Fanfic - Nothing to Lose (part five)
So I was trying to figure out how I was going to move forward with this story once I got to the canon timeline (read: the chapter before this), and really the only way I could find to do this properly without making everything seem oddly abrupt and awkward was to essentially retell canon events with missing scenes and such. That means that at the rate I'm going, this story is going to be ridiculously long. Take that as a good thing or a bad thing, whichever you prefer. I don't think the dialogue is particularly good for this part, but hopefully my updates on this guy will be faster now that I have some idea of the pacing I need to have. Also, randomly, while researching for this story, I found out that my MySpace account still exists. Too bad I can't for the life of me remember the email I used for it so I can delete it, so I guess it's there for all eternity.
---
Kurt studied the papers in his hand, his chest growing lighter and lighter as he went over the words in his head, the reality of it all still taking its sweet time to sink in. His head had yet to stop spinning. His name and personal information stared back at him in plain black letters, the state seal posted pristinely in shades of grey just above it all in the top right-hand corner, and the proud sweep of his signature looped along the bottom.
Kurt Hummel was now officially a licensed driver in the state of Ohio.
The nervous energy that had his hand shaking around the little yellow pencil they’d given him for the test was back again, and he wanted nothing more than to run up to his dad, throw his arms around him and celebrate. He was sixteen today, and he’d just completed one of the first steps toward becoming an adult.
All of those hours spent crammed into that stuffy room with nearly forty other teens eager and ready to get themselves out onto America’s roadways, all of the monotonous homework about things that he’d never hear about again that his instructors never bothered to collect, all of the spitballs and sweaty bodies he’d been shoved against for hours at a time after school, all of the hours of his father’s careful patience and steady tutelage to erase any damage done by incompetent instructors were not in vain. The proof was in the paper, and soon he’d have his own little plastic identification card with the token unflattering picture to prove that yes, he was fully capable of driving his dad’s truck by himself.
There was no wiping away the huge smile that had spread across his face as he made his way over to his dad. The look on his face made everything, even sitting next to that strange guy who smelled like an alleyway for a half hour at the DMV, completely and totally worth it. His dad wrapped an arm around Kurt’s shoulders as they headed out the door toward the back where the truck was waiting for them, just where Kurt had left it.
“So you did it.” There was no hiding the pride in his dad’s voice, and Kurt felt his head grow even lighter. Neither the written nor practical tests had been hard-he had been more than prepared for both-but this was a right of passage. It was important. And it made Kurt feel more important.
“Yes. I did.”
“Was it as hard as you thought?”
“Surprisingly, no, though I have to admit that Beatrice there,” he waved in the general direction of the building behind them as they meandered down the cracked pavement of the parking lot. The large woman who’d tested Kurt was just visible beyond the tiny window in the door. Kurt leaned into his dad with a light chuckle, “I won’t lie, she was kind of terrifying.”
His dad spared a glance back and nodded. “Yeah, can’t argue there.”
Kurt laughed and straightened his sweater. The blue fabric had bunched up around his waist, the hem riding up too high on his thighs. “I must say, though, that her mustache was rather impressive. I was going to say something, but figured that she might not appreciate the compliment.”
“Probably not.” Burt clapped his hand against Kurt’s shoulder. “So where to? It being your birthday and all, I thought that maybe we could go out somewhere you like and get something to eat.”
“I don’t know. Takeout and a movie on the couch is sounding pretty good right now.”
His dad’s eyebrows crept upward in surprise. “You sure, bud? I’m willing to eat whatever fancy, healthy whatsits food whose name I couldn’t pronounce in a million years without a hint of resistance. Are you sure to want to pass up that opportunity?”
Kurt laughed a little and shook his head. “Oh, believe me when I say that’s tempting, but I think I’d really rather just head on home. Sitting there in the DMV has made me want to avoid human contact for a while.”
“Well, all right then. If you say so,” his dad chuckled. “But I do have one favor to ask.”
“Ask away.”
“Do you mind if we stop by the garage on the way home? There’s something there I need to pick up.”
Kurt shrugged. “Sure. I’m not in any hurry.”
---
As much as he detested dirt and grime, Kurt really did love the garage. He loved working on the cars, listening to the chatter of the guys as they brought vehicles back to life, spending time with his dad, everything. The place was like a second home. He pulled the truck around near the front door to drop his dad off while he swung around to the back to park, but the man shook his head once he saw what Kurt was doing. “No, don’t bother. Just go on around to the back right away. I need your help with this.”
Kurt raised an eyebrow but didn’t question the change in direction. “You do realize that if this messes up my clothes, that you’re…buying…” he trailed off as he pulled around into the parking lot at the back of the shop. His hands moved of their own accord, shifting the truck to a complete stop, before he turned to look at his dad, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. “Is that…?”
Sitting there on the asphalt was a brand new Lincoln Navigator. A large red bow was perched atop its roof in perfect contrast to the black sheen of the car’s paint. Kurt stared at the car through the windshield and then back at his dad, his breath coming in short, excited gasps. “Oh my god, is that really…?” He gestured frantically at himself, and his dad simply answered with a silent nod. Kurt scrabbled at his seatbelt, eager to get out of the cab to inspect the car in front of them.
His dad suddenly reached dad pressed a hand to Kurt’s chest to keep him from bolting from the car. “Hang on just a second there, bud. I’ve got a few things I need to tell you before you go running off.”
Kurt stilled, but his heart was pounding from all the nervous energy running through him. “Okay,” he breathed out, trying to keep himself calm. “Okay. Dad, this is so incredible. I mean, I don’t even-”
“Yeah, I know. I just want to lay down a few ground rules before I hand over the keys.”
“Okay. Rules. I can do that.”
“First, I’ll pay for gas once a month. That should last you plenty to get you to school, here and home with a little left over for going to the mall or a friend’s house or wherever. Any more than that, and you’ve got to pay for it, okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
“Second, I want you to be safe. You’re a pretty good driver, Kurt, but you’re also a teenager. I don’t know all the things you guys get up to, but I don’t want you horsing around on the road, got it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. And lastly, could you not wear any more of those sweater things?” He gestured at Kurt’s outfit, making a slight face. “I know you like them and all, bud, but they draw attention to you in all the wrong ways. I don’t want you getting picked on, or god forbid another repeat of this summer.”
Kurt swallowed, his thoughts racing back to the lawn furniture nailed to the roof of the house, the red paint sprayed across the outside walls and the front door. “Sure. That’s perfectly reasonable.” He looked over at the car, the smile returning to his face. That was his car. His car. He could give up his long, form-fitting sweaters for that. He was startled out of his reverie at his dad’s warm hand on his shoulder.
“And Kurt?”
“Yeah, dad?”
“Happy birthday, kiddo.”
---
The auditions for glee were held on Wednesday afternoon, and Kurt was surprised to see a small group of kids lined up against the wall outside the auditorium, waiting for the doors to open. He hadn’t bothered to look at the sign up sheet after he’d put his name down (it had been missing later on in the week, though he supposed that the great red streaks of slushie that decorated the bulletin board had more to do with that than anything else), and some part of him had half expected it to be just him and Mercedes standing outside the auditorium today. He hadn’t really expected anyone else to care. He glanced at the clock at the end of the hall. The auditions themselves didn’t start until three thirty, so they had some time to get to know one another, he supposed.
He scanned over the other four kids, not quite sure what to make of them. There was the gothic Asian girl he’d seen in the halls (and he thought that perhaps he‘d seen her in his English class or somewhere, but she would be one of those kids who sat in the back, out of the way and forgettable). He’d never spoken to her, that was for sure. She was standing beside a spectacled boy in a wheelchair, Artie. Kurt definitely knew him from their shared biology and history classes. He was kind of hard to miss.
And of course there was Mercedes. She was standing at the very front of the pseudo line, trying her best to ignore the fashion disaster beside her. Kurt knew the tiny brunette who was nattering away about show tunes and Broadway. That was the infamous Rachel Berry. One of the most insufferable girls in the entire school, notorious for having joined every single club last year simply so she could be featured in their yearbook photo. His teeth ached just looking at her, both from the atrocity that was her wardrobe and the grating sound of her voice.
Kurt gripped the strap of his messenger bag and fought the urge to run. It wasn’t that these kids were intimidating. Far from it, actually. But he wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of sharing his third period and three afternoons a week what might be the largest collection of losers since the miniatures club had been disbanded.
He breathed in deep through his nose and sighed. He was already here. Might as well give it a shot. Glee counted as a class and was thus one more credit toward graduation. It was also something for him to do with kids his own age. As much as he liked hanging around the garage, it was messy work (that was absolute murder on his skin and hair), and most of the guys, though they were used to him and tried to treat him like one of their own, were still uncomfortable around him. Whether it was his age or his flamboyant nature he didn’t know, but no one dared say anything about it when he was around. No one wanted to say anything bad about the boss’s son.
“Hey, Mercedes,” he greeted softly, hoping to draw Mercedes away from the girl at her side.
“Kurt. Thank god.” She pushed herself away from the wall to join him at the other end of the line, leaving Rachel gaping after her. “How you been, boy? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been pretty good.”
She propped her shoulder against the wall. “So I didn’t know that you sing. Why weren’t you in glee club before?”
He cringed. “I didn’t really want to be around Mr. Ryerson any more than possible.”
“Can’t blame you there. He was absolutely awful last year. And then there was the whole thing with Hank. He was a creeper through and through. Can’t say that I’m sad to see him gone.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. He hadn’t known that Mercedes had been in the glee club before it was disbanded. “You know what happened?”
“Not all the details, but I know more than the average gossip around here, that’s for sure.” Her grin was wide and almost predatory. She’d caught the attention of Artie and his companion judging from their curious looks their direction. Rachel was pointedly ignoring the group, her back toward them like a wall.
“What happened with him?” Artie wheeled himself over, and the silent Asian girl followed closely behind, staying just out of the way. “I heard he got caught with Mr. Ryerson in the teacher’s lounge.”
“Really? I thought it was in the janitor’s closet.” Kurt cast a wary look at Rachel, who seemed to be doing her best to ignore the group. “Though I suppose someone here would know more about this than even you, Mercedes.” All eyes were suddenly on Rachel, and she shrunk back defensively against the wall.
“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on, girl. I mean, Mr. Ryerson was one of the biggest creepers around, but everyone, and I mean everyone, knows it was you who turned him in.”
“That is a complete and utter fallacy.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
Mr. Schuester, one of the Spanish teachers, decided then to make his rather timely appearance. He jogged up to the teens, his arms stuffed with a messy stack of papers, his breath coming in short little pants. “Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late.” So. This was the mysterious faculty member who wanted to revive the glee club. Kurt looked him over with a critical eye. He’d never taken Spanish, but he’d heard a few things about the young teacher in front of him. Whatever. They could do far worse.
Schuester grinned at them, and looked down at the papers in his hands. “Okay, so Mercedes?”
“That’s me.”
“You’re first up. Let’s head on in, shall we?” He started for the auditorium, freeing up one of his hands to dig around in his pants pocket for the keys, but he froze, turning to face them. “Oh, um. I suppose these should be closed auditions. Do you guys mind waiting out here?”
They were silent for a moment, looking at one another for support, before shaking their heads. Rachel stepped up from her spot against the wall, and Kurt fought the urge to roll his eyes. “While I would love to showcase my talents for everyone, I believe that witnessing a performance by me so soon in our relationship might scare away any competition.”
Kurt was oddly thankful that Mr. Schuester stepped in before he or Mercedes let that sink in long enough to form a coherent response.
“Okay. Thank you, Rachel. If you guys could just wait out here then. I’ll have the person auditioning before you come out to get you when they’re finished.”
He disappeared inside the double doors of the auditorium, Mercedes hot on his heels. Kurt watched her go, wishing that he could follow, if only to escape the awkward silence that had settled over the group remaining in the hall. Kurt cast one last look at them, taking in Artie’s suspenders, Tina’s stake in the Hot Topic franchise, Rachel’s…everything. He straightened his jacket with a long sigh.
Well. This was going to be interesting.
---
He toed off his shoes, hiking his bag a little higher on his shoulder. The house was just as quiet as it had ever been. Kurt craned his neck toward the kitchen and shook his head, deciding against starting on dinner. The clock on the wall was telling him that it was just a little after four fifteen. Huh. The whole audition thing hadn’t really taken very long. Not that he’d expected it to. He’d been second out of five kids interested. No one was going to be turned away, no matter how awful they were.
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Maybe this glee thing wasn’t such a good idea, but it was better than moping around the house. It would give him something to do for a few weeks until it died out. Until then, he’d just try and wring as much enjoyment from it as he could.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the garage. His dad had told him to keep checking in at least until the end of the month. After that, he said he’d leave it up to Kurt’s discretion. He was old enough to drive himself to and from school. He was old enough to be responsible once he got home.
He pressed the phone to his ear as made his way over toward the basement door.
“Hummel Tire and Lube. This is Jerry.”
Kurt smiled. He’d known Jerry since he was very little. The man was like an uncle to him. “Hey, Jerry. It’s Kurt.”
“Hey, kiddo. You need to talk to your old man?”
“If he’s available. If not, could you just tell him I called?”
“Sure thing, Kurt. He’s finishing up with a customer right now, so it’s probably best not to bother him.”
Kurt laughed a little, fingering the handle to the basement door, as he pictured Mrs. Folsom from last week trying to haggle for a complete set of new tires. His dad could be rather single-minded when it came to dealing with people at the shop. “That’s fine. I’ll be by tomorrow.”
“All right, Kurt. I’ll see you then. You take care of yourself, okay?”
“I’ll try.” He snapped his phone shut and opened the door to the basement. The carpeted steps were soft under his feet as he shuffled down the steps to his room. He flicked on the light, and the white sterile walls of his bedroom flashed into view. He dropped his bag beside his vanity and flopped down onto his bed, sinking into the mattress.
The quiet consumed him, and he closed his eyes, finally letting himself relax. This had been an interesting day. Nothing terribly bad had happened-just the morning dumpster toss (Finn hadn’t bothered to rescue his jacket today, but he had held Kurt’s bag until he’d managed to crawl out of the garbage), and someone had tried to trip him at lunch. Nothing overly bad.
He looked over at his vanity. The note from last year was tucked up just under the mirror. Inconspicuous enough that his dad wouldn’t think it was anything should he come down here for whatever reason, but in a place where Kurt could still see it. He didn’t want to hide the thing. That felt too much like forgetting. Too much like forgiving. But his dad couldn’t know about it unless the worst happened.
Kurt shook his head and threw himself backward, bouncing a little on his bed. He needed to think of something else, something positive.
Glee club. That was something. He felt that his solo had gone rather well. He’d been a little shaky around the middle, but he’d killed the last note. Schuester had been damn near speechless once he’d finished. He snorted. Let’s see Miss Rachel Berry do that.
Wait. He shot up straight. Rachel. A little diva like her was sure to have a MySpace or something where she could moan about her troubles online. He looked over at the clock on his desk. He had time before his dad made it home and he’d have to actually start on dinner or his homework. He slid himself from his bed and started for the stairs.
The only computer in the house was the desktop in his dad’s office, but Kurt used it the most often. He wasn’t particularly fond of roaming around online unless there was really nothing of consequence to be done, but he felt that he could make an exception for this. He needed to know something about the people he was going to be sharing eight hours of his week with, right?
He crept into the room and took a seat at the old leather office chair in front of the monitor. He swiped the mouse back and forth a couple of times to boot the screen up; neither he nor his dad bothered to shut the computer down entirely unless it needed to update itself or something. Kurt felt like he should care more about how wasteful it was to leave the thing on, but found that he really didn’t care. He had to use it often enough to type up papers and things that it was far easier to ignore the fact that the machine had a power switch at all. He sighed as he swiveled back and forth in the chair. It would be nice to have a laptop or something down in his room. Maybe for Christmas.
The screen flickered to life, and Kurt opened up the internet. At least their connection was relatively fast. He wasn’t a big internet user, but he was fairly certain that their computer would have gone through the window in the living room long ago had his dad not upgraded to a high speed connection. He typed in the address for MySpace and waited for the page to load.
He’d had one of these (probably still did; he wasn’t exactly the best at erasing his internet presence) but found it more often than not to be a waste of time. No one gave two shits about him in the real world. Why should anyone care online? Affection from faceless strangers could only do so much to lift one’s mood, and Kurt never really was much of one for false sympathy. It was too hard to tell when people were being sincere when they were hiding behind words on a screen.
He quickly typed ‘Rachel Berry’ into the search bar and was rewarded with her profile at the very top of the page. He clicked on it and was greeted by link after link of videos Rachel had uploaded of herself. He scrolled down the list, scowling as her outfits got worse and worse. What was it with this girl and what appeared to be hand-knitted animal sweaters? He opened up one of her wearing a simple but unflattering button-down shirt, something he could at least stand to look at for more than ten seconds without wanting to gouge out his eyes, and leaned back in his seat as Rachel began to sing.
She was good, he had to give her that. Even though she was singing unaccompanied in her room with subpar recording equipment, he had to acknowledge that she did have talent to back up her boasting. He sighed as he leaned forward onto the computer desk, his hand moving back to the mouse. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to spending a class periods and several afternoons a week with her, but at least they’d have plenty of vocal power to back them up between her and Mercedes.
He scrolled down, hoping to perhaps find some whiny journal of Rachel’s that he could use for blackmail later on, but his eye caught on the comment bar.
If I were your parents, I’d sell you back.
I’m going to scratch out my eyes.
Please get sterilized.
Huh. He inspected the icons and usernames. Interesting. He looked over at some of the other posts to see comments from the same usernames, tiny pictures of pompoms and girls flipping into the air in tiny red skirts dotting the entire page. So the cheerleaders had it in for Rachel. He closed out of the window, Rachel’s haunting voice coming to an abrupt halt as the application disappeared.
He stared at the screen and thought back to the note tucked away downstairs in his room. It really shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did to see Rachel getting bullied online. Heck, she was practically asking for it with the way she acted and dressed. He sank back into the chair and folded his arms over his stomach. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because everything that was wrong with Rachel was wrong with him too, right?
He screwed his eyes closed and swiveled himself back and forth in the chair, the motion strangely comforting. Maybe it was for the best that he be stuck with her for now. The outcasts needed to stick together.
It was far harder to break a stick encased in a bundle than when it was standing on its own.
---
Part one
Part four
Part six
---
Kurt studied the papers in his hand, his chest growing lighter and lighter as he went over the words in his head, the reality of it all still taking its sweet time to sink in. His head had yet to stop spinning. His name and personal information stared back at him in plain black letters, the state seal posted pristinely in shades of grey just above it all in the top right-hand corner, and the proud sweep of his signature looped along the bottom.
Kurt Hummel was now officially a licensed driver in the state of Ohio.
The nervous energy that had his hand shaking around the little yellow pencil they’d given him for the test was back again, and he wanted nothing more than to run up to his dad, throw his arms around him and celebrate. He was sixteen today, and he’d just completed one of the first steps toward becoming an adult.
All of those hours spent crammed into that stuffy room with nearly forty other teens eager and ready to get themselves out onto America’s roadways, all of the monotonous homework about things that he’d never hear about again that his instructors never bothered to collect, all of the spitballs and sweaty bodies he’d been shoved against for hours at a time after school, all of the hours of his father’s careful patience and steady tutelage to erase any damage done by incompetent instructors were not in vain. The proof was in the paper, and soon he’d have his own little plastic identification card with the token unflattering picture to prove that yes, he was fully capable of driving his dad’s truck by himself.
There was no wiping away the huge smile that had spread across his face as he made his way over to his dad. The look on his face made everything, even sitting next to that strange guy who smelled like an alleyway for a half hour at the DMV, completely and totally worth it. His dad wrapped an arm around Kurt’s shoulders as they headed out the door toward the back where the truck was waiting for them, just where Kurt had left it.
“So you did it.” There was no hiding the pride in his dad’s voice, and Kurt felt his head grow even lighter. Neither the written nor practical tests had been hard-he had been more than prepared for both-but this was a right of passage. It was important. And it made Kurt feel more important.
“Yes. I did.”
“Was it as hard as you thought?”
“Surprisingly, no, though I have to admit that Beatrice there,” he waved in the general direction of the building behind them as they meandered down the cracked pavement of the parking lot. The large woman who’d tested Kurt was just visible beyond the tiny window in the door. Kurt leaned into his dad with a light chuckle, “I won’t lie, she was kind of terrifying.”
His dad spared a glance back and nodded. “Yeah, can’t argue there.”
Kurt laughed and straightened his sweater. The blue fabric had bunched up around his waist, the hem riding up too high on his thighs. “I must say, though, that her mustache was rather impressive. I was going to say something, but figured that she might not appreciate the compliment.”
“Probably not.” Burt clapped his hand against Kurt’s shoulder. “So where to? It being your birthday and all, I thought that maybe we could go out somewhere you like and get something to eat.”
“I don’t know. Takeout and a movie on the couch is sounding pretty good right now.”
His dad’s eyebrows crept upward in surprise. “You sure, bud? I’m willing to eat whatever fancy, healthy whatsits food whose name I couldn’t pronounce in a million years without a hint of resistance. Are you sure to want to pass up that opportunity?”
Kurt laughed a little and shook his head. “Oh, believe me when I say that’s tempting, but I think I’d really rather just head on home. Sitting there in the DMV has made me want to avoid human contact for a while.”
“Well, all right then. If you say so,” his dad chuckled. “But I do have one favor to ask.”
“Ask away.”
“Do you mind if we stop by the garage on the way home? There’s something there I need to pick up.”
Kurt shrugged. “Sure. I’m not in any hurry.”
---
As much as he detested dirt and grime, Kurt really did love the garage. He loved working on the cars, listening to the chatter of the guys as they brought vehicles back to life, spending time with his dad, everything. The place was like a second home. He pulled the truck around near the front door to drop his dad off while he swung around to the back to park, but the man shook his head once he saw what Kurt was doing. “No, don’t bother. Just go on around to the back right away. I need your help with this.”
Kurt raised an eyebrow but didn’t question the change in direction. “You do realize that if this messes up my clothes, that you’re…buying…” he trailed off as he pulled around into the parking lot at the back of the shop. His hands moved of their own accord, shifting the truck to a complete stop, before he turned to look at his dad, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. “Is that…?”
Sitting there on the asphalt was a brand new Lincoln Navigator. A large red bow was perched atop its roof in perfect contrast to the black sheen of the car’s paint. Kurt stared at the car through the windshield and then back at his dad, his breath coming in short, excited gasps. “Oh my god, is that really…?” He gestured frantically at himself, and his dad simply answered with a silent nod. Kurt scrabbled at his seatbelt, eager to get out of the cab to inspect the car in front of them.
His dad suddenly reached dad pressed a hand to Kurt’s chest to keep him from bolting from the car. “Hang on just a second there, bud. I’ve got a few things I need to tell you before you go running off.”
Kurt stilled, but his heart was pounding from all the nervous energy running through him. “Okay,” he breathed out, trying to keep himself calm. “Okay. Dad, this is so incredible. I mean, I don’t even-”
“Yeah, I know. I just want to lay down a few ground rules before I hand over the keys.”
“Okay. Rules. I can do that.”
“First, I’ll pay for gas once a month. That should last you plenty to get you to school, here and home with a little left over for going to the mall or a friend’s house or wherever. Any more than that, and you’ve got to pay for it, okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
“Second, I want you to be safe. You’re a pretty good driver, Kurt, but you’re also a teenager. I don’t know all the things you guys get up to, but I don’t want you horsing around on the road, got it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. And lastly, could you not wear any more of those sweater things?” He gestured at Kurt’s outfit, making a slight face. “I know you like them and all, bud, but they draw attention to you in all the wrong ways. I don’t want you getting picked on, or god forbid another repeat of this summer.”
Kurt swallowed, his thoughts racing back to the lawn furniture nailed to the roof of the house, the red paint sprayed across the outside walls and the front door. “Sure. That’s perfectly reasonable.” He looked over at the car, the smile returning to his face. That was his car. His car. He could give up his long, form-fitting sweaters for that. He was startled out of his reverie at his dad’s warm hand on his shoulder.
“And Kurt?”
“Yeah, dad?”
“Happy birthday, kiddo.”
---
The auditions for glee were held on Wednesday afternoon, and Kurt was surprised to see a small group of kids lined up against the wall outside the auditorium, waiting for the doors to open. He hadn’t bothered to look at the sign up sheet after he’d put his name down (it had been missing later on in the week, though he supposed that the great red streaks of slushie that decorated the bulletin board had more to do with that than anything else), and some part of him had half expected it to be just him and Mercedes standing outside the auditorium today. He hadn’t really expected anyone else to care. He glanced at the clock at the end of the hall. The auditions themselves didn’t start until three thirty, so they had some time to get to know one another, he supposed.
He scanned over the other four kids, not quite sure what to make of them. There was the gothic Asian girl he’d seen in the halls (and he thought that perhaps he‘d seen her in his English class or somewhere, but she would be one of those kids who sat in the back, out of the way and forgettable). He’d never spoken to her, that was for sure. She was standing beside a spectacled boy in a wheelchair, Artie. Kurt definitely knew him from their shared biology and history classes. He was kind of hard to miss.
And of course there was Mercedes. She was standing at the very front of the pseudo line, trying her best to ignore the fashion disaster beside her. Kurt knew the tiny brunette who was nattering away about show tunes and Broadway. That was the infamous Rachel Berry. One of the most insufferable girls in the entire school, notorious for having joined every single club last year simply so she could be featured in their yearbook photo. His teeth ached just looking at her, both from the atrocity that was her wardrobe and the grating sound of her voice.
Kurt gripped the strap of his messenger bag and fought the urge to run. It wasn’t that these kids were intimidating. Far from it, actually. But he wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of sharing his third period and three afternoons a week what might be the largest collection of losers since the miniatures club had been disbanded.
He breathed in deep through his nose and sighed. He was already here. Might as well give it a shot. Glee counted as a class and was thus one more credit toward graduation. It was also something for him to do with kids his own age. As much as he liked hanging around the garage, it was messy work (that was absolute murder on his skin and hair), and most of the guys, though they were used to him and tried to treat him like one of their own, were still uncomfortable around him. Whether it was his age or his flamboyant nature he didn’t know, but no one dared say anything about it when he was around. No one wanted to say anything bad about the boss’s son.
“Hey, Mercedes,” he greeted softly, hoping to draw Mercedes away from the girl at her side.
“Kurt. Thank god.” She pushed herself away from the wall to join him at the other end of the line, leaving Rachel gaping after her. “How you been, boy? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been pretty good.”
She propped her shoulder against the wall. “So I didn’t know that you sing. Why weren’t you in glee club before?”
He cringed. “I didn’t really want to be around Mr. Ryerson any more than possible.”
“Can’t blame you there. He was absolutely awful last year. And then there was the whole thing with Hank. He was a creeper through and through. Can’t say that I’m sad to see him gone.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. He hadn’t known that Mercedes had been in the glee club before it was disbanded. “You know what happened?”
“Not all the details, but I know more than the average gossip around here, that’s for sure.” Her grin was wide and almost predatory. She’d caught the attention of Artie and his companion judging from their curious looks their direction. Rachel was pointedly ignoring the group, her back toward them like a wall.
“What happened with him?” Artie wheeled himself over, and the silent Asian girl followed closely behind, staying just out of the way. “I heard he got caught with Mr. Ryerson in the teacher’s lounge.”
“Really? I thought it was in the janitor’s closet.” Kurt cast a wary look at Rachel, who seemed to be doing her best to ignore the group. “Though I suppose someone here would know more about this than even you, Mercedes.” All eyes were suddenly on Rachel, and she shrunk back defensively against the wall.
“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on, girl. I mean, Mr. Ryerson was one of the biggest creepers around, but everyone, and I mean everyone, knows it was you who turned him in.”
“That is a complete and utter fallacy.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
Mr. Schuester, one of the Spanish teachers, decided then to make his rather timely appearance. He jogged up to the teens, his arms stuffed with a messy stack of papers, his breath coming in short little pants. “Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late.” So. This was the mysterious faculty member who wanted to revive the glee club. Kurt looked him over with a critical eye. He’d never taken Spanish, but he’d heard a few things about the young teacher in front of him. Whatever. They could do far worse.
Schuester grinned at them, and looked down at the papers in his hands. “Okay, so Mercedes?”
“That’s me.”
“You’re first up. Let’s head on in, shall we?” He started for the auditorium, freeing up one of his hands to dig around in his pants pocket for the keys, but he froze, turning to face them. “Oh, um. I suppose these should be closed auditions. Do you guys mind waiting out here?”
They were silent for a moment, looking at one another for support, before shaking their heads. Rachel stepped up from her spot against the wall, and Kurt fought the urge to roll his eyes. “While I would love to showcase my talents for everyone, I believe that witnessing a performance by me so soon in our relationship might scare away any competition.”
Kurt was oddly thankful that Mr. Schuester stepped in before he or Mercedes let that sink in long enough to form a coherent response.
“Okay. Thank you, Rachel. If you guys could just wait out here then. I’ll have the person auditioning before you come out to get you when they’re finished.”
He disappeared inside the double doors of the auditorium, Mercedes hot on his heels. Kurt watched her go, wishing that he could follow, if only to escape the awkward silence that had settled over the group remaining in the hall. Kurt cast one last look at them, taking in Artie’s suspenders, Tina’s stake in the Hot Topic franchise, Rachel’s…everything. He straightened his jacket with a long sigh.
Well. This was going to be interesting.
---
He toed off his shoes, hiking his bag a little higher on his shoulder. The house was just as quiet as it had ever been. Kurt craned his neck toward the kitchen and shook his head, deciding against starting on dinner. The clock on the wall was telling him that it was just a little after four fifteen. Huh. The whole audition thing hadn’t really taken very long. Not that he’d expected it to. He’d been second out of five kids interested. No one was going to be turned away, no matter how awful they were.
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Maybe this glee thing wasn’t such a good idea, but it was better than moping around the house. It would give him something to do for a few weeks until it died out. Until then, he’d just try and wring as much enjoyment from it as he could.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the garage. His dad had told him to keep checking in at least until the end of the month. After that, he said he’d leave it up to Kurt’s discretion. He was old enough to drive himself to and from school. He was old enough to be responsible once he got home.
He pressed the phone to his ear as made his way over toward the basement door.
“Hummel Tire and Lube. This is Jerry.”
Kurt smiled. He’d known Jerry since he was very little. The man was like an uncle to him. “Hey, Jerry. It’s Kurt.”
“Hey, kiddo. You need to talk to your old man?”
“If he’s available. If not, could you just tell him I called?”
“Sure thing, Kurt. He’s finishing up with a customer right now, so it’s probably best not to bother him.”
Kurt laughed a little, fingering the handle to the basement door, as he pictured Mrs. Folsom from last week trying to haggle for a complete set of new tires. His dad could be rather single-minded when it came to dealing with people at the shop. “That’s fine. I’ll be by tomorrow.”
“All right, Kurt. I’ll see you then. You take care of yourself, okay?”
“I’ll try.” He snapped his phone shut and opened the door to the basement. The carpeted steps were soft under his feet as he shuffled down the steps to his room. He flicked on the light, and the white sterile walls of his bedroom flashed into view. He dropped his bag beside his vanity and flopped down onto his bed, sinking into the mattress.
The quiet consumed him, and he closed his eyes, finally letting himself relax. This had been an interesting day. Nothing terribly bad had happened-just the morning dumpster toss (Finn hadn’t bothered to rescue his jacket today, but he had held Kurt’s bag until he’d managed to crawl out of the garbage), and someone had tried to trip him at lunch. Nothing overly bad.
He looked over at his vanity. The note from last year was tucked up just under the mirror. Inconspicuous enough that his dad wouldn’t think it was anything should he come down here for whatever reason, but in a place where Kurt could still see it. He didn’t want to hide the thing. That felt too much like forgetting. Too much like forgiving. But his dad couldn’t know about it unless the worst happened.
Kurt shook his head and threw himself backward, bouncing a little on his bed. He needed to think of something else, something positive.
Glee club. That was something. He felt that his solo had gone rather well. He’d been a little shaky around the middle, but he’d killed the last note. Schuester had been damn near speechless once he’d finished. He snorted. Let’s see Miss Rachel Berry do that.
Wait. He shot up straight. Rachel. A little diva like her was sure to have a MySpace or something where she could moan about her troubles online. He looked over at the clock on his desk. He had time before his dad made it home and he’d have to actually start on dinner or his homework. He slid himself from his bed and started for the stairs.
The only computer in the house was the desktop in his dad’s office, but Kurt used it the most often. He wasn’t particularly fond of roaming around online unless there was really nothing of consequence to be done, but he felt that he could make an exception for this. He needed to know something about the people he was going to be sharing eight hours of his week with, right?
He crept into the room and took a seat at the old leather office chair in front of the monitor. He swiped the mouse back and forth a couple of times to boot the screen up; neither he nor his dad bothered to shut the computer down entirely unless it needed to update itself or something. Kurt felt like he should care more about how wasteful it was to leave the thing on, but found that he really didn’t care. He had to use it often enough to type up papers and things that it was far easier to ignore the fact that the machine had a power switch at all. He sighed as he swiveled back and forth in the chair. It would be nice to have a laptop or something down in his room. Maybe for Christmas.
The screen flickered to life, and Kurt opened up the internet. At least their connection was relatively fast. He wasn’t a big internet user, but he was fairly certain that their computer would have gone through the window in the living room long ago had his dad not upgraded to a high speed connection. He typed in the address for MySpace and waited for the page to load.
He’d had one of these (probably still did; he wasn’t exactly the best at erasing his internet presence) but found it more often than not to be a waste of time. No one gave two shits about him in the real world. Why should anyone care online? Affection from faceless strangers could only do so much to lift one’s mood, and Kurt never really was much of one for false sympathy. It was too hard to tell when people were being sincere when they were hiding behind words on a screen.
He quickly typed ‘Rachel Berry’ into the search bar and was rewarded with her profile at the very top of the page. He clicked on it and was greeted by link after link of videos Rachel had uploaded of herself. He scrolled down the list, scowling as her outfits got worse and worse. What was it with this girl and what appeared to be hand-knitted animal sweaters? He opened up one of her wearing a simple but unflattering button-down shirt, something he could at least stand to look at for more than ten seconds without wanting to gouge out his eyes, and leaned back in his seat as Rachel began to sing.
She was good, he had to give her that. Even though she was singing unaccompanied in her room with subpar recording equipment, he had to acknowledge that she did have talent to back up her boasting. He sighed as he leaned forward onto the computer desk, his hand moving back to the mouse. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to spending a class periods and several afternoons a week with her, but at least they’d have plenty of vocal power to back them up between her and Mercedes.
He scrolled down, hoping to perhaps find some whiny journal of Rachel’s that he could use for blackmail later on, but his eye caught on the comment bar.
If I were your parents, I’d sell you back.
I’m going to scratch out my eyes.
Please get sterilized.
Huh. He inspected the icons and usernames. Interesting. He looked over at some of the other posts to see comments from the same usernames, tiny pictures of pompoms and girls flipping into the air in tiny red skirts dotting the entire page. So the cheerleaders had it in for Rachel. He closed out of the window, Rachel’s haunting voice coming to an abrupt halt as the application disappeared.
He stared at the screen and thought back to the note tucked away downstairs in his room. It really shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did to see Rachel getting bullied online. Heck, she was practically asking for it with the way she acted and dressed. He sank back into the chair and folded his arms over his stomach. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because everything that was wrong with Rachel was wrong with him too, right?
He screwed his eyes closed and swiveled himself back and forth in the chair, the motion strangely comforting. Maybe it was for the best that he be stuck with her for now. The outcasts needed to stick together.
It was far harder to break a stick encased in a bundle than when it was standing on its own.
---
Part one
Part four
Part six