Chapter 1

Your Journey Starts Now

"Dammit Santana, why must you always push my buttons?"

"Well, maybe if you were a better mother we wouldn't be having this conversation!"

"Fine. You want to be an ungrateful child? Maybe your father will appreciate your attitude."

"And maybe dad will actually appreciate me."

"You're moving down south before the summer is over."

"Fantastic! I can't wait."

July 26, 1975

Santana Lopez understood that her mother was serious about her living with her father. Nevertheless, she was not, and as she stood in the cramped living room of the row house that she once considered home, staring hard at the pale green and yellow wallpaper, she held regret over that day. She hadn't meant to claim her mother as a poor parent; she just wasn't the greatest. But whose parents were perfect anyway? As far as she knew, all of her friends were from "broken homes" too.

Despite being raised by a single parent for the last six years, Santana often silently admitted that matters could be worse. Her mother could have completely neglected her maternal job, she could have been addicted to heroin as quite a few mothers were, she could have been an alcoholic, or abusive. The situations were endless and she ended up with a pretty decent one.

The problem, however, lay with her younger sister, who often gained their mother's attention and adoration. The brunette s gruffly as she remembered the final card that knocked over the whole house, the incident that sparked the confrontation a mere two weeks ago.

The Latina wasn't a troublemaker, at least not actively so. She had good grades, mostly good behavior, and she participated in the typical adventures of a sixteen year old in Brooklyn. She never asked for much, at least no more than what her mother and grandmother could provide, and she usually could handle whatever was thrown her way. Yet, that was before her sister became a problem child, though, apparently Santana was the only one who could see what a bad seed Juliet was. Through everyone else's eyes, the little brunette was a perfect angel who knew no wrong. If she did manage to cause chaos, she was constantly excused for a child just being a child or Santana somehow was to blame.

Case in point, a couple of months ago their mother bought a cake for their grandmother's birthday. It was quite possibly the prettiest cake Santana had ever seen. Chocolate with vanilla frosting and baby blue and yellow swirls alternatively placed on the sides and top of the sweet dessert. In pink icing it spelled Happy 50th Birthday Alma in a delicate cursive form. Her abuela was going to love it, or at least she would have if Juliet hadn't decided she wanted to taste it the day before. By the time Santana found her she had icing all around her mouth, cake mushed in her right hand, and a completely ruined cake sitting between her legs.

The evidence was overwhelmingly incriminating and yet Santana still shouldered the blame alone.

"Juliet's just a child," her mother said. "You should have stopped her. You're her older sister, act like it."

Santana desperately wanted to counter with the fact that Juliet is ten and should know better, something she was often scolded and punished for when she was that age. Instead, she stared in disbelief as she was grounded for a crime she didn't commit once again. No matter how many times it happened, Santana repeatedly found it mind-baffling as to how she was to blame. How did that work?

Sadly, incidents like that happened too often to count. It was nothing compared to the really bad occurrences, situations where she was physically disciplined. Those moments called for Santana to pay in kind. Those moments found her beating her sister the second they went to bed. It was the only time she was thankful they shared a room, and she made sure Juliet stayed quiet during and after the ordeal. Yes, she felt guilty after, she always felt remorse, but what else was she to do? It was simply unfair that the little brat got away with murder.

Juliet knew what she was doing. She loved exploiting her position in the house as a spoiled child.

She told Santana that she was her bitch.

A fucking ten-year old said she was her bitch.

And that's when Santana began to realize that enough was enough. Well, that and the fact that Juliet pushed her down the stairs. Her little sister pushed her down a flight of stairs, sixteen steps to be exact, and had the nerve to pull the victim act when their mother came running. According to Juliet, they were rough-housing, Santana got too rough, she tried to defend herself, and thus her big sister's crumbled form at the bottom of the steps. According to Santana…she didn't even get a say in the tale.

The next few minutes were crucial to Santana. It was the climax in her life to date, a pivotal point she thought would end well when her mom asked if she was okay instead of yelling at her. Considering she fell down sixteen goddamn stairs, yes, she felt pretty okay and said as much.

It was the wrong answer and she didn't even say the first part. No, she knew better than to talk back let alone take the Lord's name in vain.

Her mother charged down the steps and proceeded to beat her, accusing her of almost harming her precious little sister, and blaming Santana for the fall because she "shouldn't have been 'playing' near the steps in the first place."

When it was all said and done, Santana ended up going to the hospital later that night for a sprained ankle. Her grandmother took her since somebody had to watch Juliet. It was on the ride home that she reached the resolution to her predicament. She couldn't be in that house any longer; it was no longer home to her.

"Do you want to know why your mami treats you and Julieta so differently, Santanita?"

"Why, abuela?"

"Because when you turned fourteen and she turned eight, someone told your mother that you were old enough to take care of yourself and that your sister would need all of the attention. Do you know who that was?"

"No, abuela."

"Your Tia Alejandra. She was often jealous because I paid far more attention to your mother. Alex didn't make it easy but I now see the errors in my ways. For that I am sorry. Perdóname, Santanita."

"It's okay, abuela. Te perdono."

It was quite possibly the softest her grandmother had ever talked to her. It was also the first time she ever said sorry and asked for forgiveness. Santana didn't quite understand the circumstances revolving around her mother, her grandmother, and her aunt; regardless, like she said, it was okay, or it was going to be okay, or so she had hoped.

Santana confronted her mother, explained that she knew her reasons, tried to make her see new reason, and it blew up in Santana's face. Her mother saw her approach as a threat to parenthood; Santana's words only confirmed it, so now she was on her way to being shipped to Virginia.

A groan escaped plump lips as Santana settled in the aged rocking chair that forevermore sat in the far corner of the living room. She was waiting for her mother who was seemingly taking forever to get ready. Perhaps she was having second thoughts? Santana hoped as much for the wrong reason. She just wished she was being sent to live with her abuela and not her father. She would take the Bronx and nicknames like garbage face over a military lifestyle and base housing. She didn't miss living there during the summer and hadn't been back in three years. It wasn't just her father or his family that she despised; it was Virginia as a whole. It was nothing compared to glorious New York City. Santana didn't know what she was going to do when she gets there. She wasn't a kid anymore whose excitement was simple to satisfy when forced to stay with relatives every summer from age six to ten.

"Are you ready, Santana?"

"Si, mami. I'm in the living room." Santana yelled back, being as said older Latina was still upstairs. What could possibly be taking her so long?

In spite of the late start to an early morning, this gave Santana a chance to view the house one last time, what used to be her home. Having lived there for sixteen years made her blind to how small everything was.

The space from the miniature vestibule to the stairs was barely covered by the half wall that started the living room. The stairs were narrow, yet as a kid who rode the laundry basket down those wooden steps every chance she could, it seemed as wide as an ocean. Along the stairwell were various pictures of what used to be a happy family.

The living room was the largest room in the house. It was cozy during the day but it held many parties many nights. Since the stairs didn't have any obstacles and was connected to the living room, Santana frequently found herself sneaking a view of the adults that cheered and danced before her. Contrary to the phrase held during the day, at night children were not to be seen or heard.

The rocking chair was Santana's favorite and least favorite seat. Her father used to sing to her in that chair, serenading her and her mother with the most wonderful Spanish tunes in his sweet baritone voice, even if Spanish wasn't his native tongue she found herself unceasingly enraptured. She and baby Juliet used to watch their parents salsa around the second-hand coffee table in that chair, laughing and trying to imitate the easy-flowing moves. She also watched her father hit her mother for the first and last time from that chair, and hid under it when her mother returned the favor by smacking him with a cast iron pan. From the day they divorced it went downhill as every few months or so Santana was introduced to a new "uncle" she never heard of before.

Watching television was only special for cartoons or wrestling with her other grandmother, Mom-Mom as she liked to be called. There was nothing quite like the excitement of Mom-Mom's soulful cooking and jumping up and down on the lone couch in bewilderment as grown men wrestled. Her abuela admonished such entertainment perpetually. Sadly, such joys ended with the divorce and even more so when Daloris Walker died a year later from a heart attack. Santana would later find herself often wondering if she really died of a heart attack or just from her heart breaking over her parents.

The dining room and kitchen were relatively small but served their purpose for family meals and the like well. Santana loved to watch her mother cook. She did it with such grace and ardor, and the mouth-watering aromas from the many spices she used filled up the house for days. Santana continually thought her mother looked the happiest when cooking. She would sing and hum and tango and twirl like she was truly in her element. Too bad being a chef was never recognized nor achieved for Maribel Lopez, instead, she settled for being a waitress.

There wasn't much joy to be had upstairs. The rooms were compact with very little distance between her mother's room, the bathroom, her and Juliet's room, and the spare room that was, for the most part, filled with junk. If the space wasn't suffocating enough, the design was, but it was one fatal memory that never failed to leave Santana breathless whenever it spontaneously spawned from time to time.

Three years ago, Santana was raped by one of her "uncles" in her mother's bedroom. It was a rare moment when she had to ride her bike to and from school because her mother was taking Juliet to a doctor's appointment and her abuela was busy running errands. At first, she didn't understand why he was there, then he claimed that her mother wanted to make sure someone was home to watch over her. It was a completely believable reason, a little too believable, yet Santana went about her day and continued to head to her room to start her homework. Everything was fine until he called for her, asking for assistance in finding an object in her mother's room. She didn't like going in her mother's room in the first place for it still reminded her of her father, it didn't help that she felt betrayed that summer for he had another family by then. Still, when an adult beckoned for a child, the child had no choice but to listen.

She never told anyone about the incident, which fortunately nothing even more misfortunate came from it, but the guy was enough of a sleazeball to be kicked to the curb on his own. It was quite possibly the last time she felt like a proud sister, because if that had happened to Juliet, Santana would have never forgave herself. The only consequence to that matter was the reinforcement of her avoiding her mother's room, and that was something Santana could live with.

As a whole, the place wasn't much of a home; still, Santana couldn't deny the many memories that lay within it, both good and bad. To say she would miss it would be false; on the other hand, it would always be in her heart, as would her mother and that Devil's spawn Juliet. They were still her family at the end of the day, more so than her father, and for that thought, tears started running down her face.

"Alright, Santana. ¡Vámonos! We're already an hour and twenty minutes behind-" her mother had finally entered the living room but froze at the sight of her crying daughter. "Santana, what's wrong?"

After receiving no reply, she stepped closer until she was standing in front of the smaller brunette.

"Santanita?"

Maribel hadn't called her that in years.

"Mami!" Santana bolted up right and into her mother's arms, hugging her tightly and wishing to never let or be let go. "Lo siento, mami. Lo siento."

"No." Santana tensed at the firm tone, but she relaxed as Maribel stroked her hair and back soothingly. "I'm sorry, mija. I'm sorry for neglecting your needs and your pain. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, mami. Te perdono."

"No, it's not okay, and it may never be." At that, her mother pulled away only to press a kiss to her forehead and look into her eyes. "It's good that you're leaving. Maybe things will be different in Virginia; maybe we just need time a part. You'll be a woman soon, an adult, and I don't want any of this holding you back. I've always seen what a great person you are, what a great daughter you are. I'm sorry I'm only now expressing it, Santanita."

"Mami-"

"Shh, let me finish." Maribel pulled her daughter back into a tight hug. "You are beautiful and smart and you have so much potential, mija. So much potential. But, you will not succeed here, not with me. I too still have lessons to learn. And when we both get far with those lessons, may we talk like this again as better women and as a better mother to her perfect daughter, entiende?"

"Si, mami." Santana sniffled.

"Now, what does abuelita always say?"

"Me atrevo a vivir."

"That's right. I dare you to live, Santanita. I dare you to become more than I ever could, to become more than this place."

The rest of the morning went by faster than Santana thought possible after that sentimental moment. She and her mom packed what bags and boxes that could fit in the tiny Chevrolet Impala, the rest would be shipped before school started. By eight-fifteen, they dropped Juliet at Alma's house and so Santana could say her last goodbyes before they hit the highway. Next thing Santana knew, they were whizzing by the "Welcome to Virginia Beach" sign after six hours on the road. In a matter of minutes, the chipped vibrant red vehicle was squeaking and groaning its way onto a gravel covered driveway.

She was officially in Virginia Beach. She was officially spending the next two years with her father and his family, and she was officially spending two years in no-man's land. If the groan that slipped from her wasn't a good indication of her displeasure then the disgruntled look upon her face said it loud and clear.

"It's not that bad, Santana." Maribel tried to reassure her as she hushed the engine.

"Mom, you don't understand. He's your ex-husband, it's not as bad."

A look of disapproval was shot her way before her mother exited the car. Santana quickly followed suit.

"Sorry, mami, but…it's just," she exhaled and leaned her head, face down, against the car frame.

"I understand, really, I do. Your father is a hard man to get along with, especially since he became more military oriented."

"Understatement of the year."

"Santanita!" Her mother chided.

"Sorry!"

"Two years, Santana, just two years then you're your own person. I know you can do this." Maribel walked to the other side of the car and hugged her. "Just think, no more Juliet, no more Alma, and no more of me. All at the cost of what? A few rules, a catty wife, and your step-brother, who you're genuinely good friends with?"

"I suppose."

Her mother kissed her forehead one last time then headed for the porch of the two and a half story house. "You'll be fine."

Santana chanced a quick glance of the area, spotting several nosy neighbors (read: military wives.) She sighed again and limped after her mom to the storm door just as she rang the doorbell. It took another buzz, after three minutes of waiting, for someone to eventually answer. Naturally, it would be the person neither of them liked.

"Oh, what a surprise. We were expecting you earlier. Better late than never, right Maribel?"

"Good afternoon, Shannel," was the Latina's curt response.

The lanky black woman chuckled in an annoyingly high pitch before turning a condescending gaze to Santana.

"Good afternoon, Santana," she greeted nasally. The younger Latina simply grunted in return. Even so, an elbow from her mother forced an actual greeting from her lips. "I'm glad you found your manners."

The tension between the three was high and continuing to rise, but Maribel quickly cut it lest it reach boiling point. "Where's Lance?"

"In the gym. My man has to stay fit; he's not a Hospital Corpsman, First Class for nothing."

Santana and Maribel exchanged glances at the bragging act. They never understood why she always resorted to such a tactic when it should have been fairly obvious neither of them cared. Santana wasn't missing her father that much and Maribel even less so for her ex-husband. He could keep his level E-6 pay grade.

"Then can you go get him?"

"Sure." Shannel scowled at what she thought was an implication of her being the help. "Sit tight and don't steal anything."

If it was anyone else, surely Santana would have shown her what it meant to be raised in Brooklyn, not to mention the Bronx; present mother be damned. She almost forgot her sprained ankle too until a massive form burst through the doorway, brushed past his mother, and nearly bowled Santana over. Had she not been promptly swept off her feet, she would have cursed the idiot to hell and back if she was injured further.

"Hello, Matt. It's good to see you're no longer puny."

A deep chuckle rumbled from the chest her face was pressed against. "I was never puny."

"Says the one who hid behind me as a kid, despite being older and taller, to protect him from the Bogeyman." Santana reminded, patting his surprisingly muscled arms awkwardly. She wasn't much for hugs unless it was her mother or grandmother. "Now, let me go Rutherford, I think you bruised a rib."

Another chuckle burst from the young man's lips as he acquiesced and relinquished his hold on his younger step-sister. It had been three years since they last saw each other, therefore he missed her greatly. She was the only one that helped him cope with the madness of living in a military home. She was, without a doubt, the sister he never wanted at first but was glad to have in his life.

Matt swiftly turned to Maribel and gave her the same treatment. "Good afternoon, Ms. Lopez."

"Oh, goodness," she let out a breathy laugh, returning the strong embrace. "How many times must I tell you that Maribel is fine?"

"What happened to you? Found the perks of having a Navy medic as a step-father?" Santana teased.

"Santana." Maribel berated as she was set on stable ground and they entered the house to settle in the living room.

"What? It's a serious question. He used to be this gangly kid, now he looks like a jock."

"That would probably be 'cause I am."

"You're shitting me – OW!" Santana hissed after having her head bopped by her mom. "What?"

"Don't you 'what' me." Maribel glared. "Do not think for a second that living here excuses you from my punishment. If I hear you get into any trouble I will drive down here and put you back in place. And if I can't make it, you know your abuela will gladly take Greyhound down here in my place."

"Yes ma'am."

Matt would have chuckled at his step-sister's predicament except he was practically in the same boat. His biological father, though no longer fully immersed in his life, did keep note of his activities from time to time. The last time he displeased his father was when he spoke against his mother for marrying another man hardly a year after dating him. His father smacked him good and hard for that comment. He hadn't meant to insinuate that his mom was a slut, he just couldn't understand how she moved on so quickly and for someone she barely knew.

Speaking of the man, HM Lance Walker strode into the spacious sitting area from a hallway that connected to the dining room. He was donned in his usual workout gear, the typical navy blue track pants with white stripes along the legs, running sneakers, and a grey tee with his name and rank stitched on the left breast and NAVY printed on the back. Even with slight sweat stains under his arms and perspiration coating his forehead, he still looked impeccable as true to the military name. It almost put Matt, Santana, and Maribel to shame, regardless of their casual attire. Then again, it could have just been the way the man carried himself.

"Maribel, Santana," he greeted rather shortly, though, that seemed to be in his nature since embodying the Navy more. "It's good to see you."

"Buenas tardes, Lance."

"Hi…papi."

No hugs were exchanged nor were any warm smiles. In fact, an awkward atmosphere settled in quite quickly once everyone was acknowledged. Matt and Santana eyed one another warily, anticipating some sort of explosion between her parents as expected of them when placed in the same vicinity.

"I think I'll start unloading the car," declared Santana as she hopped up only to wince and almost flop back on the pristine and plastic-covered sofa. She grimaced even more when she face planted against the hideous object. It was probably Shannel's doing that her father got rid of the cool and comfy furniture.

"You are in no condition to do such a thing, Santanita. Matt and I will take care of it." Maribel asserted, standing from the same couch just as Matt stood from the recliner (the only piece that escaped the living room reform.) "You don't mind, do you Matt?"

"Not at all Ms. Lo – I mean – Maribel," he smiled and followed her out of the house, but not before flicking Santana's knee and fleeing from her imminent wrath.

Though the main cause of the tension from earlier was gone, there was still some uneasiness permeating in the air. Father and daughter hadn't seen one another or talked to each other in three years, or four if you want to be technical. No matter how much Santana put up a façade that his absence didn't bother her, she still found herself feeling rather morose when June 16th came around. That was the last time she saw him and she had to admit he changed drastically since then. She supposes not being able to see ones children for three years would change a man.

She didn't mean mentally and emotionally only; he changed physically too. To others he may have seemed the same, even better maybe, but of course his daughter could see the small changes. He looked tired, his dark eyes speaking volumes of what his body refused to show. She could have sworn she saw a few wrinkles along his forehead yet that could have been a trick of the sun through the windows. He shaved his hair to a near buzz cut, not that he had much hair to begin with, yet it was still something she loved to touch as a child. His wide jaw constantly seemed tense now and his nostrils were flaring as if he was waiting to be attacked. Last, but not least, his smooth milk chocolate skin seemed to become paler in pigment. His skin tone was something she greatly adored because it showed such a vast contrast in her family. With her mom being the lightest and him being the darkest, she likened them to a rainbow of earthy tones and was something she prided herself on when others reproached her for her mixed family.

"H-How are you?" He gulped, shifting from one foot to the other and folding his arms across his chest. It was a defense mechanism she knew all too well, after all, she did the same, even if she wasn't really defending herself from anything, just as he was doing now.

"I'm okay. And you?" Santana awkwardly asked out of courtesy. If there was anything she really despised, it would have to be awkward conversations. She would rather just not say anything at all than experience it, especially such a strong one like this. She actually avoided eye contact after her initial inspection of him; that would have made it so much worse.

"I'm good… Um…what happened to your foot?"

"Fell down the stairs."

"I see…"

The conversation ended after that. No, is it broken? No, how did that happen? There was nothing more to say and Santana was perfectly fine with that. Then, Shannel strolled back into the room, slinging her arms around Lance like poison ivy.

"Everything alright, honey?" She purred into his ear, causing Santana to actually cringe at the undertone and sit up.

"I'm going to go see what I can help with," announced Santana, wobbling to her feet.

"No. Your mom said you need to rest, and as a doctor, I agree." Lance stated and removed himself from Shannel's hold. "Can you show Santana to her room, Nel?"

"Of course, honey."

"Thank you. I'm going to help Maribel and Matt. Yell if you need anything."

While Shannel smiled sweetly at her departing husband, Santana kept her eyes on her Converse-laden feet. Once he was out the door, the room quickly switched from awkward to hate as the spiteful woman turned her hazel gaze to his daughter.

"Listen here because this is how it's going to go. You're going to act like I showed you to your room while I find something better to do with my time. Okay?"

Santana groaned and ran a hand through her unruly hair. She forgot to comb it before they left that morning. "Whatever. Can you at least tell me where it is?"

Shannel seemed to falter at the lack of bite from the girl. It was unheard of and thus caused her to narrow her eyes in suspicion. "Second floor, last room to the front of the house."

"Fantastic. Thanks for your cooperation Wicked Witch of the West."

"Freak."

"Takes one to know one," muttered Santana as she hobbled her way up the wooden steps, which were located right outside of the massive doorway of the living room.

"Oh, by the way, my mom lives with us now." Shannel smirked as she went back into the dining room and disappeared from view. It was always satisfying to have the last word.

"Fuck."

Santana breathed out heavily upon reaching the place she would be sleeping in for the next two school years. The room was conventional, which she rebuked herself for expecting otherwise. The walls were painted a bland shade of beige with dark wooden borders, a difficult feat if there ever was any. Decoration was minimal with only a full bed occupying the wall across from the door, complete with a nightstand, a dresser table in front of it and behind the door, and a dresser along the wall to the right of the door. All of the pieces looked antique, probably made from real wood, and matched in tone (mahogany) unlike her set back in Brooklyn. She almost felt afraid to touch anything.

The room had a total of four windows thankfully; Virginia's summers were rather stifling, something she knew New York couldn't compare to no matter how much she complained. There was a 28in. x 52in. window on either side of the bed, and along the left wall, snuggled between two closets but placed above a window seat/trunk space, were two more windows. In addition to the windows, a ceiling fan with three lights was installed.

"At least I won't suffer too much, it seems." Santana noted as she conceded to her need to sit and stumbled her way over to the bed. "Ugh…first things first, I'm changing these sheets."

She sent the pale pink cover sheet and comforter a pained expression, almost considering slumping to the hard wood floor instead. Anything was better than the color that would forever burn her retinas. As quoted by her, "Me and the color pink have been in an argument for sixteen years, why should I make nice with it now?"

Santana plopped down near the head of the bed and leaned sideways until her head fell awkwardly on the pillow that once rested elegantly there. A nice and much appreciated breeze drifted through the window, a draft that felt so great that she couldn't help but to vocally express her gratitude for it. Granted, it wasn't quite as hot or humid as it could have been, but as someone accustomed to the temperatures of New York City, Santana noticed the difference the moment they left the borders of the New York state. As a matter of fact, she could feel the sweat collecting along her back, or was that simply her imagination?

She sat up to check, running her hands up and down her lower back and thoroughly checking her grey tank top for any spots of moisture. Lo and behold, "It was only my imagination." Only after confirming for a second time that her top was indeed dry did the brunette set her head on the pillow once more, or at least she attempted to do so, but something piqued her interest outside.

The view from the window was pretty decent, not that she had much to compare it to. She could mostly see trees and other houses if she looked across the horizon, not that the Naval Air Station Oceana had much to offer anyway. It was just a military base, a strict organization that the base housing embraced and displayed.

That wasn't the thing, or person rather, that caught her eye. She had to stand to see the visitors better.

There, parked in front of the white picket fence (yes, how cliché), was a beautiful cherry red 1971 Ford Mustang, but more importantly was the petite blonde seated in the passenger seat. She looked bored though that quickly became underestimated by the roll of gorgeous hazel eyes and the shifting of a golden fringe by the burst of breath she sent them. Who could blame her? The statuesque teenage boy behind the wheel and the boy with the mohawk in the back were the ones conversing with Matt. There was another person in the car but Santana couldn't quite make out whom, not that she was paying much attention in the first place. Her dark brown gaze was still locked on the enigma that was this attractive blonde.

Santana wasn't ashamed to point out the looks of men and women alike. She was comfortable enough with her heterosexuality to not care what others thought or said about her compliments, or, as she dubbed it, not giving a fuck. She picked it up from her mother who, over the years, was subjected to a lot of criticism no matter what she did.

Appearance a side, nothing else really called to Santana. The girl looked like a typical blonde in New York, pompous, privileged, and plastic. The Latina could tell right away that she would want nothing to do with the fellow teen and that they would probably have many disputes through high school.

Suddenly, all eyes were on her. It startled her a bit but was quickly remedied with a glare as she noticed her step-brother pointing up at her. He seemed to be talking about her from what she could slightly hear the general pieces of information. The beanstalk in the driver's seat shot her a boyish grin from his ducked position behind the windshield and the guy with the stupid mohawk winked and sent her a kiss. Both signs of acknowledgement were disturbing in their own way.

She could finally make out the other person in the back thanks to the abrupt scrutiny. Another blonde head poked its way out the same window mohawk was leaning out of. Her hair was braided in two childish pigtails to match her innocent bright blue eyes, and to top it off, she waved excitedly while shouting, "Hi," with a bright smile. For reasons unknown, Santana genuinely smiled at the salutation and even sent a tiny wave back. If she thought it wasn't possible before she definitely thought differently now because the girl's smile practically split her face. The blonde then proceeded to brag about how the girl waved back to the amusement of the boys and the annoyance of the other blonde.

Said blonde was now glaring at her, something that Santana took as a challenge and resumed glaring right back. She didn't know who the hell this girl thought she was, but this Latina was not going to be a pushover like her other assumed victims.

For what seemed like years of battling did a hazel hurricane clash with a dark earthquake. Neither noticed the absence of Matt, who was called back by his step-father for continued assistance, nor Finn putting the car in drive to make a U-turn. It wasn't until the last minute that either recognized the impending departure, but when they did, a smug smirk quickly replaced Santana's tight lips. It seemed to confuse the blonde until Santana followed up with the middle finger. The look of abhorrence upon the girl's visage before the vehicle disappeared from view was more than worth the fit of laughter that almost threw Santana off her feet.

"What's got you choking up like that?" Unfortunately, Matt's unexpected entrance made her trip over her feet in her plight to turn around fast enough. The pain that ripped through her ankle was not pleasant and tore a whine from the depths of her throat. "Oh shi- I am so sorry, San."

He quickly set the box he was carrying in front of the dressing table and rushed to her side.

"Are you okay?" He asked, helping her to her feet and placing her back on the bed.

"Peachy." Santana hissed, kicking off her sneakers so she could reach down and unravel the wrap around her ankle.

"I am so sorry."

"It's fine." She rolled her eyes as she assessed the damage. "Friends of yours?"

"What?"

"Outside, in the Mustang."

"Oh, right. Yeah, that was Finn, Quinn, Puck, and Brittany. Don't you remember?"

Of course she remembered. How could she forget? Oh crap, how could she forget? Finn was the boy wonder driving the fancy car and Quinn was the pretentious one in the passenger seat. Puck, or Noah as he used to be called, left a bad taste in her mouth; honestly, who came up with that nickname? Finally, there was Brittany, who she could never think badly about. Why such a girl started hanging out with such a crowd was beyond Santana. Puck was such a troublemaker, always had been and probably always would be. Quinn was obviously a bitch now, and Finn, what wasn't wrong with that kid?

"You're friends with them?"

"Benefits of joining the football team. I'll re-introduce you all some time." Matt smiled good-naturedly.

And that's how Santana knew it was going to be one hell of a school year…years.

Shit.

I can't tell you how long I debated over posting this. Not only am I extremely self-conscious of my writing, this is also a tribute of sorts to a dearly beloved family member of mine. She's going through a hard time at the moment that breaks my heart to see, so, I thought I would write a little something in memory of the many great things she has done in her life. She's a constant inspiration to me and someone I deeply admire. I don't know if I'll ever show her this, but it gives me a great sense of pride to indirectly present the remarkable things she has accomplished. Not everything is 100% accurate; there will just be similar events that defined this amazing woman. I'll leave the determination of what events are real and what events are not up to you, the reader.

Review if you wish, I will never demand that of you. I will ask, however, that if you do review that it is constructive criticism or other positive messages to guide me along. I wish to achieve better writing skills out of this as much as I'm sure you all wish to achieve a new world to traverse.

I do have one question, though. I originally thought of this story with the 1960's to present in mind being as that's the time period many of the real events take place, but as I wrote the first chapter I thought I could definitely apply this to present times and continuing on as well. What are your thoughts on this? Stay true to the original path or go for something more current? The story will flow well either way, mind you.

Also, I will try to post every week, probably every Thursday, if not twice a week with a Tuesday and Thursday schedule.

That's all I have to say for now. I hope you enjoy this first chapter.