#kurson

When a student approached him to tell him that Mr. Figgins wanted him in his office, he was half-inclined to just ignore it. But the reality that Carson was about 97% more likely to have pissed someone off than the soft-spoken Kurt made him decide this was not a misdirected message.

Once there, he waved at the slightly balding secretary as he peered inside Mr. Figginʼs office. Inside, a tall dark-haired man was already sitting and talking to the principal... and it looked like someone was in his lap.

“Oh, you can go in, dear,” she assured him.

Carson decided that this woman was likely the most sane, and kind adult in the building, and he determined to learn (and try to remember) her name.

When he entered the room, Mr. Figgins was smiling harder than Carson had ever seen him... Had he ever seen him smile?

“Mr. Phillips! Sit down,” he said in his sing-song tone.

Carson tentatively moved toward the second chair, then realized that Sugar was the person perched in the manʼs lap. Probably, hopefully, her fatherʼs.

“Hii-eeee,” she said with a huge smile.

“Whatever I did, I didnʼt mean to be an asshole,” Carson said sincerely. Sugar laughed.

“Not at all!” Mr. Figgins waved a check around. “According to Mr. Motta, his daughter is very, very interested in becoming a part of your little club-”

“Newspaper,” Carson corrected.

“And is willing to donate this very, very generous check if you allow Sugar to be on the staff.”

Carson glared a little at Figginsʼs Cheshire smile. It didnʼt take a super-sleuth to figure out what changed this guyʼs attitude so quickly.

“Yeah, I met with Sugar this weekend, and Iʼm happy to have her on the main staff. Itʼs always good to have a section on finance, I think, since high school kids arenʼt forced to think about the world outside these walls often enough.”

Sugar bobbed her head. “Almost everyone in this school is stupid.”

Mr. Motta patted Sugarʼs leg. “Filter, darling.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“I will also cover any and all expenses for your newspaper, Mr. Phillips,” Mr. Motta said. “And Iʼve arranged for the abandon eastern wing on the first floor to be fumigated to free up a classroom for your exclusive use.”

“Oh. Well, thatʼs very generous.” Carson boggled.

“Weʼll need to keep a lock on the door to protect the laptops when your members arenʼt using it-”

“Laptops...?”

“As well as whatever printing equipment you need, or expenses you might incur for travel assignments.”

“I... Wow. Thank you.” Carson could only nod dumbly.

Sugar winked at him and made a ʻmoneyʼ gesture by rubbing her thumb against her fingers.

“My Sugarʼs a supernova, Figgie,” Mr. Motta declared.

“You have a deal,” Mr. Figginʼs slapped the desk lightly. Then he shouted into the office outside his door. “Mr. Danny Brown, Mr. Motta has just ended our toilet paper shortage with this enormous check. Wipe away!”

Carson stared for a moment. “Oh... kay. Right. I have to go.”

Sugar rose and Mr. Motta followed them to the hallway, where he bent over to pet her hair and kissed her forehead.

“Have a good day, my darling, and take no bull,” he advised.

“Thank you, Daddy!” She bounced in place, then turned to follow Carson.

“You really didnʼt have to do that to get into the club,” Carson told her. “I just want you to know that even though we need to work some on your writing, I would have included you at least on a monthly basis. Okay? Your insights are worth having.”

“Oh, I know. But my dad was upset that I was upset over Glee, and when I told him about everything Saturday night, he wasnʼt happy that we didnʼt have a budget or anything. The newspaper last year was horrible and dumb. Coach Sylvester just ran it to upset the kids in Glee club and make fun of them.”

“What is her problem? Iʼve never seen a teacher with less professionalism, and my last principal openly laughed at me and cut out of work to get his colon looked at.”

“Oh, Carson,” she said, with a hint of amusement. “Money. Money money money. The Cheerios are still the most successful athletes in the school, even after losing Nationals last year. They get the endorsements, and Coach Sylvester is kind of a local celebrity, even though her show is morally and intellectually fucked. Up. Nothing she says makes sense, ever. But that doesnʼt matter, because she brings the school attention and money.”

“She also talks to the students in a way that should get her fired six times over.”

“What Mr. Schuester said should get him fired. But my dad said he wouldnʼt fire a teacher just for telling me no.” She pouted.

“Itʼs sort of how he said no. Did he call you a name, the way she does?”

“No. He just said that I wasnʼt good enough.” Sugar raised a brow. “Did you really get in?”

“I honestly think itʼs just because everyone thinks I look like Kurt.” Carson almost felt apologetic. Sheʼd clearly picked up that they were headed for the choir room, but didnʼt stop walking.

“Kurt is too precious for this world. I donʼt know him much, except that he once ducked in front of a bully to keep him from shoving me last year, and he told one of the Cheerios off for saying I dressed like a tranny. So I like him. Also, his boyfriend is greasy and looks at other boys.”

“I have this intense, visceral dislike of the guy. I donʼt know what it is. Maybe it is all the crap in his hair. Maybe he reminds me of a more ego-centric Scott Thomas, if thatʼs possible.” Carson paused. He was blanking even on what Kurtʼs boyfriend was called. Heʼd referred to him as a bird-clown in his thoughts so often that he hadnʼt managed to remember, even though Kurt talked about him all the time. “He was the guy at my last school who basically ran all of the theatre productions, and made himself the lead.”

“I donʼt know him either, except I met him at an event over in Westerville this summer. He gets on the furniture all the time. Like a dog.” She tilted her head to the side. “Maybe you should bring a spray bottle to Glee to squirt at him when he misbehaves.”

Carson laughed. “Maybe I should. Thanks for being cool about my being in the club. I canʼt really see myself doing the things they do, you know. In public. But I promised Kurt I would at least try in exchange for their help on the newspaper and magazine.”

“Now you have money. You can quit.”

“I still need people to contribute. And theyʼre not all terrible.”

“Rachel is. She sent a girl to a crackhouse last year.”

Carson stopped walking. “Is that true?”

“I think so. I heard about it.”

“Which one is Rachel? I canʼt remember any of their names.”

“Sheʼs short and loud and even more full of herself than Blaine.”

Oh, right. Blaine was the bird-clown. “Iʼll keep an eye out.”

Carson hovered at the doorway, but Sugar gave him a push to keep going.

“Anyway, they should be done getting the raccoons out of our classroom by the end of the week,” she said.

“Raccoons?!” Carson leaned forward in disbelief.

Sugar gave a wave to everyone in the club. “Hiiii-eeee!” She looked back at Carson. “And I think weʼll have to ʻcheck outʼ the laptops to keep track of them, officially, but as editor, youʼll get one of your own, and maybe Kurt, too, okay? So you can get all your work done even when the school has to close up.”

“This is a crazy amount of generous. I had to cut a deal with my mom the last time I needed money for journalism activities and promise to go on anti-depressants. She thought they would make me nicer.”

Sugar shrugged. “If there were a pill to make people nicer, Mr. Schue should take it.”

Carson pressed his lips together and nodded. He hated that she still felt so bad. But there was nothing he could do about it.

“I take pills for being anxious all the time,” she said matter-of-factly. “Only itʼs not all the time anymore because of the pills. My brain keeps telling me Iʼm going to die. But thatʼs just not likely for most situations.”

As Mr. Schue entered, she frowned and stared at him. “Sugar?” He stared at her awkwardly for a moment. “How are-”

“Iʼm not staying. We were just talking ʻshop.ʼ” Sugar turned back to Carson, and before he could pull back, leaned in with a little squeak to give him a big hug. “Okay, okay. Bye. Iʼll email you my next draft.”

“Thanks...” Carson rubbed the back of his head and made for the open seats.

“Weʼre getting laptops?” Kurt asked.

“Heard that, huh? Weʼre getting laptops, and a classroom, and printing equipment. Did you know Sugarʼs dad would bankroll everything?” Carson asked. He didnʼt know why he was suddenly so suspicious. Maybe because everyone at this school was conniving and crazy.

“No. I mean, I knew she had money, in general...” Kurt shrugged his shoulders high. “Hence the recommendation for finance column.”

“Well, she sure likes you,” Carson said.

“I... I donʼt even really know her.”

“She said you protected her from bullies last year.” Carson watched Kurtʼs face. He seemed a little surprised, which was odd. Wouldnʼt he remember?

“Maybe?” Kurt spread his hands. “It was all a lot more rampant last year. There were a couple of incidents with jocks hassling freshmen in the first week of school.”

That sort of boggled Carsonʼs mind. “A couple of incidents.” Kurt protected people, as a reflex. He didn’t even recognize which kids he’d intervened for. No wonder the local girl gang had him on auto-protect.

“She didnʼt come to class much last year,” the Asian girl in the yellow dress and knee-high boots said. (Carson felt a stab of guilt for not remembering her name. Thinking of her as “Asian Girl” was pretty bad. He decided to call her Mod Girl for now.) “Sheʼd come for a few days, then disappear for weeks at a time. Or just come at the beginning of the day and disappear for the rest. Iʼm not sure if she even counts as a sophomore, technically.”

Carson thought about that for a moment. If Sugar had problems with attendance and anxiety, maybe that was why she was at a completely awful public school like this. Her father could probably afford for her to go to any of the local private schools. Or personal tutors... but if he wanted her to be able to get out there and interact with people, and she had been the one on Saturday to say she wanted to be a part of something, then McKinley might be their only option. At least, and still keep her in the state.

***

Kurt heaved a sigh as Mr. Schue got class going. Blaine had taken a seat directly between himself and Carson, so Carson couldnʼt lean over and ask for explanations when he got lost. That was a bit irritating, but Kurt also knew that Blaine was still a bit miffed about last week, and heʼd gotten pissed on Sunday that Kurt hadnʼt wanted to hang out. He’d been busy writing up this weekʼs article for the Arts and Entertainment section.

Carson seemed to have spaced out anyway. He was frowning deeply, and not really looking at Mr. Schue as he talked about what Vocal Adrenaline was up to this season. It was too bad that Goolsby wouldnʼt be with them again... for purely aesthetic reasons.

“So handsome.” Artie seemed to agree. Kurt looked down at him curiously.

Mr. Schue continued, telling them he wouldnʼt be directing the musical, but focusing on “Nationals, Nationals, Nationals!” Kurt bounced a little in his seat with each repetition.

Then the words “Booty Camp” appeared on the board.

“I am instituting a mandatory Booty Camp so that we can work on our dancing. Now, itʼs not for all of you. Just the people that I think need help. Like-”

Finn shook his head and sighed. “Finn.”

“How did you know?” Mr. Schue said with a smile. “And Puckerman-” He pointed with his marker. “Hummel-”

Kurt felt blood rush to his face and made a noise. He never had trouble picking up choreography! At least when Mr. Schue deigned to provide it more than a week in advance of the performance! He raised his hand. “I must protest.”

“You kinda have one move,” Mike said. “Itʼs like this sashay, and itʼs super distracting.”

He demonstrated with his shoulders. And everyone laughed. Kurt thought he might choke on his humiliation.

“Sounds like a personal problem,” Carson said in a low, bored voice. Several people laughed. “Your girlfriend okay with that?”

Now Mike was flushing. “I didnʼt mean distracted as in... distracted!”

Kurt covered his mouth and laughed softly. Tina was looking at him with one brow raised.

“If you want to be distracted with Kurt, Iʼm okay as long as I get to watch,” she said.

“Stop,” Mike practically hissed.

“Also,” Carson continued. “Thatʼs a shimmy, not a sashay. A sashay is a kind of walk. I know that, and Iʼve not danced a day in my life.”

“Yeah, the sashay is an entirely different dance move. One that I use, as well as backflips, hip swivels, and the technically profound ʻmonster,ʼ” Kurt said, and then made a the Gaga monster claw in the air.

“This is not optional, Kurt,” Mr. Schue said.

Puck made a noise, blowing air through his lips, and glanced back at Kurt, muttering “fuck” under his breath.

For the first time, maybe ever, Kurt felt a shared bond with the guy. Puck didnʼt really mess up choreo either. He just needed a normal amount of time to rehearse, and maybe he wasnʼt terribly graceful, but few of their dancers were.

“You, too, Carson,” Mr. Schue said.

“God, I hope so,” Carson practically grumbled. “I can barely walk.”

Artie looked back at him, and Puck and Finn had laughed at that. Kurt wondered, though, after watching Carson a little when theyʼd met on Sunday, Carson having walked to the Bean again to meet him, if there wasnʼt some truth to that.

“And Jones.”

“What?” Mercedes held up her own hand of protest. “Hell to the nizzy-no!”

“You told me once that you were Beyoncé. You donʼt think she spends extra time in the dance studio? Mike Chang has offered to be my assistant and we start tomorrow. Itʼs mandatory for all of you if you want to be a part of competitions.”

Then, Blaine raised a hand. “Mr. Schuester, would you mind if I dropped by for a little bit? I really need to catch up with you guys.”

Kurt pressed his lips together in a barely suppressed smile. If he was stuck doing this, at least his boyfriend would be there. But his joy was tempered a little. Blaine had never really danced with The Warblers. Or for the club. Mr. Schue had no sense of his dancing abilities whatsoever. Why hadnʼt he been required-- ʻnot optionalʼ-- to join Remedial Dance?

“Okay, Mr. Schue,” Rachel interrupted. “Iʼm glad that youʼre so concerned with our special needs members-”

Artie made a noise and rolled his eyes. His limit on the walking and special needs jokes was clearly being reached.

“-but what about me? Okay? Whoʼs gonna direct the musical?”

Kurt reached into his messenger bag to get a notebook and a pen. As Mr. Schue talked about Coach Beiste and Ms. Pillsbury joining them, he began to make notes on the changes and additions he would need to make to his article, including McKinleyʼs first student directed film.

Ask about profile w/Artie for this later in the semester... video supplement to newspaper? Newspaper website?

Glee had often been the best part of Kurtʼs day for the better part of the past two years. But now, he left Glee club feeling heavier and even more weighted down. Blaine gave him a brief smile as they left the room and let go of his hand, heading in the other direction. Kurt knew they had different classes; Blaine had gotten behind after his switch to Dalton during his freshman year, and was therefore technically a junior, despite being a little older than Kurt, but Kurt had assumed that he could at least walk his boyfriend to class.

Instead, he found himself standing in the hallway alone as everyone scattered their separate ways.

“Booty camp,” Kurt muttered. He didnʼt need to go to his locker, so he continued down the hallway on his own.

Was this going to be how things were this year? Gay jokes still flying by the teacher in class, still getting treated like a second class member of the Glee club, still being alone at school despite having his boyfriend here? Even though Blaine had transferred because, heʼd said, that he couldnʼt stand to be apart from Kurt... He seemed pretty okay with being apart from him. Unless it meant that Kurt was spending time with Carson.

He just didnʼt know what he was going to do if Blaine couldnʼt get along with the guy, or Finn. There had been a lot of passive aggressive complaining about Finnʼs support of Carson, as well.

It felt like there was a tight cramp in between Kurtʼs shoulder blades. He shifted his bag, but that had nothing to do with it.

A moment later, a rough hand grabbed his shoulder and knocked him into a wall. Before Kurt could whip around and spit invectives at the jerk, a scrappy, dark haired girl flung herself bodily at the six-foot football player (it was Andre Jenkins) and knocked him into the lockers, screaming the F-word at him.

“Damn! Jesus, bitch! Whatʼs your problem!” Jenkins yelled.

“Keep your hands to yourself, donut puncher,” she snapped.

That was when Kurt realized who she was. Mackenzie Galiano. Kenzie. She had been friends with Quinn during sophomore year, and part of that therapy group that Quinn had named The Unwed Mothership Connection to sing “Itʼs a Manʼs World.” They hadnʼt hung out last year, but they had seemed friendly enough at the end of sophomore year. Sheʼd had to give the baby up to her grandparents, though. Kenzie really hadnʼt wanted to do that.

“Fuck off, Mack,” Jenkins said. He made a dismissive gesture and went the other way.

“Yeah, run, you fucking coward,” Kenzie said loudly enough for a few students to laugh. She turned to Kurt and gave him a wink.

“Hey. Thanks,” Kurt said.

“No prob.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the lockers. “Which one are you? Youʼre Kurt, right? Carson never puts junk in his hair.”

Kurt smiled a little, touching his skyward reaching locks. “Yeah, thatʼs true. Or he doesnʼt use much. You know Carson?”

“Weʼve run into each other a couple of times. Heʼs not as nice as you, but heʼs funny. Thatʼs cool. Are you two like brothers or something?”

“Not as far as we know.” Kurt paused for a moment. “Are you hanging out with Quinn these days?”

“Yeah. Thanks to your not-twin though, weʼve started to call her Pink.”

Kurt had seen Quinn hanging around the school, with her Manic Panic pink hair, and rough clothes, and smoking up a storm. Heʼd wanted to approach her, but since their friendship had cooled last year, while she was trying to get her status and boyfriend back, he wasnʼt sure about how much sheʼd really want to talk to any of the people in Glee. Except Mercedes, who had mentioned they were talking about people in a private Facebook chat.

Kurt dug into his bag. “Um, Iʼve already copied my notes for my AP classes into a different folder. Theyʼre still kind of messy, but... Quinn might want what sheʼs missed last week, unless sheʼs going to switch to academic?”

The teasing, joker expression that spread Kenzieʼs lips faded.

“You donʼt have to give it to her, Kenzie, but... maybe you could ask her if she wants them? Or I could make a copy of the neater notes for her...?”

“People call me The Mack now,” she said darkly.

Kurt scrunched up his nose and shrugged his head to the side. “I donʼt know how I feel about calling you that. Itʼs kind of rude and mean.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I think youʼll always be Kenzie to me.”

She rubbed her hand over her lips and cleared her throat. “Whatever. Iʼll ask her. She should drop. None of us is getting to college, even if some of our members were on the honor roll last year.”

Kurt hugged the notebook to his chest, then looked up as the warning bell rang. “Okay...” He turned, then thought better of it for a moment. “You know, college isnʼt the only option out there. My dad didnʼt go to college, and heʼs a business owner now. Well, part of the business, anyway.”

“Yeah, maybe Iʼll go be a grease monkey,” Kenzie snorted.

“Itʼs good enough for him, and heʼs a great man,” Kurt replied almost sternly.

She looked up. “Sorry.”

“Iʼm just saying... Donʼt let other people tell you what happiness is. Thereʼs not one way to be special.”

“Yeah, and all that hippy-huggy rainbow shit.” Kenzie got up and spotted another girl across the hallway. Kurt didnʼt recognize her, but he did recognize Quinn, in fishnets and a knit beanie with a hole in it sauntering up to her. “Gotta bounce, cutie.”

She crossed the hallway and grabbed Quinn around the waist, making a kissie face at her while Quinn laughed.

“Sluts,” a girl said as she walked past them.

Her friend beside her giggled, and added, “Slutty dykes.”

They laughed together and ducked into the girlʼs bathroom. Quinn put her hand on her hip and stalked after them so fast and so hard that the students parted before her like the Red Sea. Like it had when she was popular.

Kenzie and the other two girls followed her into the bathroom.

Kurt frowned, wondering if Quinn and Kenzie could really hurt those girls... But it seemed so unlike them. They would probably just scare them and tell them off. He headed for English class. He could keep making the notes for Quinn for a little while. Maybe sheʼd change her mind and start coming to class.

***

Two classes into the day, and Carson was beginning to understand the appeal of Sugarʼs attendance optional policy. Focusing was hard. Sitting in class was hard. Remembering things heʼd just read was hard.

And the whole thing was hard on his confidence that he could still go to the college of his dreams and manage to be a full time reporter. To be a reporter, you had to be able to remember things. You had to be able to get in the thick of things and stand for hours to get your quotes. You had to sit on your ass in front of your computer for as long as necessary to get the job done.

You couldnʼt have your attention span peter out two hours in and cut out on the job to keep from shaking in pain for the rest of the day.

He ducked into the stairwell, holding tightly to the railing, and rested his head against the brick behind him. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, trying to stretch out the kink in his back.

“Hey, grumpy Kurt,” a throaty voice teased.

Carson opened his eyes to see Pink standing there, with her friends behind her. The Mack had her hands on her hips, and the other two minions, whose names he had forgotten again, were carrying a couple of Walmart bags.

“Welcome to my office,” Carson said. “What can I do for you.”

Pink chuckled low in her throat. “Weʼre heading up to the roof to throw ketchup-colored tampons at the marching band.”

“Well. That sounds like a great use of your school day.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“You know, Iʼm not really sure anymore.”

She jerked her head to the stairs. “Cʼmon, join us.”

“Why torture the band geeks? Donʼt they get tortured enough by their director?” Carson asked. “Isnʼt being in band bad enough?”

“They donʼt do too bad,” one minion said. She shrugged. “They got like eighth place at Bands of America last year.”

“And I assure you, that comes with hours and hours of screaming by a deranged coach,” Carson said. “Why donʼt you save your saucy tampons for the cheerleaders?”

The girls behind Pink laughed.

“Ha ha.” She shook her head.

Carson crossed his arms. “What?”

“Nothing.” Pink sighed and crossed her own arms.

“Quinn used to be one of them,” The Mack said.

“Whoʼs Quinn?”

Now the girls laughed harder. Carson knit his brows together and started to feel embarrassed.

Pink looked back at them. “Could you just cut the shit?”

“Weʼll see you up there, angel face.” The Mack winked at Carson and started up the stairs.

“Sorry,” Carson said when they had left. “Iʼm... Iʼm in here because Iʼm kind of on sensory overload right now. Am I supposed to know who Quinn is?”

“Maybe.” Pink pulled a cigarette out of her bag, but kept it unlit. “Nah. Not really. Iʼm Quinn.”

“Oh.” Carson rolled his tongue in his cheek and looked up the stairs. What an idiot he was. “Well. Thatʼs great.”

“Why are you mad?” Pink/Quinn stepped a little closer. She seemed much more curious than offended.

“Iʼm not mad. Iʼm... Swiss cheese. Iʼm destined to work at bowling alleys and forget who rented which shoes.”

“You...” She tilted her head to the side, then smiled softly. “You didnʼt forget my name, Carson. I never told you what it was.”

Carson turned to look at her again. “Oh. Good.”

“Do you forget peopleʼs names a lot?”

“Lately. Seems like it. I canʼt remember anybody in Glee club. Except Schue, and Finn, and Kurt. But Iʼve talked to them more than once. The rest of them...” He shrugged his shoulders and threw his hands up. “Pfft.”

“Well, I had a friend who forgot stuff like that all the time. The worst part was that she couldnʼt tell people apart. Facially. Like she couldnʼt tell the difference between people if their hair or voices changed.”

“Is she going to an Ivy League school now? Holding down a high pressure job?”

“Sheʼs in the Glee club. Sheʼs the blonde Cheerio.”

“Oh, God.” Carson smacked his forehead and looked down at the ground.

“Youʼre not that bad. And anyway, sheʼs smarter than she seems. Sheʼs just not good at communicating it, or keeping up with whatʼs going on. There are different ways to be smart.”

Carson shook his head. “And one of those ways allows you to get a degree in journalism at Northwestern.”

“Pretty sure the SAT doesnʼt demand that you learn a bunch of strangersʼ names immediately.”

“Well, Iʼve already got my SAT scores. And my ACT. And my subject test scores. If I can gather the brain cells long enough to graduate high school.” Carson heaved another sigh.

“Donʼt worry so much about doing it perfect. Itʼs not possible anyway. Youʼll just make yourself miserable.”

“Iʼm always miserable.”

For some reason, that made Pink smile. Carson felt himself grow cold.

“What is it?” When he didnʼt answer right away, she prodded his arm. “Tell me.”

“What was your name again?” Her smile faded. “Iʼm... serious.”

Her eyes, in spite of the thick black eyeliner, grew tender. “Quinn. Quinn Fabray.”

“Iʼve thought of you as Pink for a week. Iʼm worried that I wonʼt be able to dislodge it. Iʼm afraid Iʼm really going to accidentally refer to one of the Glee clubbers as ʻAsian girl,ʼ or ʻDancing Jerk.ʼ”

“You can call me Pink, if you want. But those two are specifically, Tina and Mike.”

Carson nodded. “Thanks. Iʼm gonna forget before practice today, though.”

“Whenever you do, just ask me. Here. Lemme get your number.”

Carson handed her his phone. “Itʼs nice of you. Honestly. I canʼt get over how most of the people at this school are irredeemable assholes, stoners, and apathetic jerks, and the rest are just... bemusingly kind.”

“Iʼm putting my name in here as Pink Quinn. So you get used to seeing them side by side.” Pink handed his phone back to him. “Come on up to the roof with us. Itʼs fun. And youʼre late for class anyway. What do you have?”

“Calculus. And Iʼm about three times as math retarded as I was before, so thereʼs really no point. I need to drop it.”

Pink... Quinn wrinkled his nose at the ʻmath retardedʼ comment, but refrained from commenting. Instead, she held out her hand, and sang, “Cʼmon... You know you want to...”

“Not if it involves harassing the band.”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “Fine. Weʼll take it out on Coach Sylvester. She deserves it anyway. We just shook down this jerk, this morning, for calling us slutty dykes, and Sylvester took the money I stole from her.”

“You stole money from her?” Carson shook his head, but started up the stairs with her. “You guys really are a gang.”

“Wait... Let me get you an extra strength Vitamin Duh,” she said as she reached into her bag again.

“Donʼt be mean to me. I have a brain problem.”

“Did you have a head injury or something?”

“No.”

Quinn watched him pushing himself up step by step, while holding onto the railing, and slowed her ascent.

“Not technically,” Carson added.

“Well, anyway. Coach Sylvester is doing this stupid ʻThe Arts are Badʼ campaign, and she wants me to star in it, so she can get more votes from the ignorant people in this state, or something.”

“I heard about that from my aunt. That is a beyond idiotic position. Despite having joined the Glee Cult, Iʼm not really into the arts, but I know that studies have shown that it improves everything for children, from acumen in mathematics, skills in second language acquisition, self-esteem-”

“Enough with the pitch!” Quinn laughed.

“Are you going to do it?” Carson asked. They had made it almost to the door at the top, but Carson was out of breath. He stopped, trying to pretend he wasnʼt.

She wasnʼt buying it, but she stopped anyway. “I told her I would. She promised us some couches under the bleachers. But then she stole my money, and now Iʼm not so sure. I was gonna do laundry with that money. And maybe get one of those roast chickens at deli at Save-A-Lot.”

Carson frowned. “Does she do things like that all the time? How often does she steal from students and use them in her campaign?”

Quinn made a scoffing noise. “All the time. Thereʼs no end to the stories. She threw a student once. She tried to get blonde Cheerio, Brittany, to let her shoot her out of a canon. She told Kurt he could decide not to be gay. She forces the Cheerios on nonstop ʻcleansesʼ and calls them fatty like itʼs their name until they drop whatever weight she thinks they need to lose. She dressed up the other blonde Cheerio, with Downs, as a dog and made her steal all the decorations from the choir room. And our first year in Glee, she stole our set list and gave it to the competition after convincing them to use the songs so weʼd lose.”

Carson stared at her in abject disbelief.

“Sheʼs a monster. I mean, I could go on all day.”

“So why are you helping her? Donʼt say a couch.”

Quinn shrugged. “I went through a pretty hard time. I donʼt think that club really does that much to help people. It gives them a place to meet people, but...”

“You want it shut down?”

“I donʼt know. I just want her not to bother me, I guess. She canʼt do anything to me, really. Except maybe get me expelled, but I donʼt care anymore.” She smiled and rolled up her sleeves. “Iʼve got nothinʼ left to lose.”

“Youʼve got your health,” Carson pointed out. “You could get struck by lightning.”

Quinnʼs brows drew together, almost disparagingly. Then, the crease in her brow grew deeper, as though she were thinking about something very hard.

“Were you?”

Carson licked his lips and rolled his eyes. “Maybe. Whatever.”

“I didnʼt know you could survive that.”

“You can. Iʼm not sure you want to.”

“Doesnʼt your heart stop?” Her eyes were sharp and curious.

“It did. For about sixteen minutes. But someone was there, and she gave me CPR.” Carson leaned against the railing. “She shouldnʼtʼve been. It was way too late in the day for anyone to be at school, but she was, and she saw me walking outside when it happened. Itʼs probably the only reason my corpse didnʼt lay there for days, waiting for someone to find me.”

Quinnʼs lips parted, and she just stared.

“Okay. So. Iʼm gonna go.” Carson turned to head back down.

“No!” She grabbed his arm. He looked down at the stairs.

“Iʼll help. I mean, hell. I might hate the Glee club, but I still like some of them. If nothing else, if you take Coach Sylvester down, theyʼll be free from her for a few months. Sheʼs like a monster from a slasher flick. She always comes back somehow.”

Carson stood there for a moment, feeling his heart pounding preternaturally fast in his chest. “Donʼt tell anyone? I mean, about...”

“I wonʼt,” she said without asking what. “But let me know if you ever need help, okay?”

“You just promised me a big one.” Carson looked up. “So. Mr. Motta just bankrolled our newspaper. Iʼm betting we can get some recording equipment. If you can get Sylvester to talk.”

“The trick is getting her to shut up. You should start by doing a weekly column picking apart the garbage she says in her news segment,” Quinn suggested.

“Thatʼs a good idea.” Carson took a breath and started up the steps again. “Iʼm going to be so wasted doing this boot camp thing tomorrow.”

“Boot camp?”

“Okay. So this is what Schuesterʼs up to this week...”

***

Kurt left Brittanyʼs house feeling drained and even more embarrassed than he had that morning. Something about multiple cries of ʻbe yourselfʼ along with pink sparkle unicorns, a bulging pink sack, and utter rejecting of all of his own ideas... It wasnʼt very unicorn, really. Not that Kurt entirely understood this concept that Brittany was trying to force on him.

He pulled into the driveway at the house number Carson had texted to his phone with a sigh. Already, this student council race was starting to wear him down. He had been afraid, from the beginning, that no one at this school would vote for him... not for something he wanted to win.

He hopped out of his car and half jogged to the front door of the yellow house. It somehow didnʼt suit Carson to live here. It seemed like Carson would live in a house that was a bit worn around the edges, a bit of a fixer-upper. Kurt thought about his old house, before the Hudson-Hummel merger.

The doorbell played a jaunty, rhythmless tune when Kurt pressed it, and he rocked on his heels as he waited.

The door opened to the lined face of a woman with a hair color that could only have come from a box. She stepped back when she looked at Kurt, blinking slowly, and put down the glass of wine she had been drinking.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked. “And what are you wearing?”

Kurt opened his mouth, but couldnʼt think of what to say. This had to be Carsonʼs aunt.

“Hey,” Carsonʼs grouchy voice interrupted the stair off, and she looked back at Carson, who appeared wearing a Henley and a pair of worn jeans. “Could you let him in? We need to work. Iʼm tired.”

Kurt gave the woman a pinkie wave as she stepped back and followed Carson into the kitchen.

“Iʼd take you to my room, but itʼs a closet,” he said. “Oh.”

Carson paused as he leaned over the laptop and looked up at Kurt. Then he saluted. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and touched the brim of his captainʼs hat. “Ha ha.”

“Well, you look grumpy. You look like me. Whatʼs up?” Carson stepped back from the computer and gestured to the chair. “I put marginal comments on your article. Itʼs good. Light tone, but not drivel.”

“Aww. Thank you,” Kurt said wryly. He took the chair and started to look over the comments. “I just got back from dropping Brittany off at her house. Itʼs sweet that she wants to help me with the campaign, but Iʼm seriously rethinking having her run it.”

“Brittany.” Carson nodded slowly. “And a campaign.”

Kurt looked up with a frown. “Did I tell you Iʼm running for student body president? Iʼm running for student body president.”

“You want to be on the student council?”

“I want to have something big on my resume for college... and to be honest, it would give me a position to set the tone for a few things in this school. You may have noticed that our school has a severe bullying problem.”

“And a raccoon problem, apparently,” Carson drawled.

Kurt smiled and continued making edits. “I think from the seat of the student council, I could do something to make things a little better. I know, ʻIt Gets Better,ʼ but for a lot of kids, they canʼt really wait. And McKinley is just... Itʼs a really rough place to be sometimes.”

“I believe that.” Carson shrugged and went to the sink. “Good luck with that. Iʼm sort of headed in the same direction myself.”

Kurt turned his head. “Youʼre running for president?”

“NO.” Carson snorted. “Never. I spent the afternoon interviewing Cheerios about their demented leader, Sue Sylvester, and watching online videos of ʻSueʼs Corner.ʼ Sheʼs certifiable.”

“You think...” Kurt lifted his chin slightly. “Are you going to get her fired?”

“Pink doesnʼt think I can do it, but I think can at least stir things up enough that the school board might get involved. And with enough bad publicity, itʼll tank her campaign.”

“Thatʼs genius.” Kurt added a few new sentences to clarify who would be directing the upcoming musical, and details about auditioning. “Iʼll give you an interview, too, if you need it. I was on the Cheerios, for a season. I could confirm some stories.”

“But she left you alone? Pink said Sylvester messed with you, too.”

“Yeah, a little. But she also helped me. Iʼm not saying you should hold back because she was nice, once, when it seemed like what I was going through reflected on her beliefs, but... Iʼm not really the one you could say got destroyed by her.”

“Youʼre not on the squad anymore, though.”

“...No. I.. um. That kind of had to do with my dad. I was in the middle of a growth spurt, and I was losing too much weight. I donʼt like to worry him, and... you know, he gets enough crap about his son being gay, anyway. I try to minimize his exposure to other peopleʼs opinions, and sometimes it means removing yourself from the spotlight.”

Carson was quiet for a long moment. When Kurt had finished his edits, he turned around again.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Iʼm just... thinking.”

“Youʼre such a boy. Thinking about what?”

“Youʼre a boy. Itʼs just... I donʼt think Iʼd ever do something like that for my dad.”

“Well, you donʼt have to. Not everyone has a great relationship with their parents. Look at Quinn.” Kurt paused, then said, “Pink.”

“I know her name,” Carson said almost defensively.

“Okay? Iʼm just saying. She and her dad were very close... when she did everything he wanted. I donʼt think heʼs deserved her devotion for some time now.”

“What an ass.” Carson made a grumpy noise and turned to the cabinet. “You want something to drink?”

“Waterʼs fine.”

“We also have some snacks.” He peered around. “Iʼm going to be adding a section each week responding to Sueʼs Corner.”

“Oh, God... Thatʼs great. I mean, thatʼs really going to piss her off, but itʼs so great.” Kurt got up and went to where he was standing. “Iʼll take a banana.”

“Youʼre way too healthy,” Carson accused.