Hey Ya'll. Long time no see. This ideas been nibbling at me for a while, but I got distracted with finals, so it never got written, that is, until now. And this is what came out. I hope it's enjoyed, and it should be followed by the next chapter relatively quickly. One other thing you should know, I've never been on a plane, I've never even been in an airport. I know, pathetic, right? I plan on going this summer, just to say I did. Haha, well I've heard the coffee's decent. So my apologies if I got anything wrong. It would mean a lot to me if you reviewed. :D
I don't own anything, not Glee, not the plane, not even the music I was listening to as I wrote this... thing.
Anthem for the American Teenager
Chapter One: One Step Ahead of the Game
A crowd moved slowly through the windowed hallway, hesitant to reach the end. An old woman with a walking cane stopped in the crowd, shuffling to the side to stare down the long, black, extension with nothing more than fear in her old brown eyes. Seeing this, a young boy, face perfectly smooth, sandy blond hair sticking up in that careless infant way, clutched closer to his fathers neck, burying his moist green eyes into the crook of the shoulder. His older sister, blond pigtails bobbing with each step, squished to her father's leg and clutched a colouring book closer to her tiny frame. A man, more of a young boy, two steps behind the family, let out a quiet sigh, wanted nothing more to reach forward and reassure the neglected child that it would be fine.
His forest green carry-on thumped in time to the side of his leg. His black hair had grown out over the six months away from home, piling freely to the top of his tanned forehead, a mass of tight curls. The black and red checkered shirt swished loosely from his broad shoulders; the dark blue jeans did little for his tall frame.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the crowd peeled to a stop, organizing into a hectic line. He was cut off by a group of short Asians, the tallest barely tall enough to brush his shoulders, but he didn't bother to say anything as the five of them butted him. He shuffled his red Nikes ahead with everyone, pausing as the group ahead of them dug through their pockets, and when it was finally his turn, the lady took it happily and ushered him to the white door.
A fracture between the hallway's wall, and the wall to which the door stood against, allowed for a slight breeze. He chanced a look down, gulping as the grass waved in the wind, watched as a leaf slowly fell the seven feet to the ground, being whisked away before it had a chance to land. Forcing himself to look away from the ground, he surged forward and shuffled through the door, ducking his head.
He looked down at the slip of paper in his hand, hard and worn, and glanced up to look down the aisle. A few people, ones who had entered and found there seats, glanced at his, as if to say, 'will you sit with me?' He walked past the people, keeping his eyes to the overhead compartments, glad to find his numbers, his seat at the back, pressed tightly to the wall that would, presumptuously, lead towards the stewardess quarters.
His designated, plush, chair was beside the small panel of a window. He did not like the thought of that, but it was much too late to do anything about that, and he should just be thankful that he had gotten a ticket at all. He slowly reached above his head to pull the door up, and shoved his bag inside, it hardly took up the half of the room he was granted.
Stifling a sigh, he slid over to his appointed seat, sat deeply into the ugly cushion and pulled the thick cord over his lean torso. Keeping his eyes trained on the simple weave of the seat before him, he missed his neighbor's arrival, jumping slightly when he was greeted with a hearty hello.
Rather than risk a nervous croak, he simply nodded, glancing out of the corner of his eye to the richly dressed business man. Black Giovanni suit, a simple but classy red tie, the coat slung over the young arm – the man couldn't be much older than twenty, not much older than the boy. A pair of sturdy black rimmed glasses sat deep on a perfectly straight nose, glazing over the sparkling green eyes.
Realizing he was staring, and that the man new he was staring, he looked sharply back to the seat before him, fighting a blush. His seat rocked ever so slightly as the business man sat next to him, placing a briefcase on the floor next to his crisp dress shoes, and folding the coat over his knees.
A few minutes later, a stewardess walked out from the drapes next to his seat, walked halfway up the aisle, greeted them heartedly and proceeded to show them the exact procedure for buckling the seatbelts. Almost like he hadn't spent hours on the internet, researching safety features for a plane.
No words were offered as the men waited, one patiently, the other, not. The jeaned leg juggled up and down, the dark lip was bit in anticipation. It took much to long for the plane to roar to life, and when it finally did, the boy wished it hadn't. He couldn't help but look as the ground slowly rushed away from them; the grasses blurred together in a dry green sea; the large building fell quickly behind.
As did the ground. His finger tightened around the armrest once again, his heart jumped to his throat. And yet, he couldn't peel his dark eyes from the city falling behind him. Swallowing heavily, he attempted to look away from the sight, his stomach rolling in his gut. He was saved from the awful sight of the earth falling away, as his neighbor snapped the window shield shut.
X x X x X x X x X x X
A knock came to the deep burgundy wood, breaking the teenager's attention. He looked quickly from the white grains of the computer screen to the bedroom door, wincing as his neck knotted together. Raising a slim hand, he massaged his neck and called a hasty enter. A smile, one that did not quite reach his eyes, took over his face almost immediately.
The door creaked open and a strict-haired boy stuck his head in, eyes shining with mirth and fun, "Come on, David started a snowball fight!"
"I don't know Blaine," the boy said, turning back to his computer screen, pulled the cursor over to the refresh and frowning when no new messages appeared.
The elder boy sighed and entered the room, crossing the white shag carpet and folding himself neatly onto the blue comforter. He clasped his hand over the beige track pants and cast a slight frown, "What's wrong, Kurt? Usually you're up for their shenanigans."
"Not when my new Uggs are in jeopardy. Besides that, it's freezing out," the boy, Kurt, crossed his hands over his knitted sweater, proof of just how cold it had gotten. He watched the other boy, across from him and smoothing the blankets with calm hands, before looking back at the screen. "You go have fun."
"Kurt? What's really bothering you?"
The boy ran a hand over the keyboard, feeling the occasional bump of brail. He had always wanted to learn brail. To be able to read- to see-without having to depict letters, words. Everything would be so simple if people could understand without having to depict. He stared at the 'M', just under his index finger, and looked up to his friend, the friend he would do just about anything for. The friend he had never lied to, "I'm just tired," until now.
Bed springs groaned as the shorter boy stood, his charming smile back and place and making the others heart flutter deep within his chest. Kurt looked sharply back at the screen, biting his lower lip when the door clicked loudly shut. Listening for any indication of it opening once again, and hearing nothing, he pressed his finger pad gently against the letter.
Almost immediately, a list of emails popped up, each one starting with the same address, the same name. Kurt stroked the key pad, watching as the list extended, stretched downwards, rolled upwards. The times grew farther and father behind, dating as far back as May, of the year before. All together, the inbox was almost completely full, one-hundred and fifty-three emails. One email for everyday of the last five months. The last communication being from eight days ago.
And that's what worried him.
Not a lack of sleep, not the fact that the classes at Dalton were that much harder than the ones at McKinley, a private school verses a public school. It wasn't even the fact that he was working against his first crush since the Finn fiasco, only this time, it might actually be reciprocated. No, he was loosing sleep, getting worried that his friend, one of his closest friends, hadn't replied to the seventeen emails he sent out. Seventeen ignored emails, twenty one ignored text messages, five ignored calls to the home phone, and eight more, ignored, to the cell.
X x X x X x X x X x X
The rubber wheels squeaked onto the pavement, spouting up a loose rocks and slight dust, harder than completely necessary. The boy clutched to the grey plastic, his wide nail biting into the scales. His deep brown eyes were hidden behind a wall of thin, light, lashes. The man beside him chuckled a bit, having learnt the boys deep fear of planes. Every bump in the air, each time someone yelped – just from the headphones being to loud – the boy would jump.
It was a good five minutes before he dared open his eyes, biting the inner of his check, and offering a goofy smile to his new acquaintance. If that's what they were; a five and a half hour flight of having nothing better to do than talk, left them fairly close - for complete strangers.
The man tapped the still white-knuckled hand, grinning ear to ear and stooping into the aisle. He passed the carry on down, before grabbing his own and following the steady stream of people out of the aircraft. The boy followed slowly, shuffling behind the crowd and nodding to the friendly pilot, who offered him a wide, welcoming grin.
He walked up the steady ramp, smiling softly as a little girl raced by and into the arms of an older man, graying hair bobbing as he scooped her into his arms and swung her in a slow circle. The man ahead of him paused briefly, but made no time in heading towards the luggage carousel.
They stood there for a time, alternating from watching the luggage to the greetings around them. The boy bounced on his heels, a nervous habit, before lunging forward and grabbing the red and white duffle bag, his fingers brushing over the handle as it was quickly carried away.
He returned to his companion, hunching his shoulders at the man's hearty laugh, but offering a tip of the head. He watched the rough carpet move around in a steady circle, slowly diminishing too few bags. The red peeked around the corner, as a large black sack landed atop it. He laughed and grabbed both, recognizing the purple and green unicorn the man had described previously.
Handing the black bag off with a smile, a goodbye, he headed towards the glass sliding doors, flagging down a yellow and black checkered taxi easily, and ducked into the back seat with a grin and a destination.
"Lima, Ohio."