#damnedtask

Third period was always the worst. Not only did he have to sit between two cheerleaders that laughed back and forth and didn’t seem to notice that he was sitting right between them, but English and Composition weren’t exactly his strong suits. None of the words made any sense to him - though, he supposed that’s what all the after school work was for. It didn’t seem to be helping much yet. The program at Pierview wasn’t nearly as advanced as the one he’d started in Chicago and there weren’t exactly paid tutors here that really stood up to the challenges that he faced when it came to school and reading.

“Did you see that hickey on Kitty’s neck at practice yesterday? Ew.”

“Double ew. Her boyfriend might be the quarterback but he’s totally a low six.”

“I don’t know, he’s got nice arms. I’d let him plow m-”

The bell rang, indicating the start of class, before a voice came on over the old speaker system.

"RYDER LYNN, PLEASE COME TO THE COUNSELLORS OFFICE.”

He sighed audibly, standing up and picking up his backpack from where it had been tucked under his desk. Different students had been called down throughout the day and he shouldn’t have been surprised that he was one of the names on the list. Sure, he was new to Pierview but that didn’t mean he couldn’t know something about the case or the boy that was the topic of every conversation today. 

Ryder took a hall pass from the teacher before leaving the room and navigating to the small cubicle of a room that the school liked to call an office. It wasn’t nearly large enough to hold more than a desk and a few chairs, but that seemed to fit in well with the rest of the schools original, old school furnishings. He knocked before entering and furrowed his eyebrows when he saw recognition spark on the face of the Sheriff - sat with his feet crossed at the ankles on the corner of the desk.

“AREN’T YOU MARLENE’S SON? HOW’S YOUR MOM? I WASN’T EXPECTING TO SEE HER BACK IN OHIO.”

"Uh, yeah. She’s okay,” he dropped his bag to the floor and took a seat in one of the faded chairs that sat in front of the officer. “Wasn’t exactly planning on moving back but it seemed like the best thing to do, I guess.” 

“Makes sense. Wouldn’t be right to leave the family in distress like this. She and her brother weren’t always close, but she always knew when she needed to be around.”

“Yeah... How d’you know my mom, exactly?”

“We went to school together. You know she grew up in Pierview, right?”

“Yeah, right. Duh.” Ryder scratched the back of his head, rustling and messing up the hair there as he leaned forward. “So, what am I doing here, Sheriff?”

“We’re interviewing all students to make sure we get the full story. If I’d known you were here, I’d have called you in sooner. THIS MAY SEEM OBVIOUS TO YOU, BUT FOR THE RECORD - CAN YOU EXPLAIN TO ME HOW YOU KNOW SEBASTIAN SMYTHE?”

Ryder shifted in his seat and dug his fists into the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’d done well at keeping his exact identity a secret from the rest of the student body. If someone had gone after Sebastian for any kind of personal reason, he didn’t want to make himself a target too. Ryder wasn’t particularly excited to share the information, but he knew didn’t want to lie to the sheriff. Especially since he had a few questions of his own. 

“Sebastian Smythe was my cousin. His dad and my mom are brother and sister.”

The sheriff nodded and Ryder knew that he’d already known the answer to his own question.

“DO YOU KNOW IF YOUR COUSIN HAD ANY ENEMIES?”

"We didn’t really talk a lot about school or anything when he came up on the weekends. He was trying to get away from all that stuff, you know? We mostly just snuck out and went to parties. There were a few times he mentioned having dirt on a lot of his friends but I figured that was normal high school gossip kind of stuff. Nothing that would get him killed or something crazy like that.”

“And you and your family were living in Chicago at this time? How often did Sebastian visit?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t all the time. For a while it was only once every couple of months. When we were like thirteen, fourteen. There was a while when he didn’t come at all and then when this school year started it was every couple of weeks. Mom knows how his parents could be, so she was always really cool about letting him crash.”

“And how are his parents exactly?”

“Strict, I guess? I don’t know. They have really high expectations. It’s kind of a Smythe thing. They wanted him to take over at the law firm, so they were always super up tight and telling him what to do all the time. It wasn’t really surprising that he’d just snap and run away, you know? That’s kinda what we were hoping had happened. He’d always end up at our place and when he didn’t, his mom kinda panicked.”

“So you moved to Pierview.”

“Yeah. The Smythe’s might be kinda uptight sometimes, but we know when we’ve gotta be there for each other.”

THE OFFICER SLIDES A ZIPLOCK BAG OF CHARRED BALLETS WITH ‘BLAINE ANDERSON’ MARKED ON EVERY SLIP ACROSS THE DESK. “DO THESE LOOK FAMILIAR TO YOU? WE FOUND THEM IN A GRILL IN THE PARK IN SEBASTIAN’S NEIGHBORHOOD.”

Ryder moved forward in his seat, leaning over the papers on the desk. “No, I’ve never seen them. Do you think Blaine did something?”

“I’m not in a position to answer that but we think whoever put these in that grill might have some idea where Sebastian was the night he went missing. You’re sure you haven’t seen these before?”

He shook his head, sitting back in the chair with white-knuckled fists. He’d known there was something weird about the Anderson kid, but he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it. Maybe these weren’t connected to him at all, but then why would they even be considered evidence?

“TO YOUR KNOWLEDGE, IS THERE A DRUG PROBLEM AT PIERVIEW HIGH?”

"I think drugs are a problem at every school, Sheriff. It’s not nearly as bad here as it was in Chicago, but I’m sure there are a lot of kids here that sneak off to the woods during track days in gym class. Doesn’t really seem like that big of a thing.”

He watched as Sheriff Evans shrugged. It probably wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Did Sebastian take something? Is that why you’re asking? Did they find drugs in his system?”

“I’m not in a position to answer...’

“Did he, though?”

“I can’t answer that, son. Your family will receive more details as we find them. AS THE SHERIFF OF THIS TOWN, IT’S MY DUTY TO FIND OUT WHO DID THIS TO YOUR COUSIN. WE WILL DO EVERYTHING WE CAN TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM. YOU’RE SAFE IN THIS ROOM SO IF THERE’S ANYTHING YOU WISH TO TELL ME, YOU CAN. ANYTHING YOU NEED TO GET OFF YOUR CHEST?”

His interview goes as well as Puck expected it would. 

His first instinct upon initially pulling up to school on Wednesday morning is that he’s glad he’s an experienced dealer at Pierview, and as the cops circle around in the high school parking lot, Puck is thankful that he does not keep his stash inside of his locker, but instead, inside of a duffel bag with all of his football equipment, the smell of sweat and dirt easily covering the scent of weed and uppers from a dog’s sniffer.

While he says he’s unaffected by the presence of an entire police force to his friends on the team, arguably, he holds his bag a little tighter as he steps up to the front doors to be checked like all of the other students. He’s got his switch blade in the inside pocket of his leather jacket -- which he wears even in the blazing heat of the beginnings of an Ohioan summer -- so he’s not worried about them finding weapons in any of the pockets of his bag. 

When they let him through, Puck lets out a breath despite knowing he has nothing on him to get him pulled aside. A man from the station still guns him down with a stare that says I know you’re a piece of garbage, Puckerman, and he recognizes him as the man to retained him after his run in with his neighbor’s mailbox and a baseball bat. He only stayed overnight for destruction of property, which seemed like overkill to Puck anyway, and for drinking underage and in public. The defense team seems to have it out for him because they seem happy to pin anything they can on him despite Puck having a favorable reputation with most parental figures in the Pierview neighborhoods.

Beating on the door to his locker, it pops open with a loud bang that no one seems to even notice within the bustling hallways. There’s whispers and pointing toward the doors where police officers are removing things from a girls’ purse, and Puck’s glad that nobody is stupid enough to talk shit about him while he’s standing in proximity of them. 

He shoves what he can inside and only takes one notebook out of the confines of his shitty, broken down locker, which he doesn’t even bother to lock anymore because no one is insane enough to go through Noah Puckerman’s locker without wanting to lose their teeth, and he uses the same worn pages for every class he has. Nearing the end of the school year, mostly everything is studying for the finals that Puck knows he won’t pass, so he doesn’t bother trying to put the effort in when he shows up to homeroom in the first place. Announcements are late due to all of the bag checks at the door, and when the first period bell rings, Puck has to stifle a yawn already.

Surprisingly, no one calls for him until 3rd period. He’s in English, half-listening to the rest of the class learn about the proper use of a semi-colon, something Puck couldn’t give less of a shit about seeing as he hardly ever types in full sentences, and he sure is hell is never gonna write anything important enough to use a semi-colon, when someone comes knocking with a little white piece of paper in their hand that everybody knows as a summon to the office. Puck recognizes the girl from his Spanish class Freshman year, and he’s happy to note that she’s filled out a little bit in the chest area. A solid C cup, if he’s not mistaken.

Sliding out of his seat, he gathers his only notebook under his arm and meets the eyes of Dave Karofsky from the other side of the room. He tips his head and snatches the white paper from the girls’ fingers with a wink. He leaves the room as quickly as possible, just in case his teacher tries to call him back in for papers he should take home to review with, and makes his way to the conference room that he knows he’ll have to step foot in and play a role he was born to play.

He’s a little surprised to see Sam Evans’ dad waiting for him on the other side of the table, where the principal usually sits during these meetings. There’s two German Shepherds in the corner of the room as well, so they must have read Puck’s file. They assume his aggressive nature will be paralyzed by the avoidance of two canines, but they thought wrong. Puck has a quick temper and quicker reflexes, years of fighting and making his way out on the streets shadowing the corners of his mind like the dogs shadow the corners of the conference room.

“Noah. Good to see you, son.” Sheriff Evans gives him a reassuring smile, and Puck really feels that the man trusts him despite of his record, as according to his friendship with his son. He and Sam don’t actively hang out often, but they are part of the same social circles, so he’s met Sheriff Evans out of uniform many times in the past.

Puck plops down in the plastic chair provided, a matching grin forming to meet the officer’s, “Hey, sir. A mess out there, huh? What happened?”

Evans quirks an eyebrow at him and folds his hands around the pad of notebook paper he’s got laying on the table. “Haven’t watched the news this morning?”

Shrugging, Puck leans back, hearing the worn plastic squeak under his weight and improper posture, “Don’t got any cable right now.” He leaves it at that, not giving any information away about his personal life or what else he does in the morning before he arrives at school.

The officer nods and pulls out a pen, “Sebastian Smythe’s body was identified last night, the person found at the lake.” Puck nods along, keeping a blank face. He didn’t know Smythe well. Just of what the school has seen as they crossed paths throughout the day. “How well did you know him?”

Puck mentally pats himself on the back -- he can answer that. “Didn’t really know him at all. We saw each other at school, and that’s that.”

Evans gives him a second to elaborate, but when Puck doesn’t, he continues with his questions, “Do you know if Sebastian had any enemies? Anyone who would want to harm him or his family?”

The urge to say Sebastian Smythe was a bully and an asshole -- it’d be easier to tell you who did like him instead was strong, but Puck holds it in at the last second because he’s trying to not look like the guy who killed Sebastian. “Like I said, didn’t know much about him. He is -- er... was, a pretty popular dude who knew lots of people. Not sure he was popular for the right reasons, but everybody’s gotta know of ‘em. It’s a big school.” Puck picks at his nails as he keeps his cool in front of Sam’s dad. He’s had plenty of practice at playing innocent.

Sheriff Evans doesn’t look impressed, and Puck can’t blame him considering he’s given the man absolutely nothing to go on so far. He’s writing down on his pad the answers Puck has given him, repeating them back under his breath. “So you hardly know him, don’t know any of his friends, and he was popular.” The room is oddly quiet, the only noises are the panting of the two dogs and the ringing of phones and talking officers in the next room over. “Noah,” he starts and Puck tries to quell the grinding of his teeth in irritation of being spoken to by his first name by someone trying to power trip him, “As far as you know,” he continues, “is there a drug problem here at Pierview?”

Puck desperately wants to roll his eyes at the question because its so cliche. There’s drug problems everywhere. On every corner of every city, in every high school, and in every prison where people ultimately end up when they’ve got an addiction. Or at the bottom of a lake, he adds to himself. “Not that I know of, sir.” He ends his sentence as politely as he can. It sounds flat and bland to his own ears, and Officer Evans lets out a sigh of irritation, clearly getting nowhere with a delinquent who was schooled at this.

What Puck doesn’t expect, is for Evans to pull out a zip-locked bag of ballots that look like they’ve been through the ringer. When they’re slid across to him, Puck can see more clearly that they have the name Blaine Anderson written neatly among them, and his stomach drops out.

“The fuck are those?” 

The words slip out before he can stop them and finally Evans looks a little more satisfied that he’s managed to get some emotion from Puck. He smiles reassuringly and Puck can feels the anxiety and nervous aggression bubbling inside of his gut at the words to come. 

“These were found in a grill in the park in Sebastian’s neighborhood. Do they look familiar to you?”

Puck frowns. “I just asked what they were -- of course they don’t look familiar.”

He watches as the officer writes his words down on his pad, clearly seeing something worth remembering in their interaction. It spikes Puck’s nervous anger further and he wants to leave the room before he makes a mistake.

Evans continues, “As the sheriff of this town, Noah, it is my duty to find out who did this to your classmate.” Sheriff Evans leans forward on the table, getting too close to Puck for his own comfort and says, “We will do everything we can to find out what happened to him. You’re safe in this room so if there’s anything you wish to tell me, you can. Anything you need to get off your chest?” He smiles, “Anything at all?”

Puck can’t stop the grinding of his back teeth, and when she shakes out a “No,” he quickly stands from his seat and notes the amount of time that’s gone by. “I gotta get out of here. It’s almost P.E. and today’s pull up day. I’m the reigning champ, so I gotta make sure I’m there to beat everybody’s high score.”

He salutes Officer Evans and slips his notebook back into his arms. “Good to see you, sir. Good luck.” 

Quinn should be in AP English. But they were discussing syntax, and she’d finished the assignment the week before it was due, and she just couldn’t. She knew how to form words, how to arrange them in such a way that her meaning was clear and concise. It was something of an art; if you spun a sentence just right, they’d believe you. The lesson was boring, and redundant, and there were much bigger things on which to focus.

So Quinn feigned sick. She traded the assignment for a bathroom pass and a sympathetic look from her teacher, and found her way to the studio, instead. It was peaceful there. The only thing she needed to worry about was the next motion. The text faded away, the news reports, the upcoming interrogation. None of it mattered.

Until it did. Until she was left breathless against the wooden floor, and she couldn’t quite drown it out anymore. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she ran a hand through damp hair. Everything ached in a way that usually felt good, but now only felt heavy. She didn’t get to go home, shower, and fall into bed. She had to drag herself up, ensure that she was composed, and tell the Sheriff ‘No, Officer. I have no idea what could possibly have happened to Sebastian Smythe.’

Her stomach rolled, and she swallowed back a wave of nausea. No one was supposed to find out. No one was ever supposed to get this close. Now there were cryptic text messages, and body with a whole in the head. Quinn pushed herself up off of the floor, leaving the haunting images behind her.

An hour later found Quinn showered, hair up in careful curls, all evidence of her earlier commotion wiped away, hidden under a layer of make-up and a pristine sundress. Her hand hovered over the sheriff’s door, and she couldn’t quite stop it from shaking, just a little. Just enough for her to know that not everything was perfect. Things were falling apart, piece by piece. She swallowed, and knocked.

Sheriff Evans had always seemed kind, but then Quinn was used to the people of Pierview treating her well. His eyes were soft, but there was a firm set to his jaw, and his lips turned down into a frown. This wasn’t a social visit, and Quinn knew that she was one of the last to come wandering in.

“Ms. Fabray, thank you for joining me.” He gestured at a chair in front of his desk, and Quinn took a seat. She smoothed out the wrinkles of her dress, and faced Sheriff Evans with a small smile. It wasn’t happy, but it was open. Everything had to be perfect. Her facial expressions, her posture. Every word meant something, had to be said in just the right way.

This was that moment in cop dramas where people broke.

“Sheriff Evans. Of course, anything I can do to help, I’m here.” Quinn assured gently, watching as he nodded and rifled through a folder on his desk. Her heart drummed a sharp staccato against her chest.

“Right, well, let’s get down to it. How did you know Sebastian Smythe?”

“We all know Sebastian.” She answered easily, pulling her eyes from the folder. She fumbled, pulling in a deep breath. “Knew, I mean.” He nodded reassuringly, and there was a look in his eyes that almost felt gentle. “He was one of those people that the hallways would part for. Like a walking high school cliche, he was that popular kid that everyone talked about. I–...I’d spoken with him on occasion, but I wouldn’t call us close, or even really acquaintances. We ran in the same circle, but that was as far as it went.”

Sheriff Evans nodded, and Quinn tried to find something to do with her hands. “Do you know if Sebastian had any enemies?”

“I wouldn’t...” Quinn paused, thinking. Her brow furrowed, and a sigh slipped past her lips. Her fingers drummed against the desk, and she lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “I wouldn’t say that he didn’t, but honestly couldn’t tell you who. Sebastian wasn’t exactly known for kindness, and his popularity wasn’t born out of devotion. Do you think it could’ve been someone at Pierview?”

“It’s hard to tell right now, Ms. Fabray.” Quinn sank under his sad gaze. “But don’t worry, we’re devoted to finding out who did this.”

“Thank you.” She offered as sincerely as she could, and it must have been convincing. Sheriff Evans rifles through the folder once more, pulling out a ziplock bag. In it are blackened and broken prom ballets, littered with Blaine’s name. Her eyes go wide, and she almost reaches across the table to pull them closer. The hammer of her heart picks up, and she pulls in a quick breath. Her voice shakes as she asks, “What are these? What is this?”

“We found them in a grill in a Park in Sebastian’s neighborhood. Do they look familiar?” She could feel his eyes on her, watching her reaction, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. The edges were furled, but Blaine’s name still stood in stark contrast against the paper. Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times before she looks up, shaking her head.

“I’ve never seen them. I don’t know who would have done this...” Sheriff Evans only nods, pulling the ballots back towards him. Quinn watched until they disappeared, jaw clenched and her hands fisting into the fabric of her dress.

“Very well. To your knowledge, is their a drug problem at Pierview High?” He moves on quickly, looking back up from his desk. Quinn does her best to put the ballots to the back of her mind, meeting his eyes bravely.

“Not that I’ve seen, Sheriff.” She offers firmly. “I can’t say that our school is perfect, but...you know I lead the celibacy club, right? I’m devoted to keeping our school safe and clear of any untoward activity. I’m not exactly the one to be asking about the gritty underbelly of Pierview High.”

Quinn’s voice cut off as Sheriff Evans gave a short huff. He leaned back in his seat, and he looked to the ceiling. Quinn could almost see him praying for strength. “Look...As the sheriff of this town, it’s my duty to find out who did this to your classmate. We will do everything we can to find out what happened to him. You’re safe in this room so if there’s anything you wish to tell me, you can. Anything you need to get off your chest?”

Quinn sighed, offering a small, sympathetic smile. “I know, Mr. Evans. This can’t be easy. It’s...truly a tragedy, and I have full faith that you’ll get to the bottom of this.” Or half-faith. Half-hope that he didn’t figure anything out at all. “And I am willing to help in whatever ways that I can but...I just don’t know anything. We barely spoke, he was just another popular kid.”

Sheriff Evans sighed, long and slow, and Quinn almost felt sorry for him for a moment. “Of course. Thank you, Ms. Fabray.”