Ninth Grade

"I said yes," Blaine exclaimed, his phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder while he logged into Facebook.

"I suppose congratulations are in order?" Santana's voice was low, and Blaine could hear girls squealing in the background.

"Where are you?" Blaine had never figured Santana for a screaming crowd of teenage girls kind of girl.

"In the hall outside of the gym. Britt and I made Cheerios."

"Breakfast cereal?" Blaine didn't understand, and having to shift gears from cute boy agreed to go with me to the dance to Cheerios was a little too much after a long day of school.

"Cheerleading, dork. The Cheerios rule this fucking school. I'm on my way to being the Queen Bitch around here."

"Uh huh," Blaine muttered, tugging his tie loose and settling at his desk. Santana had always been a little on the controlling and bossy side, but he'd never thought of her as a bitch. It was a little hard to take sometimes, the way Santana had changed since she'd gone to public high school.

"Are you even paying attention, Blainers?" Santana teased. "Prince Charming got you distracted?"

"No," Blaine said, defensive, and stared at the blinking cursor in his status window.

Blaine Anderson what? He ran the possibilities over in his head. Got asked out by a boy?

He let his fingers hover over the keyboard, and settled with simplicity. Blaine Anderson has a date for his first high school dance.

"Well," Santana kept talking, and Blaine set his phone to speaker so he could listen to her while he changed out of his uniform. He hated the stiff collars on his button-down shirts, and the way the knot of his tie kind of dug into his neck. But Catholic was really strict about the uniform policy, and he'd already gotten three uniform demerits since school had started. He couldn't have any more, or his dad was going to make him quit Boy Choir, like singing was some kind of reward for good behavior or something. "You have to come to my first game!"

"Huh?" Blaine had pretty much lost track of the conversation, and Santana's enthusiasm jolted him out of his daze.

"Dork. My first football game. You'll come, right, and watch me cheer?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to feel enthusiastic. He did like football, and Santana was his best friend, even if they didn't get to talk or hang out as much now that he was at Catholic and she was at McKinley. "Just let me know when."

"We're still going to the movies this weekend, right? Because seriously, I miss you, Blaine." It had gone quiet on Santana's end of the phone, like she had tucked herself into a corner or something to finish the call.

"Yes. Please. I can't- I just- God. You have no idea what Catholic is like." Blaine hadn't told anyone how much he hated it there.

Santana snorted at him. "My cousin Tia had a scholarship there, but then she got knocked up her junior year. So I know exactly what Catholic is like. I'm sorry, baby."

"It's okay," Blaine said out of habit, even though nothing was okay and they both knew it.

"We'll go to the movies and talk about boys, and Auntie Tana will make it better, okay?"

Blaine laughed, because Santana liked to meddle in his life, and while it was sometimes annoying he kind of liked it.

"Sounds like a plan," he said. "Gotta go, baby. So much homework."

"Dork," she laughed, and ended the call, leaving Blaine to the solitary confines of his room.

000

"How's this one?" she said, holding up the shirt to Blaine's chest. Before he could respond, she shook her head. "No. The color's all wrong. Can you find one in red?"

"I don't really need a new shirt, Santana," he said, laughing. "You've seen my closet."

"That's exactly my point." She stared at him. "I'd like to blame your fashion sense on the fact that you have to wear those stupid uniforms, but I can't. You never had any to begin with. So I'm here to take care of it. Try those pants."

"Those are- um. Tight."

She rolled her eyes. "They're slim-fit, and stop being such a baby. You like this guy, right? You want to look good at the dance. So take the damn pants and try them on. With-" she let her hands trail over cloth, flicking through green and blue and grey before settling on something that would do. "This!"

She whipped the hanger off the rack, and tried to ignore Blaine's wrinkled nose.

"It's pink," he whined.

"And you're gay. Who cares? Pants. Shirt. And I know you have that black blazer you wore to the 8th grade graduation dance. Just go try them on, please."

"I don't fit into anything I wore last year anymore." He took the hangers, though, and let her shuffle him into the dressing room. It was one of the things she most appreciated about Blaine: he didn't seem to mind at all when she bossed him around. "Can you find me one?"

"What size are you now, Gigantor?" She browsed the racks nearby until she found something that might work, and handed it to him over the top of the door. "So tell me about this guy. How cute is he? Like, on a scale of one to ten."

"Ten." He sounded muffled, like he was talking through fabric. "Taller than me."

"Duh. Everyone is taller than you are. Except maybe Kurt."

"Aaanyway. He's in 10th grade, but we're in the same section in choir, and he's in my English class. His name is Dylan." Blaine said his name like a prayer, and Santana could tell that he was totally gone on the guy in a pretty innocent way, like he'd been with Julian back in middle school. Santana kind of didn't get that, the whole romance thing, but since she'd been spending lunch making out with Puck she was starting to think that romance was overrated anyway.

"Older man. I approve." She nodded even though Blaine couldn't see her. He needed someone who would treat him right, because he didn't always know himself very well.

"He's really nice, though. You should hear him sing. He has an amazing tenor. I'm trying to get him to join the Boy Choir." He emerged from the dressing room and gave a little twirl. "What do you think?"

She whistled. "Very hot. He's never going to be able to keep his hands off you."

She watched Blaine blush, and the smile he gave her was sheepish but kind of proud. "You think?"

She pushed past him and gathered up all the remaining clothes from the dressing room, hanging them on the rack outside. "Yeah, and you'd better be ready for it, too. You don't want to find yourself in a position to get it on without being prepared. You have condoms, right?"

"Tana!" He sounded scandalized. "It's my first date! We're not going to- you know."

"Oh, my sweet, naiive Blainers." She patted him on the shoulder and clucked at him. "You're so funny. Chances are, you're right. But you should be prepared anyway." She had a strip of condoms in her purse; she'd tuck them into the bag of clothes, and that way he wouldn't have to be embarrassed about it. She knew people thought she was kind of a slut, but at least she was being smart. She had plans, and she sure as hell wasn't going to end up pregnant at 17 like her cousin Tia.

"I've never even kissed a boy," he whispered through the door of the dressing room, tossing the pants, shirt, and blazer over the top of the door.

Santana gathered the clothes into her arms. "You can practice with me, if you want. Or I could call Britt and she could practice with you. She's a really good kisser."

He wrinkled his eyebrows and shuddered. "No. No girls. That's just - ew. Not for me. You can have her."

"Well, she's got this thing about wanting to kiss everybody in school at least once. I'm not sure if I want to encourage her to set her sights on Catholic as well." She handed him the folded clothes. "Go forth and spend, Blainers. Don't forget we have to get shoes too."

000

All Blaine had said was that he was going to the dance. Not that he had a date, and definitely not that the date was a boy, so he hadn't argued too hard when his dad offered to drop him off at the school.

"You have a ride home, right?" his father asked as Blaine slid out of the car, absently straightening the hem of his blazer.

"Yeah. Dylan's dad is going to drive everyone home." Everyone, Blaine thought. Just the two of us. He kind of hated lying to his father, but he also knew that the truth wouldn't be well-received, so in some ways it was just easier to let it go.

"Have fun, son," his dad called, and Blaine slammed the door in hasty escape. He could already hear the music from the open gym door, and when he got closer he saw Dylan lingering just inside, smiling at his approach.

"Hey," Dylan said softly, his green eyes crinkling, as he held his hand out.

Blaine shot a nervous glance around them before tentatively sliding his own hand into Dylan's. It felt- nice, even if there were butterflies dancing a two-step in his stomach.

"You okay?" Dylan led them into the gym, and snagged two chairs near the refreshment table, handing Blaine a cup of pink-ish punch with another smile. "I doubt it's spiked."

Blaine sipped suspiciously, but there was no booze, only generic fruit drink with slightly flat club soda. Or at least that's what it tasted like. "Nope," he said, shaking his head. "Not spiked."

"I guess I won't have an excuse for dancing like an idiot, then," Dylan said, bobbing his head in time to the music.

"I've never- um. Been to a dance. Unless you count the 8th grade graduation party, which I don't because I took my best friend, and well. She's a girl. So." Blaine willed himself to shut up, because he was doing his stupid nervous talking thing and that usually sent people running away from him, but Dylan just nodded like he understood everything.

"I took a girl to my 8th grade dance, too. But last year, when I went to Homecoming with another boy, well. Controversy! Scandal!"

Blaine giggled (God, really, giggling?) at the way Dylan let his voice trill mockingly, and then felt bad when the other boy's face went suddenly serious.

"It's part of why I ended up here. My parents, the school." He shook the thought away in an instant, and held his hands up in a shrug. "But what can you do?"

"We can dance!" Dork, Santana's voice teased in his brain, and he hung his head, worried that he'd been too forward again.

"Good," Dylan said, taking his hand more readily that time and tugging him onto the gym floor and into the crowd of kids already there, moving to the music.

It really wasn't much different dancing with Dylan than it had been dancing with Santana, just fun and freedom, and Dylan danced almost as crazy as Blaine did. It made Blaine feel a little more comfortable being himself, exactly as he was, when he saw Dylan smiling at him as he did what he would have considered to be a stupid move.

When the music shifted, and the lights dimmed, Blaine ducked out of the crowd back towards their seats, but Dylan grabbed his hand and pulled him close.

"Dance with me," he said, his breath cooling the skin behind Blaine's ear where a little trickle of sweat had trailed out of his hair.

"Um," Blaine stuttered. "But- everyone's watching." He tried to fight Dylan's hand on his back, suddenly nervous and a little uncomfortable. "I don't know if I can-"

Dylan shook his head. "Nobody cares what we do. They're watching each other." He smiled, his teeth white and even. "The only person watching you is me."

"Oh- okay." Blaine tentatively shuffled closer, and let Dylan lead.

He was warm and smelled like his aftershave, which was a little strong, but Blaine didn't care. There was a boy in his arms, and that was pretty incredible all by itself. Except . . . incredible didn't feel like enough. Blaine wanted there to be more. He wanted breathless and electricity even more than he wanted the comfortable he was currently feeling.

"You okay?" Dylan's voice was muffled in the shoulder of Blaine's blazer, but he sounded like he was genuinely concerned. "Because if you're going to freak out, we can stop."

"No," Blaine replied. "This is . . . fine." And it was, perfectly fine. But not everything, and Blaine was a little disappointed.

Dylan's eyes were dilated, and his breath was coming a little faster. "You're really great, Blaine."

"You're um, great, too." Blaine hoped the reluctance in his voice didn't show through.

He stroked Blaine's back and pulled him a little closer. Blaine wasn't sure what to do about that, so he just let him.

"We could- um. The hallway?" Dylan tipped his head towards the doors leading out into the dark corridor, and Blaine swallowed around his nerves, figured what the hell, why not. It wasn't like things were going to go very far; they were at school, after all, and Blaine had never even kissed a boy before. And sometimes, it felt so good not to think about things before he did them.

"Yes," he said, a little breathless from anticipation.

The air in the hall was cool, not closed-in or stuffy like the gym, and Blaine hadn't even realized there were so many dark corners in the school until Dylan had tucked them into one, between the drinking fountain and the soda machines outside of the cafeteria.

"Wait," he said, touching his hand to Dylan's chest. "I've never- um." He licked his lips and ducked his eyes. "Never kissed a boy," he said, shyly.

"Don't be scared," Dylan said, tipping Blaine's chin up slightly. "Kissing boys is fun."

Dylan's lips were gentle against his before he could even formulate a response. It felt good, soft and warm and the right kind of wet that sent shivers down Blaine's spine.

"This is so perfect," breathed Dylan against his mouth.

Blaine could tell, even through the haze of a new experience, even in his excitement about the dance and his first date and everything, that this wasn't perfect. If it were - if this were it - well, that would be a little... disappointing.

"Mmmm. Nice." Blaine could tell that Dylan wanted more, by the way his hands and body were moving, so he backed a little further into the corner, so that his back was against the wall. He rested his head there, and closed his eyes. And let his body just take over, because thinking about the not-quite-rightness of Dylan's hands, warm on his skin, would have ended things right there. And maybe Blaine's head hadn't joined his body in the game, but his body was sure enjoying things.

He was angling his hips, trying to get any kind of friction against Dylan, the two of them a little disheveled and a lot breathless, when Blaine was startled by voices. He lifted his head from Dylan's neck and whacked his head against the wall.

"What the hell?" A shadow growled from the hallway, but Blaine couldn't see who it was because of Dylan's body in his way.

"Shit," Dylan muttered, tucking his clothes back into place and smoothing down his hair. Blaine mirrored his motions, feeling much less exposed with his blazer back on his shoulders and his pants buttoned.

"Who-?" Blaine started to ask, but Dylan's finger was firm against his lips. Dylan shook his head, eyes wide, before turning to face out of the little alcove they were in.

"Problem, gentlemen?" Dylan's words dripped with honey.

"You bet I have a problem, faggot, with you sucking face with your boyfriend, here in my hallway." They were upperclassmen, three of them, bigger and heavier and a lot scarier, out of uniform, here in the dark than they'd ever seemed during school hours. One of them reached out and pushed Dylan's shoulder back, slamming it against the wall.

"We can go," said Blaine, but Dylan put a restraining hand on his chest.

"It's a free country, Yerrick. How many hallways does this school have? Why don't we just agree to be in two different ones, tonight?"

Yerrick sneered at the two younger boys over his crossed arms. "You really think I'm going to let you out of here with your face intact?"

"What's going on here, boys?" The icy voice came from down the hall, and Blaine looked with relief to see the petite form of Ms. Hargraeves, his Biology teacher, clacking up the hall in the same skirt, blouse, and heels she'd worn to teach in that afternoon.

Yerrick jumped, moving swiftly out of the way. "N-nothing," he stammered, and Blaine almost laughed at the sight of a Varsity lineman cowed by a teacher.

"They were giving us trouble," Dylan said, his voice trembling lightly as he pulled Blaine out into the hall with him. Blaine could feel Dylan's hand shaking, so he squeezed it in comfort.

"Dylan. Blaine." Ms. Hargreaves nodded at them. "Having fun, I take it." her lip curled into a barely-there smile, and Blaine had to work not to smile back. "Why don't you two go back inside. I'll take care of things out here."

"But they were-" Yerrick tried to surge forward, and one of his buddies grabbed his shoulder, held him back.

"They're just underclassmen queers," the kid muttered. "They're not worth it."

"I won't tolerate hate speech," Ms. Hargreaves bellowed, and while Blaine wanted to stay and watch, he instead let Dylan steer them back to the gym.

"Are you okay?" He rested his hand on Dylan's arm. "You know them?"

Dylan shook his head. "Yerrick's had it out for me since the first day of school. He's just a stupid kid. And yes, I think I'm okay."

"Do you want some punch? Or to dance some more?"

Dylan held out a still-shaking hand. "Would you be okay if, um. I think. I want to go home."

Blaine nodded. "I understand. I think," he sighed, "that would be good."

They walked together, not touching, but Blaine watched Dylan anxiously as they got their coats and he called his father for a ride home.

"Do you want to wait in here or outside?" Dylan asked when he'd hung up his phone.

"It's kind of warm in here. Outside, please." Blaine was feeling restless, and if he couldn't dance the adrenaline of the whole night away, he'd at least be able to pace it away on the sidewalk outside of the gym.

"It shouldn't be long, we don't live far." Dylan held the door open, and Blaine breathed deeply, letting the fall air settle into his lungs.

"Where did you go to school before this? All my friends go to McKinley." Blaine hadn't really talked to Dylan about things like that before.

"We lived in Dayton until the summer," Dylan said, shrugging into his jacket. "I went to public school down there, but my high school last year wasn't, um. Tolerant. And yeah, maybe I was a little over the top, but there was no reason I should have been suspended over wearing make-up."

"Really?" Blaine couldn't believe a school would do something like that.

"Yeah. I think my dad hoped that the structure here would keep me out of trouble." Dylan smiled, lopsided and a little cocky, at Blaine.

"Yeah? How's that working out?"

Dylan shrugged. "I get into a different kind of trouble now," he said.

"You bet your faggy ass you do," came a now familiar voice in the shadows. Blaine startled, and tried to slink back towards the gym doors. His hand scrabbled for purchase on the slippery nylon of Dylan's jacket, and he could feel Dylan reaching back for him, too.

"Run," Dylan whispered to him. "This isn't your fight."

Blaine watched Yerrick and his two friends stalking up the sidewalk, and took a breath. "The hell is isn't," he said. "I'm just as gay as you are."

"Two queers for the price of one," Yerrick said, closing in on them, rubbing his hands together.

Things moved really fast after that. All Blaine could remember later was the smell of blood and the sound of Yerrick's boot as it made contact with Dylan's side, over and over again. He thought, I wish I'd listened to my dad when he told me to take boxing. Everything was shadowy after the blinding pain of a fist to his nose and the sudden shock of his head against the rough brick of the wall. He'd fallen, then, out of the protection of Dylan's body. He couldn't do anything, could barely even see anything, but as he listened to Dylan's shouts and movements growing softer and slower, he knew that he had to try or they'd both end up a story on the national news. Because Yerrick's target may have been Dylan, but Blaine was never going to be able to get rid of the sound of the sheer glee in his voice. Two queers, two queers, two queers, echoing over and over in rhythm with the thunk of leather on flesh.

Blaine shifted, slowly, as best he could while trying to keep his head still, and reached into his pants pocket for his cell phone. He had to blink through blood to even see the numbers, and he hesitated for half a second between calling home and calling 911.

Half a second was too long.

"Junior fag's got a phone," one of them cackled, and in the instant after the heel of a boot slammed into Blaine's hand, everything went dark.

000

They didn't let Blaine in to see Dylan at all for the first two hours. He ended up sitting on a gurney in the hallway for a half hour until they could get him a space in the emergency room, spaced out on IV fluids and morphine, wondering when his mom was going to show up. He'd had enough presence of mind to tell them his full name and address, and to provide his cell phone with numbers for the nurses to call home. One of them kept coming by and checking on him, but nobody could tell him when anyone was going to be there for him.

In the end, it wasn't his mother who appeared at the side of his bed. It was his dad.

He looked . . . terrified, in a way Blaine had never seen him before. And there was a man Blaine didn't know, lingering on the edges of Blaine's drug-shrouded vision. He kept blinking, trying to make sense of everything, but he was so tired and he just couldn't.

"Dad." Blaine startled at his dad's hands, cool against the side of his face. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't- I had to-"

"Blaine. What the hell is going on? I was in the middle of dinner, and I get this call, because your mother wasn't answering her phone. You were just supposed to be going to a dance." His dad sounded so confused.

"We did. Dylan. Me. Um." He closed his eyes for just a second, but his dad was right back on him.

"Open your eyes, kiddo. You can't sleep yet."

"Oh. Um. Right. Three of them. The guys. Outside the gym." Blaine couldn't make his words fit together. And he was so sleepy.

"Blaine. Blaine!" Blaine looked up into his father's concerned face. "Who's Dylan?"

"My date. Dylan was my date, Dad." Blaine watched his father kind of curl into himself a little bit with a sigh, and the other man was there suddenly, a hand on his father's elbow and a concerned look for Blaine.

"Sorry," Blaine said, "but who're you? I mean," he waved at his IV stand, "drugs. But I know I don't know you."

The man smiled. "I'd normally let your dad handle the introductions, but he's pretty scared for you right now. I'm Thomas. I'm a friend of your father's."

Blaine looked down to where his father was gripping Thomas' hand so tightly that his knuckles were white, and where Thomas was rubbing his thumb over the side of his father's curled fingers.

"That kind of friend." Blaine nodded. "Makes so much sense now." He squinted at Thomas through the haze of pharmaceuticals. "Wow, you're a lot hotter than my date was."

Thomas laughed, and his father winced a little bit. "That was a little inappropriate, Blaine."

"It's okay, Darren. I don't mind a little teasing."

"Sorry," Blaine said. The man - Thomas - looked kind, and it looked like he really cared for his dad. He cleared his throat.

"I'll go see if I can find out anything about your friend - Dylan? - and give you two a little time alone." He let Blaine's dad's hand go and gave them a little wave. Blaine watched him go.

"Dad? What's going on?" He squinted at him. "Was that... your date?"

His dad rested a hip against the edge of Blaine's bed, and Blaine winced a little at the way the gentle motion made his head pound. "Thomas is . . . um. My p-p- partner."

"Holy shit." Blaine reached for his dad's arm. It wasn't quite where he thought it would be, but he got it on the second try. He leaned in conspiratorially. "Dad... I hate to break this to you," he whispered, "but Thomas is a man."

His father's lip curled into a weird half-smile, and he shook his head. "I know that, Blaine. We, um. We've been seeing each other for almost five years. Starting when you joined Boy Choir. He lives in Columbus, and... "

Blaine tilted his head, wincing again. "Wait. I don't- I'm pretty sure that you're telling me you're gay, and that you were... having an affair with him, while you and mom were married? But it's also possible that I'm hallucinating because I have a concussion."

"You're not hallucinating, son. You're right. I am, um. Gay." Blaine watched his dad swallow around his admission, saw the emotion in his face.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Me, too. I mean, if you hadn't already figured that out."

"I think I knew about you before I knew about myself, actually." His dad scrubbed at his face with his palms. "God, Blaine. I can't- I didn't- I'm your father, and I didn't do right by you. I should have just let you be yourself, instead of pushing you so hard to be anything else. It wasn't fair of me. But I was afraid, and I didn't know what else to do."

Blaine stared at him. "Afraid - of me?"

"No. God, no. Afraid of myself. I fought this my whole life, and I guess I just thought that if I steered you in a different direction then you wouldn't struggle the same way I did." His dad looked away.

He concentrated very hard on staying focused on his dad's face, which was a little wobbly, and sometimes there were two of them. "Dad... I'm sorry you had to go through that. But I'm not ashamed of being gay. Even when I'm not on morphine."

"You shouldn't be, Blaine. Thomas - he helped me, to know that." He took Blaine's hands, cold from the IV fluid, and warmed them between his. "I just, I wish I'd been able to tell you that when you were younger."

"I used to get books from the library," Blaine whispered, suddenly feeling like he could share the world with his father. "And I was afraid of what you'd say if you found them, so I would hide them."

Blaine watched his father crumple then, and rode out the shift of the mattress as his father sunk down next to him and picked carefully around the IV tubing to wrap Blaine in his arms. "You must have felt so lost, Blaine. I never- I never wanted that for you, but it happened anyway."

"It wasn't so bad," Blaine insisted. "Paula - at the library, she was my friend. And Davey. I wasn't alone. I'm not, now, either." He pushed his dad away suddenly, realizing who else he had, and remembering what had happened to him. "Dylan! He was hurt. Really bad, dad. I need to find out how he is."

His father's hands were firm on his arms. "Thomas is checking. If you can see him, I'll take you there myself, but you need to stay in bed right now, okay? You got really banged up. And if you're anything like me, morphine will make you really woozy. Walking wouldn't be too easy."

Blaine tried to fight for a few seconds, but every movement made lights flicker in his eyes, so he finally gave up and leaned back against his pillow. "Thanks, Dad. For, um. All of this. Being here. And telling me the truth."

"I'm just happy that you're going to be okay. You know I love you, Blaine."

Blaine just closed his eyes with a sigh. "I think I'm going to need a little time to know that for sure." He knew his words were going to hurt, and he couldn't bear to look at his father's face.

"I can- um. Understand that. It's okay. Really." But Blaine could tell from his father's voice that it was anything but okay. His dad didn't let the silence sit between them, though. "I know you're worried," he said gently, "so why don't you tell me a little bit about this Dylan, while we wait?"

000

Ms. Hargraeves was at her desk marking what looked like lab reports when Blaine knocked on her door during his free period between PE and choir. She looked up at his knock, though, and smiled at him, waving him into the room. He closed the door behind him, even though it had been open.

"Uh oh," she said, capping her pen and setting it on her desk. "A closed door. This can't be good."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Silly string. All over my clothes, in my gym locker, while we were playing volleyball. I don't know how they managed it, but... god. I am so sick of this." He sank into the chair in front of her desk. "I know you told me to stick it out, but I really don't think it's getting any better."

"I'm sorry, Blaine. I thought- if you held on, they would have to get tired of it, but it's not my imagination that it's getting worse, is it?" She looked defeated, and sad.

He nodded, eyes cast down. "I'm trying, I really am."

"You're doing just fine," she told him. "Fighting them off isn't your job. It's mine. It's every teacher here. The principal and the counselors. But every time I bring it up, I just get stonewalled. I feel like I'm not doing my job, because I can't make it better for you."

"No, really, Ms. Hargraeves, you've been amazing. I - I don't think I could have made it through this year without you. Things with my parents have been... tense. And after Dylan - left, I just..." He rested his head in his hands. "I think I need to find a way to start over."

"What are your plans for next year? If you're not staying here? I mean, you're not planning on staying here, are you?" She looked almost frantic at the thought of it.

"My mom wants me to go to McKinley. I have some friends there, it wouldn't be so bad. But she's not around a lot, and it's kind of lonely here. Thomas wants me to live with him and my dad in Columbus, go to school there. It would be easier, I guess. No commute to Boy Choir, in any case." Blaine shrugged.

"What do you want to do?" Ms. Hargreaves always asked him that, like he mattered. Like his thoughts were important.

"I don't want to go to McKinley, because I've heard stories about the things that happen there, and honestly I'd take silly string over slushies every day. And I'm not ready to live with my dad. We're still working on things, and I think we both need our space. I don't know where any of that leaves me, but I do know that I'm sure as hell not coming back here."

Ms. Hargraeves gazed at him solemnly for a long moment. Then she opened a drawer and took out a booklet with a heavy cream-colored linen cover. She handed it silently across the desk to him. Blaine read it: Dalton Academy: Educating Young Men Since 1880.

"They're a boys' boarding school in Westerville, north of Columbus," she said. "With a zero-tolerance bullying policy, and a history of being accepting of gay students. I think it could be a good fit for you, Blaine."

Blaine paged through the book, taking in classrooms and common areas that looked like they belonged at the kind of college he'd always imagined going to. The pages were peppered with pictures of grinning boys everywhere: walking across a quad, playing soccer, singing.

"It's not cheap," she cautioned, "but from what you've told me about your father, I didn't think that would be an issue." Her smile was sad. "I just don't want you to have to deal with this anymore. You deserve to go to school and feel safe."

"It looks-" Blaine couldn't find the words. Amazing. Unbelievable. Paradise. "They all look... radiant," he finally managed. "Happy. It's just a school. It shouldn't look like that."

Ms. Hargraeves smiled at him. "If it's a good fit, a school should feel like that. But most of us don't have the opportunity to have that in high school. You should grab this, if you can. Everyone deserves a chance to shine."

Blaine touched one picture, in which ten or twelve boys in uniforms were gathered in a semi-circle. snapping their fingers, caught mid-verse of some song or another. The caption read The Dalton Academy Warblers.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hargraeves," he said. "This might be mine."