A/N: I don't own Glee nor the characters within. Ever since the pilot episode, I have had a what the heck? issue with something: Rachel Berry has truly awful handwriting. When she writes her name on the glee signup sheet, I can only stare in sheer horror. If you don't believe me, rewatch it.

She'd only signed up for Shop to look good on her transcript, knowing colleges paid attention to diversity. And since she relied on getting a scholarship to leave Lima, Santana would do anything to make herself look good. The Cheerios and glee, unfortunately, were only the beginning: the more the better.

When she walked into the classroom, Santana hadn't expected to see Rachel, large protective goggles almost taking up her whole face, concentrating intensely on the pieces of wood she was sawing in half. Not able to help herself, Santana wandered over to Rachel's station (made obvious by the gold painted star made out of wood sitting proudly on the table) to see what the girl was working on.

"Damn, Berry's attention to detail's certainly good for something," she muttered under her breath, staring down at what looked to be the makings of a very intricate, very complicated, but very beautiful, jewelry box.

"Santana!" Rachel's voice spoke up from behind her. When Santana turned around, she saw a surprised but easy smile on the smaller girl's face, her eyes blinking up at her from behind the bulky goggles. "Are you here to join Woodshop?"

"No, I'm only taking in the sights of where the elves work," Santana answered snidely, but it lacked her normal vehemence. Looking back down at the work in progress, she asked, "What are you making?"

Rachel set down some freshly cut pieces of wood, sliding them over next to the already finished parts, moving forward and gently pushing Santana out of the way so she could take her spot. She slipped her goggles up onto the top of her head, mussing her normally groomed bangs. "Oh, this is actually a prototype," she said over her shoulder, pursing her lips as she started arranging the wood into a pattern Santana couldn't discern.

"Wait. Hold up." Staring at Rachel, Santana took a step forward and peered at the jewelry box again. "You're sayin' this is a practice piece?"

"No," Rachel shook her head, glancing up at Santana then back down at her work, "I said prototype. That and practice are two different things. I need to see if the design works before I start on a smaller, final product."

Santana tapped her fingernails against the table as she rested one arm on it. "Smaller…" she trailed off. "Isn't that, like, harder?"

Rachel's lips quirked up, and she reached over for some sandpaper. "I suppose," she shrugged, starting to smooth all of the pieces of wood, "But it wouldn't be half as enjoyable if I didn't challenge myself." She brought the piece she was working on up to her eyes, squinting at what she had done. Smiling in apparent satisfaction, she set it down and picked up the next one. "I am of the mind that ongoing stimulation is needed to keep one's interest. That is why I always strive to go 'bigger and better' in regards to my vocal abilities."

Santana bit back her automatic comment about 'bigger and better', instead deciding on focusing on the other part of Rachel's speech: the 'stimulation'. "If you want 'stimulation' so much, then why do you keep on pursuing Frankenteen? God knows the boy's as exciting as a plank of wood." She patted herself on the back for the apropos analogy.

Rachel stiffened, and sorrow replaced the relaxed air of contentment she had been giving off. "Santana," she sighed, dropping her hands down onto the table while keeping a hold on the wood and sandpaper, her palms making a dull thud, "What do you hope to achieve with this line of conversation?" She looked up at Santana with her eyebrows starting to furrow, the lines of her mouth turning down.

"Chill, Berry. It's cool. We're just having an in-no-cent dis-cus-sion." She drew out the last two words, giving Rachel a look that said she should have known that.

Rachel sighed again, shaking her head minutely. She restarted sanding the wood, remarking calmly without removing her gaze from her hands, "Santana, you and I never have innocent discussions. In fact, I'd say that before your rude comment, that was the closest to innocent you've ever come with me."

"Well, aren't we all high and mighty?" Santana said sarcastically, turning so her back was to the table. Bracing her hands on the surface, she jumped up and backwards to sit with her legs hanging over the edge.

"Santana!" Rachel hissed lowly, staring at her in shock, "Get down from there before Mr. Jackson sees you!"

"Tchh." Santana smirked at the reaction she had originally hoped for, "If he comes over here, I'll just tell him I'm new and didn't know I wasn't supposed to do this. You don't have to spazz out about it."

Rachel shook her head. "But I know it's wrong, so he'll hold me responsible for not enforcing the rule!" She moved her head back and forth, visually sweeping the room for the teacher.

Santana casually tilted her chin just enough to look for Mr. Jackson as well out of the corner of her eye. Seeing him on the other side of the room in a deep conversation with another student, facing away from them, she turned back to Rachel and gave her a smug look. Clicking her tongue against the top of her mouth, she leaned back onto her palms, asking with studied disinterest, "How is that going, by the way?"

Rachel took a deep breath, glanced over at Mr. Jackson, then let the air out in between her teeth. Santana could visibly see her mentally convincing herself she wouldn't get in trouble for Santana's rebellious activity. She shook her head; the girl's annoying moral stick was firmly up her ass.

"How is what going?" Rachel asked stiffly, giving her an unenthusiastic look before going back to her sanding.

"Finn. Duh. Does that giant honker of yours take up half of your brain cavity?"

"I still don't see how this is any of your business."

Santana rolled her eyes. "It's my business because I was bored enough to offer you my time. But you're already starting to make me regret it. Seriously, hobbit," she straightened to study the fingernails on her right hand, "I have no idea what you and Tubbers see in him. Really. I don't."

She didn't hear Rachel's response. "Uhm, yeah, what was that? Not everyone speaks Dwarvinese."

Rachel's lips quirked up, and she stifled a laugh as her eyes flew up to meet Santana's. "Dwarvish, Santana, would be the most commonly used term. And what am I? A hobbit or a dwarf?" She smirked at Santana, "You're not being very consistent."

Santana gave her an unamused smile back. "Hah hah, you're funny. Not. Remember, I'm the one who's hilarious. You're just annoying."

"Then why are you still talking to me?" Rachel asked lightly, the lines having disappeared from her forehead. "You said it yourself: you're already starting to regret it."

"Ohh, like you can control me." Frowning at the now smugly sanding girl, Santana sat back. "How long will it take?"

Rachel glanced up at her again. "To finish this?"

"No, for you to grow up and turn into a real girl."

"I'm not Pinocchio."

Santana leaned towards her, squinting. "Hey, your nose just grew bigger. I didn't think that was possible."

Picking up the last of her wood blocks, Rachel just sighed. "You know, Santana," she offered, her voice exceedingly polite as she started sanding one of the corners, "For all your words about not meeting my eyes or looking at me, you seem awfully interested in what I look like."

"You wish."

"Not particularly."

Santana gave her a fake smile. "You're one to talk," she reached past Rachel to pick up the unfinished jewelry box, turning it up and down, studying it. "I heard your issue with Finn sleeping with me. What was it? Oh yes," she flicked her gaze to Rachel's, lifting one side of her lips up, "I'm the hottest girl in school."

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "I believe that was only 'she's hot'. Nothing about your looks compared to the relative attractiveness of the girls in this school." Frowning, she set down the wood and sandpaper, letting them go reluctantly. Then, twisting towards Santana and holding out her hand, she asked pointedly, "May I have my box back?"

Santana got a kick out of her thoroughly unamused expression. "You know, Berry," she sighed dramatically, "I think it takes guts for you to admit that you think I'm hot. After all, acceptance is the first step."

Dropping her hand, Rachel glowered at Santana. "Though I am not proud of falling into your conversation trap, acceptance of," she rolled her eyes before meeting Santana's again, crossing her arms, "What?"

Turning the prototype over one more time, Santana placed it down next to her, tapping her fingers on the top. When Rachel tried to make for it, Santana scooted forward to jump down, coming in between the smaller girl and the table. "Santanaholics Anonymous," she stated seriously, "I'm told they meet every Wednesday after school, worshipping pictures of me and sniffing the tissues left over from my daily makeup ritual." She tilted her head, smirk growing bigger as she pretended a thought had just hit her, "Heyy, Wednesday's your free day, isn't it…? Then you have time to sign up and start attending."

"Like I would ever sniff your used makeup tissues, which sounds incredibly disgusting and unsanitary." Giving her an unimpressed frown and pulling her goggles back over her eyes, Rachel scooped up her sanded blocks of wood and trudged over towards where Mr. Jackson was finishing up his conversation. "Good luck with recruiting members," she drawled over her shoulder.

"I don't have to recruit members! They come to me!" Santana called back, frowning at the dismissive half-shrug she got in return. Grumbling, but deciding to make herself look busy in case Mr. Jackson bothered to check on his class, she looked down at the box. It really was impressive. "So how did Berry come up with you…?" she whispered under her breath.

Setting it down, she picked up the golden star next. It was heavier than she expected, and a little rough around the edges; Santana wouldn't be surprised if it was the first thing Rachel had made. Turning it over, she squinted at the slightly clumsy cursive, finally making out, "It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves." – William Shakespeare; crafted by Rachel Berry, 2010. Well, that was different.

"You have horrible handwriting," she offered when Rachel reappeared next to her. Holding up the star, she raised an eyebrow, "What does your signature look like?"

Pushing her sanded and approved wood, now joined by a couple of newer cut pieces, onto the table, Rachel reached for the Sharpie in the cup of pencils and pens situated at the back edge of the table. "Ignoring your critique of my handwriting, here." She pulled an extra sheet of draft paper to her, and, right before setting the tip of the Sharpie down onto it, paused and removed her goggles completely.

Cracking a smirk at the leftover disturbed bangs on Rachel's head, Santana watched as, in painfully ugly cursive, Rachel first wrote out her name. Then, setting an intense determined expression on her face, the small girl did a slanted, painfully ugly elongation of the first. After bending to grab her backpack, she fished around in it until she found a sheet of gold star stickers. Pressing one right after the y in Berry, she smiled proudly and presented it to Santana, "Here. I suggest you keep it for when I get famous."

"Wow," Santana stared, "That is the worst signature I have ever seen. My turn." Plucking the Sharpie out of Rachel's hand and taking the paper, she pressed it onto the table and scrawled her name. Ignoring Rachel's indignant protest of, "Hey! I'll have you know my handwriting is completely satisfactory! And you can't deny my signature is unique and, hopefully, as my fame rises and more and more young girls who look up to me as their role model start wishing to own part of my legacy, hard to forge,", she produced the best signature she had ever seen.

"See?" she held up the paper, Vanna White-ing it. "This is a sexy signature. You keep it for when I get famous."

Grudgingly taking the paper, Rachel took the scissors from the cup that had held the Sharpie, and cut the paper in half so Santana's signature was on one side, her own on the other. "And you keep mine. For what?" she asked, taking the piece with her signature on it and setting it down in front of Santana. "What do you want to be famous for?"

Santana pursed her lips, and she looked at Rachel severely. "Not for dancing on a pole," she emphasized acerbically. There had always been one thing Santana could always count on Rachel for: no matter how many times Santana picked on her, and no matter that she may have always thought Santana was a slut, she'd never said it or the like out loud. It had earned the other girl some reluctant respect. Until that day. Ever since then, she'd been plotting the best time to confront her over it.

Rachel winced. Looking away, she licked her lips, then turned back to Santana, an apologetic tilt to her head. "I'm very glad to hear that," she smiled sincerely, "You are meant for much more."

That was not what Santana expected to happen. Rachel had to stop doing that. "Well, according to you," Santana crossed her arms, giving Rachel one of her best glares, "The pole is where I'm meant."

"I do apologize for that, but it was said in a moment of anger. You should know how people make passionate utterances they normally would not in the heat of the moment. But, Santana. You say much meaner things to me on a regular basis." Propping her hip against her work station, Rachel pushed her discarded wood out of the way. Eyes flicking behind Santana, probably checking for Mr. Jackson again, it was obvious she was waiting for Santana's response.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but that's who I am. I'm the bitch. Aside from some shocking moments of cruelty and selfishness – like, say, sending someone to a crack house, you're just the loser."

Rachel shook her head, throwing up her hands. "Okay, wow, why do I even try? And please. Enough with the crack house!" Dramatically huffing and swiveling back to face her work station, she picked up one of the rough pieces of wood and the sandpaper.

"Okay, that upset you?" Santana laughed, easily amused at how quickly she could play Rachel's emotions. Once she bothered talking to her long enough, it was easier to predict. Apparently, Santana's continued presence made it impossible for Rachel to stay calm and composed. And Santana was bored and bitchy enough that she decided to take advantage of it. "But it was badass," she walked around Rachel to approach her from her other side, "If not sadistic."

Eyes trained directly on what she was doing, Rachel's lips twitched, and faint lines appeared on her forehead again. "That's me. Sadistic. Don't you have to check in with Mr. Jackson now?"

"Not until he notices me."

Rachel closed her eyes. "Joy…" she breathed out through her teeth again. Probably without her specific intent, she'd started to sand the wood with more pressure.

"Oh, so you never answered me," Santana started, pushing some hair behind her ear and going back to resting on her arm on the table. "How long will it take you to finish?"

Pausing momentarily to survey her workspace, Rachel dropped the wood to start counting something in her mind on her fingers. "I'd say only a couple of days to finish the prototype. After that, depending on how satisfied I am with it… I have no idea." A lopsided smile crossed Rachel's lips, and she glanced up at Santana. "I only need it done by the middle of April, so I think it'll be fine."

Santana looked at how much the girl had already done. "Uhh… What more are you planning?" How ambitious was Rachel going to be? Maybe the girl did have something to be impressed about, after all. Because with these woodworking skills, if Santana hadn't transferred in, she would have never known. And that lack of bragging wasn't an instant 'walk into a vat full of acid' turn off.

"Wait just a second." Bending down to pick up her backpack again, Rachel unzipped the main pocket. Pulling out a red folder emblazoned with Woodshop in that horrid cursive, she dropped her bag and turned back to the folder, which she set onto the table. Rifling through the various papers neatly hole-punched and organized with tabs and sub-tabs, she let out a little 'ahah!' Opening the rings, she detached a couple sheets of drafting paper and handed it to Santana, "Here you go."

Accepting the papers, Santana quickly realized they were the draft sketches of the jewelry box, and her eyebrows rocketed up her forehead. "This is…" she started, shuffling the pages back and forth.

"Yes?"

"This is nothing like what you've built!" She stared at Rachel in disbelief. "Aside from a somewhat square shape, it's like a moose with digestive issues threw up after eating twenty day old pasta into a meatloaf pan! I mean," she pointed at what was probably supposed to be a detail of the design on the lid, "How is this, that?"

Rachel looked wounded. "I guess I don't think too well in 3D."

"Think too – What? I just… I can't believe you paid any attention to this diagram, did you?" Santana gave the other girl a knowing look.

Fidgeting, Rachel finally shook her head. "No… But I had to draw something to get credit. It's easier for me to just go and keep everything in my head."

"Wait…" A thought occurring to her for real this time, Santana lowered the papers, "Is that why you compose better when you don't have any music sheets in front of you?"

Tilting her head, Rachel stared somewhere off to the side, then nodded. It was like a light bulb went off. "Oh my," she raised a hand to her mouth, turning her gaze back to Santana, "That's… You're absolutely correct. That's probably why I finally managed to finish Get It Right."

"Yeah. I was there, remember?" Placing the papers down, then pursing her lips, Santana shrugged and grabbed a drafting pencil. "You wrote the lyrics and told me the general idea of what you wanted…" she bent a little closer to the paper, pushing her hair back behind her shoulder so it wouldn't get in her way, and started to sketch.

"…And we composed it together. That's right."

Feeling Rachel moving closer, trying to see what she was doing, Santana shrugged mentally and shifted to allow her space. Quickly glancing back and forth from what Rachel had already finished and what she had waiting, as well as the miserable diagrams, Santana redrew all of them underneath. Pausing every once in a while to ask for a ruler or eraser, or for Rachel to tell her what she had in mind, even arguing a couple of times, Santana was finally satisfied enough to straighten and silently slide them over to Rachel, who almost jumped on them.

Santana felt incredibly smug at the wide eyed shock and open mouthed astonishment that completely took over Rachel's face as she stared at each page. Settling back against the table and calmly studying the nails on her left hand, she waited for the inevitable question.

Rachel didn't disappoint her. "Santana!" she almost squealed, her voice high in its questioning, "If you can do this, why haven't you ever signed up for Woodshop before? I mean…" She pulled out the sketch Santana had done of the overlay, "This is in scale and incredibly easy for me to follow. It's… It's almost – no, it is beautiful."

Pride welled up in her chest, but Santana pushed it down. "No need to get so crazy over it, Berry," she jump-pushed herself back onto sitting on the table, glaring at the freshman whose table technically started under her; he just gulped and averted his eyes, shifting farther over towards the other side, "I just grew up occasionally helping my dad in the garage. And as for why I never took this class before, do you really have to ask? This is not the kind of class Santana Lopez, Head Bitch in Charge would take willingly." She raised her hand preemptively, enjoying the sight of Rachel clicking her mouth shut, "No. I'm not here willingly." Especially if not handled correctly, it could be seen as being very, very, so very gay. Santana frowned. Maybe she should have realized that earlier…

But then Rachel was speaking again, and she turned her attention back onto her, forcing that dark thought away. "Well," the small girl beamed up at her, finally righting her mussed bangs when she smoothed her hair behind her ear in the way she always did when she was thinking about something that could potentially backfire but she was too eager and hopeful to not suggest it, "You have a wonderful talent. A talent I can respect greatly because I have no talent, unfortunately, in that area. However, maybe it's not so unfortunate?" Sidling closer, Rachel started playing with the corners of the diagrams, and her eyes almost glowed when she met Santana's, "As I have gathered from the conversation we have engaged in during this time period, you have no wish to 'properly' join this class."

Santana stared suspiciously at her, but nodded. "Go on," she picked up the discarded pencil, starting to roll it in her hands. The sudden interest Rachel was focusing completely in her direction was new, but now she had an idea of why, when faced with it for the first time, Finn had been creeped out by how intensely Rachel had concentrated on him.

A calculating, still innocent smile crossing her face, Rachel continued laying out her idea. "A wish that just so happens to be seemingly granted. As you have transferred in so late this term, there are no free work stations." She inclined her head, and, interested in if the coincidence was real, Santana followed her movement. There were, indeed, no free desks. "So, Santana," Rachel moved in for the kill, "I have a proposal for you. You help me design and work out my projects here, at this table, and I help you get out of doing any actual work. Assuming, of course, that you're really that lazy.

"But I digress." Raising her hand, Rachel finally took the last step so she was right next to Santana, "How about it?"

Santana slipped into her I'm thinking deeply so don't interrupt me or I'll get angry face, focusing her attention in the general area of Rachel's forehead. Make a deal or not…?

If she agreed, that would mean she'd interact with Rachel a lot more than she'd ever want to – even if that class so far hadn't been so bad. If she agreed, she really wouldn't have to work all that much – and still get good grades by coasting on Rachel's labor. If she agreed, she'd get to indulge her secret love of design – but still get to pass it off as something she detested, saving her reputation.

If she didn't agree… No, it was pointless going down that road. There was no way she'd decline. And, as she shrugged and made a crack about not wanting to touch the hobbit even if she'd grudgingly accept her offer, as well as stipulating that this didn't make them friends so Rachel better not come up to talk to her in public, the self-satisfied expression on Rachel's face told her Rachel knew that perfectly well, too.

"Alright!" Rachel clapped her hands together, smiling at her, "Let's go find Mr. Jackson so we can propose this to him. I have almost a hundred percent faith that he shall agree." Turning, she located Mr. Jackson again and started walking towards him, "After all, I've been in his class for three terms now, and I am sufficiently certain I have enough influence to get this done."

Staying sitting for as long as she could before Rachel turned around and noticed she wasn't following, Santana just shook her head. She probably had no idea what she'd just gotten herself into, did she? At least, she smirked, finally jumping down, she knew she was well equipped with how to deal with Rachel's craziness… Which made her wonder how long it would take Rachel to figure out how to deal with her craziness.

God knows she wasn't going to make it easy.