Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton
Welcome back! I needed to take some time out of this 'verse, and I hope that the one-shots I put up were enjoyed. The reviews and alerts that I received on this story and those are as always much appreciated. I love that people are interested in this.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, even if I say pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top. Spoilers...no spoilers really, I think, but we've at least budged the timeline up so that we're hovering between Rumours and Prom Queen. Rated T mostly because sometimes I can't control my language, but I think this chapter is pretty clean. Okey-dokey, onward!
Chapter Nine – Shindig
"Mr. Pauling, tie." Holly tapped the sophomore on the shoulder as she passed by.
Jeff blushed to the roots of his hair. "Aw, crap, I knew I forgot something."
"I've got an extra one," Blaine volunteered, producing a length of blue and red satin seemingly out of nowhere, like a rabbit from a hat.
"What are you, some kind of Boy Scout?" The substitute shook her blonde head and laughed, giving the star tenor a friendly shoulder bump as she moved past him to inspect Trent. "Impeccable as usual, Mr. Davies." She patted his arm and beamed up at him. "Please stop looking like you just ate the seafood pasta special in the dining hall."
"I wish I had, if I'd gotten food poisoning I wouldn't have to do this." Trent's voice was strangled, and Holly lamented the illegality of giving a good stiff belt of whiskey to nervous teenage singers who were about to perform their first public solo. Left without that useful solution, she instead straightened his lapels, stuffed a peppermint into his mouth, and wound through the crowd to give a surprisingly catatonic-looking David a pep talk.
"Nick, where are your cufflinks? Come here." Blaine rummaged in his blazer pockets, coming up with a pair of the absent accessories and handing them to his roommate. He also found a travel size hair spray and a comb, which were passed off to Wes for a quick touch-up.
In this way, the teacher and the lead singer moved in tandem through the group of Warblers, getting them in order for the alumni fundraiser. According to Blaine, the boys weren't usually this scatterbrained; it was the prospect of solo performance that had all of them but Thad, Blaine, and Flint twitching with nerves. Thad and Blaine she'd understood, but Flint was a surprise, since he was as inexperienced as the rest of them. But when Holly had asked the laid-back junior why he wasn't nervous, he'd just shrugged and said that it wasn't as nervewracking as his upcoming AP Physics final, so there was no sense wigging out about it.
She supposed that was fair.
"If they'd just let go of that stupid tradition of 'one lead a year,' this would be a lot easier," Blaine had sniped on Friday after the second rehearsal, when the other boys had seemed to suddenly become aware that the songs they were having fun jamming on were actually being practiced for a fairly imminent reason. He was facing away from Holly, picking up the papers that he'd thrown around half in hopes that it would make the other guys laugh and half in exasperation at the mass freak out that had just occurred. "People would be prepared for emergencies. They wouldn't be terrified of singing solos in public. Dalton boys are supposed to be ready for anything, even I know that and I'm not a legacy like the rest of them."
Holly had thrown a wad of sheet music that hit him right in the back of the head. "Everyone can't be the star attraction of the King's Island Easter Holiday Hop-around," she'd admonished. "Everyone isn't thinking of this as anything more than an extracurricular credit. Not that you don't have a point. This school is doing these kids a disservice, and I'm going to do something about it."
A shiver of apprehension had snaked up Blaine's spine at those words. If he had learned nothing else about this woman from Kurt and Rachel, it was that she was both resourceful and determined. And that she'd played softball in college, apparently. He rubbed the spot she'd nailed with her paper ball absently, listening to Wes freak out about his farewell number with Thad and David as the Council leader obsessively combed his hair.
There hadn't been a chance for him to cash in his raincheck to resume their talk. There hadn't been time to think in the last two days. It was all about stampeding to the finish line and hoping there wasn't a catastrophe along the way. Blaine was pretty sure they were all ready, if only they'd quit spazzing out.
He was feeling fairly crazy as well, but of course that had nothing to do with the performance. Performing he could do in his sleep (and to hear Nick tell it, he did). No, Blaine's head was still full of decisions and choices and missing his boyfriend, who had been preoccupied all week with doing some kind of damage control for his friend Sam at McKinley. Damage control that he hadn't been able to fully explain, but promised to over their Sunday night Breadstix dinner date.
Kurt had hinted at bringing up some kind of important topic besides Sam over dinner as well, and was giving even fewer clues as to what that was about. Blaine's nerves were already stretched thin; Kurt's playful attempts at surprise and subterfuge weren't helping.
And then there was whatever was going on with the Warblers' enigmatic interim Advisor. He and Wes had discussed what they had seen on Thursday, had tried to figure out if they should bring it to the attention of the others. A decision, however, had not been made. The discussion had had to be tabled when Wes realized he'd be singing in front of his parents in two days and subsequently went ten kinds of insane. Kind of like he was doing now.
"Blaine, are you even paying attention?" Wes' voice was as strained as Trent's, and Blaine resisted the urge to tweak his friend's nose, what with being uninterested in getting bludgeoned to death with a gavel at the tender age of seventeen and all. He elected instead to nod attentively and tug at the hem of his jacket.
"Of course I am. Come on, though, Fletch, there's no need to psych yourself out."
"Says you! My mom is going to be out there."
Blaine shook his head. "Dude, your mom is like, five foot nothing. I don't get why you fear her so much. A mom is a mom."
"Your mom isn't Chinese," Wes retorted sourly. "My mom is ten feet of Shanghai terror in a five foot tall sack. You don't even know. You can't even know."
"Yeah. Gonna have to take your word for it." He decided to change the subject, returning to the topic of the previous day. "So, Miss Holliday..."
They glanced over their shoulders at the substitute, who was helping Jeff with his tie like he didn't know how to tie a Windsor knot. Clearly he'd conned the object of his crush into the whole thing – it was easy to believe anything Jeff said, with his guileless face and general air of innocence. Wes snorted at the scene before replying to Blaine. "I think you need to get more information about her before we can figure out whether it even needs to be brought up to anyone else. Maybe she was just singing to blow off steam."
"You weren't there when Mr. Schuester arrived," Blaine reminded him. "You didn't see her face. You didn't see his."
"Yeah, and you don't know what happened between your departure and what we came back to. Maybe it's nothing we need to get involved in. Maybe you're just trying to find something to distract from your own issues."
The tenor scuffed at the ground with his shoe, face twisting in a scowl. "Oh, what do you know."
"What all of us know, Blaine - that you're really good at deflection."
Man, what was with all his friends and their knowing him so well? It was terribly inconvenient sometimes. "I'm getting a handle on it."
"See that you do." Wes looked skeptical. "Look, I know I have a vested interest in keeping you here. I'd really like to hand the Chairmanship over to you more than anyone else. But you're my friend, and I want you to be happy. Do what you have to do...just make sure you take everything into account."
Heaving a sigh, Blaine nodded. "I know. I am. I'm...I promise I'll make an informed decision, Wes. That's all I can tell you."
"That's all I can ask." Suddenly more cheerful than he'd been in a day, Wes tugged his friend into a hug. "Let's go get warmed up for this thing. No more time for freakouts."
The other boys were already gathering in a corner of the room they'd commandeered for their preparations, Holly standing in front of them with a pitch pipe. "Get a move on, fellas," she said cheerfully, waving her free hand at them in a clear indication to speed up. "It's almost showtime."
Nerves appeared to settle down as she led them through their warmup, voices losing their ragged edges and smoothing into a fluid harmony. The inevitability of the performance seemed to have finally resigned the shaky soloists to their fate. Holly still smiled encouragement at them as she directed them, still nodded reassuringly and tried to generally keep a pleasant atmosphere going.
She'd say one thing for New Directions – as certifiable as every one of its members were, not one of them was ever loathe to step into a solo spotlight. The Warblers could certainly benefit from that kind of lack of self-consciousness. If she accomplished only one thing before she left, it would be to get that damn single soloist rule stricken from the books forever. It wasn't much of a rebellion, she granted, but kicking one brick out of a wall made it easier to pry others loose. She could give the boys a start.
"You all sound just as great you are, guys. Awesome." She tucked the pitch pipe into her wrist bag and applauded, trying to jolly a few more smiles out of the ones whose nerves were still clearly jangling.
"Yep, you're all going to kill it." Once again, Blaine joined in with her efforts as if they were two halves of a team. "Two hours of your lives, and you're not even going to spend all of that singing. That's too bad, since you all sound completely fantastic."
Holly nodded in agreement. "The man knows from whence he speaks. All right! Fall in and move out!" She began shooing them off towards the door. "Don't worry, I'm right behind you and I'll totally be out there cheering you on. Break many, many legs! Merde!"
"Did she just cuss at us in French?" Jeff whispered to Nick, who shook his head and promised to explain later.
The Warblers took their places on stage as Holly spotted Headmaster Michaelson in the throng of gathered alumni and made her way to stand next to him. "Dr. Michaelson, good evening."
"Ah, Miss Holliday, hello." The Headmaster's smile was tense. "How are our boys?"
She patted his arm while Blaine, acting as tonight's emcee, made his introductory speech. "They're fine. Honestly. You should stop worrying so much, it's not good for the heart. They're going to be great!"
"I hope so. This is so unorthodox. We have many former Warblers here." He looked around warily, as if the alumni were some sort of threat to defend against. "They might not understand."
"Oh, I can't believe that everyone is that inflexible or that there's never been any sort of emergency that warranted a situation like this," Holly chided. "They'll love it. Did I tell you what we ended up planning?"
Dr. Michaelson suddenly looked slightly ill as he realized that no, she hadn't, and he'd been so upset about the situation that he hadn't asked. "Oh, no, you didn't."
"Well, coincidentally, Blaine had just updated the library with some competition numbers from years ago, so we just grabbed a bunch of those that the boys were familiar with and...well, I think you'll enjoy it. It's a tribute to Warblers past."
"Oh." He blinked owlishly. "Oh, I see. Oh. Well, that is rather nice."
"Worked out well, too." Holly pointed up at the stage to Trent, who looked queasy yet determined as he launched into his cover of 'I'm Yours,' ably backed by his smiling choirmates. "I personally think the alumni will appreciate the nod and it gives the boys more flexibility in choosing songs. Like this one – Blaine sounded pretty good when he tried it, but Trent really kicks butt!" At the Headmaster's incredulous sidelong glance, Holly coughed and amended her statement. "That is, he sounds excellent. Sorry."
"Apology accepted." He returned his focus to the stage, smiling and bobbing along to the pretty love ditty. "Mr. Davies does sound very good. He looks a bit nervous."
"Well, he's just not used to being a soloist. Very few of the boys are," Holly remarked, trying to keep her tone casual as she scattered the seeds of her tiny rebellion. "Not that they don't step up to the plate, but it would be less of a big deal if they did this more often."
"Hm." The Headmaster's hum was noncommittal, and he lapsed into silence for the rest of the song.
Holly took the opportunity to peek surreptitiously around at the crowd. Some of the alumni were dancing with their wives and girlfriends, singing along to the Jason Mraz tune as if they'd been the ones to take it to Regionals two years ago. Others were simply standing and smiling at the boys, bobbing their heads to the music as the Headmaster was doing. No one seemed displeased at the song or the fact that when it was over, Blaine popped up with another short speech and introduced Flint as the next soloist.
No one seemed offended at the broken tradition at all.
"Mr. Anderson looks much better," commented Dr. Michaelson as Flint threw himself heart and soul into his Spin Doctors number. "I suppose in the end he could have carried the performance after all."
"Maybe. But everyone seems to be fine with the changing soloists so far." She tried not to jam the point home too harshly, but it was difficult. Why hold on to a tradition that no one seemed to care about? She had so many questions, and tonight wasn't the night to ask them. Tonight was for pointing out that this was going well. "Look, you can see which ones are the 1994 alumni. They're singing along. Cute!"
The Headmaster only nodded. Holly decided to grease the wheels a bit more and snagged two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handing one to her superior. "Champagne, sir?"
"Oh. I don't...well, as it's an occasion." He took one of the glasses and raised it in a toast. "Cheers, Miss Holliday."
"Cheers, Dr. Michaelson." She raised her glass in return and then took a sip of the bubbly liquid. Ooh. Nice. Definitely not Korbel. Subbing at a privately funded prep school did have its perks.
"So how is Mr. Anderson, really, Miss Holliday?"
Holly choked a little on her second sip of sparkling wine. "Well, he's fine. See?" This was not entirely a lie. Blaine and Flint were currently Tiggering it up on the stage, bouncing like they'd been injected with Red Bull. The difference was that Flint genuinely was enjoying himself to the hilt, and Blaine was equal parts true joy and artificial showface.
He was better, not fine, but hey, who said the Headmaster needed to know that?
"You and I should schedule a conference. I'd like to ask you to assist him with his appeal, Miss Holliday."
"What? Why me? I'm a substitute."
"You seem to get along well with all of the boys, and you spend more time with them than any of the teachers."
"Not that I mind at all, since they're great, but honestly, I spend the time with them because you made it a condition of my employment," Holly pointed out.
Dr. Michaelson had the good graces to look sheepish. "Well, yes, that's true, but it does seem to have worked out marvelously, doesn't it?" He gestured to the stage with his glass, where Nick was now twirling one of the alumni wives around during his performance.
"Hm." Holly chose to not snipe that for a plan involving concepts to which he was generally opposed, yes indeed it surely had worked out just fine. That might have been construed as insolent. Unsure what to say after that, though, she let the conversation go dormant until the Headmaster excused himself to go mingle, leaving her to work out her next move.
She was mulling over how she could bring up the potentially unwelcome idea of counseling Blaine through his appeal when the boy appeared at her side during a break in the Warblers' set. "It's pretty great, right, Miss Holliday?"
"It is!" With a smile, she clinked her champagne flute against the glass of seltzer the tenor was holding. "You and Flint were great during his number. And even the Headmaster likes it." She pointed at Dr. Michaelson, who had strolled over to a cluster of Warblers past and present and was deep in animated conversation with them."Well, he doesn't completely hate it, at least."
"That's something."
"Yep." They stood shoulder to shoulder for a moment before Holly decided to just jump in. "Listen, I know we haven't had a chance to get back to our talk, but I need to schedule a time with you. Something's come up."
Blaine blinked. "What, with me?"
"Yeah. Turns out Michaelson wants me to mentor you through your appeal."
That sounds like a terrible idea, Blaine thought, alarmed. "Oh, does he?"
Holly poked him in the arm. "Your poker face really sucks, kid. I know you don't like the idea."
"I like you..." He smiled weakly, making the teacher chuckle and nod.
"I know. But you don't know me. It's one thing when we're working together to get these chuckleheads moving - " Her gesture encompassed all the Warblers she could see. " - entirely another when it comes to messing with your personal life."
Blaine developed a sudden fascination with his perfectly polished dress shoes. "Maybe."
"Uh-huh." She chucked him gently under the chin to make him look up. "I know you don't know what you're going to do about the appeal. Give me a chance to help. You came to me the other day, just think of this as an extension of whatever you were going to talk about then."
"They're related," he admitted.
"Kind of figured." She nodded and gave his arm an affectionate nudge. "You don't have to take my advice. You're a smart guy, Blaine. I'm just asking for a shot, okay?"
He nodded. "I'll think about it."
"Good man." With a gentle shove, she propelled him towards the stage. "Break's over. Get back to it, emcee."
Dr. Michaelson approached her. "So? Everything all right?"
"Just scheduling a time to chat," she replied neutrally, finishing her drink and signaling one of the seltzer-carrying waiters to come by. "He seems sort of open to the idea." In the way that a closed book is open, but I can work with that.
"Good. Good." He watched as the boys reassembled onstage, preparing for Jeff to get his Fleetwood Mac on. "And you were right. The alumni are quite enjoying the show. They like the variety."
"Variety is the spice of life," she quoted, trying to be careful not to push her advantage. "Could be something to keep in mind for the future."
"Could be." The Headmaster's tone was as neutral as hers had been. She decided to drop it. With a farewell wave, she began circulating the room, listening to the snips of conversation from approving alumni. This was going well. Before Blaine took the microphone to introduce the Council, she'd even gotten phone numbers from a couple of the single men that were present. That was a nice unexpected bonus.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Blaine cleared his throat before continuing with his speech. "Every year, as you know, the Warblers elect a Council to guide them through their performance year. The Council selects the songs we perform for our competitions, they choose the soloist for the year, and they help keep a bunch of rambunctious teenage boys in order to the best of their ability." The audience chuckled at the idea of teenage boys keeping other teenage boys in check. "Wes Fletcher, David Hardwick, and Thad Lawrence have been our leaders this year, and they've done a great job leading us to our first Regionals competition in a long time. We felt like we hadn't thanked them enough, and wanted to give them this opportunity to perform as leads for you. Gentlemen?" Blaine bowed and sidestepped away from the microphone, leaving the stage to his superiors.
"Thank you, Mr. Anderson. My compliments on a job well done as emcee this evening, and on your brilliant repeat of our Sectionals performance. I'll never hear 'Hey, Soul Sister' again without thinking of you." Wes' smile was fond as he thanked his friend, David and Thad nodding enthusiastically as he went on. "We'd like to thank Blaine for his work this year as well. We may make the decisions, but without his showmanship and vocal skills, we wouldn't have made it as far as we did. Blaine Anderson has been a tremendous asset to the Warblers since his arrival, and we look forward to what he may bring to the group in the future."
Blaine nailed his show smile on a little more tightly. Well, that was about as subtle as an anvil falling from the sky directly onto my head, Wes. He tried to be charitable. Wes meant well. With his smile and a brief nod of acknowledgement, he stepped back into the lineup for the final number.
They'd found a short, sweet song that was maybe a little too appropriate to the occasion, but it was a nice one that they all knew. The Warblers had never performed it; it just had the advantage of being a reasonably simple yet effective four part a cappella harmony already, which is why Blaine had suggested it.
You would have never thought that the three seniors had been freaking out not two hours before at the idea of this performance. Wes stepped forward for the first two verses, the choir behind him providing a smooth foundation of wordless accompaniment as he sang.
How do I say goodbye to what we had?
The good times that made us laugh
Outweigh the bad
I thought we'd get to see forever
But forever's gone away
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday
Wes turned the microphone over to Thad, who had a tiny hitch in his voice that was the only betrayal of his sadness at leaving the group behind. This wasn't the last time they'd perform together – there were a couple more performances before the end of the year – but it was the biggest one they had left and it was still a farewell, one they were grateful to be given the chance to express. None of the three Council members were leaning towards careers in music; they'd just truly loved and appreciated the brotherhood of the singing group, and they would miss it.
I don't know where this road
Is going to lead
All I know is where we've been
And what we've been through.
If we get to see tomorrow
I hope it's worth all the wait
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.
David took the final two verses, his smooth baritenor lifted in the joy of music and the sadness of goodbye. Tears were running down the faces of the majority of the alumni. Even Holly found it difficult to hold back her sniffles, and she'd heard it for the last two days.
And I'll take with me the memories
To be my sunshine after the rain
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday
And I'll take with me the memories
To be my sunshine after the rain
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday
As the boys ended and bowed their heads, the audience went completely bananas applauding for them, Holly included. After the disaster of the last concert she'd been involved with, it was nice to turn around and help put together something considerably more successful. They'd been great, exactly as she'd expected. A glance over at the Headmaster revealed that Dr. Michaelson, too, was impressed. She filed that away to bring that up whenever they had their conference.
Blaine came forward and took the microphone for the last time. "We'd like to thank the Dalton Academy Alumni Association for giving us the opportunity to perform for you this evening, and for your enthusiastic applause. It really means a lot to have an appreciative audience." He smiled as the audience continued to cheer. "The Warblers would also like to thank Miss Holly Holliday, who has taken on the thankless job of being an Advisor to us for the remainder of the year. She's put up with a lot from us the last two weeks, she's probably going to put up with a lot more as the school year ends, and we wanted to express our appreciation. Miss Holliday, can you come up?"
"Oh." She was surprised, allowing herself to be led up to the stage by a grinning Nick and Jeff. "I wasn't expecting this. I'm not making a speech."
"No need," Nick whispered. "We just wanted to do something nice for you."
Trent came from the wings with a large flower arrangement that he placed carefully into Holly's arms. It was oddly heavy in the middle; curiously, she poked at it and discovered a small brass apple paperweight hidden amongst the daisies and carnations. Amused, she raised an eyebrow at Blaine, who was struggling not to laugh at his own joke.
Well, well, well, Mr. Anderson. I believe we might get along just fine after all.
After a final round of thanks, waves, and farewells, everyone trooped offstage to their preparation room. Holly corralled them all for a last quick talk. "You did a great, great job tonight, guys. Really fantastic. And thank you for the flowers. You totally didn't have to, I've had fun helping you out for the last week."
"But you've been here for two weeks," Jeff piped up, puzzled.
"Yes, and I haven't decided whether or not to forgive you for a solid first week of doo-wop Fifties standards." She smirked at the group before continuing. "I'd like to meet only on Tuesday and Thursday this week – we don't have as much work to do to put together a setlist for the Shady Oaks Retirement Home Benefit next week, you all have studying to do, and I have review units to teach. Enjoy your break, don't study too hard, and I'll see you then, okay?"
The choir dispersed in a gaggle of laughter and backslapping. Holly fell into step next to Blaine as the room emptied. "Are you going to Lima tonight?"
"No, but I'm leaving early in the morning." The better to maximize the little time he had with Kurt this week. "I'm going straight to sleep when I get back to the dorm."
She nodded. "Good. I hope you have fun. Say hi to Kurt and Finn for me."
"I will."
"Remember - " she aimed a pair of fingerguns at him and made a weird clicking sound with her tongue before she continued on. "No rehearsal on Monday. I'll be in my classroom after school."
Swallowing, he nodded back to indicate acceptance of the order couched in the guise of providing information. "Got it. Sounds great." It didn't, really, but there was nothing for it. He did need to talk to someone. Time to decide was running out and he clearly wasn't going to be able to work it out on his own.
"See you then." She smiled and squeezed his arm. "Come on, don't look so psyched out! It's not the end of the world, you know." And she was gone, leaving him to tilt his head and stare after her.
It was nice that someone could be so sure about that.
Author's Note: Dancers say 'merde' before performances as a good luck epithet. Yes, it means 'shit' in French. Technically, Jeff was correct, but there was a reason for Holly saying it.
The Council sang that classic a cappella ballad "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday" by Boyz II Men, which may have been a touch on the nose, but fit the sentiment and the story. :) And God do *I* feel old, that came out when I was in high school...yow...