Okay, this is my first chapter of my fanfiction: THE FUTURE!

Beth’s POV

‘BETH CORCORAN TO COACH SYLVESTER’S OFFICE.’ My name rung out over the PA system. I strode confidently into Coach Sylvester’s office, my curled high ponytail swinging back and forth, back and forth. Since Coach Sylvester tolerated NO sticky drinks in her pristine trophy room slash office, I casually threw my blue slushy at the glee club’s lead loser Malia.

‘You bitch!’ she shrieked at me. I turned around and gave her an innocent smile. She stormed off into the bathroom. I high-fived fellow cheerio JoHanna, and continued into Coach’s office.

'You wanted me, coach?’ I asked. Coach looked up from polishing her 2010 nationals win trophy.

‘Well, Beck…’ she started. I interrupted her.

‘It’s Beth.’ She glared at me.

‘That’s right. Douchebag McMohawk and Q’s lovechild.’ I assumed they were my biological parents she was bad-mouthing.

‘Anyway, Puckerman, you should remember the sad loss of our head cheerio, Sierra.’ Sometimes Coach Sylvester confused me.

‘She isn’t dead! She just moved out of state!’ I said. Sierra had been a good friend of mine, but I was always the Beta of the group. She aggravated me sometimes, as she always blamed me and my Best friend Dakota on things she did, as she was captain of the cheerio’s and she could get away with anything. ‘Anyway, you’re her replacement.’ I was shocked. OMG!!! I am head cheerio!

‘Thank you so much, coach!’ I exclaimed, taking the new black-and-red uniform. It looked flash against my old, standard uniform. I quickly rushed to the bathroom and changed, walking out feeling… special. My cross necklace bounced off my chest as I walked down the hall to my locker. Then, class began.

Okay, well, now I’m head cheerio, I can pretty much get away with anything I like. I know for sure my biological mother, aka Q, was once. I turned to walk away from my locker, when that loser Malia, the one that I had slushied earlier, was standing right behind me. ‘Ha.’ I couldn’t help laugh at that little midget, cowering at least two feet below me. ‘What do you want?’ I asked, smiling my ever-so-bitchy smile.

‘You know what I want?’ she said, speaking like she was actually popular. ‘I want you to stop chastising me and my fellow glee clubbers.’

‘Ha, ha, ha, that’s a good joke, Malia.’ said a familiar voice behind me. Dakota, my best friend. Her long, brown hair in that high ponytail swished like all the cheerio’s high ponytails did.

‘Leave me alone, ‘Kota. This is between Beth and I.’ Malia said, almost triumphantly.

‘Hey, Papa Smurf, did I ever tell you that the colour red really brings out your eyes?’ Dakota replied, slushing her with the cherry ice she had in the Styrofoam cup, still firm in her hand.

‘You…’ Malia began.

‘Later, LOSER!’ I taunted, as Dakota placed the cup elegantly on her head. Just at that moment Coach Sue walked past us.

‘Lovely aim, D.’ she said. And then, muttered to Malia: ‘Nothing ever comes good to glee losers.’

Dakota and I glanced back at Malia, and exploded with laughter

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