It’s another one of those days at McKinley High. The kind that make me wish I was home schooled or went to some prestigious private school where the students didn’t act like they were ten years old. I’m sitting in the back corner of the choir room hoping no one talks to me today, though that’s very unlikely. Mercedes always has something to talk about, whether it be that really cute Tackle from biology or a new accessory she’s bought. Mercedes is lovely--amazing, actually--but today, I’m just not in the mood.

This morning started off horribly when I slept through my alarm and was late to school. My mother stepped into my room asking if I was feeling okay to which I groggily answered that I was fine, why? And then she had informed me that it was eight o’clock. The bell to home room rings at eight o’clock. I was forced to skip my morning routine today so my skin feels absolutely atrocious.

I reach up to run my fingers over my face. Ugh.

On my way to first period, I somehow managed to run into a couple of jocks on their way to gym. Thankfully, they weren’t armed with any slushies today, but Karofsky did decide to throw me against a row of lockers for the third time this week (it’s Tuesday.) All I could do was straighten out my jacket as I watched the pack of gorillas laugh amongst themselves, one of them clapping Karofsky on the shoulder.

To top it all off, I missed a pop quiz in bio, so I automatically received a failing grade. Kurt Fabray could not receive failing grades. I cannot allow myself and my parents would ground me for a week if they find out. I have spent the rest of the day trying to come up with some sort of plan to avoid my parents finding out about that F. So far, I have nothing.

I tuck my Michael Kors bag under my seat as I sink into it, arms crossing over my chest, legs crossed. Hopefully my body language will deter people from sitting next to me and trying to start a conversation. Surprisingly enough, it does. Mercedes walks in and waves at me with a little smile, but continues her conversation with Tina. I watch them for a moment and nearly sigh in relief as my eyes turn back to the front of the room as I stare into the whiteboard. Slowly, the room starts filling and I half regret coming to Glee club today. Sectionals is right around the corner, though, and I can’t afford to miss rehearsal again. Last week I had to miss thanks to a dinner party in Westerville my parents forced me to go to. Something about one of my father’s clients.

That had been the most awkward dinner party of my life. Needless to say, I would have rather spent the evening rehearsing a duet with Rachel Berry.

I spent more than half of the night awkwardly conversing with a girl who was around my age. I think she was my dad’s client’s daughter. Honestly, I couldn’t remember because I was too busy inwardly cursing my parents for forcing me to talk to this girl.

“You two should talk,” my father had said as he introduced us. “Kurt’s single and looking.”

My eyes had gone wide as I stared up at my father, jaw dropping. I had watched him laugh and pat my back roughing, “It’s a joke, son.” Though I didn’t believe him. He always did this. He was always trying to set me up with random girls who I had no interest in.

My parents don’t know that I’m gay. Well, I haven’t told them. They probably have their suspicions with the way that I choose to dress myself and my love for Glee club. Actually, my parents are probably the only people who don’t know I’m gay. All of my friends in Glee club know. It’s almost like I’m an entirely different person at home. I force my voice to sound rougher and more masculine around my father. Last year, I joined the football team as kicker with a little bit of help from Finn Hudson. It’s allowed me to gain a little more respect from my peers, but not much. Everyone still knows about my love for Broadway and fashion. I didn’t join the football team for me. At first, there was a little bit in it for me considering it would allow me to spend more time with Finn. I still have trouble processing that crush I had for Finn and kick myself for even being sexually attracted to him. Things are fine between us now, though. We’re almost like brothers, actually.

I look at Finn and he smiles at me. He knows how rough it’s been lately. He sees the way the other boys tease me at football practice. Every now and then he steps in and defends me, but that’s only half of the time. He thinks getting on Karofsky’s bad side will affect our win at the games so he tries to keep things civil. I barely smile back before tearing my gaze away and looking down at my lap.

“Alright guys,” Mr. Shue calls. “Here in my hand, I’ve got our competition for Sectionals.” He waves the paper in the air.

Almost immediately, my head perks up curiously. I’m glad I didn’t skip rehearsal today. Maybe Glee club can take my mind off of things for a while. I listen closely as Mr. Shue reads off the names of the schools. An all boys private school and a group of old folks from an adult education center. A few of the members in the room make rude comments about the competition, but I barely register them. That’s only until Santana laughs and says, “Alright. Hold up. Like, a million gay jokes just popped into my head.”

My head snaps in her direction as she smirks back at me. I say nothing, far too exhausted to even snap at her. Instead, I roll my eyes and turn my attention back to the front of the room, uncrossing and crossing my legs.

The remainder of the Glee club doesn’t go as smoothly as I had hoped. Mr. Shue splits us up into groups and when I try to join the girls, he forces me to return to the boys. As if I don’t have to deal with them enough at football practice, he commands me to work on this project with the boys. By this point, anger is boiling in the pit of my stomach, but I bite my tongue and return to the side of the room where I belong. With the boys. I let out a frustrated huff as I sit down between Finn and Puck who are discussing their plans for this weekend which consists of going to some party. Within seconds, I’m zoning out and thinking of a way to make these Neanderthals work together so that we can win this thing. I already have outfits planned.

-----

That evening when I get home, I am greeted by my mother who’s already made dinner. My stomach growls at the smell as I drop my bag near the door and call out, “I smell something delicious.” and smile. I hear her laugh from the kitchen as she responds, “Your father should be home in a few minutes so we’re almost ready to eat.”

Everything in this house seems to revolve around my father’s schedule and it’s exhausting. He never really does much while he’s at home, either. My mother cooks and cleans and I do all of the rest. All of the “things a man should do around the house.” Things my father says I need to learn to do so that I can provide for my future wife. It’s something that he talks about a lot and it always makes me wonder if this is his way of keeping me from going gay, even though I know I’ve been gay since the age of six.

Normally, little boys my age liked watching Transformers and G.I.Joe. I preferred watching Cinderella and The Little Mermaid. At daycare, I liked playing house with the girls instead of playing red rover with the boys. I liked wearing bow ties instead of wearing hoodies.

One night when I was about fourteen years old, I overheard my parents arguing. My father was telling my mother that I wasn’t normal. That I shouldn’t have been watching these weird musicals and that it wasn’t right for a boy my age to like these things. He said it wasn’t ok. My mother had tried defending me but her words had gone unheard. That was the day I decided I would join the football team in high school. It was a way to prove to my dad that I could be the son he had always wanted. I refused to give up my true love, though.

I still love fashion and I still love Broadway. Though, it’s something I don’t talk about. I keep these things I’m passionate about locked away in a little box that’s deep inside my heart. I never express my feelings on the new Vogue issue to my parents and I definitely don’t ask if we could watch the Tony Awards instead of the football game. I just don’t.

Instead, I spend time with my girlfriends. I watch the Tonys with Rachel. I talk fashion with Mercedes. My parents know who I am but they pretend not to.

They pretend their son is this big football fanatic. They pretend he’s going to take some beautiful girl to prom. They pretend he’s going to get his first kiss from a girl and that he’s going to fall in love with that girl. They’re going to get married and have a couple of kids. And they’re going to stay in Lima, Ohio. And their son is going to remain in the closet for the rest of his life. They think he’s going to live a lie and force himself into bed with a woman. That he is going to have sex with her and pretend to enjoy it. That he isn’t going to wonder what it would be like to sleep with a man. To kiss a man. To be with a man.

I smile at my mom. “I’m gonna take a quick shower. I’ll be down soon.” And I retreat up the stairs. I want to stay in my room for the rest of the night.

I don’t want to sit at the table and offer my parents that fake smile. I don’t want to lie and tell them that everything is fine at school. I don’t want to tell them that things are going great at football practice. I want them to know the torment I’ve been put through this year. I want them to know that their son is being pushed around and bullied because he’s gay.

But, I can’t tell them. Because they won’t accept me. I know that they know but they pretend not to. Because that’s how everything works in this house. We all pretend that everything is fine. We all pretend that I’m straight. We all pretend that I didn’t spend all of last year following Finn around like a lovesick puppy. Everything gets pushed aside because this is a perfect family, god damnit. There are no queers in this family because Russell Fabray would never raise a gay son.

So, I do what I have been doing every day of my life. I lie. I sit at the dinner table and tell my father that today was fantastic. That I’ve never been better because that’s what I’ve been taught growing up in this household. That lying is ok. And as long as you pretend that everything is fine, it is.