~*~Dear Artie, Count Me In~*~
by Hatter of Madness

I'm not your average, ordinary, everyday girl.

I prefer Abbey Dawn to Hollistor. I prefer walking to driving. I prefer The Beatles to All Time Low (though I do love the song Dear Maria, Count Me In, which I know is one of their older songs, but still).

And I prefer new things to old ones, which is probably why I'm the kind of girl who wants to move halfway across the country from California to Ohio. I'd be coming halfway through the semester at McKinley High. As we drove from Sanger to Lima, my mother was on her laptop, looking at the school's site.

"They have a show choir, Missy," she told me. Missy was an old family nickname—my real name was Melissa. "That sounds like something you'd like, right?"

"Whatever," I mumbled, turning up my iPod louder (now playing: Dancing With Myself by Billy Idol) to drown out what she said. However, the truth was, that excited me. Show choir was just a fancier title for glee club, which was a group of people who combined choral singing with dance movements. I hoped that I could still get into the club, which my mother then went on to say was called New Directions and was run by a Mr. William Schuester.

After we had settled into our house in Lima, I started attending McKinley. The first day I went to the office and told the lady at the front desk that I was new. She then pulled up my name on her computer and told me, "At McKinley we have seven periods, which means you'll be taking four core classes and two electives…that is, if your grades are good enough…"

"I've always been a straight A student," I said as she started to bring up my transcript, but she didn't seem to here me.

"It looks like you've always been a straight A student," she said. Obviously. "Our freshmen don't take history, so you'll be taking English, geometry, biology, and physical ed…"

"Actually I have a doctor's note, I'm hypoglycemic and I'm not supposed to do P.E.," I said. It was true that I was hypoglycemic, but not to a point that I would be unable to do P.E. I had created a fake doctor's note on my computer and signed it to make it look professional. I pulled out my fake doctor's note and handed it to her. I was hoping I'd be able to weasel my way out of P.E. so I could have a free period, or maybe a third elective.

The lady studied the note and pulled me out of P.E. "I'll have to put that on file," she said, typing slowly. I wanted to just sit at her desk and type for her, as at my old school I could type 84 words a minute as a twelve year old seventh grader. "So you now have a third elective," she said. "Now, I don't want to put you into anything you don't want…"

"Do you have drama?"

"Yes," she said, adding me to drama. "We also require that all McKinley High students take at least two years of foreign language, we offer Spanish and German…"

"German," I said, though I did remember that Mr. Schuester, the glee club teacher was the Spanish teacher. I already knew some German after having a German penpal, so the course seemed easier to me.

"And you have one elective left," she said, a little dazed. I could tell she didn't give out third electives to freshmen often. "We have computers, band, art, health, dance…"

"Dance," I decided, hoping to be able to use some of my creative ability in that class.

She printed out my schedule. "Have your teachers sign this for me," she said, gesturing to my schedule, "and bring it back to me at the end of the day. This second piece of paper," she said, giving me a second, "is a map of the school." She grabbed a highlighter and started highlighting areas. "These are your classes. I hope you have a good day," she said, giving me a nice, but not exactly friendly, smile. I grinned back, hitching my book bag onto my shoulder better. As I left the office, I looked at my schedule for the first time.

1. English – Mrs. Kress
2. German – Mrs. Reynoso
3. Dance – Ms. Morey
4. Drama – Mr. Dias
5. Lunch
6. Geometry – Mr. Montague
7. Biology – Mrs. Reaper

The first half of the day was pretty uneventful. Several students asked me who I had for P.E. and what hour, a majority of them girls hoping to share a locker with me so I could save the trouble of having to ask Ms. Sylvester, the female locker room attendant, for a locker assignment. Most of them were jealous when I said I didn't have to take P.E.

Finally, it was time for lunch. As I was walking towards the cafeteria, a boy I recognized from my English class was opening his locker and taking out his books. He was in a wheelchair and seemed to be having a difficult time reaching one of his books. As I started to walk forward to help him, someone came up behind him, grabbed the handles of his chair, and sent rolling towards the stairs. He tried to stop himself but couldn't, probably out of fear. My heart leapt out of my chest and I ran forward to stop him right before he hurtled down the stairs.

"Thanks," he wheezed, as I rounded on the guy who had shoved him.

"Oh my God, what the hell is wrong with you?" I spat. "Yeah, I'm talking to you, Mohawk Boy!" I added as the guilty party pretended to be confused. "Do you think this is funny?" I was growing angrier by the second. "Do you think it's funny that he's in a wheelchair and is about as defenseless as you want him to be?"

"Dude, chill…" Mohawk Boy started.

"Excuse me? 'Dude'? Do I look like a dude?"

"Oh, come on, Artie knows we were just joking…"

"Oh, really?" I said. Artie, as he was called, started rolling himself toward the cafeteria, but stopped when I added, "Because it seems to me that Artie didn't know that, or did you conveniently forget to tell him? Because I think you have to be pretty fucked in the head to screw with a kid in a wheelchair." And with that, I fled to the cafeteria before Mohawk Boy had a chance to deal with me. Artie watched, mouth agape, as I made my exit.

I looked around the cafeteria. There seemed to be a group of cliques. There was a sea of red and white clad girls wearing cheerleader uniforms. There was another group of Letterman jackets—football players, probably. There was another group of girls all wearing black with a few boys who seemed to want to just disappear. Finally, I spotted Artie sitting by himself. As I went to join him, he rolled away. I frowned, looking for somewhere else. Finally, I saw someone sitting at a table alone absorbed in a book. I chose to sit there.

"Excuse me, may I please sit here?" I asked.

The boy put down the book for a moment and inspected me. I was wearing my Abbey Dawn Rock & Roll Army button up over a Wicked T-shirt. He shrugged and said, in a shockingly feminine voice, "Sure," and went back to his book. I flopped down at the table.

"So what you reading?" I asked, trying to make pleasant conversation.

He glanced up again. "Wicked," he responded. He looked at my shirt. "Weird coincidence, right?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "At Sanger no one had heard of Wicked before."

"I love Wicked," he said. "Especially the compositions."

What the hell? I thought. I had never heard a song being called a 'composition' before. "You like Defying Gravity?" I asked, ignoring it.

"Screw gravity," he responded. "I want to fly."

I snorted, almost causing my chocolate milk to fly out my nose. After I stopped choking, I said, "I wish I could fly."

"What you're dreaming of isn't flying," the boy told me.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?" He had caught my interest. "And what is it, then?"

"Falling with style," he responded.

I laughed. "You're weird."

"Sorry."

I smiled. "No, that was a compliment." I played with the cap from my milk bottle and asked, "You're kind of awesome…in a weird way, you know? No offense or anything."

He shrugged. "I get that a lot."

"Me, too. In Sanger I was branded as a freak because I was into performing and everything."

He nodded. We were both silent for a minute before he said, "Kurt." I must have looked confused because he added, "You know…it's my name."

I nodded. "Melissa Widman." At that moment, in strolled Mohawk Boy, making me think of Artie in seconds. "Hey, what's the deal with kid in the wheelchair?"

"Artie Abrams?" Kurt asked. I nodded. So his name was Artie. "I don't know. He doesn't really talk about it."

"Well, people seem to be rude to him," I said. "I saw some kid with a ridiculous Mohawk try to push him down the stairs before this period. That was really rude."

"You're talking about Noah Puckerman, aren't you?" Kurt asked. "Although most people just call him 'Puck'…. If you think Puck's bad now, you should have seen him before glee club. He trapped Artie in a Port-A-Potty and was going to tip it over until Finn Hudson showed up."

I was shocked. I didn't really know him well but I already hated Mohawk Boy—Puck, as Kurt had identified him as—and that was low, even for him. I could only imagine what poor Artie had to go through before What's-His-Name showed up. However, I didn't have long to dwell on this as Kurt's other words invaded my thoughts: If you think Puck's bad now, you should have seen him before glee club.

You should have seen him before glee club.

Before glee club.

Glee.

"Did you say glee club?" I asked, totally switching the subject. Kurt nodded in agreement, no longer looking at me. "I know it's kind of late, but can I still sign up."

"I'm pretty sure Mr. Schue could see you now, seeing as it's lunch," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Though you do have to have an audition prepared…"

"Not a problem," I said, standing. "Well, it's been nice chatting with you, Kurt, but I gotta jet."

"Bye," Kurt said, but as I was already hurrying towards Mr. Schuester's room, I barely heard him. I ran so fast I almost passed the classroom but stopped in time. I knocked on the door and hurriedly fixed my clothes. Moments later, a tall, incredibly good looking male, approximately early thirties, opened the door. I knew at once that this was Mr. William Schuester.

"May I help you?" Mr. Schuester asked.

I thrust my hand at him, hoping he would give me a polite handshake. However, he looked at my hand in surprise as I said, "Hello, my name is Melissa Widman and I was wondering whether I could audition for the glee club."

"Hello, Melissa…" he said, less than enthusiastically. "I haven't seen you before…"

"Oh, today's my first day," I said. "I was hoping I could audition for the glee club," I repeated.

"Uh…sure…" he said. He opened the door to allow me to come in. "Do you have…"

I pulled out my iTouch, saying, "My mother said iPods were allowed here, I always carry it with me." I quickly entered my passcode (4365 for Idol, like Billy Idol) and pulled up the song—a karaoke version of Popular by Kristin Chenoweth, who was, of course, the original person to play Galinda in Wicked. From the conversation in the beginning ("Elphie, now that we're friends, I've decided to make you my new project…"), Mr. Schuester could tell what song I was singing.

"Melissa, I'm going to stop you there," he said, though I hadn't even sang yet. I pressed the 'pause' button on my iTouch. "Melissa, I'm glad you're so interested in glee club, but Popular is a hard performance to live up to, I've only heard a handful of sopranos who can…"

"Mr. Schuester, I'm going to have to stop you there," I said. "I may only be fourteen but I am a soprano, Mr. Schuester, and I've got as much talent as Miss Chenoweth does. In fact, I auditioned for Cinderella in Cinderella by Rodgers and Hammerstein when I was six, and, if we're being honest, the coordinators of the show said the only reason they were turning me down was because of my age because I could sing, dance, and act so well. When I was nine I sang the national anthem on live television for the Super Bowl, I was in my church's Worship Team from ages ten to thirteen, and just last year when I was thirteen I sang In My Own Little Corner from Cinderella for an opening of a Ritz hotel…I've got talent, Mr. Schuester, and lots of it."

Mr. Schuester just raised his eyebrows, shook his head, and said, "Alright, let's go for it."

I smiled. "Excellent." I started the song over and sang. When I finished the last ridiculously long note, I paused, then asked, "So when are rehearsals?"

Mr. Schuester sighed. "Melissa, I'm not sure if I can use you…"

I frowned. "Why not?"

"It's nothing personal against you, Melissa, I just don't think…"

I grabbed his tie, forcing him to come within centimeters of my own face. "Look, Schuester," I said. "I probably have more experience and talent than half of your glee students combined. I'd be doing your club a favor by joining. And if you don't let me in, I'll just have to get my stepfather to sue the school for all its worth."

He thought this over for a moment before saying, "Practices are after school today."

Happily, I let go of his tie, said, "Thank you," and dashed off to class, as, at that moment, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.

After fleeing Schuester's office, I had geometry. As I sat down, I realized we were covering the area of a circle with a radius of less than one, one of the first things we had covered before I had left Sanger, but apparently they were elaborating on yesterday's review of the previous year where they talked about the area of a circle. I sighed. I would be bored this class period…until I realized who I was sitting by.

Out of the corner of my eye I identified Artie Abrams, hurriedly copying down notes that the teacher, Mr. Montague, put up. I was confused—Artie, as I remember Kurt mentioning when I was too busy thinking about glee to pay much attention, was a sophomore; a vast majority of the class were freshmen. I put it out of my mind and I, too, pretended to be interested in the subject the teacher was busy explaining. When the bell finally rang, I grabbed my stuff to go, but as I was standing, some idiot brushed past Artie's desk, knocking his textbook under a desk. He glanced at Artie and continued to leave the class. Artie sighed and started to move forward to grab the book, but quickly found that it was under the table under his reach. Finally, having watched long enough, I walked forward and grabbed the book, passing it to Artie. "Here," I said.

"Thanks," he said back, embarrassed, shoving the book into his bag and rolling out the door before I could say anything more. I was going to try to talk to him but he was gone and I stood there dumb faced before finally going to my locker to grab my biology book.

The period passed incredibly slowly. As we had already covered this in Sanger as well (bacteria and microorganisms), I watched the clock tick very slowly. When the bell finally rang, I grabbed my stuff and went to the office as fast as I could, determined not to be late to glee club. Walking into the office, I almost ran into Ms. Sylvester—I recognized her at once with her "short blonde hair" and "menacing blue eyes", as my friend from English, Gigi, had called her.

"Watch where you're going," Ms. Sylvester snapped.

"Sorry," I said, barely audible. I walked to the front desk and handed the lady my schedule.

"How did your first day go, dear?" she asked.

"Fine," I lied.

"Good," she said, not at all aware that I was lying. She signed a messy signature at the top of the paper and handed it back to me. "There you go, dear," she said. I nodded to say "thanks" and ran off to glee club. I came in later than everyone else, but not actually late, as Mr. Schuester wasn't even there yet. I grabbed an empty seat and sat down, right as the clock struck the hour and Mr. Schuester arrived.

"Settle down," he told two girls in back, who were looking at me and whispering to each other. Both were wearing the red and white cheerleader's uniforms. "Now, some of you may have noticed that we have a new edition to the New Directions glee club, Miss Melissa…" He paused at my last name, seeming to have forgotten it.

"Widman," I said, standing and walking over next to Mr. Schuester.

"Right, Melissa Widman," he said. "Why don't you say something about yourself, Melissa?"

"I'd love to, Mr. Schuester," I said happily. I cleared my throat to get attention to myself. "Well, I'm Melissa, I'm fourteen and a freshmen and today is my first day at McKinley." I paused. "I have auditioned for Cinderella but was denied the part only due to my age, I was on my church's Worship Team, I sang the national anthem once at the Super Bowl, and I sang In My Own Little Corner on the opening night of a Ritz."

"Isn't that where they make crackers?" asked one of the cheerleaders quietly.

"And today to audition for the glee club, I sang Popular from Wicked for Mr. Schuester," I said, giving the teacher a sideways glance. He stood from where he was at his desk and walked towards me.

"Thank you, Melissa," Mr. Schuester said, shoving me back to my seat. "I didn't really need your life story, but thanks, all the same."

I resumed my seat, listening intently to every word Mr. Schuester was saying. He said that he had put the members of the glee club's name into the hat he had and that he wanted each member to draw a name from the hat so that they could get their partners to sing a ballad to. However, several members of the glee club told him that a student named Matt was absent, so Mr. Schuestesr said, "I guess I'll have to put my name in, then."

A few students at a time went up. I wasn't paying much attention until Artie rolled his way forward and pulled a blue slip out of the hat, reading, loud and clear, "Melissa."

Okay, what the hell happened? Somehow chapter three got posted in chapter three and chapter one. BUT I HAVE FIXED THE PROBLEM (I hope)! Please review. This is my first Glee fic, so please be nice.

-Hatter