A/N: Hi! Thank you for reading my first ever Glee fic! I'm so super psyched for this story. Just so you know, it could be considered a little AU, only because I'm not really sure when Rachel and Finn met for the first time. Oh well. It's not really important when they meet now, but in later chapters. Basically all you need to know for this chapter is that Rachel's class (which includes all of our favorite characters!) has just graduated from the eighth grade...

Rachel POV

I never thought that graduating from the eighth grade could be so frightening.

Not the commencement ceremony, of course. No, that went off without a hitch. My rendition of "Graduation," by Vitamin-C, was amazing at the least. But that was two hours ago, and the warm, fuzzy feeling I normally get from performing is long gone. Now, I'm just super nervous about the after-party.

Quinn Fabray, a.k.a. the meanest, prettiest girl in my class, is holding a pool party and barbecue at her house to celebrate us leaving middle school. I've heard that her parents forced her to invite all the kids from our grade, not just her select friends. I can totally believe that she would try to pull a fast one and only have her… posse over. Yes, it disgusts me. But what can I do about it? Absolutely nothing. Which is why I have resorted to my low rung on the social ladder until my talent and star potential are fully realized by my peers, and I am accepted by all.

However, currently, I am clinging to my seatbelt in the back of my fathers' Volvo, trying to disappear. The last thing I want to happen at the party is for my classmates to have a chance to criticize my performance at the graduation, or my navy blue one-piece bathing suit, or anything else, when I get to Quinn's house. (Criticism knocks me down a lot, mostly when it's about something I can't change, like how well I did singing or how hideous this bathing suit is.) I especially don't want to go to this party because of Quinn. I'm sure she doesn't really mean to, but most days at school, it seems like she goes out of her way to make my life a living hell. She's always coming up with new nicknames for me. In fact, because of the beautiful, sparkly dress I was wearing at the graduation this morning, she called me RuPaul. That's a new one, and I'm surprised she even knows who RuPaul is, since theatricality doesn't seem to be in her day-to-day repertoire, or even in her vocabulary.

But I digress. Here I am, clutching my seatbelt for dear life. I'm absolutely miserable.

"Rachel, sweetie, are you all right?" my father asks me, drumming on the steering wheel.

"I wish. I'm not feeling very confident about this dumb party," I reply. "My classmates aren't very mature when it comes to talent."

"Oh, we know, darling," my other father replies from the passenger seat in front of me. "It was the same way for us when we were your age. No one ever appreciated a finely upholstered chair, or the difference between a throw pillow and a lumbar pillow, when we were interested in that sort of thing."

"And look where we are now!" says my father excitedly, turning onto a side street. "Extremely successful interior designers. You'll get far, Rachel. Don't let what they think of you get in the way of your dreams." He smiles into the rearview mirror, and my other father turns around and smiles one of his biggest grins at me.

"Thanks, you guys," I reply half-heartedly. They always try their best to give me good advice and to help me make the best choices, but frankly, nothing is going to change how nervous and utterly freaked out I am about this ridiculous party.

Finn POV

It's puny.

It's pathetic how puny it is.

Why can't it just, you know, be, well, bigger? Especially when I need to live up to everyone's expectations?

Oh god. Listen to me. I really need to get a grip. I've been losing it lately. I mean, I didn't even study for my finals this semester. That's not like me. I mean, Puck gets away with it all the time, but I've always figured that studying pays off or something. I guess it doesn't though, 'cause I basically failed all my exams.

Whatever. I don't really care about grades. The only thing I really think about girls and football and stuff, so I'll get by in high school.

Which brings me back to the problem I'm having right now. If I wasn't graduating eighth grade, there would be no stupid party and I wouldn't need to wear swim trunks and I wouldn't be pissed at my junk.

I feel really stupid standing in front of my bathroom mirror with my swim trunks on, just staring. God. I'm so tall and I can't even have a big one? My body is screwed up.

Recently I've been going through what my mom calls a "Self-Identity Crisis." It makes no sense 'cause I know exactly who I am. But according to her, my body image is disrupted or distortoised or something by all the peer pressure I have going on around me. So, apparently, that's the reason why I've had a ball of toilet paper wadded up in my hands for five minutes and I'm seriously thinking about putting it down there to make me look bigg–

What am I thinking? Toilet paper will just melt in water! Then everyone'll see it floating around the pool and I'll be laughed at for it.

I'm screwed. Now that I think about it, girls have it so much easier 'cause if they wanna look bigger, all they have to do is buy a bikini with padding and–

… Wow. I really am the biggest idiot I've ever known.

My sports cup. It's perfect! All I have to do is wear it under my boxers and no one will know. I'm such a genius.

I fling the bathroom door open and throw on a random t-shirt as I search my room for my gym bag. Where is it? I swear I brought it home after practice yesterday…

Crap. No, I didn't. I stuck it in my locker 'cause I had a dumb dentist appointment after practice. That probably wasn't a good idea – my sweaty warm-ups and stuff are in there. Gross.

"Finn Hudson! You better get your keester down here in one minute or else we're gonna be late!" yells my mom from the bottom of the stairs.

"Mom," I say as I fly down the stairs, "do you think we'd have time to swing by the school? I left my gym bag in my locker and –"

"No, young man! We barely have enough time to get to the party on time!"

"But mom –"

"No! Get in the car!"

Crap. This is not gonna go good.

Quinn POV

I hate parties.

Well, not really. Just parties where my parents see an opportunity to preach their Republicanism to anyone who'll listen. And there aren't many people who listen.

I also hate parties that involve me inviting some seriously gross people to my house. To swim in my pool. To eat my food on my plates. I mean, it's not a party if everyone isn't happy, and I certainly won't be happy with them around.

However, my parents have bribed me with a raise in my allowance if I act like a good little hostess and help this party go on perfectly. They didn't say I had to do it happily, though.

"Quinny, hun," my mother says as I enter the kitchen to pick up yet another tray of hors d'oeuvres, "wipe that frown off your face and replace it with a smile, please!"

"Sure, mom! Why not." I say under my breath sarcastically. The last thing I need is for my mother to tell my father that I'm acting like a spoiled brat. Then he'll get all pissed at me for being a drama queen and my raise will be revoked and then I'll really sulk. God, I can't stand my parents sometimes.

I walk outside to the patio, where our grill and tables are, and set down the ugly plastic tray of vegetables and dip. What really sucks about this party is that the majority of it will be outside, where the mosquitoes are going to attack me. They always do. I mean, sure, the patio and the gardens around the pool actually look nice, but that isn't going to distract from the itching and the scratching I'll end up doing tonight. And that is not attractive.

Which reminds me: I have to go to my room to put my new bikini on before people get here. I'm planning on impressing Finn Hudson tonight with my awesome diving skills and gorgeous swimsuit, and then hopefully, when the time is right, we'll go to my room or the pool house and make out.

Now, I know what you're thinking. It's true; he is pretty dumb and Neanderthal-ish. But he's really cute when he gets confused, and I think we could be an awesome couple in high school. One of those "star quarterback and head cheerleader" couples. I've had a crush on him for about 3 months now, and I think he might like me, too. I hope so – I really can't afford to walk into high school on the first day without a guy on my arm. It might make my reputation bad.

Besides, I think we could complement each other really well. I'm cunning, and he's dopey, which would make him look smart for dating me, and make me look smart because he's so dumb, if we dated. I'm short and he's tall, which would make him look really really tall, and make me look awesome for being able to hook someone who's twice my size, if we dated. Yeah, this is gonna work out, I can tell.

I sigh and open the door to my room. It's not very big, but it's good enough for me. I jump on my bed and just lay there for a minute while I think of all the ways I could make Finn want to kiss me tonight. No matter how much host-y stuff I have to do, I am promising myself here and now that I am going to get him to kiss me and like it.

"Quinny! Santana and Brittany are here!" my mom yells from the stairs.

"Send them up, please!" I yell back.

Tonight is gonna be a great night, I know it.

A/N: I hope you liked it! Reviews are appreciated but not required - I'd be a hypocrite if I said that you HAVE to review every fic you read... believe me, I don't always do that either!

Thanks again for reading! - littlefish