Right As Rain, Chapter One
I. Kurt
The noise from the crowd was thunderous, ringing in Kurt's ears as he thrust his fists up to the sky, head dropping on the last note. He could feel the heat radiating off Mercedes standing beside him as they panted together.
“We rocked that,” she gasped, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a smile twitch at her lips.
He lifted his head, grinning. “You don't have to tell me.”
“And next week will be even better. Miss Sylvester pulled me into her office yesterday to tell me--”
There was a boy in the crowd. He wasn't standing, like the rest of them-he was sitting, chin perched in hands, notebook balancing precariously on his lap. A pair of thick-framed glasses were sliding off his nose.
He was staring at Kurt.
Kurt was staring back.
“Kurt?” Mercedes asked.
Kurt couldn't bring himself to blink, let alone look away from him.
“Don't even think about it, Kurt, everything about Anderson screams virgin,” Mercedes said, pleadingly. “It's social suicide.”
Kurt smiled softly.
Hesitantly, the boy smiled back.
* * *
“His name is Blaine Anderson,” Rachel said, slamming her locker shut and turning to face Kurt. “He's editor-in-chief of the school newspaper.”
“The muckraker?” Kurt asked, fists balling up in the pockets of his letterman jacket. The muckraker had been what had finally forced him out of the closet his freshman year of high school.
Rachel snorted. “As if Blaine would be caught dead working for the muckraker. You have no idea how often he complains about it. No. He's the editor-in-chief for the McKinley High Times. He wants to major in journalism. He's slated to be valedictorian of his class. He takes AP Chemistry, AP Psychology, and AP English. And he's co-head of the Glee Club with me.”
“So he's a nerd,” Kurt said, smoothing down his jacket.
Rachel shot him a look. “N-no, I wouldn't say he's a nerd, exactly, I would say he's extremely dedicated to his schooling.” She stopped short, turning around to face Kurt. “Look, Kurt, I like you.”
“Thank you.”
“I don't think you're stuck up or mean like most of the other cheerios, and I think you're probably a good person although the fact that you always seem to hold conversations with me only when we're in deserted hallways does say something about your obsession with status and your reputation.”
Kurt's eyebrows arched.
“But Blaine is my friend, and I need to know why you're asking all these things.”
“I can't just be curious?” Kurt asked, airily.
Rachel shook her head. “It's you. You never talk to me unless you need something.”
“I'm interested in him.” Kurt confessed.
“Okay, Kurt, this is important. Please don't lie to me about this.”
“I'm not lying, Rachel. I'm interested in Blaine.”
“As in-romantically?”
“No, Rachel, I just want to know where he got the jacket he was wearing,” Kurt snapped. “What do you think?”
“Then why are you asking me?” Rachel asked, shuffling her sheet music around in her arms. “Shouldn't you be asking him?”
Kurt rolled his eyes. “Yes, it makes perfect sense for me to just go up to another boy and say, 'I think I like you. Are you gay, by any chance?'”
“He is,” Rachel said.
“That's good to know,” Kurt said, “but I don't know enough about him yet. I don't want to come on too strong.”
Rachel began to smile. “You really do like him, don't you?”
“I might,” Kurt said, softly. “I'd like to talk to him.”
“And you aren't concerned with your reputation at all?” Her lips pressed together.
He hesitated. “I can't lie and say that concern hasn't crossed my mind, but...” he swallowed. “Reputation isn't everything.”
Rachel's eyes flicked over his face, assessing. “Come to Glee practice tomorrow,” she said, finally. “Blaine will be there.”
Kurt's mouth twisted.
“You sing, Kurt, I've heard you,” Rachel said. “You sing for the Cheerios all the time. You're very talented.”
“That isn't the issue here,” Kurt said. “Do I have to... join?”
Rachel rolled her eyes a little. “It isn't necessary, no, but I do think it would be a step in the right direction in your endeavor to win the affections of one Blaine Anderson.”
Kurt swallowed hard, and thought back to the face of the boy in the gymnasium.
“I'll do it,” he said.
* * *
“You can't,” Mercedes said, as soon as Kurt picked up the phone.
“Hello to you too, Mercedes,” Kurt said, pressing speaker so he could finish hanging up his sweaters.
“I'm serious, Kurt. You can't join Glee Club.”
“I worry about the rate at which gossip travels in this school,” Kurt said, eying one of his older sweaters critically.
“Kurt, you will ruin your reputation. Do you want to go back to being slushied?”
Kurt sighed, giving up on organizing his wardrobe for the time being. “What about Santana and Brittany?” he asked, positioning himself cross-legged on the bed. “They spend half of their time in that choir room and they've never been slushied.”
“They didn't join Glee Club to get in some guy's pants,” Mercedes said. “They did it to spy for Sue.” She paused for a second, then said, “Kurt, that's what you can do!”
“I'm not joining Glee Club to spy,” Kurt said, sharply. “If Coach Sylvester needs a reason for me being there, I'll tell her I'm concerned about my vocal strength and that I joined glee club to hone my voice to perfection.”
“Do you think she'd buy that?” Mercedes asked dubiously.
“She'd believe that over me joining just so I have an excuse to get close to a boy. She asked me yesterday if I'd had my genitals cut off at a young age, Mercedes. She thinks I'm completely sexless.”
“Kurt,” Mercedes said softly.
Kurt sighed, switching the phone off speaker. “Yeah?”
“You know I'm just trying to look out for you, right? I just want you to think about what you're doing. I don't want you to get hurt.”
“I'm a big boy, Mercedes, I can handle a slushy.”
“I don't mean that.” Mercedes paused. “Just that, even if this boy is gay, how do you know he's out? Or that he'll like you that way? And even if he does, you're going to have to deal with a ton of hate for being with him. Is he really worth all of that?”
“I don't know,” Kurt said, honestly. “I don't know him well enough to know. But Mercedes? He's the first boy I've ever wanted to know badly enough to make me do something like this. And that must count for something.”
After he hung up with Mercedes, he fell back against his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Going after this boy-this Blaine Anderson-would be going against everything Coach Sylvester had drilled into his head.
Was it worth it?
Was he worth it?
His phone vibrated once more, and he looked down at it, fully expecting a text from Mercedes warning him once more of the dangers of becoming involved with someone outside of their social circle.
It was Santana.
He picked up the phone and cleared his throat, trying not to show his surprise. “Santana. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Cut the crap, Ennis Del Mar,” she snapped. “Mercedes tells me you're going to join the glee club.”
Kurt sighed, pressing the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so he could resume hanging the sweaters he'd neglected during his phone call with Mercedes. “Yes, and? In case it's slipped your mind, Satan, you're in glee club. You can't exactly judge.”
“I don't care that you're joining, lady-face,” Santana snapped back. “I want to know why.”
“Why do you care?”
“I saw you looking at Anderson,” she said, shortly. “I saw the way you looked at him. I saw you talking to Berry afterward.”
“And?”
“And,” Santana snarled, “you're forgetting that I'm friends with Blaine. He and I are in glee club together. He's not like you and me, Hummel. He's a nice person. And if you're doing this just to fuck with him, because some bitch on the squad bet that you couldn't tap that virgin ass, I swear to god, Hummel, I will rip your precious hair out strand by strand.”
“I'm not a total bitch, Santana, I'm not you,” Kurt snapped, his free hand curling into a fist around the sweater he was holding. “I would never do that. I asked about Blaine because I'm interested in getting to know him, not 'tapping that virgin ass' because if you had even bothered to try to talk to me at all in the past three years, you would know that already.”
“And what, exactly, do you and Blaine have in common?” Santana ground out. “What is it that makes him so interesting to you?”
“I don't know,” Kurt shot back, grinding his teeth. “I don't know why Blaine is so interesting to me, I just know that I saw him and I had to get to know him better. I can't explain it. But I'm not doing this just to get in his pants, Santana. He matters.”
“If you hurt him, Hummel, I will slit your lily-white throat,” Santana said, and hung up the phone.
* * *
Kurt rapped his knuckles lightly against the wood frame of the door. “Mr. Schuester?”
Mr. Schuester glanced up, then did a double-take. “Kurt! What a surprise. What can I do for you?”
Kurt fidgeted with the strap on his bag for a moment, then stepped decisively into the room and sat in the chair in front of his desk. “Mr. Schuester, I would like to join the Glee Club.”
Mr. Schue blinked. “You're-you're kidding.”
Kurt stared stonily at him.
“Why?”
“You may have noticed that I'm the vocals for the Cheerios,” Kurt said, folding his arms. “We want to win Nationals again. It will be our sixth undefeated year, and in order to do that, I need to be the best that I can be. I need professional training.”
“The glee club hardly qualifies as professional--”
“It's still better than the vocal training I have now, which is none,” Kurt said. He leaned forward. “Mr. Schuester, are you going to let me join or not?”
“Kurt, our policy is that whoever wants to join the club gets to,” Mr. Schuester said, firmly. “I'm sorry if I made it seem like you can't join. We have an audition process, but it's very informal and won't be necessary in your case. We've all heard you sing.”
“I'd like the chance to audition anyway,” Kurt said. “I never get to pick out my song with the Cheerios.” And this might be my only chance to serenade Blaine and win his affections, he added, silently.
Mr. Schuester examined him for a moment. “Can you have a number prepared for tomorrow?”
Kurt sniffed. “Of course.”
“Then welcome aboard, Kurt. We'll be pleased to have you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Schuester,” Kurt said, standing and sticking his hand out for the teacher to shake. “You won't regret it.”
Mr. Schuester was left looking a little bit like he'd been blind-sided by a semi.
* * *
“What are you going to sing?” Quinn asked, tapping her fingernails against his arm and gesturing to one of the bottles of nail polish in the display case.
He folded his arms, cocking his head to the side as he examined the color. “Too lurid for your skin tone,” he decided. “You need something more pastel-colored.”
“You're avoiding the question,” Quinn said, shortly, bending to look at the duller colors on a rack closer to the floor.
Kurt eyed himself critically in the mirror beside the sunglasses rack. “This lighting is awful for my skin.”
“Deflecting,” Quinn said, but she was smiling. “Come on, what song are you going to sing? You could do Ingrid Michaelson, I think. Your voice doesn't have the same tone as hers, but she's in your range.”
Kurt placed a pair of mirrored glasses back on the rack, and turned to face her. “Why aren't you ragging on me for this? Shouldn't you be telling me I'll ruin my reputation, that Blaine isn't worth it because he's a frigid virgin, that he's too smart for me and I'm too popular for him?”
“Why would I?” Quinn asked, confused.
“You used to be in the Cheerios,” Kurt said, his eyebrows arching. “Reputation means everything to you.”
“It used to,” Quinn snapped. “In case you don't remember, that all sort of blew out the window when I got pregnant last year and was kicked off the squad.”
Kurt said nothing.
Quinn sighed, tugging him out of the store, and sat down on a bench outside, scooting over to make room for him.
“I'm in New Directions,” she said, once he'd sat down.
He stared at her, eyes wide.
“It's a well-kept secret,” she confessed, her head tilting downwards. “Surprisingly enough, Rachel is the one who threatened the rest of the club with evisceration if they reveal my secret. She knows my reputation is in the gutter enough as it is."
Kurt snapped his mouth shut. “I can't believe nobody has found out yet.”
“I'd prefer to keep it that way,” Quinn said, a warning clear in her voice.
“I'm not going to tell anyone,” Kurt said, reaching out to touch her hand.
Quinn forced her lips into a smile. “So.” She cleared her throat. “Why do you want Blaine so badly?”
Kurt tilted his head thoughtfully. “I don't know,” he said, finally. “I saw him, and it was like he actually saw me.” He laughed a little. “Isn't that ridiculous? A Cheerio that feels ignored and invisible?”
“No,” Quinn said, quietly, and her eyes flicked up to meet his. “That isn't ridiculous at all.”
Their eyes stayed locked together for a moment, Kurt's mouth falling open a little as he realized what she meant, as he realized that she understood him.
Quinn stood up.
“Where are you going?” Kurt asked, jumping to his feet.
“I have the perfect song for your audition,” Quinn said, reaching for his hand. “But we need to go back to my house.”
“Why?” Kurt asked, picking up his bag. He could see Quinn's iPod sticking out of the pocket of her purse.
“We need my record player,” Quinn said. She turned to smile at him, a sweet smile he hadn't seen since before Beth was born. “Blaine won't know what hit him.”