Chapter Two

Santana lay on her bed, one of her arms folded casually behind her head. She held the TV remote in her other hand, and she was clicking through the channels at a rapid-fire pace.

"Could you, maybe, pick something please?" a voice next to her said suddenly. She rolled her eyes and glanced over at Karofsky, who was sitting in her desk chair a good three feet away. She had almost managed to forget that he had been there for the past two hours.

"I can't find what I want," Santana grumbled, still clicking furiously through the images on her screen.

"Here," Karofsky said, leaning forward, "let me—

Santana snapped away from him, "No. I'll pick. House rules." She stared hard at the TV, attempting to lose herself in the channels.

Karofsky rolled the chair back a couple of inches, admitting defeat for the moment. Then he muttered something under his breath, prompting another eye roll from Santana.

"What is it now?" she sighed, still not looking at him.

"I, um, don't really think this is how boyfriend and girlfriend are supposed to act," he said. Santana was still a little surprised at how soft-spoken he was outside of school; she could practically eat him alive off campus.

"Well," she started, relishing her previous thought while eyeing a commercial for Victoria's Secret, "how would you know? It's not like you've ever been with a girl before. Actually, it's not like you have been with anyone before. So, why don't you keep your trap shut and just sit there ok?"

Word vomit. It all spilled out before she could stop it. Maybe, she thought, that had been a bit harsh. She stole a glance over at him in time to see his face fall. Then his large hands fumbled into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone. For a moment, Santana watched him type haphazardly over the keyboard before she adjusted her position on the bed and resumed channel surfing.

She still couldn't believe they were doing this. Staring at an ad for a new record store in Lima, she thought back to the week before, when her phone had vibrated at a red light on her way home from school. Eagerly snatching it up from the seat next to her in hopes that it was from Brittany, that hopeful feeling vanished when she saw the name: Karofsky. Opening the text with disdain, she read it.

Hey. Meet me at the Lima Bean in an hour.

Tossing the phone back into the passenger seat, she let out a heavy sigh. What the hell did they have to talk about? Ever since their meeting in the hallway a few hours ago, Santana had spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what he could have possibly meant when he said that they had things in common. Besides the fact that they went to the same school, Santana hadn't been able to come up with anything. When the light turned green, she clenched the steering wheel and turned towards her neighborhood. As she rolled up to a stop sign, a pair of people on the sidewalk caught her eye.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," she groaned. It was Artie in his wheelchair and behind him, Brittany. She was pushing him along; her blonde hair being flicked back by the wind as they walked towards what Santana could only assume was Artie's house. She knew Brittany's was in the opposite direction. She watched them while they walked, only twenty feet away. Brittany laughed at something Artie said. Heat rushed to Santana's face, and she dug her nails into the steering wheel to fight back tears.

A horn beeped suddenly behind her. Glancing up in the mirror, a blue Toyota was inching closer towards her. Then she looked back towards Brittany.

"Great," she muttered. The blonde had turned to see who had honked and was now looking right at Santana's car. Embarrassed and angry, Santana revved the engine and sped forward as quickly as she could. Her friend passed by in a flash while Santana never slowed down to look her way. Santana figured Brittany knew it was her. But she didn't care.

Less than a minute later she was parked in her driveway, forcing herself to take a breath and calm down. Blinking back the last of her tears, she reached over for her phone and opened a reply to Karofsky. Her fingers hovered over the keys, and she closed her eyes to gather her thoughts. When she did, blonde hair and a sweet smile appeared. Brittany giggled and leaned closer to her.

Santana's eyes shot open, and she looked around, hoping that Brittany was, in fact, right there. But the image faded after a moment and Santana frowned before finally typing a message.

I'll see you there. This better be good.

Then she pressed send.

An hour later, Santana sat at one of the tables near the back of the shop in dark jeans and a grey, off the shoulder shirt. It was one of the many Brittany had left at her house weeks ago; before she stopped coming around. A faint scent of the blonde still clung to it.

Taking another sip from her coffee, Santana peered out the large windows to her right. Just as she did, she spotted Karofsky. He wore his letterman jacket, and she briefly wondered if he ever took the thing off. She watched him until he reached the door. Then she averted her eyes and took to scanning the people in the shop, faking interest. And once he was standing next to her table, she looked up at him in mock surprise.

"Oh, you're here."

He gave half a smile. "Yeah. Don't get up, please."

She leaned back in her seat. "I wasn't going to."

He shook his head and sat down, looking around. Santana couldn't help but notice how he suddenly seemed uncomfortable.

"Something wrong, meathead?" she asked, enjoying her apparent upper hand. "Missing your fellow goons?"

"I just…" he mumbled, leaning forward to lay his forearms on the table. "Let's just do this."

Santana was becoming more and more confused by the minute with Karofsky. He really wasn't all that intimidating, she decided, eyeing him as he sat awkwardly across from her like his chair was about to go up in flames.

"Ok," she finally said, sitting up a little straighter. "So, what is it you want to talk about?"

Karofsky stared hard at the table. "Well," he said, "remember when I said that you and I had something in common?"

Santana narrowed her eyes, still trying to take in this new side of the typical bully. "Yeah," she said. "That was a good one, I have to say. Stumped me."

Karofsky gave a small laugh. "You have always been pretty oblivious."

She leaned forward at the return of Karofsky's familiar insults. "Shut it, meathead," she managed to spit out, forcing herself to not jump across the table at him. She was not, in any way, oblivious. On the contrary, she was probably far too aware of her situation, and of the people in it. One person in particular made it impossible for her to be oblivious when she was around, actually.

"Well, anyway," Karofsky continued, "I guess I should explain what exactly I was referring to."

After another sip from her coffee, Santana said, "That would be nice."

She sat back and watched Karofsky once more, waiting for him to enlighten her. His brow furrowed in concentration. What could possibly be so difficult for him to say, she wondered. Then, just as she was about to give up on getting a reply, Karofsky took a deep breath and said, "I'm gay."

Santana's eyes widened. "I'm sorry," she said, leaning forward now to sit her arms on the table between them, "what did you say?"

Karofsky was smiling, almost in relief at having spoken at all. Then he licked his lips and said again, "I'm gay."

Santana stared, open-mouthed, at him. She couldn't be hearing this right. It just wasn't possible. He's Karofsky; a meathead. A goon. A bully…

"Not possible," she said, verbalizing her thoughts. "I don't believe you."

Karofsky, who for the past few moments seemed to have forgotten she was even there, finally lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Sure it's possible," he shrugged, his eyes unwavering on hers. "If the hot, popular cheerleader is gay, why not one of the football team's offensive tackle, too?"

Shooting back in her seat, Santana crossed her arms over her chest instinctively. "Wait a second. I'm not—

"Please," Karofsky said. "I've seen the way you are with her. You have been cheering for my team since 9th grade, after all."

Santana narrowed her eyes again at him. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, forcing her voice to remain even.

"Brittany," said Karofsky.

Santana bit her tongue suddenly and winced. She felt tears start up immediately. Damnit, she thought. Why did he have to say it?

"Brittany and I are just-

"Just friends," Karofsky said, his eyes still not leaving hers. "Sure. If that's what you want to believe." He took a breath and continued, "Santana, we've gone to the same school, walked the same halls, and shared the same field for over two years. You may think I'm this giant thug who can't count to ten with my shoes on, but I see things. I see you. And I've seen the way you are with her. You're different when you're with her. She lights you up." Santana sniffed and quickly wiped a stray tear as he went on. "You think you're tough shit. Everybody knows that. That's why you paired yourself with Puck when school started. But he's not for you and you know it. Just like I know you, or any other girl, aren't for me."

She was shocked. She kept wiping tears away as one after another ran down her face. Karofsky finally sat back in his chair and pulled out a pack of Kleenex.

"Here," he said, handing it to her. "I brought these just in case." She grabbed the pack and pulled one out. "Honestly," he said, smiling a little, "I thought I would be the one to need it. I heard you had cried during a Glee performance once, but I thought it was just a rumor. Though, I always hoped you would have it in you."

Santana blew her nose and scrunched up the Kleenex in her fist. This was all so much. "So," she said slowly, "you've figured me out. Big deal." She shrugged. "That's no reason to be nice to me and tell me all of this crap. I don't need you. I have friends—

"No you don't," Karofsky said, shaking his head. "Quinn is only after one thing, and that's prom queen. Puck is with Lauren. And Brittany…" he trailed off.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Fine, ok, I don't have anybody. What are you anyway, some sort of Yoda-love guru? Should I get your hotline number for late night questions?"

Karofsky laughed and shook his head. "I'm just not as unaware as people think I am. And I know where you're coming from."

"Because you're gay," Santana said, letting the last word roam around in her mouth and dance across her tongue. It felt so strange to say.

Karofsky nodded. "Yeah. And, realizing that is not something that's come easy for me. Trust me," he said. "I hurt a lot of people."

"Like Kurt."

"Like Kurt," he said, "and I regret that. But what I did is done. I never want to do anything like that again. But, I need your help."

"My help?" Santana asked, trying to follow where this was going. "Haven't you been paying attention dude? I'm pretty helpless. I have no one. I'm all alone because I screwed up. I have nothing to offer."

Karofsky straightened in his seat. "Actually, there is one thing that both of us still have to offer at school."

Santana eyed him carefully, and then asked, "What?"

"Our status. Or, in your case, your former status as a Cheerio."

"What the hell are we supposed to do with those?"

"Use them. As a cover," he said.

Santana uncrossed her arms and leaned once again over the table. "No way," she said. "The reason I messed up in the first place is because I wasn't honest with myself. And I may not be ready still to admit who I am. But I can say that I love…who I love, ok?" she said, her breath coming in shaky rasps. "I'm not hiding under the enormous wing of some guy and pretending everything I've said and done is a lie. Not anymore."

Karofsky looked at her for a moment, his head slightly tilted. Then finally he said, "Fine. Good for you. You may not need the cover, but I do. You're a step a head of me, Santana. You're ok with it. I'm…I'm still struggling. So, just until prom, I think we should join forces."

She sniffled again and raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean like-

"Like a couple," Karofsky finished for her. "Just until prom."

This was becoming ridiculous, she thought. Not in a million years would she have ever paired herself up with this guy. And now, here he was, proposing they masquerade as a pair for what…insurance?

"This is unreal," she said. "Why should I do this? I don't have anything to hide. Not from her," she said, thinking back to Brittany. The image of her pushing Artie along the sidewalk filled her mind, and she shook it, trying to force the picture out. "I still can't believe she picked him," she murmured.

"Then this will help you get her back!" Karofsky said, suddenly eager. "Come on, Santana. Think about it. She sees you with somebody else…somebody not in Glee. She sees you with me. She'll come back."

Santana was still shaking her head in disbelief. "I don't know if it's that simple. But, maybe," she said. "It might work."

Karofsky smiled so wide then that Santana could barely recognize him. He clapped his hands together, drawing a few looks from people sitting nearby. "So, we have a deal?" he asked, sticking his hand out across the table.

Santana eyed it. What could it hurt, she thought. What if it did get Brittany back? What else was there to try, anyway? She'd confessed everything. So, she reached out carefully and grabbed his hand.

"Deal."