"Hey, guys." Will smiled, passing the boys on his way to the table.
"Hi," Finn said, as Puck hid behind him, trying to hide the obvious guilt of a crime he'd commited.
"Good morning, Kurt." Hearing Will's voice startled the nine year old. But after remembering that Will was a safe person, he smiled.
"Hey Finn," Will glanced at him, "you still owe me the report on the Civil War."
"What?"
"Three paragraphs about the notes you took."
"Almost half way done with a-almost all of it, Dad." That was due already?
Will helped Artie downstairs to the kitchen and Terri had started up two large pan-fuls of hashbrowns on the stove when two girls came in.
"Hi, Mercedes." Artie then blushed, crossing his arms, "Hi, Tina."
The beautiful Asian gave him a warm smile, and joined Kurt and Mercedes, who were at the table.
Rachel dramatically padded into the kitchen while a few rolled their eyes.
After a feast of hashbrowns, pancakes, and sausage, the kids went to the study room for another day of homeschool.
Finn sat, bored, for the whole four hours of group discussions and Will's stories.
Who knew that being being in a foster home would include having to attend homeschool? Unlike regular school, it was impossible to do something and just get away with it without his parents knowing. It was a drag. He couldn't ditch because his foster parents, Will and Terri, would know. If he were using the bathroom or getting a drink, they would wait for him to be done before they started work. There was no way he could skip a few minutes of a lesson like the kids in public school. He couldn't skip assignments and "forget them at home" like the kids in public school. If you were sick, you laid down and just listened to the group discussion. Finn only liked it because you didn't have to get up in the morning and get dressed, run after the bus, then be late for class. Other than that he just plain hated it.
Will finished, "...the exponents. Any questions?"
Everything Will had said had been a blur to Puck, who'd been doodling pictures and occasionally throwing things when Will turned his back. But he didn't bother asking questions. He knew he'd fail somehow anyways. Why waste his breath?
"No questions? Okay, then. Good news: you have no assignment today!"
"Wait, you serious?" Puck blurted.
"It seems like a few of you are falling behind on your work, so I'm going to give you the rest of today to get caught up."
Everyone then left the study room to go enjoy the rest of the day.
Terri, lounging on the sofa, called Artie over.
"Yeah?" Artie rolled up.
"Go get Mama a soda, okay?"
He started for the fridge. He loved Terri. He had respect for her even when she showed her evil side. She had no right to scream and nag for no reason, but he never hated her for it.
"Thanks, honey," she sighed, taking the soda, quietly grunting to herself.
"Rough day of work?" Will asked.
"Yes," Terri replied. "Howard is so useless."
"Why'd you hire him, then?"
"I thought he'd be a good person to lay all the work on. But no, I end up doing all of the work."
"Oh."
"Damn, I can't fire him because no one will take his place."
"Four hours of work is pretty stressful for you, isn't it?"
"Doubt it's any easier than teaching a few hours of homeschool. And teaching homeschool isn't even a job."
"It's important, though."
"Well, you get to stay home. I have to drive clear across town to pick up Howard, drive all the way to Findlay to pick up ten pounds of invetory, and stop for gas just so I can go to work and do mine - and Howard's - job." Then she came home to Puck causing trouble, Kurt snitching on Puck for causing trouble, Finn sitting around lazily, Rachel belting out impressive, but obnoxious notes, Mike practicing his dance moves in the walkway, Artie needing to be carried upstairs, Tina trying to show off her improvement on getting rid of her damn stutter, and Mercedes asking her about her day.
Why didn't Will pitch in? She had to do everything herself, and that wasn't fair. It was his idea to take in a bunch of shitty and skimpy teenage orphans, not hers. So why was she the one to feed them, comfort them, watch over them? Last she knew, she was Will's wife, not his wife and a mother. Even though she went to work for only twelve hours a week, it seemed like she never stopped working.
Puck raced into the living room. "Hey dude, you got a few bucks?"
"Why?" Will inquired, reaching for his wallet.
"You know Sue's daughter? I really like her and I'm taking her to Breadstix."
"Quinn?"
"Yeah. She's a babe."
Terri dropped in, "Let me guess. You want to drive my Porsche, don't you?"
"Chicks love studs who have cars." Puck raised his eyebrows in a sense that slightly turned Terri on.
"Okay. You can take the Porsche."
Puck took the keys and the money and went off.
"Have fun!" Will smirked. "Make sure you're back by ten. Don't get in trouble."
"Bye, Will. Bye, Terri." Puck wasn't ready to call them his parents yet. They were pretty kind people, but he couldn't trust them not to hurt him.
It was a hazy memory that he tried to keep hazy.
Growing up, his mother had been addicted to weed and whiskey. Some nights, she drank herself to sleep, leaving little Puck alone. He struggled to wake her, and after many attempts, he would desperately try to make himself dinner. The next morning, he'd eat the crumbs of his burnt dinner and walk a mile to school, wearing the same clothes he'd worn yesterday, and possibly the day before. Then he would come home to his mother, who was screaming at him about making the mess on the floor, the bits of food on the stove, and leaving food out of the refrigerator, and mud tracks on the worn out vinyl.
Other nights, she grew tired of him and sent him to his father's to be abused and then neglected for the night.
Now, at age fourteen, and ever since he was eight, he had been living with total strangers who gave him money, lent him cars, and fed him. Should he have been suspicious or grateful?
At least he finally had control of everything and everyone around him. It was his turn to be the bully.
"Outta my way!" He shoved Tina, who had been blocking the door.
"W-Whoa!" she stammered, surprised.
"What is up with him?" Mercedes said, putting her hands on her hips. "Someone should teach him some respect!"
"It's ridiculous."
"He's always up to something, whether it's just a simple push or it's robbing a bank. He thinks he can get away with anything he wants."
Tina nodded, crossing her arms, shivering. There had been a sudden draft, and it made her grow goosebumps.
"He should have parents to teach him what's right and what's not. His parents abused him since he was seven. Hey, at least they cared about him before then. But still, I don't think seven years was enough time to teach him."
"I guess." Tina struck a tear, and raced to her room before anyone could see her.
She closed her drapes and leaped face-first into the comfort and security of her queen-sized bed. The coziness couldn't even calm her down.
She would cry until the hurt went away. But the hurt would never go away. She would never stop crying. If tears weren't on her face, her heart would be screeching in pain.
Her mascara left a puddle of black on her arm, and snot clogged up the threads of her pillowcase. She murmured out between breaths, "Why? Why, Mommy? Why?"
When twins Tina and Mike were eleven years old, their mother took them on a trip to America.
After a long flight, their mother abandoned them at an airport in Lima, Ohio. They were confused, scared, helpless, waiting for a guard to find them.
Tina began to babble. It had been quite a while since the abandonment, but it felt like it was only an hour ago.
She was thirteen now. Even two years after the incident didn't help her feel any better at all.
Mike walked in and plopped on his bed, trying to hide his own tears. "Hey, Tina."
"G-g-g-g-go aw-way." Tina faked a stutter back at the orphanage because she was hurt and wanted other kids to think she was weird and leave her alone. After being put into the care of the Schuesters, she continued to stutter because it gave her attention. Attention she was deprived of after her mother left.
"It's me, Tina," Mike told her.
"Mike, are you still upset?"
"I'm not upset. I'm pissed."
Tina pulled herself to the foot of the bed and sat up.
"I've been pissed. Ever since I've learned that I was a mistake."
"We're Mom's biggest mistake ever."
"I can't believe Mom left us."
A voice came from the end of the hall. "I know how you feel. My mom left me too."
"Artie, your mom dying is different than her voluntarily giving you up." Tina welcomed him in, wiping her eyes.
"She committed suicide, leaving me alone."
"So she drove into the path of another driver. You don't know that she got into an accident on purpose."
"Two days later the cops found suicide notes in her dresser drawer." Artie gulped, trying to not cry. "She left me on purpose, just like your mom did."
Artie lay, his head poking out the car's smashed window. He pulled glass from his hair, shuddering at the bleeding wounds and scarred skin on his body. The cuts and bruises barely bothered him after he got a glimpse of his mother through his shattered glasses. Her neck was sliced open, blood stains everywhere. She'd bled to death.
The scared eight year old cried as he swung the car door open. He had to get help - fast. He struggled to get out, but his legs wouldn't move. He was paralyzed.
His eyes watered just thinking about he idea of his mother being suicidal.
Officers and investigators went to the Abrams' abode to collect their belongings, and found suicide notes.
Artie was so traumatized, he could barely remember the whole situation. He was glad he couldn't remember.
Six years after the accident, here he was, still crying. No one knew that a fourteen year old could be that damaged.
Inside the Christmas closet, Kurt could hear everything. But he didn't care to eavesdrop. All he cared about was being alone. He needed to cry in privacy. Crying was a temporary solution to his fears.
In the back of his mind, the memory was always there. The appointments with Miss Pillsbury never helped. He was able to vent, but all venting does is remind you of how terrible something is.
He bawled, trying to stay silent.
In the past, Kurt was a brave young man. He could face anything or anyone with his chin held high. He was strong, until one day - something happened that changed it all.
Kurt was seven. The man broke into the house, gun in hand, and possibly other weapons in his pockets. Kurt and his parents tried to not panic, and that would only encourage the man to hurt them. Suddenly, the man aimed and shot at Kurt's mother, leaving her dead in minutes, her blood pouring onto the gray carpet. Kurt's father soon suffers a heart attack, of which he dies also.
The man threatens to shoot Kurt, who was begging to live. The man aimed and fired and Kurt quickly flew to the ground, the bullet flying out the window.
"Kurt?" he hears a voice. He doesn't respond. He was nine. He couldn't understand this situation no matter how hard he tried. He could barely even remember when it happened.
"I know you're in there."
"I am," Kurt gulped, biting his lip.
"Can I come in?"
Kurt takes a minute to answer. "I don't mind."
Mercedes slowly opened the door. The girl, a few years older than him, was his best friend and his dearest sister. She always knew when something was wrong with him. "Mind talking about it?"
Mercedes had been saved from a housefire. She was saved by a man, Will Schuester, who had noticed the eight year old in the mess of flames and tears, and grown the courage to go in when the firefighters were running late.
She thought it was terrible, until she learned Kurt's story. She was thankful that her parents hadn't died before her bare eyes, but also she felt so bad for the boy.
"Watching your parents die," Kurt said, "and then almost being murdered is a bad situation to be in. I don't want you to know the pain."
"Oh, well I don't think Rachel's having a good time either. You want to go check on her?"
"Sure."
Rachel was five years old, almost six, when her 'fathers' had been forced to give her up. Now, at age fourteen, she'd been obsessed about her real mother.
Mercedes mentioned, "For years, she's been trying to find who her mom is. Lately, she's been staying up pretty late on that computer."
"That's Rachel for you."
Back in Tina and Mike's bedroom, the three went around in a circle, sobbing about what hurts.
"It's hard not to cry," Artie sobbed. "I'm going to talk to Miss Pillsbury."
On his way to the counselling room, he passed Finn's bedroom, where Finn had been dealing with his own mother's suicide.
Finn's mother struggled after Finn's father died. It was tremendously hard adapting to the tragedy.
She raised a five year year old boy alone. It was difficult, as Finn was at the age where he needed a father figure around.
She knew she needed to get help, but she was always afraid of facing her feelings. So she just lived until she couldn't go on.
Finn couldn't get the memory out of his head. He was thirteen now, and he knew he had to approach this more maturely.
But every memory turned to another tear.
He came home to find his mother dead.
He first thought his mother had been murdered, until he was ten, when he found out that she actually committed suicide.
That made his hurt even worse.
Tears turned to shrills of anger and hurt.
His words often replayed in his head.
"She isn't coming back, is she?"