“He's never going to make it.”

“Of course, he's going to make it.”

“He was on the football team at school, of course he's going to make it.”

“What does football have to do with golf?”

“I'm just saying, he…”

“Will you shut up?” Kurt hissed, quieting the whispers of his friends as he tried his hardest to concentrate on his ball.

Silence fell among the onlookers, waiting for their turn.

Kurt took one practice swing.

Then another.

He held his breath, biting his lip, eyes fixed in deep concentration.

Another swing…a bigger swing…this was definitely it.

“I'm telling you, it's never going to make it…”

That last distraction threw Kurt's game. He chipped the ball, which lofted high in the air, hitting the windmill, bouncing off the castle window, knocking off the clown's nose and heading straight for the parking lot.

All four friends stood stock still as they awaited the consequences of Kurt's shot.

When they heard the car window break, and the alarm go off, all four of them dropped their clubs and bolted.

As they ran for the far parking lot, away from the now gathering crowd, Blaine slid Jeff a $10 bill.

Jeff smirked.

“I told you he wasn't going to make it.”