Blaine pushed gruffly through the crowd, while balancing books folders and a mug of coffee in mittened hands. Spotting the sign up ahead he panted in relief, eager to get out of the punishing icy conditions that were the bustling high street over the road from Dalton Academy. Okay so teaching at his old highschool was not the career he had planned on having, but, he reasoned, there was a kind of warm familiarity to it. He was not. Repeat not stuck in any kind of rut or doing at all badly for himself at all.

There was a kind of happy inevitability to it now. He had accepted it. His future involved living in the town he had grown up in all his life. Living within a stones throw of his parents house so he could be around to look after them when they were old and gray. It was difficult for Blaine to imagine his mother graying and becoming frail. She was a naturally feisty, tempestuous woman who Blaine had admired growing up. He was glad to be around to help them if they ever needed him to look after the cat or move a large piece of furniture.

Blaine sighed and adjusted his spectacles. He had marking to complete and assignments to email. Sipping at his bitter staff-room brewed black coffee, he pulled a face. It had become tepid. Great another disappointment to be added to the day.

Earlier that day Blaine had bumped into someone on the way down the corridor from the staff room. It had been the headmaster. Arman Desmond had been the schools principal when Blaine had been a student. He had a kindly faced and eyes that crinkled when he laughed.

"ah Anderson!" Arman still called him by his last name, unlike how he referred to other senior staff in the school.

"How are our chances this year? The team's not as bang on form as when I was a boy. But we always did do quite well for ourselves. I'm not forgetting how you almost won the national cup three years ago!"

Blaine had lifted his head and had looked at the principal directly.

"We have a new lead I think. Very promising, sir. We should do well."

The Warblers were a place young boys could find artistry and freedom in melody and synchronicity. There was a very fine difference in the boys who chose to pursue showchoir and those who chose to try out for the championship winning lacrosse team. They were a different breed that only very rarely crossed paths. The lacrosse team were the strong and silent type. The warblers had always been a chatty chirpy excitable crowd. Except on the stage when they were one thousand percent focussed.

Briefly a memory surfaced in blaine's mind of a lanky teenage green eyed boy with smudges of mud high on his cheeks and a shirt with the Dalton logo emblazoned across it.

I like to toe the line. Get the best of both worlds. A dazzling smile.

Blaine shook his head.

Showchoir was important to the school. Showchoir meant melody, air and glittering memories.

Arman had frowned.

"Thing is Anderson, after the lawsuit we're in a bit of a pinch you could say. I know we have a decades old tradition. Alls I'm saying is... there's nothing I can do about it. We need more than a second place trophy or the governers will decide for me."

The man looked briefly saddened.

"I remember my time in that room. They were some of the best times." He walked away and boomed over his shoulder.

"You're almost there Anderson! Make sure you go the distance, m'boy".

M'boy. Blaine grimaced. He didn't go to school here anymore. And the governors are thinking of cutting the warblers from the arts program. His mind raced. Coffee. And internet.

He would get help from someone he knew could inspire his boys.

It turned out the computer room had been booked that day so blaine had found himself legging it to the nearest internet cafe.

This has to work. He steeled himself. It was time to email a few old friends.