A/N: I've decided to do character pieces on all 12 of the New Directions members. Here is Rachel. I sincerely hope you enjoy!

You've always strived to be the best . . . at everything.

Your dads have had you in every class imaginable since before you can remember. Eventually you dropped things like karate and swimming, focusing on all things musical. Vocal, piano, violin, ballet, tap, jazz, hip hop, ballroom; those are the main ones. Anything that could further your dreams.

You have plans for your future. A five-year plan, a ten-year plan, and a twenty-five year plan. You change them minutely from time to time, but essentially they stay the same. You'll go to Julliard after you graduate from McKinley (finally escaping the hellish halls in which you have endured so much embarrassment and humiliating). You'll be in every school production, leading in many, though not all. (You have high expectations, but even you don't reach for the unattainable.) You'll graduate Julliard happily, with high promise for the world of Broadway. You'll get you own apartment, working wherever you can in between auditions.

Your first role will be in the chorus of an Off-Broadway (or Off-Off-Broadway) production, possibly moving to one of the supporting roles before it's done its run. Next you will land an important supporting role in an Off-Broadway production; starring if you're lucky. After that you'll get in the chorus on Broadway, in the background but slowly making your way to centre stage. A director will notice you, deciding you'd be great in one of the supporting roles of another show. After that you'll be an understudy to the female lead. You'll refrain from breaking the lead's leg, and make your debut when she goes out of town for a weekend. Everyone will see your potential, your talent . . . and next you'll be headlining; your name up in lights.

After that, you'll be living the good life.

But for now, you're still just a sophomore: receiving daily slushies, slumming in the sub-sub-basement of the high school hierarchy. Even among the outcasts you're a pariah. Put up with at best, someone to be endured as a necessary component to winning; never someone to be accepted or befriended.

It's this that hurts the most out of everything, you think. That even amongst the lowest of losers you are hated. They at least have each other: people to clean the cold, sticky slushies off of them; people to go to the mall with; people to have over and hang out with.

You know you can be abrasive. You know that you can get caught up in yourself and overlook other people. You know that you sometimes alienate people with your use of 'SAT-vocabulary' as Noah once put it, and that you talk too fast. You know that everyone thinks you're annoying. But everyone has flaws, don't they? Even the most popular people must have something about them that isn't perfect. Why do your flaws make you so much worse than anybody else?

You're a good actress. You should be, after all the drama workshops you've taken.

Over the years you've carefully crafted a professional, blank façade. You slip it on almost effortlessly now. The second you feel the familiar cool, sticky sensation of a slushie hitting you in the face it's in place. Every time you see a new picture of you drawn on one of the bathroom stalls; every time you hear someone say: 'Man-Hands' or 'RuPaul'; every time you hear people whispering about you. You put it on and refuse to let anyone see any of your weaknesses. It's truly amazing how much attention can be deflected if you never run away, and you've mastered the fast-walk. It's the perfect speed to get away swiftly without drawing any more unwanted attention.

Lately you've been finding refuge in your mask even during Glee. It started as an attempt to cover up any pain in your eyes at the snide remarks that are common coming from Kurt or Santana's lips. More recently you find it gracing your face almost constantly, as a sort of preemptive strike to what's coming.

You're lonely.

You spend copious amounts of time at home in your room, looking out your window. You watch little kids ride bikes with friends. You watch couples – some young, some middle-aged, some elderly – walk by. You wonder what it must like; to have friends and to find your true love.

You've given up hope on both.

You go about your daily routine: working out on your elliptical, running towards a goal that you aren't even sure of anymore; going to school and protecting yourself from everything; putting on large, fake Rachel-Berry smiles that don't even come close to reaching your eyes anymore; singing in Glee, hitting every note perfectly but lacking the emotion you used to have.

You tell yourself that one day you'll be a star and nothing about these years of your life will matter. It almost makes it all seem worthwhile.

Almost.

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