Prologue:
It all started with the bang of a gun. And the lock on the door. And her arms wrapped around me. Sure we were both on the Cheerios. There was the fact that we had both been taken to a Senior prom as Freshman. But, as Santana would say it,
"You best not even suggest that we are on the same level of the social hierarchy, or I will endz you."
Blush
/bləSH/
develop a pink tinge in the face from embarrassment or shame.
"she blushed at the unexpected attention"
I still remember how the sun glinted off of her car, the one you could spot a mile away, the one that's license plate read 'HOTBTCH'. Heads turned and lips slacked that day when she exited her Lamborghini in a skirt that left nothing to be imagined.
When she walked up to the school, the lingering students parted like the red sea.
"I don't like you."
These were the words Santana used more often than not. She simply didn't have a filter. Her father did not abuse his feelings and her mother did not drink them. Santana was simply not likable.
She had been this way sinse pre-school. Santana found it was easier to hide her emotions in insults than to convey them in scribbled crayon drawings.
No, I'm not a stalker. I don't hide outside Santana's window and I don't put camera's in her shower. I don't know all this stuff about Santana and her feelings because I voluntarily tried to. No, I am an expert on Santana Lopez because we went to the same pre-school. And the same elementary. And the same middle school. We lived a block from each other for god's sake! But no. Santana Lopez couldn't care less.
I believe that the first time she really did notice me was a few days after the Lamborghini incident. It was a day before my Cheerios audition, and I was practicing my routine in the gym. Santana had walked in with her newly acquainted friend Quinn Fabray, who had helped me after some jock slushied me at the begging of that week because my sweater with the word "Love" squalled upon it was "Totally Second Grade".
I had landed on my leg funny while watching the pair come in. While Santana found it entertaining, the blonde did not.
"Oh my god, are you alright?" Quinn had asked, a look of surprise lit upon her face.
"Uhhg, she's fine Quinn! Stop being such a worry wort!" An annoyed voice cut in. I knew then the one thing about Santana Lopez that would only change after an unlikely friendship, a school shooting, and something I like to call love;
I knew that I hated her.
"Britt, come on, we need your dance moves! Please, I promise singing quietly and dancing behind me is fun!" This was how my day just has to start? I swear, this Rachel girl is a stalker! How the hell was she able to know when I was going to get to class?
"I don't have time. Lord Tubington just quit smoking and now I have to drive him to Alcoholics Anonymous." I say, walking briskly towards the place where my cheerleading audition was being held. My sneakers squeaking as I ran down the halls are the only sounds, and somehow I manage to the gym without Rachel catching up. I glance in the window by the door and grin as I find the room empty, the perks of getting to school at 7:26 AM.
Quickly entering the room, I place my black boom box down on the bleachers and press play before quickly jointing to my spot.
I know I may be young, but I've got feelings too.
And I need to do what I feel like doing.
So let me go and just listen.
All you people look at me like I'm a little girl.
Well did you ever think it be okay for me to step into this world.
Always saying little girl don't step into the club.
Well I'm just tryin' to find out why cause dancing's what I love.
Get it get it, get it get it (WHOOOA)
Get it get it, get it get it (WHOOOOOA) (Do you like it)
Get it get it, get it get it (OOOHHHH) (This feels good)
I know I may come off quiet, I may come off shy.
But I feel like talking, feel like dancing when I see this guy.
What's practical is logical. What the hell, who cares?
All I know is I'm so happy when you're dancing there.
I'm a slave for you. I cannot hold it; I cannot control it.
I'm a slave for you. I won't deny it; I'm not trying to hide it.
Baby, don't you wanna, dance upon me,
(I just wanna dance next to you)
To another time and place.
Baby, don't you wanna, dance upon me,
(Are you ready)
Leaving behind my name, my age.
(Lets go)
(Like that)
(You like it)
(Now watch me)
Get it get it, get it get it (WHOOOA)
Get it get it, get it get it (WHOOOOOA)
Get it get it, get it get it (OOOHHHH)
The song comes to a close, and I hear a single set of applause echoing through the gym. I whip my head around and abruptly the clapping stops. The last thing I see of my mysterious intruder in a strand of jet-black hair. Got 'cha!
Embarrassed that someone saw me warming up to my own choreography, I head to the locker rooms to greet all of the other potential Cheerios. A few offer my smiles, one of these, surprising me as much as the next gal, being Santana. Some of the Cheerio Alumni start calling names and one by one girls (and the occasional guy) would trickle out of the room. We all signed up for audition times, and naturally, I put myself at the bottom in case I was late. Sometimes Lord T sets back the clocks in my house.
"Brittany Pere!" They pronounced my name wrong, but I don't bother correcting them.
"Good luck." Santana says as I leave. I stop in my tracks. Santana Lopez never wishes anybody luck.
Instead of retaliating or even simply responding, I smiled a tight lipped smile and blushed a little. So maybe I was too quick to judge. Maybe Lopez deserves a second chance.
I Hope you enjoyed my first chapter! You guys are the best for reading this! Love you!I know it is super short and promise you a longer chapter next time!
Goal: 5-10 reviews.
(Yes, I will update without the goal being met, but I take my writing seriously and would love all the constructive criticism I can get!