By the time Kurt made it to school on Thursday donning a black and white checkered Hermes scarf "just because" he'd needed a pick-me-up, the news had already spread around the school that not only had someone taken on Puck, they'd come to school on Wednesday morning completely unscathed. The rumor previously circulating was that the kid gave Puck a black eye and Puck had beat him so badly the kid was hospitalized and in a coma. (Yeah, that was totally something Kurt could imagine Noah saying.)
Clearly, that rumor was snuffed by this mysterious Anderson kid's return the very next day, but no one had managed to get the kid to talk about himself (or maybe all of them where too scared to try). So now the mill was buzzing with speculation about the badass who'd beaten up Puckerman and walked away unscathed.
Even with his eyes fixed firmly on his locker (or his shoulder slammed firmly into another, as the case might be), Kurt couldn't help but hear the wild stories people were floating around. Mostly because it was Tina who had glued herself to his side and made it her personal mission to fill him in on every ounce of gossip he'd missed while visiting Dalton. She had just gotten to her own personal theory, that he was actually in the witness protection program after turning over evidence on the mob when they arrived at the library. Kurt was only half listening, having decided already he didn't care where this kid came from. To him, it just meant one more bully to deal with. (What was one more?)
"Right, ok, thanks, Tina, gotta go, see you later," he interjected without a care that he had cut her off mid-sentence. He pushed his way through the swinging doors of the library. After a quick, cold smile at the librarian, Kurt signed in on the roster sheet at the front, then headed towards his corner in the back of the stacks where he was sure to be left in peace. He took his usual route past the encyclopedias to avoid the tables where he knew the jocks and Cheerios would sit. He cut a right at the fiction section, zigged his way into J-K and L-M, walked all the way down to the end and then…he froze.
There in his usual seat (the one he hadn't been in yesterday, but still!) was someone Kurt had never seen before. The guy had black curly hair that needed a trim and wore a worn jacket over what looked like a gray polo. The prettiest hazel eyes he'd ever seen looked up at him, though.
"I – s-sorry," Kurt stuttered. Shit.
The kid looked taken aback at that. Kurt tried again with more conviction, "That is, I usually sit here." He waited, what for, though, he wasn't sure. Maybe for the kid to decide if he wanted to run Kurt off or if Kurt's cooties were enough to run the new kid off instead. The problem was, there were plenty of seats. Te table was long with six chairs, two at either end and the two more on each side. Hazel eyes was sitting in one of the chairs, and he was looking with a dry sort of expression, at the chairs across from him and closest to Kurt.
Hazel Eyes had a book out in front of him and another in his hand. He put the second book down on top of the other and reached back into his Jansport backpack. "Is that your way of asking me to leave? Forget it. Not gonna happen."
The stranger dropped a notebook on top of the other two books with a slap, then reached in the smaller front pocket for a pencil. He dropped the bag on the ground. His jaw was set, his brow knitted. He looked like he was ready for a fight.
Kurt took a tentative step forward. "Erm, right, well – I just thought based on who I am – "
"And who are you?" asked the other teen.
Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Well I'm – I'm Kurt Hummel." He saw no reaction at the name.
Kurt cleared his throat, and decided to leave it at that. "I guess I'll just," he said, reaching for a chair and pulling it out, "sit here." He lowered himself into the chair daintily.
"Ok then," retorted the dark-haired boy.
Kurt said nothing after that, not wanting to jinx the fact that he could still have his place – even if he did have to share it this time. It wouldn't be that way for long he was sure. Everyone, other than certain people in the glee club, stayed as far away as they could as soon as they knew.
Instead, he simply worked. The mystery boy worked diligently as well. Kurt, for his part wondered what his name was, if perhaps he was sitting next to the guy who'd punched Noah, but he held himself back from asking. He also wondered if why the kid was hiding in the back – if it was just to avoid the chaos and incessant whispering from the other tables, or if, like Kurt, there was some other reason keeping him away from the tables near the jocks and Cheerios.
Like most meals at the Berry household, Blaine was a silent participant at dinner Thursday night. Rachel, on the other hand, couldn't seem to shut up. She kept going on and on and on about Bon Jovi and sequins and he didn't even know what else.
Although Blaine had not been suspended, LeRoy and Hiram had grounded him. Blaine didn't know what to expect – his only experience with groundings were erratically enforced. He was sure he'd been grounded for the majority of the previous two years, but still had come and gone as he pleased for the most part. Grounding at the Berry place was totally different. For one thing, LeRoy and Hiram hadn't yelled. For another, they actually laid out their expectations. He had to come straight home after school, he wasn't allowed to go out anywhere with his friends, he had to spend the weekend at home doing chores, and he would not receive an allowance for the week.
Blaine didn't expect the grounding to stick, though. And in any event, he had a date on Friday he wasn't going to miss, no matter what LeRoy and Hiram said. He poked defiantly at the peas in his plate. He'd never liked peas.
The New Directions met Friday at lunch for the girls' mash-up performance and Kurt had to admit, it was pretty damned good. For his own part, he had no clue what the boys were doing. He hadn't attended any practices since Tuesday and the guys had either been totally slacking or not involving him on purpose. Either way, he just felt done. For the first time ever, Kurt found he didn't care what song he performed at Glee, or if he even did. He glanced at his phone after Mr. Shue left the room, and though he knew he had no new messages, he tapped his text app with his thumb. A list of texts, the latest one from his dad the night before, popped up on his iphone screen.
He smiled a little. It was like all of his father's texts: short, and wrought with abbreviations Burt had made up in an attempt to seem "in the know." Kurt couldn't even count the number of times he'd told his father, 'Don't make up abbreviations, Dad – abbreviations only work if everyone knows what they mean!' But Burt always sniffed at that and insisted that anyone could figure out that 'w4d' meant 'what's for dinner,' or that 'grg' was obviously short for 'garage.'
His dad had been texting him more often lately, ever since their talk on Wednesday night. Kurt's brows knitted together. He didn't like the idea that his dad might have an idea of what was going on at school. He liked it even less that there was anything going on to begin with. But more than anything, Kurt felt angry with himself that he was letting a bunch of Neanderthals push him around. Part of him was more ashamed of that than anything else – more ashamed of the fact that he wasn't even living up to his name. While Kurt knew that violence wouldn't solve violence, he was a Hummel. And no one pushed the Hummels around – except in this case, everyone did.
Despite himself, Kurt felt his cheeks warm. He was jogged from his thoughts, and his attention torn from his phone, when Mr. Shue returned from wherever he had gone. He looked distraught. "Uh, Glee Club dismissed, guys. Go get yourselves some lunch. I'll see you Monday."
Kurt's brow arched. While it was unusual for Shue to end a lesson so abruptly, there was no way Kurt was going to argue with him about it. He was sick of the choir room anyway.
With the press of a button and a quiet click, his iPhone locked and he slid it into the pocket of his messenger bag before standing up and filing inconspicuously out of the room.
Blaine kept glancing in the mirrored surface of the windows of the coffee shop near campus. (They called it the Lima Bean – lame, he'd thought, but clever.) He kept smoothing out his hair, and then ruffling it, then smoothing it again, and leaning back against the window frame in between. It wasn't but a few minutes, though, when an older Chevy Cavalier pulled into a spot at the end of the parking lot. Blaine perked up, watched as the door opened and the top of someone's head appeared. His heart skipped a tiny beat. Could that be him?
The person shut the door and locked it, then walked out from between his car and the one parked directly next to it. The guy spotted Blaine almost immediately, and his lips broke into a crooked smile. Blaine grinned. "Hey! Jeremiah, you made it."
Jeremiah strolled up. "Of course I did, silly." The older man reached for the door and opened it, waving Blaine inside. Blaine's stomach fluttered at the gesture – he had never been taken care of like this before – and stepped inside the shop. Looking around at the walls and furniture for the first time, Blaine thought the ambiance was tasteful, but modern. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. God, he felt nervous.
Blaine glanced back at Jeremiah and blushed slightly. He cleared his throat and asked, "What-uh…What do you recommend?" Whatever it was, Blaine hoped it wasn't too expensive. He only had a couple of dollars left in his wallet.
The pair approached the counter, Jeremiah with a steadily widening smirk. "Why don't you let me order for you," he suggested. "After all, it is my treat."
Blaine felt his mouth go dry. He watched in awe as Jeremiah approached the counter and ordered them two vanilla lattes and one scone ('to share,' he'd said). "Why don't you go find us a table, Blaine?" Blaine easily agreed, and went to choose a table that was farthest away from anyone else already in the sparsely populated café.
As the barrista made up their lattes, Jeremiah paid the cashier. They seemed to exchange a few words and then he laughed lightly. Blaine watched as he headed to the other counter to wait for the lattes. Jeremiah turned and looked over his shoulder. He caught Blaine's eye and winked. Blaine's cheeks warmed and his lips spread into an involuntary grin.
What was it that Beth had said? If he pays, then it's a date? Well, it was most definitely a date. My first date! Jeremiah approached and Blaine watched him adoringly. "Hey," he greeted Jeremiah as the older man put down the lattes and the plate with the scone.
"Hey, yourself," replied Jeremiah as he sat down in the seat next to Blaine, instead of across from him. He proceeded to break their scone in half with a plastic knife.
Blaine watched Jeremiah's hands work and bit his lip. "Thanks, by the way. For meeting me so early."
Jeremiah's smirk widened and he looked over at Blaine. "It's no problem. You got dads to deal with. I get that. And hey," he whispered, leaning in a little closer to Blaine's ear. "I won't tell anyone, Blaine, and neither will you. This will be our little secret, right? No one has to know you left school to come see me."