DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee.

Sorry for any mistakes or mispellings. It's three a.m. I just wanted to put this up for you :)

Please, review. It would make me feel like a kid in Christmas night ^^. Lol.


She had kissed Ms Lopez. Her teacher. On the cheek.

Well, obviously, it hadn't been that relevant, but for the tiny girl it had felt almost how she thought her debut on Broadway would feel. Mind blowing. Wonderful. Amazing. Breathtaking.

Oh, she couldn't wait to write that piece of gold into her diary.

Her heart was beating madly by the time she arrived to her class, her flushed cheeks having been mistaken for embarrassment due to her more than justified tardiness. Excusing herself, the petite brunette received a sympathetic look from her teacher and went to sit at her usual desk in the front row.

The girl was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice the foot that had shot out of its bindings to intercept hers until it was too late, and she saw herself falling forward. Her books flying out of her hold, Rachel extended her arms in front of her just in time to stop herself from falling face first. Wincing when her knees and palms connected harshly against the linoleum floor, Rachel didn't even need to look up to know that every single student present in that class had joined the laughter fest. She could hear the voice of her teacher going on about the Second World War.

In spite of the sharp pain she felt stabbing her left knee when she moved forward to grab her books, the Jewish girl raised her head at the same time she lifted herself from the floor; and as the enviable actress she knew herself to be, she covered the slight limp she was sure she was sporting and continued walking towards her usual spot, ignoring the pointed fingers and mocking words designed to bring her down; a fake smile on her face.

Once she was seated, Rachel let her mind wander to the woman she had just had a 'meeting' with. She was really nice. Sure, she had obviously noticed when four days ago she had met her for the first time, her presence and kindness digging an instant hole in the tiny brunette's heart.

And her out of place fondness for her teacher had only grown when she realized that she was the only person – apart from her parents and, rarely, Mr. Schuester – that had shown any kind of real concern for her in a long, long time. That thought should have made her feel nauseous, but it made the flying insects in her stomach – popularly known as butterflies – flutter madly. It was a new and definitely welcome sensation.

The tiny girl was starting to feel her plastic smile turning into a tiny, real one, when an extremely wrinkled ball of paper hit her cheek, making her frown instantly at the feeling. She saw the ball land on her desk just in front of her, and hiding the shaking of her left hand, she took the ball.

Rachel knew better than that, she really did, but it was too late; she had already opened the tiny ball. Her eyes wetted dramatically as the words 'my dog's looking for a fuck buddy, you and your daddies can visit him whenever you want' stood mockingly against the paper. It was ridiculous and childish; the kind of things that adults would lightly scold and pay no attention to. But when Rachel felt a warm breath near her ear murmuring "I bet you'll like him. He has a dick", she felt her resolve shatter as she tilted her heads downwards, her tiny fist closing tightly around the paper.

Sighing deeply, the brunette released the ball slowly, and raising her head, she introduced the wrinkled mass of paper into her case. Straightening up, the tiny student flipped her hair over her shoulder and puffed her chest.

Her fake smile didn't waver in the thirty minutes she had left of the class.


Rachel could feel her lips stretching in a sincere gesture of happiness when the bell signaled the end of her last class. Her last class before Spanish. There was a difference. She didn't consider Spanish as one more class. It was the only place – besides glee and her home – where she knew that someone was there for her. Not literally, but she really liked to think of her teacher as a kind, supportive person. She liked to think that Ms. Lopez would support her if things got bad. Or simply worse. She looked like that kind of person.

Opening her little songbook, Rachel stared at the last words she had written down, reality sinking in once she assimilated the words. She stood like that, her eyes sliding over the carefully written passion-filled words over and over again; as if it were the only thing that kept her away from the disgusting and cruel world where she lived in. And it probably was.

She kept her eyes trained on the paper until she heard the now almost familiar clicking of heels, and her head lifted automatically to watch as the lithe body of her Spanish teacher made its way into the classroom, silencing every sound that was not one of pure respect.

Her presence seemed to have hardened since she last saw her at the bathroom, giving her a strict and ruthless edge that she didn't possess before.

"Buenos días clase" said the teacher as she left the stack of papers to rest on her desk and turned her back to the students, taking a piece of chalk in her hand and starting to write some Spanish basics on the blackboard without a word.

Rachel tried not to let the disappointment cloud her mind when the teacher hadn't even looked at her since she entered the class. She was giving her space; space to act normal without the pressure of having to interact with Rachel properly after their little encounter; even when in her mind the encounter was much more than what it really had been.

Turning to the students, Santana finally allowed her gaze to travel over the sea of students, stopping lightly on a jock that looked ready to throw a paper ball. She stopped herself from concentrating on the petite brunette's seemingly distressed face, deciding that her curiosity wasn't going to win over this time. Finally clapping her hands once in front of her, the woman smiled.

"Hoy vamos a aprender la diferencia entre 'haber' y 'tener'."

Rolling her eyes mentally at the look of confusion present on some students' faces, the Latina pointed with her thumb over her shoulder, signaling at the blackboard.

"¿Empezamos?"


Twenty five minutes had gone by, and Rachel's frown and down casted eyes had started being blatantly obvious. She didn't raise her hand, she didn't participate, she didn't even acknowledge the group questions Ms. Lopez made.

The complicity they had shared in class for the last week had faded away.

She had kissed her cheek, and she had felt alive. Sure, at the moment she thought that it had been the adrenaline of being so close to a teacher. But then she remembered the numerous times in which she had been in contact with Mr. Schuester. And something clicked in her head.

It had been an awful reality check for her. It was her teacher she was thinking about, not some high school boy. She couldn't expect her to act differently towards her than she did with the rest of students. It didn't make sense even in her head. Why did she always have to look so much into things?

The bathroom encounter had been a professional, teacher-student action. Nothing more. And she hated that for her it had meant so much more. That for a moment she had thought that, maybe, she and her teacher had bonded. It was only now, in the loneliness of her Spanish class, the class she had been waiting for all day, that she realized how wrong her assumptions were.

She could already feel the sting of tears behind her eyes, so she breathed deeply and clasped her hands under the desk.

The only thing she could hear in that moment was the rushing of blood in her ears. It took her a few seconds to realize that Ms. Lopez had asked her a question.


Santana frowned lightly. In her first week at McKinley, she had realized that Rachel Berry was a participative person. She was her best student by far, the only one who got an A+ on her first assignment. So it surprised her the way her shoulders were slumped and her gaze was trained on the old desk in front of her.

She couldn't help but think that the frown she was sporting was more because of the obvious indifference the younger girl showed after their bathroom talk than the fact that she wasn't paying attention in her class.

Maybe they were both linked.

Finally, the petite girl lifted her head, and the Latina almost let a sigh of relief escape her lips.

"¿Puedes responder, Rachel?" inquired the teacher, nodding towards the blackboard with a barely covered hopeful smile.

Rachel's eyes travelled smoothly over the surface of the blackboard, and moving them to connect with her teacher's, the brunette nodded.

"La respuesta es 'Había un gato en mi sofá', Srta. Lopez." Answered the student coldly. A little flabbergasted by her student's obvious knowledge of the subject, Santana blinked a few times and widened her smile.

"That's…correcto, Srta. Berry." Nodding her head dutifully, the small girl moved her dark gaze to Santana's for only a second, but it was enough for Santana to recognize the hurt.

Shaking her head, the Hispanic woman turned her head to the rest of students, who were for the most part chatting among each other.

Sighing, she looked at the petite girl once again for just a second before continuing her class.


"Cedes, I have a problem." Spoke up the Latina, holding her cell phone to her left ear.

"Hello to you too, hottie" came the sarcastic answer through the phone, making Santana roll her eyes.

"Hello Mercedes. Can I get to the fucking problem now?" asked quite impatiently the Latina.

"Whoa, careful there, tiger. I thought you were a teacher."

"Cedes!"

"Okay! Okay, go on. Spit it out."

Breathing deeply, the Latina moved to sit on one of the kitchen barstools of her rental apartment, putting her elbow on the counter and supporting her head with her hand.

"I…I have a problem." A mix of a chuckle and a huff was heard through the line, making Santana close her eyes and scrunch her nose lightly. Seriously, her best friend knew how to get on her nerves.

"Are you being serious-?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just…it's big, y'know?" Finally sighed the woman.

"Well, I had that figured out, sweetie." Mercedes' voice had softened considerably, indicating that the healthy teasing was over. A few seconds passed, and when none of them spoke, a rush of ideas came crashing into the black woman.

"You're not pregnant, are you?" Shouted in panic Mercedes, making Santana jump lightly on her chair and clench her fist in frustration.

"I'm a fucking lesbian, Jones." Came the angry remark. It was clear to Mercedes now that Santana wasn't playing around.

"That would have made it all that more wrong. I'm sorry. But are you going to tell me or what?"

"It's about…it's a relationship problem. Or better, a non-relationship problem." That was it. A sentence ambiguous enough to confuse the girl but guide her at the same time. She could almost hear the wheels and gears turning in her friend's head through the phone.

"Unrequited love?" Was the answer.

"Yes…no. No. It's not love. It's not that." Rushed to explain the Hispanic woman, panicking at her friend's assumption.

"Then?"

"It's just attraction, Cedes. Like…physical attraction. And maybe psychological too." The raven haired girl murmured the last part. She wasn't even sure herself.

"The thing is" continued Santana, " that it can't happen. It can't. She doesn't want me back." Finally confessed the distressed young woman.

There was a long silence, both girls trying to figure out what was exactly hidden behind those words.

"How do you know that?" Finally spoke Mercedes softly into the phone.

She didn't. But it didn't mean she shouldn't. It wasn't fair. She felt attracted to Rachel, and Rachel hadn't sent any signals that implied that she felt that way. But she hadn't sent signals that showed the opposite thing, either. But, again, why would she?

She was probably the most deviant person in the whole state of Ohio. Needing signals to prove to herself that what she was feeling wasn't all that wrong; that there was someone who felt and thought in the same way she did. Maybe, if she found that person, that thing wouldn't be so detestable, so sick.

But she had already found the person that she wanted to feel that way, and it wasn't possible. The only thought sent tears spiraling straight to the back of her eyes, begging to be released.

Well, that, and the realization that she felt attracted to Rachel emotionally, too.

"I don't." Her voice was strained, and she had to cover her mouth with her hand to stop a dry sob from escaping her lips.

"Then-"

"Then." Interrupted Santana. She couldn't bear to hear it. It would be too much for her to stand without breaking. Tilting her head up, looking to the white ceiling, the woman let the tears flood her eyes. She scrunched up her nose and sniffled loudly, her lips turning down by its corners.

"Even if she felt that way, it would mean nothing." Letting her words down on her friend, Santana pressed her elbow to the counter once more, and with that hand pinched the bridge of her slim nose, her pain and conflicted emotions shinning under the tears that were running down her face.

"It would change nothing, Cedes." Whispered the woman, not being able to control the straining and thickening of her voice anymore.

"Sometimes life is as fucked up as that."