"Chicks with guitars are totally hot."
The voice comes from behind her, and Santana jumps a little at not having seen any other customers in the store. Her head whips towards the speaker and she's met with a bright smile from a tall blonde girl who's holding a stack of CDs.
She had been part of the crowd of people moving through the streets of SoHo for a majority of the afternoon, her pace matching that of the most meandering of the crowd. She'd been walking without a purpose; or at least not a direct purpose other than that of reminding herself that the walls of her life aren't as suffocating as she so often feels.
There comes a certain peace from stepping out a subway station onto the streets of Manhattan. Of seeing human life and commerce at its busiest and feeling like you as an individual are a part of something bigger.
At least to Santana there is.
Lima and Ohio are far away, and Manhattan offers more doors than a small town ever had or would. Santana needs to remind herself of that often.
She had found herself entering a store that she often frequents on Broome Street. A friendly nod from the shop assistant behind the counter greeted her, and she had allowed her greatest passion in life to again distract her from melancholy as her mind became full of riffs and chords and guitar brands.
Guitars line the walls of the store, and she was gazing at her current dream, a Gibson that called to her to run her fingers along and down its smooth polished wood. Her attention had been captured by her plans to start performing some of the songs from the pages of the endless number of books that she's written, and the number of times Mercedes has told her to just buy the instrument and think of as an investment in her future career.
Until something different called for her attention.
She blinks at the girl in surprise, before quickly looking her up and down. This girl certainly doesn't need a guitar to be considered hot and Santana naturally warms to her, as is usually the case when she meets people who seem like they can match her own high level of confidence.
She quickly adopts her trademark top-bitch smirk. "You know it."
The blonde chuckes at Santana's cockiness before continuing her appraisal of Santana and the Gibson. "Like, guitars make so many weedy guys look a thousand times hotter, like it masks their geekiness. Like Seth Cohen's skinny tie, or that cloak that Harry Potter kid wears all the time? But I think that's only because there are actual hot people who plays guitars and end their hotness ends up associated with guitars. You're totally doing a service for so many guys who would otherwise have no hope of getting a date. And probably some butch girls."
The blonde's smile brightens even more as she finishes her convoluted compliment to Santana. Santana tilts her head and narrows her eyes as she focuses on catching up with the girl's train of thought. Funny Santana decides about Brittany. A genuine throaty chuckle escapes her.
"Well that wasn't my plan, but at least I know I don't have to feel too guilty about not running a charity for the homeless or something, or for telling a busker that my listening to him play is payment enough."
The girl chuckles as well. There's a carefree confidence to her personality, and Santana respects it.
"I'm Brittany."
A hand is offered to Santana, and she takes it.
"Santana."
"Cool," Brittany's excitment seems as genuine as the smile Santana is giving her. "So are you an undiscovered New York artist? Like JLo but not a cliché?"
"Totally," Santana responds. "Except that I totally grew up in the hood." She hears herself proclaim this fact, and then bulges her eyes in realization of how lame that sounds now, five years after school has finished.
A smile and a head tilted in confusion meets her reference. It's cute.
"Well, not really the hood. At all. As close as Lima Ohio comes to having one though... I used to threaten to go 'all Lima Heights' on people." She rolls her eyes at herself. "So yeah, I'm a complete cliché."
In more ways than one Santana thinks.
"I've seen you before." Brittany states in excitement, like it was inevitable that she would have a previous connection with Santana. "You perform at a bar in Brooklyn? Oh wow, I'm totally being a stalker right now huh?"
Santana grins. She's flattered to have made a lasting impression on this bubbly girl. "Or a groupie?"
"Nah, totally a stalker, but don't tell that guy over there." Santana glances over to where an elderly man wearing a velvet jacket and a plaid hat has entered the store to rifle through some vintage records.
"I'm convinced he is the former lead singer of the Ramones. I've been tracking his movements for weeks." Brittany deadpans.
The old man looks across at their staring and quickly shuffles away out of their line of sight.
"You know," Brittany continues seamlessly, "I've totally been living in New York for 6 months and I haven't met anyone that's really cool. Which is weird, because I go to a dancing school and I thought having rhythm and being flexible meant that the people there would have to be cool, by law."
Santana nods. That sounds plausible.
"But you're totally cool. And listen, I have to go before Johnny Ramone over there catches onto me, but maybe I can come watch your next gig? So can I help you come up with some different badass catchphrases that make you a bit more hood?"
For the first time Brittany seems shy and she awaits Santana's replies with vulnerability. Santana thinks its endearing, and nods slowly, "Its tomorrow night."
"Cool."
She doesn't realize that she is just staring at blonde hair with a curious smile, having said nothing further in response. The silence lasts until the other girl's expression becomes semi-serious.
"Oh, wow, have I totally just made you fall in love with me?"
Huh? For the second time since meeting Brittany, Santana is taken completely off guard, and her dreamy expression falters.
Another toothy grin is aimed at her. "Coz that would be totally awesome."
And then Brittany is walking away and turning her head to give Santana a last flirty smile before exiting the cafe. "See you tomorrow night JLo."
Santana's not sure how long she stands in the same spot, Brittany's last words and parting glance running through her mind.
"Hey Santana. Why don't you just come out the closet?"
Santana shuts her eyes at the memory of the incident in her school hallway and the subsequent humiliation that transpired with her being 'outed' to her hometown on an amateur advertisement that was funded by the local pizza shop.
She had denied it, and wonders about her decision ever since.
The subway rocks and jostles and the people standing sway with the movement. Like they are part of it; part of something that they trust to carry them safely towards their destinations.