TW: This chapter contains descriptions of a violent assault.
Chapter Two - "Everybody's Broken"
Jeff Sterling was having a pretty crappy day.
First, it was the end of summer and he and Nick were headed back to Dalton Academy for their freshman year. Hip hip freakin' hooray. As far as Jeff was concerned, it was still summer vacation and he should still be in bed, but, no, his dad insisted on getting an early start. And why? Because with all the traffic and road construction, what should've been a five-hour drive to Westerville looked like it was going to take at least seven.
Second, he'd forgotten to charge his iPod. They were sharing Nick's and he was playing every Bon Jovi song ever recorded. Leaving Jeff no choice but to dangle it out the Mountaineer's window while moving at 70 miles an hour until Nick agreed to pick something else.
Finally, when they'd made it to Dalton and checked in, Jeff and Nick found out their request to room together this year had been denied by the morons in the Residential Life Office. WTF?
At least they were both living in Poe Hall this year. Checking the room assignment list, they saw that Nick was in room 404 with Ward Brandt, who was pretty cool. Jeff was right across the hall in 405.
With some new kid named Blaine Anderson.
Jeff couldn't help rolling his eyes. Blaine. Probably some country-club snob with a trust fund and a snooty accent like Marion Moseby on The Suite Life. (Not that he ever really watched that show.)
After helping unload the car, Jeff marched over to the admin building to arrange a body-swap between Nick and this Blaine. The kind-faced secretary in the front office referred him to the dean of students. Mr. Kirschner ushered Jeff into his office and made him wait as he pulled a file out of a drawer and skimmed the contents. Then smiled condescendingly at the determined fourteen-year-old and stated that "everything happens for a reason." He and Blaine Anderson had a great deal in common, he continued, and that, if Jeff would just give it a chance, he expected they would be "great friends" in no time.
Yeah. Right. The Dalton Academy 2009 Fall Semester was officially off to a craptastic start.
Jeff tried his best to convince Mr. Kirschner to change his mind, but the old man wouldn't budge. Realizing he was fighting a losing battle, he let it go. Any more arguing and he could end up with detention before school even started. Walking back to the dorms, he wished Nick's dad had been here to take care of this. Being the big shot alum, Mr. Duval would have just snapped his fingers and Old Kirschner would've ruptured himself moving Blaine's stuff personally.
On his way out of the front office, Jeff had snagged a student directory from a stack on the credenza. Now he opened it to the A's so he could check out his new roommate.
Whoa. Not bad, Jeff had to admit when he saw the boy's picture―curly dark hair, soulful eyes, bashful smile. Kinda hot, as a matter of fact. Probably askin' too much that he's good looking and gay, huh?
Then Jeff shook his head. Nuh-uh. You've never had a boyfriend before—you do not start with your roommate. You're askin' for trouble. He took another look. Too bad. Trouble's never been this cute before...
He started reading: Anderson, Blaine D. Class of 2013. Home: Oakwood, Ohio. Date of Birth: 11/26/93. Jeff paused to think, Wait. Ninety-three? That would make him fifteen, almost sixteen. And he's a freshman? What's with that?
Sports: lacrosse, soccer. Guess I'll see him at soccer tryouts Monday. Personal interests: art, boxing―bullshit, bullshit, bullshit...wait―music - vocal and instrumental. Hm. Wonder if he's gonna try out for the Warblers, like Nicky and me?
When he got back to the dorm, he found Nick hanging out in the big wood-paneled lounge and watching all the move-in mayhem with Cameron, Seth, and Andy. Jeff greeted his fellow freshmen by shouting, "Wassup, bitches! We is upper-schoolers now!" Which started a round of hoots and hollers and high-fiving.
After things settled down, Nick asked, "Any luck?"
Jeff made a face. "Nah, Kirschner sucks." He handed Nick the open directory and pointed. "Here's the intel on my new roomie."
"Aw jeez, Jeff, you got a newbie, too?" Seth groaned. "Mine hasn't checked in yet."
"Mine has." Jeff had swung by the registration desk on his way back from Dalton Hall and checked.
The guys crowded around to read. At one point, Jeff saw Nick raise an eyebrow and knew his friend had noticed the age thing, too. When they finished, Jeff nudged Nick toward the stairs. Time to go meet Blaine. They told the others they'd catch up with them later.
"He sounds like a stiff," Cameron shouted after them. "Good luck!"
Threading his way through the busy fourth-floor hallway, Jeff saw the door to 405 was ajar. He pushed it open and it bumped up against what turned out to be a pile of designer luggage.
The room, though a little bigger than last year's, was typical: two twin beds, two desks, two chairs, two closets, and a double window opposite the door. When they'd carried their stuff upstairs earlier, Jeff had staked a claim by piling all his belongings on one bed.
Sitting dejectedly on the other was Blaine Anderson.
It was obviously the same boy in the photo, but...different. His face was drawn and unhappy...his eyes dull and downcast...and that sexy mop of curls―chill, Sterling!―had been severely styled with way too much gel. And Jeff had guessed right; the kid was all dressed up for a day at "The Club"―Brooks Brothers polo, khakis, boat shoes, and no socks. (Making Jeff, in a faded graphic tee and old cargo shorts, feel real ghetto.)
He glanced up at Jeff and Nick, looking like the last place he wanted to be was in this room. Feeling the other boy's discomfort, Jeff took the initiative. "Hey. Looks like we're roommates," he said, extending his hand. "Jeff Sterling."
Blaine stood and shyly took Jeff's hand. "Um, I-I'm Blaine. Anderson."
Nick stepped forward and smiled. "Nick Duval. I'm across the hall."
"Hi." Blaine's reply was barely audible as he shook hands with Nick.
After the introductions, Blaine just stared at the floor. Jeff wondered how shy could this guy be—
From down the hall came the BANG! of someone slamming a door. Then the sound of boys running and shouting.
―and Jeff saw Blaine seriously flinch, somehow managing to look pale in spite of his dark tan. When Nick instinctively reached out to him while asking, "Hey, you okay?" Blaine took a hasty step backward.
Like he thought Nicky might hurt him...what's his problem? Then Jeff thought about how he'd acted last year when he'd first come to Dalton, after—
His phone vibrated in his pocket; Jeff pulled it out and read the text.
Dad (Sat. 5:34pm): Dinner at McD or BK ok? Pick you guys up in 10 min. Be waiting.
After sending off a quick reply, Jeff broke the silence. "Just my dad. So...your parentals still around?"
Blaine looked down as he mumbled, "No. I'm lucky they stopped the car long enough to let me get out."
Trading glances with Nick, Jeff wondered how someone could manage to sound both meek and bitter at the same time. "Oh." Okaaay...there's a landmine we wanna avoid in the future: Blaine's parents.
He checked the time. "Nicky, Dad's comin' to take us to dinner, so, um..." he trailed off when Nick eye-gestured meaningfully toward Blaine, mouthing Ask him.
Jeff felt like a major tool for not thinking of it himself. Rubbing the back of his neck, he asked, "Hey, Blaine. Wanna come with us? Y'know, last chance for fast food and all that."
"No, thank you," Blaine replied softly.
"You sure? This is my third year here," Nick chimed in. "Trust me, it's gonna be nothing but cold cereal and box lunches 'til the full kitchen staff gets here Monday."
"And the pizza places around here that deliver really suck," Jeff added.
He could see it in his eyes that Blaine was tempted, but in the end the timid boy shook his head glumly. "No. Um, I-I appreciate the offer, guys, really, but...no thanks. I've got to unpack anyway."
Jeff exchanged a look with Nick and shrugged. "Okay. Have fun with that."
Once they were waiting outside (and out of earshot of everyone), they started talking. About how Blaine seemed more than just shy. How the poor guy had reacted to the sound of that door slam and the horseplay afterward.
And most importantly, the way he'd pulled away when Nick tried to touch him.
Thinking back to last year, Jeff was sure the signs pointed to bullying. Serious bullying. Nick brought up the remark about the parents and wondered if he could be an abused child. Either way, it wasn't a pretty picture. They finished just as Jeff's dad pulled up to the curb.
When they were getting ready to leave McDonald's, Jeff decided to order something to take back with him. Whether Blaine liked it or not, he and Nick were going to be his "Welcome to Dalton" buddies.
He got back to his room and found himself alone. It looked like Blaine had been busy, though; the fancy plaid luggage was gone and clothes were neatly hung in his closet, arranged by type and color. A neat freak. Great. From what he could see, the guy was sadly addicted to Brooks Brothers. And golf sweaters. And...
God, no. Please tell me those aren't... Jeff grimaced when he saw the bow ties in an open drawer.
After leaving the bag of food and medium-sized Coke on Blaine's desk, Jeff glanced up at the items thumbtacked to the bulletin board above it. Blaine's class schedule. (Jeez, dude; three honors classes?) The Dalton contact directory. One small picture.
It was a posed studio portrait of a family. Solemn father and mother, wicked cute teenage brother, and a grinning three-year-old Blaine. Hm.
The only other personal item was a faded "Happy 12th Birthday, Big Guy!" card pinned next to the photo. Jeff peeked inside to see it was from someone named "Coop" sending "Squirt" best wishes from LA.
Dude, enough snooping, he thought, feeling guilty. He unzipped his biggest suitcase and got down to unpacking. He was stuffing socks and underwear into the top drawer of his closet's built-in dresser when he heard the door open. Blaine was back. Obviously having visited the caf since he was carrying a box lunch in his hands.
Blaine sniffed the air, then saw the bag sitting on his desk. "You..."
"Welcome to Dalton Academy, Mr. Anderson." Jeff took the box from him and peered inside. Gross. What's that even supposed to be? He dropped it in the trash can, doubly glad he'd brought something back from Mickey D's. "Couldn't letcha eat this crap."
Jeff got a glimpse of that bashful smile he remembered from the directory photo. "Thanks...thanks a lot," Blaine said, opening the bag.
As Blaine dug in, Jeff tried to start a conversation. Between Blaine's shyness and the fact that he flat out refused to talk with his mouth full, it was slow going. He eventually learned Blaine's hometown of Oakwood was near Dayton, that Blaine was a big fan of the Ohio State Buckeyes, and that he favored the Bengals over the Browns.
When the conversation stalled, he came to a decision. Well, it's time for Jeffy to raise the rainbow flag...
Jeff slid a poster out of its cardboard tube. He flattened it on his bed picture-side down and applied the Sticky Tack. Then hung it on the wall and stepped back to admire the view.
It was Battlestar Galactica's Jamie Bamber wearing nothing but the towel he was holding in front of his crotch, his muscular body all wet and gorgeous.
Nick had given Jeff the poster for his birthday. After he'd noticed that, whenever they watched his Galactica DVDs, Jeff seemed to stare holes in the screen whenever Bamber's character "Apollo" was on. Especially one episode, where an otherwise naked Apollo almost dropped his towel shaking hands with some reporter-type played by the Xena Warrior Princess chick.
Jeff folded his arms and waited for a response.
Blaine had just ripped a bite out of his second cheeseburger when he noticed Jeff's stance. Then stopped mid-chew when he saw the poster. He stood, eyes focused on Bamber's ripped physique. "Uh," he swallowed, "that's..."
Were you gonna finish that sentence with "hot as hell," Squirt? "Dude's got a sick body, huh? Oh, by the way, did I forget to mention I'm gay?"
"Um..." Blaine slowly nodded; he looked like he was trying to muster up the courage to say something.
"Not gonna be a problem, is it?" Jeff smiled, looking the other boy right in the eye.
A flush crept up Blaine's face as he stammered, "N-no, not at all...that's not what I...it's just that..." After a pause, he said in a small voice, "...so'm I..."
No way. Did I hear that right? "What?"
Holding Jeff's gaze, Blaine actually spoke up. "So am I. Gay."
Way. Jeez, Sterling. Worst. Gaydar. Ever. Hiding his surprise, Jeff kept it nonchalant and simply nodded. "Cool," he said and went back to his unpacking. As Blaine sat down to finish eating, Jeff couldn't help noticing the dazed look on his face. Poor guy. It's like he's never said that before without someone going off on him.
Or worse, it then occurred to him.
He was hanging up his uniform jackets when he heard a polite throat-clear. "Uh, Jeff?"
Jeff turned to see Blaine giving him an uncertain look. "I was wondering...I know the school says it has a zero-tolerance policy for...at least that what the brochures said. And th-the headmaster, too, during my interview. But so do other schools and it's just a bunch of talk, so..." He paused, nervously fiddling with the straw from his drink.
"Yeah?" Jeff prompted.
"I-I wanted to ask you...it is true?" He looked like he wanted to believe. But also like he didn't want to get his hopes up.
Definitely bullied. "No worries, dude. It's true. For real. Trust me."
And for the first time since they'd met, Jeff saw Blaine sort of relax. He was almost...slouching. Now if he'd just unbutton that top button and wash the crap out of that adorable curly hair. He was enjoying a mental picture of a messy-haired Blaine unbuttoning more than just a top button when he reminded himself, Watch it, Jeffy! Roommate. Be good.
"Be right back." He went across the hall to update Nick. Nick wasn't there, but his roommate Ward, busy hooking up an Xbox, told Jeff he was in the bathroom.
He walked to the far end of the hallway and was almost knocked down when a sniggering Cam came running out of the bathroom door holding a towel. "James, you friggin' waste of flesh!" a familiar voice shouted from inside.
Jeff found Nick standing at one of the sinks and rubbing his ass where Cameron had no doubt just towel-snapped it. "Aww, does widdle Nicky gots a boo-boo?" he asked mockingly.
"Yeah. Why dontcha kiss it and make it feel better?" Nick pouted while suggestively waggling his backside.
"Sorry, bud, but that ass is way too fine for me to stop at just a kiss," Jeff shot back with a smirk.
They both burst out laughing. Nick got back to brushing his teeth and Jeff leaned against the wall, watching his friend's reflection in the mirror. "Hey, guess what I just found out. He's gay."
Nick choked on his toothpaste. "Cameron? Eww." He made a face. "I pity the entire gay race."
"No. Blaine, you big dork."
Nick froze, his reflection staring at Jeff from the mirror. "No," he stated matter-of-factly.
"Huh?"
"No," Nick repeated. "You can not date him."
I know that. Jeez, give me some credit. "Who says I wanted to?" But he loved yanking Nick's chain, so he continued: "And, if even I did, what's wrong with that?"
"He's your roommate, you jerk. It'd be, like, 'living together' living together," Nick emphasized, miming air quotes.
Looking in the mirror, Jeff casually combed his bangs out of his eyes with his fingertips. "Okay, Dad. No boyfriend. How about 'friend-with-benefits'?" he smirked, suggestively waggling his eyebrows.
Wrinkling his nose, Nick said, "You're gross."
Laughing, Jeff made a kissy face and cooed, "Don't worry, Nicky, I still love you best."
Nick rolled his eyes.
The first day of classes, the entire student body and faculty assembled in the chapel for the headmaster's opening convocation. Having been enrolled mid-semester last fall, Jeff had missed all this crazy pomp and circumstance. He sat there in the pew with Nick, watching a procession of banner-carrying boys march down the aisle and wondering how and when they'd fallen into the opening scenes of Dead Poets Society. Blaine was sitting a few rows up with his orientation "big brother," David Thompson, who Jeff had gotten to know last year in Dalton's Dance Workshop.
G. Gerald Donaldson, the headmaster, took the podium and spoke. For thirty-six mind-numbing minutes. Then, after the thankfully brief closing prayer, the Fall Semester officially commenced.
That first week was a blur. The former middle-schoolers began adjusting to high-school life. The accelerated pace. The more demanding teachers. The even heavier work load.
And during all of the craziness, Jeff kept a close eye on Blaine and watched with relief as he slowly came out of his shell.
The first day, Blaine looked at Dalton like it was Disney World. He was wide-eyed when boys he didn't even know would say hello. Or tried to include him in conversations during meals. Like it was a totally foreign experience for him.
Then he met Crosby.
Crosby Beane was one of the most friendly and outgoing boys at Dalton. ("The single most cheerful life form in this galaxy," Nick always joked.) Whenever he passed a fellow student, he never failed to grin and raise his hand for a friendly high-five. No one was immune. Unfortunately, when Crosby passed Blaine in the halls and raised that hand, Blaine ducked his head and veered away. Just like he flinched whenever he received a friendly back slap or shoulder clap.
In spite of their talk, Jeff was worried seeing that Blaine was still wary, looking like he was waiting for someone to shove him around, trip him up, or hurt him in some way. Jeff didn't press, but he really wanted to know what had happened to have gotten this kid so beat down.
But that thought was pushed into the back of his mind as, little by little, Blaine's walls began to come down. By Thursday, he actually joined in the conversation at breakfast. On the following Monday, Jeff grinned as he saw Blaine high-five Crosby for the first time.
Then came the Warbler auditions. Jeff and Nick had signed up as planned. So had Cam, Andy, and thirty-two other boys.
Including, to everyone's surprise, Blaine.
Jeff couldn't believe it. Yeah, his roommate may have opened up some, but he didn't think Blaine was ready to really put himself out there. Not to the extent it would take to perform in public. Especially as one of Dalton Academy's self-proclaimed "rock stars."
The tryouts were held after school in the main auditorium. Jeff saw a yellow "Dalton Warblers" banner standing on the stage beside three rows of empty chairs. He and the other auditionees were directed to mount the stage and be seated there.
Thirteen upperclassmen sat in the first row of floor seats. One stood and introduced himself as Ken Stevenson. He was a blond-haired, blue-eyed East Coast preppy that Jeff remembered seeing around campus last year. Ken (a.k.a. Kenneth Maitland Stevenson IV) was Dalton's current BMOC. A senior, he was student council president, captain of the rowing and fencing teams―and, he informed them there, the head council member of the Warblers.
Head what? Then Ken explained how the Warblers had no faculty director; the members instead elected three upperclassmen to serve as a governing council. Pretty cool.
Ken went on to introduce his fellow council members, "Senior Warblers" Duncan Wood and Wes Montgomery. Catching Wes's eye, Jeff threw a Cub Scout salute to his former orientation "big brother."
Warbler Ken started his spiel. The Warblers were the most prestigious group at Dalton...had been performing for over one hundred years...had won numerous local, regional and national awards...accepted only the very best talent...
Get over yourself, Warbler Ken—it's glee club. Just wake me when it's time to sing, Jeff silently heckled, slouching in his seat. Nick elbowed him in the arm, and he sat up straight. Well, straighter.
Ken went on, telling the auditionees that this was going to be a rebuilding period. Seven Warblers had graduated last year; four more, including himself and Duncan, would be leaving at the end of this academic year. They were looking for talented freshmen to become core performers over the next four years. Traditionally the group performed a cappella interpretations of easy listening songs, everything from The Mamas & the Papas to Christopher Cross. This year, the council had decided to update their sound by adding a heavy dose of current Top-40s pop to their repertoire. Also, they planned to introduce more challenging choreography (which meant "any" they'd find out later) to their performances.
Having taken dance classes since he was five, that got Jeff's attention.
Then his smile turned into a smirk. He couldn't help it, thinking about what a choir of uniformed prep-school boys bustin' a move and belting out Beyoncé and Maroon 5 songs would look like.
The auditions started. Organizing the proceedings was a dirty-blond hottie named Shane Hardy who Jeff remembered as a soloist at last year's Spring Concert.
Shane called Nick's name first. Nick had brought his guitar and accompanied himself while he sang "Wanted Dead Or Alive" by Bon Jovi. Of course. But, questionable song or not, Jeff always loved listening to his friend sing; Nick had a beautiful voice.
Jeff was next. He managed to get through Aerosmith's "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing" without humiliating himself. (When he'd asked Wes a couple of days ago, the older boy had advised him to audition with a ballad. And Armageddon was one of Jeff's favorite movies.)
Three guys later it was Blaine's turn. He stood facing the rear of the stage, his back to the microphone stand. He muttered to himself, rolling his neck, trying to loosen up.
The music track started: Katy Perry's "Hot 'N Cold". He still faced away from the audience. Jeff wondered if he'd choked—
Blaine spun on his heel and, with a wide show smile on his face, grabbed the mic stand and started to sing:
"You change your mind
Like a girl changes clothes
Yeah, you PMS like a bitch
I would know"
Whoa...he's good. Jeff side-glanced at Nick, who was watching Blaine and looking equally impressed.
"And you over think
Always speak critically
I should know
That you're no good for me-e-e-ee!"
Then Blaine ripped the mic from the stand and exploded into action. Jeff's jaw dropped.
"'Cause you're hot, then you're cold
You're 'yes', then you're 'no'
You're in, then you're out
You're up, then you're down"
Good? Holy shit...he's freakin' awesome! And those moves didn't look like Dance Dance Revolution, either; Blaine was strutting around the stage like a pro, dynamic and confident. Jeff never would've guessed this person was the skittish kid he'd met three weeks ago.
"You're wrong when it's right
It's black and it's white
We fight, we break up
We kiss, we make up"
Go, Blaine Timberlake! Jeff silently cheered. Someone was elbowing him in the ribs and he tore himself away from Blaine's performance to meet Nick's gaze as he mouthed Oh my God. Jeff could only shrug in reply.
"You don't really want to stay, no
But you really don't want to go-oh..."
He snuck a glance down at the Warblers. They were all totally into the performance. Head Warbler Ken was even bopping his head in time to the music. When the second chorus repeat came around, Jeff found himself singing along:
"'Cause you're hot, then you're cold
You're 'yes', then you're 'no'"
Nick grinned and joined in, harmonizing:
"You're in, then you're out
You're up, then you're down"
Then Cam started, with Andy following:
"You're wrong when it's right
It's black and it's white"
Jeff was surprised; their impromptu four-part harmony wasn't half bad.
"We fight, we break up
We kiss, we make up"
Not missing a beat, Blaine danced over to them and grinned. Jeff could see the appreciation in his eyes.
They finished the song as a group, with Blaine nailing the vocal runs during the last repeat of the chorus. There was a patter of applause and more than a few pleased smiles from the Warblers. Blaine walked over to thank the guys for the back-up. Jeff was still a little mind-blown by that transformation from mild-mannered schoolboy to teen pop star.
Ken stood and spoke with a constipated formality that reminded Jeff of the politicians on C-SPAN. "Mr. Anderson, that was quite impressive. Fellow Warblers, this," he said, pointing at Blaine, "is precisely the direction I want our group to move in this year. And as for your back-up singers...well done, gentlemen. You not only improvised that harmony, but supported a brother student. That is the team spirit we, as Dalton men, always encourage and embrace."
"Dude, that was so freakin' dope!" Andy shouted as he clapped Blaine on the shoulder.
And, Jeff noticed, for the first time Blaine didn't flinch.
The next day, on his way to soccer practice, Jeff's phone beeped. Digging it out of his pocket, he saw he'd received an e-mail from thewarblers-at-daltonacademy-dot-org and opened it. It was addressed to Junior Warbler Jeffrey S. Sterling—YES!—and congratulated him for having been selected as a member of the 2009-2010 Dalton Academy Warblers.
The e-mail included a link to an actual Warbler webpage. These dudes are hard-core, Jeff smirked as he checked it out, noting tabs for pictures, performance videos, bios and even FAQs. The complete membership roster was posted and his name was right there. The names Nicholas W. Duval and Blaine D. Anderson were also on the list.
One night, rather than read Act Two of King Lear (that's what SparkNotes is for, right?), Jeff took a good, long look at his roommate, who was sitting at his own desk and studying. Ever since the Warbler tryouts, Blaine had changed. He had a new sparkle in his eye...a new confidence. Like performing had turned on some hidden switch.
It wasn't like he'd been a bad guy before, either. He was certainly cooler than Jeff's first roommate. Blaine never had a problem with Jeff's smart-ass attitude or the high-spiritedness that some (well...most) people mistook for immature behavior. He was certainly every parent's wet dream: quiet, polite, organized, easy-going.
And he was easy to talk to. Jeff had told Blaine about his parents and sisters. About Nick and how they'd been best friends ever since he'd moved to Fox Chapel. He even hinted at his troubles last year in junior high, vaguely hoping for something in return.
Apart from that one comment he'd uttered the day they'd met, Blaine never talked about his family. Which wasn't entirely out of the ordinary: he knew several boys here that weren't exactly on the best of terms with their folks for one reason or another.
But there were other things that didn't make sense...
There was the age thing; next month was this freshman's sixteenth birthday. Jeff knew there was no way this kid could've been held back—he was a straight-A student and a peer tutor, for God's sake.
Then there were the scars.
Their second night at Dalton, while undressing for bed (and, no, he had absolutely not been checking Blaine out), Jeff noticed a long surgical scar on Blaine's side. While changing for soccer tryouts, he couldn't help but see several, more random scars on his shoulder, chest and back. And, last week when they'd both overslept and were scrambling to get ready in the bathroom, he'd spotted another; it was a particularly nasty-looking one on his scalp, above the hairline. Blaine obviously styled his hair to cover it up.
Also, after writing for any length of time, Blaine always stopped and slowly flexed the fingers of his right hand. And when he did, his breath hitched in pain. Just like Jeff's grandma, when her arthritis "acted up".
When Jeff asked about the scars and stuff, Blaine told him that he'd been in a bad accident last year and he didn't like to talk about it.
It was a totally plausible explanation. But something Jeff saw in Blaine's eyes made him not believe it.
The week before Halloween, signs were tacked up on all the notice boards announcing the annual Harvest Ball, a semi-formal dance to be held on November 20th. The event was being thrown in cooperation with Dalton's sister school, Crawford Country Day.
After dinner, Jeff asked Blaine if he were going. Based on what he was seeing at Warbler rehearsals, he reckoned his roommate would be jazzed to go to any kind of dance.
Instead Blaine dropped his eyes and muttered, "Uh...I don't think so." Then pulled out his Western Civilizations textbook and buried his nose in it.
Whatever. Jeff shrugged it off. He had to feed Caruso the canary anyway. (As a new Warbler, he was tasked with caring for the group's temperamental mascot until the end of the month, when he would gladly hand all responsibility for the bird over to Blaine.)
But as he pulled the cover off the birdcage he couldn't help thinking that Blaine had looked a little weirded out over the whole thing.
While lying in bed that night, Jeff starting thinking again. Being gay and all, maybe Blaine thought he wouldn't have a good time with the Crawford girls. So, the next day, Jeff invited Blaine to hang with him and Nick and their other friends who were going stag. Nick assured him if he didn't feel like dancing, that was perfectly okay.
Blaine looked down at his feet, reminding Jeff of the timid Blaine he'd met at the beginning of school. "No, thanks, guys. I'm gonna pass," he said. Then immediately walked away, leaving Nick and Jeff to exchange a puzzled glance. Which they exchanged again that evening when Blaine blew them off at dinner to sit with Wes, David, Duncan, and Shane at a table on the other side of the dining hall.
They didn't see him again until curfew, when he silently went to bed.
Jeff refused to give up. The more Blaine turned him down, the more he was determined to get him to go to that dance. Though Nick said he was getting a bad feeling about this, Jeff was on a mission. There was no stopping him.
The following day after last period, Jeff found Blaine in the otherwise empty Biology room. He was sitting at a lab bench doing his homework—no doubt hiding out there in his continuing attempt to avoid Jeff. "Hey."
Startled, Blaine got to his feet. "Hi, Jeff," he was saying when Jeff suddenly marched over and backed him into a corner.
Placing his hands on the walls either side of Blaine's head, Jeff effectively boxed him in. He leaned in close and with a wicked smile told Blaine, "Listen, dude, you're going to that dance and having good time whether you want to or not. Even if we have to tie you up and carry you there."
Then he realized how Blaine had tensed up. And that all the color had drained out of his face. The shorter boy squeezed his eyes shut and said, in a small voice, "N-no, you won't."
What's goin' on? Is he...scared of me?
Jeff put what he meant to be a reassuring hand on Blaine's trembling shoulder and started to say "Dude, what's wr—" when Blaine suddenly jerked away, screamed, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" and bolted from the room.
What. The. Fuck.
As Jeff stood there trying to figure out what had just happened he saw a flash of movement outside the window. No way. Blaine was sprinting across the lawn and down the hill toward South Pond.
Jeff tore out of the science building and ran after him. Halfway down the hill, he slipped on some fucking wet leaves and almost lost his balance. Worse, during all the stumbling and arm flailing, Blaine had vanished.
He skidded to a halt, just short of taking a header into the pond. He looked both ways up and down the shore, but there was no sign of Blaine. He kicked a tree in frustration. Shit!
Jeff became aware of the cadence of pounding feet approaching and glanced up. The cross-country team was jogging toward him down the walking path that followed the water's edge. He saw Warbler Duncan in the lead, the black-haired senior giving him a curious stare as he passed without breaking stride.
"Hey!" shouted a familiar voice. Jeff turned to see Nick separating himself from the pack of running boys.
"What's goin' on?" Nick asked, looking at him funny.
Jeff reckoned he was quite a sight, out of breath, shirttail untucked, hair hanging in his face. He swiped his bangs out of his eyes and snapped, "Help me find Blaine. He was headed this way when I lost him."
"Wha—?"
"Don't ask," he grimaced. "I kinda...did somethin' stupid."
Nick raised an eyebrow. "What else is new?"
"Ha ha," Jeff deadpanned, then admitted, "That friggin' dance. Told him he was going. That he had no choice. I don't know why, but he freaked out and ran off. We gotta find him."
"Oh, crap."
They split up. Nick hurried back up the path to search around the gym and athletic fields. Jeff set off in the opposite direction, scanning the woods for any sign of Blaine. Thank God the groundskeepers regularly cleared out the small brush or he'd have no chance of spotting him at all.
It suddenly hit him that Blaine could have doubled back. He texted all their friends, keeping it casual by just asking Hey - anybdy seen blaine?
Replies began coming in. Dylan Lantree and Andy Stewart both had Honors Bio with Blaine eighth period and said that was the last time they'd seen him. Everyone else sent back some version of "no."
The sun was going down and Jeff walked faster, then started running, shoes clacking on the slate pavers. Still no Blaine. Through the trees he caught a glimpse of the high brick wall that enclosed the school's grounds. No way Blaine could've climbed that.
He stopped for a breather, sitting on one of those crazy marble benches. Carved into the seat was "Prudentiam": insight. He smiled humorlessly. I definitely could use some of that right now.
He looked out across the pond, squinting in the sunlight reflecting off the water's surface. He was surprised to see the Dalton campus on the opposite shore. Wow. He must have been running faster than he thought to have gotten that far around already.
As the pounding in his ears subsided and his breathing slowed, he heard someone else's breath sounds.
Behind him.
Slowly turning, he caught a glimpse of red. The same red as the Dalton sweater vest Blaine was wearing.
There he was, sitting between the roots of a huge tree, knees hugged to his chest. He glared at Jeff, his eyes a mixture of fear and anger. The kid was totally freaked out. But why? Jeff knew Blaine had been bullied, but—
Something clicked in Jeff's head. Junior high. The attack in the boys' locker room.
He thought back to the first time he'd entered the locker room here at Dalton...how he'd gotten queasy just over the sour sweat smell...felt trapped when he'd heard the door close...the flare of panic when a random football player had come around a corner—just like Stu Slater and the others had that day. To this day, he still felt an occasional twinge of angst when in there alone.
Remembering the timid boy he'd met back in August who'd flinched when someone even got close to him, Jeff guessed something even worse than that locker-room beating must have happened to Blaine...something that would've given him all those scars...
Something that might've happened at a school dance, he suddenly realized. Oh, fuck...
He heard someone running towards them. It was Nick. He'd followed the path around the pond from the opposite direction. Breathless, he called out, "No sign of—" Jeff cut him off with a raised hand.
Nick was about to protest, then saw Blaine sitting all hunched up. Looking worried, he kept quiet and knelt on the ground.
Jeff crouched down a few feet away from Blaine, trying not to spook him. "Hey, buddy..."
"I-I'm not goin'...you can't make me," he muttered, never taking his eyes off Jeff.
"Okay. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Honest." He tried to smile reassuringly. "I'm sorry. Really. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm sort of a jerk." He chose to ignore Nick's snort of agreement.
Blaine didn't say anything; his gaze never wavered as Jeff crept closer.
"It's okay. I get it. I got the shit beat out of me at school every day. The last time, they put me in the hospital."
"Oh, yeah? Were you in a coma, too? And did they fuck you up so bad that you had to stay in that hospital for four months? Did you miss so much school you were held back and had to re-start your freshman year all over again?" Blaine shouted, voice both sad and angry.
Jeff's stomach knotted. No way. "Wha...?"
"That's right. Last year, I went to a dance. With my friend Jack. We were...we were the only two out kids at school." Those amber eyes darkened. "It was a Sadie Hawkins Dance. And I asked him. We spent most of the night standing in the corner. But we danced one dance." His voice broke. "One lousy dance..."
Jeff's insides turned cold as Blaine started telling them how, after the dance, he and his friend had been stupidly waiting for their ride alone outside the gym...
...when he'd heard the pounding of running feet. Before he could even turn around, someone had him by the hair and slammed him face-first into the side of the building. Blinding pain exploded through his skull. He was still trying to process what was happening when he was yanked around and shoved backwards into a corner, head bouncing off the bricks...
(Jeff winced, thinking how he'd forced Blaine into the corner in the Bio lab.)
He couldn't see. Blood was streaming down his forehead into his eyes. Someone grabbed him and twisted his arms up his back, calling him "fag" and "homo." The voice was close to his ear. He felt spittle hitting his cheek. Smelled the sour reek of beer.
From the voices, he could tell there were three of them. And it sounded like two were whaling on Jack. Until Jack's shouts abruptly stopped.
A fist smashed into his face. Then another. He felt the sickening crunch of his nose breaking. Blood poured down his throat, gagging him, cutting off his shouts for help. Someone hissed for him to shut the fuck up, punctuating each word with rapid, vicious blows to the gut that left him curled up on the ground retching.
He was kicked in the ribs. There was a snapping sound and pain ripped through him like fire, overwhelming all his senses. It was the same when they stomped on his hand.
Slipping into shock, he barely felt it when they started kicking him all over. Finally, something smashed into his skull and everything went black...
...and he woke up in a hospital all woozy and stiff with his brother at his bedside. Cooper was crying, looking both relieved and pissed as hell at the same time. Their parents were no where to be seen. (They'd gone to Manhattan, he found out later. For some corporate holiday bash.)
His right hand and leg were both in casts. When he tried to move, there was a pain in his side. He'd been attacked at the dance, Coop gently told him. And been in a coma for thirty-six days. Today was December 21st. He didn't believe him until a nurse came in wearing a Santa hat and a Christmas pin on her scrubs.
Then he remembered and had to be sedated.
When he woke up, he was numb. He tried to understand as the doctor spoke with him: head trauma...fractured ribs...lacerated kidney...ruptured spleen...compound fracture of the hand...broken leg...a lucky young man...
Yeah. Real lucky.
He spent the next four months in a rehabilitation center. Life became a confusing blur of follow-up surgeries and physical therapy and nightmares and counseling punctuated by up to sometimes three panic attacks a day in the beginning...
Jeff sat there sick to his stomach. He didn't want to believe what he'd just heard. The world around him suddenly felt very far away and he wrapped his arms around himself. Bad memories were creeping in from the edge of his mind when he heard a voice say, "Hey." At the same time, someone gripped his hand. "It's all right. Everything's okay."
Nick's face was right in front of his own. His dark eyes were wide and full of concern, worrying about him even though it looked like all he wanted to do right now was go and throw up.
Jeff squeezed back hard, focusing. With some effort, he broke the spell and pulled himself together; he even managed a weak smile to assure Nick he wasn't gonna fall apart.
They both shifted their attention back to Blaine. He was pale and tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. Jeff carefully reached out to him. When he didn't jerk away, Jeff put his arm around his shoulders. He was surprised when Blaine leaned into him, still talking.
"The worst thing was they never found out who did it. With all the blood in my eyes and everything, I never saw who they were. And Jack? He didn't remember anything. Not even the dance. He woke up in the ER and thought it was the morning before." Blaine's voice started to crack. "Not like it mattered...those cops couldn't've cared less about two 'fag kids' getting beat up."
"Oh, man..." Jeff whispered. "I'm sorry." He felt stupid; there was nothing he could say that would make it better. "I'm so sorry..."
The three boys just sat there on the cold ground. They were still sitting there when the lamp posts along the path automatically turned on at dusk.
"Hey, Sterling! You're missing a great time! You'll be sor-ree!"
Jeff leaned in his doorway, arms folded across his chest. It was the night of the Harvest Ball. He watched as the guys, dressed in regular blazers and ties, streamed down the hall on their way to the busses waiting to take them to the dance.
As they passed, they bantered with Jeff. And Nick and Blaine, who were lounging inside the room. The three boys were comfortable in sweats and tee-shirts as they prepared for their all-night movie marathon.
At Jeff's insistence, they did a three-way "Rock, Paper, Scissors" for first movie pick. Blaine won. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Not exactly a big surprise since he was wearing a tee with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry printed on it.
Jeff groaned; his baby sister watched that movie (and all the others) constantly. But at least it was better than one of Nick's old Star Trek movies. I don't know what's worse: Star Trek—The "Motionless" Picture or Bon Jovi...wait, why am I friends with him again...?
Nick volunteered to go down the hall to the kitchenette and nuke the popcorn. After he left, Jeff shocked Blaine by informing him their friend was a Potter virgin. Nick had never been interested the Harry Potter films. Or even the books. For years, Jeff had kidded him for being the only kid in America who was immune to Pottermania. To which Nick replied that he liked his fiction to be more science, less fantasy.
After setting up the Potter DVD, Blaine turned to Jeff and said, "I...just wanted to say thanks. I mean, you didn't have to stay. I know you guys wanted to go."
Three weeks had passed since Blaine's meltdown. That night, the two of them had sat in their room and talked until dawn. Blaine told him everything: about his family life and how much it hurt knowing he barely existed in his parents' eyes since coming out to them, his friend Jack, and the bullying at his old school leading up to the assault. Jeff had shared his own experiences in junior high and how they'd brought him to Dalton. It was funny; that was only three weeks ago—now he thought of Blaine as one of his best friends.
Jeff shrugged. "Nah, not really. Just an excuse to get off campus. I mean, it's not like I was gonna dance with anyone anyway. Woulda just ended up ragging on Cam. You've seen him in practice; dude can't dance to save his life. And," he smirked, raising his voice as Nick came back with the popcorn, "you spared Nicky the humiliation of getting shot down by a couple dozen girls with good taste—"
He ducked as two puffed-up popcorn bags came flying at his head. When he looked up, Nick was flipping him off. "Bite me!"
"You wish," Jeff taunted, blowing Nick a kiss off his own raised middle finger. "Bring it, you big dork!"
"Brung!" Grinning fiendishly, Nick lunged at him and tackled him to the floor. Jeff's head landed on one of the popcorn bags, bursting it open.
As they started wrestling on the floor, he could see Blaine laughing at them as he got out the way...
Blaine Anderson laughed as Nick hurled himself on top of Jeff and pinned him to the floor. Their antics had upset Caruso and the canary was chirping and fluttering around his cage.
He scrambled up onto his bed as Jeff broke the hold and they started rolling around, shouting and laughing and flinging popcorn at each other.
They were adorable. He'd been at Dalton for three months and it was so obvious his two friends were oblivious.
Jeff finally got the upper hand. Straddling Nick's chest (his crotch inches from Nick's face) he had his friend's arms pinned down with his knees. He threw a fist in the air and shouted that he was the "ultimate fighting champion"—right before Nick bucked wildly and toppled him off.
Blaine just shook his head. He wondered how long it would take for them to get a clue...
NEXT UP: The Warblers at Regionals and the founding of Dalton's f**** c***.
A/N: I'd just like to give a shout-out to TextingSconesAndBowties, CouldIBeAnyMoreOfAGleek, Love'sSuchAnOldFashionedWord, Evil-Muffin-ator, Spice of Life, VVAGirl, MissMarie in Wonderland, TomorrowsMorbidSunshine and x-Meiko-Rose-x. Thanks for your patience. Hope it was worth the wait.
For the new OC's, I see Hayden Christensen (circa Revenge of the Sith) as Shane Hardy, Brant Daugherty as Duncan Wood, Chuck Hittinger as Ken Stevenson, and Justin Tinucci as Ward Brandt.
Thanks for reading! Thoughts and feelings? Please review.