A Rose among Thorns (1/?)
Title: A Rose among Thorns (1/?)
Author: illuminatius
Pairing(s): Dave/Strando. Oh, yes. (Possible Klaine in later chapters, and other canon pairings)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and using the F word.
Word Count: 4673
Warnings: Swearing, slushying, OOC!Strando, and the display of my non-existent knowledge when it comes to HS football. Also, Google Translated Spanish.
Spoilers: Well...Strando, I guess?
Summary: When Strando moved to Ohio, he did not expect find someone like Dave.
A/N: Mucho love to scarletfbl for her awesome beta work. <3
A/N 2: Okay, so I know Strando is supposed to be this jokester or whatnot, but in my mind, he's a serious young man. Don't throw stones at me.
Being the new kid was always tough; the required amount of research before entering through the doors to your new school was staggering. You had to know who the popular kids were, who the unpopular kids were, which teachers(s) to avoid, which teachers(s) to suck-up to, what the coolest sport was, what clubs to stay clear of to maintain a good reputation…
Strando wished that he had taken some time to learn all that before entering McKinley High.
In fairness, he should have been aware that a kid in a wheelchair and an Asian goth girl (what did they call those? Loli?) maybe weren’t on the top of the social food chain, but that didn’t occur to Strando as he asked them for directions to the principal's office.
As the pair was directing him towards the principal’s office, wheelchair kid - Artie - asked him who he was, and goth girl - Tina. Didn’t expect that - was muttering something (“Another blond. They’re everywhere”) when two large, hulking bodies appeared in their line of sight, each holding a plastic cup in their hands.
And then something cold and wet hit Strando in the face, dripping on his clothes and on the floor.
Apparently, throwing a slushy at someone was how “the cool kids dealt with the uncool kids in their less-than-intelligent manner.” When Strando got the icy substance out of his eyes, he noticed that Artie and Tina had covered their faces with their arms, stopping the slushy from temporarily blinding them like it had done to Strando.
“They do this often?” Strando asked as he was being directed towards the men’s room, the other students in the hallway not paying him, Tina or Artie any attention at all. “’Cause where I come from, this would earn you a beatdown.”
Tina shot him an incredulous look. “Really? Must have been nice. Unfortunately, that’s not the case here.”
“Where do you come from, anyway?” Artie asked him, opening the men’s room door as Tina headed towards the ladies room. When they entered, there was already someone in there; a pale, thin boy with overly fixed hair and skin-tight clothes. Who was currently standing in front of a mirror, applying blush to his cheeks.
It was as if Strando had ended up in an alien dimension, where people got icy beverages thrown on them and guys used the public toilets as a make-up counter. These kinds of things did not happen where he came from. Still, a voice in his head said, the blush looks good on him. Either he’s gay, or the best metrosexual ever.
Artie seemed to recognize the guy instantly, wheeling towards him. “Hey Kurt.”
Kurt turned around, smile on his face. He had to be wearing lip gloss; no lips could shine like that when the light hit them without a little help. “Hi, Artie.” he said before taking a good look at Strando. “Another slushy victim?”
“Yeah. They got him when Tina and I were walking him to Principal Sue’ office. He was caught in the crossfire.”
Kurt shook his head, letting out a sigh. “Those Neanderthals. They never learn. Hi, I’m Kurt,” he said, offering his hand to Strando.
“I’m Strando,” he said, shaking Kurt’s hand while watching one of his eyebrows rise, “and yeah, I know, it’s a weird name. I blame my parents.”
“Good call. Anyway, you should get yourself cleaned up. If the slushies set in, your clothes will be ruined.”
“Dude,” Artie said, removing bits of ice off his arms with a paper towel, “you never answered my question.”
“What?” Strando asked, before he remembered. “Oh, right. Yeah, I’m from L.A.” He approached one of the sinks, turning on the faucet. The splashed some warm water on his face, noticing that some of the feeling returned - his face had started to go numb - and soon there weren’t any traces of his slushification left on Strando’s face - but his clothes were ruined. “Never saw anyone throw slushies at people there. Maybe a fist-fight or two, but not this.”
“Welcome to Lima, Ohio,” Kurt said, sounding like he was welcoming Strando to the ninth circle of hell, “where meathead football jocks reign supreme simply because they chase a leather ball.”
“…I’m a football player.”
“Oh.” Kurt’s ears had turned red after Strando’s revelation. “Sorry.”
Strando was about to say something when the door opened, and someone else entered the room - and Strando let out a tiny, (hopefully) inaudible gasp.
Strando’s orientation had not been a problem at his old school; his friends knew that he was gay, and they had no problems with it. He would occasionally hear a slur or two during football practice, but it was never directed at him. Being a gay football player wasn’t frowned upon in his old school; as long as he helped the team win their games, they wouldn’t have cared if he was gay, straight or asexual. He wasn’t flamboyant, didn’t wear the latest fashions and wasn’t exactly what you’d call “pretty”, like Kurt (it took Strando less than ten seconds to conclude that, yes, Kurt was very pretty). He didn’t flirt up a storm wherever he went; hell, he’d never even had a serious relationship. Strando didn’t exactly hide his sexuality, but he wasn’t defined by it, either. People who knew about him being gay were cool with it.
Of course, his friends had urged Strando to be careful when he told them that he was moving to Lima, Ohio of all places because his parents had gotten jobs at the local hospital. “Seriously, there are probably homophobes at every corner. Just be careful, ‘kay?” they had said. He didn’t expect any problems, though. Strando was out and proud, but not…out there. He didn’t do anything impulsive. Not his style.
And now he wanted to jump this guy’s bones.
The guy in front of him was roughly his height, with lightly curled brown hair and a solid build, wearing a simple navy blue polo shirt with a pair of dark jeans and white sneakers. He looked like your typical jock, but without a letterman jacket - and with remains of red slushy on his face.
Kurt didn’t look surprised, and neither did Artie - Strando was seriously considering wearing a raincoat while walking the halls. The slim boy just collected some paper towels and walked over to the stranger.
“Who was it this time?” Kurt asked with disdain in his voice, trying to wipe off the beverage.
“That bastard Cooper,” the stranger said, his voice deep. “Got me as I was walking out from the cafeteria.” Kurt was still wiping away the slushy remains when the stranger noticed Strando looking at him. “And you are?”
Busted. “I’m Strando. New guy. Transferred from L.A.” When the slushy was gone, Strando noticed that the stranger was quite handsome. Probably straight, though.
“I’m Dave. Dave Karofsky,” the stranger - Dave - said with a tiny smile, and Strando felt his heart skip a beat, flutter, or whatever people waxed poetic about in movies
He was so screwed.
---
Kurt and Dave left for their French class (“Can’t I just skip class? It’s not like I understand any of it!” “No, Dave, you can’t. I’m NOT working with Cooper.”), Artie followed Strando to the principal’s office, answering his many questions as they walked - or in Artie’s case, wheeled.
“What’s the football team here like? Any good?”
“Not really, but we’re trying. Our old coach was terrible, but the new one, Coach Beiste, is kinda awesome. And scary.”
“’We’? …You’re in the team?” Strando asked, knowing he probably sounded like a douchebag, but…the kid was in a wheelchair. Unless those wheels were outfitted with razor blades and and a jet engine, he didn’t see how Artie could play football.
“Don’t let these fly wheels fool ya, bro,” Artie said, not even fazed by Strando’s reaction, “I do good out there on the field. And one of the other members on the team uses me like a battering ram.”
“Excuse me?!” What the hell went on out there on the field?
“Not as bad as it sounds. You gonna try out for the team? We need a new right guard.”
“What happened to the old one?”
“Oh, Dave quit the team.” Strando raised an eyebrow at that. “You know, the big guy you met earlier?”
“Yeah, I remember. Why did he quit?”
“I’d rather you asked him about it.” Artie suddenly stopped, and Strando noticed that they had arrived; he had been too caught up in the conversation. “Well, I guess this is your stop. I’m heading to class. I’ll tell Coach Beiste about you, so come over to football practice later, ‘kay?”
“Okay, man. Thanks for the conversation.”
“No prob. Hey, by the way…you don’t happen to sing, do you?”
“That’s a bit of a weird question.”
Artie chuckled at that. “True. We have a Glee Club here, you see, and we need some new members-“
Strando crossed his arms. “Let me just stop you there, ‘kay? I don’t sing. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against music or a group of kids singing, but it’s not really for me. Stage fright.”
“Oh,” Artie said, looking disappointed at the revelation, “that sucks. Well, at least I tried. See you at practice. Don’t be late, or Coach Beiste will throw you out.”
“Sure thing,” Strando said as Artie started to wheel away. He seemed like a cool kid. Strando wasn’t someone who judged people by their abilities - and apparently the Artie didn’t let his disability hinder him, which made him that much cooler in Strando’s eyes.
The glass doors to the principal’s office opened, and a short girl in a cheerleader uniform appeared. “Principal Sue will see you now,” she said before walking back to her desk. The principal had a student as her assistant? Must be one hell of a principal, he thought and entered the office.
---
Strando didn’t believe in the supernatural, but the next time he saw Sue Sylvester, he would have some holy water ready.
---
Apparently, his first class for the day was going to be Spanish. He liked the language, despite knowing that he’d probably never get any use out of it. Maybe he would have in LA, but he didn‘t hadn‘t seen signs that the Hispanic community was anywhere near as prevalent. His mother had told him that learning languages was a good thing, and tried her best to get him to sign up for French and German as well.
The teacher - who introduced himself as Will Shuester - welcomed Strando to the class, asking him to introduce himself. Strando ended up standing in front of the whole class, a whole lot of curious stares directed towards him.
”¿Cuenta introduciendo usted?”
“…Seguros. Mi nombre es Strando. He trasladado aquí de L. A.” Now a few of the stares were blank. One really tall guy looked like his mind had checked out, and an Asian guy in the front row raised an eyebrow at Strando’s introduction. And one guy had a mohawk. An honest-to-god mohawk.
“Excellent!” Mr. Shuester said, directing Strando towards the empty seat next to the tall guy with the vacant stare. “Okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, página de abrir 42 en los libros…”
As Strando opened his book, his classmate turned to look at him.
“Hey,“ he says, smiling, “I’m Finn.”
“Hey.” Strando wasn’t exactly the social type while in class; he didn’t outright ignore his classmates, but tended to just do whatever he was supposed to do.
“What’s your name?”
“…Excuse me?” Strando’s eyebrows shot up. Apparently, this kid didn’t pay enough attention. “It’s Strando. I just stood in front of the entire class and introduced myself.”
“Oh, so that’s your name? I thought it was some weird Spanish word we hadn’t learned yet,” Finn said, cheeks reddening.
Strando chuckled at that. “No, it’s just a really unique name.”
“Yeah,” Finn said, with a grin on his face, and began asking a bunch of questions. How it was like to live in L.A, if he played any sports, what the answer to question number seven was. Strando occasionally noticed Mr. Shuester glancing in their direction, but he didn’t stop them from talking, and Finn never noticed the teacher.
“So,” Finn asked as Strando finished the exercises on page 42, “you going to try out for the team?”
“Yeah. One of your teammates already asked me.”
“That’s great! Who was it?”
“Artie. Cool kid. Apparently someone on the team uses him as a battering ram.”
“Yeah…that’s not a bad thing, right?” Finn asked, and there was something about the question…
“Oh God, you’re the one who does it.” Strando said, eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline.
Finn had the decency to look embarrassed.
---
Strando’s classes ended quickly, and he saw Finn and Artie waiting for him near the gym (he had to ask five different students for accurate directions) together with Mohawk, the Asian guy from Spanish and a guy with bottle-blonde hair and a Bieber-cut. Apparently, all of them were on the football team, and Finn introduced Strando to all of them (Puck, Mike and Sam). Strando hadn’t brought any gym clothes with him, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to run around as much as the rest.
Coach Beiste was one hell of a coach; although Strando had no problems with the coach of his old team, Beiste felt as if she were in a league of her own - if only because he had a) never seen a female sports coach before and b) when she barked out orders, even the burliest of jocks listened.
She told Strando to join in the practice as much as he could without any sports gear, and seemed impressed after he had run a few laps around the field and defended against a few light tackles (one of the players tried to tackle him for real, and Beiste had looked livid).
“You did good out there,” Beiste said as the rest of the team were hitting the showers, “but the next time I see you at practice you better have your gear equipped. I’ll let it go this time because you’re new, but never again. Understood?”
“Yes, coach.”
“Good. Let us get one thing straight: I don’t coach weaklings, or athletes without commitment. You will be here at every practice unless you’ve broken every last bone in your lower body, and when you are out there on the field you will give 110%. Am I making myself clear?” Beiste asked, large and imposing, but not really menacing.
Strando liked her already. “Yes, coach.”
“Practice is every day at four. Don’t be late, and if you are, you better have a damn good reason. Oh, and no picking fights in the locker rooms. I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.”
“…Okay.”
“Good. Now, go, and be fully prepared tomorrow.”
Strando headed towards the locker room, wishing he had brought a change of clothes with him, or at least a towel so that he could take a shower. He‘d ditched his jacket before practice, but he still felt his t-shirt sticking to the sweat that settled in his lower back. A shower would have been nice. Most of the players had already left, with only Artie and Mike in the locker room.
“Dude, how did your talk with Beiste go?” Artie asked, shutting his locker.
“It went okay. I think I’m in, but I still have to try out for right guard.”
“You’ll do fine,” Mike said, hoisting his gym bag on his shoulder. “Beiste wouldn’t have given you a second look otherwise. Did she give you the whole ‘be there or else’ speech?”
“More or less.”
“She gave us that speech too, and you better take it to heart. Once, when a player came in twenty minutes late without a good reason, she yelled at him for like, half an hour,” Mike said with a wide grin. “Poor guy was reduced to tears.”
“Are you serious?” Strando asked, incredulous. He had a pretty thick skin, but Beiste didn’t seem like the type of coach who would have a problem breaking through it.
This time, Artie spoke, wheeling towards the door. “Yeah. He had to be sent to Ms. Pillsbury. He was our most recent right guard, actually. Got the position after Dave quit.”
“So, this guy just…quit?” Strando asked, heart jumping slightly at the mention of Dave. Crap.
“He quit, and had to take anti-anxiety meds for a while. He didn’t exactly have the strongest psyche to begin with, and Beiste pretty much shattered it with an imaginary sledgehammer.”
They walked towards the exits, chatting - Strando was beginning to like how friendly the football players were at this school - and as he exited the building with Mike and Artie, he noticed something.
A group of people were throwing someone into the dumpster.
“What the hell? Hey!” Strando yelled, running towards the dumpsters. He briefly noticed that Artie had called after him, but he didn’t care. Who the fuck would throw someone in a dumpster?
As he approached, Strando noticed that most of them were football players - so much for friendly, Strando thought - and one of them, a big black guy - Azimio? - turned to face him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Strando asked, anger in his voice.
“Mind your own business, newbie,” Azimio said, and the rest of the guys were now facing him as well. “We’re just teaching this fag a thing or two.”
Strando felt the rage coming towards the surface. “What the fuck? ‘Teaching the fag a thing or two’? Are you fucking insane?”
“Why, you got a problem with that, huh?” Azimio asked with a smirk on his face. Strando was about to say that yes, he had one hell of a problem with that when Artie and Mike appeared at his side.
“Gentlemen, just so you know, I called Mr. Shuester, and he should be here any second,” Artie said, his polite tone contradicting his angry expression, “so if I were you, I’d get out of here.”
Some of the guys looked a bit apprehensive, and Azimio looked furious. “Tch. Fine. You got off easy this time, newbie,” he said menacingly to Strando, who didn’t even flinch, “but the next time you interrupt our teaching, you won’t be so lucky.” And with that, they left, leaving Strando, Mike and Artie standing alone in the dumpsters.
“Dude, did you really call a teacher?” Strando asked.
“Nah, it was a bluff, but hey - it worked.” Artie wheeled towards the dumpster, knocking on it. “Kurt?”
Kurt? Kurt? They threw him in dumpsters? That was seriously fucked up. However, the voice that came out from the open dumpster did not belong to Kurt, and Strando saw red for a second or two.
“Nah, it’s me. Dave.”
Mike chuckled. “Dude, how did they throw you in there?”
Dave’s head poked up over the edge. “Easy when it’s eight against one. Oh, hey,” he said, noticing Strando, “we meet again.”
“Yeah,” Strando said, feeling giddy - oh hell, when did he become a teenage girl? - “but never under any good circumstances.”
“True. Okay, stand back. I’m coming down.”
When Dave was on the ground, removing sawdust and pieces of paper from his jacket - Lucky for him, Dave had been thrown into the that was filled with mostly paper, and not, say, the one that had yesterday‘s lunch menu - Artie and Mike decided to head for their cars.
“You’re okay, right?” Artie asked, and Dave waved his concern away.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t feel guilty about leaving me here after a dumpster dive or anything,” Dave said playfully, smiling. “Seriously, I’ll be okay.”
“Cool,” Mike said, giving him a thumbs up. “Remember, we got Glee practice tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I know. See you guys tomorrow.”
Artie and Mike left, leaving Strando and Dave standing alone by the dumpsters. The air felt charged; Strando attributed that to his nerves, which were staging a riot in tandem with the butterflies in his stomach. It was silly to feel like this about a guy who he’d just met, and had only exchanged one or two lines with. He hardly knew Dave; the only thing Strando knew for sure was that Dave had played football, knew how to sing and was gay, if Azimio’s comments were anything to go by.
Which was enough for Strando. At least, it meant that they would have similar interests.
“So,” Dave said, breaking Strando out of his reverie, “what’s up?”
Strando raised an eyebrow. He found himself doing that a lot today; the people here were strange compared to everyone he knew in L.A. “Shouldn’t I be asking that? You just got thrown in a dumpster.”
“Not the first time. Besides, I deserve it.”
“You des- what the hell are you on?” Strando asked, not believing what he just heard. “No one deserves to be harassed like that because of their orientation! When you think like that, the homophobes win. Seriously, don’t listen to those stupid, idio-“
“Dude!” Dave said, stopping him. “I didn’t mean it like that. I deserve it because I used to do it. You remember Kurt? I used to do the exact same thing to him.”
Strando felt cold. “You did what?”
“Not exactly some of my proudest moments. And then, when I came out, I got a taste of my own medicine. It’s what I deserve.” A sad smile adorned Dave’s features.
“No. It’s not. No one deserves to be treated that way.” If someone had tried to do that to Strando, he knew for sure that his friends would get to the culprits before anyone else did. Strando got the impression that no one stood up for Dave. Artie had chased the jocks off with his bluff, but neither he nor Mike had tried to stop them. Did everyone else also think that Dave got what he deserved? “Just because you feel guilty over having done that to someone else doesn’t mean that you should take that kind of abuse.”
Dave was looking at Strando, head cocked slightly to the side, as if he had noticed something.
“What?” Strando asked, feeling a bit nervous.
“Nothing. I, uh, gotta go. Got some studying to do.”
Strando felt his stomach drop. Damn. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, you didn’t. If anything, you gave me something to think about. I just have a lot of things to do, so I’m going to go. See ya.”
As Dave left, Strando felt like kicking himself.
---
“How was school today, honey?”
Strando looked up from his books, which were strewn all over the dining table. His mother was smiling at him, this warm and maternal smile that she had perfected over the years, and which Strando knew was genuine. She had sympathized with Strando when he told her exactly what he felt about packing everything he had in cardboard boxes of varying sizes to move far away from his friends and life. “It was okay, mom. Tried out for the football team, and made some new friends.” He knew that she would be happy about the last part.
“That’s wonderful! See, I told you that you’d make friends on the first day.” His mom was the eternal optimist when it came to her child.
“Of course he did!” his father said, still sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in front of him. “Which position did you get, son?”
“Well, they have the right guard position open, so I’ll probably get that one if Coach Beiste thinks I’m good enough.”
“I’m sure she will,” his father said, beaming, “and once she does, just give me a schedule over all your games and I’ll make sure to be there and watch.”
It was things like these that made Strando really love his parents. When he came out to them, his mother had cried, but not because she was sad - but because she was happy that he had confided in them. His father had been reassuring, saying that they would always love and support him, no matter what, before playfully asking if he had his eye on someone.
Strando didn’t have homophobic parents, and that was a big blessing. His mother had often heard about gay-bashing or parents who threw their children out, and reacted with disgust over those actions. That was why he wanted to talk about what happened earlier at the parking lot.
“Some of the guys on the football team threw a gay kid in a dumpster today.”
He could have heard a pin drop.
His mothers smile had faltered, and his father looked upset at the news. “Are you serious, son?”
“Oh, my God, why would they do such a thing?” his mother said, looking very sad. His father noticed it immediately.
“Evelyn, you should sit down in the living room. You’re only going to get upset. I’ll take of this, honey.”
His mom nodded, exiting the kitchen, and Strando could see how tense she was by her posture.
“What did they do, exactly?” his father asked, looking calm. Being a surgeon, his father had developed a perfect poker face, if only to not show how the bad a situation was with his expressions. It came in handy when he had to deliver bad news to a parent or spouse, or in situations when he needed to keep his cool.
“I saw them throw a guy in a dumpster. I asked them what they were doing, and one of the guys told me that they were ‘teaching the fag a thing or two’,” Strando said, the word ‘fag’ creating a bad taste in his mouth, “and then Artie - one of the guys on the team - said that he had called a teacher, and they let it go. For now.” Strando decided not to tell his dad about Azimio’s threat; his mother would have freaked out, and his father would be calling principal Sue, demanding that Azimio got expelled.
His father sighed. “There are some ignorant people out there. You need to be more careful. I’m not saying that you should have stood there and watched, but the whole situation could have gone out of hand.”
“So, what? I did a bad thing?”
“Of course not, son. If anything, your actions were very brave. I just want you to be careful, that’s all. Was the kid unharmed?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad you told me about this. Homophobia is never a good thing, and I am proud of you for standing up to those kids. Just remember that sometimes it’s better to let someone else handle it.” His dad rose from his seat, the cup of coffee still in his hand, and went towards the living room where his mother was sitting down, probably watching the nine o’clock news.
Strando didn’t want to mention to them that he was attracted to Dave; it would have led to embarrassing questions from his mother and a talk about the birds and bees (or as his dad had said one day, “leprechaun and a rainbow”, to which Strando actually had to leave the room in order to not laugh or die of embarrassement) which would have been even more embarrassing. If there was one thing Strando knew for certain, it was that discussing an attraction to a boy who you just met with your parents wasn’t a very clever thing to do.
And Strando had only known the guy for a few hours - and talked to him twice. Not to mention that Dave had confessed to being a bully. Normally, it would have turned Strando off immediately, but there was something about Dave that intrigued him. And, despite the fact that Dave had thrown Kurt in dumpsters, the petite boy had talked to Dave like a friend. Maybe Dave had redeemed himself.
He needed to learn a bit more about Dave. So far, Strando knew very little about this guy…and he knew exactly who could give him some good answers.
---
Comments and constructive criticism would be highly appreciated. <3
Author: illuminatius
Pairing(s): Dave/Strando. Oh, yes. (Possible Klaine in later chapters, and other canon pairings)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and using the F word.
Word Count: 4673
Warnings: Swearing, slushying, OOC!Strando, and the display of my non-existent knowledge when it comes to HS football. Also, Google Translated Spanish.
Spoilers: Well...Strando, I guess?
Summary: When Strando moved to Ohio, he did not expect find someone like Dave.
A/N: Mucho love to scarletfbl for her awesome beta work. <3
A/N 2: Okay, so I know Strando is supposed to be this jokester or whatnot, but in my mind, he's a serious young man. Don't throw stones at me.
Being the new kid was always tough; the required amount of research before entering through the doors to your new school was staggering. You had to know who the popular kids were, who the unpopular kids were, which teachers(s) to avoid, which teachers(s) to suck-up to, what the coolest sport was, what clubs to stay clear of to maintain a good reputation…
Strando wished that he had taken some time to learn all that before entering McKinley High.
In fairness, he should have been aware that a kid in a wheelchair and an Asian goth girl (what did they call those? Loli?) maybe weren’t on the top of the social food chain, but that didn’t occur to Strando as he asked them for directions to the principal's office.
As the pair was directing him towards the principal’s office, wheelchair kid - Artie - asked him who he was, and goth girl - Tina. Didn’t expect that - was muttering something (“Another blond. They’re everywhere”) when two large, hulking bodies appeared in their line of sight, each holding a plastic cup in their hands.
And then something cold and wet hit Strando in the face, dripping on his clothes and on the floor.
Apparently, throwing a slushy at someone was how “the cool kids dealt with the uncool kids in their less-than-intelligent manner.” When Strando got the icy substance out of his eyes, he noticed that Artie and Tina had covered their faces with their arms, stopping the slushy from temporarily blinding them like it had done to Strando.
“They do this often?” Strando asked as he was being directed towards the men’s room, the other students in the hallway not paying him, Tina or Artie any attention at all. “’Cause where I come from, this would earn you a beatdown.”
Tina shot him an incredulous look. “Really? Must have been nice. Unfortunately, that’s not the case here.”
“Where do you come from, anyway?” Artie asked him, opening the men’s room door as Tina headed towards the ladies room. When they entered, there was already someone in there; a pale, thin boy with overly fixed hair and skin-tight clothes. Who was currently standing in front of a mirror, applying blush to his cheeks.
It was as if Strando had ended up in an alien dimension, where people got icy beverages thrown on them and guys used the public toilets as a make-up counter. These kinds of things did not happen where he came from. Still, a voice in his head said, the blush looks good on him. Either he’s gay, or the best metrosexual ever.
Artie seemed to recognize the guy instantly, wheeling towards him. “Hey Kurt.”
Kurt turned around, smile on his face. He had to be wearing lip gloss; no lips could shine like that when the light hit them without a little help. “Hi, Artie.” he said before taking a good look at Strando. “Another slushy victim?”
“Yeah. They got him when Tina and I were walking him to Principal Sue’ office. He was caught in the crossfire.”
Kurt shook his head, letting out a sigh. “Those Neanderthals. They never learn. Hi, I’m Kurt,” he said, offering his hand to Strando.
“I’m Strando,” he said, shaking Kurt’s hand while watching one of his eyebrows rise, “and yeah, I know, it’s a weird name. I blame my parents.”
“Good call. Anyway, you should get yourself cleaned up. If the slushies set in, your clothes will be ruined.”
“Dude,” Artie said, removing bits of ice off his arms with a paper towel, “you never answered my question.”
“What?” Strando asked, before he remembered. “Oh, right. Yeah, I’m from L.A.” He approached one of the sinks, turning on the faucet. The splashed some warm water on his face, noticing that some of the feeling returned - his face had started to go numb - and soon there weren’t any traces of his slushification left on Strando’s face - but his clothes were ruined. “Never saw anyone throw slushies at people there. Maybe a fist-fight or two, but not this.”
“Welcome to Lima, Ohio,” Kurt said, sounding like he was welcoming Strando to the ninth circle of hell, “where meathead football jocks reign supreme simply because they chase a leather ball.”
“…I’m a football player.”
“Oh.” Kurt’s ears had turned red after Strando’s revelation. “Sorry.”
Strando was about to say something when the door opened, and someone else entered the room - and Strando let out a tiny, (hopefully) inaudible gasp.
Strando’s orientation had not been a problem at his old school; his friends knew that he was gay, and they had no problems with it. He would occasionally hear a slur or two during football practice, but it was never directed at him. Being a gay football player wasn’t frowned upon in his old school; as long as he helped the team win their games, they wouldn’t have cared if he was gay, straight or asexual. He wasn’t flamboyant, didn’t wear the latest fashions and wasn’t exactly what you’d call “pretty”, like Kurt (it took Strando less than ten seconds to conclude that, yes, Kurt was very pretty). He didn’t flirt up a storm wherever he went; hell, he’d never even had a serious relationship. Strando didn’t exactly hide his sexuality, but he wasn’t defined by it, either. People who knew about him being gay were cool with it.
Of course, his friends had urged Strando to be careful when he told them that he was moving to Lima, Ohio of all places because his parents had gotten jobs at the local hospital. “Seriously, there are probably homophobes at every corner. Just be careful, ‘kay?” they had said. He didn’t expect any problems, though. Strando was out and proud, but not…out there. He didn’t do anything impulsive. Not his style.
And now he wanted to jump this guy’s bones.
The guy in front of him was roughly his height, with lightly curled brown hair and a solid build, wearing a simple navy blue polo shirt with a pair of dark jeans and white sneakers. He looked like your typical jock, but without a letterman jacket - and with remains of red slushy on his face.
Kurt didn’t look surprised, and neither did Artie - Strando was seriously considering wearing a raincoat while walking the halls. The slim boy just collected some paper towels and walked over to the stranger.
“Who was it this time?” Kurt asked with disdain in his voice, trying to wipe off the beverage.
“That bastard Cooper,” the stranger said, his voice deep. “Got me as I was walking out from the cafeteria.” Kurt was still wiping away the slushy remains when the stranger noticed Strando looking at him. “And you are?”
Busted. “I’m Strando. New guy. Transferred from L.A.” When the slushy was gone, Strando noticed that the stranger was quite handsome. Probably straight, though.
“I’m Dave. Dave Karofsky,” the stranger - Dave - said with a tiny smile, and Strando felt his heart skip a beat, flutter, or whatever people waxed poetic about in movies
He was so screwed.
---
Kurt and Dave left for their French class (“Can’t I just skip class? It’s not like I understand any of it!” “No, Dave, you can’t. I’m NOT working with Cooper.”), Artie followed Strando to the principal’s office, answering his many questions as they walked - or in Artie’s case, wheeled.
“What’s the football team here like? Any good?”
“Not really, but we’re trying. Our old coach was terrible, but the new one, Coach Beiste, is kinda awesome. And scary.”
“’We’? …You’re in the team?” Strando asked, knowing he probably sounded like a douchebag, but…the kid was in a wheelchair. Unless those wheels were outfitted with razor blades and and a jet engine, he didn’t see how Artie could play football.
“Don’t let these fly wheels fool ya, bro,” Artie said, not even fazed by Strando’s reaction, “I do good out there on the field. And one of the other members on the team uses me like a battering ram.”
“Excuse me?!” What the hell went on out there on the field?
“Not as bad as it sounds. You gonna try out for the team? We need a new right guard.”
“What happened to the old one?”
“Oh, Dave quit the team.” Strando raised an eyebrow at that. “You know, the big guy you met earlier?”
“Yeah, I remember. Why did he quit?”
“I’d rather you asked him about it.” Artie suddenly stopped, and Strando noticed that they had arrived; he had been too caught up in the conversation. “Well, I guess this is your stop. I’m heading to class. I’ll tell Coach Beiste about you, so come over to football practice later, ‘kay?”
“Okay, man. Thanks for the conversation.”
“No prob. Hey, by the way…you don’t happen to sing, do you?”
“That’s a bit of a weird question.”
Artie chuckled at that. “True. We have a Glee Club here, you see, and we need some new members-“
Strando crossed his arms. “Let me just stop you there, ‘kay? I don’t sing. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against music or a group of kids singing, but it’s not really for me. Stage fright.”
“Oh,” Artie said, looking disappointed at the revelation, “that sucks. Well, at least I tried. See you at practice. Don’t be late, or Coach Beiste will throw you out.”
“Sure thing,” Strando said as Artie started to wheel away. He seemed like a cool kid. Strando wasn’t someone who judged people by their abilities - and apparently the Artie didn’t let his disability hinder him, which made him that much cooler in Strando’s eyes.
The glass doors to the principal’s office opened, and a short girl in a cheerleader uniform appeared. “Principal Sue will see you now,” she said before walking back to her desk. The principal had a student as her assistant? Must be one hell of a principal, he thought and entered the office.
---
Strando didn’t believe in the supernatural, but the next time he saw Sue Sylvester, he would have some holy water ready.
---
Apparently, his first class for the day was going to be Spanish. He liked the language, despite knowing that he’d probably never get any use out of it. Maybe he would have in LA, but he didn‘t hadn‘t seen signs that the Hispanic community was anywhere near as prevalent. His mother had told him that learning languages was a good thing, and tried her best to get him to sign up for French and German as well.
The teacher - who introduced himself as Will Shuester - welcomed Strando to the class, asking him to introduce himself. Strando ended up standing in front of the whole class, a whole lot of curious stares directed towards him.
”¿Cuenta introduciendo usted?”
“…Seguros. Mi nombre es Strando. He trasladado aquí de L. A.” Now a few of the stares were blank. One really tall guy looked like his mind had checked out, and an Asian guy in the front row raised an eyebrow at Strando’s introduction. And one guy had a mohawk. An honest-to-god mohawk.
“Excellent!” Mr. Shuester said, directing Strando towards the empty seat next to the tall guy with the vacant stare. “Okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, página de abrir 42 en los libros…”
As Strando opened his book, his classmate turned to look at him.
“Hey,“ he says, smiling, “I’m Finn.”
“Hey.” Strando wasn’t exactly the social type while in class; he didn’t outright ignore his classmates, but tended to just do whatever he was supposed to do.
“What’s your name?”
“…Excuse me?” Strando’s eyebrows shot up. Apparently, this kid didn’t pay enough attention. “It’s Strando. I just stood in front of the entire class and introduced myself.”
“Oh, so that’s your name? I thought it was some weird Spanish word we hadn’t learned yet,” Finn said, cheeks reddening.
Strando chuckled at that. “No, it’s just a really unique name.”
“Yeah,” Finn said, with a grin on his face, and began asking a bunch of questions. How it was like to live in L.A, if he played any sports, what the answer to question number seven was. Strando occasionally noticed Mr. Shuester glancing in their direction, but he didn’t stop them from talking, and Finn never noticed the teacher.
“So,” Finn asked as Strando finished the exercises on page 42, “you going to try out for the team?”
“Yeah. One of your teammates already asked me.”
“That’s great! Who was it?”
“Artie. Cool kid. Apparently someone on the team uses him as a battering ram.”
“Yeah…that’s not a bad thing, right?” Finn asked, and there was something about the question…
“Oh God, you’re the one who does it.” Strando said, eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline.
Finn had the decency to look embarrassed.
---
Strando’s classes ended quickly, and he saw Finn and Artie waiting for him near the gym (he had to ask five different students for accurate directions) together with Mohawk, the Asian guy from Spanish and a guy with bottle-blonde hair and a Bieber-cut. Apparently, all of them were on the football team, and Finn introduced Strando to all of them (Puck, Mike and Sam). Strando hadn’t brought any gym clothes with him, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to run around as much as the rest.
Coach Beiste was one hell of a coach; although Strando had no problems with the coach of his old team, Beiste felt as if she were in a league of her own - if only because he had a) never seen a female sports coach before and b) when she barked out orders, even the burliest of jocks listened.
She told Strando to join in the practice as much as he could without any sports gear, and seemed impressed after he had run a few laps around the field and defended against a few light tackles (one of the players tried to tackle him for real, and Beiste had looked livid).
“You did good out there,” Beiste said as the rest of the team were hitting the showers, “but the next time I see you at practice you better have your gear equipped. I’ll let it go this time because you’re new, but never again. Understood?”
“Yes, coach.”
“Good. Let us get one thing straight: I don’t coach weaklings, or athletes without commitment. You will be here at every practice unless you’ve broken every last bone in your lower body, and when you are out there on the field you will give 110%. Am I making myself clear?” Beiste asked, large and imposing, but not really menacing.
Strando liked her already. “Yes, coach.”
“Practice is every day at four. Don’t be late, and if you are, you better have a damn good reason. Oh, and no picking fights in the locker rooms. I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.”
“…Okay.”
“Good. Now, go, and be fully prepared tomorrow.”
Strando headed towards the locker room, wishing he had brought a change of clothes with him, or at least a towel so that he could take a shower. He‘d ditched his jacket before practice, but he still felt his t-shirt sticking to the sweat that settled in his lower back. A shower would have been nice. Most of the players had already left, with only Artie and Mike in the locker room.
“Dude, how did your talk with Beiste go?” Artie asked, shutting his locker.
“It went okay. I think I’m in, but I still have to try out for right guard.”
“You’ll do fine,” Mike said, hoisting his gym bag on his shoulder. “Beiste wouldn’t have given you a second look otherwise. Did she give you the whole ‘be there or else’ speech?”
“More or less.”
“She gave us that speech too, and you better take it to heart. Once, when a player came in twenty minutes late without a good reason, she yelled at him for like, half an hour,” Mike said with a wide grin. “Poor guy was reduced to tears.”
“Are you serious?” Strando asked, incredulous. He had a pretty thick skin, but Beiste didn’t seem like the type of coach who would have a problem breaking through it.
This time, Artie spoke, wheeling towards the door. “Yeah. He had to be sent to Ms. Pillsbury. He was our most recent right guard, actually. Got the position after Dave quit.”
“So, this guy just…quit?” Strando asked, heart jumping slightly at the mention of Dave. Crap.
“He quit, and had to take anti-anxiety meds for a while. He didn’t exactly have the strongest psyche to begin with, and Beiste pretty much shattered it with an imaginary sledgehammer.”
They walked towards the exits, chatting - Strando was beginning to like how friendly the football players were at this school - and as he exited the building with Mike and Artie, he noticed something.
A group of people were throwing someone into the dumpster.
“What the hell? Hey!” Strando yelled, running towards the dumpsters. He briefly noticed that Artie had called after him, but he didn’t care. Who the fuck would throw someone in a dumpster?
As he approached, Strando noticed that most of them were football players - so much for friendly, Strando thought - and one of them, a big black guy - Azimio? - turned to face him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Strando asked, anger in his voice.
“Mind your own business, newbie,” Azimio said, and the rest of the guys were now facing him as well. “We’re just teaching this fag a thing or two.”
Strando felt the rage coming towards the surface. “What the fuck? ‘Teaching the fag a thing or two’? Are you fucking insane?”
“Why, you got a problem with that, huh?” Azimio asked with a smirk on his face. Strando was about to say that yes, he had one hell of a problem with that when Artie and Mike appeared at his side.
“Gentlemen, just so you know, I called Mr. Shuester, and he should be here any second,” Artie said, his polite tone contradicting his angry expression, “so if I were you, I’d get out of here.”
Some of the guys looked a bit apprehensive, and Azimio looked furious. “Tch. Fine. You got off easy this time, newbie,” he said menacingly to Strando, who didn’t even flinch, “but the next time you interrupt our teaching, you won’t be so lucky.” And with that, they left, leaving Strando, Mike and Artie standing alone in the dumpsters.
“Dude, did you really call a teacher?” Strando asked.
“Nah, it was a bluff, but hey - it worked.” Artie wheeled towards the dumpster, knocking on it. “Kurt?”
Kurt? Kurt? They threw him in dumpsters? That was seriously fucked up. However, the voice that came out from the open dumpster did not belong to Kurt, and Strando saw red for a second or two.
“Nah, it’s me. Dave.”
Mike chuckled. “Dude, how did they throw you in there?”
Dave’s head poked up over the edge. “Easy when it’s eight against one. Oh, hey,” he said, noticing Strando, “we meet again.”
“Yeah,” Strando said, feeling giddy - oh hell, when did he become a teenage girl? - “but never under any good circumstances.”
“True. Okay, stand back. I’m coming down.”
When Dave was on the ground, removing sawdust and pieces of paper from his jacket - Lucky for him, Dave had been thrown into the that was filled with mostly paper, and not, say, the one that had yesterday‘s lunch menu - Artie and Mike decided to head for their cars.
“You’re okay, right?” Artie asked, and Dave waved his concern away.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t feel guilty about leaving me here after a dumpster dive or anything,” Dave said playfully, smiling. “Seriously, I’ll be okay.”
“Cool,” Mike said, giving him a thumbs up. “Remember, we got Glee practice tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I know. See you guys tomorrow.”
Artie and Mike left, leaving Strando and Dave standing alone by the dumpsters. The air felt charged; Strando attributed that to his nerves, which were staging a riot in tandem with the butterflies in his stomach. It was silly to feel like this about a guy who he’d just met, and had only exchanged one or two lines with. He hardly knew Dave; the only thing Strando knew for sure was that Dave had played football, knew how to sing and was gay, if Azimio’s comments were anything to go by.
Which was enough for Strando. At least, it meant that they would have similar interests.
“So,” Dave said, breaking Strando out of his reverie, “what’s up?”
Strando raised an eyebrow. He found himself doing that a lot today; the people here were strange compared to everyone he knew in L.A. “Shouldn’t I be asking that? You just got thrown in a dumpster.”
“Not the first time. Besides, I deserve it.”
“You des- what the hell are you on?” Strando asked, not believing what he just heard. “No one deserves to be harassed like that because of their orientation! When you think like that, the homophobes win. Seriously, don’t listen to those stupid, idio-“
“Dude!” Dave said, stopping him. “I didn’t mean it like that. I deserve it because I used to do it. You remember Kurt? I used to do the exact same thing to him.”
Strando felt cold. “You did what?”
“Not exactly some of my proudest moments. And then, when I came out, I got a taste of my own medicine. It’s what I deserve.” A sad smile adorned Dave’s features.
“No. It’s not. No one deserves to be treated that way.” If someone had tried to do that to Strando, he knew for sure that his friends would get to the culprits before anyone else did. Strando got the impression that no one stood up for Dave. Artie had chased the jocks off with his bluff, but neither he nor Mike had tried to stop them. Did everyone else also think that Dave got what he deserved? “Just because you feel guilty over having done that to someone else doesn’t mean that you should take that kind of abuse.”
Dave was looking at Strando, head cocked slightly to the side, as if he had noticed something.
“What?” Strando asked, feeling a bit nervous.
“Nothing. I, uh, gotta go. Got some studying to do.”
Strando felt his stomach drop. Damn. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, you didn’t. If anything, you gave me something to think about. I just have a lot of things to do, so I’m going to go. See ya.”
As Dave left, Strando felt like kicking himself.
---
“How was school today, honey?”
Strando looked up from his books, which were strewn all over the dining table. His mother was smiling at him, this warm and maternal smile that she had perfected over the years, and which Strando knew was genuine. She had sympathized with Strando when he told her exactly what he felt about packing everything he had in cardboard boxes of varying sizes to move far away from his friends and life. “It was okay, mom. Tried out for the football team, and made some new friends.” He knew that she would be happy about the last part.
“That’s wonderful! See, I told you that you’d make friends on the first day.” His mom was the eternal optimist when it came to her child.
“Of course he did!” his father said, still sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in front of him. “Which position did you get, son?”
“Well, they have the right guard position open, so I’ll probably get that one if Coach Beiste thinks I’m good enough.”
“I’m sure she will,” his father said, beaming, “and once she does, just give me a schedule over all your games and I’ll make sure to be there and watch.”
It was things like these that made Strando really love his parents. When he came out to them, his mother had cried, but not because she was sad - but because she was happy that he had confided in them. His father had been reassuring, saying that they would always love and support him, no matter what, before playfully asking if he had his eye on someone.
Strando didn’t have homophobic parents, and that was a big blessing. His mother had often heard about gay-bashing or parents who threw their children out, and reacted with disgust over those actions. That was why he wanted to talk about what happened earlier at the parking lot.
“Some of the guys on the football team threw a gay kid in a dumpster today.”
He could have heard a pin drop.
His mothers smile had faltered, and his father looked upset at the news. “Are you serious, son?”
“Oh, my God, why would they do such a thing?” his mother said, looking very sad. His father noticed it immediately.
“Evelyn, you should sit down in the living room. You’re only going to get upset. I’ll take of this, honey.”
His mom nodded, exiting the kitchen, and Strando could see how tense she was by her posture.
“What did they do, exactly?” his father asked, looking calm. Being a surgeon, his father had developed a perfect poker face, if only to not show how the bad a situation was with his expressions. It came in handy when he had to deliver bad news to a parent or spouse, or in situations when he needed to keep his cool.
“I saw them throw a guy in a dumpster. I asked them what they were doing, and one of the guys told me that they were ‘teaching the fag a thing or two’,” Strando said, the word ‘fag’ creating a bad taste in his mouth, “and then Artie - one of the guys on the team - said that he had called a teacher, and they let it go. For now.” Strando decided not to tell his dad about Azimio’s threat; his mother would have freaked out, and his father would be calling principal Sue, demanding that Azimio got expelled.
His father sighed. “There are some ignorant people out there. You need to be more careful. I’m not saying that you should have stood there and watched, but the whole situation could have gone out of hand.”
“So, what? I did a bad thing?”
“Of course not, son. If anything, your actions were very brave. I just want you to be careful, that’s all. Was the kid unharmed?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad you told me about this. Homophobia is never a good thing, and I am proud of you for standing up to those kids. Just remember that sometimes it’s better to let someone else handle it.” His dad rose from his seat, the cup of coffee still in his hand, and went towards the living room where his mother was sitting down, probably watching the nine o’clock news.
Strando didn’t want to mention to them that he was attracted to Dave; it would have led to embarrassing questions from his mother and a talk about the birds and bees (or as his dad had said one day, “leprechaun and a rainbow”, to which Strando actually had to leave the room in order to not laugh or die of embarrassement) which would have been even more embarrassing. If there was one thing Strando knew for certain, it was that discussing an attraction to a boy who you just met with your parents wasn’t a very clever thing to do.
And Strando had only known the guy for a few hours - and talked to him twice. Not to mention that Dave had confessed to being a bully. Normally, it would have turned Strando off immediately, but there was something about Dave that intrigued him. And, despite the fact that Dave had thrown Kurt in dumpsters, the petite boy had talked to Dave like a friend. Maybe Dave had redeemed himself.
He needed to learn a bit more about Dave. So far, Strando knew very little about this guy…and he knew exactly who could give him some good answers.
---
Comments and constructive criticism would be highly appreciated. <3