Dalton Academy, 950 County Line Road, Westerville, OH 7:29:28
On Monday morning, Kurt drove out to Westerville. The agency had ordered him to go to a specific lot of the Dalton Academy parking lot, and he pulled in next to a surveillance van, totally silver and incredibly creepy. Did these people seriously think they were subtle?
The moment he had parked, Agent Lopez jumped out of the car, wearing the same cat-suit as she had when Kurt had first met her, only in black. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. "Good morning, Kurt," she said once he had hopped out of the car and approached her. "Nice outfit." Her compliment sounded more like questioning his choices, and he recoiled under her gaze a little bit. He had dressed up to make an impression, but her attitude implied he had gone too far. "Unfortunately, Dalton has a uniform, which you will receive when you go to fill out the paperwork. They have no idea who you are. Are you wearing your watch?" Kurt nodded. "Do you have your sunglasses?" Another nod, he had gotten them a case and stored them in his messenger bag. "Your cell phone?" Kurt showed it to her. "Your cash?"
"I have everything," he said finally, wondering for how long she was going to go on.
"Good," was all she said in reply. "Remember to keep all of those things on you when you are forced to change into uniform and switch out your brown man-purse for a Dalton-colored man-purse."
"How do you like your car?" Kurt, the highly trained agent that he was, hadn't even noticed the back of the van opening, and he let out an unmanly noise, whirling. "Smooth," the man leaning against the side of the van said with a wink. "Very dignified. Exactly what I expect of a field agent." There was another chuckle from inside.
For someone who made fun of field agents, this man looked like one. He had his dark brown hair shaven in a mohawk and bulging muscles. His eyes were a warm hazel, he was about six feet, and he didn't look much older than Kurt. "I'm Puck, I'm one of your computer nerds. Sam in here," Puck banged the side of the van, "is an actual nerd. We're your eyes and ears."
"Nice to meet you," Kurt replied. Puck rolled his eyes.
"Right."
"You will get your schedule and a map of the school when you register with the principal," Agent Lopez continued, not particularly caring about their banter. "You will attend every class, seek Doctor Anderson's son out at every opportunity, and join Glee club." She took a look at his expression and sighed. "I'm not saying this because I think you don't know it, I'm saying this because re-hashing the plan is important."
"Just seems like an opportunity for spies to me," Kurt replied, and Puck offered him a fist bump.
"Been saying that for years, stick asses like Santana don't listen." For a guy who planned to spend several days to weeks in the back of a van, he was dressed rather sharply, in dress pants, a button down shirt, and a tie. "Stay safe, kid, I like you."
"It's my job to make sure you do your job," Agent Lopez said coldly, glaring at Puck until he went back inside the van. "I didn't think I would be chaperoning teenagers when I signed up for the CIA, but everyone has their bad breaks." Agent Lopez didn't elaborate, stalking off in the direction of the school.
"She grows on you, right?" Kurt asked, peering into the back of the van. The back was a mess of computer monitors, keyboards, and the remnants of fast food containers. Sam, the one Kurt hadn't met yet, was blonde, with pretty green eyes, and a enormous mouth. That was the stand-out feature of his face, poor guy. He also looked young, like Puck. From Kurt's best estimate, he was about the same height as Puck, but Sam was half-hidden behind monitors, so he couldn't really tell.
"If by 'grows on you,' you mean 'gets even more intolerable,' then yes," Puck said sarcastically.
"Dude, shut up," Sam said. "You're just mad that you're not sleeping with her anymore." Kurt's eyes went wide. Was that allowed? Was that what Santana had meant by a bad break?
"Whatever. She still needs to try decaf." Puck glanced at Kurt. "Get out of here, kid, we all have work to do, and Agent Lopez is long gone by now. She never notices when someone isn't following her."
Kurt's first impression of Dalton Academy was formal. There were hardly any kids loitering around the entrance, and those that were seemed to be bent over books or talking quietly in small groups. None of them were being overly-loud or obnoxious. It was kind of... relaxing, and definitely very new. Kurt could get used to this.
The main hallway was a little bit busier, but it still wasn't very loud or hectic. A helpful student pointed him towards the main office with no joke or attempts at misdirection. Dalton boys seemed genuinely pleasant. That was new too.
Kurt talked quickly with the principal, giving the man his admission papers and receiving, in return, several sets of uniforms, a new messenger bag (was Agent Lopez right about everything?), a schedule, a map, and his dorm assignment. He had almost forgotten about that. His luggage was still in the Navigator. Crap.
Deciding to deal with that later (no matter how mad Agent Lopez would get), Kurt headed to his dorm room, which was blissfully empty. The bell had already rung for first period, but the principal had told Kurt not to worry about it with a wink. It was... odd. Half of the dorm room seemed to be occupied, with books, laundry, sheet music, and CDs spread out all over the desk, bed, bedside table, and half of the floor. There was almost a perfect line down the middle of the room. Kurt turned to his side of the room, which was completely untouched. There was a bed, with headboard and footboard, a bedside table, a dresser with eight drawers, a small closet, and a reasonably sized desk. They all seemed to be a matching set.
"Welcome to Dalton," Kurt muttered to himself as he placed his uniforms on his bed.
"Odd," someone said from behind him, making him jump out of his skin. So much for having good hearing. "Those were going to be my first words. Shall I say them anyway, or are we good?"
The boy standing across the room from him was ridiculously gorgeous. Black hair gelled back, warm hazel eyes under (ridiculous and ridiculously cute) triangular eyebrows, long eyelashes, and a big smile. Kurt would place him at about five eight, with a sturdy build.
"I... um... I..." Smooth, Kurt. "Hi."
"Hello," the boy said with a grin, seeming unperturbed by Kurt's lack of eloquence. "I'm your roommate, Blaine Anderson, and..." Blaine was still talking, but there was no way Kurt was still listening. This... this... this gorgeous god was his assignment, and he wasn't allowed to date him? Holy Jacobs. "They pulled me out of class because they figured I could show you the ropes. Besides, classes aren't going to be going on for long." Blaine winked at him. Kurt tried not to melt.
"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Kurt asked before he could think about it.
"Pardon?" Smooth.
"You and the principal seem to be in on some big joke about classes." That sounded way too accusatory, judging by Blaine's expression.
"The Warblers are performing an impromptu number today," Blaine explained, his mild shock replaced by that big smile again. "We usually shut down the school for a while, and classes will be canceled after the performance."
Oh. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"'We?'" Kurt asked, then remembering the answer. "Oh, right, you're the lead singer of the Warblers."
"How did you know that?" Blaine asked, his silly eyebrows drawing together. Red alert.
"I... uh... the principal mentioned it."
"Right," Blaine said like he didn't quite believe it. "Anyway, sorry the room's so messy, they didn't tell me you would be coming until this morning. In a hurry to get here?"
"Something like that," Kurt murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing." The conversation had kind of died out, so Kurt was looking around for something to talk about. He knew so little about Blaine. "Is that a Keats novel?"
"Yeah," Blaine said with a bright smile. "You like Keates?"
"I love Keats," Kurt said, relieved that Blaine was going right to something he knew about the mysterious doctor's son. "I think the six great odes are just phenomenal work." Blaine was looking at him quizzically.
"I think you're a little confused. Jonathan Keates is an English author who's still working. John Keats is a English romantic poet from the nineteenth century." Uh-oh. What the hell was the difference?
"I... oh."
"Yeah," Blaine said, looking down at his shoes. "John Keats is an amazing poet, but he didn't right any books." Kurt's face was red. He just knew it.
"Can you hear me?" Kurt almost jumped out of his skin at Agent Lopez's voice in his ear. He had forgotten about the earpiece and microphone.
"You should probably get changed," Blaine said, oblivious to the little voices in Kurt's head. "We only have a few minutes to get down to the performance." Blaine went and started tidying up.
"I... Shouldn't you..." Was Blaine going to stay in here while he changed?
"Oh. Right. Sorry," Blaine said with a laugh. "I forgot, when most people get here they're still uncomfortable changing in front of other guys. Don't worry, that'll go away." Why, exactly? "All right, I'll be in the hall."
Kurt changed quickly, muttering to his microphone all the while as he transferred gadgets into various pockets and switched out his messenger bags. "Why the hell did you do that?"
"Well, I presumed you were a highly trained field agent and wouldn't squeak like a little girl," Agent Lopez replied through the ear piece, and it was more vitriolic than normal. Obviously, being in the van made her tense. "You're not doing a great job out there."
"You didn't tell me he was hot!" Kurt protested.
"Are you all right in there?" Blaine called from the hallway. Crap, Blaine could hear him.
"Fine," Kurt replied, having no sort of excuse. "Listen, I'll be fine," he continued, this time in a quieter voice and closer to his microphone. "Blaine already invited me to some performance thing, and he's my roommate."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious, it's not like I'm the government and I could have planned that or anything," Agent Lopez said sarcastically. "Get going." A rush of static ended the conversation.
"Bitch," he muttered to himself.
"I heard that," Agent Lopez snapped.
Ablewhite Building, Dalton Academy, 22 Warbler Lane, Westerville, OH 9:42:37
Blaine took the time to give Kurt a quick tour of the school before they headed to the performance. "Come on, I know a short-cut," Blaine said, grabbing Kurt's hand and pulling him out of the mob of students that had surrounded them. It was still low-key compared to McKinley, but everyone seemed excited.
Blaine was... holding his hand, Kurt realized. Of course, Blaine had grabbed the wrong hand, so he was pretty much pulling Kurt's arm out of its socket, but still. They were holding hands. Blaine's hands were rougher than his own, with calluses at the tip of every finger, suggesting he played the guitar or any stringed instrument, and rougher patches at his knuckles. Repeated exposure to a rough object, maybe?
"Are you ready to see what Dalton's really like?" Blaine asked once they reached a set of wide, wooden doors at the end of the hallway he had dragged Kurt down. Kurt realized he had been so absorbed in Blaine's hand that he hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings. Bad agent. Bad.
"Based on you, I'm not entirely sure." Okay, maybe a little too early for the jokes. Blaine's face fell momentarily, but then he smiled again (it was a little more forced this time), and threw open the doors.
This room reminded Kurt of McKinley. It didn't have anything to do with the oriental rug, or the wood-paneled walls, or the well-kept furniture, or the chess sets that actually seemed to be used. No, it had to do with the masses of over-excited teenagers covering all of these things in little groups. All of them were loud and chatting, eagerly watching another group.
"Stay here," Blaine said, parking him in about the middle of the oriental. "And welcome to Dalton, new kid."
"And yes, in case you're wondering, you haven't told him your name yet. Smooth, agent." Agent Lopez was a very annoying voice to have in his head, and Kurt considered chucking his earpiece in a trash can for a moment.
"I know she's annoying, but it's not worth it," Sam's voice came over the line. "You have to pay for any government equipment you lose." Well, that answers that question.
"Stop reading my mind," he snapped at them, earning chuckles in his earpiece. He looked up, and Blaine was watching him again, with a curious expression. Great. Blaine seemed to mutter something to the boy on his left, and an a cappella accompaniment started up. It was vaguely recognizable.
She's good lookin' got her mojo cookin' yeah
Wouldn't give me the time of day but
If my occupation was a star in a constellation
We could get together in the Milky Way
The Warblers seemed to be amazing, and Kurt took a mental note. He had to remember to ask Blaine about joining them, if Blaine still wanted to speak to him, that was. Their choreography was a little stiff, but everyone in the room was getting into it.
And everybody wanna know somebody
Everyone wants to drop your name
You need no reservation
No special invitation
No college education if you've got fortune and fame
Not only were the Warblers a diverse bunch, the whole school seemed to be, and they didn't seem to divide into cliques or be concerned with social status (not that he had been there very long, but it was just a feeling of... community, almost). There were variations of the uniform, Kurt noticed as he looked around the room, and he would have to investigate the pile of clothing he had left in his room. He was wearing the standard blazer-tie combination, which seemed to be favored. Crap, his luggage was still in the Navigator.
1-2-3-4!
Everyone I know wants to be a star
And we are and we are and we are
Everyone I know wants to be a star
And we are and we are and we are and we are
The CIA definitely needed to get a better man for pictures, because Kurt was not prepared for someone like Blaine. Admittedly, the fact that he went to a private, Catholic academy had given Kurt a... a certain mindset, but Blaine was cute. Gorgeous, even. Happy and smiling and nonjudgmental. Plus, he couldn't dance. At all. But he tried, and even that was cute. He threw in some lame 90s moves that had Kurt giggling in spite of himself, and he kept throwing bright smiles at Kurt. Huh.
Now I'm snappin' got my mojo crackin'
Got my whole thing happenin' at center stage and
She's there lookin' up at me
Desperately in love with me
Just can't get enough of me if I've got fortune and fame
Dalton really seemed to be like a nice place. Admittedly, Kurt hadn't gotten a good look at Blaine's short-cut because he had been too distracted by the boy himself, but the rest of the school seemed to be pleasant. There were no lockers, which made sense, but was also a little bit of an adjustment for him. Still, the school was beautiful, with stain glass ceilings, spiral staircases with intricately-wrought banisters, tile floors which were immaculate, and wall-paper covered walls. Kurt had a feeling he would get used to this school really quickly.
1-2-3-4!
Everyone I know wants to be a star
And we are and we are and we are and we are
Everyone I know wants to be a star
Drives in a limousine, eats caviar
Wants to be recognized walkin' down the boulevard
Everyone I know wants to be a star
And we are and we are and we are and we are
And we are and we are and we are and we are
And you are...
The Warblers were phenomenal. Absolutely amazing. So much better than the rag-tag Glee club at McKinley, still led by that creepy Sandy Ryerson. Kurt shuddered.
"What did you think?" Blaine asked, approaching him with a bright smile.
"You were great. Um, I mean... not just you, but you know 'you' can be used-"
"I get it," Blaine said with a hesitant smile. "And thank you."
"You're welcome."
"So, do I get to know your name, or is it a big secret?" Blaine asked with that same bright smile. Jacobs, he was cute.
"Real name."
"Kurt Hummel," Kurt introduced himself, guided by that annoying little voice in his ear.
"Nice to meet you, Kurt Hummel," Blaine replied, offering a hand to shake. "So, as predicted, classes are canceled. How about we grab coffee, and you can tell me a little more about yourself?"
"Sounds good," Kurt said with a smile. Blaine took his hand again (tactile, or... flirting, maybe?) and led him out of the room. Kurt took a quick look back and noticed how the boys in the school were talking to the Warblers, fake-proposing and asking for autographs. It's like the male high school students idolized the show choir. Probably something never said before in human history.
"So, what school are you from?" Blaine asked as he led them back down the shortcut, occasionally smiling at someone or calling out a greeting. A few students looked appraisingly at their conjoined hands, but no one commented.
"McKinley High." That got him a blank look. "In Lima."
"Isn't that a little far from here?" Blaine asked.
"I... needed some air, I guess." He really should have thought about his answers to questions like this before.
"Fair enough. Sometimes it's nice to be able to get away from the parents for a while. Trouble at home?" Either this boy had absolutely no filter, or he was just naturally curious. Or both.
"No, just... adapting." Blaine looked at him curiously. "I recently acquired a step-mother and irritant of a step-brother." Blaine nodded sagely.
"Ah, I see. That must be difficult." Blaine squeezed his hand and Kurt almost tripped over his own feet. "There's a nice little cafeteria upstairs," he said, leading Kurt up one of the spiral staircases he had noticed earlier. "But they're okay with you..."
"Me what?" Kurt asked, confused.
"Well, I mean, I suppose I just assumed, but aren't you..." Blaine gestured kind of helplessly. It clicked in Kurt's head what he was trying to say. The whisper of "your sexuality, you idiot," in his ear wasn't at all necessary.
"Oh, yes. I'm gay. And no, none of my family has a problem with that."
"I'm glad..." Blaine said absently. "I wish I had that."
"Pardon?"
"My father isn't very accepting of the very same fact," Blaine said with a smile. "I'm gay, in case you were wondering." Blaine was blushing a little. Definitely flirting then.
"Oh yeah." Agent Lopez had told him that.
"'Oh yeah?'" Blaine asked with a raised eyebrow.
"What?" Crap.
"Nothing. That's just usually something someone says when they're being reminded of something they already knew." Kurt was red. He knew it. Crap.
"Um... I... no."
"Okay," Blaine said with a smile. "You're a little weird, aren't you?" he asked. He released Kurt's hand as he pushed open the door, and he didn't take it again once they were both in the medium-sized, abandoned cafeteria.
"Just nervous, I guess."
"Fair enough," Blaine replied. "It must be nerve-wracking to be at a brand new school, plus the fact that you're boarding now, plus the fact that you've gone from public to private. It's a big change, I know. What do you want?"
"What?"
"For coffee?" Blaine gestured to the espresso machine.
"Oh." Kurt had never made anything with an espresso machine. "Erm, vanilla latte?"
"Easy enough." Blaine started messing with the machine. A latte wasn't Kurt's usual coffee order, but he had no idea what the machine made, and it was good enough. "So, what classes are you in?"
Kurt pulled out his schedule from his new Dalton messenger bag. "AP US History, Physics, Precalculus..." Holy crap, this guy was really smart. At about the fourth class Kurt listed off, Blaine dropped a coffee cup.
"Wow, you're in every one of my classes. That's... odd." Blaine didn't comment further, picking up the cup he had dropped, throwing it in the trash, and getting a new cup just in time to catch the stream of coffee coming from the machine. "A latte for you," Blaine switched out the cups, "and a latte for me."
"We'll get a chance to know each other well," Kurt hedged. This was what the CIA got for being so creepy.
"Plus the fact that we share a dorm..." Blaine was starting to sound suspicious. Uh-oh.
"Tell me about yourself," Kurt blurted out, taking a sip of his coffee. He regretted that, considering it was still boiling hot, and Kurt spit it out to prevent his mouth from getting burned. About half of it ended up on Blaine's shoe. "Oh. Sorry."
"It's... fine." Blaine didn't sound so certain. "Um, I'm originally from Westerville, and I went to public schools up until about halfway through ninth grade." Blaine didn't elaborate. "My father's a scientist, my brother is Matt Bomer, and I'm a junior."
"Me too." Blaine looked at him quizzically. "I'm a junior, not that my dad or my brother's... What does your dad do?"
"He's a scientist," Blaine repeated. Great, now he probably thought Kurt was in special ed.
"What kind of science?"
"Sub-atomic particles. He's been working on some big project that's taken the entire span of my basement and involves giant tanks of water being carted in on a regular basis. That's all I know about it, it's pretty hush-hush. He's working for some big company." Did Blaine really not know more than that? "Boring stuff, huh?"
"I actually like science," Kurt hedged. On one hand, maybe if Blaine thought Kurt was interested, he would tell him more. On the other, if Blaine suddenly got the idea to introduce Kurt to his father, he was going to have to do some quick thinking. And he wasn't so good at that around Blaine.
"Then why aren't you taking more science classes?" Blaine asked. "I mean, we have AP Anatomy, Bio, Chemistry... all sorts of things that might be a little more interesting to you." Blaine sounded suspicious again.
"I... um..." Shoot.
"My school doesn't offer a lot of science classes," the voice in his ear offered, and Kurt repeated the words exactly, glad she had realized he was going to do so, "and Dalton put me in the nearest equivalent of the classes I was already signed up for. Once I'm a little more accustomed to the school, I might transfer around."
"Oh," Blaine said, accepting the stilted reply. "Makes sense. The last mid-term transfer Dalton allowed was me, and my father... well, the school appreciates what he had to offer, if you catch my drift." Blaine rolled his eyes.
"You're worse at this than I thought," the voice in his ear commented once she realized the disaster was avoided.
"Shut up," he muttered to his microphone.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing. Are all kids at Dalton rich?" Kurt asked, and apparently that sounded kind of judgmental, because Blaine flushed.
"I... well... tuition is steep, so kind of, but that doesn't mean we're all stuck up or anything," Blaine said, sounding kind of upset and kind of defensive.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's fine."
"I keep sticking my foot in my mouth," Kurt murmured, but Blaine caught that.
"Yeah. Maybe we should just not talk for a while." Blaine got up, taking his coffee mug with him. "I'll see you in our dorm."
"Shoot," Kurt muttered once Blaine was out of sight.
"Smooth."
"Shut up."
CIA Headquarters, Downtown Columbus, Columbus, OH 14:13:36
Kurt had looked for Blaine for about an hour following his string of little mishaps, but Blaine was nowhere to be seen, and the rest of the school wasn't nearly as friendly. Not that they weren't civil, it's just that none of them seemed interested in talking to him, and either nobody knew where Blaine was, or nobody wanted to tell him. Maybe Blaine had told people not to tell him. Shoot.
Kurt had given up eventually, after having gotten hopelessly lost in the school and having to navigate his way out using the map, garnering a ton of odd looks and a few giggles. High school. No matter how stringently the administration enforces a no-bullying policy, there's always going to be some snickering.
Kurt had eventually made his way back to his dorm. Blaine wasn't in there either, and for the third time, Kurt had remembered that his luggage was still in the Navigator, which he was supposed to move anyway. To ensure everyone had parking, Dalton assigned lots in various parking lots, going first by class, and then presumably by how much the student's parents had donated. Kurt wondered how good his spot was. He was government, after all.
He was getting used to the route from his dorm to the parking lot and back. He pushed away the sad thought that after this trip he would have to learn a new route, which could be farther and a lot more complex. Awesome.
Agent Lopez had been leaning against the surveillance van, which was once again parked next to the Navigator. Had they ever left that spot? "The Director wants to see you," she had said as soon as he approached, and she hadn't sound happy.
"I just came to grab my stuff."
"I think you misunderstood me," she had replied icily. "The Director wants to see you now, because you are such a monumental fuck-up that you can't last one day without insulting your target." Then she had sounded steamed. "Get in the Navigator, I'm driving you to Columbus." There had been no arguing with her at that point, so Kurt had gotten into the car, being coldly redirected to the passenger seat.
Kurt was sitting once again at the circular table of mission control in the part of the Columbus CIA headquarters that was submerged in the lake. This would sound cool, except that everyone around the table was angry with him to various degrees. Great.
"So, when you told us you could handle this mission," Director Schuester said, sounding as cold as Santana had outside of Dalton, "you neglected to mention that you're incapable of talking to boys!" Kurt had never seen the director yell, and he looked much more intimidating when he did.
"I can talk to boys," Kurt said in his defense. "I'm just used to average, straight ones, and I'm not used to having to lie about everything."
"You're not lying about anything. You are an undercover agent who is incapable of being professional!" the director continued to yell.
"You didn't tell me he was hot!" Kurt defended himself, and Agent Lopez face-palmed. This, oddly enough, seemed to calm the director and amuse the rest of the silent board.
"We spent ten million dollars training juvenile agents, and you are the exact embodiment of why some people thought teenagers were a bad idea. You're impulsive and you get distracted by your hormones!" Director Schuester banged a fist against the table. "Now I understand that argument. This is national security! What do you have to say for yourself?"
"He was flirting with me," Kurt argued. "At first. I just... put my foot in my mouth."
"Repeatedly," Agent Lopez added.
"Agent Lopez, is this true?" Thankfully, Kurt's fellow agent nodded.
"Some parts of the conversation did go smoothly, director," she answered. "Perhaps Kurt just needs more information that can be easily slipped into conversation. His favorite kind of music and books and his coffee order aren't going to cut it."
"Santana, the last thing Agent Hummel needs is more information. Almost every slip-up was because he either already knew something, or we were talking in his ear," Puck announced as he and Sam walked down the stairs. "Kurt just needs to chill, and Agent Lopez needs to give him some space. When they were just talking, he was doing fine."
"Agent Puckerman, what do you suggest our next move is?" His name's Puck Puckerman? What kind of name was that?
"Give him another go at it, but this time let him decide what he's gonna do, and only step in if he really needs it. Santana knows what I'm talking about, like when you smoothed over the whole science thing." Director Schuester was nodding, but Agent Lopez was shaking her head.
"While I admire your... experience," it sounded like Agent Lopez was picking her words carefully, "Kurt made plenty of mistakes before we began talking to him, Noah." What the hell was this guy's name?
"Yeah, but it was all because he knew too much about the guy." Agent Puckerman shrugged. "They seem like they have good chemistry. Why don't we just let them actually get to know each other, instead of sticking our noses into everything. Ix-nay on the earpiece, and if Kurt screws up again we can pull him out." Two chances, that was it? What happened to three strikes?
"I agree with Agent Puckerman," Director Schuester announced once Santana went to talk again. "He's been a field agent, and he's got a good head on his shoulders. Agent Hummel, try to relax, and I promise Agent Lopez won't be interfering anymore." Agent Lopez was glaring at Puck. Obviously, he had accidentally (or not so accidentally?) shifted the blame onto her. Whoops. She was going to be lovely to work with. "One more chance, you got that?"
"I won't let you down, sir."
Director Schuester left, and Kurt groaned. "You're lucky to have gotten off scott-free, mini-Agent," Sam said with a grin.
"That's not what I'm groaning about," Kurt replied. "You've sent me to the most high-achieving school in Ohio, and you expect me to spend all of my time trying to befriend a cute boy. I have so much homework to do, I won't see Blaine's face for the next six hours." Not that Blaine probably wanted to see him, but that was neither here nor there. "I have to do two chapters of Precalculus, write an essay on Henry the IV, plus do about forty physics problems." According to the website a sympathetic senior had shown him. Apparently, no classes did not mean no homework.
"The agency will take care of your homework," Agent Lopez said, dismissive. "Give it all to Sam and Puck when we get back to Dalton. You focus on the boy."
A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is a little late, but I was out-of-state at a business conference this week and posting wasn't the first thing on my mind. I'll be better, I promise. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. This is where it starts deviating from the plot of 'Agent Cody Banks' (the movie it's based on), but I tried to save some of my favorite parts. As for the song, it's called 'Fortune and Fame' by the KGB, and what I tried to do with this song (and in future chapters) is use songs that could be featured in action movies. This song actually was featured in Agent Cody Banks, but not all of them are songs from that movie.
Reviews are Love.