Chapter 1: Is This It

Can't you see I'm trying?
I don't even like it. I just lied to
Get to your apartment, now I'm staying
Here just for a while
I can't think 'cause I'm just way too tired

-"Is This It" by The Strokes

It was late Monday afternoon when the curly-haired boy with the golden-hazel eyes stepped onto his skateboard and pushed off onto the sidewalk, leaving the molding walls of his dreaded high school to melt into the sunset behind him. He had finished up his homework for the evening during detention- a detention which he still felt he had unjustly been assigned- but had served nevertheless. Coach Sylvester had barked it at him for allegedly engaging in PDA with his girlfriend in the hallways which was, in the Coach's words, "not only against school policy but an abomination so horrendous to all within eyesight that if a laser eye surgery had been yet invented to burn certain images out of my retinas, this would be the first thing to go."

Coach Beiste had protested, wanting Blaine present for football practice. A big game was coming up; Blaine was a star player. When Sue Sylvester had locked horns with her over the matter, Beiste wasn't quick to back down, but Sue pointed out that Blaine's activities had been in direct violation of the student handbook and Coach Beiste new that Principal Figgins would side with her.

"Maybe next time you should teach your players to save their precious energy for your little ball games rather than wasting it all swapping bodily fluids with other disgusting, greasy and equally coated-in-product teenagers," Sue had said to the coach with a sneer, and Blaine accepted his fate.

His girlfriend had, of course, gotten out of it, simply because shewasa member of the cheerleading squad and if Sue wasn't all for the special treatment of her Cheerios, she certainly wouldn't have gained the reputation she did around school. Half the squad had joined simply because it seemed safer to have Coach Sylvester as a hated "mentor" rather than a distant enemy.

But that didn't stop Quinn Fabray from being furious with her boyfriend.

"Another detention Blaine? Do you know what happens when you reach five?"

Blaine sighed. Yes, he knew. And Quinn knew he knew. Her condescension made a nauseous anger bubble in his throat, but he bit his tongue. She talked to him with so little respect, and he couldn't help but be reminded of the way his mother spoke to his father. Nothing that hard-working and honest Jack Anderson did was ever enough to satisfy the demands of his princess mother Helena. She had grown up spoiled by a rich daddy and married Jack because he had a promising future ahead of him. Little did she know that his honorableness would always win out over his desire for money and power, eventually resulting in Blaine's father losing his position with one of the most prestigious law firms in the state, leaving the family with almost no money to speak of, and forcing them to move from their fancy brownstone in Westerville to a quiet little town called Lima. His mother was furious with his father; she had wanted him to go along with the demands the firm had made of him, illegal and dishonest though they might be, and keep their family wealthy. Helena would never forgive Jack for what he had reduced her to. She demeaned him and belittled at every chance she got, furious that she had wasted her life marrying a deadbeat like him, an idiot with his head in the clouds, far more interested in chasing his silly little dreams of "making a difference" and "doing the right thing" than making any real money.

But as far as Helena was concerned, there was still hope for Blaine, and Blaine was keenly aware of the pressure this placed on him. As long as Blaine kept up his grades and stayed top of his class and top of the school, he had a promising future ahead of him, maybe a scholarship to an Ivy League, a corner office with a big window, established firmly and comfortably in some big corporation, earning lots of money and bringing back some power to the family name. Helena was bitter about how her life had not played out as she expected, with her playing rich housewife to a successful businessman. But at least if Blaine could construct a noteworthy life for himself, she might still get that beach house on Nantucket for when Jack retired, and they would be set as they grew old. Blaine would take care of them, and more importantly, he would restore respect to the name Anderson.

It was like his girlfriend and his mother were cut from the same material. Both his mother and Quinn were constantly breathing down his neck about things like keeping his GPA perfect, studying for the SATs so he could get into a top school, staying involved in extracurricular activities like the Glee club and student council, and most importantly, being the captain of the football team. Blaine didn't care much for most of those activities, but he knew he could never let that be known to the women in his life. It was easiest- no, it wasbest- to do as they said.

Of course, that meant that things like detentions were out of the question. Which explained Quinn's furious reaction to the one he had received this afternoon. It had been his second detention of the term; he wasn't even close to getting a Saturday, but it had meant he had missed practice, and missing it too many times could get him kicked off the team. Little did Quinn seem to remember that it wasshewho had been forcing her tongue into his mouth while simultaneously mashing her hand against his crotch that had sent Coach Sylvester into a frenzy. Nope: Blaine was to blame and he would paying for it with Quinn for a solid week at least. He only hoped as he skated home that word wouldn't somehow get back to his mom.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Blaine checked his watch as he coasted down the little backstreets of Lima, Ohio, the drifting sun setting the leafy green trees around him all aglow. The watch had a rich brown leather band and was an Emporio Armani- a Christmas present from Quinn, of course.

"Just because your dad lost his position doesn't mean you have to dress like it," she'd said as she fastened the band around his wrist. His mother had cooed in delight when she had seen the gift. The watch cost hundreds of dollars, even on sale.

"That girl has a good eye," she had told Blaine, directing a pointed glare in his father's direction. And then she lowered her voice slightly.

"You find a girl like that, you hold onto her Blaine. The Fabrays are a good family; they stuck by us even when your jackass father lost everything."

It was true. The Fabrays were part of the reason the Andersons had picked Lima to move to. Although it was a small town, high society still had its place there, and Helena's college best friend and her husband just happened to be amongst them. They also had a daughter- a beautiful, blonde, intelligent daughter, whom Blaine had known since childhood. Helena and Margaret had talked after Jack was fired. Margaret felt bad for her friend; she could see what a bind she was in. And it was obvious that Blaine was a smart, sensitive boy, as well as handsome. He would be kind to Quinn, and more importantly, successful. Margaret promised to help Helena out- keep her family's money situation quiet, get them into the most exclusive social circles in Lima, if Helena could get her son to date Quinn, keeping her safe from the ever-abundant Neanderthals that might attempt to woo her. Blaine had a lot of potential. He would do well; he would not make the same mistakes his father had. And what could be better than Quinn marrying the attractive son of her best friend?

Helena could not have been more pleased with this deal and so, she had eagerly pushed the two together. It didn't take long for the relationship to soloidify and once it did, Helena did no end of snooping and prodding to make sure that Blaine held up her end of the bargain. Blaine was fairly easy going, but Helena knew her son and could tell he wasn't entirely sold on the girl. So she took it upon herself to remind him of Quinn's attributes as often as she could.

"Quinn can help make you into the successful business man your father never was. She's got the shrewd eye and sharp sense that you don't. If you don't want to end up a failure like your dad, you're going to want that girl around," she'd murmured before finally releasing his wrist then from her death grip with one last greedy glance at the watch and walking back into the kitchen to refill her wine glass. Blaine had heard her threat without her having to explicitly state it. He had better keep on dating Quinn or else. He was going to be in big trouble.

As Blaine looked at the gleaming surface as it shown now in the sunlight, he noted once again that the watch wasn't really his type. Sure, he couldn't deny the exquisite craftsmanship or uniqueness of the design- but this watch was, well,elegant.His style was more quirky and comfortable. Quinn was well aware of this of course, but leave it to her to try to change Blaine's sense of fashion with designer gifts and not-so-subtle verbal hints every day at school. At least most days he could get away with wearing his letterman jacket, giving him an excuse to dress comfortably without Quinn complaining, though he had to admit, the jacket had never felt quite right on him.

But no matter. He had little care for clothes these days. In fact, he had little care for anything. There had been a time when he had felt inspired by life. It wasn't that he could remember that time, so much as he knew it had existed. All his childhood report cards said that Blaine was the happiest kid in the class. Every elementary school photo of him showed him laughing and joking, his curls running wild over his head, a little boy constantly on the move, constantly looking for new things out of life in which to delight himself.

There was an old trunk in the attic, which Blaine had found one day while searching for his old pair of skis to sell. He was surprised his mother had kept it all these years, even more surprised that she had deigned it important enough to accompany them in the move to Lima. The trunk was chock full of Blaine's old things: drawings from when he had been younger, model airplanes he had built himself from scratch, paintings and sketches and origami creatures, a fleet of wooden boats his father had helped him to carve and paint, a kite he had built, paper-plate masks he had made, and what seemed like hundreds of other little odds and ends of that nature. He had been a creative child, brimming, it seemed, with energy and ideas. He had been so excited about life; it was obvious in the old photo albums. Pictures of him fishing with Jack, smiling triumphantly as he grasped a silver wide-mouth bass that was nearly half the size that he was. Pictures of him dressed up in plastic armor, wielding a sword ferociously, yet unable to keep the grin off his face as his helmet slipped down over his forehead, pushing his unruly curls into his eyes.

And then- pictures of him at the piano. His grandmother had been the one who had taught him to play, but it been so long ago, he had almost forgotten. Music had been a passion of his, once upon a time. He remembered the songs his Grandma used to sing, the way she used to place her wrinkled hands over his pudgy ones to guide his fingers to the right note. He dug some more and found at the bottom of the trunk, his old music books. For some reason that he couldn't quite explain, he had taken them and placed them carefully in his backpack. He felt like he wanted them again, not that he still remembered how to play. But it had given him joy, briefly, on that afternoon. Just knowing they were still around, and he had them, filled him with a sense of possibility that he had no understanding of.

That was the last time Blaine remembered feeling truly excited- or even happy- about anything. But since then the books had remained untouched, in a hidden pocket of his backpack, more or less forgotten.

He suddenly remembered the books and felt for them, heaving out in relief as his fingers brushed the tops of the crisp books. Blaine felt himself suddenly overpowered with an odd urge. He checked his watch again. Five o'clock. By now, the school would be all but closed up, except for the athletes cleaning up in the locker rooms after practice. A practice that he should have been at- he remembered with a slight stab of guilt. But what he really had him disappointed was the fact that it was too late to go back and try and steal some time to fool around on the piano in the music room. He hiked his backpack back up on his shoulders and continued skateboarding with new determination.

He would get to school early tomorrow and see if he still remembered anything his grandmother had taught him.