"Get up boy!" Blaine Anderson's father hollered.
Blaine rolled over in the safety of his bed and stared at his clock. 6:10. "Crap!" Blaine mumbled, he was going to be late for school. Blaine threw his legs over the side of his bed and realized that his polka dotted socks had slipped off while he was sleeping. "Good," he thought, "I don't need my family seeing those." Blaine walked sullenly towards the bathroom, awaiting his father's wrath. He was about to walk into the bathroom when his older brother Cooper, came walking out, barely dressed in a loose towel around his waist. "Morning, fag." Cooper smirked. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to think about his day ahead; Dalton, Warbler practice, work, friends. He opened his eyes again and quickly diverted his eyes from the minimally dressed boy in front of him. He kept walking and went through his daily routine; shower, brush teeth until they sparkle, Dalton uniform, straighten tie (it always got crumpled in his closet), comb hair, gel it back, brew one cup of coffee, two packs of sugar, and take the community bus to Dalton. His father had taken away his car when he...er, came out. Needless to say, his family was not very accepting of his sexuality. Blaine had always felt…different. He had played 'house' with the girls in Kindergarten and done crafts during nap time. But, it wasn't until six months ago, the beginning of the new school year, that Blaine just knew. He had come out to Cooper first, hoping he would understand. He didn't. He thought he was kidding! "Funny," he smirked, "don't let that get spread around". His mother had left years ago, so all he had left was his father. About a week later he walked into his father's study and told him about a boy at Dalton who he was having…feelings for. And then it started. Papers falling, books smashing, faces reddening, voices straining. "I WILL NOT, WILL NOT, ALLOW THE CHILD THAT I RAISED TO BE THIS…WAY. " his father bellowed, spit racing from the gap between his lips. "Dad…it's not a..way. It's who I am and I can't help it."
"No. It is NOT who you are. It's not who I am, it is not who your brother is. It is not who you are. It's just a phase. Go out, find someone, kiss a girl, stroke her hair, take her on a picnic."
"Dad, I'm not gonna change." Blaine whispered, his eyes slowly filling up with hot, salty, tears.
"DO NOT..call me "dad" when you are obviously no son of mine."
Blaine was pulled out of his nightmarish memory as the bus arrived. This has been his forced transportation since his car was taken away and since Dalton didn't have a bussing system. Since that day, Blaine's father rarely looked at him, Cooper just laughed, Cooper just told his friends stories about Blaine coming on to him, Cooper just thought it was funny. And nothing, absolutely nothing, about this was funny.
The only reason his father didn't kick him out six months ago was because his double shifts at the local, over priced, coffee shop, was benefitting the entire family. Free coffee for Blaine, free money for dad.
He had become a usual on the 6:45 am Westerville, Ohio bus. Every morning he would see the young lady with the three kids who probably couldn't afford their own transportation. He saw the old man who wore the same leather jacket every day, but managed to match a different tie to it every morning. Blaine's favorite was the Christmas one with the children building snowmen. Boys and girls. Not a boy activity, not a girl activity, just an activity. Everything should be like that. Every day the bus driver, Henry, would wave hello and ask him about his "singing" and every day Blaine would nod 'okay' and say "great, thank you." However, those people weren't the most fascinating. Every morning, Blaine would see a young boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen sitting by himself in the window seat in the second to last row. The boy made him wonder. Why was he by himself? Where was he going? Did his father discard him too? Did he come out to his brother? Did his brother just laugh? Of course, Blaine would never know because approaching the boy would inevitably lead to Blaine divulging into his past, and that was something he was too fragile to handle. His self-pondering usually took up most of the journey to Dalton's nearest bus stop. As soon as the brakes hit, Blaine would scurry off the bus and walk, usually skip, the remaining quarter of a mile to Dalton, anticipation his only enjoyable hours of the day.