Blaine looked down at the paper in his hand that listed his classes, and locker number and combination. He was making his way through the noisy halls to the approximate location the secretary begrudgingly pointed him in, in the hopes he would find his locker there. He rounded the corner and just as he was noticing the numbers on the lockers were close to that of his own, music caught his ear. Curious he made his way to a door through which the music wafted through.

Sitting on the piano bench a young man was playing Moonlight Sonata, with such precision and grace, Blaine could not take his eyes away. The boys back was straight as his pale fingers seemed to caress the keys like they were things of beauty as he played. His chestnut hair was back and away from his face, and seemed to accentuate his high cheekbones. Blaine could barely see more than a glimpse of his profile as he played, but he dared not move in any closer. While Blaine was out and was proud of who he was, he knew better than to declare it in a school such as this, at least until he had some allies. Instead he stood fascinated by the music and the figure playing on the piano.

The music was reaching its climax and Bliane was losing himself to the music, when a bad chord jarred him out of the moment. The boy slammed the lid closed on the piano in clear frustration, judging by the tension that ran down his backs and arms. He picked up his bag and no quicker had the words, “You are really good,” left Blaine’s mouth than the he stormed out the other door, without even a glance in Blaine direction.

Blaine continued on to his locker, placing binders and notebooks inside he would not need until after lunch, before continuing on to his first class. He sat through English as the teacher went over the things she would cover that year, all of which Blaine was taught in his sophomore year at Dalton. For an AP class it seemed like it would be a breeze. No one seemed to pay him any mind, not even a glance in his direction. Second period, Blaine had gym, this was a class he was pissed he had to take. Three years of fencing at Dalton, and McKinley still believed he needed a PE credit. He tried to protest and his mother argued his case, but they wouldn’t let the credit transfer, so here he was sitting on the gym floor as a large woman took role as this also counted as his homeroom.

She had just given them a break to go get a quick drink of water after warm-up exercises when he saw him again. This time he was in what looked like a smaller gym, but with mirrors on the wall. Blaine guessed it must have been a dance studio. He was dressed now in black sweats, a tight t-shirt but was barefoot. Music was playing loudly, and a group of perhaps ten girls, with two older women sat on the floor in front of the mirrors watching him. He was leaping and turning, flowing with the music. His arms shot out from his body as a deep bass note blared in the music. Blaine couldn’t look away, he wasn’t dancing to the melody line, it was not light and air. He seemed to be dancing to the heavy bass reminiscent of a heartbeat. Blaine was fascinated by the strength and grace evident in his movement, in the way he held himself.

When the coach called him by name, he finally turned and rejoined the class. A few guys made jokes about him watching the girls in their skimpy dance clothes. Blaine just shook his head at them, but didn’t say a word to correct them, not yet.

History class was uneventful, except for realizing they were covering dates, Blaine had just studied last semester at Dalton. He was quickly realizing that his senior year was going to be an easy one though. As third period ended, Blaine was getting excited though, fourth period was going to be one of his new filler classes, but the one he was most interested in. As he walked into the class room, he saw that it was set up differently than his other classes. Instead of desk in rows, they were arranged in a semicircle, an white board and screen were set up at the front near the teacher’s desk. He chose a seat near the door-side edge of the room and sat down as the other students filed in.

As Blaine sat he noticed two women walk in the room, one he recognized as one of the women sitting on the dance room floor earlier in the day. The women talked for a moment, before the one he recognized sat in a seat at the front of the classroom close to where he sat. The other students seemed to bypass the chair next to him at the end of the semicircle after that. Blaine began to feel self-conscious about it until two people walked in and took the chairs on either side of him, with one quick, half annoyed glance his way. One was a beautiful African American girl wearing a Technicolor leopard print shirt, jeans and high-tops; the other was the boy, the pianist, the dance back in his skinny jeans and vest.

Blaine was just about to introduce himself, when the bell rang and the teacher stepped up to the front of the class. Mrs. Rodger began taking roll, and Blaine noticed the woman in the chair at the front begin moving her hands and pointing to various part of the room, where students were answering to their names. He was so startled by this sight he nearly missed his own name, barely saying here before he called it again. He watched the woman’s hand move with practiced flair. It began to don on him, that she was signing. He thought it was neat they would have an interpreter for an America Sign Language class. He teacher called out, Kurt Hummel, and as the interpreter began signing the name, the boy raised his hand. Kurt… Blaine smiled.

Mrs. Rodger began the lesson talking about the fingerspelling alphabet, she showed a picture on the screen and had everyone sign the letters with her. After a couple of rounds she set them to practice spelling their own name. Blaine concentrated on forming the letters just as the teacher had. This was different than the Latin they had taught at Dalton. Blaine was proud of himself when after ten minutes he could spell not only his first and last name without consulting the board.

Next they were taught how to introduce themselves in sign language. Blaine was feeling pretty confident by the time she told them to practice with the person beside them. He turned to see Kurt watching the interpreter before rolling his eyes and facing him.

Kurt signed quickly and fluidly, Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. What’s your name?

Blaine paused for a moment, awed by how quickly he seemed to pick up the signs. Blaine stumbled over his own signs finally producing something like, Hi my name is Blaine Anderson.

Kurt’s hands began to move around rapidly, clearly he knew what he was doing. Seeing Blaine’s blank confused expression, Kurt stomped his foot catching the interpreters attention. He moved his hands some more to her, then turned back to Blaine. His hands had barely started moving before the woman’s voice began speaking. “Hi Blaine, let’s start again, my name is Kurt Hummel, but you can call me by my name sign it is an ASL K rubbed on your cheek.”

Blaine stared at the woman and asked, “Um, can he not hear?”

Kurt looked at the woman as she signed his question back to Kurt. His hands moved rapidly, clearly not happy. “I’m right here, if you want to talk to me,” He interpreter spoke, “then talk to me. She is just the interpreter. And to answer your question, yes, I am deaf.”

Blaine’s eyes had shot back to Kurt realizing he must have offended him, “I’m sorry, I’ve never used an interpreter before.” Kurt nodded. “I saw you earlier today…” and that was all Blaine could say before the teacher began talking again, assigning them homework from the workbook for next class. As soon as the bell sounded, Kurt was at the door, hands moving animatedly, talking to the girl who had sat on Blaine’s other side.