Kurt is running up to Nathan before I can even think about how we should go about this. I quickly catch up to him before anything bad (aka embarassing) can happen. I quickly catch up to him. There's one disadvantage of wearing jeans that are practically glued to your legs, Kurt.
"Woah, woah, wait. Don't you think I should just do this and you can... I don't know, watch?" I ask, pulling him to a stop.
"No," Kurt replies, then looks confused. "What are you so scared of?"
Should I tell him? I need to tell him. But he's looking at me like that, why does he have to look at me like that? I can't tell him now. I can't do that to him. "Nothing," I say. "I was just overreacting, I guess. But, I don't know, maybe I could do more of the talking? I just... would be more... comfortable that way."
Kurt stands in front of me with his head cocked a little to the side. He sighs and then starts talking again, apparently using a different approach this time. "Okay, Julia, I know that I'm not the most welcome person at this school. Probably not very welcome at all. But I've been in this situation before. I can help you deal with him and make sure this never happens again." No, you were getting abused by neanderthals. I bitch-slapped an eighth grader. There's a difference.
"Fine. Just be aware of that. Not everyone has a soul, Kurt." I look over to Nathan, who is still out there. Funny, I think, Because Nathan's a ginger.
"Alright, then. Let's get a move on," Kurt says, and keeps walking.
The whole twenty steps over I'm thinking, This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. He's going to think I'm an idiot. What's he going to think about Kurt? He's not going to bully him, is he? Like a mini Karofsky? This is a bad idea. This is a really ba- Oh. We're here.
"Hi," Kurt says first. We come up here in a possibly life threatening situation and you say "HI"? Maybe I'm being a little melodramatic.
Nathan is eyeing Kurt, studying his white Prada jacket (which I strangely haven't seen men wear), his slim, black-and gray striped pants, and his Coach bag. Or sachel, maybe.
This does not go unnoticed by the older boy. "If you're done undressing me with your eyes, Julie and I want to talk to you about something." Need some ice for that burn?
Nathan looks up, evidently surprised at Kurt's straight-forwardness. He then regains his composure and leans back on the table. "Like what?" he asks. What a fricken' bad-ass. How charming.
"Like you don't know already," I say, shocking myself that I can even talk right now. He just shrugs. I'm getting pissed. "You humiliated me." He also broke my heart, but that's not important right now.
"Getting hit by a girl is equally humiliating," he shoots back.
"Not if you had it coming," I snarl.
"Whatever. Look, I'm sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
I'm not pushing it. He said what I wanted and pushing will only make it worse. "Yeah. Sure. C'mon, Kurt, lets go." I force Kurt to turn around and walk back to his car.
"Kurt? I hear one of Nathan's friends whisper. "How can that be a Kurt?" This only makes me walk away faster. If Kurt heard this, he probably ignored it.
I open the car door, jump inside and slam it shut. "You don't even want to try and go to school?" he asks me, just like Blaine would. Gosh, I really wish Blaine were here.
In reply I hold my hand up, like Stop talking. Just leave me alone. He doesn't deserve that, but I'm not in a good mood right now.
We have a smooth ride back to not mine, but Kurt's house, where he leads me inside and talks to his parents.
"Hey Dad, Carole." They look up from what they're doing and, upon seeing me, smile.
"I was driving Julie to school today, but she's having a bit of a... rough day. Can she stay here for a while?"
"Of course, honey," Carole says and Kurt leaves me there, heading back to his school. I hope he's not late.
Carole heats up a bowl of chicken noodle soup and gives it to me. I suddenly feel guilty that I'm not sick and she's serving this to me, but once I take the first bite the guilt disappears. I quickly scarf down the food. One thing I've always hated about myself is that I eat fast and often. When eating with others, I usually end up waiting for them to finish and, bored, I eat some more food. Luckily I'm an active child and can keep my wait under control.
"Wow," Carole says, surprised that I'm done so early. "Want a second bowl?"
I think for a minute then shake my head no. I've decided that I'm full and even though I desperately wish I had more, I restrain myself.
"No school today?" Burt, who has been sitting at the table with me, asks.
"Um, well, I was kind of having, you know, a rough day, and, it was just… for the best, I guess," I say, getting red.
"I see. You need to talk about it?"
"No, I think I've done that enough times this week." Not really, but a girl can exaggerate a little.
"Okay then," Burt wraps up the conversation. "How's Blaine? I haven't seen him in a while."
"Oh he's doing fine. The Warblers performed at that café downtown on Tuesday," I said smiling. "I went. It was really good. They should be getting paid for this stuff."
"I bet. You're good too, you know."
"Oh, well, not really as good as Blaine, but, I'm okay," I tell him without meeting his eyes. Of course I'm not as good as Blaine. Blaine is amazing. If he doesn't completely knock your socks off every time, it would mean that the world is ending. Or he's sick. No one is good when they're sick.
"C'mon. I see you playing guitar on the streets every now and then. And every time I walk by, that guitar case is full of money," he tells me. It's somewhat true. It's never really full, but a lot of the time it's close. Blaine taught me how to play. It was really easy to learn, with him sitting there looking so into it, like music was the only thing that he wanted to do for the rest of his life. I wanted that so bad. Sometimes, I feel like it's the only thing in the world, but true musicians feel like this whenever they play. I still need to work at it.
"Oh, thanks. I try," I say and shrug. I have trouble responding to kindness. Mostly because it's never really given to me, except by parents and teachers.
Burt sits back. "What does your dad think of all this musical talent in the family? He must be proud."
I look down and take a sip of water before I answer. "Well, Dad doesn't really talk about music. He thinks show choir, playing, that's all gay. In the bad way," I say, embarrassed.
"So he doesn't come to competitions or performances? At all? I mean, Blaine told me his relationship was strained, but I never thought it was so bad."
"He comes to some of mine, but I've never seen him at any of Blaine's. And when he is there, he's always late and not really into it. It's just at talent shows or small restaurants, but I still expect…" I trail off, listing all the things that I wish my father would do. The list is long, but is mostly about Blaine and music. Around my friends, he seems like a normal guy (some of my friends even tell me that they wish he was their dad), but at home it's completely different. Simply put, I just wish there was some consistency.
"Huh," Burt sighs. Carole, who has been watching us from the kitchen in case anyone got too emotional, buts in now. "I'll tell you what," she says, "Finn's room is a mess, so I won't send you there, but our guest room is open and I'd be happy to let you sleep there," she offers. I don't want to impose, but I'm so tired, so I accept.
Carole leads me to the guest room where she allows me to climb into bed, and then shuts the door and leaves.
I stare at the ceiling for a while before quietly wandering into Kurt's room, which is next door. It's not stalker-ish, I'm just being a good sister and checking for any signs of imperfection. There's nothing wrong with that.
The room is white, but decorated with an elaborate mural that reads "Courage". Each letter flairs off into a little something, finishing with the "e", which has a long tail. Underneath the word, there is a picture of a smiling Blaine. It's a good picture. The real deal, though, is the whole enchilada, reflecting how much Kurt loves Blaine; how perfect they are for each other. I hope that I'll have a relationship like this one day.
I walk back to the guest room and curl up under the covers, finally falling asleep.
It may seem that way, but it's not done yet. There's still a little somethin' somethin' that's gonna be coming up. Reviews are always welcome. Try and be the first. Say HA! I won!