It wasn't unusual when Santana Lopez heard her name being called to Sue Sylvestre's office over the loudspeaker, so she didn't sweat it. Plus, she was Head Cheerleader. What was really gonna happen? She sat down calmly, crossing one perfectly tanned leg over the other, a look of pure boredom on her face. She was already pissed off because that annoying kid with the Jewfro got in her face first thing this morning.

"A little bird told me someone spent her summer vacation getting a brand new set of melons." Sue started, hands laced and sitting on her desk as she swayed back and forth in her chair.

That. Fucking. Bitch. Santana looked away, avoiding Sue's eyes at all costs, because what else could she really do? She was ultimately screwed and there was no point in making it worse by letting her fury for Quinn Slutfuck Fabray take over.

"Even though you know I have a strict no plastics policy in Cheerios." Sue was almost smiling, and Santana rolled her eyes, because Quinn was as shiny and fake as they came. "Care to comment?"

Sure. She'd give it a shot. She shrugged, her long, dark ponytail flipping as she did so. "I just.."

But she knew it wasn't worth it because this was Sue fucking Sylvestre she was talking to, and she couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"What would possess a person your age to get a boob job? You don't even know what your body's going to look like. It's an insult to nature."

Santana stared straight into her eyes, but her words went in one ear and out the other. She'd heard it a million times from her own mother.

"And completely distracting." Sue continued, and Santana noticed her eyes drop to her chest. "I can't take my eyes off them. I'm actually talking to them right now." Her hands made a gesture equal to that of an old Italian woman, signalling that she was, indeed, talking to Santana's rack.

This was retarded. She'd made the decision herself over the summer, because she was sick of being some random chick in the background. Sure, nobody fucked with her. "She's small, but she's fierce;" they'd all say. But.. fuck. She had a heart, too. She was still a girl, for Christ's sake. She wanted a guy to at least tell her he loved her before he screwed her. And mean it, that is.

"I wanted people to notice me more." She said, her voice becoming quiet. Almost sad. She realized this right away and kicked it up a notch. "I don't see what the big deal is." Santana shrugged, playing it off like it really was no big fucking deal. But it was. Because everyone seemed to notice it except the one person she wanted to.

"Well the big deal is that a person who has to pump her nonnies full of gravy to feel good about herself clearly doesn't have the self esteem to be my head cheerleader."

Wait.. what? Her head was swimming now, and she felt dizzy. He definitely wouldn't give a fuck about her if she wasn't top notch anymore. And she couldn't bear the thought of him not wanting her. Not even for a quick booty call. Because there'd be a new head cheerleader. Fresh meat for him.

"Quinn will replace you." Sue said with no sympathy, positioning her wide framed glasses on her nose.

Santana didn't know what she was saying, because she could barely breath. Random noises fell out of her mouth as her anger bubbled up inside of her. But something else was there, too. Sadness? No. That wasn't it. She was Santana fucking Lopez and she didn't get sad.

"Oh, and Boobs McGee?" Sue took off her glasses, placing them on the desk in front of her. "You're demoted to the bottom of the pyramid. So when it collapses your exploding sand bags will protect the squad from injury."

She had to be kidding. This was some sick joke, right? She waited for Sue to laugh. Waited for anything.

Putting her glasses back on, she began again. "Now take your juicy, vine-ripened chest fruit and get the hell out of my office."

Santana stood suddenly, fists clenched and eyes becoming wet. Fuck no. She didn't cry for anyone and she was not going to cry over something Quinn Fabitch did. And she sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone see it.

So she left Sue's office, totally defeated and feeling like someone had kicked her in the stomach.

And there she was.

The reason for all of this; strutting down the hallway like she owned the fucking place, skirt hiked up to expose her disgusting milky thighs and her greasy blonde hair held tight into a ponytail flinging back and forth. Okay. So her thighs weren't disgusting but they were white. And maybe her hair wasn't greasy but it was swinging obnoxiously.

And then it came to Santana in a flash. She wanted to rip that fucking ponytail right out of her head. And she was going to do it.

She charged at her, ready to push her straight into a locker, but something got in her way. She hit it hard, losing her balance.

"Shit, San. You okay?" Puck asked, reaching down to help her off the ground.

"No!" Santana shouted, standing up. "I'm not okay!"

She peered over his shoulder, trying to find her prey. And there she was again. Only this time, her back was to them. And then her side as she turned the corner.

"How could you?" She shouted once more, unable to hold in her anger. "I almost had her and now she's gone." She was becoming frantic.

"Woah.. calm down, babe." His voice was quiet. Gentle. The way he always was with his Santana. His Santana, who he'd never seen like this before. Were those tears in her eyes?

"Don't you tell me to calm down!" She yelled, but he could tell her voice was getting softer. "It's all your God damn fault!" She punched him in the chest, but it didn't hurt and she could tell. So she did it again, and again, until she felt his arms wrapping around her and pulling her in so tightly, she couldn't move even if she wanted to. Which she didn't.

And that's when he felt it. The wetness in the crook of his neck that could only be two things. Either she was drooling, or she was crying. Santana was way too fucking hot to be a drooler. But she was also too strong to be a crier. So even though he didn't want to, he pulled away. Just to check.

Her eyes were puffy, and she was sniffling. He wanted to kiss her tears away, but he knew he couldn't. At least that's what they'd both agreed to when they stopped hooking up last year. Santana claimed it was because he'd been with Rachel, and there was nothing more disgusting then that. After a while, Puck came up with his own excuse, which was that she'd slept with his best friend. And that made it feel like he was sleeping with Finn himself when he slept with her. It didn't make any fucking sense but Santana believed it because he was Puck, and he was never the one to say the brightest things. But they both knew why they had to call it off. Because having sex with a friend is totally different than having sex with someone you love. That involved committment and presents and cute, affectionate PDA instead of raunchy, steamy PDA. There was a thin line between the two, and they were about to cross it.

"She took everything." Santana said quietly, her big brown eyes welling up again, filled with hurt and sorrow. And that was all it took.

"Come on," Puck replied, wrapping an arm around her small waist. "Let's get out of here."