Fanfic - Nothing to Lose (part six)
Really not my best writing, but I struggled with this part for some reason. Sorry for the wait.
---
This wasn’t working. Mr. Schuester certainly had good intentions, but a club with only five members was nothing but a lost cause. And Glee club, while a nice idea in theory, had been doomed from the start. No one wanted to be associated with a club whose previous sponsor had been fired due to alleged pedophilic tendencies. There hadn’t been much point in reviving it unless one was sadistic or delusional. But then again, Kurt hadn’t really expected much else from the curly-haired Spanish teacher-Schuester wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the box if he though Kurt was hanging out in front of the dumpsters every morning with a gaggle of jocks because he wanted to ‘make friends.’ Ridiculous.
Kurt peeled off the cheap white gloves that constituted their costumes for ‘Sit Down, You’re Rocking the Boat’ and slumped down into one of the brown plastic chairs in the back of the room, placing the gloves beside his thigh.
Rachel had stormed out of practice in a rage. Again. It was the third time it had happened since the club started, and it was starting to get old. Sure, she had a killer voice, but that only went so far in a club well on its way to nowhere. Mr. Schue had rushed out after her-probably to encourage her to stick with the group, that they’d get better with practice and rule the school or some other vaguely encouraging nonsense like that. Whatever. It didn’t really matter in the end since glee club was going down like the Titanic if they couldn’t get some new blood in the group. And that was never going to happen.
Mercedes flopped down beside him, her face pulled into a scowl. “I can’t believe her.”
“Why?” he mumbled into his hand. “I mean, this club has only been going for what, a week and a half? Maybe two? It isn’t like she hasn’t done this before. It shouldn’t be a surprise at this point.”
She sighed and slumped down low in her chair. “I know, but it’s still frustrating as hell.”
“She did have a point, though. I mean, aside from the whole ‘nothing ironic about show choir’ thing.” Artie wheeled up to the pair of them, Tina hot on his heels. Kurt had found that he rather liked the odd pair. Tina was surprisingly easy to talk to, even with the stutter, and Artie had quite a few connections with groups throughout the school that could come in handy later on. “As much as I hate to admit it, we do kind of suck.”
“I guess,” Kurt sighed, crossing his arms over his middle. “Not that we can do much about it with our main vocalist storming out every other rehearsal.”
Mercedes rolled her eyes and scoffed. “This wouldn’t be a problem if I was on lead, you know.”
“B-but Artie was lead on this s-s-song.”
“And she still left,” Artie helpfully pointed out. “I have a feeling that she’d leave if you were singing lead. Or any one of us besides her, really.”
“I don’t know. Probably. But I’m damn tired of her attitude and I’m far too good to be stuck on backup all the time. Besides, I think she left today because, and no offence to you guys ‘cause I think you’re pretty good,” Mercedes gestured at Kurt at Artie with a flick of her wrist, “but I think Rachel believes we don’t have a strong male lead. Actually, I’m pretty damn sure I’ve heard her say that to Mr. Schue before.”
Kurt rolled his eyes in disgust. “She would think that, wouldn’t she?”
Every hour, every minute, no, every last second he had to spend in her presence, with her terrible clothes and irritating little gold star motif, just gave him one more reason to dislike Miss Rachel Berry. Most everything about her set his teeth on edge already, and this was just one more thing to add to the list. He could sing quite low, actually (she didn’t honestly think Artie was carrying all the lower parts on his own, did she?); it was just more comfortable for him to stay in the upper register, thank you very much.
Besides, Kurt had the sinking feeling that Rachel didn’t want a better male lead, she simply wanted a more attractive male lead, which was a fantasy at its best. None of the cute boys she dreamed of singing with would join up without serious coercion, and certainly none of them would want her hanging on their arm.
The worst part was that he couldn’t say a word of this to her face without risking her leaving the club for good, and that was the last thing he wanted at this point. Kurt wanted this stupid club to live for as long as they could make it because as awful as things were now, he couldn’t live with everything going back to how it was before. He actually had friends now, and he was going to fight for what had given them to him, no matter how doomed it ultimately was. Rachel was, unfortunately, the key to keeping glee club alive, and that meant keeping his mouth shut.
He sighed and looked at his nails, trying desperately to ignore the thousand insults running through his brain. He could get back at Rachel later when she was around to defend herself. He was above badmouthing people behind their backs, and for now it was probably best to simply let it slide. She could think whatever she damn well pleased as long as it kept her singing. He and Artie sounded perfectly fine singing the male parts, and if she wanted a hunky male lead, she could go out and find one herself.
He’d be sure to send for flowers for her funeral.
---
It was the soft rumble of snoring that brought Kurt back to reality. Kurt looked up from his homework, his eyes skirting over the expanse of the couch to his dad’s slumped figure, completely relaxed in sleep. The sun had set since they’d moved from the kitchen to the living room after dinner, and everything had gone quite dark compared to when he’d last paid any attention. The yellow light of the lamp at his side did a good job illuminating the papers in front of him, but the flickering light of the TV was throwing odd dancing shadows over everything. His eyes stung a little as they tried to adjust to the fluctuating brightness.
He looked at the clock on the DVR and shook his head with a light smile. It was only eight thirty and his dad was already asleep. Must have been a busy day at the garage.
He lifted his binder from his lap and placed it on the floor beside his chair. Trigonometry could wait for a few minutes. He stretched his legs out in front of him, trying to work out the stiffness that had settled in his knees from sitting for so long before pushing himself to his feet and stumbling over to the TV. A woman was pleasantly rattling off the benefits of some medication for Alzheimer’s as his fingers brushed over the power button. Silence fell over the room like a blanket the second the screen went dark. It was a bit jarring, and Kurt was tempted to turn the thing back on, if only to fill the temporary void the sound had left in its absence.
He padded over to the couch and crouched down in front of his dad. The man looked completely relaxed, and Kurt felt more than a little guilty at moving him, but sleeping down here would be murder on his back, and he’d pester Kurt endlessly about not waking him up if he did nothing. Best to just get it over with.
He reached out and placed a hand on his dad’s arm, giving it a gentle shake. “Hey, dad.” His fingers gripped the sleeve of his dad’s shirt and he shook a little harder. “Dad, you need to get up.”
The man sputtered awake, his hands flailing a little as he climbed out of the hazy awareness of half-sleep. “Huh, what? Kurt?”
Kurt straightened and smiled down at his dad, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Yeah, dad, it’s me. You need to get to bed.”
His dad lifted the rim of his ball cap to look at the clock. His face screwed up into a frown as he read the time. “But it’s only eight thirty.” He looked at the television, his frown deepening. “And you turned off my show.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. His dad could really be quite the petulant child when he wanted to be. “That’s because you fell asleep. Seriously, dad, you look exhausted. Why not call it an early night?”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” His dad wrenched his head back and forth, trying to get rid of the kinks in his neck, before standing and patting Kurt roughly on the shoulder. “You get your homework done?”
“Not yet, but I’m almost finished. Just some math left to do.”
“Good. That’s good,” he mumbled through a yawn, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “God, I didn’t think I’d be this tired.”
“That’s why you should go to bed. I know it’s early, but if you’re tired…”
“Yeah, yeah.” His dad smiled tiredly and shook his head with a soft snort of laughter.
“What?”
“Just you. You’d think that I was the teen and you the parent the way we’re acting.”
“That’s just because you don’t want to go to bed.”
He chuckled a little at that. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true. Your mom used to do that too, you know-make me go to bed when I fell asleep on the couch.” He started to reach a hand out to ruffle Kurt’s hair but held himself back. Kurt had begged him to stop doing that years ago. Silence hung awkwardly in the air between them, and Burt shuffled uncomfortably on his feet. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
“All right.” He cleared his throat, and the pair lapsed back into awkward silence for a moment, neither one quite sure what to say. “Um, well, goodnight then.”
“Good night, dad.” Kurt watched his dad meander over to the stairs, waiting until the last thud of his footsteps faded away to silence before turning back to look at his homework. It stared back at him like some sort of horrible challenge, and he scowled. Math was just about the last thing he wanted to do right now.
Kurt sighed as he walked over to the armchair and gathered his things together. He roughly shoved everything into his bag, not really caring about everything being organized for the time being, and headed for the basement. Maybe a change of scenery would clear his head, help him think.
The light over the carpeted steps leading down to his room was too bright to his tired eyes, but he didn’t bother turning it off. It wasn’t worth the effort to feel his way down the stairs. The cold white light reflected off the sterile stretch of his colorless walls and carpet, casting everything in an almost eerie blue-ish glow. Maybe he should start pestering his dad about redecorating.
He heaved his bag atop the smooth covers of his bed and set himself beside it with a heavy sigh. The dip of his weight brought his bag sliding closer to his hip, opening the loose flap of his bag’s main pocket and causing a ruffled sheaf of paper to shift out of their holdings toward his thighs. His sheet music for glee was there, at the very top of the stack. He reached over and picked it up, the paper crinkling a little between his fingertips.
‘Sit Down, You’re Rocking the Boat.’ It was the first song they’d all gotten down to memory. He flipped through the pages, his eyes skirting over the little green circles and notes he’d used to mark his part on the score. Schuester had him on backing tenor for most of the song, but at some points he moved up to sing alto with Mercedes. No one really knew what to do with him, did they?
He scowled and slapped the music back down, pressing his chin into his upturned palm. It wasn’t his fault his voice was the way it was. He couldn’t magic it lower through wishes, begging and insults. Enough people had tried those methods, and reality just didn’t work that way. Besides, he thought as he flopped down onto his back and stared at the blank ceiling above him, he wasn’t even sure that he wanted his voice lower. It wouldn’t make him fit in any better; it wouldn’t deter his bullies. Nothing would.
Bullies. He sat up straight at the thought, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes shot over to the note stuck to his vanity. It had been a while since they’d done anything big and he’d become complacent, soft. It didn’t matter that they’d fallen into a pattern with him; he couldn’t let them catch him with his guard down. He had to be ready in case someone thought it was worth it to up the ante, in case one of them decided to follow through on the threats left behind in his locker.
He pulled his bag close and carefully unzipped the small pocket on the front. No one knew about this. Hopefully no one would ever need to know. It was just a precaution, not something he’d probably ever need. But it made him feel so much safer just knowing it was there. He pulled out his knife, fingering the textured surface of its casing with gentle reverence. A little soap and water had done wonders to the old black plastic, and the little lines of dust that had been so stubborn before had come right off. It almost looked new.
His fingers moved around to the hard nubs of metal where he knew the blade rested, and he pushed as hard as he could. It took him two or three tries before the blade finally came free. Too slow. He pushed it back down into its sheath and tried again. It was just one more thing he needed to work on.
Practice made perfect, after all.
---
He wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting, but Kurt’s heart leapt into his throat the second he saw Finn Hudson standing beside the piano with Mr. Schuester for their weekly after school rehearsal. The tall football player had seemed distracted this morning during the daily dumpster dive, and the mystery of what had been bothering the other boy had weighed heavy on Kurt’s mind all day. He’d assumed Finn’s distress had had something to do with his Jesus-loving prude of a girlfriend, Quinn Fabray or maybe indigestion. He’d been wrong, apparently.
“What is he doing here?” Mercedes quipped at the sight of Finn. They all knew that this had to be some sort of sick joke. Or blackmail. There was no other way the quarterback of the football team was joining their club.
“Finn is going to be our newest member, guys, so let’s make him feel welcome.”
Kurt’s eyes immediately shot over to Rachel, who looked caught somewhere between apprehension and ecstasy. It was just as he’d thought. Rachel wasn’t interested in a ‘male lead who could keep up with her vocally’ because none of them knew if Finn could sing at all, let alone well. Rachel didn’t care about talent-she just wanted some man-candy to ogle. Whatever. Finn was a new member, something they desperately needed, and Kurt got the extra bonus of more time with the boy of his dreams. So what if Finn couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket and his motives for joining were shady? Kurt was more than happy with the arrangement for now.
“All right, guys. Let’s line up. Rachel, I want you on stage right. Kurt, you can go beside her. Then Artie, Tina, Mercedes. Finn, I want you on the far left. You’re taking the male lead for this number.”
The color drained from Finn’s face at those words. He shot quick, desperate looks at the other kids before turning his attention back to their director. “But Mr. Schue-”
“No buts, Finn. All right, guys, from the top. Five, six, seven, eight!”
Their ever-present pianist Brad started up the opening riff, and Finn began singing right on cue. His voice was rough, but he was good. At least he can read music, thought Kurt smugly. He wasn’t sure what they’d do if Finn couldn’t even figure out when he was supposed to come in.
And then Rachel began to sing. Kurt should have noticed her sudden spike of interest in Finn the second the tall boy opened his mouth considering her close proximity to him, but he’d been far too focused on making sure he didn’t get lost in the monotony of the backing vocals. And let it be known that Kurt got it, he perfectly understood Rachel’s attraction to Finn because damn if the boy wasn’t fine, but that was no excuse for her to touch him-and mess up his hair, no less-while mincing her way across the stage to Finn. He seemed to have fared better than Artie, who’d once again been shoved to near oblivion by Rachel.
“Aw, hell to the no.” And the music came to an abrupt halt. Kurt watched out of the corner of his eye as Mercedes stormed angrily across the stage to Mr. Schue, breaking Rachel’s hold on Finn. “Look, I’m not down with this background singing nonsense. I’m Beyoncé. I ain’t no Kelly Rowland.”
Of all times for her to bring this up. She couldn’t even wait until they’d gotten through one song with Finn to make her grievances known. Mr. Schuester smiled disarmingly at her. “Okay, look, Mercedes, it’s just one song.”
“And it’s the first time we’ve been kind of good.” He really didn’t want to defend Rachel, but it was the truth. Finn could definitely sing (he was even mostly in tune singing harmony), and his and Rachel’s voices had sounded really pretty nice together. They needed this club to survive, and as much as Mercedes deserved a lead, it was best to cater to Rachel’s wants and desires for the time-being.
Mercedes backed down, shooting him a dark look and fell back into line, smiling like she did when she knew she wasn’t going to get her way. “Let’s run it again.”
Schuester didn’t seem to notice. “Okay guys, from the top.”
---
“Kurt.”
Oh boy, here we go. “What is it, Mercedes?” He didn’t bother to turn around to face her, instead continuing to pack up his things. He knew what this was about, though a part of him was pleased that she’d waited until the auditorium was as good as empty to approach him. He loved drama as much as the next person, but he really wasn’t in the mood for it today.
“What didn’t you back me up back there, boy? I thought we all agreed that things would be better if I was on lead.”
“Mercedes,” he said softly as he spun around to face her, his face grim, “you know I think you’ve got a fantastic voice, and you do, but we need Rachel. Without her, the group’s going to die.”
“And what does that have to do with her Wonderbreading the stage up there with Captain Skyscraper? Why did you have to take her side in this? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I already told you that we need her. She’s too good of a singer for us to let slip away. But to get someone like Rachel to stay, she has to be happy. For her to be happy, she needs to feel like she’s the most important part of the club-the star, if you will. She’s Schuester’s favorite anyway, so why bother fighting it? You said it yourself that she was unsatisfied with the male voices we had before today, but she seemed plenty happy with Finn from where I was standing. And let’s face it, Mercedes-he’s really not that bad.”
“No, but-”
“Look, I don’t want to be swaying in the back behind Rachel any more than you do. And you should know that oohs and aahs are not my thing by any means, but let’s humor her for now. If nothing else, then for the sake of the club. We can’t afford to have anyone quit on us right now, and Finn, as I said before, is an all right singer. He could even be pretty good with some practice.”
She sank back in defeat. “Yeah, I guess. I just…I don’t know. I don’t trust him.”
He smiled and walked over to her, snaking his arm through hers. “I know. And for the record, I don’t trust him either. I think someone on the football team put him up to this. Well, that or Mr. Schuester found some way to blackmail him with grades or something.”
“He did give in to Mr. Schue pretty quickly there, didn’t he? What kind of dirt do you think he has on him?”
“I have no idea, but I think we’re going to have fun figuring it out. And really, you do have to admit that this whole thing could turn into quite the interesting social experiment. You and I should take bets on how long it takes for Finn’s reputation to plummet once word gets out that he’s joined our lovable band of misfits.”
That got a smile out of her. She gently jabbed his side with her elbow. “I love the way you think, Kurt Hummel. How I made it this long without you in my life, I’ll never know.”
“One of life’s many mysteries, my dear Mercedes. Come on, I don’t have to meet my dad today since we had practice this afternoon, so we should go out. Get some coffee or something.”
“Are you buying?”
“I’m certainly offering.”
“Then you got yourself a deal. Just let me get my stuff.” She raced off toward the row of chairs where she’d left her things, and Kurt let his shoulders fall. He was right. They really did need Finn, regardless of his reasons for joining the club. And his presence certainly seemed to make Rachel happy.
Kurt looked over at the stage and pictured Finn standing there at the piano, looking just as dopey and nervous as he had when they’d been handed their music, and his heart gave a lurch. They had a jock in their group now, and it wasn’t just any jock-it was Finn Hudson, one of the most popular underclassmen at the school. One of Kurt’s tormentors. The guy Kurt was head over heels for. He really didn’t know how to handle this.
Kurt swallowed and nervously turned back to his bag, trying desperately to get the image of Finn’s smiling face out of his head.
---
Part one
Part five
Part seven
---
This wasn’t working. Mr. Schuester certainly had good intentions, but a club with only five members was nothing but a lost cause. And Glee club, while a nice idea in theory, had been doomed from the start. No one wanted to be associated with a club whose previous sponsor had been fired due to alleged pedophilic tendencies. There hadn’t been much point in reviving it unless one was sadistic or delusional. But then again, Kurt hadn’t really expected much else from the curly-haired Spanish teacher-Schuester wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the box if he though Kurt was hanging out in front of the dumpsters every morning with a gaggle of jocks because he wanted to ‘make friends.’ Ridiculous.
Kurt peeled off the cheap white gloves that constituted their costumes for ‘Sit Down, You’re Rocking the Boat’ and slumped down into one of the brown plastic chairs in the back of the room, placing the gloves beside his thigh.
Rachel had stormed out of practice in a rage. Again. It was the third time it had happened since the club started, and it was starting to get old. Sure, she had a killer voice, but that only went so far in a club well on its way to nowhere. Mr. Schue had rushed out after her-probably to encourage her to stick with the group, that they’d get better with practice and rule the school or some other vaguely encouraging nonsense like that. Whatever. It didn’t really matter in the end since glee club was going down like the Titanic if they couldn’t get some new blood in the group. And that was never going to happen.
Mercedes flopped down beside him, her face pulled into a scowl. “I can’t believe her.”
“Why?” he mumbled into his hand. “I mean, this club has only been going for what, a week and a half? Maybe two? It isn’t like she hasn’t done this before. It shouldn’t be a surprise at this point.”
She sighed and slumped down low in her chair. “I know, but it’s still frustrating as hell.”
“She did have a point, though. I mean, aside from the whole ‘nothing ironic about show choir’ thing.” Artie wheeled up to the pair of them, Tina hot on his heels. Kurt had found that he rather liked the odd pair. Tina was surprisingly easy to talk to, even with the stutter, and Artie had quite a few connections with groups throughout the school that could come in handy later on. “As much as I hate to admit it, we do kind of suck.”
“I guess,” Kurt sighed, crossing his arms over his middle. “Not that we can do much about it with our main vocalist storming out every other rehearsal.”
Mercedes rolled her eyes and scoffed. “This wouldn’t be a problem if I was on lead, you know.”
“B-but Artie was lead on this s-s-song.”
“And she still left,” Artie helpfully pointed out. “I have a feeling that she’d leave if you were singing lead. Or any one of us besides her, really.”
“I don’t know. Probably. But I’m damn tired of her attitude and I’m far too good to be stuck on backup all the time. Besides, I think she left today because, and no offence to you guys ‘cause I think you’re pretty good,” Mercedes gestured at Kurt at Artie with a flick of her wrist, “but I think Rachel believes we don’t have a strong male lead. Actually, I’m pretty damn sure I’ve heard her say that to Mr. Schue before.”
Kurt rolled his eyes in disgust. “She would think that, wouldn’t she?”
Every hour, every minute, no, every last second he had to spend in her presence, with her terrible clothes and irritating little gold star motif, just gave him one more reason to dislike Miss Rachel Berry. Most everything about her set his teeth on edge already, and this was just one more thing to add to the list. He could sing quite low, actually (she didn’t honestly think Artie was carrying all the lower parts on his own, did she?); it was just more comfortable for him to stay in the upper register, thank you very much.
Besides, Kurt had the sinking feeling that Rachel didn’t want a better male lead, she simply wanted a more attractive male lead, which was a fantasy at its best. None of the cute boys she dreamed of singing with would join up without serious coercion, and certainly none of them would want her hanging on their arm.
The worst part was that he couldn’t say a word of this to her face without risking her leaving the club for good, and that was the last thing he wanted at this point. Kurt wanted this stupid club to live for as long as they could make it because as awful as things were now, he couldn’t live with everything going back to how it was before. He actually had friends now, and he was going to fight for what had given them to him, no matter how doomed it ultimately was. Rachel was, unfortunately, the key to keeping glee club alive, and that meant keeping his mouth shut.
He sighed and looked at his nails, trying desperately to ignore the thousand insults running through his brain. He could get back at Rachel later when she was around to defend herself. He was above badmouthing people behind their backs, and for now it was probably best to simply let it slide. She could think whatever she damn well pleased as long as it kept her singing. He and Artie sounded perfectly fine singing the male parts, and if she wanted a hunky male lead, she could go out and find one herself.
He’d be sure to send for flowers for her funeral.
---
It was the soft rumble of snoring that brought Kurt back to reality. Kurt looked up from his homework, his eyes skirting over the expanse of the couch to his dad’s slumped figure, completely relaxed in sleep. The sun had set since they’d moved from the kitchen to the living room after dinner, and everything had gone quite dark compared to when he’d last paid any attention. The yellow light of the lamp at his side did a good job illuminating the papers in front of him, but the flickering light of the TV was throwing odd dancing shadows over everything. His eyes stung a little as they tried to adjust to the fluctuating brightness.
He looked at the clock on the DVR and shook his head with a light smile. It was only eight thirty and his dad was already asleep. Must have been a busy day at the garage.
He lifted his binder from his lap and placed it on the floor beside his chair. Trigonometry could wait for a few minutes. He stretched his legs out in front of him, trying to work out the stiffness that had settled in his knees from sitting for so long before pushing himself to his feet and stumbling over to the TV. A woman was pleasantly rattling off the benefits of some medication for Alzheimer’s as his fingers brushed over the power button. Silence fell over the room like a blanket the second the screen went dark. It was a bit jarring, and Kurt was tempted to turn the thing back on, if only to fill the temporary void the sound had left in its absence.
He padded over to the couch and crouched down in front of his dad. The man looked completely relaxed, and Kurt felt more than a little guilty at moving him, but sleeping down here would be murder on his back, and he’d pester Kurt endlessly about not waking him up if he did nothing. Best to just get it over with.
He reached out and placed a hand on his dad’s arm, giving it a gentle shake. “Hey, dad.” His fingers gripped the sleeve of his dad’s shirt and he shook a little harder. “Dad, you need to get up.”
The man sputtered awake, his hands flailing a little as he climbed out of the hazy awareness of half-sleep. “Huh, what? Kurt?”
Kurt straightened and smiled down at his dad, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Yeah, dad, it’s me. You need to get to bed.”
His dad lifted the rim of his ball cap to look at the clock. His face screwed up into a frown as he read the time. “But it’s only eight thirty.” He looked at the television, his frown deepening. “And you turned off my show.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. His dad could really be quite the petulant child when he wanted to be. “That’s because you fell asleep. Seriously, dad, you look exhausted. Why not call it an early night?”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” His dad wrenched his head back and forth, trying to get rid of the kinks in his neck, before standing and patting Kurt roughly on the shoulder. “You get your homework done?”
“Not yet, but I’m almost finished. Just some math left to do.”
“Good. That’s good,” he mumbled through a yawn, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “God, I didn’t think I’d be this tired.”
“That’s why you should go to bed. I know it’s early, but if you’re tired…”
“Yeah, yeah.” His dad smiled tiredly and shook his head with a soft snort of laughter.
“What?”
“Just you. You’d think that I was the teen and you the parent the way we’re acting.”
“That’s just because you don’t want to go to bed.”
He chuckled a little at that. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true. Your mom used to do that too, you know-make me go to bed when I fell asleep on the couch.” He started to reach a hand out to ruffle Kurt’s hair but held himself back. Kurt had begged him to stop doing that years ago. Silence hung awkwardly in the air between them, and Burt shuffled uncomfortably on his feet. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
“All right.” He cleared his throat, and the pair lapsed back into awkward silence for a moment, neither one quite sure what to say. “Um, well, goodnight then.”
“Good night, dad.” Kurt watched his dad meander over to the stairs, waiting until the last thud of his footsteps faded away to silence before turning back to look at his homework. It stared back at him like some sort of horrible challenge, and he scowled. Math was just about the last thing he wanted to do right now.
Kurt sighed as he walked over to the armchair and gathered his things together. He roughly shoved everything into his bag, not really caring about everything being organized for the time being, and headed for the basement. Maybe a change of scenery would clear his head, help him think.
The light over the carpeted steps leading down to his room was too bright to his tired eyes, but he didn’t bother turning it off. It wasn’t worth the effort to feel his way down the stairs. The cold white light reflected off the sterile stretch of his colorless walls and carpet, casting everything in an almost eerie blue-ish glow. Maybe he should start pestering his dad about redecorating.
He heaved his bag atop the smooth covers of his bed and set himself beside it with a heavy sigh. The dip of his weight brought his bag sliding closer to his hip, opening the loose flap of his bag’s main pocket and causing a ruffled sheaf of paper to shift out of their holdings toward his thighs. His sheet music for glee was there, at the very top of the stack. He reached over and picked it up, the paper crinkling a little between his fingertips.
‘Sit Down, You’re Rocking the Boat.’ It was the first song they’d all gotten down to memory. He flipped through the pages, his eyes skirting over the little green circles and notes he’d used to mark his part on the score. Schuester had him on backing tenor for most of the song, but at some points he moved up to sing alto with Mercedes. No one really knew what to do with him, did they?
He scowled and slapped the music back down, pressing his chin into his upturned palm. It wasn’t his fault his voice was the way it was. He couldn’t magic it lower through wishes, begging and insults. Enough people had tried those methods, and reality just didn’t work that way. Besides, he thought as he flopped down onto his back and stared at the blank ceiling above him, he wasn’t even sure that he wanted his voice lower. It wouldn’t make him fit in any better; it wouldn’t deter his bullies. Nothing would.
Bullies. He sat up straight at the thought, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes shot over to the note stuck to his vanity. It had been a while since they’d done anything big and he’d become complacent, soft. It didn’t matter that they’d fallen into a pattern with him; he couldn’t let them catch him with his guard down. He had to be ready in case someone thought it was worth it to up the ante, in case one of them decided to follow through on the threats left behind in his locker.
He pulled his bag close and carefully unzipped the small pocket on the front. No one knew about this. Hopefully no one would ever need to know. It was just a precaution, not something he’d probably ever need. But it made him feel so much safer just knowing it was there. He pulled out his knife, fingering the textured surface of its casing with gentle reverence. A little soap and water had done wonders to the old black plastic, and the little lines of dust that had been so stubborn before had come right off. It almost looked new.
His fingers moved around to the hard nubs of metal where he knew the blade rested, and he pushed as hard as he could. It took him two or three tries before the blade finally came free. Too slow. He pushed it back down into its sheath and tried again. It was just one more thing he needed to work on.
Practice made perfect, after all.
---
He wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting, but Kurt’s heart leapt into his throat the second he saw Finn Hudson standing beside the piano with Mr. Schuester for their weekly after school rehearsal. The tall football player had seemed distracted this morning during the daily dumpster dive, and the mystery of what had been bothering the other boy had weighed heavy on Kurt’s mind all day. He’d assumed Finn’s distress had had something to do with his Jesus-loving prude of a girlfriend, Quinn Fabray or maybe indigestion. He’d been wrong, apparently.
“What is he doing here?” Mercedes quipped at the sight of Finn. They all knew that this had to be some sort of sick joke. Or blackmail. There was no other way the quarterback of the football team was joining their club.
“Finn is going to be our newest member, guys, so let’s make him feel welcome.”
Kurt’s eyes immediately shot over to Rachel, who looked caught somewhere between apprehension and ecstasy. It was just as he’d thought. Rachel wasn’t interested in a ‘male lead who could keep up with her vocally’ because none of them knew if Finn could sing at all, let alone well. Rachel didn’t care about talent-she just wanted some man-candy to ogle. Whatever. Finn was a new member, something they desperately needed, and Kurt got the extra bonus of more time with the boy of his dreams. So what if Finn couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket and his motives for joining were shady? Kurt was more than happy with the arrangement for now.
“All right, guys. Let’s line up. Rachel, I want you on stage right. Kurt, you can go beside her. Then Artie, Tina, Mercedes. Finn, I want you on the far left. You’re taking the male lead for this number.”
The color drained from Finn’s face at those words. He shot quick, desperate looks at the other kids before turning his attention back to their director. “But Mr. Schue-”
“No buts, Finn. All right, guys, from the top. Five, six, seven, eight!”
Their ever-present pianist Brad started up the opening riff, and Finn began singing right on cue. His voice was rough, but he was good. At least he can read music, thought Kurt smugly. He wasn’t sure what they’d do if Finn couldn’t even figure out when he was supposed to come in.
And then Rachel began to sing. Kurt should have noticed her sudden spike of interest in Finn the second the tall boy opened his mouth considering her close proximity to him, but he’d been far too focused on making sure he didn’t get lost in the monotony of the backing vocals. And let it be known that Kurt got it, he perfectly understood Rachel’s attraction to Finn because damn if the boy wasn’t fine, but that was no excuse for her to touch him-and mess up his hair, no less-while mincing her way across the stage to Finn. He seemed to have fared better than Artie, who’d once again been shoved to near oblivion by Rachel.
“Aw, hell to the no.” And the music came to an abrupt halt. Kurt watched out of the corner of his eye as Mercedes stormed angrily across the stage to Mr. Schue, breaking Rachel’s hold on Finn. “Look, I’m not down with this background singing nonsense. I’m Beyoncé. I ain’t no Kelly Rowland.”
Of all times for her to bring this up. She couldn’t even wait until they’d gotten through one song with Finn to make her grievances known. Mr. Schuester smiled disarmingly at her. “Okay, look, Mercedes, it’s just one song.”
“And it’s the first time we’ve been kind of good.” He really didn’t want to defend Rachel, but it was the truth. Finn could definitely sing (he was even mostly in tune singing harmony), and his and Rachel’s voices had sounded really pretty nice together. They needed this club to survive, and as much as Mercedes deserved a lead, it was best to cater to Rachel’s wants and desires for the time-being.
Mercedes backed down, shooting him a dark look and fell back into line, smiling like she did when she knew she wasn’t going to get her way. “Let’s run it again.”
Schuester didn’t seem to notice. “Okay guys, from the top.”
---
“Kurt.”
Oh boy, here we go. “What is it, Mercedes?” He didn’t bother to turn around to face her, instead continuing to pack up his things. He knew what this was about, though a part of him was pleased that she’d waited until the auditorium was as good as empty to approach him. He loved drama as much as the next person, but he really wasn’t in the mood for it today.
“What didn’t you back me up back there, boy? I thought we all agreed that things would be better if I was on lead.”
“Mercedes,” he said softly as he spun around to face her, his face grim, “you know I think you’ve got a fantastic voice, and you do, but we need Rachel. Without her, the group’s going to die.”
“And what does that have to do with her Wonderbreading the stage up there with Captain Skyscraper? Why did you have to take her side in this? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I already told you that we need her. She’s too good of a singer for us to let slip away. But to get someone like Rachel to stay, she has to be happy. For her to be happy, she needs to feel like she’s the most important part of the club-the star, if you will. She’s Schuester’s favorite anyway, so why bother fighting it? You said it yourself that she was unsatisfied with the male voices we had before today, but she seemed plenty happy with Finn from where I was standing. And let’s face it, Mercedes-he’s really not that bad.”
“No, but-”
“Look, I don’t want to be swaying in the back behind Rachel any more than you do. And you should know that oohs and aahs are not my thing by any means, but let’s humor her for now. If nothing else, then for the sake of the club. We can’t afford to have anyone quit on us right now, and Finn, as I said before, is an all right singer. He could even be pretty good with some practice.”
She sank back in defeat. “Yeah, I guess. I just…I don’t know. I don’t trust him.”
He smiled and walked over to her, snaking his arm through hers. “I know. And for the record, I don’t trust him either. I think someone on the football team put him up to this. Well, that or Mr. Schuester found some way to blackmail him with grades or something.”
“He did give in to Mr. Schue pretty quickly there, didn’t he? What kind of dirt do you think he has on him?”
“I have no idea, but I think we’re going to have fun figuring it out. And really, you do have to admit that this whole thing could turn into quite the interesting social experiment. You and I should take bets on how long it takes for Finn’s reputation to plummet once word gets out that he’s joined our lovable band of misfits.”
That got a smile out of her. She gently jabbed his side with her elbow. “I love the way you think, Kurt Hummel. How I made it this long without you in my life, I’ll never know.”
“One of life’s many mysteries, my dear Mercedes. Come on, I don’t have to meet my dad today since we had practice this afternoon, so we should go out. Get some coffee or something.”
“Are you buying?”
“I’m certainly offering.”
“Then you got yourself a deal. Just let me get my stuff.” She raced off toward the row of chairs where she’d left her things, and Kurt let his shoulders fall. He was right. They really did need Finn, regardless of his reasons for joining the club. And his presence certainly seemed to make Rachel happy.
Kurt looked over at the stage and pictured Finn standing there at the piano, looking just as dopey and nervous as he had when they’d been handed their music, and his heart gave a lurch. They had a jock in their group now, and it wasn’t just any jock-it was Finn Hudson, one of the most popular underclassmen at the school. One of Kurt’s tormentors. The guy Kurt was head over heels for. He really didn’t know how to handle this.
Kurt swallowed and nervously turned back to his bag, trying desperately to get the image of Finn’s smiling face out of his head.
---
Part one
Part five
Part seven