Cheerio

After Glee Club the next day, I sat on my couch with my laptop in front of me, mindlessly scrolling through my iTunes list, trying to figure out what to sing. Thanks to Mr. Schuester’s detector for finding people who were not remotely enthusiastic, he targeted me, saying that I had to perform the next day. Which was not very nice of him at all.

I was really looking for a song that sounded profound and deep, that seemed to show off a small, hidden part of my soul, but really said absolutely nothing at all. Unfortunately, I didn’t really know a song that fit that description.

That was what led me to where I was now, staring at my laptop screen, searching for the right song to sing, for an hour.

My conscience kept nagging me, saying that I really should reveal a part of myself to the club, as Quinn and Rachel had done earlier. Quinn sang some song that talked about her fear of not being good enough for her parents, and Rachel picked one that sounded like it was about her concern for not having a backup plan if she never made her dream come true (Broadway, obviously).

And I was going to cop out again. Maybe the only way to survive being a part of the dumb club was to commit to it a hundred percent. Plus, there was always the possibility that if I didn’t do what I was supposed to, Mr. Schuester would kick me out and fail me.

As I was thinking all this, my eyes landed on a particular song that would be perfect. If I was willing to commit, that was.

Maybe Garrett was right. Maybe I should just take the dive and talk about Dad…let everyone know what happened. How he was really like. Hadn’t I been closed up long enough?

I mean, it wasn’t like I had any friends. If I really thought about it, I’d never had real friends. Even through elementary school, I hung around with the ‘popular’ group, but I didn’t fit in totally. From the get-go, they understood that I didn’t have what it took to be on their plane. Instead, I was just as bitchy as I could to everyone, trying to wedge my way in and stay there.

Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I clicked on the song, letting the singer’s voice seep into my soul, speaking a truth that I knew too well.

Whether I liked it or not, I was going to jump into the fire and hope to God that I didn’t get burned.

* * *

At school, I felt like everyone knew. They watched me walk past, and I started to clam up. My stomach clenched and lurched, and I hoped to God I wouldn’t give them more of a show by puking in the middle of the hallway.

It took a good few minutes, until I just about made it to first period, for me to realize that they’d been looking at me like that since I got booted from the Cheerios. That it had absolutely nothing to do with my decision to commit to the Glee Club.

The only person that was glaring at myself about that was myself, since I was the only one who knew.

And who would have ever guessed I would have become a Glee Kid? God, the whole thing was just so depressing.

I sat down in my seat and stared at the board, already feeling my eyes start to glaze over. I stayed like that, in my half-asleep state, until my teacher’s hand slapped down on my desk.

“Good job, Miss Strong,” she smiled. It was then that I noticed she wasn’t doing that to wake me up, but she was handing back my quiz with just a bit too much gusto. “Although it may not seem like it now, I think leaving the Cheerios was the best thing that could have happened to you.”

She clacked away, and I gave her an irritated look. Like she knew anything about real life. She only understood…whatever subject I was in. And that was definitely not the real world.

Out of mere curiosity, I flipped my quiz over and gawked. There, at the top of the paper, was a big, fat 100, written in red ink with a circle around it. Underneath, there were the words, “Excellent work.”

I couldn’t believe it. Never, even in elementary school, had I gotten a hundred. I just couldn’t get the work ethic or the time or the care to work toward one. But since I had nothing else to do…

God, I got a hundred. I felt like a total nerd, beaming with pride as I knew I must have been, but it didn’t matter in the moment. I felt like standing up on my desk and screaming, “HA!” at everyone, since I knew none of them had gotten hundreds. Most of them were currently high, and I wasn’t even sure that half of them understood what was just put on their desks.

And suddenly, I felt more confident about singing in front of the Glee Club later. Maybe it would just seal the deal on my new life.

Ugh…but that might also mean that I have to start being nice to people. That was a totally sucky option.

* * *

I was the last person to walk into Glee Club, and even then, I more shuffled than walked. There was no way I was going to let anyone know, especially the Cheerios, that I might possibly be eager to perform. Not that it mattered anymore, considering I was no longer on their step in the social pyramid, but some habits die hard.

“Evelyn, so nice that you could join us,” Mr. Schue greeted fakely. “Since you were late, why don’t you go first?”

I got butterflies in my stomach, second thoughts rushing into my head. I had thought that Artie would go before me, and I could prepare myself mentally for my performance. But Mr. Schue just made sure that option was no longer possible, since he liked to see me miserable. At least, that was the image I was starting to get.

“Oh, I’d just love to,” I responded sarcastically and bitingly, stepping up in front of the crowd.

I nodded toward the guy at the piano, who in turn nodded at those creepy guys in the band that were always conveniently in the choir room when we were performing, but not any other time.

Four years old with my back to the door
All I could hear was the family war
Your selfish hands always expecting more
Am I your child or just a charity award?

You have a hollowed out heart,
But it’s heavy in your chest
I try so hard to fight it, but it’s hopeless
Hopeless, you’re hopeless

Oh, Father, please, Father
I’d love to leave you alone, but I can’t let you go
Oh, Father, please, Father
Put the bottle down for the love of a daughter

Once I was done with the song, I worked hard on keeping my face like stone, showing absolutely no emotion. As if I was totally over the events that unfolded in my childhood.

“Evelyn…” Mr. Schue started, breaking the thick silence that hung in the air, “do you want to explain what your song was about?”

“No,” I responded simply. “People can take it as they want.”

Santana let out a shrill-sounding laugh. “That’s because it’s not even true. I bet you a hundred dollars she just sang that for attention. There’s no way you come from a hard life, Evelyn, or that your father isn’t involved somehow. I’ve seen your house.”

That was it. I opened myself, revealed what was going on in my life to the Glee Club, and I was rejected. I waited for a few seconds, waiting for someone to stick up for me, to tell Santana to shut the fuck up because she had no idea what she was talking about.

But no one did. They all kept staring at me, waiting for some sort of response.

With the cold, collected tone I had perfected from years of being popular, I replied, “Believe what you want.”

But inside, I was crumbling. Finally, I had reached my breaking point.