"You don't have too many friends, do you?" Rachel asked the next day after she met Santana at her locker.
Kind of blindsided by the question, Santana didn't answer right away. "Most people don't pay attention to the kid in the wheelchair," she shrugged. "But it's not like I have leprosy, so I do okay."
Leaning back against the locker next to hers, Rachel crossed her arms, her chin almost disappearing into the collar of her gothic-style blouse. Her expression was inscrutable. "Is that why you came up to me? Because I don't have many friends either?"
Her eyes widening, Santana stared down at the notebook she needed for her art class. "I was knocked into you, remember?" she opened her backpack, stuffing the notebook into it, looking past the edge of her glasses to see if Rachel was buying it.
"Okay, let's pretend I believe you." Her voice laced with amusement, Rachel straightened when Santana, finished with her locker, closed it and turned her wheelchair to better face her, "Would you have talked to me otherwise?"
"I… Yes." Praying the red wasn't showing on her cheeks, Santana nodded. Of course she would have.
Rachel blinked, obviously not having expected that answer. "Really?" she blurted, then shook her head, wincing. "Really?" she asked purposefully more subdued, and Santana nodded again, adjusting her glasses. "Why?"
What was Santana supposed to say to that? She'd just made contact with Rachel. What could she say that wouldn't scare her away? 'I wanted to talk to you because I've fallen for you without talking to you?' 'I wanted to talk to you because just looking at you makes me harder than I've ever been?' 'I wanted to talk to you because you make my heart pound and I want to get to know you?' Still staring up Rachel, Santana swallowed. She counted it as a miracle that her voice didn't break, "Because you intrigue me?"
Rachel's nose scrunched as confusion crossed her face. "I…" She trailed off, eyebrows furrowing as she blinked, moving her head back, "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to respond with."
"Not running away and-or slapping me?" Santana asked hopefully, curling her fingers into her pant leg. Because you intrigue me? She should have just blurted out that she wanted to hump her instead; it wouldn't have sounded as bad.
Black lips twitched, and Rachel was suddenly bending down, placing a palm onto the arm of Santana's chair to balance herself. "While dramatic," she smiled slightly, "I think I'd rather find out why you think that."
Santana could only swallow again, her back stiff as her eyes darted from Rachel's to her lips to her hair to the glances she couldn't help taking at her chest, even if she couldn't see any cleavage. She had to squeeze her backpack in her lap to stop or hide the stirring between her legs. But when she opened her mouth to babble something else out, Rachel was already pulling away, sliding around behind her. Feeling her hands wrap around the push handles, Santana tilted her head up and back, as much as she could do without straining her neck.
Rachel quirked an eyebrow. "Is it okay to push you?"
Santana could feel her slow, wide smile before it appeared. "Sure," she nodded, turning back to face the front, adjusting her glasses as a device to distract herself. Rachel being behind her, while still exciting, meant that she wasn't in Santana's visual space anymore. But she was behind her. What would she be looking at? Santana had washed the conditioner out of her hair that morning, hadn't she? Oh god. How could she touch her hair without making it obvious?
"Did you finish your homework?"
"What?" Her immediate question coming out high and weak as she was too busy concentrating on feeling her hair through her scalp and deconstructing how Rachel was pushing her, Santana had to cough, trying again, "What?"
There was a light chuckle. "I asked if you finished your homework. Mr. Schuester had assigned us a bit more than usual." Pretty smoothly moving Santana forward after just a second of compacted strength, having to increase her drive before Santana actually started moving, Rachel was doing a good job of steering them clear from anyone and any obstacles she could predict to be dodged.
"Oh." Santana nodded, "Yes. I don't have much to do after school except for the days I can make it to the skate park." She couldn't feel anything wrong with her hair. Good.
"Skate park?"
Hearing the curious tone in Rachel's voice, Santana pushed against an arm of her chair to twist around. "Yeah. Instead of a skateboard, I have my wheelchair. It's fun," she nodded, preening a little as she could see Rachel's eyes widening in grudging admiration, "And it helps me stay in shape."
A dark lip getting sucked into Rachel's mouth made Santana turn back around, having to grip her backpack tightly again. "…Wow," Rachel answered, "I think it's really good you do that. I mean…"
"I know what you mean," one side of Santana's lips turned up, and she meant it when she said, "It's okay."