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Chevy almost didn’t scroll down far enough to see the listing. Even after seeing it, he wasn’t all that interested until noticing the professor’s name: Hummel. There are plenty of Hummels in the world, definitely, but there aren’t a lot of Hummels who would be teaching a class in the theater department, so Chevy looks a little closer.
Sure enough, there’s a brand-new biography on the theater department page for one ‘Kurt E. Hummel’, and Chevy knows enough stories about his estranged uncle to know the ‘E.’ is the continuation of an affectation that began in high school. The course Chevy spotted is a History of American Musical Theatre, and it counts towards one of his general education requirements, meeting at a good time twice a week, and it’s an easy decision for Chevy to register for it as one of his classes for fall semester sophomore year at Kent State.
Chevy forgets about the class and the professor for the rest of spring semester, but two days after the semester ends, he remembers as he walks into the kitchen for Monday morning breakfast with all four of them.
“Oh hey, guess who one of my professors in the fall is?” Chevy asks. Everyone shrugs, and Chevy sighs. “C’mon, you know him.” After getting three blank looks, Chevy sighs and sits down, putting three waffles on his plate. “Kurt E. Hummel.”
“Wait, like Dad’s ex-brother?” Marqui asks. Dad and Pop exchange a glance, and Pop turns back to the waffle iron after nodding a little.
“So he’s still doing the ‘E’?” Pop asks.
“Even on the official biography, yeah,” Chevy confirms.
“Wow. You’re going to take Kurt’s class, huh?” Dad says.
“It’s ‘History of American Musical Theatre’,” Chevy says. “Not a big class. It’ll be fun.”
“You know you can take a different class if you need to,” Dad says, “and if he does anything at all that seems like he’s biased against you, you can report him.”
“I’ll wait until the drop/add period’s almost over and decide. Anyway, would he even recognize my last name or know who I am?” Chevy asks.
“Why don’t I ever get to take classes with potential drama?” Marqui complains. “All I get to take are nursing classes.”
“Because you’re enrolled in a nursing program,” Dad points out.
“Still, at least one of them could be nursing with drama,” Marqui says, sighing as she picks up her empty breakfast plate and puts it in the sink. “Speaking of, I’ve got class in forty-five minutes, and you know how parking gets.”
“Adolescent nursing, there’s your drama,” Pop says. “Please do not come home with any bloody stories.”
“What about foreign object stories?” Marqui asks.
“Ears and noses yes, butts no,” Dad says.
“You can tell me the butt stories,” Chevy says as he grabs another waffle.
“Pfft. Like I’d tell you the good ones,” Marqui says. She kisses Dad on the cheek, then Pop. “See you tonight.”
“Bye,” Pop says, then turns around from the waffle maker. “Your dad’s right, you don’t have to take a class with Kurt to prove a point or anything.”
“I just think it’ll be funny!”
“It’s only funny if you pass,” Dad says.
“I probably already know the class. Aunt Rachel taught me all about musicals, remember?”
“Right, but Aunt Rachel can’t help you if Kurt decides to be vindictive to you,” Dad says. “I’m just saying that if he does anything unprofessional, you tell someone.”
“I know, I know,” Chevy says. “I promise. Okay?”
“I’m allowed to worry. I’m your dad.”
“I’m nineteen! I can handle my would-have-been-uncle.”
Pop shakes his head. “Eat your waffles.”
Chevy forgets about Professor Kurt E. Hummel until the second day of fall semester, when he has to be in a classroom at the Center for Performing Arts by 9:30 am. The class is, in fact, relatively small, and Chevy sets himself up in the second row, just right of center, next to a beautiful girl with really pretty teeth, who introduces herself as Rebecca. At 9:30 am exactly, the door opens again, and Chevy straightens. He’s seen pictures of Kurt, of course, but within three years of Dad and Pop getting together, Gram and Burt were divorced, and while no one’s ever said to Chevy outright that it was because of Kurt and his refusal to speak to Finn, Chevy figures that had a lot to do with it. That means the pictures of Kurt that Chevy’s seen are all older than him, so he isn’t really expecting the man that walks in the door.
Kurt has a receding hairline, and the rest of his hair is short, possibly, Chevy thinks, to conceal that it’s thinning. He’s just as pointy as the pictures that Chevy’s seen, only with more wrinkles, and his clothes are weird, which Chevy expected. It’s not that he looks overdressed, even for a professor, though he does, but the way they’re cut and the colors all seem odd and possibly for someone younger than Kurt.
He puts his leather bag down and opens it, then looks up at the class, and Chevy suppresses a smile. He’s actually looking forward to seeing what Kurt says.
“I’m passing around your syllabus for the semester,” Kurt announces to the class. “I expect you to keep track of this, as I will not be providing a replacement, and it contains due dates for all of your assignments for this class. While the syllabus is going around, I will call roll. I expect all of you to be present for every class.”
Chevy does not roll his eyes, and Kurt does start calling roll. When Kurt gets to “Hudman, Chevy,” he doesn’t show any sign of recognition, and Chevy shakes his head.
“It’s Chevy,” he says. “Like the truck.”
“Ah,” Kurt says dismissively, making a quick mark on the clipboard in his hand and then continuing with roll call. Chevy wonders how many classes it’ll take before Kurt gets it right, if he does. The rest of the class is going over the syllabus, assigning their reading and listening for the next class, and Kurt informing all of them that his favorite musical of all time is Wicked, which Chevy would have guessed.
Rebecca leans over and whispers, “Do you know him?”
“He was almost my uncle,” Chevy explains. “My Gram and his dad were married for about six or seven years, but he got really mad when my dad and my pop got together.”
“Wow! Your family is really interesting!” Rebecca says.
Chevy grins. “Nah, Dad and Pop are super-boring now, but this is going to be fun.”
It isn’t until three weeks into the semester, when Kurt is lecturing on “How Writers Found Their Stories,” that Chevy realizes he has a perfect opportunity to needle Kurt a little. Kurt begins talking about real-life people and events inspiring writers, and Chevy carefully raises his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Hudman?” Kurt says.
“Would an example of a real person inspiring a musical be someone like Pippa Middleton?” Chevy asks.
Kurt looks momentarily startled, then pleased. “Yes, many writers are inspired by public figures.”
“Did a Pippa Middleton musical ever make it to Broadway?” Chevy asks as innocently as he can.
“Unfortunately, no,” Kurt says, now looking slightly annoyed, his lips pursed and brow furrowed in a way that makes his face look slightly weasely.
“That’s too bad,” Chevy says softly to Rebecca, who covers her mouth to hide a giggle. Chevy turns back to his notes and remains quiet for the rest of class.
After dinner that night, though, Chevy decides he needs more information out of Dad and Pop, so he can bring it up as innocently and casually as possible. “I asked Almost-Uncle Kurt about Pippa Middleton today,” he informs them.
“Who’s Pippa Middleton?” Dad asks. “Oh, wait, she’s that one with the hat who Kurt wrote the musical about.”
“Yeah, Gram told me all about that, so I mentioned it in class. He got a little annoyed,” Chevy says proudly. “I need something else, you know?”
“Something else to bring up in class?” Pop says, looking over at Dad. “West Side Story?”
“Ohhh, yeah. Try to say something about, what was it, masculinity in casting?” Dad suggests.
Pop laughs. “Yeah, because Blaine ended up being so masculine, right?”
“Just don’t go too far,” Dad says. “You have to pass the class.”
“Hey, the professor’s the one that’s supposed to be impartial, right?” Chevy says. “It’s not my fault my professor’s sensitive about the subject matter he teaches!”
“Just watch the attitude, Chevy. Being rude to your professor gives him an excuse to be partial,” Dad says.
“Would I have an attitude?”
“Yes,” Pop says, half-grinning at him. “We know you. We raised you. You definitely would.”
“You’re almost as bad as your Pop,” Dad says.
“Hey! I’m a lot worse,” Pop says, looking injured.
“Okay, okay, you could one day aspire to be as bad as your Pop,” Dad corrects. “Better?”
“Much,” Pop says, and he walks over to Dad and starts kissing him.
“That’s my cue to start studying for the night,” Chevy says, even though neither of them seems to notice he’s saying anything at all.
The next opportunity to say anything is another two weeks later, when Kurt is lecturing on casting choices and the difference between originating roles and replacement casting. Chevy waits until a relatively natural lull in the lecture and raises his hand. He can see the look of mild annoyance crossing Kurt’s face before he gives a resigned handwave in Chevy’s direction.
“Yes, Mr. Hudman?”
“Can you explain to us a little bit about how gender norms play a role in casting decisions? For instance, some parts in some classic musical, like Tevye in Fiddler, clearly require someone more masculine than, say… Tony in West Side Story?”
Kurt’s eyes narrow as he replies, “I’ve always felt casting should be primarily based on the depth and range of the performers, rather than on certain interpretations of gender norms.”
“Is that standard casting guidelines in the industry?” Chevy asks. Next to him, Rebecca smothers a laugh.
“Casting calls typically include some parameters for size, appearance, and presence of the actors,” Kurt says, eyes narrowing even more. He looks like he might enjoy hurling something in Chevy’s direction.
“Thank you for that information, Professor,” Chevy says. Kurt responds with an insincere, tight-lipped smile before continuing with his lecture.
Chevy decides not to mention the details of that interaction to Dad, because if he does, probably Dad won’t tell him any more stories. Because of that, and because of Kurt’s reactions, Chevy waits until after midterms to mention it again at home, waiting until they’re all talking about the week ahead one Sunday night.
“I did fine on my midterm in Kurt’s class last week,” Chevy says, “so can’t you tell me some other story?”
“Well,” Dad says, looking at Pop, “I guess I could tell you about Kurt’s original NYADA audition and how that turned out.”
Pop nods. “Oh, yeah. You’ve heard about Aunt Rachel’s, but not Kurt’s.” He and Dad take about ten minutes to tell the story of Kurt’s audition, initial rejection, moving to New York, and ultimately re-auditioning.
“That school sounds weird,” Chevy says. “They let him randomly sing as an audition?”
“It worked out for him, I suppose, but I think he would have been better off applying to more places,” Dad says.
“Places that are still open now, you mean?” Pop says. “NYADA had to close up shop in… was it 2021? 2022?”
“2021, I think,” Dad says, “and yeah, probably doesn’t help him out too much, having that school on his resume.”
“Why didn’t he go somewhere else? Kent State’s had people get parts on Broadway right after graduating, even, and we’re in Ohio!” Chevy says. “It would have had to be cheaper, right?”
“I’m going to let you attempt to explain that one,” Pop says, looking at Dad. “You only pulled me through undergrad kicking and screaming as it was.”
“He, Aunt Rachel, and his boyfriend at the time, Blaine—I don’t actually know if they’re still together or not—all got caught up in this whole NYADA thing. It was very competitive, and somehow they built it up in their heads as the only acceptable option,” Dad says.
“Wait, is that why you made Marqui and then me apply to like ten different colleges?” Chevy asks.
“That’s definitely one reason,” Dad says. “The other reason is that we wanted you to know you could go wherever you wanted with our blessings, and didn’t have to fixate on any particular city or state.”
“Wait, was it expensive, too? NYADA, I mean?”
“Oh yeah. Really expensive,” Dad says.
Chevy grins. “Awesome. You’re the best.”
“Don’t fail the class, Chevy!” Dad says.
“I promise. I won’t.”
Chevy bides his time through the rest of the semester. The week after Thanksgiving, though, Kurt’s scheduled lecture topic—Training for the Stage Through the Years—is a perfect fit. Chevy doesn’t raise his hand during the lecture, but when Kurt asks the class if there are any questions, Chevy’s hand is the first one up. “Professor?”
Kurt audibly sighs. “Yes, Mr. Hudman?”
“Does location really matter so much as you’ve said, that a student should ignore the quality and affordability of programs? Carnegie Mellon and Elon, for example, are highly regarded, and nowhere near New York City. Other schools, however, aren’t as well-regarded, even if they’re located in Manhattan.” Chevy tries hard not to beam, but he knows he’s smiling. Rebecca, who now seems to be almost as invested in Chevy and Kurt’s battles of wills as Chevy is, doesn’t even bother to disguise her giggle this time.
Kurt’s face turns beet red, and as he speaks, he’s clearly resisting the urge to yell or curse. “Location is certainly important if a student plans to audition during or following their time in a theatre program.”
“Students can’t move immediately following graduation?” Chevy asks. “I mean, surely if a school has to close less than ten years later, that’s not an advantage. Is it?”
“I’m not a professor of economics, so I can’t speak to why a school might close, nor do I think that’s particularly relevant to this discussion, Mr. Hudman.”
“I’m thinking about being an education major,” Chevy says as blandly as he can. “I might have interested students.”
“Then perhaps you should discuss this with your advisor, instead,” Kurt says.
Chevy looks over at Rebecca and nods a little, and he carefully doesn’t smile as she puts her hand up, waiting for Kurt to recognize her.
“Yes, Miss Keller?” Kurt asks.
“Where did you go to school, Professor?” Rebecca asks.
“I attended the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts,” Kurt says haughtily.
Chevy feels very torn, because he knows what Dad and Pop would tell him to do—let it slide—but he also wants to call Kurt out. The moment passes, though, and since their final is multiple choice, he decides to figure out a question for the very last class.
That night at dinner, he uses every trick of being the youngest as he looks at Dad and Pop. “I need a McKinley High School story,” he says. “About Kurt.”
“There were a lot of feather boas?” Pop suggests.
“Oh God,” Dad says. “Gaga!”
“Gaga like that singer?” Marqui asks. “Did she go to highschool with you and Pop?”
“No, no, she’s older than us,” Dad says, “but we did an assignment about her music in glee club. Kurt had this silver get-up, huge heels, and a poofy wig. I’m pretty sure I’ve got some pictures somewhere.”
“And you had on a red shower curtain for part of that week,” Pop says. “I know I have a picture of that.”
“And you in that Kiss makeup!” Dad says.
“I can’t believe I have to claim the two of you as my fathers,” Marqui says, shaking her head in dismay.
“Your dad looked awesome in his Kiss get-up,” Pop says. “Just not the shower curtain dress.”
“So Lady Gaga and big heels?” Chevy asks.
“I’ll go find those pictures,” Dad says.
“Can I take one in and show the class?”
“We can discuss it.”
“Can I take one in to show my class?” Marqui asks.
“Yes,” Pop mouths as Dad stands up to go find the pictures, nodding at both of them.
Chevy walks into the last class meeting of the semester with two photographs of a much younger Kurt E. Hummel in full Lady Gaga garb, and he passes one copy to Rebecca. “In case he tries to take one away from me,” he tells her.
Rebecca looks down at the picture. “This is the professor?”
Chevy laughs. “I know. It’s really him!”
“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen, ever,” Rebecca says.
“I can’t wait to see his face when he sees it,” Chevy says.
Kurt enters the room with his usual gusto, holding a stack of papers aloft. “I have in my hands your final exams, which I will distribute momentarily. Does anyone have any questions before we proceed?”
Chevy raises his arm, waiting expectantly, his other hand holding the picture against his chest.
If a man could be said to look both furious and utterly defeated all in one put-upon facial expression, that man would be Kurt Hummel. He sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes as his arms drops. “Yes, Mr. Hudman? Did you have a question pertaining to your final exam?”
“I wanted to ask you about costuming,” Chevy says brightly. “Particularly costuming like Lady Gaga.” He turns the photograph around and holds it up, ostensibly so Kurt can see it, but really for the rest of the class. “How hard is it to find heels like that?”
Kurt looks, for just a moment, like he’s going to have a heart attack right there in front of his lecture podium. His face turns red, and if were a cartoon character, steam would probably be pouring from his ears while a train whistle sounds.
“Where did you get that?” Kurt demands.
“I think it was in the guest room,” Chevy says. “It could have been in the storage closet, though.”
“How did you get that?”
“Like I said, we had it at home,” Chevy says.
“And who, precisely, is we?” Kurt asks, sounding more and more like a Disney villain.
“My sister and my dad and my pop,” Chevy says. “We live in Akron.”
Kurt’s eyes narrow so much he’s practically squinting menacingly at Chevy. “And who are your dad and your pop?”
“The Hudmans,” Chevy says as patronizingly as he dares. “I have the same last name.”
“The Hudmans?” Kurt repeats, glaring at Chevy. “Hudmans. I don’t know any Hudmans. I’ve never met a— wait. Hud-man. ‘Hud’ plus ‘man’. Hudson plus Puckerman.”
“Lots of couples like to create their own last name,” Chevy says.
“Professor Hummel?” Rebecca says. “Can we get our finals? We only have an hour.”
“And you’ve known who I was the entire time,” Kurt says flatly. “And you’ve been subtly tormenting me this entire time.”
“But Professor Hummel, he’s always been really engaged in class. He asks more questions than anybody,” Rebecca says.
“You’re my almost-uncle,” Chevy says. “Of course I wanted to know more about you.”
Kurt grits his teeth together so hard that Chevy is surprised they don’t crack, before growling, “I’m going to—”
“But Professor Hummel, you wouldn’t punish one of your students because of who he’s related to, would you?” Rebecca asks, turning barely towards Chevy and winking. “That would be unfair. I’m sure the students would file complaints about that.”
“But he intentionally deceived me!” Kurt says. “He intentionally—”
“I’m a student who took your class. It’s not my fault you cut off contact with my dad before I was born,” Chevy says.
“Professor Hummel, you’d better give us our finals before we do have to file a complaint!” Rebecca says.
Kurt lets out a furious-but-defeated howl of rage before thrusting the stack of papers towards the nearest student, who calmly takes them and begins passing them down the row. Kurt storms up to his podium and stands behind it, glaring at Chevy the entire time.
Chevy puts the picture down on his desk, face-up, and works on his final until he finishes. Still, he waits until about three-quarters of the class has finished before standing up to take his exam to Kurt. “Thank you, professor.”
Rebecca, who followed Chevy to Kurt’s podium, hands him her exam, too. “I hope these all get graded fairly, professor.”
“Yes, of course,” Kurt says grudgingly. “Now get out of my classroom.”
“Did you want me to tell Dad or Pop hi for you?” Chevy asks. “I can!”
“Out!” Kurt says, pointing to the door.
Chevy looks at Rebecca and shrugs as they leave. “I guess that’s a no.”
Rebecca reaches for Chevy’s arm and slips her arm through it. “Buy me a cup of coffee at the student center?”
“I’ll even buy you holiday coffee.”
“Ooh! Even better!”