This Wednesday wasn't much different. It was chilly and gray out when Blaine woke, the screech of his alarm clock jarring his foggy, dream-riddled brain. He went about his usual routine; coffee and cigarette, half an hour of boxing warm-ups, shower, cereal, another cigarette and a quick game of fetch in the back yard with his pitbull, Hermy, and off to school (where he'd usually smoke another half cigarette before class.)

This morning he pulled into the senior lot as usual, slid off his motorcycle, and flipped the kickstand down. He sat sideways on the seat of his bike and fiddled with his pack of Marlboro Reds. The cold and wind had frozen his fingers on the drive there, and he was having trouble keeping his hands steady enough to extract a cigarette. As he finally freed one from the pack, he heard the familiar sound of skateboard wheels on wet pavement, and turned to his right just in time to see one of his best friends, Puck, gracefully slide up, brake, and pop his board up into his hand.

“Morning, Pop,” Blaine greeted, sending a half-assed salute in Puck's direction and lighting his cigarette.

“G'morning,” Puck replied from behind his hands. He had cupped them in front of his mouth, blowing warm air into them and attempting to defrost his fingers. “That shit's gonna kill you, you know?”

Blaine, choosing to ignore the comment, said, “Dude, I can't believe you're still riding that thing in this weather. Quinn or Santana could totally pick you up.”

“It's not all that different from your chosen mode of transportation,” Puck countered, sounding a bit offended and gesturing at Blaine's shaking, red fingers as he tried to take another drag from his cigarette.

“Touch�.” Blaine smiled and flicked his not even half smoked cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with his boot. He couldn't smoke anymore; the act was making him nauseous but there was no point in saving a halfie, they always just made him reek of ashes.

“What are your plans for today?” Puck asked, eying the crushed cigarette. He hated when Blaine left his butts around. He always said it was trashy.

“Not much,” Blaine answered, rubbing the scruff on his cheeks and trying to fight off the drowsiness already invading his brain and trying to force his eyelids to shut. “I'm going to go to AP Lit, just because I actually like Mr. Peters--”

“You want to fuck Mr. Peters, is what you mean,” Puck teased, stooping down to pick up the cigarette butt. He couldn't just leave it there.

“Shut the fuck up, Puckerman,” said a voice a few feet away. Quinn had pulled into the parking lot and walked up to the boys without either of them noticing. Her dark gray jean vest looked especially tattered today, covered in what looked like new patches.

“Good morning to you too, Q,” Puck smiled, lightly punching her in the shoulder and smiling.

“Mornin', Papa.” Quinn smiled back affectionately, teasingly punching Puck back slightly harder than he'd hit her. Puck feigned hurt, causing Quinn to laugh and swing her arm up around his shoulder, bringing him into a side hug.

Blaine smiled to himself as he watched his two best friends and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to block out the chill. “Anyway,” he continued to answer Puck, “Yes, Mr. Peters is totally fuckable, but that's not why I'm going to class. We're reading Hemingway, and I want to try and have an intelligent conversation with someone in this godforsaken town, and apparently my literature teacher is my only option.”

Quinn rolled her eyes and crossed the short distance between them to hug him.

“Good morning, Quinny,” Blaine said, pressing a kiss into the shocking pink hair at the top of Quinn's head, smiling at the familiar scent of coconut shampoo and menthol cigarettes, and holding her tight with both arms.

“Good morning, Bub,” Quinn replied quietly into Blaine's shoulder, breathing deeply and relaxing into his touch.

They had been best friends since they were in kindergarten. They shared a September birthday and subsequently were forced to share a classroom party the first week of school. From that point on, they were inseparable. As they grew older and closer, Quinn started sharing a deep longing for a brother, which was when she started calling Blaine “Brother,” “Bubba,” and “Bub.” Blaine had an older sister, Rachel, and Quinn eventually got a younger brother, JJ, but for a long time, Quinn was more of a sister to him than Rachel was. They liked to say that they were soul-siblings, and at one point they had even gone so far as to become blood-brothers with the scars to prove it.

“So, is that the only class you're going to?” Puck asked, holding out the cigarette butt between his thumb and forefinger and alternating between looking utterly disgusted and glaring at the offending trash.

“I don't know,” Blaine answered as Quinn swung out from the hug, keeping a her arm around his waist and a tight grip on his hip. If people weren't so aware of Blaine's sexual orientation, they'd assume he and Quinn were dating, considering how close and affectionate they were with one another. Blaine put his right arm around Quinn's shoulders and his left hand in his jean pocket. The sound of a car horn caught everyone's attention and all three looked down the row to see Santana's navy blue Charger, the girl's hand hanging out the window and flipping off the freshmen walking through the lot, obviously in her way. Blaine turned back to face Puck as Santana pulled into a spot a few cars away from them. “I might go to U.S. Gov, but that sounds exceptionally dull today. So I'll probably skip out and hang out at Mickey's for awhile. Get a burger and a shake for lunch and flirt with the waitresses.”

Mickey's was the retro diner-dive down the street. It was greasy, and the general clientele consisted of drunks and pregnant women trying to escape their abusive husbands, but they played good music and the waitresses, no matter their age or health, still did their jobs in poodle skirts and roller skates. Plus, the food was authentic, All-American, and delicious, despite the artery-clogging factor. It was the usual hang out for Blaine and his friends, especially when they were skipping class, because not only was the food cheap and delicious, but, despite the occasional teasing, none of the employees made them leave during school hours, like so many other businesses did. They were like harbored fugitives between 7 am and 3 pm. It probably helped that Santana had a part-time job there.

“Did I hear something about burgers and shakes?!” Brittany skipped from the passenger side of Santana's car, colliding into Puck and hugging him tightly. Puck smiled and hugged her back, patting her on the head as if she were a pet.

“Yep. Wanna join me?” Blaine answered, winking playfully at the blonde across from him. Britt's bright blue eyes narrowed a bit as she thought, zoning out a little and staring across the lot. Just as Blaine was starting to wonder if she'd forgotten to answer the question, she suddenly burst out of her daze, snapping her head back to look at Blaine.

"Are you skipping?" She asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet a little. Brittany was extra excitable today, and Blaine wondered why. She must have put extra sugar on her Cap'n Crunch this morning.

"Calm down a little, Baby Bee," Santana said, sliding up to Brittany and putting her arm around Brittany's waist, grounding and quieting her. Santana wore black fishnet stockings and short, skin-tight spandex shorts in a dizzying shade of neon blue. Her loose-fighting tie-dyed t-shirt hung off one shoulder and she had a pair of roller skates slung over the other.

"Yeah. Fuck class. We learn the same bullshit every day anyway. I'm gonna go to Lit though, and then I'm gonna head to Mickey's. Anyone else want to come with us?" Blaine asked. A chorus of "yeah" and a single "fuck school" (from Santana, naturally) greeted his welcome ears. No matter how introverted Blaine could be, he loved his friends like family, and he loved being with them. They were all misfits in their own ways, just like him and though they were all very different, they got along better than anyone.

"Okay," Puck said, "So, let's all just meet back here after first period. Is it okay if I ride with you, Q?"

"Yeah," Quinn answered enthusiastically. "As long as you don't make me listen to that God awful Hebrew chant shit again. Like, I know it's only a five minute drive and all, but I just can't listen to it." Quinn pulled away from Blaine's side and grabbed his hand as she started walking. The others followed suit and they made their way to the side entrance of McKinley High.

"Okay, as long as you can avoid blasting Violent Femmes and breaking my eardrums again." Puck replied, glaring at Quinn.

"Hey, fuck you, that was one time, and your eardrums did not rupture, if you remember correctly. There was only a bit of minor bleeding."

Puck laughed loudly, "Yeah, I guess I'm not entirely deaf." He smiled at Quinn and she quickly returned the gesture, sticking her tongue out as Puck turned away from her. He caught her in the act though, and swatted at her arm. She flitted away, trying to avoid his playful attack and ended up about four feet in front of the others. She gracefully turned on her heel, walking backwards so she could face her friends.

"Do you have practice today, Santana?" Blaine asked, looking passed Brittany, who had gotten a hold of his hand and was swinging it between them like a child, and gesturing at Santana's skates.

"Naw, just work. But I won't be able to make it to Glee Club." Brittany stopped dead in her tracks, stopping everyone else and yanking her hand from Blaine's as if he had done something to offend her. She stepped in front of Santana and grabbed the other girls upper arms, staring intensely into the brown eyes.

"You won't be in Glee?! San, we have a duet today! Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Brittany's voice broke a little at the end of her outburst, and she looked like she was about to cry, her bottom lip trembling.

"Britt, I'm sorry. Janice called this morning and told me she needs me to take over Pat's shift. I forgot to tell you." Santana looked genuinely sorry, and Quinn shifted uncomfortably in front of them all, making eye-contact with Blaine and silently begging for him to do something. It always hurt them all when Brittany was upset, because she was the baby of the group; she was what they all worked their hardest to protect, even over their badass reputations.

"It's okay, Bee. I'll buy your milkshake later, kay? And we can get fries too. Santana will make it up to you, and we can talk to Mr. Schue during Glee Club and ask him to push your duet back to tomorrow." Blaine was trying to think of anything that might cheer Brittany up. It was physically painful to see the girl upset.

"Oh... Okay," Brittany said, wiping a tear from her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Baby Bee. I should have told you as soon as I found out. But Blaine's right. I'll make it up to you. We can go to Breadstix this weekend and you can get shrimp, and we'll take a bath after, okay?" Santana said quietly, peering into Brittany's eyes. Brittany nodded her head and Santana wrapped her arm around the taller girls waist.

"That was more than I needed to know, San. Papa Skank doesn't need to know what his children do in the privacy of their own homes," Puck said, looking honestly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Oh, shut up, Pops. How long have Britt and I been together? Basically since middle school. It's nothing new."

"Doesn't mean I want to hear about it in gory detail."

"Do you want gory detail, Puckerman? I can give you gory detail." Santana was seriously getting upset, puffing out her chest like a proud bird. Puck shrank back a bit and Blaine looked over at him sympathetically.

"It's okay, San. Nothing to get upset about. He's right; he doesn't need to know anything in detail. Let's just go to class, okay?" Brittany was petting Santana's shoulder and trying to soothe her, tugging her along. Santana had horrible anger issues, and the smallest things would set her off. Luckily they had Brittany, who only had to touch Santana's hand and whisper something in her girlfriend's ear to calm her.

"Yeah. Right," Santana shook her head as if trying to rid herself of a fogged brain and set her jaw. "Not upset. I'm not upset. Let's go." Santana set off at a brisk pace, practically pulling Brittany along behind her.

"Guess we'll see you guys later," Blaine called as Santana stalked off with Brittany in tow. Brittany looked back apologetically and waved without saying anything.

Quinn fell back into step beside Blaine. "She's been getting worse, hasn't she?"

"Yeah. She gets downright deadly at Fight Club these days," Puck answered. "And I heard she snapped some chick's arm at her last roller derby practice. Apparently they can't prove that she did it on purpose, but you know how Santana gets when she's upset. One wrong block on a bad day and she could kill a girl, even while wearing those damn skates." Puck shivered slightly, whether from the cold or fear, Blaine couldn't quite tell. He knew how scary Santana could be when she was upset, but Brittany was almost always there too, so he had never gotten too hurt.

They had finally arrived at the building, and Quinn pulled open the side door, ostentatiously ushering Blaine and Puck in before she stepped in behind them and let the door slam.

"Ah, hell. So glad to be back." Blaine said, taking a large gulp of air, looking around at the students shuffling about and organizing their lockers for the day, and stepping into the hall. "But yeah, I was on the phone with Britt last night, and apparently Santana has gotten kind of snappy with her. Not violent, thank God, but loud... And mean."

Puck made a kind of choking noise and looked worried. "If she hurts Brittany, I swear to fucking God..."

"Puckerman! How many times do I have to tell you to watch your mouth? Come here." It was Ms. Fletcher, Puck's algebra teacher.

Puck rolled his eyes and broke away from his friend. "See you guys after class, then."

"Bye." Quinn waved half-heartedly and Blaine saluted. Just then, Tina Cohen-Chang, captain of the Cheerios, sauntered passed with her usual cronies, knocking her shoulder into Quinn's.

"Hey, losers. Have a nice walk from your cardboard boxes this morning? It must suck having to sleep in boxes in the rain." Tina laughed at herself as if she'd said the most clever, hilarious thing ever. The cheerleaders surrounding her giggled as well, but it was obvious they were either having trouble thinking it was actually funny, or even understanding what she had said.

"I don't know. Most of the night I was worrying about you and how you were fairing under your bridge, troll." Quinn countered, stepping forward and getting in Tina's face.

Just at that moment, Will Schuester, the Spanish teacher and Glee Club director, stepped out of his classroom and started making the announcement that the bell would soon ring and everyone needed to be in their first period class. The confrontation between Quinn and Tina caught his eye and he slipped from the shelter of his classroom's door frame and made his way across the hall.

"Miss Cohen-Chang? Quinn? Everything okay?" He looked back and forth between their faces, but neither of the girls said anything, and he took the hint. "C'mon, Quinn. Class. Blaine, Tina, everyone else, you too. Class." Quinn followed Mr. Schue toward his classroom, as she had Spanish first period, while sending death stares back and forth with Tina.

"Q, I'll meet you after class, kay?" Blaine said, trying to redirect Quinn's attention before she jumped on Tina's back and started clawing the cheerleader's eyes out.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. After class. Love you." Quinn's face softened and she smiled to assure Blaine that she was okay.

"Alright. Love you, too, Quinny." Blaine smiled back and started to make his way through the thinning crowd toward his classroom. He'd meet his friends again after class and this would be only a memory, but he couldn't help but realize just how much more conflict there was between his friends and the Cheerios than last year, or even the year before.

Most of the students at William McKinley got along pretty well. Almost all of them had grown up together, and even if everyone wasn't friends, they all had memories together, and they could at least stand each other. The only groups who really stood out were the Cheerios and Blaine and his friends, who were deemed The Skanks by the Cheerios themselves. The Cheerios hated just about everyone but the jocks, but The Skanks, who grudgingly took on the name after realizing it was the only way to avoid confrontation, got along with just about everyone in the school. They were friendly with the majority of the nerds, and the jocks and Skanks just avoided each other. Everyone else avoided the Skanks due to pure fear of their image. The Skanks had done little to achieve the fear factor, but they appreciated it, because it meant that they didn't have to interact with many other people.

Blaine made it to his Lit class just as the bell rang.

"Sorry Mr. Peters. I'm here, I'm here," Blaine said, winking at his young, handsome, fair-haired teacher as he slipped into his seat at the back of the classroom.

"Yes, Mr. Anderson, I can see that. Thank you for announcing. Now let's get started, shall we? Ernest Hemingway..."

The seconds started ticking until class got out, and though Blaine had an exceptional view of his teacher's ass every time he turned to write something on the whiteboard, Blaine was already bored and regretting going to class. His craving for a cheeseburger was more intense than his craving for an intellectual conversation with a ridiculously hot teacher, and he was falling asleep almost every other minute. Yes, this two hour class was going to last an eternity.