Reese Lavek ⚥ S. Smythe | ✓ (EDITING)

1 ~ Meeting Smythe

Rule 1: Never trust your opponent's first impression

It was another ordinary day, same old streets, same old pot holes, same old jonesing drug addict who was trying to direct traffic. I was skate boarding my way from school to the Lima Bean, meeting my friends there to talk about our up-coming Regionals competition. Knowing my luck, I would have a tight design schedule... mostly because I procrastinate.

Excuse me, this is incredibly rude, allow me to introduce myself: my name is Reese Lavek. I used to be Reese Habbrock, but that's a story for later. A week ago, I had turned eighteen, and I would be graduating from Mckinley this year; then (hopefully) off to New York to attend fashion school. Yes, when I grow up, I'm going to be a billion dollar fashion designer, making outfits for hopefully the rich and famous... as well as never having to spend over three hundred dollars for a simple white t-shirt at Reitmans for my mom. 

As soon as I stepped inside the coffee shop I was relieved, warm heat and the delicious smell of coffee surrounded me, and smack in the middle of the lounge were my friends, with an extra coffee cup for me.

"Hello, hello," I greeted in my cute sassy manor. Santana grinned and moved over on the couch so I could take a seat. I figure that if it weren't for these guys, I'd be rotting in the ground somewhere, or locked in a juvenile centre. You could say that I was pretty messed up before I met them... but that's another story.

"Okay, so first Michael Jackson memory, go," Blaine said.

"When I was one, my mom of his motown special, and when he did the moonwalk, I uttered my first words: hot damn," Artie gushed.

"I owe the King of Pop a deep debt of gratitude. He was the first to pull off a sequin military jacket, long before one Kurt Hummel made it iconic," Kurt added, which made me chuckle.

"I have to be honest--I never really got him," Rachel said. Oh dear, here we go. And cue the whirlwind of ridicule in three... two... one...

"And, we are no longer speaking to you," Artie said.

"How could you not like the King?" I asked her.

"Isn't that Bruce Springsteen?" Blaine said.

"I think he's an amazing performer, but I never really got what he was about," she replied.

"Rachel, he was best friends with Lizza Minnelli and Liz Taylor." Kurt said.

"No all I'm saying is I just...I haven't connected with then the way I have with the likes of Barbara or either of the Stephens ." she replied. Who?

"I'd throw this mocha in your face, but it's not nearly as scalding enough," Santana said.

"Okay, but seriously, since you guys are all jazzed about him, I think it's a good idea," Rachel said.

"Well, that might not be the best idea." a voice said. I looked up and saw a boy, about six feet tall with brown hair and loads and loads of hairgel in it. He wore a fancy suit and tie, and had the smuggest of smug looks on his face. I had a sinking feeling in my gut, as did everybody else. I had met this creep before, and lets just say, I had no ethical problem with his "accidental" suicide.

Sebastian Smythe, Prince of Men's Hair Products and enough attitude in his skinny body to equip a dozen thirteen-year-old girls.

"Hello Blaine, hello everybody else," he said.

"Does he live here or something? Seriously you are always here." Kurt scolded him. This wasn't my first run in with this guy, I had met him with Blaine, about three or four months ago before our school's production of West Side Story. It went a little something like this...

After a fifteen minute drive in Blaine's car, I found myself following Blaine through the halls of Dalton Academy. It was actually pretty intimidating, being surrounded by all these guys in uniforms. I'd probably die if I had to wear a uniform, I'd feel like a robot.

"Wow, this is...creepy. How do you guys tell each other apart?" I asked Blaine.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well I mean look around, we're practically surrounded by robots." I replied.

"You picked me out from the crowd." he said.

"Yeah, that's 'cause of your slick hair." I replied. He ignored my snyde comment and led me down a corridor, until we heard music. That's a distinct mark that we're getting close to the song birds. No seriously, a Warbler is a type of bird! I did not know that until thirty minutes ago.

Anyway, the music flowed through the hall and led us into the library...which I'm assuming was the practice room. That feels kind of sad.

It took a minute before a cute guy actually approached us. He took Blaine's arm and wanted him to join them. Of course, being modest Blaine, he refused, that is until I pushed him in. Can't be a wimp your entire life.

I had lost track of how many majestic crystal chandeliers I had passed on my way in, but that isn't the point. The point is that he was there, and that little encounter in the school's library was just the beginning of a pattern I could only compare to the behaviour of Alberto DeSalvo... aka, the Boston Strangler.

"Why don't you think that would be a good idea?" Artie asked him.

"Because we're doing MJ for Regionals," he replied. Now, either I was high off my rocker, or this duke was trying to peeve me off.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"You see Warblers drew first position, so as soon as I heard what your plan was, I changed out set list accordingly," he replied.

"How did you hear that?" Artie asked.

"Uh -- Blaine told me this morning." he replied. No, really, I must be high, "I just called to get a tip on how to get red wine out of my blazer piping and he would not stop going on about it," he explained.

We all turned to glare at Blaine, who went bright red, probably wishing the ground would open and swallow him whole.

"It might of come up." he mumbled. Kurt looked beyond pissed now, I had a bit of anger bubbling up inside me too.

"How often do you talk?" Kurt asked Blaine, I could only imagine the amount of raging jealously coursing through him. 

"Oh my God, hey Kurt! I didn't recognize you, you are wearing boy clothes for once," Smythe. I had had about just enough of this.

"Alright Lurch," I shot up from my seat, coffee in hand and threatening to spill it on his blazer. "I think that's it's time I give you a little taste of Tough Love from Reese Lavek!" I snapped. And when I said "tough", I meant drag him into an alley and beat him with the lid of a trash can.

"That's sounds incredibly terrifying, but unless you want to join your family in prison, that's probably not the best idea," he said. How did he know that...what? It was then I started to back down, I didn't want to see my mom and dad.

"Really? Enlighten me," I said; I don't give in that easily.

"See my dad is what you would call a state's attorney, but if you wanted a fruit basket delivered to your parents I'm sure he could make sure that got to them," he replied. Santana tugged on my sleeve and I sat down again feeling very defeated.

"Alright so here's what you guys should know: I'm captain of the Warblers now and I'm tired of playing nice," he said. You know in those cartoons, when Elmer Fudd is so angry his face goes red? Imagine that scenario, but with my face.

I couldn't tear my eyes off him, I was seething, and thinking some pretty nasty thoughts, including me, him, a locked room,and a hammer. But he just smiled like he won the lottery. The only thing on my mind?

Let me beat him up!