The next time I got to see Blaine was at the show choir championships that their school had. The Gerber baby did Buenos Aries from Evita which was a little tacky. Next up was the girl group from McKinley, and they did a mashup of Survivor and I will survive. Dancing lesbians, not my thing, but they were really sparkly, wow. Finally the New Directions got to preform and did they ever? Blaine was rather dashing in his white tux. At the end I cheered him on for his victory and I waited to see if I could talk to him, but no dice.
So about a week later I decided to buy myself a coffee and spotted the whole group of New Directions there, fun. Let's ruffle some tail feathers, shall we? So I walk up to the this tiny jewish Streisand wannabe and crash their MJ convo. "Well… that might not be the best idea," I went to grab my coffee, "Hey Blaine!" I smiled at him, "Hello everyone else." "Does he live here or something?!" Kurt grumbled at his boyfriend. "Seriously, you're always here." I ignored him; then the cutie in the wheelchair why they shouldn't do Micheal Jackson for regionals. "Because We're doing MJ for Regionals. You see Warblers drew first position, so as soon as I heard what your plan was I set our setlist accordingly." I gave my most polite smile I could manage. "I'm sorry h-how did you hear?" Little Mis. Streisand gave me a guffawed glair. "Blaine told me this morning. I just called for a tip on how to get red wine out of my blazer piping, and he would not stop going on about it." I giddily chirped on how Blaine leaked his setlist. "I may have mentioned it." He confessed.
"How often do you guys talk?" Kurt looked surprised that, yes, he I do have hidden convos. "Oh my god, hey Kurt, I didn't recognize you. You are wearing boy clothes for once." "Alright Twink," the spicy Latino cheerleader stood up. "I think it's time I show you a little Lima Height's hospitality." She threatened me to which I chuckled. "Unless you want to join your relatives in prison that's probably not the best idea. You see my dad's a what you call a state's attorney; but if you had a piñata you wanted delivered I bet he could make sure that got to them. All right, so here's what you guys should know. I am captain of the Warblers now and I'm tired of playing nice." I finished my statement with a smile and left.
After that I got a weird request from Blaine, to bring my Warblers to an abandoned parking lot. I did, and also brought a little gift fro Kurt. "Well, we're here." I stated the obvious. "We got something to settle." Blaine folded his arms with the spicy latino chick standing beside him. "Both of us want to use MJ, but only one can." "We're having a Jackson-off Nick at Nite, winner gets the king of pop at regionals." Santana added. "What, us against the two of you?" I guffawed at the easy challenge. "You really think you're that bad? Is that what they teach you at that little public school of yours?" "It's time to see who's bad!" Blaine finished our convo and with Santana snapping her fingers the rest of the group joined them. We then gayly busted out into a well choreographed gleek-off of Bad. The song came to a close as I received the present for Kurt from one of my boys and aimed it at Kurt.
It was meant for Kurt, rather his outfit, however, Blaine saw it coming and his eye got the most of it. He was down on the ground groaning in pain. I felt horrible, as the boys and I retreated home.
I got a call from Santana a couple of days later saying she wanted to confront me about what happened to Blaine and I couldn't resist on seeing if the guy was okay. Please tell me if he is. She wanted to meet in an auditorium setting. Fine, the music hall should have great acoustics. "Hey Andrew McCarthy, don't know if you heard, but Blaine may loose an eye. The same Blaine who was besties with all of you not 4 months ago." She strutted into the room defiantly. "Are you serious? Is he going to be okay?" Trent asked asked worriedly. "Oh sure, if he doesn't mind seeing 3 dimensions." "Trent, I got this. Bummer about Blaine, he was pretty. He shouldn't have gotten in the way, through that slushy was meant for Kurt." "You may look like the villain out of a cheesy 80's high school movie, but you should know that I'm fully ready to go all Danny LaRusso on your ass. Admit you put something in that slushy. What was it huh? Glass, asphalt?" "Red dye no. 6" "You're a liar." "She questions my honor. I demand satisfaction in Warbler tradition." "You wanna have a duel? Cello guys can you hang back a sec? Imma need you for this one." "Everyone else clear out, I don't want you to see me make a girl cry." "Let's just keep this on point." From there we went into an MJ off with Smooth Criminal with the cello boys really going at it. Talk about their talent, wow.
"I was better!" "You weren't even close!" "I was better, now tell me the truth, what did you put in that slushy?" "Rock salt, but it's okay." "Why is it okay? I just told you that Blaine had to have surgery." "It's okay, because I didn't put anything into this one." I said as I gave his girl probably one of the most memorable of facials she'll ever have, a slushy facial. With that she left, completely drenched. I'd feel horrible if I was either straight or caring, luckily I was either of the two.
The next day Santana called me again saying she had my confession tape and to bring my boys with to their smelly auditorium. Which I did. "Nice of you to show" the wheelchair cutie smirked at me. "Is whatever this is going to take long? I can't stand the stench of public schools." "It won't take long, and all you have to do is sit and listen." The blondie girl insisted as we took our seats. "We're not doing Micheal for regionals." "I didn't think you'd surrender that easily." "We're tired of the fighting and the backstabbing. We're show choirs, we're supposed to be supportive of each other." "This is what we call taking the high road, which I was shocked had nothing to do with marijuana." The mohawk kid said. "Just because you're doing Micheal doesn't mean you understand Micheal." Wheels stated. "And you do?" "Yes, and we're about to show you." Aretha stated with the start go the beat of Black or White. The whole performance sucked like a horrible blow job, my whole team seamed to love it, though, what kind of traitors-? "Very moving." "Come on, Sebastian, give it up." Trent begged me. "That is the kind of attitude that lost us regionals last year." "I could call the cops or get your head master and get you kicked out of school or even arrested for assaulting Blaine with that slushie." Santana threatened me. "All of this would be just awfully terrifying if you had any proof whatsoever." "You mean like you on tape admitting to it?" She pulled out a cassette tape, shit! "But you know what? It just won't be as much fun winning regionals if you weren't there to suffer though the agony of defeat." "Least now all of your teammates get to know exactly what kind of guy you are." The latino smirked. "Now get the hell out of our auditorium." McWheels scoffed at me.
So I did. I walked out of their stupid auditorium and got lost in my head. How could my own team turn against me?! Of course threaten the damn boy blunder and they leave me. Fuck them, fuck Trent! I started wandering the halls until I made a wrong turn. How the hell do you leave this horrible, disgusting, vomit inducing-My train of thought stopped as I looked up and saw someone beautiful.
God, how do I describe him? He's a damned fallen angel. Like Micheal or some other heavenly man. Shit, I cannot even breathe. Come on, Sebastian, breathe! Looking purple is sooo not attractive. This boy is pale with short brown hair. He's wearing glasses with a black t-shirt and a blue sweatshirt and jeans. He was typing feverishly away at his laptop with his blondie friend with him.
"Carson? There's someone staring at us in the hallway there." She said holding her camcorder, shit! I stood there like a deer in headlights. GO MAN GO! I ducked into the next empty classroom and hid next to the recycling bin as I heard the door slam open. I stopped breathing again and all I could hear was him huffing in anger. "Anderson! I swear to fuck if you don't cut it out!" He slammed the door shut.
I looked into the bin next to me and saw a disregarded paper. I picked it up. It was the Muckraker. On the back I read, 'Carson Hummel, Editor, writer, and everything else for the paper' with a picture of him. "Well Carson," I thought to myself, "You're my next target."
