No, seriously, what did I do to deserve amazing reviewers like you? I have absolutely no idea, but keep it coming 3

"No, no, no!"

"I'm trying!"

"You're not trying hard enough!"

"I told you, I can't act!"

"It's not that hard, you just have to look terrified!"

"Well, no offense, Kurt, but you're not scary."

"Do you want me to get some real candles and poke them at your face?"

"No!"

"Then you're gonna have to pretend!"

Sam grunted and fell backwards onto his bed. "Let me think, what am I scared of?"

I smirked. "Just pretend that this feather duster is gonna zap away all your bottles of hair bleach and you'll do just fine."

Sam sat up before I could blink. "I do not die my hair!"

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really!"

"Quinn would beg to differ."

He squinted at me. "What did she say?"

Boy, was this delicious. "At Cheerios practice the other day, she just happened to let slip the minute detail that her boyfriend admitted to putting lemon juice in his hair."

"She did not!"

"Oh yes she did."

Sam sighed, falling back onto his bed again. "Aaaaaarghh."

"It's not that big of a deal, I just love knowing that I was rig-"

"No, no, it's not that!" he said, running his fingers through his hair. "It's just not true."

"What?"

"I lied to her," he explained. "I wanted her to think I was cute, so I told her I died my hair."

Well, shit. "Oh."

"Now the whole school's gonna think I died my hair. Lovely."

I laughed. "I don't think anyone's gonna care. There are far worse things that could get out about you."

He shook his head, sitting up. "You're right, you're right."

There was a long, heavy pause.

"Well, how 'bout this," I began. "Imagine that your deepest, darkest secret had just been broadcast on Jacob Ben Isreal's blog, and every jab to your face is a nasty, hurtful comment. Let's try this again."

He nodded, gulping loudly before lying on his stomach again. Carefully, I poked his shoulder with the feather duster, and he sat up. I put on my most menacing, evil grin, and for once, he actually looked genuinely scared. Yes. I jabbed the duster at his face, and he reacted, retreating out of bed, then tripping, as if he was actually chained. I kept jabbing the pretend candelabra closer to his face, and he tugged, attempting to break free of his pretend restrains. He then pretended to pull away and stumble backwards, still looking terrified, and ran out of the room.

"How'd I do?" he asked, jogging back in.

"Fantastic!" I said, clapping. "I'm very proud of you."

Sam beamed. "Well, I really couldn't have done it without you.

I figured it was true.

"And a-five, six seven eight, 'It's just a jump to the left'," I called, demonstrating the dance move.

"'And then a step to the right!'" the ensemble sang back.

"Stop, stop!" I yelled, and everyone immediately stopped dancing and commenced bitching. "Top harmonies, be louder! I know it's inhumanly high, but if I can hit it so can you! Let's take it from your line, Santana."

She let out a dramatic sigh, cued Brad, and sang "'You're spaced out of sensation!"

"'Like you're under sedation!' and, TWO, THREE, FOUR -"

"'LET'S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN!"

"Alright, that was decent," I said, crossing my arms. "Let's work on the dance for a while. And FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT -"

Brad played the instrumental line while the ensemble started dancing, and Santana and I leaned on the piano.

"I can't believe Mr. Schue put us in charge of these morons," Santana whined, examining her nails.

"Excuse me, but I'm the one doing all the work here," I retaliated.

"I still have to watch them," she said. "It's painful, they can't even dance."

"Please, Santana. A four year old could do this dance. It's their singing that's atro - hey!"

I looked up to find that Sam had attached himself to the line of Time Warpers, following along with the dance and smirking my way.

"Hey you!" I repeated, making my way over to him. "I'm sorry Rocky, but I believe you aren't born for another twenty minutes."

"I escaped the tank," he said, continuing to pelvic-thrust. I averted my eyes. "I wanted freedom. Freeeedom."

I laughed. "You are so silly. Go back and rehearse your scene with Rachel."

He frowned. "Nah, I'd rather not. She kinda scares me."

"No, no, come on," I grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the line. "I know she's scary, but you're brave. Come one."

"Noooo," he whined, then lowered his voice. "I'm not even kidding, she's terrifying. And I don't even know how to react. She's doesn't help me like you do."

My heart melted, but before I could say anything, Mr. Schue was calling across the auditorium. "Where'd Sam go? Sam?"

"Go!" I demanded. He started across the room, then stopped and turned to face me.

"Hey Kurt," he said. "D'you think you could help me with that scene too? The Touch-a...whatever? I could really use it."

"Sure," I said. "Come over at five today, okay? Just go, before you get in trouble!"

"Thanks so much, Kurt, you're amazing." He took off running.

And then it hit me. I would be rehearsing "Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me" with Sam that afternoon.

Whoa.