Dalton smiled as Roxie shut her locker. They were talking about the costumes for Sectionals, which she'd had a hand in designing. While he didn't really care about clothes, he loved to hear the sound of her voice, soft and animated in its tone as she became more comfortable and passionate with the topic. And the audience, he noted to himself, as he couldn't help but feel proud that he was one of the few members of the New Directions (not to mention the school) that she spoke to.
Not that he couldn't still interpret her silence, which he quickly adjusted for as her eyes widened, blushing bright red and glancing past him fearfully.
Dalton turned to see what had held her gaze and immediately rolled his eyes as he caught sight of a swishing Cheerio uniform. He reached out and took the petite brunette's hand softly as the tall girl called out cheerfully "Hi there Dalton!...And...you," she continued after glancing at Roxie, whose free hand held the frames of her glasses as she ducked behind her long locks.
The boy scoffed, turning back to his teammate with a congenial smile until he finally convinced her to tilt her head a millimeter higher to meet his eyes and return it shyly. He nodded as she loosened her grip on his hand, reluctantly releasing it and handing her the books she'd retrieved a minute earlier for her next class. The sophomore kept his eyes on her, watching as she turned and, with a meaningful glance behind her, walked to her class alone.
All the while, Dalton purposefully kept his back to the Cheerio behind him.
Which, typically, Jennifer Johnson wasn't having. "Hey," she repeated. "Hey Dalton…"
He pivoted around, glaring daggers at her. "Don't you mean Leslie?" he seethed. "Since that is what every one of your jock cronies are still calling me? That is, if you don't count the ones calling me Lisa, Lindsay, or just plain Chick-a-Fella."
To her credit, his sister had the decency to look guilty a moment. "Aw, come on Dalt," she argued. "I said I was sorry—"
"Yeah: Mom and Dad forced you to say you were sorry—"
"—and plus it actually really hasn't done that much damage. I mean, I was talking to Nikki and she was asking whether you were coming to the after-party this weekend." Her lips turned upward as she tilted her head. "Face it Big Brother: you're going to have guys like Carter Macy always jealous that you can get any girl you want, so they'll always be throwing low blows. You know that."
"So you decided to make it easier on them by outing me?" he retorted, scoffing incredulously. "And Nikki Hardy and every other girl like her can go throw themselves off of the roof for all I care." When Jenn's only response was to let her mouth hang open slightly in bewilderment, he sighed. "What do you want Jennifer?"
The Cheerio glanced up and down the hall before stepping closer to her brother. "Look," she told him quietly. "Even if I think this whole foray into loserdom is suicide, I wanted to wish you luck at your show-thing. I know that you and what's-her-name will totally knock out the competition with whatever you're singing, as long as it isn't something stupid." She looked at him suspiciously. "You two aren't singing something stupid, are you?"
"We're not duetting," he replied shortly, rolling his eyes as he turned to walk away from the girl.
"Wait—what?" Dalton found his arm yanked back toward the brunette and looking directly into her wide, dumbfounded eyes. "You are a Johnson, which means you are totally awesome at everything. Plus your little mute midget is a regular rockstar on the mic—what gives?"
"We're just not singing the duet, is all." The ashen-haired boy watched his sister's mouth open in protest. "We didn't want the spot, so we aren't singing."
"So why am I being forced to go to this stupid competition?" she whined. "Who is singing, and please dear God do not tell me it's Mini-Q."
"We're holding auditions," Dalton replied, tugging his arm out of the girl's grasp. "I don't know what they're going to use for the duet, and now I'm going to class before I'm late. Goodbye Jenn."
He walked away, not bothering to care that Jenn looked beside herself as she pulled out her phone.
The bell rang, and Nina and Everett gathered up their books as they headed to the door. He had thought that asking Coby to duet with him would have been a good icebreaker, but if the junior didn't act soon, he'd miss his chance. Everett had been trying to gather up his courage all day, causing him to barely be able to concentrate on his classes. Hopefully, his teammate hadn't noticed.
"Ev, you okay?" Nina asked the moment they hit the corridor, effectively dashing that idea. "Your mind's been elsewhere for the last hour."
"Yeah, I'm fine," the curly-haired boy answered vaguely. "Just not really feeling history today."
Nina scoffed. "Which is why when I asked you about today's auditions before class, you gave me a random sentence about your plans feeling like Jell-o." She peered at him curiously. "I know you're not working with Michelle, since I've listened to her complain all morning during Home Ec about missing out on auditions today, so…?"
Everett just shrugged as they reached the door to the cafeteria. "You know," he said as she pushed open the door. "I think I forgot something back in the classroom."
Nina looked at him skeptically, but nodded. "Okay," she conceded. "I guess I'll see you in Glee then?" He bobbed his head and she waved before continuing into the room to find the other girls.
Everett took a deep breath and pushed his fists into his face, backing up to lean against the lockers as he watched the flow of students into the cafeteria. Though the majority of them ignored him, his face blushed bright red as he saw Michelle flit past him with her friends, beaming in excitement as she caught his eye. He gave her a pointed look in order to shut her up, which, while not dampening the eager expression on her face, did at least cause her to press her lips tightly together and turn back to the conversation she and Sunny were having.
When he saw Coby finally approaching, he felt his chest tighten and his heart begin thrumming wildly. This was a bad idea; he should just go and eat his lunch and pretend he'd never had this stupid idea—
"Hey! Roger!" Everett tried to quash his nerves as he realized there was no turning back now that the bulky jock had seen him. He turned and smiled at the other, noticing affectionately that his teammate had already managed to get a hold of a bag of Cheetos, as made evident by the cheese smear across the front of his pant legs.
"Hey, Coby," the smaller boy answered, trying to smile casually as he gave a small wave.
Coby grinned and walked over to the lockers to where Everett was hiding. "You going to lunch?" he asked. "I'm starving."
Everett nodded as he swallowed thickly. "Yeah," he replied stupidly.
The messy-haired junior's eyebrow quirked upwards as the two remained unmoving by the lockers. "Well, you know," he continued slowly. "There's actually a lot more food inside the cafeteria." He smirked as Everett's face blushed again. He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and took a step toward the doors. "Come on—I'll bet Donald Trump's already in there with some whoop-dee-doo new cuisine that needs to be taste-tested."
"Actually, Coby?" Everett's eyes widened with his own nerve.
The light-eyed boy looked back at him with a friendly smile. "What's up?"
"You know that auditions today?" he licked his lips nervously. "For the duet for Sectionals?"
"Yeah—it's going to be awesome, isn't it?" Everett nodded. "Probably should thank D in there for the extra entertainment." He laughed. "I asked Neens if she wanted to be my buddy, but she turned me down—said if my parents were coming, there was no way they'd buy us dating if they saw us singing together."
Everett laughed nervously. "Yeah, I told Chelle I didn't want to sing with her either," he confessed.
"Still sore about the Katie thing?" Coby asked. Everett stammered, and he continued, "You know, Katie seems pretty much over the whole thing, what with her and Mr. Tamborine Man hitting it off so well. Maybe you could cut Little Sis some slack?"
"Actually, we're good," Everett told him. "I just, with the duet…I wanted to ask-" he stumbled over himself as Coby watched him curiously. Finally, he sighed. "I wanted to ask…if you would save me a seat in the audience. Chelle gets talkative with her critiques, and if I'm not going to be up there, I don't really need the play-by-play in my ear, you know?"
Coby nodded with a grin. "Sure," he replied. "I'll get you a seat with me and the boys. I'm making popcorn." He slapped Everett's back. "Now come on, before all the good stuff's gone."
Everett sighed but nodded as he allowed the larger boy to steer him through the doors.
Katie smiled giddily as she and Dylan walked together in the nearly vacated school towards the Music Room, fingers entwined. She had told Dylan the audition didn't matter because she knew how nervous he was, but she could feel it in her bones that they could win up there: they had amazing chemistry together, and he was a lot better than he thought, especially wearing the well-lined slacks she'd bought him as a "bribe" for watching a six-season CSI marathon. She couldn't really understand why he insisted on the loose-fitting attire that so often got him ridiculed by even their teammates, but besides dance rehearsals she actually was beginning to find them endearing.
"I'm really excited," she told him happily. "Thanks again for doing this with me."
The blonde watched as he looked back at her, a genuine smile brightening his face despite his obvious nerves. "Of course," he told her. "It's going to be—" he cut himself off as his phone vibrated, checking the screen with a frown.
Katie slowed with him and waited for him to respond, used to the boy's secretive messages that would sometimes temporarily interrupt their conversations. When his fingers remained still and his face morphed from concerned to full-on fear, however, she spoke up. "Dylan?"
"I've got to go," he sputtered, putting his phone away and spinning in a circle as he seemed to try to figure out a plan. "I've got to find Tim—I need a ride…" He pulled out his phone again, then let the hand holding it fall back down to his side in despair. "No-Tim's sick…" he murmured to himself, and the freshman watched in distress as the shaggy-haired boy released her hand and began walking toward the school's exit.
"Wait, Dylan!" she shouted, racing to catch up with him. "What's going on? Where are you going?"
"I have to get home," he insisted.
"So what, you're going to walk?" she replied. "Let's just call your dad for a ride, okay?"
"My dad can't give me a ride!" he snapped, his hands clenched in frustration as he looked around wildly at the few people in the hallway. "He probably can't even see straight right now. I've just-I've got to get home."
"Well, let's ask one of the others," she said, gesturing toward the Music Room. "Everett or Dalton—"
"No!" Dylan interjected in a panic, lowering his voice desperately. "I can't tell them—no one…" He began to chew his lip and shake his head, moving toward the doors again.
"Dylan!" Katie called quietly after him, grabbing his arm to stop him. She glanced around, watching as a high-pony swished away. "Wait here," she instructed, quickly flitting over to a set of lockers. She pulled out a small piece of metal from her backpack and folded it gently into a shim, wrapping it around the loop of the lock and slipping the metal into the lock. She pulled the arm slowly from its catch and, with one last glance down the hallway, lifted the handle to open the door.
She turned to see Dylan temporarily forget his panic as he watched her sift through the contents of Nikki Hardy's newly-hacked locker with his jaw laying slack.
"What the-?" he asked.
"I'm a future forensic analyst," she replied with a mischievous grin, pulling out a pair of keys. "We always make the best criminals. Don't you watch TV? Now come on; let's get out of here" She slammed the door shut, drawing their attention back to the gravity of the situation as they ran toward the parking lot, and Katie hoped that Cheerio practice took longer than their emergency.
From behind the steering wheel of the shiny silver Audi, Katie kept glancing over at Dylan, waiting for him to say something, give some explanation of what was happening. Instead, he only rocked back and forth in his seat, clutching the bottom of the cushion until his knuckles turned white. The blonde watched his desperate expression and found herself at a loss for what to say, instead continuing to follow his short directions as they sped toward his house.
She finally pulled into an empty driveway of a two-story home, her eyebrow quirking upwards. "I thought you said your dad was here…" she began before realizing the boy had bolted from the passenger seat and into the house. Mumbling in frustration, she quickly unfastened her seatbelt and followed after him.
When she reached the door she found it had been left wide open, and Dylan was rushing through the house calling out his brothers' names. Katie paused as she reached the living room, staring in disbelief at the damaged pictures and furniture: frames were cracked and broken on the floor; chairs and desks were overturned; even couch cushions were thrown carelessly about, as if someone had been looking for something. What was going on?
It was at this point that she realized that Dylan's voice had stopped carrying, and she quickly made her way up the stairs where she'd last heard him. She slowed as she approached an open door halfway down the hall, listening to the freshman speaking in soft, consoling tones.
"Shh, it's okay, guys. We're going to be okay."
"We had a half day," a young boy's voice was explaining, guilt lacing his tone. "I thought we could stop by home before Lach's game; get something to eat…" He trailed off, sniffling over Dylan's continued shushing another boy's whimpers. "Should we call the hospital?"
"No," Dylan answered quietly. "He'll be fine—just get a wet dishcloth and some bandages from the pantry."
There were footsteps, and a thirteen-year old suddenly appeared in the hallway. He glanced at Katie in apprehension, but continued down the stairs toward the kitchen. The blonde, in turn, slowly moved forward until she found herself standing in the doorway of the room.
Dylan's forehead was covered in sweat as he sat in the middle of the room, a small boy laying in his lap as blood trickled off of his face and onto his older brother's oversized sweatshirt. Another boy, perhaps a year older, was still crouched under the bed, tear-stained eyes wide as he watched the younger boy bleed.
The shaggy-haired boy, perhaps sensing her gaze, glanced upwards at her, and the two's eyes met in a mutual expression of distress. She couldn't be certain what fear lay behind his stare, but she was certain it had nothing to do with the injury in his lap. With his brothers surrounding him, as the tween rushed past her, arms full of gauze, he seemed more confident than she'd ever seen him.
What seemed to be an eternity later, Katie sat gently on an unscathed couch, watching as Dylan set a glass of water on a coaster for her.
"What happened?" she finally burst, unable to contain herself any longer.
Dylan's eyes dropped to his shoes—his sweatshirt, along with the black dockers he was still wearing, were stained with blood and iodine. "I'm sorry about your present," he murmured, gesturing to the clothing.
"You think I care about that?" she asked incredulously, shifting forward to grasp his hand in concern. "Dylan, what's going on?"
The freshman sighed, glancing around as if considering what, or how, to explain. "My dad is still grieving for my mom," he finally said. "Some days are worse than others."
"Your dad—?" she repeated, trying to process what he'd told her. "Wait, the bruise you had before; your brother's arm—that was your dad?" Dylan wouldn't meet her eyes, and her jaw dropped. "Oh my god—Dylan, we have to tell someone—"
"No!" the boy interjected, wrenching his hand away. "If we say anything, they'll call the cops-we'll be separated, and I promised my mom I'd take care of us. He's not home that much anyways—either on the road or passed out in a bar…"
"Dylan…" Katie said softly, reaching gently for him again. The boy seemed to have lost his fight; now he just seemed tired.
"I promised…" he repeated dejectedly.
"You can't save your dad if he doesn't want to be saved," she told him. "If you want to protect your brothers, you have to do what's best for them."
Dylan's eyes lifted to hers, and she could see the desperation in his expression. "You can't tell anyone, Katie," he begged. "Not Caroline, not Mr. Schuester—nobody."
"I'm not going to let you and your brothers keep getting smacked around by your father," she argued.
"Neither am I," he told her. "But I'm going to keep my family together, no matter what. So promise me you won't say anything."
She tugged her blonde locks nervously, but finally nodded infinitesimally. Dylan sighed and nodded grimly. "Okay," he said, turning toward the hall closet with Katie close behind him. "Then let's fix this."
Stassi made her way quietly through the auditorium exit and into the hall. She'd been really feeling the strain of the group this week, and when exercise and dieting hadn't helped, she'd finally broken down and texted an emergency secret meeting with Nikki. Her best friend may be a bitch, but she had always had a calming presence, and had managed to soothe the Armenian girl by engaging in trivial gossip and slamming for twenty minutes before the two slipped out their separate ways, both warning the other to be careful not to be spotted.
The dark-haired Cheerio hadn't taken to steps from the door before a loud "Stassi!" called out to her. She attempted to turn casually, noting Annie coming up with a glint of both worry and intrigue as she approached her. "Caroline wants to see you, well everyone, in the Music Room before auditions—now."
And with only that notice, Stassi now found herself seated front and center with the other Cheerios in Glee Headquarters, trying to gauge from the whispers and stares whether the obvious scandal in front of her was in regards to her own indiscretions.
"It's days to Sectionals, and we have a spy," Caroline announced. Stassi's eyes popped wide—she didn't think she'd been so careless to have been discovered by Mini-Q, of all people, and yet the girl seemed completely certain of her accusation.
"It's the curse," Annie put in from two seats over, causing a few groans.
"We're not cursed," Nina countered, "and I don't believe any of us would betray the team."
The honey-haired Cheerio before them, however, looked unconvinced. "Then how is Nikki Hardy managing to sabotage us from every angle?" she asked, her eyes sliding over to Stassi for a moment…before slipping to Dalton. "Dalton?"
Everyone's face turned confused, including the accused as he straightened up from his spot next to Roxie. "What? Me?"
"You blabbed about auditions to your sister," Caroline accused. "And suddenly I get a message from Katie saying she's bowing out of auditions? What else did you tell her?"
"I only told her that me and Rox weren't singing, and we were holding auditions," he defended himself. "I didn't give her a set list, or even tell her who was going out for the duet—she's a brat, but she's my sister. I doubt she could do something to pull Katie out like that."
"And what about you, Michelle?" the freshman continued, suddenly turning on the petite brunette. "You were talking to Medusa herself about Sectionals this morning—Nina heard you."
The tiny girl looked flustered at the charge against her. "She wants to hold an extra practice over the weekend," she explained. "She asked me when they were, and I told her. She didn't say anything about Katie."
"You told her about Sectionals?" Caroline repeated heatedly.
"It's not like it's not something she could have just looked up, Caroline," Nina reminded the girl gently.
"Then why wouldn't she have just asked me about it?"
"Maybe because she hates you?" Stassi questioned in astonishment. "Seriously—is this really the basis of this meeting?"
"There has to be something going on," the freshman maintained. "With Katie and Dylan out of commission, and Michelle and Everett not even auditioning, and Roxie and Dalton backing out—" the latter pairs shifted uncomfortably "—it has to be sabotage—"
"Or bad luck," Stassi argued.
"Or—"
"If I hear you say the word curse one more time, Annie, I swear to God." Rabid dogs had less ferocity to their bite than Stassi's words toward the young Hudson. She turned to Caroline. "Look, if Twirly and Bag-man are incapacitated, and no one else is auditioning, then I suggest you and Felt-Head appreciate your unbelievable luck and put your energy into winning Sectionals for us, because this witch-hunt is ridiculous."
Just then Mr. Schuester appeared, congratulating Caroline and Teddy on getting the duet and organizing the group to practice. Stassi shook off the suspicious look that Caroline was throwing her way and set herself into place.