Chapter 2: Does It Scare You

Hey girl,
This is how I ride, look at my style
You can stay a while
Hey girl,
This is what I do, does it scare you?
And does it make you wanna do the same thing too?
Or are you scared of everything?

-Hey Girl by Raiomand Mirza ft. Vivienne Pocha

As planned, Blaine got to school early the next day- a full hour before he had to be in homeroom. He was hesitant to go inside. What if the teachers saw him and got suspicious? Sure, he was a good student, but he wasn't a square. He definitely wasn't the type of student to get there a whole hour early. Even though the choir room didn't belong to Sue, it was still likely that Coach Sylvester would still be lurking around outside there and she could get Blaine busted in a heartbeat. For some reason which Blaine didn't understand, the Cheerios coach seemed to hate him with a passion more extreme than she hated the other football players.

Blaine circled the parking lot once on his skateboard to try and get an idea of which teachers were already inside the building. To his surprise and relief, neither Principal Figgins', nor Sue's specially designated, horrifically decorated parking spot were occupied as of yet. And the student lot was, of course, almost entirely empty.

Blaine flipped his skateboard up gracefully with his toe and caught it in one hand when he saw smoke drifting from beneath the bleachers to his right. He took a whiff. He wasn't one to really smoke pot on the regular- he had too much to lose- but something about this day had his nerves on edge. Maybe just one hit would calm him down.

He wandered toward the bleachers, already glinting silver as the autumn sunrise began to coat the western side of the school, making the dew-covered turf glitter and sparkle. The scent of the leaves in the crisp air reminded him why this was his favorite season and he stopped for a moment of nostalgia, before the strong musk of marijuana smacked him in the face again. Right. He was stalling he knew, but he just didn't feel ready to enter the school. Better to put in some time hanging out with the school deadbeats. It was true he was a jock, so most of them didn't really run in his circle, but at the same time, most of the stoners and punks really liked him. He was chill, easy to get along with, funny. He liked them too, because he didn't have to make much conversation with them. They didn't ask him questions and he didn't ask them questions. They just smoked, and laughed. When he was with them, all the other shit didn't really seem so heavy.

He still approached their little hideout cautiously, knowing he hadn't hung with them in a while, and they were pretty wary of anyone approaching their hangout. He whistled softly three times as he got closer. It was an old signal they used to use to know who was safe. He got a whistle in return which prompted him to crouch down and carefully ease himself across the dirt, pine needles and empty slushy cups and fry cartons until he reached a particularly dark section towards the middle.

In the mist and the shadows of the morning lounged a gangly group of about seven or eight kids, sitting more or less in a circle and staring up at Blaine with vaguely interested expressions, if they even looked at him at all.

One of them, finally, spoke out, his voice thick with the smoke he had just inhaled from a joint that sat smoldering in his left hand.

"Bro."

"Sup," Blaine said in response, nodding casually at the rugged boy with the Mohawk. Noah Puckerman, better known as Puck, was sort of the leader of this ragtag group of rebels. He was McKinley High's resident badass, and subsequently, a ladies man to boot. He had played for the football team for his freshman and most of his sophomore year, but been kicked off for possession of alcohol shortly before the season ended. Blaine had been new then, had only played on the same team as Puck for a couple of months before, as Puck liked to put it, "shit hit the fan." They had always been friendly though, especially since Puck knew that Blaine occasionally liked to indulge in a little "herbal remedy", especially during the middle of his junior year, when things at home were particularly stressful. Puck had been there for him in a way he wasn't sure his football buddies would have been.

"Haven't seen you in a long time Anderson," Puck said, exhaling a near perfect ring of gray around his face.

Blaine kicked at the dirt, trying to think of something to say before Puck spoke again.

"Probably too busy screwing the brains out of that pretty little blonde cheerleader you bagged. Assuming she's given it up by now. Man I hope she has. Cause it would truly be a shame to let that piece of ass..."

"Shut up Puckerman."

It wasn't Blaine who said this, though he knew it should have been. But honestly, he had little respect for his girlfriend. Puck could talk about her as graphically as he wanted for all he cared. Though, to be honest, he didn't really feel like going into detail about their sex life. But the words had been spoken by a smooth-skinned Latina girl whom Blaine knew as one of Quinn's more rebellious friends- one of the few girls who could easily transition between the cheerleaders and the stoners without missing a beat.

Santana flicked the ashes of a joint onto Puck's arm, causing him to wince and yell in protestation.

"You're just jealous that Quinn's hot ass is something you ain't never gonna get your hands all up on." Santana looked Blaine up and down appreciatively and licked her lips in an open manner that Blaine could tell he was meant to notice.

"To be honest Anderson, when she first told me you two were exclusive, I thought the girl was tripping. But the more I see you, especially out there on that field in that football jersey and those little tight pants...phew!" She fanned herself dramatically. "Let's just say your ass might be even finer than hers."

"Hey Satan, Hockey-Head, isn't it a little bit early for all this talk of asses?" an airy yet disinterested voice mused from the corner.

Much to his embarrassment, Blaine gave a visible start at the voice that emerged from an area of the bleachers he had previously thought empty. He now noticed that it was very far from empty; instead, a pale boy dressed all in black with perfectly-coiffed hair sat leaning back against the bleachers, his long legs stretched out and propped against each other in front of him. Blaine stared. He didn't recognize him.

Puck spoke up. "Settle down Hummel. Out of the all people here who would appreciate some talk about asses, I'd think you'd be the first."

The boy- Hummel?- merely grunted in reply, before noticing that Blaine was still staring at him. "Something I can do for you Curly-Q?"

Blaine shook his head dumbly, wondering where his voice had gotten to. "No- I'm, it's just- I don't think we've met."

"Oh Bro," Puck nodded his head in the pale boys direction. "This is Kurt. He moved here right after school got out last year; we've been partying together all summer. But I've known him for a while. Friends with his brother. You know him actually-"

"Stepbrother," Kurt emphasized, not even bothering to glance at Blaine.

"Right. Right." Was it Blaine, or did Puck almost sound a little bit nervous? "Yeah Kurt's dad just married Finn Hudson's mom."

Things clicked a little bit for Blaine now. Finn Hudson played on the football team with him. He vaguely recalled him mentioning something about his mom remarrying last spring. So this was the new step-brother. Huh. Weird kid.

"Oh sure, I remember Finn talking about that. Cool. Well I'm gonna bail. Just wanted to say hey to you guys."

"You're not here to get a couple hits?" Puck asked in surprise.

"Nah, I've- I've actually got a meeting with a...teacher," Blaine finished lamely.

"Dude, a teacher? You turning into a goody-goody or what?"

"No way Man. You know I've just got to keep my shit together this year." Blaine scratched at his curls and wondered why this crowd, which usually relaxed him so much, was making him so anxious all of a sudden.

"Ah. Fuck, yeah. Senior year and all that shit. Pretty sure I'm gonna have to repeat senior year," Puck said, his eyes closed as he took another hit.

"Repeat senior year? Dude, it's only two weeks into the first term."

"Yes but Hockey-Head over here tries to keep it so his goals aren't entirely unreasonable," Kurt replied, again sounding bored, and again not looking at Blaine.

"Hey Man." Puck looked slightly offended for a moment, before relaxing into the dirt again. "Ah, Dude's right. Let's face it. It's a miracle I've made it this far without staying back a year."

Blaine laughed good-naturedly, knowing he wanted to get out of here as fast as possible. This Kurt kid was unsettling him more and more by the minute. The way he was just...lying there, the way he wasn't even looking at Blaine, the strange pitch of his voice. Besides, Blaine had somewhere to be anyway.

"Listen Bro," he said to Puck, "I'm sure you'll be fine. You ever need a tutor for your English class, you let me know."

"Thanks Dude." Blaine turned and crawled back to the edge of the bleachers, hearing Puck chuckling quietly with Santana. "Anderson's a good dude. I just forgot how early in the year it was. Give it a couple months and he'll be showing up here regularly again."

Blaine felt as though he should be affronted by Puck's comment, but once again, he felt nothing. He pinched himself, wondering for a brief, silly moment, if this wasn't some weird kind of dream. His emotions were all out of whack.

It wasn't until he was back in the school parking lot again that he realized with a mental smack to the forehead that he now reeked of weed. And that someone had followed him.

A hand extended out toward him, holding a tiny glass bottle full of an amber colored liquid.

"What's this?" Blaine managed, as he realized that the hand extending the gift belonged to none other than that unsettling Hummel guy.

Kurt sniffed superiorly. "Cologne Dumbass. Here." He unscrewed the cap of the little bottle and grabbed Blaine's wrists, gently dabbing a drop on each.

"Rub some behind your ears and your neck for good measure," Kurt told him.

"Well you're awfully prepared."

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "Can't have Mommy Dearest smelling the satanic scent of mild, herbal recreational drugs on her precious new stepson now can we?"

"I take it you don't love your new mom."

"Calling her my new mom is an insult to my mother's good name," Kurt said rather viciously.

Blaine still had to hold back his surprise that the boy was talking to him or had followed him at all, but he couldn't help interjecting.

"It sucks your parents divorced, but I've met Mrs. Hudson a couple times and she really doesn't seem all that bad-"

Kurt shut him down with a stare that immediately made his heart grow cold and Blaine noticed for the first time just what a piercing shade of blue this strange boy's eyes were.

"Sorry. I suppose I shouldn't talk about things I don't know anything about."

"That's right, you shouldn't," Kurt replied, and Blaine felt his chest expand slightly with relief that Kurt was still talking to him.

They said nothing but both continued toward the school. Blaine finally got a good look at Kurt. The kid was tall, as Blaine had noted by his long legs that had seemed too lengthy and graceful to be crammed into a space as small as that of under the bleachers. He was also dressed to- well, intimidate. Blaine couldn't help but feel a quiver ripple through his abdomen as he drank in the sight of Kurt's full ensemble. Black jeans with rips so big in some places, it seemed at least a foot of his flesh was showing. The jeans hugged every bit of the boy's musculature, leaving very little about his physique- or his- endowment- to the imagination. No wonder the kid was confident. And his shirt. It was tight too, probably a kid's size medium Blaine guessed, and it rode up slightly around his midriff, exposing just a sliver of his pale stomach, the space right where a line of brown hair trailed down disappearing below his jeans, which were fastened onto him with a silver studded black leather belt.

The shirt had cut off sleeves and was ripped a solid third of the way down Kurt's chest. It had some words scrawled on it in white that Blaine couldn't quite make out. He had a leather necklace wrapped around his neck with a hammered silver medallion in the center, coupled also with a few thin chains that slipped down beneath his shirt. A leather vest and combat boots completed the outfit making Kurt look somehow even more badass and menacing that Puck usually did. Perhaps it was in the coldness of his eyes, which he had now covered up with a pair of aviators, or the starting paleness of his skin. Blaine was in awe.

"All done staring Curly-Q or would you like me to strike a pose?"

"Fuck man." Blaine was embarrassed and it was obvious. "I wasn't staring."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself. Why are you here so early anyway if you weren't here to smoke?"

"Told you. Meeting with a teacher."

Kurt scoffed. "Like anyone believes that."

Oddly enough, Blaine wanted to tell this kid the truth, but he was sure he would laugh at him.

"You tell me first. What are you doing here this early?"

Kurt jammed his thumb back in the direction of the bleachers. "Getting my high on. Obviously."

"I don't believe you either."

Blaine thought he saw the beginnings of the first genuine smile Kurt had shown him forming on the corners of the kid's mouth, before they disappeared again.

"Well you're going to be a challenge, aren't you Curly -Q?"

"My name's Blaine," Blaine said in vague frustration.

"Blaine," The boy in black tried the word out on his tongue before shaking his head. "I think I'll stick with Curly-Q if you don't mind."

"Like we'll be seeing a lot of each other anyway, Punk." Blaine was pissed now. Who did this little asshole think he was anyway? Coming in and trying to rule the school that Blaine was already king of. "We don't exactly run in the same social circle, alright Kid? In case you didn't know, let me give you the low down. I'm captain of the football team. I've got a 4.3 GPA and I'm set to graduate valedictorian of the senior class. Plus, my girlfriend Quinn is captain of the cheerleading squad and the hottest piece of ass outside of Columbus."

"A piece of ass that you're not fucking." Kurt smirked.

"What did you say?" Blaine felt himself fuming. Why the fuck was this kid able to get under his skin this way?

"Oh I think you heard me. But I guess I can repeat it if you like. You. Aren't. Fucking. Your. Girlfriend."

"I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, but I'm done chatting."

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone else. If you tell me something."

"Seriously Man. Shut the fuck up. You're already walking on thin ice and I wouldn't mess with me. I'm pretty much the shit around here. I say the word, you get your ass handed to you. And not in the way you enjoy, pretty boy." Blaine hoped this last part would really get to the kid. Gay jokes always cut to the core, and Blaine was pretty sure this guy had to be some sort of fag. No straight dude would talk the way he talked, dress the way he dressed orwalkthe way he...

Blaine shook his head. Kurt was laughing.

"You really think you're going to get to me with a fag comment? Please. I've had millions where that came from. And by this point, I've learned to take care of myself pretty well. And I'm fucking proud to be a faggot. I guarantee I can suck cock better than your whole cheerleading squad combined. So excuse me if I'm not ashamed ofmysexuality."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Blaine's fists began to clench but he realized Kurt had put a great deal of distance between them and was now walking casually backwards towards a motorcycle parked at the far end of the student lot.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it Curly-Q. You just keep focusing on keeping up that 4.3 and keeping that-" he gestured toward Blaine's crotch, "down. Though I'm sure it hasn't been much of a problem so far." He continued laughing as he climbed on his bike, his ass stretched over the leather seat looking like perfection itself- and kick started the engine. He fastened a white helmet on his head, a white helmet which Blaine noticed had a small rainbow flag painted on the back.

Blaine could only watch as the bike roared away, exciting a flurry of dust as it did, and leaving Blaine breathless, panting as though he'd just finished running laps around the school. He barely noticed as kids began to filter around him, walking toward the school as the bell for homeroom came. All thoughts of sneaking into the music room to test out the piano had completely escaped his mind, replaced entirely with thoughts of the pale, blue-eyed teenage delinquent.