“Better run, homo…”

         Slap. Crack. Smash. Pavement under his skull. Arms pinning him down. Blood in his mouth. Sobs. Laughter. Cold, loud laughter…

            Blaine Anderson was clinically depressed. His mother had decided this two weeks into his sophomore year at Dalton Academy, after he came home for the weekend and spent the entire time holed up in his room listening to melancholy orchestra recordings and refusing to shower. Blaine didn’t protest—she was probably right, after all—but he was a bit miffed that she seemed so surprised at the whole thing. What did she expect of him? He’d spent a good portion of his sophomore year at his old public school in the hospital, and now he was repeating it at a private academy where he knew no one. He was prime material for clinical depression, really.

            Blaine sat silently in the car, slumped against the window and watching the other cars whiz past in blurs of color. His mother eyed him from the driver’s seat.

            “Blaine, dear, sit up straight. You’re ruining your posture.”

            “Hmm,” Blaine grunted indifferently, but unstuck his cheek from the window and sat up nonetheless.

            “Are you anxious?” his mother asked.

            “No.”

            “It’s all right if you are, Blaine. Just remember, there is nothing shameful in seeing a therapist. It will be good for you. She can help you.”

            “Hmm,” Blaine responded, slouching again. His mother clucked her tongue at him as she pulled into the parking lot. Blaine unbuckled and got out of the car grudgingly, staring at the office building with distaste. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

            “Do you want me to come in with you?” his mother asked, watching him with what Blaine would almost call nervous. She was twisting her wedding ring on her finger. He felt a twinge of guilt; he really was making this much more difficult than was necessary. He forced his face into a smile.

            “No, it’s okay,” he said. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you when I’m done?”

            She nodded, smiling in relief. “All right. I love you, Blaine.” She gave him a quick hug and then got back into the car. Blaine watched her drive away before turning back to the therapist’s building. He sighed, steeled himself, and pushed open the door. The bell dinged as he entered, and he walked up the receptionist’s desk. The girl sitting there was probably only in her early twenties, and she was drumming her French-tipped nails on her desk and staring off into space.

            “Hello, how may I help you?” she said, glancing up at Blaine.

            “I have an appointment with Dr. Halling?” Blaine said. “Under Anderson?”

            “Blaine?” the girl asked, after flipping through a planner on her desk.

            “Yes.”

            “Sign in over there and then have a seat in the waiting room.”

            Blaine signed his name on the clipboard the girl directed him to, and then walked over to the waiting area. There were several plastic chairs, a coffee table with a stack of outdated magazines, and a little TV mounted on the wall, playing the sports channel with the volume muted. There was only one other person in the waiting room; a boy about Blaine’s age, sitting with his legs crossed, reading last month’s issue of Vogue. Blaine sat down a few chairs away from the boy and slumped a little.

            The boy’s left leg bounced lightly up and down as he read. He had skintight black jeans and thigh-high boots, and Blaine couldn’t help but stare at the contours of his legs through the fabric. His eyes flickered up to the boy’s face and realized that the boy was watching him. Blaine flushed.

            The boy had the most intense blue eyes Blaine had ever seen. Their expression was unreadable.

            “Why are you staring at me?” he asked, and his voice was high and clear and made Blaine feel all watery in his stomach. Stop it, he told himself. This is what got you beat up in the first place—looking where you shouldn’t, liking what you shouldn’t.

            “Sorry,” Blaine stammered. “I, uh, I like your boots.”

            The boy smiled then, and set down his magazine to look fondly down at his feet. “Oh, thank you. My dad got me them for Christmas, I absolutely adore them.” He looked back at Blaine, and his eyes were softer now. “I’m Kurt.”

            “Blaine,” Blaine replied, smiling slightly. “Sorry if I weirded you out…”

            Kurt laughed. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m glad someone appreciates my fashion sense.” He paused, and then said, “Is this your first time here?”

            Blaine chewed on his bottom lip. “Um, yeah. You?”

            “I’m actually here with a friend,” Kurt said. “They’re in with Dr. Halling right now. I just came for moral support.”

            “Oh. That’s really nice of you,” Blaine said.

            “I just know how it feels to be alone,” Kurt said. “And she needed a friend. And a ride.” He grinned wryly, his nose scrunching up as he did so.

            Blaine grinned back, and was about to say more when the receptionist called out, “Blaine Anderson?”

            “Oh. That’s me, I guess.” Blaine stood up.

            “It was nice talking to you,” Kurt said.

            “Yeah, you too. Talking made me less nervous,” Blaine admitted. Kurt smiled. Just then, a girl with short blonde hair came out of the therapist’s room, hands clasped in front of her. She looked relieved when she saw Kurt.

            “How’d it go, sweetie?” Kurt asked her, going to her side immediately. The girl shrugged.

            “Fine.” She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Ready to go?”

            “Sure thing.” Kurt glanced back at Blaine and gave him a tiny smile. “Bye, Blaine.”

            The girl looked over at Blaine, confusion and a little disdain in her eyes. Blaine smiled weakly as Kurt and the girl walked out of the building. The receptionist called Blaine’s name again. He startled a little and started to walk over to Dr. Halling’s office door, pausing for a moment to watch through the glass front door Kurt and his friend get into their car.

            “So, how was it?” Blaine’s mother asked when he got into the car an hour later.

            “Okay, I guess.” Blaine shrugged, buckling himself in. “We didn’t really talk about much. Just like, how I feel about having to repeat my sophomore year, what my home life is like…”

            “Did you talk about the dance?” his mother asked gently. Blaine stiffened in his seat.

            “No.”

            “Blaine, I really think—”

            “Mom, stop. Please.” Blaine crossed his arms and stared out the window, folding in on himself. His mother sighed, but didn’t say another word for the rest of the drive.

            “I’m worried about him.”

            “He’ll be fine.”

            “He’s closed off from everyone. He still hasn’t made any friends.”

            Blaine pressed his forehead against his bedroom door. He hated when his parents talked about him. He couldn’t wait to go back to Dalton, so he could spend the next five days away from his mother’s hovering and his father’s silence. He sat down on the floor, leaning against his door and closing his eyes.

            “Please, just leave us alone…”

            “Daniel, get out of here.”

            “Leave Blaine alone!”

            Slap. Crack. Blood in his mouth. Pushing Daniel away, trying to get him to run. Sobs. Laughter…

            Blaine heard a knock on his door and opened his eyes, very aware of the noisy sobs escaping him. His face felt sticky and swollen with tears, and he scooted away from the door so his mother could open it. She took one look at him and let out a tiny sigh, bending down to sit beside him.

            “What’s wrong, honey?”

            Blaine scrubbed at his eyes with his fists, feeling small and empty. “Everything.”

            His mother put a hand on his shoulder. “Things will get better, baby. That’s why you’re seeing Dr. Halling. That’s why we transferred you to Dalton. You’re going to be fine, you’ve just got to stop dwelling on the past…”

            Blaine nodded, but he didn’t believe her. He couldn’t seem to stop the tears from trickling down his cheeks. He just wanted to shut her up so she’d leave him alone.

            His mother didn’t seem convinced, but she stood up anyway. “Get some sleep, Blaine. We’ll drive you to Dalton tomorrow morning, okay?”

            Blaine nodded again. His mother watched him for another moment, her eyes full of worry, before she shut the door. Blaine got up and crawled into bed, kicking off his jeans and staring at the ceiling, dreading sleep and the nightmares that would accompany it.

            Blaine sat in his room alone at Dalton, attempting to answer the critical reading questions for his English class. He was listening to Adele as he worked, and started to sing along almost without realizing it.

            “He won’t go, can’t do it on his own, if this ain’t love then what is? I’m willing to take the risk…”

            Blaine tapped his pencil to the beat as he sang, flipping through his copy of The Grapes of Wrath. He didn’t realize he was no longer alone until the song ended and he heard someone clapping. Blaine’s head shot up and he yanked his earbuds out of his ears, face red. Blaine recognized the boy standing there—his name was Wes, and he was a junior. He was in Blaine’s Italian class.

            “That was incredible,” Wes said. “You’ve got a hell of a voice. Do you take singing lessons?”

            “No,” Blaine said. “I just like singing.” He shrugged.

            Wes looked him over, considering. “You should join the Warblers,” he said finally. “Our lead vocalist just graduated and we could really use someone with your talent and range.”

            Blaine was taken aback. He’d never thought he was that amazing at singing—his older brother had always told him he was pretty mediocre, but then again Cooper said that about everything Blaine did.

            “It’s Blaine, right?” Wes said. Blaine nodded. “I’m Wesley.” Wes held out his hand, and Blaine shook it. “Have you made many friends here yet?” Wes asked, pulling up a chair next to Blaine.

            “Not really,” Blaine admitted. Wes pursed his lips, nodding.

            “Moving schools is tough,” he said. “But Dalton’s a really great school. I’ve been going here since freshman year, and my brother went here before me—it’s a really tight-knit bunch.”

            “That’s why I’m having trouble,” Blaine said. “Everyone already knows everyone.”

            Wes nodded again and patted Blaine’s shoulder. “Join the Warblers. You’ll make friends.” He stood up and walked out of Blaine’s room. Blaine watched him go, then looked back down at his homework. He barely hesitated before standing up and running down the hallway after Wes.

            “Wes! Hey, wait up!” Blaine said. Wes stopped so he could catch up. “You’re going to Warblers practice, right?”

            “That I am,” Wes said.

            “Can I come with you?”

            Wes grinned. “Of course you can. Come along, Blaine—let’s make you a Warbler.”