Baby Steps Chapter 3b
Title: Baby Steps
Rating: pg-13
Pairing: future Kurtofksy. situational Klaine
Disclaimer: not mine
Summary: School starts and Dave and Kurt start the McKinley GSA. Here’s to baby steps.
Notes: proxydialogue and raving_liberal are the best!
Chapter 3a
Football practice ran after school Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, with practice on Friday only when the games were on Saturday for the first two weeks, then Monday, Wednesday, Friday after that. Players were encouraged to use the weight room on their days off.
Glee met second to last period every day and Thursdays after school, with occasional Saturday rehearsals that Kurt referred to as “booty bootcamp,” that were, apparently, mostly dancing. These were never during a game, as they were mostly led by Chang, and were used only before performances.
So, the only time when the GSA could meet was Tuesday after school. Beiste had arranged for them to meet in the same room where she taught Freshman Health, so when Dave arrived on the first day, he found himself staring at a poster diagram of male and female reproductive organs with a weird sense of foreboding.
“Oh good, you’re here,” Kurt said behind him, and Dave turned to see Kurt struggling with the box of pamphlets. Dave put the container he was carrying down on a desk, and grabbed the box before it slipped out of Kurt’s hands. He put it on Beiste’s desk, while Kurt inspected the tupperware.
“What’s this?” Kurt asked.
“Cookies,” Dave said. “For the meeting.”
“You--” Kurt looked up at him. “Where did you get cookies?”
Dave shrugged. “Grandma,” he said. It was kinda true. When Dave was younger, and his grandparents were babysitting him more often than not, his Grandmother had taken it upon herself to teach Dave “the three basic skills you need, Davey, to be self-sufficient.” According to Grandma Kurtofsky, everybody had to know how to sew a button, iron a shirt, and bake a pie. Everything else, she said, could be derived from these three skills. At ten, Gram had brought David into her sewing room and let him practice with scraps of cloth and big colorful buttons. Now, Dave could not only sew a button, but take in or let out his pants, as well as adjust the hems. It came in real handy when he hit his growth-spurt, though if anyone asked, he would deny it. At 14, when his grandfather had taken him shopping for his first suit, Grandpa Kurtofsky was a tailor, and insisted in his own right that his grandson would always have at least one good suit, Gram had taken Dave into her sewing room again, and showed him how to iron the shirt. Dave didn’t iron much, he hated doing it, but whenever it was needed, he did it himself because he was better at it than his mother. Which was, honestly, another reason why he never really bothered. He didn’t need to fight.
But the baking--When Dave was six, Gram would make cookies and cakes, cupcakes and pies, and always have Dave in the kitchen with her. When Dave was 12, and asked if she could bake him a pie, she said; it’s time for you to learn, and watched as he baked an apple pie from scratch. Ever since then, when Dave wanted cookies or cake, cupcakes or a pie, he would drive the three towns over to his Gam’s kitchen, and bake while she played old records and talked. It was incredibly gay, and nobody knew, not even his parents.
But last night, after practice, Dave had driven his truck over and had baked the cookies, and had told Gram about the GSA during the commercial breaks of Jeopardy.
Gram and Pops had never said anything about Dave’s troubles the year before, had taken the news of his expulsion with somber faces, and put him to work around their house while he was out of school. The guilt had been overwhelming, and when Gram had found him crying in the kitchen over her book of cookie recipes, she had listened to his apologies, told him she loved him no matter what, and they baked lemon squares. When the first batch was in the oven, she turned to him and said:
“Sometimes, it’s hard to look at you and see a young man. My old eyes see my little grandson covered in flour. But today I have seen a glimpse of the man you can become, one who recognizes the consequences of his own actions, and desires to grow and change. I couldn’t be more proud.”
“Gram...”
“It won’t be easy, your road,” She had gone on to say, “You’ve done bad things, and you know it. But nothing so bad it can not be fixed in time.”
He had almost told her right then, that he was gay and was terrified of what his parents would say and even more scared of what would happen at school and that he was all twisted up inside and things just happened when he saw the beautiful boy that was everything he wanted to be, and everything he wanted all at once. But, the buzzer dinged and he took the squares out of the oven, and kept his silence. When he left that day, he hugged his Gram extra tight, and she held back, like she knew there was something, and that she would wait to hear it, as long as it took. The next day, his father got him back into school. Still, Dave found himself at his Gram’s at least once a week, usually after a bad day; mixing and kneading and rolling was sometimes exactly what he needed to bring about some much needed calm.
“What kind of cookies?” Kurt asked.
“Chocolate chip, sugar, and peanut butter,” Dave said. “I figured, first meeting, people might come back if we have cookies.”
“Are you going to bring in cookies every week?” Kurt asked.
Dave shrugged. “Maybe we can set up a thing. Alternate people or something. I just--thought it was a good idea.”
“No, it is,” Kurt said. “Especially if--” Kurt tugged at the tupperware lid and it popped open. He pulled out a chocolate chip cookie and took a bite. “Oh, yes,” he said, almost moaning the word, fuck, “Especially if they’re this good.”
Dave felt his ears flush, and he shrugged. “Thanks.”
“There’s only one problem,” Kurt said.
“Oh?”
“I don’t wanna share,” Kurt clutched the container to his chest, and pouted. Dave laughed, eyes locked on the just of Kurt’s lower lip. Damnit.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make you more.”
The lip lowered as Kurt’s mouth opened. “You made these?” he asked. Dave started. Shit. “I thought you said--”
“I did, shh,” Dave looked around but they were still the only ones in the classroom. “Don’t spread it around. I made ‘em at my Gram’s. Everyone thinks she’s this, like, baking fool. But--it calms me down, you know?”
“I know,” Kurt said. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Dave snorted. “Yeah, I’m not worried.” Kurt smiled back and Dave knew it was because, of everything Kurt was keeping secret for Dave, his hidden life as a baker was pretty damn low on the list in order of importance.
But then Besite was there, smiling at Kurt and Dave in her typical gruff way, and the girl from Glee followed, so Dave moved away from Kurt to put the cookies on the desk next to the flyers, and cover his nerves by talking to Beiste. The Glocks followed the Glee girls in, then, surprisingly Coach Sylvester showed up with a number of Cheerios following in V formation. Santana was with them, and she sat next to Brittany, and gave Dave a look that said the fuck are you looking at? Dave hid a smile. He didn’t care why she was there, he was just glad she was. For as understanding as Kurt was, Dave thought Santana got it a little better, by simple virtue of living it. Lauren Pizes was next, with a small group of burly underclassmen that Dave thought might have been on the wrestling team with her. She walked up behind Puckerman, smacked him upside the head, and when he turned, feathers ruffled, she just stared at him until he kissed her cheek. Apparently they were still together. Weird. There were one or two other stragglers, all underclassmen that Dave only vaguely recognized as yeah, he or she might go to my school. I think. And finally, Mrs. P and Senior Shue came in, closing the door behind them.
Everyone settled in, and Kurt was getting ready to make introductions when the door opened again, and Brett walked in, looking like he had just taken the blue pill. He saw the cookies everyone was eating, smiled dreamily, and drifted over to grab some for himself. He sat on the floor next to the desk, and munched on his cookies. Dave wondered if he was coherent enough to recognize what club this was, and if not, if he would at least remain docile enough to not cause any problems.
“Okay, then,” Kurt said, and Dave took a deep breath, and went to stand with him. Time to man up, Dave. “I’m Kurt Hummel, and this is Dave Karofsky. We’d like to welcome to the first meeting of the McKinley High Gay-Straight Alliance. As the title implies, and I hope you’re aware, you do not have to be gay to be in this club. You can be anything, gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, transexual, questioning, or somewhere in the middle, and be in this club. You can be a straight ally and be in this club. You never have to confirm, deny, or justify your presence in this club. All that is required is a belief that non-cis-gendered, non-hetereosexuals deserve equal treatment as cis-gendered heterosexuals.”
Dave looked around the room at the blank faces. Most, like Puckerman, looked a little bored, or like Brett, too interested in the cookies. Some, like Finn, were nodding along without really understanding what they were nodding for. Dave sighed.
“Or, in plain English, that means that you don’t think someone should be treated less for their sexuality or gender.”
“Exactly,” Kurt said, without breaking stride. “There is a lot of terminology that can be thrown around, with the purpose of being as specific as possible in order to, well, be specific and, in a way, avoid offence, but it boils down to just that: the club is here for equal treatment.”
“In planning this club,” Dave said, “We decided the best place to start would be in creating what’s called a “safe-space”, a place where you can be yourself without fear.”
“We all know how hard it is to be in this school, the cliques, the clubs--”
“The teams and the hierarchy,”
“And we want this club to exist outside of those pressures,” Kurt said. “So, we would like to make it a rule, right here and now, that inside this classroom, during this time, we are not defined by the clubs we belong to, by the sports that we play, but by our desire to end the hate here at McKinley. Are we agreed?”
There were some nods, and Beiste stepped forward with a stack of papers. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Coach Beiste. I have, here, contracts for you each to sign, swearing to keep to the rules of this club; that you will keep secrets that are not ready to be shared, that you will treat each other with respect, and that you will do what you can to limit discriminatory behavior and promote equality.” Beiste handed half to Dave and half to Kurt. Dave took one and passed the rest on. He pulled a pen out of the pocket of his letterman and signed his name at the bottom.
“Now,” Kurt said. “Let’s get to know each other. We’re going to go around the room. So please, say your name, your grade, and anything else you want us to know. This is not us fishing for you to come out, especially if you’re not ready. Please, only share what you are comfortable with everyone knowing. Hopefully, as we meet and get to know each other, coming out is something that will happen naturally. I’ll start. My name is Kurt, I’m a senior, and since it’s no secret, I’m gay.” He looked at Dave.
“Uh,” Dave said. “I’m Dave. I’m a senior.”
Unsurprisingly, nobody was volunteering much information. Finn did say he was here to support his brother, Brittany that she liked “boy lips and lady-lips, but Kurt’s lips most of all, because they were soft like lady-lips, but firm like boy-lips,” and Dave had to stop himself from nodding in agreement. Sylvester won for weirdest, however, when she admitted to being “Sue-sexual.” Whatever that was.
“Wonderful,” Kurt clapped his hands, and Dave pulled out a notebook. “Now, since the whole purpose of the club is to create comfort, Dave and I thought we’d taylor the club’s activities to what we, as a club, want. What are some things you want to see happen?”
There was silence for a moment, before the asian chick from Glee, Tara? Tina! raised her hand. “I think it’d be cool if we could have some sort of assembly, you know? Get the awareness we’re generating to the entire school.”
“That’s a great idea, Tina,” Kurt said, and Dave wrote assembly.
“Maybe not this week,” Mrs. P said, “Passing assemblies takes time.”
“Maybe we can plan it next week?” Mercedes said. “Figure out what we wanna do before we take it to Figgins.” Dave nodded, writing plan next week.
“Day of Silence,” someone, Dave didn’t see who, called out.
“National Coming Out day.”
“I’d just want to talk.”
“Myths!”
“We’re doing a day on stereotypes and misconceptions,” Kurt said. “But this is great! What else?”
“One at a time,” Dave said under his breath, finally writing myths.
There were a few more suggestions tossed out before they trickled out. “This is wonderful! Anybody else?”
Dave cleared his throat. “I’d like to do something with postsecret,” he said. He looked out. “Uh, those of you who know me, or of me, might know that I’m in anger management, and my therapist turned me onto this site, postsecret dot com?”
“Dude, that site’s badass. There’s some crazy stuff people say,” Puckerman said. Dave was a little surprised he knew the site, but nodded.
“Exactly. It’s all anonymous, but people, like, write their secrets on postcards and send them in and the dude puts them on the site for everyone to see. Because secrets are nothing but pressure, and if you don’t tell somebody, well--it’s a great place if you have no way to vent. And sometimes, just knowing other people have the same secret, makes you feel, I dunno, connected.”
“What kind of secrets?” one of the Cheerios asked.
“Anything,” Dave said. “There’s some sex stuff, like, ‘My parents don’t know I’m gay,’ kind of things, and ‘My husband doesn’t know I’m cheating,” but there’s also things, like, ‘I like to pee in the shower.’ And, some of the secrets can be pretty dark, like, people who’ve thought of killing themselves, or hurting themselves, and the site has connections to, like, suicide prevention and self-help hotlines. And there’s like forums and stuff. It’s a really cool site.” Dave stopped talking and looked around, people were nodding their heads, and this time, it seemed to be because they were on board with the plan.
“That sounds like a great idea,” Beiste said. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well,” Dave said. “Maybe we could get, I dunno, one of the boards or something? And we could set up a box somewhere, maybe Ms. P’s office?” Mrs. P nodded. “And then, the secrets we get in, we could put up on the board.” He paused. “And, if we’re worried about vandalism, we can publish them in a book.”
“And I can provide pamphlets, if necessary,” Mrs. P said. Shue smiled at her in that way adult do when they think they’re being subtle. There was definitely something going on there.
“Great idea, Dave,” Kurt said, quietly. Dave nodded, and wrote postsecret in his book.
Things wrapped up pretty quickly after that, the meeting sliding from something formal into a general gathering. Dave eased over to the desk, taking stock of what was left, and re-writing his notes into something recognizable; he figured Kurt, at least, would want a copy, and he was pretty sure Beiste would need one for her records. A shadow fell over his paper, and he looked up.
“Good work, Yogi,” Sylvester said.
“Uh, thanks, Coach,” Dave said. Sylvester nodded, and left, her Cheerios leaving with her, still in V formation.
“What was that about?” Kurt asked, just behind him. Dave shook his head.
“I don’t think I want to know.”
Chapter 4
Rating: pg-13
Pairing: future Kurtofksy. situational Klaine
Disclaimer: not mine
Summary: School starts and Dave and Kurt start the McKinley GSA. Here’s to baby steps.
Notes: proxydialogue and raving_liberal are the best!
Chapter 3a
Football practice ran after school Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, with practice on Friday only when the games were on Saturday for the first two weeks, then Monday, Wednesday, Friday after that. Players were encouraged to use the weight room on their days off.
Glee met second to last period every day and Thursdays after school, with occasional Saturday rehearsals that Kurt referred to as “booty bootcamp,” that were, apparently, mostly dancing. These were never during a game, as they were mostly led by Chang, and were used only before performances.
So, the only time when the GSA could meet was Tuesday after school. Beiste had arranged for them to meet in the same room where she taught Freshman Health, so when Dave arrived on the first day, he found himself staring at a poster diagram of male and female reproductive organs with a weird sense of foreboding.
“Oh good, you’re here,” Kurt said behind him, and Dave turned to see Kurt struggling with the box of pamphlets. Dave put the container he was carrying down on a desk, and grabbed the box before it slipped out of Kurt’s hands. He put it on Beiste’s desk, while Kurt inspected the tupperware.
“What’s this?” Kurt asked.
“Cookies,” Dave said. “For the meeting.”
“You--” Kurt looked up at him. “Where did you get cookies?”
Dave shrugged. “Grandma,” he said. It was kinda true. When Dave was younger, and his grandparents were babysitting him more often than not, his Grandmother had taken it upon herself to teach Dave “the three basic skills you need, Davey, to be self-sufficient.” According to Grandma Kurtofsky, everybody had to know how to sew a button, iron a shirt, and bake a pie. Everything else, she said, could be derived from these three skills. At ten, Gram had brought David into her sewing room and let him practice with scraps of cloth and big colorful buttons. Now, Dave could not only sew a button, but take in or let out his pants, as well as adjust the hems. It came in real handy when he hit his growth-spurt, though if anyone asked, he would deny it. At 14, when his grandfather had taken him shopping for his first suit, Grandpa Kurtofsky was a tailor, and insisted in his own right that his grandson would always have at least one good suit, Gram had taken Dave into her sewing room again, and showed him how to iron the shirt. Dave didn’t iron much, he hated doing it, but whenever it was needed, he did it himself because he was better at it than his mother. Which was, honestly, another reason why he never really bothered. He didn’t need to fight.
But the baking--When Dave was six, Gram would make cookies and cakes, cupcakes and pies, and always have Dave in the kitchen with her. When Dave was 12, and asked if she could bake him a pie, she said; it’s time for you to learn, and watched as he baked an apple pie from scratch. Ever since then, when Dave wanted cookies or cake, cupcakes or a pie, he would drive the three towns over to his Gam’s kitchen, and bake while she played old records and talked. It was incredibly gay, and nobody knew, not even his parents.
But last night, after practice, Dave had driven his truck over and had baked the cookies, and had told Gram about the GSA during the commercial breaks of Jeopardy.
Gram and Pops had never said anything about Dave’s troubles the year before, had taken the news of his expulsion with somber faces, and put him to work around their house while he was out of school. The guilt had been overwhelming, and when Gram had found him crying in the kitchen over her book of cookie recipes, she had listened to his apologies, told him she loved him no matter what, and they baked lemon squares. When the first batch was in the oven, she turned to him and said:
“Sometimes, it’s hard to look at you and see a young man. My old eyes see my little grandson covered in flour. But today I have seen a glimpse of the man you can become, one who recognizes the consequences of his own actions, and desires to grow and change. I couldn’t be more proud.”
“Gram...”
“It won’t be easy, your road,” She had gone on to say, “You’ve done bad things, and you know it. But nothing so bad it can not be fixed in time.”
He had almost told her right then, that he was gay and was terrified of what his parents would say and even more scared of what would happen at school and that he was all twisted up inside and things just happened when he saw the beautiful boy that was everything he wanted to be, and everything he wanted all at once. But, the buzzer dinged and he took the squares out of the oven, and kept his silence. When he left that day, he hugged his Gram extra tight, and she held back, like she knew there was something, and that she would wait to hear it, as long as it took. The next day, his father got him back into school. Still, Dave found himself at his Gram’s at least once a week, usually after a bad day; mixing and kneading and rolling was sometimes exactly what he needed to bring about some much needed calm.
“What kind of cookies?” Kurt asked.
“Chocolate chip, sugar, and peanut butter,” Dave said. “I figured, first meeting, people might come back if we have cookies.”
“Are you going to bring in cookies every week?” Kurt asked.
Dave shrugged. “Maybe we can set up a thing. Alternate people or something. I just--thought it was a good idea.”
“No, it is,” Kurt said. “Especially if--” Kurt tugged at the tupperware lid and it popped open. He pulled out a chocolate chip cookie and took a bite. “Oh, yes,” he said, almost moaning the word, fuck, “Especially if they’re this good.”
Dave felt his ears flush, and he shrugged. “Thanks.”
“There’s only one problem,” Kurt said.
“Oh?”
“I don’t wanna share,” Kurt clutched the container to his chest, and pouted. Dave laughed, eyes locked on the just of Kurt’s lower lip. Damnit.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make you more.”
The lip lowered as Kurt’s mouth opened. “You made these?” he asked. Dave started. Shit. “I thought you said--”
“I did, shh,” Dave looked around but they were still the only ones in the classroom. “Don’t spread it around. I made ‘em at my Gram’s. Everyone thinks she’s this, like, baking fool. But--it calms me down, you know?”
“I know,” Kurt said. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Dave snorted. “Yeah, I’m not worried.” Kurt smiled back and Dave knew it was because, of everything Kurt was keeping secret for Dave, his hidden life as a baker was pretty damn low on the list in order of importance.
But then Besite was there, smiling at Kurt and Dave in her typical gruff way, and the girl from Glee followed, so Dave moved away from Kurt to put the cookies on the desk next to the flyers, and cover his nerves by talking to Beiste. The Glocks followed the Glee girls in, then, surprisingly Coach Sylvester showed up with a number of Cheerios following in V formation. Santana was with them, and she sat next to Brittany, and gave Dave a look that said the fuck are you looking at? Dave hid a smile. He didn’t care why she was there, he was just glad she was. For as understanding as Kurt was, Dave thought Santana got it a little better, by simple virtue of living it. Lauren Pizes was next, with a small group of burly underclassmen that Dave thought might have been on the wrestling team with her. She walked up behind Puckerman, smacked him upside the head, and when he turned, feathers ruffled, she just stared at him until he kissed her cheek. Apparently they were still together. Weird. There were one or two other stragglers, all underclassmen that Dave only vaguely recognized as yeah, he or she might go to my school. I think. And finally, Mrs. P and Senior Shue came in, closing the door behind them.
Everyone settled in, and Kurt was getting ready to make introductions when the door opened again, and Brett walked in, looking like he had just taken the blue pill. He saw the cookies everyone was eating, smiled dreamily, and drifted over to grab some for himself. He sat on the floor next to the desk, and munched on his cookies. Dave wondered if he was coherent enough to recognize what club this was, and if not, if he would at least remain docile enough to not cause any problems.
“Okay, then,” Kurt said, and Dave took a deep breath, and went to stand with him. Time to man up, Dave. “I’m Kurt Hummel, and this is Dave Karofsky. We’d like to welcome to the first meeting of the McKinley High Gay-Straight Alliance. As the title implies, and I hope you’re aware, you do not have to be gay to be in this club. You can be anything, gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, transexual, questioning, or somewhere in the middle, and be in this club. You can be a straight ally and be in this club. You never have to confirm, deny, or justify your presence in this club. All that is required is a belief that non-cis-gendered, non-hetereosexuals deserve equal treatment as cis-gendered heterosexuals.”
Dave looked around the room at the blank faces. Most, like Puckerman, looked a little bored, or like Brett, too interested in the cookies. Some, like Finn, were nodding along without really understanding what they were nodding for. Dave sighed.
“Or, in plain English, that means that you don’t think someone should be treated less for their sexuality or gender.”
“Exactly,” Kurt said, without breaking stride. “There is a lot of terminology that can be thrown around, with the purpose of being as specific as possible in order to, well, be specific and, in a way, avoid offence, but it boils down to just that: the club is here for equal treatment.”
“In planning this club,” Dave said, “We decided the best place to start would be in creating what’s called a “safe-space”, a place where you can be yourself without fear.”
“We all know how hard it is to be in this school, the cliques, the clubs--”
“The teams and the hierarchy,”
“And we want this club to exist outside of those pressures,” Kurt said. “So, we would like to make it a rule, right here and now, that inside this classroom, during this time, we are not defined by the clubs we belong to, by the sports that we play, but by our desire to end the hate here at McKinley. Are we agreed?”
There were some nods, and Beiste stepped forward with a stack of papers. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Coach Beiste. I have, here, contracts for you each to sign, swearing to keep to the rules of this club; that you will keep secrets that are not ready to be shared, that you will treat each other with respect, and that you will do what you can to limit discriminatory behavior and promote equality.” Beiste handed half to Dave and half to Kurt. Dave took one and passed the rest on. He pulled a pen out of the pocket of his letterman and signed his name at the bottom.
“Now,” Kurt said. “Let’s get to know each other. We’re going to go around the room. So please, say your name, your grade, and anything else you want us to know. This is not us fishing for you to come out, especially if you’re not ready. Please, only share what you are comfortable with everyone knowing. Hopefully, as we meet and get to know each other, coming out is something that will happen naturally. I’ll start. My name is Kurt, I’m a senior, and since it’s no secret, I’m gay.” He looked at Dave.
“Uh,” Dave said. “I’m Dave. I’m a senior.”
Unsurprisingly, nobody was volunteering much information. Finn did say he was here to support his brother, Brittany that she liked “boy lips and lady-lips, but Kurt’s lips most of all, because they were soft like lady-lips, but firm like boy-lips,” and Dave had to stop himself from nodding in agreement. Sylvester won for weirdest, however, when she admitted to being “Sue-sexual.” Whatever that was.
“Wonderful,” Kurt clapped his hands, and Dave pulled out a notebook. “Now, since the whole purpose of the club is to create comfort, Dave and I thought we’d taylor the club’s activities to what we, as a club, want. What are some things you want to see happen?”
There was silence for a moment, before the asian chick from Glee, Tara? Tina! raised her hand. “I think it’d be cool if we could have some sort of assembly, you know? Get the awareness we’re generating to the entire school.”
“That’s a great idea, Tina,” Kurt said, and Dave wrote assembly.
“Maybe not this week,” Mrs. P said, “Passing assemblies takes time.”
“Maybe we can plan it next week?” Mercedes said. “Figure out what we wanna do before we take it to Figgins.” Dave nodded, writing plan next week.
“Day of Silence,” someone, Dave didn’t see who, called out.
“National Coming Out day.”
“I’d just want to talk.”
“Myths!”
“We’re doing a day on stereotypes and misconceptions,” Kurt said. “But this is great! What else?”
“One at a time,” Dave said under his breath, finally writing myths.
There were a few more suggestions tossed out before they trickled out. “This is wonderful! Anybody else?”
Dave cleared his throat. “I’d like to do something with postsecret,” he said. He looked out. “Uh, those of you who know me, or of me, might know that I’m in anger management, and my therapist turned me onto this site, postsecret dot com?”
“Dude, that site’s badass. There’s some crazy stuff people say,” Puckerman said. Dave was a little surprised he knew the site, but nodded.
“Exactly. It’s all anonymous, but people, like, write their secrets on postcards and send them in and the dude puts them on the site for everyone to see. Because secrets are nothing but pressure, and if you don’t tell somebody, well--it’s a great place if you have no way to vent. And sometimes, just knowing other people have the same secret, makes you feel, I dunno, connected.”
“What kind of secrets?” one of the Cheerios asked.
“Anything,” Dave said. “There’s some sex stuff, like, ‘My parents don’t know I’m gay,’ kind of things, and ‘My husband doesn’t know I’m cheating,” but there’s also things, like, ‘I like to pee in the shower.’ And, some of the secrets can be pretty dark, like, people who’ve thought of killing themselves, or hurting themselves, and the site has connections to, like, suicide prevention and self-help hotlines. And there’s like forums and stuff. It’s a really cool site.” Dave stopped talking and looked around, people were nodding their heads, and this time, it seemed to be because they were on board with the plan.
“That sounds like a great idea,” Beiste said. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well,” Dave said. “Maybe we could get, I dunno, one of the boards or something? And we could set up a box somewhere, maybe Ms. P’s office?” Mrs. P nodded. “And then, the secrets we get in, we could put up on the board.” He paused. “And, if we’re worried about vandalism, we can publish them in a book.”
“And I can provide pamphlets, if necessary,” Mrs. P said. Shue smiled at her in that way adult do when they think they’re being subtle. There was definitely something going on there.
“Great idea, Dave,” Kurt said, quietly. Dave nodded, and wrote postsecret in his book.
Things wrapped up pretty quickly after that, the meeting sliding from something formal into a general gathering. Dave eased over to the desk, taking stock of what was left, and re-writing his notes into something recognizable; he figured Kurt, at least, would want a copy, and he was pretty sure Beiste would need one for her records. A shadow fell over his paper, and he looked up.
“Good work, Yogi,” Sylvester said.
“Uh, thanks, Coach,” Dave said. Sylvester nodded, and left, her Cheerios leaving with her, still in V formation.
“What was that about?” Kurt asked, just behind him. Dave shook his head.
“I don’t think I want to know.”
Chapter 4