Kurt's phone chimed again in Calculus, and he didn't even have to think, grabbing it on instinct. It was a text message, hardly common practice for Karofsky. Kurt opened it anyway. It was from Blaine.

Blaine: I'm sorry. Please talk to me?

Kurt sighed, snapped the phone shut, and looked up to see Miss Withers staring back at him.

Miss Withers was 38 years old, long blonde hair down to her waist and cold blue eyes. Most of the boys fantasized about being with her. Kurt couldn't stand her.

"Is this device more important than my lesson, Mr. Hummel?" She asked, eyes cold and calculating.

Kurt bit his tongue and shook his head, not wanting to get in any more trouble.

It was then that his phone rang.

The room grew eerily quiet as the tinkling echoed from the phone in Kurt's hand. Miss Withers already thin lips pursed together, her blue eyes bulging at his audacity. As if Kurt could control when his phone rang. Kurt stared straight into her eyes as he answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Kurt." Karofsky began to speak, and then his voice was gone, replaced by a breeze by his ear. "Wha?" Kurt looked up, just in time to see Miss Withers' long, manicured fingernails snapping his phone shut.

"That's enough of that, Mr. Hummel."

*****************************RING*****************************************

"Hey, Kurt!"

Kurt winced and hurried faster down the stairs, toward the lunch room, but Blaine was already next to him. Kurt had barely spoken to him since Blaine had admitted to loving him, and he could tell it was hurting the boy. But what could Kurt say? "I'm sorry, but I'm worried that a serial killer might come after you in the night if I admit that I'm crazy about you. We would totally be having gay babies right now if that weren't the case."

"Blaine." That was cold enough, wasn't it? There was no way Karofsky could hurt him over that.

"H-hey," Blaine's courage drained out of him at Kurt's cold answer, "I-I was wondering if you wanted to c-come over later tonight. We're having an unofficial Warbler party. Kind of a bonding thing before the next concert." His eyes were wide, an almost smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Can't. Withers gave me detention."

"Oh. … We could have it tomorrow night if you want?"

"I have detention every night this week." In retrospect, maybe Kurt shouldn't have cursed Miss Withers out.

"Oh. I understand," Blaine said, his eyes drifting to the ground. "Um, Kurt? There was something else I was going to ask you."

"Ask, then," Kurt couldn't meet his eyes.

"About the concert, I was wondering if you could take part of my solo."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's this one note, towards the end? No matter what I do, I just can't hit it quite right."

"You've always sounded fine in rehearsals," Kurt said.

"Yeah, but the thing is, my dad told me last night that he's coming to watch. Kurt, my dad has never seen me sing before; he's always said it's a waste of time. And every time I think about him sitting in the audience, w-watching me." Blaine's voice broke and he cleared his throat, turning red with shame. "I can sing the rest of it fine, but that one note… You could hit it, couldn't you?"

"Absolutely," Kurt said.

"I-I just want to make him proud of me," Blaine said.

"I understand," Kurt said gently.

"So you'll do it?"

"Of course," Kurt said. He reached the cafeteria and picked up a meal tray without really looking at what it was. He turned to leave, only to have Blaine grab his arm.

"Listen, Kurt, I'm really sorry. What I said was wrong, it was selfish, and… I'll never say it again, I promise. But I miss being your friend. I miss talking to you. And I know how hard it's been for you, especially lately. I want to help you. Please don't shut me out."

For the first time, Kurt looked in Blaine's eyes, and saw the tears shining there. He wanted more than anything to tell him that it would be alright. But he couldn't. "I just think its better that we're not friends. At least, not right now. I know about how you feel, and I just… I don't want you to get hurt." In so many ways.

"Kurt, I - "

"Give it up, Blaine."

Blaine face froze for a moment, and then he was gone, carrying his own tray to go sit by Wes and David.

Kurt wanted to run after him, to apologize, but this was better for both of them. It turned out to be the right choice. His phone rang as soon as he sat down.

"Hello?"

"You hung up on me."

The words knocked in Kurt's head, "I didn't. It was Miss Withers. I would have called you back if I could, but I don't have your number." The excuse sounded hollow and weak in his ears.

"Oh, do I need to punish her?"

"No," Kurt said. He hated Miss Withers, but he could never set Karofsky on her. "No, I think I punished her enough myself."

"That's my baby," Karofsky breathed, and Kurt wanted to throw up. He played with his food, pushing it around with no real intention of eating it. "It's too bad I've already administered your punishment."

"What? No!" Kurt said, just as Blaine started screaming from across the room.

"No! Somebody help!"

Kurt turned in slow motion to see Wes on the ground, flailing and clutching his throat. His eyes were bugging out of their sockets and his breathing was loud and strained. David had flung himself onto the ground beside his friend, trying desperately to help him. Blaine stared down at them helplessly, one hand covering his mouth. A boy ran out of the door, screaming for a teacher. Wes gasped, flinging his head back against the floor.

"Did Wes ever mention that he's allergic to peanuts?"