The next morning, Sam woke up oddly depressed. All the talk about belonging really opened the gaping hole in her heart. She missed her home, missed her friends, but most of all she missed her father. When Kurt finished his hour and fifteen minute routine in the bathroom, he found Sam with the comforter over her head.
"Sam, get up." He kicked the bed. "Get up! It's your turn in the shower…" Sam still wouldn't budge. "Please don't tell me you're in a coma or something. I can't deal with that." He paused. "Sam, seriously, get out of the bed."
Sam grunted and turned over. "I'm up," she mumbled, and Kurt left the room in satisfaction. She didn't feel like taking a cold shower (Kurt always used up all the hot water, although Sam usually didn't mind) and she didn't feel like caring about her appearance at all. She threw on a pair of skinny jeans and her flannel shirt that she found lying on the floor. She quickly pushed her glasses on and went to the kitchen for breakfast.
"Sam," Kurt said, shocked. "I say this because I care."
"What?" She growled.
"You look awful, honey. Did you even take a shower?"
She slowly looked up from her yogurt, giving Kurt a death glare, killing him softly with her eyes.
"Never mind, you look great. So I'm visiting Blaine at Dalton after school for Warblers rehearsal and he invited you…and I'm not taking no for an answer. There is no way I'm letting you sit at home like this. Don't worry, I'll do something about…this…" he gestured to her appearance, "…before you see any of those Dalton boys. I swear I'm going to find you a boyfriend, Sam Whitley."
"I don't want one," Sam said stubbornly.
"Yes, you do. I can tell, you do. Let's get to school, Frankenstein."
Sam gave him another death glare.
"Megan Fox?" Kurt said nervously, changing his answer.
"Degrading, but I'll take what I can get," Sam settled as they rushed out the door.
Sam and Kurt jogged into Lima High late for their first period French class. Sam turned the corner and collided with some jock in a letterman jacket holding a slushie in his hand. Or, it used to be in his hand. It was now splattered all over Sam's shirt.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," the jock apologized, somehow thinking he could make the slushie disappear by constantly rubbing his hands on Sam's shirt.
"It's fine," Sam said as she tugged on her shirt a little. "I was expecting my slushie facial soon anyway."
"No, I didn't do that on purpose, I swear!"
"But…I'm in the glee club."
"But…you're hot. The football guys all made a pact that we wouldn't slushie you, even though you do hang with…well, dweebs," he gestured at Kurt.
"That's my best friend. And I'll accept the slushie facial if it means I'm not objectified by a bunch of Neanderthals," Sam stated coldly.
"My number's 555-0221. Sorry about the slush. I'll see you around," he said smoothly, and turned to walk away.
Sam looked at Kurt. "That bonehead hunk didn't hear a word I said, did he?"
"Nope…but at least someone thinks you look good right now," Kurt playfully joked at Sam.
Sam scoffed and punched his arm. "Whatever!"
"3:15. Meet me by the bathrooms. We've got work to do!" Kurt said, clapping his hands in delight.
"Okay, chipper," Sam laughed as they went to class.
At 3:17 Sam strolled up to the bathrooms.
"You're late," Kurt stated.
"Brain dead football players. That's all you need to know."
"This dress. On your body. That's all YOU need to know," Kurt thrusted a floral dress at Sam along with a pair of flats.
"Where do you even get these…" Sam trailed off as she went into the girl's restroom, tore off her shirt that still smelled of cherry along with her jeans, and put on the dress. She looked up into the mirror. "What am I doing?" she whispered to herself, and she was immediately interrupted by the door swinging open.
"I sure hope you're dressed," Kurt blindly entered, his hands over his eyes.
"I am, don't worry," Sam said as she peeled his hands off of his eyes.
"Okay, your hair is a mess, you still kind of smell, and you need makeup. Badly."
Sam sighed. "Why are you my best friend again?"
Kurt smirked and got to work on her face using makeup he had borrowed from Mercedes. Within three minutes, Sam looked like a new person.
"Wow. You look good. How do I do it?" Kurt marveled at himself and his finished artwork. "Well? Look in the mirror!"
Sam turned to look in the mirror and jumped when she saw herself. "I don't like it, Kurt…I'm not really in the mood to find a boyfriend anyway," she pleaded.
"Samantha! You look like a girl! It's a good thing, I promise. Now let's go and get you some Dalton boys!"
