Chapter Thirteen

Calm Facades

Utter pandemonium ensued in a fish-themed restaurant, all thanks to a bored waitress named Bridget Thorpe.

Bridget hadn't meant to endanger Blaine Anderson's life. In fact, the thought never crossed her mind until the crowd forced itself into the restaurant she earned minimum wage at. She had called up her friend Melanie for bragging once she'd confirmed with her own eyes that the celebrity was in her workplace. How was she supposed to know that Melanie, her on and off BFF who craved drama infinitesimally more than the average teenage girl, was currently on her off stage and hadn't bothered to tell her? And she hadn't anticipated that Melanie would go on and tell nearly everybody she knew in Ohio to go to Fishtastic for a "celebrity meet and greet" because Blaine Anderson was apparently Melanie's new best friend.

Bridget watched, in horror as the shrieks and chants continued on in the tiny restaurant. The table that Blaine and his familiar-looking friend were sitting at was now practically being held up in favor of grabbing at the star.

"Please don't touch my friend here," she heard Blaine plead from where he was being harrassed.

"Who is he?" screeched one of the more intense fans, snatching Blaine's hood with great force. "Oh my God, is he your boyfriend?"

"Unhand me," Blaine said in response, throwing his calm facade to the wind. "Please don't touch us."

"WHO IS HE?" growled the fan again, tugging so hard at the hood that it partially tore away from the rest of the hoodie. "I DEMAND ANSWERS."

"Please leave us alone!" Blaine demanded.

Bridget ducked under the counter and pulled out her cell phone. Mere minutes ago, she had used it to call that backstabber to report. Now she was calling the police.

Kurt was not enjoying the new found fame he was gaining from being Blaine's friend. Especially because fangirls were tugging at his once perfectly coiffed hair and demanding answers to intrusive questions.

Kurt didn't even know if he was Blaine's boyfriend. How was he supposed to answer questions about the matter if even he was unsure?

The boy in the green sweater slipped through the throng of chanting teenage girls and, more sparingly, boys, and held out a hand for Kurt to grab.

"Better to get you out first," he shouted over the shrieks, "since you're collateral damage and all."

Kurt reluctantly took his hand, and the boy began to pull him forcibly through the crowd. A few more girls tried to grab at him, but the boy in the green sweater glared at them and pushed through until they were just outside of the restaurant.

"I'm going back in for Blaine," said the admittedly handsome boy. "Stay here, okay? Don't let any crazed fans in."

"Who are you?" Kurt demanded to know. He also wanted to know why the guy would think that Kurt would be able to stop Blaine's crazed fans at the door, but he didn't bothered to voice the notion.

The boy paused, his hand on the doorknob. "I'm a friend of Blaine's," he said, and he slipped into the restaurant again.

Dalton Academy, centered in Westerville, Ohio, took pride in its calm facade. To an outsider, the school was a place of sanctuary, chock-full of calm and behaving students. The classy architecture of the school seemed to be reflected within the student body, as they all spoke to newcomers and visitors with an air of proper manners and wealth. Even the teachers were easily fooled by the boys' acting.

But beyond the classrooms, furnished with the finest mahogany desks and chairs a mere step down from thrones, was a secret that the Dalton Academy students, especially the Warblers, were intent on keeping.

That secret was of the true insanity.

A teenage boy has to let loose at least once, you know. These boys just preferred to let loose quite frequently.

As soon as the hall monitor finished his patrolling at half past nine, the doors in the dormitories would fling open, and teenage boys dressed in either their school uniforms or the unofficial Dalton uniform of Brooks Brothers and Banana Republic would head down to the common room for festivities that usually involved beer, video games, and the occasional break-in to the all girls' school blocks away.

These festivities, although fun in the moment, left the boys hungover and regretful in the morning. By the afternoon, most of the soreness and bad attitude were gone, nursed by litres of water and ibuprofen.

When Brett Avila called in on the afternoon of the Fishtastic frenzy, Alexander Preston asked wearily, "Why now, Avila? We're all tired."

"Another hot night at the prep school?" drawled Brett loudly, the buzz and chanting in the background amplified into the phone to be as loud as a rock concert. "It's a shame I missed it. Now listen closely. I'm bringing Blaine Anderson to Dalton."

Alexander nearly dropped his phone. "It's been ages," he mused. "How is Blainers?"

"Oh, don't tell me you adopted that nickname for him from Cooper, too!" Brett sounded exasperated and, for some reason, out of breath.

"It's pretty easy to take up."

Alexander eyed the rest of the academy's choir, sprawled over different couches in the common room. They all looked in dire need of a nap, but the situation was of the utmost importance. A former Warbler was coming back. More specifically, a former Warbler that had made it big.

After Brett had hung up, Alexander lightly poked the nearest Warbler. Nick sat up, hair bedraggled, and scowled at the person who had ended his nap by pressing his finger into his side.

"Blaine's coming soon," Alexander said before Nick could complain. "We'd better get ready."

"Absolutely," Nick agreed quickly, and helped to wake up the other Warblers. "Guys, wake up! Blaine is coming back!"

Brett ignored the table of prospects waiting for him by the window as he dashed out of the fish-themed restaurant with Blaine. He was out of breath, having to make the phone call to his advisor and most loyal friend Alexander while in the melee.

"Kurt," Blaine said worriedly when he spotted his (boyfriend? Date? Friend with extreme benefits?) unconfirmed significant other by the door. "I didn't know if we were going to get out of there!"

"No time for tearful reunions," Brett said quickly. "Not yet, at least. That mob'll be out any minute now, this time readily armed with phones and sushi rolls. My car's parked just over here. I can give you a ride if you don't mind me visiting Dalton quickly."

"Dalton?" For a minute, the terrible event that had just occurred had been forgotten and Blaine's expression brightened at the mention of his old school. "Wow. I - I wouldn't mind." He glanced at Kurt. "Would you mind?"

Kurt shook his head, not taking his eyes off of Blaine. "I'm fine with that."

Brett smiled, although his teeth were clenched. He hadn't planned on Pale Face coming with them . . .

Whatever. It's not as if Pale Face is going to ruin the day. With any luck, he'll be leaving Blaine and him before the day is through, preferably in tears.

How he will induce tears on him, though, is the problem.