ONE
"Why don't you make yourself useful and go put some rat poison in those old folks Jell-O or visit the Garglers?"
Kurt pursed his lips at Puck's flippant suggestion and let out his frustration as a sigh and series of jerky movements. He collected his design boards and stormed out of the room. Not a single one of the other guys called him back or chastised Puck. Because that's how this glee club worked now.
Kurt didn't get a duet partner. Kurt could make himself useful by leaving.
Fine. If that's what they wanted, Kurt would go spy on the Warblers. He would drive across town by himself to another school where pampered rich boys would, in all likelihood, beat him up for spying. But fine. If that's all his friends thought he was good for, he would do it.
He stopped by his locker and emptied his messenger bag of school books, save for the sheet music he needed to practice for the boys vs. girls performance (if they even went with Kurt's superior suggestions in the end) and his French textbook. He did up his tie, pulled on his jacket, and shut the locker as quietly as a metal lock allowed.
Kurt had to take a detour around the Athletics hallway because he heard Coach Sylvester talking to Becky, and of course, she wouldn't allow him to leave in the middle of a school day. Probably she would use the attempt as an excuse to disband glee club again. He made his way to the handicap door at the back of the school.
A light rain had started sometime since school began and painted the concrete dark. As he trudged down the ramp, he dug around his bag for the compact umbrella he carried for situations such as these that could ruin his carefully coiffed hair.
Kurt stopped abruptly at the bottom of the handicapped ramp with his fingers frozen around the hard plastic handle of the umbrella in his bag. He had just exited William McKinley High School, and yet he clearly did not stand in the William McKinley High School parking lot.
To begin with, there was no parking lot, just a grassy knoll dotted with yellow dandelions and gray heather. In the distance, giant wind turbines rotated slowly. Beyond the turbines, the jagged teeth of low, gray mountains invaded the rain-washed sky. Kurt turned in a circle until he faced the door he had just walked through. Instead of seeing the metal doors of his high school, he found a white-washed wooden door connected to a greenhouse.
For a moment, Kurt could only stare open-mouthed. Before the initial confusion could even begin to wear off, the white-washed door opened and Kurt found himself face-to-face with a teenage boy a few inches shorter than himself. He had curling black hair and smiling hazel eyes framed by a pair of rectangular glasses.
"Excuse me," Kurt murmured. He sensed he was bodily blocking the other boy's exit, but he couldn't force his legs to move him to the side. "Can you tell me what's going on here?"
"You're new here." It wasn't a question. The other boy jostled a large, empty wicker basket he carried and held out his hand. "I'm Blaine."
"Kurt."
Only instinct told Kurt's brain to bring his arm up for a handshake. Blaine didn't release his hand, however. He dropped the wicker basket just inside the door, and gently tugged Kurt inside the glass-domed building.
"Come on. I'll take you to get checked in and explain everything."
Kurt didn't understand anything that was happening to him right now, except that a handsome boy named Blaine was holding his hand and leading him through rows of potted plants and hanging herbs. The damp, earthy scent reminded him of Ohio during springtime, but it was November; and the friendly, chatting voices of gardeners in the next aisle were not speaking English.
Blaine glanced over his shoulder at the new kid. He had the most beautiful blue-green eyes that darted around in every direction and the bewildered expression everyone had when they first arrived. It looked ethereal on his delicate face rather than panicked. Blaine nodded to Binaya as they passed, and she nodded back. Her English wasn't so good yet, so smiles and gestures were their only effective method of communication.
"You're probably confused right now," Blaine said to Kurt. "How long have you been here?"
"Just a minute ago I was walking out of my high school, and now I'm … where am I?"
"That's kind of complicated. We call our town Here. Capital H, proper noun. It kind of passes for a joke around here. This is the place where lost things are found. Socks, car keys, pets … people. Everything lost makes its way here."
Kurt stopped walking behind Blaine, who also reluctantly stopped. Although it would be much simpler to get Kurt checked in before they had this conversation, he could see that wasn't going to happen. He gestured to a bench overlooking the wind turbines through a wall of glass.
"What kind of joke is this?"
"I'm afraid it's not a joke. We all go through this when we first arrive, Kurt. We try to pass it off as a bad practical joke, a dream, an hallucination. But it's real. You walked out a door of your high school and wound up here. You're really here, in the flesh."
Kurt pinched himself and winced. Blaine chuckled lightly.
"But … I don't understand. How do you know that?"
"Philosophically speaking, I guess I don't. But I didn't know that about my old life either. Isn't there a scientific theory that human existence is a shared hallucination of a hive mind in another reality? Well, anyway, if Descartes is right, I'm here because I think I am."
"How intellectual of you."
Blaine laughed again. "My teachers will be pleased to hear their hard work has paid off."
Kurt flushed as soon as the compliment left his mouth. He blamed his confused brain and the shocking stimuli for making him babble the first thing that popped into his mind. He decided ignoring his conversational drivel would be the best course of action.
"So you have schools here?"
"We have almost everything you're used to, except for gas stations and cell phones. There are no fossil fuels here, and no one with the proper knowledge and ambition to reinvent cellular technology has been here. I'll show you around Here on the way to the administrative building."
"But there are lights. Electricity."
"Because we have wind, sun, and water here. You must have a thousand questions, and I promise they'll all be answered. But for right now, we really should get you checked in."
Kurt allowed Blaine to help him up from the bench and lead him outside the greenhouses. The light drizzle in the air felt good on his face after the humidity in the greenhouse. In the distance, the buildings of a town rose up from a verdant, hilly landscape.
"The greenhouses are right on the edges of Here so no other buildings block the sunlight. We have a little walk to the Administration, but that just means you get to see more of Here."
Kurt gaped as he took in the ranch-style homes and boxy storefronts. It all looked very 1930's and quaint, but the people milling about wore mostly modern-style clothing. The fashionista in him dated the clothes as several years old, but with a few newer items cropping up every now and again. There were no cars or paved roads, just wide and slightly uneven cobblestone sidewalks. The background noise was entirely different here. Instead of the buzz of speeding cars, there was a deep decibel thrumming from the wind turbines.
As they walked through the town, Blaine pointed out places of interest. He hadn't been exaggerating, Here had almost everything: grocery stores, hospital, school, playgrounds, restaurants, offices, warehouses, parks, post office, and more that escaped Kurt's notice just then. There was no bank, Blaine said, because there was no currency here.
"Was Here set up by idealistic Communists?" Kurt joked.
Blaine grinned. "No one is sure. Every couple of years someone will bring up the idea of paper money, but it never pans out. We all have our jobs here, and there are consequences for laziness and punishment for illegal activity."
"So there's a prison?"
"Hmm. One of the oldest buildings in Here, just like in Jamestown."
The Administrative building was a large limestone structure with a chiseled statue of a woman in aviation gear on the lawn. It looked not unlike the town square in Lima and every medium sized Midwestern town Kurt had ever seen. A steady stream of people moved in and out of the front doors.
"Around this way is where new arrivals check in," Blaine said, guiding Kurt to the north side of the building.
Fewer people used this door, but there was much more chaos around this side of the building. A woman babbling in an Eastern European language tried to fight off two other women attempting to get her inside the building. A little boy in his pajamas clutching a teddy bear was crying at the top of his lungs. Others looked shell-shocked.
"I take it I reacted to the news that I'd stumbled into a fantasy novel better than most?"
Blaine laughed lightly. "You did, indeed. Although it could be science fiction. Alternate realities and such."
"I hope not. I'd much rather have ended up in Oz than Earth-2."
The inside of the courthouse – or Administration, as Blaine called it – was just as Kurt expected: all limestone and dark wood with a slightly aged look that dated the building. A tall man with his hair cut in a severe style motioned them up to a desk.
"Kurt, this Soren. He's one of our Administrators. Soren, this is Kurt. I found him by the greenhouses about a half hour ago."
"And you have managed to stay calm. That is good … and unusual," Soren said, with a heavy Scandinavian accent. He side-eyed the frantic woman being dragged in through the double doors. "Did Blaine tell you about Descartes?"
"He did."
"Oh, so it finally worked?" Soren laughed. Blaine rolled his eyes. "I owe you the next three candy bars I find. Now, go sit over there while I have Kurt fill out the paperwork."
Soren had a lot of paperwork for Kurt. There was basic biographical information, the specifics of how he'd arrived in Here, and family and medical history. Kurt felt a little ridiculous filling all out paperwork when none of this could be real. But he kept Blaine's advice in mind, because staying calm seemed like a much better option than screaming and crying.
"Since Blaine found you, we'll just say he's your mentor, yes? Unless you want to request another?"
Kurt blinked at Soren. "Mentor?"
"Yes, to show you around and help you settle into life here. It is similar to your home, but also very different at times. It helps to have someone experienced to help you."
Kurt had no intention of staying here long. Maybe a few hours, until the end of the school day, but then he would be going home. But his hand ached from so much writing, and the panicked new arrivals coming through the door every few minutes set his nerves on edge. Anyway, he had no objections to spending those few hours with a handsome, intelligent, polite young man like Blaine.
"If Blaine is willing to show me around," Kurt said.
He craned around in his chair to observe the dark-haired boy sitting on a bench across the lobby. He had his legs crossed and was flipping through an ancient edition of Vogue. Kurt felt his heart flopping around in his chest. Sam's dyed hair had read as a blip on his gaydar, but Blaine was practically jumping up and down waving a rainbow flag.
Maybe he'd say in Here a little longer than he'd planned ….
Blaine glanced up from the magazine when Soren called his name. He'd been a little caught up in an article about a new television program called Project Runway. Kurt gazed at him with interest, and Blaine's breath quickened. Everything about Kurt intrigued him, from his insightful observations to his fashionable outfit, but nothing drew him in quite like the hopeful smile on Kurt's full lips and stars in his pretty eyes.
If Kurt wasn't gay, the world was a cruel, cruel place.
"Absolutely. I'd love to be your guide, Kurt. Actually, Soren, there's an empty room in my suite we've wanted to fill for a while."
Soren cast a knowing look at Blaine. Nothing escaped the former psychologist; it was one of the reasons he'd been selected for this job. He caught signs of deceit and delayed panic better than anyone, and he had enough empathy, minus condescension, to make new arrivals feel welcomed in Here. But he also read his friends equally astutely, which made it difficult to cajole any favors out of him.
"I think that will work on a temporary basis, but you know that will have to change if Kurt's career track is different than your block."
Blaine nodded and flashed Soren a grateful smile. The Dane shook his head with a roll of the eyes and went back to stamping Kurt's records and placing them into a file with an H tab on the side. Soren ended the check in by handing Kurt the standard information packet: a map of Here, warehouse schedules, ration tables, career track application, and a basic FAQ pamphlet that really only raised more questions.
"This is all very efficient," Kurt observed.
"We've had a long time and a lot of practice to perfect it." Blaine held open the door for Kurt. "You wouldn't believe how many people go missing every day. Not all of them end up here. Some of them aren't really lost, they're just missing or wandering around, but there are a surprising number of people in the world who lose their way."
Kurt furrowed his brow. "You make it sound like it's ordained some people will end up here."
"Maybe it is."
"I don't believe in higher powers and destiny," the taller boy said firmly.
"Neither do I. But I came to Here at a time when I had nowhere else to go. My life was torture, and I was angry about it all the time. But then I turned a corner – literally, I mean, I walked around a corner – and I ended up here. Everything changed then. I have friends, I'm happy. It's like I had to get lost to find everything I'd been looking for."
"I think you contradicted yourself."
"It wouldn't be the first time. What I'm saying, Kurt, is that no one who has everything they want at home stumbled into Here. We are, all of us, searching for something when we get here. Whatever it is you were looking for, maybe it's here somewhere just waiting for you."
Kurt glanced down at the cobblestone sidewalk beneath his boots. He had been searching for something for a long time now. As much as he loved his dad and his friends in New Directions, he felt alone all the time. His eyes flicked sideways towards Blaine, and he wondered if he hadn't found what he was looking for the moment he arrived.
"Well, then I won't waste this opportunity," Kurt said, standing up straighter.
"Glad to hear it."
After they left the Administrative district, Blaine led Kurt along a path that passed under a trellis arch with bougainvillea growing around a single word that sent thrills through Kurt: BROADWAY. He grinned so widely his teeth showed, and Blaine laughed lightly.
"That was my reaction too. All the performing artists live and work on our Broadway. There aren't many of us, and we all have other duties too, but … we're kind of like Here's version of rock stars."
"So … wait. You're a performer?"
"I'm an actor and a singer and sometimes a musician. I'm in our choir, and I love doing musicals, because they're like the best of both worlds."
Kurt's smile stretched so wide all his teeth were showing. He took a deep breath to try and get hold of his emotions, but the influx of air only made him feel even more lightheaded. He gripped the handle of his messenger bag tighter and followed Blaine into a brick building similar in style to how he imagined New York apartment blocks.
The ground floor was an open space with a hodge-podge of tables and sofas. The wooden stairwell twisted up the four floors leading off into hallways flanked by doors. Beside each door was a mail chute. Blaine left the stairwell on the third floor and turned the knob of room 305.
Two sofas and an armchair formed an open square in the moderately sized living room. Bookshelves built into the wall held battered songbooks and a small collection of VHS tapes and battered paperbacks. An old boxy television with a VCR, boombox, and classic Nintendo sat on a small entertainment center against the wall. Five doors marked 305A-E led off from the living room. Jackets thrown over the chair, scuffs on the wooden floor, and decoration on the doors gave the suite a comfortable, homey feel.
"It's a shame someone hasn't lost their Blu-ray," Kurt commented.
"A lot of people have lost their Blu-rays, but student dorms are the last living quarters to get upgraded. The Administration says we should occupy ourselves with studying, not entertainment. C is the bathroom. I'm in A, and D is the empty one. It's all yours … until Soren says otherwise."
The door creaked a little when Blaine pushed it open. The bedroom inside was much smaller and starker than the living room. A twin-sized bed dressed in dark blue sheets was pushed up against the wall, and an empty desk and wardrobe took the remaining space. Kurt dropped his bag onto the bed and turned to gaze at Blaine.
"What do I do now?"
"Well, we could take you to the warehouse to get some stuff. You should have a checklist in your information packet. Or I could answer more of your questions. I think that's what I'm supposed to do as your mentor."
"You think?"
"Yeah. I've never actually been a mentor before." Blaine scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I had one myself, though, so I kind of know what to do."
"How very reassuring."
Kurt sat down gingerly on the edge of his bed, so Blaine pulled out the cushioned desk chair and sat across from him. He waited patiently for Kurt to form a question.
"What were you doing when you found me? You had a basket."
"Oh. That's a hobby. I'm a finder. Lost things show up all over Here. I was going to walk through the hills and look for them. There are a lot of people to keep supplied, so a lot of us go finding in our spare time. That's probably where my roommates, Nick and Jeff, are right now."
"How many people live here? I mean, in Here."
Blaine considered. "About 7,000. But it's impossible to keep an accurate census with new people showing up randomly. Then there are all the births and deaths to consider too, although there is a lot less of the former. Mostly, families are made when lost children arrive and need a home."
"Wait. People live their whole lives here? Why not go home?"
Blaine gave a sad, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Kurt, but once you're here there's no way to leave. You can't go home again."
