The morning of the first day of classes passed in a blur of information overload. The first day of the year at McKinley, teachers always spent most of the time going over rules, handing out books, and giving a broad overview of the year's curriculum; here, the teachers assumed you knew the rules already, could read a syllabus, and didn't need to spend twenty minutes to pass a book down the row before you could delve right into the substance. It had been four hours and Kurt already felt hopelessly behind the curve. He could catch up to where they were now, he was certain, but by the time he got there they would have moved on already.

Finn was either spending the morning sleeping in and watching television, or at the shop changing tires. Kurt would have gladly taken either of those two options. Why did he have to be the son on whom all these extra hopes and dreams were pinned? What kind of stupid idea had this been, anyway?

He had brought it on himself, he knew that - always being the overachiever, the crazy one who actually enjoyed the learning portion of school (while trying to avoid everything else that went with it), had always talked about leaving town one day to go to college which was practically unheard-of in Lima. That he wanted to leave the state was just baffling to most people - why would he want to go so far from home like that? But his dad knew, and his dad had always supported him the best he knew how, and so here he was: surrounded by a bunch of boys in ugly wool jackets who made the former academic star of McKinley look like a dumb backwater hick.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

By the time he got to lunch, he realized his bigger problem: He didn't know anyone here.

He had known that before, obviously, but it suddenly struck him as he watched the groups of guys chatting happily with people they'd known for years. He didn't know anyone here, and unlike at his old school where he knew exactly who to avoid and where to sit if he wanted to get himself killed, he didn't have any such social education here. And here he couldn't even make sweeping judgments about which cliques were seated where based on attire and appearance - everyone was dressed the same. There were no letter sweaters to tell him where the athletes were so he could stay away, no cheerleading uniforms to let him know who he could get in good with but would ultimately be stabbed in the back by, no socially-unacceptable clothing to shine like a beacon over the nerds, whom Kurt generally found to be a hopeless-but-safe crowd; painfully uninteresting on most topics, and he usually had to fight the urge to leap across the table and force them into better shirts, but at least they didn't beat him up after class.

On the plus side, the food did look much better here. It actually resembled food, and the word 'mystery' could not be associated with any of the meat dish options.

Carefully balancing his tray on his stack of four enormous books, he walked slowly through the dining hall and tried to find an empty seat at the long tables, just hoping he wouldn't sit anywhere that would end up getting him killed. He was used to keeping an extra change of clothes in his locker for when people threw food at him, but now he would need to go all the way back to his room to change and he wasn't sure he had that kind of time. He saw a boy from his French class over there - was he one of the boys who had smiled? Kurt couldn't remember, he looked a lot like one of the other boys who had given a more unreadable expression, and there were just too damned many to-

"Hey, Kurt!" a cheerful voice called from a few seats over. "Come sit with us."

Kurt turned his head quickly towards the source of the sound and found himself staring into Blaine's kind eyes, and a wave of relief washed over him. Blaine not only would give him a place to sit today, but could give him the low-down on everyone else and where he should avoid sitting tomorrow since he doubted that Mister Popular would want him cramping his style every day like this.

Even if he wouldn't have complained about sitting with Blaine anytime he wanted.

Blaine nodded towards the empty seat beside him, and Kurt smiled as he slid into it with as much grace as he could muster. "Well, you survived half of your first day," he joked with a playful nudge of Kurt's shoulder. "How are you holding up?"

He tried to come up with the right expression of how the day had gone, something witty and erudite with just enough haughtiness to keep from appearing scared or overwhelmed. What he came up with instead was, "Why don't any of you have books?"

Lovely.

The boys within earshot chuckled goodnaturedly. "We tend to drop them in the Student Activities Office," Blaine replied. "The Warblers' space isn't large, but it's enough for our books."

"Not when everyone does it," one of the boys pointed out irritatedly.

"Ignore Wes - he's been uptight since we elected him," another boy pointed out from Kurt's other side.

"He's been uptight since he was born," a third guy grumbled.

Blaine smiled good-naturedly and offered, "Kurt, meet about 75% of the Warblers." He went around the table, and Kurt knew he wouldn't remember most of the names, though he did remember a few from Blaine mentioning them before - Wes and David, Jeff and Nick whom he remembered (he thought) from Blaine talking with Sam about tutoring sessions... "Everyone, this is Kurt. He used to go to school in Lima - he's Sam's roommate this year."

"Where is Sam, anyway?" Nick asked.

Blaine thought a moment as he speared a piece of broccoli with his fork. "History with Eric," he replied.

"You have an encyclopedic knowledge of his study schedule?" Kurt asked skeptically.

"He's kind of a freak like that," Jeff (or was it Nick? The one whose hair was almost as fake in its blondness as Sam's) stated.

"Don't worry, you'll find it endearing after awhile," the other one of Jeff-and-Nick assured him with a grin.

A lengthy colloquy about the merits of Blaine as an unofficial leader was cut off quickly as Wes tried to point out that they had an actual leader whom they chose not to listen to more often than not, and before long Kurt felt like his head was spinning as he tried to keep up with four people making inside jokes at once. The boys' laughter was genuine, friendly, but he couldn't help but feel like a complete outsider. Between long rehearsals, performances, a week-long leadership camp in Pennsylvania, and at least a few parties where apparently the Warblers let their metaphorical hair down a little, they all knew each other so well, and he barely knew any of their names.

He'd never really been good with groups. Not that he had much experience trying - the closest he came was glee club, and even then they tended to stick to their own cliques by and large. He and Rachel ended up talking a little on the side while Finn and Puck tried to make out with all three Cheerios at once, then they sang for awhile, then they went their separate ways. Trying to keep up with all of them and find anywhere he could say anything useful was daunting.

"Don't worry," came Blaine's voice softly in his ear, and his eyes widened at the sensation of the boy's warm breath on his neck. "I was intimidated when I first met the group, too. You'll catch up - they're all pretty great." Blaine might have kept speaking after that, but all Kurt could focus on was the hot flush spreading from the breath-sensitive place on his neck up into his cheeks and down onto his chest, the tingly, quivery feeling in the pit of his stomach, the warm stirring sensation in-

Oh god. Could this day get any worse without adding embarrassment on top of general cluelessness?

He crossed his left leg tightly over his right, the squeezing sensation abating the involuntary biological response. He simply nodded and offered a small smile, eyes still wide as he replied, "Thanks. For such a small school, there are a lot of people to meet in one day."

Blaine grinned. "I know exactly how you feel, believe me. You'll catch up soon." He gave Kurt's shoulder a playful squeeze, then ducked as Jeff tossed a roll in- was it Thad? - Thad's general direction.

* * * * *

By the end of his first day, Kurt knew exactly three things for certain:

First, whatever the label said, there was no way that jacket was 100% merino wool. It didn't breathe nearly enough, and he had a distinct feeling that the lining wasn't the only culprit. He also had a hunch that he and the local drycleaner would be on very good terms before the semester was over. He felt grungy and sweat-stained by the time he finished classes for the day and doubted that would change as he got more used to the uniform.

Second, his reaction at the table was as confusing as it was unexpected, which was to say very. Obviously he'd had that happen before - he was 16 after all - but never really as a result of other people. Because of dreams (that he could never remember), sure, and first thing in the morning pretty much every morning for a few years now. But this was...

It wasn't entirely the first time, on second thought. Not if he was being completely honest with himself. A couple times back at the beginning of Freshman year, right after he and Finn had met, when Finn would kind of cuff him playfully on the arm or the one time he just grinned, and that-...that had started, and it was embarrassing, but at that point it happened pretty often during the day without any warning or provocation whatsoever. That particular facet of adolescence had finally (thankfully!) died down.

Only now it seemed to be back.

Though...to be perfectly fair...most of the things his dad had tried to warn him were going to happen were starting up again. When he was 12, his dad had pulled him aside for a horribly awkward afternoon of talking about the things his body was going to start doing - hitting growth spurts, his voice dropping, hair growing, and something referred to by his father only as a hand gesture and the words 'all that stuff.' It wasn't much more explanation than he had gotten from the boys' gym teacher a few months earlier and was surprisingly more awkward. The summer between eighth and ninth grades most of it started, then stopped abruptly by Christmas break when he was 14, leaving him a good head shorter than all of his classmates, with a voice that still sounded like a girl's - but at least the constant mildly pleasurable tingling in his crotch had died down, too.

He'd grown three inches over the summer, his range was starting to narrow and move downward - he had to struggle to hit the high F that had once come so easily to him...maybe 'all that stuff' was starting up again. Wouldn't that be great? A new school where no one knew him, and here he was - looking like a barely-pubescent teenager with no self control.

Okay, fine. So the second thing he knew was that apparently changes were starting up again and hormones were going to make his life miserable for at least his first semester at a brand new school.

Third, the library closed at 10. He knew because Sam showed up at precisely 10:12, loaded down with books and looking tired but accomplished. "Hey." He set the books down heavily on his desk and slung his bag to the ground.

"Hello," Kurt replied politely. His own stack of homework wasn't quite finished - he'd spent too much time dwelling on things and not enough time actually getting work done. He was still used to McKinley-level work, which required maybe an hour a night and never started before the second week of classes. "Get a lot done?"

"Quite a bit," Sam confirmed. He flipped through a notebook and retrieved a sheet of yellow paper, which he set on top of Kurt's notebook.

"What's this?"

"Warblers audition information." When Kurt looked up in surprise, Sam added, "Blaine told me to make sure you got this."

"So he wants me to audition?" Kurt asked, trying to ignore the happy little flutter he felt as he said it. The most popular kid in the most popular clique at school wanted him? Wanted him to be part of the group, part of the in crowd?

It had taken months and countless looks during glee club to even get Finn to acknowledge his existence, let alone talk to him - and he would never have suggested Kurt come sit with the football team at lunch even if 90% of them hadn't been trying to kill him at any point in time. Status there was everything, and you didn't get to just jump into the inner circle unless you were either a new star athlete or dating one of the star athletes. The latter almost never happened unless you were a Cheerio anyway, so there weren't many opportunities for people to improve their standing.

Here he was, poised to join the resident rock-and-roll icons? And Blaine was personally recruiting him to do so?

He couldn't stop grinning.

Until he realized what this meant. He needed to prepare an audition song - and not just any audition song, the best possible song to showcase his voice, his range, his emotive depth, all in three minutes or less. This was the audition of his life...and none of his music was at school with him. It was all back in Ohio in his hope chest, beneath the blankets but to the right of the issues of Vogue and above the posters of movie stars he would have hung on his walls but he felt like it would clash with the decor.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"What I'd need for the audition is all back home, but I can't go get it because there aren't any passes given the first month." His dad had volunteered to bring him whatever he needed, but absent his dad bringing the entire trunk he was unlikely to get what he needed. He would end up with four songbooks and six Vogues, plus a plate of cookies or something from Carole; not exactly what he was aiming for. Sweet, but not going to score him the place on the Warblers.

"I'll take care of it," Sam replied.

"How?"

"Warblers can get passes. We do it all the time."

Kurt looked at him skeptically. "Right."

"Seriously. Warblers are like...like the mob or something. We can get anything somehow."

He was joining the private school equivalent of the mob. Somehow that just made him feel better - though he knew that wasn't probably the right response to have to that image.

But he would look fantastic in a fedora.

* * * * *

Kurt couldn't help but grin as he climbed the familiar front steps onto the rickety porch, fingers tightening around the bag he carried. Mr. Jones had been swearing he was going to fix it from the time Kurt had been at most 11; it was still old and looked like it might cave in at any moment. He didn't have too much room to mock; there had been projects on the old house that his father had been swearing up and down he was just about to fix for the better part of a decade. The new house was new and hadn't accumulated that kind of repair yet, but he was sure that - when it did - at least a few of the projects would get put off awhile in favour of the urgent fixes.

The lawn was more manicured now, a reflection of Mrs. Jones having more time around her own house and less time around the Hummels'. The garden had always looked presentable; now it looked lush, lovingly cared-for. He wondered if she was forcing Mercedes to help her with the roses and smiled to himself at the memory of how many summers he'd listened to her complain about how much she hated them and would rather be doing almost anything else.

He rapped lightly on the wooden frame of the screen door, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. It felt like he'd been gone for a lifetime and yet like he'd never left; in reality, it had been exactly six days. He didn't want to think about what it would feel like when he'd been gone for the better part of a semester.

Mrs. Jones appeared in the door and let out a kind of surprised, delighted caw as she pushed open the screen. "Boy, what are you doing home? Your dad said you wouldn't be back for at least a month!" He set down the bag he was carrying just in time. She drew him into a tight hug, though she hadn't quite adjusted to the fact that he was so much taller than she was now so she didn't lean up quite enough; he leaned down to meet her halfway.

"I had to come get a few things for school, so I'm back until tomorrow afternoon."

"They treating you okay up at that fancy school?" she asked, holding him at arm's length to take a good look at him.

"The work is more challenging, but the people are kinder," he replied.

She had a way of looking at him that still made him feel like a disobedient seven-year-old. He suspected that, no matter how old he got, her scrutinizing gaze would always make him seem smaller.

After his mom had died a few months before his seventh birthday, his dad had put an ad in the paper seeking a housekeeper and nanny - a single man couldn't be expected to raise a kid by himself, certainly not one as 'fussy' (for that had been what adults called him at that point; it was a brief period between 'particular' and 'finicky' but long before 'special' and 'artistic') as Kurt. He had a business to look after, after all, and surely he couldn't cook well enough to keep the two of them alive and fed on his own. Mrs. Jones had been the third person his dad interviewed and liked her immediately; apparently, Kurt learned later, Mrs. Jones had been on at least five or six interviews before that one and everyone balked at her request to be allowed to bring Mercedes along. His dad's response had been simple, logical: Of course she could bring her kid. He couldn't very well ask her to come watch his son only to leave her daughter alone at home or staying with some other relative or friend. What sense did that make for anyone? Besides, the kids were the same age, Kurt didn't really have many playmates, why not at least see if they got along?

Kurt didn't know until years later that such an arrangement was apparently unorthodox to a nearly eye-popping extent. He also didn't realize until he was probably 12 or 13 that his father's edict that he call Mrs. Jones, well, Mrs. Jones, and treat her with respect, wasn't typical, especially not from men of his father's general demographic in Lima.

"Mercedes is upstairs, since I'm guessing that's who you're really here to see," she teased. "You staying for dinner?"

He had learned a long time ago that his negative response would not be accepted; he would come downstairs to a heaping plate of food in his usual space regardless. "I wouldn't miss it," he replied with a smile as he picked up his bag and ascended the stairs. Unsurprisingly, he could hear her singing from halfway down the hall.

She give me money
When I'm in need
Yeah, she's a kind of
Friend indeed

That was the sound of being home - Mercedes belting her lungs out to-...Ray Charles? Maybe. He was much more used to her singing to Dinah Washington, which was a little bit more natural fit for her voice. Ella Fitzgerald on occasion, Billie Holiday if she was in a lousy mood. But ever since John had gone off to Howard, he'd been sending her back more modern bluesy kind of artists to try to get her into it - something about how they rearranged it all in their own style and she should, too, since her voice was too big for those other girl singers. Kurt could agree with that part, though blues wasn't his thing. He liked precision - like the Warblers.

I got a woman
Way over town-

She hit this amazing note on 'way' that made him grin as he paused outside the door, then pushed it open. She sat at her vanity, painting her nails in a shade that was far too bright of a pink to go without comment from her mother.

That's good to m- "Kurt!"

"Mercedes."

"Oh, get in here, you - you have to tell me everything!" she said excitedly. Kurt was just glad he didn't seem to be the only one who felt like it had been more than a week. After all, they'd gone a week without seeing each other before - when she went to see her cousins in Pittsburgh every year, when he and his dad and Carole and Finn had taken a big trip as a new, bonding family out to Chicago about two months after the wedding...but this felt so much longer, probably due to the permanence of it all. Before, they knew it would only be a week and the countdown seemed to bring a sort of relief; this time, they knew it would be at least a year with only intermittent visits and that made ever day seem longer somehow.

He was under the impression, thanks to a conversation he'd had with Blaine about homesickness, that it was a kind of inverse parabola - he would get less homesick over time, then go on an upswing again as he realized just how long he had been gone. Apparently homesickness between Thanksgiving and Christmas was a foregone conclusion, but finals were distracting...and by the time January rolled around everyone was desperate to get back to school and away from their crazy families. Kurt found it reassuring to know someone he respected and got along with had been through the same thing and come through it okay.

"There's so much to tell, I don't even know where to start," he stated as he entered, shutting the door behind them. For some reason, he had always been exempt from the 'boys and girls in separate rooms or with the door open' rules - probably because Mrs. Jones knew him better than she even knew Mercedes and trusted him. He half-flopped onto the bed, smoothing the quilt where it bunched under his hip.

"How are you even here?" she asked. "When you called Tuesday, you said it would be a month!"

"The Warblers - their glee club," he explained. "Apparently they can break any rule they want as long as police don't get called to campus. That's what Blaine said, at least." Well, sort of. What Blaine had actually said was that they could get away with most things as long as police didn't get called, but not to tell Wes or Thad anything that went on. David was apparently okay with occasional rule-breaking but was an easy nut for the other Council members to crack.

But mostly he just remembered how Blaine looked as he came up to him with the pass, pictured him striding over confidently in the hallway near the Commons as he said, "We are like the mob - though with fewer guns and more singing and dancing. So really it's more like West Side Story." If he didn't already want to be Blaine's best friend, that reference cemented it.

"Blaine?" Mercedes asked.

"Their lead singer." He couldn't help the smile when he thought about Blaine. He was just so...friendly. So kind. And confident in a way Kurt was envious of.

Kurt had never been half as confident in himself as everyone around him thought he was, but something about Blaine's easy charm seemed so much more natural. Even though he knew there was vulnerability lurking underneath, in spite of the halting way he had described what it felt like hearing taunts at his old school, Blaine's confidence seemed to radiate from within instead of feeling like his own carefully-constructed front had - a cold, flimsy facade. Which meant either Blaine was a much better actor than Kurt knew, or he was truly an enviable creature to have that kind of self-assured demeanor.

He wondered if it might be a little contagious, the way Blaine's grin was. After all, he physically couldn't stop himself from grinning when he thought of Blaine doing the same, and he was decidedly not a happy person who smiled very often. Maybe if he spent more time with Blaine, some of the genuine confidence would rub off on him. His stomach fluttered excitedly at the idea - and the knowledge that, if he nailed this audition? He would be spending quite a bit of time around Blaine, watching him perform. Exactly what he needed to develop the kind of confidence he was seeking - and in an arena in which he already had some degree of confidence. If there was one thing he knew, it was his voice.

"I'm auditioning on Monday after classes, and I need your input," he stated, hauling a stack of books and sheet music out of his bag. "They're incredible, Mercedes, everything they do is completely acappella and everyone in there is really talented. I need to blow them away. Now. I've narrowed it down to these choices-"

"Which choices?" she asked suspiciously, eyeing the large stack that didn't seem to have any demarcation to indicate that some of the songbooks had already been stricken from the list.

"These," Kurt stated, gesturing to the entire stack. "You know this isn't even a quarter of my collection."

"Do you even sing half of these?" she asked, picking up the book on top and flipping through. "Okay, you have never in your life sung Ritchie Valens."

"No, but I could," he replied. "I've only heard them do one song, and it was Frankie Lymon. They might only do popular music, and I really want to get this right."

"So you're going to blow them away by doing a song you barely know? Please." She gave him the look she'd been giving him since they were kids, the one that said 'don't even try to test me, because you know I know you better than that.' "Sing what you're good at. I know you know what that is."

Kurt smiled faintly and nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. "I knew there was a reason I came to you."

"You came because you love me and can't stay away," she teased as Kurt sifted through the music with a more critical eye. When he was done, he had a stack maybe a third the size of the original, made up primarily of showtunes and standards. "Now that's more like it."

While whittling down the choices helped somewhat, it didn't end the agonizing decision-making process. For one thing, his Broadway sheet music collection was sizable. For another, the majority of the songs that would have ended up in the final cut even without Mercedes' guidance regarding genre would have been in the Broadway stack because that was where his voice shone brightest.

"Show Boat?" he asked, holding up the tattered book. If the themes would resonate anywhere, it would be at Dalton - as opposed to in Lima, where a local production had been shut down once over the miscegenation scene.

"No one knows Show Boat," she replied, flicking through the stack.

"Sure they do. The movie isn't that old, it came out when we were...eight? I know your mom took us."

"No one but you knows Show Boat, movie or no movie." She held up another book. "The Music Man."

"Why is it so important that it be something popular? Shouldn't my voice speak for itself? Let me make it my own? Maybe it's better if they don't know it."

"Only if they don't tune it out," she replied, and Kurt had to agree. "So Music Man? You sound really great on 'Goodnight my Someone'."

"Used to sound really great," he corrected. "I slide on the F and haven't had the A5 in months." He also wasn't entirely sure how they would take him singing a girl song. At McKinley they were used to it, they all kind of joked about it, but figured that - with his falsetto - he would be a good substitute-girl if ever they needed one...even if what they needed were guys because even with Kurt they were outnumbered 4-3. But at an all-boys school, it could either be fantastic...or disaster. He wasn't sure which one, and he wasn't sure that now was the time to test it. "South Pacific?"

"Not for you," she replied. "Too...butch."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

She ignored the ridiculous question. "What about West Side Story? I bet if you transposed it up a little, you'd sound great on 'Something's Coming.'"

"You think?" he asked, taking the book as she handed it over and flipping to the song.

"Probably. I haven't heard you on it lately, but I know you know it - and you used to sound like you were struggling on the low notes, but you wouldn't anymore."

"No, I'd have those. And it does have a pretty wide range, so I could show off a little," he nodded. "Probably up a third, maybe a fourth - I'd have to play with it," he mused. Something about it just didn't feel...right, though. Kurt wasn't sure why; it was a great song, he could put the break wherever he wanted so he could flip into his upper register in exactly the right place, and it was a song traditionally sung by a man - and Blaine at least knew it, since he'd made the joke about the Warblers being singing, dancing mobsters. But one of the skills he prided himself on the most was his ability to connect intensely emotionally to a song, and 'Something's Coming' - while great and technically challenging - wasn't that kind of song. It was-...there was emotion in the original recording, but much more subtle and not the kind of thing where he would really shine. Still, it wasn't an awful choice, and he was sure he could harness-

"...no," Mercedes said slowly, pulling a torn songbook from the middle of the stack. "No, babe, it has to be this one."

He took one look at the cover and shook his head. "No way."

"Why not?"

He had about fifteen different reasons why not that one, starting with it was a song sung by a girl - not even a woman, a girl, including a lot of the ones he'd been around the local community theater with. It didn't require nearly the kind of technical skill that another song might, and for a group like this he should be showing every trick he had. It wasn't quite in his perfect range anymore, and he knew he was going to have to watch for scooping. But the reason he said was, "It's even older than Show Boat."

"First of all, it's not, and you should be proud I know that."

Kurt's eyes narrowed and he sighed. "Okay, yes, technically Show Boat premiered in 1927 and this was later, but the movie is much older than the film Show Boat."

"Second, everyone knows it anyway."

"It's old-fashioned."

"It's a classic," she corrected. "And you sing it better than anyone I've ever heard. You have to do this one."

Kurt drew in a breath, all prepared to argue with her, but he had learned a long time ago - namely during the ill-fated audition when he had sung "The Sweethearts of the Team" from 'Too Many Girls' over Mercedes' express questions of his sanity - not to argue with her when she told him what song to do. "Really?" he asked, but she knew he had caved already.

* * * * *

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this nervous over an audition.

It made sense, he supposed, considering how much of his career at Dalton was riding on this. If he did well, he would be in - in the inner circle, the most powerful, popular clique in the school. It seemed like the right way to ensure that things would go better for him than they ever had at his old school. He wasn't sure if his association with Sam and the fact that Blaine seemed to like him at least a little would be strong enough to keep him in the group if he wasn't...in the group.

On the other hand, being nervous was going to end up ruining his chances if he didn't get it under control.

Drawing in a deep breath, he steeled himself, and moved his notebook and sheet music from their position clutched against his chest to a more natural one at his side. He could do this, he reminded himself on a slow exhale. He was fantastic. His voice was great. He would be fine. He would be-

"Hey," Blaine smiled as he walked through the ornate hallway towards the door of the Commons. "All ready to go?"

He forced a confident smile, hoping it would pass muster; it certainly appeared to. "Yep, just...waiting to be called, but all...ready to go," he said, mentally kicking himself for how awkward he sounded.

"It shouldn't be too long - don't worry," Blaine assured him. "You'll be fantastic. Break a leg," he added as he disappeared into the Commons, and Kurt was left standing in the hallway. A few other Warblers whose names Kurt was still learning (he thought these were Trent, Clark, and Pete, but he could have been completely wrong on that) filed in, then Sam turned the corner.

"You okay? You look kinda green - not like silvery alien green, just...sick."

"Fine," Kurt replied with a deep inhale to try to calm his nerves again. He was fine for a few seconds at a time, at least - if only he could manage to breathe this deeply and evenly while singing. "Hey, how'd the physics quiz go?"

"Don't ask," Sam mumbled. "Whatcha singing?" Kurt held up the sheet music, and Sam looked intrigued. "Cool. I don't think I've ever heard a guy sing that before, but I'm sure you'll be great. I gotta get in there." He, too, disappeared into the room.

What was he doing? Kurt wondered. He should've just gone with West Side Story, shouldn't have let Mercedes talk him out of-

"Kurt?" Blaine's head poked out of the door. "We're ready for you now."

Kurt nodded, drew in a slow, even breath, and forced his best performance smile. He could do this. His voice was extraordinary, and he knew it well. There was nothing to be worried about.

If the Warblers were intimidating at the lunch table, they were nearly terrifying all perched on couches and chairs, staring at him expectantly. Even the friendly smiles and warm looks didn't reduce the pressure. Blaine smiled encouragingly at him, and he tried to relax a little. Blaine certainly seemed to think he could do this, maybe that was the kind of confidence he needed to have in himself.

"Where's the-" he held up the sheet music and glanced around for the piano, only to find none.

"We don't use accompaniment," Wes stated, his tone tight and irritated. "Not for performance, or rehearsal, or auditions."

Right. Kurt felt like that should have been obvious, but he hadn't even thought about it. "Of course," he mumbled, tucking it into his notebook and setting both on the table. He stood front and center, facing the two dozen or so boys watching him from their seats, directly across from the three-member Council who were already scowling at him like he was an idiot. Awkwardly he wiped his palms on his pants, not sure when clamminess became a symptom of nervousness that he exhibited.

"Whenever you're ready," David said, and the fact that he looked just a little less perturbed than Wes or Thad was a little bit of a good sign at least, right? Kurt hoped so. He knew his acceptance ultimately wasn't up to the Council alone, but to a full vote of membership - which was the only reason he hadn't hightailed it out of the room already. He could win them over if he nailed this. And with this song...

He could do this. His pitch was perfect, his song choice was right, and his voice was impeccable. He just needed to focus.

With one final deep breath, he began to sing.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby

One of the few things he could count on in life was that his voice didn't shake when he got nervous. He was thankful for it as he began the song, allowing the sound of his own voice to wash over him, relax him a little. He wanted to make eye contact with the audience, to not stare above their heads - that would telegraph his anxiety for everyone to see - so he picked the friendliest face he could find.

Blaine had a mildly shocked look on his face, like he hadn't been expecting either the song choice or the voice - or both...but it melted slowly into a more neutral impressed look. Not a full-on grin, not even the sweet smile Kurt was getting surprisingly dependent on to get through the day at a school where he still knew fewer than a dozen people's names. More like the look he'd seen the first evening - his face a mask but with something undeniably smiling in his eyes. It was exactly what he needed to see.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true

It was a bit of a cliche song, perhaps, and entirely overdone and definitely old-fashioned, but it fit this week. It seemed appropriate.

For as long as he could remember, he had longed for something - for somewhere else. For somewhere he could be understood, and uninhibited, and something other than uptight and miserable. He had spent ten years of school in Lima trying to make himself as cold as possible, completely unfeeling so that when they made his life miserable he wouldn't care. So he wouldn't give a damn when they called him a sissy or a nigger-lover or a queer or any of the other hateful things he'd been hearing every single day since he was five.

And here he was, after a week, unable to stop himself from smiling - like it was a reflex he'd been shoving down for so long that now that the cover was off, he couldn't quit.

This was his over-the-rainbow.

It sounded sappy enough that he would have rolled his eyes if he weren't mid-verse, but he felt like Dorothy - leaving his black-and-white world where he had never been appreciated or recognized, where he was just the source of trouble and his family had to constantly come to his defense...and emerging suddenly into a world full of colour and joy and music and possibility. A place where he could be the hero - or, at least, not part of the problem.

He had never imagined-...he knew it would happen someday, and he knew it would feel good, but he'd never imagined it could feel like this.

Someday I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Blaine couldn't stop staring at Kurt.

He wanted to. He desperately, desperately wanted to be able to tear his eyes away, to look anywhere else - at anyone else, but he couldn't. He couldn't even just close his eyes and listen to the song and pretend it was being sung by some amazingly talented girl.

Kurt was standing there, with those pink lips and those bright blue-green eyes and looking so damned passionate and all Blaine could think about was-

No, he told himself firmly. He wasn't doing this again. He'd felt it before, it always went away. This sick, twisted sensation down to his core - he felt it hard and fast and then it dissipated just as quickly. The same with the thoughts, the fantasies, the images that left him aching and longing for everything he knew he shouldn't want. That's what had happened with the boy who lived next door to his family from the time he was five until he was thirteen, and with the college guy who bagged groceries in town, and with the senior during his first semester at Dalton...that one had been the most intense, the one that sent him reeling the most, and he blamed that entirely on the music. The boy, Ken, had been one of the leads that year, with an incredible stage presence and an easy confidence that Blaine had tried to emulate-

He wanted to be like Ken, to sing like him and seem as effortlessly perfect as he was. There was something more he wanted, too, but he kept it in check long enough for the feelings to go away and that was the end of that.

He could feel it with girls now, too, if he tried hard enough. If the girl was right, if she wasn't one of those daffy blonde things Jeff and Nick kept bringing around. Thad's girlfriend, if she weren't dating Thad, maybe. She was a sweet brunette, but with a sharp enough wit to keep him interested, with an incredible laugh and really pretty green eyes.

Even if Kurt's were better.

It felt so much more intense, staring at Kurt.

It was just the song, he told himself. Like with Ken. He was just being drawn in because he loved this song; Kurt had no way of knowing his soft spot for Judy Garland. It was because of his love of music that he couldn't tear his eyes away.

There was something else, though. A feeling like maybe Kurt would be in a position to feel the same-

No. Because even if he were, and Blaine would certainly never make that kind of accusation without at least some shred of proof first...if he were...

...then that made this feeling all the more dangerous, didn't it?

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why, oh why, can't I?

He needed to stop putting himself in a position to make it worse, he concluded with a firm resolve. As much as he wanted to be friends with Kurt, as much as he had to kind of like anyone who got up and sang this song - let alone sang it well enough to make obvious just how often he'd listened to it - and as much as he enjoyed Kurt's company...the feeling he got when he was with Kurt had to be enough of a deterrent. The sick, perverse feeling like he was doing something even if he never said a word or did anything- He had to keep that in mind.

If he kept his distance, it would all go away. It had worked before, it would work again. With time and space, he would be able to see Kurt and those sparkling eyes without thinking about this kind of thing. He would be able to see Kurt's lips without thinking-

He just needed to stay away for a little while. Cool his head. This kind of infatuation never lasted long for him - in a couple weeks everything could go back to normal, and in the meantime Kurt would be getting to know all the rest of the Warblers anyway. Yes. That was the plan.

He could absolutely do that.

If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why, can't I?

The applause and cheers layering over his final note snapped Kurt from his musical trance and he glanced around, flushed and grinning. He'd been performing more than long enough to know when he'd nailed a performance, and from the reactions...he had done exactly what he set out to do. He had impressed them. Looking directly across the room, he met Wes's eye and saw no contempt - that was a victory in and of itself. David was smiling. Thad looked intrigued.

"Kurt, please wait outside while the vote is conducted," Wes requested.

Kurt nodded, and he tried to hide his confident smile, but it slipped through as he said simply, "Thank you for the opportunity. I appreciate you considering me." It was a level of formality that seemed strange but like it was probably appropriate, and he had a hunch that he would be getting used to it pretty quickly. Sam gave him a discreet thumbs up as he left the room, letting out an almost gasping breath as he reached the hall. The adrenaline was pumping now, making his legs quiver a little, sending his mind reeling. That had gone better than any audition he'd ever had. Mercedes was not going to let him hear the end of this one, not after she insisted he do the song and they liked it so much. He owed her a phone call and a thank you tonight - after he called his dad, of course, to let him know. And maybe to gloat a little to Finn about how much more amazing his singing group was than New Directions ever could be - even if the group hadn't been disbanded for the year.

He felt almost dizzy as the door opened and Jeff told him he could come back in. Luckily he was nothing if not well-practiced in making his emotions unreadable, and when he stepped into the room he was the very picture of decorum. "Kurt Hummel," Wes began. "While the precise results of the voting must remain secret, I can say that it was not a close decision. Welcome to the Warblers." With a bang of the gavel, Kurt found himself practically bombarded by the rest of the group, cuffing his shoulder, congratulating him, offering welcoming comments and complimenting his voice. He felt himself almost glowing when one of the boys made a comment about this being why the Council shouldn't have been so quick to dismiss "girly songs" last year, and a few people mumbled something about reconsidering that now.

He felt on top of the world.

His eyes met Blaine's over Nick's shoulder, and Blaine froze. He wanted to say something to Kurt - anything really. Something congratulatory. A compliment on his vocal talents. A remark on his incredible control over his falsetto or a question on just how high he could go because it sounded like he probably had quite a bit of range even above what he'd demonstrated.

Anything that would put him in close proximity to that ecstatic smile.

Not in a million years, he chastised himself angrily. There was no way he was going to be that much of an idiot. He was going to go up, congratulate him, be polite and friendly but not too friendly, warm but not too warm, then back off until he had gotten it through his thick skull that he wasn't doing this anymore.

Feeling this way at 14 had been one thing, had been maybe a little okay. At 14 he couldn't look at a tree without thinking about sex, so looking at boys and thinking about it wasn't so bad. But he was 17 now, almost 18, and it was time to start being a man. Time to start thinking about meeting a nice girl he could settle down with - about letting his parents select a nice girl for him, more like, since he didn't exactly have much opportunity to meet people outside of Dalton - and marry after he got his education. And as prettily as Kurt sang songs like a girl...he wasn't one. He was a boy - a man soon enough - and this wasn't something he was going to get involved in again.

He had enough strength to do that, he was certain; it was just a matter of making sure that his will matched that power.

He strode across the carpet to Kurt as the crowd started to dissipate. Four words, that was all he was going to say: Congratulations. You sounded great. That was all he needed to say - and was true, of course. Four words.

"Hey," Kurt said, cheeks flushed pink with exhilaration and just a tinge of embarrassment and pride. "What did you think?"

You sounded great. Congratulations.

"I have the Garland at the Grove album in my room if you ever want to come listen to it. I haven't met anyone else here who really likes her - or Wizard of Oz, either one."

As he cursed his impulsiveness, Kurt's face broke into a full-on grin. "I would love to. I haven't heard that album - but I have A Star is Born and Summer Stock. We could swap if you want."

No, thank you. I should concentrate on my schoolwork. "That'd be great."

"Actually, since I don't have a record player here, maybe...more like we'd listen to them all together," Kurt suggested, and Blaine's heart leapt at the same time his stomach sank, leaving him feeling nauseous and too warm and like everyone was staring at him. They weren't; his confident mask never slipped. As the Council pulled Kurt aside to describe the attendance policies and start figuring out which line to put him on, Blaine allowed himself to slip back into the group.

Damn it. He was in so much trouble.