Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.
"Dad! Guess what?" Kurt called cheerfully as he headed up the basement stairs. "Dad, I…"
He paused. The kitchen was empty, and the keys to his dad's truck. He sighed heavily. All he wanted to do was share his excitement over his Britney Spears campaign- he'd gone to bed with two supporters and woke up with five- but his father was gone. There wasn't anybody to talk to about it.
Reluctantly he poked out around in the half-empty refrigerator, looking for something that would work for breakfast. "I really need to go grocery shopping," he said aloud, finally picking up a small carton of Greek yogurt.
He sat down at the kitchen table and peeled the foil back, digging thoughtfully into his breakfast. Usually he and his father went grocery shopping together on Sunday nights- the only day of the week the garage wasn't open- but it seemed like his dad was working more and more hours.
I need to make him take more time off, he thought as he tossed his empty yogurt in the trash and dropped his spoon in the dishwasher.
He shut off all the lights and locked up the quiet house before driving to school. Of course, school didn't start till eight-thirty, but he'd realized last year that he either needed to get there early, before all the jocks showed up, or slide in right before the bell rang, when the jocks were busy trying to run to class themselves. He pulled into his usual parking spot (right next to the front doors, where there would be plenty of witnesses if something went down) and headed into the choir room.
His friends filtered into the classroom in ones and twos, plunking down in their seats to chat sleepily or finish their homework at the last minute. Mercedes sank into the empty chair beside and dropped her backpack on the floor. "Morning, boo," she yawned.
"Good morning," he said. He scooted closer. "Guess what?"
"It's too early to guess," she said. "Just tell me."
He clasped his hands. "Remember that Facebook page I made the last time you spent the night?" he said. "The Britney Spears one? We're up to five likes."
"Oh my god, that's awesome," Mercedes said. "You totally have to tell Mr. Schue. Maybe we can talk him into it."
The teacher in question breezed into the room with a wide grin plastered across his face. "Hey, hey, good morning, everybody," Mr. Schue said cheerfully. "I've got a fabulous lesson planned for today. Put your homework up, you should've done it last night." Mercedes groaned and stuffed her half-written English notes back in her bag.
Mr. Schue marched over to the whiteboard and wrote "Christopher Cross" in sloppy capital letters. Kurt arched an eyebrow. "All right, who can tell me who Christopher Cross is?" Mr. Schue asked.
"He discovered America," Brittany announced. Finn nodded eagerly.
"Close," Mr. Schue said, gesturing with his whiteboard marker. "He did write an iconic chart-topper, 'Sailing'."
Kurt leaned over to Mercedes. "I have a bad feeling about this lesson," he whispered. She nodded.
"Never heard of him, don't want to hear about him," Tina said flatly.
Mr. Schue picked up a stack of papers from the piano. "Now, some people think of easy listening as a bad thing," he said. "But I'm going to let this music speak for itself. You guys love Lady Gaga and the Rolling Stones, and you guys are really good about putting it all out there." He started handing out the sheet music; Rachel beamed smugly at the page. "But good music can also be controlled and restrained. It doesn't have to attack an audience. You can let them come to you."
Finn squinted at his sheet music. "How can you get caught between the moon and New York City? They're like a hundred miles apart," he said.
Kurt raised his hand. "Mr. Schue, if I may?" he said. Mr. Schue nodded. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that it's not that we don't love the idea of spending a week on this silky smooth adult contemporary, it's just that…as teens, it's not the easiest music for us to relate to."
Mr. Schue frowned and opened his mouth to argue. Kurt scooted a little further forward in his chair. "However, there is a burgeoning Facebook campaign that has swelled to over five members," he said. "They are in demand that this week, at the fall homecoming assembly, the McKinley High School glee club performs a number by- wait for it." He held up one index finger. Mr. Schue raised an eyebrow. "Ms. Britney Spears."
The other glee clubbers broke into excited murmurs. "Yo, Spears is fierce, yo," Artie grinned. Tina clapped her hands.
"Sorry, Kurt, I'm sorry," Mr. Schue said until the clamor died down. "Kurt, no. No." Kurt looked down at the floor. "No, I don't think she's a very good role model."
"But Mr. Schue, we kind of grew up with her," Rachel pointed out.
"She's literally why I wanted to become a performer," Tina argued.
"I don't want to do Britney."
Brittany pouted down at the floor Kurt frowned. "Why no Britney, Brittany?" he inquired.
She raised her head slowly. "Because my name is also Britney Spears," she announced.
Every head swiveled to stare at her. "What?" Mr. Schue stammered.
"What the hell is she talking about?" Mercedes said.
"My middle name is Susan, my last name is Pierce, that makes me Brittany S. Pierce. Britney Spears," Brittany explained. "I've lived my entire life in Britney Spears' shadow. I will never be as talented or as famous. I hope you all respect that I want glee club to remain a place where I, Brittany S. Pierce, can escape the torment of Britney Spears."
The room fell into stunned silence. "Well," Mr. Schue finally said. He held his hands up in surrender. "There you have it, guys. It's been decided. No Britney." He offered Kurt a patronizing smile. "Sorry."
"Thanks, Britt," Kurt retorted, rolling his eyes at the blonde cheerleader. "Thanks a lot."
"Leave Brittany alone," Santana shot back.
Brittany smiled sadly at Santana. "Thank you for understanding," she said as the Latina patted her back. "It's been a hard road."
Rachel raised her hand. "Um, can we move on?" she asked pointedly.
"Yes," Mr. Schue said, turning back to face them. "Let's talk about Michael Bolton."
"How about let's not?" Kurt muttered under his breath.
Thankfully the bell rang before Mr. Schue could wax poetic over more elevator music singers; Kurt snatched up his bag and marched out of the classroom, Mercedes at his heels. "This is ridiculous," he snapped. "It's completely uncalled for."
Mercedes rummaged in her backpack for her unfinished science homework. "Can we bitch over this at lunch, babe? This is due second period," she said.
"Sure," he sighed. "I'll see you later, okay?"
She nodded absently, scrawling an answer across the page as she wandered down the hall. Kurt sighed and headed in the opposite direction, until suddenly he was hurtling face-first into a locker.
"Watch where you're going," a voice jeered.
Kurt peeled himself off the locker, gasping. His cheek stung and his heart beat too fast.
Oh god, oh god, what just happened? he thought.
His heart felt like it was slamming out of his chest. He could deal with slushies. He could deal with name calling. He could deal with his yearbook photo getting defaced.
But he had just been shoved into a locker. On purpose. For no good reason.
Kurt ran down the hall to his next class, his stomach churning.
Kurt jumped as a hand closed over his shoulder. Mercedes laughed. "What's got you wound up so tight?" she said, plopping into a chair behind him.
"Nothing," he mumbled. "Nothing at all."
He knotted his hands together on his lap as his friends chatted around him. No one had shoved him in a locker since yesterday, but that didn't mean he didn't jump at loud noises or duck into empty classrooms when he thought he saw someone in a varsity jacket coming closer.
"So what's with tall, dark, and handsome?" Santana asked, nodding towards the guy leaning against the piano.
Miss Pillsbury smiled nervously. "Well, this is my…my…my gentleman friend, Dr. Carl Howell," she said, gesturing towards him. "Mr. Schuester invited him to come in and speak to you about good dental hygiene."
"That's right, and I want all of you to listen and be respectful," Mr. Schue said, nodding towards them, but darting a glance towards Miss Pillsbury. Kurt smirked. Someone's trying to be impressive, he thought.
"All right, all right, so here's the deal," Dr. Howell said. He held up a little wrapped pellet. "You chew this little capsule, and if there's any plaque you missed, the dye'll stick to it and it'll turn blue."
Santana raised a hand. "May I just say that you are the hottest dentist I've ever seen?" she said.
Dr. Howell grinned at her. "Yeah, I get that all the time," he said, crossing over to the other side of the room to hand out the pellets. Miss Pillsbury beamed. Mr. Schue looked somewhat constipated.
"No, like seriously, you can totally drill me whenever-"
"Santana!" Miss Pillsbury interrupted loudly, clapping her hands. Santana leaned back in her seat, smirking. "Okay. Let's stay focused."
"Rock and roll, Ems," Dr. Howell agreed, dropping a capsule into Kurt's hand. "And besides, this guy…" He walked over to the piano and slung an arm around Mr. Schue's shoulders. "Now this guy's pretty easy on the eyes too, am I right?" Mr. Schue grinned, half prideful and half sheepish. "And I bet that if I tried, I couldn't sing and dance like he can."
"Ah, well, probably not," Mr. Schue said, casting another sideways glance at Miss Pillsbury.
"All right, let's take a look at those chompers, all right?" Dr. Howell said.
Kurt thrust his hand in the air. "Before we chew, I would like to alert Mr. Schue that there's been a new addition to the Britney Spears Facebook campaign," he said.
Mr. Schue tore his gaze away from Miss Pillsbury. "Sorry, the answer's still no," he said. He clapped his hands. "Capsules, guys."
"Yes, chew away," Miss Pillsbury said. "Chew, chew."
Kurt rolled his eyes, dug the pellet out of the packaging, and stuck it gingerly on his tongue. It fizzed unpleasantly, filling his mouth with an overpowering peppermint flavor. The glee clubbers took turns flashing their smiles at Dr. Howell, earning nods of approval. Finn suddenly jumped back and gasped.
Kurt turned around and his eyes widened at Rachel's ear-to-ear blue smile. "Oh my god," he said.
Rachel's smile faded. "What?" she said, digging frantically in her purse for a mirror. She squeaked at her reflection and covered her mouth. "I don't understand! I floss between classes!" "Well, sometimes it's genetics," Dr. Howell offered.
"I think I would be better at brushing and flossing if I could see myself in the mirror," Artie said, half apologetically.
"There you go, Bluetooth," Santana said with a grin.
"I don't brush my teeth," Brittany said. "I rinse my mouth out with soda after I eat. I was pretty sure Dr. Pepper was a dentist."
Kurt choked, memories of his brief, ill-fated fling with the blonde flooding back. Oh god, oh god, I kissed a sewer mouth, he thought.
"I got this handled," Dr. Howell said confidently, striding towards Brittany. "Deep bleaching, some scaling, you'll be as good as new." He sat down beside her. "Open up." She obeyed. "Okay…close." He paused. "Close again. Okay, you need to make an appointment as soon as possible. What are you doing after school today?"
Brittany blinked. "Glee club," she said.
"She has permission to be excused for this afternoon," Mr. Schue said hastily.
Rachel waved one hand wildly in the air, still covering her mouth with the other. "May I be excused to go brush my teeth, please?" she begged.
Mr. Schue sighed. "You know, I don't think we're going to get much work done today, so how about we just get back to this tomorrow?" he said. "Bright and early, you guys, I want all over you ready to sing."
Kurt snatched up his bag and marched out of the choir room. "Oh my god, I need mouthwash in the worst way," he said.
Mercedes laughed. "Your teeth look fine," she said.
"Yes, but you didn't spend part of last spring dating Brittany," Kurt shuddered. "Oh god. She doesn't brush her teeth, Mercedes. And I kissed her."
"It's not that bad," she offered.
"I told her that her lip gloss tasted like root beer!" Kurt wailed. "It wasn't the lip gloss, Mercedes! It was just her natural mouth ick!"
"Well, yeah, I guess that's pretty bad," she relented. She paused. "Wait, you kissed Brittany?"
"Uh-huh, remember?" he said, strolling down the hall towards his locker. "I also wore baseball caps and cargo pants. God, I hope that doesn't come back to haunt me."
Mercedes punched him lightly in the arm. "You never told me the details," she accused playfully. "You got your first kiss! Spill."
He sighed as he twirled his locker combination. "I don't count that kiss, Mercedes," he said.
"Why not?" she asked, perplexed. "You played tonsil hockey with one of the prettiest girls in school, and it doesn't count?"
"She's a girl. It doesn't count," Kurt said. He switched out the textbooks from his last class with the books for his homework. "Look, you probably kissed somebody when you were little, right? Like in kindergarten or something?"
Mercedes smiled dreamily. "Jakey Barlow. Cutest boy in the first grade," she reminisced.
"But that doesn't count as your first kiss, does it?" he said.
She paused. "Well, no, not exactly," she admitted.
Kurt shut his locker door. "Kissing Brittany doesn't count," he said. "I don't…I don't like girls, Mercedes. I like…boys. Making out with her was like…a practice round. It won't count until I kiss a boy." He squared his shoulders. "I have to head home. See you tomorrow?"
"First thing in the morning," she promised. "See you later?"
He nodded, offering one last wave before heading down the hall. The school was silent, thanks mostly to the various sports practices that distracted the jocks. He made his way out to his car without incident and drove home, sometimes half-heartedly singing but mostly running his tongue over his teeth and trying not to think of how Brittany's mouth had been so sticky-sweet.
"I'm home," he called as he let himself in the front door and slid carefully out of his shoes. "Dad?"
"Upstairs, kiddo."
He set his bag by the basement door and trotted up the stairs to the master bedroom. It looked like it always did- shabby comforter pulled untidily over the bed, old furniture pushed against the walls, photographs in mismatched frames cluttering most of the empty space. His dad stood in front of the open closet doors, frowning. "Hi, Dad," Kurt said.
"Hey, Kurt," Burt said. "How was school?"
"Fine, I suppose," he sighed. "We've got plenty of mouthwash, right?"
Burt shot him an odd look. "Unopened bottle under the sink, help yourself," he said. He frowned at his small closet. "You're better at this than me. What shirt should I go with?"
Kurt climbed onto the bed, sinking down on the thick mattress with his arms wrapped around a bedpost. "The periwinkle one," he said at last. "Brings out the color of your eyes."
Burt raised an eyebrow. Kurt sighed. "The light blue one," he explained. Burt nodded and yanked it off the hanger. "Why so dressed up?"
"Carole's coming over for dinner tonight," Burt said. "Nothing too fancy, just ordering some Chinese takeout or something. But I figured I could dress up or something."
Kurt hugged the bedpost harder, like he did when he was a child and would sit on the bed to watch his mother put on her makeup at her vanity. "I didn't remember Carole was coming over," he said.
"C'mon, bud, I told you about that," Burt said.
Kurt rested his chin on his arms. Now that he thought about it, he vaguely remembered his dad mentioning something about it. "So…just Carole?" he ventured.
"No, actually, it'll be Carole and Finn," Burt said. He squeezed Kurt's shoulder. "That okay?"
Kurt smiled. "That's fine," he said.
"I'll go call in our takeout order," Burt said, grinning widely. "You like that lo mein stuff, right?"
"Yes, but isn't that a little unhealthy?" Kurt said, unfolding himself from the bedpost and following his dad down the stairs. "We had pizza two nights ago. We don't need to order out again."
"It's not that bad," Burt said. "Besides, it's not like I can cook anything."
Kurt frowned as he followed his dad into the kitchen. "Dad, I can make something," he offered.
"No, no, it's okay," Burt said, waving him off. "Go pick up the living room before they get here, okay?"
Kurt nodded, giving up on the argument.
Kurt groaned as he slapped at his chiming alarm clock. I stayed up too late, he thought. Ugh.
The night before had been miserable. Carole and Finn came over around six- Carole happy and bubbly, Finn distracted and absent. They sat around in the living room eating out of white takeout boxes, laughing about how no one but Kurt knew how to use chopsticks, and watching a late season baseball game on TV.
Kurt had purposefully situated himself next to his father, curling up against the arm of the couch with his feet tucked up under him. The game bored him to tears, but he knew better than to try to leave- he knew that it bothered his dad. So he sat there, nibbling at his dinner and pretending to watch the game while his father and Carole laughed and Finn texted Rachel. He didn't get to sleep until past midnight, and he slept restlessly.
Kurt sat up in bed, rubbing his face drowsily. The last thing he wanted was to go to school, but he didn't have a choice. Reluctantly he slid out of bed and padded over to his closet.
He brightened. "Today will be the perfect day for the kilt," he said aloud.
He'd ordered the kilt a while back, after seeing Gerard Butler wear one on the red carpet. For a long time he debated back and forth about actually wearing it or just selling it back, but now it seemed like a new, daring outfit would be just the thing to perk up his mood.
It did not, however, seem like such a good idea when he went upstairs.
Burt set his spoon down in his cereal bowl. "Are you…are you wearing a skirt?" he said incredulously.
"Morning, Dad," Kurt said, breezing past him to the refrigerator. "And no, it's a kilt."
Burt frowned. "Go downstairs and change," he said.
Kurt's jaw dropped. "I'm not going to change," he said, shaking his head. "My outfit is fine."
"Your outfit is fine if you're gonna be in a magazine or something, but you're just a high school kid," Burt said, pointing with his spoon. "You're just asking for people to…to target you if you're wearing that."
Kurt slammed the refrigerator shut without picking out anything to eat. "I thought nobody pushes the Hummels around," he retorted.
"Kurt, you've got to understand, there's a difference between being proud of who you are and putting yourself out there to get hurt," Burt argued. "Look, save your kilt thing for a different day. Maybe when you and that nice Mercedes girl go shopping or something. It's not a good idea to wear it to school."
Kurt bristled. "Dad, I'm sixteen, I think I can handle myself," he snapped. He stormed into the living room and picked up his messenger bag. "I'll see you tonight, okay?"
"Aren't you going to eat breakfast, kiddo?" Burt called.
"I'll be fine," Kurt shouted back, snatching up his car keys.
He drove to school still fuming, slamming his driver's side door when he parked, his kilt swishing around his legs. And that was the moment he realized that maybe his father had been right.
Even just walking through the parking lot people were staring at him. A few people hid snickers behind their hands. He held his chin up high and did his best to ignore them.
He spent all morning waiting for the first comment, but none came. Apparently everyone else was content to mock him behind his back, but no one dared to speak to his face. By the time fourth period rolled around he was on edge, his back tense and his lips thinned, waiting, just waiting for someone to comment. Daring them to comment on it, actually.
It didn't happen until he was headed towards glee. And even though he thought he was ready for it, it still struck him hard.
"Hey, queer. Nice skirt."
Kurt choked, but he pushed past the looming senior leering at him against a locker. I don't need to sink to his level, he told himself. He doesn't matter.
The lanky senior pushed himself off the wall and followed him into the stairwell. "Where'd you get your skirt, the girls' section of American Eagle?" he jeered. Kurt swallowed hard and moved for the stairs. "Hey, where're you going?"
"Class," Kurt said shortly, running down the stairs. "Bell's about to ring."
Heavy footsteps followed him down the stairs; Kurt's heart thunked against his ribs. "You really think it's a good idea to wear chick clothes to school?" the bigger guy called. "You're stupid, fag. Might as well paint a bullseye on your forehead."
Kurt ran faster, his chest tightening, his hand slipping on the railing as he tripped down the stairs. "You're just asking for it, Hummel," the jock called. "You and your little jailbait dress."
Kurt slammed the stairwell door shut and plasted himself against the wall, struggling to catch his breath. Oh god, he thought. Oh god, oh god, oh god…
Tina, Mike, and Mercedes walked past him, chatting happily. Mercedes glanced at him over her shoulder as they passed by, smiling. "You coming, white boy?" she said.
He pulled his bag tighter over his shoulder. "Yeah," he whispered.
Kurt caught up to them, pressing himself between Mike and Mercedes, tugging uselessly on the hem of his kilt and trying to remember if he had a spare pair of jeans in his locker. Although, at this point, he'd be happy in his gym clothes, if only it meant that his legs were fully covered.
He sank into a seat beside Mercedes while she still bantered back and forth with Tina. His heart still beat too fast, and he felt a little lightheaded.
What just happened? he thought.
Mr. Schue walked in with more sheet music in his hands. "All right, you guys, let's get settled," he called. He launched into the adult contemporary lesson again, waving his hands in excitement as he waxed poetic over Christopher Cross. Kurt tuned him out, still trying to process what just happened. Slowly his terror died away.
Why did he do that? he fumed, crossing his arms across his chest. Why did he think that was okay? Why didn't anyone stop it? Why didn't anyone notice?
"…making Christopher Cross a Golden Globe, Oscar, and five time Grammy award winner," Mr. Schue said. Finn jolted himself awake and Brittany raised her hand. "Brittany?"
The blonde lowered her hand. "I would just like to say that from now, I would like to have every solo in glee club," she announced.
Rachel spun around to stare at Mr. Schue, who blinked in confusion. "What?" he said.
"When I was having my teeth cleaned, I had the most amazing Britney Spears fantasy," Brittany explained. "I sang and danced better than her. Now I realize what a powerful woman I truly am."
"I went with her, and I had a Britney fantasy too," Santana added. She paused. "Although now that I'm thinking about it, I'm not really sure how our fantasies combined. That doesn't make any sense."
"See, Mr. Schue? I told you," Kurt said, sitting up in his chair. "Britney Spears busted our Britt out of her everyday, fragmented haze of confusion and gave her the confidence to step up and perform." Mr. Schue rolled his eyes.
"I'm more talented than all of you," Brittany said. "I see that now." Rachel looked like she was going to give birth to a cow. "It's Brittany…bitch."
"Guys," Mr. Schue interrupted. "We're not doing Britney Spears." He leveled his gaze at Kurt. "And that's that."
He turned back towards the whiteboard. Kurt crossed his arms tighter across his stomach. "Mr. Schue, you are letting your own personal issues get in the way of something we're all telling you we really want to do," he persisted. "I mean, this club regularly pays tribute to pop culture, and Britney Spears is pop culture." Mr. Schue rubbed his forehead in aggravation. "To suggest otherwise is-"
"Kurt," Mr. Schue scolded, turning back around. "I'm done talking about this."
Kurt's heart pounded against his chest in frustration. "Geez, let lose a little, will you?" he sneered. "Stop being so frickin' uptight all the time!" He realized the moment he said it that he'd done something stupid. Mr. Schue stared at him like he had three heads. The entire room fell silent as his classmates stared at each other in disbelief. Finn looked up at him like a confused puppy.
"Kurt," Mr. Schue said in a low voice. Kurt froze, gripping the sides of his chair. Mr. Schue pointed towards the door. "I'll see you in the principal's office."
Kurt stood up slowly, slinging his bag across his shoulder, and walked quietly out of the classroom. No one said a word.
Kurt Hummel was not sent to the principal's office. Ever. He had never been sent there before. Trips to the office were for juvenile delinquents like Puck or Karofsky. Not him.
He made his walk of shame alone down the quiet hallway until he found himself in the office. The secretary glanced up at him. He dug his fingers into the strap of his bag. "Mr. Schue sent me to talk to Principal Figgins," he admitted shamefully.
The secretary arced an eyebrow and nodded towards the empty chairs across the way. Kurt set down his bag and knotted his hands in his lap.
Mr. Schue walked in a moment later and went past him into the principal's office. Through the glass doors he could see them talking, could see the principal casting a stern glance his way. Kurt looked down at the bright blue carpet.
The door opened and Mr. Schue beckoned for him. "Kurt, come in here, please," he said. Kurt obeyed, pulling his kilt down as he sat across from the principal's desk.
Principal Figgins leaned towards him. "Mr. Hummel, Mr. Schuester informed me that you had a disrespectful outburst in the middle of his class," he said, frowning. "Is that true?"
Kurt did his best to meet his gaze. "Yes, sir," he said quietly.
"I do not tolerate disrespect from my students, Mr. Hummel," Principal Figgins said. "Your teachers deserve your respect."
"Yes, sir."
Principal Figgins shuffled through papers in a manila folder. "I don't see any previous incidences of misbehavior," he said. "And Mr. Schue says you are typically an ideal student."
"Yes, sir," Kurt said again, casting a brief sideways glance at Mr. Schue. Mr. Schue just looked straight ahead, impassive.
"I won't give you detention, Mr. Hummel, but you will receive a demerit," Principal Figgins said. He slid the blue slip of paper across the table. "Have your mother or father sign this and return it tomorrow."
Kurt picked up the piece of paper with shaking hands. "Yes, sir," he repeated, his voice quieter still.
Principal Figgins closed Kurt's permanent record. "Well, Mr. Schuester, is this resolved to your satisfaction?" he said.
"Sure, I suppose," Mr. Schue said.
"Then, Mr. Hummel, you're free to go to your next class," Principal Figgins said. "Return that paper, signed, to the school secretary tomorrow morning."
Kurt got up quietly, the paper shaking between his fingertips. Mr. Schue patted him on the shoulder, but Kurt shook his hand away.
He walked back to his locker and got out the spare pair of pants he kept on the top shelf. He changed in the bathroom, folding the kilt into the tiniest square he could manage and tucking it tightly into his bag. And then he spent his lunch period hiding in the handicapped stall, waiting for the bell to ring. He wasn't hungry anyway.
The rest of the day passed by in a haze. He skipped the after school glee rehearsal- it wasn't going to do him any good to go. Besides, it would give him plenty of time to prepare for telling his father about what happened.
He cleaned through the house, picking up his things and running the vacuum around. When the clock above the mantel chimed five, he dug through the refrigerator and scrounged around until he found the ingredients for stir-fry.
Dinner was almost ready when he glanced down at his outfit- his showy kilt and leggings replaced by plain dark wash skinny jeans. He bit his lip, then went back to his school back and quickly changed back into his kilt. It wouldn't do any good to explain why he had to change to his father.
At last he heard his father's pickup truck pull into the driveway. Kurt took a deep breath. "Hi, Dad," he called, a false happy note in his voice, as the front door opened.
"Hey, kiddo," Burt said, clumping into the kitchen in his heavy work shoes. "You made dinner? You didn't have to do that."
His smile widened. "I wanted to do it," he offered. "Sit, sit, it's almost ready."
Kurt forced himself to act as normally as he could while as they ate dinner. Well, his father ate dinner. He moved his food around at his plate and picked at his vegetables, absently smiling and nodding as his father told him about how the garage was doing.
"Are you feeling okay?" Burt asked. "You're not really talking much."
Kurt took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. "Dad, I need you to sign this," he said quietly, sliding the blue piece of paper across the table.
Burt snatched it up and skimmed it quickly. "What the hell, Kurt, you got a demerit?" he demanded. "For being disrespectful? To your glee club teacher?"
Kurt looked down at the table, studying the intricate weave of the placemat. "I said some things I shouldn't have said," he said.
"Yeah, no kidding," Burt said. He held the paper up. "This isn't you, Kurt. What the hell is going on?"
Kurt didn't look up from the table. "I just had a rough day and I made a stupid mistake," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
"Well, I'm glad you're sorry, but that doesn't change the fact that you got sent home with a demerit slip," Burt said. He set the paper down and sighed. "God, Kurt." He ran his hand over his face, then reached over to tilt Kurt's chin up. "Look at me, kiddo. Is there something going on that you're not telling me?"
Kurt blinked as his father searched his face. "No," he heard himself say quietly, evenly. "I'm fine."
Burt pulled back. "I want you to bring your TV up to my room," he said. "No TV for two weeks. No going out to movies, no sleepovers, no shopping trips."
Kurt straightened. "But Dad-" he protested.
Burt held up a finger in warning. "I mean it," he said. "You've always been a good kid. I've never had to do much to punish you. But you've got to understand that this is unacceptable."
Kurt pressed his lips together. "Yes, sir," he said quietly.
"I'll sign this. You take care of the dishes and move your television up to my room," Burt said. "You have any homework?"
"No, sir," Kurt said.
Burt squeezed his shoulder. "I love you, kiddo," he said. "But I expect a lot more from you." He lowered his chin. "Your mom would've expected more from you."
Kurt pushed his chair back. "That's a low blow and you know it," he said through his teeth, grabbing up the dinner dishes.
"Kurt, wait, I-"
He tuned his father out and dumped the dishes in the sink. Eventually Burt gave up, and the house fell silent.
Kurt adjusted his bag on his shoulder and cleared his throat. "I have to turn this in," he said, holding his blue demerit slip out.
The secretary looked earthmover the rims of her glasses. "Was it signed by a parent or legal guardian?" she droned.
Kurt pointed to Burt's messy scrawl on the bottom line. "My father did, right there," he said.
The secretary took it out of his hand. "Thank you," she said. "Now head to class."
He sighed and headed out of the office. Unfortunately, his next class was glee rehearsal- the last place he wanted to be. But he couldn't avoid it forever.
"Welcome back to class, Hummel," Puck said as he walked into the choir room.
"Thank you, Noah," Kurt said, breezing past to his usual seat and pointedly ignoring Mr. Schue, who stood by the piano.
Mercedes patted their chair beside her. "Hey, boy," she said. "I like the suit. You look like PeeWee Herman."
He scowled. "Oh, gee, thanks, Mercedes," he said, plunking down beside her and crossing his legs. "I thought that…oh, god. Okay, nothing can be worse than Rachel's little circa-1998 ensemble."
Mercedes choked on her caramel frappe. "Oh hell. Rachel, what were you thinking?" she demanded.
Rachel smirked as she sashayed into the classroom, dressed in a miniskirt, belly-baring blouse, and schoolgirl braids. "I'm just trying a new look," she said, sitting down easily between Finn and Santana.
Santana turned towards Rachel and smiled. "Well, Rachel, congratulations," she said. "Usually you dress like the fantasy of a perverted Japanese businessman with a very dark, specific fetish, but I actually dig this look." She patted her hands together in a light clap. "Yay."
"Thank you," Rachel beamed, toying with the ends of her braids.
Kurt stood up, smoothing his dress shorts. "I think what Santana's trying to say, Rachel- though I risk expulsion by saying so- is that it seems that Britney Spears has really helped you blossom," he said. He looked pointedly at Mr. Schue, who merely blinked. "That's all."
He sank back into his seat, still keeping Mr. Schue's gaze. Mr. Schue frowned at Rachel. "Wait, Rachel, is that true?" he said. Rachel's proud smile wavered a little. "I mean, you are sort of dressing differently."
Kurt smirked at Mercedes and exchanged a gleeful finger wave. "Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy," Artie said.
Finn scowled. "Hey!" he scolded, shaking his finger at Artie. Artie sank back in his wheelchair, properly chastised.
"All I know is that I had a very vivid Britney Spears fantasy at the dentist, and since then it's made me feel free to get out of my own way," Rachel said. Brittany nodded with a solemn smile. "I guess I've always been afraid to dress like a pretty girl because I never really felt like one before. Now I've realized it's okay to feel that way about yourself every now and then. Maybe it's a good thing."
"It's such a good thing I can't believe it," Brittany said.
Finn dropped his head and worked his jaw back and forth as if deep in thought. Suddenly Sue Sylvester materialized in the doorway, glowering. "William," she said. "A word."
Mr. Schue frowned. "Okay, you guys, just…keep working on your adult contemporary assignments, I'll be right back," he said. "Mike, you're in charge." Mike flashed a thumbs up as Mr. Schue left.
Kurt stood up promptly. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, I think I'm going to blow this popsicle stand," he said. "Anyone coming with?"
"Ooh, Kurt, you're such a rebel," Mercedes teased. "Mouthing off to Mr. Schue, skipping class…next you'll be smoking cigarettes in the boys' bathroom."
Kurt opened his mouth to offer a scathing reply, but suddenly his father's disappointed face flashed in his mind's eye. He sank back in his seat. "Well, maybe my rebel antics can wait for another day," he said. He leaned forward in his seat, changing the subject. "Seriously, Rachel, where did you get those clothes from? It's not old enough to be vintage or new enough to purchase at a mall."
Kurt yelped loudly as Mercedes grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into the choir room. "Yikes, Mercedes," he complained, pulling his arm out of her grip. "You'll pull my sweater out of shape."
"You are never going to guess what just happened," she said, ignoring his complaints and falling into step beside him.
He sighed. "They found a clause in Alexander McQueen's will and suddenly I inherited everything," he offered.
"McKinley news, Kurt, McKinley," Mercedes chided. "Seriously, guess."
"I don't know, just tell me," he shrugged.
Mercedes' grin widened. "Finn Hudson and Artie Abrams are the newest members of the McKinley Titans football team," she said.
Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Did you hit your head this morning, darling?" he inquired.
"No! I'm serious!" she protested. "Quinn, tell him!"
"That Finn and Artie made the team?" Quinn said, idly filing her fingernails. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"Best believe it, yo!" Artie said cheerfully as he wheeled himself into the choir room. Kurt continued to arch his eyebrow skeptically as he sat down in the back of the room. Mercedes frowned at him, then sat down next to Quinn.
"Okay, there is no way that you could possibly be on the football team," Santana said.
"I'm pretty sure Artie's legs don't work," Quinn agreed.
Brittany squinted, twirling her ponytail around her finger. "Did you get a leg transplant?" she inquired quizzically.
"No, my teammates can push my chair like a battering ram," Artie said.
Finn beamed proudly. "There's no rules against it, we checked," he explained.
"And I have Britney Spears to thank for it," Artie added.
Brittany smiled. "You're welcome," she said. Santana frowned.
"Britney plus nitrous oxide gave me an amazing idea," Artie said. "It gave me the nerve to tell Coach Beiste that Finn and I both really want on the team."
Rachel spun around in her seat. "Wait, you're back on the football team?" she demanded.
Finn flashed his lopsided grin. "Yeah," he said.
"Suddenly you're way hotter to me," Santana purred. "Weird."
Rachel looked like she was about to pop. Puck blinked in confusion. "Wait, why's everybody having Britney Spears fantasies?" he asked, perplexed.
"The nitrous oxide the dentist uses is a mild hallucinogen," Artie explained, adjusting his glasses. "Studies have proven that it produces vivid dreams, often the last thing the patient thinks about. The subconscious moves to the forefront of the brain. We've all been thinking about Britney, so it stands to reason."
Mr. Schue walked in and dumped his stuff on the piano. "Okay, guys, listen up," he called, clapping his hands for their attention.
Kurt raised his hand high in the air. "Mr. Schue, if I may," he said.
Mr. Schue cut him off. "Kurt, I overheard what you guys were talking about, and I know what you're going to say," he said. "The answer is no."
Kurt rolled his eyes. This is ridiculous, he thought, frustrated.
Mr. Schue grinned. "No, I'm not going to stand in the way anymore," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "You guys want to do Britney Spears for the assembly, I'm fine with it."
"Yes!" Tina shrieked, pumping her fists in the air. The room erupted in cheers; Kurt leaned back and brushed his arms happily against the wall.
"And, and," Mr. Schue called. "And, more than that, I am going to perform with you!"
Mr. Schue beamed happily at them, practically giggling with joy. The whole room fell into stunned silence. "Mr. Schue…are you quite sure that's a good idea?" Rachel ventured.
"Sure, you guys, it'll be awesome!" Mr. Schue enthused. "I thought we could do our own arrangement of 'Toxic.' It's big, it's bold, it's unexpected. And we can really use Brittany's dance skills for this one."
Immediately Brittany got up from her seat. "I would be happy to showcase my talents," she said solemnly.
"Okay, guys, everybody up, we're going to start with choreography," Mr. Schue said. "This is going to be awesome!"
Kurt sighed. "This is like asking for a unicorn for Christmas and getting a half-lame mule instead," he said to Mercedes.
"Sing it, white boy," she groused.
"This is it," Rachel whispered loudly, peeping through the curtains at the assembled student body. "This is our first big performance of the year. And it's going to be amazing."
"Hopefully Mr. Schue won't ruin it," Kurt said, rolling his eyes as he peered over her head. "Look at him. He's just using us to show off."
Rachel snapped the curtains shut, nearly snapping him in the face. "Well, at least we get to do Britney Spears at all," she said. "Look at the bright side." Kurt sighed.
Principal Figgins walked up to the microphone and tapped it lightly, sending a squeal across the full gym. "Quiet, children," he droned. "Quiet, now…"
Mr. Schue bounded up the back steps onto the stage, his hat in hands. "All right, you guys, are you ready? All warmed up and everything?" he said.
Brittany clasped her hands. "I was born ready, Mr. Schue," she said solemnly.
Mr. Schue gave her an odd look. "Okay…well, places, everybody," he said. "Break a leg."
"…please give it up for the New Directions."
Kurt took his place at stage right, his stomach practically bouncing out of his body with nervousness. You can do this, he told himself. This is going to be amazing.
The first few chords sounded and he fell in step behind Finn. His stomach kept flipflopping, but now it was out of joy. Sometimes it was hard to remember how much he loved performing until he was on a stage again.
He could hear the crowd screaming in excitement. At least, he hoped it was excitement this time. He flashed his sexiest attempt of a smirk at the audience as he rolled his hips.
This is amazing, he thought as they finished the number, striking bold poses.
And then the fire alarm went off.
The entire gym erupted in frantic shrieking and a mass exodus towards the door. Kurt blinked, shoulders slumping in disappointment. "Okay, you guys, come on," Mr. Schue said, ushering them forward. "It's a fire drill. Get out to the parking lot, okay? Quinn, you're in charge."
He jumped off the stage and headed towards the bleachers. "Wait, why me?" Quinn called. She huffed in exasperation and propelled both Kurt and Puck forward. "You heard him. Come on."
"Wait, that's it?" Rachel said. "We perform a mind-blowing number and all we get is a riot?"
"Looks like it," Mike shrugged.
"Well, this is unacceptable," Rachel fumed, marching after them.
Kurt tagged along the back of the crowd, his hat in his hand, his mouth tugging down in a disappointed frown. The parking lot was overflowing with McKinley students shrieking at the top of their lungs and running around, much to the consternation of their teachers, and Kurt had to duck around other students to keep up.
Suddenly he skidded to a stop, staring down at a pair of shoes. He looked up, and looked right into David Karofsky's face.
The hockey player had the strangest look on his face- his mouth slightly agape, his eyes wide. He swallowed hard and licked his lips. "Hummel," he said, his voice slightly raspy.
Kurt danced anxiously from one foot to the other. "Look, I know you're most likely poised to strike in some form or fashion, but if you could pick a more opportune time, I would…"
His voice trailed off. Karofsky's face hadn't changed. He still looked so strange- sort of sick, and sort of…leering.
"Yo, Dave, man, whatcha doing?"
Karofsky straightened up, the color flooding back into his face. "Just getting the resident queer to give me the blonde's phone number," he said, cuffing Kurt roughly across the shoulder.
Azimio grinned widely. "Aw, yeah, who knew Brittany was that flexible?" he said. "Yeah, dude, gimme her number too."
Kurt rubbed his stinging shoulder. "I don't think either of you would make for a very good date for her," he retorted, and he darted back into the crowd, sandwiching himself between Puck and Mike.
For some reason, his stomach was tied up in knots, and this time he knew it wasn't stage fright or excitement.
He didn't know what it was, actually.
"Are you feeling all right, white boy?" Mercedes asked, peering into his face. "You've been awful quiet lately."
He blinked. "I'm fine," he said. "Just…a little out of it, I suppose." He sat up, crossing one leg over the other. "So do you think we're going to sing another Britney Spears number?"
Mercedes snorted. "I doubt it," she said. "Not after the failed sex riot."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "I blame Jacob Ben Israel for that entirely," he said.
"All right," Mr. Schue said as he walked in from his office. Rachel quickly thrust her hand in the air. "Rachel?"
"I have a song that I've prepared for the class," she announced.
Mr. Schue held out his hand. "I'm sorry, Rachel, no Britney," he said. "I'm really happy that her music has inspired so many of you, even if that inspiration was brought about by a dangerous narcotic. And I think we've all come to appreciate her music and celebrity so much more this week. But honestly…she's just not us."
Kurt folded his arms across his chest. "I'm devastated," he said, shaking his head. "I can't believe we only did one Britney number."
Mr. Schue looked at him, actually looked at him, for what seemed like the first time that week. He sort of nodded, sort of sympathetic.
Well, I guess that's the best I can expect, Kurt thought.
"I was actually going to do something from our original assignment last week, adult contemporary," Rachel said meekly. "But this is just a little more…young adult."
Mr. Schue nodded. "Okay, Rachel," he said, vacating the space next to the piano. "Let's hear it."
Rachel took her place quietly. "I'd like to dedicate this song to my boyfriend, Finn," she said. "I was wrong. I shouldn't try to control you. I'm just…I've never been this happy before, and I realized that I was trying to hold to how you were making me feel so much that I was strangling you in my hands like a little bird. I realize now that in order for this relationship to work, I have to open up my hands and let you fly."
Brittany brightened. "Finn can fly?" she said.
Kurt leaned towards her. "Really?" he said.
"Wait, I thought I was the only one getting solos from now on," Brittany said, turning to Mr. Schue. She raised her chin. "Next week I will be performing a musical number by Ke$ha."
"Sh," Mercedes said, tapping her finger to her lips.
The music began and Kurt leaned back in his chair. He'd heard the song on the radio plenty of times; of course Rachel would pick something completely mainstream. But she sang sweetly, almost shyly, her voice growing in strength. Finn beamed at her, mouth pressed in a happy crooked grin.
Kurt smiled absently and glanced over to see Brittany leaning towards him, her expression dreamy. He frowned and scooted away. Rachel reached the chorus of the song and the other glee clubbers joined in, swaying and cooing soft background vocals.
You are the only exception…you are the only exception…
Kurt hugged his arms tighter across his chest, a soft, steady ache growing even though he still couldn't put a name to it.
Author's Notes:
THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SHORT CHAPTER.
LIES. ALL LIES.
KURT WAS ONLY IN SIX SCENES. WHY WAS THIS FOURTEEN PAGES LONG?
Oh, well.
This is definitely not my favorite episode, but I do admire Heather Morris's abs. I am jealous of them, actually. And I love Kurt being so adorably sexy during "Toxic." But do you know what my favorite thing is?
My favorite thing is Sam flinging himself across the gym floor in front of the stage during the fire drill.
It is hilarious.
(Or, at least, it's a blond dude in a varsity jacket and I can pretend it's Sam.)
But yeah.
Next is Grilled Cheesus.
Dear sweet mother, here come the tears.