By Friday, after three days of lessons with Gabe, Artie realized he'd finally earned Mrs. Arnold's trust. Rather than transferring Gabe from chair to pool herself that day, she finally seemed to grasp that the transfer was an important part of what Artie wanted to teach. So that day, she actually backed off, allowing Gabe to try it on his own. Clad in leggings under his swim trunks and water shoes, his lower half was well-protected. When the little boy successfully imitated his teacher's careful descent from his chair to the pavement below, a smattering of applause from everyone in and around the pool followed. Even Kitty had to crack a smile for that.

Mrs. Arnold ended up being the one coming into the water with Artie on Thursday and Friday. Blaine was scheduled to work, which counted him out of being Artie's extra set of hands, but no matter. Mrs. Arnold clearly wanted to help, so Artie was able to find a way for her to do that while still gently showing her how to give Gabe the independence he needed.

He made the mistake, however, of getting a little too personal when told his mother about it over dinner. The entire family was eating together on Friday night. Tomorrow was the day that Amy headed back to school. She was working as a Resident Assistant in the dorms, which meant she had to go back early to help freshmen who were moving in.

"You should have seen Gabe's face when he transferred by himself into the pool today," Artie said, as he loaded up a forkful of the crockpot chicken recipe he'd helped with that evening. (It had just been something he'd found on Google, but it was cheap, easy, and a crowd-pleaser. Bacon and chicken were always a winning combination.) "He knew he really accomplished something. And by himself."

"I remember the first time we found you out of bed and dressed all by yourself," Amy commented, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. "This is really good, by the way. I'll need the recipe. Seems like something even I could manage not to screw up."

"Remember the first time you cooked something all by yourself? Oh, wait..." Artie couldn't resist an opportunity to tease his sister. Cooking was something she just didn't do, if she could help it.

"Anyway," Amy said, with an eye roll and a clear desire to change the subject. "That's awesome that you helped a little kid like you be more independent. I didn't think you liked kids. I didn't even think you liked kids when you were a kid."

"I like this kid," Artie said. "I can't help but see him and think about Javier telling Mom that if she did everything for me, she was holding me back. That's kind of what someone needs to tell Gabe's mom."

"I'm sure Gabe's mom already knows." Nancy sounded a little more snippy that she probably meant to just then. When both of her children fell silent and just looked at her, she got to her feet and picked up her own empty plate. "I'd better go start the dishes."

Their father, a man of few words, just gave Artie a withering look that basically said to be more considerate and to think about how his words might impact his mom. Artie, still not wanting to admit fault, just shot his sister a what did I do? look as their father rose and followed his wife into the kitchen.

"She's a little on edge because I literally just told her I'm considering applying for my Colorado teaching license and moving there after graduation," Amy explained. "So, that one wasn't entirely your fault. Though you should probably choose your words carefully around Mom for the next week or so."

"Colorado?" Artie hadn't heard Amy mention this before. As far as he knew, Amy was just going to be coming back to her hometown after graduating and seeking a teaching job somewhere near Lima. "You never mentioned that to me either."

"This is literally me telling you right now," said Amy, who seemed to have a sudden affinity for the word 'literally.' Artie scrunched up his face. She scrunched hers up in a perfect imitation of her brother's expression.

"But..." Artie was slowly processing what Amy moving away would mean. If I get into the Brooklyn Film Academy... and Amy moves to Colorado... and Dad still travels for work all the time... who will be with Mom?

"But what?"

"But... how can you afford to live in Colorado and teach?" he finally asked. "I mean, isn't the cost of living crazy expensive out there? What would you even make as a first-year teacher?"

Amy shrugged. It seemed like she didn't want to work out the details of her new dream. Well, that made two of them. "I haven't made any definite plans," she said. "But Mom and I were just talking about school and stuff before dinner, and it kind of slipped out. She looked a little hurt. But Colorado's not really that far."

"Not that far?" Artie repeated, aghast. "Amy. It's like a seventeen-hour drive. And here I thought Brooklyn was far."

"Okay, fine, they're both pretty far," Amy said. "And in opposite directions. But plenty of kids don't remain close to home as adults. It shouldn't shock her that we both have other places we'd like to live..." she paused, reading his expression accurately. "So we don't have to feel guilty about that. You don't have to feel guilty."

Artie glanced over his shoulder, to make sure neither parent was about to surprise them by coming back into the dining room suddenly. "But I do," he said. "I mean, who am I kidding? I'm not independent. Mom's taken care of me ever since I came home from the hospital and she and Dad had practically remodeled the entire downstairs. I didn't think about that costing a fortune back then, but I know it did. Plus, the pool..."

The wheelchair. The standing frame. Doctor visit after doctor visit. Therapy. Surgery. More surgery. More therapy. The list was endless. Amy could see him mentally adding it all up as he fell silent.

"You don't owe Mom or Dad anything, just because they've taken care of you," Amy said, and Artie didn't take it as her being a know-it-all. This time, she was just being understanding. "That's what parents do. Even if what their kid needs happens to be a little bit above and beyond the norm. So what? You don't owe them a lifetime of indentured servitude, and you don't have to stay close to home."

"And what if I'm just scared to leave?" Artie asked. "I haven't even finished my application. It's still sitting on my desk, and if I don't send it soon, I can probably forget about it."

Amy rolled her eyes at him. "Finish your application," she said. "Because I don't believe for a second that you're afraid to leave, and Mom won't buy that excuse either."

Artie just nodded. He was going to finish the application. Saturday would be the perfect time to do it, too, because he had no plans – aside from dropping by Burt's auto shop to see Finn at some point and tell him his idea for Grease. The rest of the family would be busy helping Amy move back into her dorm. He had everything he needed for it; he just needed to assemble it and send it off.

They took their dishes to the kitchen, promptly taking over for their mother, who let them, with the comment that she'd miss having two extra sets of hands to clean up after dinner. And she looked extra sad about Amy's last year in college, Artie thought, as he continued to mull over his comment. He wasn't always good at noticing how his words affected people, but he was getting there, especially if someone pointed it out as Amy had just done.

"Hey, Mom?" Their mother looked up as she poured her customary glass of wine after dinner that only seemed to appear when she had a lot on her mind.

"What is it, Artie?"

"I'm..." he glanced at Amy, who looked up from drying the tops of the glasses before putting them in the high cabinet he couldn't reach. "I'm... sorry for sounding critical of you earlier. You don't rob me of my independence. That's not how I meant for it to come across."

And she stepped over to him, to kiss the top of his head. "I know, sweetheart," she said. "And I don't mean to be overprotective. I know I have my moments. Almost ten years later and I still haven't got it all figured out."

"Well, I figured it out," Amy cut in, her jovial tone interrupting the seriousness of the moment. "Jeez, you two, get it together." And she reached for the bottle of wine, which Nancy quickly snatched away from her. "What? I'm of age!"

"Indeed you are," she said, serenely, replacing the bottle back in the fridge. "But get your own wine."

"Why do I always feel so at home in a tire shop?" Artie mused, amusing himself with his own terrible joke as he wheeled into Hummel Tires and Lube on Saturday. He said this as he approached Finn, who was busy working on a car. Finn briefly glanced over his shoulder at him and failed to appreciate Artie's humor. A grunt was all he received in return.

"That was a joke," Artie explained, since Finn didn't seem to know.

"What do you want, Artie? I've got a lot of work to do." Maybe Finn should have followed Blaine and Sam's leads by getting a job as a lifeguard and teaching swimming lessons at the community pool. Finn, as a working stiff, didn't seem very happy with his current gig.

"Just came by to say hi..." Artie trailed off, not sure if now was the right time to pitch his idea to Finn. Maybe I should come back when you're in a better mood, he thought. "Are you okay?"

"Sure, great. Changing tires is what I wanted to do for a living," he said, flatly. "What does it matter that I'm not in New York, destined for stardom, and sharing a co-ed bathroom with lots of good-looking, talented guys?!"

"Well, I'm sorry to hear you're missing out on meeting lots of good-looking, talented guys," he joked again, feeling like it was his duty to tell jokes and keep things light, so that maybe he could get the other guy to smile and be in a better mood.

"I figure my luck may change soon," Finn went on, ignoring Artie's attempt at levity. "And one of the lifts will break, and I'll be crushed by a car."

At that, Artie fell silent and he could see Finn suddenly stop and play back what he had said, clearly aware of who he was talking to when he'd spoken such poorly-chosen words. Artie didn't need to say it. Finn put down his tools and sighed, turning around and finally giving Artie his full attention.

"I'm sorry, Artie," he said, obviously aware that he shouldn't downplay the impact of being crushed by a car, while actually speaking to someone who'd been crushed by a car. "I appreciate you stopping by, you're a great friend. I'm just kind of sitting back and looking at the next sixty years of my life. It sort of makes me want to puke. But it is what it is."

"Do you remember what I said when I dedicated that song to you last year?" Artie inched his way closer, now that he had his friend's attention. "That you were my friend. My hero. Well, that hasn't changed. And I'm not going to let you bury yourself in self-pity, Finn. You're better than that."

"You know, I've heard that a lot all my life, Artie," Finn said, heaving a huge sigh. "That I'm better than I think I am. Well, look around. Maybe... I'm not."

"You just lost your confidence because you lost your place," Artie tried to reason. "You're a creative person. You need to find an artistic outlet. And I've got just the thing. "Come co-direct the musical with me. I want to do 'Grease.'"

"I don't know how to direct a musical, Artie," he said, flatly.

"Directing is about having an idea and convincing everyone around you to make it happen," Artie told him. "Besides, you'll be co-directing. I'd like to have Kurt, too, if he's got the time."

"I can't speak for him, but I don't think I do," Finn said, motioning to all the cars in the garage that were next up on his list.

"Fine," Artie stated, folding his arms, sitting back in his chair, and hoping his next tactic would work. "Then I'm not doing it either, which means there is no musical. We do it together, or not at all."

"You can't do that, man," Finn said, frowning hard, as Artie shrugged. "You can't hold the musical hostage. That's, like, terrorism."

"Basically, Olivia Newton-John is strapped to my chest, and unless you co-direct with me, I'm gonna blow her up." Artie thought he detected a hint of a smile. "I'm serious, Finn. Trust me, as your friend, you need to do this. Just so you can look at the first month of the next sixty years of your life and not want to puke."

Finn paused, really looking like he was considering Artie's offer now. Artie was reminded of how he'd inadvertently been the one to bring Finn back to the Glee club four years ago. All he'd done that time was get locked in a portable toilet by a bunch of jocks, but still, he'd been involved. If it weren't for that unfortunate and revolting incident, well, Finn might never have been their leader. And that probably would have meant no Puck, Santana, Brittany, or Quinn either. Basically, there would have been no club at all. So, whether he liked it or not, Finn was a leader. And a creative person. If he didn't have an avenue to explore both of his talents, then he was lost.

"Hey, Kurt?" Finn called out, looking at Artie with the same glint he'd had when he first suggested they perform 'Don't Stop' for the empty auditorium. Artie grinned so hard his face hurt.

Kurt popped his head out of the office, clad in his own dirty coveralls but topped off with an ironic, Burberry check scarf. (Artie only knew what that was called because he had a sweater vest that Kurt once complimented, naming that as the pattern.) "Hmm?"

Finn flashed his own dimpled grin as he glanced over his shoulder. "How would you like to help me co-direct the fall musical with Artie?"

Kurt put his hands on his hips. "Artie Abrams, you better not be doing 'Billy Elliot' after I already graduated!"

"He's not, it's 'Grease,'" Finn informed him.

"Oh, thank God," Kurt said, in his typical dramatic fashion. "There's not a single part for me in that show. Yes, I'll do it. I mean. As long as it doesn't interfere with Dad's appointments. Sometimes one of us has to take him, if he's too weak to drive home after..."

That last comment hurt Artie's heart to hear. Especially since Kurt said it as though he was almost used to it by now. "Of course," Artie said. "Well, that's why it will be good to have you both. Because this is a huge show, production-wise, and I'll need all the extra help I can get."

"Luckily, the 'M' and the 'i" are spaced pretty widely apart. I can make an 'a' out of that. You might just have to tell whoever sees it that the dot's a freckle." That was the tattoo artist's verdict, as he surveyed the script scrawled across Tina's hip.

"How many people exactly do you plan on showing it too?" asked Artie, grinning wickedly.

"Shut up," Tina barked at him. "I'm swear if you don't shut up, Artie, I'm going to murder you after this. Now hold my hand!"

Artie had one more friend to help out that Saturday. He'd nearly forgotten that he'd volunteered to provide Tina with emotional support that day. He took Tina to the tattoo parlor, with her friend's ID in hand, in order to alter the impulsive statement plastered across her hip. He didn't know why Tina seemed to think it was normal to bring an ex-boyfriend along for the ride, when getting a different ex-boyfriend's name removed from one's hip. Or, well, camouflaged at least. Tina had looked into it, and tattoo removal was expensive.

"Just pretend you're me and you can't feel that." Artie kept trying to use humor to distract her as she squeezed his hand while the guy moved the needle over her bare skin. "Or think of Quinn. I'm sure this isn't worse than having a baby. Ow, Tina!"

She had given his hand an especially hard squeeze. "Not. Helping."

Finally, the tattoo artist, who was rather artfully covered in tattoos himself, finished up. "Can I do anything else for you guys today?" he asked, looking at Artie as Tina carefully pulled her sweatpants back up over her hip and got to her feet. "You want some ink, man? I do a half-off special if you bring a friend."

The offer was kind of tempting, actually. For a long time, he'd considered commemorating his friend Mack somehow. Maybe with a butterfly, to remind him of the time she'd drawn a self-portrait in third grade using almost every crayon in his 64-crayon box. But how would he explain that butterfly without rehashing the story of Mackenzie, a life cut so tragically short? This was supposed to be her senior year, too.

Tina looked impressed as Artie actually paused and considered it. But then– "No thanks," he said. "I'm actually not sure if there's anything I'd like to have inked on my body forever."

"No problem," said the tatted man. "I was twenty before I got my first, it's a big decision." He looked at Tina again. "How about you? Wanna put his name on the other hip?"

At this, Tina looked at Artie and burst out laughing. Artie made a show, however, of pretending to be hurt. "Always in the friend zone," he lamented. "Mike Chang, I can never compete with you. It'll never be Artie Abrams forever."

And Artie shook his fists at the sky, as though crying out to the heavens.

"I knew I should have asked Sam or Blaine to take me," Tina said, with a hair toss and a dramatic eye roll, as she paid the man the rather expensive fee for the small amount of ink to modify her tattoo.

"Two more guys I can never compete with," Artie went on, pouting. "She won't date me because I'm in a wheelchair!"

The poor tattoo artist didn't know what to think as Tina hurried out of there as fast as she could, making a point to grab and steer Artie out ahead of her. He was already laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

"Oh, my Lord, you are so embarrassing, Artie!" Tina hissed. "I hope you're proud of yourself!"

Artie was pretty proud of himself. And now Tina owed him an ice-cream for driving her there, the bribe they'd originally settled on. So, off they went to split a banana split, as the perfect summer continued on for one more glorious week.