"Dave, can you hang back a bit?"
Something in Mr. Carney's voice put him instantly on-edge, but he slowed his steps and allowed the rest of the class to file out before him, standing awkwardly by the chalkboard and clutching his bag with one hand, too tightly.
"I wanted to talk about your reflection from last week," Mr. Carney said when the last student had left the classroom. Dave closed his eyes briefly, inhaling through his nose and trying not to panic. He shoved his other hand in his pocket, clenching and unclenching his fist and counting backwards from ten in his head…a habit he'd gotten into whenever he felt that familiar twist of fear in his throat and stomach start to choke him from the inside out. I knew it, he thought. I should never have written that stupid thing. Dammit.
"It's very good work," Mr. Carney said. "Much more thoughtful and honest than I typically get from you. Where was that person all year? If you wrote like this all the time you'd be one of the top students in my class."
Dave looked at Mr. Carney in disbelief.
"You...liked my reflection?"
"It was very well-written, Dave. Very...honest."
Dave blushed a little at that and found that he couldn't quite meet Mr. Carney's eyes. His teacher considered him for a moment, taking in his lowered head and tensed, defensive shoulders.
"If you ever need someone to come to, David, my door is always open. You can tell me anything in confidence, and I swear to you it will never go farther than the two of us."
Dave looked up at him then, his expression an odd mixture of fearful surprise and gratitude. When he spoke, his voice was raspy.
"Thanks, Mr. Carney."
"Anytime," he said. Dave turned to go, but Mr. Carney couldn't let him leave without a final word. He'd been at this school for a long time, and he'd watched his students come and go and step around and over and on one another. He had seen Dave grow progressively angrier and more withdrawn in the three years he'd been at McKinley. He'd seen the direction of his anger and heard whispers in the faculty room about all his lashing out.
"Dave, wait." He froze at the door, hand gripping the frame, and turned just his head. He looked ready to bolt at the wrong word, so Mr. Carney chose his carefully.
"That kind of honesty? People respond to it. It's never too late to surprise them. Just a thought."
Dave just nodded tersely. But as he walked to his locker and stuffed his books inside, he was thinking about what his teacher said. It's never too late to surprise them.
He kept his notebook, even though his next class was weight training. He had some writing to do.
Dear Kurt,
I don't really know what I'm doing right now. There are a lot of things I want to say to you, and a lot of reasons I shouldn't say any of them. You've already heard most of it, and you wouldn't want to hear the rest. Maybe it isn't fair to you, pouring my heart out like this, but honestly, you're the only person in this entire school—maybe in the entire world—that I think I could talk to about this. How fucked up is that?
I'm gay, Kurt. I can see you rolling your eyes at me now, but do you know how big a deal it is, for me to be able to write that? I can even say it now, sometimes. I can look in the mirror and say it out loud, and I don't even flinch. It's when I open my mouth to say it to someone else—and you might be surprised to find out how often that actually happens—that I choke.
How do you do it? You'll never know how much I admire you, walking around with your head held high, proud to be who you are and ignoring all the people around you until one of them—one of us—forces you to notice. Maybe that's part of the reason I gave you so much crap. I wanted you to notice me.
And that's the part it isn't fair to talk about. That's the part you really don't want to hear. You said you don't hate me anymore, that all you see is my pain. Maybe that's changed, though. Maybe leaving you on that dance floor was the straw that broke the camel's back. You gave me so many chances to be a better person and I feel like I've failed you at every turn. Maybe I don't get any more chances, and that's okay. I understand. I just wanted to let you know how amazing I think you are.
You're so much more, so much better, than anyone else at this stupid school or in this stupid town. You're going to leave it behind and do incredible things with your life, and we're all going to say we knew you when. You're going to make David Letterman roll around on the floor with scathing anecdotes about the backwards people in this place that didn't see how amazing you are. I can't wait to see that, even if I know some of those stories will be about me.
I meant what I said. I'm so sorry, for all of it. I can never thank you enough for everything you've done for me, for just being you—good and kind to the core. Looking back, I know you would never tell anyone. I should have known that from the beginning, because you're not like me or the rest of the people I know. You don't hurt people when you're scared. You show mercy, even to the people you hate. That's just one of the most amazing things about you. But you knew that already.
I just wanted you to know, more than anything, that prom night doesn't change things for me, even if it does for you. I won't hurt you ever again. I'll leave you alone. Tell your boyfriend I'm sorry, too, will you? I'm sorry I shoved him, both times. I know he was trying to help me, and more importantly, to protect you. I can't hate the guy for that.
I wish you all the best, always, forever.
Sincerely,
Dave Karofsky
P.S.: I don't care what anyone says, you looked like a king up there on that stage.
Author's Note: I don't actually know what this is or whether this is going anywhere. It just popped into my head at work. I know a few people had asked, way back when I wrote "Reflection," for a sequel. This is not a sequel, per se, but it could potentially turn into something. I'll see where my muse takes me.