Preschool
Out of the corner of her eye, Santana could see kids playing on seesaws and swings outside. Which was what kids should be doing—it was preschool for Christ's sake! But it was the Harvard of preschool's (according to Quinn) and they not only had a playground, but classrooms, a culinary science lab ("For fuck's sake, they're three years old!"), a pet park, and a showcase room where they held school plays.
That's what she got for letting Quinn pick out schools to research.
So now, she was sitting in one of the classrooms with her wife and son, waiting for the committee to come back and announce whether or not Arturo was good enough for their school. The whole process made her ill.
"Momma! Mami! Play!" he squealed, pointing to the blocks.
"What do you want to build, little man?" Santana asked, sitting down with him and Quinn.
"Castle!"
They played for a while, not noticing the time tick by. Finally, Santana looked at her watch.
"It's been half an hour. What's going on do you think?"
"Don't know," Quinn said.
At that moment, there was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, the principal, walked in. "Sorry to keep you waiting, but the castle's construction was a riveting process." She flicked a light switch next to the door, and the room next to them was illuminated. Apparently, the committee had been watching through a two-way mirror. "You'll understand of course. Parents come in with wonderful resumes, but in the end, this gives us a picture of who the children, and the parents, really are. We would love to have Arturo join us in the fall."
Santana looked over at Quinn, who was beaming. "What do you think, Little A? You excited for school?"
"Flying cow!" he said, playing with the farm animals now.
"I think we can take that as a yes," Quinn said.