"Outta my way," I snarl, elbowing the gangly creature to my right who has stuck her frizzy head straight in front of the list we're all trying a get a look at. She'll definitely be on the list anyway, hell, she's probably the first name on it.
Now at the front of the crowd, I have a clear view of the list Coach Sylvester posted a few minutes ago. I scan through the names, praying I won't read my own. Not on the first page. Or the second. Ugh, this whole thing would be a hell of a lot faster if she would just post the names of the girls who made the squad, instead of the ones who didn't. It's like she just wants to make the failures feel worse, showing them that each one of them has been individually deemed inadequate by the great Sue Sylvester. Well if that's the case then she definitely lives up to her reputation as a ruthless bitch. I think we'd get on well.
I've read through all five pages now. All around me girls are bursting into tears and breaking down into hopelessly sobbing wrecks. For heaven's sake, and they thought they could handle being on the Cheerios? The training is meant to be brutal, and Coach Sylvester's wrath is legendary. I'm not crying though. I'm grinning, because my name isn't on that list. Which means I made it. I'm one of probably only about 6 or 7 girls to make the squad in freshman year. And that means I'm set for high school. Everyone knows that as a cheerleader you're pretty much guaranteed popularity. Those red and white uniforms are a status symbol, without one you're just another nameless kid, blending into the crowd. The crowd which is gonna part for me out of pure fear every time I walk down the corridor.
I flash a smug smirk to the girl beside me whose lower lip is trembling as she stares at the list.
"There's always next year, sweetie," I say sweetly, while giving her a look that tells her she could never be a Cheerio if she lived to be a million. I fold my arms and walk away, laughing at all the girls falling over themselves to fill the space I had been standing in. Brittany appears at my elbow.
"Santana, did you make it? I made it. I totally knew I would though. I'm awesome." She smiles to herself.
"Of course I made it, Britt. This is me we're talking about. We're both awesome. And we're gonna be two of the hottest bitches in this place for the next four years," I say, nudging her with my elbow and smirking at the thought. She nods, still smiling.
"Totally."
"We'd better get to Coach Sylvester's office. She'll be expecting her latest Cheerios and I don't think she'll want to be kept waiting."
With Brittany trailing behind me, I walk through the corridors quickly, fantasizing about the day that all these losers will be too scared to even look me in the eye. Soon, I think. I'm glad that Brittany made the team as well. We were friends in middle school, which means I'll already have an ally on the squad. When looking over that list I noticed quite a few of our friends' names. Or rather, I correct myself, our old friends. We're Cheerleaders now, which means that everyone who isn't is automatically beneath us. We don't associate with them. Starting now.
I knock on the door once, and it's hurriedly opened by a brown haired girl I don't recognize. We step in and I inspect the other girls in the office. Including me and Brittany, there are only six of us. I notice a girl from our class the previous year, and I'm surprised because she was always a total geek. Well, she'll be moving up in the ranks now. There's the brunette who opened the door, and another tall black girl who sneers at us when we walk in. I roll my eyes in return and turn my attention towards the front of the room. A blonde girl stands in front of the desk with her hands on her hips and her chin held high as though she's out to prove that she's not scared of us. She's by far the prettiest out of the four of them, but in that angelic, church-girl kind of way. Sure enough, I notice a silver cross around her neck. She doesn't look like she has much edge. And behind that desk, stands Sue Sylvester herself, surveying us all through the glasses perched on her nose, as though inspecting for flaws. With a pang of excitement I notice some packages of red and white uniforms stacked behind her. I also notice there are only five sets.
"Excellent. Now that you're all here, let's begin." She paces with her hands behind her back, still looking over us. "You're here because out of the countless freaks and losers that attempted to join my glorious Cheerios, you were the least pathetic. Just because you're here now, that does not mean you can get complacent. Earning a place on my squad is an honor that can be revoked at any moment." She stops and pauses. "And just to prove it," she points at the brunette, "you. Get out. You won't be joining the squad." The girl's eyes widen.
"W-what?"
"You heard me. I changed my mind; I don't like your attitude. And you're far too short to be a cheerleader anyway. Now get out of my sight." The girl looks like she can't quite believe this is happening. We all stare as she splutters out protests.
"You heard Coach Sylvester. Get out of here, now." It's the blonde girl, speaking coldly and glaring at the girl. The brunette finally bursts into tears and runs out the door, which Brittany hurriedly closes behind her. Coach Sylvester turns and stares down the blonde girl who spoke.
"Outstanding," she says, nodding slightly. The blonde smirks but doesn't say anything else. Maybe I misjudged her. She seems to know exactly what she's doing. Coach Sylvester continues speaking and returns to pacing. "I won't have any tolerance for weakness on my squad. Any crying, complaining or," she says the next word with disgust, "disrespect – will be punished. Understood?" I look at my shoes, scared she'll suddenly decide to dismiss me too. There's a silence, then she repeats herself. "Understood?" We all nod quickly, nobody daring to speak. "Good." She says. She reaches behind her and picks up the uniforms. "First off, here are your uniforms. You will wear them to school every single day, no exceptions. If they don't fit, that's not my problem, it's yours. These uniforms will not be adjusted to fit you, you will adjust yourselves to fit them. I don't need any fatties on my team. Secondly, hair must be worn up at all times, scraped back into the tightest, most uncomfortable ponytail you can manage. Thirdly, practice starts tomorrow at six a.m. sharp out on the playing fields. I trust none of you is stupid enough to be late. And finally…" She pauses. "Sue Sylvester," she points to her chest, "is the most powerful, influential, and most importantly, successful coach in the United States of America, with four consecutive national titles. If any one of you idiots thinks you can't live up to my squad's reputation, I suggest you leave now. Because if you jeopardize my standing–I can do more than simply cut you from the team. I can make your life a living hell. Now get out of my office." We all scramble to leave, grabbing our uniforms on the way out.
Once out in the corridor I breathe a sigh of relief in the knowledge that I managed to survive my first encounter with the legendary Sue Sylvester and keep my new place on the Cheerios. She really is heartless. It'll be worth it though, I think to myself. The blonde girl wearing the cross necklace approaches us, and stands before me and Brittany, subtly looking us up and down once. She sticks out her hand, almost threateningly.
"Quinn Fabray. If we're going to be teammates for the next four years we should really get to know each other, don't you think?" She's wearing a sickeningly sweet smile which I can tell is fake. She's measuring us up, trying to determine if we'll last more than five minutes. I shake her hand, slowly.
"Santana Lopez. And this is Brittany." I say, signaling to the blonde to my right. She nods, shaking Brittany's hand too. "I haven't seen you around before."
"I transferred. From Fairbrook Middle School." she says coolly. "I'd better be going, but so nice to meet you." That sickening smile again. "I'll see you at practice." She walks away down the corridor and out of sight. Brittany turns to me.
"How awesome is this?" She says, squeezing the bag containing her new uniform.
"Totally" I reply, grinning. "C'mon, I can't wait to get this thing on."
Brittany lives nearer the high school than I do so we head to hers and run up to her room. I toss my bag into the corner and we rip open the plastic packaging over the red and white outfits, eager to see how they look. Inside are two red ruffled skirts and two sleeveless shirts emblazoned with WHMS. There's also a long sleeved white thermal and a jacket with the word "Cheerios" sewn into the back, presumably for wearing in winter.
"Oh my god. We're actually meant to wear these?" Brittany questions, holding up what looks like a pair of bright red underwear. I laugh.
"Yupp. Those are your Spankies. In case you hadn't noticed these skirts are pretty short, Brittany." I smirk. "They're pretty much designed so guys can perv on us."
"Oh. Awesome." She smiles.
Once I've pulled on my skirt and zipped up the top I turn my attention to my hair. I hardly ever wear it up, but I guess I'd better get used to it from now on. Brittany scrapes it back for me and ties it in a high ponytail, and then I do hers. When we're ready we stand in front of her full-length mirror admiring our reflections.
"We look hot." She says, nodding approvingly as she takes in our appearances.
"We really do," I agree. "Like real Cheerios." I'm relieved to find the clothes fit me just fine and I won't have to start starving myself. Brittany's fit her well too, although she's slightly more muscular and toned than me because she does dancing. I'm sure that'll change once Coach Sylvester starts working us as hard as she's rumored to work the rest of the squad.
"I can't believe she's making us train at six in the freakin' morning! That's like, a whole hour before I even get out of bed, usually." I groan. "I'm gonna have to wake up at like five a.m."
"Just get ready for school before you go to bed, then you wake up ready to go. That's what I do." she says, smiling like she's a genius. I roll my eyes. "But wait," she says, frowning, "I usually get a ride to school with Sarah and her mom. I don't think she'll want to go at six." Sarah is one of the girls we used to hang around with in middle school, who lives across the street from Brittany. She's one of our friends who didn't make the Cheerios.
"It doesn't matter anyway." I dismiss with a wave of my hand, angling my head to examine my ponytail. "We don't need to hang around with her, or any of those other losers anymore. You and I are Cheerios now, which means we're the top dogs in that school. We're popular girls. We'll make new, cooler friends on the squad." She ponders this for a moment.
"Right. Like that Quinn girl?" I grin, looking back at her.
"Right," I confirm. She returns my grin.
"Good. I mean, Sarah's become totally weird recently." She gives me a knowing look. "Did you see what she was wearing today? She looked like a fourth grader who had lost her mom." I laugh. I'm so glad we can finally ditch that lame group of girls. Brittany's the only one of them who doesn't make me want to punch something in frustration at this point. I reach down and link my pinky with hers.
"Yupp. It's just you and me now, Britt." I smile, admiring our reflections again, "High School is gonna be awesome." She smiles too.
"Totally."
The shrill sound of my alarm pierces though my head, shaking me into consciousness. "Unghh" I mumble, reaching out to turn it off. As I do, the screen illuminates, telling me it's five a.m. Ugh, why did I join Cheerios again? I've had nowhere near enough sleep; I feel like death. My face falls back to my pillow.
I feel myself drifting back to sleep when it screams at me again, telling me it's now five past. Okay, there is no way that five minutes just passed. I heave my body up and sit on the edge of my bed, rubbing my eyes, which feel as though they're coated in sand. It's still dark outside, and I can hear birds singing.
Hating Sue Sylvester, I stumble into my bathroom and into the shower. I remind myself that I need to go via Brittany's on the way into school. Because we have to go in so early and she can't get a ride, I told her I'd meet her and walk her in. When I asked her why she couldn't go herself she said she doesn't know the way and the last time she tried walking by herself she got lost and ended up back at her house.
I come out the bathroom and dress myself for school in the same clothes I tried on the day before. I admire my appearance as I put my make-up on, still impressed with the way the new outfit looks.
At half past five I'm ringing Brittany's doorbell, standing on her doorstep. It occurs to me that maybe I should have texted instead so as not to wake her family. Oh well. Eventually she opens the door and steps out to join me. She's dressed in her Cheerio's outfit too, but her hair is a mess. It looks like she tried to tie it up herself then slept on it. Her eyes are barely open and her voice is weak as she greets me. "Hi, Santana." I smirk at her disheveled appearance.
"Looking good, Britt."
"Thanks," she smiles, missing my sarcasm. "I'm super tired though."
"I can tell. Come here so I can sort your hair. It looks terrible." She obediently sits on her step and I kneel behind her, retying her ponytail so it looks neat. Once I'm finished I reach out my hand and pull her to her feet. "Now come on, we really don't wanna be late."
"That," I say, dragging myself into the locker room, "was pure hell."
"I think I'm gonna pass out." says Brittany, stopping beside me and pulling off her sweat drenched shirt.
"Well I don't know what you two expected," says Quinn as she enters behind us. "But being a Cheerio is no walk in the park. You'd better get used to training this hard if you want to stay on the team." She says this like she's not just as sweaty and exhausted as the rest of us.
"Believe me," I reply firmly, "I want to." Coach Sylvester has had us training non-stop for the past two hours, running, working out, and learning insane routines. I could barely keep up, and more than one girl broke down in tears during the practice. And tears were rewarded with laps.
After showering and changing into our spare cheerios uniforms, Quinn, Brittany and I leave the changing rooms and walk to our lockers. And it's at this point when the torture of this morning becomes worth it. People move out of our way as we stride down the middle of the corridor, Quinn leading the way with Brittany and me flanking her sides. Guys stare, checking us out, and I glare at the scrawny, geeky ones until they avert their eyes. I wink and smirk at a football player who's staring at my legs, exposed by the short skirt and he grins goofily back. I could get used to this.
I reach my locker, which is beside Brittany's. Some tiny girl with dark brown hair, a huge nose, and awful clothes is standing in front of it, blocking our access. I look her up and down, wondering how she could possibly have left the house this morning knowing she looked like that. She's standing on her toes, seemingly looking for someone in the crowd, apparently oblivious to Brittany and me, standing expectantly in front of her. She's got some nerve. Doesn't she see what we're wearing?
"Hey, dwarf. You're in our way." She finally looks around, catching on that we're looking at her. Took her long enough. "Now, move please." She appears disgruntled and huffs at us.
"Well there's no need to be so rude about it!" I narrow my eyes and cross my arms, taking a step closer to her.
"Look, man hands, I don't know just who you think you are, but my name is Santana Lopez, soon to be head bitch in charge in this place and you do not wanna talk back to me – not unless you wanna spend the rest of the day in the nurse's office. Is that clear?" She doesn't reply, just looks between Brittany and me with mild shock on her face. "Now, I'm gonna ask you nicely one more time. Get out my freakin' way, before I make you." Beside me Brittany looks down on her with disdain, regarding her Argyll sweater vest and knee high socks.
"You dress like my Grandpa…but, like…sluttier." She concludes. The girl opens and closes her mouth seemingly lost for words, looking indignant. Eventually she seems to decide on something to say.
"Fine. But before I do I'd like to give you a word of advice, Santana." I narrow my eyes again at her use of my name. "You and you're little friend here may be convinced of your imminent rise to popularity here at McKinley, but I can tell you that your aggressive and hostile approach will get you nowhere. I, on the other hand, have come to this school ready to make friends not through intimidation and violence but through exuding a positive and friendly attitude to my fellow students. And let's just see which one of us ends up on top, shall we? I think you'll be surprised." And with that, she starts to storm away like a toddler in the huff. She doesn't get far though. Because what happens next is, I think, one of my favorite moments like, ever. Some guy with a Mohawk, dressed in a letterman jacket is walking past and as he draws level with the angry midget he casually tosses the slushy he's holding in his right hand – straight into her face. I feel my jaw drop open as the short girl gasps and squeals, stopping short in her tracks. There's a moment of silence as Brittany and I digest what just happened. Then as she brings her shaking hands to her face and scrapes the drink out of her eyes, as if unable to believe what just happened, a grin slowly spreads on my face. That was perfect. I start to laugh out loud, and soon Brittany joins me. People stare as they walk past, some of them laughing too.
"Actually, Hobbit, I'm not surprised at all." I snap at her back as she flees, presumably to the nearest bathroom. I turn to open my now accessible locker. "That," I say to Brittany, who's still giggling, "was priceless."
"Totally. And did she seriously call me little? Like…has she looked in the mirror?" I laugh again.
"I know, right? That was one weird chick. C'mon, let's go to class. What do you have first period?"