Blaine's appointment for his peer tutoring session was a no-show, so he walked down the grand hallways of Haverbrook to the music room. For some reason or another, he found that his concentration was best there. Settling into his usual desk, he neatly arranged his books in front of him and dove into his Latin translations. He was halfway through his first set of problems when he heard Mr. Rumba's raised voice.

"I knew I never should have trusted that cheerleading coach," Mr. Rumba's voice filtered from his office. Blaine knew that he shouldn't stay- that this conversation was not one that should be overheard- but he couldn't leave. Something in the choir director's voice compelled him to stay. He felt as if he was being restrained- immobilized by invisible rope that bound him to his chair. "If it wasn't for that mousy woman, I would have believed that that coach gave us the wrong set list."

Blaine cocked his head in confusion, his math assignment completely forgotten. Wrong set list? What does he mean? Is that why we changed songs so suddenly? Blaine's jaw clenched as his fists trembled by his side. He quietly stood up, the invisible bonds cut free by curiosity and anger, and crept toward the opened door.

"I know it doesn't matter anymore, but all those kids have to look forward to for the rest of the year are nursing home visits, the spring concert, and graduation." In a softer tone, he added, "I just wanted them to have something to be proud of- something that will get them through their miserable life. That bad girls' teacher and I only stole the set list to give our respective clubs the upper hand advantage-"

Blaine couldn't listen anymore, the sudden rush of nausea making him sick to his stomach. He stumbled out of the choir room, his books and bag long forgotten, as he rushed to the boys' lavatory so that he could purge himself of the bile that quickly rose in his throat.

A hand gently pressed into his back, rubbing smoothing circles across his shoulder blades. Blaine's nerves calmed under the friendly touch. When he felt that there was nothing left in his stomach, he let out a shaky breath and rocked back on the balls of his feet. His soother flushed the commode while Blaine steadied his breathing.

'Thank you,' he signed, not even looking up.

His savior chuckled, a familiar deep and rich rumble.

Blaine looked into the eyes of Greg, one of the regular soloists, and grinned. 'Thank you,' he repeated.

'Are you okay?' Greg asked. 'Do you need to go to the nurse?'

'No, I'm fine. We need to have an emergency meeting. Today, after school. Meet on the stage. Tell everyone.'

Greg hesitated. Protocol demanded that only a senior could call emergency meetings, and Blaine was only a sophomore- an ostracized sophomore at that. Like most private schools, Haverbrook prided itself on its deep-rooted traditions, and an upset in the norm would only be tolerated if it was something serious. Most of the choir members had other afterschool activities on Mondays, and this would disturb. Still, the look in Blaine's eye told Greg everything- that this was a true emergency and would not be a waste of the club's time. The senior soloist nodded his head. 'Okay, I will tell everyone.'

'Thank you,' Blaine signed. 'Thank you so much. I owe you. Thank you.'

Greg nodded once more before turning and walking out of the door.

The choir members were angry when it was revealed that Blaine was the driving force behind arranging the impromptu meeting. They were furious when he had finished stating why he called the meeting. The entire choir erupted in discord. If you've never witnessed a large group of deafs and deaf-mutes, be very thankful for it is truly a terrifying and over-stimulating experience to see.

'We need to do something!' Hailey, a junior, shouted through her signs, while there were simultaneous shouts of 'we could have one with the original set list,' 'why would Mr. Dalton do this to us?' and multiple death threats. Greg and Blaine barely reined them in by stomping heavily on the wooden stage, the vibrations causing the kinetic-sensitive students to fall silent.

'Yelling and screaming isn't going to help. We need to make a plan and follow through with it,' Greg signed rapidly. 'I'm sure I know the plan we will go with, but I will list the three options. One, we do nothing.' This was met with grumbles and explicit signs. 'Two, we tell Headmaster Finnick and let him solely deal with Mr. Rumba; or three, we apologize to New Directions by offering our services.'

Caleb, a freshman, was the first to speak. 'What can we give New Directions? They are privileged and surely do not want to even speak to us.'

'Whatever we can,' Katie signed. "Costumes, tech-work, choreography, tutoring. Maybe basic ASL lessons? We can even hold a fundraiser for when they go to regionals. I think anything will help.'

Greg nodded. 'I think that's a great idea, but I also think that Headmaster Finnick should know about what happened. I will personally draft a letter to him.'

'And I will write a letter to the New Directions director,' Blaine signed. 'I feel as if it is somewhat my fault the set list got changed last minute.'

Nods of agreement came from the sea of red blazers.

'We should disband as a show choir. From now on, we will only perform for school events and community service,' John, another junior signed.

After the motions passed, the choir members headed off in different directions. Blaine and Greg held back to speak personally to the headmaster.

'That was very brave.' Greg signed after the meeting with Headmaster Finnick.

'It was the least I could do,' Blaine replied. 'I will send you a copy of the letter before I e-mail it to New Directions.'

Greg nodded. 'I look forward to reading it.'

When Blaine finally got home (his mother was late picking him up), he immediately locked himself in his room and began to draft his letter to the other choir group. He finished the last line when his mother called him down to dinner and quickly sent the draft to Greg. His heart felt much lighter than it did four hours previously, but his gut still churned with unresolved guilt.