When Santana Lopez was fourteen, she dished out her first emergency room-worthy injury: a broken arm, two cracked ribs, and more scrapes and bruises worth counting. To an extent, she didn't even mean to cause the harm. She just meant to shove that bitch Ali Inman the hell away from her. Physics and an unplanned, yet perfectly located set of concrete steps took care of the rest.
Juvenile services and the Inmans came pressing for consequences, of course, but Santana's parents swore up and down that it was an accident, a teenage girl's catfight that fell victim to bad luck. When Santana overheard her mother explaining the freak coincidental element of the ordeal over the phone, though, she immediately chimed in with a "You call that bad luck?" before smirking her way to her room.
A normal girl would've been terrified when threatened with expulsion or possibly even juvie, but if anything, Santana felt even more like a hoss than before. She got to crack some skull—figuratively, at least—and got away with it because of the accidental nature of the act. It was almost too sweet to be real. So for several days, life went on as normal for Santana, and she quickly had few to no concerns about how this might affect her.
The story was convincing enough for the authorities, especially when the Lopezes laid out an array of evidence—pictures, souvenirs, gifts—that the girls had been friends. The fact that Dr. Lopez was a surgeon and their family was one of the richest in Lima, Ohio didn't hurt either when they needed to show that Santana was living in a respectable and responsible environment. Unfortunately, the Inmans were not so accepting of the excuse.
They knew as well as the Lopezes that the girls had been friends, best friends at that, but neither knew what had caused the fallout, and neither girl would tell. Actually, silence was a euphemism for the extent to which both sets of parents were getting the cold shoulder from their daughters. In reality, the girls became instantly defensive, agitated, and sometimes outright explosive when asked about just what in the world turned two best friends into mortal enemies so suddenly.
Ultimately, the Inmans gave up. They didn't want to rub salt in their daughter's emotional wounds on top of her physical injuries, and to their dismay, from how the girls were reacting, they suspected that Ali may not have been wholly innocent in this alleged "catfight" after all. So, they made one proposition to the Lopezes, an ultimatum rather: keep Santana away, and they'd stop pressing for social service visits to their household and punitive measures from juvenile justice.
It wasn't a hard decision for Santana's parents to make. In truth, this outburst was merely the straw that broke the camel's back for them. The ultimatum just gave them a shove towards bringing their doubts and threats into action. For the past year, they'd been at war with their daughter for staying out past curfew, skipping class, and disappearing from the house for hours on end.
The one time Santana was stupid enough to stumble home clearly inebriated, her father was luckily the one to find and hide her from Mrs. Lopez. In his mind, it hadn't always been like this; just a year or two before, she was still daddy's little princess, an only child spoiled to the core. Her sudden change upon reaching her teens was a cold shock to his system, and he was constantly pulled between disciplining her like the young woman she was becoming and sheltering her from the punishment she very well may have deserved. But finally, when a few broken bones revealed just how brazen and nonchalant his baby girl had become, the scales tipped for him. As the parent who had been advocating for stricter punishment for Santana all along, Mrs. Lopez was not a difficult convert.
Santana had to be sent away.
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When Brittany Pierce was fifteen, she moved into only the second home she'd ever known. Her parents were more upper than middle in the "upper-middle class" category, so she'd lived comfortably and happily in their large, suburban home in the Midwest, but that didn't stop her from welcoming the change.
Sure, she was leaving behind friends and she'd miss her parents and little sister, but attending St. Anne's was something of a tradition for her family. Her grandmother, mother, and aunts had all spent their high school boarding at the academy, and they all described it as the best years of their youth, even claiming that their entire wedding parties were made up of St. Anne girls, because the friends they'd made became just like sisters over the four years of living together.
It may have been hyperbole or looking backwards with rose-colored lenses, but all that they presented to Brittany about the school had been positive. And as a naturally optimistic girl, that was enough. She saw this as an adventure and a coming-of-age. The fact that she got to spend weeks buying dorm decorations and picking out towels and bedding didn't hurt.
So when the Pierces loaded up their SUV in August to move Brittany into her dorm, Mrs. Pierce was the only one to shed a tear. She cried not because she'd miss Brittany—though that was certainly true to an extent—but because her little girl seemed to have grown up so much so soon. Brittany, however, was all smiles as she kissed her family goodbye and settled into her new home. As far as she was concerned, it was a pretty sweet deal being able to design her own new space at school while everything familiar and comfortable in her room at home stayed the same.
She poked her head out into the bustling hallway and saw dozens of families hauling boxes through a chaotic mess of obstacles before deciding that this probably wasn't the best time to go around and introduce herself to her soon-to-be friends. She turned back, picked up a box labeled "Non-Essentials: Desk," and plopped it onto her chair before ripping it open to unpack. She was just about to organize her personalized stationery when she heard her bedroom door slam open.
A man in medical scrubs struggling with what seemed to be all of his daughter's belongings stumbled in, playing a balancing game with duffel bags, cardboard boxes, and roller suitcases. Following closely behind him was his wife, only slightly better off in terms of load with boxes stacked in her arms just barely short of blocking her vision. She rushed over to the vacant half of the room and ingloriously dropped her burden on the floor before snapping her head towards the doorway.
"Santana! Come in! Help your father!" she barked, clearly out of breath from moving.
Brittany couldn't help but let a smile creep across her face. Of course, she didn't know anything about her roommate beforehand, but the prospect of meeting her within moments alone excited her. If her family's experiences were anything to go by, she knew she'd become lifelong friends, best friends, with this girl already.
Santana waltzed in sluggishly, making an obvious effort to scuff her feet on the carpet as she entered. She was carrying only her backpack and clearly had left all the heavy lifting to her parents, but that didn't stop her from taking a long, disinterested look around the room before stepping towards her boxes. "Where's the fire? I'm apparently stuck in this hellhole for four years, so I'll have plenty of time to unpack," she spat back at her parents.
Brittany's smile nearly faltered when she took in the other girl's scowl and disgruntled attitude, but she reminded herself to stay friendly. She didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with her roommate by making her feel judged. She was probably just upset about having to leave home for school…
"Language, mija," the father sighed soothingly as he set down the last of Santana's bags from his shoulders. He wrapped a protective arm around his daughter before his eyes settled on the cheery blonde. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Humberto Lopez, and this is our daughter, Santana." He extended a strong hand, which Brittany shook enthusiastically.
"Nice to meet you, too! I'm Brittany," she beamed back at Dr. Lopez before snapping her attention to Santana. "And very nice to meet you, Santana! I'm so excited we'll get to live together!"
The Latina stood staring back at Brittany, for a few seconds unsure if she was mocking her with this over-enthusiasm or if she was really this excited to meet the complete stranger who she'd have to share a room with for the next school year. She gave the blond a critical once-over, contemplating this, and couldn't help but notice that she was already dressed in a short-sleeved, pressed white oxford shirt and plaid skirt. A part of Santana gurgled up blood and died at that very moment when she realized she'd soon have to strip out of her tight black jeans and Converse to wear the same. Not quite yet, though. "Nice outfit, Fraulein Maria."
Mrs. Lopez sighed at her daughter's behavior and tried to force a smile for the young blond. "You'll have to excuse Santana. The move is quite…an adjustment for her." Brittany nodded, as if she understood. "I'm glad she seems to have such a nice girl for a room mate though. I hope you'll be able to take care of Santana for us."
With her back still towards the others, Santana scoffed. Her mother looked back at her and furrowed her brow, increasingly embarrassed by Santana's surliness and now partially fearful that she'll antagonize this sweet, chipper room mate of hers.
"Santana, mija, do you want us to stay to—"
"No. You've done enough," the teen all but hissed back at her parents.
With silent sighs and concerned looks at each other, Santana's parents nodded in acquiescence. They took turns hugging their daughter and saying their I love you's before turning to Brittany. "Brittany, honey, it was a pleasure meeting you. My husband will leave his card in case you ever need anything. I hope you enjoy your first year here," Mrs. Lopez offered with another half-hearted smile.
"Thanks, Mrs. Lopez. I know I will!" she smiled genuinely. "And don't worry. I promise Santana is safe with me."
With that, the parents left without another word spoken between them on the drive home. Santana hadn't kept it a secret at all about how displeased—"fucking pissed" were her words—about her move. Now that they'd actually packed up her life and dropped it off five hours from their home, they had plenty of their own doubts. And considering how bitter she'd been upon their departure, there'd be nothing to console them for quite some time.
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Santana spent at least half an hour shoving boxes out of her way, trying to figure out where everything was and how in the world to re-organize it. In her utter refusal to acknowledge the fact that she was getting sent away, she'd left all the packing to her mother. That meant that, somehow, her entire life was in these four suitcases and half dozen boxes, and she had no clue how to bring order to such an overwhelming mess. She should've swallowed her pride and let her mother do all the work for her before ordering her away, but that was just disgraceful and un-Lopez to milk favors from people you're furious at.
She didn't have any handle on the situation. (Do I unpack my underwear before finding my drawer organizers? They must be buried underneath my shoes, but I can't pull all those out before hanging up my shoe rack, right? Where's my rack, packed along with my hangers and shower tote? Shit, I haven't even seen my towels yet.)
So, she took to the obvious solution: resignation. She exhaled loudly and flopped back on her bare mattress.
It didn't strike her until just then that she noticed how settled and immaculate Brittany's side of the room was. The girl had been unpacking quietly ever since her parents left—probably because she had grumpily refused to introduce herself and rolled her eyes at her—but, damn. The girl seemed to have been living here for weeks already. Her shelves were already filled with books and trinkets, computer and desk lamps wired up and running, clothes hung and organized in her armoire. Santana couldn't help but sigh at the hopelessness of her own situation in comparison.
This second sigh caught Brittany's attention, who set down what appeared to be a set of ducky hand towels and took a few steps closer to Santana's side. "Is everything okay, Santana?" she asked with a sweet smile.
"Yup," the Latina deadpanned without taking her eyes off the ceiling. "Just dandy."
Brittany looked at the disaster that was Santana's unpacking and tried again. "Do you need some help unpacking maybe? You look exhausted."
Santana rolled her eyes again. Exhausted was a nice way to put it. Unable to believe the incredible shitstorm that had somehow landed her in a Catholic boarding school was more accurate, though. "All good over here, Brittany." She sat up on her elbows to take another look at the blond's half. Everything about it made Santana want to thrash and scream and destroy everything about it.
It was so pristine and orderly and safe, so suburban whitebread down to how the decorative pillow shams perfectly complemented the bed skirt to how—for some inane reason—even her fucking hand towels had her initials monogrammed into them. It was disgustingly perfect and happy and everything Santana was not at that moment.
"Why don't you work on unpacking yourself instead? It looks like it'll take you forever to make your side livable," the Latina continued with a thick layer of sarcasm.
It was clearly lost on the blond, however, who just looked thoroughly confused, rather than offended. She turned back towards her side to figure out just what was so wrong with her setup that even a stranger would comment on it.
For that tiny snapshot in time, Santana hated her roommate. She hadn't said a single hurtful or rude thing yet to deserve that, but from Brittany's contentedness and methodologically safe and homey lifestyle, Santana thought she just knew that she'd hate this girl. It was girls like this that never thought twice about options other than becoming housewives and popping out babies; it was girls like this who'll never be challenged to decide anything harder than what to do when her best set of eight linen napkins gets ruined and she's left only with an odd seven; it was girls like this who, in the safety of their close-minded "normality," convinced Ali Inman that she was a nasty dyke who was trying to turn her, too.
All of the anger Santana had let fester over the past summer started to boil over again. Her former best friend, being here in this bullshit school in the middle of nowhere four hundred miles away from home, Brittany and other morons just like her, everything sent her mind swirling out of control. She laid back on her bed and shut her eyes, trying to get herself under control before she did something stupid yet again. She tried gripping at the sheetless bed, grasping desperately at the cushion top and gritting her teeth.
Santana was so caught up in her own mind that she didn't notice that Brittany had realized her side of the room was fine for now and had moved to rest her rear in a standing-sit position on her bed. It wasn't until she felt a hand squeezing her arm affectionately that her eyes shot open, fully intending to glare down the intruder before she met the most sincere, crystal blue eyes she'd ever seen in her life.
"Santana, I can tell you don't like being here right now. But, everyone I've talked to really loves it here." The blond paused to smile into hesitant, guarded brown eyes. "It'll be okay. I promised your parents I'd take care of you, and I will."
At that, Brittany let go of Santana's arm and pushed off of the bed. With the same wild enthusiasm that she had upon first meeting her roommate, the blond quickly dug into the other girl's boxes. "Now, come on. Let's get you settled in."
Santana was speechless. It was as if all of the rage that was just about to boil over had been smacked out of her by an undeniably genuine show of kindness, and she was left dazed. Girls like Brittany—or at least girls who she'd thought Brittany was like—didn't act like this; they didn't approach girls like Santana who skipped class to smoke and listen to metal just to promise that being sent away from home would be okay, that they'd take care of her. But, she still looked like them, dressed like them, and had all of their obligatory paraphernalia tote bags and headbands. It was…confusing to Santana, to say the least, and she decided she'd proceed with caution and keep Brittany at a scrutinized arms length.
She decided that, but when she stood up from her bed to help Brittany unpack her own things, her sights again locked onto those gorgeous blue eyes and heart-melting smile, and she couldn't help but feel all her apprehension and suspicion being chipped away. She couldn't help but hope that Brittany was different, even though her recent history should have taught her a lesson to be more skeptical.
Even though she wouldn't realize it for quite some time later, it should have been obvious at that moment. When she was fourteen, Santana Lopez fell in love.
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I'm writing fairly late-night, so forgive me for any mistakes. Please let me know what you thought, and thanks for reading! : )