A/N: This chapter is dedicated to and inspired by Hannah Rachelle.
He stares out the window and wishes he was driving. In his car, the music is smooth, not this twangy country. The ride is smooth, too. And, he doesn't end up next to freshmen that are still discovering deodorant. A point for Andrew in the straight boy category.
The Warblers are on their way to duel New Directions for the right to use Michael Jackson at regionals. He thinks it is a little bit stupid. How does one win a vocal battle when there is no one to judge? But, both the McKinley kids and his fellow Warblers were absolutely serious when the competition was proposed.
Jon "Meatbox", the driver and beatboxer, pulls off the highway, toward a gas station. They're early to meet New Directions.
The seven boys pile out of the minivan as soon as the engine is turned off. It's a relief to get into fresh air.
He thinks, not for the first time, that freshmen, and maybe sophomores, should take a hygiene class. It could become a class about dealing with the opposite sex for juniors and seniors.
Even though he's not interested in girls sexually, he knows he will someday have to interact with them. They scare him a little. Especially the Latina in New Directions… Santana Lopez.
Inside the little convenience store, the boys make quick purchases. Nick and Jeff make a beeline for the Twizzlers, arguing over the merits of the regular verses family sized package. David grabs a package of corn nuts from a shelf, then leads the way back to the glowing line of slushie machines.
Jon and Andrew are already filling large cups with the swirling frozen mixture. It comes in lurid red, an unnatural shade of blue, and brown.
"Hey, remember how Kurt always used to flinch when ever we'd drink a slushie?" Trent asks, as he contemplates a giant or extra giant cup of diet coke. "At McKinley, the football team would throw them in people's faces."
He decides to get two cups: one to drink, and one to throw in New Direction's faces. He won't hurt them, but it might just annoy them enough to give up on MJ.
"Dude, you're going to give yourself diabetes if you drink those," Andrew comments as he fills his large plastic cups with the red slush.
Its all he can do to keep from throwing one of the cups in the freshman's face. "Do you think that's a joke?" He hisses, his hands suddenly tight on the cups as anger courses through his veins.
He hates that everyone jokes about his disease. No other condition is quite as big a target of mirth. People don't make jokes about autism or cystic fibrosis or JRA the way they do about diabetes. He wishes they would experience the pain, just for one.
He takes control of his temper. He doesn't even give the younger boy the bird. Instead, he walks to the counter and pays for his drinks. On the way out the door, he takes a scoop of rock salt and sprinkles it over one of his cups.
Its only later that he realizes neither his nor Andrew's slush was salty.