I was out walking my dog when I heard the bad news. My homework wasn't finished, but my St. Bernard, Benji, always came first. He was an old doggie with lots of health problems, so he could drop dead pretty much any moment, and it was super important to me that I made sure he was getting the proper amount of excersise. We were walking down Bort Street when my phone started vibrating. Benji's leash wound around my wrist so he wouldn't start trotting away, I picked it up and said, "'Ello, you've reached Dana."

"Dana?" It was Mercades on the other line. I smiled, not having a clue that it would mean bad news. "Hey, Mercades. What's up?" I said conversationally. I sounded so casual, so carefree compared to her. "It's Kurt's dad. Something's happened." I felt my heartbeat slow and my jaw silently dropped as she explained. Kurt's dad had had a heart attack – he was still alive, but he was totally and completely comatose, and wasn't reacting to anything. Kurt was pretty much heartbroken. Mercades also let me know that he was getting really frustrated because people kept praying for his dad, but he didn't believe in God. I got the feeling I was the last to know….yet again, Sam probably didn't have a clue. My eyes started to water and I started to dial Kurt's number after she hung up, but then stopped. Would I want to be bothered if I was him?

I took Benji home straight after that. At night, I barely got any sleep. I lay awake for hours, just staring at the dark ceiling and wondering what Kurt had done to deserve this. So he wasn't straight, so what? That wasn't his fault; it didn't mean anything. The next morning was a game day. As a McKinley High cheerleader (ugh, thanks a lot, Sam), I had to wear my uniform to school before games that we were going to be cheering at. I couldn't stand the v-neck tanktop and pleated skirt, which was way too short in my opinion. I pulled my mid-back length hair into a high ponytail so I wouldn't have to touch it later, letting a few strands of the lime-colored chunks in front frame my face, and looked at my baggy eyes in the mirror. I couldn't look less like a cheerleader.

Sam looked really surprised that I'd worn the uniform. "You look like a cheerleader," he said, his voice filled with surprise. "Like a really tired cheerleader." I rolled my eyes and told him that it wasn't my fault. He didn't know what I meant. I didn't know if Kurt would've wanted him to know or not, so I just said, "I gotta get to class before my homeroom teacher kills me," and walked away. During glee that day, you could tell something was up. He didn't say much, and this week's lesson was all about spirituality thanks to Finn and his newfound obsession with Jesus and all, so he kept getting distracted and making dagger eyes. I didn't know why he was mad, though….but I had just the thing to help him.

When my parents married, my dad worshipped nothing and my mom was Jewish. They agreed not to let religion get in the way of their marriage, so even though mom continued to go to temple and practice Judiasm still and dad kept worshipping nothing, they agreed not to raise me as any religion and that I would get to choose if I wanted to when I was older. Even after my mom walked out on us, my dad stuck to that. He felt that fifteen, just a year ago, was old enough for me to decide, so he bought me a book called, "The Logic of God". I call it, "The Book" inside my head. My dad basically handed me "The Book" and said, "You're old enough to pick a religion if you want it, but I think you should read this first." "The Book" was written by a psychologist giving tons and tons of psychoanalysis and telling a bunch of psychological reasons why people look to greater beings such as Gods or Goddesses to solve their problems. In the back, there's a chart of ways to solve your own problems. I knew my dad was trying to discourage me from taking a religion with that book for whatever reason (maybe he didn't want to associate me with mom and have me pick to be Jewish, or maybe he wanted me to be nothing like he was) but I felt like it helped me understand the whole concept of a religion better. And guess what? I'm not anything. I chose that I wanted not to worship anything. It wasn't that I didn't believe that there was a greater being above us; I just didn't know what that being might be, and decided not to associate myself with it.

"The Book" was shoved in a secret pocket of my backpack. I'd thought of it as soon as Mercades told me about Kurt's not having a religion and him being upset about people praying for his dad. You want to know why it came to mind? A. because it helped me so much and B. because I thought he might want to understand why they were doing it instead of just being told what I guessed everyone else was telling him when they asked – "Ignore it; it's for your dad, not you." After glee club that day, I pulled "The Logic of God" out of my backpack, hugging it close to my red-and-white cheerleading uniform-ed chest, and went to Kurt's locker so I could talk to him.

"Hi Kurt," I said, my voice coming out quiet. He slammed his locker door and said, "Hi." He does sound really upset, I thought. "Look, I want you to know that Mercades told me everything that happened, and I don't think anyone should have to go through what you're going through right now. I'm really sorry, Kurt." He stayed silent for a moment. "Oh. Okay. Well, thank you for your concerns. I'll just be going now," he said, obviously trying not to cry or anything from the way his voice was cracking. He started to walk away, but I caught him by the arm. "Wait, Kurt." Kurt sighed and turned around again. "Okay. Finish what you need to say." I took a deep breath and handed him the book. "Mercades told me you're having some religion problems because people are being spiritual with….with the way they're trying to let you know that they're sorry. By praying for him?" I struggled to find the right words to use. "Anyways, I grew up without a religion, and Mercades told me you don't believe in God, so I thought you might want to know why they're praying and all that stuff. My dad bought me it. It'll help, as long as you can stand a few hundred pages of psychoanalysis." Kurt tried to force a bit of a smile, but it obviously wasn't working. He looked over the back cover and told me, "Thank you. I really do appreciate it. It's hard to make sense of, especially since I can't relate. I'll see you in class later." He tried to smile again and started to walk away, reading the first page as he did so. I smiled, happy I was able to help, and hoped he wouldn't walk into a wall as he was reading.

That night was the football game, and my first time cheering in front of people. There were a lot of stupid cheers, but there were some catchy ones, too. So far, we weren't doing so well. The clock was ticking away and we were behind by like a dozen points. We were doing one of our most obnoxious cheers, too. I couldn't imagine how distracting it must've been for the players. "M-C! K-I! N-L! E-Y! Let's go! McKinley High!" It was starting to be practically branded into my head. We were just sitting on the sidelines now, not really performing a cheer, just trying to lift some spirits. I looked for Sam's number (he was the QB) in the sea of overly-large high school football players. There it was. My eyes locked on the jersey, and I knew his blond hair must've been under that bright red helmet.

Another play was about to start, and just then, head cheerleader Quinn decided we were going to do our pyramid. "Okay, into formation guys," she whispered. We all stood up. As one of the lightest, I was a flyer, meaning I had to be on top for all of the stunts. Quinn was another flyer and some other girl I wasn't familiar with was the other. There were five flyers altogether, but for this stunt, we only needed three. "READY! OKAY!" There were two smaller pyramids on either side of the large one in the middle. I hated being up so high. We started to cheer, but the referee blew his whistle, and because we all wanted to know what was going on, we stopped. So high up, I could see over almost everything. And I could see one of our players on the ground, looking as though they were in pain. I couldn't see the number, but behind my back, I crossed my fingers. Quinn decided we should de-formate the pyramids, so I dropped down. My spotter, a redhead named Michaela, caught me. She had been a cheerleader for a really long time now, so she was good at what she did. I couldn't see very well now that I was back on the ground, being really small and short, so I climbed up onto the bench. The player was now being taken out of the game – they must've gotten injured. It seemed to be his shoulder that was troubling him – I could tell as he was walking away. But then something caught my eye – the player had blond hair. As much as I was dreading it, I looked at the number on the back of the jersey and gasped. Sam had been hurt.

That night, I came home to find Benji sprawled on the floor, panting and shaking all over. I didn't know what the problem was. It seemed as though my poor St. Bernard was having a seizure or something. I called my dad and he raced home from work. We drove him towards the animal hospital nearby, but a quarter of the way there, his ragged breathing just stopped. No more heartbeat, no more sound, no more shaking. Benji went still and cold….and he died. I started to cry, no matter how much I didn't want to. No doubt had this been the worst day of my life – my friend's dad in a coma, my best friend hurt and taken off of the football team (or so I guessed), and Benji dead. What had I done to deserve this?