Chapter Text
Thursday, January 20
Brittany tried her hardest not to be distracted by the posters on the wall of the guidance office, but the guidance office was aggressively cheerful. She fixed her attention on the posters lining the walls, because they were easier to understand than the conversation happening in front of her. Bright colours screamed encouragement from every surface—Reach for the Stars, Your Future Starts Now, College Is Possible!—the kind of optimism that felt less inspiring and more like a threat if you stared at it too long. One poster curled slightly at the corner where the tape had given up, and Brittany traced that edge with her eyes, imagining what it would feel like to peel it off completely.
She should have been used to this room by now. Over the past one and a half year, she had spent enough time here that she and the guidance counsellor were on a first-name basis, which felt both comforting and mildly alarming.
Mr. Hardey, Shawn, if you asked him, had grown noticeably balder since Brittany first started sitting across from him. She wondered, not for the first time, whether she’d played some small role in that. Stress did terrible things to hair, and Brittany had a habit of arriving with progress reports covered in red ink and handwritten notes that all sounded vaguely disappointed, no matter how polite the wording.
“Brittany,” Shawn said gently, folding his hands together on the desk, “I really think this is an exceptional opportunity for you.”
Her head bobbed in a small nod before she’d fully processed the sentence. Opportunity was one of those words adults loved to use when they wanted you to agree with them. It sounded generous, like a gift, but Brittany had learned that opportunities usually came attached to consequences.
“Miss Sylvester only transfers students she considers talented enough to compete for a national championship,” he continued, voice warm and encouraging. “That’s not nothing. Think about how good that would look on college applications.”
From the chair beside her, her mom hummed approvingly. “You hear that, Brit? National champions.” She smiled in that hopeful way she did when she thought something was finally falling into place.
Something twisted uncomfortably in Brittany’s stomach.
She didn’t want to transfer schools. Her school was familiar in the way that mattered. She knew which lockers stuck, which teachers sighed when she asked for instructions again, and which friends would save her a seat at lunch even if she showed up late because she’d wandered into the wrong hallway. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers.
She wasn’t popular, exactly. Sometimes people laughed when she asked questions that didn’t quite match the topic, or when she answered something sideways and not-quite-right. Still, no one was cruel about it. She had friends. She had cheerleading.
And cheerleading was fun. That was all it had ever been to her. How could it not be fun, being thrown into the air, spinning, dancing, trusting people to catch you? She loved the rhythm of it, the way her body understood things before her brain did. She’d never thought of it as a competition. Maybe that was because her school didn’t treat it like one.
Her gaze drifted to her mom. This shouldn’t be her decision alone. Brittany wished, not for the first time, that someone else would just decide for her. People acted like having choices was empowering, but most of the time it just made her tired.
“Cool,” she murmured.
Shawn sighed softly, rubbing his temple. “Brittany, I need to be honest with you.” He paused, as if hoping the words might rearrange themselves into something gentler. “If you don’t take this chance, there’s a very real possibility you won’t get into college.”
There it was.
She nodded again. This part didn’t surprise her. Her mom always looked shocked when report cards came home, like the grades were brand new information, but Brittany had known for a while. You didn’t have to be a genius to notice patterns, and teachers frowning after every test usually meant something bad for your future.
“However,” Shawn added quickly, leaning forward, “being part of a nationally ranked cheerleading program gives you options. Scholarships. Visibility.” He smiled, hopeful in a way that made Brittany feel like he wanted this as much as her parents did. “You’d get to choose.”
The word choose landed strangely. It sounded important, but also distant, like something meant for later.
She blinked. “Wait,” she said, finally lifting her head. “Which school?”
Shawn looked startled. “William McKinley High School.”
“It’s in Lima, Ohio, sweetheart,” her mom added gently.
Lima.
Brittany frowned slightly, thinking. She was pretty sure she’d driven through Lima once with her dad, on the way to a museum about corn. Or maybe it had just been a very large cornfield. Her family liked corn a lot, which, when you thought about it, made Lima seem like a perfectly reasonable place to end up.
“I do like corn,” she said aloud.
Shawn smiled patiently. “That’s good.”
Her eyes drifted back to the poster on the wall. Your Future Starts Now.
She thought about that for a moment. The future had always seemed like the horizon to her—always there, always talked about, but never something you actually reached. People worked so hard toward it, like it was a destination instead of a moving line.
“How do you even get to Lima?” she asked after a moment. Then, more practically, “Do we have to move?”
Her mom shifted in her chair. “I talked about this with your dad. We can stay at his sister’s place for your years of high school.”
Brittany’s brow furrowed. “What about Emily?” she asked immediately. “She’s only seven. She can’t drive back to her primary school from there.”
Her mom squeezed her hand. “We’ll figure it out,” she said warmly. “I really think this will be good for you, Brittany.”
That settled it.
If her mom believed this was the right thing, then it probably was. Brittany trusted her judgment more than her own.
“Okay,” she said, exhaling slowly. “McKinley High it is.”
Monday, February 7
Within two weeks, the transfer was finalised, and Brittany found herself sitting in her car in an unfamiliar school parking lot.
McKinley High.
She’d driven around it three times already, circling like she was waiting for permission to park. There had been plenty of parking spots, but nerves had a way of making obvious things invisible.
Everything felt new, and yet, somehow, familiar. Students spilt out of cars and buses, slamming doors, laughing too loudly, dragging their feet, already tired, and it wasn’t even eight a.m. Some walked in groups, some alone. A few leaned against cars, postponing the start of the day.
A school is a school, Brittany decided. Although she was about to learn that McKinley High was different. Or perhaps it was her old school that had been unusual.
“It’ll be fine,” she told herself, nodding as she agreed with herself.
She grabbed the door handle and stepped out, eyes immediately locking onto the main entrance. First things first. Get inside, and then figure it out from there. She took three steps before reaching back to readjust her backpack, and came up empty.
Right. Car.
With a small, embarrassed jog, she hurried back, grabbed her backpack from the passenger seat, slung it over her shoulder, and tried again.
They’d had a quick tour with Coach Sylvester the week before. Brittany remembered yelling. And a whistle. And something about nationals. The rest of it had evaporated immediately.
Inside, everyone else seemed to know exactly where they were going. They moved with purpose, flowing down the hallways. Brittany was promptly bumped into, then bumped again, then sidestepped entirely.
She decided to just go with the flow and hoped it would eventually lead her somewhere important. Preferably, the guidance counsellor's office.
She turned left. Then right. Then right again.
Okay. That didn’t feel correct.
The hallways were straight, but somehow she felt like she was walking in circles. She had always been bad at topography. Maps were mostly just suggestions anyway.
“Hello!”
The chirpy voice cut through her thoughts. It took Brittany a few seconds to resurface from her directional haze.
She looked down.
Brown hair. Brown eyes. A smile so bright it practically competed with the fluorescent lights overhead.
“You must be new,” the girl said eagerly. “Welcome to McKinley High. I am Rachel Berry, the star of our very own Glee Club. You should feel honoured to have me personally welcome you.”
Brittany blinked.
The way Rachel Berry spoke was more confusing than the school’s layout. What was a Rachel Berry? And why was she supposed to be glowing?
“It’s daytime,” Brittany said carefully. “There are no stars.”
She felt an unexpected spark of joy when Rachel’s smile faltered, just for a moment.
Rachel recovered quickly. “You’re probably looking for Miss Pillsbury’s office,” she said briskly. “Come with me.”
It sounded less like an invitation and more like a command.
Brittany followed her down the hallway, eventually stopping in front of an office that reminded her a lot of Shawn’s. Same desk placement, Same vaguely encouraging energy. The main difference was the walls: no posters.
Instead, there was an entire wall covered in pamphlets, which Brittany liked even less. Pamphlets were like posters, but sneakier.
“Thank you,” Brittany said politely.
Rachel gave a small nod, clearly satisfied with her good deed, and disappeared down the hall.
Brittany knocked lightly on the door that was already open. “Miss Pillsbury?”
A skittish young woman with beautiful ginger hair looked up from her desk. She was holding… a toothbrush?
“Yes! Brittany,” she said brightly, setting it down far too quickly. “How lovely to finally meet you. Come on in.”
Brittany took a seat and tried her best to focus as Miss Pillsbury talked. Something about schedules. Something about support systems. Something about how brave it was to start over.
She was handed a pamphlet.
NEW AT SCHOOL!
Brittany stared at it, then back up at Miss Pillsbury, and wondered if McKinley High always came with this much paper.
“And then we’ll wait for Quinn Fabray,” Miss Pillsbury said, flipping through a folder. “She used to be on the Cheerios, but she quit because of…” She trailed off, brows knitting together as she searched for the right word. “Health issues.”
Brittany nodded politely and went back to trying to read the pamphlet. Mostly, she just looked at the little cartoon illustrations. The stick-figure student looked very confident, which felt unrealistic.
She hoped the girl Miss Pillsbury was talking about hadn’t gotten hurt too badly. Brittany never liked it when people got injured.
Miss Pillsbury continued without taking a breath. “I asked Quinn because she has more time now, and I think having a goal would do her some good. Not that you are a distraction for our own students, we’re very happy to have you,” she added quickly. “Quinn is a good fit since she’s familiar with the Cheerios. And Glee!” She beamed. “Are you interested in Glee?”
Brittany looked up. “You have a Glee club?”
She was pretty sure she and her mom had combed through the entire McKinley website together. There had been a page about sports. And different clubs. And something called academic decathlon. But no singing-dancing club had come up.
Miss Pillsbury’s excitement seemed to multiply instantly. “Yes!”
Even more dancing? That sounded wonderful.
Before she could say anything else, the door opened.
Brittany turned around and took in the girl entering the room. She was blonde, pretty and very tired-looking.
Also… pregnant.
She blinked once.
Oh.
That was an interesting injury.
Still, she reasoned, pregnancy and a torn ACL both took about nine months to recover from. So maybe it was similar.
“Quinn, come on in,” Miss Pillsbury said brightly. “This is Brittany.”
Quinn gave Brittany’s hand a brief shake and a tentative smile before sitting down beside her. Up close, she looked even more exhausted, like someone who hadn’t slept properly in weeks.
“I asked Quinn to show you around today,” Miss Pillsbury said, clearly trying to keep the energy up. “Right, Quinn?”
The enthusiasm didn’t match the mood of the girl next to her.
“Yeah,” Quinn muttered. “Sure.” She paused, then added quietly, “Who doesn’t want to help their own replacement?”
Brittany stiffened.
“Wait—replacement?” she asked, turning fully toward Quinn. This was the first she’d heard of that. “I’m not here to replace anyone. That wouldn’t be fair.”
She frowned, genuinely concerned. “I can cheer next to you. Or behind you. I don’t mind positions.”
Quinn scoffed, and Miss Pillsbury immediately looked away, suddenly very interested in the papers on her desk.
When it became clear that Miss Pillsbury had no idea what to say next, Quinn took it upon herself to move things along.
“I was kicked off the team,” she said flatly, gesturing to her protruding belly like it explained everything. Which, Brittany supposed, it kind of did.
Brittany glanced between the two women. Shawn had been a better guidance counsellor, she decided. At least he didn’t pretend silence was a strategy.
“Every team could use an extra member,” Brittany offered helpfully. “Even if nobody can see it yet.”
Both women stared at her.
Brittany waited a beat.
“…Never mind.”
The bell rang, loud and abrupt, and Miss Pillsbury clapped her hands together like she’d been rescued. “Well! Off you go, then. Be nice, Quinn!”
Quinn didn’t respond. She just stood and headed for the door.
Brittany grabbed her bag and followed her out, the same way she’d followed the girl who thought she was a celestial object earlier.
“Give me that,” Quinn said suddenly, reaching back and snatching Brittany’s schedule from her hands.
“Oh. Okay,” Brittany said, letting it happen.
For the rest of the day, Brittany followed Quinn from class to class. Quinn turned out to be surprisingly helpful. She was constantly pointing out classrooms, warning her about teachers who didn’t like questions, and shoving her gently in the right direction when Brittany drifted.
She was considerate. Just aggressively so.
Brittany was grateful that any confusion she had could be blamed on being the new student. No one seemed annoyed when she asked for clarification, and no one sighed too loudly yet. That felt like a win.
After her last class before lunch, Quinn was waiting outside the door.
Brittany slowed, impressed. “How do you do that?” she asked. “Nobody pregnant should be that fast.”
Quinn blinked. “What?”
“Like,” Brittany continued, gesturing vaguely, “you leave your class, and then you’re already here. Do you have a portal?”
Quinn stared at her for a second, then shook her head, baffled, but smiling just a little. “No. Come on.”
She turned and started down the hall. “Follow me. I eat lunch with the Glee Club.”
She hesitated, then added, “Most people eat lunch with their own clubs.” Her eyes lingered a little too long on a group of girls walking past in red-and-white cheerleading uniforms.
That was one of the first things Brittany had noticed about McKinley. Cheerleaders wore their uniforms all day.
All day.
At her old school, no one bothered. It was inconvenient, for one thing. Who wanted to walk around in a short skirt for hours? And then sit on plastic chairs? It didn’t seem practical.
She watched the Cheerios disappear down the hall and wondered if McKinley just had a higher tolerance for discomfort.
Quinn led Brittany through the crowded cafeteria, weaving between tables with a precision that Brittany could only describe as superhuman for someone pregnant. Brittany followed, careful not to trip over backpacks or stray elbows.
“This way,” Quinn said over her shoulder. “If you’re looking for a place to sit tomorrow, the Glee Club usually hangs out near that corner, but you can sit wherever you like.”
Brittany glanced around. Students clustered in predictable patterns: loud groups in the middle, loners at the edges, and a few tight-knit cliques huddled together. She noticed the Cheerios first. Across the room, the red-and-white skirts practically glowed under the fluorescent lights. The girls were talking, laughing, tossing their hair, completely in sync with each other. Brittany thought about her old squad back home, it hadn’t been like this. They had been close, but in no way did they look like how these girls collectively owned the room.
Her eyes lingered on one girl in particular, dark-haired, sharp-eyed, sitting slightly apart from the group but clearly part of it. The girl’s posture was perfect, shoulders back, head tilted slightly as if judging the energy of everyone nearby. Brittany didn’t know why, but she felt her stomach twist in a very familiar knot. Something about this girl felt important.
Brittany blinked, shook her head slightly, and kept walking. Quinn didn’t notice her distraction, busy explaining the complex logistics of lunch: how to avoid the cafeteria monitors, where the best silverware was hidden, and which tables were safest for newcomers.
Brittany shook her head, trying to focus on Quinn as she guided her toward the corner. She wasn’t sure where she wanted to sit yet. The corner table looked lively enough, but… it also looked complicated. Instead, she lingered in the aisle, taking it all in.
From the corner of her eye, Brittany watched the girl again. Every so often, the girl’s gaze flicked up, scanning the room. Brittany caught herself staring longer than she meant to, fascinated despite herself. There was something magnetic about the way she carried herself.
Brittany slid into the seat next to Quinn. The table was already bustling with Glee Club members, who seemed to know each other well. Quinn started a quick round of introductions, names flying too fast for Brittany to keep track. She didn’t even try, there was no way she’d remember them all this way.
“Hi, Brittany!” they chorused anyway, smiling warmly. Brittany felt a strange swell of relief. On her first day, she already felt welcome.
The girl sitting across from her, a black girl, kind eyes, tilted her head. “So, where are you transferring from?”
What was her name again?
Brittany started telling about her old school. “But their cheerleading programme was not enough to get into colleges," she concluded. "The Cheerios at McKinley High should help with that."
The boy in a wheelchair, somewhere to Brittany’s left, looked shocked. “Cheerios? You’re going to be a cheerleader?”
“Yes,” Brittany said proudly, sitting a little taller. She could feel the itch in her muscles, the urge to jump, spin, dance. She loved cheerleading.
“Well, this is the last time she’ll eat lunch with us,” an Asian girl added matter-of-factly.
Brittany tilted her head. “Why? You don’t like cheerleaders?”
The girl across from her snickered. “No… It’s just that they don’t like us.”
Brittany frowned, trying to process the social math. “But Quinn is here?” she asked, confused. Clearly, there were social rules she hadn’t been told about.
A heavy silence fell over the table. Brittany’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. She wasn’t sure whether she’d done something wrong.
Then Quinn leaned back, saving the moment with a quiet authority. “Glee Club is more fun than the Cheerios anyway,” she said. That was enough. The conversation resumed, laughter flickered around the table, and Brittany settled back, nodding along.
Lunch was fun; the rest of the classes were just classes. After her last period, Quinn appeared, ready to guide Brittany to the gym where the Cheerios were training. It was Brittany’s first practice, so she would just observe from the bleachers. She was meant to pick up her uniform after practice and join in tomorrow.
They were nearing the gym when Brittany heard it.
Sharp. Cutting. Impossible to ignore.
“Oh my God, are you kidding me right now?”
Her steps slowed.
The gym doors were open, and voices spilt into the hallway. Quinn tensed beside her.
Brittany drifted closer without realising it, peering through the doors.
Inside, the cheer squad was lined across the mat. Everyone stood straighter than necessary, silent. One girl near the front, a freshman, Brittany guessed, looked like she wanted to vanish entirely. And there, front and centre, was the same black-haired girl Brittany had noticed at lunch.
“I said five, six, seven, eight,” the girl barked, arms crossed, eyes blazing. “Not ‘maybe five if I feel like it.’ You’re not auditioning for interpretive dance.”
The freshman swallowed hard. “I—I’m sorry, Santana.”
Santana.
Brittany smiled quietly, finally hearing her name.
Santana scoffed. “Sorry doesn’t fix sloppy. Do it again.”
The coach stood nearby, watching silently. If Brittany looked closer, she would have noticed a glint of approval, even pride, hiding behind that strict gaze.
Brittany’s chest tightened.
Santana stood in the centre of the mat as if she owned it. She was not just part of the team, but above it.
Quinn muttered under her breath, “Oh no… she’s in a mood today.”
Brittany glanced at her. It was the first time that Quinn had said something unguarded. She leaned closer, whispering, “Is she always like that?”
Quinn hesitated. “No. I mean… yes. But… worse today.”
The girl tried again, missing the timing by a fraction of a second.
Santana laughed, humourless. “You know what? Stop. You’re throwing everyone off. Go to the back.”
The freshman nodded quickly, cheeks flushed, eyes shiny.
Brittany felt a pang of concern. She was curious about Santana, but she didn’t like this. She’d seen this kind of sharpness before, cruelty that wasn’t random, just pressure looking for somewhere to land.
Santana barked corrections like orders in a war zone, each one precise and sharp enough to cut. And the team obeyed them every time.
But Brittany noticed the little things others didn’t:
The way Santana rubbed her shoulder between drills.
The way she exhaled deeply, as if the air itself wasn’t enough.
The way her eyes flicked toward the clock, counting something invisible.
Finally, Coach clapped her hands. “Break. Two minutes.”
The squad dispersed and Santana turned sharply toward the water cooler. Brittany noticed something: her face, unguarded for half a second. She didn't look angry or cruel like her tone had been, just exhausted.
Santana snapped when someone bumped her. “Watch it.”
For a heartbeat, Santana’s eyes flicked toward the doors and met Brittany’s. A small surprised smile appeared on her face, and the room looked so much brighter.
Then the mask snapped back. The sneer returned. Her lip curled, and she looked Brittany up and down.
The message was clear: You don’t belong here.
And somehow, impossibly, Brittany didn’t feel rejected. She felt drawn in.
“She cannot be that mean,” Brittany whispered to Quinn.
Quinn stared at her. “Brittany… she just made a girl cry.”
Brittany nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know.”
Her eyes didn’t leave Santana as the whistle blew and practice resumed.
Brittany stayed for the rest of practice, sitting on the low bleachers with her legs tucked under her, half-watching, half-lost in her own head. She tried to take in the whole team, but her attention kept returning to Santana. Every move was sharp and controlled, like she was daring gravity to argue with her.
By the end, Brittany was itching to join. She decided to head toward Coach Sylvester’s office for her uniform, ready to jump in tomorrow.
She stepped into the hallway and froze.
Her backpack.
Again.
“Of course,” she muttered. “Classic.”
She slipped back into the gym quietly. Most of the squad had filtered out; the echo of their voices faded into the locker room.
Santana was still there.
It was now Coach Sylvester who stood at the centre of the mat. Her arms were crossed, and she was watching as Santana launched into a tumbling pass followed by a back handspring into layout, flawless.
“Again,” Coach barked.
Santana nodded once, wiped sweat from her forehead, and took off. This time, a full twist. It was powerful and almost breathtaking. Brittany forgot all about her backpack, again.
Coach finally nodded. “That’s what I want from you. Not the tumbles of a toddler learning to walk.”
Santana’s lips pressed thin. “Yes, Coach.”
Coach glanced at the clock. “Cool down and stretch. See you tomorrow.”
The doors closed. The space felt different without her.
Santana bent forward, hands braced on her knees, breathing hard. Sweat darkened the collar of her practice top. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the quiet settle.
“That was really beautiful,” Brittany said softly, before she could overthink it.
Santana startled, straightening sharply. “Jesus—” The tension left her shoulders when she recognised Brittany. “It’s you.”
“Sorry,” Brittany said, wincing a little. “I forgot my backpack.”
A short huff escaped her, almost a laugh. “Figures.”
Brittany edged closer, careful not to crowd her. “Coach likes you.”
A shrug, casual and practised, as she grabbed her water bottle. “She likes results.”
“Still,” Brittany added softly. “You’re really good.”
The cap twisted open with a sharp click. She took a long drink before answering. “Yeah. I know.”
The words weren’t arrogant this time. Just factual. She wiped her hands on a towel, then leaned back against the padded wall, eyes still on Brittany.
“Are you any good?” Santana asked, her dark eyes locking on Brittany with a spark that made the air feel charged. It wasn’t the dismissive glance from earlier, it was something different.
A pulse of excitement rushed through Brittany, sharper than she’d expected. She straightened, dropped her usual lightness, and met the other girl on her level. “Well,” she said carefully, shoulders squared, “Coach Sylvester asked me to join the team.”
Santana arched an eyebrow, smirking. “Well, only because Quinn thought MTV’s 16 and Pregnant should be taken as inspirational, and we need someone to pick up the choreography quickly.” Her voice snapped back to dismissive, sharp as a whip.
Brittany felt her chest tighten, but she didn’t retreat. “I’m ready to work hard,” she said firmly, letting the words settle with quiet confidence. Not submissive or pleading, just honest. She wanted approval, not the kind the freshmen chased out of fear, but the kind that felt earned. Like a challenge she intended to meet.
A smile curled at the corner of her lips, cruel on the surface, but there was something else behind it. A glint. Almost approval, tucked beneath layers of intimidation. “We’ll see,” she said softly.
Then, without warning, she turned and walked away, long strides precise and unhesitating, disappearing into the hallway.
Brittany stood there for a moment, heart still racing. The gym suddenly felt enormous. Hours of practice were waiting for her here. Hours of trying to meet Coach Sylvester’s impossible standards, and the even sharper ones set by the head cheerleader who had just measured her and left.
And somehow, Brittany couldn’t stop smiling.