Chapter Seven

At first we ran in a panic, heading for the cover of the trees as fast as we could, trying to make sure whoever was on that golf cart would lose sight of us. Brittany led the way and I followed in the back to make sure we didn't lose anyone who didn't have as much experience running from security guards as I did.

Most of the back yards that bordered the golf course had fences, so the first one we passed that didn't, we cut across it, not really taking time to notice that the sprinklers in their front yard were going full force.

Brittany's cat-like reflexes allowed her to dodge the streams of water, but Rachel and Quinn ran straight through them, flailing like they were on fire and yelping like handbag dogs. Luckily their spastic display gave me warning time to avoid them too.

When we made it to the street I turned to look behind us. I doubted that anyone who worked as a security guard at a golf course in west central Ohio was going to have the ability or motivation to actually catch up with us, but I felt a lot better after I checked to make sure.

Panic turned to exhilarated laughter as we jogged down the street and into a playground, collapsing on a set of swings.

"Oh my God," Quinn said, gasping for breath, "Rachel, you should have seen your face when that sprinkler came on."

"You say that like you didn't shriek like a little girl!"

"Okay, but your face!" She twisted up her face and stuck out her tongue, trying to mimic it.

"It's a pointless argument, you both looked ridiculous, and now you look like drowned rats," I said.

"We will air dry. Come on, Quinn," Rachel said, pumping her legs to get her swing going.

"I'm going on that slide," Brittany said. She started climbing up the slide part rather than the ladder, whereupon Rachel pointed and cackled maniacally.

"You guys are all so wasted," I said.

"Whatever, Santana!" Rachel said.

"Yeah, like you're completely sober," Quinn added.

"Whatever," I said, "I can holds my liquor. You all should be bowing down thanking me for being so damn astute, otherwise we'd all be handcuffed in the back of a golf cart right now."

Lying halfway on the slide and halfway on the ground, Brittany started to speak with a smile spreading across her face, when Quinn pointed at her dramatically.

"Brittany, NO. I do not want to hear anything you're about to say about Santana, golf carts, handcuffs, or any combination thereof."

I bit my lower lip to keep from smiling, because I knew exactly the night Brittany wanted to talk about.

Rachel had stopped swinging and was singing to herself, her head resting on the chain of the swing, tracing doodles in the dirt with her toes.

"You still with us, Berry?" I said.

"Yes," she said cheerily. "In fact, I would like to declare my intention to go lie on that merry-go-round with my head in the center, push it around with my feet, and watch the stars spin. Fellow revelers, join me!" she said, standing up from her swing.

"Uhh, pass," I said.

"Chili dog and vodka and then spinning? I don't think so," Quinn said.

"I will totally go star spinning with you, Rachel!" Brittany said enthusiastically.

I kept my eye on them as they arranged themselves on the rickety metal disc, the tops of their heads meeting in the middle. Rachel's legs weren't long enough to reach the ground, so Brittany propelled them in circles. Rachel raised her arms in the air and we heard her let out a long "Woooooooooooooo!"

I sat in silence next to Quinn Fabray.

If there was ever going to be a moment, this was it. I turned and studied her face.

"What," she said without looking at me.

"What's the plan, Fabray?"

"Plan?" she asked dazedly.

"For getting Rachel."

She finally looked at me. "Okay, I don't speak whatever language it is you're using. Can you just tell me what you're talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Q. We both know you're totally GFB."

She squinted at me. "What the hell is GFB?"

"Gay for Berry?"

She shook her head, rolling her eyes.

"Is that what the songwriting thing was about the whole time?" I asked.

"Santana. . . first of all, not everyone sees people as challenges to be met or flags to be captured, or whatever it is in your worldview. Not everything is a calculation. Second of all, I don't know what you think you're observing through your rainbow-colored glasses, but Rachel and I? We're barely even friends."

"Right. But I'm not talking about being friends."

She shrugged, agitated.

I was quiet for a minute. Rachel and Brittany had turned themselves right side up and were facing each other cross-legged on the merry-go-round, talking.

"Okay," I sighed at Quinn. "Are you really going to force me to talk about this? Do I have to remind you that I was there at cheerleading camp? In middle school?"

Quinn forced a laugh, but her body stiffened. "What, back when we were just kids?"

"Mmhmm, that's right. And you know what, Q? Two or three months ago, before your fascination with me and Berry became way too obvious for me to ignore, I would have chalked it up to that – being just kids – and let it go. Young Quinnie was just caught up in the excitement of being away at summer camp with her two best friends. She wanted to fit in, and maybe she got carried away. And that's the only reason why, when her two friends decided they liked to kiss each other, she decided she would try it too. Cause she didn't want to be left out. Any of those times. All summer."

Quinn's eyes blazed, even through the glassiness. "You can't apply things that happened when we were eleven to anything that's happening now. I hadn't even gone through puberty yet. It was just young girls being silly. Experimenting."

"Yeah," I said, "I told myself that one too. But if that's your theory, how much does it scare the hell out of you that it clearly wasn't silly for the other two of us?"

She stared at her shoes, chewing on the inside of her cheek, shaking her head slowly.

"Look, Quinn, I'm gonna keep it real here, cause that's how I do it, right? Now since I started this little whatever-it-is with Rachel, I've realized something. People click, and they stick around each other for a reason. You might not expect it, or understand it, or even want it, but for some reason you do it.

And I can admit it, that you weren't wrong, entirely – Berry was supposed to be a conquest. But it didn't turn out that way. We kept coming back to each other because – and if you ever tell anyone this, especially her, I'll punch your lights out – we are so damn much alike." I shrugged. "She kinda gets me."

"What's your point?" she asked.

"Do you ever wonder why the three of us – you, me, and Britts – found each other? Think about it: out of the two hundred girls at those stupid summer camps, we became friends. And out of the thirty girls on Cheerios, we became the top bitches. And why? Because we pushed each other."

She nodded. "First as friends, then as rivals."

"And then we followed each other to Glee Club. And now here we are, sitting in a playground talking about Rachel fucking Berry. And fine, you may have decided no more kissing girls after that summer—"

"It only took three months for me to realize I was a third wheel."

"Yeah, well. My point is, I think there's a reason the three of us are still here, more or less together. We might all be at different places with understanding it, but we were, and we are, alike. And something in you knows I'm right."

Quinn was quiet for a long time.

"What about Rachel?" she finally asked.

"What about her?"

"You said you and me were alike. Well is Rachel, is she. . . like us?"

I had to repress the resounding 'holy sweet lord' in my brain, because fuck if that wasn't an admission.

"Honestly? I don't know," I said, and meant it. "At first I thought she was mostly straight and I was just irresistible. She used to ask me about having sex with guys all the time until I told her it sucked."

"And now?"

I shrugged. "Maybe she's really flexible, or still figuring it out. There's something about the way she reacts to you, though. It happens in person and when she talks about you. To be honest, it totally grosses me out. But I saw it right away, and I sure as hell wouldn't have pushed it if I thought it was a dead end." I paused and added, "Britt sees it too."

"So Rachel talks about me?"

I shook my head at her. "Super GFB," I said.

"I'm not. I just. . ." she said, trailing off, trying to find the words. "I just find her so interesting. It's like in our boring school and our stupid town, there's Rachel. . . and then there's everybody else. I used to hate her for it, and now I just, I'm curious. How do I know where the line is between wanting to be her friend and being, um, GFB?"

"You might not want to hear this, Quinn, but I'm pretty sure people who are interested only in being friends don't have to ask that question. But since you're asking it – I think you have to start by not being afraid of the answer so long that you lose the chance to get the right one."

"I'm not sure you're in a place to be advising me on fearlessness."

"You could look at it like that," I said. "Or you could look at it like maybe I know what I'm talking about." I crossed my arms over my chest.

Quinn gazed across the playground at Rachel, who was laughing at something Brittany had said.

She smiled. "You know, she really is a little like you. Do you know how she got me to come to your house tonight?"

"She told me that's why she invited Britt."

Quinn nodded her head, laughing. "Well, that's part of it. She also mentioned, just casually, that she thought Brittany had a really good shot at Prom Queen. Something about fashion sense and Kesha and Artie's wheelchair tugging on the student body's heartstrings, and that the only way she wouldn't win was if we could get her away from Artie. And that you were the key to accomplishing that."

"I think I just tasted bile. That is frighteningly brilliant."

"I can't believe I fell for it," Quinn said. "It never occurred to me she might be manipulating me until I saw her let loose around you."

"Thanks."

We sat in silence again.

"I don't have a plan," she said hesitantly. "But if I did, would I have to watch my back around you? Or my car tires? Or my immune system?"

"Ehh, no more than usual," I said.

She looked at me skeptically.

"Okay fine, here's the thing," I said. "Berry and I are too hot together. It's like a threat to the thermodynamic stability of the solar system. Her being with you is much safer for everyone. But by the way, good luck getting that to happen if you take Spudson to the Prom."

And that's where it ended, because Brittany and Rachel were on their way back. Rachel slumped against Brittany.

"Rachel's tired," Brittany said. "Maybe we should go home."

"I think we're actually closer to Brittany's house at this point than Santana's, aren't we?" Quinn asked.

"Totally," Brittany said. "It's like a mile that way."

"I'm not sleeping there," I said. "You all be my guest, but I'm going home."

"Santana, you can't walk home alone at 3:30 in the morning. Not through the mean streets of Lima Heights Adjacent," Quinn said.

Rachel giggled.

"Hilarious," I said. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Santana, you're not doing that." Rachel said. "We're not letting you walk alone, and you're not making us all walk three times longer than we need to. Come on, I'm so tired and my feet are dying, they're dying! My party shoes were not meant for so much walking, or any amount of running from the law."

I sighed. "Despite the fact that you just used the phrases 'party shoes' and 'running from the law', fine, let's just go."

"Thank you, Santana," Rachel said.

We headed out of the park, much more slowly than we had entered it. Rachel made small, sad whimpering noises with every step. Brittany finally took pity on her, bent down in front of her and said, "Get on, honey."

My heart melted into a puddle on the ground.

"You need to fix it, Santana," Quinn said quietly, seeing the look on my face as I watched Brittany carry Rachel out of the playground.

A block later, Quinn leaned over and threw up into someone's lilac bushes. She stood up, swaying unsteadily.

I took her arm and draped it over my shoulders, helping support her as we walked the rest of the way home.

"Somehow," she rasped to me, "I don't think that had anything to do with vodka and chili dogs."

"I feel like we're moms," Brittany said to me, nodding at our sleepy cargo as we turned onto the sidewalk that led to her front porch. "Super young moms of drunk teenaged girlfriends."

**

We deposited Rachel and Quinn in Brittany's room, and Brittany went downstairs for the air mattress while I tiptoed to the linen closet in the hallway for extra blankets. I was pulling down a stack of comforters when the door to the master bedroom opened.

"Hey, Mrs. Pierce," I said sheepishly.

"Are you girls just getting in at 4am?" she asked.

"We sort of. . . went for a long walk," I explained. "I'm sorry for waking you up. Quinn and our other friend Rachel are here, so I needed blankets."

"Well that's a blast from the past," she said. "I can't remember the last time I saw Quinnie."

"I'll make sure she says hi in the morning," I offered.

"That would be lovely. In fact," she said, reaching out to pat my shoulder, "Why don't you think about staying for breakfast, Santana? We all miss you. I'll make omelets and some good, strong coffee," she said with a warm smile.

Shit. Oh shit, shit, shit. How was this happening? I had held it together all god damn night and now I was crying? In front of Brittany's mother? About breakfast?

But there was no stopping it. I stood there clutching the comforters, suddenly sniffling, my shoulders shaking.

Brittany's mother took the comforters from me and set them back inside the closet, and wrapped her arms around me.

"Been a long night?" she asked.

I nodded against her shoulder.

"I don't know what happened between you girls that we never see you anymore, Santana," she said, "But you know you're always welcome to visit us. I'll watch Jersey Shore with you anytime, even if Brittany isn't around." She took a handful of tissues from the pocket of her robe and put them in my hand.

I pulled myself together as quickly as I could, terrified that if I was gone too long Brittany would come looking for me. "Thanks Mrs. P," I said, taking the comforters back.

"Like I said," she smiled. "Anytime."

"Oh, Mrs. Pierce?" I said as I turned to go. "Rachel – our friend – she's a vegan. Could you like, make some oatmeal or something, too?"

"You got it," she said.

**

I dabbed at my eyes a final time before I went back into Brittany's bedroom. Rachel was already balled up in a sheet on one side of the air mattress, and Brittany was sitting on her side of the bed babbling baby talk at her stupid cat.

Even after everything that had happened over the last few months, the whole night we had just put behind us, and the last fifteen minutes in the hallway, at first I still turned toward Brittany's bed out of habit. She looked up at me with an expectant smile. I caught myself after two steps and turned my back on her to take the half of the mattress next to Berry.

At the same moment, Quinn emerged from the bathroom and eyed the same spot.

"That spot's taken, Fabray," I warned her.

Quinn looked down at Rachel's small, bundled figure on the mattress, and then back up at me.

I've seen Quinn Fabray look at me in lots of different ways over the years. Anger, contempt, occasional amusement, even envy. I'd never seen her look at me like this before, with her eyes soft around the edges, her jaw clenched and her lips parted in some kind of grimace that was half pleading and half terror.

"Oh, Jesus," I said, understanding what she was silently asking of me.

I was just so fucking tired. I just needed to sleep. So whatever. Go ahead, Quinn, you sucker. Let me help you indulge your insane feelings that you have no idea what you're even going to do with, while I cap off this night with exactly the thing that I've been killing myself to avoid.

"Be my guest," I said.

I threw a comforter at her and turned and walked toward Brittany's bed like I was trudging to the gallows. I lined myself up along the edge of the bed, facing out, putting as much space as I could between myself and the warm, soft skin that was still in arm's reach. It was useless, though, if I thought I could forget where I was and just sleep. The fucking pillow smelled like her head.

Brittany scooted her cat from her lap to the floor with a soft thump and reached over to her nightstand to turn off the light. I heard Quinn rustle the blankets as she slid into bed next to Rachel, and then some soft murmuring. Then silence.

Brittany rolled from her back to her side, facing my back. My skin prickled.

"Santana."

"I'm sleeping," I said, even though now my heart was racing so fast I wouldn't sleep for hours.

"I missed having you here. This feels so nice but it's also making my stomach hurt. I mean, it could be the vodka and chocolate shake, but I don't think so."

Not my problem, I said in my head, but it never made it out of my lips.

"Can I hug you?" she said. "Like with my one arm under you and the other one over you, like we do sometimes when we're sad?"

And the tears were back.

"No," I whispered.

Brittany went quiet for a long time, but she was still so close that every muscle in my body was tense. I held my breath.

"Santana," she finally said. "Rachel and Quinn say I need to listen to my heart, and I'm trying to do that. But what if my heart is saying two different things?"

Was she kidding? Could the two things even be comparable in her head? I rolled over to face her.

"Brittany," I said, looking into her eyes, wide in the dark, "You and I have been best friends since we were nine years old. Listen harder."

I rolled back over, turning away from her. She didn't talk anymore and I figured she'd fallen asleep. I let the tears fall silently, dabbing my nose and eyes with the tissues Mrs. Pierce had given me.

Brittany rested her hand against the small of my back and didn't move it all night.