
Quickly, heart thumping against her ribs, Quinn stepped into a pair of soft black ballet flats and opened the door to her bedroom. Down the hall, the door to her parents’ room was closed, and she could hear the sounds of Jay Leno doing his monologue. And her father’s deep snores. Perfect. She crept down the back staircase, not even sure why she was being so quiet. She was just going downstairs, after all. She couldn’t sleep and needed a glass of skim milk, if anyone asked.
Quinn was surprised at how easy it was to just walk out of her house. When she stepped outside, she was again surprised, this time by the brightness of the moon. Crickets chirped loudly from the bushes. It was cool, but not cold, outside, and the air smelled startlingly fresh. Her shoes made almost no sound against the blacktop as she marched to the end of the driveway. She pulled open the Suburban’s passenger door and slid into the seat. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed, sounding angrier than she really felt. In fact, she wasn’t angry at all.
Puck seemed to know that. He moistened his lips as he leaned against the door and looked at Quinn. “You didn’t text back. I didn’t think you were coming.”
“Then why didn’t you leave?” she asked. The inside of the car smelled slightly of smoke and Febreze. An old Neil Diamond song was playing on the radio. The car was surprisingly neat—she had expected to find fast-food wrappers and Red Bull cans. “And what are you listening to?”
“Sorry.” Puck changed to a different station. A Billy Joel song came on, which was slightly better. “Nice jammies.” He touched Quinn’s knee.
She felt as if she’d been electrocuted. Maybe it was the satin pajamas. But when she walked around in them on the carpeted floors and touched her cat, Miss Cleo, she didn’t give off shocks. She shifted away from him. �
��Seriously, Puck. What are you doing here?” She brushed her hair off her face. “What do you think would happen if my father found out? Or if Finn did?” That thought gave her a different kind of chill. She didn’t want to hurt Finn, no matter what.
“I just œ€=“3”>“I j³st wanted to talk.” He was wearing a black V-neck T-shirt with two gray stripes down the sides, and he looked as though he’d shaved for the occasion. His chin was baby-soft and looked kissable.
Quinn felt herself falling over the edge again. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, even though she wasn’t cold. In fact, it felt really warm in the truck. Or maybe it was just being in such close quarters with Puck again. She tried not to think about what had happened last time. “Yeah, I’ve heard that line before.”
“Can I help it if you’re insanely attracted to me?” Puck smiled at her. He had the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a guy. The windows of the Suburban were slowly starting to fog up from their breath.
Quinn’s hand went to the door, but Puck leaned over and grabbed her arm. “Don’t go. I was just kidding.”
“Then talk.” Quinn tried not to meet Puck’s eyes. It was too easy to get stuck in them. It was like he was some crazy hypnotist, and all he needed to do was get her into an enclosed area and stare soulfully into her eyes, and she would go as limp as a kitten. She stared at his forehead instead. What the hell was going on with him? Or with her? She was so used to being the one in control with boys. She liked saying no to guys. It came naturally to her, and it was extremely satisfying.
Puck cleared his throat. “I want to come clean to Finn.”
Quinn’s hazel eyes widened. “About what?”
“About this. About us.” Puck had prepared a speech on his way over, but he was having trouble thinking straight with Quinn so close to him. And in her sexy white silky pajamas, like those a rich lady who lived in a hotel would wear. Her face was completely makeup-less, and she smelled like pears and toothpaste. “Come to the dance with me. I’m a way better dancer than Finn, anyway.”
Glee_ The Beginning_ An Original Novel (Glee Original Novels) - Sophia Lowell.mobi Page 12