Baby Steps Chapter 4
Title: Baby Steps
Rating: pg-13
Pairing: future Kurtofksy. situational Klaine
Disclaimer: not mine
Summary: School starts and Dave and Kurt start the McKinley GSA. Here’s to baby steps.
Notes: proxydialogue and raving_liberal are the best!
Chapter 3b
Dave left school on Tuesday feeling really good, steps light as he waved goodbye to everyone and climbed into his truck. On a whim, Dave opened his glovebox and dug around for a particular unmarked tape. It was a mixtape his cousin Kevin had given him years ago, before Kevin had enlisted, and it was a mix of ska punk and swing, all bands that had big brass that were big in the mid-nineties, bands like Reel Big Fish, The Brian Stetzer Orchestra,The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and The Cherry Poppin Daddies. Upbeat music for an upbeat mood, and he sang and long and played drums on the steering wheel as he drove home.
His mom’s car was missing, but his father’s was there, and he called out hello when he entered the house.
“Hey, Dave,” Paul said, walking out of his study. “Your mother’s gone to visit your Aunt Brenda. Apparently the baby’s sick again. So it’s just us tonight.”
Dave grinned. “Pizza and wings?”
Paul nodded. “Game tonight. Cowboys at Bears.”
“Awesome,” Dave said. “Let me put my bag upstairs.”
“I’ll call it in. Meatlovers?”
Dave grinned. If only you know. “Is there any other kind?” He called back.
Later, gorged on pizza and wings and the black and white milkshake his father insisted was delivered by mistake, Dave was fuzzy with good feeling. The Bears were trouncing the Cowboys, and really, it was just sad to watch.
“I’ve missed this,” Paul said as they went to commercial. “The two of us, watching the game. What happened, Davey?”
Dave shrugged. Sports were always their thing, they watched baseball and football and hockey, just the two of them bonding over the sport, from when Dave was four and old enough to watch, until Dave’s freshman year, when becoming one of the cool kids took priority over everything. “Bunch of shit,” he said, at last.
Paul snorted. “You can say that again. I don’t know if we told you, Dave. But it’s good to have you back.”
“I’ve been here,” Dave said. “All along.”
“You were hard to find for a while,” Paul said. “But I know pizza and wings would lure you out.”
Dave laughed. “Yeah. It’s all for the wings, Dad.”
The game started again, and they were distracted for a moment as the third quarter wound to a close.
“Whatever it was,” Paul said. “It’s okay, Davey. You can tell me. You’re my son, and I love you no matter what.”
Dave couldn’t swallow for a long minute. It certainly sounded like Paul had just told him that he knew and that it was okay. And--and hearing that.
“I know, Dad,” Dave said.
“Good,” Paul said. Then the TV started to scream and Paul and Dave were on their feet, shouting at the players, the coach, the ref, and the matter was dropped. That night, when Dave was drifting off to sleep, he realized some of his anxiety over telling his parents had disappeared. He slept with a smile on his face.
***
The rest of the week passed in a blur. Santana still mocked him in homeroom, Az still saved him a seat in History, and Kurt still sat in the back with him during English while Mercedes watched him from the corner of her eye. Still, she had warmed from icy to chilly after the meeting. Friday was their first home game, and they started their streak with a win of 14-6.
Saturday night found Dave back at Scandals for the first time since school started. Ted monopolized his attention for most of the night, once he mentioned that one of his classes was AP Physics; turned out Ted had a degree in physics (well, Ted had several degrees, but one of them was in physics) and appreciated Dave’s “unique approach to the subject matter.” Dave tried to tell him it wasn’t unique so much has half-understood, but Ted had been drinking since Happy Hour, and by that point, there was no reasoning with him.
He told them about the game, and they told him how Steve had won his latest case, then nearly had it thrown out when he was almost caught in the bathroom with the prosecuting attorney. Mike threw in a couple stories from his marriage (a sham marriage to an octogenarian named Gladys. His meeting Ted again was one of the reasons why he was divorced and not a widower), and Mitch countered with some of the crazy tattoos he’d been asked to ink over the years.
At one point, Dave thought he saw Prep School dancing with Popped-Collar, but when he looked around for Kurt and didn’t find him, he told himself it was just wishful thinking. When he didn’t see either of them again, he put it out of his mind.
It was a good night without any drama, and it was good to reconnect with people who knew him and didn’t expect anything of him other than that he be himself. The weirdest part of the evening came right before the end, when Dave asked:
“Does the name “Sue Sylvester” mean anything to you?”
The table got very quiet. “Where did you hear that name?” Steve hissed.
“She’s the cheerleading coach at my school,” Dave said. “She came to the GSA meeting on Tuesday. Called me ‘Cubby’”?
The table remained quiet. Nobody would look at him. He could see a trickle of fear sweat on Mitch’s forehead.
“You know what?” Dave said. “Forget I asked. I don’t think I want to know anymore.”
“Probably for the best,” Mike said weakly.
***
Tuesday Dave drove to school with four fresh pies in the cab of his truck. A repeat of the cookies would probably have been better, but Dave really hated repeating himself. He’d have to remember to set up the snack sign-up this time. He parked his truck and looked at the pies. He sighed. It really was too hot to leave them in the truck. So, he slung his backpack over his shoulders and balanced the pies as carefully as he could.
“Yo D!” Az called out. “Those your Gram’s pies?”
“Hell, yeah,” Dave called back, and slowed his steps until Az caught up.
“So which one’s mine?” Az said, and sniffed at the boxes. “Oh, I smell cherry.”
“They’re for the meeting after school today,” Dave said.
“What? Man, really? That’s cold,” Az said. “Not sharing your Gram’s pie.”
“I’m gonna share,” Dave said. “With the club. You want pie, come to the meeting.”
“I don’t know, man,” Az said. “That’s a high price for pie.”
Dave shook his head. “It’s not as high as you think,” he said. “I’m gonna get these to Coach, see if she knows where we can put them.”
“A-ight,” Az said. “I’ll see you in History.”
“Later, fucker,” Dave said.
Beiste made room for the pies in the teacher’s lounge refrigerator, while Dave stood stiffly in place behind her, weirded out by being in the teacher’s lounge. There were a few teachers there, drinking coffee and clutching their mugs like lifelines, shooting Dave glares like they were about to sacrifice him to some sort of lounge god. Finally, Beiste took the pies from Dave, and put a sign on them, “club use only,” and Dave beat feet.
He almost ran into Kurt right outside the door, stopping himself at the last minute. Kurt didn’t even flinch. He was pale, drawn, and dressed in all black. He wore no embellishments, no accessories, not even a scarf; just a black shirt, black skinny jeans, and boots. Even his hair seemed--flat.
“Oh, God,” Dave said. “Who died?”
“What?” Kurt looked up, slightly confused and a little bleary eyed.
“Okay,” Dave said slowly. “Come on,” he led Kurt into an empty classroom, setting him at a desk. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Kurt said. “Why do you think something happened?”
“You’re not wearing a scarf.”
Kurt’s hand flew to his throat. “Oh,” he said faintly, “So I’m not.” His face screwed up, and just for a moment, Dave thought Kurt was going to cry. But his features smoothed, leaving behind a far older expression that was worse somehow. “Blaine broke up with me. This morning. Via text.”
Dave frowned. “That’s a dick move. Why? I thought you two were tight.” Though, now that he thought about it, maybe that was Prep-School at Scandals the other night. Oh no, did Prep-School leave Kurt for Popped-Collar? Dave felt his hands tightened into fists and forced himself to calm down.
Kurt scoffed. “He said that distance will either make or break a relationship; either you’re strong enough to endure or the separation will make you ‘miss your independence.’ He said he will ‘always care’ but that he’s come to realize that he’s not ready to be ‘tied down in a relationship that wouldn’t make it past High School, anyway.’”
“That is the biggest crock I have ever heard,” Dave said. “And I’ve listened to Puckerman talk about his ‘conquests.’”
Kurt snorted, and gave Dave a tiny smile. He sighed. “The worst part, is that I don’t think he’s really wrong. I mean, I want the relationship. I’m romantic by nature, I want the romance, the story-book together forever. I want someone to hold my hand and go to dances and come to my shows. And Blaine, apparently, doesn’t,” Kurt looked away. “To be honest, I was starting to doubt Blaine would be my story-book love, anyway.” His expression turned wry. “I can’t exactly see him content to sit in the audience.”
“Well,” Dave shrugged. “Maybe this is for the best?” You were always too good for him, anyway, Dave didn’t say. He knew that that would cross some unspoken boundary between them.
“Maybe,” Kurt said. “But it still hurts.”
“Yeah,” Dave said. He leaned over and nudge Kurt’s shoulder with his own. “It’s not ice cream, but I made pie for the meeting.”
Kurt smiled. “Thank you, Dave. I look forward to it. If those cookies were anything to judge by, your pie will be amazing.”
Dave rubbed the back of his neck, ears red. “Yeah, tell me that again once you’ve had a taste.”
Kurt giggled and Dave covered his face with his hand. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Kurt laughed. “Thank you, Dave.”
“For pie?”
“For making me laugh.”
“Anytime.”
***
Kurt had a warm smile for him in English, and Mercedes gave him a considering once over. Mrs. Finch had determined that they would learn to “fully appreciate the genius of Shakespeare,” by which Dave was pretty sure she meant they would indulge her crush on Kenneth Branagh. They were supposed to be watching Much Ado About Nothing, and the man himself was on screen, flirt-fighting with Emma Thompson. Keanu Reeves was in it, which was weird, and Denzel Washington, which was alright because, really, the man was hot and they were supposed to be watching, so nobody was going to call Dave out on staring. And it took Dave a moment, but then it clicked that the guy playing Claudio was Wilson from House, and he was hot when he was younger and yeah, it was pretty official; Dave had a type.
Dave was snickering at Dogberry, thinking of the fool saying I’m Batman! or It’s Showtime! because that was Michael Fucking Keaton, and he was the fucking man, when he was hit in the head by a ball of paper. He looked down at the clump on his desk, saw shadows of ink on the paper, and unfolded it. It was from Mercedes; he glanced over and saw her watching him from over Kurt’s back. Kurt, for his part, was leaning forward in his seat, head braced on his palm, eyes full of tears and adoration, enraptured by the movie. Dave shook himself, and read the note.
I’m still not a hundred percent convinced that you don’t have an alterior motive, it began. Dave rolled his eyes. Of course. But my boy told me you were there for him this morning, and you didn’t have to be. So, this is me saying, officially, that you’re off watch. And thank you. For being there for him.
You break his heart, I break you.
Mercedes <3
Dave shook his head, but felt a little warmed by it all the same. He took out a pen, and wrote back:
I’d do the same for any of my friends. And I have no intention of breaking anything.
Dave
Dave folded the paper, and sat back in his seat, using his stretch to lean past Kurt to hand Mercedes the note. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she opened the paper, and read. She arched an eyebrow. She looked up at him, and mouthed, Good.
Dave nodded, and turned back to the television, catching sight of Mrs. Finch’s dreamy expression as he did. He looked back quick at Mercedes, caught her eye, and nodded over at the teacher. Mercedes looked, and bit back a laugh.
Dave grinned. Mission accomplished. He slouched back in his chair and watched the pretty guys on the screen until the bell rang. It wasn’t until Dave got to the meeting that day, and saw Mercedes smile at him, that he realized the implication in her warning. He felt flushed cold. There was no way Mercedes knew about him, especially not the way his feelings for Kurt seemed to be turning into feelings for Kurt. He brushed it off; Kurt would keep her from talking if she did know. Which she didn’t. She had no proof.
Dave sat on one of the desks and watched as the club filled up; it seemed like they had lost one or two people, but for the most part, the number remained higher than he expected. Maybe Kurt was right; he was a pessimist.
Kurt came in then, surrounded by the girls from Glee; to Dave, they looked less comforting and more gossiping, but then, Dave never really got girls. Kurt seemed happy enough where he was, so that was all right, then.
Ms. Pillsbury was the last in, with a large cardboard box decorated with bubble letters cut out of construction paper. It said “Top Secret” on the sides. She brought it over to him.
“David,” she said. “I was thinking about the Postsecret billboard. I was thinking that I could keep this in my office, and students could drop their secrets in this anonymously. Then, the billboard next to my office is mine to decorate. I can put them up once I have enough, and add more as they come in. We can make it a year-long project.”
Dave nodded. “Yeah. That sounds good.” It was all anonymous anyway. “Maybe we can tell people to put their secrets in envelopes, if they’re worried about you seeing which ones they drop off. Maybe make it a thing, like, everyone has to submit one in the next week? Just to start, and it doesn’t have to be anything earth-shattering.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, David,” she said. “You’re good at this.”
Dave smiled and looked down. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be so good at; he was just doing what made the most sense. But he’d take it.
Kurt clapped his hands then, looking as if he had never known heartbreak; he’d even managed to dig up a scarf from somewhere. Either Kurt was a better actor than Dave had known, or those girls had worked some serious magic. Dave listened to Kurt start the meeting, and turned the ballot box over in his hands, wondering just what his first secret was going to be.
Chapter 5
Rating: pg-13
Pairing: future Kurtofksy. situational Klaine
Disclaimer: not mine
Summary: School starts and Dave and Kurt start the McKinley GSA. Here’s to baby steps.
Notes: proxydialogue and raving_liberal are the best!
Chapter 3b
Dave left school on Tuesday feeling really good, steps light as he waved goodbye to everyone and climbed into his truck. On a whim, Dave opened his glovebox and dug around for a particular unmarked tape. It was a mixtape his cousin Kevin had given him years ago, before Kevin had enlisted, and it was a mix of ska punk and swing, all bands that had big brass that were big in the mid-nineties, bands like Reel Big Fish, The Brian Stetzer Orchestra,The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and The Cherry Poppin Daddies. Upbeat music for an upbeat mood, and he sang and long and played drums on the steering wheel as he drove home.
His mom’s car was missing, but his father’s was there, and he called out hello when he entered the house.
“Hey, Dave,” Paul said, walking out of his study. “Your mother’s gone to visit your Aunt Brenda. Apparently the baby’s sick again. So it’s just us tonight.”
Dave grinned. “Pizza and wings?”
Paul nodded. “Game tonight. Cowboys at Bears.”
“Awesome,” Dave said. “Let me put my bag upstairs.”
“I’ll call it in. Meatlovers?”
Dave grinned. If only you know. “Is there any other kind?” He called back.
Later, gorged on pizza and wings and the black and white milkshake his father insisted was delivered by mistake, Dave was fuzzy with good feeling. The Bears were trouncing the Cowboys, and really, it was just sad to watch.
“I’ve missed this,” Paul said as they went to commercial. “The two of us, watching the game. What happened, Davey?”
Dave shrugged. Sports were always their thing, they watched baseball and football and hockey, just the two of them bonding over the sport, from when Dave was four and old enough to watch, until Dave’s freshman year, when becoming one of the cool kids took priority over everything. “Bunch of shit,” he said, at last.
Paul snorted. “You can say that again. I don’t know if we told you, Dave. But it’s good to have you back.”
“I’ve been here,” Dave said. “All along.”
“You were hard to find for a while,” Paul said. “But I know pizza and wings would lure you out.”
Dave laughed. “Yeah. It’s all for the wings, Dad.”
The game started again, and they were distracted for a moment as the third quarter wound to a close.
“Whatever it was,” Paul said. “It’s okay, Davey. You can tell me. You’re my son, and I love you no matter what.”
Dave couldn’t swallow for a long minute. It certainly sounded like Paul had just told him that he knew and that it was okay. And--and hearing that.
“I know, Dad,” Dave said.
“Good,” Paul said. Then the TV started to scream and Paul and Dave were on their feet, shouting at the players, the coach, the ref, and the matter was dropped. That night, when Dave was drifting off to sleep, he realized some of his anxiety over telling his parents had disappeared. He slept with a smile on his face.
***
The rest of the week passed in a blur. Santana still mocked him in homeroom, Az still saved him a seat in History, and Kurt still sat in the back with him during English while Mercedes watched him from the corner of her eye. Still, she had warmed from icy to chilly after the meeting. Friday was their first home game, and they started their streak with a win of 14-6.
Saturday night found Dave back at Scandals for the first time since school started. Ted monopolized his attention for most of the night, once he mentioned that one of his classes was AP Physics; turned out Ted had a degree in physics (well, Ted had several degrees, but one of them was in physics) and appreciated Dave’s “unique approach to the subject matter.” Dave tried to tell him it wasn’t unique so much has half-understood, but Ted had been drinking since Happy Hour, and by that point, there was no reasoning with him.
He told them about the game, and they told him how Steve had won his latest case, then nearly had it thrown out when he was almost caught in the bathroom with the prosecuting attorney. Mike threw in a couple stories from his marriage (a sham marriage to an octogenarian named Gladys. His meeting Ted again was one of the reasons why he was divorced and not a widower), and Mitch countered with some of the crazy tattoos he’d been asked to ink over the years.
At one point, Dave thought he saw Prep School dancing with Popped-Collar, but when he looked around for Kurt and didn’t find him, he told himself it was just wishful thinking. When he didn’t see either of them again, he put it out of his mind.
It was a good night without any drama, and it was good to reconnect with people who knew him and didn’t expect anything of him other than that he be himself. The weirdest part of the evening came right before the end, when Dave asked:
“Does the name “Sue Sylvester” mean anything to you?”
The table got very quiet. “Where did you hear that name?” Steve hissed.
“She’s the cheerleading coach at my school,” Dave said. “She came to the GSA meeting on Tuesday. Called me ‘Cubby’”?
The table remained quiet. Nobody would look at him. He could see a trickle of fear sweat on Mitch’s forehead.
“You know what?” Dave said. “Forget I asked. I don’t think I want to know anymore.”
“Probably for the best,” Mike said weakly.
***
Tuesday Dave drove to school with four fresh pies in the cab of his truck. A repeat of the cookies would probably have been better, but Dave really hated repeating himself. He’d have to remember to set up the snack sign-up this time. He parked his truck and looked at the pies. He sighed. It really was too hot to leave them in the truck. So, he slung his backpack over his shoulders and balanced the pies as carefully as he could.
“Yo D!” Az called out. “Those your Gram’s pies?”
“Hell, yeah,” Dave called back, and slowed his steps until Az caught up.
“So which one’s mine?” Az said, and sniffed at the boxes. “Oh, I smell cherry.”
“They’re for the meeting after school today,” Dave said.
“What? Man, really? That’s cold,” Az said. “Not sharing your Gram’s pie.”
“I’m gonna share,” Dave said. “With the club. You want pie, come to the meeting.”
“I don’t know, man,” Az said. “That’s a high price for pie.”
Dave shook his head. “It’s not as high as you think,” he said. “I’m gonna get these to Coach, see if she knows where we can put them.”
“A-ight,” Az said. “I’ll see you in History.”
“Later, fucker,” Dave said.
Beiste made room for the pies in the teacher’s lounge refrigerator, while Dave stood stiffly in place behind her, weirded out by being in the teacher’s lounge. There were a few teachers there, drinking coffee and clutching their mugs like lifelines, shooting Dave glares like they were about to sacrifice him to some sort of lounge god. Finally, Beiste took the pies from Dave, and put a sign on them, “club use only,” and Dave beat feet.
He almost ran into Kurt right outside the door, stopping himself at the last minute. Kurt didn’t even flinch. He was pale, drawn, and dressed in all black. He wore no embellishments, no accessories, not even a scarf; just a black shirt, black skinny jeans, and boots. Even his hair seemed--flat.
“Oh, God,” Dave said. “Who died?”
“What?” Kurt looked up, slightly confused and a little bleary eyed.
“Okay,” Dave said slowly. “Come on,” he led Kurt into an empty classroom, setting him at a desk. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Kurt said. “Why do you think something happened?”
“You’re not wearing a scarf.”
Kurt’s hand flew to his throat. “Oh,” he said faintly, “So I’m not.” His face screwed up, and just for a moment, Dave thought Kurt was going to cry. But his features smoothed, leaving behind a far older expression that was worse somehow. “Blaine broke up with me. This morning. Via text.”
Dave frowned. “That’s a dick move. Why? I thought you two were tight.” Though, now that he thought about it, maybe that was Prep-School at Scandals the other night. Oh no, did Prep-School leave Kurt for Popped-Collar? Dave felt his hands tightened into fists and forced himself to calm down.
Kurt scoffed. “He said that distance will either make or break a relationship; either you’re strong enough to endure or the separation will make you ‘miss your independence.’ He said he will ‘always care’ but that he’s come to realize that he’s not ready to be ‘tied down in a relationship that wouldn’t make it past High School, anyway.’”
“That is the biggest crock I have ever heard,” Dave said. “And I’ve listened to Puckerman talk about his ‘conquests.’”
Kurt snorted, and gave Dave a tiny smile. He sighed. “The worst part, is that I don’t think he’s really wrong. I mean, I want the relationship. I’m romantic by nature, I want the romance, the story-book together forever. I want someone to hold my hand and go to dances and come to my shows. And Blaine, apparently, doesn’t,” Kurt looked away. “To be honest, I was starting to doubt Blaine would be my story-book love, anyway.” His expression turned wry. “I can’t exactly see him content to sit in the audience.”
“Well,” Dave shrugged. “Maybe this is for the best?” You were always too good for him, anyway, Dave didn’t say. He knew that that would cross some unspoken boundary between them.
“Maybe,” Kurt said. “But it still hurts.”
“Yeah,” Dave said. He leaned over and nudge Kurt’s shoulder with his own. “It’s not ice cream, but I made pie for the meeting.”
Kurt smiled. “Thank you, Dave. I look forward to it. If those cookies were anything to judge by, your pie will be amazing.”
Dave rubbed the back of his neck, ears red. “Yeah, tell me that again once you’ve had a taste.”
Kurt giggled and Dave covered his face with his hand. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Kurt laughed. “Thank you, Dave.”
“For pie?”
“For making me laugh.”
“Anytime.”
***
Kurt had a warm smile for him in English, and Mercedes gave him a considering once over. Mrs. Finch had determined that they would learn to “fully appreciate the genius of Shakespeare,” by which Dave was pretty sure she meant they would indulge her crush on Kenneth Branagh. They were supposed to be watching Much Ado About Nothing, and the man himself was on screen, flirt-fighting with Emma Thompson. Keanu Reeves was in it, which was weird, and Denzel Washington, which was alright because, really, the man was hot and they were supposed to be watching, so nobody was going to call Dave out on staring. And it took Dave a moment, but then it clicked that the guy playing Claudio was Wilson from House, and he was hot when he was younger and yeah, it was pretty official; Dave had a type.
Dave was snickering at Dogberry, thinking of the fool saying I’m Batman! or It’s Showtime! because that was Michael Fucking Keaton, and he was the fucking man, when he was hit in the head by a ball of paper. He looked down at the clump on his desk, saw shadows of ink on the paper, and unfolded it. It was from Mercedes; he glanced over and saw her watching him from over Kurt’s back. Kurt, for his part, was leaning forward in his seat, head braced on his palm, eyes full of tears and adoration, enraptured by the movie. Dave shook himself, and read the note.
I’m still not a hundred percent convinced that you don’t have an alterior motive, it began. Dave rolled his eyes. Of course. But my boy told me you were there for him this morning, and you didn’t have to be. So, this is me saying, officially, that you’re off watch. And thank you. For being there for him.
You break his heart, I break you.
Mercedes <3
Dave shook his head, but felt a little warmed by it all the same. He took out a pen, and wrote back:
I’d do the same for any of my friends. And I have no intention of breaking anything.
Dave
Dave folded the paper, and sat back in his seat, using his stretch to lean past Kurt to hand Mercedes the note. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she opened the paper, and read. She arched an eyebrow. She looked up at him, and mouthed, Good.
Dave nodded, and turned back to the television, catching sight of Mrs. Finch’s dreamy expression as he did. He looked back quick at Mercedes, caught her eye, and nodded over at the teacher. Mercedes looked, and bit back a laugh.
Dave grinned. Mission accomplished. He slouched back in his chair and watched the pretty guys on the screen until the bell rang. It wasn’t until Dave got to the meeting that day, and saw Mercedes smile at him, that he realized the implication in her warning. He felt flushed cold. There was no way Mercedes knew about him, especially not the way his feelings for Kurt seemed to be turning into feelings for Kurt. He brushed it off; Kurt would keep her from talking if she did know. Which she didn’t. She had no proof.
Dave sat on one of the desks and watched as the club filled up; it seemed like they had lost one or two people, but for the most part, the number remained higher than he expected. Maybe Kurt was right; he was a pessimist.
Kurt came in then, surrounded by the girls from Glee; to Dave, they looked less comforting and more gossiping, but then, Dave never really got girls. Kurt seemed happy enough where he was, so that was all right, then.
Ms. Pillsbury was the last in, with a large cardboard box decorated with bubble letters cut out of construction paper. It said “Top Secret” on the sides. She brought it over to him.
“David,” she said. “I was thinking about the Postsecret billboard. I was thinking that I could keep this in my office, and students could drop their secrets in this anonymously. Then, the billboard next to my office is mine to decorate. I can put them up once I have enough, and add more as they come in. We can make it a year-long project.”
Dave nodded. “Yeah. That sounds good.” It was all anonymous anyway. “Maybe we can tell people to put their secrets in envelopes, if they’re worried about you seeing which ones they drop off. Maybe make it a thing, like, everyone has to submit one in the next week? Just to start, and it doesn’t have to be anything earth-shattering.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, David,” she said. “You’re good at this.”
Dave smiled and looked down. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be so good at; he was just doing what made the most sense. But he’d take it.
Kurt clapped his hands then, looking as if he had never known heartbreak; he’d even managed to dig up a scarf from somewhere. Either Kurt was a better actor than Dave had known, or those girls had worked some serious magic. Dave listened to Kurt start the meeting, and turned the ballot box over in his hands, wondering just what his first secret was going to be.
Chapter 5