I walk up to the biggest house I've ever seen. Leave it to Quinn Fabray to live in a McMansion, even in a place like Lima, Ohio. The small drizzle that was just a full-on shower a few minutes ago is starting to let up, not that it'll change the damage it's already done to my hair. But, whatever. It's a pool party. My hair's gonna get wet, anyways, right?

I walk up the stair where there's a woman (probably in her sixties) with dark hair and kind brown eyes. She looks nothing like Quinn. Maybe I'm at the wrong house. Still, I walk up to the woman.

"Hello, ma'am. Is this where Quinn lives," I ask in the most uncharacteristically polite voice I can muster.

"Oh, yes, sweetie. You can go right on in. Quinn is out back." I give her a small appreciative smile and say a quick "Thank you" and head inside. I walk through the house and with every step I take, I feel myself holding in both gasps of awe and comments of jealousy. This house is amazing. It's one of those houses with all the unnecessary things you dream of having when you're a kid and all the things an overly excited college kid buys when they buy their first an apartment. There's a flat screen, a vintage popcorn machine, and kickass stereo system, and so many other things that I've never even dreamt of owning.

"Hey! Santana, you actually came early for something,"Quinn comes out of nowhere and pulls me into a hug.

"Well, someone had to make sure you didn't try and make us get crunk to Mozart," I joke, playfully pushing her off me. She laughs and ushers me towards a room in the back of the house.

Man, could this place get any more incredible? The room is made almost completely of glass and there's an assortment of food and candy available. Of course, though, health-freak Fabray only has bottled water to drink. The view of the pool looks amazing. I almost feel like moving in, but then I'd have to deal with the frequent visits from Quinn's annoyance of a girlfriend, Rachel Dwarf-face Berry.

"Your hair looks like shit," I hear Quinn snicker from across the room in a very comfy (and obviously expensive) looking chair with her laptop on the coffee table in front her. I make my way over to the chair next to hers and collapse.

"Well, not all of us have the lesbian cut, so some of us have to actually work at maintaining our hair," I tease.

"Wow, is it getting ironic in here or is it just me?" We both fall back in our chairs laughing. Conversations like this one are basically the epitome of our friendship. I'll never admit it out loud, but I love these moments with Quinn.

"What's so funny, ladies?" A gorgeous blonde woman walks out with sparkling blue eyes and a megawatt smile aimed at us.

"Nothing, mom. This is my friend, Santana Lopez. San, this is my mom."

"Hello, Mrs. Fabray," I beam politely for the second time today. This politeness is getting old already.

"Oh, please call me Judy. What are you girls up to?"

"We were just about to make a playlist for the party," Quinn explains.

"Really? Well, don't forget the classics. You know, the Mozart and the smooth jazz." I throw an "I told you so" look at Quinn and she gives me the death stare. At the same exact time, Quinn's mom and I both burst into a fit of laughter with rolling her eyes on the other side of me.

"Mom!" Quinn complains when she's had enough of the laughter. Judy is still coming down from her laughter high.

"Okay, okay. Sorry, honey. I'm gonna go check on the food." She walks back inside, still stifling her giggles.

Quinn turns to me, daring me to laugh. I playfully put my hands up. "I surrender. Now, come on. Let's get this playlist done." She rolls her eyes and turns back to the laptop.

An half an hour later, we have a completely Santana-fied playlist for the party. Granted, I did have to basically give her my entire iPod, but still. Now we won't have to get jiggy to "Flight of the Bumblebee."

The doorbell rings and before either of us can get up, we hear Judy call from the kitchen. "Got it!"

"Who the hell came early?" I can practically see the lightbulb go on in Quinn's head.

"Rachel!" she practically teleports to the door. Ugh. Here comes the midget.

A few seconds later, they're bursting through the door, seemingly unable to keep their hands to themselves. Ew.

"Hey!" They keep going. This is disgusting.

"Hey, honeys," I say stepping in between them, "unless you're practicing for a Disney porno in which you play Sleeping Beauty and one of Snow White's dwarves, stop it!" They pull apart, awkwardly adjusting themselves. Rachel clears her throat.

"Hello, Santana."

"Stuart Little," I reply rather uninterested. "Look, I'm gonna go change into my bathing suit. Do whatever you want when I'm gone. Just keep the pool filter on if you decide you wanna get wetter than usual."

"Santana!" Quinn scolds. But I'm already grabbing my bag and heading to the bathroom.

I have to ask Judy for directions to the bathroom because going back outside to Quinn and Rachel's fuck fest to ask is not even an option. I turn through the necessary hallways and finally reach a bathroom with Quinn's name on it. Of course she has her own bathroom. I push the door open and am once again astounded by the fanciness of yet another room in the house. I quickly get dressed and spend an unadmittable amount of time admiring myself in my black bikini. I pull my hair into a quick, loose ponytail and grab my bag. I figure Quinn and the Smurf are done fucking by now.

I make my way back outside. Quinn and her almost human blow-up doll are nowhere to be seen. I use this time to grab my bag and claim a beach chair by the pool, bending over to lay my towel over it. I hear the sound of rude, familiar whistling from behind me. I snap up and turn around to see Quinn and Rachel walking in with my ex girlfriend, Brittany.

Fuck.