“Oh my God, what does that freshman think he’s wearing?” lamented one Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, head cheerleader and self-confessed style guru, as he slammed his locker door shut. The boy he was regarding stood right in the middle of the hallway, as if asking to be knocked over by the stream of people, and wore a massive grin and a hideous ensemble.

“It’s called a bowtie!” chipped in Brittany brightly from Kurt’s right hand side, overjoyed to be of service for once. As was her custom she had been admiring her face in her locker’s vanity mirror (Coach Sylvester made sure that her favourites all got lockers beside each other and near the gymnasium, sometimes by not entirely ethical methods).

Kurt frowned. “Yes, I know that much darling but the pattern on it teamed with the chinos and the plaid shirt? Well it’s...inadvisable to say the least.”

A strand of blonde hair fell across the cheerleader’s face as she assumed an expression that made her look, if one knew no better, as if she was constipated. Kurt was glad that he had the waspish Santana to translate that this was merely what Brittany looked like when she was trying to absorb Kurt’s fashion advice or memorise one of the more hellish cheerleading routines.

From his left side the ever sassy Mercedes, Kurt’s best friend, cut into the conversation.

“Well, I think that the whole grandpa bowtie thing he’s got going on is too cute Kurt. Plus, he’s a junior anyhow.”

She was clutching the score of an 80s powerhouse hit to the chest of her red Cheerios uniform, Sue was working her second soloist hard. Quinn had informed them that she had heard that Sue was looking for a way to destroy the cafeteria’s supply of tater tots just so Mercedes couldn’t consume them at the voracious level she was doing so now to get through the exhausting routines. Needless to say the diva had not taken the news well but there was little to do when it came to the Coach. Fighting back wasn’t really an option when she was giving them all the popularity and exposure they had dreamed of.

Kurt took in Mercedes’ comment and observed the new boy again who had still not moved from his dangerous spot, mid-hallway. “Oh in the name of the Haus of Gaga, please, tell me those aren’t brightly coloured pseudo-hipster sunnies attached to his belt.” He rolled his eyes in disgust, gave up on the cause and returned to appreciatively examining his manicure.

Brittany, however, seemed suddenly enraptured by the junior. “The sunglasses, they’re cute and pink, Kurt. D’you think he’d let he have them? I mean people usually give me what I want and boys aren’t mean to wear pink anyway, are they? His hair is funny, it’s all greasy but it’s kinda cute though... Do you think it’s cute?” She took a deep gulp of air after her excited outburst.

“...Brittany,” Kurt hissed, having turned roughly the shade of the aforementioned sunglasses, “What have I told you about mentioning that I like boys in the halls?”

“Uhhmm, to not say anything?” muttered Brittany abjectly, her pretty face drooping like that of a sad puppy.

“Good,” Kurt returned sharply. He regretted the day that Brittany found out about that, it was a nightmare keeping her under wraps. He was almost certain that she had blabbed to Santana at some point.

He turned away from his locker now to head to off to his homeroom but was stopped in his tracks by the sight of an all-too familiar figure: wannabe starlet Rachel Berry. He watched in amusement as she determinedly marched up to the newbie.

“Ladies,” he said, addressing Brittany and Mercedes with barely concealed glee, “I believe Bowtie Boy could be about to commit social suicide.”