Pairings/Characters: Kurt, Blaine, Klaine, canon couples, mentions of Finn and Rachel, Carmen Tibideaux.
Warnings: suspension of disbelief in regards to when colleges send out their admission letters, maybe some OOCness, h/c, tiniest bit of Rachel-bashing (super tiny, I promise).
Summary: "Goodbye" fix-it fic. Kurt doesn't know what to do after NYADA rejects him--luckily he has an amazing boyfriend who'll sneakily apply to schools without his permission.
Notes: This is not what I was imagining when I started and I'm not sure how much I actually like it, but there was no way I could not write a fix it fic after the horror that was that episode, so. Here, have some fashionista!Kurt.
A Dream for Myself
Kurt goes home that afternoon and goes straight to his room--he ignores his dad, who comes out from the kitchen and calls his name. He doesn’t want to look at his dad right now, because he knows all he’ll see is his dad’s bright smile when Kurt got his audition, the way he said, you won, Kurt. And it hurts too much now to think about that, because it only reminds him that right now, in this moment, he’s lost everything, everything, he dreamed of.
Kurt throws himself on his bed with a melodrama worthy of Patti and buries his head in his pillows. He wants to keep burrowing into his bedding until he enters another reality, one where the world didn’t decide to screw him over completely, in every sense of the word. It doesn’t work--every time he closes his eyes, he keeps seeing the Letter: Dear Mr. Hummel, thank you for interest in the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts. We regret to inform you that you will not be joining us for our fall semester . . . . Kurt’s mouth tightens and he bangs his head against his pillow in the futile hope that he’ll get amnesia so he can forget how ruined his life is.
And then, of course, of course, he keeps hearing Rachel: “I got in.”
It isn’t fair, Kurt laments. It’s so selfish of him to think it, and of course he’s happy for Rachel, especially after--after her audition. But it isn’t fair. Kurt has done everything, tried anything, and he’d been lucky enough to get his audition. And then he’d nailed it, he knows he did, and even Ms. Tibideaux had complimented it. She had seemed so impressed that Kurt had relaxed a little, had even assumed that life would go his way for once.
He should have known better.
He loves Rachel, and he’s so happy for her, he is, but it still stings that she choked and still got into her dream school. It’s like sophomore year all over again where Rachel got the solos and the guy and the attention while Kurt was forced to sing in the background and dream of his days of stardom. Except his stardom is never coming because he didn’t get in, he didn’t get in--
Kurt can’t stop the tears. His chest feels too tight, it’s hard to breathe--
His phone buzzes in his pocket. Kurt rolls over and takes it out, staring at the screen.
Blaine <3 (4:34PM): Rachel just told me. Are you home?
Kurt bites his lip, debates answering. Part of him just wants to sink into Blaine, who cares about him so much and wants his dreams to succeed as much as Kurt does. But another part just wants to curl up in his covers and lick his wounds alone. It’s hard to stifle the voice in the back of his head the mutters how easily Blaine will get into any college he wants.
His phone buzzes again.
Blaine <3 (4:35PM): Kurt?
Kurt hesitates. Before he can type a reply, his phone is ringing. He answers it on automatic.
“Are you okay?” Blaine asks, sounding frantic. “Rachel said you just disappeared after you guys opened your letters--”
“I’m fine,” Kurt says, though he knows he doesn’t sound it. His voice is raspy from crying and stress.
He can almost see Blaine softening. “I’m nearly at your house. Unless you want me to go?”
Kurt can’t stop the burst of love for his boyfriend. It’s still incredible to him sometimes, that he’s found this amazing boy who understands him so well, that cares about him so much. There are still nights when Kurt lies awake at night thinking that maybe he’s dreamt the whole thing.
“No, you can come,” he says. “I might not be the best of company.”
It’s a weak joke, but Blaine still laughs. “I think I’ll manage,” he says, all fondness. Kurt’s tearing up again--it’s hard not to in the face of Blaine’s blantant love for him.
“I’m here,” Blaine says. “I’ll be right up, okay?”
“Okay,” Kurt says. He hesitates, then adds, “Don’t tell my dad what happened.”
Silence. “Kurt, you didn’t--”
“I can’t tell him,” Kurt confesses. “He was so happy when I got my audition, I can’t--” I can’t let him know how I failed.
Blaine sighs, heavy and sad. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll be right there.” He ends the call.
Kurt looks down at his phone. He has texts from his other friends, several from Rachel. He throws his phone on the other end of the bed. He can’t handle texts from Rachel right now, not with her I got in ringing in his ears still.
He hears a knock downstairs and the murmurs of Blaine and his dad talking. He hopes that Blaine will keep his promise, because he doesn’t want his dad to find out--he hopes his dad will never find out, though he knows that’s impossible.
Steps on the staircase and then Blaine knocks politely on his door, as if he hasn’t spent nearly every afternoon in Kurt’s bedroom since they met. Kurt smiles a little, his first since getting his letter.
“Come in,” he calls out and Blaine opens the door.
He looks disheveled, like he came over straight after school and didn’t bother showering after his last hour of P.E. Kurt loves him a little more for that. He comes immediately to Kurt’s side and pulls him into a warm hug.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters in Kurt’s hair, taller than him only because Kurt is still sitting on the bed and Blaine is standing. Any other time, Kurt probably would’ve found that funny. “I’m so sorry, Kurt.”
Kurt breathes him in, takes comfort in the scent of his sweat and musk and the tinge of cologne Blaine never admits to wearing. For the first time in hours, he relaxes a little bit. Blaine is safe.
“Me too,” he mutters into Blaine’s collarbone. Blaine’s arms tighten around him.
“Rachel didn’t say much,” he says, pulling back a little so he can sit down by Kurt. “Just that--” He pauses, bites his lip.
“She got in,” Kurt finishes for him. “And I didn’t. Finn didn’t either.” He laughs, more than a little bitter. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly surprised with Finn. I was disappointed, but not surprised. I’d already figured he’d waited too long to apply, even though I hoped it wouldn’t matter. But--” He bites his tongue, knows how it’ll sound.
He’d expected to get in.
It sounds arrogant in his head even, but there it is. But he doesn’t know how he could have expected anything else considering how well his audition seemingly went. Ms. Tibideaux hadn’t criticized anything, had done nothing but sing his praises. He’d known his extracurriculars were still a little shoddy, but he’d figured NYADA had overlooked that already since he got his audition. Apparently he’d been wrong.
So, yes, it stings a little bit--more than a little bit--to have his face slapped with rejection after he’d begun to relax and believe that he could really live his dreams.
“It’s not fair,” Blaine mutters, hand clenching tight around Kurt’s. “It’s--I can’t believe they let--” He looks away, flushing with guilt.
It’s nothing Kurt hasn’t thought in the past few hours. Still, guilt churns in his stomach.
“Rachel deserves it,” he reminds, partly to remind Blaine and partly to silence that little voice in his head that suggests she probably took your place, if she hadn’t got in, maybe you’d be in--
“She does,” Blaine agrees without much enthusiasm. “But you deserve it too.” He meets Kurt’s eyes, hesitates, then adds, “You deserve it more.”
Kurt shakes his head. “Rachel is ridiculously talented, Blaine,” he denies. “She deserves this just as much as I do. I’m happy for her, I am.”
Blaine takes a deep breath. “Rachel is talented,” he agrees. “But you know what? I love Rachel, I do, she’s one of my best friends, but it’s enormously unfair that she’s getting in after choking on her audition.”
“Blaine--” Kurt tries, guilt rising because he’s had these thoughts but he doesn’t want to think them, because Rachel’s his friend, one of his best friends and he’s supposed to be happy for her--
“If you’d gotten in too, it wouldn’t have mattered,” Blaine continues, ignoring Kurt’s protest. “But you nailed your audition, Kurt. And Rachel’s amazing, we know she is, but she choked. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Ms. Tibideaux saw her at Nationals,” Kurt says. Rachel had been amazing at Nationals.
“She still choked,” Blaine maintains. “It’s not fair. You both should be at that school. And if only one of you got in, it should have been--”
“Blaine,” Kurt cuts in. “I--appreciate it, I do. But Rachel’s my best friend, I can’t--” I can’t stew in resentment, not about her, not anymore. We’ve moved past that. The words can’t quite come out.
Blaine softens a little. “You should’ve gotten in,” he says. He draws Kurt in, presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he says again.
Kurt closes his eyes, leans into the warm press of lips on his skin. When is it my turn? he thinks and tries not to cry.
Kurt applied to other schools. Of course he did.
Now of them are what he wants, though. He tried Juilliard but didn’t even get an audition. He tried NYU and got in, he got that letter last week. But NYU doesn’t have what he wants, nothing but NYADA really has what he wants. Still, he can go there. It’ll get him into New York, if nothing else.
All he wants, all he’s ever wanted, is to be good enough, to have his dreams come true. It’s hard to think about New York when he knows he won’t be going to the school he wants, the school he’s been dreaming about ever since Ms. Pillsbury sat him and Rachel down at the beginning of the year.
Kurt spends the week after graduation in his room, listening to the Wicked soundtrack on repeat, trying not to remember last year when it hits “For Good.” He tries not to think of Rachel in New York, setting up her new life, preparing to live out her dreams--to live out Kurt’s dreams. It stings too much to imagine it.
Burt tries to talk to him a couple of times. Finn tries too, so does Carole. He gets texts and calls from every glee club member, even Mr. Schue. Kurt ignores them all except for Blaine. Blaine he lets in, Blaine he lets visit every day with stories about his summer job, mindless chatter about what was on TV last night, about Blaine’s newest favorite song, about his parents being gone for the weekend--
Blaine never pushes Kurt to talk about what he’s feeling. Kurt wonders how it’s possible to love someone so much.
In Kurt’s dreams, he’s on stage. It’s black, empty except for him. He is staring out at hundreds of expectant faces.
He opens his mouth, ready for his solo, ready for his moment to shine. In that moment, the spotlight goes dark.
It’s the second week into summer when Blaine comes to the house looking oddly guilty. He shifts in front of Kurt like he did the last time he confessed he’d kept in contact with Sebastian despite Kurt asking him not too. Kurt’s heart seizes. He’s already lost so much, he isn’t sure he can lose Blaine too. He doesn’t think that’s what this is, he and Blaine have been through too much together for him to honestly consider a break-up an option, but the fear still seizes him. Afer all, he thought NYADA was a sure thing too.
“I may have done something,” Blaine says, looking shifty.
“Blaine?” Kurt asks, raising an eyebrow.
Blaine’s hands are tucked behind his back--he withdraws them to reveal a huge envelope. Kurt stares at it uncomprehendingly for a moment. He recognizes it--it’s the kind college brochures are sent in, the huge glossy spreads that Kurt spent so many months his junior year receiving. Is Blaine applying somewhere?
“What’s that?” he asks, completely confused.
Blaine bites his lip. “I may have applied somewhere without your permission,” he says in a rush.
Kurt still doesn’t get it. “Why would you need my permission?” he asks.
Blaine shifts again. “I applied for you,” he explains, “without your permission.”
Kurt’s jaw drops. “Blaine,” he says slowly. “Where did you apply?”
Blaine takes a deep breath. “Parsons,” he says.
Kurt doesn’t scream, but it’s a close call. “Blaine,” he says, as if talking to a small child. “That’s one of the top schools in the country for fashion. It’s nearly as competitive as NYADA. Why--”
“I’ve seen your sketches,” Blaine blurted out. “They’re just so good, Kurt.” He hesitates, then adds, “I, uh, may have sent some in with your application.”
Kurt’s eyes widen. “So that’s where my sketchbook went!” he says accusingly. “I searched for that for weeks!”
Blaine shrugs, all sheepishness. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry. “But--Kurt, I applied and--” He holds out the package.
“I can’t believe you did this,” Kurt says, staring at the envelope. It’s big, true, but that doesn’t mean anything, that doesn’t mean anything-- “Blaine, I can’t.”
Blaine frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t want it,” Kurt says, on the egde of hysteria. “I--” I want NYADA, he almost says, which is so stupid because NYADA is gone from him, he’s never going to get it back--
“Kurt,” Blaine says, too soft and too gentle. Kurt turns away from him. “Kurt, I think you got in.”
Kurt wants to say if I can get into one of the top fashion schools in the country, why couldn’t I get into NYADA? He wants to yell this isn’t my dream. He wants--
“Thank you, Blaine,” he says, more formal than he’s ever been with Blaine, even when they were just two strangers on opposite sides of a coffee table. He takes the envelope from Blaine’s hand and puts it on his bed. He feels like it’s a time bomb waiting to explode.
“Kurt?” Blaine asks, confused. “Aren’t you going to--”
“I’d like to be alone now,” Kurt says. He doesn’t miss the flash of hurt in Blaine’s face and he hates himself for putting it there, but he can’t do this with Blaine watching, he can’t--
“Alright,” Blaine murmurs and leaves Kurt alone with the envelope.
In Kurt’s dream, he is still on stage. However, the audience have become mannikins. Kurt holds up one of his sketches for them and they all laugh as one.
Kurt doesn’t open the letter from Parsons for two days.
It sits on his nightstand, a constant torment. He stares at it without realizing sometimes, stopping in the middle of folding a shirt or pressing pants. It has his name on the front in neat, tidy handwriting. Parsons address is in the top left corner. The envelope is stark white and thick--Kurt can’t see through it at all. It’s heavy too. He’s turned it over in his hands too many times to count.
Parsons, he thinks. He remembers the glossy brochure he’d requested in his sophomore year, the pages of gushing recommendations online. Parsons was one of the top schools for fashion--some would argue the top school for fashion. Marc Jacobs had graduated from Parsons.
Kurt looks over his sketches, small, scrawling things he’s made in class, in between classes, in the back of the choir room when Schue’s talking. When he’s bored, when he’s angry. He’s been sketching outfits since he was seven or eight, he realizes, digging through his closet to find boxes of small books filled with drawings. His seven year old self had no idea how to draw, but the basics are there. He doesn’t remember why he started.
Kurt’s never really thought about his sketches. He likes them, but he really can’t imagine anyone else would be willing to pay for them, to wear them. They are his, private and personal, and it’s hard to imagine the administrators at Parsons looking at them, liking them. He wants to feel angry at Blaine for taking them, for exposing a part of Kurt that he likes to keep carefully hidden except for a select few (Mercedes, Rachel, and Blaine himself) but he can’t be. Blaine is trying to help, in his own way.
He thinks about going to school for fashion instead of theatre. He’s considered the idea before, in his freshman and sophomore years. After Glee, he discovered how much he truly loved singing, how much performing meant to him. After the rush of singing on stage, singing for applause, for recognition, fashion seemed like a dull future. It still does, in a way.
Kurt imagines, when he lies awake in bed, seeing his creations brought to life. He remembers how fashion was his armor for so long, how his clothes protected him and comforted him. They still do, to a lesser extent. He’s learned to be more comfortable with himself, with others. But for so long, clothes were all he had. He thinks of the hundreds, the millions of kids across America, across the world, who feel the same. Whose lives are made a little better by wearing clothes that make them look good and feel good about themselves.
Something quiet clicks in his chest as he considers it. Ah, he thinks. And a small voice in the back whispers: maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
In the end, Blaine persuades him to open the envelope. He comes over the day after he revealed it, eyes huge and pleading.
“It’ll get you to New York,” he insists, all earnestness.
Kurt doesn’t have the heart to tell him that New York’s only the half of it--he wants to be at NYADA, with Rachel and Finn, pursuing their dreams of Broadway. He wants the stage, he wants to see Kurt Hummel in big white lights, his face on a poster in Time Square. He wants that so badly he aches.
“You love fashion,” Blaine adds. “And you’re so good at it, Kurt--” He waves a hand helplessly.
“It’s not my dream,” Kurt interrupts, quiet and sure.
It’s not. Clothes are a passion and a hobby, but Kurt has never imagined making them for the rest of his life. He’s never ached to see his creations brought to life the same way he aches for a standing ovation and his own Broadway show.
Blaine sighs, looks disappointed. “You’re a great performer, Kurt,” he says finally, a little sadly. “But you can do so much more than that.”
Something in Kurt breaks. “What if I don’t want to be?” he snaps, hands fisting. Blaine looks taken aback. “What if I just want--”
What if I just want to be a star like Rachel? Why can’t I ever be the star?
“Kurt,” Blaine says, reaching for him. Kurt turns away.
“What if this is just another rejection letter, Blaine?” he asks, voice trembling. “What if I get yet another thing taken from me this year?”
“What if it’s not?” Blaine asks.
Kurt tenses. “I want Broadway,” he says, not caring how childish it sounds. “I want my dreams.”
Blaine comes up behind him, rests his hands on Kurt’s shoulder blades, a light, warm touch meant to comfort.
“You could still go to NYU,” Blaine says. “It’s not ideal, but they have a pretty good music programs there--”
Kurt whirls around and yells, “I want my dreams, Blaine!” His throat clogs up and it’s hard to force the rest out. “Why do I always have to settle? When is it going to be my turn to shine?!”
“Kurt--” Blaine starts, wide-eyed and trying to be soothing.
“It was supposed to be my turn!” Kurt half-screams, too angry and hurt to care anymore. “I’ve lost so much this year--Tony and the election and--I was supposed to finally have my dreams come true, it was supposed to be my turn to shine, finally! And instead I’m just left with more crushed hopes and no future!”
Blaine takes his hands. Kurt wants to fight him off, to throw things, but he looks down and sees Blaine’s soft, sympathetic eyes and the anger drains out of him.
“I wanted it so badly,” he whispers, tears threatening.
Blaine pulls him in for a soft kiss. “I know,” he says against Kurt’s lips. When he pulls away, he bites his lip, then says, “You can make new dreams, you know.”
I don’t want to, Kurt thinks, but draws Blaine in for another kiss instead.
In his dreams, he’s always trying to sing, but he chokes around the words. In the back of the theatre, Rachel and Ms. Tibideaux laugh together.
It’s the morning, bright and early, and Kurt has just woken up. He blames it on sleep when he reaches across and rips the envelope open.
Pages tumble into his lap. There’s a brochure for housing options, information about federal aid, important dates and reminders. And on top, the most important letter of all. Kurt scans it carefully, taking in every precious word:
Dear Mr. Hummel,
Congratulations on your acceptance to Parsons: New York School of Design . . .
It’s a little hard to breathe after that.
His dad’s ecstatic. He keeps babbling about how he knew Kurt’s sketches were something special, he just knew it--
Finn sits at the table with a blank face. He’s not disappointed, but he’s not really happy either. Finn, Kurt thinks, was fine with his rejection as long as it wasn’t his alone. Now that Kurt can go to New York too, it’s harder for him to handle it.
Carole smiles at him softly, understanding shining there. Kurt feels a sudden rush of warmth for her, the mother he never knew that he needed. She’s no longer a replacement, if she ever was.
“I’m going,” Kurt says once his father’s babble dies away. “Move in is in the middle of August, but I need to go in June to meet with my advisor and sign up for classes--” He’s cut off when his dad crushes him in a hug.
Kurt takes a deep breath and hugs back.
When he goes to New York in June, he meets up with Rachel. She’s been staying there with her dads, setting things up with NYADA, seeing the sights. She’s smiling brightly when she waves Kurt over to a table in a coffee shop. It’s easier to meet her eyes without resentment bubbling up now.
“I was so pleased when I heard!” Rachel says. Her eyes are warm and genuine. “It’s not how we planned, but it’s how it’s supposed to be! We’re both in New York, pursuing our dreams!”
Kurt opens his mouth, ready to say, but--
He takes in Rachel’s bright smile, the red in her cheeks. She’s so happy, so genuinely happy. Kurt swallows around the words, refuses to say them.
Rachel chatters away about her dads, about NYADA, about the rest of her stay in New York. Kurt sits there, lets it wash over him, and doesn’t say anything at all.
“Why did you apply for me?” Kurt asks Blaine the day before they’re due to head home for the rest of the summer. He’s met with his advisor, a cheerful plump woman who is completely out of place at a fashion college, and picked his classes, all of which sound ridiculously engaging and interesting. He’s been assigned a dorm, met some classmates, done a tour. Everything is ready for when he comes back in August.
Blaine doesn’t meet his eyes. “You didn’t like any of the other schools you applied to,” he says finally. “You wanted NYADA so badly and I was--well, afraid that you’d--” He shakes his head. “And I’ve seen your sketches. They’re really good, Kurt, and you always brush me off whenever I tell you that.”
Kurt shakes his head. “They’re not that great,” he says skeptically.
Blaine rolls his eyes, places a hand over Kurt’s. It’s amazing, really, to realize that they can do that in public here, that no one will bat an eyelash.
“They’re amazing,” Blaine tells him. “You’re amazing. And if you’d gotten into NYADA, I would never have shown you Parsons.” He hesitates, then adds, forever truthful, “Well, I probably would have.” He shrugs. “Sometimes it pays to have options, Kurt, that’s all. I wanted to make sure you covered all your bases.”
Kurt considers him. He’s dressed in a short sleeved striped polo with khaki cargo shorts that Kurt had tried to discourage him from bringing. His hair is free from the gel, curling wildly at the tips, and love hangs in his eyes, in the curve of his mouth.
Kurt lifts their joined hands, presses a kiss to Blaine’s knuckles. “Thank you,” he says.
Blaine smiles at him, bright and precious. “You’re welcome,” he replies.
Kurt’s first semester at Parsons flies by extraordinarily quick. He meets new people, even makes some friends. It’s nice having friends he can insult outfits with--kind of like having a dozen or so variations of Mercedes with him. He Skypes with Blaine every other night, and Blaine manages to fly out to visit him a couple of weekends a month.
He learns a lot. Too much, actually. Kurt always considered himself an expert on fashion, but he finds that he’s only a rookie. In the first month, he flounders, caught off-guard by so much information being thrust at him at once. Then, slowly, he gains his footing. He talks more in class, gets better grades on his papers and projects. People start to come to him for homework help.
He goes to clubs every once in awhile, coffee shops more often. He sings at open mic nights and gets standing ovations and compliments from tiny wizened old ladies and boys with bars through their noses. He meets with Rachel once in a while, to hear the gossip about NYADA and to help her figure out life without Finn. He talks to Mercedes a bit, Quinn more than he expected. His dad calls every week.
It’s strange. It’s not at all what he imagined all those months ago, when New York had seemed definite instead of a far-off dream. But, he admits it’s beginning to feel a little like home.
A week before classes let out for winter break, he catches sight of a very familiar turban on the streets. He breaks into a run, rushing past people, and gasps aloud when he recognizes Carmen Tibideaux.
“--would be as impressed with what you did with that song as I was--” flashes in his head and before he can stop himself, he’s at her side, touching her shoulder.
She turns, regards him with confusion for a moment before recognition dawns in her eyes.
“Mr . . . Hummel, was it?” she asks. Kurt nods, breathless. “I see you managed to make it to New York after all.”
“I’m attending Parsons,” he says, an edge to his voice.
Ms. Tibideaux smiles. “I’m not surprised. I remember your outfit was as inspired as your audition.”
He stares at her. “I’m sorry if you think I’m rude, Ms. Tibideaux,” he says, stiff and formal. “But I was wondering if you could tell me why NYADA rejected me, since you responded so well to my audition.”
She considers it for a long moment. “Mr. Hummel, we only accept a certain number of applicants at NYADA every year. Most of these are students with exemplary records, glowing letters of reccommendation, and a phenomenal audition.” Kurt’s heart sinks to his toes. “But we also look for students that we know need us to mould them.” She smiles at him. “I could only choose one person from your graduating class, Mr. Hummel. While Ms. Berry’s performance at your Nationals competition made up somewhat for her less than spectacular audition, I still would have chosen you, but for one factor.”
Kurt’s brow wrinkles. “Which was?” he prompts when she doesn’t speak further.
The corners of her eyes wrinkle with amusement. “You don’t need us, Mr. Hummel.”
Kurt gapes at her. “But--” he starts, beyond confused.
“When it comes to performance,” Ms. Tibideaux interrupts, “things like GPA and extracurriculars pale in comparison to your command of the stage, your vocal range, and your sheer charisma. All things which you have in spades, Mr. Hummel. Add to that your clear knowledge of yourself and originality, and I have no doubt that you will go far.”
Kurt feels like crying and he can feel how red his face is. Ms. Tibideaux reaches into her purse and pulls out a business card, handing it to him.
“If you decide you want to try some performing, my number and office are listed there,” she tells him. “I’d be more than happy to help you navigate the perilous waters of show business.” She winks, for good measure. “And good luck at Parsons. You must be extraordinarily good to have been admitted.”
“Not very,” Kurt says before he can stop himself.
Ms. Tibideaux laughs. “You underestimate yourself, Mr. Hummel,” she says. “I do believe I’m talking to a star in the making. Feel free to contact me at any time.” She smiles at him one last time and disappears in the crowd of people.
Kurt stares down at the business card. A star in the making, he thinks, and feels close to crying. It’s all he’s ever wanted to hear, it’s all he wanted anyone to tell him last year when his failures piled up, one after the other. He takes a deep breath and tucks the card into his breast pocket. A star in the making, he thinks again, and smiles.
In his dreams, Kurt raises a hand to the sky. In the audience, people lean on the edge of their seats, eyes arrested. Kurt opens his mouth and the words don’t stop in his throat:
“Everything’s coming up Kurt!
Everything’s coming up Hummel!
Everything’s coming up Kurt!
This time for me!”
He laughs when the audience throws themselves to their feet, applauding wildly.