Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton: Senior Year
Author's Note: Welcome back to the world of Holly Holliday subbing at Dalton Academy! If you haven't read the original "Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton," you're going to want to do that or be lost. This is canon-adjacent AU, meaning I'm both ignoring and using canon events to tell this story - and so there will always be a spoiler warning for events from all seasons.
More notes at the end. Story now.
Chapter One: Can't Get No Respect
"We've only been at school for two days," Nick Gainsford complained as he arrived in the Dalton Commons, flinging his satchel onto the table at which Blaine Anderson had been quietly studying. "I already have a French essay and two take home quizzes in Physics and Calculus."
"Welcome to junior year at Dalton Academy," Blaine replied absently, shoving a cup of French roast towards his roommate. "I warned you there was a world of difference between sophomore and junior years."
Jeff Pauling intercepted the coffee intended for Nick and, in a neat little twisting maneuver, adroitly avoided the slap his best friend aimed at him. "Yeah, but Blaine, I don't think you made it clear enough that we were gonna have to hit the ground running."
Next to arrive was Flint Wilson, one of Blaine's fellow seniors on the Warblers council. "Probably because Blaine never stops running himself, he never actually noticed a difference." He clapped his fellow senior on the shoulder genially. "All hail Captain Oblivious!"
"Hey!" Blaine looked up, protesting. "I'll have you all know I've gotten a lot better with the oblivious thing!"
"Uh-huh." Flint smirked. "What, did Kurt drill you over the summer break?" He ducked to avoid the crumpled paper coffee cup that Blaine hurled across the table. "I meant like with flash cards, Anderson. You're wound a little tight, no way was there any other kind of drilling going on."
Blaine ignored the hoots and howls of his fellow Warblers, returning his attention to his own French exam. "I merely practiced honing my observational skills," he replied with exaggerated primness as he conjugated connaître. "It's a shame none of you chose to do the same with your manners."
"Careful, Blaine," Nick warned. "You're starting to sound an awful lot like Trent."
"Do I hear my name being taken in vain?" Trent Davies, final member of the Warblers council and captain of the debate team, was the last to arrive, one officious eyebrow already cocked in inquiry. His fellow choirmates all looked away, feigning an innocence that didn't fool Trent for a moment. He dropped into his seat with an indignant harrumph.
"May I point out that as Council Chairman, I do have final veto or approval over the solos to be granted this year?" Blaine looked around the table, drumming his fingers on his notebook. "Or I could just go have a word with Headmaster Michaelson. I'm sure he'd have no problem going back to last year's solo award policy. You know, if I can't get respect any other way or anything."
The entire table of Warblers fell silent, everyone holding their breath. Blaine smirked. "That's what I thought."
"You fight dirty," Jeff muttered.
"Kurt likes it that way," Nick leered, earning himself a kick under the table. "Ow!"
"You earned that and you know it, Nick," Blaine snapped, pointing his pen at his friend. "My love life is strictly off limits."
Nick pulled his leg up onto his chair and rubbed at his maltreated shin. "Yeah, but you didn't have to kick so hard. What did you do, steel-tip the toes of your penny loafers?"
"I just want to study," Blaine groaned. "Can we do that? Can we study? Did we not agree to meet here every day to, I don't know, study?"
"O Captain, my Captain," Flint drawled, passing a box of granola bars around the table. "Second day of school. Gossip first, books second. Did everyone see the new guy?"
Jeff neatly caught the granola bar that Nick tossed him and bit off a chunk of it, chewing thoughtfully before replying. "Sebastian? Yeah, he's in my World History class. Tall – and coming from me, that's saying something." The lanky junior beamed around the table. "I thought he was a teacher when I first saw him."
"He seems kind of arrogant," Nick volunteered, leaning back and slinging his feet up on the tabletop. "Hasn't really said a thing to anyone."
"Feet down, Nicholas. Couches are one thing, but we eat off of these tables." Blaine poked at the other boy's feet until he grudgingly put them back on the floor. "And cut the guy some slack. It's not easy being the new kid here. He's probably just standoffish from nerves."
"Blaine has a point," Trent chimed in with his usual superior air. "We really shouldn't judge."
"In fact..." Blaine sat back, chewing on the cap of his pen as he thought. "Jeff, listen, if you get a chance, why not invite him to our open auditions on Friday? Maybe he sings. We're down five guys this year, and I don't like going to Sectionals with the bare minimum requirement of singers."
Jeff shrugged. "Sure, why not? Can't hurt. Even if he's not a good soloist, we can always use more instrumental voices."
"Excellent. That's exactly the attitude we need if we're going to murder McKinley at Sectionals." Blaine grinned and reached his hands out to high-five his friends around the table.
"Won't that cause trouble in Paradise, Blaine?" Flint grinned over the rim of his tea mug, wiggling his eyebrows.
He was saved from a scathing retort by Blaine's phone, which chose that moment to chirp happily with an incoming text message. Blaine picked up the gadget and pointed it at Flint in a manner he hoped was at least a little threatening. "I'll deal with you in a minute, Wilson." He glanced down at the screen, frowning at what he saw there. It made no sense at all. He had to read it several times before understanding sunk in.
"What's the matter, Blaine?" Nick jibed, elbowing his roommate in the side. "Kurt cancel your hot date for the weekend?"
"No," Blaine replied slowly, a grin sprawling across his face as he looked up. "It's not Kurt at all, actually. And it's news you'll all appreciate." He turned his phone to face the other boys, tipping it so that they could all read it.
Silence reigned for several seconds as they all stared at the screen in confusion, only to be replaced by whoops of glee as comprehension spread around the table.
Message From Ms. H: Incoming!
A/N, Continued: I'm going to try to refrain from excessive author's noting this time around, but some things are necessary.
1) This is not intended to be a novel-length fic. Holly won't be at Dalton all year, it wouldn't make any sense. So the story is currently intended to be told as one-shots set during the times she's actually teaching at the school.
2) There will not be a regular posting schedule. I have no outline for this story, I'm just going to write it as it comes along when I want to play in this 'verse. Which will probably be more frequently than not, to be honest...but no way are we looking at weekly updates. Plus, the chapters are probably going to be shorter than in MHGTD.
That said, I hope you enjoy what this turns out to be, whatever it turns out to be. I've started to miss this 'verse and thought it was time to get back to it, at least from time to time. If you want to come with me, fantastic, and thank you!
I'm on Tumblr as glass-parade, if you feel like following. I babble a lot.