My name is Kurt Hummel, and I am dead.

Not literally dead, of course; I'm only sixteen, and plan to live for another eighty fulfilling years at least.

No, it’s worse: I'm dead emotionally. My spirit is dead. Why? Well, my father, my stepmother, my stepbrother, and I have recently moved from New York, New York--shining, glittering metropolis, masterpiece of planet Earth--to Bumfuck Nowhere, Ohio.

Ohio.

I think the town's actually called Lima, but I can't be bothered to find out. I've only just arrived, but I already hate it here. My first day at William McKinley High School is today, and he is officially my least favorite president. I belong in New York. Broadway is my dream, and now, it's miles away from me, a glittering reminder of my beautiful childhood in the city that never sleeps. I am a cosmopolitan sophisticate. I don't belong in this one-horse town, and I know I won't get along with anyone who does.

I feel like a lamb being led to slaughter.

Wish me luck.

♥ ♥ ♥

The first day actually isn’t too bad, but that’s due in large part to the fact that I do my best to avoid absolutely everyone all day. Aside from pleasantries and nice-to-meet-yous exchanged with lab partners and seatmates, I speak to no one but my stepbrother, Finn, as we eat our lunch.

“Made any friends yet?” he asks me.

“Nope. You?”

“Nope.” He grins, offering me a thumbs-up. “This’ll be great!”

I can’t help but laugh at Finn’s dead-on impression of my dad on the day he announced we were moving.

“Right?” I snort, sipping my flat Diet Coke and grimacing. It’s warm, too.

Finn sombers up. "I kind of hate it here, you know?" he mumbles. "I know New York wasn't exactly my happy place, but I'd take it over Lima, Ohio, any day."

I pout supportively, almost managing to wrap my arm around my brother's ridiculously broad shoulders. "I know how you feel, Finn," I reply, content to have someone with whom to share my utter hatred of our new life. "Believe me, I know how you feel."

He smiles wanly. "It must be worse for you," he surmises. "New York was your actual happy place." He leans his head on my shoulder in support. "You know I'm here for you."

I smile, but he can't see it. "I know you are."

♥ ♥ ♥

I saunter into my sixth-period study hall, Frye boots clacking as I walk. Thank God this day is almost over.

I arrive seconds before the bell, and take a seat next to a pretty girl wearing a pink argyle monstrosity. Shit, I think to myself. I could possibly not dislike you, if it weren’t for the sweater.

"Hi!" she chirps. "You must be new. I'm Rachel Berry, soon-to-be Broadway star."

"Hi yourself," I mutter. "I'm Kurt Hummel, soon-to-be out of this shithole and back in New York, where I came from."

"Ooh!" Rachel trills, ignoring my scathing jab at her hometown. "You'll have to tell me all about it."

I half-smirk at her. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

When the bell rings, Rachel and I turn our attention to the bull-necked, buzz-cut teacher, who is keeping it business-casual in a McKinley High Football sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. I sincerely hope he's the football coach, and not an overenthusiastic member of the actual teaching staff.

"Okay," he bellows "My name is Coach Tanaka, as most of you know, and Principal Figgins suckered me into teaching sixth period study hall this year. I want to be here even less than you do. Now, we're going to do some seat-shuffling, because I just realized that I may need student reinforcement to keep some of you on task. Lopez, Pierce, go over with Berry and what's his face."

"Hummel," I call out to no avail as Mr. Tanaka continues to split groups up and force couples to sit across the room from each other. Two willowy girls clad in cheerleading uniforms sashay over to the table. One is Hispanic, stone-faced and well-endowed in the chest area; the other tall, blonde, and looking a little vacant.

"Who's the new kid?" snorts the first.

"This is Kurt," says my new best buddy, Rachel. "He's from New York."

"Ooh la la," the blonde mutters. "I'm Brittany."

"Santana," says the first girl. "Welcome to hell, Kurt."

"Oh, Santana, it's not that bad," Rachel insists. She leans into me to whisper in my ear. "Not when you have the world's cutest boyfriend, that is."

"And that is?" I sigh. I figure I'll placate her, at least until class is over.

"It's not really live yet," she mutters, "but I'm dating one Cooper Anderson."

"Who's Cooper Anderson?" I ask her, loud enough for Santana and Brittany to hear. My question goes unanswered when Rachel receives twin death stares from the two cheerleaders.

"Berry," Santana murmurs calmly, "what did you just say about Cooper Anderson?"

"We're dating," Rachel says, a challenge in her voice. Ooh, this is getting good.

"I'm dating Cooper Anderson!" Brittany and Santana shout at the same time, standing up in perfect sync. The impending catfight drowns out Mr. Tanaka's reading of the classroom rules and capturing the attention of the entire class.

"He's mine, bitch!"

"Stay away from him, skank!"

"Back the fuck off my man!"

Finally, as Santana gives Rachel's sleek brown hair a particularly forceful yank while being halfheartedly held back by our teacher, I deem it fit to ask again.

"Who the fuck is Cooper Anderson?!"

"LANGUAGE!" Mr. Tanaka bellows, letting go of Santana's raging form. His fists are shaking, and his face is purple. He points at each of the four of us in succession. "Rachel, Santana, Brittany, and...you! Detention for four hours in the library this afternoon."

"My fucking name is Kurt," I sneer, but no one hears me amid the three girls' piercing cries of protest.

♥ ♥ ♥

I vow to keep my head down all the way to detention, but I don't even make it through the classroom door before a figure in bright red, double-cuffed pants plows into me, knocking us both over.

"I am so sorry," the boy says, sitting up and dusting off his thighs. "That was all my fault. I wasn't looking. Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?"

He holds up what look like two fingers, but I’m seeing double vision—it’s an optical defect thing, not a concussion thing, and I really need to start wearing my glasses—and I have to wait for his face to come into focus.

"Um, I think two...but you're all fuzzy."

The boy smiles, and as if the angels have heard me, my vision goes back to normal. And oh, am I glad it did, because this boy is gorgeous.

His hair is the color of coffee beans, slicked back with gel. His eyes are the color of raw honey, and they draw me in like a moth to two identically sexy flames. His body is compact--I can tell he's shorter than I am--but I just know he's got some nice, firm muscles under that black polo and those red capris. He offers his hand to me, helping me stand, but I can't stop staring. He bends over to pick up a wayward binder that's fallen out of his satchel, and glory glory hallelujah, I love Ohio. That ass.

"Such a gentleman, Mister—" I pause midsentence.

"Anderson," he supplies, smiling and showing off a beautiful set of pearly whites.

I blanch unconsciously, unable to stop myself from voicing my thoughts aloud. "Cooper Anderson?" He can't be.

My new friend throws his head back in good-natured laughter. "Oh, no. That's my older brother. You must be new."

"Kurt Hummel," I reply, offering my hand for him to shake. He takes it, smiling at me once more. "Sophomore. I just moved here from New York City."

"I'm so sorry," Blaine says again, chuckling sympathetically. "Lima pales in comparison. Lima's not even a blip in comparison. Lima sucks in comparison."

He slings his bag over one shoulder. "I'm Blaine, by the way. Also a sophomore. It's lovely to meet you, Kurt Hummel."

"Likewise, Blaine Anderson." This boy is ridiculous, I think to myself. Total fifties throwback, with a voice like molasses and a smile like the sun coming out. I can't get enough. I throw my bag back over my shoulder.

"Headed to detention?" Blaine asks me, a knowing smirk on his face. When I nod, he giggles outright. "What’d you do?"

"My tablemates in study hall all found out that they're dating your brother, actually," I explained. "Total girl-on-girl-on-girl verbal smackdown. When they started clawing at each other, I felt it appropriate to ask who the fuck your brother was."

"Ooh, yikes, I heard about that in the hall just now." Blaine shudders. "So you were the poor fourth wheel. Which three girls? All sophomores, like us?"

I nodded affirmatively. "Rachel Berry, Santana something, and Brittany something."

Blaine winces. "If I had to pick three girls I would hate to see pissed off, they would be them. The alpha soprano, the head cheerleader, and the dim-bulb sophomore class president."

"Yikes," I remark. "Why me?"

Blaine laughs, slinging an arm around my shoulder as he steers me into a nondescript, beige-on-beige room. "Here we are. Detention. But you're early. I'll sit with you."

"Oh, you don't have to--"

"Kurt," Blaine says, as if I am a child who needs reprimanding. "I want to." The adorable boy with the honey eyes sits down next to me at a circular table.

I can't help but grin. "So, tell me about your brother. What's he like, cheating scandal aside?"

Blaine rolls his eyes. "Oh, Kurt, he's such a player. He's dated half the school--girls and guys, but mostly girls. This school doesn’t take kindly to gay people. Anyway, he just really doesn't care about the moral ambiguities of lying by omission, so `he concocts these ridiculous stories to tell all his significant others in order to keep them from finding out about each other."

"Oh, shit," I laugh. "No offense, but he sounds like a douchebag."

Blaine chuckles. "He has his douchebag moments, but he's my brother, and he's a nice guy at his core. Our dad doesn't like the fact that neither of us are straight, so we stick together, Coop and me."

"Are--um, are you bi, too?" I ask timidly, eager to find out if I even have a chance with Blaine.

He gives me that beautiful smile that can light up a room, heal the sick, and change the weather.

Okay, maybe not, but it still makes my heart skip a beat. "I'm the worse of the two, actually," he groaned. "There's a good chance my dad will see Cooper settle down with a girl, but I'm one hundred percent gay.”

Fuck, yeah. I knew I ought to give Ohio a try.

"Me, too," I beam at him, melting on the inside when my words make him grin like a maniac. "I was actually curious...how many people are out at this school?"

"Well, it used to be just Coop and me, the queer Anderson boys," Blaine says with a dramatic roll of his eyes, "but now, it's you, Coop, and me." He smiles like this is the best news he's heard all week.

"Oh, God," I blurt out. "That's rough."

"Not now that I have you!" Blaine stands up, still grinning, and holds his hand out. "Kurt Hummel, give me your phone."

I smirk, holding it hostage just to tease, before handing it over. "If you jack my phone, I'll kill you in the face, Blaine Not Cooper Anderson. Give me yours, too."

Blaine throws his head back in laughter, handing my white iPhone back to me just as I hold his out for him to take back. "I'd better get to the car before Coop's basketball practice is over. Check your phone tonight, Kurt Hummel. I'll see you tomorrow." His fingertips linger on my hand for a few seconds too long to be accidental, and I'll be damned if that isn't the sexiest thing that's ever happened to me.

"Ech-hem? Mister Hummel?"

I turn around to face the vice principal, who's already got me on her shit list for transferring on such short notice.

"Yes?" I answer, far more meek than usual.

"With your permission, I'd like to start detention."

It finally occurs to me to look around the room. Rachel, Santana, and Brittany are all seated at the same table, obviously not by choice.

"Take a seat in between Santana and Rachel, please."

"Thank fuck," mutters Santana under her breath. "Can't stand her."

"Likewise," Rachel hisses. "Boyfriend thief."

"NO TALKING!" bellows the vice principal. When Rachel and Santana finally stop dishing out the snaps, the austere, gray-haired woman reads the rules. "No sleeping, no eating, no talking, do your homework, no one can leave. I'll be back in four hours."

Once she's out of sight, the three resume where they left off.

"Cooper says you're lying," Rachel blurts out. "I didn't mention names, but I can assure you that I am his only significant other."

"That is so funny," Santana replies, her tone false and mocking, "because he fed me that exact same line."

"I was too busy looking at Missy Gunderson's shiny Senior Class President poster to understand much of what he said," Brittany mumbles, "but yeah, I'm pretty sure he told me the same thing."

"Blaine says he's cheating on all of you," I mutter almost inaudibly.

All is silent for a beat as the three girls slowly turn to look me in the face.

"What was that, new kid?" Santana spits.

"His brother, Blaine," I say slowly, "whom I just met, says that Cooper is cheating on all of you. He is taking you for a ride. Pulling your collective leg. Capisce?" I snap.

"Looks like someone made a special friend," Santana jokes, poking my arm.

"Shut up," I mutter weakly.

"I'm so angry," Rachel seethes, either too mad or too distracted to comment on my new friendship with the only other gay boy in the school.

"Oh, go sing about it, diva bitch," Santana intones. "I refuse to believe it."

"I do," Brittany says simply. "This is why they call him a player!"

I can't hold back the choked giggle that comes out of my mouth. "Brittany wins," I mumble.

"Yesss!" the tall blonde cheers. “Wait until I tell Lord Tubbington.”

♥ ♥ ♥

My phone buzzes in my pocket as I walk home from school, almost knocking me to the ground in my surprise. No one ever texts me, except my best friend, Mercedes, whom I had to tearfully leave behind at the airport mere days ago.

I'm almost positive it's her, but...oh. It's not.

Blaine Anderson: So how was detention?

Kurt Hummel: Oh, boy. Well, for starters, he told all of them nothing was wrong. They're still in denial, and they're all planning to confront him.

Blaine Anderson: Of course he did. Dating those three at the same time is the dumbest thing Cooper's ever done.

Kurt Hummel: Yeah, they're intense.

Blaine Anderson: You can say that again.

Kurt Hummel: Yeah, they're intense.

Blaine Anderson: You're too cute.

When I get that one, I almost trip over the porch step as I walk up the stairs to my new 'home.' I open the door and run to my room before I answer.

Kurt Hummel: That's my line ;)

I feel a little weird about flirt-texting someone I just met, but...God, Blaine just makes me melt.

Blaine Anderson: Aww, you'll make me blush.

We continue like that for hours, with me alternating my attention between my algebra homework and Blaine's flirtatious texts about everything from 70s music to the pros and cons of double-cuffing one's pants.

Blaine Anderson: It's retro!

Kurt Hummel: I can appreciate it on you.

Blaine Anderson: And on anyone else?

Kurt Hummel: No one else could pull off the fifties throwback look.

Blaine Anderson: Awwwww :')

Kurt Hummel: God, you sweetheart. Can I just put you in my pocket?

Oh, shit. That's way too forward. They really need to make an 'unsend' button for the iPhone.

Blaine Anderson: Blushing like crazy. Cooper just asked if I want him to check my temperature.

Blaine Anderson: You know, Kurt Hummel, you're pretty sweet yourself.

No sooner than I finish reading the text, the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it!" comes my dad's booming baritone from downstairs. A few moments later, he yells my name.

"Yeah?" I call.

"There's a Rachel here for you. Sending her up."

Why is Rachel Berry in my house? We've only just met.

Nevertheless, and all teenage social constructs aside, she's on my sofa seconds later.

"He broke up with me," she wails. "I talked to him, and he...he broke up with me! He told me I wasn't 'the one.' That's such crap." She collapses onto the arm of the couch, undoubtedly soaking it with her tears. I wince and almost tell her to stop; it's an antique.

"Kurt! You've got another friend...I guess."

Suddenly, Santana bursts in, swearing rapidly in Spanish and repeating Cooper's name.

"He fucking dumped me," she seethes. "I tried to talk to him, but he gave me some speech about how I'm not the one for him. What a load of shit. I hate him so hard right now."

"KURT! It’s your first damn day; how do you have so many--"

"Hi," says an out-of-breath Brittany, standing in my doorway, drowning out the end of my dad's speech. "Cooper broke up with me."

"Quelle surprise," I mutter in French.

"He broke up with all of us?!" Rachel shouts in disbelief. "But why?"

"I'm guessing he's got a few other folks waiting in the wings for their turn," I quip, and they all turn to look at me. "So...why are you in my house?"

"Well, I wanted you to help me get over him," Brittany admits, taking a seat on a beanbag chair.

"Same," Rachel concurs, still on the sofa.

"Ditto," mutters Santana, lying prostrate on the hideous wall-to-wall shag carpeting that came with the house.

"And how would I have done that?" I ask. "I don't even know you."

"Chocolate," they all reply.

"But now..." Santana begins, an evil smile forming on her face, "I want revenge."

"Yeah!" Brittany agrees.

"How?" Rachel asks, and the room goes quiet. Five minutes later, Santana breaks the silence.

"He broke our hearts, guys."

Rachel and Brittany nod.

"So, let's break his." She grins as though she's found a cure for cancer.

"But...he broke up with everybody," I remind them. It earns me an even more sinister grin from Santana.

"Not everybody.”

All six eyes are suddenly fixated on me, and it takes me a few beats to realize what she means.

"Ohhhh, no," I reply vehemently. "No, no, no. Not in a million years."

"You won't really be dating him!" Rachel cries. "It's perfect. You'll pretend to date him, he'll fall in love with you, and then you'll break his cheating heart!"

"I've never even met the guy! I can't just...date him!" I protest. "And also...never mind."

"You like his brother," Santana singsongs. "Which is a shame, because you have to date Cooper, but Blaine was giving you those adorable please-oh-please-fuck-me eyes."

"I don't have to date Cooper!"

"You'll be spending time with Blaine," Brittany points out in an unusual feat of sheer brainpower.

"And sucking face with the hottest guy to walk the halls of McKinley High School," Santana pipes up. "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Um, maybe the part where he might not even be interested in me?" I squeak, desperate to find a way out of the death trap they call a master plan.

"Kurt," Rachel says calmly, as if trying to soothe a hysterical child. "Have you looked at yourself? Ever?"

"He'll be interested," Santana assures me. "Kurt, this is perfect. Pleasedo it."

"Please?" Rachel and Brittany chorus.

"No." My tone has an edge to it that borders on harsh. "No way."

Wordlessly, they exchange glances, grab their belongings, and head for the door, shaking their heads disappointedly in my general direction.

Shit, Kurt, you can't just let them walk. Don't squander what might be your only chance to make some damn friends.

Before I can think better of it, I'm calling after them. "Wait!" I shout. That gets their attention--Brittany stops in the doorway, and Rachel drags Santana back up the stairs.

"Yeah?" Santana spits.

I sigh deeply, resigned to a fate I never wanted. "Just...tell me what I have to do."

♥ ♥ ♥