Blaine Anderson pulled into the long driveway leading up to McKinley High School for the very first time, clarinet case and other band camp necessities in the passenger seat of his car. He'd just moved from a small town on the Connecticut shoreline a week ago, and still hadn't finished unpacking his bedroom. His junior year was to start two weeks later, which meant a mandatory week-long band camp on the turf directly outsidethe high school, preparing for what was sure to be a freezing cold football season to come.

They would be high-stepping, roll-stepping and spelling out letters directly next to the Cheerios, who were, according to his new next-door neighbor Santana Lopez, "the hottest bitches in town." Hopefully, he thought to himself, the other guys will be staring at them, and will just leave me alone. He was, to state it simply, not looking forward to his next two years of schooling. His mother, a teacher, had heard of a job opening in Lima. It was only a few towns away from where she had grown up and where her family lived, and had decided that was reason enough to uproot Blaine, his younger sister Sarah, and their fish, Harry, to somewhere they had only ever passed through on the way to and from their grandparents' house. Sarah would be entering seventh grade in a few weeks, the perfect time for a move to occur, but that unfortunately left Blaine spending only two years in town before college.

He had always adored band, regardless of the complaining the rest of his friends did. He loved sitting on the bleachers in twenty degree weather next to a screaming crowd while his band director screamed at them to flip to the school fight song in preparation for the upcoming touchdown. He loved smiling at the elderly women in the ticket stand as he passed by, happy that he didn't have to pay to get into the game. He loved the satisfaction of getting the last decent hot chocolate from the concession stand during his ten minute break before they began to water down the mixture. But most of all, he loved the uniformity of the band: more than two hundred teenagers, ranging from fourteen to eighteen years old, marching in perfect formation onto a field previously occupied by football players. Everyone looked the same, uniforms perfectly pressed, and hats and plumes sitting atop their heads.

Even in a tiny town in Connecticut, one of the few states in the nation that allowed same-sex marriage, there were kids that were homophobic. Some only made quick comments, mostly nonchalantly, but there were certainly a few who made it clear they found his sexuality "disgusting," prompting him to stay mainly in the closet throughout his high school years. If that was in Connecticut, what is Ohio going to be like? He was terribly worried. He knew that, because he didn't fit a lot of the stereotypes, he might be able to stay under the radar for a while, but a small part of him still wished he wouldn't have to. He wanted to be able to smile at another guy without receiving any glares, to kiss a boyfriend in the middle of the hallway for the entire school to see without getting any negative feedback…but he seriously doubted it would happen.

Pulling into a parking spot next to a black pickup truck, he turned off the station wagon and swung open his door, stepping out into the humid summer air. Blaine walked around to the passenger side of the car, to retrieve his clarinet case, cell phone, flip folder, water bottle, and registration forms from the leather seat. As he walked into the air-conditioned building, he decided his best bet for finding the band room would be to follow the group of sophomore-looking students up the stairs. After following them through a series of complicated turns he eventually managed to find the right room. Oh great. I'm a junior, and I'm already going to be lost tomorrow. He took a single step into the room, looked up, and found himself face-to-face with the most gorgeous boy he'd ever seen.