Lauren adjusts the camera on the tripod and gives Artie a thumbs up.
“Okay, Kurt. We’re ready to go now. How would you say this school board meeting went, compared to last month’s meeting?” Artie asks.
Kurt does that head wobbling thing of his before speaking. “Obviously, I’m disappointed that the school board didn’t pass the proposal this month, but I’m also encouraged that the opposition wasn’t strong enough to force defeat of the proposal immediately. Tina did an excellent job again in terms of selecting speakers. We had a lot of visible support and no cause to be vilified by the media.”
“How do you feel about the media response to the meeting this time?”
“It’s gratifying to have supportive journalists, of course, so having non-mainstream media represented was huge, even if those stories haven’t yet been published. There was one story—ABC, I believe—that definitely attempted to cast our proposal and actions in a negative light, but the other coverage was either even-handed or overtly positive.” Kurt looks thoughtful for a moment. “Of course, along with increased media coverage comes increased scrutiny and—” He pauses. “No one’s going to see this for a month or two, right?”
“Right, at least a month, possibly longer,” Artie says. “We’re not even getting into the edits until after the final decision.”
Kurt nods. “Right. Along with the increased media coverage comes increased scrutiny and, frankly, increased risk. I don’t doubt that there are individuals who will view the next month as a sort of ‘last stand’ or ‘last opportunity’.”
“Are you concerned for your safety or the safety of other students at this school?”
“Candidly, yes, I’m concerned. As long as any incidents are crafted to appear strictly about LGBTQI issues, there isn’t much that can be done, no matter how much a teacher or the administration might want to do something. I don’t think it’s just the LGBTQI students, either; any of us that attend PFLAG are at risk.”
Artie nods at Kurt, looking down at his list of questions again before deciding on the appropriate follow up. “How bad do you anticipate things getting in the next month?”
Kurt looks off to the side before responding. “There are several factors at work. How much interest does the media continue to take? Further stories will keep it in the forefront of everyone’s mind. How good or bad McKinley’s sports and other teams do.” Kurt pauses and smiles wryly. “The response that some students have to this is going to be ‘retreat further into the closet’ and others are going to want to come out in response. How many decide on the latter option will affect the climate at school as well.” He exhales. “We could get through it smoothly. Or we could have a perfect storm.”
“Miles. What have you done to your car?” Alicia demands.
Miles takes in the crêpe–papered monstrosity in front of him. “Oh, what the actual hell is this?”
“I think it looks real nice, Brown,” Rick says. “Not so sure about your color choice, but I dunno, you know more about that sort of stuff than me.”
“Oh. Ohhh. I am going to kill somebody. Foots, Alicia, neither of you two had anything to do with this nonsense, did you?” Miles glares at Rick, because there’s no point in even trying to glare at Alicia, because she really doesn’t care like she ought to.
“Isn’t that your crêpe paper box, Miles?” Alicia says sweetly, pointing to the box sitting behind Miles’ car. “I remember that particularly lurid shade of green, too.”
“Now, why on earth would I crêpe paper my own car?” Miles asks. “I swear, the two of you just lower the collective IQ of the parking lot. Mostly you, Foots.” He shakes his head and exhales hard through his nose. “I left this box out in the stadium for decorating the field.”
“Nobody decorated the field with anything except that huge rainbow flag. I wonder where they got that?” Alicia shrugs. “I guess they didn’t want your crêpe paper.”
“Then how on earth did it get all over my car? This is some kind of conspiracy, some kind of big queer conspiracy,” Miles says. “Brass is involved in this somehow, I just know it.”
“Uh, who’s Brass?” Rick asks.
“You know, Big Brass Balls Hummel,” Miles answers. “Him and his doofy brother and Puckerman, probably. I’d bet you anything that’s who was behind this. They were the ones down at the stadium with the box.”
“I really can’t picture Kurt Hummel crêpe–papering a car,” Alicia says doubtfully. “Even if a couple of his friends tried to convince him.”
“Convince him? Alicia, that just shows how much you don’t know about Kurt Hummel,” Miles says, shaking his head at the poor, naive girl. “I’m telling you, Kurt Hummel doesn’t get convinced. He just tells those big ol’ boys what to do and they do it.”
Miles ignores the incredulous looks on Alicia and Rick’s faces and starts tearing the crêpe paper off his car, starting with the stupid big bow at the back. Worst bow–tying job he’s ever seen, so obviously it wasn’t Kurt who did that. Probably Hudson. When he gets back around to the driver’s side, he sees the note taped to the window and unfolds it.
“Yeah, you wanna tell me it wasn’t Brass and his boys?” Miles says, holding the note up in front of Alicia’s face.
“‘Snap, Crackle, and Pop’?” Alicia reads. “What does that even mean, Miles?”
“Well, it means them, obviously,” Miles snorts. “There’s three of them. I swear, Alicia, don’t you even pay attention. Crêpe paper vandalism, this is. Bunch of hoodlums.”
“It’s a real sweet note, Miles,” Alicia says. “They even left you some hugs n’ kisses!”
“I don’t think any of them like you enough to leave you a note like that, Brown,” Rick says. “Maybe it was some of the Cheerios. You make any of them mad at you lately?”
“No, they aren’t allowed near Miles anymore.” Alicia shakes her head. “Besides. They would have had me help.”
“I know exactly who it was did this to my car,” Miles says. “I know it. Got my eye on the two of you, though, and if I find out either of you had anything to do with this, I’m telling Ma.”
“Oooh, I’m scared,” Alicia scoffs. “You always were a tattle-tale, Miles.”