AN: Okay… Not sure what pace I want to use with this; but since it's a weekend, I'm four chapters ahead, and this next part is both important and shorter than any so far (including the upcoming), I've decided to put it up.

As usual, enjoy, spread the word, and I could still use musical suggestions!

WHO IS BLAINE ANDERSON?
A SHOCKING EXPOSE of McKinley's GOLDEN BOY
A JBI EXCLUSIVE

"This is JBI speaking, bringing you the latest in cold hard truth, complete fabrications, and everything in between. Today, I ask the vital question: who is Blaine Anderson?

"You probably know his name. You may think you know who he is: 4.0 student. Popular McKinley Titans wide receiver. All around BMOC. But do you really? If you ask McKinley's populace about him, the answers you get depend on who you ask."

[A group of Cheerios]

"Ohmigod, he's sooo cute."

"And charming!"

"He's a perfect gentleman."

"And so sweet!"

"When he dated my sister, he always brought flowers and opened doors for her."

"He has got the nicest smile."

[A group of Titans athletes]

"Blaine is the MAN!"

"He's all right in my book!"

"He's, like, dated most of the hot girls in this school. And banged them all!"

"And they still like him, even after he broke up with them! That is SICK!"

[Here Jacob's vaunted investigative reporting failed him. If he'd bothered to dig deeper, he'd have discovered that while the dating statement was true, Blaine had never actually "banged" a single one of his girlfriends. Then again, Blaine went to a lot of trouble to keep this particular fact obscure.]

"The dude definitely knows how to party."

"Like the time he... uh... This is gonna be on the 'net, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Then we watched chick movies, drank tea, and played Scrabble. But it was the BEST party EVER!"

[Teachers]

"Blaine is a fine student. Very attentive."

"Very polite young man. The kind who'll open doors for you if you have your arms full."

"Studious. Insightful. Respectful. Always ready with an answer. Wish more of my students were like him."

"I see him as the unholy spawn of Will Schuester and a Cabbage Patch doll."

"He'll go far. His potential and future are limitless."

[Back to JBI]

"High praise for a single student. But what happens when you get below a certain rung on the vicious mountain that is the McKinley social ladder? What happens to the view of our perfect Mr. Anderson then? Listen to these stories, whose faces I've obscured to protect their anonymity. And their internal organs."

[A shadow, with the caption "AV Club Member"]

"Blaine Anderson made my life a living hell. My equipment was always moving itself or failing at the worst times. My locker got filled with used coffee grounds. Rumors went around that my sister and I still slept in the same bed. And all because I smiled at the girl he was dating at the time. Once."

[A shadow, with the caption "Glee Club Member"]

"I don't know where he gets his sterling reputation. He obviously cannot recognize talent, or he wouldn't pour slushies on said talent. He's even targeted me, which just proves how tasteless he is. He'll get a footnote in my autobiography. If that."

"Can I touch your hair?"

[Back to JBI]

"And there are many more horror stories, ones I can't tell you because frankly, they're too disgusting even for me. God help you if you were once powerful and popular, then fall from grace. The rumors of what he does to such losers are terrible to even contemplate.

[This was definitely true, as Finn "That was for making fun of my eyebrows in fifth grade" Hudson could tell you. Or Puck. One afternoon, he'd stormed into Glee rehearsal still dripping flavored ice, declaring "I can't believe I never noticed what a douche he is!" "Welcome to my world," Kurt had sighed.]

"Even this reporter has had run-ins with Mr. Anderson, one involving several containers of Vaseline, purple glitter, and a rubber chicken.

[He shudders.]

"I asked Blaine Anderson for comment, and this is what he said:"

[Blaine appears on the screen in his typical clothing: letterman jacket over polo shirt and jeans. His wild, curly hair almost touches his collar. He looks directly at the camera with a dazzling smile.]

"Sorry, but I don't comment on people who like to make up stories while they're safe behind anonymity... or the Internet. If they have a problem, they can take it up with me directly. But personally, I think they're inventing these tales as a desperate cry for help. I hope they get the attention they need."

[Back to JBI]

"So it seems our perfect Blaine Anderson has two faces: charming and debonair to the popular and powerful, and cold, calculating, and cruel to the downtrodden. But will anything be done? Will his reputation suffer for these new revelations? Will anyone care?"

[No.]

Kurt felt like a bit of a friend-slut. He'd never given out his cell phone number to someone on first meeting them before, not even Mercedes. But Dave? He had it before Kurt left Westerville. Perhaps it was the joy of finally meeting a gay male like himself. Perhaps it was the prospect of finally having someone in his life who could really understand what he was going through from experience. Perhaps it was... Well, perhaps it could be a lot of things, some of which he wasn't ready to think about. But the fact remained. Dave. Number.

It was the possession of said number by said Warbler that had Kurt completely oblivious to the outside world. He walked slowly down the McKinley halls, grinning at his cell phone screen, and at the freshly sent text that stared back.

"Stand strong."

Suddenly, the screen disappeared from his sight, as the cell phone flipped out of his hands into the air, crashing to the floor. "Whoops," Blaine Anderson sneered as he strode by.

Kurt snatched the phone from the ground, checking it for damage. "Stand strong" still stretched across the screen. Kurt's spine stiffened. "Hey!" he shouted, running after Anderson.

Blaine was busying himself with his gym bag when Kurt stormed into the otherwise empty locker room. "Can I help you, young lady?" the football player asked mildly.

"What the hell is your problem?"

"Other than the fact that a friendless fag who thinks he's somebody is sharing my oxygen? Nothing."

Kurt's face reddened, but not with humiliation for once. "You wouldn't know a real friend if one came up to you and slapped that smirk off your face."

"Well, you must be lonely if you're stalking me like this."

"Like I'd ever stalk someone like you," Kurt huffed. "Oh, that's right, gay people are promiscuous and have no standards. Well, let me tell you something: you're not my type."

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, I don't crush on cruel little trolls who'll have beer bellies by the time they're thirty." Kurt leaned forward menacingly, his hot breath almost tickling Blaine's face. "You know, I can see right through you."

"Can you, now?" Blaine croaked.

"Yeah, I do. You put up this pretense of being the perfect everything, but you're no more perfect than anyone else. You're weak, like the rest of us. Scared, like the rest of us. You're nothing but a confused little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are..."

If anyone had been hanging around the boys' locker room at around the time of this confrontation (and no one was), they would've been treated to the somewhat odd sight of Blaine Anderson stumbling out, his eyes moist, as if he were close to tears. They would've seen him wipe his face, look around wildly, then run away, seemingly in a random direction.

As puzzling as this sight would've been, they probably would've been even more confused when they saw Kurt Hummel leave just a minute later, pale and eyes wide, as if he'd just been punched in the stomach. They would've seen him look searchingly down both branches of the hallways, swaying a little unsteadily on his feet. They would've seen him touch his lips, briefly, look down at his phone, then leave.

Such a witness would likely have wondered just what happened in that locker room. Turns out, both boys involved were wondering the same things themselves.