Little Red and the Big Bad Wolf

“Please,” I pouted the next day, leaning up against the locker next to Sam’s. “You know that you have social pull at this school. Which I don’t have.”

Sam closed his locker door and looked at me for a long minute. Finally, he rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine! It’s your funeral.”

“Thank you!” I threw my arms around him quickly, careful not to linger too long. I didn’t want to make Quinn angry or anything. ‘Cause she and Sam were just SO friggin’ adorable. “I owe you one.”

Then it was on to phase two.

* * *

At lunch, I told Mercedes and Kurt about my plan, my knee bouncing up and down repeatedly to try to settle my nerves a little bit. “So, you guys think that you’d want to help me out a little bit?”

Kurt stared at me like I sprouted ten more heads. “Why would I ever put my already sadly lacking social life on the line for something like that?”

“Whaaat?” I whined. “This is important! And how would it be ruining your reputation?”

Quickly, I got up and took the seat next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders and putting my hand out in front of us. “Just picture it, Kurt. There are thousands of people watching you. Thinking about how awesome you are. Maybe even a freakin’ adorable, still closeted gay teen that’s been crushing on you. Who dresses very well.”

Kurt started to think about this, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth. “Well, when you put it that way…”

I bent forward so that I could see Mercedes on the other side of Kurt. “What do you say?”

“Girl, I’m up for performing any time.” She flipped her hair behind her shoulder, and we all laughed.

It was good to know that some people had better taste than Sam.

* * *

It was freezing. There was no better way to put it. I felt like my nose and ears were going to fall off, and I was almost constantly sniffling to keep my nose from running. Not exactly ideal conditions for my plan, but it didn’t matter.

I swallowed harshly when I thought about actually going through with my plot. Sure, it was nice when it was all imaginary, but putting my personal life out there for all of McKinley High to see? Not really on the top of my list of favorite things.

“Ready, Ells?” Mercedes asked as she slid in next to me on the bench at the football game.

“Now I’m not so sure,” I admitted, taking another deep breath.

“Oh, don’t back out on me now,” Kurt defied, looking around the bleachers. “I’m looking to try to find that closeted gay guy. And the more I can’t find one, the more that I’m pretending that you didn’t lie to me.”

I snickered a little and watched as Finn threw the ball across the field to Puck. Puck ran for the touchdown, only to be tackled ten seconds later.

There was a collected groan from the stands. I wasn’t sure what they expected, since we had the suckiest football team since the invention of the game.

Then, the time ran out. It was halftime. “C’mon,” I whispered frantically, grabbing Mercedes’ hand and weaving my way through the crowd. Kurt was not too far behind us, I knew. I could tell because he wouldn’t stop whining, and he squealed when one kid stepped on his boots.

There was chaos on the field as everyone rushed to ready what I asked Sam to set up. The stage, equipped with three microphones, was carried onto the field from the drama club, fresh from their most recent production. The guy who controlled the sound effects during the game had my track all set up.

I climbed up onto the stage and took off my jacket, which made me shiver immediately. Wearing a bright green dress with cowboy boots, while looking fashionable (Kurt approved it. I wouldn’t have known myself), did NOT do any help with keeping me warm in the least.

From the stage, even through the bright lights that were now shining in my face, I could see that everyone was whispering to each other, wondering what the hell I was doing there. I could imagine what they were saying: “What’s that Glee freak doing there? I thought that the Cheerios were supposed to perform!”

All I could say was that it sucked to be the Cheerios.

Snickering to myself, I got a signal from Sam on the football bench to start. He had good timing because right after he gave me the ‘sup nod, the players all started pouring out of the locker room.

Taking one more deep breath, I went closer to the microphone, wrapping my hands around the base nervously. “Okay, so, as a great song says, ‘This is me swallowing my pride, standing in front of you, saying I’m sorry for that night.’”

Turning around, I waved at the guy who does the sound, and the song started to play. My heart was pounding in my ears, but I tried to block out everyone else who was listening me, instead focusing on the totally dumb-struck Puck. Seriously, he was gaping at me like he couldn’t believe I was actually doing what he thought I was.

Neither could I, really.

“Everybody needs a little time away,”
I heard him say,
“From each other.”
“Even lovers need a holiday.
Far away from each other.”

Hold me now.
It’s hard for me to say I’m sorry.
I just want you to stay.
After all we’ve been through.
I will make it up to you.
I promise to.
And after all that’s been said and done,
You’re just the part of me I can’t let go.

As I reached the second chorus of Hard to Say I’m Sorry by Chicago, my voice actually cracked with emotion when I pleaded, “Hold me now.”

The entire stadium was silent when I finished, and I was nervous as hell that I had done exactly what Sam had warned me about: making a fool of myself. My eyes found Puck again, expecting him to turn and walk away from my heartfelt apology for screwing up everything. From me.

The tension was so bad that tears actually started falling. Appreciating the drama of them, I let them fall, and just for a second, I kind of felt like Rachel. No wonder she liked being so dramatic about everything.

Finally, I was sick of Puck coming to me, and I walked off the stage cautiously. If I ran to him, only to have him walk away, then it would be the ultimate embarrassment.

“Puck?” I whispered as I stepped toward him.

His eyes were totally conflicted, and it almost looked like he was about to get emotional. When I stood in front of him, he took the slightest step forward.

That was all I needed. I threw my arms around him, burying my head in his neck, feeling him wrap his arms tightly around my waist.

Everyone on the bleachers burst into applause, and it was something out of a totally corny teen movie, but I didn’t care.

“I’m sorry,” I told him quietly, careful that no one else could hear.

“I got that,” he laughed. “Wait for me after the game, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed. Finally, letting go of him, I stared into his eyes for just a second before Kurt came over, linking arms with me.

“Let’s save the make-up sex for after the game, shall we?” Kurt teased. I laughed just a little too hard at the joke, totally high off adrenaline and pure…

Glee.