*Sam's POV*
I don't know why I am doing this. Googling cheerleading scholarships. Cheerleading! God! Printing California info. And sneaking into Sophie's closet to find her old UCLA hoodie. She's gonna fucking laugh at my face and eat me alive.
Should I ever mention I want to go to UCLA too? Nah, I shouldn't. She would probably start looking for another college on the other side of the country. Or maybe more away like… Canada. I don't want Santana to move to Canada, even though Canadians are cool. Drake's Canadian and he has some killer songs. What the fuck am I saying? I'm starting babbling like Finn. Gosh, Lopez. Look what you're doing to me.
Maybe I shouldn't do anything. She was really clear and she wasn't joking when she told me she didn't want anything from me. Finn told me Santana didn't have any friends. But Brittany, of course. But she's more like her little sister. Kindergarten sister. And that she's some kind of maneater who doesn't care about anyone's feelings. But… don't know. There's something about her. Something on the way she looks at me. Like… her mouth tells me she hates me but her eyes… Those brown eyes don't lie. There's something in there. What are you hiding, Santana? Why do you build all those walls around you? What you don't want me to find out?
Here you are God damn hoodie! Yeah, she'll love you. Thank you Soph.
A smiling Sam leaved his older sister's room and lied down his bed closing his eyes. He tried to sleep but only thing it was on his mind was nothing but a cheerleader. Santana Maria Lopez.
*Santana's POV*
Stupid, God damned, idiotic, egocentric, bleached asshole! Why do I even care? Next time his wet, kicked puppy face asks me if I can help him with any freaking thing I'll fucking slap him. Yeah. That's what I'm gonna do. What? He thinks because he's a freaking football player he can come and try to fucking kiss me? I don't do losers. And even worse, I don't do Quinn's minions. But Finn, yeah, but that was a mistake. And… whatever. He still has 'VIRGIN' written all over his face. It's like it never happened. Better for me. That way my rep isn't ruined because of his idiotic self. But Evans! God! He makes me wanna bitchslap him. Trying to fucking psychoanalyze me? Telling me that I practically don't have any friends? And that I should talk to him? What the hell do he thinks he his? Fucking Oprah, blonde, high school version? The hell, no! And I bought him cupcakes! Cupcakes for fuck sake! What the hell was that? I can't have another Martha Stewart moment. Like… ever again. No more. I'm Santana fucking Lopez. I own McKinley. I don't need him. I don't need anyone.
Santana made her way to her bedroom and waited for sleep to come. I don't need him, I don't fucking need him.
