CHAPTER 1:
The drive to Westerville was tense, to say the least.
The radio was playing, but Kurt wasn't paying attention. He wasn't paying attention to anything, really. His mind just kept replaying the events of the past week, over and over again. Attack, arrest, court hearings… attack, arrest… All leading up to the judge's fateful words:
"You are hereby sentenced to one year in reform school. You begin at the Dalton Reform School for Boys on Monday. Case dismissed."
All in all, the ruling was better than he could have hoped for. At least he had escaped juvie. If he'd had even one blemish on his record prior to what he had been referring to as "the incident," things wouldn't have turned out this way. However, his record was spotless, which pushed the judge to be a bit more lenient. True, he still had to go to reform school, but it was only a year and then he would be back to McKinley where he belonged.
When they pulled up to the gate outside of the school, Burt turned to him for the first time since they'd left. He looked shaken, like he still couldn't believe what his little boy had done. He swallowed a couple times before turning back to look out the window.
"Alright kiddo, we're here. Now I want you to listen to me before you go in there, and listen good. Obviously this isn't like McKinley, so you've gotta to be careful. Don't show fear, and keep you head up. Try using that expression you get when you see Rachel's clothes. It should get the others to leave you alone."
"Right, whatever dad." He rolled his eyes. He felt kind of bad for taking out his anger on his father. Sure he meant well, but he had gotten the same sort of speech twice before, first from Puck and then from Santana. It was old news, he knew what to expect.
"There, see, that's the one. Look at people like that and they will steer clear." Burt shook his head as his son glared at him. "God knows I do," he mumbled under his breath.
As they pulled through the gates to the front entrance of the main building, Kurt looked up at the building in disgust. It was a lot more run down than the brochure had made it look. Then again, he probably shouldn't have expected much from a reform school in the first place.
Without another word, Kurt swung open the door and pulled out his single duffle bag with him. Before he'd left home he decided to leave most of his clothes at home, only bringing some plain t-shirts and jeans. No need to draw attention to himself early on, the kids at this school would probably just steal anything expensive and sell it on eBay anyway. He turned on his heel and marched up to the building.
"Don't get into any more trouble. I'll see you in December," Burt called.
Kurt just waved a hand as he swung the doors open.
As he waited in the office for the principal to be ready for him, tried to remember what Puck told him to do on his first day. The only thing he could really remember was "Do not, and I mean do not, let them rag on you the first day. If you do, they'll be on you the entire time you're there." It was a good thing to know, since his original plan was to try to keep his head down and ignore any taunts. Then again, that had never really worked out for him.
"Mr. Hummel, the principal will see you now," said a voice from his left. He hadn't even seen the secretary return, but she was there again, looking at him with thinly-veiled concern. She obviously didn't think he was going to do very well here.
Kurt walked into the office and sat in front of the desk of a large, balding man with quite an impressive handlebar mustache. The sign on his desk said Mr. Thompson.
"Hello Mr. Hummel, I'm Mr. Thompson."
Obviously, Kurt thought, sighing in his head. Honestly, did he think that he wouldn't be able to read the sign? Just because he was in reform school didn't mean he was stupid, in any sense of the word.
Oblivious to the distain rolling off Kurt in waves, the principal droned on. "Your record states that you are here due to a count of assault with a deadly weapon, is that correct?" Kurt nodded once. "Right. Well because of the nature of your crime, in addition to your regular classes you will be asked to go to one-on-one therapy sessions once a week. Your sessions will be Thursdays at four with Ms. Dawson. You are required to wear your Dalton uniform every day except Sunday, when you can wear whatever you brought with you. Breakfast is at 8 am daily and class starts at 9. You will have a half hour break for lunch at 12:30 and classes are released at 3:45. Dinner is at 6 and curfew is at 10. When you aren't in class or therapy you are free to do as you please, so long as you don't leave the grounds. Any questions? Good, you're free to go. The secretary will give you your schedule and room assignments on your way out."
Knowing he caught the important parts of that speech (food) he all but bolted out the door back into the main office. The secretary glanced at him before entering something into her computer. The printer whirred to life as she went to a lock box to retrieve a key. When she got back she handed him the key and a printed schedule.
"Classes are almost done for the day so you might as well just go unpack. You can start everything else in the morning. You're in room 6R, your roommate's name is Wesley Shen." She paused for a second, considering. "Be careful, the uniforms make them look nice, but they've all got a reason for being here.
"Right, thanks," Kurt scoffed before turning and leaving the office. Apparently she thought he was stupid, too. Like he didn't know where he was. Right.
He didn't meet anyone on his way up to the dorms, since the students were all still in class. He opened the door to his room and his eyes immediately landed on what he assumed was his bed. There were stains all over his mattress and up the wall, and the door of the closet was hanging on one of its hinges, and three full sets of Dalton uniforms were hanging inside of it for him. Kurt threw his bag on the ground and fell back on his bed, which squeaked loudly.
What a great fucking time he was going to have this year.