"Hola, Kurt," said Mr. Schuester as the boy walked into Spanish. "Llegas tarde."

"Lo siento, Mr. Schue," replied Kurt, his head ducking down as he found his seat.

Mr. Schue looked at him curiously. "Est� bien, Kurt."

With a sigh, Kurt sunk into his seat next to Mercedes who shot him a questioning look. He ignored her and stared blankly ahead, not paying attention to the teacher. He could speak fluent French; he still didn't understand why he still had to take Spanish. As he hunched over the desk, pretending to take notes, his shoulder got progressively sorer, a feeling he was already pretty used to.

Forty-five minutes later, the bell rang and Kurt shot up from his chair and walked out the door before Mr. Schue could ask him why he was late.

"Hey, fag," sneered one of the jocks as he passed. Kurt kept his head down and kept walking.

XXX

The final bell rang and Kurt sighed happily, ready to go home. As he walked towards the exit a cold, wet substance smacked him in the face. Drenched in red slushy, he listened as the laughing jocks walked away.

"Kurt, are you alright?" a female voice asked. He felt a hand touch his arm gently Kurt wiped the slushy out of his eyes and looked to the girl, his eyes starting to burn from the food coloring. Tina looked at him sadly and Kurt nodded affirmatively. "Do you need help?"

Kurt shook his head no "I'm just going to go home," he sighed. Tina walked away with a sad smile. Quaking from the cold caused by the ice-cold liquid dripping down the front of his shirt, Kurt made his way to the door and walked out to his Navigator. After sliding into the drivers seat Kurt reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a bottle of water and some tissues. He stripped his ruined blouse over his head and laid it gingerly on the passenger's seat, leaving him in only a tank top. Carefully he poured some water on to a few tissues and swiped them over his burning eyes. The burn began to subside after a few minutes of washing his eyes out and finally they were good enough for him to drive home.

Pressing his foot on the gas he pulled out of the high school parking lot and drove home.

Ten minutes later, Kurt pulled up to a light blue, medium sized house. His was the only car in the driveway so he pulled out his keys, knowing no one would be home to let him in. He walked inside and immediately rushed into the in suite bathroom in his room, beginning working on salvaging his clothing. After nearly a half hour of trying, he gave up with a sad, frustrated sigh, throwing the shirt on the marble counter. His hand ran softly over his hair. Feeling clumps of food coloring-clumps, he sighed and stripped off all his clothes to take a shower before starting his homework.

He let the sticky residue of the slushy wash off him, leaving him clean and feeling better. As he stepped out of the shower he heard the footsteps on the floor below him. "Kurt!" a voice called out.

Gently, Kurt dried off his hair with a towel before wrapping the towel around his hips. He quickly walked out of the bathroom and to the door of his room. Creaking it open he called out, "Up here. I'm just getting dressed."

"Come down and talk when you're done, alright?"

"Of course," he called back before closing the door and going to put on a pair of jeans and a cotton shirt. Minutes later he was ready and bounced down the stairs.

"Hey sweetie," said the woman in the kitchen as she looked her shoulder. She was beautiful. Blonde hair was pinned behind her hair, one stray piece falling in her face. Her eyes were the same blue shade as her son, her skin was the same flawless porcelain, and they both had a button nose. Turning to face her son, she adjusted her pencil skirt.

"Hi mom," smiled Kurt, walking up to his mom to kiss her cheek. In heels, she was an inch taller than him, forcing him to crane his neck up slightly to kiss her.

"How was school?" she asked, reaching into the fridge to grab a bag of carrots. She beckoned her son and they sat together at the kitchen table with a bag of carrots between them.

"Fine," he said, grabbing a carrot.

"Kurt," she warned. "I'm your mother, I know you're lying."

Kurt sighed and munched on a carrot; his mother was his own personal lie detector. "I got shoved in to a locker and slushied."

"Kurt, honey," she sighed, taking her son's hand. "That school isn't safe for you. For now it might be pushing, slushies, and garbage can tosses. But what if it escalates?"

"Mom, I can handle it," he assured her, grasping her hand. "And anyways, I can't leave the New Directions. I think we're going to make it to Nationals this year!"

"Kurt, at Dalton you could join the Warblers," she suggested. "They're wonderful! If you were with them, they'd be even better than New Directions."

"Mom," he sighed.

"Okay, for now, I'll drop it," conceded Kurt's mother. "Just remember that option is open. It's easy for you to get in there considering how bright my beautiful boy is," she smiled, patting her son's cheek, "and how long I've taught there. So think about it. Just in case. I can't have anything happen to my boy." Elizabeth looked at her son sadly, running a hand over his chestnut hair.

Kurt looked at his mother sadly, "I will," he agreed to placate her.

She smiled at him. "Good boy, now, go. I bet you have homework to do." Kurt nodded and walked back to his room.

XXX

Elizabeth Hummel poured over her class' essays. Teaching and Kurt were her only distractions from the gut wrenching loneliness she felt every day. Looking up she smiled at the picture on the mantle, a happy family: mother, father, and son. Only a year and a half before, they'd been that happy family, mother, son and father. Life changed so much in one year. The smiling, accepting, wonderful man she'd been proud to call her husband left a hole in their family, leaving them as just mother and son, a broken home.

Her eyes went back to the essay she was grading and she saw the name of one of her favorite students. Smiling softly, she read through his essay easily. There usually wasn't much wrong with his essays and this wasn't the exception. The Warbler had gone through something similar to her son from what she gathered and he was still wonderful student, friend, and performer with confidence, fake or not, radiating off of him.

Suddenly, Elizabeth came up with a desperate idea to keep her son not seriously harmed and happy.