Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jadieu, at just 17 years old, found himself walking through the ornate corridors of Dalton Academy, an exclusive boys' boarding school. Being there wasn't his first choice; in fact, it was something he would have preferred to avoid. But the presence of his childhood best friend, Nick Duval, had changed his priorities. Nick had been at Dalton for some time, and the thought of being away from him was unbearable for Jadieu, even if it meant sacrificing his own peace.

Nick, always enthusiastic, kept insisting that Jadieu join the Warblers, the school's renowned choir. But Jadieu was hesitant. Singing and dancing, which brought joy to so many others, were torment for him. It wasn't just a matter of personal preference. Jadieu suffered from a rare condition known as "Music Glitch," something that only existed in musical worlds.

For Jadieu, living in the Glee universe was an agonizing experience. While his classmates embraced spontaneous and synchronized performances without even realizing it, he saw them with disturbing clarity. Imagine yourself in a world where, out of nowhere, everyone around you starts singing and dancing in perfect harmony, without any rehearsal. The sounds of the environment magically blend into an impeccable soundtrack, invisible instruments play, and people's voices sound like they're in a polished, professional music video. To others, it was imperceptible. To Jadieu, it was a nightmare.

He noticed every detail, every note, every choreographed movement, every musical transition. The forced synchronization, the constant invasion of melodies into his daily life, made him feel like a stranger in his own body.

The symptoms were insidious. The stress was constant, the pressure to isolate himself was overwhelming. Worse still were the unexpected ear bleeds, a result of his extreme sensitivity to sound. He would never lose his hearing, but the pain was real, as was the need to wear special noise-canceling headphones almost all the time. They were more than protection; they were his shield against the madness that threatened to consume him, turning into a sensory hell.

______

But Nick wasn't the only friend he had made. While he was away from Dalton, studying at another prestigious school, he befriended Trent Northwick, a boy his parents would have strongly disapproved of. It was an unlikely friendship due to their opposite personalities. The boy studied at Bullworth, and his behavior was far from exemplary—known for bullying, vandalism, graffiti, obscene language, violent conduct, and disrespect toward teachers.

Jadieu wanted to remove Trent from an environment like Bullworth and also be close to him, so he used part of his allowance to pay for his friend's tuition. His allowance was substantial due to his family's financial power.

It was difficult to get Dalton to accept Trent because of his troubled record, but nothing a good amount of money, charisma, and persuasive skills couldn't solve.

Trent, however, didn't seem particularly grateful. Since arriving at Dalton, his behavior remained as reckless as before. He ignored the rules as easily as he breathed, and the rumors about his previous deeds at Bullworth quickly spread through the new school's corridors even before they arrived. But to Jadieu, Trent's presence was a kind of anchor. He brought a familiar chaos, a reminder of the outside world, where life wasn't a choreographed sequence of musical numbers.

As he walked through the corridors, Jadieu felt the tension between his own loyalties. Nick wanted him to be a Warbler, a member of the choir that brought so much joy and prestige to the school. But the idea of submitting to more music, more performances, was unbearable. And then there was Trent, a rebellious and untamed figure who represented everything that didn't fit into Dalton's disciplined order.

He walked outside the boarding school to get some air, leaning his back against the cold wall. His thoughts were submerged and only brought back when he heard his friend's voice.

"Look at this!" Trent stomped and jumped on some flowers decorating the exterior of the boarding school, destroying them. His uniform wasn't properly worn, breaking some of the dress code rules; the tie was slightly loose, the blazer poorly fitted, and the white shirt sticking out of his pants.

Jadieu closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a mix of irritation and concern. "CAN YOU STOP DOING THAT?! CAN'T YOU BEHAVE FOR A MINUTE?!"

Trent looked at him, a mischievous smile spreading across his face, finding his friend's irritated behavior amusing. Northwick knew that Jadieu's temper wasn't the gentlest.

"It's just that… you know, Jadieu, I'm not like these golden boys here. I'm not perfect."

Jadieu sighed, stepping closer to Trent, looking directly into his eyes. "Neither am I, Trent. Do you think I like being here? Feeling suffocated by music that no one else seems to notice? This place isn't a paradise for me."

Trent averted his gaze, kicking a rock on the ground, sending it rolling away. "So why are you here? If it's not for you, then why?"

"For you," Jadieu replied softly. "And for Nick. You both matter to me, in different ways. I want you to have a chance, Trent. A chance to get out of Bullworth, to be something more. And I want to stay close to you and Nick, even if it means giving up a little of my peace."

Trent shook his head, a short, almost incredulous laugh escaping his lips. "You're crazy, you know that? But, thanks, I guess."

Jadieu just smiled back, a sad and tired but genuine smile. And at that exact moment, he saw Nick approaching, with his bright smile and Dalton's impeccable uniform.

"JADEEEE!" Nick opened his arms, running cheerfully toward him.

"NIIIICK!" Jadieu opened his arms in return, also running toward him.

Trent watched the scene and crossed his arms, rolling his eyes in boredom and jealousy, muttering under his breath. "So cheesy."

"Don't worry, Jade, this is going to be a good year," Nick said, patting his friend's shoulder affectionately.

At the same time, a familiar sound began to echo in the background, the prelude to a song, something cheerful and catchy. The notes started to align, setting the stage for another spontaneous performance, and Jadieu felt his body tense up. The voices around him began to rise, the students already moving to the rhythm of the melody.

He pressed his headphones against his ears, but the noise was still penetrating. It was as if the music was trying to break through his barriers, invade his mind. Desperate, his eyes searched for an escape, and then he saw Trent, lazily leaning against the wall, watching the scene with a look of disdain.

"Oh no, someone kill me, please," Jadieu murmured, embarrassed, pressing his headphones firmly against his ears.

(El Verano Termino/Ano novo começou - MASHUP - High School Musical: El desafío/o desafio)

[1. https://youtu.be/y9wjSeXTzQ4?si=5QA0ZiytkLvzp8ro]

[2. https://youtu.be/rvHRmJsFV1M?si=y1zThTs7YNpmu54R]

Nick:  

Classes are about to start again!  

{Nick pronounced, all happy and excited in a singing tone}

(Jeff Sterling: Yeah!)

Nick:  

There are so many dreams to reach  

{Several students began to gather as if it were normal and they knew the choreography by heart}

[Jadieu: Oh my God, this is so embarrassing *he looks around* someone get me out of here, help]

Students:  

Summer is over  

The new year has begun  

Summer is over  

The new year has begun  

And summer is over  

Sebastian Smythe:  

The year is about to start  

Time to get back to studying  

The holidays are already over  

Wes Montgomery:  

You have to stop and think  

You have to get back to studying  

Pay attention  

It's just thinking  

[Jadieu: What is this, an opening number for college entrance exams?]

Skylar:  

A new beginning, only new things  

If I do well, I'll go straight to college!

Nick Duval:  

I already feel excited  

I want to study happily  

And try my best  

Jeff Sterling:  

There is hope  

In the whole gang because this year  

Our group is full of stars  

[Jadieu: In my day, anyone who sang happily on the first day of school would get shot]

Hunter Clarington:  

There is hope in our hearts  

Because this year will be  

one of the best.  

Girl:  

And in each of us  

The hope of finding new love  

Fills us with emotion!

[Jadieu: Where did this girl come from? Isn't this an all-boys boarding school? She doesn't even study here]

Students:  

And going back to school  

Everyone shares the same dream  

We share together the desire  

For this year to be much better.

{They all danced synchronously side by side}

Nick:  

Classes are about to start again!

(Jeff Sterling: Yeaah)

Nick:  

New life and dreams to reach!

Students:  

{The students started running to the boarding school in an open field}  

Summer is over  

The new year has begun  

Summer is over  

The new year has begun  

And summer is over  

{They raised their books and notebooks, lowering and raising them in a rhythmic dance}

Logan Duke:  

Back to studying  

Time to start again  

With geography, history, and math  

{Random Samba}

[Jadieu: Why am I the only one who has to notice this?]

Brock Sawyer:.....

David Thompson:  

Knowledge is waiting for us  

New subjects teachers teaching  

Thad Harwood:  

But don't forget  

Not everything is bad  

Because those girls are already waiting for us.

{A very fancy pink car parks in front of the school, and a blonde, athletic/slim boy gets out along with another dark-haired boy dressedi n a more "alternative" style. A pink carpet is rolled out for him to walk on. The dark-haired boy opens an umbrella to shield him from the sun}

Reginald George:

"Hey everyone, I’m arriving  

I’ll be breaking hearts, leaving a trail behind me."

Donatello George:

"Pay attention to what’s happening  

[He puts his hands on Reginald’s shoulders]  

There are new faces, little brother, showing up."

[Jadieu: ???]

Reginald George: 

"I just show up, and today, everyone  

Is talking about how handsome I am."

Donatello George:  

"Don’t believe it, because it’s all in vain.  

These people just look the other way."

[Everyone pauses to stare dramatically at Jadieu, as if in a Mexican soap opera, with only the instrumental music playing in the background.]

(Jadieu: I hate being the center of attention, help!)

[After this, the music and choreography resume as if nothing had happened.]

Students:

"First day of school  

Everyone shares the same dream  

Together, we hope  

This year will be much better."

Nick:

"End of summer, classes are about to begin!"

(Jeff Sterling: Yeaah)

Nick:

"New life, and dreams to achieve!"

Students:

"Summer is over  

A new year has begun  

It’s begun  

A new year has begun  

And summer is over."

(Jeff Sterling: Na na na na)

[Jeff dances far better than the other students, becoming the center of attention for a moment.]

Nick: 

"Once again, classes are about to start."

(Jeff Sterling: Yeaah)

Nick:

"And there are many dreams to achieve!"

Students:  

"Summer is over  

A new year has begun  

Summer is over  

A new year has begun  

And summer is over."

Donatello George:

"End of vacation, time to create."

[Nick approaches Jadieu to deliver the final words of the song, leaving him confused and embarrassed by the situation.]

Nick:

"Once again, classes are about to start, summer is over, yes, a new year has begun."

---

As soon as the music ended, Jadieu finally removed his headphones, trying to catch his breath and regain his composure. The relief was immediate, as if he had freed himself from overwhelming pressure.

“Thank you, God!” he said, a bit too loudly.

Nick, still breathless and glowing with happiness, didn’t notice how much the performance had worn his friend out.

“Wasn’t that amazing, Jadieu? I knew this year would be different! Can’t you feel the energy?” Nick spoke enthusiastically, barely containing the excitement shining in his eyes.

Jadieu forced a smile, trying his best not to show his exhaustion. “Yes, it was… intense,” he replied, choosing his words carefully. He knew Nick cared about him, but he also knew that Nick couldn’t fully understand what he was feeling.

On the other side, Trent watched the scene with a mix of amusement and disdain. He let out a short, sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. “You two are a show of your own,” he murmured, even more convinced that this school wasn’t the right place for him. But something about Jadieu’s determination to maintain that delicate balance between his two friendships made him not want to run back to Bullworth just yet.

Nick finally noticed Jadieu’s discomfort and frowned. “Jade, are you okay? You look a bit… pale. Did we do that thing again?”

Jadieu hesitated for a moment, not wanting to dampen Nick’s enthusiasm but also unable to lie completely. “Yes, you did. I just… need some air, Nick. That was a bit much for me.”

Nick nodded quickly, the concern evident in his eyes. “Of course, of course! Do you want me to come with you?”

Before Jadieu could answer, Trent stepped in, taking a step forward. “I’ll take care of him, Duval. You can keep practicing with your boyband.” He shot a challenging look at Nick, who returned it with an irritated expression but said nothing.

“No fighting, you two!” Jadieu intervened, sensing the tension. “Nick is going to show us around the school, right, Nick?”

Nick, trying to control his irritation at Trent’s comment, forced a smile before responding, “Of course, I’ll show you every corner of this school. Maybe that way, Trent will learn to walk around without breaking anything.”

Trent let out a short laugh, not caring about the provocation. “Show whatever you want, Duval. But I prefer to focus on what really matters… Like seeing how far I can go before breaking all the rules of this luxury prison.”

Nick narrowed his eyes, but before the situation could escalate, Jadieu placed a hand on each of his friends, trying to diffuse the tension that was beginning to build.

“Can we leave the teasing aside, please? I already have enough to deal with,” Jadieu said, exhausted. “Nick, you’ll show us the school. And Trent… try not to burn anything down, okay?”

Trent shrugged, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes, indicating he wasn’t entirely convinced to follow the request. Even so, he turned and began to follow Nick, who led his two friends through Dalton’s courtyard.

As Nick pointed out the main buildings, enthusiastically explaining the history and most notable points of the school, Jadieu tried to absorb the information, but his mind was miles away, still trying to recover from the burst of energy from the music a few minutes earlier. His thoughts were in turmoil.

Suddenly, Trent abruptly stopped next to one of the buildings, noticing something that caught his attention. He approached a wall where a poster was hanging, announcing a fundraiser for the Warblers’ choir. With a mischievous smile, he ripped the poster off and crumpled it, throwing it on the ground.

Noticing Trent’s action, Nick stopped talking and turned around with a look of displeasure. “Trent, why do you do that? These things are important to the school.”

Trent simply shrugged again. “Important to who? To you? I couldn’t care less.”

Before Nick could respond, Jadieu intervened once again, grabbing Trent’s arm. “I asked you to try, Trent. If you don’t like it here, that’s fine, but don’t make things harder than they already are.”

Trent’s gaze softened slightly as he saw the sincerity in Jadieu’s eyes. “Alright, I’ll stop messing around. But only because you asked, Jade.”

Nick watched the two for a moment, still suspicious, but eventually sighed and let it go. “Let’s continue the tour, then.” He resumed walking alongside Jadieu and Trent, pointing out the surroundings while explaining. “You guys should know that Dalton is huge. Like, really huge. There are areas so far away that if you need to go there, you’ll have to use a bike, a car, or even get a ride from one of the staff.” He chuckled, as if that was part of the charm of the place.

Jadieu looked around, noticing how the grounds stretched beyond what the eye could see. He had already imagined that the place was big, but not to this extent.

Nick continued, “And, you know, originally, Dalton was only for boys. But recently, they decided to open a section for girls too. But don’t get too excited! The areas are completely separate, and the two groups only meet during special events, like school festivals.”

Jadieu raised an eyebrow, clearly more interested now. “That explains the random girl in that musical performance.”

Trent and Nick looked confused at Jadieu.

“Never mind. I’m just reflecting on something personal here.”

Trent moved closer to Nick and asked a question, intrigued by the new information. “And if someone, by chance, decides to take a stroll through the girls’ section? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

Nick laughed but his tone became more serious. “Well, if someone gets caught in the girls’ section without permission, they could get expelled. The rules here are pretty strict about that. So, it’s better to avoid it.”

Jadieu nodded, aware that the freedom at Dalton came with its limitations. “It seems like things here are very different from what I imagined,” he murmured, still processing all the new information.

“You’ll get used to it, Jade,” Nick replied with a reassuring smile. “And who knows, you might even find some things you really like here.”

Jadieu walked close to Nick, taking in each decoration of the boarding school and what his friend was showing and commenting on. He listened attentively about part of the Warblers’ history and tradition. He also noted where the cafeteria, the dining hall, and the classrooms were, including the room where the Warblers gathered. The dormitory was located in another separate area specifically designed for that. The boarding school also featured additional constructed areas, as well as outdoor spaces like the running track, or the field where they played lacrosse or football, along with the tennis court and cricket area.

“This is where some students gather to study, but it’s usually the Warblers who gather here for that.” Nick opened the door to the room and looked inside. “Hey guys, I’m just showing the place to the new guy, hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No problem.” A boy with brown hair, a charming mole under one of his eyes, and curly hair responded.

Nick gave a thumbs up to Jadieu. “His name is Ander. He’s pretty cool.”

“Looks like I have a lot of students to meet. And you think everyone is cool.”

"Is this bad?"

"I'm just worried about you. But I think you have a good heart."

Nick petted Ander's hair, leaving him extremely confused. "He's a tennis player too! Just like you, Jade! Isn't that cool?! And look at this hair, it looks like a little lamb, so cute."

"This kid needs a sedative," Trent complained, and Ander moved Nick's hand away.

One of the guys sitting near Ander smirked cynically and asked, "Are you the one with a rare disease who's going to die soon?"

"Yes, I have a rare disease, but I'm not going to die soon."

"Jesus, Guzmán," Ander rolled his eyes. "Is that a question you should be asking?"

"What? Are you mad at me now? I was just curious, and it's not like neither of you was curious either, right, Polo?" He nudged the guy who had been staring into space, and with the touch, Polo quickly snapped back to reality, responding in a strange, distant manner, his personality very mild and passive, not looking at anyone.

"Oh, yes, of course, of course," Polo agreed.

"Sometimes you're such an idiot," Ander replied.

"And if you weren't a guy, I'd think you were on your period. Chill out," Guzmán said, putting down the pencil in front of his paper.

Jadieu shrugged at the scene and wrapped his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Can you take me to the dorm now? And thanks for showing me around the school."

"I wish we shared the same room!" Nick said enthusiastically.

Jadieu kissed his cheek. "That sounded really gay."

"I don't care," Nick smiled sweetly.

Jadieu looked towards the door as he heard two boys "arguing" in the hallway, very close to where they were. He and Nick stepped back when they entered, looking at them confused.

"Damn it, Samuel," one of the boys who had just entered with a cigarette behind his ear complained. "This isn't the place. Do you know where we are?"

"Of course I do, Christian," Samuel insisted, pointing to a pamphlet with some information.

"Then where are we?" Christian asked, looking at the other boy, who remained quiet for several minutes. "You don't know, do you? Admit it, this place is bigger than our entire neighborhood. We don't even know where we are in this crap."

Nick approached them naively and cutely. "Do you need help?"

"Are they looking for the circus wing?" Guzmán teased and laughed.

Christian ignored him. "I thought you were clowns," he tried to respond sarcastically but was only met with disdain from the other.

"These rich bastards. That snobby guy with the pet cat earlier was enough," Christian muttered.

"We're the rich bastards, and you're the poor thug," Guzmán winked.

Nick hid behind Jadieu. "Bullying isn't allowed here," he said tearfully and received a comforting pat.

"Tell him that," Christian crossed his arms.

"Don't mind him," Samuel sighed. "We do need help."

"You finally admitted it, my friend." Christian adjusted the cigarette behind his ear. "Good point for you."

"Shut up."

Nick stepped out from behind Jadieu. "I'd love to help! I'm already helping my best friend. You should have accepted my help earlier. You got lost."

"We didn't accept it because Samuel thought he had everything under control here. Right, Sam?"

"Oh, give it a rest, Christian."

"And you're the cute, innocent boy from this morning that I have to watch what I say to so I don't scare you, right?" Christian said, referring to Nick.

Nick looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing, it's just that I've never seen anyone so naive and pure. And I say that just by looking at you. Because I don't know you. And maybe you're not what my first impression was."

"Christian, be quiet."

Jadieu stepped in front of Nick, and Christian noticed the automatic protection.

"Relax, man, I'm not going to hurt him or anyone. Especially him," he pointed at Nick. "He reminds me of a little brother."

"Thank you," Nick smiled happily.

"Christian, you always get us into trouble."

"Look, buddy, you got me into this because when we got the offer to study at a rich boarding school, I thought it would be mixed and full of opportunities, not an all-boys school. Is there anything that sounds gayer than an all-boys school? Especially a boarding school. But that's not the worst part."

"Christian, stop."

"It's not the worst part."

"Christian, for God's sake."

"I feel like I'm trapped in a nun's school. Because I'm going to be stuck here involuntarily celibate. I'm straight, and there are no women. Have you seen any women here? Except for the hot teacher."

"The correct term would be 'priest' because nun is feminine, and priest is masculine," Nick corrected, sounding dreamy and naive.

"Yes! In a priest's school."

"Are you done?" Samuel crossed his arms.

"No. And that's not the worst part. The worst part is that this boarding school is so gay that the popular kids are in a choir group. And on top of that, it's been a tradition for years. A boys' choir group, singing. Is there anything more masculine than that?" Christian asked sarcastically.

Nick clapped. "I love the choir group!"

"I agree with Christian," Trent nodded, and Jadieu put his hand on his face, embarrassed and disappointed.

"I heard the lacrosse team is also popular," Samuel replied, trying to make things better for his friend.

"And what the hell is lacrosse?" Christian exclaimed. "I don't even know if I want to study here."

"You'll like the school," Nick said optimistically to Christian.

Guzmán provoked him to irritate him. "You were expecting a mixed school to take advantage of some girl and have her open up a range of opportunities for you? Because if so, we have a branch that's an all-girls boarding school, and the schools meet sometimes for special events."

"Are you calling me an opportunist, asshole?"

"Not me, but if the shoe fits."

Nick intervened. "No fighting, guys. Can we have a little peace on the first day?" he proposed, sensing that those two wouldn't get along. "Actually, I know exactly how to calm the tension!"

(Life Is Sweeter - Descendants)

[3. https://youtu.be/dF3N27A0DpU?si=OFtc9KV8VK7c5rtO]

Nick:  

It's really not a secret recipe

{He appears holding a tray of yellow cupcakes}

[Jadieu: Where did he get those cupcakes? Was teleportation just invented?]

Nick:  

A little butter, flour, sugar, and a lot of positivity

{He nudges Jadieu with his body and then Trent}

Honestly, it always works for me

That's why I got enough to go around for everyone I see.

{He cheerfully serves some cupcakes to Ander, Polo, and Guzmán}

Sometimes, I make mistakes

And sometimes, I burn the cake

But I still believe that all will be okay

{He distributes more cupcakes to Samuel and Christian}

Students:  

'Cause the sun shines a little more brightly

When you take things a little more lightly

{Everyone starts dancing with a cute and positive vibe to the music while some yellow sparks fly around}

[Jadieu: If that spark burns me... *He steps away from the yellow glow*]

It's all gonna turn out nicely

With just a taste of your heart

It's likely you'll fall into something spicy

Just mix it up, you'll keep finding

{Nick spins and gracefully lands on Jadieu's lap, then offers cupcakes to more students}

[Jadieu: I could have let you fall if I weren't fast enough, you know that?]

That life is sweeter when you are!

Nick:  

Hi, Jay

Jayden Ian:  

Guess I'm here for a spell

{Jayden is trying to learn some magic tricks with the kit he just bought}

Even though it never really works out well for me

One wave of my wand and it's, "Whoopsie!"

{Jayden grabs one of the cupcakes, takes a bite, and his magician's hat glows yellow like a fairy tale scene}

Nick:  

It's Nadia and Guzman! 

[Nadia and Guzman]  

Call us Guznadia, he's like a magnet

{The two rub foreheads romantically}

She's so attractive, it's all fantastic

'Cause we're flying high together on a magic carpet ride

{They complete a heart shape by joining hands in a gesture and finally eat the cupcake}

Nick:  

Sterling!

Jeff Sterling:  

That's just the formal name people know me by

{Jeff wears a helmet while skating and approaches, grabbing one of the offered cupcakes}

Crowned Prince isn't the way I ride

If you wanna roll together, it could be a vibe.

{He has a very soft and seductive voice, and in the end, he takes a bite, savoring the flavor, then jumps on the skateboard, releasing more yellow sparks}

[Jadieu: I'm telling you, if this spark burns or sets me on fire, I'll sue this school]

Trent smiles mischievously, interested in Jeffrey due to his bisexuality:  

Okay

Nick:  

That's my ex.

Trent makes a disgusted expression:  

Yuck.

Students:  

The sun shines a little more brightly

{Nick leads everyone to dance together enthusiastically}

When you take things a little more lightly

It's all gonna turn out nicely

With just a taste of your heart

It's likely you'll fall into something spicy

{One of the students lifts Nick up and then puts him back on the ground}

Just mix it up, you'll keep finding

That life is sweeter when you are

(Brief pause in the music)

Christian:

So, are you friends with everyone?

Nick:

Oh my God, no.

My only friend is Jade, but with time and a few more treats,

They will be too.

(The music resumes, but this time with a darker tone)

Brock Sawyer only using sign language and not his own voice to sing:

Look for a hand, find a golden hook

Captain of the seas, I got 'em all shook

Logan Duke:

Son of Heather Duke,

My name is Logan, you’d better run and hide.

Chris Laven:

Here’s Chris, from the depths of hell.

Sebastian Smythe:

Sharp as a thorn, I'm Sebastian Smythe.

[Brock in sign language and Logan]

Now for the hottest, the god of darkness,

Here he comes, Hunter.

Hunter Clarington:

I'm not your everyday villain (Grah)

I'm taking souls for a living

Got a torturous mind, full of evil designs

I could grind up your bones in a minute

Down in the darkest depths of the sea

The scariest things are scared of me

Say, "Clarington, " and I'll watch them flee

{Brief pause}

Nick:

He's the headmaster’s son at Dalton.

Trent and Jadieu:

Okay.

{The happy music returns}

Students:

The sun shines a little more brightly

Brock Sawyer:....

Chris, Logan, and Hunter:

The dark is a little enticing.

{The colorful and happy side is teased by the dark side led by Hunter, who advances slightly towards them}

Students:

It's all gonna turn out nicely

With just a taste of your heart

Chris, Logan, and Hunter:

It's likely we'll make it all much more frightening

Brock Sawyer:...

Students:

Just mix it up, you'll keep finding

That life is sweeter when you are

Seeing things brightly

When you take things a little more lightly

Just mix it up, you'll keep finding

That life is sweeter when you are

{Nick offers the cupcakes to Hunter and his group at the end}

Hunter looked at the cupcakes Nick was offering, his eyes analyzing them with suspicion and curiosity. The silence that followed was heavy. Finally, Hunter took the cupcake from Nick's hand, examining it with a cynical look, as if deciding whether it was a trap. He raised an eyebrow, leaving the atmosphere in suspense for a few seconds. Around him, Brock and Logan continued to stare at Nick and his group, their intense presences contrasting with the joyful and relaxed energy from before.

Finally, Hunter took a bite of the cupcake, and a slight smile threatened to appear at the corner of his lips. "It's not bad," he admitted in a low, controlled voice that resonated. "But don't think a little sugar is going to soften me."

Nick smiled back. "I didn't expect it to, I just wanted you to taste something sweet on a day that seems so bitter."

Hunter took a step back, still holding the cupcake. "You're lucky to be part of the Destruction Quartet, Nick, and maybe you should spend more time with your real group instead of trading us for random strangers." He glanced at Jadieu and Trent before turning his back and leaving the room, closely followed by Logan and Brock.

Chris Laven just observed; he was a quieter, darker, and more solitary guy who preferred to be alone rather than belong to any group.

Trent approached Nick and commented, "You're really not afraid of anyone, are you?"

Nick shrugged, still with his radiant smile. "I just believe everyone has a good side. Sometimes, you just need a cupcake to remember that. Besides, Hunter, Brock, and Logan are my friends."

Jadieu, who had remained silent until then, placed his hand on Nick's shoulder, squeezing gently. "You are something special, Nick. But, as your friend, I need to say... be careful. Not everyone is going to respond well to a kind gesture."

Nick looked at Jadieu with a sparkle in his eyes. "I know, but if I stop believing in the best in people, then who will?"

Jadieu sighed, pulling Nick closer, hugging him. "Just... promise you'll be a little more careful, okay?"

Nick nodded, but the sparkle in his eyes didn't fade. "I promise. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying.” He picked up one of the cupcakes, but before taking a bite, he tilted his head to the side and smiled.

“Can I try?” Jadieu asked.

Nick smiled and offered it to him, even happier.

“Of course, Jade, by the way, I have to go.”

“Go where?” The boy asked, confused, towards his friend.

“After Hunter, I'm part of the Destruction Quartet.”

“What is the Destruction Quartet?”

“We are adored and can do everything!” Nick responded very excitedly and enthusiastically, without giving many details and running in the direction Hunter had gone, leaving Trent and Jadieu confused and alone.

Jadieu knows that Nick is a genuinely kind soul, but he fears that this kindness could be exploited or, worse, destroyed. "That boy is tireless," he muttered to himself, more to try and calm his own heart than anything else.

Trent stood with his arms crossed and a bit of a bad mood. "Do you think he's going to be okay?"

Jadieu pondered for a moment before answering. "Nick has always been the kind of person who believes he can fix everything with a smile and a kind gesture. I want to believe he's right...But those things don't work with everyone." He looked in the direction Nick had gone, as if he could see beyond it and understand what was happening with his friend.

"These guys... the so-called Destruction Quartet," Trent began to say, with a grimace. "They don't seem like the type to accept things peacefully. Hunter seems like a complete jerk to me; he gives me vibes of a guy from my old school, the preppy Derby Harrington. Does Nick realize what he's getting into?"

Jadieu sighed, shaking his head slightly. "He probably has an idea, but Nick... he believes in people, even the most complicated ones. But you're right, this Hunter seems like a total jerk. I just hope this doesn’t end up hurting Nick."

Trent remained silent for a moment, reflecting on what Jadieu had said. Finally, he stepped forward, determined. "Well, then I guess we should keep an eye on him. If Hunter or anyone else tries to do something to Nick...We're not going to let it slide."

Jadieu smiled slightly. "You? Wanting to protect Nick? Five minutes ago you almost asked for his head. Alright. Let’s take care of our friend.”

---

Jadieu entered the room he would share with Trent, still reflecting on the brief interaction with Hunter and the Destruction Quartet. The first thing he noticed was the layout of the room: Two beds, one on the right and one on the left, with a window in the middle, providing a view of the external garden.

Trent followed closely behind, observing the space. "Well, it looks like we have a choice to make," he said, with a smirk. "Do you prefer the bed on the right or the left?"

Jadieu looked at the beds, briefly pondering. "The one on the right seems good," he replied, placing his suitcase next to the chosen bed. "Do you mind?"

Trent shook his head. "Not at all. The one on the left looks great to me." He dropped his things and threw himself onto the bed, sinking into the pillows with a satisfied sigh. "Finally, a place to relax."

Jadieu smiled, but there was a weight in his chest that he couldn’t ignore. The day had been full, and now, being alone with Trent, he felt the loneliness he tried to hide behind social interactions.

They spent the afternoon talking about school, sharing stories, and laughing at the jokes Trent made about the situations they had experienced today. Trent is the kind of person who likes to talk, always with a witty comment on the tip of his tongue, which eased the tension Jadieu was feeling a little.

Trent also loved manga and acting, spending hours talking about his roles as a theater kid and his collections of favorite manga.

However, when night came, and Trent finally fell asleep, Jadieu was left alone with his thoughts. He sat on the bed, looking out the window, where the moon shone brightly in the night sky.

With the silence filling the room, Jadieu's thoughts began to revolve around his condition, the feeling of being out of place in a world where everything seemed out of tune. "I should be used to it," he thought, but every day was a battle to keep control over something he never asked to have.

The loneliness he felt at Dalton was something he knew well, but now, away from his parents and the comfort of home, it felt more intense. The weight of expectation, the need to fit in, to be strong for others, began to build up in his chest, tightening more and more.

A tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another, until he could no longer hold back the emotions he had kept inside. He rested his head on his knees, letting the silent crying come, not wanting to wake Trent.

Jadieu didn't know how much time had passed like this, but when he finally lifted his head, he felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally. The crying had relieved some of the pain, but it hadn’t completely dissipated.

He stopped hugging his knees, putting his legs out of bed before slowly getting up and walking to the window. He began a soft, almost silent song in the moonlight. He usually hated musicals and everything they represented due to his rare condition. However, unlike others, he could control how and when they happened, and maybe, just maybe, it would bring him some relief, and he needed relief more than ever now. A song could express what he felt; sometimes music serves that purpose, right? To externalize feelings?

Another tear rolled down his cheek as he gently wiped it with the tip of his finger.

(If Only - Descendants)

[4. https://youtu.be/IofpSNZx5h0?si=VEWqri7TbgNIbG4e]

Jadieu Colucci:

A million thoughts in my head

Should I let my heart keep listening

'Cause up 'til now I've walked the line

Nothing lost but something missing

I can't decide

What's wrong, what's right

Which way should I go?

If only I knew what my heart was telling me

Don't know what I'm feeling

Is this just a dream?

{He placed his hands on his head and then expanded them in a gesture, symbolizing putting his dreams and thoughts out}

Ah oh, yeah

If only I could read the signs in front of me

I could find the way to who I'm meant to be

Ah oh, if only

If only

If only

Every step, every word

With every hour I am falling in

To something new, something brave

To someone I, I have never been

I can't decide

What's wrong, what's right

Which way should I go

If only I knew what my heart was telling me

{He placed his hand on his heart and then closed his fist and eyes at the same time, holding back more of his tears, trying to block his emotional pain}

Don't know what I'm feeling

Is this just a dream?

Ah oh, yeah

If only I could read the signs in front of me

I could find the way to who I'm meant to be

Ah oh, if only

Yeah

{He clenched his hands on the window ledge}

Am I crazy? Maybe we could happen

Yeah

Will you still be with me when the magic's all run out?

If only I knew what my heart was telling me

Don't know what I'm feeling

Is this just a dream?

Ah oh

If only I could read the signs in front of me

I could find the way to who I'm meant to be

Ah oh

If only, yeah

If only, yeah

If only, yeah

If only

If only

If only

…..

With a sigh, he lay back on the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. "One more day," he whispered to himself, like a promise or maybe a prayer. "I just need to hold on for one more day."

Chapter Text

Jadieu woke up early the next morning, but Trent was nowhere to be found. Immediately annoyed, he wondered where his friend had gone and sat on the bed.

Jadieu looked around the room, expecting to see some sign of Trent, but the place was empty. The curtains were still closed, leaving the room dimly lit, and the silence was absolute, except for the distant sound of a few birds outside. He got up, feeling the cold floor under his bare feet, and walked to the window, throwing the curtains open.

The morning light flooded the room, making him squint. Trent was usually chaotic and unpredictable, so the fact that he wasn't there bothered him even more. "Where the hell did that idiot go?" Jadieu muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

Determined to find his friend, Jadieu quickly got dressed, still groggy from sleep. He left the room and started walking through Dalton's corridors, passing by other students who were just beginning to wake up. But no one had seen Trent.

His mood worsened with each step until he finally spotted a familiar face in the hallway. It was Nick, with that cheerful smile, far too upbeat for someone who had just woken up.

"Have you seen Trent?" Jadieu asked bluntly, trying not to let the irritation show in his voice. Nick stopped, blinking in surprise.

"Oh, Trent? Yeah, I saw him. He left pretty early. I think he mentioned something about trying to talk to the girls in the girls' section of Dalton." Nick responded, still smiling, though now a little more cautious, sensing Jadieu's mood. "Why? Is everything okay?"

Jadieu sighed in relief for a few seconds, but as he realized what Nick had just said, panic took over. "Wait, he said he was going to do what?!"

"He said he was going to talk to the girls..." Nick repeated, now with a more careful tone, noticing the change in Jadieu's expression.

"He's insane! He knows he can't go to their side without permission. He could get expelled!" Jadieu exclaimed, his voice rising in panic. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to think of a quick solution. "And you let him go?!"

"Let him? What was I supposed to do?" Nick looked down at his feet.

"I don't know, anything!"

Nick, noticing how worried Jadieu was, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hey, calm down. Maybe he just went to the boundary, you know? It might not be more than a joke."

"I know Trent. He doesn't joke about things like this." Jadieu replied, frustrated. "I need to find him before he does something stupid."

Jadieu left Nick behind and ran outside, trying to find Trent as quickly as possible, but that caused him to bump into another boy in the hallway, spilling some coffee from the cup he was holding.

"Sorry, I was a bit distracted. I’m new here and..." the boy apologized, desperately trying to clean the coffee he'd spilled on Jadieu's clothes.

"N-No, don't worry about it." The boy with brown hair, which almost looked black, stammered shyly, avoiding eye contact. "Uh, I'm new here too. Nice to meet you."

"My name’s Jadieu, and yours?"

"Donatello, Donatello George. Are you lost? Looking for something or someone?"

"Yeah, actually, I'm looking for my friend, Trent Northwick, a guy with acne on his forehead, blonde hair, messy uniform, and very chaotic energy. Have you seen him?"

Donatello had a serious and mature voice, yet it sounded cute because of his appearance. "Trent? Oh yeah, I think I saw a guy like that heading towards the girls' section. I can show you the way if you'd like."

"That would help a lot, thank you." Jadieu replied, grateful.

The two talked casually on the way.

"I was born in some unknown country, but my parents adopted me and raised me in Mexico. I lived there for quite some time before moving here to the United States. But Nick always visited me during the holidays," Jadieu commented.

"So you understand what it’s like to move from one country to another. I lived in France, and suddenly I’m thrown into a new school, with no friends. It’s tough, you know."

"Man, I totally get that."

Donatello led Jadieu to where Trent was likely to be. They found him, flirting with three unknown girls through the fence that separated one area from the other. The girls giggled shyly, clearly interested in what Trent was saying.

"TRENT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Trent turned, surprised at Jadieu’s shout, but his expression quickly shifted into a mischievous grin. "Oh, Jadieu, relax! I’m just having a little fun."

Jadieu ran up to him, ignoring the girls' giggles and stopping right in front of Trent, who remained casually leaning against the fence. "Have you lost your mind? If they catch you here, you'll be expelled, Trent! This isn’t just a joke!"

Trent shrugged, still smiling. "I’m just being friendly, no harm in that. And who’s going to expel me? No one will find out unless you make a scene."

"Of course they’ll find out! This is Dalton, Trent! Nothing goes unnoticed!" Jadieu retorted angrily. He then looked at the girls on the other side of the fence, who were now watching the argument with curiosity. "You girls shouldn’t be here either. You could get in trouble!"

One of the girls, a redhead with green eyes, crossed her arms and responded with a defiant tone. "We can take care of ourselves, thanks. And honestly, he’s way more fun than most of the preppy boys around here. No one’s getting expelled for talking through a fence. The problem would be if he decided to jump over to our side."

Trent’s grin grew even more mischievous, but before he could respond, Jadieu grabbed him by the arm, trying to pull him away from the fence. "Come on, before someone sees us. This has gone too far."

Donatello, who had been watching the whole scene with a serious expression, stepped in to help. "He’s right, Trent. It’s better if we leave before things get complicated."

Trent let out an exaggerated sigh of lament but allowed himself to be dragged away by Jadieu and Donatello. "You guys are such killjoys, you know that? A little fun never hurt anyone."

"But getting expelled could ruin any chance of you staying here." Donatello remarked seriously.

"Would that really be so bad?" Trent shrugged, flicking away a cigarette butt carelessly.

As they walked away from the fence, the girls gave Trent one last glance. One of them waved timidly, while another made a "call me" gesture with her hands. Trent waved back, winking, which made Jadieu huff in frustration.

"They love me," Trent said, just as the third girl held up her panties and showed them to him.

"WHAT A DISGRACE! PERVERT!" Jadieu shouted, offended, while covering his friend's eyes. "You’re impossible, Trent. And if I hadn’t shown up? You were willing to risk everything for... a joke?"

"I want to see!" Northwick tried to pry Jadieu’s hands away from his eyes. "Let me see!"

"No way am I letting you see that pervert’s act!"

Trent paused for a moment, growing serious before shrugging again. "Life’s too short, Jadieu. If I don’t take risks, what’s the fun? But don’t worry so much, okay? I can handle myself."

Jadieu wasn’t convinced but knew arguing further wouldn’t help. He removed his hands from his friend’s eyes and just hoped this would be enough to keep Trent out of trouble for a while.

"Let’s head back before they notice we’re missing during breakfast," Donatello suggested, looking around cautiously.

Jadieu shook his head, still indignant, as the three of them made their way back to campus together. He knew he’d have to keep a closer eye on Trent from now on.

At the cafeteria, Jadieu, Trent, and Donatello finally sat at a table near the window. The aroma of coffee and fresh bread filled the air, but Jadieu was still uneasy. He looked at Trent, who was eating breakfast as if nothing had happened.

"You really don’t see the problem with what you did, do you?" Jadieu asked, still irritated.

"It’s not that big of a deal, Jadieu. No one caught me, so it’s all good." Trent shrugged, biting into a piece of toast with jelly.

Donatello calmly sipped his orange juice, not wanting to get involved.

"You act like Dalton is a constant party," Jadieu continued, lowering his voice as he noticed some students at nearby tables were starting to pay attention. "I’m just trying to stop you from getting expelled before the semester ends."

"Man, relax." Trent laughed, but his carefree tone only made Jadieu frown more. Before he could react, another boy spoke up hesitantly.

"I never thought a glee club could be popular..." the boy mumbled.

"Looks like you’re not in uniform." Jadieu noticed. "Are you new here too?"

"Actually, I’m still deciding whether to attend here or not. But they say it’s a zero-tolerance policy for bullying."

"Problems at your old school? Sorry to hear that. Bullying’s tough to deal with." Jadieu stood up and offered a polite handshake. "I’m Jadieu."

The other smiled in a way that hid his teeth. “Kurt, Kurt Hummel.”

“This is outrageous!” Trent shouted with a mouth full of jelly toast, a bit of it still smeared on his lips. “I AM TOTALLY AGAINST BULLYING!” He raised his butter knife, emphasizing his statement.

Several minutes of awkward silence.

“... Homophobic bullying, that is. The rest, I think, should be done freely because bullying is what makes men, well, men! And it’s what teaches boys to become men! That's what my great-grandfather, the incredible Sir Sayver Evans Northwick the First, said!”

“Trent, I know that in Bullworth and... apparently from your grandfather, they considered that sort of thing normal.” Jadieu placed a caring hand on his friend’s shoulder. “But it isn’t.”

“Oh, come on, Jade, don’t defend it. I think it’s absurd that Dalton got rid of bullying. And it’s obvious why they bullied this one—he’s still in his teens and doesn’t even have teeth.”

“I have teeth!” Kurt snapped.

“TRENT!”

Trent rolled his eyes at Jadieu's scolding.

“Just because someone doesn’t have teeth, it doesn’t mean you should say it to their face, especially if they’re bullied.”

Kurt ran off crying after hearing that.

“Yikes, I think I went too far.” Jadieu sighed, disappointed in himself.

Donatello watched the scene quietly before leaning towards Jadieu, whispering softly, "You did what you could. You can’t control everything Trent says. And don’t beat yourself up too much for messing up just once."

Jadieu shook his head, still frustrated. "Yeah, but I should have handled the situation better. Kurt was already vulnerable, and Trent just made things worse."

Trent, who apparently wasn’t taking anything seriously, finished his toast with a grin. “You guys are overreacting. The kid needs to toughen up, you know? The world won’t be kind to him.”

Donatello frowned at Trent, his voice calm but firm. "Trent, the world is cruel enough sometimes. We don’t need to make it worse for others. Especially someone who just arrived and is clearly struggling to fit in."

Trent stared at Donatello for a few seconds, as if trying to decide whether the comment was worth taking seriously or not. Then he shrugged, returning to his carefree attitude. "Alright, alright, I didn’t know the guy was that sensitive… I was just joking, relax."

Jadieu sighed but decided not to prolong the argument. Instead, he stood up. "I’ll go find Kurt. I think he needs a friend right now."

"I’ll go with you," Donatello said, standing up as well.

Trent sighed deeply and got up from the table, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Alright, alright... Let's go before he gets into trouble and I get blamed."

The three of them walked in silence through the halls, searching for Kurt. When they finally found him, he was sitting on a bench outside, near a garden, still wiping his tears with the back of his hands. Jadieu approached slowly, hesitating for a moment before speaking.

"Hey, Kurt... I’m sorry about what happened in the cafeteria. Trent is an idiot sometimes, but he didn’t mean to hurt you."

Kurt looked up, his eyes still red. "It’s not the first time I’ve heard things like that... But it’s hard to get used to, you know? I just... wanted to fit in. But it seems like no matter where I go, they’ll still do this or worse."

Donatello sat down beside Kurt, offering him a tissue. "No one should make you feel like that. You deserve to be accepted for who you are. Don’t worry about people like Trent."

Hearing that, Trent let out a loud sigh and approached, crossing his arms. "Look, Kurt... I’m not good with apologies, but... I shouldn’t have said that. It was stupid."

Kurt looked at him, surprised, clearly not expecting an apology from Trent. "I... I understand. Just... please, don’t do that again."

Trent nodded, trying to lighten the mood. "Alright, alright. But just to be clear, I’m still against homophobic bullying, okay? The rest... well... let’s just leave it at that."

Jadieu chuckled, despite knowing he shouldn’t, and turned to Kurt. "Come on, let’s go back to the cafeteria. I promise no one will bother you this time. And believe me, Kurt, if you decide to stay at Dalton, I’ll protect you." He offered his hand for Hummel to take. “You don’t need to change or try to fit into something you’re not. I know it’s hard, but trust me, it’s much more painful to pretend to be something you’re not than to be authentic. There will always be someone who criticizes us—after all, even Jesus didn’t please everyone. But never lose your essence."

Kurt hesitated for a moment but finally stood up, accepting the offer and wiping his tears. "Thank you... you’re very kind."

He looked at Jadieu, analyzing his polite, sweet, and caring posture. The way he spoke and held his hand, his soft voice reminded Kurt of a fairytale prince. Slowly, Kurt's heart began to beat faster as he realized there was something different about Jadieu. It wasn’t just his beauty, which he had plenty of, with his impeccable physique, delicate features, and well-groomed brown hair, but the way he genuinely tried to do the right thing, even when it could make him a true social outcast.

Jadieu smiled sweetly once again as the bell rang, signaling the start of the first class.

“Oops, Kurt, we have to go, but I promise that later, if you want, we can help you get to know the school. Even though I just arrived yesterday. But don’t worry, my friend Nick can help us.”

Kurt nodded and clutched his backpack tighter against his body. He leaned against the wall, and suddenly, a sad instrumental echoed throughout the environment without escape, but it was a sound only Jadieu could hear, literally coming from beyond.

“Oh no, not another song…” Jadieu put his hands over his face, frustrated. “I just wanted to get to class in peace.”

(I Wanna Be Popular - Better Beware)

[https://youtu.be/v7EsQ0G0MKI?si=yj9aKTLV3gyztfm3]

Kurt Hummel:

I can't take it anymore, I'm tired  

Nothing ever goes as I planned  

Time passes, reminding me of what won't return  

And every minute in vain that passed, I cried.

(Flashback of Kurt crying in the McKinley hallways)

[Jadieu: Why all this drama? I know you're hurting, but you don't need a whole musical number to express that.]

Kurt Hummel:

I can't take it anymore  

Tired of always trying to fit in  

I've been mistreated, unloved, despised.

[Jadieu: Mistreated, unloved, and despised is me having to listen to this musical solo that started literally out of nowhere.]

For being myself, I was rejected.

(Backing Vocal: Tired) of suffering  

(Backing Vocal: Tired) of crying  

(Backing Vocal: Tired)  

I want someone to show me the way  

That I should take (Backing Vocal: I'm tired).

[Jadieu: The best part is the typical backing vocal that accompanies the singer, except the backing vocal literally doesn't exist in real life. I think it's a spirit or a ghost summoned every time someone starts singing.]

(Tired)  

(Tired) popular, aah.

Students:

I wanna, I wanna  

I wanna, I wanna

I wanna be popular (Kurt: ooh)  

I wanna be popular (Kurt: ooh)  

I wanna be popular  

Po-po-po-popular  

Po-po-po-popular.

(A bunch of students are dancing behind Kurt, wearing male cheerleader outfits)

[Jadieu: And as always, a bunch of people join in and start dancing the choreography like they've been training and rehearsing for months.]

I wanna be popular (Kurt: ooh)  

I wanna be popular (Kurt: ooh)  

I wanna be popular  

Po-po-po-popular  

Po-po-po-popular.

Kurt Hummel:

I can't take it anymore, I'm tired  

[Jadieu: Me too.]

Nothing ever goes as I planned  

Time passes, reminding me of what won't return  

And every minute in vain that passed, I cried.

I can't take it anymore  

[Jadieu: Seriously, I can't either. I take five steps, and it's another song.]

Tired of always trying to fit in  

I've been mistreated, unloved, despised  

For being myself, I was rejected.

Mysterious Female Voice:

No more despair  

A life without flavor  

I want peace, I want love.

[Jadieu: Cool, it's great that ghosts are getting jobs in the music industry. That's what we need—more inclusion.]

To fill the void and pain  

And yes, I'm lost  

This road has no end  

In the end, maybe I'll find myself.

Kurt Hummel:

I tried  

I stayed in your mold  

And I didn't love myself  

I won't cry (aaah).

[Jadieu: He won't cry, but he'll create an entire musical session focused on himself to say that he's sad. Surely, just crying is more embarrassing than what just happened.]

Students:

I wanna be popular (Kurt: ooh)  

I wanna be popular (Kurt: ooh)  

I wanna be popular  

Po-po-po-popular  

Po-po-po-popular.

I wanna be popular (Kurt: ooh)  

I wanna be popular (Kurt: ooh)  

I wanna be popular  

Po-po-po-popular  

Po-po-po-popular.

[Jadieu: Seriously guys, why all the drama?]

I wanna be popular (Kurt: ooh)  

I wanna be popular (Kurt: ooh)  

I wanna be popular  

Po-po-po-popular  

Po-po-po-popular.

[Jadieu: If he becomes popular, is he going to make a whole song just for that too? I hope he doesn't. God, please hear me, I believe He will. I'm one of the favorites.]

I wanna be popular (Kurt: ooh)  

I wanna be popular (Kurt: ooh)  

I wanna be popular  

Po-po-po-popular  

Po-po-po-popular.

(...)

When the song finally ended, Jadieu was relieved to finally be in the biology classroom, with no annoying sounds or performances. He straightened up his materials and sighed in relief.

Chapter Text

Jadieu stared at the clock hanging on the wall, watching the second hand move at a pace that seemed to mock his patience. The biology class, with its formaldehyde smell and monotonous explanation of cell division, had become unbearable. The teacher, with his back to the class, sketched diagrams on the board as though existing in a parallel universe, oblivious to the collective boredom.

Jadieu drummed his fingers on the desk, wishing he were anywhere else. The biology room was quiet except for the faint murmur of student whispers as Mr. Roberts continued writing on the board. DNA molecules took shape before Jadieu, but he paid little attention. His fingers toyed nervously with his headphones, ready to use them at a moment’s notice in case another *musical glitch* started.

“Now, can anyone tell me what happens during DNA replication?” asked the teacher, turning to the class with an inquisitive look. An uncomfortable silence filled the room until a hand rose slowly. Christian Exposito, lounging lazily in the back row, grinned with exaggerated confidence.

“It’s when DNA decides it’s tired of being an incel, so it multiplies to keep itself company,” Christian quipped, clearly amused by his own joke.

A few stifled laughs escaped from various corners of the room, but Mr. Roberts remained serious. Jadieu sighed, lowering his head. He already pegged Christian as an attention-seeker from the first time he saw him, and somehow, the guy always managed to live up to that impression.

“Exposito.” The teacher said his name with thinly veiled impatience. “If you don’t have a proper answer, it’s better to remain silent. Leave my class. Now.”

Christian shrugged, still laughing, and rose from his seat with exaggerated slowness, dragging his feet toward the door. “Relax, teach. You know holding grudges causes wrinkles, right?” he muttered as he exited.

When the door closed, the room returned to silence. Mr. Roberts sighed, regaining his rigid composure before the class. Without missing a beat, he resumed the lesson.

“As I was saying, DNA replication is an extremely precise process. The two strands of DNA separate, and each serves as a template for the creation of a new complementary strand. It’s like…”

Suddenly, the door opened again, interrupting the explanation. All eyes turned toward the entrance. A tall boy with perfectly styled dark hair and an air of cool confidence stood in the doorway. His expression was one of near-disinterest, though his eyes seemed to assess every detail of the room.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Roberts,” said the school counselor, appearing just behind the boy. “This is Tony Stonem, our new student. He’s from Bristol.”

The teacher nodded, visibly uninterested but maintaining a professional tone. “Alright. Welcome, Stonem. You can sit next to… hm, Jadieu,” he directed, pointing to the empty seat beside Jadieu, who was now trying not to attract attention by shrinking into his desk.

Tony simply raised an eyebrow and gave the counselor a slight nod before walking to his seat. His presence radiated a confidence that immediately reignited whispers in the back of the room. He sat without a word, casually tossing his bag on the floor and reclining in his chair as if he already knew the rules of the game.

Jadieu stole a quick glance at Tony, unsure of what to expect. The new boy seemed unlike anyone else there, yet there was something disturbingly familiar about his carefree attitude.

“Now, where were we?” Mr. Roberts turned back to the board, resuming the lesson. “Ah, yes. The replication process…”

But the atmosphere in the room was no longer the same with Tony Stonem in it. Though Mr. Roberts continued explaining, his voice became background noise for Jadieu, who could now sense the new student shifting in his seat beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tony lean forward, staring at the board with disinterest. After a few minutes, Tony turned to him, breaking the uncomfortable silence between them.

“So,” Tony began, speaking quietly enough that the teacher wouldn’t hear but with a sharp tone that demanded attention. “My dad thought sending me to this posh boys’ boarding school would somehow be good for me.”

Caught off guard, Jadieu didn’t know how to respond right away. He barely knew this guy, let alone felt comfortable enough to engage with him. He kept his eyes on his notebook, pretending to be focused on the lesson, but he could feel Tony still watching him.

“He said I needed ‘structure’ and ‘discipline,’” Tony scoffed. “What he really wants is to keep me out of trouble… as if that’s possible.” He let out a dry, sarcastic laugh before leaning back in his chair again.

Jadieu shot him a quick glance, trying to figure out what motivated such a sudden and personal outburst.

“And you? Was it your choice to come here?” Tony asked, leaning slightly closer, his gaze now fixed on Jadieu.

Jadieu fidgeted nervously with the headphones resting around his neck. “Not exactly. I just… needed to stay close to a friend and help another,” he replied hesitantly, referring to Nick Duval and Trent Northwick but unwilling to share details with someone he’d just met.

Tony nodded slowly, his eyes calculating but not judgmental. “I guess it’s always like that,” he remarked, as though talking more to himself. “We’re all here because of someone or something we couldn’t control. This place is probably a prison disguised as a school.”

Jadieu remained silent, reflecting on that statement, while Mr. Roberts continued his lesson in the background, oblivious to the side conversation. Something about Tony’s overly confident manner irritated Jadieu at times, but at least the guy had a nice smile.

As the class went on, Tony maintained a posture that seemed carefully designed to draw attention without saying much. He didn’t bother taking notes. Instead, he casually observed the other students, his gaze intense yet casual, as though playing a mental game only he understood. Occasionally, he smirked slightly, as if amused by some private joke.

When Mr. Roberts asked another question about DNA structure, Tony sighed loudly enough to be heard but not disruptively so. Several students glanced at him, puzzled, but the teacher ignored him, assuming Tony was simply disinterested. It was as if Tony knew exactly how far he could push things without consequences.

Instead of paying attention, Tony began fiddling with one of the rings on his finger, twisting it slowly while glancing around the room. When curious gazes turned his way, he merely winked at a student across the room, unconcerned about gender, as if engaging in a completely different form of entertainment. The student, rather than reacting with hostility or slinging insults, simply blushed, too shy to respond, and looked away. Tony shrugged, turning back to the board with a calculated expression of disinterest.

At some point, the teacher paused to adjust his materials, and Tony, never missing an opportunity, muttered to himself, just loud enough for Jadieu to hear: “What a waste of time.” He didn’t seem to be addressing anyone in particular, but his infuriatingly relaxed tone was signature Tony. He didn’t need to be the center of attention to control it.

When the teacher turned back to write on the board, Tony discreetly grabbed his phone, his fingers moving swiftly across the screen. He smirked at something he saw, then glanced back at the teacher as if he had never taken his eyes off the lesson. Tony Stonem was physically present, but he had already decided this place wasn’t worthy of his full attention.

As the class went on, Tony remained distracted, either fiddling with his phone or watching his classmates with a piercing gaze. At some point, he turned his attention back to Jadieu, who was still focused on avoiding drawing attention to himself. Tony regarded him with a faintly amused expression, as if he were studying every detail about him.

"You're pretty quiet, aren’t you?" Tony commented suddenly, his voice carrying a relaxed, confident tone that made him sound more intimate than expected. Jadieu, who was trying to focus on his notes, looked up, startled by the remark.

Tony smirked. "No need to look so surprised; I’m just curious." He leaned in slightly closer, almost whispering in Jadieu’s ear. "You’ve got this... mysterious vibe. I like it."

Jadieu blushed, unsure how to respond. Tony seemed to be toying with his words, yet there was something genuine about the way he looked at him—something difficult to decipher. "I don’t think I’m mysterious," Jadieu muttered indifferently.

"Oh, you are," Tony insisted, his smirk widening, though his expression remained enigmatic. "And another thing... I like your style. Kind of disconnected, different from the rest of these guys here." He cast a quick glance around the room before returning his gaze to Jadieu. "It makes you stand out, even when you’re not trying to."

Jadieu shifted uncomfortably, unaccustomed to receiving compliments, especially so directly. He avoided Tony’s gaze, slightly annoyed, and rolled his eyes before returning to scribbling in his notebook.

Tony chuckled softly, clearly enjoying Jadieu’s reaction. "Relax," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I’m just being honest. Nothing wrong with admiring what’s beautiful, right?"

Once again, Jadieu didn’t know what to say. Tony had this knack for disarming people with his words, as if he were always in control without ever revealing what he truly thought.

Tony turned his sharp yet distracted gaze back to the room until something at the back of the class caught his attention. He glanced at Jadieu again, then flashed a mischievous smile, nodding toward one of the students in the corner.

"Hey, is that guy actually asleep?" he whispered to Jadieu, referring to Trent Northwick, who had his head resting on the desk, completely out cold.

Jadieu followed Tony’s gaze and saw Trent, breathing heavily and clearly oblivious to the lesson. He hesitated before answering, not wanting to encourage Tony’s playful demeanor. "Yeah... It’s only my second day here, but from what I’ve gathered, he probably does this all the time. This can’t be his first time."

Tony chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Impressive. The guy’s as relaxed here as if he were at home." He paused, as if pondering the situation more deeply than necessary. "Maybe I should follow his lead. If he can sleep through a biology class without being bothered, why can’t I?"

Jadieu, still visibly annoyed, shrugged and continued to draw random circles in his notebook.

The biology classroom was in a relative silence, with Professor Roberts' murmurings in the background as he explained the next part of DNA replication. However, in the corner of the room, Trent Northwick was completely oblivious to the lesson. His body was slouched in the chair, his head tilted to the side, eyes closed, with a soft snore escaping from his slightly open mouth. It was clear that the boredom of the subject had defeated his resistance, and he was deeply asleep.

Professor Roberts, always alert to the smallest distractions, noticed Trent’s head had fallen and stopped speaking. The room became tense in silence, as the students nearby tried not to laugh, watching the scene.

Without saying a word, the professor grabbed the wooden ruler from his desk and silently walked to the back of the room, stopping by Trent's desk. With a quick, precise movement, he slammed the ruler hard on the desk, producing a loud crack that echoed throughout the room.

*BAM!*

Trent jolted in his chair, his eyes wide with fright, while the other students held back their laughter. He blinked several times, still trying to understand where he was and why his heart felt like it was about to leap out of his chest. "What? What?" he questioned, looking around, disoriented.

"Mr. Northwick." Professor Roberts said, still holding the ruler with a stern look. "If biology isn’t enough to keep you awake, perhaps I should find something more interesting for you to do, like reviewing all the replicating cells from today’s lesson... After class."

The room remained silent, with a few muffled laughs here and there. Trent, still trying to catch his breath, quickly shook his head, running his hands over his face as if trying to shake off the sleep. "No, Professor. Sorry. I'm awake now."

"Good," the professor said, returning to the board. "I hope it stays that way."

After recovering from the shock, Trent adjusted himself in the chair, running a hand through his hair in a gesture trying to appear casual. He shot a glance at the professor, who had already returned to the board, and decided it was time to make his presence known.

"Man, you know I’m, like, irresistible, right?" He said loudly, catching the attention of those nearby. "The girls just can't resist The Trentman. Look at me!" He gestured dramatically, as if showing off, while some students around rolled their eyes, but couldn't help but enjoy it.

One of the classmates nearby, laughing, commented, "Yeah, sure, Trent. If you say so..."

Trent ignored the sarcasm and continued, now with an exaggerated smile. "And if any of them aren’t into it, it’s because they’re weirdos, you know? I’m like a magnet, but, like, for girls." He winked, and a few students nearby laughed, while others seemed uninterested.

"But hey." Trent continued. "Gotta watch out for those losers who follow you around." He spoke to himself in third person. "They think they can be like The Trentman, but, seriously, no chance. You gotta have that natural charm, and not everyone can pull it off, you know?"

When a student at the back shouted, "Boring!" Trent just chuckled. "Come on, dude, you think I don’t know? It’s just jealousy, because The Trentman is a success, and you... Well, you’re just a loser."

As he spoke, Trent's confidence seemed to grow, as if he were center stage. He was the only one who had any idea of what to do, and, as much of a goof as he was, that was enough to keep others around him entertained.

When the silence returned to the room, Tony, who had been watching everything with his usual mischievous smile, leaned slightly toward Jadieu, speaking in a low voice, but loud enough for him to hear.

"Did you see Northwick's forehead?" Tony said, laughing softly. "It looks like a minefield. How can he still see with those huge craters in the middle of his forehead?"

Jadieu clenched his fists upon hearing the comment. Trent could be many things, but he was his friend, and seeing Tony mocking him so cruelly sparked something inside him. He wasn't used to reacting aggressively in class, but at that moment, he couldn’t hold back.

"That wasn’t funny." Jadieu raised his voice, replying firmly, more than he expected. "You don’t even know Trent, and you’re talking like that. He didn’t do anything to you."

Tony raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised by Jadieu's defensive reaction. He didn’t seem used to being confronted by someone so quiet. "Hey, relax." He tried to calm him, still smiling arrogantly. "I was just kidding. Everyone makes jokes now and then, right?"

"This isn’t a joke... I don’t see anything funny about it." Jadieu stared at Tony directly, feeling his face heat up with anger. "If you don’t have anything better to say, maybe it’s better to shut up."

The room was buzzing, but to Jadieu, the world seemed to close in at that moment. He rarely positioned himself like this in this kind of environment, but defending Trent made him push himself not to back down. Tony, on the other hand, seemed both intrigued and entertained. He watched him for a few seconds, as if deciding what to do.

"Wow, who would’ve thought." Tony smiled. "You’ve got some guts when you want to, huh?" But before he could say more, he gave a light pat on Jadieu’s shoulder and reclined in his chair, as if the argument wasn’t interesting anymore.

Jadieu, however, remained irritated, trying to relax while the circles in his head intensified.

…..

Trent had always had a defiant posture, even when he was at a disadvantage. He leaned forward in his chair, his hands resting on his legs, and kept a steady gaze. "You know." he said in a casual tone. "I don’t care what people think. The Trentman likes girls just as much as he likes guys. Simple as that."

Despite being open about his bisexuality, he didn’t mention it in front of his old school group at Bullworth. It was a part of his life he kept to himself, like a card up his sleeve. He felt that if he revealed this aspect to them, he might lose the image he had so carefully built.

"Just because I’m a good-looking guy." He continued, crossing his arms with a challenging smile. "Doesn’t mean I can’t like other things. Life’s too short to care about labels, right?" He looked around the room, daring anyone to contradict him.

Even when faced with negative reactions or jokes, Trent kept his head held high. He always found a way to respond with a taunt or a laugh, as if he were always in control, even when the situation wasn’t in his favor. "Come on, you guys are just jealous because I get along with everyone." He boasted, as if challenging anyone to doubt his irresistibility.

Behind all of his confidence, Trent kept a secret he wouldn’t dare reveal to anyone: A slight crush on Jadieu. There was something about the way Jadieu reacted to Trent’s teasing that amused him. The way he got annoyed, how he cared for his friends, all of that drew Trent in a way he hadn’t expected.

Every time Trent saw Jadieu getting frustrated with something or someone, a playful smile appeared on his face. He loved poking at him, teasing him lightly. "Hey, Jadieu." He’d say. "Don’t worry so much. You’ll get wrinkles before your time!" The laugh that followed, often accompanied by a look of disdain from Jadieu, made Trent’s heart race in a strange, exciting way.

Trent found it funny how easily Jadieu got exasperated, but he also noticed how much he cared for those around him, especially the ones closest to him. That combination of seriousness and a bit of humor made Jadieu irresistible to him. Though he tried to act nonchalant, deep down, Trent wished Jadieu could see beyond his tough-guy façade and realize that there was more to him than just "The Trentman."

Looking at Jadieu, Trent thought, "Maybe one day I’ll tell him, but for now, I’ll just keep having fun with my teasing."

"Northwick." Professor Roberts stopped writing on the board. "Are you going to stay quiet or do I need to expel you like I did with Exposito?"

"Sorry, I stopped."

As the biology class continued, Trent adjusted himself in his chair, trying to ignore the fatigue that still pursued him. However, his attention was quickly diverted when he noticed Tony leaning in toward Jadieu, casually complimenting him.

"Hey, Jadieu, you’re really cute when you’re mad. I like your style." He teased with a hint of praise, while Tony flashed his typical confident smile. Jadieu, who was trying to focus on the lesson, just shook his head, dismissing the compliment and returned his attention to the professor.

Trent felt a knot form in his stomach. He didn’t want to feel jealous, but he couldn’t help it. The way Tony was approaching Jadieu, the friendly and laid-back tone, it all bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He crossed his arms, looking at the two with a mix of frustration and insecurity.

"Just another loser trying to get attention." he murmured to himself, though his voice was a little louder than he intended. Some classmates nearby shot curious glances, but Trent made sure to keep a neutral expression. He wanted Jadieu to notice his teasing, but he also wanted to figure out how to get closer to him without looking desperate.

The lesson eventually moved forward, but Trent’s thoughts remained focused on Jadieu.

As Tony continued talking to Jadieu, trying to get a smile from him, Trent couldn’t help but feel a bit excluded. “Why is this affecting me so much?” he thought, feeling irritated. Jadieu was just being Jadieu, annoyed and vehemently ignoring the presence of the other.

He took a deep breath, trying to convince himself that, in the end, it didn’t matter. But at the same time, he couldn’t shake the feeling of possessiveness, something that left him more confused than ever.

(...)

Jadieu, however, could only think about the weight of the words he barely heard, dreading the next moment when the invisible music would take over his mind, generating immense anxiety in him. The muffled sound of the pen scratching the paper barely disguised the growing discomfort in his head—a familiar pressure that always formed when something involving music was about to happen. He feared the moment when the "glitch" would strike again.

Suddenly, a melody began to form in the background, soft at first but increasing in intensity with each passing second. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound, but he knew it would be useless. It was like a storm about to break, pulling him into that parallel world where everyone around seemed to forget themselves and started to sing, while he watched helplessly.

The culprit was Trent, bored with the class...

(I Wanna Be Sedated - Ramones)

[1. https://youtu.be/bm51ihfi1p4?si=XTQ4jMGfVQKA2kLg]

Trent:

20, 20, 24 hours to go

I wanna be sedated

[Trent drummed his fingers on the table with the most bored expression in the world while looking at her. Jadieu, on the other hand, shrunk with the music, trying to lessen its intensity on him as if that were possible.]

Nothin' to do, nowhere to go, oh

I wanna be sedated

Just get me to the airport, put me on a plane

Hurry, hurry, hurry before I go insane

I can't control my fingers, I can't control my brain

[His hands trembled]

Oh no, oh, oh, oh, oh

20, 20, 24 hours to go

I wanna be sedated

Nothin' to do, nowhere to go, oh

[He leaned back against the table, sighing with boredom]

I wanna be sedated

Just put me in a wheelchair, get me on a plane

[The teacher tried to keep the class’s attention, but it was impossible, and chaos soon broke out around Trent’s table with several students walking alongside the teacher, doing random things.]

Hurry, hurry, hurry before I go insane

I can't control my fingers, I can't control my brain

Oh no, oh, oh, oh, oh

[Jadieu pressed his hands against the headphones, but the random movements of his classmates, like a spontaneous choreography, were just as disturbing as the music. His breathing became faster, and he felt the familiar heat rise to his face.]

20, 20, 24 hours to go

I wanna be sedated

Nothin' to do, nowhere to go, oh

I wanna be sedated

[Trent hummed, now leaning even further back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head, looking completely oblivious to the devastating effect he was having on Jadieu.]

Just put me in a wheelchair, get me to the show

Hurry, hurry, hurry, before I go loco

I can't control my fingers, I can't control my toes

Oh no, oh, oh, oh, oh

[He nervously drummed his fingers on his leg.]

20, 20, 24 hours to go

I wanna be sedated

Nothin' to do, nowhere to go, oh

I wanna be sedated

Just put me in a wheelchair, get me to the show

Hurry, hurry, hurry, before I go loco

I can't control my fingers, I can't control my toes

Oh no, oh, oh, oh, oh

Bam, bam, ba-bam, ba-bam, bam, ba-bam

I wanna be sedated

Bam, bam, ba-bam, ba-bam, bam, ba-bam

I wanna be sedated

Bam, bam, ba-bam, ba-bam, bam, ba-bam

I wanna be sedated

Bam, bam, ba-bam, ba-bam, bam, ba-bam

I wanna be sedated

When Trent finally finished, Jadieu let out a shaky sigh of relief, as if he had just emerged from underwater. The silence that followed was as brief as it was precious.

Chapter Text

As soon as he left the biology classroom, Jadieu ran into Kurt again. The boy seemed insecure, hesitant to approach him.  

“Jadieu,” Kurt called softly, almost whispering.  

“Yes?” Jadieu responded, stopping and turning his attention to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wanted to talk to me earlier.”  

“I... I’m interested in studying here at Dalton. How much is the tuition?”  

“It’s $10,000 per month,” Jadieu replied, calmly adjusting the cuffs of his uniform at his wrists.  

Kurt’s eyes widened, and he let out an involuntary gasp. “$10,000?! Where am I supposed to find $10,000?! My parents, Burt and Carole, could never afford that! Why is it so expensive? Is the boarding school made of gold?” He could barely breathe, trying to process the exorbitant figure.  

Jadieu sighed lightly but understandingly. “Calm down. We have scholarships for those who can’t pay. Maybe you could get one?” He genuinely seemed to want to help, a bit saddened that the boy beside him couldn’t immediately afford to escape to a safer place.  

Before Kurt could respond, a mocking voice interrupted. “Complaining about $10,000?” Hunter Clarington appeared, his confident smile and typical rich-kid posture showing he’d never had to worry about money. “Kid, what world do you live in? There are way more expensive schools. My dad is just kind enough to keep the price accessible.”  

Kurt raised an eyebrow and, still trying to stay calm, asked sarcastically, “And you? The headmaster’s son?”  

“Exactly.” Hunter extended his hand with a triumphant grin. “Hunter Clarington. Pleasure.”  

Kurt reluctantly shook his hand, his face clearly showing irritation.  

Hunter smirked arrogantly. “And look at that, I even shake hands with a potential scholarship kid. And they say I’m insensitive.” He turned to leave but not before throwing in a venomous comment. “Excuse me, toothless boy and... oh, Jadieu, you’re so old-fashioned, always playing the good guy. See you around.”  

Jadieu, ignoring the taunt, gently took Kurt’s hand, trying to calm him. “It’ll be okay. If you want, I can help you. My friend Nick can give you all the information about scholarships.”  

“Thank you, Jadieu,” Kurt said, touched but still hesitant. “But we just met. I don’t want you to go out of your way for me.”  

“I’m not going out of my way,” Jadieu replied with a soft smile. “I’m just doing the bare minimum.”  

Kurt watched him for a moment before looking away, worried. “I’d love to study here, but that Hunter guy gave me a terrible first impression. Besides, I’d prefer to pay and not depend on a scholarship. There isn’t some secret society that bullies scholarship kids, is there?”  

Jadieu chuckled softly. “No, nothing like that. It’s different here.”  

A third voice joined the conversation, accompanied by a light laugh. “Secret society? That’s so 18th century.” Logan Wright Duke, a charming blond from the Warblers, appeared with a carefree air. “Do you really think we’d have something so medieval?”  

“My dad went through something like that in his youth,” Jadieu commented. “He studied at a rich school called Elite Way School. They had a society that was really harsh on those who didn’t fit in.”  

“Who’s your dad?” Kurt asked, curious. “Sorry for being nosy, but most of you seem to come from important families.”  

Jadieu shrugged, unbothered. “It’s fine. My parents are Miguel Arango and Mia Colucci. They formed a famous band in Latin America called RBD. It was huge back in the day. In fact, Elite Way turned into a music-focused school because of them.”  

“Wow!” Kurt exclaimed, surprised. “That’s amazing!”  

“Yeah, but sometimes it’s not easy being the child of famous people,” Jadieu replied with an amused smile, though there was a hint of melancholy in his voice.  

Nick, oblivious to the atmosphere, ran up to Jadieu with his usual radiant smile. “The Warblers are about to perform! Are you coming to watch?”  

Jadieu hesitated, fidgeting with the headphones he always carried. “I don’t know, Nick... It’s a glee club, and you know my condition...”  

Before he could finish, Kurt, curious, interrupted. “Wait, is it true that the glee club here at Dalton is popular? Like... really popular?”  

Nick turned to Kurt with enthusiasm. “Popular? It’s the heart of the school! The Warblers aren’t just a glee club; they’re practically an institution. Everyone loves their performances.”  

Jadieu rolled his eyes slightly but smiled. “Nick has a certain... passion for the group.”  

“And with good reason!” Nick shot back excitedly, ignoring Jadieu’s tone. “They’re amazing. You have to watch, Kurt.”  

Kurt seemed intrigued, while Jadieu sighed, already feeling the weight of expectation.  

“Alright, I’ll watch,” Kurt finally conceded.  

Nick cheered, clapping lightly. “Great! It’s in the Warblers’ main room in 15 minutes. Don’t be late!” He turned to Jadieu, his eyes pleading. “Please, Jadieu? Just this once. You don’t have to stay until the end.”  

Jadieu sighed again, now with a hint of exhaustion. “Fine, Nick. Just don’t expect me to stay long, okay?” He adjusted his headphones, already anticipating the need to use them.  

“Thanks, J!” Nick gave his friend a quick hug and ran off toward the hall.  

Kurt observed the interaction, confused. “What’s your condition, if you don’t mind me asking?”  

Jadieu hesitated but saw the sincerity in Kurt’s question. “I have something called ‘Music Glitch.’ It’s... complicated. Basically, I perceive all the spontaneous songs people start singing as... real. Like, not just a random performance. It’s as if every note is a direct assault on my senses.”  

Kurt’s eyes widened. “Wow. That sounds... tough.”  

“It is,” Jadieu replied simply. “That’s why the headphones. They help filter it a bit, but they don’t solve everything. Especially with the glee club.”  

“But you’re still going to watch?” Kurt asked, impressed by his determination.  

“Nick’s my best friend,” Jadieu said with a small smile. “I can endure a little discomfort for him.”  

Kurt nodded, seeming to admire Jadieu’s loyalty. “Well, at least you’re not alone. I’ll be there too.”  

The two walked together to the main room, where other students were already gathering. Nick waved at them, beaming.  

“You’re going to love this,” Nick whispered to Kurt. “Blaine’s doing a solo today. He’s amazing.” Nick stood up. “I need to go; I’m performing.”  

Jadieu was already adjusting his headphones, trying to mentally prepare for what was about to happen. Meanwhile, Kurt looked around, fascinated by the atmosphere.  

A wave of murmurs swept through the audience. Jadieu closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Another performance. Another silent battle against the chaos music brought to his mind.  

And then, the first notes began.  

A confident and extroverted boy named Blaine stood in front of the choir group and sang the lead solo while the other “Warblers,” including Nick, accompanied him.

Teenage Dream – Glee Cast 

[1. https://youtu.be/obw6ZosVUPs?si=3251VFgk1AVHrxBt]

Blaine: 

You think I'm pretty without any makeup on

You think I'm funny when I tell the punch line wrong

I know you get me, so I let my walls come down, down

Before you met me, I was alright 

(Blaine sang with his back to the other students during this part, facing the choir group. Shortly after, he turned to the audience, moving his hands as if deeply connected to the music.)

But things were kinda heavy, you brought me to life

Now every February, you'll be my valentine, valentine

Blaine:

Let's go all the way tonight

(He swayed his body gently from side to side, snapping his fingers, followed by the Warblers.)

No regrets, just love

(He paused briefly, stopping his hand movements before resuming them as before.)

We can dance until we die

You and I, we'll be young forever

Warblers:

You make me 

Blaine: 

Like I'm livin' a

Warblers:

Teenage dream

(Blaine grew more enthusiastic, pointing directly forward.)

Blaine:

The way you turn me on

Warblers: 

I can't sleep

Blaine: 

Let's run away 

Warblers:

and don't ever look back

Don't ever look back

(The Warblers spun around slowly, returning to their original positions.)

Warblers:

My heart stops  

Blaine:

When you look at me

(Blaine confidently pointed to himself as Kurt smiled shyly and affectionately, clearly smitten.)

Warblers:

Just one touch

Blaine:

Now, baby, I believe

(Sang with conviction.)

Warblers:

This is real

Blaine:

So take a chance

Warblers: 

and don't ever look back

Don't ever look back

Blaine:

We drove to cali and got drunk on the beach

Got a motel and built a fort out of sheets

(Blaine sang this part more softly.)

I finally found you, my missing puzzle piece, I'm complete

Blaine: 

Let's go all the way tonight

No regrets, just love

We can dance until we die

You and I, we'll be young forever

Warblers:

You make me

Blaine: 

Feel like I'm livin' a

Warblers:

 Teenage dream

(Raised his voice and placed his hand on his heart, excited.)

Blaine: 

The way you turn me on

Warblers:

I can't sleep

Blaine: 

Let's run away 

Warblers: 

And don't ever look back

Don't ever look back

My heart stops 

Blaine:

When you look at me

(All the students in the room watched the performance enthusiastically, while Jadieu moved discreetly to the rhythm, showing that he was enjoying it, though wearing headphones because his ears are sensitive.)

Warblers:

Just one touch

Blaine:

Now, baby, I believe

Warblers:

This is real

Blaine: 

So take a chance 

Warblers:

And don't ever look back

Don't ever look back

Blaine: 

I'ma get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans

Be your teenage dream tonight

Let you put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans

Be your teenage dream tonight

(Smiled sweetly and started the instrumental part of the song, pausing while the Warblers made chorus sounds or repeated a word in the background.)

(Warblers: Tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight)

(Wes gritou: YOU!) you make me (Wes: Make me)

Feel like I'm livin' a teenage dream

(Blaine sang near Wes as they enjoyed performing together.)

The way you turn me on, I can't sleep

Let's run away and don't ever look back

Don't ever look back (Wes: No!)

My heart stops when you look at me

(Some students danced in a secluded manner.)

Just one touch, now, baby, I believe

This is real (Wes: Oww), so take a chance and don't ever look back

(Blaine made a “no” gesture with his hands and head.)

Don't ever look back

Blaine: 

I'ma get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans

(Pointed from side to side casually while singing.)

Be your teenage dream tonight

Let you put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans

Be your teenage dream tonight

(All the Warblers stopped the performance, placing their hands in front of their bodies in a neat manner, then all the students applauded and some congratulated them.)

(...)

Nick finished the song with an enthusiastic wave to Jadieu, his usual radiant smile. "Guys, this is my friend I told you about!" He said, pulling Jadieu to the center of the room. "I’ve been really excited for him to come study here. Just, uh... be patient, okay? He has a rare condition called 'Music Glitch.' It's complicated to explain, but basically, he gets really stressed by singing and dancing."

"Hot" Sebastian said bluntly, eyeing Jadieu without subtlety, making him visibly uncomfortable.

"Sebastian, take it easy," Blaine said, trying to keep a friendly tone, but clearly embarrassed.

"If he has a condition where he can't handle singing and dancing, why’d you bring him to the Warblers' room?!" Jeff asked, eyes wide. "You trying to kill the kid?"

Hunter crossed his arms, skeptical. "Yeah, Nick, explain that. Does it make sense to you, or is it just in your head?"

"Calm down, Jeff," Nick said defensively. "The condition doesn't kill him!" He paused, thinking. "I mean, it could, but it's really rare."

They all stared at him in disbelief.

Nick tried to steer the conversation. "Anyway, he’s amazing. He’s won singing and dancing competitions before..."

"Nick..." Jadieu interrupted him with a stomp on his foot, making him wince in pain.

"Seems like he’s not really enjoying what you're saying," Jeff remarked, frowning as if he felt the pain himself.

"Hey, Jadieu. I’m Blaine Anderson," Blaine said, extending his hand. "I’m part of the Warblers. I hope you feel welcome here."

"Are you the leader?" Jadieu asked, hesitantly shaking his hand.

"No, the council leads the group. Like Wes." Blaine explained, pointing to the Asian guy who was watching everything with a slight smile. "And we also have David and Thad in the council."

Sebastian interrupted, placing his hand on Blaine's shoulder. "He's being modest. His opinion is essential in the council."

"Oh, cool. I thought you were the leader," Jadieu said, still cautious.

"Well, it was great meeting you guys," Jadieu said, looking away shyly. "But I’m gonna head back to the dorm."

"Wait!" Nick interrupted, excited. "Why don’t you stay and watch the performance we rehearsed in honor of you?"

The students began murmuring excitedly while Jeff complained dramatically, "I thought I was your best friend!"

"You are too!" Nick assured with an innocent smile.

"He’s my best friend," Jeff retorted proudly.

"Best after Jadieu, of course. So, second place," Sebastian teased, receiving a playful slap from Jeff, which Hunter held back while the others egged on the "fight."

"Guys, enough," Wes said, tired.

Jadieu, observing the chaos, crossed his arms. "I shouldn’t be here. Music makes me want to rip my own ears off."

Nick laughed nervously. "He’s joking! He’s playful!"

"Playful, huh?" Blaine asked, turning to Nick. "We need to talk."

While the two went for a private conversation, Sebastian, Hunter, Jeff, and Thad tried to eavesdrop behind the door, while Jadieu put on his headphones and threw himself onto the couch, oblivious to the chaos.

"Have you lost it? Jadieu clearly doesn't like this stuff. Don’t force him to watch performances or participate. That’s not fair to him," Blaine commented from the other side of the door, trying to stay calm.

"He likes music, he just needs time to adjust," Nick responded, almost pleading.

"Adjust? Nick, you know he doesn't need to force this. We don’t need everyone to like glee."

Outside, Kurt approached, confused. "What’s going on here?"

"The real question is: What are YOU doing without your uniform?" Hunter made a face, causing Kurt to look at his own clothes.

"Why are we doing this?" Thad asked, whispering.

"Because it’s fun," Sebastian replied, pushing him to get a better position.

Thad complained. "Sebastian, you pushed me!"

"You were in the way," Sebastian retorted, indifferent.

"Thad smells like...armpit." Hunter pinched his nose.

"True, it’s really strong," Jeff coughed, trying to reduce the smell coming from the other.

"I forgot deodorant."

"Just deodorant? What about the bath you never take?!" Hunter accused.

"It’s not even Saturday. Why take a bath?"

"My God, Thad, one day you’ll even kill a skunk," Sebastian moved a little away from the door.

"Quiet, guys!" Jeff hissed.

The door suddenly opened, and the listeners fell to the ground. Blaine shot a reproachful look. "Were you eavesdropping on the conversation?"

"Not me!" Kurt raised his hands defensively. "I just wanted to know what they were doing."

Jeff pointed at Sebastian. "It was his idea!"

"Oh, sure, now it's all my fault," Sebastian said sarcastically.

"Sorry," Jeff mumbled, feeling resentful.

Blaine shook his head, sighing. "Just don't do that again. It's weird."

"You’re not seriously going to let that weirdo hang around with us, are you?" Hunter said with a certain disgust, referring to Jadieu. "Just look at him, he looks like someone who’s aggressive." They looked at Jadieu, who remained calm, sitting on the couch and covering his ears with headphones.

"I know how to deal with him." Nick started to get a bit of attention, accompanied by some jealousy from Jeff.

Jadieu smiled and waved at Nick from a distance, then looked back down, rubbing his hands together.

"And you're super calm, aren't you, Hunter?" Thad accused. "Wasn’t it you who freaked out on the Lima Bean employee just because he messed up the coffee order?"

Hunter drew attention to himself, and when everyone looked, he arrogantly said, "I’m just going to ask one thing. Shut up."

Nick ignored him and walked back into the living room. "Let’s perform, guys! This time, it’s to honor my friend Jadieu."

Jadieu gave a forced smile. "Another song. I’m so excited…"

The Warblers were ready to begin the performance, while Jadieu sank into the couch, adjusting his headphones.

Sing (Ed Sheeran) - Glee Cast

[2. https://youtu.be/tTX32ycT4Vs?si=_5Gl4evOPveKeLQ2]

[3. https://youtu.be/93rCGVbIkfU?si=Snlb4Tdwt2euGmfs]

(Nick signaled for them to start singing)

Skylar: 

It's late in the evening

Glass on the side

I've been sat with you

For most of the night

(The Warblers danced in sync with ease, until at one point they turned to each other, at a reasonable distance, and clapped at the same time)

Ignoring everybody here

We wish they would disappear

So maybe we could get down

Skylar:  

I don't wanna know

(The Warblers moved closer to Kurt, as he was new there, making Blaine take his hand and guide him to the couch, sitting him next to Jadieu)

If you're getting ahead of the program

(Skylar shook his head with his finger)

I want you to be mine, lady

To hold your body close

(All the Warblers moved to one side, while the others moved to the other side, leaving an open passage)

Take another step into the no-man's land

For the longest time, lady

Nick e Warblers:

(They leaned their bodies down to the rhythm of the music, swaying and spinning before standing up) 

I need you darling

(Jadieu found the lyrics strange because Nick said it was a tribute to him. But he quickly forgot about that when he realized they liked singing romantic songs in general)

Come on, set the tone

(They raised their arms up before placing their hands on part of their blazers and keeping them there)

If you feel you're falling

Won't you let me know

Oh, oh, uh-oh

Oh, oh, uh-oh

If you love me

Come on, get involved

(One of the Warblers did a flip in the middle of the room, causing the students to cheer)

Feel it rushing through you

From your head to toe

Oh, oh, uh-oh

Oh, oh, uh-oh

Blaine:

Sing!

Warblers:

(Some of the Warblers joined and moved the couch Kurt and Jadieu were sitting on, pushing it across the room, even spinning it, leaving Kurt enchanted and Jadieu disgusted, scared, and dizzy)

Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh

Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh

Blaine:

Louder!

Warblers:

Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh

Blaine

Sing!

(Nick approached Jadieu and pulled him, encouraging him to sing too) 

Jadieu: 

(He adjusted his blazer)

This love is a blaze

I saw flames from the side of the stage

And the fire brigade comes in a couple of days

Until then we got nothing to say and nothing to know

But something to drink and maybe something to smoke

Nick: 

Let it go until our roads are changed

(Looks happily at his friend)

Singing we found love in a local rave

No, I don't really know what I'm supposed to say

But I can just figure it out and hope and pray

Skylar: 

I told her my name and said "It's nice to meet ya"

And then she handed me a bottle of water filled with tequila

I already know she's a keeper

Just from this one small act of kindness I'm in deep

If anybody finds out

I'm meant to drive home but I've drunk all of it now

Not sobering up we just sit on the couch

One thing led to another, now she's kissing my mouth

Jadieu, Nick e Warblers:

I need you darling

Come on, set the tone

If you feel you're falling

Won't you let me know

Oh, oh, uh-oh

Oh, oh, uh-oh

If you love me

Come on, get involved

Feel it rushing through you

From your head to toe

Oh, oh, uh-oh

Oh, oh, uh-oh

Blaine:

Sing!

 Warblers:

Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh

Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh

Blaine

Louder!

Warblers:

Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh

Blaine:

Sing!

Warblers:

Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh

Blaine e Warblers:

(Skylar: Can you feel it?)

All the guys in here don't even wanna dance

(Skylar: Can you feel it?)

All that I can hear is music from the back

(Skylar: Can you feel it?)

Found you hiding here so won't you take my hand, darling

(He crouched slightly and stood up again)

Before the beat kicks in again

Jadieu:

(Put both hands on his blazer and then spread his arms)

Can you feel it?

Ooh, ooh, oh

Can you feel it?

(Asked facing Nick) 

No, no, no, no, oh

Blaine, Skylar e Warblers:

I need you darling

(Blaine sat on the couch singing while the Warblers slid the couch across the room, leaving Kurt staring at him all goofy)

Come on, set the tone

If you feel you're falling

Won't

you let me know

Oh, oh, uh-oh

Oh, oh, uh-oh

If you love me

Come on, get involved

Feel it rushing through you

From your head to toe

Oh, oh, uh-oh

Oh, oh, uh-oh

Nick:

Sing!

(...)

The students celebrated at the end of the song, showing how much they enjoyed the performance with applause and congratulating them. Some of them formally shook hands with some of the Warblers before leaving, while others chatted as they headed toward the exit.

“You sing and dance very well. I must admit I liked it when you joined us for the ‘Sing’ performance,” Blaine commented. “It’s a shame you don’t like it much. But I have to say you seemed pretty happy during it.”

Jadieu adjusted his headphones and smiled shyly, shaking Blaine’s hand. “I couldn’t resist when Nick asked me to join,” he confessed awkwardly while being stared at by a furious and jealous Jeff, feeling uncomfortable because he noticed.

The boy took a breath and, without much thought, acted, saying to Anderson before stepping away, "Great talk, man, but I need to do something now." He warned before approaching his friend Nick and intentionally pushing him into Jeff's arms, pretending it was an accident by bumping into him.

“Sorry.” Nick looked him in the eyes and blushed deeply, trying to free himself from the blonde’s arms.

“N-No problem.” Jeff scratched his neck.

Jadieu smiled contentedly and left with a grin on his face, feeling that his work was done.

Chapter Text

Jadieu drooled while sleeping, leaving only one arm hanging off the bed, lying on his stomach in the deepest part of his slumber, completely unaware of his surroundings. This exact reason explained why, when the alarm clock rang, he was startled more than ever, quickly raising his body in fear and almost falling out of bed, disoriented and confused, taking a moment to realize his situation.

Gradually, he started becoming aware, sitting up on the bed and placing his hand on his racing heart, taking deep breaths to calm himself before searching for the alarm clock to turn it off.

After turning off the alarm, Jadieu let out an exasperated sigh, running his hands over his face. He looked around the still dark room, his messy hair falling over his forehead as he tried to gather the courage to get out of bed. The morning chill wasn’t helping at all.

"Why do I always set the alarm so loud?" he murmured to himself, tossing the blanket aside. His arm trembled from laziness as he reached the headboard, where his headphones rested. Even without music, he put them on for comfort.

Standing up, he tripped over his own feet and was given a disdainful look by Fidelius, his guinea pig, who was watching from inside his cage.

"Good morning to you too, drama queen," he muttered to the guinea pig, who responded with a short sound, as if mocking his state.

Still groggy, Jadieu dragged his feet to the mirror. He paused for a moment, examining his appearance. His eyes were swollen from sleep, and his hair was completely out of control. He frowned, pulling a lock of hair to the side.

"What a disaster..." he whispered, frustration in his voice.

No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, the reflection in the mirror made small insecure thoughts pop up. 'What if I still look like that nerd with glasses? The one no one took seriously...'

He shook his head, dismissing the thoughts. "No drama, Jadieu. Just another hellish day at Dalton."

With that mantra in mind, he headed to the wardrobe, removing his t-shirt and preparing to put on the uniform. Jadieu looked at himself in the mirror and tried to tie the tie for his Dalton uniform, but he was clearly struggling and failed several times, even letting out a sigh of frustration and irritation.

Trent, still sleepy, turned toward the side of the bed and looked down at Colucci's failed attempts.

"Need help?"

"No," Jadieu answered, all tangled up with the tie, then lamented. "It’s tough being me."

Trent shrugged and jumped out of bed, landing smoothly with his feet on the ground.

"Let me see," he said, wearing a comfortable hoodie and a white tank top, approaching in an almost analytical manner.

"Fine." Jadieu put his hands up.

Trent fiddled with the tie, quickly fixing it and making it perfect. "Done."

"How did you do that?" Jadieu asked, a little incredulous.

"I’m used to it. Don’t believe it by my personality and style? Well, I want to be a famous Hollywood actor, desired like a great gentleman by women, and the least I should learn to be in formal, rich, elite settings is how to wear a good suit and tie a tie properly."

Jadieu shrugged and turned abruptly and arrogantly, like his mother and the rich spoiled boy that he was. "I didn’t ask."

"Are all you rich boys this conceited and stuck-up?" Trent asked rhetorically, tapping Jadieu’s shoulder lightly and provocatively, walking away and heading to his side of the wardrobe, removing the pajama pants and putting on the new ones.

"I’m not arrogant, how dare you say that, you filthy hillbilly?" Jadieu positioned himself, glaring at him. "And what girl would want you? All messy and dirty, ugh."

"It seems like someone’s been analyzing me a lot," Trent said, still shirtless, showing off. "Are you liking what you see?"

Jadieu snorted, crossing his arms and quickly turning his gaze away. His cheeks had a slight reddish tint.

"Don’t be ridiculous," he replied, his tone sharp as always. "You look more like a scarecrow that just came out of the field than anything worthy of being analyzed."

Trent laughed, that carefree laugh that always made Jadieu a little more irritated than he would like. He pulled on a white shirt from his uniform and casually adjusted it as he continued to provoke.

"Yeah, sure, Colucci. You only turn red because you’re mad, right?" He winked, getting close enough to mess up Jadieu's already disordered hair. "Relax, The Trentman knows he’s irresistible. It’s natural."

"You’re unbearable!" Jadieu exclaimed, pushing Trent's hand away and dramatically fixing his hair.

"You love me," Trent replied, moving out of reach with a sly smile as he finished buttoning up his shirt. "And by the way, I think your mom would be proud of your dramatization right now. Ten out of ten."

Jadieu narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at him. "Watch it, Northwick, or I swear you’ll regret provoking me this soon."

Trent raised his hands in surrender, but the mischievous grin remained on his face. "Okay, okay, I’ll stop. For now. But only because I need a coffee before I continue my charm show."

Jadieu rolled his eyes but couldn’t help a small smile. "You’re impossible..."

Trent winked at him one more time before heading to the door. "And you can’t live without me, drama king. Now, are you coming or not? I don’t have all day."

Jadieu sighed, running his hand over his face again. "Why does he always have to be so... him?" he thought, shaking his head before finishing getting ready, mentally preparing himself to face another day at Dalton and, inevitably, more of Trent’s teasing.

Once they had both gotten dressed and finished getting ready, they left the room together, passing through the hallway and heading toward the cafeteria. Jadieu walked confidently with his head held high, holding his brown bag by his side, the way Dalton students carry their materials. They arrived at the cafeteria, where breakfast was being served, surrounded by students who looked at them with a mix of disdain, neutrality, or curiosity. Sitting at a table in the center were two separate tables, probably belonging to the more popular students, as they were in the middle and everyone else kept their distance, with only these tables showing color different from white. Jadieu crossed his arms, tapping his foot lightly on the floor.

Jadieu noticed Samuel and Christian already in line for breakfast. Christian was distracted, messing with his watch, while Samuel looked bored as he held his tray.

"Look who’s already securing their spot," Trent commented, leaning slightly to speak in Jadieu's ear. "Christian and the always grumpy Samuel."

"Please," Jadieu responded, adjusting his blazer once again. "I don’t even know if they’re really friends. They can hardly hold a decent conversation without Samuel arguing with Christian."

"But that sounds familiar, you always argue with me and we’re still friends. What a coincidence," Trent teased, raising an eyebrow.

Jadieu didn’t respond, just walked toward the line, stopping a few steps behind Samuel and Christian while waiting for his turn.

"Well, at least we have breakfast to make the day better," Trent added, grabbing a tray while casting a casual glance at Samuel and Christian. "Or, who knows, maybe a little morning drama... you know, courtesy of Colucci."

Jadieu rolled his eyes but couldn’t help a slight smile. "If that’s what you live for, Northwick, I’m not surprised you’re still below me in the hierarchy."

“Look at this,” Christian held his tray and stared at the slimy, gray, suspicious paste the cafeteria worker put on his plate. “Is this safe? I expected so much more from such an expensive school.”

"Mine moved!" Samuel screamed, clearly freaked out, pulling the tray away from his body.

Jadieu made a disgusted expression. “I don’t know if I want to eat this, it doesn’t look appetizing.”

“Are they trying to kill us because we’re scholarship students?”

"Stop it, Christian, Jadieu’s not a scholarship student, and if you didn’t notice, everyone’s eating the same thing," Samuel responded rationally, walking behind the two.

"Everyone, except them." He tilted his head toward the center table, implying that the students sitting there had a much better meal.

"They’re Hunter, Logan, Brock, and Nick, the last one is my best friend," Jadieu explained.

"Hunter Clarington? I’ve talked to him, he’s the unbearable guy with the cat," Christian rolled his eyes before becoming thoughtful, offering a suggestion. "How about we say hi to them?"

"I don’t know, they’re all distant, doesn’t seem like a good idea."

"Why so shy? And Jadieu’s friends with one of them." He winked playfully. "Aren’t you, Jade?"

"Christian, for God’s sake...."

Samuel, ignored by Christian, looked at Jadieu, who responded with a confused expression and a slight shrug. With little choice, Samuel followed Jadieu and Trent’s movement, who were also walking toward the table. The trio headed over, making Samuel feel somewhat inclined to follow them, as if he had no other choice. Christian, with a cigarette behind his ear, settled down and placed his tray on the table, while being scrutinized with arrogant and careful glances from the other boys, except Nick, who smiled warmly and greeted him.

"Hi, Chris."

"Hello, good boy and kind." He shook hands and made himself more comfortable. "Good morning, guys, how’s life?"

"What are you doing sitting here?" Logan Wright, a blonde with a serious and arrogant look, asked, showing a voice of someone who wasn’t interested or friendly about him being at the same table.

"Look, Samu, how interesting, this one is rich, spoiled, blonde, and arrogant, totally your type, the difference is that he’s a guy."

"Shut up, Christian!"

"You guys have a lot of nerve sitting here, let's see, which of these alternatives fit the three of you? My first guess is that you’re all very stupid, the second is that you’re innocently ignorant? And I think the second option is the right one since you just got here at Dalton yesterday." Hunter commented.

"....." One of the boys, seemingly mute and in a Dalton uniform with blue parts instead of red, smiled mockingly, used sign language, and then went back to eating.

"Brock called you crazy and said he likes it." Hunter translated.

"Is he mute?"

"No, he’s non-verbal autistic, you idiot." The blonde, Logan, replied to Christian, still remaining completely inaccessible.

"Let me guess, the four of you are the most popular at the boarding school, everyone’s afraid of you, you’re the leader representing Regina George, the blonde over there is Karen, the quiet one is Gretchen, and Nick, the only nice one, fits the role of Cady?"

"You’re talking about the Plastics? No, we’re actually like the Heathers, our group is called the Destruction Quartet. But if you want something similar to the mean girls, they’re at that table." The leader Hunter pointed towards the pink table, where there were boys sitting and talking with pink details in their uniforms instead of red.

"My dad pays $10,000 for this?" Jadieu complained about the food.

A man with an athletic build and a typical smile of someone who thinks highly of himself walked up to them and grabbed Jadieu's tray.

"What?!" Exclaimed Colucci, surprised and angry.

"You’re not going to eat this, are you?" The man who took the tray responded.

"And you’re going to eat it?" He stared at him with a rhetorical question, finding him stupid and lunatic.

"I am, this food is the best thing there is."

Logan looked at him bored and said apathetically. "Hi, Guzman."

"My pasta moved, it walked. I swear, it walked and escaped." Samuel said spontaneously, scared, and a little too loud. "Are you sure this pasta is safe and edible?"

Jadieu shrugged. "Feel free with that."

Guzman ate happily and with gusto, cleaning his spoon and making it shine.

"This crazy rich kid must be joking with us, there’s no way this can be good." Christian theorized while taking a small bite of the pasta for himself. Everyone immediately stopped talking, staring at him, waiting for him to finish tasting and give his opinion on the suspicious and disgusting food. After several minutes of him savoring it before swallowing. "Guys... It’s delicious."

Samuel whined. "Mine moved and ran away, I’m sad."

Jadieu grabbed another spoon and took some of the mush, bringing it to his lips. "Wow, it really is good. He didn’t lie."

Trent decided to try it and was surprised by the taste. "It’s like I’ve been invited to the banquet of the gods."

"Guys, my pasta over there moved, ran away, and you’re eating this?"

"Give me back my plate!" Jadieu screamed, throwing a tantrum.

"Now it’s too late." Guzman simply ignored him and dodged when the other tried to go after him to take the tray back.

Christian started eating and spoke with his mouth full. "Now, who are the boys at the pink table over there?"

"It’s where the Regina George 2.0 project is and the rest of her worker bees." Guzman replied. "And you guys are really newcomers and dumb, huh? We shouldn’t even be here in the first place."

"Look who’s talking, the one who’s also here. Another place you technically shouldn’t be."

Logan looked at Christian with disdain. "I give Guzman a free pass sometimes."

"I think I’m going to say hi to them." Christian smiled, outgoing.

"Perfect!" Logan encouraged. "That way, you’ll stop bothering us."

"Don’t do it!" Polo suddenly appeared next to Guzman and warned, very worried, waving his hands and stuttering a little.

"Or what? Are you going to kill me?"

"They will." Ander arrived right behind Polo. "Not literally."

"Are you guys afraid of them? I thought you were the badass students here."

"Look at how you talk!" Guzman tried to go up but was blocked by Polo and Ander.

"Christian, don’t start trouble." Samuel tried to calm his friend down.

Jadieu adjusted his headphones and started hearing an instrumental sound typical of musicals suddenly coming from nowhere. "Are you guys going to start singing?"

Meet the Plastics – Mean Girls

[1. https://youtu.be/kmJ9Vy4afBA?si=ko1YIWF01vAipbdm]

Christian: 

“Whoa okay, but who’s at that table over there?”

(Jadieu muttered: Guys, please don’t start singing, for heaven’s sake.)

Polo:  

“Don’t look at them, just don’t!”

Ander:

“We call these three ‘the plastics.’  

They’re shiny, fake, and tough.”

Guzman:  

“They play their little mind games all over the boarding school.”

Polo:

“They’ll insult your clothes or mock your name.”

Ander:

“Just like they mocked Jean Morecock until she ended up in flames.”

Polo: 

“And Mrs. Morecock was a teacher.”

(He says, lowering his voice as if he doesn’t want to be overheard.)

Guzman:

“Reginald George is the queen bee, he’s a famous French model and always dresses well.”

(Jadieu commented by himself in the middle of the song: Is he related to that French guy named Donatello George I met?)

Ander:

“He’s always the king of spring, we’re just drones  

Working for him and then we die.”

(Hunter said, acting proud: Same with me, you useless ones.)

Reginald: 

“My name is Reginald George  

And I’m what matters most  

Fear me, love me  

Stay and look at me  

And these... these are real [Reginald said, referring to his abs]  

[Reginald, a tall, blonde, and slim guy, said, referring to his perfect beauty. At least, he believes he has perfect beauty.]  

I have money and looks  

I’m intoxicated with power  

The whole school fucks my leg like a chihuahua  

[Reginald means that almost the entire school depends on what he says.]  

I’m the prettiest poison you’ve ever seen  

And I have a great physique  

...  

My name is Reginald George  

And I’m what matters most  

I don’t care who you are  

I don’t care how you feel.”

Ander:  

“That’s Gael Wieners, he knows everything about everyone.”

Guzman: 

“That’s why his hair is so big.”

Polo:  

“He’s full of secrets.”

Gael:

“Reginald, no Reginald  

Every hour I stay awake  

I make sure Reginald George stays in power  

If Reginald is the sun, then I’m a disco ball  

Because I’m bright and fun if you had alcohol  

I take all your secrets and tell my master  

Then I watch Reginald turn your life into a big mess  

(Students: Mess!)  

Reginald is the king, but I’m the head  

Of the worker bees while I sit on his right side  

Like Jesus was a Jewish prince.”

(Gael means that like the religion, Jesus is seated on the right side of God, as he said he is next to Reginald.)

Guzman:

“That’s Kevin Smith  

The dumbest person I’ve ever met.”

Ander:

“I once saw he put a D in the word orange”

Kevin:

“My name is Kevin  

My hair is shiny, my teeth unfortunately aren’t perfect  

(He pointed to his own braces)

My cheerleader shorts are short and cover my graceful butt.

My name is Kevin, I may not be smart but... (he raised his voice)  

.....  

......  

.....  

That’s all.”

Reginald:

“Right, we never really did  

But would you like to sit with us this week?”

Samuel:  

[Surprised]  

“Oh, okay.”

Reginald:

“No, you don’t have to thank us.”

Samuel:

“But...”

Reginald:

“You don’t even need to speak  

You’re new and don’t know much  

You need good friends who can tell you what to think  

I’ll see you here at the same time tomorrow.”

Reginald, Gael, and Kevin: 

“On Wednesdays, we wear pink  

On Wednesdays, we wear pink.”

Gael:

“Yeah, Reggie  

[Kevin: My name is Kevin]  

No, Reggie]  

Every hour I stay awake  

[Kevin: This is where you belong]  

I make sure Reginald George stays in power  

[Kevin: My hair is shiny]  

If Reginald is the sun  

[Kevin: Unfortunately, my teeth aren’t perfect]  

Then I’m a disco ball  

[Kevin: My cheerleader shorts are short]  

Because I’m bright and fun  

[Reginald: This is where you belong]  

If you had alcohol.”

Reginald, Kevin, and Gael: 

“Put on something nice and grab a tray  

Because we do this every day  

Say that you belong here  

Say that this is where you belong.”

Reginald: 

“No, seriously, say it.”

Reginald, Kevin, and Gael:

“Say this is where you belong.”

Samuel: 

“This is where I belong.”

Gael:

“Come sit with us tomorrow

It'll be fetch!”

(...)

Jadieu and Christian looked at Samuel, who seemed disconnected from the boys in pink blazers at the pink table. He looked like a hostage of the male version of Regina George and her group, forcing a smile and shrinking back, glancing at his friend almost as if asking for help.

“They're holding your friend hostage,” Jadieu warned.

“Believe me, he'll be fine,” Christian seemed indifferent and continued with his point. “Because he's in the middle of the popular crowd here, from what I understand, and if they like him, that's great for him and his image, right? It could be worse. He could have gone to another elite school where people die every month, he gets bullied for being poor, and he's even a suspect in a crime because a girl was killed by a trophy hitting her in the head.”

Jadieu looked at him confused. “That was really specific, are you okay?”

“Sorry, that was a reference and a fourth-wall break.”

“One of the rules of the school is that I can’t be near trophies,” Polo commented randomly, making Jadieu even more confused.

Logan Wright clapped his hands once, lightly and arrogantly, as if trying to draw attention to himself. “Go away, all of you,” he ordered, expelling Guzman and his trio of friends, leaving only Jadieu and Christian, the new guys who didn’t follow the order. The blonde adjusted his formal seat and looked at Christian, saying, “Great, I wanted you to stay here anyway.”

“Any special reason?”

“Yes, there’s a very special reason!”

Hunter, Nick, and Brock didn’t intervene and continued quietly or drinking coffee, acting normally while Logan took the reins.

“You, boy, get an extra chair for me,” he pointed to Jadieu.

“I won’t.” Colucci retorted. “Do I look like a servant now?”

“Do I need to ask twice?”

“If I bring an extra chair, can I sit with you guys and be close to my friend Nick?” He asked, adjusting the star sticker on his forehead.

“No way.” Logan seemed irritated.

Jadieu waved to Nick and set his expression into a serious and irritated one, responding sharply and defiantly, not caring about what could happen to his reputation for reacting like that to the Hunter quartet. “Then deal with it, screw it!” He stomped his foot and walked away.

“Such a jerk.” Logan showed surprise and adjusted his blazer, which had green parts.

Christian grabbed an empty chair and dragged it to the table. “Don’t worry, I’ll manage.” He sat carelessly, spreading his legs and folding his hands, wanting answers. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

“Tell me how, I repeat, how you managed to be in the top 10 of the school’s most handsome and desired boys? I was number 10 in the ranking and now I’m 11 because of you!” He punched the table, startling Brock and Nick, who widened their eyes.

“What? What ranking? A ranking of the most handsome? Besides the school already seeming pretty gay, you guys vote on each other's looks?”

Logan grabbed a strawberry milkshake glass with a straw on the table, holding it and looking furious, shaking with rage, and took a sip before continuing. “Don’t play dumb! Of course, it’s not us who vote, it’s the girls from the girls' boarding school branch. They’re the ones who rate us.” He put his hands on the table and leaned forward, getting close to Christian, almost threateningly. “Now tell me, how did you get into the top 10 when you only got here yesterday, huh?!”

“Calm down, Aaron!” Hunter shouted, using Logan’s middle name, which immediately softened his tone.

“What did you say, beautiful?” He softened his voice and asked calmly, likely out of fear of the leader.

Christian wasn’t intimidated and smiled. “Well, I have a lot of loyal Instagram followers who appreciate my beauty. And one day, I’ll become famous. Look, I’m a handsome man with broad shoulders and confident in my appearance. My body is quite toned, and I use that to my advantage, which has made me gain many followers, both female and male. The truth is, I’m just really smart, that’s it.”

Logan shrugged. “Do you like my nails?” He showed them, painted green. “I did them myself last night.” He continued staring at his nails. “You know who I am? I’m the damn Logan Aaron Wright Duke. Which means I’m at the top of the hierarchy in this school, and I don’t like that you took my spot in the ranking. The least you can do is follow me to the damn cafeteria and do what I say!” He gritted his teeth and tried to calm down again. “That is, unless you want to become a social pariah.”

Christian laughed mockingly. “I think I already am, I’m poor and on a scholarship.”

“Don’t make things harder for yourself.”

Christian kept mocking. “I’m so scared, let me see who I’m talking to, I should analyze this better. Let me point out the green uniform, the equally green tie… Hmm… You must be the Powerpuff Girls’ Buttercup. Really, it’s so dangerous to challenge someone with powers.” He crossed his arms and smiled.

“How dare you insult someone from the destruction quartet?!”

“Relax, I’m just kidding, dude. Where’s your sense of humor?” He tapped the blonde's shoulder and removed the cigarette from his ear, moving it between his fingers. “Now tell me, who are the other guys in the top 10 that the girls think are more attractive than me?”

“I’ll answer!” Nick exclaimed enthusiastically, secretly annoying Logan. “They are:”

1. Hunter Clarington
2. Guzman Nunier
3. Sebastian Smythe
4. Blaine Anderson
5. Nick Duval (me)
6. Polo Benavent
7. Reginald George
8. Kevin Smith
9. Gael Wieners
10. You

“I’m done!” Nick clapped happily, and Logan rolled his eyes, secretly finding him insufferable.

“Is that it? Great!”

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Christian defended Nick. “He’s so cute.”

“You too.” The dark-haired guy with yellow details on his blazer smiled and pinched the other’s cheek lightly.

Jadieu watched the scene from afar, sighing in frustration because they didn’t let him sit at the table with his friend, who he had known since childhood. Obviously, they only saw each other during vacations because they used to live in different countries—one in the United States and the other in Mexico—so he wanted to spend more time with him now. But those annoying popular guys made things difficult since Nick was part of their group. And Jadieu thought, maybe he would have to find a way to get into the group? It shouldn’t be that hard since his mother is a Colucci, and Mia Colucci was quite popular in her school days—why couldn’t her son be too? He should try.
These thoughts left him feeling both frustrated and sad, and he now wondered: “How did innocent and happy kids grow up to become such cruel and exclusive teenagers?”

[Hunter Chandler, Nick MacNamara, Logan Duke, Brock Sawyer:]

Heathers – Beautiful

[2. https://youtu.be/hFrmswtFSz0?si=GTSiy8uV9iLCFKPq]

Jadieu:
Another full day at Dalton

Dear diary,
I believe I am a good person.
You know, I believe there is kindness in everyone, but...

Here we go again! Another day of the year!

And I look at all these kids in adolescence and wonder...

What happened?

Students:
Freak!
Slacker!
Druggie!
Four-eyed!
Fake!
Whale!

Jadieu:
We were all small
Happy and bright
Playing tag and being caught

Students:
Freak!
Slacker!
Loser!
Retard!

Jadieu:
Singing and clapping, laughing and napping.
Baking cookies, eating dough.

Students:
Gay!
Conceited!
Pervert!

Jadieu:
Then we grew up, and that was the trigger
Like the Huns invading Rome.

bumps into someone Oh, sorry!

Welcome to my new school, this isn’t a school:
This is the pit of hell.

Hold your breath and count the days, numb for years, until we graduate.

Students:
Poor!

Jadieu:
High school will be heaven, if I don’t die inside by the end of the year!

But I know...I know....

Life can be beautiful.

I pray, I pray for the best.

If we change before, we can change again.

Because life can be beautiful.

Jayden:
Ow!!!

Jadieu:
But not today.

Hey, are you okay?

Jayden/Gothic:
Go away, nerd!

Jadieu:
Oh, okay shrugs indifferently

Students:
Freak!
Slacker!
Lame!
Gay!
Gay!
Gay!

Jadieu:
Things will get better
Once I learn to better ignore the musicals around me.
I’ll wake up from this coma, get my diploma,
Then I can leave this place.
Dreaming of ivy-covered walls and French cafés.

Luke:
Check this out!

Jadieu:
Fighting the urge to light a match and burn this dump!

Luke:
Oops.

Jadieu:
Luke Algern
Third year Warbler
And as always, knocking over lunch trays.
And being a major jerk!

Luke:
What did you just say to me, asshole?

Jadieu:
Ahh bored Nothing!

Jadieu:
But I know...I know...

Students:
I know...I know...

Jadieu:
Life can be beautiful.

I pray....I pray for the best.

(Students: I pray....I pray for the best)

Jadieu:
We were kind once

(Students: Ooh)

Jadieu:
We can be kind again

(Students: Ooh)

Jadieu:
We can be beautiful

(Students: Ooh...Beautiful!)

Jadieu:
AH! startled then calms down Hi Nick.

Nick:
Hi!

Jadieu:
Nick Duval. My best friend since diapers.

Nick:
Let’s have a movie night?

Jadieu:
Yes, you bring the popcorn.

Nick:
I rented The Princess Bride

Jadieu:
Oh oh oh
Again?
Wait, haven’t you memorized it by now?

Nick:
What can I say? I’m a sucker for a happy ending!

Coryn:
Trent garbage truck heavy load! OOOhhh!! intimidating him

(Note: This is Trent Warbler/Trent Nixon, not Trent Northwick, don’t mix them up)

Haha!

Jadieu:
Coryn Kelly, Quarterback and Warbler.
He’s the smartest guy on the football team,
Which is like being the tallest dwarf.

Coryn:
Hahaha! That’s right! knocks something over

Jadieu:
Hey! Pick that up now!

Coryn:
Wait, are you actually talking to me?

Jadieu:
Yes, I am!
I want to know what gives you the right to mock that guy? points to Trent
You’re a student waiting to be a gas station attendant.

Coryn:
You’ve got a pimple right here points

(Students: hahahaha!)

Jadieu:
Dear diary:
Why....

Trent:
Why do they hate me?

Polo:
Why don’t I stand up for myself?

Coryn:
Why do I act so weird?

Girl:
Why wouldn’t he date me?

Jadieu:
Why....?

Luke:
Why did I hit him?

Jadieu:
Why....?

Polo, Reginald, Trent Nixon, and Logan:
Why do I cry myself to sleep?

Jadieu:
Why?

Students:
Someone hug me!
Someone fix me!
Someone save me!

Jadieu and Students:
Send me a sign, God!
Give me some hope!
Something to live for!

(Instrumental)

Students:
Ahhhh...Hunter, Logan, Brock, and Nick

Jadieu:
So we have the quartet of destruction.
They float above all of this.

(Background students: I love Hunter, Logan, Brock, and Nick...)

Jadieu:
Brock Sawyer, illusionist and non-verbal autistic. His dad is rich, but his identity (of the father) is a mystery.

(Background students: I hate Hunter, Logan, and Brock and Nick...)

Jadieu:
Logan Aaron Wright, cheerleader. Logan mimics and repeats everything the leader (Hunter) says, and they think he envies him. But his parents are much richer since his father sells wedding rings.

(Background students: I want Hunter, Logan, Brock, and Nick...)

Jadieu:
And Hunter Clarington, the mighty.

(Background students: I need Hunter, Logan, Brock, and Nick...)

Jadieu:
He’s a mythical slacker!
They are untouchable, never bothered, never disturbed.
I’d give anything to be like them.

(Students: Mhhh)

Girl:
I wish I were dating them.

Students:
That would be so beautiful.

Girl:
If I sat at their table, guys would notice me!

Students:
So beautiful...Oh

Nick:
They’re my friends, but I wish they were kinder.

Students:
That would be so beautiful...Oohh..

Jayden: darkly
I wish I could kidnap one of the quartet, perform an ancient magic ritual with his blood, leaving him naked in an abandoned warehouse, and ultimately tie him up for the rats.

(Sound effect)

Logan: vomiting in the bathroom

Hunter:
Grow up, Aaron, bulimia is so 80s.

Nick:
Maybe you should see a doctor, Logan. concerned

Logan:
Yeah, Nick, maybe I should.

Teacher:
Oh yes, Hunter, Brock, and Nick.

Logan: vomiting

Teacher:
And Logan.

Maybe you didn’t hear the bell for class because of all the vomiting. You’re late to class.

Brock:.....

Nick:
Logan wasn’t feeling well, we’re helping him!

Teacher:
Not without permission, one-week detention.

Jadieu:
Hm, actually, teacher, we all have permission. Yearbook committee.

Teacher:
I see you all listed. Hurry and get to class.

Hunter:
That’s an excellent forgery. Did you learn it from that father of yours Nick mentioned?

Jadieu:
Hmm....Yes...Sort of. I want a favor.

Hunter:
What favor?

Jadieu:
Let me sit with you at lunch. Just once.

No need for conversation.

If you think you can tolerate me, you’ll leave me alone.

(Hunter and Logan laugh, while Brock stays serious and Nick smiles happily at his friend)

Jadieu:
Before you respond, I also do bulletins, permits, and absence slips.

Nick: innocent and clueless
Prescriptions too?

Brock: rolls eyes

Hunter:
He told you to be quiet.

Nick:
Sorry, Brock.

Hunter:
For a nobody, you have a good bone structure.

Logan:
And a symmetrical face.

Brock:....

Hunter: translating
Brock says if he ran a meat cleaver down the center of your skull, it’d be perfectly even. This is very important.

Logan:
Of course, you could lose a few pounds.

Hunter:
And you know, know, know?
That could be beautiful.

Nick: enthusiastic
Yay! I could recommend makeup, but it’s not commonly used for men.

Hunter:
Fix his hair a bit.

And Logan, I need a tie in another color.

Let’s make him beautiful.

Let’s make him beautiful!

Logan:
Let’s make him beautiful.

Brock:.... nods

Nick:
He’s already beautiful.

Hunter:
Okay?

Logan:
Okay!

.....

Coryn:
Move out of my way, nerd!

Trent Nixon:
I don’t want trouble!

Luke:
You’ll be dead by three!

Reginald George and Gael Wieners:
Don’t touch me!
Go away, pervert!

Sebastian:
What did I do to them?

Students:
Who would survive this?
I can’t escape this!
I think I’m dying!

Nelson:
Who is that with the Quartet of Destruction?

Students:
Whoa! Wow!

Students:
Hunter, Logan, Brock, and Nick...

Nelson:
And someone else!

Students:
Hunter, Logan, Brock, and Nick.

Girl 1 and Girl 2:
And another handsome boy!

Students:
Hunter, Logan, Brock, and Nick.

Jeff:
Jadieu?!

Students:
Jadieu? Jadieu? Jadieu? Jadieu!

Jadieu:
And you know, know, know?

(Students: Oooh)

Jadieu:
Life can be beautiful!

(Students: Ahh! Beautiful!)

Jadieu:
You hope, dream, pray

(Students: Oooh)

Jadieu:
And you
get the best!

(Students: Oooh)

Jadieu:
Ask me how it is

(Students: Beautiful!)

Jadieu:
Rocking these heels!

(Students chorus)

Jadieu:
My God, it’s beautiful!

(Students: Beautiful!)

Jadieu:
I can be beautiful!

(Students: Beautiful!)

Jadieu:
And when you’re beautiful

(Students chorus)

Jadieu:
It’s a damn beautiful day!

Students: excitedly
Hunter, Logan, Brock, and Nick! repeat multiple times

Students:
Hunter, Logan, Brock, and Nick! Jadieu! repeat

Students:
Jadieu!
Jadieu!
Jadieu!

Jadieeeeu!!!

(...)

Nick smiled at his friend as he put on a blazer with purple details, draping the school uniform over his shoulders, adjusting it and brushing off the dust.

“Now you're a member of the Destruction Quartet.”

“I’m glad it worked. I had to resort to dialogue from musicals. You know? You can manipulate an entire reality around you just by singing.”

“I don’t get it, buddy.”

“I know you don’t, it’s okay, Nick.”

“The Warblers are having a meeting today. Can you show up there?”

“Sorry, Nick, I’ve already told you I don’t want to join the Warblers. I don’t like singing or music.”

“I know you like it, Jade. You don’t have to be afraid or hold yourself back because of your condition.”

Jadieu placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders and kissed his forehead. “Nick, I can come by, just to keep you company. Is that okay?”

“Alright!” Nick smiled happily.

“I’m going to class.” He stopped at the door, about to open it.

“Bye, Jade.” He waved.

Chapter Text

The Warblers' great hall was unusually quiet. The headmaster of Dalton Academy, Mr. Clarington, had just announced that Donatello George, a newcomer to the campus, would be the group’s new leader. The news was met with suspicious glances and muffled murmurs.

Donatello walked in with firm steps, his upright posture and impeccable blazer reinforcing his serious and militaristic demeanor. He stopped in front of the group, looking each member in the eye as if assessing soldiers in formation.

“Good afternoon,” he began calmly. “I imagine you’re surprised by my appointment.”

A murmur rippled through the room until a voice broke the silence with sarcasm.

“Surprised? I’d say we’re... shocked.” Sebastian Smythe, with his trademark grin, leaned back in one of the chairs, arms crossed. “After all, no one here knows you.”

Donatello slowly turned toward Sebastian, maintaining his composure.

“That might be true, but the headmaster believes I have what it takes to lead.”

“Oh, sure. Nothing screams ‘Warbler leader’ like a stranger with sergeant-like tendencies,” Sebastian shot back, eliciting stifled laughs from a few members.

Donatello kept his gaze fixed on Sebastian, ignoring the jab.

“Leadership isn’t about popularity; it’s about results. And that’s exactly what I intend to deliver.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Right, ‘Captain.’ And what’s your brilliant plan? Bark orders and hope we just follow along?”

Donatello tilted his head slightly, studying the challenger with a mix of patience and determination.

“My plan is to show you the potential you haven’t yet tapped into. But first, I need to see how you work. Show me your rehearsal.”

Sebastian let out a short, ironic laugh. “Oh, sure. Let’s impress the great military strategist.”

David, one of the council members, shot Sebastian a reproachful look before intervening.

“That’s enough, Sebastian. Let’s do as he asked.”

Reluctantly, the group began rehearsing, singing one of their most well-known songs. Donatello watched every detail: the members who stood out too much, the harmonies that weren’t balanced, and the lack of synchronicity in certain moments. When they finished, he gave a brief nod.

“You have a lot of talent,” he admitted. “But you’re leaning on it too much.”

Sebastian stepped forward, arms still crossed. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means you’re relying more on individual talent than on teamwork,” Donatello replied with the calmness of someone accustomed to criticism. “Let’s try again, but with some adjustments.”

Donatello rearranged their positions, adjusted the harmonies, and explained how each member should contribute to the overall performance. Despite their initial resistance, the group began to notice the difference. The sound became more cohesive, more powerful.

When they finished, Donatello looked at them with a hint of approval.

“This is what you can achieve when you work together. There’s still much to do, but if you give me a chance, I promise to take you beyond what you think is possible.”

Sebastian stared at him, narrowing his eyes, but a flicker of respect shone in his gaze.

“Well, that wasn’t... horrible. Let’s see if you can keep it up, ‘Captain.’”

Donatello allowed himself a slight smirk. He knew he still had to earn the group’s trust, but this first step was already a victory.

(...)

The room echoed with the sound of suspicious voices. Tension ran high as Donatello remained firm at the center of the hall, staring down the Warblers, who clearly didn’t know how to handle the news of his appointment. Among them, Hunter Clarington’s presence was particularly intense. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was furious.

Hunter abruptly stood, his face twisted with indignation.

“You expect me to believe that my father replaced me as leader to put this kid in charge?” His voice dripped with incredulity and contempt. He pointed at Donatello as if he were a personal affront. “We don’t even know him, and he’s already crowned himself king around here, the arrogant—”

The accusation drew murmurs of agreement from some members, but the irony was hard to miss. Hunter Clarington, the most rigid and egotistical Warbler of them all, calling someone else arrogant was, at the very least, comical.

Donatello, however, remained unfazed. He didn’t flinch or falter under Hunter’s heated tone. Instead, he moved with the calmness of someone who had faced challenges before. With a swift, precise motion, he pulled a folded document from his folder and placed it on the table, almost tossing it toward Hunter.

“I *am* the new leader of the Warblers,” he declared firmly, each word clear and unyielding. He pointed to the paper with his finger. “Here’s the official document, signed by the headmaster and owner of Dalton Academy. If you don’t believe it, feel free to confirm it with him personally.”

Hunter hesitated for a moment, surprised by Donatello’s confidence. He grabbed the document brusquely, pulling Sebastian Smythe over to examine it with him.

“It... looks legit,” Hunter admitted reluctantly, though his voice was laced with hesitation. He cast a glance at Donatello, still unwilling to accept defeat. “But just to be sure, we’ll verify it personally later.”

Sebastian, standing beside him, rolled his eyes with a small, ironic smile.

“Until then, ‘Captain,’ I suggest you don’t get too comfortable in that chair. Nothing’s guaranteed here.”

Donatello raised an eyebrow but didn’t take the bait. He simply crossed his arms, his gaze steady on Hunter and Sebastian, as if strategizing his next move.

“Feel free to confirm with the headmaster,” Donatello said in a tone that bordered on challenging. “But in the meantime, I suggest we use our time together to focus on what truly matters: the Warblers’ performance.”

Donatello’s direct response drew murmurs of surprise from some of the other members. Hunter narrowed his eyes but stepped back, clearly considering his next move.

As Hunter and Sebastian moved to confer in hushed tones, Donatello turned to the rest of the group, his posture still impeccable.

“Let’s get back to rehearsal. Your talent is impressive, but it can be so much more than that. And I’ll prove it to you, whether you like it or not.”

Donatello’s confidence began to chip away at the resistance in the room. Even those who were skeptical started to see that he wasn’t someone who would back down easily. Hunter and Sebastian might still be planning their rebellion, but Donatello had already established one thing: he wasn’t here to lose.

The atmosphere in the room was growing increasingly chaotic. Hunter Clarington, clearly exasperated, crossed his arms and glared at Donatello with a mix of disdain and irritation.  

“Wait, what? Back to rehearsal? Is that it?” He huffed. “We haven’t even confirmed if the document is real, and we haven’t even heard him sing to know if he’s any good.”  

Donatello raised an eyebrow, unfazed.  

“You want me to sing?” he asked calmly. “Fine.”  

He began to prepare but was interrupted by Skylar, who adjusted his perfectly gelled hair and crossed his legs in an impeccably composed posture.  

“Before any performance, may I ask why you left Vocal Adrenaline?” Skylar asked directly. “They’re known for being really good. You were one of them, weren’t you?”  

Before Donatello could respond, Jon (the Beatbox Warbler), wearing a mischievous grin, chimed in:  

“Either he screwed up big time, or he got disappointed.”  

Skylar persisted, ignoring Jon:  

“So, what was the reason?”  

Donatello gave a sly smile, placing his hands behind his back in a nearly theatrical manner.  

“I’m not telling you,” he replied boldly. “It’s very personal.”  

Sebastian Smythe, who had been watching the exchange with an amused expression, smirked maliciously.  

“‘Personal?’ Suuure. That just makes the story more interesting.”  

Hunter slammed his hand on the table, his patience already stretched thin.  

“Stop talking and let him sing already!”  

But before Donatello could even open his mouth, the door opened once again.  

“What the hell is it now?!” Hunter shouted, spinning around to see who it was.  

Jadieu entered, looking a bit lost as he adjusted the star sticker on his forehead with an innocent expression.  

“It’s me. I came to watch the meeting,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.  

“You’re not even a Warbler!” Hunter exclaimed, his eyes wide with indignation.  

Blaine Anderson raised his hands in a calming gesture.  

“Let him stay, Hunter. Nick invited him, and the council approved it. It’s fine.”  

Hunter let out a heavy sigh and turned back to Donatello.  

“Well then, can you sing now?”  

Donatello was about to respond when, to Hunter’s fury, someone else walked into the room.  

“Who is it now?! I swear I’m expelling someone!” Hunter yelled, pointing at the door.  

The newcomer was Reginald George, who entered with the posture of someone who knew exactly the impact they had. Blonde, arrogant, and wearing the female version of the Warblers’ uniform, he seemed completely indifferent to the confusion his presence caused.  

“You’re not very polite, are you?” Reginald remarked, adjusting the skirt that ended just above his knees. He wore black tights and shiny flats, his presence completely contrasting with the room full of blazers.  

“Reggie George? Fantastic,” Hunter grumbled, crossing his arms again. “Regina George 2.0 has arrived.”  

Reginald rolled his eyes and naturally assumed the center of the room.  

“I’m here to support my brother Donatello,” he announced, holding a clipboard with an air of boredom. “And, of course, he’s adopted, which is why he’s not as good-looking as I am. I’m here as his assistant, such a humiliating job.”  

“REGGIE GEORGE! I LOVE YOU!” shouted a Warbler from the back of the room, clearly excited.  

“Everyone does,” Reginald replied with a shrug.  

Suddenly, Jared (other really gay warbler) burst into the room, visibly panicked.  

“OH MY GOD! THERE’S A GIRL HERE!” he shouted, completely horrified. “THEY’RE ACCEPTING GIRLS NOW?! IMAGINE THE SEXUAL TENSION! THIS CAN’T BE!”  

Thad rolled his eyes.  

“It’s not a girl, Jared; it’s just a boy wearing the female uniform.”  

Jared stopped, visibly relieved, and placed a hand over his heart.  

“Oh, got it. Welcome, new guy!”  

Sebastian rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.  

“Let this kid sing already before I lose my patience,” he grumbled.  “And someone lock that damn door!” Hunter snapped, his tone sharp.  

Finally free of interruptions, Donatello walked to the center of the room. He picked up a delicate silk scarf, positioned himself in the middle, and straightened his posture. His serious and confident demeanor silenced the murmurs around him.  

“Very well. I hope you’re ready.”  

Everyone was attentive, their eyes fixed on Donatello, who was about to prove he was worthy of leading the Warblers.  

Heart of Glass – Blondie

[1. https://youtu.be/M6zdLTfH-As?si=YxKqGyYHguMdI6oR]

Donatello:

Once I had a love and it was a gas

Soon turned out had a heart of glass

Seemed like the real thing, only to find

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind  

[He looked sideways and made a sad expression]

Once I had a love and it was divine

[He smiled happily, then looked away and lowered his face]

Soon found out I was losing my mind

[He mimed cutting his neck metaphorically with his index finger]

It seemed like the real thing, but I was so blind

[He shrugged his shoulders from side to side, perhaps suggesting he was throwing a hint at someone with this song, which might be the reason he left Vocal Adrenaline]

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

[He swayed his body side to side delicately]

In between

What I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine

[Donatello winked at Sebastian, as he noticed his promiscuous nature, and he returned a smile, both showing interest, getting into the vibe of the performance and being kind to the newcomer.]

Love is so confusing there's no peace of mind

If I fear I'm losing you. it's just no good

You teasing like you do

[He wrapped the scarf around his waist and shoulders, dancing more restrained]

Once I had a love and it was a gas

Soon turned out had a heart of glass

Seemed like the real thing, only to find

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

Lost inside

Adorable illusion and I cannot hide

[He ran his hands over his face as if to say he was blaming himself]

I'm the one you're using, please don't push me aside

We could a made it cruising, yeah

[He spun around and danced holding the scarf in front of him more relaxed]

“La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la” Nick helped him with a background vocal.

[Donatello danced gracefully for a while, then continued]

Yeah, riding high on love's true bluish light

Nick:

Ooh, oh, ooh, oh

Ooh, oh, ooh, oh

Donatello:

Once I had a love and it was a gas

Soon turned out had a heart of glass

Seemed like the real thing only to find

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

In between

What I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine

Love is so confusing there's no peace of mind

If I fear I'm losing you it's just no good

You teasing like you do

Nick: 

La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

(...)

Donatello cast a shy glance at Sebastian, quickly looking away as he nervously fidgeted with his index fingers. His rigid posture seemed to crumble under the weight of his own insecurity.  

“Sorry, I’m not really in shape today,” he muttered, his voice low and almost shaky.  

“You were great,” Blaine said with an encouraging smile, trying to ease the tension in the air.  

“Could’ve been worse,” Hunter grumbled, leaning back in his chair with a disinterested look.  

Before Donatello could respond, Reginald, his younger brother, suddenly appeared and shoved him so rudely that he lost his balance. He almost hit the floor, but Sebastian’s quick reflexes caught him by the arms before the impact became inevitable.  

“My turn! Can I sing now?” Reginald asked, not even glancing at his brother, who had nearly fallen.  

Sebastian, still holding Donatello by the shoulders, adjusted his posture firmly before letting him go. Their eyes met briefly, Sebastian’s gaze carrying what seemed to be concern.  

“Sing! For crying out loud!” Hunter snapped, throwing himself back into his chair with force, arms crossed as he watched the scene with obvious impatience.

Tightrope - Glee Cast

[2. https://youtu.be/PlBWA2bPHMg?si=ddjVabyXAD_P_nZa]

Reginald:

[Reginald adjusted his blazer and introduced himself with a hint of excitement.]

Whoa

Another day

I'll take your pain away

Some people talk about you

Like they know all about you

[He swayed his hips from side to side.]

When you get down they doubt you

And when you tipping on the scene

Yeah they talkin' about it

[He stepped forward and quickly stepped back.]

Cause they can't tip all on the scene with you talkin' about it

T-t-t-talkin' about it

[He approached Jeff, one of the Warblers, encouraging him to join the song, and succeeded.]

When you get elevated

They love it or they hate it

[Reginald walked past the other Warblers, who looked at him seriously, and pointed at them.]

You dance up on them haters

Keep getting funky on the scene

While they jumpin' round you

[He made a subtle jump and returned to his earlier stance.]

They trying to take all your dreams

But you can't allow it

Cause, baby, whether you're high or low

Whether you're high or low

[He deliberately bumped into David, making him adjust his blazer out of reflex and start dancing too.]

You gotta tip on the tightrope (Jeff: Tip, tip on it)

Tip on the tightrope (David: Tip, tip on it)

Baby, baby, whether you're high or low (Jeff: High or low)

Baby, whether you're high or low (David: High or low)

[He motioned to Austin with his finger, who excitedly and awkwardly got up to follow him.]

You got to tip on the tightrope (Tip, tip on it)

Now let me see you do the tightrope (Tip, tip on it)

And I'm still tippin' on it

[Reginald danced, with Jeff, Nick, Austin, and David surrounding him, mimicking his movements.]

See I'm not walkin' on it

Or trying to run around it

This ain't no acrobatics

You either follow or you lead, yeah

I'm talkin' about you

I'll keep on blaming the machine, yeah

I'm talkin' about it

T-t-t-talkin' about it

I can't complain about it

[Almost everyone started dancing with him, except for Thad, Hunter, and Wes, who sat with their arms crossed, visibly annoyed.]

I gotta keep my balance

And just keep dancing on it

We getting funky on the scene

Yeah you know about it

Like a star on the screen

Watch me tip all on it

Then, baby, whether I'm high or low (Jeff: High or low)

[He climbed onto the table and slid his foot across it in front of Hunter, Thad, and Wes, teasing them.]

Baby, whether you're high or low (David: High or low)

You gotta tip on the tightrope (Austin: Tip, tip on it)

Yeah, tip on the tightrope (Jeff: Tip, tip on it)

Baby, baby, whether you're high or low (David: High or low)

Baby, whether you're high or low (Jeff: High or low)

Tip on the tightrope (Austin: Tip, tip on it)

Baby let me see you tight rope (Jeff: Tip, tip on it)

And I'm still tippin' on it

[He finally jumped off the table and rejoined the others.]

I'm gonna tip on the tightrope (David: Tip, tip on it)

OOh (Austin: Tip, tip on it)

Baby, baby, whether I'm high or low (Jeff: High or low)

High or low-low (David: High or low)

I got to tip on the tightrope (Austin: Tip, tip on it)

Now baby tip on the tightrope

[One of the Warblers performed acrobatics in the middle of the room as everyone watched, stopping when the previous chorus ended.]

You can't get too high (Jeff: We can't get too high)

I said you can't get too low (David: We can't get too low)

Hah, cause you get too high (Austin' You can't get too high)

No you'll surely be low (Jeff: No, you'll surely be low)

[Reginald pointed at them, and some pretended to fall back. Wes eventually joined the performance, jumping off the table and earning “wow”s from the Warblers.]

1, 2, 3, hah

[The Warblers made beatbox sounds around him and danced, getting more excited when Thad joined in, leaving Hunter as the only one still holding out.]

Yeah, yeah

Now, maybe whether I'm high or low (David: High or low)

Baby whether you're high or low (Austin: High or low)

You gotta tip on the tightrope (Jeff: Tip, tip on it)

Yeah tip on the tightrope (David: Tip, tip on it)

Baby, baby, whether you're high or low (Austin: High or low)

Baby, whether you're high or low (Jeff: High or low)

You got to tip on the tightrope (David: Tip, tip on it)

Baby let me see your tightrope

Let me hear

Oh, oh, oh, oh

You-you

Hoo, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

You got to give up, oh

OO yeah, yeah

You've got to stay on the scene

[Hunter angrily pushed past the Warblers, shoving one and almost knocking him to the ground, muttering “excuse me” as he made his way to stand face-to-face with Reginald, who maintained a confident stance.]

Yeah, yeah

Tightrope

[Reginald shouted at the end before extending his hand to Hunter, who accepted the handshake, prompting the Warblers to come together in a group hug.]

Hey, yeah, yeah

(...)

Reginald threw himself into the chair with a heavy sigh, his body exhausted after the impromptu performance. He stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily, letting his arms hang loosely by his sides, his legs spread apart and swinging anxiously, as if trying to relieve the tension.

"I thought you were very flamboyant." Nelson said with a tone of disdain, his eyes fixed on Reginald, who just gave him an ironic smile.

"Great, I'm flamboyant," Reginald snapped his fingers as he stretched, his voice full of sarcasm. "But you guys looked pretty excited dancing with me." He winked at the group and put his hands behind his head, relaxing even more as if he were already being applauded by an audience. "And also, look at the hypocrisy. I bet you can jump on the couch or kick everything around during your performance, but the problem is me?"

"I didn't like you." Nelson said, his repulsed gaze fixed.

"Really? How nice, I didn't like any of you either." Reggie replied with a provocative smile, poking fun at everyone.

Hunter tapped Donatello's shoulder, who still seemed distant and silent.

"So, supposed new leader, are you just a useless guy who sits around, or do you actually know how to lead?" Hunter asked, his voice full of mockery, but also with a defiant curiosity.

Donatello, always serious, responded with a coldness and firmness that seemed to come straight from his military training.

"Don't provoke me," he said, his deep, authoritative voice carrying a commanding tone that seemed to echo through the room.

"Or what? You gonna hit me?" Hunter scoffed, not giving space for Donatello’s seriousness. "I'm much stronger than you, skinny boy with abs. And I’ve been to military school, too."

Reginald quickly got up, his eyes casting a defensive look at his brother who was being challenged. He put his hands on his hips, his narcissistic smile visible.

"He’s been through worse at Vocal Adrenaline," he claimed with exaggerated arrogance, acting like the center of attention. "Let me ask you something?"

"Why should I?" Hunter, visibly tired of the conversation, picked up the cat from the floor and began petting it, ignoring Reginald's provocation. "You’ve barely told us anything about yourself."

"Because I'm not interesting right now." Reggie smiled mischievously. "Unlike me, you’re interesting, Clarington. Tell me, how did you not get expelled after that steroid scandal and still keep your position as leader?"

"His dad is the school principal." Nelson interjected, snitching without remorse.

"My God, Nelson, shut up." Hunter murmured, biting his lips in frustration.

Reginald pressed his hands together, watching the group with the expression of someone manipulating every move.

"Good for Donatello to know that." He said with a touch of venom in his voice, turning to him. "The principal hadn't mentioned that detail to my little brother. Anyway…" He grabbed the end of his Warbler skirt and smiled mischievously, turning to the others. "Do you want me to lift it?"

The gazes of several members of the group turned to him. Jared, the "other super gay Warbler," couldn’t contain a giggle and a look of interest.

"I do." Jared said, almost drooling, but quickly receiving a nudge from Skylar to behave.

"I like him." Sebastian laughed, amused by Reggie’s attitude.

Reginald, however, let go of the skirt he was holding with a satisfied smile.

"Too bad, I’m not one of those." He answered shortly, his expression now more serious. "I just wanted to get everyone's attention, and it worked. It was the only way for it to happen, because no one is taking us seriously."

"What do you want?" Jared asked, sitting in a chair, visibly sad, a touch of hopelessness in his eyes.

"Pay attention to me—especially you, smelly boy," Reginald said brusquely and with authority, cutting off the conversation and locking eyes with Thad, who was distracted. His serious expression made it clear he meant business.

"I'm not that," Thad retorted, offended.

"Silence! Smelly boy!" Reginald rubbed his palms together, his tone sharp and merciless, revealing his most ruthless side when taking charge. "Let's get to the point." He raised his head, eyes scanning the group until he finally pointed and motioned to Jeff. "You! Come here."

"Me?" Jeff took a deep breath, confused, but stepped into the center of the group with hesitation.

"Yes, you. Tall blonde emo," Reginald called. "Now sing."

"Sing?" Jeff blushed, nervous and unsure how to react. "Just... like that?"

"Sing already, blonde emo," Reginald insisted, his voice firm and impatient.

Jeff, still unsure of what was happening, began to sing, his voice timid but full of emotion. He softly sang "Nemo" by Nightwish, his eyes shining with the hopeful glow of a dreamer, even though he was being pulled into the spotlight in an unusual way.

Nemo - Nightwish

[3. https://youtu.be/dDV9mfZ7B7A?si=IIa5vTlggTMDTjcg]

This is me for forever, one of the lost ones

The one without a name

Without an honest heart as compass

This is me for forever, one without a name

These lines the last endeavor

To find the missing lifeline

[He was so moved because he loved singing, and this song made him feel that way because he enjoyed its composition. No one looked away from him.]

Oh, how I wish for soothing rain

All I wish is to dream again

My loving heart lost in the dark

For hope, I'd give my everything

[He raised his hands and closed his eyes, not caring about exposing himself too much because he was already a Warbler.]

My flower, withered between the pages two and three

The once and forever bloom gone with my sins

Walk the dark path, sleep with angels, call the past for help

Touch me with your love

And reveal to me my true name

[He glanced at Nick, his best friend, and at Donatello because it was he who had told him to sing, and he was nervous inside.]

Oh, how I wish for soothing rain

All I wish is to dream again

My loving heart lost in the dark

For hope, I'd give my everything

Oh, how I wish for soothing rain

Oh, how I wish to dream again

Once and for all and all for once

Nemo my name forevermore

(Instrumental)

[He focused and softened his voice while maintaining power so that they could hear him.]

Nemo sailing home

Nemo letting go

Oh, how I wish for soothing rain

All I wish is to dream again

My loving heart lost in the dark

For hope, I'd give my everything

Oh, how I wish for soothing rain

Oh, how I wish to dream again

Once and for all and all for once

Nemo my name forevermore

My name forevermore

(...)

Some of the Warblers smiled warmly at Jeff, especially Nick, his best friend. The genuine smile on Nick's face conveyed all the joy of seeing him shine. Others, however, kept their posture rigid, serious, and formal, but their looks betrayed admiration for the performance, even though they didn't want to show it.

"Now get out of here." Reginald pushed Jeff roughly, with a rude and impatient gesture.

Donatello watched his brother's impetuous behavior and frowned. But instead of confronting him, he simply chose to ignore the gesture. He knew that any response would only fuel the tension.

"You must be wondering..." Donatello said, with a calculated look, his voice carrying a hint of theatricality. "Why did I bring Jeff here to sing?"

Nick, not missing an opportunity, raised his hand, his face glowing with enthusiasm.

"Because he sings really well and he's my best friend!"

"No, good boy." Donatello interrupted, with a sideways smile, now more serious. "Did you pay attention to his voice? It was impressive, guys! Wasn't it?!" He raised his voice, spreading a sense of pride and excitement throughout the room. "Yes! And I bet each one of your voices is amazing too! It’s not just about dancing well; you all have much more potential than you think!"

He stepped a little closer, as if trying to involve everyone, with a sparkle in his eye that made it clear how much he believed in his words.

"But that’s not enough." He continued, the intensity growing. "It’s not enough to just have a choir. To put a soloist in front and make the others just follow along like parrots repeating a boring chorus."

He paused, took a deep breath, and, with a lower voice, but still heavy with weight, he added:

"First it was Blaine, then Sebastian, and lastly, Hunter— they all took the solos for themselves, without giving others a chance."

Aaron, with an irritated expression, couldn’t hold back.

"Can you be more unbearable than I am?"

Donatello didn’t flinch, his gaze fixed on Aaron.

"I’m not going to shut up. And neither are you, apparently, since you’re so unbearable." He replied, with the coldness of someone who’s not easily intimidated.

He then turned to the others, maintaining a firm posture, and continued:

"What I’m saying is, everyone has a chance to shine. Each one of you has the potential to kill it on this stage. But it will only be possible if everyone gives more than just the role of supporting players."

Wes, skeptical, crossed his arms and stared at him.

"How do you know all this?"

"The director here contacted me. I was privileged." Donatello replied in a calm but determined tone.

Nelson, apparently understanding the context, added with sarcasm:

"Hunter's dad, right?"

Clarington, somewhat irritated, looked at Nelson with a threatening expression, as if he were about to lose his patience.

"Nelson, if you say another 'A,' I’m going to punch you in the face."

Donatello rolled his eyes and, without letting himself be shaken, spoke with a more serious tone:

"I’ve already talked about the mistakes of the past. Now, let’s talk about our enemies. What’s different about them? They have girls in the group."

Austin (super gay warbler) , as usual, didn’t miss the chance to interrupt, with a clumsy and ignorant tone.

"Girls? Who needs women in the group? And this is a boys' school. Women aren’t as good as us men."

Donatello made a disgusted expression.

"First of all, Austin, I didn’t ask to put girls in the group. And secondly... your comment was extremely unpleasant and sexist. I won’t tolerate that here."

But Austin seemed already lost in his own thoughts. He began to speak, distant, with glazed eyes, as if he were in a trance.

"I love studying at an all-boys school. It’s a unique experience... In the locker room, the male bodies, with those tight tank tops, the shorts... I can see the bulge..." He bit his lip, delving deeper into his thoughts. "The white towels hanging on their shoulders, around their waists... Ah, so delicious..."

Jared, the other Warbler with an extravagant vibe, gave a sign of agreement, but the others reacted with total discomfort. Thad and Wes looked at Austin with a mix of confusion and shock, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.

Donatello, stunned by the comment, finally regained his composure and, after a brief moment of stuttering, spoke more firmly.

"What I mean is that everyone should have the chance to show their potential. All of you, without exception, deserve a solo. Only then can we make a real choir, with more than one voice leading. And as a warning, at the next competition... we’re going to compete in a contest where there are only all-male groups. No exceptions. I thought it was fairer for you than competing against mixed groups."

The Warblers began to stir, exchanging murmurs and glances with each other, and the room soon filled with growing commotion. Jadieu, quiet in the corner, observed everything as if he were at a live show. The expressions and reactions of the others were like a theatrical performance, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the situation.

Chapter Text

Jadieu was shaking the pom-poms energetically, hopping around the room as if he were in a championship. His movements were exaggerated, almost theatrical, and the audience—an enthusiastic guinea pig—responded with excited squeals.

Trent appeared leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

“What are you doing?” he asked, trying not to laugh.

“Training to be a cheerleader,” Jadieu replied without stopping. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Funny… I thought you hated being the center of attention.”

Jadieu paused for a second, gave a superior look, and twirled the pom-poms with a flourish.

“It’s different when I decide to shine.”

After a moment of silence, Jadieu noticed a frown in Trent’s eyes and decided to confront him.

“Why that face?”

“Nothing,” Trent tried to change the subject.

“Is it because your brother’s coming to study here?”

Trent huffed, but his relaxed pose wavered for a moment.

“Of course not. The Trentman doesn’t get bothered by that kind of stuff.” He waved vaguely, though his gaze dropped to the floor for a second.

Jadieu narrowed his eyes, twirling the pom-poms more slowly now, as if trying to extract the truth through rhythm.

“Liar,” he said in a drawn-out, suspicious tone. “You always act weird when you talk about him. It’s like… jealousy.”

“Jealousy?!” Trent laughed loudly, half-performative, half-nervous. “Of my doofus brother? Nah. I just think it’s kind of… unfair that he’s coming to study on my turf. I’m the one with the reputation of being hot with natural charisma.”

The guinea pig squeaked as if in agreement. Jadieu crossed his arms, pom-poms still dangling from his hands.

“So that’s it. You’re afraid of losing the spotlight.”

Trent stood a little straighter. “The Trentman *is* the spotlight, thank you.”

Jadieu raised an eyebrow and slowly walked toward him, stopping close enough for Trent to catch the light scent of floral perfume and deodorant. He pointed a pom-pom at his chest.

“Then prove it. Help me with the routine and let’s see who really shines.”

Trent widened his eyes. “You want me to shake pom-poms?”

Jadieu smirked with pure mischief. “You afraid of shining too, Trentman?”

[Meanwhile…]

Sam Evans walked enthusiastically down the road leading to Dalton, a light smile on his face and his steps almost bouncy. The sun was shining at just the right angle, the wind blew gently, and even the birds seemed to sing just for him. Everything around him seemed to conspire in his favor—even the animals watched him with friendly curiosity, as if they knew something good was about to happen.

"It Roars" – Mean Girls: The Musical

(Adapted for Sam Evans)

[1. https://youtu.be/jgIXCdLaRCs?si=Fd5YIW7ulNQHXxRO]

Sam:

I’ve spent eighteen years in paradise

With lions and birds and the starry skies

But eighteen years just isn’t enough

I’m alone—well, there’s Mom and Dad

And the animals try, they’re not too bad

But honestly, they’re driving me nuts

No one on the savannah understands

None of my besties even have hands

I’ve got dreams igniting

A fire inside me

I tried to trust my lions

But they just keep biting

You ever get a feeling

Everyone’s happy

Everyone’s got friends

And they’re better friends than yours

It’s a brand-new feeling

But it’s running through my core

And it roars

It roars

Mrs. Evans:

Sammy, great news—

You got a spot at Dalton for your sports performance.

Sam:

Dalton? Maybe I’ll fit in there.

Mrs. Evans:

I know it’ll be a big adjustment

You’ll have to go to a brand-new school.

Sam:

Mom, I’d love it. Let’s all try something new.

We live a humble life

Adventure’s what we do

Mrs. Evans:

True.

Sam:

No time for tears

I’ve got new frontiers

Like high school, skateboards, rap

And Venti Chi from Starbucks

You ever get a feeling

That a brand-new world’s awaiting

With happiness and friends

For the brave kid who explores

It’s a scary kind of feeling, but I can’t ignore

How it roars

Roars

Roars

Okay, maybe they didn’t see me

Too busy on their tiny screens

And it’s crowded

With all these teens

Hey, teens!

Female Student:

Unsubscribe.

Sam:

They’re tough—challenge accepted

Trying to fit in this crazy bracket

Like baboons, it’s natural they attack

I’ve got to fight for the right to belong

Students:

Someone doesn’t fit in

Sam and Students:

They want to be included—like me

And eventually

I’ll win (Students: New guy, ignore him!)

I’ll win (Students: Just ignore!)

Students:

You ever get a feeling?

Sam:

Everyone wants connection

I know they have friends

But what’s a friend more

Students:

No!

Sam and Students:

But I know

They know this feeling (Students: We know this feeling)

So I reject their rejection

To my core

Students:

Just ignore him

Sam:

You can’t ignore

Students:

Just ignore

Sam and Students:

The roar! (Roar! Roar! Roar! Roar!)

Mr. Clarington:

Welcome to Dalton Academy.

(End)

Mr. Clarington, Dalton’s headmaster, was a man of impeccable posture, with neatly combed gray hair and an expression that shifted between authority and genuine courtesy. He wore a dark suit with a precisely folded Dalton-blue pocket square.

“Samuel Evans, I presume. Welcome to Dalton Academy.”

“Call me Sam. It’s an honor to be here, sir.”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm. We like students who embrace change. Dalton isn’t just a school—it’s an institution that values excellence, tradition… and respect for the rules.”

“Of course. I’m good at following rules. I mean… most of the time.”

“We shall see. Your athletic record was quite impressive. I like that. But here, talent is only a starting point. At Dalton, you’ll learn to be more than good—to be worthy.”

Sam nodded respectfully, feeling the weight of those words.

“A senior will take you to your room. I hope you like early morning discipline, spotless uniforms, and quiet halls. No loud music. No scooters indoors.”

Sam stepped in, unaware that this place—with all its rigor and imposing facade—was about to change his life. And perhaps, awaken a different roar from inside.

Mr. Clarington nodded and, with a subtle gesture, called over a student waiting nearby with perfect posture.

“Blaine, this is Samuel Evans, your new schoolmate. Show him the campus and help him adjust.”

The boy approached with a warm smile. He was shorter than Sam, wore the Dalton blazer with evident pride, and his shoes shone like new. His eyes were welcoming, and his perfectly adjusted tie made it clear he took the whole “being worthy” thing seriously.

“Hi, Sam. Welcome,” he said with a friendly wink. “I’m Blaine Anderson. I’ll be your official guide.”

Sam chuckled, a little relieved by the lighter tone.

“Thanks, man. I thought everyone here carried a ruler to measure sock distance or something.”

Blaine laughed too. “Some do. But I promise I’m more fun than most.”

They passed a group of students whispering quietly. Everything at Dalton seemed polished, shiny, and carefully contained. Sam felt like even his accent was too loud for the halls.

“Your room is on the third floor of the East Wing,” Blaine said. “Great view and hopefully a roommate who doesn’t snore.”

“Perfect. So, about the uniform—this is all day, every day?”

“Full uniform. Even when singing.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Singing?”

Blaine smiled. “Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention. I’m in the Warblers—Dalton’s singing group. We compete, perform… honestly, it’s one of the most fun parts of being here. Do you sing?”

Sam shrugged. “I sing in the shower. And when no one’s home.”

“Great start. Maybe you’ll join us sometime. Could be fun.”

Sam looked around, still taking it all in. The school was beautiful, strict, imposing. But next to Blaine, it felt a little less suffocating.

“Maybe. But first, let me survive breakfast, okay?”

Blaine laughed. “Fair enough. One step at a time. And I promise—if you don’t run in the halls or try skating down the main stairs, you’ll already be ahead of the curve.”

The two walked down the long hallway, past old portraits and perfectly aligned lockers. Sam’s first morning at Dalton had barely begun, but something about Blaine—or maybe that friendly wink—made it seem like the rules wouldn’t be the most memorable thing here.

Blaine pushed the dorm room door open with a soft creak, revealing a well-organized space with two neatly made beds, desks with bronze lamps, and heavy curtains filtering in a soft, golden light.

“And here we are. Your new home away from home,” Blaine announced with his usual enthusiasm.

But before Sam could say thank you, a figure moved in the darkest corner of the room. Sitting in the chair by the window, with a black-covered book in his hands and headphones hanging from his neck, was Jayden Ian.

He wore the Dalton uniform with a long black cape over it, as if he were about to leave for a gothic performance. His dark hair fell over his eyes, and he looked up slowly without lifting his head.

“Great,” he said in a slow, almost theatrical voice. “Another blond football player. Because the universe just won’t give me a second of peace.”

Sam stopped at the door, unsure whether to laugh or apologize. “Uh... hi. I’m Sam. Apparently, your new roommate.”

Jayden scoffed, snapping the book shut with a dry sound. “Of course you are...”

Blaine stepped forward, keeping a light tone. “Come on, Jayden. Give him a chance. Sam just got here. He’s a good guy.”

Jayden raised an eyebrow sarcastically. “Good guys usually snore, leave a cloud of sports deodorant in the air, and ask if I’ve watched any Marvel series. Just to be clear: yes, I have, and I thought they were all trash.”

Sam tried to hide his discomfort with a half-smile. “Okay. Good to know. I don’t snore, I promise. And… I won’t talk about Marvel.”

Jayden stood up slowly, his cape rippling slightly like a bat stepping out of the shadows. He walked past Sam without looking at him and stopped at the bathroom door.

“Just don’t touch my stuff. And don’t try to make small talk. I like silence. And darkness.”

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him.

Blaine sighed, shrugging. “He’s... intense. But he’s got a good heart. Somewhere. Maybe buried under six layers of eyeliner and sarcasm.”

Sam dropped his backpack to the floor, chuckling nervously. “Great. Sharing a room with a poetic vampire. This’ll be interesting.”

Blaine smiled, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “If you survive Jayden, the rest of Dalton will be a walk in the park.”

“Is that supposed to cheer me up or scare me?”

“Both.”

From the bathroom, Jayden called out loud enough to be heard:

“And I’ve got excellent hearing, by the way.”

Sam carefully unpacked his bag, trying not to touch anything on Jayden’s side — which included a meticulously arranged pile of books with titles like The Abyss Also Watches You and Cursed Poetry of the 19th Century.

“So,” Blaine said casually, leaning against the doorframe, “if you hear a lot of noise today, it’s because of the cheerleader tryouts. They’re happening in the auditorium. It’s a big deal around here for some reason. Like... a parade with social judgment.”

Sam looked up. “Cheerleaders? Here?”

“Yep.” Blaine gave a fond smile. “But hey, it’s fun to watch. I mean, if you’re curious.”

The bathroom door opened abruptly, cutting through the relaxed tone. Jayden stepped out, still wearing his black cape.

“If you’re going to watch that tryout freak show, bring a shield,” he muttered, walking to his desk. “Reginald George will be there, spreading venom with his usual perfect smile.”

Sam blinked. “Reginald?”

“The over-groomed little king with a rotten soul,” Jayden said with disdain. “He’s the current cheer captain. And the judge of the tryouts. And the living definition of manipulation with white teeth.”

Blaine gave Sam a look that said *here we go.*

Jayden went on, dramatically flopping into his chair. “He pretends he’s nice, refined, but he’s a snake. The kind that calls you ‘buddy’ before ruining your reputation. Only with glitter.”

Sam raised his hands in surrender. “Wow. Okay. Message received. I’ll keep my distance.”

“Good. And if he tries to recruit you, run. Reginald only surrounds himself with people who reflect his ego.”

Blaine cleared his throat. “Jayden has... strong opinions on the subject.”

Jayden rolled his eyes. “I’m just the only sane person in this insane asylum disguised as an elite boarding school.”

Sam didn’t know whether to laugh or worry. “Is there anything you actually like here at Dalton?”

Jayden thought for a moment. “The underground library. And the crows that sometimes show up in the courtyard. They’re more trustworthy than most of the students.”

Sam laughed in spite of himself. “Okay. Crows and silence. Noted.”

Jayden gave him a side glance — almost like he was admitting that maybe Sam wasn’t the worst blond he’d ever met.

“If you survive today’s tryouts without getting sucked into Reginald’s world, maybe you’ve got a shot.”

Sam looked at Blaine, who just smiled and patted his back.

“Got it. First rule of Dalton: don’t underestimate choreographed performances. Second: try not to step on Reginald’s ego.”

Jayden added darkly, “Or he’ll step back. In heels.”

“Would you like to watch the tryouts?” Blaine asked Sam.

“Sure, why not?”

(...)

The hallway leading to the auditorium felt different from the others at Dalton—brighter, buzzing with lively voices and hurried footsteps. Sam noticed several students walking by with sheet music folders, pompoms, or stylized uniforms, all preparing for the event with almost sacred intensity.

“This is where it happens,” said Blaine, opening the side door to the auditorium for them. “The audience is all students, but still, the atmosphere is... competitive.”

Sam walked in and was impressed by the size of the space: neatly aligned seats, a well-lit stage, a huge velvet curtain in the back, and a judge’s table positioned at the front of the stage. In the center were three boys elegantly dressed in the cheer captain’s alternative uniform—Reginald George, Kevin Smith, and Gael Wieners.

He was exactly as Jayden had described—impeccable, with a charismatic smile glued to his face. He greeted each contestant with a calculated confidence, like a modern king bestowing favors.

Sam sat beside Blaine in the third row of chairs.

“There he is,” Blaine murmured. “Reginald George. Yearbook Committee president, cheer team captain, in charge of six social events this semester, and somehow still finds time to read in the garden.”

“He’s handsome. Like... scarily handsome,” Sam said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah. And he knows it. Very well, in fact.”

Onstage, a boy began a high-energy performance with choreographed jumps and an upbeat pop song. The audience clapped moderately as Reginald took small notes with a golden fountain pen.

Blaine leaned toward Sam. “This place is full of rules, like Mr. Clarington said. But in Reginald’s world? It’s another monarchy. He decides what’s trendy, who’s in, who’s invisible. That’s why Jayden hates him. They’re opposing forces of nature.”

Sam watched with curiosity, not just the contestants, but the whole dynamic. It was more theatrical than he expected—almost like a parade of social approval.

Suddenly, Reginald looked directly at him.

The smile widened, as if he already knew who Sam was.

With an elegant gesture, he subtly pointed at him and winked.

Sam froze for a second.

“...He saw me,” he said, swallowing hard.

Blaine chuckled. “Of course he did. You’re new, good-looking, and he can sniff that out from miles away.”

“And that’s... good or bad?”

Blaine thought for a moment. “Depends. Do you want to be a prince in the castle... or the knight who survives the dragons?”

Sam glanced at the stage, then murmured, almost to himself:

“Or maybe just the guy trying not to be an extra.”

The next performance ended with warm applause when, unexpectedly, Reginald stood from the judges’ table, walking gracefully to the edge of the stage. He took the microphone naturally, as if the room’s attention belonged to him by right.

“So, before we continue,” he said in a soft, charming voice, “I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge a new face among us.” His eyes turned directly to Sam. “Samuel Evans.”

Sam blinked, surprised. Several heads turned in the audience, murmurs rippling like waves.

“He knows my name? But I just got here.”

“It’s Gael Wieners’ fault. He knows everything going on around here and tells Reginald,” whispered Ander among the students watching.

“Why don’t you come up here and show us what you can do?” Reginald smiled, extending a hand, as if he already knew Sam would accept.

Sam hesitated. He could feel all eyes on him now. Blaine looked sideways, ready to step in if needed.

“I, uh… appreciate the invite,” Sam said, standing politely but not moving. “But I’m not here to compete. Just watching.”

Reginald raised an eyebrow, surprised at the refusal—clearly not something he was used to.

“Are you sure? Big moments, Sam, usually start when you leave the bleachers.”

Sam smirked slightly. “Maybe. But I just got here. Still figuring out where the cafeteria is.”

A few discreet chuckles echoed through the audience. Reginald kept his smile, but his eyes seemed to narrow slightly, as if mentally filing that response away for later.

“As you wish,” he replied with a slight nod. “But know that doors open for those bold enough to walk through them.”

Sam nodded. “I prefer to knock first.”

Blaine stifled a laugh and whispered, pleased, “Point for the newbie.”

Reginald stepped back, and the show continued, but the mood had subtly shifted. Sam felt that, even without stepping onstage, he had made his first performance.

(...)

The music from the speakers faded to silence, and the lights shifted back to the stage, where a new group of candidates climbed up with varying enthusiasm. Among them stood out Jadieu, with his perfectly combed hair and a determined expression mixed with pure drama. He wore the Dalton cheer uniform with subtle personal touches and style, whispering to the boy beside him, Trent Northwick.

“This is my chance,” Jadieu murmured, straightening up with eyes fixed on the judges’ table as if he were already holding the trophy.

“Dude, I don’t even wanna be here,” said Trent Northwick, the group’s bland heartthrob, yawning with his hands in his pockets. “Like, cheerleading? Seriously? This won’t even help my acting career. I’m getting off this stage before they make me do a cartwheel.”

Jadieu rolled his eyes dramatically. “Theater and cheer are cousins, you doofus. Stay. Do a pirouette and impress someone.”

On the other side of the group, Trent Nixon—a chubby boy with a nervous smile and trembling fingers—decided to speak up.

“I’m nervous,” he whispered, more to himself than to anyone in particular. “Can I even win this? Can I even... pass this audition?”

“Of course you can, Nixon!” said Jadieu, turning with a genuine glint in his eyes. “You’ve got charisma! And if that fails, smile with confidence. That’s what Reginald would do.”

Nixon smiled back, encouraged, though still visibly tense.

Then, a new figure climbed the stage with a confidence so smooth it was nearly liquid: Tony Stonem. His steps were slow, calculated, as if walking into a stage made just for him. His hair was artfully tousled. His eyes scanned the stage like someone sizing up a game already won.

“You’re doing this now?” one of the candidates asked, surprised.

Tony just shrugged with a half-smile.

“Had nothing better to do,” he said in a lazy, charming British accent. “And I heard cheerleading is... a popular activity around here. Thought I’d take a closer look.”

As he said that, he subtly turned toward Jadieu, who was stretching his legs and warming his shoulders with graceful movements.

“You’re one of them, right?” Tony said, approaching casually. “The pretty ones who know how to move.”

Jadieu raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden comment—maybe even a little flattered. “Ha… Hi, Tony.”

Tony smiled at Jadieu. “I’m a fan of talent. Especially when it looks as good as you.”

Jadieu shook his hand, slightly suspicious, but a smile teased his lips. “I’m talented. And yeah, I know how to move. But watch the stage. It’s unforgiving.”

Tony laughed, delighted by the reply. “Perfect. I like a challenge.”

In the audience, Trent Northwick had stopped talking to another student. His eyes were glued to the stage, where Tony was now stretching beside Jadieu.

“What’s that guy doing up there with Jadieu?” he muttered, leaning forward in his seat. His eyes narrowed.

Blaine glanced sideways. “Ah, Tony Stonem. He’s new too. Kind of... too charming, you know?”

Trent scoffed. “Charming, my ass. He’s full of himself just ’cause of that snobby British accent and his ‘messy-on-purpose’ hair.”

“You jealous?” Blaine teased, amused.

“I’m not,” Trent replied too quickly. “I’m... watchful. Like, protective. That Tony guy seems like the type who flirts with everyone just to stir the pot.”

Blaine just smiled. “Sure.”

Trent rolled his eyes at Blaine and crossed his arms, his foot tapping impatiently on the floor as the show went on.

From the back of the stage, Reginald George watched them with arms crossed, analyzing each of them like a critic at a runway show. He clapped once, commanding attention.

“Places, darlings. Remember: charm, energy, precision, and aesthetics. But above all... presence.”

The music exploded.

And the competition began.

In the audience, Sam watched with wide eyes, still trying to figure out if this was a show, a war, or a glitter-covered Hunger Games ritual.

“Go Jadieu!” Nick shouted from the auditorium. “You’ve got this!”

Fired Up – Zombies

[2. https://youtu.be/tHjuEF4Q3qU?si=XsWtKS1jyHmSrsNV]

[Reginald claps to call Kevin and Gael. They follow him, evaluating the participants.]

Reginald:

Listen up, it’s not so tough

I’ll tell you how it’s done

[Reginald commands the choreography and makes a boy stretch his leg higher.]

There’s really nothing better

Than to hear your number one

[A boy approaches to take a picture with Reginald and is immediately disqualified. Reginald tears off his competitor number.]

And I know how to get a crowd

Right up and on their feet

So if you want them in it

I’ll show you how to get it

Ain’t no mountain we can’t climb

[Reginald, Gael, and Kevin perform together in the center of the stage. The candidates imitate them.]

Nothing keeps us down

Got that fire in our soul

Never count us out

We got one thing on our minds

Call it victory

[Gael pushes one of the participants off the stage.]

Yeah, that’s where we’re headed

And we know how to get it

We are made for this

There’s nothing we can’t do

[The competitors enthusiastically wave pompoms.]

We came to play, we’re here to stay

And win the day

Cause we were made for this

[The boy who earlier took a picture with Gael sneaks back on stage wearing sunglasses and hiding behind pompoms. Reginald spots him and kicks him out again.]

Didn’t come here to lose

We came to play, we’re here to stay

What’s left to say when we know

Nothing’s gonna get in our way (Students: no!)

So get up out of our way

[Reginald shakes pompoms excitedly at center stage; the other participants follow.]

We’re fired up, we’re fired up

We’re fired up

Nothing’s gonna get in our way (Students: no!)

So get up out of our way

We’re fired up, we’re fired up

We’re fired up

[A disqualified student tries to stay on stage but is dragged off by Gael and Kevin.]

[Reginald points directly at Jadieu to perform.]

Jadieu:

Been waiting for this day to come

And it was all so clear

Since I was a little boy

I saw me standing here

Trent Nixon:

And all the times they told me: Walk away

[Trent Nixon is lifted by two students.]

I said: Forget it

I knew where I was headed

And I was gonna get it

Ain’t no mountain we can’t climb

Nothing keeps us down

[Jadieu and Trent Nixon fire up the crowd, performing together.]

Got that fire in our soul

Never count us out

We got one thing on our minds

Call it victory

[They are lifted and raise one arm in determination.]

Yeah, that’s where we’re headed

And we know how to get it

We are made for this

There’s nothing we can’t do

[Reginald flips across the stage and is cheered by the crowd.]

We came to play, we’re here to stay

And win the day ’cause

We were made for this

Didn’t come here to lose

We came to play, we’re here to stay

[Reginald grabs a competitor’s number who was upside down during the routine, tears it, and stuffs it back in their mouth.]

What’s left to say when we know

Nothing’s gonna get in our way (Students: no!)

[Reginald signals for them to keep going.]

Come on, let me hear you say

We’re fired up, you’re fired up

We’re fired up*

[A messy and panicked participant runs clumsily over another; Reginald tears his number off.]

Nothing’s gonna get in our way (Students: no!)

Come on, let me hear you say

We’re fired up, you’re fired up

We’re fired up

[One of the competitors tries a jump and falls. Reginald tears off his number.]

(Pause)

Reginald:

You know the steps.

But what about the crowd? Make them love you like they love me!*

[A giant curtain with Reginald’s photo is revealed. Everyone screams with excitement.]

Trent Nixon:

Hey! Who am I kidding? Reggie’s never gonna let me in. He’s gonna clip my wings,

And I’ll never fly.

(Music resumes)

We are the mighty shrimp

We wanna hear you shout

[Reginald pushes a boy to the center of the stage. The boy starts crying in fear and gets booed. Another boy performs well and moves forward.]

From the left and from the right

Turn the volume now

We wanna lift you high

You never feel the crown

Would get you up don’t ever stop

This is the hometown

Jadieu hypes the crowd:

We are the mighty shrimp

It’s time to show you now

We got the stuff to light you up

It’s getting hotter now, we’re getting hotter now

It’s getting hotter now

Reginald and Jadieu (together):

We were made for this

There’s nothing we can’t do

We came to play, we’re here to stay

And win the day

’Cause we were made for this

Didn’t come here to lose

We came to play, we’re here to stay

What’s left to say when we know

Nothing’s gonna get in our way (no!)

Come on, let me hear you say

We’re fired up, you’re fired up

We’re fired up

Nothing’s gonna get in our way

Come on, let me hear you say

We’re fired up, you’re fired up

We’re fired up, fired up, fired up

(End)

The final chord of the performance echoed like thunder through Dalton. Pom-poms flew into the air, and a cloud of glitter hovered briefly over the stage beneath the spotlights. Reginald and Jadieu finished with their arms raised, commanding the scene as the audience erupted in deafening applause. Some shouted their names, others just vibrated with the energy of the show. The giant curtain with Reginald's smiling (and slightly intimidating) face still rippled in the background.

Backstage, Tony Stonem leaned against the side of the stage, smirking slightly as he watched Jadieu, breathless and triumphant, in the center of the crowd. He gave a slow clap, more to himself than anyone else.

“Real talent,” he muttered before slipping quietly away from the main area.

In the audience, Trent Northwick was restless. He didn’t even realize he was tapping his hands on his knee and biting his lower lip. His eyes were locked on Jadieu. When he saw Tony give a slight nod before disappearing, Trent almost stood up.

“That guy thinks he can just look at Jadieu like that?!” he muttered.

Blaine, next to him, just smirked with mild irony. “I think he didn’t just look. He undressed him with his eyes.”

Trent snorted. “I should’ve gone up there. Should’ve danced. This is all Tony’s fault, with that smug ‘I’m too cool’ smile.”

Nick Duval, a little farther ahead, was euphoric. He was bouncing in his seat, cheering like he was at the Super Bowl. “I KNEW IT! JADIEU WAS BORN FOR THIS! HE NAILED IT! HE MADE REGINALD SMILE, THAT NEVER HAPPENS!”

Back on stage, Reginald made a graceful hand gesture to dismiss the crowd. He then pointed at Jadieu.

“You,” he said, walking closer with a feline, confident stride. “You didn’t just know the steps... you made the crowd love you.”

Jadieu, still catching his breath, just smiled with pride. “Thanks.”

Reginald laughed—a sharp, thin laugh. “I never worry. I choose. And maybe... I chose you.”

With that, Reginald turned his back. Jadieu watched him leave, his heart pounding. At the back of the stage, his eyes met Trent Northwick, still standing and watching. He hesitated, raised a hand to wave... but Trent looked away at the last second, sulking.

Jadieu frowned.

Tony, meanwhile, reappeared beside Trent, holding a juice cup. “Good show, huh?” he said casually. “Your friend… really shines under pressure. And you? Jealous?”

Trent answered with a mutter, eyes still fixed on the stage. “I’m not jealous.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You’re not? Then why did it look like you were about to storm the stage and rip my hair out by the roots?”

Trent scoffed. “You think you’re so great.”

Tony just smiled, sipping his juice. “It’s just... I usually am.”

The music had already stopped, the stage was being torn down, and the contestants were dispersing in excited groups. Amid the compliments, laughter, and whispers, Jadieu sat on a bench to the side, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel, still a little dizzy from the adrenaline.

Trent Nixon approached, still excited, a sincere sparkle in his eyes. “Hey... I just wanted to say, like... thanks.”

Jadieu looked at him, surprised. “For what?”

Trent Nixon shrugged, a bit shy. “You pulled me into the dance when I was about to give up. I was freezing out there, and then you… made it all seem fun. Like... easy. You saved me.”

Jadieu gave a modest, slightly smug smile. “You had it in you. Just needed a push.”

Nick, approaching with two water bottles, stopped a couple of steps away, overhearing. His face remained calm, even smiling, but his eyes narrowed just slightly. He gave a small cough to get their attention.

“Water,” he said, handing one of the bottles to Jadieu casually. “You were amazing, seriously. Like... out of this world.”

Jadieu took the bottle. “Thanks, Nick.” He smiled and, without noticing, turned slightly more toward Trent Nixon, as if still waiting to hear something else from him.

Trent Nixon, now more relaxed, glanced at Nick and said, “You’re the best stage partner I’ve ever had. Like, by far.” He offered a fist bump.

Jadieu returned it with a light tap, laughing.

Nick watched silently for a moment, then said with casually acidic tone: “Yeah… you were good too, Trent. Way better than when you tried to rap at the spring festival. Remember that?”

Trent Nixon laughed, a little awkward. “Hey, don’t bring up trauma like that, man…”

Nick just gave a little smile. “Sure. Just remembering how much you’ve improved… with help, of course.”

Jadieu raised an eyebrow, but Nick was already changing the subject. “By the way, Jadieu, I saw you the whole time up there. Really. You lit up. Totally.”

“Thanks,” Jadieu replied.

Trent Nixon gave Jadieu a pat on the back. “See you next time. And... if you need someone to dance with again, just call me.” He winked and walked off whistling, light as ever.

Nick watched him go, jaw slightly tight. Then he muttered, almost inaudibly:

“Show-off…”

Jadieu pretended not to hear. But the corner of his mouth curled into an amused smile.

(...)

Sam was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching his younger brother—none other than Trent Northwick—walking by with messy hair and a carefree expression, like the world revolved around him.

When Trent walked right past, Sam stepped forward.

“You gonna keep pretending I’m invisible, or are you finally gonna talk to me?”

Trent stopped in the middle of the hallway and slowly turned, raising an eyebrow.

“Whoa. Chill out. What’s with the drama?”

“You haven’t said a single word to me since I got to Dalton. Not a ‘welcome,’ not a ‘how are you,’ nothing, Trent.”

Trent gave a sheepish chuckle, trying to ease the tension.

“Ah, man, I saw you were fine. Like... whole. Walking. Alive. What’s the issue?”

“The issue is that you’re my brother.”

Trent rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable.

“It’s not that. I just... thought you’d want your own space. That... I don’t know, you’d want to stay away from me. Avoid comparisons, that kind of thing.”

“Maybe I did. But I also wanted you to at least treat me like... like someone who exists.”

“Look... I’m an idiot, okay? I know that. But you’re not invisible, Sam.”

“Then talk to me next time. Don’t act like I’m just some random freshman.”

“Deal.”

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t help a small smile.

Chapter Text

The cheerleaders’ meeting room, which looked more like a mix between a dressing room and a war room, was filled with scattered pom-poms, energy water bottles, and mirrors. The audition finalists, still breathless and with slightly wrinkled uniforms, were herded in by Gael and Kevin like cattle headed for slaughter.

Reginald George walked in last.

He didn’t say anything at first. He simply walked through the center of the room, his steps rhythmic, like he was modeling in his own mind. He stopped in front of a mirror, then turned around with a dramatic snap of his fingers.

“Well,” he said, with a controlled smile. “Some of you almost made me feel something. Congratulations.”

No one knew if it was a compliment or a threat.

Jadieu sat in a corner, a towel around his neck and his eyes rolling with boredom. Next to him, Trent Nixon was still buzzing, as if he hadn’t emotionally come down from the stage yet. Tony Stonem, sprawled in a chair with his legs wide open and purposely messy hair, stared at the ceiling—bored, or just pretending.

“Let’s get to the preliminary results.” Reginald pulled a sheet of paper from the jacket that had his own face printed on it. “Write this down, Kevin.”

Kevin, pen already in hand, waited.

Reginald pointed:

“Trent Nixon. Surprisingly agile for someone with that... density. Keep it up. Tony Stonem. I don’t know if you danced or seduced the stage, but it worked. Jadieu.” He paused. The name was spoken with the weight of someone swallowing a lemon. “You... shone. Unfortunately.”

Jadieu smiled, triumphant.

“I know, Reggie.”

“Don’t call me that,” Reginald snapped, with disdain.

Jadieu shrugged, still smiling.

Tony shot Jadieu a quick glance, full of barely hidden interest.

“The rest of you...” Reginald went on, sweeping his gaze across the remaining students. “Congratulations on the public humiliation. Some of you were so bad I considered faking a faint just to end the embarrassment. But don’t worry. I won’t remember you tomorrow.”

A student in the back sighed. Another, clearly on the verge of tears, left the room in silence.

“And now, before you forget: tomorrow at 6 a.m., mandatory voluntary practice on the field. If you’re late, you’re out. If you complain, you’re out. If you wear a blue pom-pom... you’re dead to me.” Reginald smiled with venomous sweetness. “Any questions?”

Silence.

Only the sound of Tony softly whistling as he picked up a golden pom-pom from the table and twirled it in his fingers, distracted.

“Great. Meeting over. You can leave. But remember...” Reginald turned dramatically toward the mirror again. “Only the dazzling survive here.”

(...)

The others left the room like they were escaping an emotional storm—except Tony Stonem, who always seemed immune to pressure. He waited a while, leaning against the hallway wall, until he saw Jadieu come out last, still with the towel around his neck and a victorious look on his face.

“So...” Tony began, in that low, lazy tone. “The prodigy boy survived Reginald’s royalty. I’m impressed.”

Jadieu scoffed, stopping beside him.

“I didn’t survive. I dominated. He just won’t admit he’s afraid of sharing the spotlight.”

Tony gave a sideways smile, almost admiring.

“I liked the way you ignored the tension. Like... it looked like you were dancing just for yourself.”

“Maybe I was,” Jadieu replied with a small grin. “Helps me forget I’m being judged by a George.”

Tony moved a bit closer—not enough to invade, but just enough to make the tone more intimate.

“You know you caught attention, right? Like... for real.”

“You talking about you or the whole room?” Jadieu raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

Tony smiled.

“Maybe both. But I’m the one telling you to your face.”

There was a second of silence. Not awkward—charged.

Jadieu, still leaning on the wall, looked at Tony with a challenging air.

“And what are you gonna do with that... attention?”

Tony stepped back, as if backing off on purpose, teasing.

“Still deciding.” He winked. “But tomorrow, at practice, I’ll be watching you. Closely.”

Jadieu turned his face away, trying to hide a smile.

“Careful not to trip over your own ego.”

“I only trip when it’s worth it,” Tony replied, already walking backward as he moved away. “And you seem... worth it.”

Jadieu stood there for a moment, biting his lip before heading to the dorms. His heart, of course, beating faster than he’d ever admit.

(...)

(later)

Jadieu and Nick were sitting on the steps behind the arts building, far from the school’s movement. The wind gently swayed the trees around them while Jadieu hugged his knees, looking uneasy.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Jadieu started, staring at the ground. “Trent’s acting... weird. He avoided me all day.”

Nick, with a half-neutral look, replied:

“Maybe he’s just busy with his usual crap. He’s not exactly known for emotional stability.”

“But he was being cool with me before. And then Tony showed up and... I don’t know. Now Trent treats me like I did something wrong,” Jadieu sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He won’t even really look at me.”

Nick crossed his arms.

“And Tony? You’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”

“Yeah... But it’s nothing like that. We’re just talking. Tony’s kind of intense, but he’s fun. And he treats me like I’m actually interesting,” Jadieu said, smiling a little, then sighing again. “But now Trent’s all closed off. Cold. And I just want to understand why.”

Nick stayed silent for a few seconds, looking at the horizon.

“Maybe he’s jealous,” he said, almost without thinking.

Jadieu frowned.

“Jealous? Of what?”

Nick looked away.

“Forget it. I’m just talking nonsense.”

“Nick... What do you know that I don’t?” Jadieu pressed.

“I just think you should pay attention to how Trent looks at you when Tony gets close,” he said.

Jadieu went quiet, trying to process what Nick had just said. He frowned, confused but also intrigued.

“You really think Trent...?” he began, but didn’t finish the sentence. It was an idea as absurd as it was strangely possible.

“Forget it,” Nick replied with an impatient sigh, standing up. “Do what you want, Jadieu. Just try not to get hurt in the process.”

Before Jadieu could answer, the sound of footsteps interrupted the moment. Trent Northwick appeared from the other side of the stairs with his hands in his pockets and an unreadable expression.

“Hmm... am I interrupting your emotional moment?” Trent said in his usual teasing tone, but without the usual sparkle in his eyes.

Nick scoffed. “Perfect timing, as always.” Then he walked off down the stairs without looking back.

Trent looked at Jadieu, trying to seem casual.

“You okay? I saw you leaving the room kind of... in a rush.”

“Yeah, just needed air,” Jadieu replied, slowly standing. “Nick was listening to me vent.”

“Oh,” Trent muttered. “You’ve been hanging out with Tony a lot lately. Just... noticed.”

Jadieu watched him carefully, trying to read between the lines.

“And what’s the problem with that?”

Trent shrugged. “None. It’s just that... the guy looks like he came straight out of a European movie full of tragedy and seductive flirts. And you’re kind of... you.”

“Kind of what?”

Trent looked away. “Kind of too cute to fall for someone like him.”

Jadieu was caught off guard, not sure whether to smile or get annoyed.

“So you’re telling me you’re jealous?”

“No,” Trent replied too quickly. “Maybe. I don’t know. Shut up.”

Jadieu laughed, nervously, but the sound soon softened.

“You’re terrible at hiding it, you know?”

Trent took a deep breath and let the act drop for a second.

“It’s just... when it’s you, it’s different. And I get kind of... stupid. And then you go and smile at Tony, and I just want to push him off a rooftop.”

Jadieu looked at him in silence for a moment, then smiled—not teasing, but kind.

“You make me kind of stupid too, Northwick.”

Trent took a hesitant step toward Jadieu, eyes locked on his.

“If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop,” he said softly, almost a whisper.

Jadieu felt his heart race, his body frozen like time had slowed down. He said nothing—and that was enough for Trent to lean in, slowly, as if afraid to ruin everything with a sudden move.

Trent’s face was already dangerously close to his when...

"Oh no. Seriously?"

Nick’s voice cut through the moment like a bucket of cold water.

The two of them pulled away quickly as if they’d been caught doing something illegal. Trent ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. Jadieu's eyes widened, visibly embarrassed.

Nick crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"You two? Now your grumpy mood makes total sense, Northwick."

"Nick, it’s not what it looks like," Jadieu started, but stopped halfway, realizing it was exactly what it looked like.

"I’m not judging," Nick said, raising his hands. "It’s just... kind of funny how you spent the whole day saying Trent was acting weird, and now you’re almost kissing on the staircase."

Trent looked down, then back up at Nick.

"Want me to leave?"

Nick scoffed. "No. Just don’t make me part of your romcom audience. Give me a heads-up before anything dramatic happens, okay?"

He turned and went back down the stairs.

"Oh, and Jadieu... be careful with your heart, alright? Not everyone knows how to take care of it."

Jadieu stood there, his face still burning, while Trent sighed beside him.

"Does he always talk like that, or only when he wants me to feel guilty?"

"He’s Nick," Jadieu replied with a tired smile. "He worries about me."

(...)

Jadieu glanced at his phone, his eyebrows arching slightly.

"It’s Reggie. He’s calling me to the music room. Must be about the final number."

He shot a hesitant look at both of them, first at Nick, then at Trent, trying to force a smile even with the tension in the air.

"I’ll be right back."

As the door closed, silence fell.

Nick took a deep breath, looking away for a moment before turning to Trent.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

Trent raised an eyebrow, confused.

"Enjoying what?"

"The fact that he’s starting to look at you like you’re more than the idiot who always teases him."

Nick took a step forward. "And you love it, don’t you? Because now the stage is his, the attention is his... and you can’t stand when someone else shines brighter than you."

"Hey, wait a minute…" Trent began, but Nick didn’t let him.

"Ever since Tony showed up, you changed. You got weird with Jadieu. Like suddenly he had value. Like now he’s a prize."

Nick shook his head, letting out a nervous laugh.

"You don’t even realize how special he is, and still... he looks at you like that."

Trent was silent for a moment, more serious now.

"You’re in love with him."

Nick blinked, as if it were the first time someone had said it out loud.

He lowered his eyes, fists clenching at his sides.

"Of course I am. But it doesn’t matter. Because to him, I’m just Nick. The loyal friend. The nice guy. The safe place."

He looked up, meeting Trent’s eyes again, this time with real pain behind his anger.

"And you... you’re the guy he can’t figure out. The chaos he’s drawn to. And for some reason, it’s that chaos he keeps running to."

Trent looked away, visibly shaken, unsure what to say.

Nick took a step back, trying to regain control of his expression.

"I’ll only say this once: if you hurt him, I won’t just stand by. Even if he never sees me the way I want, I won’t let you break him."

Trent, eyes locked on Nick, stepped forward, narrowing his gaze at the accusation.

"You’re so pathetic," he said with a short, bitter laugh. "You think you’re better than me? The 'nice friend' who always does everything right, always takes care of Jadieu. But guess what I figured out? That’s all just a façade, Nick."

Nick blinked, surprised by the harshness in Trent’s words, but tried to stay firm.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Sure you do." Trent crossed his arms, dripping sarcasm. "You’ve always been the good guy, the 'loyal friend'. But deep down, you’re just as possessive as I am. You think you’re superior, but really, you’ve always wanted more. More from Jadieu."

Nick swallowed hard, anger mixed with frustration.

"It’s not like that," he started, trying to stay calm. "I never wanted to force anything. I just wanted him to see I’ve been here all along. That... he doesn’t need you."

"Oh, but he does need me," Trent said, a crooked smile on his lips. "Because you’re just a façade, Nick. And I saw how nervous you got when Tony started giving him attention. It’s not about Jadieu. It’s about control, isn’t it? You don’t want to lose your place."

Nick snapped, unable to hold back the emotion anymore.

"I just care about him! And you, you’re only here to mess everything up. All the time. But in the end, it’s Jadieu who’s going to get hurt, not you!"

"I don’t need a moral lesson from a fake innocent like you." Trent stepped toward Nick, his gaze now threatening. "You’ll see who he chooses in the end. And it won’t be you, Nick. You’ll just be the little friend, the nice guy, the one who’s always there but never really seen."

Nick clenched his fists, feeling the venom in Trent’s words. He knew he was right, but didn’t want to hear it from someone like him. He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a familiar sound.

The door creaked open, and Jadieu entered the room, his expression puzzled as he saw the two standing so close, the tension still thick in the air.

"Hi?" Jadieu said, uncertainty clear in his voice as he looked between them. "What’s going on here?"

Nick quickly placed a hand on his chest, feigning pain, and looked at Jadieu with an expression of suffering. He made a point of exaggerating the gesture, making himself look more vulnerable than he was.

"Jadieu..." Nick said in a tense voice, almost like he was holding himself back. "I... I can’t believe what he did. He pushed me, I... I couldn’t even defend myself." He looked at Trent with a hurt expression, searching Jadieu’s eyes for sympathy. "That’s not something a friend does, Jadieu. That’s... that’s assault."

Jadieu looked from Nick to Trent, confused, his eyes bouncing between them. He saw Nick, the expression of pain still visible on his face, and instantly felt concerned. His posture softened, the instinct to defend his friend kicking in.

"Trent..." Jadieu spoke, trying to stay calm, but the tension was already evident in his voice. "What’s going on? Did you really hurt him?"

Trent looked stunned by the accusation, his face twisting in disbelief. He stepped toward Jadieu, hands raised in defense.

"No! I didn’t touch him, Jadieu! He’s lying, seriously!" Trent rushed to explain, his eyes wide. "I’d never do that! He’s making it up, trying to play the victim, and you know he... he’s always trying to be the center of attention, right?"

But Jadieu didn’t seem convinced. He looked at Nick, then back at Trent, the worry growing in his eyes.

"Nick would never lie about something like this. He cares too much about me," Jadieu said, his voice filled with certainty. He walked over to Nick, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Nick, are you okay? Want me to call someone?"

Nick gestured like he was trying to recover and gave Jadieu a weak smile, trying to appear in pain but getting better.

"I just... don’t want him to think this is normal," Nick said, his voice slightly shaky, but steady enough to convince Jadieu. "But I think I’ll be fine, Jadieu. I just didn’t expect a friend to treat me like that."

Trent, clearly irritated, stepped back, his face darkening. He looked at Jadieu with frustration.

"I didn’t do anything! This is ridiculous, do you really believe him, Jadieu?" Trent said, trying to keep his anger in check. "I’m not that kind of person!"

But Jadieu had made up his mind. He didn’t turn to Trent but focused entirely on Nick, his protective gaze making it clear whom he believed.

"If you say that’s what happened, Nick, then I believe you," Jadieu said firmly, placing a supportive hand on Nick’s back. "I don’t tolerate that kind of behavior. No matter what Trent says, you’re my friend, and I’ll stand by you."

Trent stood in silence for a moment, staring at Jadieu. The frustration and jealousy were written all over his face, but he couldn’t say anything else without seeming even more guilty. He simply turned and left the room without a word.

Nick took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the tension lift a little from his shoulders, but at the same time, he felt something stronger rising. The certainty that Jadieu was on his side, that he believed in him, relieved him, but the need to hide his own feelings complicated the situation.

"Thank you, Jadieu," Nick said softly, his gaze still a little vulnerable, but now full of gratitude. "You don’t know how much this means to me."

Jadieu smiled at him, trying to ease the tension. "Always, Nick. I’ll always have your back."

(...)

Trent entered the room with heavy steps, still boiling inside. Sam was lying on the bed, listening to music with headphones, but he took one side off when he saw his brother enter like that.

"What now?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Nick," Trent replied, throwing his backpack forcefully on the floor. "That porcelain angel just screwed me in front of Jadieu. He pretended I pushed him. And the worst part? Jadieu believed him."

Jayden, who was reading in his bed, slowly looked up. He closed the book and spoke in a low, almost bored voice, "Welcome to reality."

Trent turned his face toward him. "What does that mean?"

Jayden rested his elbows on his knees, his expression more serious than usual. "It means that Nick, the one everyone thinks is pure and sweet... isn’t that innocent. He’s part of the Destruction Quartet with Brock, Logan, and Hunter. And if you think that group survives just on antics and image, you’re not paying attention."

Trent frowned, surprised. "You’re saying he’s... like the others?"

"Not exactly," Jayden replied, "but he’s bad too. He just hides it better. He knows how to play the 'good guy' image. And apparently, he just played you."

Sam got off the bed at that moment, curious. "Did Nick set Trent up?"

"Yeah. And the worst part is, he’s winning," Trent growled, still indignant. "Jadieu got all protective. He looked at me like I was a monster."

Jayden sighed and leaned back. "Yeah. Welcome to Dalton’s theater. Even the good guys have a knife up their sleeve."

(...)

(Meanwhile)

The atmosphere is stuffy, lit only by the red emergency light. Brock is doing card tricks in the corner, Logan is looking at himself in a pocket mirror, and Hunter is rolling his eyes in boredom. Nick enters with a discreet smile, but one full of satisfaction.

"You should’ve seen Trent’s face," he begins, throwing his backpack on the couch. "All righteous... until I tripped right in front of Jadieu."

Logan raises an eyebrow. "You tripped?"

Nick smiles like he’s telling an inside joke. "Of course not. But Jadieu saw how I fell, and the way I looked at him, like ‘hurt and confused’? He bought it right away."

Brock stops fiddling with the cards and nods in approval, speaking through sign language. "Classic. Soft manipulation."

"I trained with Jadieu himself," Nick says, crossing his arms. "He thinks I’m just the sweet, loyal best friend. Harmless. And Trent? Let him try to prove he didn’t touch me. It’s marked now. In Jadieu’s mind, he’s just another bully."

Hunter laughs dryly. "You’re crueler than you let on, Duval. I like that."

"It’s Dalton, darling," Nick responds with a mischievous look. "Innocence is just a good mask."

Outside the slightly open door, Trent Nixon freezes. He had come to find the charger he forgot in the backstage area, but what he overheard froze his blood.

"He lied.... Nick set it all up..." his mind was boiling.

Trent takes a step back, ready to leave as quickly as possible, but the floor creaks.

Logan turns immediately. "Anyone there?"

Trent tries to run, but Brock, with a sharp look, is already at the door. Before the others can react, Brock, with his ever-alert gaze, signals with his hand, and soon everyone turns to the corner of the room where Trent stands, his eyes wide with fear, still a bit surprised to have been caught. He tries to back away discreetly, but it’s too late.

Hunter immediately gets up, walking to the door with calculated steps. He opens the door fully and sees Trent Nixon standing in the hallway, pale.

"Well, look at that..." Hunter smiles slowly. "Did little Nixie overhear the conversation?"

Trent takes a step back, trying to stay calm. "I didn’t... I didn’t mean to listen. I just came to get—"

Logan interrupts. "Pity. Because now you know too much."

Brock, realizing Trent doesn’t understand sign language, quickly approaches Trent and makes an aggressive gesture with his hand. He wants to make it clear that Trent is in danger of being silenced if he thinks about telling anyone. His eyes shine with a latent threat.

Trent visibly tenses up, sweating a little. He shakes his head, gesturing with his hands in an apology, as if trying to communicate that he didn’t intend to hear anything. He knew he was in trouble, but he didn’t know how to get out of the situation.

Nick, sensing the growing tension and with a smile on his face, crosses his arms. "I think he overheard too much, huh, guys? Looks like we’ll have to deal with this."

Hunter observes Trent with a calculating look. "You going to stay quiet, Trent? Or are you going to try to play the hero and tell someone?"

Trent looks speechless, guilt evident on his face. He tries to leave the room, but Brock, with a quick and silent move, positions himself between him and the door. He makes another hand gesture, clearly indicating that Trent has nowhere to go.

"You’re going to keep quiet now, aren’t you?" Nick says with a mischievous smile. "Because if not, things are going to get more complicated."

Trent gulps, his expression fearful. He tries to speak, but the words get stuck in his throat. He knows he can’t mess with the quartet anymore without facing the consequences.

"You’re not going to tell anyone, right, Trent?" Brock signs, his gaze penetrating and threatening, causing Trent to shrink back. The gesture Brock made was clear: "Silence or consequences."

He nods reluctantly, and finally, he rushes out of the room, not looking back.

The quartet exchanges glances, their malicious and satisfied smiles. When the door closes, Logan lets out a dry laugh.

"This nice chubby guy isn’t so naïve. He was just waiting for the right moment to interfere."

Nick smiles, satisfied with Trent Nixon’s reaction. "That’s what they always do, but who’s going to listen to an idiot like him? Now, Jadieu is going to think Trent’s the villain, and I... well, I’m the good friend."

Hunter laughs and leans back in his chair. "It’s all about perception, right? And with Trent silent, it’s easier to manipulate everything."

Brock watches attentively. When everyone starts laughing again, he remains serious.

Chapter Text

It was break time in the cafeteria. The sound of chatter and laughter filled the space, mixed with the clatter of trays hitting tables. Reginald George walked in with a tablet in hand, his expression one of pure fury and determination. He quickly glanced at the cheerleaders, who sat at a nearby table, distracted while gossiping about the latest school rumor.

With a snap of his fingers, he caught their attention.

“Boys, level five emergency. I abandoned my vegan smoothie for this, so pay attention,” Reginald said, his tone firm and uncompromising.

Samuel, the most disinterested of the group, lifted his eyes from his own tablet and replied, not even hiding his boredom. “What is it now, Reg?”

“I’m seventh. SEVENTH on the school’s beauty ranking. Behind Brock. Brock!” Reginald practically growled, his eyebrows furrowed in indignation.

Kevin, more empathetic, looked at his friend with a thoughtful expression. “But Brock is cute…”

Reginald scoffed, as if Kevin had just said something absurd. “He’s a blue magician with a mysterious face, not a beauty icon. I’m sparkle, luxury, and perfection. This is a crime against good taste!” He looked down at the tablet like it was burning his hands just for showing him ranked below someone like Brock.

Gael, looking worried, sighed and asked, “What do you want us to do?”

“You’re the cheerleaders, the influencers, the trendsetters of Dalton! I want a campaign. Hashtags. Videos. Posters with my silhouette drawn in glitter. We’re climbing that ranking like it’s the social ladder!” Reginald declared, with a confidence bordering on arrogance. He was determined to take back his position in the school, and he saw it as nothing less than a mission.

Gael raised an eyebrow, a bit thrown. “You want us to manipulate the school’s public opinion?”

“Don’t manipulate. Influence. That’s what you do best. Let’s put on a show,” Reginald replied, with a confident and slightly mischievous smile. He knew exactly what the cheerleaders were capable of, and he was sure they’d help him flip the game.

The cheerleaders exchanged looks, sharing a glance of understanding and excitement. This was the kind of challenge they lived for. Without another word, they started getting hyped about creating a campaign that would shake Dalton Academy.

The camera focuses on Reginald’s tablet, where the school’s beauty ranking is highlighted: Hunter in first, Brock in fourth, Tony in sixth, and Reginald, shamefully seventh, just below.

Reginald looked at the ranking with a wicked smile. “Hunter can enjoy his time at the top… because his reign ends today.”

(...)

In the chaos of the cafeteria, amidst the smell of fries and the murmur of scattered groups, Jayden Ian—wearing a worn-out denim jacket, black nail polish, and a gaze as sharp as a blade—noticed something that made him raise an eyebrow.

Across the room, he saw Samuel García Domínguez sitting at Reginald George and Damien’s table. Jayden rolled his eyes and stood up with a dramatic sigh, marching toward the scene.

He stopped beside the table and crossed his arms. “Samuel. Babe. What are you doing here?”

Samuel looked up, confused. “What… I’m having lunch.”

Jayden grimaced. “At Reginald’s table? The prince of glitter and manipulation? That’s practically a request for social exile.”

Damien, sitting next to Reginald, let out a laugh, resting her chin on her hands. She wore a pink sweater and had the aura of someone silently judging the entire world—but with irresistible charm. “Oh, Jayden, let the boy be. He’s too cute to realize what he’s gotten himself into.”

Jayden turned to her, sarcastic. “Damien, sweetheart, you’re only saying that because you enjoy watching newbies get eaten alive by the system.”

“Lies! I just enjoy watching the chaos,” she replied, laughing.

Reginald kept tapping away at his tablet, pretending not to care, though a faint smirk played on his lips.

Samuel looked at the three of them, a bit lost. “You’re all exaggerating… Reginald was just showing me the ranking.”

Jayden raised an eyebrow. “Ah. The ranking. The modern altar of ego.”

He then extended a hand toward Samuel. “Come. Sit with us today. Before your soul gets sold for popularity.”

Damien let out a giggle and added, almost like a secret: “He’s right, Sam. With Reginald, everything has a price… and it usually involves glitter and emotional blackmail.”

Samuel hesitated for a second, but Jayden’s protective (and snarky) tone won him over. He got up, tray in hand, while Reginald pretended not to care—though he did glance discreetly once no one was looking.

And with that, Jayden and Samuel walked off, followed by Damien, who waved at Reginald like she’d just won a chess match.

“One rescue at a time,” Jayden muttered, satisfied.

(...)

Jayden sat on a bench next to Damien, both of them watching the students scattered across the outdoor cafeteria. The background was filled with laughter, conversation, and the echo of sneakers on pavement. Samuel, tray in hand, sat with them for the first time, his gaze lost in the noise and confusion. Jayden, bored, poked at a piece of salad with his fork, eyes fixed on his plate.

“Okay, lost puppy… Welcome to the jungle. Now sit and learn. This? This isn’t a school. It’s a zoo with Wi-Fi.”

Damien, more laid-back, grabbed a Dorito from Jayden’s tray and took a bite. She looked around, as if judging the place with disdain.

“And a very questionable dress code.”

Jayden didn’t lift his eyes from the plate, but his voice was laced with sarcasm.

“Over at that table, we have the emotional physicists. They cry while listening to Arctic Monkeys and debate Kant during breaks. Apparently, depression is aesthetic.”

The camera cuts to a table full of students in black clothing that contrasts with Dalton’s red uniform, vaping in secret and exchanging philosophical ideas. Their eyes are teary, as if the weight of their discussions was too much to bear.

“In that corner? The jocks. They’re like golden retrievers on hormones. Loud, aggressive, and always assume you care about yesterday’s practice. Spoiler: no one does.”

Damien let out a nearly emotionless laugh, then added:

“And they think Shakespeare is a Real Madrid defender.”

The camera cuts to the other side, where a group of athletes loudly discusses their last game, completely unaware of how out of place they are.

“On the other end, we’ve got the cheerleaders. They don’t walk, they strut. They’re like a lip-glossed army of Instagram poses and emotional manipulation.” Jayden looked at Samuel and whispered, “Watch out for them. Especially Reginald. He leads the squad. He’s like Narcissus’s ego turned human. And covered in sequins.”

The camera cuts to Reginald leading his group, all of them perfectly in sync, as if filming a pop music video. Their smiles shine like diamonds.

“The nerds stay buried in the library pretending they don’t care about any of this… until science fair day, when they become rockstars for 48 hours.”

“Then go back to invisibility like Cinderella after midnight,” Damien said with a bitter laugh.

“The artists? A mix of existential crisis and glitter. Constantly crying on stage and making out backstage.”

The camera cuts quickly to a dramatic group rehearsing an intense scene in the courtyard. Their expressions are so exaggerated it’s as if their lives depend on that performance.

“And then there’s us. The outcasts. The weirdos. The ones watching it all with popcorn and zero patience. We don’t play the game… we narrate it.”

Damien, with a mischievous grin, added:

“Or throw sarcasm grenades and root for total social collapse.”

Jayden looked blankly at the chaos around him, like someone trained to understand it but too indifferent to get involved.

“In short? This school runs like a pyramid of ego. Climbing it can be tempting… but if you’re smart, you build your throne from scrap metal and rule from the outside.”

They sat in silence for a moment, each observing the scene with a different gaze: Jayden, bored; Damien, mildly entertained; and Samuel, still trying to figure out what it all meant.

Jayden narrowed his eyes at the cheerleaders’ table, where Reginald George reigned supreme, surrounded by his perfectly choreographed posse.

“The Plastics are exactly where I said they’d be: sitting on the cheer squad throne.”

Samuel raised an eyebrow, confused. “The Plastics? That’s what you call them?”

"They're Dalton's teenage royalty. If this school were a fashion magazine, they'd be on the cover every month," Damien said lazily, chewing a Dorito.

Jayden nodded with his chin. “That one’s Kevin Smith. The dumbest guy I’ve ever met.”

Damien let out a muffled laugh. “He once asked me how to spell ‘orange.’ Like... he was holding an orange in his hand.”

Right to Reginald’s side sat a boy with perfectly combed hair and a designer T-shirt. Jayden went on.

“That’s Gael Wieners. He’s loaded because his dad invented Instant Strudel.”

Just then, Coryn, one of the football players, accidentally hit Gael in the head with a ball in the middle of the cafeteria. Gael’s head turned slowly, and he glared at the player with a stare cold enough to freeze the sun.

“Gael knows everyone’s dirt,” Jayden murmured, almost like a warning.

“That’s why his hair’s so big... it’s full of secrets,” Damien added with a half-smile.

Jayden pointed to the center of the table, where Reginald sat, messing with his metallic pink phone, surrounded by his social drones.

“And there he is. Reginald George. Evil in human form. Looks like just a spoiled, venomous, theatrical brat... but he’s so much more than that.”

“He’s the queen bee,” Damien said with mock reverence. “And the others? They’re just his drones.”

Jayden took a deep breath, like he needed to focus to put into words what Reginald truly represented.

“How do I even explain Reginald George...?”

(Cut to a fast-paced mockumentary-style montage)

Jared: “Reginald George is flawless.”

…..

Thad Hardwood: “He has two designer bags and a silver imported car.”

…..

Wes Montgomery: “His hair is insured for ten thousand dollars.”

…..

Chris Laven: “I heard he does car commercials... in Japan.”

….

Sebastian Smythe: “His favorite movie is Barbie of Swan Lake. He cries every time.”

….

Ander: “He met Britney Spears on a plane. She said he was beautiful.”

….

Artie Abrams: “Why are you interviewing me? I don't even study here."

….

Trent Nixon: “One day he punched me in the face... It was awesome!”

(End of montage. Back to Jayden, Damien, and Samuel on the bench.)

Jayden shrugged, looking bored. “That’s the circus. And Reginald? He’s the painted clown who became emperor.”

Damien smiled with irony. “We’re just in the stands... eating popcorn.”

Samuel looked at them, hesitant but clearly torn. “But… they’re nice sometimes too. Like, Reginald helped me with geography homework once. And he listens when I talk. You guys make him sound like pure evil, but I don’t know…”

Jayden leaned back on the bench, arms crossed. “Samuel... Reginald doesn’t listen. He collects. Information. Loyalties. Vulnerabilities. And when needed, he throws it all like glitter grenades in a room full of secrets.”

Damien, calmer, touched Samuel’s shoulder gently. “We just want you to see clearly. Reginald is charming. But he never does anything without a plan. Not even when he smiles.”

Samuel looked down, thoughtful. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, a shadow fell over their table.

It was Reginald.

He wore a soft smile and a gaze that hovered between diplomacy and veiled threat. “Can I talk to you, Samuel?”

Jayden stood immediately. “Too late, George. This guy already chose to sit with the peasants.”

Reginald didn’t even look at Jayden, speaking directly to Samuel. “I don’t want to fight. I just want to remind you who held your hand when you freaked out yesterday. Who stood up to Logan’s bullying when no one else dared.”

Samuel swallowed hard. Jayden narrowed his eyes, irritated by the blatant emotional manipulation.

Reginald continued, softer. “I’m not forcing you. I’m just saying that if you want to really shine, the stage is there. And there’s a seat saved for you. You vanished from the table. Abandoned your role as the neutral counselor. Your blasé energy balanced the group. And more importantly... your chaotic ‘I don’t care’ hair made the average students feel seen. It humanized my reign.”

Samuel blinked. “Are you calling me ugly?”

“I’m saying you’re... relatable,” Reginald replied with a diplomatic smile. “And relatable is the new sexy. We need that in the campaign.” He handed Samuel a shiny envelope—a formal invitation, with golden letters and the scent of expensive perfume. “Meeting tonight. Project Supreme Ascension. It’s gonna change everything. Only the ones who matter will be there.”

Reginald turned and walked away, leaving behind a trail of confusion and silence.

Samuel looked at the invitation. Jayden stared at the envelope like it was a sparkling bomb. Damien just sighed, arms crossed.

“So, Sammy? You picking the stage... or the audience?” Jayden asked, trying to sound indifferent, but with a hint of disdain in his voice.

Samuel took a deep breath, still silent.

The seed of doubt was planted. And Reginald George’s game had just begun.

Apex Predator – Mean Girls The Musical

[1. https://youtu.be/Amv8T27SqCw?si=mxCG1mKNXvyopv2K]

Jayden:

Don't be fooled by the pink

He's not playing dolls

He's prowling the halls

For the thrill of the kill

Everyone at school

Is aware of his stare

When he tosses his hair

They freeze in perfect still

All their eyes say: Don't attack me

Watch them sweat, gasp, and shake

Every food chain has its apex

Reginald George eats steak

He's the queen of beasts

He can smell your fear

In this biosphere

He's the apex predator

Like a lion

Only with less hair

Don't mess with him

He's the apex predator

Samuel:

At the water fountain

See the boys who weren't cool

Running like rats

From a jungle cat

And even though Jayden's great

She doesn't have that power

People literally hide

Jayden can't make them cower

Watch us mark our territory

As I walk behind his pride

I was prey, I was a victim

Now I shake my mane with pride

He's the king of beasts

And I'm in his pack

I got a ride

With the apex predator

And it's kind of fun

When he bares his claws

Since I'm safe because

I'm with the apex predator

Did I think I'd be protected by my new exotic pet?

I wouldn't stand a chance if she suspected

That I was some kind of reproductive threat

But he doesn’t know yet

Jayden and Samuel:

No, he doesn’t know yet

He's the king of beasts

In this beastly school

I’ve got to stay cool

With the apex predator

Samuel:

So I’m kind of a friend

Jayden:

But you’re kind of prey

Samuel:

Jesus, what a day!

Jayden and Samuel:

With the apex predator

Will he braid your hair?

Will he eat your heart?

How can you outsmart

The apex predator?

(End)

Reginald George marched with elegant steps along the edge of the campus, where signs read: "Female Section Restricted Entrance." He, of course, ignored them. He was dressed as if he were about to host a fashion reality show: immaculate white pants, a burgundy vest, and a satin scarf tied around his neck in a dramatic knot. His tablet gleamed under his arm like a technological shield.

Two discipline monitors intercepted his entrance. One of them raised his hand nervously.

“Reginald... you can’t enter here. It’s a rule. Expulsion, remember?”

“Relax, I brought a printed excuse,” said Reginald, pulling out a sheet from his backpack with the letterhead of the "Official Inter-Student Aesthetic Recognition Campaign." It was obviously fake, but it had a signature written in golden ink and a glittery seal stuck on it.

“That’s not valid,” said the other monitor, trying to sound firm.

“But it’s beautiful. And the aesthetics convince, darling,” replied Reginald, smiling with his eyes and walking in like the star of a Brazilian soap opera.

As soon as he stepped into the female section, all conversations ceased.

Girls of different styles stared at him as if they were seeing a celebrity falling from the sky.

“Girls of Dalton, ladies of my heart... today, I come on a mission of peace and beauty,” he announced, spinning on his heels with arms wide open.

The head cheerleader, Celeste Hartley, raised an eyebrow, both interested and skeptical.

“And what does the emperor of narcissism want from us?”

“I want representativity, Celeste. The student beauty ranking is corrupted. It's addicted to votes from outdated boys and dominated by outdated aesthetics. No more soulless muscles. You deserve a candidate who respects skincare, understands the power of a graphic eyeliner, and knows how to use gloss without it sticking to your hair in the wind.”

Some girls laughed. Others began recording on their phones.

“And what do you gain from this?” asked Celeste, crossing her arms.

“Honestly? The top. First place. Absolute victory. But more than that... I want to make history. I want to be the first boy to win with massive support from the girls. An inter-clique alliance of beauty. A treaty of good taste.”

Celeste stared at Reginald for a few seconds and then smiled.

‘If you do an impromptu runway show in the courtyard and survive the fashion panel from our gossip group, you have my support.”

Reginald winked.

“I was born ready for this.”

Five minutes later, the female section courtyard was a party. Reginald strutted to the sound of a playlist made on the spot — a mix of K-pop, diva pop, and Victoria’s Secret runway music. He struck dramatic poses, threw petals in the wind, and blew kisses as if he were an ambassador of love.

At the end, he received applause and even some anonymous declarations on the school app:

“He’s insufferable. But irresistible.”

“I voted. And would vote again.”

“If he gets expelled for this, I want to be expelled too.”

Back in the boys' section, Reginald watched the votes rise in real-time on his tablet. His smile was that of a soap opera villain.

“I warned you. The George doesn’t fall. He relaunches. In deluxe version.”

(...)

In the Warblers' room, the atmosphere was tense. Brock Sawyer was finishing building a card castle while Hunter Clarington analyzed the school’s beauty ranking projected on the wall. Logan Duke chewed his nail in irritation, and Nick Duval applied gel to his hair for the fifth time in five minutes.

“This is impossible,” muttered Hunter, slamming his palm on the screen. “He moved up three positions in one afternoon. Three!”

“The girls' section…” murmured Logan, wide-eyed. “He invaded the forbidden paradise.”

Nick frowned. “I thought entering there without permission was an immediate expulsion.”

Hunter scoffed. “If it were anyone else, yes. But it’s Reginald. He must have made it seem like a charity campaign.”

At that moment, Brock raised a folded paper sign with a large note:

“He did a runway show. There were petals. I saw it on Celeste’s stories.”

Logan grabbed his own hair.

“This isn’t fair! We follow the rules! Well, kind of. But we don’t do runway shows on enemy territory!”

Nick looked sideways. “I thought about invading too. But I don’t have enough satin scarves.”

Hunter slowly turned to face the three.

“Okay. Enough. George thinks he can dominate the game just with charisma and lip gloss. But he forgot one very important thing.”

“What’s that?” asked Logan.

Hunter smiled calmly, evilly.

“That we are the Destruction Quartet. And no one rises in this ranking without paying a price.”

Brock raised another sign:

“Should we sabotage the final runway?”

Hunter thought for a moment, then crossed his arms.

“Not yet. First, let’s reclaim territory. Logan, prepare the invites for our secret party. Girls only. Theme: 'Real Men Also Use Moisturizer.'”

Logan smiled.

“This will irritate Reginald as much as taking him out of the top 3.”

Nick chuckled.

“This is going to turn into a war.”

Hunter nodded.

“Let the war of the beautiful begin.”

(...)

In the Warblers' room, the lights were dimmed. Hunter wore reading glasses and used a tablet. Logan was bent over a whiteboard with colorful post-its. Brock was silently cutting golden stars, and Nick was obsessively fine-tuning his playlist.

“Everything has to look spontaneous, but it can’t be spontaneous,” Hunter said. “The party needs to look like a male aesthetic paradise. Like a French perfume commercial with a warm filter.”

“And will there be rules?” asked Logan, writing notes. “Only girls with more than 500 followers allowed?”

“Of course not,” Nick retorted. “It has to look inclusive. But we only invite the pretty ones. The popular ones. The influencers.”

Brock raised another sign:

“Let’s wear turtleneck sweaters and amber lighting. The girls love that.”

“Perfect,” said Hunter. “We want them to feel like they’re entering a beauty cult.”

Nick nodded. “And while they dance, take selfies, and tag us, the algorithm will do the rest. Popularity isn’t debated. It’s consumed.”

(...)

On the other side of the campus, in the arts pavilion, Reginald George watched the activity on Instagram stories. The secret party invitations were starting to circulate.

He crossed his arms and sighed dramatically.

“Trying to defeat me with a little party? Amateurs.”

He grabbed his phone, dialed a number, and soon a voice answered.

“Celeste? Get the girls ready. Activate the ‘George Counteroffensive’ protocol.”

In the female section, soft harp alarms began to play. A group of girls put on satin gloves, others adjusted tiaras, and all took out their pocket mirrors.

Reginald descended the stairs in slow motion, his coat billowing.

“If they want attention... they’ll have to compete for it.”

On the night of the party, while the Quartet served aesthetic drinks and posed for boomerangs, the sound of heels echoed from outside.

Reginald entered with his allies. Lights flashed. The girls in his group looked like they had stepped out of a magazine editorial.

Reginald looked directly at Hunter.

“Hello, boys. Beautiful party you’ve got here. Too bad it turned into my red carpet.”

Hunter smiled, tense.

“You may have entered. But who’s going to be in the main photo... that’s still up for grabs.”

Reginald winked. “May the most photogenic win.”

And at that moment, the war of the beautiful became public.

(...)

INSTAGRAM AND TIKTOK TRENDING TOPICS — DALTON AND SURROUNDINGS

\#Reginald carpet — 9.8k mentions

Videos of Reginald’s triumphant entrance with slow motion, dramatic zoom, and edits with classical music and digital glitter exploded. A viral audio clip emerged with the phrase:

“Hello, boys. Beautiful party you’ve got here. Too bad it turned into my red carpet.”

Students from other schools began lip-syncing to the scene.

#Aesthetic Quartet  — 7.2k mentions

Photos of the four (Hunter, Logan, Nick, and Brock) posing under amber light, holding glasses and pulling serious faces. Mixed comments:

— “The quartet served more than the party buffet.”

— “They set up the Louvre... but Reginald was the Mona Lisa.”

#TeamReginald vs #TeamQuartet

A clear divide began to emerge among fans.

— #TeamReginald posted fan-cams and declarations like:

— “He doesn’t go to the party, he redefines the dress code.”

— #TeamQuartet defended originality:

— “Without the quartet, there wouldn’t even be a party. They are the curators of hype.”

STORY POLL FROM A GOSSIP PROFILE:

“Who owned the night?”

* Reginald George: 62%

* The Destruction Quartet: 38%

MOST LIKED COMMENT OF THE WEEK:

“Reginald showed up without an invite and left with the remote control of the party.”

(...)

After seeing Reginald dominate the comments, polls, and videos of the week, the Destruction Quartet gathered in one of the dorms to plot their counter-offensive. Hunter leads the plan with coldness:

“He wants the spotlight? Let’s show him he’s not just glitter and attitude. Let’s pull the rug out and show the nerd hiding underneath.”

Logan is the one who gets access to secret photos: miniature medieval characters made of clay, board game setups, and even a private channel where Reginald posted detailed painting tutorials for tabletop RPGs.

Brock, the magic trick and well-kept secret expert, reveals that Reginald goes to a nerd shop every Saturday disguised in a hoodie and thick-rimmed glasses.

(THE LEAK)

The next day, an anonymous Instagram profile posts a series of stories with the phrases:

“The Prince of Aesthetics also has a character sheet.”

“Cookies? No. BISCUIT.”

“Charisma +4, Dexterity +2... but Exposure Resistance? 0.”

Along with videos showing Reginald narrating epic battles between wizards and goblins in a theatrical voice, using his miniature collection.

At first, many laughed:

— “Reginald rolling D20 after slaying in D&D?”

— “The beauty king has +1 armor against insecurity.”

But quickly, the narrative shifted.

— “This just proves he’s good at EVERYTHING.”

— "He's handsome, articulate... and he still glues wings on clay dragons? I'd marry him easily."

— "If loving RPG makes me weird, then I want to be weird too."

VIDEOS WITH THE AUDIO 'NERD, BUT HANDSOME' BEGIN TO GO VIRAL:

Clips of Reginald painting miniatures, interspersed with his triumphant arrival at the party.

NEW POLL: "DID REGINALD BECOME MORE OR LESS INTERESTING AFTER THE LEAK?"

* More interesting: 74%

* Less interesting: 11%

* I've always been a fan of goblins: 15%

(...)

The buzz is everywhere. Reginald hasn't even entered the hall yet when phones start vibrating with new notifications. Videos of him painting miniatures and narrating RPG campaigns have taken over everyone's stories. Soon, all the students began confessing their secrets.

Stick To The Status Quo - High School Musical

[2. https://youtu.be/yE07FbWmew8?si=nCe6glQ48dDDdDnV]

Coryn an American football player steps up to the table:

Você pode apostar

You can bet

Não há nada além de rede

There's nothin' but net

Quando eu estou em uma zona e em um rolo

When I am in a zone and on a roll

Mas eu tenho uma confissão

But I've got a confession

Minha obsessão secreta

My own secret obsession

E ela está me fazendo perder o controle

And it's making me lose control

Students gather around him:

Todos se reúnem envolta!

Everybody gather 'round!

Coryn:

Bem, se o Reginald pode contar seu segredo

Well, if Reginald can tell his secret

Eu posso contar o meu. Eu faço doces!

Than I can tell mine, I bake!

Students:

O que?

What?

Coryn: 

Eu amo fazer doces

I love to bake

Tortas, bolinhos, até pudim de maçã

Strudels, scones, even apple pandowdy

Outraged students:

Não, mais nenhum som

Not another sound!

Cory shows the candy he made:

O crème brulée perfeito

Someday, I hope to make the perfect crème brulée!

Students:

Não, não, não, não

No, no, no, no

Não, não, não

No, no, no

Atenha-se às coisas que você conhece

Stick to the stuff you know!

Se você quer ser legal

If you wanna be cool

Siga uma simples regra

Follow one simple rule

Não bagunce o fluxo, não não

Don't mess with the flow, no no

Mantenha o bom status

Stick to the status quo!

Trent Nixon:

Olha para mim

Look at me

E o que você vê

And what do you see

Inteligência sem comparação

Intelligence beyond compare

Mas por dentro eu sou agitado

But inside I am stirring

Alguma coisa estranha está ocorrendo

Something strange is occuring

É um segredo que preciso compartilhar

It's a secret I need to share

Alunos:

Se abra, desabafe!

Open up, dig way down deep!

Trent Nixon:

Hip hop é a minha paixão

Hip hop is my passion!

Eu amo requebrar e travar

I love to pop and lock

E lotação e quebrar!

And jam and break!

Student:

Isso é legal?

Is that even legal?

Student 2:

Não, nem mais um piu!

Not another peep!

Trent Nixon:

É só uma dança

It's just dancing!

Às vezes eu acho mais legal que lição de casa

Sometimes I think it's cooler than homework

Students:

Não, não, não, não

No, no, no, no

Não, não, não

No, no, no

Atenha-se às coisas que você conhece

Stick to the stuff you know!

É melhor de longe

It is better by far

Para manter as coisas como elas são

To keep things as they are

Não bagunce o fluxo, não não

Don't mess with the flow, no no

Mantenha o bom status

Stick to the status quo!

Luke another football player comes up to the table:

Ouçam bem

Listen well

Estou pronto para contar

I'm ready to tell

Sobre algo que não posso negar

About a need that I cannot deny

Cara, não tem explicação

Dude, there's no explanation

Para essa impressionante sensação

For this awesome sensation

Mas eu preciso falar

But I'm ready to let it fly

Students:

Fale o que pensa e será ouvido!

Speak your mind and you'll be heard

Luke: 

Certo, se Reginald quer ser jogador de D&D

Sure, if Reginald wants to be a D&D player

Eu vou ser claro

Then I'm coming clean

Eu toco violoncelo

I play the cello

Coryn: 

Impressionante

Awesome!

Thad hardwood:

O que é isso?

What is it?

Uma serra?

A saw

Luke: 

Não, cara, é como um violino gigante

No, dude, it's like a giant violin

Alunos indignados: 

Nenhuma palavra mais!

Not another word!

Thad: 

Você precisa usar algum traje?

Do you have to wear a costume?

Luke: 

Terno e gravata!

Coat and tie!

Students:

Não, não, não, não

No, no, no, no

Não, não, não

No, no, no

Fique com o que você sabe

Stick to the stuff you know!

Se você quer ser legal

If you wanna be cool

Siga uma simples regra

Follow one simple rule

Não bagunce o fluxo, não não

Don't mess with the flow, no no

Mantenha o bom status

Stick to the status quo!

Não, não, não, não

No, no, no

Fique com o que você sabe

Stick to the stuff you know!

De longe é melhor

It is better by far

Deixar as coisas como são

To keep things as they are

Não bagunce o fluxo, não não

Don't mess with the flow, no no

Mantenha o bom status

Stick to the status quo!

Não é isso que eu quero

This is not what I want

Não é isso que eu planejei

This is not what I planned

E eu preciso dizer

And I just gotta say

Eu não entendo

I do not understand

Algo está realmente

Something is really

Algo não está certo

Something's not right

Realmente errado

Really wrong

E nós temos que colocar as coisas

And we gotta get things

De volta a onde elas pertencem

Back where they belong

Nós podemos fazer isso!

We can do it

Tem que jogar

Gotta play

Fique com o que você sabe

Stick with what you know

Nós podemos fazer isso!

We can do it

Trent: 

Viva o hip hop

Hip hop hooray

(He dances)

Students: 

Ela tem que ir

She has got to go

Nós podemos fazer isso!

We can do it

Coryn: 

Crème Brulée

Crème brulée

Students:

Fale baixo!

Keep your voice down low

Students: 

Mais nenhum piu!

Not another peep

Não, mais nenhuma palavra!

No, not another word

Não, nem mais um som!

No, not another sound

Não!

No

Seeing that chaos in the middle of the cafeteria, Reginald gets irritated.

Todo mundo quieto!

Everybody quiet!

(Pause)

Kevin Smith: Why is everyone staring at Gael like he won a Grammy?

Gael (not taking his eyes off the center of attention): It's not for me... it's for him. Looks like they found out Mr. "Top 1 in the Beauty Ranking" has a... nerdy side.

[Kevin furrows his brow, confused. Reginald approaches, visibly uncomfortable with the stares, the murmurs, and people trying to take photos of him.]

Reginald (with a dramatic sigh, adjusting the collar of his shirt): They found out I play RPG... I play, DM, make little clay figurines, and paint each one by hand. Now I’m trending at school as “the handsome guy with magic dice.”

Honestly? If I had to become a meme, I’d prefer it to be for something else. This is a mess.

Kevin (trying to cheer him up): Look on the bright side: They’re not laughing at you. They liked it.

You’ve become the perfect combo.

Reginald (crosses his arms, thoughtful): Yeah... maybe...

(Return of music )

Students:

Não, não, não, não

No, no, no, no

Fique com o que você sabe!

Sick to the stuff you know!

Se você quer ser legal

If you want to be cool

Siga uma simples regra

Follow one simple rule

Não bagunce o fluxo, não não

Don't mess with the flow, oh no

Mantenha o bom status

Stick to the status quo!

Não, não, não, não

No, no, no

Fique com o que você sabe

Stick to the stuff y

ou know!

De longe é melhor

It is better by far

Deixar as coisas como elas são

To keep things as they are

Não bagunce o fluxo, não não

Don't mess with the flow, no no

Mantenha o status

Stick to the status

Mantenha o status

Stick to the status

Mantenha o bom status

Stick to the status quo!

(End)

Hunter Clarington is sitting in front of the laptop, with the school's beauty ranking screen open. Reginald's image shines at the top with a golden badge and the number #1 next to it. Logan's phone buzzes with notifications of edits, fanarts, and videos under the hashtag #Nerdnald.

Hunter abruptly gets up from his chair. "This doesn't make sense. We destroyed him."

Logan rolls his eyes, lying on the bed with his phone. "Technically, we humanized him."

"Humanized my ass!" Hunter takes a step forward, annoyed. "We showed the ridiculous side, the embarrassing side. Little clay figurines! Board games! He narrates elf battles with a weird accent!"

Brock signs with his hands, laughing silently, and Nick translates, also laughing: "He said there are even girls cosplaying as the little mage because of him."

Hunter rubs his face, frustrated. "This can’t be… How did this make him surpass The Clarington?"

Logan laughs: "Maybe because, while you pretend to be perfect, he just... is. People like vulnerability, Hunter. It’s in style."

Hunter takes a deep breath, stares at the mirror, and mutters, bitterly: "Reginald George… the most handsome nerd in school. What kind of era are we living in?"

Nick looks at the ranking on his phone and says:
"Welcome to the reign of the biscuit prince."

CUT TO THE PHONE SCREEN:
A new notification appears — Reginald just posted a video with the title:
"Yes, I have +20 in Charm and I still paint mini dragons. Deal with it."

Chapter Text

Jadieu was sitting alone in the garden of Dalton Academy, leaning against a tree, his noise-canceling headphones pressed tightly over his ears, trying to ignore the world around him. The wind blew softly, carrying the scent of freshly planted flowers and the distant sound of students laughing. He sighed, lost in thought, when a shadow fell over him.

A familiar voice, slightly trembling with excitement, broke the silence.

“Jadieu!”

He looked up slowly, confused. And then he saw.

Kurt Hummel, wearing his Dalton uniform impeccably aligned and a radiant smile on his face, stood right in front of him.

“I did it, Jadieu! I’m going to study at Dalton now!”

Jadieu blinked, trying to process the information. He took off his headphones slowly, as if doubting his own ears.

“Wait... what?” He stood up quickly, his face starting to light up, though he tried to hide the enthusiasm. “Are you serious?”

Kurt nodded, his smile only growing.

“Totally serious! I talked to my dad, did the interview, and they accepted me. I start tomorrow.”

Jadieu bit his lip, torn between relief and excitement. His eyes sparkled, but he kept his usual sarcastic tone.

“Well, at least now I’ll have someone to talk to who isn’t an idiot with a superiority complex or a blond heartthrob who thinks everyone falls for him.”

Kurt laughed, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he meant.

“Does that mean you’re happy to see me?”

Jadieu crossed his arms, pretending to scoff, but the slight smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Hummel.”

Kurt and Jadieu were still by the tree, chatting animatedly about the dorm and Dalton’s routine, when a nasal and affected voice cut through like a sharp edit in a song:

“Oh, how adorable. Dalton really has hit rock bottom.”

They both turned. A brown-haired boy, with perfect posture and an expression of utter disdain, stood watching them with crossed arms. His Dalton uniform was visibly altered: refined stitching, tailored lapels, perfectly folded pocket square, and of course, the Aquaberry label discreetly visible on the collar.

“Who are you?” Jadieu arched an eyebrow, already wrinkling his nose at the boy’s tone.

The boy smiled like he was savoring fine wine—or the sound of his own ego.

“Gord Vendome. Maybe you’ve heard of me... or maybe not, which would explain a lot.” He extended his hand as if expecting someone to kiss it, but neither of them moved. “Transfer student, pre-approved, full payer. Because, well... some of us don’t need to beg for scholarships.”

Kurt frowned, saying nothing, but the blush on his cheeks gave away the offense.

Jadieu stepped forward, arms crossed. “You trying to say something, Vendome?”

Gord chuckled lowly, studying Kurt like he was a thrift store item at a gala.

“Just stating facts. When you let in scholarship students, especially ones dressed like... what is that? A community thrift store in rural Ohio? Dalton’s tradition starts to crumble.”

Kurt opened his mouth, but Jadieu was quicker.

“Listen here, you walking Aquaberry ad, just because you think you’re well-dressed doesn’t mean you don’t sound ridiculous. Kurt is more worthy of being here than any spoiled heir who thinks money buys respect.”

Gord blinked, slightly surprised, maybe not expecting someone with such well-kept hair to be so feisty.

“Interesting,” he said, turning his gaze to Jadieu. “You seem to have a thing for the humble types, huh? I admire that. I’ve always thought the poor, despite being... dirty... are much more real than our class. More raw. More... primitive.”

“You talk like a scientist studying people in a fish tank.” Jadieu rolled his eyes. “Go back to the Aquaberry catalog and leave me alone.” He grumbled, irritated, and turned to Kurt. “If he touches you or tries to humiliate you again, tell me. I swear I’ll become a pro wrestler just to throw that Aquaberry mannequin into the garden.”

Jadieu was still fuming, trying to calm down after the confrontation with Gord, when a laid-back and sarcastic voice echoed across the lawn:

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t the prince of the Aquaberry Club.”

Trent appeared, walking with his hands in the pockets of his coat, his blazer half open, wearing his usual expression of not giving a damn about what anyone thinks. His blue eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and amusement when he saw Gord.

Gord lifted his chin, curious.

“Trent... Northwick?” He tilted his head slightly, like he had just spotted a rare item at an auction. “I don’t believe it. You were one of Bullworth’s bullies, weren’t you? Always bragging about your looks... and the girls you never got.”

Trent laughed, ignoring the last part.

“You say that like I haven’t evolved, dude. Now I brag about my looks and the people who want me to ignore them.” He winked at Jadieu, just to tease. “But look at you here. Swapped Bullworth fights for Dalton?”

Gord shrugged, adjusting his jacket sleeve like any mention of his past was beneath him.

“Let’s just say Bullworth prepared me for environments where real power lies in the last name… and the credit card.”

Trent raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“You still talk like a character in a drama about bankers with daddy issues.”

Kurt looked between Trent and Gord, visibly confused. “You two actually know each other?”

“Unfortunately,” muttered Trent. “He was like... Bullworth’s mascot of arrogance. Spoiled rich kid who treated everyone like trash, but cried if his tie didn’t match his socks.”

“Lie,” Gord said, offended. “My ties always matched my socks.”

Jadieu snorted, arms crossed.

“Of course. Because that’s what matters in the real world.”

Trent stepped closer and casually slung an arm around Kurt’s shoulders protectively.

“Don’t worry, diva. This guy may be the best-dressed student in school, but he’s still just a peacock with a credit card. Nothing a good beating couldn’t fix.”

Kurt flinched, nervous.

“No fights, please.”

Gord just rolled his eyes and walked off with a dramatic sigh, mumbling something about “the decay of admission standards” and “the vulgarity of certain people” and “how he was going to tell his father everything.”

Before Jadieu could throw another sarcastic remark, two figures approached from the path leading from the main building to the garden. Blaine Anderson, always elegant with that diplomatic smile, walked alongside Sam Evans, tall, blond, tanned, with a more relaxed but alert air. Beside him, Trent seemed to shrink a little… as if his older brother triggered a bit of involuntary embarrassment.

“Hey,” called Blaine, raising his eyebrows as he looked from Kurt to Jadieu, then to Gord’s retreating back. “Everything okay here?”

Sam looked directly at Trent, then at Jadieu. “You all seem tense. Was there a fight?”

Kurt gave a forced half-smile. “Let’s just say... we met a new Dalton student. Very enthusiastic about his bank account.”

“Ah,” said Blaine, instantly understanding. He crossed his arms. “Gord Vendome, right? Heard he arrived this week. Son of one of the major donors, isn’t he?”

“Major donor, even bigger ego,” Jadieu muttered.

Sam chuckled lightly and patted his brother on the shoulder. “And you? Made new friends or already picking on scholarship kids too?”

“Don’t start, Sam,” Trent replied, rolling his eyes. “I’m just watching the chaos. Gord showed up out of nowhere, talking like he’s king of the school just because his tie costs more than my gaming console.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at Gord, who was still walking off like some exiled royalty.

“That one? Hm. Looks like the type who thinks character can be bought with a check.”

Blaine then turned to Kurt, his tone gentler.

“Did he bother you?”

Kurt hesitated. “No more than I expected. But Jadieu handled him better than any security guard could.”

Jadieu pretended to check his nails.

“I’m a natural talent at crushing rich boys’ egos.”

Trent smirked. “That’s why you like me”

"That's why I tolerate you," Jadieu corrected, unable to hide a slight blush.

Sam, sensing the tension, raised his hands. "Alright, alright. Drama resolved for now. Anyone want ice cream? I'm heading to the cafeteria."

"If there's mint, I'm in," said Kurt.

Trent lingered for a moment, staring at the spot where Gord had vanished.

"That guy's gonna be trouble."

Jadieu replied without looking at him:

"Then you'd better not let him drag you back to Bullworth."

Trent smiled.

"Don't worry. The Trentman may know the past... but he lives on the stage of the future, baby."

(...)

The group was now gathered at one of the more secluded tables. Blaine and Kurt were sharing a mint and dark chocolate ice cream, sitting close together. Sam was biting into a sandwich like he hadn't eaten in days, while Trent balanced a dessert spoon on his nose, trying to look nonchalant. Jadieu, next to Kurt, still had his arms crossed, but the tension in his shoulders had faded.

"So," Blaine began, looking between them, "did you two know each other before Dalton?" he asked, referring to Jadieu and Trent.

Jadieu grimaced. "Unfortunately."

Trent winked. "You met me and your life became dramatically more interesting. No need to thank me."

Sam laughed. "He's always been like this. Trent was born cocky. Came out of the womb saying, 'I'm the prettiest baby in the hospital.'"

"That's a lie," Trent replied. "I didn’t say that. I laughed. Because the other babies were way too ugly."

Kurt tried to hold in a laugh but failed. Blaine smiled, pleased by the lighter mood.

"I think you two work well together," Blaine commented, looking at Jadieu and Trent.

"Work well as what?" Jadieu grumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"Like a comedy duo," said Sam, wiping his mouth. "The hothead and the pretty idiot."

Trent looked offended. "I'm not an idiot."

"I'm the hothead?" Jadieu protested.

"Yes and yes," Kurt said with a sharp little smile.

Jadieu rolled his eyes, but the faint smile on his lips gave him away.

Blaine then turned directly to Kurt, speaking more softly:

"You know... I’m glad you came to Dalton. It's not easy getting in on a scholarship. I know how some guys can be."

Kurt nodded, stirring his ice cream. "Gord made that very clear."

"Ignore him," said Sam. "Guys with fancy labels and prejudice are usually insecure. If you’ve got real talent, you scare them."

Kurt looked at Jadieu, who suddenly grew serious.

"You stood up for me," Kurt said out of nowhere.

"Yeah, well…" Jadieu scratched his neck, uncomfortable. "No one talks to my friend like that in front of me. And… I know that kind of guy too well."

Before anyone could respond, a slow, unmistakably provocative voice cut through the air:

"You all look like you're having fun. Mind if I join?"

Tony Stonem appeared beside the table with his usual effortless elegance—uniform slightly unkempt, hair artfully tousled, and that lazy yet sharp gaze. He didn’t need an introduction. Everyone except Kurt was already familiar with Tony's magnetic (and often troublesome) presence.

"Hey, Tony," said Sam with a half-smile, already bracing for chaos. "Weren’t you in the library?"

"I got bored. Decided to find more interesting company," Tony replied with a crooked smile, eyes already locked on Jadieu.

Kurt blinked, slightly confused by the sudden shift in atmosphere.

Tony leaned slightly toward Jadieu, eyes gleaming with open interest. "You're getting more and more handsome, you know? That Dalton blazer really highlights your shoulders."

Jadieu froze, surprised, glancing around as if hoping someone would tell him it was a joke. "You talk like I dressed up just to eat sandwiches with these clowns."

"Didn’t say it was intentional. But the effect… is devastating," Tony said with a half-smile.

Trent, still balancing the spoon on his nose, let it drop with a clink. The sound echoed like an alarm.

"Wow. Subtle entrance, Stonem. Do you rehearse those lines in front of a mirror or do they come naturally when you smell attention shifting away from you?"

Tony didn’t even glance at him. He was still focused on Jadieu, who had crossed his arms, trying to suppress a nervous smile.

Sam leaned toward Kurt and murmured, "That’s Tony. He flirts with everyone… but with Jadieu, it feels personal."

"Oh," said Kurt, understanding everything with a single syllable.

"I only flirt with people who are worth the effort," Tony said, finally casting a brief glance at Trent. "Don’t worry, pretty boy. I don’t steal toys that are already falling apart."

Trent gave a sarcastic grin. "Funny. I could've sworn I was the manipulative one around here."

"No. You're the one who talks too much when you're jealous," said Sam casually, without looking up from his phone.

Trent turned slowly to his brother. "I'm not jealous."

"Of course not," replied Sam, like someone saying the sky isn’t blue.

Tony sat down without asking, as if the table had always had a spot reserved for him. Jadieu looked away, face slightly redder than he'd like to admit.

"Are you staying here for the rest of lunch?" Jadieu asked, trying to sound indifferent.

"Depends. Are you going to keep ignoring me or admit you missed me?"

Kurt looked at Blaine. Blaine looked at Sam. Sam took a bite of his sandwich. Trent clenched his jaw.

And Jadieu answered:

"Pass the salt."

Tony smiled.

Before he could respond to the salt or fire off another disarming comment, a new voice appeared behind them—syrupy sweet and too cheerful to be innocent, with that fake enthusiasm only clueless exes can manage:

"Jadie-poo!"

Everyone turned at once. A tall boy with perfectly styled platinum blond hair, wearing the Dalton uniform like he was about to walk onstage, approached with a toothpaste-commercial smile. In his hands was a small gift box with a red ribbon.

"I knew it was you! The cafeteria felt so… quiet without you."

Jadieu froze.

"No," he said flatly. "No, no, no, no."

"Yes!" the boy exclaimed, bursting with musical-theater energy. "Surprise! I transferred to Dalton. Guess why?"

"You lost a bet with the devil?" Trent guessed, barely holding back laughter.

Tony folded his arms, watching the scene like a tragicomic play. Sam was already chewing slowly, savoring the spectacle.

"For you, Jadieu," said the blond boy, ignoring the commentary. "After we broke up, I realized I couldn’t stay away. So here I am. Ready to start over."

"I'm gonna throw up," Jadieu muttered, standing so quickly his chair nearly toppled. "You're stalking people now, Todd?!"

Kurt's eyes widened. "Todd Ingram? The bassist from The Clash at Demonhead?”

"The one and only," Todd replied with dramatic flair and a wink.

Tony let out a low laugh, genuinely amused. "This is getting amazing."

"This isn't a telenovela," Jadieu snapped, blushing with pure embarrassment. "It's my life, and it was… acceptable… until you two decided to crash my lunch."

"Two?" Tony asked with a smirk. "Thought you were enjoying my presence."

"I don’t like anyone!" Jadieu shouted, turning to leave—only to bump into someone’s tray and spill a juice on the floor. "ARGH!"

Silence.

Sam was the first to speak: "This table’s gonna blow in three, two…”

"THREE!" Jadieu shouted, storming out of the cafeteria.

Trent jumped to his feet. "I’m going after him."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Not so fast."

Trent shot him a furious look. "If he has an emotional breakdown, you're not the one who’s gonna hold his hand. I know this kind of drama up close, Stonem."

And he rushed off.

Todd stood there, still holding the box. "Do you think I over—?"

"Yes," Blaine, Sam, and Kurt said in unison.

Tony sat back down, grabbing a fry from Sam’s plate. "Dalton has never been this fun."

(...)

Outside the cafeteria, the air was colder, quieter. Jadieu paced near Dalton's central fountain, his steps heavy, his eyes damp with frustration.

"Idiots. All of them. Idiots."

"Are you talking about me or your psycho ex who shows up with a gift?" said Trent, appearing behind him.

Jadieu scoffed and turned his back immediately. "Go away, Trent."

"Look, I know he was too much. And Tony’s a narcissistic jerk. But you don’t have to run. Not from me."

"You think I’m running from you?" Jadieu turned with a sharp look. "Don’t put yourself at the center of my breakdown, okay? You think everything revolves around your ego and your spoon-on-the-nose jokes!"

Trent stepped back, wounded. But before he could answer, a third voice chimed in—calm, familiar, and with a tone that soothed Jadieu in a way no one else could.

"Jay?"

Jadieu froze immediately, his expression softening as he turned around.

Nick Duval was there, his uniform slightly wrinkled, hair tousled by the wind, and a genuinely concerned look in his eyes. He held two cans of soda, one in each hand.

"I heard yelling… and then Todd Ingram singing in the hallway like it was a musical. Thought it might be you."

Jadieu walked over to Nick without thinking, without hesitation. And when he got close enough, he just leaned on him, burying his face into his best friend’s shoulder like he was trying to disappear.

"He’s following me, Nick. I just wanted one normal week."

Nick wrapped his arms around him without asking questions. "I know. It’ll pass. You still have me."

Trent watched the scene in silence. For a moment, he wanted to say something, explain himself, ask for… anything. But the way Jadieu clung to Nick, how his shoulders relaxed, how he finally seemed to be breathing properly—said everything he needed to know.

Jadieu looked up over Nick’s shoulder and met Trent’s eyes.

"Thanks for coming after me, but… I don’t want to talk right now. Not to you."

Trent nodded, swallowing hard. "Okay. That’s fine. I… I get it."

He turned around, walking slowly and silently back toward the building.

Nick let out a soft sigh, glancing at Jadieu with affection.

"You wanna tell me everything or just want me to sit here and say nothing?"

Jadieu closed his eyes, exhausted. "Just… stay. That’s all."

Nick handed one of the cans to Jadieu and pulled them both onto a bench. They sat there side by side, the comfortable silence between them a sharp contrast to the chaos from minutes earlier.

(...)

Back in the cafeteria, the atmosphere had shifted. With Jadieu and Trent gone, the table felt roomier—but also more tense.

Todd Ingram, newly arrived and still wearing his blazer open on purpose, was fixing his blond hair like a camera might zoom in on him any second. He looked directly at Kurt, who was trying to focus on his half-melted ice cream.

"You’re Kurt, right? The stylish scholarship kid," Todd said with a sideways smile. "I’ve heard of you. I admire your courage. And taste."

Kurt raised his eyebrows, suspicious. "Thank… you?"

"Did you know Spin published a piece about my band?" Todd leaned forward on the table. "They said I was a fusion between Cobain and a vengeful angel."

Blaine exchanged a look with Sam, clearly uncomfortable. Sam bit into his sandwich faster, like he wanted to vanish.

"Wow," Kurt replied, trying to be diplomatic. "That’s… specific."

"That’s just the beginning. I’ve played six festivals. One of them in Berkeley, you know? Alternative vibe, cultured crowd. You guys would’ve loved it. Maybe not him," Todd said, nodding at Sam. "You look more like Alabama, I don’t know."

Sam frowned. "I’m from Tennessee."

"Same thing."

"It’s not," Blaine snapped.

Tony, on the other hand, seemed entertained. He had his feet up on the chair beside him, arms crossed, a lazy grin on his lips.

"Man, I like this guy," Tony said, pointing his thumb at Todd. "He’s got presence. And great hair."

"Of course you do," Kurt muttered.

"Relax, everyone," Todd said, opening his arms. "Just sharing the glow. And… I admit, I’m glad a fan like you, Kurt, is around. Always nice to inspire the next generation."

Kurt’s eyes widened. "I never said I was your fan."

"It’s in your eyes. You looked at me with that mix of admiration and desire. I recognize it."

Kurt immediately scowled. Blaine placed a firm hand over his. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Someone get this narcissist outta here before he drowns in his own reflection," Sam muttered low enough only Blaine could hear.

Tony laughed, clapping his hands. "Todd Ingram and his platinum ego. This is gonna be fun."

Blaine smiled humorlessly. "Fun’ isn’t the word I’d use."

Kurt sighed, picking up his spoon and digging back into the ice cream.

Suddenly, Todd stood, pushing his chair back with a dramatic screech. He pulled out a shiny bass guitar that no one had noticed until now—probably hidden behind the table, waiting for this glorious moment.

"Since we’re all here… how about a little show?" he announced, spinning the instrument before strapping it on like it was an extension of his ego.

"No, no, no," Blaine muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"Oh my God," said Kurt, frozen with the spoon mid-air.

Sam’s eyes widened, still chewing a mouthful of bread. "Is he really gonna…?"

Before anyone could stop him, Todd ran his fingers across the strings and let out a loud, electric riff that echoed through the cafeteria like glam rock thunder. Heads turned. Some boys cheered, others frowned, and two hall monitors stood from the corner, heading toward the scene.

Tony was laughing, clapping in rhythm. "Now that’s main character energy!"

"This school is a nightmare," Kurt grumbled.

Todd strutted around like he was on stage, making exaggerated hip movements, tossing his hair, and playing like a thousand cameras were filming every second.

"Music is the language of the soul!" he shouted between riffs. "And my soul is screaming, baby!"

"My head too," Blaine whispered.

The two monitors approached like soldiers on a mission. One of them, the stern Mr. Claiborne, crossed his arms beside Todd.

"Mr. Ingram," he said in a threatening tone. “Silence. Now.”

Todd stopped playing, still smiling. "Just wanted to share some art. You guys need to chill. Everyone here’s too tense."

"This isn’t a bar or a Venice Beach garage. It’s Dalton Academy. If you want to perform, schedule an official audition like every other student."

"Sure, sure. I love rules," Todd replied with a grin that said otherwise.

Tony was in tears from laughing. "This school just got interesting."

The monitors confiscated the bass firmly.

"Hey, easy with her! That’s Lady Bass. Limited edition."

"You can collect it after detention," Claiborne said flatly.

Kurt, Blaine, and Sam simply exchanged looks.

"It’s official," Sam said. "I miss Trent now."

(...)

Later...

Nick was sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, watching Jadieu pace back and forth, clearly still agitated.

"Was he always like this?" Nick asked, no need to name names—they both knew who he meant.

Jadieu let out an exasperated sigh, stopping in front of his best friend.

"You remember when I told you about my 'music glitch', right?" he began in a low voice. "That thing where I hear spontaneous musical performances, like the world turns into a cursed musical?"

Nick nodded. "Of course. I remember the first time you had an episode because of it. It was awful. And you nearly went deaf during that flash mob at the mall."

"Exactly." Jadieu sat beside him. "And still… Todd kept playing for me. All the time. At school, at home, in the street. Like my condition was a quirky charm and not something painful. I begged him to stop. But he said I had to ‘get used to it,’ because music was his soul."

Nick frowned, jaw clenched. "That’s abuse..."

"I thought I was overreacting. That maybe it was my fault for being so sensitive. But then, one day, he snuck his bass into class and started playing during break just to provoke me. In front of everyone. I had a terrible episode. My ears bled after that."

Without thinking, Nick grabbed Jadieu's hand firmly. "You weren’t overreacting. He was the one in the wrong."

Jadieu took a deep breath, his eyes welling up, but his face remained steady. "I broke up with him that same day. And now he shows up here like nothing happened. Saying he's at Dalton because of me."

Nick squeezed his hand.

"If he tries to hurt you again, I swear, Jadieu… he'll have to deal with me."

Jadieu looked at him, finally managing a small smile.

"Thanks, Nick."

"How about we do something you actually like today?" Nick suggested with a soft smile, trying to ease the heaviness of the moment.

Jadieu raised an eyebrow, still a bit guarded. "Like what?"

Nick shrugged, pretending to think while watching him fondly. "I don’t know... something chill. Something to get your mind off things. What about tennis? You always beat me and love bragging about it afterward."

Jadieu let out a muffled laugh, glancing sideways. "I only like it because you get frustrated and start playing like it’s Wimbledon."

"Exactly." Nick said, getting up and holding out his hand. "You destroy me on the court, and then we grab a cold soda like it’s a real prize. Seems fair."

Jadieu hesitated for a second, then took his friend’s hand and stood up. "Okay... but only if you promise not to fake an injury when I start winning again."

"No promises," Nick replied, winking. "But I can guarantee I’ll be dramatic."

(...)

Trent returned to the table with a slouch and slightly drooped shoulders, as if carrying an invisible weight. He plopped down next to Sam, grabbing the half-melted chocolate milkshake he'd left behind.

"He’s with Nick," he mumbled, not looking at anyone.

Sam raised an eyebrow, exchanging a quick glance with Blaine. Kurt, meanwhile, was watching Tony, who seemed more interested in his reflection in the spoon than the conversation.

"Did you go talk to him?" Sam asked, trying to sound casual.

"I did, but he wanted to be alone." Trent took a sip of the milkshake. "Then Nick showed up. And, well... looks like that spot next to him is already taken."

Tony let out a half-hummed “Hm” but said nothing more, seemingly too entertained by his spoon reflection.

That’s when Jadieu appeared—like a renewed spark of energy—with quick steps and a smile on his lips. His hair swayed lightly, and there was something in the brightness of his eyes that clashed completely with the tension from moments ago.

"Hey, guys!" he said, stopping in front of the table. "I had an idea. How about a tennis match this afternoon?"

Kurt blinked. "Tennis?"

"Yeah," Jadieu replied enthusiastically. "Nothing better than chasing a ball to forget annoying people and problematic exes."

Blaine smiled, excited. "The back court?"

"Exactly. Shall we? Nick and I are already warming up."

Sam nodded. "Sounds fun. It’s been a while since I played anything."

"Tony?" Jadieu asked with a teasing smirk. "You coming or are you afraid of messing up your hair?"

Tony scoffed, standing up. "Afraid? Tony Stonem is good at everything, including sports. You'll see."

Jadieu then looked at Trent, his smile softening briefly. "You coming?"

Trent hesitated—just for a second. "Sure. It'll be fun... to wipe the floor with you on the court."

"We’ll see," Jadieu replied, already walking off with a wave. "See you there."

Trent followed him with his eyes, more thoughtful than he let on.

(...)

The tennis court was sunny, and the group was starting to gather around the benches. Jadieu was the last to show up, already dressed to play: light white shorts and a tight navy-blue shirt that highlighted his slim figure. His hair, previously meticulously styled, was now a little messier. He walked in holding a water bottle.

He stopped at the center of the court, opened the bottle, took a few sips, and then, as if no one were watching, poured some water over his head to cool off. The water ran slowly through his hair and down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

Total silence.

Tony squinted, as if trying to memorize the image forever. “Damn…”

Kurt, who had been calmly adjusting his racket, completely lost focus and dropped his tennis ball.

Nick, sitting beside Tony, furrowed his brow and cleared his throat, crossing his arms. "He always does that when he knows people are watching," he muttered to himself.

Trent tried to act uninterested, but his tennis ball dropped to the ground on impact. "Shit," he whispered, bending to pick it up. When he stood upright again, there was a faint blush on his cheeks.

Sam, observing the scene, raised an eyebrow and made a dry comment: "Are you all drooling or am I imagining things?"

"Definitely drooling," Blaine said, amused.

Kurt recomposed himself, adjusting his collar. "Well... at least he’s staying hydrated."

"Dramatically hydrated," Trent muttered, grabbing his racket and trying to sound indifferent. "But okay. Let’s just play before that water turns into poetry material."

As everyone took their positions on the court, Blaine turned to say something to Kurt, but the words died in his throat when he saw Sam—who had just taken off his jacket to reveal his tennis outfit: a tight shirt showing off his arms and white shorts that subtly emphasized his athletic build. The blond ran a hand through his hair and smiled casually while tying his sneakers.

Blaine froze. Literally.

"You okay?" Kurt asked, noticing Blaine’s distant look.

"Yeah! Yes, of course! Just… uh…" Blaine stammered, but when he turned back, Sam had bent down to pick up a ball, which only made it worse.

He choked on his own spit.

"Water! I… I need some water," he said quickly, grabbing his bottle and drinking like his life depended on it.

Kurt looked sideways. "Funny, I thought you said you weren’t thirsty."

"It’s the thrill of sports," Blaine replied, his voice slightly higher than usual.

Tony, catching all of it, let out a quiet chuckle. "And here I thought only Jadieu could provoke reactions like that."

Blaine blushed even more, gripping his bottle cap tightly and pretending he was busy adjusting his watch strap. Sam, unaware, spun his racket with a confident smile and said:

"Who’s gonna be my partner, huh?"

Blaine almost raised his hand on reflex but held himself back, swallowing hard.

(...)

"So that’s it!" said Jadieu excitedly. "Teams: me and Kurt, Trent and Tony, Sam and… Blaine, cool?"

Blaine hesitated for a split second, then nodded, trying to appear casual. "Sure. Works for me."

Sam smiled. "Cool! I’ve seen your serve—you’ve got good technique."

Blaine just smiled back, trying not to look flushed, but his cheeks were burning. He grabbed his racket and took his place next to Sam, adjusting his sunglasses as if they could hide anything.

Tony passed behind him on the way to his spot on the court, but leaned in and whispered in Blaine’s ear with a mischievous grin:

"Easy there, Latin lover. Keep looking at him like that and you'll end up kissing the ball instead of serving."

Blaine froze. His whole body stiffened for a second, but he kept his gaze locked on the court, pretending he hadn’t heard. Still, his hand trembled slightly as he spun the racket between his fingers.

Tony walked away with a satisfied smirk and winked over his shoulder.

Sam, clueless, turned to his partner with a gentle smile. "Do you wanna serve first or receive?"

Blaine cleared his throat. "I… I’ll serve. It’s better that way."

"Cool. I got your back," Sam said, pumped, already taking position.

While Blaine focused on the ball, trying to ignore Tony's muffled laughter and the fact that Sam was close enough for him to feel the warmth of his arm, which made him even more nervous.

Jadieu enthusiastically shouted, "Let's play tennis!"

Siempre Juntos - High School Musical - El desafío

[1. https://youtu.be/OU1KGoA3GpI?si=NeosqvRMaMnv98dP]

Jadieu:

[He hits the ball hard on the initial serve. The ball flies in slow motion as the music begins to play in the background, gaining strength as the friends get in the rhythm.]

Together, together, together, always together
And now with the music, it's the same

[He runs to intercept the ball and returns it with an elegant smash. The court seems to gain more color as the music energizes everyone.]

Together, together, together, always together
I don't dance, and I don't like to sing

You already know, we've learned to win
To laugh and enjoy since we’re together

[Kurt spins and hits the ball with class. Tony jumps in the air to return the shot, getting into the harmony.]

You already know, that when one was down
The team united more, we did everything together

[Blaine slightly slips as he runs, Sam catches him, and they look at each other. Blaine blushes.]

The secret was always there
And it's to become strong to compete
And share to triumph, that’s how to win

Together, together, together, always together
And now with the music, it's the same

[Jadieu twirls the racket impatiently with his fingers. He looks around, sees the others getting excited about the game, and grumbles:]

Together, together, together, always together
I don't dance, and I hate singing

I can't imagine, what it's like to sing
I only think about the sport and don't care about anything else
If music is here, it's time to play
Our melody is the victory that’s coming

The secret was always there
And it's to become strong to compete
And share to triumph, that’s how to win

Together, together, together, always together
And now with the music, it's the same

Together, together, together, always together
And now with the music, it's the same

(End)

The score was uncertain, no one seemed to really be keeping track of points, but laughter and small teasing filled the air as everyone gathered at the net at the end of the match. Sam extended his hand to Blaine, who was out of breath but smiling.

"Good job, partner!" Sam said, giving him a high five.

"You too. Like... really well," Blaine replied, trying to sound casual, even though his cheeks were still pink.

Before anyone could comment further, a familiar voice echoed from the other side of the court:

"Ugh, sweat and cheap clothes. You guys are really having fun with this?"

They all turned at once, and there he was, Gord Vendome, walking in with the arrogance of someone who believed he owned the place. His perfectly tailored Aquaberry uniform looked like it had come straight out of a fashion catalog for spoiled heirs, and his shoes looked more expensive than all the racquets at the school combined. He held an imported water bottle like a trophy and wore sunglasses.

"I thought this court was for sports, not for... fashion suicide meetings," he commented, adjusting his bangs with his fingers.

"Look who’s here," Jadieu grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"If I knew the school was promoting social charity, I would have donated some of my old shoes," Gord continued with a cynical smile. "I’m sure Sam and Kurt would love to have something truly exclusive."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "You know we only tolerate you out of pure boredom, right?"

Tony let out a short laugh. "Gord, you look like a walking catalog of emotional detachment and privilege."

Gord ignored the comment and turned to Blaine and Sam, sizing them up.

"Congrats on the game. Must be tough competing with people who have zero style."

Blaine simply crossed his arms, tired. "It’s tennis, Gord. Not a fashion show."

"For you, maybe," he replied, already taking selfies with his phone and posting them with the hashtags #EasyWin #RichAndFit.

Nick murmured to Jadieu, "How many likes does he need to feel truly loved?"

"There aren’t enough likes for that," Jadieu replied flatly but with a little smirk.

Tony approached with that mischievous smile that always appeared when he was about to set something up. He crossed his arms, watching Gord adjust his outfit like he was on a runway, then launched:

"How about we spice things up a bit? A tennis match… Jadieu against Gord. Whoever loses buys coffee and snacks for everyone at Lima Bean."

There was a collective murmur, half surprised, half excited. Blaine raised his eyebrows. Sam nearly dropped his racquet out of excitement. Kurt immediately became interested, already imagining the drama.

Gord let out a snobbish laugh and adjusted his sunglasses.

"Money’s never been a problem for me, darling," he said with disdain, as if he’d just been challenged to buy yet another private island.

Jadieu stepped forward, not taking his eyes off Gord. Despite his calm appearance, there was a fun, dangerously competitive glint in his eyes.

"Neither for me," he replied confidently. "But the taste of victory is way sweeter than any coffee."

Tony gave a short, provocative laugh, enjoying the clash. He got closer to Gord and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear:

"So, you wouldn’t have a problem competing, huh, Gord?"

Gord let out a tense chuckle, but his jaw trembled for a second.

Nick, sitting on the edge of the court, spoke naturally, as if stating the obvious:

"Gord doesn’t stand a chance. Jadieu is the best tennis player in the school. Literally. He was winning tournaments before he even got here."

Trent snapped his fingers and leaned against the bench with a wide grin:

"This is going to be better than any reality show episode."

Kurt looked at Blaine, excited.

"Do you think Lima Bean has enough room for an entire group celebrating the defeat of a rich, arrogant kid?"

"I’ll reserve a double table, just in case," Blaine replied, already laughing.

Gord took a deep breath, clearly trying to maintain his composure, but the tension in his jaw gave away his discomfort. Jadieu just twirled the racquet with his fingers, unconcerned, as if he already knew victory was just a matter of time.

The improvised bleachers next to the court were full. Sam, Blaine, Kurt, Tony, Nick, and Trent had spread out there, some still sweating from the previous game. The energy in the air was pure spectacle.

Jadieu entered the court in his immaculate tennis uniform. He held the racquet lightly, as if it were an extension of his body. Before starting, he poured a bit of water on his neck and forehead, which drew audible sighs from the audience, including Kurt and Tony at the same time, who exchanged a silent look, complicit in their awe.

Gord appeared shortly after, wearing a white Aquaberry uniform with gold details, clearly custom-made. He walked exaggeratedly, as if every step were part of a fashion show. Seeing everyone’s eyes on Jadieu, he cleared his throat loudly to draw attention.

"Let’s get this over with," Gord said, awkwardly twirling his racquet.

"Don’t worry, it’ll be quick," Jadieu replied, walking to the baseline.

Kurt whispered to Blaine: "He looks like he stepped out of a perfume commercial… but without the talent."

Tony laughed. "A cheap perfume commercial," he added.

The match began. Jadieu served with pinpoint accuracy, and the ball flew like a missile toward Gord’s side, who didn’t even have time to react.

"Fifteen – zero," announced Nick, who made sure to be the unofficial referee with a headband and a commentator’s air.

Gord furrowed his brow, breathing deeply. In the next play, he tried to return with too much force, and the ball flew far out of bounds.

"Thirty – zero," said Nick. "And an increasing emotional deficit."

Trent laughed out loud. "I’m starting to feel guilty. Almost."

Gord finally managed to hit a return, but Jadieu smoothly ran to the side and hit a perfect backhand that stopped just inches from the line.

"Forty – zero," said Nick. "Match point."

"This is cruelly satisfying," Sam commented, wide-eyed.

Gord ground his teeth. "You’re only winning because you’ve been playing tennis longer."

Jadieu smiled. "No. I’m winning because I’m better."

He served again with the same elegant coldness as before. Gord tried to keep up, stumbled, and fell to his knees on the court. The ball hit and died on the opposite line.

"Game, set, match — Jadieu!" Nick shouted, jumping in place.

The improvised audience clapped and whistled. Kurt clapped with elegance, while Tony whistled through his fingers. Blaine laughed, even blushing with embarrassment for getting too excited. Sam just raised his fists like he had just watched an Olympic final.

Jadieu walked up to the net, extended his hand to Gord, and said, in the fakest tone possible:

"Thanks for the match. It was… educational."

Gord, panting, reluctantly shook his hand, still red with frustration.

Tony approached, smiling like he had just won a bet.

"Well, I warned you. Whoever loses, buys the Lima Bean."

Gord muttered something unintelligible and left the court with his ego bruised.

Jadieu grabbed the towel and wiped his face, returning to his friends, where he was immediately surrounded by applause and smiles, even an exaggerated wave from Trent, who now seemed to forget that he had been jealous earlier.

"I never doubted you," Nick said, putting an arm around Jadieu.

Jadieu smiled slightly. "Neither did I."

(...)

The Lima Bean was crowded, as usual in the afternoons after school, but a corner table had gathered everyone's attention: Jadieu, Tony, Nick, Trent, Kurt, Blaine, and Sam were settled with their coffees, pastries, and sandwiches, all paid for, begrudgingly, by Gord Vendome, who remained with his arms crossed at another table, sulking and trying to keep up appearances while angrily fiddling with his phone.

"This cinnamon mocha has never tasted so sweet," Tony remarked, grinning widely as he raised his cup in a toast.

"Tastes like revenge and athletic victory," Kurt added, raising his cup.

Jadieu laughed quietly, hiding behind the edge of his cappuccino.

It was then that the door opened with the jingling of bells, and Sebastian Smythe entered, wearing his Warblers blazer with the collar up and his hair perfectly in place. He scanned the café with his bright green eyes and a predatory smile until his gaze stopped on Blaine.

"Well, well… if it isn’t Blaine Anderson," Sebastian said, walking directly up to the table. "You’re still as… adorable as I remember."

Blaine’s eyes widened, and he forced a polite smile. "Hi, Sebastian. I… didn’t know you were around here."

"Destiny has its whims," Sebastian replied, resting a hand on Blaine’s chair, leaning in dangerously close. "And it seems destiny is determined to give me a second chance."

The group fell silent for a moment. Kurt crossed his arms, rolling his eyes. Tony purposely choked on his coffee, coughing loudly to cover his laughter. Jadieu stared at Sebastian as if he were an accessory out of place.

Sam, sitting next to Blaine, frowned.

"You’re a bit too close, man," Sam said, his voice firm, subtly pulling Blaine closer to him, as if protecting a friend.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "Oh, I didn’t know Blaine needed a bodyguard now."

"He doesn’t," Blaine replied quickly, slightly embarrassed, "but he also didn’t ask for unwanted attention."

Sam added, with a firm look: "Exactly. And if he wants company, he chooses. No one needs to just shove themselves in."

Sebastian bit his lower lip, amused. "Wow, a muscular, sensitive hero. How cute."

"Annoying is what you’re being," Tony retorted, finally jumping in. "You always show up like you're the center of attention." It was ironic for Tony to say that, as he did the exact same thing.

Sebastian sighed, raising his hands as if to say, "Alright, alright."

"Okay, okay. I just came to say hi. I didn’t know the girls were so protective."

With one last glance at Blaine, who was looking away, visibly uncomfortable, Sebastian walked off to place his order at the counter.

Blaine let out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Sam," he said quietly.

Sam shrugged, taking a sip of his strawberry shake. "I don’t like people who push it."

Jadieu looked between the two with a smile, before whispering to Nick:

"Suddenly, the air feels… romantic."

Nick laughed, and the two clinked their cappuccinos.

(...)

Sebastian watched from afar, leaning against the counter while waiting for his order. His gaze alternated between Blaine, now smiling with Sam, and the coffee cup the barista was calmly preparing.

He twirled the straw between his fingers with a crooked smile. "Muscular, gentle, and now the hero of the day… Let’s see how long he lasts being the center of attention."

As he returned to the group’s table with his iced coffee, Sebastian discreetly veered towards the condiment counter. In an almost imperceptible move, he grabbed a small packet of cayenne pepper and carefully opened it.

With soft steps, he approached the table, laughing at some joke, probably one of Trent's, who was telling how he’d once been mistaken for a mannequin in a store.

"Oops, what a distraction," Sebastian said, theatrically tripping and spilling half of his coffee on the edge of the table… and subtly trying to pour the contents of the cayenne pepper packet into Sam’s cup.

But he hadn’t counted on Fidelius.

Jadieu’s dramatic guinea pig, who had its own little spot in the side pocket of his bag, let out a sharp squeal upon seeing the suspicious move, leaping straight onto Sebastian’s hand.

"AAAAH!" Sebastian jumped so high that he spilled the rest of his iced coffee on himself. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

"Fidelius!" Jadieu shouted, grabbing the guinea pig and hugging it. "He was just protecting you from yourself, clearly."

Tony nearly fell off his chair from laughing. "Oh my God, he was attacked by a vigilante hamster!"

"Guinea pig," Jadieu corrected indignantly. "And he has a nose for fake people."

Sam looked at his cup, then at Sebastian’s wet hand. "Did you try to put something in here?"

Sebastian huffed, annoyed, his hair messed up and his blazer splattered with coffee. "You seriously think I’d bother poisoning your smoothie?"

"Not poison, just sabotage," Kurt replied with a sharp look. "And honestly? That’s pretty sad even for you."

Sebastian wiped his face with a napkin, looking around at the group, all of whom were staring at him with a mix of contempt, mockery, or amusement.

"That was pathetic," Trent commented, taking a triumphant sip of his mocha. "Not even The Trentman would sink that low, and I’ve done stupid stuff out of jealousy."

Sebastian grabbed his now almost-empty cup and walked away in silence, his ego as stained as his blazer.

Blaine let out a sigh, looking at Sam. "I think you scored more than a point in tennis today."

Sam smiled. "Bonus points for being saved by a guinea pig?"

"Absolutely," Jadieu replied, raising Fidelius as if it were a trophy. "He’s not just cute. He’s a hero."

Fidelius squeaked dramatically, as if he knew.

Chapter Text

Donatello drummed his fingers on the table as he stared at the papers scattered in front of him. The anxiety was evident on his face, though he tried to maintain the rigid posture he always adopted in meetings. Around him, the Warblers council — Thad, Wes, and David — discussed the final details of the event with seriousness.

He took a deep breath before speaking, trying to contain the nervousness that threatened to show in his voice.

"So... today’s the day of the Warblers audition," he said in a tone that wavered between command and apprehension. "We need to make sure everything runs perfectly."

Wes gave him an encouraging look, while Thad reviewed the presentation order for the tenth time and David adjusted the schedule with almost military precision. Donatello knew the Warblers prided themselves on excellence, and he couldn’t allow anything to go wrong under his supervision.

The mood in the room was serious, almost tense, as the council members finalized the audition details. Each was focused on their task — until an unexpected distraction shattered the solemnity.

David wrinkled his nose, stopped writing, and discreetly sniffed. Then he subtly leaned away from his chair, his face twisted in disgust.

“What’s that smell?” he asked, grimacing.

Wes looked up from his notes, confused.

"I don’t smell anything," he said, genuinely unconcerned.

David pinched his nose and groaned.

"It reeks." Then he pointed, almost accusatory. "Ugh, is it you, Thad? When’s the last time you showered?"

Thad looked at him with the serenity of someone who saw no problem.

Wes shrugged, still oblivious.

"I don’t smell anything either," he added, unfazed.

"Of course you don’t." David rolled his eyes and started fanning a notebook toward Thad, as if trying to disperse a toxic cloud. "You’ve been friends with him since childhood. You’ve probably gone nose-blind."

Thad, without a hint of shame, replied calmly:

"I showered two months ago. Relax."

David gasped, shocked.

"Two months? My God, Thad!"

He kept fanning the notebook like he was swatting away an invisible swarm.

"Okay, but… at least you wear deodorant, right?" he asked, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

Thad shrugged.

"I forgot."

"You forgot?!" David dropped the notebook and stood up. "For the love of God, Thad, go shower now!"

"I don’t feel like it."

Wes sighed and looked away, trying to focus on his notes again. Donatello rubbed his temples, already regretting having called the in-person meeting.

"You don’t feel like it?!" David exclaimed, incredulous. "The smell is so strong, it’s going to distract the candidates during their auditions. They’ll think it’s part of some psychological test."

"It’s just a smell, chill," said Thad, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

David shook his head, stunned.

"A smell? Thad, whatever you’re putting out is a biological weapon. This is a school, not an extreme endurance experiment."

Thad crossed his arms, stubborn.

"It’s not that bad."

"You’re literally sabotaging the Warblers with your stench!"

Donatello finally looked up, his voice firm but exhausted:

"Thad. Shower. Now. Council’s orders."

Thad huffed but got up, dragging his feet.

"Fine, but I’m taking my mint soap. It’s the only one I trust."

David rolled his eyes and muttered:

"I just hope the soap’s fresher than you are."

David continued fanning the notebook furiously, still outraged, while the persistent stench hung in the air like an invisible, inescapable fog.

"Seriously, Wes, I don’t know how you’re used to this. It’s literally a toxic bomb with legs."

Wes, as calm as ever, flipped through one of the reports without showing any discomfort.

"I really don’t smell anything," he replied with a neutral expression, which only made David more desperate.

"That’s not possible. Either you lost your sense of smell, or you have some demonic pact with decay."

Before the bickering could escalate, Donatello raised his voice, trying to regain some control.

"We need to focus on the meeting," he said firmly, adjusting his tie as if that could restore order.

But even he seemed to be blinking more than usual, as if the air around them was growing too thick to ignore.

Before Donatello could reclaim control of the meeting, the door flew open with a bang worthy of a Broadway finale.

Gord Vendome entered like the room belonged to him, wearing a flawless Aquaberry ensemble — a Dalton blazer, polished leather shoes. He walked as if floating, showcasing every piece of his outfit with the confidence of a European heir on a gala premiere.

"Good afternoon, council members!" he announced with a smile far too bright. "I arrived early. It felt cruel to withhold my light any longer."

Without waiting for an invitation, Gord glided to the center of the room and struck a dramatic pose, as if an invisible spotlight had found him. Then he cleared his throat with affected elegance.

"One, two, three..." he muttered to himself before releasing a musical note that started softly but soon grew in vibrato and intensity, followed by a theatrical spin.

David squinted at Donatello.

"Is he auditioning... for himself?"

Wes crossed his arms, resigned. "He’s his own audience."

Donatello sighed, already mentally checked out from the meeting agenda.

Gord ended the note with a faux bow, then turned to the council table as if expecting applause. When none came, he wrinkled his nose slightly.

"Hmm." He inhaled deeply and took a step back. "There’s a... rancid aroma in here. Did some creature pass through?"

David rolled his eyes. "That’s just Thad’s trail. He left to shower."

"Ah!" Gord exclaimed, placing a hand over his chest like he’d received good news. "Thank goodness. For a moment I thought the school was testing students’ olfactory resistance."

"You don’t need to audition now, Gord. The auditions haven’t started yet," said Donatello, his voice stiff, trying to keep composure.

"I know, Donatello," he replied with a soft smile. "But when you have this level of presence, you don’t enter the scene. The scene happens when you enter."

David whispered to Wes, eyes locked on Gord: "He reeks of ego and twenty-thousand-dollar aftershave."

Gord moved closer to the council table and leaned slightly, gazing at each of them with half-lidded eyes and a professorial tone.

"And please, if you’re going to offer any constructive criticism, be prepared to be wrong."

Donatello closed his eyes for a second and muttered:

"This is making me miss Vocal Adrenaline."

Still casually leaning on the table, Gord smiled like someone about to make an irresistible offer.

"By the way..." he said, adjusting his blazer sleeve with almost rehearsed flair, "if you all have any sense and accept me today, I can guarantee my father will be... extremely generous. He’s mentioned funding new instruments for the Warblers. Italian double basses, studio microphones, maybe even a grand piano."

David raised an eyebrow and let out a sarcastic chuckle.

"Gord, the Warblers are already very well funded. We’re not a garage band, relax."

Gord pouted theatrically and tilted his head. "Alright, I just thought I could elevate the standard a bit. But if you’re satisfied with microphones from the last century..."

Donatello then stood up with his usual upright, disciplined posture, hands clasped behind his back like a commander before his troops.

"Gord Vendome," he said firmly, his gaze ice-cold, "this is a council meeting. The auditions will begin at the scheduled time, and until then, no one will perform or negotiate their spot with empty promises or outside benefits."

Gord blinked slowly, feigning offense.

"Empty promises? Donatello, my father is literally one of this school’s biggest sponsors."

"Come back later, Gord," Donatello repeated, even more rigidly. "When it’s your turn, you’ll be evaluated like any other candidate. Period."

There was a tense silence. Even Wes seemed uncomfortable.

Gord let out a theatrical sigh, smoothed his jacket, and turned toward the door as if ending a performance.

"Very well. Just don’t say I refused to help out of whim." He cast one last glance over his shoulder, both arrogant and offended at the same time. "Goodbye, gentlemen. Prepare yourselves to regret it."

And he left, leaving behind not only the firm sound of his polished steps but also the subtle trace of the most expensive Aquaberry cologne and the strongest ego in the entire boarding school.

As soon as the door closed, silence reigned for a second, as if everyone was still recovering from the perfumed, egocentric hurricane that had just passed.

David was the first to break the silence.

"Someone needs to tell him we sing a cappella, not walk Paris Fashion Week."

Wes let out a muffled laugh. "The only thing stronger than his cologne is his desire to be idolized."

Donatello didn’t take his eyes off the meeting agenda, but his hardened expression revealed his discomfort.

"He needs to understand that the Warblers aren’t a luxury prize. They’re about merit, discipline, and teamwork."

Wes rested his elbows on the table, thoughtful. "And zero sense of humility, which apparently is a basic requirement for him to breathe."

David shook his head with a sarcastic smile. "If he gets accepted, he’s gonna ask for Aquaberry uniforms."

Donatello then spoke with his usual authority, without raising his voice, but with enough presence to close the subject.

"Gord will be evaluated like everyone else. By voice, performance, and ability to respect this group. Nothing else."

A brief respectful silence followed his words.

"Okay," David said, leaning back in his chair. "But if he comes back talking about Aquaberry again, I swear I’ll throw my notebook at him."

(...)

Sam was leaning against one of the hallway columns, watching the boys hurry to fill out the Warblers audition forms. Some seemed confident, others were trembling just holding the pen. He crossed his arms more out of habit than tension, with that typical relaxed, curious... yet distant look.

That’s when Blaine appeared next to him, smiling.

"Are you going to sign up?" Blaine asked, tilting his head slightly.

Sam let out a laugh. "The most I sing is in the shower, man."

Blaine raised an eyebrow, his smile widening.

"I’ve heard you sing in the shower. Your voice is beautiful."

Sam blinked slowly, turning to him with a look that mixed surprise and amusement.

"Wait... you heard me singing in the shower?" He arched an eyebrow. "What were you doing in the locker room to hear that?"

Blaine froze for a second. His face, once confident, was now visibly blushing.

"Oh, I... I wasn’t like... spying, it was just... coincidence!" He gestured quickly, stumbling over his words.

Sam couldn’t help but laugh, lightly patting Blaine on the shoulder.

"Relax, man. I was just messing with you."

Blaine laughed too, still with a faint pink tint on his cheeks.

"But seriously, if you ever want to try... I think the Warblers would gain a lot from your voice."

Sam thought for a moment, watching the line shrink as more forms were handed in. Then he looked back at Blaine, who was still smiling, though now more reserved.

"I’ll think about it."

Sam was still smiling from the conversation with Blaine when he heard shy footsteps approaching. Turning his head, he saw Rory Flanagan slowly walking down the hallway. His hair was neatly combed, his uniform tie a bit crooked—only adding to his awkward charm.

"Hey, guys," said Rory, giving a small wave in his soft Irish accent. "I was looking for where to drop off the Warblers sign-up form... This is the place, right?"

Blaine smiled warmly. "It is! Are you signing up?"

Rory nodded, holding the clipboard with some nervousness. "Yeah. I’ve always thought what you guys do is amazing. The way you sing together, so in sync, with so much energy... And I also thought maybe singing would help me fit in more, you know?" Rory looked at the form in his hands, then at the two of them. "I hope you accept me. I’ve never sung in a group like this before, but... I’m willing to give it my best."

Blaine stepped forward, placing a sincere hand on Rory’s shoulder. "You’ve already taken the first step, Rory. And for that alone, you’re ahead of many."

Rory smiled, still a little unsure, but hopeful.

(...)

From the end of the hallway, a figure approached with slow and steady steps—Chris Laven.

The Warblers blazer fit him perfectly, but unlike the others, he wore it open, as if rules were merely suggestions. His dark, intense eyes seemed to pierce anyone who dared hold his gaze for more than two seconds. His posture was far too relaxed to be friendly—confidence from someone who knew he dominated the room.

Rory felt the hairs on his neck stand before even turning to see who it was. As Chris passed by him, he stopped for a moment. His eyes landed on Rory with a silent judgment.

"You’re the new guy," Chris said in a low but firm voice, almost like a whisper laced with threat. "Rory, from Ireland, right?"

Rory swallowed hard, trying to keep his smile. "Yeah. I’m here to try out for the Warblers."

Chris tilted his head slightly, with a smile that had no warmth.

"Brave of you." He stepped a bit closer, eyes narrowing. "Hope you don’t go off-key in front of Donatello. He hates that."

Blaine, watching from a distance, frowned and moved a bit closer, but Chris was already walking away.

Before disappearing down the corridor, he threw one last look over his shoulder, straight at Rory.

"Good luck."

It was impossible to tell if he actually meant it.

Rory stood still for a few seconds, clipboard still in hand. The optimism from earlier now had a shadow looming over it.

Sam appeared beside him, sensing the strange atmosphere.

"Hey... don’t mind him."

Blaine nodded, placing a hand on Rory’s shoulder. "He’s intimidating, but he might be a good person deep down."

Rory took a deep breath, trying to shake off the chill on his spine. "Thanks, guys."

Sam was still thinking about the conversation with Rory when he heard a familiar voice, lazy and casual, coming from behind:

"Hello, losers."

Trent appeared with his usual relaxed walk, hands in his pockets and a smug smile on his lips. His slightly tousled hair matched his vibe. He looked first at Sam, then at Blaine, and gave a small nod.

"If I wasn’t already committed to the stage... maybe I’d give this vocal club a shot," he said, pointing a thumb at himself. "But the theater needs me. And so does the world, eventually."

Blaine raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Starring in something new?"

"Only the biggest production this school has ever seen." Trent winked. "Monologues, drama, cinematic lighting... and the Trentman center stage. I was made to shine."

Sam sighed and rubbed his face. "My brother, folks."

"But don’t worry," said Trent. "I’ll be watching the audition. Someone has to be there to recognize real talent."

Before Blaine could answer, a graceful figure approached, each step careful, as if every movement was calculated. It was Jadieu, his clothes perfectly aligned and gaze slightly distrustful. Upon reaching the group, he crossed his arms.

"Nick told me I should sign up," he said with a sigh. "But obviously, that’s not going to happen."

Blaine looked surprised. "Really? You sing well."

"Thanks," said Jadieu with an ironic smile. "But it’s not about that. I have... Music Glitch."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What’s that?"

"It’s like being trapped in a musical no one knows is happening. People break into song out of nowhere, and my head crashes. Ear bleeding, disorientation... a spectacle."

Sam frowned, concerned. "That sounds... awful."

"It is awful." Jadieu adjusted his shirt collar. "But also very poetic. Like me."

Trent looked at Blaine and whispered, "That one’s super dramatic. He should be in theater with me."

Jadieu heard it. "I’d rather die than act with you, you country bumpkin."

"Ouch," Trent murmured with an amused smile. "He’s mean."

(...)

The main hall of the Warblers' wing was quieter than usual. The chairs were perfectly aligned in front of a small raised platform—the improvised stage for auditions. The Warblers' crest gleamed in the background, and the air carried a vibrant tension, as if everyone there knew they were about to witness something important.

Wes was organizing a clipboard with the names of the applicants, while David adjusted the microphones with precision. Thad, now visibly more presentable after the forced shower, was checking the lights and acoustics.

Donatello entered the room with his usual upright posture, hands behind his back, his steps firm like an officer inspecting troops.

He stepped onto the stage and faced the candidates—a diverse group of boys lined up, nervous or pretending to be confident. Silence fell immediately.

"Warblers," Donatello began in a deep voice, "today we begin another season of excellence."

He walked slowly across the front of the stage, his eyes assessing those present.

"We're not just here to choose beautiful voices. We're here to find those who represent discipline, harmony, and commitment to the tradition and honor of this choir."

Trent smirked, slightly provocative. "And singing well helps too."

A few chuckled quietly, but Donatello didn’t react.

"Each candidate will have two minutes to present their performance. Playback is not allowed. You will be judged by me and the counselors Thad, Wes, and David."

Wes raised his clipboard. "We have 20 candidates registered. Remember: punctuality, stage presence, and pitch matter just as much as charisma."

Thad gave a slight smile. "But no flips and falling off the stage. That already happened last year."

David laughed. "Hey, it was charismatic. Didn’t make it, but it was charismatic."

Donatello ignored the comment and continued, "We’ll call one at a time. Absolute silence during the performances. Comments will be made only among the counselors."

He returned to the center of the stage, lifted his chin, and said solemnly:

"Good luck to you all. We begin now."

Wes announced the first name.

"First candidate: Rory Flanagan."

Rory took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and walked to the stage, his hesitant steps betraying his nerves. In the back, Trent murmured to Sam:

"Time for the freak show..."

Jadieu crossed his legs and muttered with restrained disdain:

"I hope he doesn’t sing Ed Sheeran. My ears will bleed."

Blaine simply smiled, looking at Rory with silent encouragement. The stage was his now.

Since U Been Gone - Pitch Perfect

[1. https://youtu.be/aNV6UtkYPU4?si=XwUUO0X4WvxyayE0]

Rory: 

Here's the thing

We started out friends

Tony:

It was cool, but it was all pretend

[Tony stepped onto the stage with a confident gleam in his eyes. The Warblers' blazer perfectly fitted, his hair meticulously styled—he already seemed to picture himself as the star of the next official performance.

He held the microphone with one hand, spinning it lightly as if it were an invisible trophy, and began to sing with dramatic intensity, exaggerating the expressions as if he were in a music video.]

Yeah, yeah, since you've been gone

A boy pointed to his own wrist:

You're dedicated, you took the time

Sam Evans:

Wasn't long 'til I called you mine

A boy on stage started crying in the middle of the song:

Yeah, yeah, since you've been gone

[He fell to his knees, raising his arms to the ceiling in despair.]

“Vanessaaaaa! WHY?!” he cried, missing his ex.

[The audience froze. Some tried not to laugh.

He cried until the end of the song.]

(Music pause)

Gord: Hi, my name is Gord Vendome, my hobbies include going to the spa, trying on new clothes from Aquaberry, organizing my closet by color and scent, and spending afternoons reflecting on how aesthetics are a form of art.

(Music resumes)

Gord singing terribly:

And all you'd ever hear me say

Is how I picture me with you

Rory:

That's all you'd ever hear me say

Everyone:

But since you've been gone

I can breathe for the first time

I'm so movin' on, yeah yeah

Thanks to you, now I get what I want

Since you've been gone

How can I put it, you put me on

I even fell for that stupid love song

Yeah, yeah, since you've been gone

How come I'd never hear you say

I just wanna be with you

Guess you never felt that way

But since you've been gone

I can breathe for the first time

I'm so movin' on, yeah, yeah

Thanks to you, now I get, I get what I want

Since you've been gone

You had your chance, you blew it

Out of sight, out of mind

A boy screamed very loudly:

Shut your mouth, I just can't take it!

Everyone:

Again and again and again and again

Kurt:

Since you've been gone

Since you've been gone

Since you've been gone

(End)

Behind the scenes, Blaine approached almost running, very excited.

“Sam!” he called, with a beaming smile. “You really did it!”

Sam let out an awkward chuckle, running a hand through his still somewhat messy hair. “Yeah. Surprise.”

“That was more than a surprise,” Blaine said, stopping in front of him. “You nailed it. Your voice… man, it filled the whole room. It was natural, honest. Everyone felt it.”

Sam looked away for a moment, embarrassed. “I thought I was going to freeze in the middle. But... it was kind of liberating, actually. Like singing in the shower, but with clothes on and more people.”

Blaine laughed. “And this time, I didn’t have to ‘accidentally’ bump into you in the locker room to hear it.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “Oh, so you admit it.”

Blaine put a hand to his face, laughing. “Okay, okay. Maybe I took a bit longer than necessary to grab that jacket.”

“Pervert with good taste in music,” Sam joked.

“Guilty,” Blaine replied, with a big grin. “But seriously, I’m really proud of you. The Warblers will be lucky if you join.”

Sam gave him a light punch on the arm, in a brotherly way. “Thanks, Blaine. For encouraging me... even without saying it directly.”

“Sometimes, a compliment in the shower is all someone needs,” Blaine said with a knowing smile.

They both laughed, and for a moment, everything felt light.

From the back of the room, David yelled, “Hey, Blaine! Come help me out here!”

“Warbler duty,” Blaine said, walking away slowly. “But I’m rooting for you, Sam.”

“Thanks, man.”

Sam watched Blaine walk away, feeling that strange mix of pride, nervousness... and maybe something more.

(...)

The next day, the hallway in front of the music hall was filled with excited voices, students politely pushing each other to see the sheet posted on the bulletin board: the official list of the new Warblers.

Jadieu approached with a coffee mug in his hands, his headphones around his neck, and a bored expression until he noticed Gord Vendome’s name at the top of the list. He stopped, blinked twice, then furrowed his brow in disbelief.

“Wait... Gord made it? Like, Gord Vendome?” he muttered to himself. “But he sang like he was being strangled by an Aquaberry scarf.”

Trent, right next to him, replied with a smug smile: “I guess the snobby charm won over the judges' ears. Or maybe the promise of new instruments spoke louder than the musical notes.”

“He basically screamed the lyrics,” Jadieu shot back, indignant.

As Jadieu continued his rant, Rory appeared running, his hair messy and his eyes gleaming with joy.

“Guys! I made it! I really made it!” he exclaimed, his light Irish accent emphasizing the excitement.

“Congrats!” Blaine said, hugging Rory with a smile. “You were amazing. That last note? Pure emotion.”

Sam joined the group soon after, holding the results sheet folded like a trophy. “Well, apparently shower training works.”

“I made it, I can’t believe it.” Kurt celebrated.

As the new Warblers celebrated, Jadieu stood with his arms crossed, staring at Gord's name with disgust.

“Making it by singing badly... That’s art. Or bribery.”

“Maybe both,” murmured Kurt, taking a sip of tea. “But hey, at least now we have a pretty... diverse cast.”

(...)

The Warbler council room was silent, except for the sound of pages being turned and confused sighs.

Donatello sat rigidly in the central chair, arms crossed. David paced back and forth, and Wes examined the voting sheet with a furrowed brow.

“Okay... this doesn’t make sense,” said Wes, pointing at the list with a pen. “Gord Vendome is on the approved list. But no one here voted for him.”

“I definitely didn’t vote for him,” David said, outraged. “The guy was out of tune even when he coughed.”

Donatello nodded slowly. “Neither did I. His voice sounded like a fire alarm with a spoiled heir accent.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. They all looked at each other... then slowly turned their gazes to Thad, who was sitting further back in the room, absentmindedly chewing on a packet of candy.

“...What?” he asked, confused by the looks.

“Thad,” Wes said carefully. “Did you vote for Gord?”

Thad smiled widely, his eyes still a bit glazed. “Of course I did! He was amazing! He did all these performances... sang with emotion, spun on stage, threw himself on the floor... and even wore a hot dog costume! You guys didn’t see that?!”

David’s eyes widened. “Hot dog... Thad. THAD.”

Donatello leaned in slowly, his voice cold. “Did you... by any chance... eat one of Hunter’s cupcakes yesterday?”

Thad blinked, thinking. “Yeah, I did. Just one. Why?”

David dropped a pile of papers on the table. “THAD, THOSE CUPCAKES HAD DRUGS. THEY’RE PSYCHOACTIVE.”

“Ah...” Thad stared into space for a moment, then murmured, “That would explain the hippo that congratulated me after the performance.”

Wes rubbed his face, exasperated. “My God... Thad, you literally hallucinated Gord’s performance.”

Donatello slowly stood up. “You... are banned from accepting any edibles from Hunter Clarington until further notice.”

“Can I at least keep the candy?”

“No, Thad. You cannot.”

(...)

In the central campus corridor, Gord Vendome walked as if he were in an exclusive Aquaberry fashion show. His Warbler uniform blazer had just been adjusted by a personal tailor.

With a dramatic little spin, he turned to a small group of passing students and said triumphantly:

“Yeah, darlings... looks like real talent always wins in the end. Did you see my name? First on the list. First.”

One of the boys murmured, “Congrats,” clearly intimidated. Another looked away, embarrassed.

Gord didn’t notice. He was too busy posing next to the results board as if he were a celebrity being photographed.

“Of course I made it,” he continued, running his fingers through his perfectly styled hair. “The voice? Impeccable. The stage presence? Unmatched.”

He winked at a student who just looked confused and walked away.

“The Warblers needed me. They were... starved for glamour. Admit it.”

At that moment, Rory whispered to Sam with a discreet laugh:

“Does he really think he made it on his own merit?”

Sam replied, equally quietly: “Looks like it. And proudly, for singing like a sick cat in a cardboard box.”

Gord noticed them and approached with a smile that oozed superiority.

“Gentlemen,” he said, with an elegant wave. “Look, now that we’re Warbler colleagues, I’d like to suggest that you reevaluate your wardrobes. Uniforms are one thing, but style is innate.”

Rory politely replied, “Oh... okay.”

“You’ve got potential,” Gord said dramatically. “With me as inspiration, of course.”

And he walked off with his head held high and steps carefully rehearsed, as if he were strutting down a Milan runway in high school.

Chapter Text

Jadieu was curled up in bed, the sheets pulled up to his chin like a shield against the world. The room was darkened, the curtains drawn, and even so, he kept his eyes tightly shut, as if that could silence the melodic buzzing still pulsing in his ears. He felt nauseous, his head heavy like it was made of lead, and his stomach churned in anxious waves.

When he heard the door creak open, Jadieu let out an exasperated sigh and covered his face with the pillow.

“Leave me alone, Nick,” he muttered, his voice muffled and trembling.

Nick stopped at the door, hesitant, then stepped in slowly, his footsteps silent as if afraid to break something.

“What’s going on, Jade?”

Jadieu moved the pillow just enough to cast a tired glance at his friend. His eyes were red, and tension vibrated in every muscle of his face.

“I’m having a sensory overload,” he said, a lump in his throat. “Every note, every chord… they stick to me like thorns. I can’t turn it off.”

Nick approached and sat on the edge of the bed, keeping a respectful distance from Jadieu.

“We can do something to help… something that doesn’t involve music. A puzzle, maybe. Or painting, if you’d like.”

Jadieu closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head, almost angrily.

“There’s no escaping musicals, Nick. They’re everywhere. In the hallways. At school. Even in the silence. It’s like the universe is always about to burst into a damn choreography.”

There was a tense silence. Then Nick replied gently:

“Then, if we can’t run from it… I can just stay here. Just stay. No music. No talking. Just so you know you’re not alone.”

Jadieu didn’t answer, but he pulled the blanket slightly to the side, making room for Nick to sit closer. It was enough.

Nick, on the other hand, focused on opening the bedroom window. Just enough to let in a fresh breeze, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. Then he turned to Jadieu, who was still lying down, eyes lost on the ceiling as if he could escape just by thinking hard enough.

“Come on, Jadieu,” Nick said softly, trying to convince him. “Let’s go out. No music, nothing. There’s no way there’ll be music while we’re on the road.”

Jadieu pressed his lips together, hesitating. His fingers moved restlessly over the blanket, like he was trying to shake off an invisible melody tormenting him from the inside.

“I don’t know, Nick,” he said warily. His voice was low, almost like he didn’t want to be heard, even by himself. “The road sings sometimes too.”

Nick crouched by the bed, resting his chin on his crossed arms.

“Come on, Jade. It'll be fun. I’ll drive, you relax in the car. You can even wear your noise-canceling headphones if you want. I promise: no radio, no humming, no clapping.”

Jadieu looked at him for a moment. There was a shadow of doubt in his eyes, but also a glimmer, faint and almost invisible, of hope. He hadn’t said yes, but something in his body was already starting to let go.

(...)

A few minutes later, Jadieu appeared at the door. He was wearing a loose hoodie, the hood covering part of his face, and his noise-canceling headphones hung around his neck. He didn’t say anything, just stared at Nick with a resigned look. Nick gave a small smile and grabbed the car keys.

In the academy’s empty parking lot, the afternoon sun filtered through the clouds, painting everything in a soft light. Nick’s yellow, comfortable car looked more welcoming than anywhere else at that moment. Jadieu settled into the passenger seat, slowly pulled the seatbelt on, and closed his eyes for a moment before putting on his headphones.

“Ready?” Nick asked, turning slightly toward him.

Jadieu didn’t answer with words, only nodded. That was enough.

Nick started the engine, which purred softly. They left through the school gate and followed the empty road, where trees streaked past the windows like green and gold brushstrokes. No radio, no singing. Just the sound of the wind, the soft hum of the engine, and a strange, peaceful silence filling the car.

After a few minutes, Jadieu slowly removed his headphones. He looked out at the scenery with a calmer gaze now, as if the crisis was slowly retreating. He leaned his head against the window and murmured:

“Yeah… this isn’t so bad.”

Nick smiled without taking his eyes off the road.

“Told you. Sometimes, silence is music too.”

Jadieu didn’t reply, but for the first time that day, a slight smile escaped him.

The quiet road carried them a few kilometers in comfortable silence. Jadieu, now with his hood down and his eyes more alive, seemed to breathe more easily. Nick drove with a light expression, enjoying the rare moment of calm.

But the city soon appeared on the horizon and, with it, traffic.

Nick sighed as he saw the long line of stopped cars ahead. He slowed down until they came to a complete halt.

“Traffic…” he muttered. “Must be rush hour.”

Jadieu groaned.

“Nothing kills the mood like a bunch of honking and exhaust fumes… well, maybe only a choreographed dance on top of the cars.”

That’s when he heard it.

Far away, like a drum echoing on the edges of reality, a familiar melody began to rise — a sign that a musical was about to begin.

“No…” he whispered, pure terror in his voice.

Nick looked around, confused. “What?”

“It’s happening,” said Jadieu, with Shakespearean tragedy in his tone. “A musical. Here. Now.”

Like a musical nightmare, a girl in the car ahead opened her door, climbed onto the roof of her vehicle, and began to sing. Other drivers followed. A spontaneous choreography took shape. People danced, twirled between cars, and sang with theatrical smiles. It was colorful. It was chaotic.

Jadieu buried his face in his hands.

“I knew it. I knew there was no escape. Music always finds a way.”

Nick stared in shock, trying to figure out if what he was seeing was even real.

“You want me to back up?” he asked, half-scared.

“No use,” said Colucci in an exhausted tone. “It’s started. Now we just wait for it to end.”

Nick put the car in neutral, rested his head on the steering wheel, and muttered:

“Should’ve brought the puzzle.”

Another Day Of Sun - La La Land

[1. https://youtu.be/7CVfTd-_qbc?si=xxCXYNptKKGGkz-v]

Ba-ba-da-ba da-ba-da-ba

Ba-ba-ba ba-da-ba-da-ba

Ba-ba-ba ba-da-ba-da-ba

Ba-ba-ba-ba

[A smiling woman gets out of the red car in front, spins on her heels, takes off her sunglasses, and throws her coat into the air as she sings.]

I think about that day

I left him at a Greyhound station, west of Santa Fe

We were seventeen, but he was sweet and it was true

Still I did what I had to do

'Cause I just knew

[A man in a dress shirt jumps off the roof of a car, doing an improvised jazz step. A dancer slides across the hood of a yellow taxi, smiling directly at an invisible camera.]

Summer, Sunday nights

We'd sink into our seats right as they dimmed out all the lights

A Technicolor world made out of music and machine

It called me to be on that screen

And live inside each scene

[Two bikers drop their helmets and start a synchronized routine with claps and spins. A dog barks in rhythm and someone puts it in a basket, pushing the bicycle with elegance.]

Without a nickel to my name

Hopped a bus, here I came

Could be brave or just insane

We'll have to see

'Cause maybe in that sleepy town

He'll sit one day, the lights are down

He'll see my face and think of how he used to know me

[The cars around vibrate with people doing choreographed moves on the roof. A couple dances between mirrors, and an elderly woman throws a hat into the air before doing a tap step.]

Climb these hills, I'm reaching for the heights

And chasing all the lights that shine (all the lights that shine)

And when they let you down (it's another day of)

You'll get up off the ground (it's another day of)

'Cause morning rolls around and it's another day of Sun

[Jadieu shrinks in the passenger seat, covering his ears with his hands, eyes wide open. Nick watches in panic as a man dances on the hood of his own car.]

(Music pause)

"Nick... we're surrounded by choreography!"

"Just pretend we're not here!" whispers Nick, locking the doors.

(Music resumes)

I hear 'em every day

The rhythms in the canyons that'll never fade away

The ballads in the barrooms left by those who came before

They say: You gotta want it more

So I bang on every door

[Two dancers pass in slow motion by Jadieu's window, looking at him like he's part of the number.]

And even when the answer's no or when my money's running low

The dusty mic and neon glow

Are all I need

And someday as I sing my song, a small-town kid'll come along

That'll be the thing to push him on and go, go

[A wave of dancers floods the road. The imaginary camera spins around all the cars, capturing rehearsed smiles, pretty costumes, and perfectly timed steps.]

Climb these hills, I'm reaching for the heights

And chasing all the lights that shine (all the lights that shine)

And when they let you down (it's another day of)

You'll get up off the ground (it's another day of)

'Cause morning rolls around and it's another day of Sun

(Music pause)

"If I get up, they'll pull me into the dance," murmurs Jadieu.

"Stay down!" says Nick, shrinking behind the wheel.

(Music resumes)

Wow

And when they let you down

The morning rolls around

It's another day of Sun (oh)

It's another day of Sun (oh)

It's another day of Sun (Sun, Sun, Sun, Sun)

It's another day of Sun (oh)

Just another day of Sun (oh)

It's another day of Sun (Sun)

Another day has just begun (oh)

It's another day of Sun

It's another day of Sun

[Sudden silence. Everyone freezes in a final pose. A car horn honks timidly in the background. Someone claps. Jadieu lets out a long sigh of emotional agony.]

"I hate you, universe."

(End)

Jadieu took a deep breath, his shoulders finally dropping as the last note faded. The world returned to normal—the traffic, the stopped cars, the suffocating heat. A man tapped lightly on his steering wheel to the rhythm of his own playlist, as if nothing had happened.

"Does this always happen?" Nick asked, still looking around, confused, like he expected someone to fly out of a car trunk wearing a top hat.

"Always," Jadieu replied, tired, resting his head against the window glass.

"How do you live with this?"

"I don’t know," he murmured, staring at the sky with empty eyes. "I guess I never had a choice."

The warbler was silent for a moment, watching the rearview mirror, still stunned by the sudden explosion of singing and dancing around them.

"But why did I notice the musical only now?" he asked, turning slightly toward Jadieu. "I don’t have the same condition you do to notice these things. I’ve never seen one before."

Jadieu slowly turned his face, his eyes meeting Nick’s with a tired, almost sad expression.

"Maybe because you weren’t part of it."

Nick frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You were with me," Jadieu said simply. "In the car. Safe. Not choreographing."

A meaningful silence hung between them. Nick swallowed hard, absorbing the weight of that answer. Outside, a dancer took off his shoes and calmly returned to his driver’s seat, as if nothing had happened.

"That’s horrible," Nick whispered.

"It is," Jadieu replied. "But... it’s my life."

"So everywhere you go there’s a random choreographed dance number?" The dark-haired boy was still trying to process the absurdity of the situation.

"Yes," Jadieu answered with a sigh. "It’s common."

Nick looked out the window, processing.

"Like... supermarket lines?"

"Yes."

"Behind the pharmacy counter?"

"Already happened."

"Funerals?"

Jadieu slowly turned his face, casting Nick an exhausted look.

"Especially funerals."

Nick’s eyes widened. "My God."

"Now you understand why I always wear headphones?"

"Definitely," Nick whispered.

Jadieu closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but it was useless—the nausea returned with force. He brought his hand to his stomach, trying to stay upright.

"Jade?" Nick asked, worried about his friend. He already recognized that tense silence. He quickly grabbed a paper bag he kept in the car and handed it over. "Here."

Jadieu took the bag with trembling hands, leaning forward slightly. He vomited silently, without drama, but with a raw sadness that hurt more than any sound.

Nick looked at him, helpless but present.

"Sorry," Jadieu murmured, his voice hoarse. "This is so humiliating."

"It’s not," Nick replied immediately, firm but gentle. "Not when you live in a world no one else can understand."

Jadieu wiped his mouth with a tissue Nick offered, his eyes teary.

"Sometimes I wish I didn’t exist. Just so I wouldn’t have to see people smiling and acting like puppets... like the world’s a musical I never agreed to join."

Nick watched him, his chest tight. He gently held Jadieu’s arm.

"You exist, and I’m here. I may not see everything you see... but I see you. And there’s nothing wrong with you, Jade. You were just born into a world that insists on singing when all you want is silence."

Jadieu trembled a little, but nodded. He said nothing, just allowed himself to rest his head on Nick’s shoulder, finally at peace for the first time that day.

(...)

The car started moving slowly again, the traffic finally dissolving like a wave retreating. Nick drove in silence, attentive, respecting his friend’s time and space.

Jadieu kept his eyes closed for most of the ride, still holding the paper bag, but his breathing was more stable. The warmth of Nick’s presence, the momentary absence of music... it helped.

"Where are we going?" he asked, voice low and hoarse.

"Somewhere that, as far as I know, nobody dances," Nick replied with a half smile. "Trust me."

When the car stopped, Jadieu opened his eyes slowly. A salty breeze entered through the window. He recognized the smell before the scenery.

The sea.

They got out of the car. The sand was cold underfoot, the cloudy sky painted the ocean in gray and silver. There was no music. Just the sound of breaking waves, of the wind gently blowing. It was... real silence.

Jadieu walked a few steps to the water’s edge. The wind messed up his hair, and he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling everything.

"You got it right," he said, without turning around. "It’s safe here."

Nick came up beside him, hands in his pockets.

"If I could... I’d give you a whole world like this. No lights, no stages, just you and the sound of the waves."

Jadieu looked at him, moved.

"And would you stay in that world with me?"

Nick looked at him sincerely.

"I’d stay to the end."

Jadieu smiled with his eyes—small, tired, but grateful. Then he looked at the sea, allowing himself to be, for a few moments, just a boy on the beach. No fear of a song starting.

Distracted, watching the waves come and go, he felt a cold splash on his arm. He stepped back, surprised.

"Nick!" he exclaimed, half-indignant, half-smiling.

Nick laughed, already with his sneakers in hand, feet sinking into the wet sand.

"You were getting too serious again. Had to break the mood." He lightly kicked more water toward him.

Jadieu dodged, now laughing for real, his eyes shining for the first time that day.

"You’re impossible!" he shouted, running a bit away, but not too far—just enough to tease.

Nick seized the opportunity and chased after him, splashing water at his friend, who laughed and tried to shield himself with his arms.

"You’ll regret that!" Jadieu announced, finally kicking water back, hitting Nick’s jeans with precision.

Soon the two of them were there, laughing, soaked, ignoring the cold wind and the day’s melancholy. For a moment, the world seemed to belong only to them. No musical started, no one appeared dancing. Just the sound of waves, laughter, and the certainty that, in that instant, Jadieu was free.

When they were out of breath and the wind began to chill their wet skin, Nick approached with a soft smile.

"See? You can smile without a soundtrack."

Jadieu, still breathless, nodded.

"And with you... I might even enjoy it."

After all the fun, the two collapsed onto the damp sand, breathing deeply, their hair tousled by the sea breeze.

Jadieu pulled his knees to his chest, eyes fixed on the horizon. Nick lay on his side, resting his head on his hand, watching his friend in silence for a few seconds.

"Can I ask you something?" Nick said, casual, but with a curious glint in his eyes.

"Depends," Jadieu replied, without taking his eyes off the sea.

"Do you like Tony Stonem?"

Jadieu slowly turned his face, raising an eyebrow.

"Why are you asking that?"

Nick shrugged, trying to sound casual.

"I don’t know. He’s good-looking, always wears that face like he knows it... and sometimes he looks at you kinda weird. Like... like he wants to know your secrets."

Jadieu chuckled softly, looking back at the sea.

"Tony likes everyone. He’s the kind who sees people as emotional toys."

"So that’s a yes?" Nick teased.

"No." Jadieu smiled. "He actually scares me a little. Feels like if I fall into his game, I’ll never get out."

Nick nodded silently, thoughtful.

"Okay, my turn," Jadieu said, turning to face his friend. "Do you like Jeff?"

Nick’s eyes widened, laughing nervously.

"Jeff???"

"That’s right."

Nick hesitated. "Maybe. He has that goofy smile, and like... when he sings, he looks at everyone like he’s trying to seduce even the spotlights."

"So that’s a yes?" Jadieu teased with the same tone.

Nick laughed and looked up at the sky.

"Maybe. But... he’s not you."

Jadieu fell silent for a moment, his smile fading slowly, replaced by something more vulnerable.

"I don’t know if that’s good or bad," he murmured.

Nick scooted a bit closer, his knee touching Jadieu’s.

"It’s just... the truth."

Nick looked at Jadieu with a mix of curiosity and courage.

"Show me what it’s like to sing without being able to control it," he asked, his voice nearly lost between the sound of the waves.

Jadieu frowned, surprised.

"Are you sure?"

Nick nodded, firm. "Yeah. If you can sense musicals... maybe you can control one. Make it happen to me too."

Jadieu looked around—the orange evening sky, the empty beach, the constant, hypnotic sound of the sea. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, feeling the familiar pressure in his chest, as if the musical universe was always lurking nearby.

“I don’t know if I can... but I’ll try.”

He stood up slowly and reached out his hand to Nick. “Stand with me.”

Nick took his hand and stood up too, laughing nervously. “Are we going to dance?”

“Maybe. Or sing. Or both. I never know until it starts.”

Jadieu closed his eyes and let himself be carried by the rhythm that seemed to come from nowhere.

Can't Stop Singing - Teen Beach Movie

[2. https://youtu.be/rPKM2178YkU?feature=shared]

Nick:

What's going on?

This can't be happening

Don't tell me it's a song (Jadieu: It's a song)

This wasn't how I planned it

[Nick spins in place, surprised, looking at his hands as if they were acting on their own. He tries to walk away, but takes a rhythmic step, almost dancing.]

Can't you see that this has gone too far?

Please just pause the DVR

Someone won't you make it stop!

[He tries to cover his mouth, but his hands slide in sync with the beat. The background setting, an empty part of the beach, glows with exaggerated, vibrant colors, as if invisible spotlights were shining on the two of them.]

Nick:

I'm losin' my mind

Jadieu, amused:

I don't see your problem

Everything I say it rhymes

Nick, desperate:

Here comes another line

Jadieu:

Just close your eyes

If you don't wanna see

Nick, yelling:

What's this choreography?

Someone won't you make it stop!

[The two now move in perfect sync, with arms extended, facing each other, as if in a duet dance number.]

Both:

Oh, I can't stop singing!

Make it stop, Make it stop!

Am I real or just a prop?

[Jadieu spins around Nick, who stumbles in a perfectly choreographed step and falls to his knees in the sand.]

Oh, I can't stop singing

So let's just talk!

Talk, Talk

[They both freeze for a second, panting, looking at each other, the sound continues in the background as if the universe won’t let it end.]

Nick, trying to resist:

It's just a song!

An inefficient way

To move the story along!

I'm done!

Jadieu, with a crooked smile:

You're just being cynical

Nick:

No, it's just the principal

Both:

Someone won't you make it, make it stop!

(Jadieu: Don't make it stop)

[The sea in the background seems to dance along, waves coming and going in the same rhythm as the music. Nick, though confused, begins to smile.]

Oh, I can't stop singing!

Make it stop, Make it stop!

Am I real or just a prop?

Oh, I can't stop singing

So let's just talk!

Talk

Talk

Talk

Talk

Talk

Talk

Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk

[The word “Talk” echoes as they spin in the sand, ending the number with a dramatic and synchronized fall, lying side by side, laughing.]

(Music pauses)

"Welcome to my personal hell," Jadieu said, panting.

"I think... I loved it," Nick said, smiling.

(Music resumes)

We're trapped inside a musical revue

At least I'm here with you

I don't wanna make it stop

Oh, I can't stop singing!

Make it stop, Make it stop!

Am I real or just a prop?

Oh, I can't stop singing

Does it stop, Does it stop?

Is it ever gonna stop?

Oh, I can't stop singing

So let's just talk!

(END)

After the performance, the two lay side by side in the sand, breathless. The sea still whispered in the background, but the world seemed to have finally gone quiet. Jadieu turned his face toward Nick, still trying to catch his breath.

"That was... that was insane," Nick said with a muffled laugh. "But I felt it. I felt everything. It wasn’t just singing and dancing... it was like I didn’t have a choice, like every word was trapped inside me waiting for a song to come out."

"I can control it and not sing along with the others, but it’s torture watching all these musicals just happen out of nowhere," Jadieu murmured, his voice low, vulnerable. "There’s no way to predict it. Sometimes it’s fun, sometimes it hurts. Sometimes... it isolates me. But now you get it."

Nick was silent for a moment, staring up at the sky.

"I don’t want you to go through this alone. Not even for a second."

Jadieu swallowed hard. "But you have friends, you’re popular, you’re... normal."

"Normal is boring," Nick replied, turning toward him. "You’re the most real and extraordinary thing I’ve ever known, musical or not. And if I get to be around when the next song starts, even if I end up dancing against my will... then I want to be."

(...)

Back at Dalton, the sky was already starting to darken. Nick’s car pulled up in front of the main building. Jadieu got out first, now wearing an oversized hoodie he kept in the car for emotional emergencies.

He was exhausted, but calmer.

Trent was leaning against one of the pillars, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow with his typical “curious bad boy” expression.

"Where were you two?" he asked, dragging the words out like he was in the middle of a dramatic scene from the movie playing in his head.

Jadieu sighed but replied with calculated disdain.

"Somewhere no one started dancing out of nowhere... until a certain point."

Nick just gave a half-smile. "We just went to get some air. Needed to clear Jade’s head."

Trent narrowed his eyes, suspicious, but also a little... intrigued.

"Getting air on the beach, with the sun setting, alone. Sounds like you had a pretty good time."

Jadieu rolled his eyes, trying to hide the warmth rising in his face.

"And what if we did? Gonna say you’re jealous, Trentman?"

Trent didn’t answer right away. He just gave a crooked smile and turned to walk away.

"Maybe I just find it curious how much you like slipping away with Nick."

He left before Jadieu could reply, which was probably for the best—because Jadieu likely wouldn’t have managed to say anything at all.

Chapter Text

The room was shrouded in shadows. The only light came from the full moon, filtering through the billowing curtains of the half-open window. A thick silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft sound of Rory’s breathing as he slept deeply, murmuring something unintelligible in his Irish accent.

Outside, a barely audible creak cut through the night. A shadow slipped through the window with the agility of a living ghost.

Chris Laven landed softly on the wooden floor, as if made of wind. He wore a black shirt clinging to his body and dark jeans, perfectly invisible in the darkness. His eyes gleamed with an icy reflection, catching the moonlight with a ghostly shimmer.

He approached Rory’s bed with feline steps, stopping beside the mattress. He stood there for a few seconds, simply watching the sleeping boy, an unsettling smile playing on his lips.

"Have you ever wondered what happens when the soul leaves the body... but the body doesn’t notice?" the dark-haired boy whispered.

Rory startled. He sat up with a jolt, eyes wide open, his hair a mess as if struck by lightning.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! W-who’s there?!” he exclaimed, voice shaky and hoarse with sleep.

Chris didn’t answer immediately. He simply stepped forward, out of the shadows. The pale moonlight lit up his face, revealing angular, almost supernatural features and an indecipherable expression.

"Relax, Rory... it was just a question. Or maybe... a warning."

And without another word, he vanished through the same window he’d come in, silent as a fading nightmare.

Rory swallowed hard, hugging his pillow tight and pulling the covers up to his chin.

“I should’ve stayed in Ireland…” he muttered, trembling.

But before he could process what had just happened, the silence shattered with a loud, completely out-of-place sound:

"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOO!"

Skylar jumped out of bed like he’d been electrocuted. His messy hair pointed in every direction, and his constellation pajamas shimmered under the artificial light.

Beside the bunk bed, standing on the nightstand like an outraged sentinel, Sir Cluckles—their pet rooster—was puffed up, eyes wild, chest puffed with alarm.

"What’s Cluckles' problem?!" Skylar grumbled, groggy and annoyed. "He only crows like that when there’s… a demon nearby!"

He rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of the chaos, and then saw Rory—pale as a sheet, clutching his pillow like a spiritual protection charm.

"Rory?! What happened?! Why is my rooster screaming like he saw Death herself?!"

"I… I think maybe he did!" Rory stammered. "I mean, Chris… he… he showed up! Out of nowhere! And said something about souls… and then vanished!"

“Chris Laven?! The guy with the ‘Swedish indie horror film’ vibe?!”

Sir Cluckles let out another “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!” in protest, flapping his wings furiously.

"See?! Even Cluckles knows that’s messed up! He hates dark energy!"

“I don’t know, Sky…” Rory muttered, confused. “I just… woke up, and he was there, saying weird stuff… and then—poof. Gone.”

Skylar stared at Rory for a second. The rooster let out a low, frustrated sound—somewhere between a ghrrrk and a sigh.

“Great. Now not even sleep is safe. I’m sealing that window with sea salt. And if Chris shows up again, I’m throwing Cluckles at him.”

While Rory tried to catch his breath, Skylar got out of bed and turned on the lamp. The room revealed its full asymmetrical glory:

Skylar’s side, impeccably clean, with labeled jars, colorful bottles, and cloths folded by size. Rory’s side… looked like a supernatural battlefield. Clothes everywhere, twisted blankets, and most shocking of all—footprints.

“There are… prints. On. The. Floor,” Skylar said, voice tight. “WET SHOE PRINTS. Inside the dorm room.”

He opened his wardrobe like cracking a safe and revealed a full cleaning arsenal: sprays with hand-labeled tags, color-coded brushes, a glittery handheld vacuum, and a pair of pink rubber gloves.

“I’m going to need total silence,” he said solemnly, putting on the gloves. “And your verbal permission to clean your side of the room, Rory.”

“Permission granted! Do whatever you want, just don’t splash holy water on me, please!”

“If that Chris Laven brought dark energy and dirt into this room, I’ll exorcise it with bleach!

Sir Cluckles, stand guard!”

“Bwok!” the rooster replied, firm and alert.

Skylar began scrubbing the floor with purifying intensity, spraying every corner—including the soles of his own slippers. Rory simply watched, wide-eyed, as if witnessing a ritual from another dimension.

“This place is a madhouse disguised as a prestigious school, dear God…” Rory whispered, shaken.

He was still sitting on the bed when, instinctively, his eyes were drawn to the half-open window. The cold wind rustled the thin curtains, and the pale moonlight revealed something that made his breath catch: footprints. Not just on the floor, but along the window ledge and down the outer wall.

“He came in through the window,” Rory murmured, his voice barely audible. “But… this is the third floor.”

He stood slowly, as if any sudden movement might call back that eerie presence. Skylar was on his knees, scrubbing the floorboards with fanatical dedication, Sir Cluckles still perched on the nightstand like a feathered guardian.

“Skylar,” Rory said, barely above a whisper.

“Not now,” his roommate replied, holding a brush and squinting behind his cleaning mask. “I’m in spiritual warfare with demonic germs.”

Rory hesitated for a moment, then walked to the window. The night air hit his face, sending a chill that wasn’t just from the cold. Down below, in the dimly lit campus lawn, something moved. Or someone.

He rested his hands on the ledge, trying to get a better view.

The wet footprints continued toward the central garden. Some had already faded in the wind, but they were still visible under the moonlight.

As if left behind by a hurried ghost… or by Chris Laven.

“I’m going after him,” Rory muttered to himself.

Skylar’s head shot up, as if he’d just heard a sacrilege.

“What?!” he shouted, pulling down his mask. “Are you trying to die?!”

“I just… need to know if it was real. If I’m going crazy.”

“You are. Definitely. And that’s not a reason to wander in the dark after a guy who radiates cursed Norwegian film energy!”

“Sky, he said… he said something about the soul leaving the body. And I felt it. Like for a second… it really did.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Even Sir Cluckles made a thoughtful sound, as if pondering the weight of what he’d just heard.

Skylar sighed, dramatically.

“Fine. Go. Chase the psychotic Swede. But take this.”

He handed over a small vial of clear liquid. “Holy water. Or… well, actually it’s water with rosemary essence and 70% alcohol, but it has aura.”

Rory took the vial with a grateful nod, carefully climbed onto the ledge, and looked back.

“If I don’t come back—”

“I inherit your dessert share from the cafeteria,” Skylar cut in without hesitation. “Good luck, brave and foolish soul.”

Rory took a deep breath, set his feet on the window frame, and began his descent. The night air seemed to follow him with invisible eyes. The footprints were still there, waiting to be followed.

(...)

Rory stepped onto the damp grass of the garden, still clutching the tiny bottle of “aura water.” The footprints were quickly fading, as if they’d never been there. He looked around, turning on his heels, the hair on his neck standing up. Nothing. No sign of Chris.

“But I swear he came this way…” he murmured.

That’s when he heard it.

A soft crack, like a branch being stepped on. It came from a large bush near the courtyard fountain.

Rory tensed, gripping the vial like a sacred weapon. He crept forward, every step making barely audible crunches on the leaves.

Another twig snapped.

Heart racing, Rory took a breath, reached forward, and yanked the bush aside.

“AAHHHHH—”

“AAAAAH!”

Both screamed at the same time. Rory stumbled backward, nearly dropping the vial. The figure that crawled out from the bush was a boy with round glasses, curly hair, and a notebook full of scribbles in hand. He wore the Warblers' uniform with a gray journalist vest over it. A small camera hung from his neck.

“You’re not Chris!” Rory said, half relieved, half annoyed.

“Of course I’m not Chris!” the other boy replied, out of breath. “I’m Nelson Whitford, chief editor of The Dalton Insider and a detective licensed by the student council! And you just ruined my disguise!”

Rory blinked. “You were… behind a bush.”

“Observing. With technique. There’s a manual for it.” Nelson stood up, brushing leaves off his pants. “You shouted before checking. Terrible investigative conduct.”

“You scared me!”

“You invaded my perimeter!” Nelson shot back, pointing to the bush as if it were diplomatic territory. “But now that we’re here… you saw Chris too, didn’t you?”

Rory hesitated.

“Yeah. He showed up in my room. Through the window. Said some weird stuff about soul and body… then disappeared.”

Nelson’s eyes widened, and he furiously scribbled in a notepad.

“Eyewitness. Excellent. That corroborates the rumors from the past three days.”

“Rumors?”

Nelson leaned in like he was about to reveal a state secret.

“Chris Laven’s been sneaking out of the dorm after curfew. Always through the window. Never the door. Cameras don’t catch him in the hallways. But there are always footprints and… little things. Moved objects. Students with missing time. A traumatized rooster. And now this.” He pointed dramatically. “Nighttime appearances with existential monologues. He’s clearly up to something!”

Rory blinked. “You think he’s… a murderer?”

“No! I mean, maybe. But I’m betting on something more… newsworthy.” Nelson grinned, eyes gleaming behind his glasses. “And I’ll be the first to expose the truth in the school’s official newspaper.”

“There’s an official newspaper?”

“It’s distributed every Friday under the cafeteria trays. I have two loyal readers. One of them is me.”

Before Rory could reply, Sir Cluckles screamed in the distance, back in the dorm: another “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOO,” louder and more hysterical than before.

Nelson froze.

“That’s my signal. He set up a double crow to alert me if there’s strange movement on the second floor. He’s trained.”

“You… use Cluckles as part of your investigation?!”

“Skylar signed a permission slip, yes.”

Rory didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Nelson then extended his hand.

“Want to join the investigation? I need a field assistant with near-possession experience.”

Rory looked at the hand, then at the darkness around them.

“I should really be sleeping.”

“Or making history,” Nelson whispered intensely. “Come with me, Rory. Let’s find out what Chris Laven is hiding… and give Dalton the scandal of the century.”

Against all better judgment, Rory sighed and shook his hand.

“Fine. But if a spirit shows up, I’m throwing this water at you first.”

“Fair.”

“Let’s go to the lake. I think he’s there—look at those footprints.”

The path to the lake was dark and quiet, except for the squishing of Rory and Nelson’s shoes on the wet grass. Rory’s phone flashlight shook slightly as he lit the way.

“You sure that was Cluckles’ alert signal?” Rory whispered.

“Absolutely. He detects suspicious human movement. He once almost exposed Professor Westbrook because she sleepwalks and sings ABBA in the hallway.”

Rory didn’t know what to say to that.

They passed the last row of trees, and the lake appeared—calm and mysterious under the mist. The water reflected the distant lights of Dalton’s mansion, and a dark figure was kneeling by the shore.

Nelson gripped Rory’s arm, pointing with his chin.

“There. Look. It’s him.”

Chris.

The boy was facing away from them, kneeling, messing with something on the ground. There was a large black industrial bag, the kind made of tough tarp, and Chris was dragging it to the edge of the lake with effort. It looked heavy.

“No… it can’t be what I think it is…” Rory muttered.

Chris glanced around quickly, like he was making sure he was alone. His expression was somber, marked by deep under-eye circles. He grabbed the ends of the bag and began pushing it into the water.

Nelson’s eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

“You think…?”

“He’s getting rid of a body!”

“YOU CAN’T SAY THAT!” Rory whispered desperately. “It could be dirty laundry… or, I don’t know… a theater project!”

“Did you see his face? That’s guilt! I recognize guilt when I see it. It’s in the eyes. The eyebrow tension. Jaw clenching. Classic crime guilt!”

“Or just a tired student dragging a trash bag!”

The bag slowly sank into the water, making soft ripples. Chris stood still for a moment, staring at the lake as if something were about to surface.

Or… as if hoping it wouldn’t.

Then, with a heavy sigh, he got up, wiped his hands on his pants, and turned back toward the trail. Rory and Nelson crouched behind a tree, holding their breath.

When Chris’s footsteps faded into the distance, Rory whispered:

“Okay… what do we do now?”

Nelson was already scribbling in his notebook. “‘Chris Laven: Possessed or Psychopath?’ That’s the headline. With a subtitle: ‘Young prodigy possibly involved in crime at Dalton Lake.’ Now we need a photo… some proof…”

“YOU WANT TO GO BACK? To the bag?”

“Of course! It’s a reporter’s duty! And a brave, spiritually protected assistant’s.” He looked at the bottle in Rory’s hand. “You still have that, right?”

Rory looked at the dark water and shivered.

“If a hand comes out of there… I swear I’ll run and leave you behind.”

“Fair.”

They walked slowly to the lake’s edge. The spot where Chris had been now seemed too quiet. The water still rippled.

Nelson shone the flashlight, and for a brief moment… something glinted beneath the surface.

A zipper.

They looked at each other.

Rory swallowed hard.

“...That is definitely not a theater project.”

Nelson knelt near the water, leaning in carefully. Rory stood behind him, holding the flashlight in one trembling hand and the bottle of holy water in the other, ready for anything that might jump from the lake.

“Okay. I’ll pull it slowly… If a human foot comes out, we run. No judgment, no heroics,” Nelson whispered.

“Deal,” Rory replied, tense.

Carefully, Nelson grabbed the floating zipper, partially submerged. He pulled it open slowly, the soaked tarp making a sticky sound. Rory’s flashlight shook as he aimed it at the open bag.

They leaned in together.

And froze.

Silence.

A lot of silence.

“What the…?” Rory muttered, confused.

Inside, arranged with almost ritualistic precision, was an anatomical training dummy—the kind used in first aid classes—with detachable arms and legs, a hollow torso, a blank face painted with red to simulate injuries.

“This…” Nelson said, frowning. “…is a mutilated mannequin.”

Rory stepped back. “That’s even weirder than an actual body!”

Nelson grabbed one of the rubber arms, shaking it. “Maybe he’s rehearsing for a homemade movie? A gore theater piece? An artistic satanic cult?”

“This is Dalton. Could be any of the three.”

They quickly zipped the bag shut again.

“But why dump it in the lake at midnight?” Rory asked, still suspicious. “If it’s just school material, why not throw it in the trash? Or return it to the infirmary?”

Nelson stayed quiet for a moment, staring at the lake.

“Maybe because it’s not just that.”

Rory swallowed hard.

“You mean… like… black magic?”

“Or guilt. Or shame. Or a secret.”

Rory shook his head. “Or the guy’s just really weird, and this is his version of a lakeside picnic.”

Nelson sighed and put away his notebook.

“Either way, this’ll make a great headline: ‘Chris Laven and the Mystery of the Drowned Dummy.’”

“You’re really gonna publish this without knowing the real reason?”

“No. Not yet.” Nelson gave a satisfied smile. “But now we have a lead. And Chris… definitely has something to hide.”

In the distance, an owl hooted, and the lake’s water returned to its usual calm, as if nothing had happened.

Rory looked around and muttered:

“I need some tea…”

Nelson put the notebook in his pocket. “The night’s just getting started.”

Rory blinked at Nelson and whispered, “Should we follow him? He can’t have gone far.”

“Yes,” Nelson replied.

They moved carefully, avoiding dry branches and loose stones that could give them away. The trail led them to a small wooden cabin, partly hidden among the trees near Dalton Lake.

Rory and Nelson crouched behind a bush, peeking through the slightly ajar door.

Inside, flickering candlelight illuminated a circle drawn on the floor with dark powder. In the center, Chris Laven and Jayden Ian were kneeling, hands intertwined, murmuring words in a low, dragging tone, almost hypnotic.

For a moment, Chris's face changed. His black eyes gleamed, as if a deep shadow had taken them over—a dark aura that froze Rory in place.

Nelson whispered, barely believing what he was seeing, "Is this a... satanic ritual?"

Rory swallowed hard, unable to look away.

Chris spoke with a steady, weighty voice, "By the ancient flame that burns without light, by the veil that separates the worlds... may our names be joined, and the secrets be revealed."

Jayden nodded, eyes fixed on the circle, murmuring, "Let the pact be sealed. Let the past not forget. Let the truth come to light."

A chill ran down Rory’s spine, but Nelson was completely fascinated, scribbling frantically in his notebook.

Suddenly, Chris closed his eyes for a moment, and his face turned pale—almost inhuman. When he opened them, the black eyes were gone, returning to their normal shade.

Jayden smiled in relief and whispered, "It’s done."

Nelson swallowed hard and said quietly to Rory, "This is serious. Really serious. We need to find out what this ritual means and what Chris is trying to do."

As Rory and Nelson were still trying to process what they had just witnessed, a sudden rustle among the dry leaves made them freeze. From behind a tree, Hunter appeared with calm but firm steps, as if he'd emerged from the shadows unnoticed—until his voice broke the silence.

"Hey! You two! Have you seen my cat, Mr. Puss, around here?"

Rory and Nelson looked at each other, both startled by the unexpected appearance. Rory nearly jumped, grabbing Nelson's arm.

Nelson cleared his throat, trying to hide the surprise. "Ah, Hunter, it’s normal for cats to wander off. They always come back."

Hunter frowned, clearly indignant. "Normal? Normal? My cat doesn’t just vanish! Mr. Puss is a very... selective cat. He doesn’t just go off without letting me know." He crossed his arms, his gaze a mix of irritation and authority.

Rory, still pale and slightly trembling, couldn’t hold back his fear and blurted out in a nearly desperate voice, "I... I think Chris... used Mr. Puss in the ritual!"

Nelson rolled his eyes and stepped forward to try and calm things down. "Relax, Rory. First of all, Mr. Puss is white. And second, in rituals like that, they usually use black cats, not white ones. That’s like, basic horror literature rule."

Hunter let out a short, almost mocking laugh, looking at Rory with an arrogant smirk. "Rory, I don’t know where you’re getting these ideas, but yes, Mr. Puss is white, and he’s way too dignified to be used in some random ritual. And honestly, I don’t believe in this satanic ritual crap. If you want to know."

Rory swallowed hard, shame mixing with fear. Nelson looked at Hunter, uncomfortable with his arrogance, but said nothing.

Suddenly, a soft sound broke the silence—a delicate meow coming from inside the little cabin. The three of them froze.

Rory’s eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. "Did you hear that? The cat!"

Nelson exchanged a quick glance with Hunter, the tension in the air growing. Without hesitation, they pushed open the creaky door and rushed in together, as if in that moment, curiosity outweighed fear.

Inside, to everyone’s shock, was Mr. Puss, Hunter’s white cat, curled up on Chris’s lap, purring softly while being petted with an almost eerie calm.

Hunter’s eyes went wide, and he let out a groan of pure disgust. "I don’t believe this... my cat! Letting himself be petted by those filthy hands? By Chris Laven? This is outrageous."

Chris looked up, unbothered, keeping his calm gaze. "Oh, Hunter, even cats know where to find comfort. Maybe you need to learn that too."

Rory stood frozen, confused and nervous, staring at the scene. Nelson, still holding his notebook, murmured, "Well... this complicates things, doesn’t it?"

Hunter let out a heavy sigh and looked at Mr. Puss, who blinked lazily. "To me, this just shows my cat’s lost his mind today."

(...)

Chris slowly raised his head, his eyes darkening until they were almost black, a cold and deep glow that seemed to suck the light from the room. The air around him felt heavier, as if the very shadow had come alive.

He fixed his gaze on Rory, who immediately felt a chill run down his spine. His heart pounded, breath caught in his throat.

In the silence that followed, time seemed to slow. The cabin walls, the faint moonlight filtering through the cracks—everything seemed to bend to that unsettling presence.

Chris spoke, his voice low and steady, laced with a subtle threat:

"You’re afraid, Rory. And it’s good that you are."

Rory could barely respond, swallowing hard, feeling that gaze held more than intent—it was a warning, a harbinger.

Hunter, nearby, sensed the shift in atmosphere and took a step back, tense, while Nelson kept a steady gaze, mentally noting every detail of the moment.

The cabin felt dark, deep, and unsettling.

Cirice - Ghost

[1. https://youtu.be/-0Ao4t_fe0I?si=Nrb_nHeIU8ANsNV3]

I feel your presence amongst us

You cannot hide in the darkness

Can you hear the rumble?

Can you hear the rumble that's calling?

[Chris stares at Rory darkly, his eyes briefly darkening]

I know your soul is not tainted

Even though you've been told so

Can you hear the rumble?

Can you hear the rumble that's calling?

[Chris takes a step forward slowly, not breaking eye contact with Rory]

I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart

I can see through the scars inside you

I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart

I can see through the scars inside you

[A candle flickers with the draft that seems to form around Chris]

[Rory steps back, swallowing hard, paralyzed under Chris’s gaze]

A candle casting a faint glow

You and I see eye to eye

[Chris whispers something unintelligible as he subtly extends his hand toward Rory]

Can you hear the thunder?

How can you hear the thunder that's breaking?

Now there is nothing between us

From now our merge is eternal

[Chris closes his eyes for a moment, and a disturbing smile appears on his face]

Can't you see that you're lost?

Can't you see that you're lost without me?

[Rory clenches his fist, his face pale, but he can’t look away]

I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart

I can see through the scars inside you

I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart

I can see through the scars inside you

[Hunter watches the scene, uncomfortable, while Nelson scribbles frantically in a small notebook]

Can't you see that you're lost without me?

I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart

I can see through the scars inside you

I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart

I can see through the scars inside you!

[Chris slowly turns around, as if he had said everything he needed to, but the atmosphere remains heavy and electric]

(I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart)

(I can see through the scars inside you)

I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart

I can see through the scars inside you

(End)

Rory remained frozen, eyes locked onto Chris’s, as if something invisible was holding him in place. The air around him felt heavier, denser, like a storm was about to break—but only over him. The lyrics of the song still echoed in his mind, blending with the unsettling feeling of being invaded—not physically, but in some deeper way, as if Chris had looked inside him.

Nelson broke the silence with a snap of his fingers in front of Rory.

"Rory! Hey! Come back!"

Rory blinked several times, stumbling a step back as if waking from a trance. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

"You okay, man?" Nelson asked, frowning in concern.

Hunter, standing nearby, crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

"That was ridiculous."

Chris, now calmly seated next to Mr. Puss, gently stroked the cat’s white fur, as if nothing had happened. But his eyes still glowed with something… different. There was a trace of amusement in them. Or threat. It was hard to tell.

"Rory," Chris said in a low voice, almost too gentle, "you saw something you didn’t understand. But you will… soon."

Hunter stepped forward, grabbing Mr. Puss in his arms with a look of disgust.

"You shouldn’t even be near him, Chris. Touch my cat again and I’m calling the student council."

Chris only smiled. "He came to me, Hunter. Cats know who they’re safe with."

"Cats also poop outside the litter box sometimes," Hunter replied disdainfully, turning his back with the feline in his arms. "Doesn’t mean anything."

Nelson discreetly tugged Rory by the arm, muttering as they walked away from the little shed.

"This is way too weird, man. We need to talk to someone about this."

But Rory kept glancing over his shoulder. Chris was now watching them through the door gap, unmoving. The smile was gone. His gaze was empty. Unfathomable.

Nelson noticed and whispered:

"He hasn’t stopped staring at you since the beginning, has he?"

Rory swallowed hard. "He… he knows something about me. I felt it. Like he… even knows what I dreamed last night."

"Okay. That’s officially disturbing," Nelson muttered. "Let’s get out of here before he starts levitating or something."

The two hurried back toward Dalton’s dormitories, the sound of leaves crunching underfoot louder than it should have been. Rory didn’t say another word. But Chris’s name wouldn’t leave his mind. Nor his eyes. Black. As if something—or someone—was behind them.

And for the first time, Rory wondered if there was something inside himself that Chris wanted.

(...)

As Rory and Nelson walked away from the little shed, quick footsteps caught up to them from behind. They turned at the sound of Jayden Ian’s voice, emerging from the shadows with arms crossed and a bitter expression, wearing his studded black coat and slightly smudged eyeliner.

"You almost ruined everything, you idiots."

Nelson raised his eyebrows. "Jayden? You were actually part of that thing?"

Jayden scoffed. "Ritual. The word is ritual. It takes prep, timing, astral alignment. And you two, meddling like that, nearly blew it all."

Rory stood still, trying to grasp how coldly Jayden spoke about it, like it was just another extracurricular activity.

"But… what was that? Why…? What are you doing with Chris?"

Jayden rolled his eyes, impatient.

"Are you really as naïve as you look, Rory? I don’t know what Chris sees in you. With that pure Irish face and that expression like you just walked out of a Catholic boarding school."

"Hey!" Rory said, offended, though more confused than angry.

Nelson crossed his arms. "He sees what in him? What are you talking about?"

Jayden gave a crooked smirk, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

"If you’d just stayed quiet, hidden in the bushes like good little snoops, maybe you would’ve seen the whole thing. But no… you had to freak out over a cat."

Rory clenched his fists. "If you guys had done anything to Mr. Puss…"

"Relax, the cat’s alive. And apparently has terrible taste in humans," Jayden said, shooting a disgusted look toward Hunter, now far away. Then he turned back to Rory, his dark eyes now more serious. "If I were you, I’d stay away from Chris. He changes when you’re around. And not always for the better."

With that, Jayden turned and walked back to the shed, disappearing inside without looking back, leaving a tense silence behind.

Nelson looked at Rory, mouth agape.

"Okay… this is turning into some crazy movie. Like, really crazy."

Rory didn’t respond. He just stood there, trying to understand why, out of all people, he seemed to be the focus of Chris.

(...)

[Later]

Rory couldn’t sleep after that visit. Nor could Skylar, who insisted on spraying the air every fifteen minutes, claiming it was filthy. But Rory wasn’t scared anymore. He felt… something stranger. A weight in his chest. As if he already knew that look in Chris’s eyes, that glow in the dark.

The next morning, Rory was walking the halls, tired, when he saw the footprints.

They didn’t stop at his room. They continued down the hallway, heading toward the abandoned wing of the school. The one that, according to rumors, held the old dorms, sealed off since a fire decades ago.

And, against all good sense, Rory followed the marks.

He passed through cold, dusty corridors, ignoring the “RESTRICTED ACCESS” signs as if in a trance. Until he stopped before a half-open door. A cold breeze seeped through the cracks.