Hellooo all, this is my first venture into the world of Brittana fanfiction. I just came up with this idea yesterday, at around 1am t be quite honest, and thought I might as well showcase my writing to the wonderful 'LiveHardDieHonest, for whom I'm beta-ing. Sorry for giving you so much crap about using interchangeable words, it's certainly not easy being on this end :P
"Remember me and smile, for it is better to forget than to remember me and cry." - Unknown.
They spent their summer mornings waking up early, pressing warm feet to cold, wet grass. They would shovel cereal down, shower because their mothers forced them to, and hurriedly pull on shorts and t-shirts. And then they would run.
At eight years old, they didn't care about the world. It was summer and they were free. Each day was an adventure waiting to be discovered, and boredom was non-existent when they had each other to create fun with.
The rich scent of damp earth would waft on the breeze as they'd throw down their bikes after racing, coming to dig up the backyard, where Santana's grandfather would plant his sunflowers and scold them gently as they rolled in the mud. They would argue over who got to do what, and solving it was as simple as rock-paper-scissors.
They'd help with the watering and the weeding, all the while playing and laughing, and drinking from tall, sweating glasses of lemonade.
"I dare you," she winked, knowing her best friend wouldn't do it, but Brittany swallowed the earthworm with a smug grin.
And the sun would sparkle off the empty glasses on the veranda, as they got yanked in for baths.
The water was always cool, and what was summer for if not for the beaches? Buckets and spades, flowered shorts, and sun-cream. When the salt mingled in the air, their excitement was unbearable.
The glittering sand would stretch for miles, fringing the bright blue of the ocean, and the two of them would build their castles as high as they could reach, scratching doors and windows into their vast palaces of soft sand, cemented together with the salty sea-water. The flags at the top would mark their territories and they would begin to concoct the unbelievable stories for their castles to contain.
Across the shore, Brittany's dad would yell, "Heads up!" and chuck them a frisbee, and the epic battle would begin. Up and down the beach, sand between chubby toes, hair flying, and water splashing, and the sun tanning their young skin for they did not listen properly when they were told to put on the sun-cream. Before home-time, they'd run in with the tide, and let it wash back over their feet, saying a farewell to the sea and the sky and the sand, until next time.
When it wasn't the beach, it was afternoons at the pool. They'd race up and down the length of it a hundred times, yelling with delight, seeing who was faster, splashing each other, holding their breaths and diving. Brittany would call, "Marco!" and Santana would shout, "Polo!" swimming for her life. And they'd munch tuna sandwiches by the poolside, dipping their feet in, and licking chocolate ice-creams as they skipped home.
It was summer, it was fun – not a care in the world. And they weren't going to waste a moment of their last week, which had all of a sudden arrived.
There were the quieter evenings too – well, as quiet an evening as two 8 year olds could have – when they'd play on the monkey bars at the park. Santana always tried, but could never make it across, and Brittany was always there to help her up when she fell. They'd run up the slide at full speed then collapse in laughter as they slipped and slid back down. The swings were their favorite. They always felt like they were flying, higher than the clouds, as they pumped harder, cheering, and right at the top, they'd jump to see if they could land on their own two feet.
That was the first time Brittany discovered she wasn't indestructible. Santana let the blonde lean on her as she helped her home. Her foot was wrapped, and the doctor told her to stay off her swollen, sprained ankle for the next week. It must have been the most depressing news she'd ever heard. She'd be so bored – her last week indoors with no Santana, at which point she received a sharp smack across her head and then a hug. Brittany didn't say it but her smile did, and when Santana rang her doorbell the next day, her arms piled with things, she was more than happy, sort of relieved.
They made board games fun, and bet some of their toys too. Disney movie marathons were always supplied with plenty of popcorn and pop-tarts and anything with a 'pop' in it, and Santana would turn the Pierce's living room into a new adventure each day, like they had done with the outside world. They'd create jungles and cities, foreign lands and castles, oceans and mountains with their untamed imaginations, and the help of tables, toys, blankets and various other objects stolen from around the house. And each day, she returned without fail, to stay with Brittany, who almost forgot she was even hurt; she did not even realize the week flying by so quickly. Then suddenly, it was the last day of summer.
She waited for her, but that morning Santana did not arrive. The clock ticked, and ticked. She played with her cat, which was getting fatter by the minute, built a city of lego, watched cartoons, played her favourite video game, but the minutes rolled by like hours. When it was lunch time, Brittany wasn't hungry, and he finally picked up the phone, but then put it down almost immediately. Santana had finally gotten tired of her, perhaps. Well, it was the last day – why would she want to spend it indoors?
Saddened, she pulled blankets over herself, and went to sleep, until her mother came to wake her. It was five o'clock. She'd been out for so long. When she finally limped downstairs, a tall glass of milk was sitting on the counter like always, but as the blonde girl rounded the door into the kitchen, she saw Santana sitting across the counter, sipping milk her own.
"Hey," she smiled, the milk mustache stretching.
Brittany didn't reply, but sat down to drink.
"Sorry I didn't come this morning. Mum said I couldn't. I had stuff to do. But I was thinking, you're walking a little better – maybe we could go outside for a bit?"
She gave her mother a questioning look, and she nodded, "Yeah, go on. Just have Brit home before eight, okay?" she winked.
Brittany frowned, "I can do that myself, Mum."
When the pair stepped outside, it was beautiful. The 8 year old blonde felt like she hadn't seen the world in years. They walked quietly towards the park, Santana chatting like she always did, but Brittany was still silent. She trotted along to the swings but Brittany didn't follow.
"What is it, B?"
She limped up to an open space, plopped down, and lay back on the wet grass, her head tilted up towards the sky. Santana followed.
"Let us lay in the sun and count every beautiful thing we see," she murmured quietly.
Santana turned her head to look at her best friend's pondering expression, "Huh?"
"My Dad said that to me once." Brittany shrugged.
"Blue sky," the other girl smiled.
"Huh?"
"It's beautiful."
"Cotton-candy clouds."
"The chirping cicadas."
"The grass so green."
"Sunflowers."
"Butterflies."
"Summer."
"The last day… You didn't have to come if you didn't want to today. I know you wanted to play outside. It's alright," she whispered, turning to face Santana, who instantly
sat up, crossing her legs and turned to face Brittany, tone serious, "Brittany, I do want to. You're my best friend. I'm not lying. My mum didn't let me in the morning."
She brought her eyes from the sky to her, eyes sparkling with hope, and after a long pause: "Really?"
"Really." Santana nodded vigorously.
The blonde sighed, and attempted to sit up, and when she couldn't, Santana chuckled and pulled her up, hurt leg stretched out, the other crossed.
"Thanks San."
She shot her a toothy grin, her face lighting up, but it soon subsided.
"Brit, I have to tell you something."
Brittany perked up to listen.
"Uh. Well, the thing is… Remember I told you before summer how my dad was looking for new jobs? He found one."
Brittany grinned, raising Santana's hand for a high-five. "That's great!"
She looked down sadly and murmured, "But it's not. It's not... here. We're… we're leaving."
The hand abruptly dropped, like her face, "Leaving? Leaving where? You can't go!"
"We are. Next week. They've moved me to a new school too. A new city…" Her eyes were wet and round.
"That – That's so soon…"
Her lower lip trembled. "I know."
And the tear she was trying to blink away slipped down her round, pink cheek. Brittany, in her awkward sitting position, inched forward, and put her arms around her best friend's quivering shoulders, and let her shirt soak up the girl's heavy tears. She rubbed her back in circles and whispered, "It will be okay in the morning," until she hiccupped to a weak stop.
They stayed out until eight-thirty that night, looking at the stars and talking about nothing. She helped Brittany home afterward, and Brittany's mum told them off but called them to dinner. They ate the fish and chips, watched Lion King, and later that night, fell asleep, Brittany's mum calling Santana's to tell them she was sleeping over.
While the blonde went to school the next morning, Santana went home to a place that was being dismantled piece by piece, packed away into brown cardboard boxes. During the endless mornings, boredom would creep up on her, as she was shepherded off to rooms where the movers were not working. Most of the time she spent discovering things that were long-forgotten or thought lost. Occasionally, she would sit on a box, and strike up a conversation with one of the movers until she was caught and told to go do something somewhere else.
But Brittany would come everyday like clockwork (as Santana had), in the late afternoons after finishing her homework, to play, and the two of them would turn her boxed up house into tunnels and caves, a vast maze with endless obstacles, and the lone sofa that had not yet been packed away was their home base. Even in this state, they let their imaginations take them on a ride, and the evenings passed by too quickly. Brittany wouldn't leave until the sky was an inky black, until her father came to take his daughter home.
Saturday morning rolled by and Santana watched as the moving truck revved and sputtered into life, taking away all her possessions. She wandered through her house, marveling at its emptiness, and feeling suddenly smaller in this large, space of nothing but floor tiles. The bigger furniture, like beds and the kitchen table, would be taken away tomorrow, when they finally handed over their keys to the landlord from whom they'd rented. These thoughts tumbled through her head, and her heart dropped a degree lower each time. She couldn't even pretend anymore that this wasn't real.
Brittany did come over early though, and relieved her boredom. They spent the day outdoors, at the park and the pool, and playing kiddy basketball in her spacious backyard. Santana did not think about anything, but had fun, letting her skin soak up the sun, and the gentle breezes fan her dark hair. They laid on the grass and stared at the never-ending blue sky, and swung higher than ever on the swings, uncaring of anything, the world seemingly at their fingertips. And when the sun came to set, they went to dinner with their families, laughing at the stars as they emerged from the deepening folds of sky. They watched Tom and Jerry, slurping strawberry milkshakes and competing fiercely at Snake and Ladders. And finally it was time to go home.
"I'll be there first thing tomorrow. I promise," Brittany said, her piercing blue eyes sure.
She grinned wide and hugged her best friend tight, "Thanks Brittany."
The next morning she was woken up extra early to get ready. Shower, dress, breakfast. They'd be leaving at nine o' clock, and she had two hours to kill. But it was okay – Brittany would come.
She couldn't get dirty so she couldn't play outside, and there was nothing to do inside. She read a fairy-tale, played with her stuffed hippo, climbed up the insides of doorframes, and skipped around the house. She blew bubbles with her pink gum, nibbled on biscuits, and slid down the banister of the staircase. And the clock chimed eight – yet still all the knocks on the door were not Brittany – neighbours, some of her other friends, her dad's colleagues – but no Brittany.
Santana was worrying now. Only one more hour. She begged to go check at Brittany's house, but her parents said she couldn't leave. They were busy and they couldn't come after her. Finally, after brooding around the house, she plopped down outside on her doorstep, clutching her hippo. Her watch beeped eight-thirty.
The birds were chirping and the bees buzzing around her garden. Her garden. Oh, it was beautiful – the flowers, the trees, the grass, the bugs – full of life. She would miss it. And her house. The one she'd grown up in since she was born – she'd miss it so much. The lilac walls of her bedroom, the little balcony that overlooked a busy street, the warmth of the kitchen, the squashy couches in the living room… everything.
She pondered sorrowfully, still waiting, and waiting. She heard a puttering and another moving truck appeared, parking outside her house. She was ushered away again, so she sat on the swing on her veranda, and watched the men load the remaining few things. Her dad was bustling around, checking he had his keys, plane tickets, wallet and such, and her mother gathered the last items. The suitcases were wheeled in, another car pulling up: a colleague of her dad's that would drive them to the airport.
The old clock in the living room that they were leaving behind chimed nine o'clock, and Santana's sinking heart plummeted. She stood on the sidewalk outside her house, craning her neck to see if there was anyone coming. There were people, but she couldn't see any Brittany. The puttering of the truck started up again and it pulled away, carrying their last belongings off to a new home far away. Finally her dad stopped chatting with his coworker, and called to her.
"Santana, come on. We're leaving."
Sadly, she turned away from the sidewalk and trudged towards the waiting car, ever so slowly, still a sliver of hope in her heart. She got in like a snail to the impatient stare of her father, and the understanding nod of her mother.
"Mom?"
Her mother turned to look at her. "I know, sweetie."
"She was supposed to come…"
She turned her face to the window, and gazed out, as the trees began moving, and her house got further and further away. She gazed and gazed even when they were well off their street. Even as the plane took off, she stared out over the landscape.
But Brittany never came.
