BLAINE

It had been a bad day.

Blaine had fought with his dad again. He wondered when exactly it had begun – that he had gone from being the apple of his father's eye to being the bane of his existence. Somewhere between fifth grade when he kicked the winning goal for his summer soccer team's finale and yesterday when his dad told him to show some worth, to try to do something for his family instead of just leaching off of them. He told him to find a job.

Blaine had been hurt and shocked to his core. He was a straight-A student, the lead singer of the Warblers, a mid-fielder on the Lacrosse team, and a medal winner in his Latin class. He did all of his assigned household chores on time and with care. There was just something he wasn't understanding: his dad seemed angry at him all the time.

Blaine was fairly sure it wasn't because he'd come out – his dad told him that he accepted that about him, but....? Blaine couldn't think of what else it could be.

He had some hard decisions to make. In order to hold a job, he'd have to give up something in school.

It had all come to a head last night. His parents had come in from a charity benefit dinner. His mother, Pamela Creighton-Anderson, was head of several charities and this dinner had been a silent auction for raising funds for the Children's Hospital Foundation where she was president. Blaine's father, Hugh Anderson, was a Certified Public Accountant and owned his own company.

Blaine had been in his room doing homework when his dad called him down.

“Blaine, what were you up to? I expected to see you at the benefit tonight. We need to present a good picture to the community and you are expected to be there when your mother needs you,” Mr. Anderson scolded.

“I'm sorry, Dad. I was finishing the paper on 'Grain Alternatives for a Changing Environment' for my geography class. I found a new article that shed a different light on quinoa as an alternative grain in lower elevations, so I was just making last minute adjustments. That paper is a large percentage of my grade and I thought you'd want me to....” Blaine stopped, seeing his father's face redden with what Blaine thought was anger. Blaine turned to his mother.

“Mom, I am so sorry I wasn't there. I should have come and finished my paper later...I apologize,” he said, his hands reaching for her small hands and taking them into his large ones. She was a tiny woman, fragile-looking, although Blaine knew she was tough as nails underneath.

“It's okay. I just missed you there, honey,” she said, giving him a small hug back, then stepping away. “I'm going up to bed. I will see you both in the morning.” She kissed her husband on the cheek and left the room. She had a bad cold coming on and her head hurt, though she hadn't mentioned it to her husband or son.

“See what you did, Blaine?” his father growled. He assumed his wife was upset over Blaine's absence at the dinner.

“I didn't mean to hurt her, Dad. I wasn't thinking. Can I do anything else to remedy this? I said I was sorry...” he mumbled, not sure what he could do to help.

Hugh loved his son dearly. He had been a little shocked when Blaine came home one afternoon and told his parents, in a shy voice and looking at the floor, that he thought he was gay. They hadn't known what to say, so they didn't say anything. Maybe that was the wrong approach because the longer they didn't say anything, the harder it became to talk about and the bigger it loomed in their lives.

The Anderson's had decided to send Blaine to Dalton Academy – it was a prestigious school and graduates did well in their college careers and on into their lives. They had signed Blaine up when he was two months old, so his confession that he was gay wasn't a determining factor in sending him. It just might have looked that way to Blaine - who thought that because he had to board at Dalton it meant that his parents didn't want him around.

“Well, maybe you can redeem yourself, son. I have the proceeds from the auction here,” Hugh said, pointing at the briefcase he'd set on the floor when he came in. It was rich, dark brown leather, polished with Mr Anderson's monogram on a brass plate on the front.

“They need to be deposited in the bank account for the Children's Hospital in Columbus State Bank before you get your bus to Dalton in the morning. Can you handle a little responsibility, Blaine?” his father asked.

“Yes, sir,” Blaine said immediately, hoping to make his father smile.

“I want to trust you, son. The deposit slip is inside the brief case,” he said, handing Blaine the case. “There is over $7500 in there. Be careful – don't take your eyes off of it.”

“I won't let you down, Dad. You can trust me.”

KURT

Burt sat in the hallway outside the principal's office at McKinley High School. He hadn't sat here since he'd been a student at this very same high school, 25 years ago. He briefly wondered if old Mrs. Shoemaker still taught geometry and trig. He liked her, she had been instrumental in keeping him in school.

“Mr. Hummel, the principal will see you now,” the secretary said, showing him into the office. Kurt was sitting there, his head down and his face resting in his hands, elbows on his knees.

“What's this all about?” Burt asked as he sat down in the chair next to Kurt. His hand automatically went to rub Kurt's back.

“Mr. Hummel, I have been informed that your son, Kurt, was seen exchanging money with another student who has been accused of illegal betting on district sporting events. This cannot be tolerated in our school and carries with it substantial penalties,” Mr. Figgins said.

“Kurt? Did you do this?” Burt asked.

Kurt turned red and lifted his face from his hands.

“Yes, Dad, I gave Dave Karofsky money, just like Principal Figgins said,” confessed Kurt.

“Were you...were you gambling? – on school property?” Burt asked, incredulous. He knew his son, or at least he thought he did. Plus, Kurt didn't follow sports, unless you count Fashion Week in New York a “sport”. He stared at his son and Kurt turned an even darker shade of red, his breath quick and shallow. Kurt's hands were twisting in his lap, a sign of nervousness that Burt didn't often see.

“Why?” he asked.

Kurt put his face back into his hands, not answering, just trembling.

“I have just been going over the rules with your son, Mr. Hummel. It clearly states that participating in gambling is a serious offense. It is well within my scope as an administrator at this place of higher learning to suspend or expel Kurt right now,” Mr. Figgins said gruffly. He glared at Kurt.

“Principal Figgins, you and I both know my son has an excellent record with this school. Could you see your way clear to give him a chance to redeem himself?” Burt asked, grasping at straws. He knew there was a reason that Kurt acted the way he did, but he could also see that Kurt was not about to divulge anything else. He, as Kurt's father, had to minimize the punishment until he could get to the bottom of this.

“What do you suggest?” Principal Figgins asked, willing to listen to Burt. He was very surprised that Kurt had been involved with some of the rougher kids. Kurt was usually seen running from them, hiding from them, or ignoring them. He sighed.

“Maybe some kind of community service?” Burt suggested off the top of his head.

The principal touched his fingertips together, pushing his fingers up into a steeple shape and then back flat, his eyes closed as he thought. He heard both of the Hummel men shift in their chairs before he decided on a punishment.

“All right. Because of Kurt's excellent record...and because he is an integral part of our winning show choir, I will allow him to do community service, three days a week after school. I will let you know where this is to be done by tomorrow morning. I expect great things from you, Kurt Hummel.”

And with that, they were dismissed.

~

“Dad, don't ask me,” Kurt said soon as he got home and walked in the door, his father waiting for him at the dining room table.

“Kurt....” Burt started, but Kurt interrupted him.

“Dad, I have never given you a reason to distrust me, have I?” he asked.

“No, son, you haven't. That's why I am so confused. What on earth was going on? Since when do you have anything to do with Dave Karofsky?”

“Dad, I just can't tell you. I was not gambling, I can guarantee you that. I had my reasons and they are....ah...private. It concerns someone else's welfare and if I am willing to take the punishment, well, I want you to understand how serious I am about this. Please, Dad.” Kurt stood next to his father, his blue eyes liquid with worry.

Burt closed his eyes. Everything in him wanted to know why Kurt would be handing money to Karofsky. He knew the boy was trouble and he knew he was the main bully in Kurt's life. Was Kurt paying him off? He wanted to shake Kurt until he told him everything. Burt was worried, but he had to trust his son. He had always trusted Kurt to do the right thing. He took after his mother in that – always knowing what was the right thing to do. Burt sighed.

“Okay, Kurt. I do trust you. I don't know what the hell you're thinking, but I won't ask you again. Just....be careful. It is just as bad to do the right things for the wrong reason as it is to do the wrong thing for the right reason. Be careful. Don't let your schoolwork slip,” Burt said, gathering Kurt into his arms. “I love you, son.”

“I won't let you down, Dad. You can trust me.”