Santana's POV:
It is the first day of seventh grade. That means junior high. I groan, thinking of the possibility of even more homework.
I cram some Frosted Cheerios into my mouth- I put way too much milk in, so I try to eat it fast before the cereal gets soggy. Then I throw on the cute, dark, skinny jeans, lacy purple top, and black leather jacket I picked out the night before. And before I know it, I am walking to McKinley Junior High- leaving wonderful summer behind until next year. I am not in a good mood- not that I, Santana Lopez, am known for being in good moods- and I scrape my feet on the sidewalks of the small town to slow my pace. After two streets I arrive at the bus stop. Soon enough, I am joined by Brittany! My morning instantly improves. It is literally impossible not to smile when you see my best friend- well, the only person I never teased or beaten up. Brittany S. Pierce is VERY perky, in a good way.
"I'm so excited to decorate my new locker!" Brittany is always looking at the brightest side of things. Whenever anyone says something positive when I'm in a bad mood, I tend to slug them or come up with one of my trademark- yet extremely funny- insults. But it doesn't work like that with Brittany. She is the type of person who can even make me be a little less negative. And that's saying something. That's why she is my best friend. I have no clue why I am hers, but I'm not complaining.
"Well, I'm going to miss summer, Britt. But lockers can be cool. I like vandalizing them,"
Brittany giggles at my last comment. She has learned to except I'm not all innocent like her.
I would like to complain openly about my dread of school, but that might upset the sensitive Brittany. We climb onto the bus and find a seat somewhere in the middle. Brittany looks out the window and lights up even more, "Look! A rainbow! That means good luck, you know, San!"
It's true; there was a rainbow in the sky where she points. I laugh, "We are going to need all the luck we can get today. I heard we have Mr. Smith!"
We shudder at the name of the supposedly dead-harsh seventh grade science teacher. I hope we get lucky. Looking at Brittany's rainbow, I catch a few extra minutes of sleep before the bus reaches school.
Puck's POV:
I walk up to my new locker and immediately write PUCK across the front in large, permanent letters with a black Sharpie I keep in my pocket at all times. I am completely aware that is against the rules, which I my point- that, and to make my mark right away. I do this every year. The school stopped trying to punish me in second grade, it was useless.
Next I turn around, waiting for Finn to show up so we can discuss the junior high football try outs. Instead, I see Santana open her locker. Yes! It is two down from mine so I can talk to her every morning. She is like the equivalent of me in girl form: bad, yet awesome.
Plus, she is extremely good looking. Just like the Puckasaurus.
She turns around with books in her hands, catches me staring, and winks. She spins on her heal, her Cheerio's high pony swishing behind her. I usually would say something smooth, but I feel tongue tied. Why did she have to catch me staring? It usually happens the other way around. Shoot.
The bell rings, and all around seventh graders dart to their first class of the year. I stay back, I am never on time. Why give the new teachers the wrong idea? As the hallway clears, a girl is standing in the middle of the hall. She looks confused, and is definitely not in junior high. She is holding something, like she is supposed to give it to a teacher here. I watch as a few jocks come down the hall, the biggest one shoves the younger girl to the floor. Once the walk away, I approach the girl. She has long, dark brown hair, and big brown eyes. I bend down and pick up the papers that were strewn across the tiled floor. She looked up at me gratefully, "I- I'm Marley," You can definitely tell she feels out of place.
I usually would have told her she got lucky. I am the original rebel of McKinley. But instead, "That was Karofsky- he's a jerk to everyone. Don't mind him. I'm Puck," I hand her the papers, "Here you go. Who are they for?"
She says Mr. Smith. Great, "I'll take them for you," I smile and wave. She gets up slowly, and then sprints out of the school. I feel very out of character. I turn to bring these to Mr. Smith, and then I catch sight of Lopez. Oh god. She saw me being nice. This is awful! I am about to show her the locker I vandalized, when she grins, "That was sweet, Puckerman,"
No, "No one calls this Puck sweet. I am nothing but bad."
She laughs, "Alright. But only if you do the same for me, Mohawk."
I run my hand through my Mohawk self-consciously, "Alright, Lopez. Deal,"
She spots the black Sharpie in my pocket, snatches it, and walks to her locker. She rights LOPEZ in large, permanent letters. I like this girl. Draping my arm around her shoulder, we walk to first period- twenty minutes late.
