McKinley High had been a dangerous place for me, both physically and emotionally. As the only out gay kid in the entire school, things had been pretty much awful for me since day one. But I don’t need to reminisce about that. All I knew was that this was the last first day of school I’d have to endure at McKinley.

I shuffled through the hallways, trying my best to not anger anyone. I got to my locker without incident, opened up my bag, and checked my schedule. Homeroom with Mr. Shuester, I thought. At least this is one class I won’t have to stress out about. I closed my locker door, closed up my bag, and walked to room 107.

I just need something to brighten my day, I thought to myself, as I sauntered through the cluttered hallways. Something lovely. Something kind. Something warm.

As I entered the room, I looked at the clock. It read 7:45. Homeroom didn’t start until 8, but I liked being early. If I was only 15 minutes early, it meant I was on time. Showing up on time was being late, and that is simply not okay. I looked around the room, and saw exactly what I needed.

In the front row was Miss Tina Cohen-Chang, with bright eyes and a brighter smile.

“Kurt!” she yelped as she jumped out of her seat. She ran towards me and I caught her in a big hug.

I nuzzled into the crook in her shoulder and pushed my temple against hers. “Tinaaaaaa,” I whined. “I missed you so much.”

“I can bet I missed you more!” she squeaked as we released each other. “Come here, sit by me,” she said as she pointed to the empty desk next to hers. She was the only one in the room other than me, so I really did have the entire classroom to choose from, but I took the desk next to her, just because she had offered so politely.

“So,” I started. “How was your summer?”

Tina sat down in her desk and started telling me stories of her summer. She had gone up to the lake with her parents, spent quite some time with Mike, and worked on her tap and jazz dancing. She spoke about campfires, shooting stars, mystery novels, picnics, and a new-found love for butter pecan ice cream. It sounded like a lovely summer.

“And you? How was yours?”
“It was alright,” I started. I had discovered some new classical music, and had very long musical movie marathons. I spoke about my slumber parties with Mercedes and Rachel (at which Tina was sad because she had been unable to attend the last two), and how everything else was, as it had always been, rather ordinary and uneventful.

At this point, people were slowly starting to saunter in, none of them looking particularly excited to be here. I knew most of the faces and a few of the names, until one in particular creeped in the door. He was a short figure, with a healthy skin tone, dark hair, and big hazel eyes. He paused at the door frame, checked the plaque next to the door to make sure he was in the right room, saw that he was, and walked in through the door.

Blaine Anderson.

I’d know that face anywhere.

He was my best friend’s twin brother, and I’d seen him at Rachel’s house before. We didn’t speak often, and when we did, it was always in short, polite little bursts. As far as I knew, he didn’t go here. Don’t ask me where it was he went, I don’t know. But that’s wrong, apparently, because he’s here. In my homeroom class. Looking at me.

“Hey Blaine,” I heard Tina chirp from beside me. “You’re in Mr. Shue’s homeroom class?”

“You go to school here?” I asked inquisitively.

“I do now,” he responded. He smiled begrudgingly, and plopped his bag next to the desk beside mine. “Exciting, right?”

You have no idea.

You know how people talk about love at first sight? Well, my father always talked about love at first smell. Something about the combination of pheromones, soap, perfume, and how people smelled naturally. He said that smell was perhaps one of our most basic instincts, and how smells could bring about the most powerful memories and desires.

That’s what I remember about Blaine. The first time I ever met him, it was not his looks or his sparkling personality, but his smell that had knocked me to the ground.

I can’t quite justify it as a crush, because I hardly know the man personally, but there is most certainly some attraction there on my end. But between the stories Rachel always told me, our quick conversations, and the smell that could stun a team of oxen in their tracks, I suppose that’s the best word for it.

Crush.

Rachel’s stories were wonderful. The sleepovers usually included Rachel, Mercedes, and myself, and since none of us had really had any experiences with guys, Rachel always filled us in with stories about her brother. Sure, some stories were about Finn, like how some men feel the need to watch football compulsively, or why bone-in chicken wings were better, but most of our ‘man-chats’ had to do with her brother Blaine.

How he didn’t show any pain to the doctors after his terrible accident, because he wanted everyone to think he was brave.

How he wanted to be self-sufficient by being able to diagnose and fix problems with his own car.

How he had learned to cook some basic things because he really didn’t want to starve in college.

How he had learned to play the piano because some idiots at school said it was ‘girly’, and he had wanted to prove them wrong.

How he had cried by himself for three days after coming out to their parents.

Everything I had missed by not speaking to him on a regular basis I had learned from his sister. And now that we were in the same homeroom class, maybe, just maybe, I could learn some new things from him.

By the time I turned to Tina, Blaine was already sitting in his desk, scribbling in what looked to be his planner. Organized, I thought. Very nice. I smiled to myself.

“Ready for the first day of the rest of our high school lives?”

“Oh yeah,” she replied. “Oh yeah.”