Fanfic - Nothing to Lose (part seven)
Some of the dialogue in this and subsequent parts is taken directly from the show, so if it looks familiar it probably is. Also, I apologize for any inconsistencies with Ohio geography and the school schedule I've set up for McKinley here. I honestly can't tell from the show if glee is supposed to be a club, a class or both, so I went with both (seriously, there are practices and things that have to have happened after school and yet there are times when the kids leave after a bell rings, and I'm terribly, terribly confused). Also, I've brought this up several times in several places, but Glee geography is stupid and hard to figure out, and I've done my best to try and make things plausible. I'm not from Ohio (heck, I've never even been there), so I'm sorry if things are strange with that. Hopefully more soon. Oh my god, I'm finally almost through the pilot \o/!
---
Mr. Schuester swept into the room, his face lit up in a wide grin. “All right, guys, listen up. I’ve got a treat for you.”
The group cast suspicious looks at one another, their faces all pulled into worried frowns. When a teacher came to them with a ‘treat’ or a ‘surprise’ it usually meant something along the lines of a pop quiz or a video about puberty. It was almost never something good, though what punishment veiled as a reward Mr. Schue had planned for them was a complete mystery. What bigger punishment could they already have outside of being a part of the glee club?
Schuester wasn’t deterred in the slightest by the kids’ silence. His bubbling enthusiasm never faded, and if anything, that made them more nervous. Well, not Rachel, but that wasn’t exactly surprising, she was such a suck-up. With their luck, Schuester was probably going to tell them that he was adding some terrible song like ‘Muskrat Love’ to their repertoire and do them the honor of having them sing it in front of the whole school or something like that. They braced themselves.
Taking the prolonged silence as his cue to continue, Mr. Schuester sat down on the stool in the front, his smile growing ever wider on his face. “We are going on a field trip,” he announced proudly to the group.
“A f-f-field trip?” Tina asked nervously from her seat.
Schuester nodded, his smile never faltering. “To Carmel High in Akron this Saturday.”
“Why would we want to go all the way up there?”
“Well, the Carmel High School glee club, Vocal Adrenaline, is doing an invitational showcase. They are going to be the team to beat at sectionals this year. I thought it might be nice for us to go scope out the competition, see what we’re up against. And-”
“Wait, wait, wait. Hold it.” Mercedes had her hand out in front of her to stop Mr. Schue from continuing. “You lost me at ‘Saturday.’ Since when do we go on field trips over the weekend?”
“Well, the invitational is this Saturday…”
“And you expect us to go with you all the way to Akron to hear some kids sing?”
“I think it will be good for you guys to get a taste of your competition. You need to know what you’re up against, so you can be better prepared.” He was far too excited about this.
“I’m game,” said Artie, and all eyes turned to look at him. He blanched at their harsh stares but held his ground. “What? I think we should hear these Carmel kids sing. That way we know what kind of thing to expect.”
“Artie’s right,” piped Rachel. “We can’t win if we don’t know our enemy.”
Mr. Schue didn’t seem to happy with that descriptor. “They’re not exactly our enemies, guys.”
“Close enough,” muttered Kurt. “So, when is this thing?”
Mr. Schuester reached around to the piano where he’d set a thin stack of papers. He passed them around to each of the kids. “The showcase itself starts at noon, and because this is a school-sponsored trip you need to get these permission slips signed as soon as possible. We’re meeting here, at the school parking lot, at eight thirty.” A chorus of groans rose up from the group, and Schuester fought back a growl of exasperation. “I know it’s kind of early for the weekend, guys, but I need you to be here on time so we can make it to the invitational. I want us there a little early so we have time to eat lunch before the performance starts, okay? Besides, on the way back, I’ll talk to the bus driver about stopping somewhere, and I’ll buy dinner for everybody, how does that sound?”
“Seriously?”
“Sure.”
Excitement began to bubble up in the group once more, and Will felt himself relax a little. He should be able to cover a meal for five kids and himself if he could convince the bus driver to stop at some fast food joint on the way back. He hoped Terri wouldn’t get too upset about that. He was already in hot water with her about the after school detention thing.
Tina’s hand slowly rose into the air. “M-Mr. Schue?”
“Yes, Tina?”
“Um, w-what if we can’t get our…parents to sign this?” It was the most he’d hear her say in a long while.
“Then I’m going to have to come up with a separate assignment for you to do.”
As expected, protests began to crop up the second the words left his mouth, and this time Will couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
“Aw, hell no.”
“Mr. Schuester, that really isn’t fair.”
“What if I have to work?”
“But I can’t-”
“Enough!” They all fell completely silent. He’d never really yelled at them before. “In case you all forgot, this counts as both an after school activity and a class. That means that there are grades and assignments that I have to give you in order for you to get credit, and this is one of them. If you can’t make it, that’s fine. But you’re going to have to write me an essay to make up for it, just like in any other class.”
They fell silent, casting wary looks at one another. Will rose from his seat with a loud clap of his hands, startling them back to attention. “Okay. So let’s get started. Line up. We need to go over the choreography again and see if we can clean up those steps.”
---
Today sucked. Kurt looked up at the giant yellow school bus looming before him and shuddered. He’d sworn to himself that he’d never have to ride in one of these death traps again now that he had his own car, but of course fate had to screw with him. He looked to the side to see Schuester chatting animatedly with their other chaperone, the guidance counselor, Miss Pillsbury, and his frown deepened. Schuester was married and yet there he was, flirting unabashedly with the petite redhead who was most certainly not his wife. Pathetic.
He climbed up the steps into the bus and scanned the seats. Rachel was there, of course; she’d probably been the first one to arrive and probably at some ridiculous time too. Whatever. Her outfit was terribly impractical for the weather too. Typical.
Surprisingly enough, Finn was there as well. Rachel had latched onto him and was nattering on about something or other to the tall boy. He looked intensely uncomfortable and more than a little bored, but Kurt didn’t care enough to rescue him. It was far too early for that. Tina was huddled into a seat somewhere in the middle, completely engrossed in her phone. She was probably waiting for Artie; those two were attached at the hip more often than not. His eyes swept over the inside of the bus one more time. Both Mercedes and Artie had yet to show up, though it was still a little early yet. Kurt shrugged his coat up higher on his shoulders and moved toward the back.
He settled onto the hard plastic-leather seat and cast a longing look out the window. The glass was slowly fogging up with his every breath, obscuring his view of the parking lot. It was too cold for this, and these buses had some of the crappiest heating systems imaginable. Well, actually these buses had just about the crappiest everything when he really thought about it. He scowled and laid his head against the frosty window. Three hours. He had three hours until he could get out of this death trap. Just wonderful.
The bus shuddered as another person climbed inside. Kurt didn’t bother to look up. It was either Schuester or Mercedes, and judging from the harsh, pounding footsteps, it was his sassy friend. She collapsed into the seat across from him, and he turned his head to get a decent look at her. Her hat was pulled down low over her eyes, and her face was drawn into a tight scowl. She looked pissed.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“What do you think?” she hissed.
He rolled his eyes and turned back to the window. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone right now. “My, aren’t we testy today.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“Whatever.” He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he was anywhere but here.
“My whole Saturday is ruined. That is half of my weekend, gone!”
“I know,” he mumbled, only paying half attention. “Mine is too, if you hadn’t noticed.”
She jammed her back roughly into the back of her seat, her arms crossed firmly over her chest. She cast another look at Kurt. “Do you think these Carmel kids are any good?”
“How would I know? It’s not like I researched them or something.” He opened his eyes and moved away from the window. The sparse moisture clinging to the glass had dampened his hair, and he frowned, moving it back into place before rubbing his forehead. A headache was starting to form behind his eyes. “Sorry if I’m testy this morning, Mercedes. It’s too early for this, and these kids had better be good enough to make this stupid three hour drive worthwhile.”
“Amen to that.”
The bus was suddenly beeping and shuddering, the door for the wheelchair lift coming to life as the bus driver moved to the outside of the vehicle, probably to assist Artie with the lift. Kurt flopped back against his seat, his eyes trailing over the melted faces of lighters burned into the seat in front of him. “Hey Mercedes, do you have the time?”
She pulled back her sleeve and looked at her watch. “Eight twenty-six.”
He bit back a groan. It was way too early for this on a Saturday. The lift slowly rose up to the main portion of the bus, bringing Artie into view. The lift’s alarm was still beeping loudly in the background. He closed his eyes and tried to block out everything around him. Three hours. He could survive that long.
---
Kurt was no expert on choir showcases, but there seemed to be quite a few people packed into Carmel High School for a Saturday afternoon. He glanced around curiously at the gathered audience and how nicely they were dressed as the members of New Directions shuffled into the auditorium to find their seats. They marched toward the front, where there were fewer occupied seats and a place for Artie’s wheelchair. They slid into their seats, each of them clutching a program. According to the information printed on the back of it, the showcase was also serving as a partial fundraiser, and Carmel was collecting donations toward new costumes and music. Interesting.
Schuester called for their attention as the last of the people mingling outside settled into their seats. He gave them a little pep talk that Kurt only half listened to. At this point, he didn’t really care how good these Carmel kids were supposed to be; he’d suffered three hours on a rickety school bus to get to this stupid thing, and he was really too tired to care much about anything at this point.
The lights began to dim, and Schuester quieted, turning his attention to the front. Mercedes shot Kurt a quick smile and leaned in close to his shoulder. “If these guys sound anything like how I think they will, we’ve got this in the bag.”
Kurt smiled back. “Of course they can’t beat us in competition. They don’t have you on their team.”
She let out a breathy giggle. “You sure know the way to a girl’s heart, Kurt Hummel.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
The spotlight lit up a single figure on the side of the stage, and he introduced the group. “And now, let’s give a big Buckeye State welcome to last year’s regional champions: Vocal Adrenaline!” And he was gone, lost in the sudden rush of darkness.
The curtain rose to reveal a cluster of students stop a set of bleachers. The lights were too low to see any of their faces or to make out their outfits properly, but their sound was certainly impressive. Then the lights came on in full, and they swept across the stage in a flash of blue and black, their voices rising in a spirited, choral rendition of Amy Winehouse’s ‘Rehab.”
Kurt’s heart stilled, his eyes going wide as the energetic group flew back and forth across the stage with flips and jumps and dance moves New Directions could never pull off, even if they had (good lord, were there really that many of them?) thirty members. He sank back into his seat as the music swelled, clutching his program tight to his chest. This was not good. Not good at all. But maybe he was just seeing things. Maybe he was just tired, and Vocal Adrenaline wasn’t really as good as he thought.
As the last chord cut short and the choir went still, the audience erupted in applause. All around them people were standing and cheering at the top of their lungs. This was worse than he’d thought. Even Mr. Schuester was speechless.
“We’re d-d-d-doomed.”
---
Things only went downhill from there. Mr. Schue’s little motivational trip had had exactly the opposite effect he’d been hoping for-instead of rising up from their pond scum status as the ultimate underdogs of both the show choir world and the social ladder of William McKinley High to become champions and magically keep the club alive, they began to fall apart.
In hindsight, it had been a completely hopeless endeavor from the start; seeing Vocal Adrenaline perform had only solidified that, made it real, and frankly, Kurt could hardly bring himself to care. To keep the club alive, they had to win their regional competition. To win at regionals, they had to beat Vocal Adrenaline. To beat Vocal Adrenaline, they needed a miracle. And perhaps some heavy artillery. It was completely hopeless and not really worth his time. Kurt had much bigger problems to deal with than the sinking ship that was William McKinley’s New Directions.
Finn’s little secret had been discovered.
Kurt wasn’t exactly sure how it had gotten out that the quarterback had joined the glee club, but apparently he’d been cornered Tuesday afternoon and paintballed by his teammates on the football team. The news was all over the school by Wednesday.
Kurt’s heart leapt into his throat the second he saw Finn’s sullen face in math class. The bullying of the glee club had gotten to one of the most popular kids in school. Nowhere was safe for him anymore because he was a gay kid in a gay club who’d been gaying up the leader of the football team in some sort of secret plot to spread the gay to the entire school, and oh god, he was going to die, wasn’t he?
Kurt caught fragments of the whispered gossip about Finn’s new affinity for musical theater in the hallways, and he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, keeping close to walls when he walked to his classes, avoiding the cafeteria at lunch in favor of the boy’s bathroom on the second floor, making sure to avoid eye contact with anyone in the halls, little things like that. When the last bell rang, he bolted from his classroom, fully intent on getting to the auditorium before anyone could catch up to him.
Of course, he should have known that things could get worse. Mr. Schuester was running later than usual, and when he finally wandered in, the look on his face did nothing to help brighten the mood. Today had been full of nothing but bad news; why should he have expected any different when he got to glee club for the afternoon?
“Okay, guys. I have some bad news.” He paused and sucked in a deep breath. This was it. It was official. New Directions was finished. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you guys know sooner, but I didn’t really have the chance. I’m not going to be able to head the glee club anymore.”
“Wait, you’re leaving us?”
Mr. Schue nodded somberly. “I’ve given my two weeks notice.” Kurt was confused at that little tidbit of information. He’d simply thought Schuester had given up on the glee club, not his job entirely. Something else was behind this, but it was too late to bother trying to figure it out. Schuester was leaving and that was that. “But I promise I’m going to find you guys a great replacement before I go. Glee club isn’t going to die with me.”
“Is this because those Carmel kids were so good? Because we can work harder.” Mercedes sounded hurt, and rightfully so. She’d been in the glee club under Mr. Ryerson. Show choir was really important to her-Kurt knew that, and it hurt a bit to hear her sounding so lost., but he kept his mouth shut. There really wasn’t anything to say.
“This isn’t fair, Mr. Schuester. We can’t do this without you.”
Finn chose that moment to speak. “So…does that mean that I don’t have to be in the club anymore? Or…” They all silenced him with a hard look. So they’d been right all along: Finn hadn’t joined the club of his own volition. Not that it mattered anymore. Schuester was abandoning them, and they had the looming giant of Vocal Adrenaline to compete against. They were well and truly screwed.
“This isn’t about you guys. Being an adult is about making difficult choices. Sometimes you have to give up the things you love. One day you guys are going to grow up and understand that.” The man before them looked torn, like he was trying to convince himself to believe his words just as much as he was trying to convince them. “I have loved being your teacher,” he said with conviction, his voice breaking a little with barely contained emotion. Silence settled over them for a moment, hanging in the air between them like a shroud, before Mr. Schue turned his back on them and walked away.
The sound of the auditorium door banging shut resonated loudly in the empty space. They stood there in silence, none of them quite sure what to do.
“So…is, um, is practice over then?” Finn murmured from his spot near the back. “Because I have to go…home. Now.”
“Just go, Finn.” He didn’t need to be told twice. Finn gathered up his bag and bolted, leaving the remaining five to the stillness of the auditorium. Kurt leaned back against the hard back of the seat behind him; Rachel crossed her arms tightly across her chest and lowered her head in thought.
“S-so what are we going to do? We can’t have a c-club with-without a director.”
“Mr. Schue said he’d find us a replacement.”
“He’s also leaving us,” Kurt pointed out. “He’s knows we’re no match for a group like Vocal Adrenaline.” Silence consumed them once more as that point sunk in. Even Mr. Schuester, the insufferable optimist, had given up on them after seeing how awesome their competition was.
“We’re not,” said Rachel quietly and all eyes turned to her. It wasn’t like Rachel to admit defeat. She brightened and lifted her face to them, her expression showing that she was more determined than ever. “We’re not good enough to beat Vocal Adrenaline. But we could be.”
“How? We’re not even a club without a director, and if a teacher doesn’t pick this up, then we’re not going to get credit for it either. We’ll just be some kids using our study period to sing and dance in the choir room, and my reputation at this school is bad enough without that, thanks.” Artie pushed his glasses up a little higher on the bridge of his nose as he fixed Rachel with a resigned look.
“But don’t you see? We’re still here. We’re still together, and we still want to sing, right?” The five of them all gingerly nodded their heads, not really sure where she was going with this. “And now that we have Finn, we can do a greater range of songs. Come on, you guys, let’s look at the positive of the situation.”
“There’s something positive about our director leaving us after we get the chance to see what sort of thing we’re up against? I fail to see your point.”
Rachel simply rolled her eyes and did her best to hide her frustration. “My point is that Mr. Schue was right. Glee club shouldn’t have to die with him.”
“But we can’t have a club without a sponsor.”
Rachel faltered a little, her reasoning not quite sharp enough to pick up on that point just yet. She wished, and not for the first time, that Brad worked exclusively for the school. He would certainly sponsor the club, but he was just their accompanist. A damn good one and always around whenever you needed him, but nothing more. Besides, he could only keep the club aspect of glee alive. Their credit was as good as gone unless they got a bonafide instructor for the class, and that was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. There were a few other musically-inclined teachers at the school, including the band director (though he was the most likely to turn them down if they asked him to take over due to his already overtaxed schedule), and approaching any one of them was going to be hit or miss. They were running out of options.
“That’s it, then,” Rachel said with a determined nod, placing her hands firmly on her hips.
Artie scanned over the rest of the group to find their confused expressions matching his own. He cleared his throat, capturing Rachel’s attention. “Sorry, but what’s it?”
“I’m just going to have to take over glee until we can find a suitable replacement.”
---
Kurt stumbled through the empty halls in a daze toward his locker. So, they were facing a daunting opponent that they could never hope to defeat, Mr. Schuester had given up on them (and teaching in general it seemed) and now Rachel was pushing her will onto what was left of the club. Finn was probably going to abandon them too, since it was fairly obvious now that Schuester had had something on him to get him to join and stay.
The whole thing was tiring, and really, he wasn’t even sure why he was still putting up with this.
He stopped in front of the familiar tan casing of his locker, still faintly surprised that this one had yet to be vandalized this year. He traced his finger over the smooth metal until they hit the depression where his lock resided. He began to twist in his combination but stopped halfway through, realizing that he was putting in the wrong numbers.
He leaned forward until his forehead was flush against his locker. His bag sloughed from his drooping shoulder to land with a soft thump on the floor. Stupid. This whole thing was so very, very stupid, and he was letting it get to him.
He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, trying to concentrate and picture the numbers in his head. He needed to get his chemistry textbook or he’d never get his homework done tonight. Stupid fucking chemistry. Stupid fucking science classes. They were by far his weakest subjects, and Kurt couldn’t wait until he didn’t need them anymore.
He pulled back and twisted in a new set of numbers, one that felt right this time, and he was rewarded with the give of the latch and the gentle swing of the locker swinging open. He needed to get home, maybe make some tea or something to calm his nerves. He peered inside, trying to remember which color book cover he’d assigned to chemistry, and his heart stopped.
There was a note. Plain white paper folded in the same neat square as before. Exactly the same. So they did know which locker was his-it simply wasn’t worth flaunting anymore.
He reached inside and grabbed it, his fingers trembling. This wasn’t happening. Not again. Not now. He really didn’t need this right now. He unfolded the edges and swore harshly under his breath as something sharp flew past his fingers to land with a tiny clatter on the floor. The metal of a razor flashed in the corner of his eye, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights of the hall. Stupid. He’d forgotten to check this time.
He turned his attention back to the note in his hand. One of the edges had a tiny red stain of blood from a cut on his finger.
We’re watching you, fag. Stay away from the football team.
Kurt stared at the crude writing for a beat before carefully re-folding the paper. He bent down and retrieved his bag and the razor from the floor, stuffing the note into the small pocket on the front.
It’s funny, he mused as he pulled his textbook from his locker and headed toward the front door, his movements slow and heavy as though he were trudging through a fog. I didn’t think any of the jocks knew where a comma was supposed to go.
---
Part one
Part six
Part eight
---
Mr. Schuester swept into the room, his face lit up in a wide grin. “All right, guys, listen up. I’ve got a treat for you.”
The group cast suspicious looks at one another, their faces all pulled into worried frowns. When a teacher came to them with a ‘treat’ or a ‘surprise’ it usually meant something along the lines of a pop quiz or a video about puberty. It was almost never something good, though what punishment veiled as a reward Mr. Schue had planned for them was a complete mystery. What bigger punishment could they already have outside of being a part of the glee club?
Schuester wasn’t deterred in the slightest by the kids’ silence. His bubbling enthusiasm never faded, and if anything, that made them more nervous. Well, not Rachel, but that wasn’t exactly surprising, she was such a suck-up. With their luck, Schuester was probably going to tell them that he was adding some terrible song like ‘Muskrat Love’ to their repertoire and do them the honor of having them sing it in front of the whole school or something like that. They braced themselves.
Taking the prolonged silence as his cue to continue, Mr. Schuester sat down on the stool in the front, his smile growing ever wider on his face. “We are going on a field trip,” he announced proudly to the group.
“A f-f-field trip?” Tina asked nervously from her seat.
Schuester nodded, his smile never faltering. “To Carmel High in Akron this Saturday.”
“Why would we want to go all the way up there?”
“Well, the Carmel High School glee club, Vocal Adrenaline, is doing an invitational showcase. They are going to be the team to beat at sectionals this year. I thought it might be nice for us to go scope out the competition, see what we’re up against. And-”
“Wait, wait, wait. Hold it.” Mercedes had her hand out in front of her to stop Mr. Schue from continuing. “You lost me at ‘Saturday.’ Since when do we go on field trips over the weekend?”
“Well, the invitational is this Saturday…”
“And you expect us to go with you all the way to Akron to hear some kids sing?”
“I think it will be good for you guys to get a taste of your competition. You need to know what you’re up against, so you can be better prepared.” He was far too excited about this.
“I’m game,” said Artie, and all eyes turned to look at him. He blanched at their harsh stares but held his ground. “What? I think we should hear these Carmel kids sing. That way we know what kind of thing to expect.”
“Artie’s right,” piped Rachel. “We can’t win if we don’t know our enemy.”
Mr. Schue didn’t seem to happy with that descriptor. “They’re not exactly our enemies, guys.”
“Close enough,” muttered Kurt. “So, when is this thing?”
Mr. Schuester reached around to the piano where he’d set a thin stack of papers. He passed them around to each of the kids. “The showcase itself starts at noon, and because this is a school-sponsored trip you need to get these permission slips signed as soon as possible. We’re meeting here, at the school parking lot, at eight thirty.” A chorus of groans rose up from the group, and Schuester fought back a growl of exasperation. “I know it’s kind of early for the weekend, guys, but I need you to be here on time so we can make it to the invitational. I want us there a little early so we have time to eat lunch before the performance starts, okay? Besides, on the way back, I’ll talk to the bus driver about stopping somewhere, and I’ll buy dinner for everybody, how does that sound?”
“Seriously?”
“Sure.”
Excitement began to bubble up in the group once more, and Will felt himself relax a little. He should be able to cover a meal for five kids and himself if he could convince the bus driver to stop at some fast food joint on the way back. He hoped Terri wouldn’t get too upset about that. He was already in hot water with her about the after school detention thing.
Tina’s hand slowly rose into the air. “M-Mr. Schue?”
“Yes, Tina?”
“Um, w-what if we can’t get our…parents to sign this?” It was the most he’d hear her say in a long while.
“Then I’m going to have to come up with a separate assignment for you to do.”
As expected, protests began to crop up the second the words left his mouth, and this time Will couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
“Aw, hell no.”
“Mr. Schuester, that really isn’t fair.”
“What if I have to work?”
“But I can’t-”
“Enough!” They all fell completely silent. He’d never really yelled at them before. “In case you all forgot, this counts as both an after school activity and a class. That means that there are grades and assignments that I have to give you in order for you to get credit, and this is one of them. If you can’t make it, that’s fine. But you’re going to have to write me an essay to make up for it, just like in any other class.”
They fell silent, casting wary looks at one another. Will rose from his seat with a loud clap of his hands, startling them back to attention. “Okay. So let’s get started. Line up. We need to go over the choreography again and see if we can clean up those steps.”
---
Today sucked. Kurt looked up at the giant yellow school bus looming before him and shuddered. He’d sworn to himself that he’d never have to ride in one of these death traps again now that he had his own car, but of course fate had to screw with him. He looked to the side to see Schuester chatting animatedly with their other chaperone, the guidance counselor, Miss Pillsbury, and his frown deepened. Schuester was married and yet there he was, flirting unabashedly with the petite redhead who was most certainly not his wife. Pathetic.
He climbed up the steps into the bus and scanned the seats. Rachel was there, of course; she’d probably been the first one to arrive and probably at some ridiculous time too. Whatever. Her outfit was terribly impractical for the weather too. Typical.
Surprisingly enough, Finn was there as well. Rachel had latched onto him and was nattering on about something or other to the tall boy. He looked intensely uncomfortable and more than a little bored, but Kurt didn’t care enough to rescue him. It was far too early for that. Tina was huddled into a seat somewhere in the middle, completely engrossed in her phone. She was probably waiting for Artie; those two were attached at the hip more often than not. His eyes swept over the inside of the bus one more time. Both Mercedes and Artie had yet to show up, though it was still a little early yet. Kurt shrugged his coat up higher on his shoulders and moved toward the back.
He settled onto the hard plastic-leather seat and cast a longing look out the window. The glass was slowly fogging up with his every breath, obscuring his view of the parking lot. It was too cold for this, and these buses had some of the crappiest heating systems imaginable. Well, actually these buses had just about the crappiest everything when he really thought about it. He scowled and laid his head against the frosty window. Three hours. He had three hours until he could get out of this death trap. Just wonderful.
The bus shuddered as another person climbed inside. Kurt didn’t bother to look up. It was either Schuester or Mercedes, and judging from the harsh, pounding footsteps, it was his sassy friend. She collapsed into the seat across from him, and he turned his head to get a decent look at her. Her hat was pulled down low over her eyes, and her face was drawn into a tight scowl. She looked pissed.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“What do you think?” she hissed.
He rolled his eyes and turned back to the window. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone right now. “My, aren’t we testy today.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“Whatever.” He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he was anywhere but here.
“My whole Saturday is ruined. That is half of my weekend, gone!”
“I know,” he mumbled, only paying half attention. “Mine is too, if you hadn’t noticed.”
She jammed her back roughly into the back of her seat, her arms crossed firmly over her chest. She cast another look at Kurt. “Do you think these Carmel kids are any good?”
“How would I know? It’s not like I researched them or something.” He opened his eyes and moved away from the window. The sparse moisture clinging to the glass had dampened his hair, and he frowned, moving it back into place before rubbing his forehead. A headache was starting to form behind his eyes. “Sorry if I’m testy this morning, Mercedes. It’s too early for this, and these kids had better be good enough to make this stupid three hour drive worthwhile.”
“Amen to that.”
The bus was suddenly beeping and shuddering, the door for the wheelchair lift coming to life as the bus driver moved to the outside of the vehicle, probably to assist Artie with the lift. Kurt flopped back against his seat, his eyes trailing over the melted faces of lighters burned into the seat in front of him. “Hey Mercedes, do you have the time?”
She pulled back her sleeve and looked at her watch. “Eight twenty-six.”
He bit back a groan. It was way too early for this on a Saturday. The lift slowly rose up to the main portion of the bus, bringing Artie into view. The lift’s alarm was still beeping loudly in the background. He closed his eyes and tried to block out everything around him. Three hours. He could survive that long.
---
Kurt was no expert on choir showcases, but there seemed to be quite a few people packed into Carmel High School for a Saturday afternoon. He glanced around curiously at the gathered audience and how nicely they were dressed as the members of New Directions shuffled into the auditorium to find their seats. They marched toward the front, where there were fewer occupied seats and a place for Artie’s wheelchair. They slid into their seats, each of them clutching a program. According to the information printed on the back of it, the showcase was also serving as a partial fundraiser, and Carmel was collecting donations toward new costumes and music. Interesting.
Schuester called for their attention as the last of the people mingling outside settled into their seats. He gave them a little pep talk that Kurt only half listened to. At this point, he didn’t really care how good these Carmel kids were supposed to be; he’d suffered three hours on a rickety school bus to get to this stupid thing, and he was really too tired to care much about anything at this point.
The lights began to dim, and Schuester quieted, turning his attention to the front. Mercedes shot Kurt a quick smile and leaned in close to his shoulder. “If these guys sound anything like how I think they will, we’ve got this in the bag.”
Kurt smiled back. “Of course they can’t beat us in competition. They don’t have you on their team.”
She let out a breathy giggle. “You sure know the way to a girl’s heart, Kurt Hummel.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
The spotlight lit up a single figure on the side of the stage, and he introduced the group. “And now, let’s give a big Buckeye State welcome to last year’s regional champions: Vocal Adrenaline!” And he was gone, lost in the sudden rush of darkness.
The curtain rose to reveal a cluster of students stop a set of bleachers. The lights were too low to see any of their faces or to make out their outfits properly, but their sound was certainly impressive. Then the lights came on in full, and they swept across the stage in a flash of blue and black, their voices rising in a spirited, choral rendition of Amy Winehouse’s ‘Rehab.”
Kurt’s heart stilled, his eyes going wide as the energetic group flew back and forth across the stage with flips and jumps and dance moves New Directions could never pull off, even if they had (good lord, were there really that many of them?) thirty members. He sank back into his seat as the music swelled, clutching his program tight to his chest. This was not good. Not good at all. But maybe he was just seeing things. Maybe he was just tired, and Vocal Adrenaline wasn’t really as good as he thought.
As the last chord cut short and the choir went still, the audience erupted in applause. All around them people were standing and cheering at the top of their lungs. This was worse than he’d thought. Even Mr. Schuester was speechless.
“We’re d-d-d-doomed.”
---
Things only went downhill from there. Mr. Schue’s little motivational trip had had exactly the opposite effect he’d been hoping for-instead of rising up from their pond scum status as the ultimate underdogs of both the show choir world and the social ladder of William McKinley High to become champions and magically keep the club alive, they began to fall apart.
In hindsight, it had been a completely hopeless endeavor from the start; seeing Vocal Adrenaline perform had only solidified that, made it real, and frankly, Kurt could hardly bring himself to care. To keep the club alive, they had to win their regional competition. To win at regionals, they had to beat Vocal Adrenaline. To beat Vocal Adrenaline, they needed a miracle. And perhaps some heavy artillery. It was completely hopeless and not really worth his time. Kurt had much bigger problems to deal with than the sinking ship that was William McKinley’s New Directions.
Finn’s little secret had been discovered.
Kurt wasn’t exactly sure how it had gotten out that the quarterback had joined the glee club, but apparently he’d been cornered Tuesday afternoon and paintballed by his teammates on the football team. The news was all over the school by Wednesday.
Kurt’s heart leapt into his throat the second he saw Finn’s sullen face in math class. The bullying of the glee club had gotten to one of the most popular kids in school. Nowhere was safe for him anymore because he was a gay kid in a gay club who’d been gaying up the leader of the football team in some sort of secret plot to spread the gay to the entire school, and oh god, he was going to die, wasn’t he?
Kurt caught fragments of the whispered gossip about Finn’s new affinity for musical theater in the hallways, and he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, keeping close to walls when he walked to his classes, avoiding the cafeteria at lunch in favor of the boy’s bathroom on the second floor, making sure to avoid eye contact with anyone in the halls, little things like that. When the last bell rang, he bolted from his classroom, fully intent on getting to the auditorium before anyone could catch up to him.
Of course, he should have known that things could get worse. Mr. Schuester was running later than usual, and when he finally wandered in, the look on his face did nothing to help brighten the mood. Today had been full of nothing but bad news; why should he have expected any different when he got to glee club for the afternoon?
“Okay, guys. I have some bad news.” He paused and sucked in a deep breath. This was it. It was official. New Directions was finished. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you guys know sooner, but I didn’t really have the chance. I’m not going to be able to head the glee club anymore.”
“Wait, you’re leaving us?”
Mr. Schue nodded somberly. “I’ve given my two weeks notice.” Kurt was confused at that little tidbit of information. He’d simply thought Schuester had given up on the glee club, not his job entirely. Something else was behind this, but it was too late to bother trying to figure it out. Schuester was leaving and that was that. “But I promise I’m going to find you guys a great replacement before I go. Glee club isn’t going to die with me.”
“Is this because those Carmel kids were so good? Because we can work harder.” Mercedes sounded hurt, and rightfully so. She’d been in the glee club under Mr. Ryerson. Show choir was really important to her-Kurt knew that, and it hurt a bit to hear her sounding so lost., but he kept his mouth shut. There really wasn’t anything to say.
“This isn’t fair, Mr. Schuester. We can’t do this without you.”
Finn chose that moment to speak. “So…does that mean that I don’t have to be in the club anymore? Or…” They all silenced him with a hard look. So they’d been right all along: Finn hadn’t joined the club of his own volition. Not that it mattered anymore. Schuester was abandoning them, and they had the looming giant of Vocal Adrenaline to compete against. They were well and truly screwed.
“This isn’t about you guys. Being an adult is about making difficult choices. Sometimes you have to give up the things you love. One day you guys are going to grow up and understand that.” The man before them looked torn, like he was trying to convince himself to believe his words just as much as he was trying to convince them. “I have loved being your teacher,” he said with conviction, his voice breaking a little with barely contained emotion. Silence settled over them for a moment, hanging in the air between them like a shroud, before Mr. Schue turned his back on them and walked away.
The sound of the auditorium door banging shut resonated loudly in the empty space. They stood there in silence, none of them quite sure what to do.
“So…is, um, is practice over then?” Finn murmured from his spot near the back. “Because I have to go…home. Now.”
“Just go, Finn.” He didn’t need to be told twice. Finn gathered up his bag and bolted, leaving the remaining five to the stillness of the auditorium. Kurt leaned back against the hard back of the seat behind him; Rachel crossed her arms tightly across her chest and lowered her head in thought.
“S-so what are we going to do? We can’t have a c-club with-without a director.”
“Mr. Schue said he’d find us a replacement.”
“He’s also leaving us,” Kurt pointed out. “He’s knows we’re no match for a group like Vocal Adrenaline.” Silence consumed them once more as that point sunk in. Even Mr. Schuester, the insufferable optimist, had given up on them after seeing how awesome their competition was.
“We’re not,” said Rachel quietly and all eyes turned to her. It wasn’t like Rachel to admit defeat. She brightened and lifted her face to them, her expression showing that she was more determined than ever. “We’re not good enough to beat Vocal Adrenaline. But we could be.”
“How? We’re not even a club without a director, and if a teacher doesn’t pick this up, then we’re not going to get credit for it either. We’ll just be some kids using our study period to sing and dance in the choir room, and my reputation at this school is bad enough without that, thanks.” Artie pushed his glasses up a little higher on the bridge of his nose as he fixed Rachel with a resigned look.
“But don’t you see? We’re still here. We’re still together, and we still want to sing, right?” The five of them all gingerly nodded their heads, not really sure where she was going with this. “And now that we have Finn, we can do a greater range of songs. Come on, you guys, let’s look at the positive of the situation.”
“There’s something positive about our director leaving us after we get the chance to see what sort of thing we’re up against? I fail to see your point.”
Rachel simply rolled her eyes and did her best to hide her frustration. “My point is that Mr. Schue was right. Glee club shouldn’t have to die with him.”
“But we can’t have a club without a sponsor.”
Rachel faltered a little, her reasoning not quite sharp enough to pick up on that point just yet. She wished, and not for the first time, that Brad worked exclusively for the school. He would certainly sponsor the club, but he was just their accompanist. A damn good one and always around whenever you needed him, but nothing more. Besides, he could only keep the club aspect of glee alive. Their credit was as good as gone unless they got a bonafide instructor for the class, and that was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. There were a few other musically-inclined teachers at the school, including the band director (though he was the most likely to turn them down if they asked him to take over due to his already overtaxed schedule), and approaching any one of them was going to be hit or miss. They were running out of options.
“That’s it, then,” Rachel said with a determined nod, placing her hands firmly on her hips.
Artie scanned over the rest of the group to find their confused expressions matching his own. He cleared his throat, capturing Rachel’s attention. “Sorry, but what’s it?”
“I’m just going to have to take over glee until we can find a suitable replacement.”
---
Kurt stumbled through the empty halls in a daze toward his locker. So, they were facing a daunting opponent that they could never hope to defeat, Mr. Schuester had given up on them (and teaching in general it seemed) and now Rachel was pushing her will onto what was left of the club. Finn was probably going to abandon them too, since it was fairly obvious now that Schuester had had something on him to get him to join and stay.
The whole thing was tiring, and really, he wasn’t even sure why he was still putting up with this.
He stopped in front of the familiar tan casing of his locker, still faintly surprised that this one had yet to be vandalized this year. He traced his finger over the smooth metal until they hit the depression where his lock resided. He began to twist in his combination but stopped halfway through, realizing that he was putting in the wrong numbers.
He leaned forward until his forehead was flush against his locker. His bag sloughed from his drooping shoulder to land with a soft thump on the floor. Stupid. This whole thing was so very, very stupid, and he was letting it get to him.
He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, trying to concentrate and picture the numbers in his head. He needed to get his chemistry textbook or he’d never get his homework done tonight. Stupid fucking chemistry. Stupid fucking science classes. They were by far his weakest subjects, and Kurt couldn’t wait until he didn’t need them anymore.
He pulled back and twisted in a new set of numbers, one that felt right this time, and he was rewarded with the give of the latch and the gentle swing of the locker swinging open. He needed to get home, maybe make some tea or something to calm his nerves. He peered inside, trying to remember which color book cover he’d assigned to chemistry, and his heart stopped.
There was a note. Plain white paper folded in the same neat square as before. Exactly the same. So they did know which locker was his-it simply wasn’t worth flaunting anymore.
He reached inside and grabbed it, his fingers trembling. This wasn’t happening. Not again. Not now. He really didn’t need this right now. He unfolded the edges and swore harshly under his breath as something sharp flew past his fingers to land with a tiny clatter on the floor. The metal of a razor flashed in the corner of his eye, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights of the hall. Stupid. He’d forgotten to check this time.
He turned his attention back to the note in his hand. One of the edges had a tiny red stain of blood from a cut on his finger.
We’re watching you, fag. Stay away from the football team.
Kurt stared at the crude writing for a beat before carefully re-folding the paper. He bent down and retrieved his bag and the razor from the floor, stuffing the note into the small pocket on the front.
It’s funny, he mused as he pulled his textbook from his locker and headed toward the front door, his movements slow and heavy as though he were trudging through a fog. I didn’t think any of the jocks knew where a comma was supposed to go.
---
Part one
Part six
Part eight