Santana Lopez leaned against the ice chest outside the Lima Heights Adjacent Stop n' Go, one hand jammed into the pocket of her baggy black stone-washed jeans, the other clutching a lime-green slushie. She sipped on the straw delicately, sucking up the cold ice and swallowing it before straightening up and setting her drink down on the cooler. She tugged down on her half-zipped blood-red hoodie, its embroidered South Pole logo displayed boldly across her chest and broken in half by the appearance of the tight white t-shirt she was wearing underneath.

She rolled her shoulders, readjusted the sideways baseball cap perched atop her mane of silky black hair, and turned to her companion.

"Q. Gimme a beat."

Quinn Fabray, sitting on the cement sidewalk against the building, looked up at her best friend. The blond-haired, hazel-eyed girl looked like she should be swathed in soft pastel-colored dresses, not the ensemble she was currently wearing – naturally distressed straight-leg jeans ending in well-worn Doc Marten boots and a black tee peeking out from underneath a plaid flannel shirt that was rolled up to her elbows. A beaten-in black leather jacket lay next to her on the ground, close to an array of tall plastic buckets. One sported a stolen hi-hat cymbal on top.

Quinn blew an unruly lock of wavy golden hair away from her face and took a sip of her own blue-raspberry slushie before replying.

"Box or drums?"

"Box. Something solid."

Quinn nodded and got to her feet. Her right hand traveled to her back pocket where a pair of smooth, well-used drumsticks resided; she stroked the smooth wood for a second before tucking them deeper down. Quinn put her hands up to her face and sucked in a breath before starting to lay down a beat for Santana.

Santana planted her prized Nike hi-tops on the cement and pushed her sleeves back before beginning to rap.

"Hola Adjacent, it's your girl, S'Lopez hailin' from the Meadows,

here ta blow your Nikes off with big echoes,

To say that this was Santana and Quinn's designated spot would be an understatement. The two of them were there every afternoon after school during the week, and oftentimes on the weekends when they weren't at the mall. The run-down convenience store was located right in front of Sunset Meadows, the mobile home park where Santana and Quinn had both lived for their entire 16 years of life.

It was a decent enough hang-out, really; the store was owned by a middle-aged guy with a beer belly named Will who almost exclusively played Journey during store hours. Santana and Quinn, being on a first name basis with him, oftentimes got their two-plus a day 44oz slushies from him for free.

"Watch yo' self, Lima,

coz I've got tha skillz,

they say I'm as good as the brothas,"

It had been their spot for years; Santana's older brother, Mario, had even nicknamed the two of them Jay and Silent Bob because of it. This once resulted in Santana getting her mouth washed out with soap by her mother, as she had started rapping the lyrics to Jay's "Fuck" song from Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back while her eagle-eared mother was unknowingly in the vicinity. Even now, though, she knew it by heart and could bust it out if she was called by said nickname.

"I can kick yo' ass both in lovers,

dommin' that pussy like a bully,

and with the rhymes – I'll beat you down a billion times"

Hanging out at the Stop n' Go was better than staying inside of the enormous trailer park. It was also slightly safer; Sunset Meadows was unfortunately home to some small-town gang activity, something which Santana was familiar with. Mario had been a part of the Sols Locos – made almost exclusively of Sunset Meadows' residents – for a year before he joined the army after a particularly gruesome fight against Lima Industrial's gang – the Street Ministry. Santana was constantly pressured to take up with Sols Locos, but her mother would throw a fit and Quinn would probably kill her. Quinn was a lot of things, but she was not apathetic towards the people that she loved when they did stupid-ass things.

"Got my girl Q at my side,

a flannel-wearing lezzie that takes it all in stride,"

A smile twitched at the blonde's lips at her friend's lyrics, but she kept up the beat, her mouth twisting out the intricate shapes of the sounds.

Santana and Quinn's earliest memories of being together started around three or four years, but the two had been around each other practically from birth. They were like chocolate and peanut butter – great on their own, but unstoppable and inseparable when together. To say they were close was an understatement. When Max Addison stole Quinn's pudding cup in third grade and she had cried because her mother rarely ever had the money to buy them, Santana beat him up until he gave it back. And when Santana would get detention (which happened about every other week), Quinn would faithfully wait for her for the whole two hours, often having to hide in a cramped janitor's closet as students weren't allowed to hang around the school after-hours.

They were the best of friends, but they had never been involved romantically; and although both of them were interested in women, the thought of dating each other never crossed their minds. They were too close, too much like sisters.

"her boxin' is sweet and her street drummin'

pretty much has me comin',

her beats will make yo' heart race

like a nig away from the popos on a chase,"

Santana had taken to rapping like a moth to light after she had heard enough of it. She loved the thrill of the words coming out of nowhere, just relying on her emotions to spin the rhymes. Her mother wasn't the most supportive of her hobby, but it mostly meant that Santana stayed out of trouble, so she didn't say much of anything these days. And, while her forte was rapping, her regular singing voice was excellent, which only a select few people were privy to hear, Quinn being one of them.

Quinn had her best friend matched in musical ability. She had a natural talent for beatboxing, but nothing gave her more pleasure than banging on things and producing a beat. She had been saving up her allowance for a drum set since she was thirteen, but it was slow going. The blond was a girl of few words, but when provoked – most often when defending Santana from the Lima Industrial kids that went to school with them – she could cut someone down with both rhetoric as well as her fists. Quinn, however, preferred to make a statement with her musical ability, and she could – moreso than she ever would be able to with words.

"so, Adjacent, show me whatcha got,

but don't mess with S'Lopez,

coz I will fuck wich ya like the mafia

yeah, like the motherfuckin' mafia of this mess"

Quinn pulled her hands away from her mouth and pursed her lips. "Little weak on the ending."

Santana waved a hand. "Eh, whatever Q. You know I've been feelin' uninspired lately. I liked it."

"Me too." Both Santana's and Quinn's heads swiveled simultaneously towards the new voice. A tall, leggy blond stood next to a short brunette whose face bore an irritated expression. A flashy red sports car was parked in front of the store; the two wannabe musicians had been too caught up in their impromptu music-making to notice the girls' arrival.

"Brit, come on, I really don't think we should be conversing with these types of people. Let's go inside this sorry excuse of a store and inquire-"

"You're really good." The tall blonde, Brittany, stepped forward, her pale blue eyes on Santana. She bounced on the balls of her feet, Quinn's beat still pounding in her head. Santana grinned in response, showing white teeth.

"Yeah?"

"Totally." Brittany returned the smile, her entire face lighting up. Santana inhaled sharply, her stomach flipping. Her dark eyes made the quick journey up and down the blonde's toned body; she wore flashy hi-tops, baggy sweatpants, and a tank top covered by a loose sweater-wrap – every garment colorful and clinging to her in all the right places. Santana faltered for a second, losing her usual train of "be chill, yo"-esque thought – she'd never seen a girl like this before.

Quinn cleared her throat, the sound snapping Santana out of her daze. She smirked, looking to her left at her best friend. Pretty much knowing what Santana was thinking, Quinn's mouth twitched up at the corners, surreptitiously mimicking Santana's smirk. Santana settled her gaze on Brittany again.

"I can't help noticing that you seem a little… outta place, Brit, right? S'short for Brittany, yeah?"

Brittany nodded vigorously, biting her lip in such a way that made Santana's mouth go dry. "Yeah, we're l-"

"We're perfectly fine, thank you very much, nosy androgynous street-hoodlum," the brunette interrupted, her dark brown eyes narrowed at Santana. She folded her arms across her chest, setting her jaw.

Quinn's mouth rounded into an 'o'. She took a step forward, ready to stop Santana from potentially causing the girl to shell out thousands of dollars on facial reconstruction surgery.

Santana stared at the petite brunette, shoulders tensed and eyes dangerous. She considered her options – most of them ended in the wee, irritating girl bloodied and broken on the ground.

Brittany scrunched her nose and frowned deeply, looking at her friend with disapproval. "That's not very nice, Rachel. I think she's just trying to help." She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. "Also what's androgynous? Is that from those Star Wars movies you finally made me watch last week? 'Cause she doesn't look like an alien or a robot." The blonde peered at Santana, tilting her head to the side, possibly trying to determine whether or not she was human.

Rachel blushed. Santana stared. Quinn blinked, her eyes on the small brunette.

As well as being a badass yet soft-spoken lesbian street drummer and beatboxer, Quinn Fabray was a closet nerd. In her room, among her posters of The Beatles, the Rolling Stones, The Who, and more recent indie bands, were more posters, magazine tear-outs, and pictures of Star Wars, Star Trek, Buffy the Vampire Slayer – whatever she could get her hands on that fulfilled her inner nerd. There was not an inch of bare wall in Quinn's room; and, while most of her allowance went towards a drum kit, she was an avid gamer, with drumsticks tucked in one pocket and a Nintendo D.S. in the other.

The blonde took a closer look at Rachel; she looked incredibly out of place beside the Stop 'n' Go. Her expensive-looking yellow cardigan portrayed a good amount of modesty, yet the gray argyle skirt she was wearing showed a decent amount of thigh. Quinn swallowed and forced her eyes up to the brunette's face – unfailing to notice the extreme shininess of her straight hair, as well as her warm, chocolate-colored eyes. Quinn shifted uncomfortably, her palms suddenly sweaty.

"No, Brittany, it is not, and I only made you watch them to further your education of and exposure to John Williams' musical genius which is unmatched by almost all of today's film score composers who simply cannot-"

"But didn't you say that you liked the characters, too? Leia, right, and that bear that growls a bunch?"

"Brittany! He does not growl! He is a Wookie and they-"

The silent laughter that had been shaking Santana's torso for the better part of the exchange burst loose. Rachel stopped mid-sentence and glared daggers at the girl, her cheeks bright red and radiating warmth. Quinn smiled gently at the irritable brunette, her own cheeks growing warm at the thought of the pint-sized firecracker being well-versed in Star Wars knowledge.

"Leia or Padme?" she asked quietly, her gentle hazel eyes fixed on Rachel's face.

The brunette bit her lip, her navel involuntarily pulling inwards as she inhaled suddenly upon hearing the blonde's line of questioning. She scoffed. "Easy. Leia, of course, but you do have to take into account that Padme, obviously, is Leia's mother and she was an – excuse my language – badass, but I despise how she fell for Anakin when he was such a cocky, irritating adolescent; however, Leia isn't much better on that front, getting captured and all that, and of course she had a thing for Luke, but you can't blame her for that, really-"

"Midget. Your galactic tits. Calm thems," Santana drawled lazily, her mouth twisted up into a subtle smile and her dark eyes fixed on Brittany again.

Rachel looked furious and 'hmph'ed, but relaxed upon catching a reassuring smile from Quinn. The brunette sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "As Brittany was saying, I must admit that we are unfortunately lost, which is not my fault might I add; I think my GPS is out of date or messing up on purpose because it has taken personal offense to me or something."

"Big surprise there," Santana said. Rachel glared.

"Rach is right, we're lost. I don't know where we are. But to be honest, I don't know where most places are. I'm not good with telling my right from my left." Brittany bit her lip and frowned.

"Well, for starters, muchachas, you're in Lima Heights Adjacent. Welcome." Santana smirked.

"Oh, no." Rachel grimaced.

"Oh, yes."

"You're not going to rob us, are you?"

Santana scoffed, looking semi-offended. "No, puta pequeña. Your ride is pretty sweet and all, but we aren't those kinds of people."

Quinn nodded in affirmation. "We just like to hang out here and drink slushies while throwing down some beats from time to time."

Rachel pursed her lips. "Are you a drummer?" She nodded towards the array of upturned buckets.

Quinn swallowed, balling and unballing her perspiring hands into fists. "Uh, yeah, kinda. I don't have a legit drum kit but I've been saving up…"

"She's pretty fuckin' good with those buckets though. Also with her hands," Santana added with a gleeful smirk.

Both Quinn and Rachel flushed bright red. Brittany giggled and squinted at Quinn's hands. "They do look talented. And I would know: my whole body is talented."

Santana sucked in a breath in between her teeth. "Yeeah it is," she murmured.

"Hm?" Brittany asked, her eyes flicking over to Santana.

"Nothin', Brits. Are you two from Carmel or somethin'?"

"Anderswood," Rachel chirped, a smug grin coming over her features.

Santana blinked and Quinn raised an eyebrow. The blonde bit her lip. "The performing arts' high school in north Lima?"

"That's the one! But some people like to pronounce it as two words, Anders Wood, because it sounds dirty." Brittany scrunched up her nose and Rachel nodded curtly.

"Brittany is the best student in their dance program and I'm the best in both their music and theatre programs."

"You're so despairingly modest, midget," Santana deadpanned, but she was impressed, as was Quinn. Anderswood was small and extremely selective – not to mention wildly expensive. They glanced at each other simultaneously, reading the same emotion in each others' eyes: extreme envy, though much more pronounced on Quinn.

"Do you guys go to McKinley? What are your names?" Brittany asked, a wide smile on her lips. Santana briefly wondered if it ever disappeared, but immediately decided that she never would want to witness that.

"Yeah, we go to that shithole. I'm Santana Lopez – or S'lopez, as I'm called by almost everyone around here. And this shy asshole over here is Quinn fuckin' Fabray."

Quinn rolled her eyes in mock-annoyance. "Hi." She frowned lightly. "Brittany and… Rachel, then?"

Rachel nodded. "Yes. I'm Rachel Berry and this is Brittany Pierce. And now that our formal introductions are over, can you please give us some directions so we can get the hell out of here?"

Brittany pouted. "But, Rachel…" She looked at her friend, her bottom lip withdrawn into a pout (Santana instantly deemed it The Cutest Thing Ever). "I like them a lot. Can't we stay a little bit?"

Santana and Quinn waited with bated breath, anxiously watching the two girls and secretly hoping that they would stay.

"Brittany… we still have to find that costume shop and I need to pick up sheet music from Ms. Holiday because she, of course, being who she is, forgot to give it to me during class –"

"Please…?"

Rachel sighed. Santana took a small step forward. "Yeah. Stay a bit. We can jam, if you want, and Brittany can dance?"

Rachel raised an eyebrow and Brittany smiled. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. "Yes! I would love that. Please, Rachel, please?"

"Yeah, please, Rachel?" Santana added, staring down the short brunette, who sighed again. Her eyes traveled to Quinn, who had a better puppy-dog pout than Brittany. She inhaled sharply, her eyes briefly stuck to Quinn's brilliant hazel ones and her gentle, charming smile.

"… okay. What can we possibly sing, or in your case, rap, though? I have a large repertoire of Broadway classics, of course, but I am limited in my knowledge of rap and hip hop as I stoutly avoid listening to contemporary radio stations. Thus, I do not listen to rap very often. Or at all."

"Easy. I'll start in on the first verse, yeah? And you take over the singing parts from there. Q? You know what song I'm talkin', yeah?" The blonde nodded and moved over to sit at her make-shift drum set, pulling her drumsticks out of her back pocket and rubbing the worn wood out of habit. Santana swung her eyes back to Rachel and offered her a light smile. "You'll know it, midget. Promise."

Rachel pursed her lips but nodded. Brittany, her lips curled up in a smile, shook her hands in anticipation, excited at the prospect of dancing in front of Santana and Quinn. She rolled her shoulders and readied herself to try and impress the two girls.

Quinn also rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck from side to side, twirling her drum sticks once before giving Santana a nod.

Santana tugged down on her baseball cap and began, her raspy, Spanish-tinged voice laying down the first two lines of the song effortlessly.

"Just gonna stand there and watch me burn,

that's alright because I like the way it hurts"

She gestured at Rachel to continue, who smiled at the discovery that she did indeed know the song, as well as the fact that Santana's regular singing voice was quite good. She continued where Santana left off.

"Just gonna stand there and hear me cry

that's alright because I love the way you lie,

I love the way you lie"

Quinn about missed her entrance, she was staring at Rachel so intensely. The tiny brunette's voice produced the most jaw-dropping effect; in that moment, Quinn deemed it the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. The blonde started in on the beat of the song at the last second, playing softly enough as to not overpower Santana and Rachel. Her drumming was spot-on, mimicking the beat of the Eminem song perfectly.

Santana took a deep breath, a smile tugging at her lips as she sunk into her element.

"I can't tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like
And right now there's a steel knife in my windpipe
I can't breathe, but I still fight while I can fight
As long as the wrong feels right, it's like I'm in flight
High of a love, drunk from my hate
It's like I'm huffing paint and I love it the more that I suffer – I suffocate
And right before I'm about to drown, she resuscitates me – she fucking hates me"

Like a real rapper, Santana moved her arms, gesturing and moving from foot to foot as she laid down the string of words to Quinn's beat perfectly.

"And I love it – wait!

Where you going? I'm leaving you
No you ain't, come back, we're running right back
Here we go again, it's so insane cause when it's going good, it's going great
I'm Superman, with the wind in his bag – she's Lois Lane
But when it's bad, it's awful – I feel so ashamed
I snap – who's that dude?
I don't even know his name; I laid hands on her
I'll never stoop so low again – I guess I don't know my own strength"

As Rachel started in on the chorus again with her smooth-as-honey voice, Santana shifted and swung her eyes to Brittany. The tall, graceful blonde's eyes were closed as she danced to the music, her movements flawless and perfect. Santana was mesmerized, her eyes still on Brittany when she moved onto the next verse.

"You ever love somebody so much you can barely breathe when you're with 'em
You meet and neither one of you even know what hit 'em"

Brittany opened her eyes and found Santana staring at her intensely, but not lustfully. She kept her own eyes glued on the rapping girl as she continued to move her dancer's body to the beat.

Quinn shyly glanced up at Rachel and found the brunette's eyes on her. A chill ran down her back, but she did not stray from the beat. Rachel finished the chorus and swallowed, trying to push down the feelings rising up within her.

Got that warm fuzzy feeling – yeah them chills
Used to get 'em, now you're getting fucking sick of looking at 'em
You swore you've never hit 'em, never do nothing to hurt 'em

Now you're in each other's face, spewing venom
And these words – when you spit 'em
You push, pull each other's hair,
Scratch, claw, bit 'em, throw 'em down, pin 'em
So lost in the moments when you're in 'em
It's the rage that took over – it controls you both

So they say it's best to go your separate ways
Guess that they don't know ya
Cause today - that was yesterday
Yesterday is over, it's a different day
Sound like broken records playin' over – but you promised her
Next time you'll show restraint – you don't get another chance
Life is no Nintendo game
But you lied again - now you get to watch her leave out the window

Guess that's why they call it window pane"

The rest of the song was flawless; Rachel's voice proved to be a perfect addition to Santana's rapping, and Quinn's drumming did not sound as if it were just on buckets – her beats were both succinct and fluid, impeccably moving along with the lyrics. Brittany moved as if in a high, her dancing expressing the beat and lyrics of the song to a tee.

Rachel brought the song to a close and Santana grinned widely, leaning over to fist-bump a smiling Quinn.

"That was sweet," the blond affirmed.

"I would have liked a bigger part, Santana," Rachel complained, crossing her arms over her stomach but hiding a smile.

"Tough shit, midget," Santana retorted, her grin unfaltering.

"You guys were amazing!" Brittany exclaimed, a light sheen of sweat upon her brow. Santana's face fell slightly as she stared at the blond dancer in wonderment, butterflies shooting around the inside of her stomach. She licked her lips before clearing her throat.

"Yeah well what 'bout you, Brits? Those moves were sick!" Santana held her fist out for Brittany to bump in mandatory celebration, but Brittany ignored it. Instead, she reached out and hauled Santana in for a tight hug.

Santana about melted, her pulse skyrocketing and her stomach flipping. Quinn smirked lightly and Rachel looked somewhat uncomfortable, glancing away from the pair.

Santana pulled away from Brittany a little bit, clearing her throat. Brittany smiled at her gently, murmuring into her ear, "Thanks, Santana. That means a lot."

Santana, her cheeks growing warm, stepped away from the girl and waved her hand. "No prob. I speaks tha truth, B." Brittany responded with a bright smile that melted Santana's core even further.

"Right, well, this has been enlightening but Brittany and I must really go now. It has been a pleasure," Rachel stated, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Brittany frowned lightly, but conceded. She nodded. "Okay. Bye, Quinn. Bye, Santana. We should do something together sometime."

Santana nodded. "Totally. See ya, Brits. Midget. By the way, the place you're lookin' for is two streets over. A right and then a left." She tugged on her baseball cap, her demeanor shifting back to the tough gangster image she usually portrayed.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but nodded in thanks. "Santana." Her eyes roamed to Quinn, who was looking at her with a slightly forlorn expression. "… Quinn." She swallowed before turning abruptly and gesturing to Brittany. She walked back over to her car, the blond following her.

"Bye," Quinn murmured, frowning lightly. She and Santana watched as the two girls got into the car and drove away. Brittany looked back and waved at them until Rachel turned the corner.

Santana leaned back into the ice chest, closing her eyes and frowning. Quinn set down her drum sticks and hunched over, resting her head on her hands. She sighed. "Mm."

"Yeah." Santana responded in kind. She was quiet for a minute. "But damn, Q, did you see that girl dance? Holy shitsticks, I about fuckin' came."

Quinn chuckled. "I think she noticed," she replied dryly. "And Rachel's voice…"

"I havta admit, the midget can sing."

"Fuck yeah she can. Too bad we'll never see them again."

"Yeah."

Quinn sighed, Santana mimicking her a second later. The blond pulled out her cell phone and swore. "Fuck. It's six-thirty."

"Oh, shit. I'm late for dinner, mamí is gonna kill me," Santana straightened up. She helped Quinn stack up her buckets and they tucked them in the back shed of the shop before half-running, half-walking, into the trailer park.

"… they were so fuckin' fine."

"S."

"Oh c'mon. Don't pretend like you weren't eye-fuckin' the midget that whole time."

"Shut up."

"Make me, Fabgay."

"Fuck you."

"Love you too, Q."