A/N: I had to write this for school. It's supposed to be a little vignette. So I just changed some of the names to make it work for Santana. If any of the names are wrong, it won't be hard to dub in the correct one. Let me know what you think :)
"Last one to the swings is a loser!" Quinn wailed as she took off sprinting towards the rusty metal structure of the Catholic school playground. Recess was, of course, everyone's favorite part of fifth grade.
Jolted from my daydream, I scampered into stride behind the other six girls in my class, diving belly-first into the closest plastic seat I saw. The rough edges scratched my stomach through my uniform, covering the white material with dirt and leaves, but that didn't matter. I wasn't a loser.
Rachel, on the other hand, was always last. Always. She didn't even try anymore. We all watched as she moseyed her way quietly towards us with her notebook tucked beneath her arm, sparkly gel pens clutched faithfully in her pale hand, wire-frame glasses consistently crooked.
"So what now?" Rachel murmured as she took her place in the misshaped circle we formed- some scattered on the ground amongst the grass, others, lolling ungracefully on the swings. Rachel flipped open her notebook cover and began doodling, waiting for our ring leader to give instructions.
All eyes on her, Quinn hummed quietly to herself. "Hmmm..." She tapped her chin, as if in deeper thought than she really was. Her gaze shifted slightly to glance around at us. "Nooow," Quinn reached across the gathering to snatch away Rachel's notebook and pens. "We play MASH."
Rachel's face fell slightly at the girl's rudeness but dared not protest. She caught my eye, and we shared a sympathetic glance. No one went against Quinn.
The aforementioned queen bee went around the circle, mapping out each persons' life with a series of numbers and cross-outs. Quickly, I became bored with happenings of the little group.
"Santana!" Noah called to me from across the lot, tossing a football between his hands as he spoke. "Come play with us!" As I moved to walked towards him, Quinn grabbed my hand, yanking me down next to her.
"Waittttt!" She wined. "It's your turn."
Sighing, I motioned to Noah that I'd be there in a second, not wanting the argument that would surely ensue if I left now. "What is it? Just decide for me. I don't really care."
She scoffed, playing with the ribbon in her hair before scribbling something down on the paper. "You have to pick who you want to marry. I pick three. You pick one. That's the rules. You have to play by the rules."
My eyes shifted between the football game and Quinn's studious stare. "I don't know."
"Well who do you think's cute?" She rolled her eyes as if I should have had the answer off the top of my head.
"Ummm..." I looked around the playground, trying to find someone suitable for Quinn's game. "I'm not sure." Finally making up my mind, I blushed as I pointed to the sixth grader who always payed attention to me before school. "Brittany's pretty."
"Santannaaaaa," Quinn moaned. "You have to pick a boy. You can't marry a girl. That's gross." The other girls all chimed in with their comments of disgust, like the faithful minions they were.
Confused, I decided now was the time to challenge our leader. "Why? She's prettier and nicer than all your choices." Quinn narrowed her eyes at me, grasping at the cross around neck.
"It's wrong. My mommy said it was wrong. She said God hates fags." Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she picked up the pad again, waiting for my second answer. "Pick a boy."
Defeated, I muttered out Noah's name before grumbling my way over to the boy the girls were probably gossiping about now. Grinning, he tossed me the ball, calling me on his team before grabbing me into the huddle.
After the bell let us out for the day, when we were all sitting together waiting for parents to come pick us up or waiting for the teachers to take us to the cafeteria for after-school day care, Quinn plopped herself next to me. "Noah is pretty cute."
I stayed silent. We sat that way until her mother picked her up. Eventually the teacher ushered me and one other boy to the lunchroom to be watched until someone could come pick us up.
It was the same routine. I'd stay there, doing my homework in the corner, until I was the only child left. Around 7:30, my nanny walked in the door, signed me out, and took my hand to lead me to her car. She was about thirty, skinny, dark hair. She took care of my brother and me after she got off work, while my parents were at the hospital.
"Nadia," I said, as we walked through the empty, dark parking lot. "What's a fag?" She froze, turning to kneel next to me.
"Why? Where did you hear that word?" She answered in her heavy German accent. I turned my eyes to the ground, embarrassed.
"Never mind."
"No. It's not 'Never mind'. What happened?" She turned my face, forcing me to look at her.
"Quinn said I was a fag today. She said God hates fags. I thought God was nice. I don't understand." Nadia brushed a few tears from my cheeks I was unaware were even falling.
"What have I told you about listening to Quinn? She's not a nice girl, Santana." I sniffled, wiping my face with the palm of my hand.
"I know. But I just said Brittany was pretty, and she got mad at me. She said I was gross." Nadia gave me a small smile, before wrapping me in her arms as I sobbed into her shirt.
"You're okay." She shushed me. "You're okay." We stayed like that for a moment- my face buried in her shoulder, her hand smoothing my hair. "You're not gross. Don't listen to those people, okay? Promise me you won't listen to them."
She pulled away from me, holding me at arms length. Not fully understand what she meant at the time. I swiped my tongue across my lips, tasting the salt as I nodded slowly, whimpering that way someone does after crying.
"Don't tell Mommy about this, okay?" I nodded again. She kissed the top of my head before standing back up and taking my hand once more. "That's my girl."