Cheerio

Eyes followed me wherever I went. Even within my own house, when word got out that I had been booted from the squad, knocked down the social pyramid, Garrett and Mom watched me walk around. As if I was a fucking time bomb about to go off at any second.

“Will you cut that out?” I screamed a group of small freshman, their eyes popping out of the heads and ogling me like creepy little fish. “Go something else to waste your time with.”

They all nearly burst into tears before scattering, making sure that I wasn’t about to bite their heads off. Which I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t do.

Quinn, Santana, and Brittany walked by me, giggling about something that I was positive was related to me.

God, those teen movies had it right. Once a popular girl was no longer on top, she got thrown to the sharks. If she wasn’t at the top, she was at the bottom.

A wave of realization washed over me that I was probably even lower on the social standing than Berry. The thought nearly made me puke right there, in the middle of the hallway. Obviously, I had to control myself because, God, what would that do to my image?

The entire day, I had to ignore people, as hard as that was. Well, I guess I wasn’t ignoring them so much as attempting to. Overall, I was failing.

At Glee Club, it was no different. The Cheerios all sat together, forming their own little group, gossiping and laughing about some joke that I could no longer be a part of.

I threw my bag on the ground and sat in my chair, crossing my arms and legs, staring into the distance with a look that clearly showed how much I wanted to spill human blood.

Unfortunately, that was totally against the law, and jail was the last thing I needed.

Gay Kid sat next to me, like yesterday, but he didn’t say anything. Part of me wondered if he was still pissed about my Lame Is comment, or if he just didn’t want to catch my loser-ness. Because he actually could catch that from me, now that he was above me on the social chain.

God, I didn’t know how losers did it. Held their heads up high, smiles on their ugly faces, laughed with their hideous friends. Being alone sucked more than words could express.

I knew what I needed was friends, but who the hell would be stupid enough to be my friend? I wasn’t so dumb that I didn’t know that people would not be lined up to hang out with me. I’d been a bitch to all of them one time or another. Some more often than others, obviously.

Maybe I should have worked a little more at building my good karma, instead of bad stuff.

“Mr. Schue!” Berry interrupted my thoughts with her irritating voice. “I have to remind you that Evelyn never auditioned, which is against the code of the Glee Club. Every member has to sing a song.”

“Hell no,” I defied, turning my head away from her dramatically. “There’s no way I’m singing in front of all of you. I suck at singing.”

“She’s right, Evelyn,” Mr. Schue sighed, as if he was sick of me already. He was more than welcome to kick me off, if he wanted, as long as I got my C. However, I kept that suggestion quiet, since I didn’t think he’d be too thrilled if I voiced it.

“This is unfair. I had no time to rehearse,” I tried to defend.

“Does it matter, since you said you suck anyway?” Santana asked snobbishly.

“Yeah, I agree with her,” Puck nodded. “Go ahead, Evie.”

“Just when I think my life can’t get any worse,” I muttered under my breath as I stood. “What should I sing?”

“What’s your favorite song right now?” Mr. Schue questioned, trying to be helpful. Although his voice sounded kind, there was just a vibe that I was getting from him that he didn’t like me. Whether that was my attitude toward him, or my attitude against Glee Club and singing in general, I wasn’t sure.

“Um, I don’t know. I don’t have a favorite song.”

“Sing a Madonna song,” Quinn spoke up. “I mean, you have to know every one of them, after being on the Cheerios.”

Part of me wanted to rip out of her throat and the other half wanted to hug her. She was right. “Okay, I got one.” Giving Quinn a small smile (which she didn’t return), I turned toward the piano guy and told him my selection.

He grinned at me before turning back around.

Closing my eyes for a second, it was like the words all flooded back to me, even though I hadn’t been sure if I’d clam up or not.

You must be my lucky star
‘Cause you shine on me wherever you are
I just think of you and I start to glow
And I need your light
And baby, you know

Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight
Starlight, make everything alright
Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight
Starlight, yeah

My song went on for a little while longer before I finally ended. There was a half-hearted clap that spread among the group.

“Your pitch problems can be fixed,” Berry assured me with a sad excuse for a smile.

“I thought you were kind of good,” Artie, the kid in the wheelchair, granted with a real grin.

“Thanks,” I muttered. Flicking my blonde hair over my shoulder, I faced Mr. Schue. “Am I done now?”

“Yeah, you can sit down.”

Feeling my miserable attitude settle back in my stomach, I made my way back to my seat, shifting a little once I got there.

Gay Kid leaned over and gave me a small thumbs-up. “It takes guts to sing in front of Rachel. She kind of picks everyone apart.”

The two of us shot looks at Berry, who was explaining to Mr. Schue how perfectly reasonable a Broadway set list would be at Sectionals.

“Thanks. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Kurt Hummel,” he answered.

“Oh. Okay.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

So much for making new friends or whatever.

By the end of the meeting, we decided that we still weren’t sure what we were doing for Sectionals. Mostly because Berry wouldn’t give up her campaign for damn Broadway.

“Will you cut that out?” I snapped at her. “God, no one likes Broadway in here except for you and Kurt. So stop being so caught up in yourself.”

“Like you should be the one to talk,” Berry shot back.

My face twisted in anger. The nerve of her! I was about ready to storm from my place and rip her hair out of her head when Mr. Schue interrupted. “Alright, how about this? We’ll just settle on doing a classic rock set list. And, I promise, no more Journey.”

There was a murmur that ran through the group that kind of resembled approval, though I stayed silent. Really, I was trying to figure out what Journey was, since I was pretty sure he didn’t mean the original definition.