I burst through the double doors of McKinley High.

How the hell could this happen? I had spent the entire day yesterday preparing myself: picking out my outfit, setting my clock, packing my book bag. All that work to avoid being late. And yet here I was, perspiring and breathing heavily, my mind racing as fast as I was only moments ago.

Late. What a way to start off senior year.

I looked around.

Shit. I didn't think I was this late.

The hallways were deserted. The dull, artificial glow of the fluorescent lights reflected off the polished white and red tile floor. There were no shoe marks, no dirt or dust from the outside on these floors. There were no papers scattered around, and no locks on the brown lockers.

I face palmed myself.

School hadn't started yet.

Making my way over to my assigned locker, the one I had every year, I heard a curious murmur down the hall. Inquisitive despite myself, I followed the noise.

As I got closer, I recognized the sounds as a hushed conversation. In Spanish.

"Bien, bien. Lo entiendo." Said a calm, masculine voice.

"pero-"

"Le dije que entiendo, Santana. Mira, yo aprecio lo que estás tratando de hacer aquí, pero yo soy un chico grande. Puedo cuidar de mí misma." The male snapped gruffly.

Santana? As in, Lopez?

I listened more closely.

There was silance. Then, the male gently said, "Hermana. Me miran. Todo va a estar bien. Te lo prometo."

"Cómo puedes estar tan seguro?" it sounded like the girl pouted.

Yup. Defenetly Sanatana.

"Yo no lo soy."

There was silance again. Then, in a smile, tired voice Santana spoke again.

"Simplemente no quiere que te lastimes."

"I no, bebe."

Bebe?

Now there was a word I knew.

Baby.

The students filed in in one large group of bodies. I looked over their faces. No one that I knew.

Freshmen.

I groaned to myself. Idiot freshmen.

I rolled my eyes as I passed a crowd of fresmen football players, their lettermen jackets polished and straight. Some dumbasses wolf-whistled as I passed them, and I had to stop myself from turning around and telling them exactle who the hell I was.

I walked to my locker and deposited my books when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

"Well well well, if it isn't the queen herself. What's goin' on, Q?"

I didn't even turn to face her. "Oh, nothing."

"Hello Quinn. I must say you look as exceptionatly beautiful as ever today. How have you been?" a small, tentative voice said behind me.

No. It couldn't...

I spun around quick. "Milo?"

The boy before me was boyishly handsome. His skin radiated a copper glow, his dark eyes were youthful and sizzling with energetic innocence, the type the you would find in the eyes of one Brittney Pearce. He was tall, with straight, black hair and long, built limbs.

"Oh my God! What are you doing here? I thought you were at Juilliard!" I ran into his arms, squeezing him tight as he chuckled against the top of my head.

"He was." Santana growled from behind him. I felt Milo stiffen and I let go of him, looking up into his nervous, conflicted face.

"San..." he sighed, turning around to face his sister. Santana held up a hand.

"Uh uh uh. I am not in the mood, Miles." she somewhat snapped.

Milo's head drooped and he pouted. "Okay."

Santana smiled gently and brushed his long, silky bangs from his eyes, kissing him on the forehead.

"I'll see you at lunch, sweetness."

Milo beamed. "Bye Tana. Love you."

"Yo también te quiero."

As Santana disappeared down the hall, Milo turned back to me.

"I can't believe it's been so long! How are you?"

"Hanging in there. How was Juilliard?"

"Oh wonderful, just-"

The warning bell sonded above us. We both looked up.

"Maybe we should go." I suggested. Milo nodded.

"May I have the privilage of walking you to your first class?"

I laughed. "Yes, kind sir, you may."

Milo snickered and held out his arm for me to take. "Muy buen. What do you have first period?"

"Calculus? You?"

"Español." Milo grinned.

"Really? Why are you taking Spanish?"

Milo shrugged indifferently. "Its my nap class."

I giggled. "You, Miles Lopez, are Santana's brother."

"Damn straight." Milo confirmed smugly as we walked up to the door of my first class.

"Here we go. Calculus, room A9, taught by Mr. Adams." Milo made a face. I laughed.

"I missed you so much. We need to hang out."

I enveloped him in a hug.

"That we do." he agreed against my sholder.

"After school, maybe?"

"Sorry, can't: last minute football tryouts."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Football?"

Milo shuddered, then rolled his eyes. "Don't ask."

I smiled as I let him go just as the last bell rang.

"Better get going."

"I'm not the one who should be on the receiving end of that statement."

Milo stuck his tongue out at me. "Yes, mother."

As I watched him disappear down the now-empty hallway, I couldn't help but wonder where the years had flown to. He was only nine when I saw him last.