Chapter One
So here's the thing, I've noticed that lately I've been even more inclined than usual to want to mess up somebody's face or ruin their life, or whatever. I can't really put my finger on what it is, but two days ago I actually set someone on fire, which is harsh, even for me. I also seriously considered cutting my algebra teacher's brake lines when he gave me detention for putting gum in this chick's hair when she wouldn't let me look at her test paper. I smashed his headlights with a crowbar instead, which I think means I'm growing as a person, but still. Attempted murder is a step up in my game.
Anyway, I've narrowed this recent inner turmoil down to two major problems in my life. One - now that I'm not on Cheerios, I have to work that much harder to stay on top at this school. Without that uniform, I have to rely mostly on my smokin body, my genius insults, and my reputation for being easy to be feared and respected. And granted, I have amazing assets to work with, but sometimes I still catch underclassmen making eye contact with me. That's just wrong.
Puck is useless to me now that something in his tiny, mohawked brain has finally short circuited. The way he acts around that sumo sasquatch, I'm pretty sure his balls have just fallen off in the street somewhere. Sam is moderately cute in a grotesque sort of way, and it helps that I took him from Quinn and in the process tarnished the halo she still manages to have, even though her bastard child has been roaming the earth for less than a year, but it's not enough. I need something big, and I need to figure out what.
So the second thing is, all right fine, so I miss pussy. Whatever, I'm not gay, okay? I'm just easily bored. The guys in this school have no challenges to offer me, I can just lie there if I want to. Getting a girl off is a challenge, it takes skill. And my skills are going to waste, which is a travesty because I'm supposed to be getting it any time I want it. Before Brit went all hetero-monogamous with that half-robot and got all sensitive about his feelings or whatever, all I had to do was give her that look across the hallway at school and she'd know I expected her under me in my bed after Cheerios practice. So until that mechanical man train wreck is over, I need a hot, new piece of ass.
It all came together when I was tuning out Schuester in glee club yesterday - I had a lot on my mind, trying to figure out who I had to destroy this week to make myself more popular, when Rachel Berry turned her head and looked back over her shoulder at me. Fine, I might have been looking at her first, but please, it's not like I rested my eyes there on purpose or something... I was deep in thought, okay? The point is, she looked, and not just at my face. And I know when I've been checked out. It only happens like 87 times a day.
And just like that, that little Jewberry opened a door I barely even had to knock on. She might be a shrill borderline-midget, and looking at her clothes might cause symptoms of conjunctivitis, but her legs and ass were pretty smokin and her tits weren't bad, either. And suddenly I knew how I could solve both of my problems and then some. I had found my challenge – a chance to knock the little drama dwarf off her virginal high horse – and at the same time prove my obvious superiority by succeeding where Puckerman, quarterback Frankenteen, and that gay guy from Vocal Adrenaline had failed.
I, Santana Lopez, would get Berry's cherry.