Chapter 12

Dave wanted to blow his brains out. His life was spinning out of control even as his life had become a hyper-scheduled and micro-managed nightmare.

Coach Beiste was riding him hard, harder than he had pushed himself ever before. Harder than anyone had ever pushed him. She had said she was going to go soft on him the first few days until he built up his endurance, then she'd increase the intensity until he was doing more college and pro-level stuff. He would work in thirty-minute shifts, alternate muscle groups and machines. After one set with one group, he instantly went to another, and then another after that, until he'd worked all muscle groups and had come back to the original machine to repeat the process. After five cycles of that, he had a five minute water and rest and then did calisthenics for the next quarter hour before returning back to the weights. By the end of that first hour, he would be exhausted. But, Beiste was merciless and would drive him on. By the time she told him to quit and stretch out, Dave could barely move and she had to guide him into the positions. Even then, she had been pitiless, and pushed and bent and stretched him further than he otherwise would have gone.

After a week, Beiste must have decided that his endurance was 'built up enough' because she suddenly upped his reps and weights. At the end of each workout, he would practically drag himself into the showers only to wake up on the floor nearly half an hour later, shivering in the spray from the showerhead. He would always clamber up off the floor, stumbling towards the benches to find a pile of energy bars and a giant bottle of Gatorade sitting beside a dry towel fresh from the dryer waiting for him beside his backpack. He didn't understand why Beiste put those out for him. If she felt bad about how hard she was pushing him, she could always let up. Of course, he didn't understand why she'd agreed to keep training him after the season let up. He was such a waste of space. A weak, gay, crying waste of space. Queers didn't belong in football or hockey. Christ! If they started letting fags in on the hockey team, they'd have to dump like half their traditions! You couldn't do naked skate night and haze the newbs if you had to worry about some guy checking out your junk. But, Beiste didn't seem to know he was gay. True to her word, Miss Pilsbury hadn't told anyone about that. She was kind of cool like that.

In fact, Miss Pilsbury was pretty cool all-around. Well, as cool as a teacher could get. Since his breakdown in her room, she hadn't pushed for him to open up more or talk, or do anything. She hadn't even had a pamphlet for him to read. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Those things were lame as hell, but they helped, somehow. It gave him something to focus on instead of his own self-destructive hate. He was self-aware enough to realize that that was what was really going on in his head. But for the last week, every session with her had been the same: he'd walk in and she would be smiling her usual calm almost-smile; he'd sit in his usual chair and pick up the stack of work that was sitting on her desk; and they'd go to work. The back-work was almost gone, now. They had done math, first, since that was his strongest subject. He still wanted to laugh when thought of the expression on her face as he whizzed through calc problems. It didn't annoy him that she thought he was stupid, like it did with most people. He knew she didn't think that. Miss Pilsbury was probably the one person in the world who didn't think a bad thing about anybody. She had to be like some kind of a saint or something. She had to be to want to help him. But, Miss Pilsbury had just looked so shocked when she was helping him work on math. She had that weird blank look like Rick had after he had let Conner Mortiz slap a puck into his head on a dare. She even pretended to to not know how to help him when they were working on limits. Chemistry had been a bit more of a challenge, but just as easily done. Even his history had been tackled. Although that was like pulling teeth half the time. History was too difficult to explain sometimes. There were just too many things to consider talking about the causes for World War II. But, he'd pulled through, and he'd pulled his grade up to a B. All that was left was English.

English was a nightmare all its own. Who the fuck cared about things like metaphors and similes? Science and math made sense. They had facts and theories and equations and patterns. They could be tested and proven. Relied on. English, though, was all about the subtext and the meaning of stuff. The author's message or whatever, and words behind the words. Who the hell cared why the fucking whale was white? It's a whale. It's white. The dickless sailor was batshit crazy and wanted to kill the fucking whale. End. Of. Story. The last thing he wanted to do was write five hundred words about how fucking white the whale was and why it mattered. Still, he was getting results. Slowly. His essays were becoming more developed, and his arguments seemed more clear. It had been all thanks to Miss Pilsbury, of course. He couldn't have done any of it without her.

So, at the end of the week, after he had dressed and downed his energy bars and gatorade, he was only a little worried when Coach Beiste had called him into her office. He sat in a chair opposite the solid woman and calmly looked around her office. Trophies and medals filled shelves, most of them were from other schools, but a championship trophy stood in highest prominence amongst all the other awards. She had the traditional team photos for the hockey and football teams on the walls as well. But, his eyes kept pulling to a picture of everyone in their costumes right after the halftime show in the championship game. It was in a simple frame on her desk, like a family picture.

"You remember that day?" Beiste looked at the picture with an unreadable expression in her eyes as Dave nodded dumbly. There wasn't anything much to say about that picture. There was too much to say. That day had been perfect. A championship game against their rival school, making it two championship titles under his belt that year, and a half time show that was actually... kinda fun. Not that he wanted to go all show-choir and gleek out. He wasn't a fag. Well, he was, but he wasn't that kind of gay. He stifled the grimace at that thought. What the Hell was wrong with him? He was gay, and that was OK. There wasn't anything wrong with being gay. He knew that! But, still, he didn't know it. He had to remind himself every time he talked that being gay wasn't bad. He had to force himself to not freak out when Kurt brought it up when they were safely alone. Even now, he didn't trust himself to talk. Dave wasn't sure what he'd say. Would he say what he wanted, or would he say the sick stuff he still thought? Instead, he gave a shrug. Beiste must have liked it though since she just grunted and kept talking. "Yeah, it was amazing. I never thought I'd be so proud. You guys winning that championship, coming together as a real team, and calling a truce with the Glee kids..." Was she crying? No. No fucking way! Beiste didn't cry! She was Beast! "You made me proud." Wait, what? Shit! Did he say that out loud? "You did. I know it's hard, being..."

Fuck, he was in for it. She was going to say he was gay and that'd be it! He'd be off the team. Miss Pilsbury must have told. That was the only way Beiste could know. He knew he shouldn't have trusted her! Never trust anyone, that was how he stayed on top. You trust people, and let them in and all they did was make fun of you can call you Pube Boy. He didn't want to believe that Miss Pilsbury had lied to him, maybe she hadn't meant it. Teachers were weird like that. Stuff you wanted to keep secret, they blabbed to everyone they found. Stuff you wanted out? That they clammed up on. Every teacher must have the part of their brain that remembered high school surgically removed when they got hired.

"uh.. that is." She paused and looked around, like the row of playbooks on her shelves had the answer. "You're not like everyone else." Dave closed his eyes, waiting for judgement to fall. He was dead. So, so dead. "And, I don't know what's going through your head sometimes. You're smart. Scary smart. You're acing honors math and science. You get As and Bs in everything else. You're a leader on the ice, and, except for that weirdness before you started dating Santana, you were a leader on the football field, too. You give encouragement. You show the rookies how to play. And, you take the hardest hits on the field and go that extra mile. You.. you're a good guy. I know the guys gotta ride you for your grades. Jocks aren't supposed to be smart. I get it." Wow. She thought all that? About him? Wow. Karofsky barely recognized the dude she was describing. He sounded pretty cool. No one like him, though. She wouldn't think he was anything like that if she knew the truth. "So, I don't know what went down between you and Kurt, or why you rode him so hard. Or anyone, for that matter. This whole idea about the jocks needing to keep order and put the nerds in their place... it's sick. It's not what I want to teach you guys, and it's not how high school should be."

"I.. uh.. I don't get it, Coach. Am, am I in trouble? 'Cause I haven't done anything to Hummel. I've.. um.. just been taking him to his classes." And, he had, too. It'd been mind-numbing torture, but he'd done it. Ya, Hummel had a hot ass, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. But, Hummel also insisted on talking about 'gay culture' and 'how great it was to be gay' and 'wouldn't life be so fucking great if he just came out and showed everyone how extra-special oh-so-awesome he is!' Sometimes, it was all Karfosky could do to keep from bodychecking the kid into a locker just to shut him up. Other times, it was all he could do to not try and kiss him again. And, didn't that just annoy and confuse the fuck out of him? Of course the conflict and barely-contained frustration were perfect to channel into his signature "Fury Face". He had to give himself a mental high-five for being able to intimidate the entire hockey team away from Hummel with a glare. That was pretty cool.

"Actually, I was gonna congratulate you. Miss Pilsbury says you've made some great progress. Whatever that means. I think she called it a breakthrough. Or a breakout. Break on? Whatever. Anyways, she says you're as good as a frog in a henhouse with a sack full of corn and a cow to milk."

Dave just shrugged and grinned. It was best to nod and not say anything when Coach said something that didn't make sense. She wasn't yelling, that's what mattered. Yelling meant you fucked up. Not yelling meant you didn't fuck up.

"I coach pee-wee hockey and football over the summer before training camp starts up for the high school teams. I'm going to need an assistant to help me so I can focus on our games for next year. We moved up a division because of that championship, and I have to scope out the competition."

"Are you offering me a job, Coach?" It sounded like she was. Was she? No. No fucking way. Good things did not happen to Dave Karofsky. Not any more. He didn't deserve them. He was diseased. You don't reward diseases. You cut them out. And, with kids! He couldn't be near them! He might spread the gay to them!

"It's not much. We're a public school, after all, and Figgins... Never mind, you don't need to hear about that stuff. But, there's room in the athletic budget for an assistant coach this summer, and Assistant Coach Weelan's on his honeymoon with Nurse Nan, so he won't be pitching in. I talked it over with him, and he agrees this is a perfect chance for you. The scouts eat this shit up, too."

"Scouts?" What the hell was she talking about ?

Beiste grinned. "Scouts."

"Dude! Awesome!"

"Ya, well, they won't come until next year, but a few are already sniffing after you." She coughed and looked at the planner on her desk. "That um.. stuff that went down before winter break..."

Right. That stuff, like being expelled because he threatened to kill a kid. And, it had all been for nothing. Kurt didn't tell anyone, would never tell anyone, even to save his own life. Except for that Bland kid. Not that Dave could fault him for that. "Ya.. um.. I've been trying hard..."

"I know, and it shows. But, expulsions are a big deal, even if they are overturned. You gotta show you got something real special to catch their eye again. And, I gotta be honest. You have potential, but that expulsion's gonna hurt you. You need to go that extra mile. This job'll do wonders for your rep with them." Coach Beiste grinned and slapped David on the shoulder. "But, it's gonna be hard work. I'm gonna work you just as hard in summer as I am now, and I'm going to expect a full six hours of coaching from you, every day. This weekend we're going to do some prep work for the kids before your exercise, got it?"

Dave grinned and slipped his bag on his shoulder as he left the lockers. This was going to rock!