Kurt scribbled through his French final, trying to ignore the constant voices swimming around the room.  The loud, annoying voices that nobody but he could hear, keeping him from being normal.

"Please help me."

"I need to find him."

"Where am I? What happened?"

He groaned in frustration.  Peeking out from under his eyelids, he saw his teacher shiver as a ghost passed through her.  It was a child, no more than six years old, crying for his mother.  He was yelling at her to look at him; telling her to stop crying at night, he was right there, not dead. 

My name is Kurt Hummel, I can see and speak to spirits, but what I really want is for them to leave me alone so I can graduate high school without getting put in a psych ward again.  Oh, I almost forgot the best part.  I'm hopelessly in love with one of my ghosts.

As soon as the bell rang, Kurt was out of his chair bolting for the door.  He did not want the little boy to notice he saw him.  Usually when they realize that he can see them, they don’t leave him alone until he does their biddings.  And in this case, he would have to tell the little boy that he was dead and then tell his teacher that he could see ghosts and that her dead son was trying to contact her.   And he was just not in the mood to be called crazy today.  Again.

So Kurt let this one be and focused on getting to his last class before summer break.  He fell into his chair next to Mercedes and tapped his fingers nervously as he awaited the final.  US History.  It wasn’t just his worst subject; it was also the most boring class he had ever taken.  And that includes the time a sub took over for his Home Economics class and spent the entire hour talking about football.

“Kurt, are you even listening to me?”  Mercedes asked, her face lined with concern.

“What? Sorry, I was stressing.  I didn’t get much sleep last night, studying and all.”  He added that last part since he couldn’t exactly tell her that he was actually kept up by a ghost who wouldn’t stop screaming like a maniac.  It wasn’t until half past three that he calmed her down enough to speak actual words, and by five he was sending her on her way, telling her to come back when it wasn’t five in the freaking morning and he had four finals later that day.

Mercedes nodded suspiciously and Kurt let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.  The scantrons were passed out and when his test finally slid onto his desk, he stared blankly at question number one.

“B,” said a voice behind him.  Kurt turned to see who it was, but there was no one there.  He looked down again, baffled to find that B was the answer that actually made the most sense. 

“The story of George Washington cutting down the tree isn’t true.  They made that up to make him seem more truthful and a better candidate for the first president.  And he was the one who wanted to be called Mr. President.  King was taken out of the title because that’s what they were escaping from in England.”  Kurt sat in shock, whipping his head back and forth to find the voice.  A soft chuckle and a breath on the back of his neck was enough to make him jump out of his seat.

Kurt huffed in annoyance.  This felt like cheating, but he couldn’t exactly tell the ghost to stop giving him the answers.  He finished his final in record time and turned it in.  Thank goodness he didn’t have to stay after like he thought he would have had to.  The teacher only gave him a strange look, but he ignored it.  It wasn’t the first time someone had looked at him that way. 

Normally summer vacation was a time for reading the newest issue of Vogue by the community pool, and chasing boys with his girls from Glee.  Unfortunately, Kurt wouldn’t be able to enjoy any of that because his dad would be in Washington D.C. for his congressional duties and the whole family was joining him.  At first, he wasn’t too thrilled to be going to one of the oldest places in U.S. History, because that meant there were going to be millions of ghosts everywhere, but when his dad bribed him with weekend trips to New York City he agreed.

They were leaving first thing in the morning, so Kurt had to rush home to continue trying to pack his many, many outfits into as few bags as possible.  After another restless night, he found himself attempting to nap in the car on the drive, but with Finn as a step-brother it’s near impossible.  As a frankenteen he fills the entire back seats with limbs.

When they finally pulled up to the hotel that they were staying at, Kurt was ecstatic.  It was rare that his family got out of Ohio, and he had a really good feeling about being accepted here-considering all of Ohio was filled with homophobic hicks.  He raced around the lobby, admiring the pool through the glass doors with Finn.  If it didn’t require a room key to get in, he was sure Finn would already be swimming in it, regardless of if he had on a swimsuit or not. Kurt just hoped that it was fully clothed, instead of the alternative option−skinny dipping.

 “Alright, since we’re going to be here for three months, I’ve gotten each of you your own room,” Burt said, his voice stern, “I expect a lot from both of you this summer, so responsibility is key here.  If you leave your rooms for any reasons, you must tell me or Carole so we don’t worry about you.  Got it?”

Kurt rolled his eyes, but nodded anyways.  Knowing that his dad cared so much was at least comforting.  He was in Congress for Kurt, to make the art programs better in schools everywhere so that kids can have a place to go, to be safe, and to be themselves.

Burt handed over the room keys hesitantly, but didn’t say anything as Kurt took his and began lugging his stuff towards the elevator.  After the nearly five minutes it took to pile everything in because of all the bags, they began the climb towards the top floor.

The hotel, built in 1750, had quite the charm.  Kurt marveled at the wallpaper and the wood furnishing, telling his family to look closer at the carving in each panel.  When they reached their rooms, they all went their separate ways with plans to meet for dinner at six.  Kurt shoved his key card into the doorknob, and gasped at the sight of his room.

The floor plan was beautiful; a small hallway that led to the bedroom, a bathroom door on the left, and a little kitchen to the right.  The decorations were done so well that he wasn’t even sure he was in D.C., that he could have easily mistaken it for Paris.  But that wasn’t what Kurt gasped at.  Sitting at his windowsill was a boy, no older than he, glancing at him with curious eyes.

“What are you doing in my room?” Kurt demanded, throwing his bags into the corner.  More like gently placed with a little force, but still.  To say the boy was surprised that Kurt could see him would not do justice to the look on his face.  A mixture between shock, horror, and a slight smile were dancing on his features; his perfect features, Kurt didn’t fail to notice. Kurt also couldn't help but notice that the ghost’s curly hair was just an inch too long, and his eyes were changing from hazel to green and then back to hazel again.

“You can see me?” he whispered, his feet hitting the floor, moving towards Kurt, but stopping a foot away.  Kurt nodded, unsure of what to say.  Then the ghost struck out his hand.

“I’m Blaine.  Welcome to my home.”