Five Lives Kurt Hummel Didn't Live (And One He Still Might)
by aishuu
Characters: Kurt, Rachel, Puck, Emma, Finn, Quinn, Santana
Spoilers: Hints of Season 2.
One.
She found him in the art room, like she knew he would be. Everyone knew that Kurt Hummel lived amidst the paint fumes, usually focused on a sketchpad.
Rachel Berry didn't suffer from shyness, so she claimed the chair across from him without asking for permission. Kurt didn't bother looking up to see who was intruding, his attention centered on the sketchpad he held in his lap. That didn't bother her, either, since she was used to being persona very non grata in school.
"You're Kurt Hummel," she said.
"I think I know my own name," he replied, "but thanks for the confirmation." He reached out and selected a sea-foam green color pencil from the array neatly placed to his right, and started to color vigorously.
Rachel's social skills were so poor she didn't recognize the clear dismissal (or, more likely, she was so immune to sarcasm that she didn't care). "I want to offer you the chance to take advantage of an exciting opportunity."
"You're really not my type," he said.
Rachel had to bite her lip to keep from saying what she thought of that. Everyone knew that Kurt Hummel flew the rainbow flag, but pointing that out might put him in a unreceptive mood. Instead she gamely forged ahead with her main reason for tracking him down. "I Googled every student in school to investigate those who might be well served by showcasing their musical talents in Glee."
"Cyberstalking, how very kosher," he replied, rolling his eyes before switching to a light brown pencil.
"Is that a crack about my Jewish heritage?"
"You're Jewish?"
"Everyone knows I'm Jewish!"
"That would be assuming I cared enough to find out anything about you. One encounter in freshman year was enough to dissuade me from ever wanting you as an acquaintance," Kurt replied, his acidic words targeted to hurt.
Let it never be said that Rachel didn't have thick skin. She was insulted on a daily basis by the Cheerios, who in turn suffered under the tender mercies of Sue Sylvester. Kurt's sarcasm was barely worth a blip on her radar.
"You used to sing, right? I found a Youtube clip of a concert you were in a couple years ago, and I think you have potential." She'd been surprised at the sight of a younger Kurt sweetly singing "Edelweiss" with a surprisingly competent treble.
For a second, his pencil paused its movements, but then started moving again, albeit with a bit more force. "Yes. Then my voice broke."
She winced at his tone. "With your musical training, I'm sure that-"
"My voice broke," he replied sharply, before setting aside the notebook he'd been working in with deceptive gentleness on the table and looking her directly in the face.
The blue-green of his eyes shocked her as he glared, and she felt like she had been sucker-punched. Rachel was used to the fact that she annoyed people, but it was rare she ever pissed them off – and Kurt was angry.
"I've heard you sing. You know you have a fantastic voice, something really special. Now imagine something happens and your voice is suddenly mediocre. Are you still going to want to perform so badly?"
She opened her mouth to say yes, of course she would want to sing, because she couldn't imagine a life without music.
He held a hand up, forestalling her. "Think carefully, Berry. And don't give me a bullshit platitude."
Unaccustomed to being interrupted, she nearly choked on her own tongue, but it gave her a chance to think. Rachel desperately wanted to be famous, and she knew her voice was her golden ticket to stardom. She tried to hone her dancing and acting skills as well, but Rachel planned on being a triple threat. If she'd suddenly been deprived of her greatest asset, it would become difficult to want to perform, since Rachel had a driving need to be the best. She was meant to be a soloist, not a backup singer.
If that was what had happened to Kurt, she could fully understand why he might never want to sing again. But she needed to have at least twelve people in Glee to make the club a viable force, and maybe she could persuade him that it wasn't so bad having to be in the back... which would be a complete lie, and the one thing Rachel Berry never did was lie. She prided herself on her honesty.
For once in her life, Rachel found herself without an answer. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.
Kurt snickered, a high-pitch noise that sounded out of place coming from a boy's mouth. "I think I see my next masterpiece." He held up his hands, forming a rough square with his hands and peering through at Rachel. "Rachel Berry, speechless. I think most people would consider it very imaginative."
Rachel was used to people trying to shut her up, and Kurt's taunt galvanized her the way nothing else would have. She'd never been able to resist a retort. "I hardly think it's fair to mock me."
"I thought it was kind of the school's favorite pastime," Kurt riposted flawlessly before picking up a pencil and pad again. "Just to make it clear, Berry, before you decide I'm your latest crusade: I have no interested in joining Glee Club, for while I may have a mediocre musical talent and be capable of singing in the choir for you, I refuse to settle for less than the best."
Rachel hated to admit it, but she suspected that persistence would only result in wanting to ram her head into a wall. Kurt might be one of those few people who could out stubborn her. "I can understand that," she said softly. "I respect your decision to not pursue a musical career, Kurt, but in case you do have a change of heart, Glee Club is still accepting members."
"I'll keep it in mind," he said, dismissing her.
Rachel, though, couldn't resist trying to take a peek at what he was working on. She walked around his back, leaning over to look at the image he'd drawn. The sketches were of faceless humans, posed in fantastic clothing. She wasn't sure if she liked them or not.
"I'm working on designing clothes," he said before she could ask another question. "I want to be a fashion designer. It's a different form of self-expression than singing, but one I enjoy."
Rachel didn't think much of the bright clash of colors on the page, but she didn't understand fashion to begin with. Her own style was a version of sexy schoolgirl that never managed to crossover from "dorky" to "cool."
"If you ever change your mind..."
"Thank you for your platitude," Kurt replied, before gesturing her to the door with a pencil. "But I've got to get back to work on this, and your yammering is distracting."
Rachel backed up slowly, before straightening her back and mentally preparing to corner her next potential member. She still had many others to attempt to recruit, and the loss of one art nerd certainly wasn't going to make a difference in her Glee club.
Two.
A hand landed heavily on his shoulder, but Kurt merely turned his head to level a withering look on the upstart that dared infringe upon his personal space. Noah Puckerman stood behind him, a smile curving his lips. Puck was trying to be friendly, but the smile looked far too much like the hyenas from The Lion King for Kurt to buy into.
"What are you doing after school?"
"I don't see why that's any concern of yours," Kurt replied, trying to shrug his way out of Puck's grip and make an escape to the Spanish room. Mr. Shuester might be an optimistic idiot, but not even Puck would punch someone in front of a teacher.
Puck wasn't having it. He shifted, adjusting his grip so he had his arm across Kurt's shoulders in a seemingly companionable manner. "You wound me, Kurt. Of course it's my concern – we're teammates, aren't we?"
The less said about that, the better. Kurt was the only competent player on the football team. There were times he thought about quitting because the team was so bad, but he loved the sport too much to. Of course, he'd made the mistake of voicing his utter disgust with the rest of the team, which unfortunately resulted in him turning into their primary punching bag.
"What do you want?" Kurt asked flatly.
"My car sounds funny, and Santana refuses to get in it again until it's fixed."
Kurt didn't think that was a tragedy, but he wasn't stupid enough to point that out. "And I assume you want me to do that? I charge seventy-five an hour."
Puck pulled a face, his fingers digging into Kurt's shoulders. The thick flannel offered some protection, but Kurt's fair skin was still going to have some bruising. "How's one month without slushy facials sound?"
It was tempting, since Kurt was like a cat when it came to getting wet – he really didn't like it. But a good businessman never settled for the first offer. "Two months, and include a ban on me getting binned," Kurt counter-offered. "And you'll still need to pay for parts."
"Done," Puck replied with a grin, before offering a hearty whack to Kurt's back. "Pleasure doing business with you."
He should have held out for three months, Kurt reflected as he watched Puck make his way over to the Latina cheerleader and try to wrap an arm around her waist. Rolling his eyes, he made his way to his classroom, making a mental note to get his coveralls out of the back of his truck.
As soon as class began, he flipped open his copy of Hot Rod Magazine, ignoring the lesson Schu was trying to teach. Kurt was guaranteed at least a C in the class since he'd made a deal to join the Glee Club (honestly, how gay could you get?), so he didn't really care about learning the language. What he did care about was the article on the new ISIS wiring system.
It'd always been that way for Kurt, for as long as he could remember. His first memories were of hanging out in a playpen in his father's garage, watching his dad work on the vehicles that were brought in. Not too long after, his father had shown him how to perform basic maintenance, and the rest was history.
If there was one thing in the world Kurt loved, it was cars. He dreamed of becoming a NASCAR driver (though F1 would be acceptable as well), but knew the first step would be gaining a thorough understanding of how the vehicles worked. Spending all his free time – with occasional breaks for watching sports or driving his four-wheeler – working on cars was his way of life. There was nothing like getting under the hood and making it work better. It was such a rush to look at a beautiful piece of machinery and know he'd been involved in creating it.
And sometimes, it was a sense of pity that moved him, because some cars didn't deserve the abuse their owners put them through. Even a car as pathetic as Puck's needed a bit of love.
Puck yanked him over to the 1996 Ford F-Series as soon as school was done for the day. "I think it's the carburetor," Puck said.
"Do you even know what a carburetor is?"
Puck's face flushed. "Of course I do," he snapped back.
"A lot of car problems come from the computer systems that run them," Kurt said. "It's not as simple as it used to be. Turn it on so I can hear it."
Puck gave him a distrustful look, but obediently turned it on. The noise didn't start immediately, but it wasn't too long before a soft bwwob bwoobbubwub came from under the hood.
Kurt rolled his eyes. Puck really was an idiot who knew nothing about cars. He motioned for Puck to shut it off. "You're low on coolant," he said, trying not to roll his eyes. "I have some extra in my kit."
It took less than five minutes for Kurt to remedy the problem. He felt a bit weird fixing it as Puck watched him, because he was leaving himself defenseless as he bent over the engine block. Thankfully Puck was smart enough to realize messing with his mechanic would be a stupid idea.
"You'll probably need to take it in for an inspection soon, but this will see you through your hot date with Santana tomorrow night," Kurt pronounced as he shut the hood. "You really should have it drained properly, and I think you've got a couple of other things ready to go."
Puck winced. "Is it going to be expensive?"
Kurt drew a oil rag from the pocket of his coveralls. "I might be able to cut you a deal," he said, and the smile on his face wasn't particularly nice.
Puck nodded, unsure if the cost would be worth it, but willing to cut a deal if it kept the Puckmobile on the road. "You sure you can do it all?"
"It'll sing the Hallelujah Chorus when I'm done with it," Kurt promised. "Provided, of course, I don't have any more unwelcome encounters with slushies or the trash bin, and no bruises I have to lie to my dad about for the rest of the school year. And you're still going to have to pay for parts."
Puck held out his hand, which Kurt took in a firm handshake. There was no way Kurt was going to admit that half the problems with Puck's vehicle were because of him. The school's jocks were too dumb to realize that there was a pattern to the breakdowns of their ancient rides.
Strange things had a tendency to happen to the vehicles of the people who tried to bully Kurt Hummel.
Three
Despite living less than five miles from school, Kurt never arrived at the same time, sometimes turning up well before school, and other times missing first period. It wasn't because he was naturally an inconsistent person – Kurt was very much in favor of order and schedules – but because he knew that by coming at irregular intervals, the football team wouldn't waste time waiting for him to show up. He was perfectly content to let Jacob Ben Israel bear the brunt of the jock's loathing for anyone physically weaker than they were.
The couple of times he'd accidentally encountered them had left him traumatized. Avoiding them was rapidly defining itself as his main school extracurricular. Maybe he'd use the experience to become a world-class spy, because he was certainly good at sneaking around and hiding.
Today he came just in time to see Jacob go flying into the dumpster. He didn't stop and stare, though, because Puck, who seemed to be the ringleader at the moment, was never content with abusing one victim when a second one was available. Kurt much preferred Finn Hudson as the man in charge, since Finn treated bullying like a necessary chore, and not a pleasure.
Kurt made it to his locker without drawing any attention, keeping his head down and not meeting anyone's eyes. He could hear the sound of Rachel Berry going on a tirade to some unlucky classmate about how joining the Glee Club would utterly change their lives, but didn't dare look to see who had the dubious pleasure of her undivided attention.
The school day passed like all the others, with Kurt sitting in the back of the classroom and keeping quiet. He watched as the other students spent their time texting under their desks. He would have liked to do so as well, but he had no one to send messages to. The only action his cellphone got was informing his father when he'd be late.
Sometimes, he went days without saying anything. Most of the teachers forgot he existed, and none of his fellow students registered his presence. Once he'd missed a week of school after catching pneumonia, and no one had noticed.
Kurt spent much of his Spanish class daydreaming, imagining how he'd like to be. He'd wear the best fashions and always have a retort ready, and he wouldn't care what others thought of him. He really wished he had the courage to dress the way he wanted to – there was an Alexander McQueen sweater he had his eye on – but he'd learned that wearing clothing that weren't jeans and sweatshirts was only asking for a whole world of hurt.
When the bell rang, he shuffled out of the classroom. Most days he would go hide out in the library, but it was a Tuesday which meant he had an appointment.
Ms. P's office wasn't a comfortable space, despite its orderly nature. The pamphlets were like a litany of all that made a teenager's life miserable, and the antiseptic smell always made him feel a bit nauseous.
"How are you doing, Kurt?" Ms. P asked as she pulled out her lunch. Their weekly appointments had turned into uncomfortable lunch dates, since she wanted to check in with him regularly. Apparently she'd decided he was a high-risk student, although he didn't care to contemplate what that meant.
"Okay," he said, his voice soft. He didn't like to speak because his girly tone was a cause of ridicule. It was just one of the many, many reasons for him to try to become one with the wallpaper.
"Are you having any trouble in classes?"
"No," he replied, digging into his backpack to pull out the Tupperware container he'd prepared that morning. After placing the napkin Ms. P handed him into his lap, he started eating the salad, remaining quiet as Ms. P babbled at him about his self-esteem and her concern for him. Every now and then, she asked him a question, to which he offered monosyllabic answers.
It was a grueling thirty minutes, and by the end of it, he just felt tired. He knew she meant well, but there was no way he was going to implement any of her suggestions for coming out of his shell. Shells were meant to provide protection, and Kurt had no intention of exposing his soft underbelly to anyone, no matter how well-meaning they were.
"You know you can come see me any time, right?" she asked right before the bell was due to ring.
"Of course, Ms. P," he said, struggling to offer her a smile. They both knew he'd rather be tied to the train tracks than tell her anything.
Leaving Ms. P's office was always a challenge, since jocks liked congregating just out of her line of sight. Kurt discovered, not entirely to his surprise, that the jocks viewed it as prime hunting ground for victims, since none of the students seeing the school counselor were the cool kids.
It wasn't a good day for him, because he didn't manage to move quickly enough. Karofsky and Azimio were standing there, and each of them held an ubiquitous slushie cup. He considered turning the other way, but they had already sighted him.
He shut his eyes, knowing what was about to happen and not seeing any way to avoid it. The sting of getting hit in the face with a cupful of frozen liquid registered a second later, and he forced himself to stand still, knowing they would lose interest more quickly if he didn't breakdown or run away.
The sound of their mocking laughter was familiar as they walk past, as Karofsky called over his shoulder, "You're such a little wimp!"
He could think of a lot of things he wanted to retaliate with, but knew it would be incredibly stupid to even open his mouth. Despite having the most abysmal record in the state of Ohio, McKinley High's football team was the school's ruler. Sometimes he'd bite his lip so hard it would bleed more than the scratches and cuts he wound up with from getting tossed into the dumpster.
The feel of the slushie taking a trip down his back of the neck and the rest of his body was unwelcome but familiar. Trying not to sigh, he made a detour to his locker so he could grab his spare change of clothes.
It took him half a period to get cleaned up, and by then it was too late to go to class. There was no way he was walking in and having everyone stare at him. Even though the teacher might be understanding, the idea of all those eyes on him made him cringe. He'd rather get the detention for skipping than embarrass himself like that.
He waiting in the restroom for the end of the period, working on his Spanish homework. It seemed like he spent most of his time waiting.
Five minutes before the bell was to go, he decided it was time to go. The one good thing about skipping class was the opportunity to get to his next class safely, assuming none of the jocks had chosen to skip as well. Gathering his book bag and the grocery bag he'd placed his stained clothing, Kurt set off for his science class.
His route took him passed the school bulletin board, the one where clubs placed their announcements. For some reason, a blank sign-up sheet caught his eye, and he came to a stop in from of it. It was advertising the school's glee club, which had recently been reformed.
Kurt considered it for a second. His father was always encouraging him to get involved in some kind of school activity. He took another step closer, reaching into his pants pocket for a pencil, before his common sense got caught up with his impulse.
He loved to sing, but that didn't mean he could stand being on stage in front of people. He thought his soprano was good, but it was also very unusual and might open him up to more ridicule. While he liked the idea of Glee, it wouldn't be smart to join.
The last thing Kurt needed was to attract anyone's attention.
Four.
As usual, there was a shifting in the guy's room when Kurt Hummel made his grand entrance, resplendent in D & G. Instead of heading for the urinals, he went directly for the sink and pulled out a compact to touch-up his cheek. He'd had a breakout last night, and there was no way he wanted anyone to get a look at it. Even though it was on the edge of his hairline, it still had the potential to embarrass him.
Finn, standing in front of the urinal, didn't bother calling a greeting, since he was doing his own private thing and, you know, having his dingdong out make him self-conscious. But he did note the other Gleek's arrival, knowing he'd have to step in if the other guys decided today was a good day for swirlies. Usually he'd let them do whatever, but he was supposed to work on a duet with Kurt, and having to spend the afternoon as the main focus of Kurt's sarcasm would totally suck.
Finn finished zipping up his jeans and went to the sink next to Kurt in an attempt to make sure no one could get at the male diva easily. There were all kinds of swine flu warning signs, which actually concerned him enough that he was going to wash his hands. Most of the time he didn't bother, but the last thing he wanted was to get sick. He'd heard that it wasn't good for pregnant women, and heaven knew he'd already done enough to piss Quinn off in the last twenty four hours (though Finn still wasn't sure what was wrong with wanting to have sex since it wasn't like he could make her pregnant again... unless that was how twins were made).
Tyson, the baseball team's star right fielder, noticed the intrusion and jerked his head at the well-dressed teen who was currently applying makeup. Unfortunately Karofsky, who has recently become the bane of Finn's existence, was nearby, and ready to take the opening. He stalked forward, coming to stand beside Finn, but luckily out of arm's reach of Kurt.
"Move it, fag," Karofsky said belligerently, coming up to the sink. "This isn't a strip club for you to get your jollies from."
Kurt merely cocked an eyebrow, seemingly oblivious to the precarious nature of his situation. "First, I'm not gay. Second, even if I was, there's no way I'd want to look at your tiny dick."
"Sure you're not gay," Karofsky said with a derisive snort.
"Haven't you ever heard the term 'metrosexual?'" Kurt replied as he continued to exam his reflection in the mirror, digging out a comb so he could work on his already over-maintained hair.
Karofsky snorted. "Sure. It means 'closeted queer.'"
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Keep believing that, idiot. Girls like guys who are in touch with our feelings," he said, before letting a smug look cross his face. "Being 'in touch' has gotten me plenty to touch."
By now, the entire restroom had gone silent, with only the sound of the running water making any noise. Seconds later, Puck, the school's resident ladies man, came out of a stall with a dangerous expression on his face. Finn felt himself tense, knowing that things were going to get really bad unless Kurt was wise enough to make a clean break.
"Just because Mercedes lets you grope her doesn't mean you know what the hell to do with a woman, choirboy," Puck said, propping himself against the wall.
"Don't underestimate how powerful chocolate love is," Kurt replied. "I'd tell you to try her sometime, but she's far too good for you."
Puck growled and slammed his fist into a hand threateningly. "Do you need to get reacquainted with the dumpster, fag?"
Kurt sniffed, undaunted. "Even though you can't get any since the cheerleaders found out you were too stupid to use a rubber doesn't mean none of us are," he replied. "Your frustrated libido is misplaced."
Puck looked ready to drag Kurt to the nearest stall and start with the swirlies, but Finn wasn't about to allow that, even if he didn't know what the heck a libido was. "Keep cool, dudes," Finn said. "We've got to work together for Regionals, and I don't want to be the one to explain to Rachel why one of you has a broken jaw."
"You're scared of Rachel?" Puck asked, lifting an eyebrow tauntingly as he found a new target.
"Aren't you?" Finn replied. "Especially when she gets lecturing?"
"You guys just don't have the right stuff to shut her up," Kurt replied, showing the common sense of a suicidal lemming.
"What?" Puck asked incredulously.
"Did her," Kurt replied. "Her mouth is pretty talented and much more pleasant when it's occupied by something other than talking."
"You got Rachel into bed with you?" Puck clearly couldn't believe it, since Rachel hadn't agreed to sleep with him.
"I merely suggested that life experience might help her expand her performance skills," Kurt replied. He took out of tube of lip balm and applied it. "She was very eager to learn."
Finn felt a bit sick to his stomach, since he still liked Rachel and had thought she might like him back, too. "So you're dating her?" he asked.
"No way, she's too high maintenance. Besides, Quinn wouldn't have anything to do with me if I was dating her."
"Quinn's pregnant!" Puck sputtered before Finn could get a word in edgewise. Finn had thought Quinn was currently dating him.
"Yes, and thank you for that, Puck. Her sex drive is through the roof, and I get the benefit without having to worry about playing daddy."
Finn was starting to reconsider his need to keep Kurt in one piece. From the slightly slack-jawed expressions the other guys were wearing, they were in various states of shock. Kurt took the opportunity to store his grooming supplies back in his man purse, before turning to Finn.
"Finn, do you think we can reschedule our practice? I have a sleepover tonight at Santana's I need to get ready for. She and Brittany want to discuss a dance routine with me."
From the smug grin on Kurt's face, it was clear there wouldn't be much sleeping going on. Puck had banged both of them, but he hadn't done them both at the same time. Finn hadn't even been approached by the two slutty cheerleaders due to his history with Quinn (who had turned him down and was banging Kurt?).
Finn could only nod dumbly, unable to think of anything to say as Kurt glided out of the bathroom, leaving a bunch of stunned guys in his wake.
Puck managed to find his voice first. "When the hell did it become sexy to be a freaking twinkletoes?"
Five
The click of very high heels on the school's linoleum floor echoed as she made her way down the hallway. Heads turned to watched as the most stylish student in McKinley High sashayed by, wondering what ensemble Kirsa Hummel had deemed today's cutting edge of fashion.
She was dressed in Alexander Wang today, a short skirt just the right length to be called sexy instead of slutty, and matching red Jimmy Choo stilettos and handbag. Her posture was impeccable, like she'd just stepped off a runway, and plenty of the guys let their gazes linger on the sway of her hips as she strutted boldly through the hall.
The expression on her face, though, kept anyone from approaching her. The careful blankness that enhanced her smooth features, but also gave no hint of what kind of mood she was in. It was a matter of self-preservation, since her tongue was sharp enough to flay with a few carefully chosen words. If she was in a bad mood, it would be a hell of a bad idea to distract her from her chosen target.
Quinn Fabray, head Cheerio, had her locker open and was searching her Celibacy Club folder for a flier for the Celibacy Ball. Her distraction cost her, because she didn't have any forewarning that Kirsa was heading her way. One second she was flipping through agendas, and the next she was being confronted.
"Hello, Quinn darling," Kirsa said, her voice containing an edge that boded no good for anyone within her blast radius. The smile she wore was sweet, but her eyes were flashing dangerously.
"Kirsa," Quinn replied, lifting her eyebrow inquiringly. "Did you want something?"
"I think it's time you and I had a little chat," Kirsa replied, reaching out to gently shut Quinn's locker and turn the lock. It was somehow more intimidating than slamming it closed would have been.
Quinn, never one to feel less-than-confident, was off-balance as she stood in the hallway, holding her club folder in her hands. She could feel other students watching surreptitiously, waiting for some kind of drama.
Quinn had never determined exactly where Kirsa was on the school's prestige list. No one would ever call Kirsa Hummel beautiful, but she did have that special something that rated a second and third look. It might have been her clothes – she was never less than impeccably turned-out – but Quinn suspected it was because Kirsa was supremely secure in herself. Kirsa didn't feel the need to play the little power games that defined high school girls' existences, and somehow she came out ahead because of that. And because she was admired by others, Quinn couldn't automatically dismiss Kirsa as a threat to her own position as most popular girl.
"What do you want to talk about?"
Kirsa linked her right arm through Quinn's left, not giving the cheerleader a chance to escape. "How about we go somewhere a little more private to indulge in a bit of girl talk?" she suggested.
"Sure." Quinn was supposed to go to biology, but being a Cheerio insured that her attendance was an optional thing. She was curious about what Kirsa wanted, anyway.
The hallways cleared as they walked together, with Kirsa indulging in light commentary about how Quinn needed to petition Coach Sylvester to change the school's colors since red was not flattering on her and was very two seasons ago, anyway. Quinn frowned, wondering if this was Kirsa's catty opening salvo, but decided it wasn't. Kirsa honestly believed that changing the school colors was worth the effort if it was in the pursuit of style.
Quinn wasn't surprised when Kirsa led her to the auditorium, which was empty this time of day. They walked out across the glistening black stage, before Kirsa took a seat at the piano and began to twiddle with the keys. Quinn frowned in confusion, staring down at the other girl.
"Are you planning on serenading me?" Quinn demanded.
"Hardly. I just think better when there's music around," Kirsa replied, before turning around on the stool and crossing her legs in front of her. "I'm trying to think of the best way to talk to you, and I think blunt is better. You're starting to annoy me. I wanted to tell you to stop being a bitch about Glee Club, or else you'll find out that I'm the HBIC around here."
"Excuse me?" Quinn asked, feeling her own ire rise. Mentally she began to plot ways to make Kirsa regret ever approaching her, let along presuming that Quinn could be taken down by her.
Kirsa folded her hands, not at all intimidated by a pissed off Quinn Fabray. "Please. I have enough on you to make your life miserable for the rest of high school, and I'm certainly not cowed by a girl who's part of a team that has a combined IQ of 68. You can choose to ignore me, but I promise you'll regret it."
Quinn forced herself not to let her hands fall to her stomach, although that was what her reflexes wanted her to do. She hated all the maternal instinct that was starting to rear its ugly head, since the last thing Quinn Fabray was supposed to be was motherly (at least not for another ten years, until she was properly married in the Catholic Church and she had a husband ready to support her as a housewife).
"Do you think you scare me, drama queen?" Quinn asked.
"I think you're too blonde to realize you should be afraid." Kirsa studied her flawless nails, before looking up with a dangerous smile on her face. "If you want to keep your popularity for just a bit longer, you're going to do what I say."
Quinn wished she could claw Kirsa's eyes out, but getting into a physical confrontation would totally ruin her rep. Cheerios ruled by fear and verbal warfare, and descending into a cat fight wouldn't end well, even if – when – Quinn won. Kirsa weighed maybe one hundred pounds soaking wet, and Quinn knew she could take the other girl, should it come to it. It was too bad Quinn couldn't just yank Kirsa's immaculate brown hair out of her scalp.
But Quinn could only fight with words and threats, and Kirsa was starting to remind her of a Sue Sylvester.
"I don't take orders from anyone, much less a Gleek," Quinn said, turning to leave the auditorium and Kirsa behind.
She heard the sound of Kirsa heaving a heavy sigh. "I guess you don't care everyone knows you're preggers? You're more confident than I thought. You're going to be out as more than the President of the Celibacy Club when people find out..."
Quinn froze, wondering if she should pretend she didn't hear that; offering any kind of acknowledgment would be admitting the truth. Spinning around, she spat, "Where did you hear such a lie?"
Kirsa rose to her feet, straightening the scarf she wore with a deft flick of her wrist. The click of her heels on the stage as she made her way across echoed in Quinn's head unpleasantly. "Plausible deniability, pompoms? Won't work. I got the scoop straight from the the supposed baby daddy."
Quinn took a quick breath, realizing that Finn had spilled the beans. Kirsa had been his first girlfriend, and their breakup had been one of the rare high school breakups that was amicable. Quinn hadn't seen the two hang out together, though, so she had been spending more time warning RuPaul off her man than looking out for an ex-girlfriend. Clearly she had made a mistake.
Wait a sec... "Supposed?" she echoed dangerously.
"Wasn't my place to tell him that you couldn't get a girl pregnant by making out in a hot tub," Kirsa replied. "Though I might change my mind, if you keep messing with him. He's an idiot, but he's a nice guy and I might just decide to give him a second chance." Kirsa's smile was sharp as her words. "Imagine how ready he'll be to jump into my arms after Miss Pillsbury explains the realities of pregnancy."
It was truly Machiavellian, the way Kirsa's mind worked. She would set things up so she didn't break the news herself (using the germ-phobic counselor was a perfect idea), and then be there for Finn when he needed. There had been rumors, once, that Kirsa had declined a place on the Cheerios for fear of physical exertion, and Quinn was glad she had. Having Kirsa on the team would have been like adding a super-powered piranha to the already vicious competition.
Quinn raised her hands, clapping a slow beat of applause as she admitted she was trapped. "So what do I have to do to make you avoid taking an interest?"
"Don't mess around with Glee."
"I thought it was Berry's job to be the Gleek cheerleader."
Kirsa made a tutting sound, shaking her head. "Berry is an incurable optimist. She's actually trying to protect you. Myself, on the other hand... I prefer to think I have a more realistic view of human nature."
She leaned forward, resting her hand on Quinn's shoulder. "You're going to put everything into Glee – we're going to win Regionals even if I have to blackmail you. And you're going to stop helping Sylvester try to tear the club apart."
Quinn was caught exactly where she had never wanted to be: between Kirsa Hummel and Sue Sylvester, both of them using her as a piece in seeking their opposing goals. Quinn didn't lack for self-confidence, but she also had the brains to realize that getting between the school's two bitchiest women was like being a steak between two starving dogs.
"Why does it matter so much to you?" Quinn asked. "You could do so much better than Glee Club."
"I know the Cheerios are soon going to have an opening, but it's not how I roll," Kirsa replied. "I have no desire to jump around in a polyester skirt cheering for the losing-est teams in the state. I like performing in Glee, and I hate losing. And I need your full cooperation if the club is to go to Regionals."
Quinn would never admit to it, but she could understand. Sometimes just singing was a relief – it was fun, unlike the endless hours of training that being a Cheerio demanded.
"I suppose you think you have me right where you want me," Quinn said, narrowing her eyes dangerously.
"Until your waistline inflates past the point of no return, yes," Kirsa replied in a chipper voice. "But we can talk about that later."
Quinn tried to think of a sharp reply, but realized that no matter what she said, Kirsa would still have the upper hand. So she said nothing, instead turning on her heel and stalking out of the room. And in not fighting the battle, Quinn admitted defeat.
Zero.
Santana really wished she could come up with a way to maim Kurt Hummel and get away with it, but doing so would put her in Sue Sylvester's bad book (the one that was kept in the bottom-right drawer of her desk, titled Sue's Kill List). While Santana was convinced she could take Hummel with both hands tied behind her back, there was no way she thought she could win against her coach.
She had made the mistake of expecting to be named as head cheerleader, keeping a careful eyes on the other girls to make sure none of them posed a threat. It was obvious that she was the best choice, but Sue didn't always act rationally. However, some judicious threats from Santana had ensured none of the other girls would be stupid enough to take the position.
Santana still hadn't been able to out-anticipate Sue Sylvester.
When Kurt had been named to the lofty post of captain of the Cheerios, Santana had been utterly blindsided. There had never been a male captain, since Sue Sylvester said the guys were only there because the girls couldn't throw each other into the air high enough to execute a proper toe touch basket toss. Sue had considered making some of the bases bulk up a bit, but decided having cheerleaders who resembled the East Germany swim team wouldn't be looked at favorably by the judges.
Santana hadn't recognized that Sue's disdain of the male sex wouldn't extend to Kurt Hummel, who most of the Cheerios saw as "one of the girls," despite the sexual appendage he had.
Kurt had merely smiled, his eyes meeting Santana's squarely right after Sue made the announcement on the first day of school before stating he intended to makeover the entire team before he was done. Most of the girls had squealed (including Brittany, to Santana's disgust), since whatever else he was, Kurt was the undisputed king of fashion at school.
Five weeks later, Santana still had to force herself not to strangle whenever she saw him. He'd managed to take tight rein over the Cheerios, and Santana was the last holdout against Captain Kurt. Even most of the football team had given way to him, despite their universal loathing of his homosexuality. The word around McKinley High was that people who crossed Kurt Hummel always lived to regret it... but Santana couldn't find anyone who had done so. The threat of his wrath was enough by itself that Kurt hadn't had to do anything.
It was almost admirable, Santana thought as she took a drink of her wine cooler. She still hated him, though.
The fourth party of the school year – the annual Columbus Day "Let's Get Drunk Because There's Nothing Better to Do in This Hick Town" bash (not to be confused with the annual pre-Columbus Day "Let's Get Drunk Because We Lost Yet Another Football Game" bash) – was in full swing at Puck's when Kurt Hummel made his grand entry. Everyone had been anticipating what scandal would top last year's (since this was the same party that resulted in Baby Beth), but when the shocker came, no one had a clue how to react.
Kurt Hummel had a date.
He walked in, dressed in a fashionable ensemble by some big-name designer Santana had never bothered to learn, with a gorgeous young man on his arm. The crowd hushed as they were confronted with blatant evidence of Kurt's sexual proclivities, especially when they recognized the person hanging onto him.
Sam Adams was a new freshman at school, but he had quickly become the Hottest Thing Since Puck. He earned a starting position on the football squad without issue (no one wanted to argue with two hundred pounds of muscle, even if the team hadn't sucked horse's balls), and had joined Glee Club without it interfering in his cool quota. He was a very fine piece of eye candy, and Santana might have been tempted to tap that if he hadn't been barely fifteen.
The quiet stretched past the point of uncomfortable and started into the realm of the ridiculous. Kurt didn't make a sign of discomfort as he strutted over to the keg and filled himself a cup. Sam's eyes were so focused on watching Kurt that he didn't even notice his surroundings.
Around them, the crowd started to shift uneasily. People had known Kurt was light in the loafers since they'd been in elementary school, but seeing Kurt with another guy was an entirely different story.
Santana could use this, she knew. With a couple of the right words, she could turn the jocks against the homo in their midst, shaking his reign as Captain.
It only took her a couple of seconds to reject the idea. Kurt would have the support of Sue – who didn't care who the queer boy did as long as he kept winning for her – but the civil war that would break out if she decided to go up against Kurt had the potential to utterly decimate the Cheerios. Santana wanted to be in charge, but she wasn't stupid enough to delude herself that what would be left over after such a war would be worth commanding.
Santana decided that for now, she would have to help Kurt get over this utter stupidity. She pushed the wine cooler she was holding into Brittany's hands, and stalked across the room. Everyone was watching her, waiting for the scene she was sure to cause. She grabbed Kurt's shirtsleeve and yanked him to the side, leaving Sam standing in the middle of the room.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice carefully pitched to feign an attempt at privacy, even though half the room could hear her.
Kurt turned to her, his expression cool, although his eyes were glinting with another emotion entirely. It took a heck of a lot of guts to show up at this kind of party with a boyfriend in tow, but Santana knew despite his outward confidence, Kurt had to be concerned about the repercussions.
But he responded beautifully, not showing any sign of weakness. "I am currently wasting my time talking to a girl when I could be getting my boyfriend drunk," he replied, looking over and meeting Sam's eyes and waggling his fingers playfully. Sam lifted a hand and waved back, a blush on his face.
"I didn't mean that," she replied, her hands coming to rest on her hips aggressively, before pulling out her 'argument.' "He's a freshman. I know the gay dating pool is tiny, but he's a freshman and I thought you had better taste."
"I follow the Madonna school of dating," he stated, his lips curled in a slight smile. "Dating a younger man offers plenty of social cache."
She rolled her eyes, not bothering to point out that a guy dating a guy would normally wind someone on the top of the bullying list and bottom of the popularity pile. But in the last year, Kurt had grown into a boy – or a man – who was extremely confident in himself. "Next thing you know, you'll be raiding the middle school for dates."
"I plan on keeping this one for a while," he replied. "Unlike you, I don't feel the need to play musical beds."
Kurt was trying to pick a fight with her, Santana recognized. She wasn't going to let him. "You are cute together," she said grudgingly. "Can I watch you two make out sometime? Guy on guy is hot."
She saw the flash of surprise in his eyes as he realized she was trying to help him. By reframing the idea of Kurt and Sam as cool, she was taking away the impulse for the football team to pound him into the ground for being gay. Santana was vice captain, which left her the most to gain if Kurt was removed.
But she was also his teammate, both in Glee and Cheerios, and she didn't want to lose him. The last holdout on the Cheerios was giving into Kurt.
A smirk curved Kurt's lips as he leaned forward to press a kiss against her right cheek. "Maybe after I've had a couple beers," he replied. "I'm not as into exhibition as you are."
She smiled, and lowered her voice to ask a question, just between them. "You really like him, don't you?"
"Maybe as much as you like Brittany," he replied, his voice barely a whisper.
She smiled, looking over her shoulder at where Brittany was grinding with Mike. "Go get your boyfriend drunk, then."