A/N: Well, hello fanfiction readers! Tis' me, the one and only Mancoocoo, or so I am assuming is the only one, and I have come bearing Chapter 1. I'm very grateful for those who have decided to follow my crazy ass story, and especially thankful for those you really did attempt to enjoy it. i know it was painful, but bear with me, people, we're getting there! In my own opinion, the Prologue was shit, but that's probably because I've read close to one thousand times since July. Be prepared for this chapter, ladies and gentlemen, because I love drama and angst, and I love to start things off with a bang. You'll meet, personally, my favorite character of the story thus far, who is loosely based of the attitude of my own, but spiced up a bit. Some of the comments she makes are... out there, so keep in mind that one of my most favorite sayings is, "Honesty is the best policy." ... ;)
P.S. I would like to correct a mistake made in the prologue. Quinn and Blaine have known each other for far longer than four years. This sorry has been reworked and gutted raw, so that was a little detail I failed to edit out. They've known each other since their Mckinley days!
And awaaaayy we go!
Torture. It was the only word to surface for Blaine, because having a class for of fourteen year old, hormone enraged, high school freshman staring up at him expectedly, was not Blaine'a idea of entertainment.
Blaine sat behind his desk, as usual, hands clasped together, palms sweaty. There weren't that many students, maybe sixteen at the most; it was a decent sized class. Sex Education had just recently been reinstated at McKinley. Nervous parents were wanting to expose their children to sex as soon as possible. Quinn and Blaine laughed about it; both agreeing that learning about sex started long before high school.
Nonetheless, it was still a class, and Blaine was left to teach.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "So, hi guys. A few of you may know me from your instrumental class, but if not, I am Mr. Anderson, and I teach Instrumental Instruction here at McKinley." He paused, then exhaled, shaking away his sudden nerves. "Miss. Fabray didn't leave me with any lesson plans. Is anyone willing to explain to me we're she left off with you?" Blaine watched as the students didn't take notice to his attempt at an introduction.
He glanced around the room, surveying what he had to work with for the next thirty minutes. They were typical high school stereotypes; three girls in cheerleader uniforms sat on the far end of the room, near the windows. Behind, four jock-type boys attempted to flirt, causing the girls to giggle. Along the front was a set of a boy and three girls in very fashionable attire, passing a single note between each other. On the desk of the girl in the center, a binder plastered with stickers from Broadway shows sat.
In the back of the room was a pair of boys, one in dirty clothing, covered in paint; the other wearing dark clothing, fingernails filled in black. Then, flowing in the middle were two girls. One had dark skin, and was aimlessly scribbling on a her note pad in her lap. The other was quieter, tugging at her braided, dusty-brown hair. Blaine thought he'd recognize a few students, but wasn't completely sure; he was never really great with faces.
"Guys, guys! Quiet down, everyone! Guys!" Blaine sighed, the class was more rambunctious then his music kids. He glanced up at the clock hanging above the door; twenty-three minutes. Twenty-three minutes until his lunch break, and he could relax.
Soon enough, wads of crumbled up paper were being thrown across the room, and laughter erupted from a few of the students. Blaine stood immediately. "That's enough," he yelled sternly. The class became quiet, one froze in mid throw, then stuffed the wad into his friend's binder.
"I certainly hope this isn't an example of your behavior with Miss. Fabray. She speaks very highly of you all, and I'm beginning to see that her opinion is a little biased. I was planning on this being a relaxed class, but I can always have you copy down last year's edition of Webster's dictionary if that's not the case." The class gave a collective groan. "I didn't think so."
Blaine sat back down in his desk and nodded. "Because I haven't a clue as to what Miss. Fabray really teaches you guys in this class, I was thinking you all can feel free to ask me any questions you have that maybe you can't ask Miss. Fabray, or haven't gotten the chance to ask yet. I promise to answer the question to the best of my abilities."
Nothing. He did see, however, the girl with the braided hair smirk slightly, chuckling to herself.
Probably laughing at him, no doubt.
"No one has any questions? Nothing at all? It's doesn't have to be about sex, I'm all ears!" Blaine pulled at the back of his neck, trying to ease the uncomfortable atmosphere for himself. He had to credit Quinn, she must be really great with these particular kids if she can get them to talk, or move, or breathe. Everyone looked bored with Blaine, and Blaine didn't have any idea what to do about it.
Then, out of his peripheral vision, he saw a hand raise. It belonged to the girl who'd been laughing at him. He remembered her from one of his classes. She was talented, having already picked up both guitar and piano prior to taking the course. She impressed Blaine with her playing tests, running fluidly through each string of notes as if it were as easy as breathing.
He smiled at her, "Carson. Carson Hummel, right?" She nodded, dropping her hand back to lap. "Okay, Miss. Hummel, ask away."
She exhaled, "Why do we never talk about gay sex?" Blaine eyes widened, not expecting such a blunt question to come from, who he thought, was a sweet, soft-spoken girl.
The class laughed, the jock-boys making snarky comments towards each other. Blaine faltered, "Well, I don't really think that's a question I sho-"
"Because the rest of the world wasn't raised by a couple of fags, like you, Hummel," one shot out, making a face at Carson and bumping fists with the other boy behind him.
Blaine puffed up, "Watch your mouth, young man. I will not allow that language to be used in my classroom," he reprimanded, and the offender only rolled his eyes.
As he turned his attention back to Carson, Blaine frowned, seeing her head faced down to her lap, her cheeks crimson red. Blaine had dealt with his fair share of homophobic bullying, and didn't wish the feeling on anyone.
"Carson," he tried, hoping to get back to her question, but she only slouched down in her seat more. "Carson," he repeated, and she looked up. Blaine have her a warm smile, and she slowly sat up, letting her hands rest on her desk.
"Carson, that's a really interesting question. I don't think many schools do have required sex education classes, let alone classes solely based on what sex is like for gay kids. For me, I think it's ignorance, maybe even fear, too. Like, the fear of pushing people's limits, and stepping outside comfort-zones. What do you think?" He gestured for Carson to speak, standing up to lean on the white board behind him.
She faltered, eyes wide and nervous. "W-Well, I, uh, I think that being gay and being forced to take a class like this one is, uh, stupid. Kind of like, a waste, s-sort of. You know, because the m-mechanics are different, I guess. And, uh, yeah. Yeah, that, uh, that's it, I guess." She looked around the room, but avoided all the pairs of eyes burning into the back of her head.
Grinning, Blaine said, "Very good point, Carson. Excellent, anyone else happen to agree?" He watched as hands lifted to the air. All three girls in front raised their hands, watching the boy at the end of the row, enthusiastically throwing his hand up, holding his beret to his head with the other.
Carson let out a little laugh, smiling at the boy who Blaine assumed was her friend. Just as he was going to comment, one of the jocks scoffed, "Of course Parker's for banging the gays. He's a queer as a three dollar bill!" The group around him stifled a laugh as he clasped his hands next to his cheek and mockingly batted his eyelashes. "I bet he and Carson are just the best of friends!" The class bellowed out into a fit of giggles, all but the front row of girls, Carson, and Parker.
"Enough," Blaine growled, nostrils flaring. "I will not, under any circumstances, tolerate bigotry in my classroom. Nor will I endure slander, and disrespect toward anther student. You," he pointed to the boy, who nudged his elbow into the side of the kid next to him, whistling. He looked up, and smirked at Blaine. "Up front, now." The boy rolled his eyes, and stood, strutting over to Blaine and planting his heels in front of Blaine.
"Care to give an explanation? Because I strongly believe Carson and Parker both deserve one."
The boy shook his head slightly, clearly uninterested. "If they weren't such fag hags, maybe we'd lay off," he grumbled, not soft enough for Blaine to miss. Blaine crossed is arms, garnering his expression, trying to keep calm as best he could. "What part of, 'not tolerating that language,' did you misinterpret?"
"Heard you loud and clear, sir," the boy pushed, not caring for boundaries, or consequences.
Blaine took a step forward him, hovering over the boy by no more than a foot. "Name?"
"Seth Lorenzo Anello. It's Italian, I flew there last year for family. Beautiful language, no?" The name rolled of his tongue with a toothy smile, and all Blaine could do was squeeze his thumb in his palm, desperately trying to control himself. He'd had a few kids like Seth over the years, and never could quite control his temper.
He sneered at the boy, tightening his eyebrows together. "Well Seth, Come volete un biglietto per l'ufficio del preside?" The boy's eyebrows raised, clearly not understanding what Blaine had said..
"I, uh, I don't know," he mumbled, glancing to the floor.
"Oh, I think you do." Blaine reached behind his desk and grabbed a hall pass from the top draw, handing it to Seth. "Maybe a trip to the principals office will give you a chance to think before you speak. Off you go," he motioned to the door, and Seth turned on his heels, shoving a hand in his letterman jacket's pocket.
"At least I'm not going to hell," he said to himself, and before Blaine could catch him, he was out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Blaine sighed, shaking his head and turning back to the class. "Anyone else have anything they'd like to say?" Everyone watched in shock, they're jaws slack after watching the scene play out before them. "Great." Blaine glanced is wrist-watch, "Well, class should be ending soon, so great job today, to the majority of you, and have a wonderful weekend."
Just then, the bell rang out, and the class hustled their books together. They scurried out of the classroom in a crowded dash. Caught in the mob was Carson, her books sprawled across the floor. In the rush, they were knocked of her desk, and the rush almost knocked Carson to the floor, as well.
Blaine watched the last student walk off to lunch, and he turned, seeing Carson shrunk down to her knees, reaching for a book thrown under the desk in front of her. Blaine sighed walking over and grabbing a blue binder of the floor. He knelt down on one knee and handed it to her. "Is this yours, too?" She glanced up and nodded, pushing the binder in her arms; the pile was sloppily squeezed between her arms and chest.
Blaine smiled softy, helping her stand. She avoided his eyes, placing the pile on a desk to straighten it out. She pulled the books back in her arms and rested them on her hip, shuffling past Blaine. "Thanks," she spit out, and headed for the door. Blaine turned, calling out, "Wait, Carson, hold back for a second." She stopped, turning slowly.
"I was hoping I could have a word with you."
"Am I in trouble or something?" She bit her lip, eyes focused on Blaine.
Blaine chuckled, "Oh no, you've done nothing wrong. We just have a few things to discuss. I know this is your lunch period, so you can go grab your lunch if you like, and eat here," he offered, grinning. She shook her head, "I'm actually not that hungry." Blaine frowned, but nodded. "Okay, it's up to you, but we do have to talk. Take a seat anywhere you feel comfortable." She let out a quite sigh and sat in the desk in front of Blaine's.
Blaine went to his desk, pulled a water bottle out of his messenger bag and took a swig, gulping it down and turning his attention back to Carson. She was stiff, her hands clasped together and settled atop her desk. She looked around the room, her gaze vacant.
Blaine took his usual position in front of his desk, leaning back onto it. "So, Carson, I noticed you had some difficulty during class to- Carson? Carson." Her head snapped to answer Blaine, a small blush painted on her face. She chewed at the inside of her cheek saying, "Sorry, I do that a lot. I was just thinking," her voice trailed off, and Blaine furrowed his eyebrows, but nodded. "That's fine. You could do worse things than think, I suppose."
She nodded, "Yeah, sure."
"So, I was saying that I noticed your difficulty in class today. Any thoughts?"
Hesitantly, Carson forced out a laugh. "Oh, you mean Seth? No, no, we're cool. He just tries to get people to laugh, that's all. You know, the class clown? Yeah, he's just funny," she trailed off, chuckling dryly.
"Homophobic bullying isn't funny, Miss. Hummel. It is in no way a joke. I trust you know that."
She fidgeted, "But it's not like-"
Blaine crossed his arms, "Carson, please don't defend him. What he said you and Parker- it's wrong."
She sighed, resting his head in her hands and itching at a groove in the desk. "I'm used to it, I guess."
Pushing from his desk, Blaine squatted in front of Carson. He rested his elbows on his knees and watched Carson, who wasn't looking back at him. "You shouldn't have to be, Carson." She glanced at him, her cheeks washed a pale white. Her eyes looked heavy, and slightly blood shot. There was faint, blue shading under the, too. She looked exhausted.
"Carson, are you alright?" Blaine eyed her cautiously, standing.
"Never been better, Mr. A."
Furrowing his eyebrows, Blaine eyed her cautiously. He's noticed how she was always spacing out during class, and everyday she'd walk in with the same dead, monotone, look on her face. Whenever Blaine would ask if she'd like to see the nurse, or call home, Carson would give him the same answer ever time, Never been better, Mr. A.
"Look, Mr. Anderson, I know you don't believe me, but I'm okay. This is just a part of high school that I have to endure. No matter how hard you, or my parents, or even I try, it's going to stay like this. So, just go with it. I'll live. It's not like they're shoving me in dumpsters or anything." She rose from her seat, pulling her books with her. "I think I'm going to head back to lunch. Thanks for the talk, sir."
Blaine sighed, "Alright, Carson, but if you ever want to talk, I'm always here. That goes for Miss. Fabray, as well, if you can't come to me."
She nodded and walked to the door, but she stumbled, tripping over what seemed to be nothing. She laughed, "It's these damn shoes, I have no grip."
Blaine narrowed his eyes, taking a step toward her. As she turned to the door again , she faltered and paused. "Mr. Anderrson, I-I actually feel like I'm gonna-" her face dropped and she fell to the floor, her books falling with her.
"Carson!" Blaine rushed over to her, but gravity was tooo wuick for him. Her head hit the floor with a knock, and Blaine cringed. He slide down on his knees and picked the girl up in his arms, resting half her body on his. He held her head, and a warm, sticky substance soaked his hand. Blaine grimaced at the sight; she had clipped the door stop with the back of her head. Shaking her lightly he said, "Carson, Carson wake up. Come on, sweetheart, look at me, open your eyes. Please, Carson." He patted her cheek with the tips of his fingers, but there was no response. He pressed to finger to the crease in her neck and sighed in small relief. "A pulse, small but there. It's okay," he convinced himself. He pushed his hand to the gash and shuddered, blood now soaked into a small spot on his jeans. He glanced up, and behind the door was a pair of girls who had watched the enter scene. He motioned with a jerk of his head to come in.
The door creaked open, "Yes, Mr. Anderson?" the girl looked down at the scene and her eyes popped, "Oh my god, Carson! Is she dead?"
"Becca, go get Miss. Clarke. Tell her call 911 and get to my room as fast as she can," Blaine said trough his teeth, trying to keep his cool. She nodded and ran off, the other girl left with a confused and shocked look on her face.
Blaine looked at her and half smiled, "I don't have you, do I? I'm not very good with faces."
She shook her head, her face stuck with a stunned expression. "I-I'm Lucy."
"Hi Lucy, can you do me a favor?" She nodded, hesitantly. "Could you gather Carson's books for her, please?" She nodded again and hustled to the floor, pushing all the notebooks and folders into a sloppy pile on the floor. "Thank you, Lucy. You can go if you like, just don't tell others that this has happened. It's bound to get around somehow, but we don't need anymore drama or rumors spread throughout this school, right?"
"I-I guess. Don't worry, I won't say anything. Bye, sir." She hurried out of the room and Blaine turned his attention back to Carson, who was still completely unconscious.
He'd never been in this situation, and quite frankly, he had absolutely no idea what to do. He was also wondering what was taking the school nurse so long to get to a student who is unconscious.
He shifted Carson. Resting her head in his lap, he kneeled, his hand finding the gash again and pushing to plug the bleeding. "Carson, hold on. Hold on just a little bit longer."
The door flew open, and the Miss. Clarke ran in. "Blaine, what happened?" She knelt down and took Carson, laying her on the floor, carefully. "God, she's bleeding. What happened?"
"I-I don't know. She was just leaving; she said she didn't feel well, and then she just fell. It was all so fast, and she hit her head. I tried to stop the bleeding. I tried to wake her up, but nothing's happening," he sputtered out, his hands sitting on his thighs. "There's so much blood."
His eyes watched with anticipation as Miss. Clarke worked. She went in her white, first-aid bag and pulled out a wad of gauze. "It's not that much, Blaine, but loosing any amount of blood isn't good." She lifted Carson's head and slipped the gauze beneath where the gash was. Miss. Clarke pressed her fingers to the inside of Carson's wrist. "Her pulse is slow, but it's there. We just have to keep pressure to her head and wait for the paramedics." Blaine nodded, taking Carson's hand in his, squeezing it tight. Miss Clarke placed a hand on his shoulder, "She'll be okay, Blaine."
He nodded, watching the still girl beneath them, hoping Miss. Clarke was right.
So, so we love Carson or do we love Carson? You didn't see much of her tude' in this chapter, but trust me, she's got enough sass to spread from the stars and back. She's a little spark of life and spunk and I just can't wait for her to meet you all! Anyway, did we like the chapter all together? I hope we did! Like I said, it's a bit if a cliffy, but fear not! I shall return before you've even noticed I've gone!
Until next time,
Mancoocoo
