Not Mine
Blaine groaned, letting the lukewarm water of the McKinley showers beat down on the stiff muscles in his back, momentarily allowing himself to forget it was still morning and he only had minutes to get himself dry and presentable before classes started. He groaned as he heard chuckles from the locker room, hoping whatever jocks were coming in from a morning practice would miss his boxing gear in the corner and allow him to sneak out and make it to his AP Literature class unhindered.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and made his way over to his locker, his hopes being dashed as he spotted the door hanging open and wondering what state his clothes would be in, cursing himself for keeping his spare outfit in his gym locker rather than his hall locker. Approaching the locker he found nothing. It was entirely empty, right down to his roll of tape. He heard more sniggers, probably from the hockey players as they were leaving, and bit back another groan, slamming his fist into the locker next to his own.
It wasn't the first time the hockey team had pulled increasingly immature pranks on him. 'Rick the Stick' had left the school but his narrow minded views lived on in his mindless minions. Most of the school had actually lain off the glee club following their victory at nationals, and even when their tenuous grasp on popularity had failed early on in the year the majority of the student body had opted for ignoring their existence rather than actively bullying them. The hockey team, however, was apparently still very offended by his 'pretending to be a real boy', and was taking every opportunity to keep him out of 'their' athletics facilities.
He had ignored it for the most part, reminding himself he'd endured much worse than childish pranks, name calling and the occasional locker check, not willing to stir the pot as they seemed to have more or less given up on the rest of the glee club and with all the activities he was involved in he was rarely alone long enough for anything to happen. Discovering not only his clothes, but his book bag and toiletries (including gel) gone seemed to be the figurative straw that broke his overburdened camel's back.
He spun on his heel in a move he internally noted that Rachel Berry would be proud of and stomped toward the door, not willing to let himself be trapped in any room by a group of teenage boys with underdeveloped brains.
His shoulders were squared and his stride was confident as he made his way through the halls. Blaine's head was so far into thoughts of exactly what needed to be done he was completely unaware of the incredulous stares that followed his path to Figgins' office. He planted his feet squarely in front of the desk belonging to Figgins' secretary and cleared his throat.
"I'd like to report a theft, please." He forced his voice into a polite tone and waited for the woman to acknowledge his words, or at least his presence.
"The form to report a misdemeanor is the pink one in the folder behind you, fill it out and the school will file it and an investigation will be held, what seems to have been misplaced?" Her tone was bored and her eyes didn't leave the screen in front of her.
Blaine stared in disbelief at her, raising an eyebrow. "My chemistry textbook." He snapped, dryly. "My clothes are gone, I want them back." The woman finally looked up and her jaw dropped slightly at the teen, still dripping slightly onto the grey carpet, wrapped in a white towel in front of her. "And I won't be filing for a misdemeanor; I'd like to file it as a felony, considering the value of the objects stolen is well over the 1000 dollar limit of Ohio law." The woman continued to gape at him, pointing silently toward another binder, full of blue forms. He grabbed one and stormed out, intending to find Sam, hoping he would have a change of clothes in his locker still.
His plans were interrupted by the appearance of the hockey goons at the end of the hallway, prompting his vision to go red and changing his course until he was facing five overlarge boys with mullets. "Why the fuck can you people not just let me shower in peace?"
The shock melted off their faces after a few seconds and their leader (Josh or John or Jack something or other) stepped forward. "No one wants shower with a fag."
"I was the only one showering!" He snapped. He couldn't understand why they couldn't just leave it alone. "Ok you know what, that is it. I have put up with your nonsense for over a year. The fact that you are so willfully ignorant about sexuality just isn't cute anymore. I am there because I actually want to get out of this backwater town at some point and having two years without any kind of athletics looks bad on my transcripts. The fact that you don't want me in 'your' facility is frankly laughable because let's get real, none of you are exactly winners. I on the other hand captained a national title winning lacrosse team every year from sixth grade up to sophomore year, in spite of a midyear transfer, not to mention my track record with polo, fencing, and boxing. I could run circles around all of you with your, well, what can only be described as sub-par hand-eye coordination. If you don't think this is enough to warrant dealing with me changing in the same room as you I can assure you I have no interest in seeing any of you sans clothes, and here is why, starting with the reasons you all have in common:"
Everyone was now staring at him with slack jaws but he found himself unable to stop his rant. "You're clearly all brawn, no brain, which, I just can't tell you how much of a turn off that is. You're straight, and I have no problems finding guys who are more than willing, and with better coordination." He knew the smirk and the sneer probably made him look like he was channeling Sebastian Smythe, but he was beyond caring.
"You dress appallingly and your hair is if not awful, at the very least incredibly boring and don't get me started on your skin. None of you have any real concept of personal hygiene, to the point I was fairly surprised to find you shower at all, never mind in front of me." And don't even get him started on the practice of spraying on deodorant in place of taking an actual shower.
"As if all of these things weren't enough, you each have traits so genuinely disturbing I find it hard to believe you can live with them yourselves. You for example Heyes;" He pointed at one of the burlier captain hopefuls.
"You seem to be laboring under the delusion that you are some kind of ladies' man when the quite honestly massive difference in the size of your arms implies otherwise. I actually talk to girls, they have noticed. Now do you all need me to go on, because I can, or shall we all agree to act like adults and hand over my clothes so I can change? Trust me, if the rules permitted it I would be changing with the half of the school who has grasped the concept of soap."
He drew a deep breath, about to continue, when a hand landed on his shoulder. He spun around to come face to face with Sam who was inexplicably holding five phones in one hand. "Dude, you're naked." It was just above a whisper, but the crowd around them, which was slowly appearing at the edges of Blaine's tunnel vision, was deathly silent. "And your towel is like two seconds from dropping." There was a distinctly female groan from his left and his peripheral vision revealed the nice blonde cheerio from the Trouble Tones glaring at Sam.
Reality settling in finally, he schooled his face into a carefully neutral expression, not about to let his abject mortification show, and held out his hand to the hockey players expectantly. They dumped his things out of one of the lockers behind them and he bent to pick them up. "There will be felony charges pressed, good luck getting scholarships." He smiled beatifically up at them and turned, making his way back through the crowd, head still held high.