Title: Making the List
Prompt: Popular Girl and Nerd, QW 2013
Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot and may read like it; though, it could definitely also be read as the intro to a multi-chapter. I'll be honest and say that this did not turn out as I planned - but I offer it up, anyway. Consider it an exercise to get me going for the week …
From where she leaned against her locker, Santana scanned the frantic herd of her peers trying to make it to class before the second bell. She rolled her eyes, noting the same faces she saw the day before, the day before that and every school day for as long as she could remember. It was like being stuck in a Groundhog's Day loop - only she knew she wasn't because that day Suzie Pepper got hit with a blue slushie and she's pretty sure that the day before it was a red one for the Jewish kid with the crazy hair.
Joshua. No - Jason. Jacob?
Santana squinted as she tried to remember. Almost as quickly as she started thinking about it, she rolled her eyes, annoyed with herself for wasting brain power on something so trivial. It's not like she cared what his name was. She could start calling him Jewfro and everyone would think he'd legally changed his name.
That was the kind of power Santana Lopez had at McKinley High.
It was the power that came from being head Cheerio. Her position came equipped with the uniform, the high pony and a watchdog in the form of Sue Sylvester. The Cheerio coach (and nine time national champion) made sure the stench of teen angst never wafted in the direction of her red and white-clad pyramid.
The power also came from being the captain (and only undefeated member) of the debate club. In her entire educational career, no one - student or teacher - beat Santana in a war of words. Her no-nonsense approach to debate left others with little to argue. She told it like it was and left her opponents to their soft, politically correct language.
And the power came from being co-captain of the Glee Club, an honor she shared with Rachel Berry. Santana could have taken over leadership of the club but she didn't really want it. What she wanted was to perform – and not in the background as Rachel had tried to persuade her to do. When she mentioned, seemingly out of nowhere, that she was considering throwing her hat into the Glee Club election for captain, the other girl decided it was time to barter. In the end, they agreed to share leadership – and solos at competition shows.
With each performance, she backed up the talk of her being a "star" student.
It was a power that few understood and many envied.
The result of everyone finding out that Blaine and Kurt were dating was nearly a month's worth of harassment and name calling. They kept their relationship quiet and did their best not to rock the boat, but word got out. They just wanted to be together - not to be poster boys for a cause (or a target). It took some time, but eventually the jeers quieted, the shoulder-checking stopped and the slushies sailed in other directions. The boys attributed it to the inception of an acceptance group, the ridiculously named GayLesBAll - god, how Santana hated how many capital letters existed in that one word.
Of course, there was no backlash at all when Santana pulled her then-girlfriend, a tall, blonde girl in a Cheerio uniform, onto a table in the cafeteria and shouted, "Listen up, losers! This is my girlfriend, Brittany. If even one drop of slushie touches her, I will end you and everyone you know." A week later, she jumped onto the same table, a different girl on her arm and announced, "Hey, losers! You're messin' with me if you're messin' with my girl, T. Ain't nobody got time for that, feel me?" Every few weeks, she interrupted lunch to introduce her newest girlfriend, to make another blanket threat and to make her exit by flipping the room the bird over her shoulder.
The last such visit to the cafeteria hadn't been for weeks.
"Looking for a co-Queen?" Blaine asked, settling his shoulder against the locker next to Santana's.
She smirked. "You applying? 'Cause, I gotta tell you, I think your co-queen might have a problem with that."
"Ha and ha." He rolled his eyes and clarified, "I meant a date for prom. No doubt you'll be crowned, so … co-queen."
"I knew what you meant and I know one thing for sure – she's not here. Look at them," she said nodding to the mass of bodies pushing each other through the halls. "Sheep. They're all even starting to look the same."
"Come to the GayLesBAll," he suggested with his best smile. Santana had to admit it was a good smile. Friendly, genuine and not too toothy. God, how she hated overly-toothy smiles. She was never sure if those people were trying to be friendly or warning her that they bite.
Which, okay, not always a bad thing.
"Pretty sure I already told you I'm not interested."
"How do you know you're not interested if you haven't gone."
"Haven't had a lobotomy or seen any shows whose names end in "on ice", yet I know I'm not interested," Santana replied drolly. "I was blessed with the gift of decisiveness, not to mention luxurious hair, killer legs and, c'mon, my rack is pretty magnificent, too" Her brow twitched upward and she added, "Not that I expect you would notice."
Blaine let out a long sigh and frowned. "But half the girls you go out with aren't even gay." He points across the hall to a girl with long black hair and said, "Like her. How did you even get her to go out with you?"
"I asked her." Santana replied simply. Her eyes narrowed and she asked, "And how would you know if she's gay? Your gaydar is set to Lance Bass, not Portia de Rossi."
"Santana," he began, "I saw her picketing the bookstore when they started carrying the Advocate."
"No shit? Do they have Curve, too?"
"Not the point, Santana! Come to the meeting."
Santana rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I'm not going, so go find your boyfriend and play with his GayLesBAlls."
Just as the first bell rang, warning students to scurry even faster to their next classes, a blonde whirlwind stopped in front of Blaine.
"Hello, Mr. Anderson," she said with one eyebrow quirked. "You disappoint me. Well, actually, this school disappoints me. GoT is cancelled today. We lost the field to - " her eyes skirted to the girl standing next to her friend and she stammered. "Oh, uh." Her gaze flicked back over to Blaine and she quickly blurted out, "We lost the field, so, no play today."
"No! Really?!" the boy whined. "I was going to unveil my new House of Lannister flag."
Santana watched the girl, the former loser known as Queer Freakbray, talk animatedly to Blaine. She squinted, her nose crinkling in confusing at the girl's shirt: GoT LARP?
"What's that mean? It sounds like a disease," she interrupted, pointing to the other girl's chest. Quinn's eyes followed the outstretched finger. "No offense or anything, Q."
"Quinn," she corrected Santana, to which she received an eye roll and dismissive shrug.
There wasn't a soul in the school who didn't know Quinn's name. Before she became McKinley's student body's most valuable asset, she was their easiest target. Not only did she throw off the curve in all of her classes, but she wasn't even the least bit apologetic about it. Why should she dumb herself down for the benefit of others? She wouldn't expect anyone to do that for her if she was in their shoes. And, anyway, if she did that, then her early acceptance letter from M.I.T. might not be posted on the fridge with her mom's favorite magnet - a gift from Quinn that read "Moms. Not all superheroes wear capes."
As M.I.T. was the goal that fueled her refusal to lower her academic standards, the life she was looking forward to when she left Lima fueled her refusal to bow to the demands of her peers. She stubbornly held on to her love of the fantastic - to books, movies and video games. The small amount of tutoring money she allowed herself to spend was used to create a large collection of t-shirts from her favorite websites: teefury, fivefingertees, snorg and HRC. Whether it was a quote from Serenity, a Harry Potter fan drawing, an homage to old-school gaming or a large equal sign, Quinn took seriously wearing her heart on her sleeve - or chest, as it may be.
It only took Quinn an academic year (plus a couple of weeks) to move from untouchable to irreplaceable.
It started when she was assigned an article on Santana Lopez, a sophomore and the youngest Cheerio to be named captain. They met on the bleachers - Santana talked into a recorder while intermittently stopping to yell an order to her new charges. As Quinn asked questions, a student photographer was supposed to be taking pictures. The problem was that Noah Puckerman couldn't be trusted to focus on one pretty girl talking when there was an entire squad of pretty girls jumping around in short skirts. Of the forty-something pictures he took, three were of Santana and all were of her open-mouthed or with eyes half-closed mid-word.
He didn't accept the position because he liked taking pictures. He just thought that, with a press pass, he'd be the only guy in school allowed to go into the girl's locker room with a camera. When he learned that wasn't the case, he quit.
It was, of course, Quinn who made sure Santana looked amazing in her front page spread. She couldn't have her first story be coupled with such shoddy images. With her dad's digital SLR, she stalked to the football field during practice and took a series of shots of the squad, of Santana leading them and of Santana at the top of the pyramid. After practice, she waited around to get a couple of head shots of the head cheerio out of uniform. If there was one thing Quinn seemed to know, it was how to complete a task the right way.
It wasn't long before the name-calling stopped and she became everyone's best friend - or at least their go-to-girl for almost everything. Rachel Berry went directly to Quinn, tech master (because the word mistress made her giggle), for lighting cues before her big solo in the spring talent show. Brittany Pierce stopped her multiple times almost every day asking if she could help her charge her phone, laptop, and even her curling iron (even Quinn couldn't help her with that last one). Sam Evans begged her to tutor him and even referred her to his teammates who were struggling in their studies. And when Blaine came to her asking for assistance in creating a safe space for students "like them," she didn't even blink before accepting the task of organizing and sharing the leadership of the GayLesBAll.
Quinn didn't comment on the other girl's remark about her shirt and, instead, just let Blaine know she'd let him know when their game would be rescheduled. She offered them both a tiny wave before shuffling down the hall.
Santana watched the girl walk away, her head tilting and her eyes narrowing as she stared at the girl's back. She watched short blonde hair bounce with every step Quinn took. Few girls paired t-shirts with skirts, but somehow, Quinn was able to pull it off. After allowing herself to appreciate the other girls legs and where they attached to her slim body, Santana's eyes lit up.
With a quick nod at Blaine, she asked, "What about her?"
"What about her?" he asked, confused.
"The gel's finally seeping into your brain cells. Don't say I didn't warn you, " Santana noted as she experimentally poked his hair. He waved his hands around his head as though trying to rid himself of a bothersome fly and she crossed her arms over her chest.
"What about her," she teased with a coy smile and then, with brows high, her smile grew confident and she suggested, "for co-Queen?"
"Quinn Fabray," Blaine checked, his hand self-consciously hovering over his hair. An affirming nod was the girl's only reply. "Quinn - and you?" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because she's Quinn, Santana," he tried to explain. "She's Targaryen and you're … well, you're - you don't even know what that is."
With a confident smile, Santana pushed off of the locker and pointed to Blaine. "Then she'll just have to tell me all about it - perhaps as we enjoy our date on prom night. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make a guest appearance in the computer lab."
Santana strode purposefully leaving Blaine running to catch up with her."Just don't use your usual bull in a china shop tactic, okay? Quinn's really smart and she's super sweet. And I feel like maybe if you scared her she'd be scarred for life. She isn't like the other girls you've gone out with." He walked quickly beside her, hoping that at least some of what he was saying was getting through.
"Which is why I'm asking her and not any of the other girls I've gone out with. Worry not your hard-shelled head. I got this, girlfriend." And with that, she shooed him away.
From where Santana leaned in the doorway, she watched as Quinn's fingers danced feverishly over the keyboard. The girl had her iPod on, ear buds firmly in place, and Santana wondered if the girl knew that she bit her bottom lip when she was so intently concentrating.
"Hey," she said and, keeping the bull versus china shop thing in mind, approached Quinn slowly.
Quinn rolled her eyes to the side, her brows furrowing when she saw who was talking to her. "Did you need something, Santana?"
"In a manner of speaking …"
"Okay, just give me a minute. I just have to touch up the photo I'm using for this article and I'm all yours." Quinn flashed a tiny smile and just as quickly as she had looked up at Santana, her eyes were back on the computer screen.
"S'at Kitty?" Santana asked, pointing to the image Quinn was re-touching.
The other girl nodded. "Coach wanted her to be the penultimate Cheerio profile since she'll be captain next year. Yours," she adds, "as you know, will be the final profile this year."
Santana watched the other girl erase blemishes, whiten Kitty's smile and, to be honest, she wasn't not sure what that last thing was, but Kitty's face didn't seem so sharp and hard anymore. "Can we talk while you do that or does it take, like, crazy concentration to edit the bitch from Kitty's face?'
Quinn snorted and, with an added chuckle, said, "I've had enough experience to be able to hold a conversation."
The Lost Girl screen caps she posted online didn't color correct themselves. And those Rizzoli and Isles manipulations? Well, she wasn't a magician as her online friends purported.
Taking the seat next to the girl, Santana smoothed her cheer skirt over her lap and answered, "I need a date for prom."
"Okay …" the other girl slowly said. "And you want me to what? Sign you up for ?" Quinn wrinkled her nose and shook her head as she side-eyed Santana. "You know it's not necessary, right?"
At Santana's blank stare, Quinn continued, "There are a bunch of girls you could ask. Some of them you haven't even dated, yet. In fact, off the top of my head, I can't even come up with anyone who would turn you down."
"I'm sure we can come up with one person who would say 'no'. And, anyway, what bunch of girls?" Santana asked curiously. "Because I don't just want some random girl on my arm. She'd be my co-Queen, y'know? Here's the thing …"
Santana spent the next half an hour explaining that she was bored with the girls at McKinley. She had considered asking someone from Carmel, but then she remembered that she loathed everyone she'd ever met from their rival school. When Quinn asked her about the Dalton Academy for Girls, Santana just gave her a blank look as though having never heard of it before – even though their Glee Club just beat them at Regionals.
Santana spent three years hooking up with girls she was only slightly interested in and who, she was sure, only dated her for what she could do for their social standing. But with prom coming up, she didn't want to show up with a "been there, done that" date. She wanted someone fresh and exciting. She wanted someone who could keep up with her and who didn't require frequent "explanation" breaks when conversing. Santana wanted to finish her high school career right - with the perfect prom and the perfect prom date.
Prom was supposed to be a night she'd always remember. She was starting to grow frustrated by the thought that, if she remembered it all, it would be because she was disappointed that it was like every other dance she'd attended - accompanied by a girl like every other girl she'd gone with.
Quinn held up her finger to stop the other girl, and twisted in her seat to rummage through her bag. When she righted herself, she had a notebook (the cover of which read had a cookie wearing glasses and "Smart Cookie" written above it) and a pen. "Write down your standards and I'll see who I can come up with."
"But -"
Quinn shoved the notebook at her and nodded. "Standards." She gave the other girl a gentle smile and said, "I know every girl in our graduating class, Santana. All, except for you, asked me to touch up their senior pictures."
"Please, like I'm not perfectly photogenic."
"Regardless, I know every senior and a lot of other students, as well. Give me your wish list and I'll see who best fits it, okay?"
By the time Quinn's article was complete, Kitty's photo was magazine-quality and both items were saved on the server, Santana had finished her list. The other girl looked it over with a critical eye, frowning at bullet point number one, written in Santana's looping script.
"Gorgeous?" the girl asked, her lips pulled down.
"Yearbooks are forever, Q," Santana answered. "Date's gotta look good enough to be placed in a time capsule."
"Quinn," she corrected the other girl - again. But she didn't scribble out Santana's first item. She tapped the paper with her pen and curiously asked, "Smart?"
"I'm not saying I need someone to assemble a robot for me, but y'know, keeping up with the conversation might be nice," Santana said, justifying her request. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not looking to waste my time parading around with eye candy on my arm."
"Okay, gorgeous but not eye candy," Quinn noted. "Item three is self-evident. As this is a date for a dance, said person should be able to dance. But, the fourth item -"
"Someone unexpected."
"Why?"
"Because the unexpected is boring and I'm sick of being bored. So?" Santana asked, looking intently into the other girl's eyes. "Can you find someone like that?"
Quinn nodded and pulled the notebook closer. "You're missing item five." She tapped her finger against the paper as she suggested, "Popular."
"You think I care about that? Right now, just by sitting in this room with you, your stock has gone up ten points."
"Except that I'm not for sale."
"Whatever, you have my list," Santana said firmly, her finger tapping very near where the other girl's rested on the page. "I didn't ask you to edit it. I asked if you knew anyone who fit that description. Got it?"
Quinn nodded and pulled up the yearbook layout. She could have tried to go off of memory, but having a list of names and photos at her fingertips would no doubt make her search easier. As she scanned the photos, scrolling through them so quickly that they seemed a blur to Santana, the other girl asked, "You got a date yet?"
"Me?" Quinn asked, already shaking her head. "I'm attending as a representative for the school paper and as a yearbook staff member. Camera'll be my date, I guess."
"But can your camera dance?"
"Haven't asked. I try not to let my work relationships become personal," Quinn joked. "Okay, what about Rachel Berry?" She pointed to the monitor where Rachel's senior picture smiled back at them.
"Doesn't fit the criteria, Q. Next."
"It's Quinn and what criteria doesn't she fit? She's gorgeous, smart, can dance and, really, who would expect you to ask her? I can't promise she's into girls but that doesn't seem to have been an issue for you so far." She offered Santana a quick smile and said, "If any girl has a shot with her, it's you."
"Okay, let's do a quick something here," Santana suggested. "Because your definition of gorgeous seems to be off the charts wrong, I'm gonna name someone and you tell me if she's hot or not. Ready?"
Quinn frowned, leaning back in her chair. A tiny shoulder shrug was the other girl's cue to continue.
"Penny from Big Bang."
"She's cute, I guess."
"Wrong. Hot." Santana rolled her eyes. "Okay, Marnie from Girls."
"Is she the one with the tattoos?"
"Nevermind." Santana let out a huff and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why don't you tell me who you think is hot? Besides Rachel Berry."
"You wouldn't know my people," Quinn answered simply. "They aren't your type."
"Try me."
"Summer Glau." When Santana's only reply is a blink, she offered, "Lena Heady."
"Okay, someone hot who wasn't in a television show about robots."
Quinn frowned. "What's wrong with robots? For your information, I plan to go into robotic engineering."
Her intense fear of Terminators led Quinn's unfettered focus on trying to understand artificial intelligence so that, if ever robots made a move toward world domination, she'd be prepared to stop them. And maybe meet a girl like Linda Hamilton along the way.
Santana blinked a few times, not really sure why the other girl's eyes just went a little glassy and she seemed to be day dreaming.
"I don't trust 'em, that's all," Santana answered, snapping the girl out of her reverie. "Kinda pegged you more as a Sarah Connor than a Miles Dyson. But, y'know, to each her own, I guess."
Quinn blinked, her eyes snapping to meet the other girl's gaze. Santana Lopez referencing a Terminator movie? Now that was unexpected.
"Anyway, other than Rachel Berry, what else do have for me, squint?"
The other girl bit her tongue at the nickname. Somehow she didn't think it would do her any favors to tell Santana that she also thought Angela Montenegro from Bones was hot. "What about Kitty? She's a junior, but – "
"But nothing. Pass on account of inherent evilness."
"She's not evil," Quinn defended half-heartedly.
"Don't know how that girl doesn't have a scar on her chest. Doesn't demon skin melt when a cross touches it?"
The other girl just barely stifled her giggle. It was true, Kitty was 99% claws.
"Well, I don't know how you'd feel about this but, Marley Rose certainly fits your criteria. She's quite beautiful, very bright, can dance …" Quinn trailed off and sighed. "But she's really sweet and kind of naive, so maybe she's not a good choice."
"You think I can't do sweet?" Santana asked with a frown.
"I didn't mean," the other girl shook her head and tried to explain. "She's a really nice girl and she just always sees the good in people, you know? So, if you ask her, I guess I'm just saying to keep all that in mind because it would suck if she got hurt."
"Wouldn't ask her anyway," Santana informed the other girl. "I don't get the hat thing."
"I like her hats."
"Maybe you should ask Marley, then. You know, since you like her so much." Was this how Santana wanted the conversation to end - with the girl she was about to invite to prom asking someone else? She's not really sure how they got there but she was pretty sure this wasn't going to end up going her way.
Quinn shook her head and quickly said, "Oh, no. No no. I like Marley but," she paused in an effort to choose her words carefully, "she's kind of a home body, you know? Not a lot of adventure in her, I guess. And, honestly, I think she only dates boys."
"Then why did you suggest her if she only dates boys?"
"Because I'm pretty sure there doesn't exist a girl at this school who wouldn't go out with you. Gay, straight or anywhere in between."
Santana's eyes narrowed as she considered the other girl's words. "What about you? How come you're not on the list of potentials for me?"
"Me?" Quinn's eyes widened and she blinked owlishly at Santana. "Because I don't fit your standards?" she guessed before turning her attention back to the monitor and scrolling through the names, again.
Santana took a moment to look at her – and she didn't make any effort to hide the fact that she was looking at Quinn. "Pretty sure you do, Q," she finally said.
"Sure, I do. And it's Quinn," the other girl replied with a shake of her head. "I've never been accused of being pretty before. And no, Artie doesn't count because he thinks any girl who speaks to him is pretty."
"Didn't say pretty," Santana argued. She tapped her finger on the page and, when Quinn's eyes drifted down to read the word she was pointing to, she gave the other girl a little wink. "You don't give yourself enough credit, I think. You totes got potential, you know."
"I don't need potential," Quinn said defensively. "This is who I am. So, unless you like glasses and unruly hair, then I suggest you review your definition of gorgeous."
Santana smirked. "Never said I didn't like those things. Which brings us to items two through four. Smart, check. Can dance, check."
"You've never seen me dance."
"Nope, but I've seen you sword fight," Santana admits. "And your little nerd brigade co-leader, Blaine of the Gel Tribe, told me that you've got him learning fight sequences from Kill Bill."
Quinn grimaced and inhaled through her teeth. "Don't tell him, but he really needs to stick to the Matrix choreography. He doesn't really have the gymnastics background to do the Kill Bill sequence."
"Gymnastics, huh?" There was a gleam in Santana's eyes as the girl looked Quinn up and down. The other girl could only answer with a roll of her eyes. "Okay, so, item four – the unexpected."
There were no words that could express Quinn's thoughts better than a loud, short burst of laughter. Santana Lopez showing up with the former Queer Freakbray to prom? That idea was born and bred in the land of the unexpected.
"Funny thing is," Santana began with a soft smile. "Nothing you've said has sounded like a no."
"Funny thing is," Quinn countered, "nothing you've said sounded like you were really asking me."
"So, it's a date, then," the other girl announced.
Quinn rolled her eyes and shoved the other girl's arm. "Quit messing around, Santana."
"I'm not. I came in here to ask you to prom," Santana replied. "You're the one who decided to try to find me dates with girls who are, by the way, complete unacceptable suggestions. If you turn me down, it'll only solidify what my gut's telling me."
The other girl furrowed her brows and stared at her.
"That your taste in girls sucks."
"It's crazy, you know that? You asking me to go with you? It's certifiable."
"Still doesn't sound like a no."
Quinn pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought about it. She didn't want to say no. She just thought that maybe she should.
"I'll take your silence as a yes, then." Santana pushed out of the chair and stepped behind Quinn. She bent down so that her lips brushed the other girl's ear when she whispered, "Thanks for your help, Q"
Quinn watched the other girl leave, her cheer skirt swaying as she walked, and almost voicelessly said, "… any time."