A/N: Obviously I do not own Glee.

Much thanks to SwingGirlatHeart for her advice/help on this as well as AWritersFantasy and Author_by_Night

I am NOT Brad the Piano Guy.

Except that, okay, I kind of am.

Ask anyone else around here before Glee began, and I was Mr. Kellerman, official ninth grade English teacher at McKinley High. I was in the Glee Club back in the day when Bryan Ryan was Glee Club God and Scheuster was lusting after Terri…whatshername.

I was 'Special K' until I was Brad the Piano Guy to them back in those days.

When Scheuster started up New Directions, he asked me if I'd help out. Honestly, he never said more than two words to me back in our old highschool days, and I was honestly surprised he remembered who I was. But really, I didn't think it'd be a year-long thing, so I said yes. I was sort of hoping for an introduction when this whole thing started and we had our first Glee Club meeting, but I was jus there. Like the clock on the wall.

And once again, for the first time since my own Glee Club Days, I was Brad the Piano Guy.

Not that I minded.

I liked working with the kids. I liked watching them grow as artists, people and as a team. I mean, that's why we teach, right?

Those kids should've won.

I wonder if this is some parallel universe I'm trapped in and in another place, we wiped the floor with Vocal Adrenaline's smug little asses.

A guy can dream, right?

Seriously, I just don't understand. I mean, I know Sue hates them. She sure as hell didn't let them win first place, but I can't imagine the other judges not even PLACING them.

Especially not after the way Jockstrap was killing them on his Journey leads, and he knew it. They all did great. He's head-over-heels for Her Fabulousness, and the chemistry showed.

And Oliva Freakin' Newton-John pandered to the group that did a tribute mash-up to her?

I'm throwing away the Grease soundtrack when I get home and deleting all of her songs from it on my playlist, including and especially Physical because after what Sue said she told her, kind of just makes me want to sit on my couch and be fat for the rest of my life. I mean, honestly, it was just…cruel.

And now we're not getting funding for Glee Club next year because we couldn't bring home a trophy? All that work for nothing?

I worked my ass of on those songs. Those kids poured their hearts into every note, every step. They didn't deserve…not to place. And now that we didn't place, it's all over.

I'll never again feel the cold glare of Cruella Deville because I didn't play it at the pace she wanted.

Because of course, if they mess up, it's always the accompanist's fault.

But you know, after working all year with these kids week after week, slaving away for hours and hours over and over again on the keyboard over those damn mash-up arrangements (Hair with Crazy in Love?) I like R&B as much as the next German-American white guy, and by themselves, they're fine songs, but that's like mashing up Bach with Rachmnainoff (okay, unless you're a piano nerd like me, that'll go completely over your head, so I'll shut up now). But still, COME ON, people! Who was high on what when that decision was made and where can I get some?

I mean, really people, after spending all my weekends practicing for days at a time, giving up a social life, stopping only for the most rudimentary human needs, you could at least pick a tune that actually…oh, I don't know, makes sense with an iconic song like the title number from such a ground-breaking show like Hair, but I digress.

Although I have to admit, The Divine Miss M and Artie McFly sounded pretty great together on that duet. McFly's one of those kids who constantly surprises me. You should see that kid wail on guitar, and McFly was probably a black dude in another life. How else would you explain the fact that the nerdy visage he has covers up a hidden fountain of funk?

Fountain of funk? Geez…I must really be loosing it here. But I mean, under the circumstances, can you blame me?

McFly, though, he's really cute with Dragon-Lady (I think her name is Tina or something). It just seems like they're two old souls who found each other, and that's nice for them.

But taste and romance aside, after putting up with Scheuster constantly whining about his problems with Sue and his revolving-door romances (I should be so lucky), and Her Royal Fabulousness, Miss Rachel B and Queen Kurt, Prince of Prada constantly competing for Lady and Lady of Divadom, you'd think I'd be acknowledged with a little more respect.

I mean, holy high notes, Batman…they're both insanely talented. They're ALL insanely talented. Can't we all just sing in harmony for once? Seriously guys, why can't it just…be about the music?

But if I actually said this, would they listen?

Of course not…I'm just…Brad the Piano Guy.

I mean, really…I even went to Carmel with Her Fabulousness out of the kindness of my heart. All the thanks I get for playing that crappy Lady Gaga song for her to sing with her (and I use the term loosely) mother was an introduction to Shelby "The Shark" Corcoran. And of course, just like the rest of them, Sharky doesn't even bother to ask me what my last name is…doesn't know it…doesn't care. Instead, I'm introduced as 'Brad the Piano Guy' who apparently…

…just appears.

All because I'm Brad the FREAKIN' Piano Guy.

Yes, you should picture massive passive-aggressive (wow, say THAT three-times fast! And bonus, it rhymes!) air-quotation mark of death that I'm making in my mind, but I can't right now, because I'm sitting here in the hallway and someone will see me. I'm sitting here waiting in the hall way because they're clearing out our choir room while I'm waiting for them to take…

My baby away.

And it's taking everything I have to hold it together right now.

Oh crap, they did NOT just put that trophy on top of the piano? Do they WANT to be responsible for my massive coronary?

I'd like to scream. I'd like to cry. I'd like to shake my fists up at the sky (wow, that could be a great beginning line for a song…must remember that one for the song-writing notebook), but right now, it's just taking every ounce of will I have to just be zen about everything that has happened over the last few days.

And not just to me, but to them.

It's one thing dealing with Will's divorce and all his drama.

Big, serious, scary life-stuff is happening all around me with people who shouldn't have to learn what life is about just yet.

Her Royal Cattiness, Miss Queen Q got herself in a delicate condition and had her baby, who was adopted by The Shark herself.

Hopefully, it'll be a pass to fly the straight and narrow for Daddy Dearest and knock some sense into him for awhile. They named her Beth and I was the one to facilitate that message to the group, which was…admittedly…pretty damn awesome.

He's not a bad kid. He just…needs a little guidance. I think glee club was good for him. It was good for all of them. I mean, it means I'm a LOT freer for gigs that actually PAY these days, but still, too bad it's over now.

And it's not like our kids missed a step or sang out of tune either. They were on fire that night. So was I, and you could feel the energy in the room. It was like every neuron and electron in every atom in every cell was turned on at once, and everyone knew it. Energy begets energy, and energy was definitely getting' begettin'.

And oh my GOD! My girl Q! Going into labor right after the performance. I mean, Baby Beth, that was some nice timing there.

And the best of who they were, the best of what they had to offer the world wasn't good enough (note to self: put it in possible song-lyric book for later use).

And it took me years to learn that one, but still, it breaks my heart that they had to learn that particular horrible part of life at such a young age.

I should tell them that their dreams aren't gone just because awards weren't won. Life has a funny way of giving you good luck when you need it the most.

And I'm deleting everything Josh freaking Groban ever recorded, too…well…except the Chess Concert Album, because that's just insane, and really, you shouldn't remove monumental showgasmic recordings of cracktastic proportions without strong, careful consideration.

And besides, as I've said, now is the time for Zen.

Because I mean, I'm waiting in the hall here and now is clearly not the time to spaz. Emma's a germophobe; that's a given. Sue's well…Sue. And then there's that new teacher that I get the impression was saner when she was ON drugs.

Those people? They're all crazy and everyone expects it and it's like The Freaking Twilight Zone around here when they actually start to act like normal people with all their screws in tact.

But me?

Brad the Piano Guy?

I'm quiet. I'm calm. I'm hormonally balanced and I am here as I have always been…to do nothing more than pretty much everything and blend into the background.

Because that's what Brad the Piano Guy does.

I don't ask for much. I listen to them. I do my best on every shitty showtune they ask me to play. I'm doing this for goddamn free. I'm the English Lit teacher for crying out loud! All I want is an occasional "Thank you for all your hard work," or maybe a "really great job today, Brad"

But what do they do?

They finally started acknowledging me as Brad the Piano Guy two weeks out of school. I appear out of nowhere and do my worker-bee best.

Because I'm Brad the Piano Guy.

And that's what Brad the Piano Guy does.