Cheerio

The next morning, I was at my locker, putting a book away, when an annoying voice said, “Hi, Evelyn.”

Confused, I peered around my locker door at the source. There was Rachel Berry, wearing a grin and a sweater with a reindeer on it. Just because it was a month until Christmas vacation didn’t mean that reindeer sweaters were acceptable. “Why are you talking to me?” I snapped at her, whipping my locker door shut and starting to walk away.

She followed me, landing in step with ease. “I just wanted to ask you what you’re doing second to last period today.”

“I have Cheerios practice,” I told her.

“No, I said second to last period. Like, during school.”

I shot her cut-eye. “I know what you said, Berry. I’m not deaf. I have an extra block in my day where I have extra time to rehearse.”

“You get class credit for that?” Her tone clearly reflected that it was ridiculous, but she didn’t have the slightest idea about how much work it really was.

Letting out a condescending laugh, I gestured to my body. “See this uniform? It means that I get credit for anything. I could not go to class one day out of a whole year and still get a C average.”

“Actually, about that…Mr. Schuester has to talk with you about your Spanish grade. Second to last period is his off-block. So you might want to tell Coach Sylvester that you’ll be late.”

“Who are you, his messenger?” Giving her a disgusted look, I brushed my bangs out of my face.

“He just asked me to tell you.”

“Okay, whatever. Go away now. I really don’t want any syrup to get on me when your precious little outfit gets doused in your daily slushie.” Giving her a fake smile, I turned my back and entered my algebra classroom, where a couple of kids were throwing wads of paper balls at each other, using books and desks as barriers.

* * *

“What?!” I yelled, slapping a hand on Mr. Schuester’s desk so hard that it shook, a picture frame of him singing at a Glee Club competition from the early ‘90’s crashing to the floor. “You cannot do that to me!”

“I’m sorry, Evelyn, but you’re failing. You’re going to have to do some extra credit work to bring your grade up.”

I scoffed. “Haven’t you heard, or are you just that out of the loop? Cheerios don’t fail anything. Coach Sylvester’s orders.”

Mr. Schuester narrowed his eyes at my rude tone. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not really one to follow what Coach Sylvester says, am I?” Before I could retaliate, he picked up a paper and cleared his throat, ready to read a long list. “You haven’t passed in a single homework assignment, you’ve never gotten higher than a fifty-four on any of my quizzes…you only got a two last time because you drew a pyramid of Cheerios that took up the whole paper, except the bonus question, which you somehow knew.”

“So?”

“So that means that I’m not giving you a C.” He slid a manila folder almost bursting at the seams with worksheets. Instinctively, I scrunched up my nose and resisted the urge I had to throw it back in his face. “However, if you do everything in this folder, all the work that you didn’t do or failed, then I’ll pass you with a C-.”

The folder and I had a staring contest, both of us trying to make the other step down first, before I finally broke my gaze, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “No, Mr. Schuester. I’m not going to do that shitload of work.” I almost went into Draco Malfoy mode, saying that Coach Sylvester would hear about this, as opposed to my father, but I refrained.

Mr. Schuester shrugged. “It’s your grade that’s hurting here, Evelyn, not me. You’re the one who’s going to get kicked off the Cheerios.”

“What’s my grade right now?” I spat at him.

“Um…a forty three.”

Ouch. “Is there anything else I can do to earn the C instead of all that work? Really, I won’t have any time to do it, since my schedule is filled with Cheerio stuff.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. Then, a slow smile spread across his face as he suggested, “You could join Glee Club.”

Resisting the urge to gag, I just took a step back, as if that suggestion was an obese man who needed a little more space to breathe and I didn’t want it (or him) to touch me. Suddenly, that folder didn’t look so highly offensive anymore. “Just because you have a couple of pathetic Cheerios on the Glee Club doesn’t mean that we’re all up to that impending loserdom.”

“Well, then here you go.” He slid the folder close to me, and I picked it up with two fingers, as if it was a pair of Garrett’s dirty boxers. “You might surprise yourself with how much you really know when you put in the effort.”

“Yeah…whatever.” I walked away, rolling my eyes and sighing.

He was such a dick, really. Why half the female population at our school had a dopey crush on him, I’d never understand. I mean, what teacher didn’t abide by the very rigid code of conduct that Coach Sylvester demanded upon the school? That was just like telling God that He had no right to decide people’s fate. It just…didn’t happen. Or make sense.

I walked into Cheerios practice, ready to start. However, Coach Sylvester wasn’t anywhere in the gym.

Confused, I walked to her office, knocking on the open door lightly.

Her head whipped up from whatever she was writing, and her mumbling stopped. “Oh, Goldilocks.”

The corner of my mouth pulled into a slight smile at the familiar nickname. “Hi, Coach Sylvester. I was just coming to tell you that I’m done with my meeting with Mr. Schuester now.”

“Okay.”

She went back to writing, so I cleared my throat. “Are we going to practice now?”

“No. I don’t know who you think I am, but Sue Sylvester waits for no one. You’re going to have to wait until this afternoon.”

“But-”

“My answer is final.” She looked up again and ripped off her reading glasses menacingly. “Now get out of my office before I kick you off the squad.”

Turning around and leaving immediately, I stared down at my feet. It wasn’t fair! I warned her beforehand with an excuse! It wasn’t like I was some of the other girls, the ones in Glee Club, who always showed up late for practice! Coach Sylvester didn’t even so much as bat an eye when they came in late, talking and giggling, in the middle of our routines!

Talk about fucking favoritism. I had always thought it was one of the great perks at being the top of the social pyramid, but now I was finding that even that was enough. If I wasn’t at the very top of the top, it was almost as if I didn’t have any benefits at all.

Settling down in the library, which was deserted, thanks to the fact that there were a bunch of real classes going on, I pulled my bag onto the table and fished out my Spanish work.

Taking a deep breath and wishing lightning would strike me dead that very second, I started on the first worksheet.