At Foster's Academy the school musical was the biggest event of the year. It wasn't just any old school musical. The school was bursting with gifted young adults, housing the best of the best when it came to not just intelligence, but sheer talent. Every year, the academy would rent out the the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts to put on whatever musical the students had decided on. Last year, Foster's had put on Chicago and saying that it was a success was a vast understatement. Every seat to every show had been filled from opening to closing night. A few students had even been discovered by Broadway producers and now they were calling the Great White Way home.

This year's pitch was West Side Story, one of Blaine's favorite musicals. He knew every song by heart and could recite almost every scene from memory. If there was something Blaine wanted more than to become a student at the academy, it was to be a part of the school musical. It was far fetched, pretty much impossible actually, Blaine knew that. But he couldn't help but hope that by some streak of dumb luck his silly little wish would come true.

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when Blaine entered the main hall that morning. He pulled off his jacket, shivering slightly as he hung up the jacket and shut the coat closet door. Blaine glanced at the bulletin board hanging on the opposite wall. Printed on a large paper, bold letters read "West Side Story auditions. Tuesday, October 15 at 7 PM." He walked up to the board, silently staring at the paper. He always thought it was a little unfair limiting the auditions to just students. Technically Blaine was a part of the Academy, right? He wasn't a student, but he was employed by the school.

"Hey."

Blaine nearly jumped, turning to see who was quickly growing to become a familiar face. He let out a sigh before looking around at the empty hall. He hadn't even heard Professor Hummel approaching him. "You've got to stop sneaking up on me like that," Blaine breathed.

Professor Hummel laughed softly and gave Blaine an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to." Blaine saw him give a quick glance to the board before focusing his attention back on Blaine. "I just wanted to ask if you were free later today. I have a few papers you can help me grade."

"Yeah, sure." Blaine shifted slightly. Professor Hummel had probably seen him gawking at the bulletin board. "I'm done at 4 o'clock today."

"Perfect, my last class ends at 4:30. I'll meet you outside of the room B214. You know, the class you tried to sneak in to," he teased.

Blaine laughed nervously. Professor Hummel seemed to notice he was still slightly shaken.

"I'm joking," Professor Hummel said, touching Blaine's arm briefly. "I'll see you later."

"Okay," Blaine acknowledged as he watched Professor Hummel leave.

----

Professor Hummel's cottage truly looked like something out of a movie. He was reminded of Miss. Honey's cottage from the movie Matilda, and frankly, Blaine felt a little giddy at the thought. As they approached the little cabin, Blaine noticed a small, green gate that reached a little past his knees, set in a weathered stone wall. Thick vines crept up around it, weaving their way past the windows and framing the door, which was painted the same green as the little gate. Blaine had never been inside, but the moment he walked through the threshold after Professor Hummel, he felt at home.

"Sorry it's a bit of a mess," Professor Hummel said pushing a few boxes into a corner and out of their way. "I moved in a couple of months ago and I haven't had much of a chance to unpack."

"You live alone?" Blaine found himself asking before he realized it, feeling a little guilty for asking such a personal question. Professor Hummel didn't seem the least bit bothered.

"Yeah," he said without a moment's hesitation. "It's taking a bit getting used to. When I lived in the city I was rooming with my best friend. But driving to campus every day was starting to get a little time consuming. When they offered me a full time position, the school offered to move me in here so," Professor Hummel shrugged, "I couldn't turn down the offer. This place is beautiful," he said, looking around, almost as if he still hadn't gotten used to how much of a fairy tale cottage this little place looked like. "So," he said as he weaved his way around the boxes and to the dining room table. Blaine followed.

"It's fairly simple," Professor Hummel said as he took a seat and motioned for Blaine to do the same. He plopped down a stack of messy papers in front of him. "Just use that red pen and circle any thing that's misspelled. The paper should be no longer than one page, just the front. If there's anything written on the back, cross it out."

Blaine nodded and soon they fell into a comfortable silence.

Blaine was the first to break it. "Professor Hummel, do you have another pen? This one died." He handed Blaine a pen and they fell back into their work.

After a few moments, Professor Hummel spoke up again. "You can call me Kurt, by the way," he said without looking up from the paper.

Blaine paused to look up at him. Kurt looked at him then, eyes bright. He looked strangely young in the late afternoon light.

"Sure," Blaine agreed, feeling a smile creeping at the corner of his mouth before returning his attention to the paper.

----

A little over an hour had passed before they finished the first set of papers. Kurt put them away and pulled out the second stack of papers. "Same rules apply," Kurt said, handing Blaine half of the stack and starting on his own.

"How long have you been working at the school?" Kurt asked to Blaine's surprise.

"Since I was sixteen," Blaine said, "I turn eighteen in February."

"Are you going to school?" Kurt questioned curiously.

Blaine shook his head. "I had to, um, drop out when I started working here," he admitted, voice quiet and frankly a little embarrassed. "The job was demanding and and we needed the money." Why was he talking about this? Stop talking.

Kurt stared openly. Blaine's head sunk slightly in response and he looked down at the paper lying beneath his hands. He focused on the neat writing on the page. Anna Pritchett. Nice handwriting, Anna. I wish I had nice handwriting like that.

"Did you parents make you drop out?" Kurt asked, his voice softened with concern.

"I, uh. My mom, she died when I was eleven and my dad's recovering from heart problems. He's going to be alright, but he's too weak to work while he recovers. I decided to take this job to help him pay bills. I have four younger sisters."

"I'm sorry," was all Kurt said in response.

Blaine had heard those two words and countless variations from distant relatives, family friends, even strangers, more times than he could remember. It was the predictable reaction from people when they learned that Blaine's mother was dead and his father was ill. He knew they meant well but he couldn't stand the generic greeting card sentiment, like people didn't know what else to say. He hated the pity even more. So instead of shooting back one of the many go-to 'thank you's or 'that's very kind's or 'it's alright's he had stored up in his arsenal of responses, Blaine swallowed the lump in his throat. When Kurt had said it, it sounded so much like the truth, it made Blaine's heart ache.

Blaine shook his head as he looked down at the paper, "It's fine," he said honestly. "It really sounds a lot worse than it is. We make enough money to get by. We don't live in a tiny shack or on the streets. With the bit of extra money that I make, I can take my sisters out to the movies and things like that. And my dad is getting better. It's a slow process, but he's getting there." When Blaine looked up and across the table at Kurt, the older man was smiling softly, eyes warm.

"So, four little sisters, huh?" Kurt said as he scribbled on the paper he was working on.

Blaine chuckled. "This morning they thought it would be funny to put a frog in my bed. I hate frogs."

----

Blaine didn't notice the sun setting that evening. It was when Kurt asked him what time he needed to be home that Blaine realized he was running incredibly late. He looked at the time and quickly stood, nearly knocking the chair over. "Oh, man," Blaine muttered under his breath, fixing the papers he had made a mess of in his haste to stand. "My dad's gonna kill me."

"Do you need a ride?" Kurt asked, watching Blaine.

No, oh god no. His dad would definitely start asking all sorts of questions and Blaine couldn't tell him what was going on.

"It's fine, I don't live too far. I take a short cut that gets me home faster anyway." Well, that wasn't a complete lie.

Blaine was gathering his bag and jacket when Kurt stopped him halfway to the door, calling out to him. He turned, blinking.

"If you ever need to talk about, you know, your family and what you're going through, I'm here," he offered, "Been there, done that."

Blaine didn't ask questions despite his curiosity. His family was waiting and he was already running late. Instead, he nodded, smiling. "Thank you," he said before ducking out the door, realizing just how much he meant it.

---

"You're late, Blaine."

It was the first thing Blaine heard when he shut the door behind him. It came from the kitchen in a voice that could only belong to an irritated father.

"Sorry," Blaine called, dropping his bag by the door as Bri came barreling down the hall, nearly knocking the air out of Blaine as she ran straight into his stomach and tightened her little arms around his waist in an embrace.

"You're home, you're home!" she chanted. "And you're a liar!" she accused, stepping back to glare up at Blaine. Beth walked past the two, tossing a "You promised her you'd teach her how to play Monopoly," over her shoulder. Once she was in the kitchen, she hollered, "You're, like, five hours late."

"Stop exaggerating, Beth, I'm only half an hour late," Blaine said, pushing Bri's bangs away from her forehead to press a kiss there. "This Sunday, I promise," he told her.

"Where have you been?" his dad asked when Blaine stepped into the kitchen to begin setting up the table.

"At the school. I'm gonna be working late a couple nights a week," he lied. "I'm helping set up for the musical." He looked over his shoulder at his dad's reaction which, to his relief, was a simple nod. Blaine hated lying, especially to his family. It always made him feel sick with guilt. His mother spent the last years of her life lying and keeping secrets and it almost destroyed their family. She had done it with good intentions, but the results were anything but.

"Just let me know next time, alright, kid?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course, dad."

---

Blaine went over to Kurt's house two more times that week. They agreed that Blaine would help after school every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Thankfully, Blaine's father hadn't asked about his staying out longer than usual again and Blaine made sure he didn't come home late again.

It was the start of a new week and it was Blaine's turn to open the school this morning. A thick fog had rolled in some time during the night, making his walk to school a grueling exercise in visibility. He had tripped over two tree roots, nearly fallen into the lake, and slipped butt first into a muddy puddle before the tall iron gates of Foster's even came into view. His delays gave Blaine no time for coffee, which explained why he nearly tripped up the stairs on his way into the main hall.

Blaine hated opening duty.

Margaret promised him the school was looking for extra help, maybe a kid around his age. Hopefully that meant Blaine wouldn't have to open the school as often. Once the drapes were pushed opened, doors unlocked and classrooms open, Blaine made his way into the employee lounge in the main hall and turned on the television. He settled on one of the couches, bundling up in his jacket and pulling up the hood.

"Foster's Academy has just released news that this year they will be presenting a classic for their Artist's Showcase at the Lincoln Center: West Side Story. After last year's Chicago success, locals are thrilled at the news. On today's show, we will be interviewing first time musical director, Artie Abrams, so stay tuned. Kim Kardashian will also be here this morning talking about the baby and future wedding plans."

Blaine glared at the television, a tiny wave of jealousy washing over him at the mention of the musical. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and picked up the remote. He flipped the channel to Cartoon Network and prayed that nobody would be breaking out into song.

---

That afternoon Kurt left Blaine alone at the cottage for short while. He instructed Blaine to unpack the boxes that were lined up against a small piano while he drove to the store to buy a shelf for his books. The silence in the house should have been eerie, but it was strangely comforting. He loved looking after his siblings and the closeness of family he felt wherever he turned, but Blaine couldn't help but admit how relaxing it was to be alone.

The last two boxes that Blaine unpacked contained nothing but books. The first held a hodge podge of literary genres: trashy romance novels, encyclopedias, Shakespeare, science fiction, Greek essays, text books and graphic novels. The second was stacked to the top with song books. Blaine peered out the window, checking for Kurt's car. He looked down at the two piles. Would Kurt mind if he looked through them? It wasn't like it was anything personal.

Blaine sat down on the floor. ABBA, Wicked, Sondheim, West Side Story, Disney, Adele, Phantom of The Opera. And that was just one pile. Blaine picked up the West Side Story book and carried it over to the piano. He flipped through the pages and stopped when he found the song he was looking for, Something's Coming. He propped the book against the music rack.

With a final glance towards the door Blaine began playing the opening notes. In seconds he was free falling into the music. He sang loudly, passionately. There were moments where he found himself lifting off the piano bench, fingers pressing firmly against the keys. He closed his eyes, for a few moments, wondering what it would feel like to sing in front of people. He wondered what people would think and if he was any good. No. He knew he was good enough, so why couldn't they give him a chance?

"And something great is coming..."

Just one chance.

The front door clicked shut. Blaine's stomach dropped.

Shit.

The notes faltered and died, hanging in the air. Blaine quickly closed the book, picked it up and stood. When he turned, Kurt was standing at the door, closing it behind him. Should he apologize? Blaine was here to help Kurt out, not mess with his piano. His heart was racing as he watched Kurt set his keys down.

"Why'd you stop?" he asked. "Don't you want to finish the song?"

Blaine's mouth nearly dropped open. He looked at the piano and then at Kurt who laughed quietly. "Stage fright?" he asked.

Blaine shook his head. "No. I mean, kind of. But-You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" Kurt questioned with another laugh. "You're actually really good. Well, from the tiny bit that I heard when I walked in." He walked towards Blaine and took the book from him, setting it back on the piano. "Go on, let me hear what you've got, Anderson. From what I heard, you're definitely good enough to audition for the musical."

Wait, what?

"I-What?" Blaine blurted out.

"The school musical," Kurt repeated slowly with an arch of his brow. "West Side Story? Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I know. But, it's for students only. I can't..."

"Sure you can," Kurt waved him off dismissively. "Now sit." He pointed at the piano bench. "Something's Coming. Go."

Somehow unpacking boxes and putting together a book shelf turned into sharing songs and playing the piano. This chore of "helping Kurt around the house" was turning into something pretty awesome.

----

"Time really does fly when you're having fun," Blaine said after about an hour of playing. He saw Kurt drop his head and laugh. "What?" Blaine asked defensively.

"Nothing you just..." Kurt giggled before looking over at Blaine from his side of the piano bench. "That just sounds like something my dad would say."

Blaine pouted as Kurt bumped their shoulders and stood closing the songbook. "Help me bring in the bookshelf before you leave," he said as he walked towards the front door. Blaine followed.

Once back inside, Kurt handed Blaine the songbook. "Take this home with you," he insisted. "Use it to rehearse for your audition."

"Wait, you were...serious about that?" Blaine asked as he took the book. "I really don't think-"

Kurt shook his head. "Don't worry about a thing. Now go. You're going to be late for dinner."

Blaine grabbed his bag and slipped the book in. As he pulled on his jacket, he faced Kurt. "Thanks for this," he muttered, despite the doubt clawing at the back of his mind.

Kurt shrugged. "Don't thank me just yet. You need to get the part first."

Blaine smiled and waved before walking out. The moment he was out of Kurt's sight, his smile faded. He had too much experience with being promised the impossible.