New Directions

The McKinley High gym has been nicely decorated for the evening, the Valentine's Day committee having spent the intervening hours between school and the start of the dance wielding streamers and balloons and setting up tables. The very center of the gym has been cleared out for the dance floor, and circular tables surround that for people to sit at, eat and talk between dances. A long table at the back of the gym has been set up for the DJ, and one other table to the side is for the basketball team's fund raising table, selling roses and other Valentine's Day goodies. The usual gym concession stand is now stocked with punch and snacks.

The teachers who have been enlisted to serve as chaperons are keeping a watchful eye on the activities on the dance floor...though they're not really keeping a close eye on the doors leading into the rest of the school. They might want to keep an eye on that.

There is a red carpet leading from the outside into the dance...let's get this party started!

The Titans' first game was that weekend, and Coaches Black and Beiste had been working hard whipping the new lineup into shape.

This year, of course, they had lost a couple of key players to graduation, and Matt Rutherford and the Brunelli brothers had moved away. However, the Titans still had the core of last year's lineup, whatever that was worth; and a couple of new players like Sam Evans, who was probably one of the best conditioned on the team, and Noah Puckerman, who was returning to the lineup mostly as an enforcer, after sitting out last year.

"I don't know how well we're going to do this year," Coach Black murmured to his new assistant, "but I hope this season will at least be better than the last one."

"We'll do our best to make sure that happens," Coach Beiste replied.

The head coach nodded briefly and blew his whistle, signaling the start of practice. The players quickly came together to warm up, and soon the gym came alive with the sound of squeaking sneakers and the thump of basketballs.

The day of Sectionals had finally come. Three show choirs from mid-state Ohio were gathered to compete for the honor to compete some more! Regionals loomed in their futures, and after that, Nationals. In New York. It was a very big deal, and anyone who doubted that fact had never competed for anything in their lives.

Something was definitely up with Karofsky. Puck wasn't completely sure because the other boy hadn't been on the football team last year, but he had been getting worse all semester.

Anyway, even if he was like this all the time, it had to stop. Not only was Karofsky terrorizing Kurt (which was totally Puck's job), he was picking on the other Glee guys, too. Now that Sam T. had mentioned it, Puck noticed that Karofsky was bugging him as well, and just a while ago, the stocky boy had pushed Mike Chang into a bank of lockers.

Puck wondered whether he should wait for Karofsky to start picking on him and then just rip the other guy's arm off.

Nah.

He threw down his pads and, catching the other Glee guys' eyes, strode over to where Karofsky was accusing Mike of being a "homo, just like Hummel, here." "Hey," he said, tapping Karofsky hard on the shoulder. "Lay off of him, and lay off of Kurt and the others, too. What did they ever do to you?"

"What did they do to me?" the other boy repeated, snorting. "They're wrecking this school, that's what. Everywhere you look, there's a homo. Even the football team isn't safe, and you Glee kids are the worst. No wonder McKinley sucks so bad at everything."

"Maybe McKinley sucks because no one cares," Puck retorted. "It's not their fault you're a lousy football player."

He wasn't no 98-pound weakling, but Karofsky was bigger, so the hard shove that Puck received sent him sprawling against the guy who had been standing behind him.

Marcus could sense that the basketball team wasn't as popular with the McKinley student body as it used to be, no thanks to their crappy season last winter, but the guys weren't going to let that get them down. "We're gonna make up for it big-time this year," Ryan Brunelli vowed as he, Marcus and a few of their other teammates sat together at lunch that day.

Justin Cranmer nodded. "With some of the other guys gone, there's space on the team for some hidden talent."

"Wait," Eric Santana said. "We have to make sure we get on the team, too, you know!"

Marcus laughed. "Maybe you're worried, but I'm not!" he joked.

Eric laughed, too, and threw a wadded-up paper napkin at him. Marcus, of course, had to get him back for that, and threw one as well. Unfortunately, Eric managed to duck, and the napkin bounced off the head of someone sitting at the next table.

"Oops, my bad!" Marcus said.

Marcus stood alone at the top of the key, bouncing a basketball with both hands. He was supposed to be practicing his mid-range jumpers, but it was summer - his mind was wandering. The thud of rubber on concrete was comforting.

Last weekend, he had watched his best friend graduate from McKinley. Nate's limp was barely noticeable when he went up onstage to receive his diploma and student-athlete award. There had been proud grins on his and his folks' faces during the celebration afterward.

Marcus had apologized for not being able to carry the basketball team in Nate's absence, but the other boy had smiled and told him not to be so hard on himself. "I know you wanted to do well," Nate said, "but these things are never completely in your hands."

He thought about it after he went home, and concluded that Nate had been right. He was part of a team, and while they had all tried their best, sometimes things just didn't click and it had worked against them. It was probably too early to think about it, but Marcus was already wondering what to do about the team next year.

The team would have to be tighter, that was for sure. Things had gotten messed up because of Babygate, among other things, and if something like that happened again, Marcus was going to make sure everyone sat down and talked it out before it got too bad.

He still had to try out like everyone else next year, but in Marcus' heart there was no question that he was going to keep his spot. He was going to try harder to do right by his teammates instead of just get pissed off about it.

He was going to be a leader next year. If he hadn't been able to make Nate proud this past season, he was damn well going to do it next season.

A long red carpet leads from the parking lot to the lobby of the school gym, decorated for pictures of the happy couples and groups. From there, the carpet leads to the gym, which is decked out in red and black balloons and silver stars.

There's an actual DJ this time near the “bar” where drinks are being served...well, sodas and water. It's high school, what do you want? There's tables scattered about the edges of the dance floor, with red tablecloths and movie-themed centerpieces.

Have fun, kids. Try not to get into too much trouble.

Practice had been a little rough. Between basketball, Glee, the protests, school, and college looming over his head, Matt was stressed. He was embarrassed he let him affect him during practice--he was a bit off. First Finn, now another team member? The guys couldn't have been happy. At least in Matt's case, though, there were experienced players in his position--and it only affected one practice. He could excuse it more easily.

The boy took a seat on one of the locker room benches. He took a long drink from his water bottle before letting it dangle from his grasp. Matt propped his elbows on his knees. Tomorrow, he thought to himself, I WILL do better.

The Glee picnic was at noon that day, the old football field cleared for the day as the large grill that had been ordered was pushed into the enter of the white lines, picnic tables set up and a some coolers put out as Tanner made sure things were all in order. He'd gotten all the meat just an hour before, the cooler stinking of it as he turned the grill on and waited for someone, anyone who actually knew what they were doing to show up.

( I just don't understand women )

He wasn't a fixture there, but Marcus did know where the school library was, and how to use it. Which was why he was seated at one table with a stack of books at his elbow. He was bent over one, squinting intently at the words printed on the page. Occasionally, his lips would even move, and from time to time he would write something in his notebook.

An hour before kickoff, and things were coming together for the Super Bowl gathering. The Rutherfords were all home and gathered as per tradition. Matt's father was sitting in his lucky recliner, feet up. Jonah and Matt were seated on different sections of the wraparound couch. The men chattered amicably amongst pre-game coverege. Occasionally, Matt checked his phone, in case people needed directions to his house or similar.

In the kitchen, Mama Rutherford and her three daughters were busy preparing food for the party. Since they were expecting guests this year, they were preparing extra food--perhaps too much, but teenage boys could eat! (Heck, so could teenage girls.) The delicious smells wafted through the house.

(In the right place this time!)

Monday after school, after running a few lines with Rachel, Mercedes was... understandably.. a little uptight. Every single nuance of every single word... Picked apart. Dissected.

Practice ended early, or else.. Cedes was gonna kill the girl.

Her bag hoisted over one shoulder, she headed down the near deserted hallway toward the stairwell that led to the football field exits behind the school: it was just an easier place for her Dad to swing by and pick her up, so it was the common rendezvous spot.

The cutest silver flats tapped lightly as she made her way down the stairs, one hand on the railing while the other held her phone up to a legible level: the pad of her thumb at work sending a quick text. She should've been paying closer attention.

"Well, perfect timing!"

Stopped in her tracks right on the middle landing of the stairs, blocking her path to the final flight were two jacketed juniors, Smith and Kapowski. The ladder palmed a big-gulp grape Slushie, and both were grinning in that way that could only be described as 'lizzard like'.

Mercedes's first reaction was qualmed by the tighter grip on the railing. Second reaction, not so hindered. "Hell. No." It was as much a warning to them as their shared look was to her. Not intimidated? Fine. She'll gladly continue.

"You throw that on me, White Boy, Ima make you eat that Styrofoam cup."

( I like the pick and roll / I like the give-and-go )

Marcus wished he were far, far away from school and making the most of his free time before basketball practice ate it all up, but he was serious about preparing for open tryouts. The tryouts were mainly to replace the guys who had graduated, but there was still the chance that some guy was going to show up thinking he could take Marcus' spot in the lineup.

No way in hell was that going to happen.

Dribbling the ball, Marcus started at the half-court line and built up speed heading to the net. At the last possible moment, he leaped and slammed the ball into the basket. The rim rattled gratifyingly as he came back to earth.

Nope, it wasn't going to happen at all.

Marcus felt a surge of adrenaline as he stepped onto the basketball court. He had played some football last semester and it had been fun, but he had been born to play basketball.

The ball was a familiar presence in his hand, the thud of it on the hardwood as comforting and familiar as his own heartbeat. He tossed it aside for a moment to do some running drills and get warmed up to practice dribbling and shooting.

( There is no I in TEAM. There is, however, 'tea' )

( Everybody Wang Chung Tonight! Whatever that means... )

"Hey, Marcus, when's the wedding?"

Marcus stuck his tongue out at the basketball teammate who had teased him. "We haven't decided yet," he retorted, and patted the football cradled in one arm. "Right, honey?"

( Read more... )