Tuesday, November 9th , 2:56 pm, World History Classroom

How dare he? HOW DARE HE?

I am absolutely fuming. One of these days, I swear, I will BURN Noah Puckerman. I will de-gut him like a fish, burn him and then bury his body in the sea. He does not deserve to grace this sorry planet with his faux bad ass presence. He doesn't.

I hate him.

I really do.

I must admit, though, he has gotten somewhat better over the past couple of months. But still. He has no right to just come up to my face, insult my feather boas and order me to spy on the “Garglers”.

That isn't even their name.

Idiot.

And he insulted my feather boas.

They are hurt. In fact, they might start molting, they are so hurt. Poor babies.

But then again....this might be my chance.

You see, my dear journal, before I decided to immerse myself in your lovely leather-bound smells and your thrillingly crisp note paper, I may have googled Dalton Academy on my phone.

Yes, I am ashamed but I really had to see what this private school, this all-boys private school was all about.

And it is amazing.

They have a zero-tolerance no bullying policy. Or is it no tolerance zero bullying? Ah whatever, either way it means that there are few to no homophobic dick heads in the school. And even if there were they'd have to keep there insults and glares and artificially colourful drinks to themselves.

And also, cute boys in uniform.

Yes. It's like heaven.

Oh look, Mr. Saunders found his way to class! Oh isn't he smart? I wonder what he has decided to drone on about today. It's amazing that he can pass for a history teacher when he blends quite well with all the freshmen, looking no older than the juniors in here.

….he's doing English history. Again?

Huh.

I'm not complaining. I know most of the history of the fair and lovely England. Which means I can continue in here.

So where was I?

Dalton, the heaven. Mmhmm that's right.

To spy, or not to spy? On the Warblers, I mean.

Spying will be helpful to new Directions though....and it doesn't hurt to spend a few minutes in the gay haven of Ohio, does it?

No, it doesn't.

And the truth is, this Karofsky thing is really getting out of hand.

And what hurts the most is how nobody seems to see the pain inside me, my fight is wearing thin and I don't think I can take the stress of it all anymore. I just need someone to notice that no I'm not doing alright over here. Mercedes and Tina and Quinn are all concerned but they really have no idea what to do.

I don't either.

What is up with Karofsky anyway?

Why does he hate me? Because he's a homophobe? Because he's a homophobe andI'm gay? Because he's a homophobe who hates gay people like me who dress fabulously?because he can't stand that I'm out and proud of who I am?

Yes, we should only be allowed to be proud of strong,heterosexual men like Karofsky who are built like bulls and have skulls thicker than cavemen. We can't be proud if we are gay and love other gay people and have to live hell because of it.

Because it's wrong to love.

I pity the poor girl who ends up with the imbecile. Unless, she'd built like an Amazon warrior.

But if she was an Amazon warrior she wouldn't date him because they are like Artemis' hand maidens and swear to never be tempted by man.

See, I read.

Back to the topic.

Why else does he do this to me? Because I'm in Glee Club? Oh yeah, then, why on earth doesn't he stalk Artie huh? Or any of the girls? Why is he always just breathing down my neck, following me, staring at me from every corner of every freaking room, of every corridor?

WHY?

It's driving me insane.

I need a break.

I need a vacation in the tropics. In Hawaii.

No, Karofsky can still go to Hawaii.

What's that place? I need to go to....uh....MALAYSIA.

I hear it's nice there, on the states in Borneo, sunny and warm and Asian.

I might climb the tallest mountain in South East Asia in....uh....Sabah, is it called? Or the biggest flower, the Rafflesia. Yeah I know that's right.

And they have excellent cloth there I heard.

So new plan:

I'll visit the warblers at Dalton the gay haven, then go to Malaysia for a vacation. Excellent.

Homework:

World History, read pages 34-46 on English History.

Tuesday, 9th November, 7:25 pm, Bedroom (closet)

But what does one wear when one is spying on private school boys?

They have very nice uniforms, if the lovely male model I saw modeling theuniforms on Dalton's website is any indication. But I own nothing that's even similar.

It's like a suit.

And now I'm on the floor of my closet, surrounded by clothes and I don't even feel calm.

Yes, I know!

Normally being engulfed in my designer outfits calm me down, even after the worst possible days at McKinley. But now....I felt like crying.

Nothing is going right today.

Nothing at all.

Maybe I should look up the Malaysian tickets like, now.

Wait a minute....

Tuesday, 9th November, 8:17pm, Bedroom

I found an old black trenchcoat.

I had to suck in as I buttoned it up but it just about fits. Even though I can't huch over in it.

Which might encourage good posture.

I had scoliosis as a child.

Which actually probably means I still have it, now that I think about it, seeing as how scoliosis doesn't just go away.

But it was very mild, the bend being almost miniscule.

But still.

Maybe I should crack open those yoga DVDs again.

Back to the outfit.

Paired with the leather pants I have and a red tie, I think I could pass as a student there. Or at least a new one who has no uniform yet.

Perfect.

Wednesday, 10th November, 9:06 am, Car park of Dalton

I AM SKIPPING SCHOOL.

I feel so....so....bad. But in a good way. Can you be bad in a good way?

I think you can.

Now all I have to do is get out of the car.

That's right just open the door, hop out, and walk calmly and naturally up to the door and into the school.

The school is grand. It's so big and fancy and so private-school looking.

There isn't a peck of trash in the parking lot at all.

That's probably because only respectable young men come to this school. Unlike the boys we have at McKinley.

Hmph.

So posh though.

So in we go.

Just- go on in.

KURT MOVE

….Now!

NOW!

Why am I so scared?

Wednesday, November 10th , 12:12pm, Cafeteria at McKinley

Well, shit.

That's all I can say.

Wednesday, November 10th, 1:45pm, Calculus.

I am very, very early.

Nobody is in here.

My spying must of sucked because I failed, big time.

I was discovered.

And my dear diary, in case you didn't know, being caught is the biggest screw up a spy could ever make because the whole point of spying is to not be caught.

No shit, Sherlock.

But honestly, I don't care.

Wanna know why?

I met a boy.

I was walking down the swirly, grand staircase, following the general flow of cute preppy boys, full of outwardly confident suave (inwardly shaking like a coward in my designer boots). So I decide maybe to state that I'm new so as to seem natural. Then, I tap the boy in front of me, not knowing that Apollo himself would turn around.

I melted.

“Hi,” my mouth carried on without any orders from my brain.

Which was helpful, considering the only other times it does that is when I'm feeling particularly threatened and it automatically spouts of insulting comebacks. But those are for football players. And Karofsky. Not gods who christen the Earth.

“I'm new here.”

“Hi, I'm Blaine.”

Blaine.

“Kurt.”

I really do not understand how I wasn't just standing there gawking at this beauty.

He had eyes like amber and honey and caramel and molten gold. Which was mixed together and then baked in Zues' oven.

Yes.

And hair that was gelled back but looked like it was curly.

And shoulders that indicated a rather well-toned body underneath the dress shirt and tie.

He was gorgeus.

And then he shook my hand.

A little zing of electricity shot up my hand.

“So what exactly is going on here?” I managed to ask a semi-decent question.

“It's the Warblers,” he said excitedly, I watched the way his lips formed each word. “ every now and then they throw an impromptu performance and it tends to shut the school down for a while.”

This was unbelievable. I hadn't been there for two minutes and I'd already found the Warblers.

Something didn't quite make sense though. “...shuts the school down for a while”

“The Glee Club here is kind of cool?” I asked, realising what he had just said meant that-

“The Warblers are like rock stars.”

Oh.

The glee club there is like, popular.

What is this place?

But then, he said “Come on, I know a shortcut.” And he took my hand and pulled me off the staircase.

Apollo was touching me.

He took it so naturally, like he wanted to.

At that point, I was having a stern conversation with myself in my head.

And people think I'm sane.

It's hilarious really.

I was telling myself that he was probably straight and I don't even go to this school, for Christ's sake! And I was probably setting myself up for disappointment.

Or so I thought.

Blaine turned out to be everything but a disappointment.

When we reached the Senior Commons, I discovered how much I did NOT blend in, good posture or not, “I stick out like a sore thumb.”

He fixed my collar and clapped me on the shoulder, “Next time, don't forget your jacket new kid.” I cringed inside.

And get this.

He sings.

The little liar got off telling me that the Warblers were rock stars and that they shut the school down, and all this time he was one of them.

Which means I was fraternising with the enemy. I don't even regret that, because this “enemy” had been more welcoming to me than anyone in New Directions has been in a long time.

He wasn't no ordinary Warbler either, he was the lead singer.

He sang “Teenage Dream”.

I ain't even kidding. He sang Katy Perry, smiling and looking at me the whole time. Which lead me to think....certain things and made my heart giva a pathetic sort of flip in my chest.

All too soon, the number ended. And Blaine wasn't kidding when he said they were famous. The Senior Commons exploded when the finished. And not with anger but with applause.

He was coming towards me, a genuine smile on his face. For me. And he took me by the elbow and steered me away, with two other boys following behind.

A flutter of panic started.

They figured it out.

The game was up.

They gave me coffee though. A latte.

Blaine introduced me to Wes and David, the head chairpeople of the Warbler committee or something.

“It's very civilised of you to give me coffee before beating me up for spying.” I said, playing the flattery card.

To my surprise however, they merely looked affronted.

“We aren't going to beat you up,” Wes said.

“You were such a terrible spy, that we found it sort of....endearing.”

The James Bond inside of me ruffled indignantly.

Then Blaine said, “Which leads us to think that spying wasn't the only reason you came.”

He kind of had me there. They looked at me inquisitively.

So I asked, “Are you three all gay?” Only interested in Blaine's answer.

They all laughed and I felt the familiar sink of disappointment in my gut.

And then: “No, I mean I am but these two have girlfriends.”

And that came from none other than Blaine's mouth.

Yes, he is gay. And probably taken. But I might have a gay friend. And if he's taken (which he probably is) then I'll have an experienced gay friend.

Win-win either way.

I smiled to myself, sipping my coffee.

David continued, “We just have a really good zero tolerance no bullying policy.”

Well, that cleared up that mystery then.

I pretended that it was the first time I'd ever heard of that, even though I already new that this was a gay haven.

Wes added, “Everyone gets treated the same. No matter what they are.”

Maybe it was the way he said it, making it sound so simple, when really it wasn't and I knew- know- how it feels to be treated unfairly. My vision started blurring, my throat getting tight.

'Would you guys excuse us?” Blaine said, his quiet voice echoing slightly in the thick silence.

They got up, saying quiet encouragements, and left the room, with just me and Blaine.

I tried to calm down, diary, really I did. But the more I thought about it the worse the tears got.

“I take it you're having trouble at school.”

Oh, my dear Blaine, you have no idea.

And then the whole story came out.

I have to give Blaine credit though, he rarely interrupted and just listened, like really listened. And when I was finished, I felt really relieved, like a really heavy suffocating weight just hopped of my shoulders. I was probably carrying a llama on there. Or a llama circus. Whatever.

He didn't even flinch when I started crying.

Yeah. He smiled encouragingly and nodded.

And he got taunted at school too. Like me. He knew how I felt.

Nobody at McKinley, not even Mercedes or Tina fully understood all of it, they tried, they really did, but they aren't gay and-

It was nice. Nice to know I wasn't the only one fighting out there.

He gives good advice too.

He told me bluntly, which I appreciate, that I can either enrol here or....

Stand up. “Refuse to be the victim”. Make some noise.

Have courage.

Courage. Just like that, my world was flipped over. I had a new sense of invinciblilty and I felt like I actually...could.

Stand up for myself.

All I needed was that one little push, and here it was, in the presence of App- Blaine.

There's no way it was that simple.

But, you know what?

I'm willing to try.

And I got his number, we exchanged them before I left at around 11-ish. And the odd thing was that the whole time he was dictating it to me, I felt an odd sense of hope.

New plan:

Confront Karofsky the next time he shoves me into something sharp and metallic. And if that doesn't work out, take Blaine and flee to Malaysia. Sarawak, the land of the hornbill I discovered is quite a nice place. Considering there.