Thursday, August 11 / 9:04pm
Quinn startled awake as a hand jostled her shoulder.
"Miss Fabray," a voice said softly.
She lifted her head, and winced. She had managed to give herself a serious kink in the left side of her neck.
"Crap," she whispered, noting the small splotch of drool on the page of the text book she'd fallen asleep on. She brushed her hand across it discreetly.
"I did it again, didn't I?" she asked sheepishly, squinting up at the library assistant who'd just woken her.
"Afraid so," he said. "We closed five minutes ago. You're lucky, we probably would have locked you in if I hadn't remembered I never saw you leave."
"Thanks, Brian," Quinn said, stifling a yawn. "Guess it's a bad sign if I'm putting myself to sleep with my own writing."
"Do you need help, Miss Fabray?" Brian asked as Quinn struggled to shoulder her guitar and guide as many of her books as possible into her backpack. "Let me help you get all of this stuff into your car."
She smiled at him. He was like a slightly older, nerdier Finn, tall with light brown hair and dimples. "You can call me Quinn, you know. And thanks, but I'm okay," she said. "It's my own fault for being too paranoid to leave anything in the car."
"Maybe next time," he said hopefully, tagging along as she lugged her things toward the exit.
Quinn sighed inwardly. She was going to be spending a lot more time at this library in the next few weeks. This couldn't go on.
"Brian, I think I need to let you off the hook," she said. "I'm sort of. . . not really available."
"Oh. No, no worries," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "I mean, sucks for me, but. I guess I just figured since you drive yourself and no one ever helps you carry your books or your guitar. . ."
Quinn shrugged at him as he trailed off.
"I guess it's not my place, but whoever he is, he should help you carry your books."
"I'll see you next week, Brian."
"See you, Quinn."
He waved to her while she pushed her way through the revolving exit door.
Oh, Brian, she thought, there a lot more ways to be unavailable than already having a boyfriend.
...
Friday, August 12 / 8:10pm
As usual, Brittany and Santana's SAT math tutoring session had degenerated. The two of them plus Quinn sprawled on Santana's bedroom floor, the air filled with pungent smoke.
This hadn't started out as a disaster for productivity; on the contrary, after the first few puffs it seemed to have actually helped with the lesson, as Quinn came up with all kinds of creative ideas for explaining math concepts and Santana and Brittany found them remarkably engaging. It was a short-lived effect, though; about an hour after the little plastic bag came out, nobody was thinking about math at all.
"Do you guys want to watch a movie?" Santana asked, lying on her back, tracing invisible patterns in the air with her index finger. "I found this list of movies on the internet that are supposed to be awesome when you're baked."
"Aren't they all porn?" Brittany giggled, sitting cross-legged against Santana's bedroom door. "I don't think Quinn would like that."
"They're not ALL porn," Santana said, offended. "That was a different list."
"Yeah, I'll pass on both," Quinn decided, sliding her thick paperback SAT manual under her head for a pillow. "I do not need to know what's in you guys's porn collection."
"See now, that is your loss," Santana informed Quinn. "You're missing out on some genuine entertainment."
"What, random people having sex? Not hot."
"First of all, how would you know? Second of all, I didn't say anything about hot. Sometimes it's hilarious."
"Hilarious?" Quinn repeated. "That's not the point, is it?"
"No, that's why it's funny," Brittany said.
"Everything's fake, especially the orgasms."
"And the boobs," Brittany said. "But not in a good way like Santana's," she added quickly.
"Oh yeah, that's like some double N shit they have going on. I like tits and everything, but not if they're bigger than the chick's head."
"I think C is the best size," Brittany said. "I like how they fit right in your hands and squish out between your fingers." She held up her hands in a demonstration, smiling at Santana.
"See, don't get me wrong, I appreciate that, Britt, but it all depends on the girl. Like, take Q, for example. Hers are maybe the size of golf balls, but they work for her."
"Can we not?" Quinn said, exhaling a cloud toward the ceiling. The talk about porn got a pass since she was high, but her tits were not up for discussion.
"So what kind of boobs do you like, Quinn? Santana and I told you ours." Brittany inquired, ignoring Quinn's plea to move on.
"I don't care about boobs."
"Yeah, right," Santana scoffed. "You're totally thinking about Berry's right now."
"No, I'm not. I really don't care."
"So you're more of an ass woman, then? I mean, I get it. Rachel will do that to a girl."
"Stop," Quinn said. "I don't care about. . . posteriors, either."
"Legs?" Brittany asked.
"Okay, let me make this simpler. I'm not interested in women's disembodied parts."
Brittany and Santana exchanged a skeptical glance.
"What? I've told you, I don't objectify people," Quinn insisted. "I'm attracted to personalities."
Santana side-eyed Quinn. "So you like Berry for her. . . personality?"
Quinn looked at Santana witheringly. "If you're asking did I like the way she looked, yes. That doesn't mean I want to talk about abstract breasts."
"Quinn, you're missing out on one of the best things about being in a queer relationship, other than getting to touch girls," Brittany said. "Getting to think people are hot together. Couples that are two straight people totally miss out."
"Totally," Santana agreed. "Trust me, Q. You'd be amazed what happens if you google image Shannon Elizabeth or Olivia Wilde with Rachel."
"I don't understand why we're talking about this. It's moot now."
"You know what? I can't," Santana said, standing. "I can't accept this. I'm getting my laptop."
...
Half an hour later, she snapped it shut in disbelief, and fell backwards onto the floor.
"Not even Angelina Jolie?"
Quinn stared at Santana, stone-faced.
"Not even BEYONCE? No, I can't believe it. You're a fucking liar."
She flung her arms out to the sides in exasperation.
"Wait!" she said, sitting up suddenly. "Do they have to be Jewish? Britt, find me Natalie Portman."
"Why can't you just accept that I don't care about body parts or half-naked women I don't know?"
"Because I know you, Fabray, and you're just as shallow as the rest of us. This isn't over. Next time I get my hands on Mr. Jose Cuervo, I will get you to admit you like tits. It's happening before this summer is over."
"Good luck with that," Quinn said dismissively. "I don't know what you expect from a repressed Christian girl."
"That's not a good excuse, Quinn," Brittany said, lying on her side next to Santana, playing with her hair. "You don't even care that much about religion."
Quinn and Santana both turned their heads to look at Brittany.
"Excuse me?" Quinn asked.
"What? You say that being a good Christian is really important and stuff, but you love Rachel and she's Jewish."
Quinn tried to engage her pot-addled brain. She was just missing the joke – this couldn't be for real, could it?
Then again, it was Brittany plus drugs.
"Sooo.. . you're saying if I were a real Christian I wouldn't date anybody outside of my religion?"
"I'm not saying I think you would hate all the other religions and stuff, but you don't seem to care that much when it comes to people you have feelings for, like Puck and Rachel."
"I think both of those relationships had more pressing problems to worry about, Brittany."
"But then also, Rachel told me that Ms. Corcoran, Beth's mom, is half Jewish and she goes to temple instead of church."
"So?"
"So you gave your baby to a Jew."
"Beth's father is Jewish, Brittany. It makes perfect sense."
"But then, didn't you give your baby to someone who won't teach her to love Jesus?"
"Britt," Santana hissed. "What are you doing? She's gonna flip her shit right now."
"I'm just trying to say that Quinn didn't worry about it when she had to find her baby a mom."
Quinn's cheeks flushed with anger. "What's your point, Brittany?"
"My point is, why didn't you care about it?"
"I. . ." Quinn was flabbergasted. "Maybe, Brittany, I cared about her being safe and happy more than I cared whether she went to the same church as me. That doesn't make me a hypocrite, it makes me a good mother."
"It does, though," Brittany said. "Just not because of that."
"Well then, please, enlighten me."
"Because, why can you decide that it's more important for Beth to be happy than to be a good Christian, but you won't decide it for yourself?"
The grin that had slowly been spreading across Santana's face practically reached her ears as Brittany finally got to her point.
Quinn started about seventeen different rebuttals in her head, but none came out of her mouth.
"Okay, anyway guys, I have to go," Brittany said when it became clear the argument was over. "Lord Tubbington is expecting me by 10. He worries if I'm late." She turned to Santana and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I love you. Bye, Quinn."
Quinn waved absently after Brittany was already gone.
"What the hell just happened?" she said, turning to Santana.
"I think what just happened," Santana said, "Is that my Britts just owned your Jesus-freaky ass."
"Well, she doesn't know what she's talking about. It's not like religion wasn't a factor. Beth will grow up knowing the same God I do, and that's what's important."
"Why don't you calm the fuck down so we can go back to talking about tits?"
"Beth will still have a religious community around her; that's what I care about."
"Really, she's gone, this is over now."
"Did you know that human beings have had religions even longer than we've had languages? I bet Brittany doesn't know that, but it's true. Anthropologists think it helped make civilization possible. And they think spirituality is as important to humans as any other psychological need. As long as Beth has that, I'm happy."
"Ummm, first of all, I'm not a gigantic NERD, so no, I didn't know that. And I don't know what this has to do with not being able to appreciate girls who are hot or naked or both."
"Because in my religion, lust is a sin. And so is being a lesbian."
"I'm so super tired of hearing about this."
Santana reopened her laptop and resumed clicking through pictures on the internet, still determined to draw a lustful confession from Quinn before the evening was over.
Quinn took another long puff on the joint, finishing it. She held it in till her lungs burned. Sullen, she left Santana's side on the floor and flounced down on the bed, cursing herself for all the things she was only now thinking of to rebut what Brittany had said.
Everything was just so damn simple in Brittany's mind. Of course Quinn wanted Beth to know Jesus. But she had made a conscious decision to prioritize giving her a good home first. It wasn't that she hadn't thought about it, or factored it in. Right?
This was giving her a headache.
"What are you doing?" she asked Santana, who seemed to be more and more engrossed in her computer screen.
"YouTube videos."
"Oh God. I'm leaving."
"Oh my God, you don't watch THAT kind of video on YouTube. And like I'd watch porn with you here, you virgin. I'm looking at cheerleading videos to find moves I can jack for my tryouts routine."
"How ethical of you."
"Um, I'm out to knock their fucking balls off, all right? I need inspiration. I want my shit to be the most challenging thing anyone has ever done for this squad."
"For Toledo?" Quinn shook her head. "That's the wrong approach."
"Um, the fuck it is."
"I'm serious. This isn't Sue's squad, Santana. For a school like that, don't you think you want to be well-rounded rather than do a bunch of stuff that's so technically challenging you'll never actually use it on their squad?"
Santana paused. Fuck, what if she was right?
"What do you mean by well-rounded?" she asked.
"Being skilled is one thing, but what about strength, flexibility, I don't know . . . your sense of choreography? And you probably want to show actual cheerfulness and team spirit, too, so I guess you're probably screwed."
"I hate you."
"Because I'm right? Come on, let's go outside; show me what you have worked out so far."
"You want me to tumble in the grass, high? Your death threats be more subtle these days, I'll give you that."
"Whatever, skip the gynmastics; that's not what you need to work on. And get over yourself," Quinn added, when Santana stared skeptically. "There's a reason I was head cheerleader when I was a sophomore. Do you want my help or not?"
...
Two hours later, they lay on their backs in the grass in Santana's back yard. Santana's muscles felt like jello. Quinn, confident that the darkness hid her face, smiled, her own cheeks flushed with effort.
"So you think that'll do it?" Santana said, a little breathless.
"Yeah. I do."
"Maybe you should watch Britt's routine so far, too."
"Brittany's dancing will carry her through. But I'll watch if you want."
They fell silent, kept company in the late night air by the chirp of the crickets and the hum of mosquitoes.
"So, what are you doing?" Santana asked.
"Doing?" Quinn repeated.
"For college."
"Oh. Ohio State, I guess. With my test scores and my summer internship there I'm a shoo-in for their bio program."
"I still can't believe you like that mouse brain shit."
"I'm good at formulating research questions."
"Being good at something ain't the same as liking it."
"I like it just fine. And it's the road to pre-med. Anyway, why - do you have a better idea for my future than I do? I'm all ears."
Santana didn't answer right away, and Quinn heard the grass next to her rustle as the other girl shifted uncomfortably.
"I don't know, like. . . what about Toledo?"
It took a few seconds of silence after Santana's reply before Quinn understood it was a genuine sentiment and not the set up for an insult.
And when she realized it, she hated herself, because her first inclination was to reply with something acerbic, as if automatically she searched for something that would drown out the vulnerability of the moment.
Quinn closed her eyes tightly. Do not be an asshole, Fabray.
"Well, I hadn't considered it," she said, finally. "But I guess one crappy school in Ohio is as good as any other, right?"
"For reals," Santana said, and Quinn could hear the exhale of relief in her words. "You know, they have gay guys there. They must have lesbians, too. I mean, odds are, right?"
"I'm sure they do have lesbians, yeah." And then Quinn was laughing. Oh God – between the pot, and the darkness, the physical exhaustion, and Santana being actually sort of amusing – she might be getting a little loopy.
"Leeesssssbiiiiiaaannnns," she drawled, enunciating each syllable for seconds at a time.
Santana, observing these shenanigans, decided that this must be it – it had been a long time coming, but Quinn had finally fucking lost it.
"Q?" she said expectantly.
"I hate that word," Quinn said, a trace of laughter still in her voice.
"Well," Santana said, "You don't have to say it like THAT."
"I don't like it the normal way, either. Guess that sucks for me."
"Because. . .?"
"It's hard to tell people you're a lesbian when you don't want to say the word lesbian."
Santana was silent for a moment, begrudgingly admiring Quinn's uncanny ability to admit things without actually saying them.
"So, are you?" she hedged.
Quinn stared up at the starry sky. One, two, three.
"Yeah."
Santana rolled onto her side, facing Quinn.
"Admit you like tits."
"Santana!" Quinn exclaimed, covering her face with her hands. "NO."
"Damn it, Fabray!"
"No, just shut up, all right? Shut up, I have to ask you something."
"About tits?"
"No, please stop saying 'tits.'"
"Then what?"
"I need to know if you have another plan."
"Bitch, I got tons of plans. What are we talking about?"
"A plan like last time. For getting Rachel and me back together. Is it happening right now? Is Rachel going to show up any minute?"
Santana sat up and pulled her knees up to her chest. "Oh, fuck me," she murmured. She sighed heavily. "No, Quinn, there's no plan. There's no way I'm getting in the middle of that shit again."
Quinn sat up next to Santana.
"Well, I hope you're lying, because I have no idea what to do. Although maybe that's fine, since I don't deserve to have her back, anyway."
"You did put her through hell, for sure."
"Yeah."
"No, I don't mean what you think I mean. I mean before you broke her heart. If you do ever manage to get her to take your sorry ass back, you might try not being such a raging bitch to her all the time."
"That's rich, coming from you."
"I'm serious. After the first couple of weeks, it was like BAM, honeymoon's over. You went back to being mean to her all the time."
"I was dealing with a lot. She knew how I felt."
"Are you sure? I'm not."
"Why," Quinn said, tension creeping into her voice. "What did she say to you?"
"Nothing. She didn't say anything."
"Then what are you getting at?"
"Nothing."
"Santana."
"All right, but remember, you asked. So you remember that night in the woods – the fourth of July? You know that the way Rachel, like . . . was? You know that had nothing to do with me, right?"
"Yeah, you were right, I don't want to talk about this."
"Tough crap, because you need to hear this. And I might add, it's not exactly a fucking picnic for me to talk about either. But Berry doesn't sound like that during the proceedings, okay? I would know."
"I really, really don't want to talk about this."
"She always sounded good, don't get me wrong. That mouth is super hot when she's not bossing people around with it. But okay, you remember earlier when Britts and I told you how everything in porn is fake? Those porn star moans and groans Rachel was making – that shit was fake, too."
Quinn stared at the grass in front of her toes, digesting this information.
"I don't believe you. Why would she do that?"
"My guess? She was trying to get a reaction out of you."
"She thought I was bored? Or. . . boring?"
"No. Look, okay, I know there must have been something going on horizontally that kept you two interested. But if you want to keep Berry, this whole act where you're too into Jesus to have at least as much interest in sex as like, a brick? It's gonna have to go."
Quinn was officially tired of getting advice for the evening.
"This is all a ploy to get me to talk about tits, isn't it?" she said.
"I really think it would help."
Quinn smirked. "Okay, I'm going home, Santana. I think the mosquitoes are getting me."
"No, fuck you, okay? I promise not to say tits any more, just crash here. I still want to watch a movie."
"Not boobs, either."
"What good is a movie without boobs?"
"I mean you can't say that word."
"If I'm looking at them I don't need to say it."
"Anything to shut you up."
"That trick never fucking fails to work on you, just so you know."
...
Wednesday, August 10 / 10:12am
Quinn flattened a blob of green Play-Doh into a pancake beneath the heel of her hand. She turned her wrist over so she could examine her palm.
"Look, Dottie," she said, holding it up for the little girl to see. "I look like The Wicked Witch of the West, don't I?"
Dottie's eyes widened. She turned her own hands over to see her palms tinted a little blue.
"Who do I look like?" she asked Quinn, holding them up.
"Umm…" Quinn contemplated. "Cookie monster?"
"I think so," Dottie giggled.
Then she was suddenly out of her chair and at Quinn's side.
"No, you hafta –" she started, nudging Quinn's hands away from the table. "You hafta roll it like this."
She picked up the front edge of Quinn's green pancake and rolled it toward the back of the table into a lopsided tube.
"Now you can make a worm."
"Ohh, okay," Quinn said, bemused. "I didn't know I had to make a worm."
"Everybody has to make a worm."
"All right. You're the Play-Doh expert."
"Yeah," Dottie agreed.
Quinn obediently rolled her blob of Play-Doh into a long, skinny green worm.
Me and Dottie are glad you came back, Quinn," Brittany said, rolling her own yellow blob into a matching worm. "Right, Dottie?"
Dottie nodded, not looking up from her creation.
"Well, I'm just about finished in the lab, and I missed you guys. So, here I am."
"It's not because you wanted to keep an eye on Rachel and Thomas, right?" Brittany asked with a smile.
Quinn pursed her lips.
"It's okay, Quinn," Brittany said. "So is everyone done with their worms?" she asked, directing her attention to the table of kids. She took her worm by one end and held it up in the air. Soon the table was ringed by a dozen dangling strings of Play-Doh. Quinn picked up her green worm and held it up.
"Good thing you helped me make this, Dottie," she whispered. "Or I'd be left out!"
Dottie nodded.
"Look, Jonas made a pink one!" one of the boys at the table cackled with delight, pointing. "Jonas, you're so gay!"
Most of the kids at the table tittered as Jonas quickly set down his worm.
"That's a stupid way to insult someone," Brittany said.
"No it isn't," the boy said defensively. "He used pink."
"Yes it is. It's not even an insult. Being gay isn't bad. If you called me gay, I wouldn't care."
"Are you gay?" the kid asked, a wide grin on his face.
"What if I was?" Brittany shrugged. "I'd still be your favorite kickball coach and be your favorite singer in the music corner, right?"
The boy said nothing, but his grin faded.
"So if I wanted to make fun of you, I'd tell you your worm looked like poop because you made it out of brown Play-Doh, but I wouldn't call you gay. That would just make me sound mean. And we're not supposed to be mean, or judge other people, right?"
"I'm not mean."
"So then you don't care if people are gay?"
"No."
"Good. Me either. And you guys either, right?"
"Right," several of the kids chimed in.
"Yeah, me either," Dottie said, already busying herself on her next worm.
...
"That was really cool how you handled that 'gay' thing earlier," Quinn said to Brittany as they drove home together. "You're really good with them. All I could do was cringe."
"I think they don't even think about what they're saying. By the time we have kids – or, more kids – they won't care at all who's gay. Most of them already don't, they just repeat stuff because the older kids say it."
"I've kind of realized lately that in the grand scheme of things, we're pretty lucky," Quinn thought aloud. "If you look at the way gay people have been treated through history, it's hard not to be grateful that our government and religious leaders for the most part aren't trying to hunt us down and kill us. There's progress."
"Totally," Brittany said enthusiastically. "Like, think about how when our grandparents were our age people from different races couldn't get married. Now nobody even notices that Santana and me are different colors, just that we're girls. I think talking to the kids honestly like that is one of the things that helps make it better."
"I hope so," Quinn said absently. It was really something that a bunch of Christian little kids had just been so eager to proclaim they weren't mean to gay people. Quinn tried to imagine that happening at her church when she was little, and couldn't.
"So, since we're talking about gay stuff, have you thought about telling your mom?" Brittany asked. "I think Santana's going to do it."
"Are you serious?" Quinn said, taking her eyes off the road for so long to stare at Brittany that she dipped into the gravel at the side of the road. "When?"
"I don't know. We've talked about it all summer. She'll do it whenever she's ready, but I think it'll probably be pretty soon."
"No," Quinn said. "I'm not telling my mother."
"Are you sure, Quinn? Because, I told my mom and I feel so much better."
"But that's different. Your mom already knew."
"I know, but – I hadn't told her. Sometimes it helps just to say it to one person, even if they already know."
"I appreciate that, Brittany. But I'm not ready to tell anyone yet."
Brittany nodded. "That's okay, Quinn," she said, smiling a little. "At least now you told yourself, right?"
"Yeah," Quinn said. "Right."
...
Monday, August 22 / 8:40pm
Santana's mother joined her on the couch, uninvited.
"I brought popcorn," she said, shoving the bowl toward Santana.
"Thanks," Santana said hesitantly. She was stuck at home on direct orders from her parents, and she wasn't feeling particularly like socializing with either of them. It was as good as being grounded, and sadly, she hadn't even done anything worth punishing.
"So, how was your big weekend in Toledo?"
Thinking about that did make Santana smile, though.
"Fun, for the most part. My tryout routine kicked ass – I nailed that back tuck I was nervous about. Brittany and I met these super nice girls who are already on the squad, and a couple of the guys are in the a capella group."
"Did you find out about the business program?"
"I was there for cheerleading tryouts, Mama."
"I'm sure there was time you could have asked questions about the school, too. Did you ask about the student-faculty ratio?"
". . .Like I said, I mostly just hung out with the team."
"Ayy," her mother sighed. "I wish you would take college seriously. You're letting Brittany make this decision for you."
Santana put down her handful of popcorn. "Wait, what?"
"Oh, don't look so mad. Tell me, how much did you know about this school before Brittany decided to go there, huh? And now you've been twice and you still don't know anything about it."
"Wow," Santana said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You know, I thought you were cool with Brittany and me, and everything. Now the truth comes out. You don't want me going to school with her."
"My concerns have nothing to do with Brittany being a girl, baby. I would feel the same way if you were following a boy to college."
"I'm not 'following' anyone anywhere," Santana said coldly. "I liked Toledo."
"I'm sure there are a hundred schools you could like, munchkin. Look, your mama was so happy when you went to see USC, and it makes me sad that you had wanted to get out and see other parts of the world, but now a high school romance is holding you back."
"You don't know what you're talking about, Mom."
Santana's mother smiled and took Santana's hand.
"Brittany is a wonderful, beautiful girl, baby. But does she understand you? Does she know what it's like to grow up to be a Latina woman? I don't think so. California would be so good for you, because it would let you meet people with a common background."
"So, what you're saying is that you want me to go to California so I can meet a Hispanic girl."
"That is not what I'm saying to you, don't twist my words. I'm saying being around a culture that is more diverse would be good for you. It's good for everybody!"
"Yeah, well maybe you and Dad should have thought of that before you moved to Lima, Ohio to raise your daughter. Then I never would have met Brittany - all your problems would be solved."
"You're not being fair - we did think about diversity. You know for Ohio, Lima is pretty good! But we raised you to push yourself, and we thought that you had the whole world in front of you. Now you only want to go as far as Toledo."
"Can you leave me alone now?" Santana said, pushing the bowl of popcorn back into her mother's lap.
Santana's mother smiled sadly.
"Yes, ma'am. But tomorrow or the next day when you're not so mad at me, you think about what I said. Okay?"
Santana refused to answer. What a stupid fucking thing to say. As if she were going to be able to think about anything else, now.
...
Saturday, August 20 / 12:30pm
Santana was yelling at the people in the other cars more than usual today. She'd been in a really good mood the last couple of days, ever since she told her mother about their relationship, but now she wouldn't stop honking the horn.
"Are you nervous?" Brittany asked her, looking up from the schedule of the weekend tour and tryouts she had been studying.
"No, I'm pissed. This guy just cut me off and now he's going like 40 miles an hour," Santana said, gesturing angrily out the front window.
"Isn't that the speed limit?"
Santana only intensified her glare.
"You shouldn't be nervous," Brittany offered, taking a guess that actually was what was wrong, despite Santana's protestations. "This is your week, Santana. You can do anything."
"I'm not nervous," Santana snapped at her. "I'm busy hoping this isn't a waste of my time."
Brittany pouted her lower lip and returned to the papers in her lap.
"But, how could it be a waste of time? We get to do so much stuff. They're giving us a tour of the whole campus this afternoon, and then the team is going to perform, and then they take us to dinner. It won't be a waste of time," she repeated.
"Except we already saw the squad perform, and they weren't even as good as us, remember?"
Brittany shifted in her seat. Sometimes when calming Santana down didn't work, you had to get mad back.
"Santana, I really want to go to this school and you're hurting my feelings," she said firmly.
It worked.
"I know, I'm sorry," Santana said right away. "I know you like it there, and I'm totally going to try to get it this time. But Britt, have you thought any more about coming to try out with me at USC? You're totally good enough to get in."
"Santana, I told you. I want to go to Toledo. It's where my mom went, and I like it there, and I don't want to go far away from my brother and sister and all my cousins."
Santana stared, defeated, at the road.
"Maybe you'll like it better this time," Brittany said with a sigh, hoping it was true, considering Santana kept insisting that she'd decided to enroll there.
They navigated the maze of a parking garage and walked the quarter-mile to the student center, where the group of prospective cheerleaders was supposed to meet. Brittany remembered something as they stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the building, and rifled through her backpack.
She pulled out a navy blue cloth Toledo University wristband and handed it to Santana.
"It's from my mom."
Santana smiled weakly and slid it onto her wrist.
The vibe inside the lobby was nervous and awkward. The prospectives milled about, some alone and some in small groups; no one really mingled. They were welcomed by a few current members of the squad who were staffing the check-in table. Every one of them was blonde, perky, and decked out in more school colors than should be physically possible. Santana immediately wanted to smother them with a pillow in their sleep.
"I thought they were nice," Brittany shrugged when Santana voiced this aloud.
"other than you, I like my cheerleaders cutthroat, not cuddly."
"But if they're cuddly, it's probably easier to destroy them and become the best one, right?"
Sometimes you had to put things into Santana-words.
"I guess that's true," Santana said.
The tour began about fifteen minutes late. Brittany diligently noted the locations of the financial aid offices, the student health center, and the office of student housing. Santana admitted via discreet text messages that she was spending her time taking mental notes on the competition.
The athletic center was Brittany's favorite; there was a sparkling Olympic-sized swimming pool, a fitness center complex so big you couldn't even see one end from the other, and a full gymnastics and tumbling center.
The performance the squad put on was so awesome, it was all she could do not to go join in. Even Santana bounced her knees and seemed to be paying attention. Brittany wasn't sure whether it was to the routine or to look for weak links, but at least she was invested.
The cafeteria was catered for the occasion. Coach Brighton made a point to say hi to them as they took seats together at one of the only open tables.
"Hey, I recognize you guys!" a perky voice said from behind them.
Santana and Brittany stopped chewing in surprise as two of the current members of the squad plopped their trays down on the table next to them.
"You're McKinley, right? Sue Sylvester's team?"
Santana sat up straighter and a smile spread across her face. Finally, some fans – it was about time.
"How did you know that?" Brittany asked.
"You beat us at Regionals two years ago. I went to Carmel. I remember you two and one other girl who were the standouts – another blonde, I think. Is she here, too? Are you guys joining as a team?"
"Nope, just the two of us," Santana said. "She didn't really have what it takes."
"Didn't you guys all quit the team, though? My sister said it's why Carmel finally got to Nationals this year."
The smile faded from Santana's face.
"Coach Sylvester didn't care for our well-being," Brittany intoned.
"Oh yeah, I've heard terrible things," the girl said. "Like she was so mean and aggressive."
"She liked to win," Santana said, shrugging.
Brittany noticed the smile fading from their new friend's face.
"I'm Brittany," she said, extending her hand. "And this is Santana."
The cheerleader smiled again. "I'm Mallory, and this is Devi. So what do you guys think so far?"
"I totally want to come here," Brittany enthused. "I love it."
"Are you trying out anywhere else? With credits like yours you could probably go anywhere."
"I'm trying out at USC in September," Santana said.
"Oh, wow. That's pretty impressive," Mallory nodded. "Good luck."
"So what programs are you guys looking at here?" Devi asked.
"Programs?" Brittany asked.
"I mean, what you want to major in."
"Oh, I don't know," Brittany said, as Santana shrugged, disinterested.
"Well, you don't have to decide until your second year anyway. I think I'm going to declare as a business major this year, so when my looks and athletic abilities go, I can make tons of money."
That seemed very wise to Brittany. Santana barely refrained from telling this Devi chick she sounded like her mother.
"Do you guys have boyfriends?" Mallory asked.
Santana stiffened. Brittany looked over at her, and shook her head.
"Oh, I'm sorry, should I not ask?" Mallory said apologetically. "Did one of you have a bad break-up or something?"
"I did, sort of," Brittany said. It wasn't a lie, she supposed.
"Just tell her, Brittany," Santana said.
Brittany turned to look at Santana, who gave her a tiny nod.
"Tell me what?"
"We're a couple," Brittany said, a smile widening across her face as she said the words with Santana's blessing. "She's my girlfriend."
She could practically feel Santana holding her breath as they waited for the cheerleaders' reactions. Although, her happiness at being able to tell them the truth was somewhat mitigated by the nagging worry that Santana had only allowed it because she never planned on seeing them again after this weekend.
"Oh, wow," Devi said. "So what happens if one of you comes here and the other one doesn't? My boyfriend and I tried to do the long distance thing for a while when we started college, but we broke up by Halloween."
"Tactful, Dev," Mallory admonished. "Don't listen to her - they broke up because she's a total ho. You guys could just make a lot of trips back and forth. Could be fun."
Brittany looked at Santana, who looked at her plate of pasta.
"Yeah, totally. I could fly to California a lot," Brittany said.
...
The roommate assignments for the weekend were random, so obviously they had to switch with someone.
"The idea is to get to know people you haven't met yet," one of the current cheerleaders scolded as Santana zeroed in on a timid, awkward girl who clearly wasn't there with anyone.
"I don't meet people. People meet me," Santana said, slipping her new room key into her pocket.
They reluctantly claimed separate beds once in the room. They didn't have to discuss who would get the top and who would get the bottom bunk; Brittany always had the top one officially, but they both always slept in it.
"We haven't shared bunk beds since we were kids at camp," Brittany said, knowing it didn't need to be said, but wanting to bring up the topic.
"Good times," Santana said, raising and lowering her eyebrows at Brittany.
"Sooo, we have gym passes for the day. Do you want to go?" Brittany asked as they arranged their luggage in the corner.
"Not really. I mean, don't you think we should rest up for tomorrow?"
"No way, I want to go play. Come with me, Santana, please?"
Santana sighed. She didn't relish the idea of hanging out here in the room with four girls she didn't know. "Yeah, all right."
...
"Check it out, Santana, bouncy floor!"
Brittany flew past Santana in a blur and flung herself into a round-off back handspring.
"What, no back tuck?" Santana challenged, her arms crossed over her chest.
"I'm just warming up," Brittany said a little breathlessly, loping back towards Santana.
"Synchronized," Santana said. "Let's go."
...
Later they were catching their breath, sitting on the corner of the tumbling area, when a group of other prospective and current members of the squad paraded by.
"Santana, Brittany!" Mallory called out. "Want to go bowling in the rec center?"
"Yeah!" Brittany said, leaping to her feet.
"Britt, I'm all sweaty," Santana said, tugging at Brittany's pant leg. "Plus, bowling is tacky."
Brittany looked at Santana, who wore a scowl but hadn't yet taken her eyes off the group of laughing students headed for the door.
"Well, I don't like it either," she said. "I always feel so bad for the pins. But I want to go, Santana, please? Maybe we can just watch."
"Ugh, fine."
...
"Your feet look so cute in those shoes," Brittany said, pointing at Santana's feet. "They look like duck-billed platypuses."
Brittany smiled as she got that look that Santana gave her when she didn't really understand, but didn't entirely want to let on how cute she thought Brittany was.
Brittany bowled on Mallory's team while Santana watched from one of the tables behind the lanes.
"For someone with so much coordination, you really suck at this," she observed once after Brittany knocked down three pins, which was just about her average.
"Why don't you roll the next one, Santana?"
"Ooooh, I think she's telling you to put your money where your mouth is," one of the guys at the next alley laughed.
She had no choice now. Santana stood and took the ball from Brittany.
"Watch out, we got a lefty," the same guy called out.
Santana knocked down the rest of the pins, allowed Brittany to hug her, and sat down with a smile.
"I'm not gonna lie," the guy said, sliding into the swivel seat across from Santana. "I kind of have a thing for lefties."
"That so?" Santana said, regarding him with a half smile and narrowed eyes.
"Yeah, that's so. And for good bowlers."
"Are you on the squad?" Santana asked.
"For two years," he said. "I'm Alex." He held out his hand.
"Santana. So who's the head cheerleader, is she here?"
"We have two co-captains. 'Fraid they're not here, though, sorry."
"Are they both seniors?"
"Indeed." He smiled at her. "You know, I dig ambitious, too."
"Ahhh. I hate to break it to you, Alex, but I don't date male cheerleaders."
"Wow, okay," he bristled. "Little closed-minded, don't you think? It's more athletic than football."
"Shit, I know that," Santana said. "Look, the problem isn't with the 'cheerleader' part, if you catch my drift."
As Brittany slid into the seat next to her after bowling her next turn, Santana held out her hand. Brittany took it, smiling.
"Ohh, no shit," Alex said, a smile of realization spreading across his face. "I'm – my bad," he said. Then turning to a group of students behind him he called out, "Hey Hannah! You're not the only one anymore!"
...
"So how long have you guys been together?" Hannah asked, sipping a soda across the table from Santana and Brittany.
"Officially? Four months," Santana said.
"What about unofficially?"
Santana shrugged with a smile. "Forever."
"Awww, that's so gross," Hannah smirked.
Santana chuckled, which made Brittany happy.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" Brittany asked.
"I got a few," Hannah said, winking at her.
"How many is a few?" Santana asked.
"Right now I'm dating three girls. Gotta play the field, you know? Not all of us meet our true love when we're seven or however old y'all were."
"Do they all go here?" Santana asked.
"Two of them do. So are you guys out at school?"
"I think people kinda figured it out," Brittany said. "They'll know for sure this year when I take Santana to Homecoming."
"Man, I don't miss high school," Hannah said. "Everyone makes such a big fucking deal trying to figure out who's gay."
"College is better?" Brittany asked.
"Totally. People got their own shit going on. They don't care who you're sleeping with."
"So you don't get any shit for being a gay cheerleader?" Santana said. "What is this, an alternate universe?"
"I'm not saying it's a total breeze," Hannah shrugged. "But I wasn't about to join the softball team when I wanted to be a cheerleader, you feel me?"
"Softball gives Santana the heebie jeebies."
"Up top," Hannah said, putting her hand in the air. "You and me, girl, we're going to form the Lesbians Against Softball Association, Toledo University chapter," she said, as Santana high fived her.
"So now I know softball is out, but what do y'all do for fun?"
"Drink and smoke pot, mostly," Santana said. "There aren't that many options in Lima."
"We play in a band," Brittany reminded her.
"Sweet," Hannah said. "What do you play?"
"Santana sings and I play drums."
"We're in the show choir at school," Santana said. "But please don't tell anyone that. It's like, easier to tell people I'm gay."
"We have an a capella group here, actually," Hannah said, laughing. "A couple of our guys are in it, including Alex. Personally, I think it's why he has such terrible gaydar. Yo, Alex!" she said, yelling to him across two lanes. "I've got some recruits for your little sing-y dance-y group," she said, punctuating it with jazz hands.
"Don't mind me," she said, turning back to Santana and Brittany. "I think it's awesome, actually, but he can never know that."
"You guys sing?" Alex said, joining them with a couple of friends.
"She's so good," Brittany said, tilting her head toward Santana.
"Okay, what do you say let's move this party out of the bowling alley, before Alex falls in love with your girlfriend?" Hannah said to Brittany.
"To where?" Brittany asked.
"I don't know. Are y'all hungry? If we leave now we can make it to Breadstix for the late night special. You assholes want to go eat?" she asked, turning to Alex and his friends.
This time, Brittany didn't have to ask Santana if she wanted to go.
...
They laid awake in their bunks until there was no noise in the room from the other four girls.
When she was convinced all of the breathing in the room was low and slow enough, Santana climbed into the top bunk, where Brittany was waiting. Brittany pulled the covers up over them, and wiggled them backwards until they were smashed up against the wall, hidden from view.
Like always, Santana parted her knees to rest her top thigh on Brittany's hip, and Brittany's leg slid firmly between Santana's legs.
They kissed in silence, years of practice guiding their muscle memory of how to be soundless as snow.
They held each other at the sides of their faces, thumbs grazing jawlines, and at the back of the neck, fingernails teasing the bumps of the vertebrae.
Brittany shifted, and Santana seamlessly joined the movement, rolling onto her back. Brittany pushed her flat against the mattress, and Santana breathed through Brittany's hair.
Brittany nudged Santana's chin to the side and took her earlobe between her lips. She tickled it with the tip of her tongue at first, then teased all along the perimeter of it warm kisses.
Santana knew exactly why Brittany was doing that. She used to do the same thing when they were younger, back when making the transition from cuddling to sex was less a sure thing, when there was always the question hanging in the darkness – is that thing we keep doing going to happen again?
Kissing Santana's ears was less scary, back then, than kissing her lips. It was a way of extending the tickling and cuddling but also of saying, yes, again.
Santana held Brittany at the small of her back, just like she did back then. It was because it was a place far from the scarier parts to touch, like her breasts or her butt or eek, between her legs. And yet, it was a way of keeping her close. Pulling them together and saying It's okay. Keep going.
Brittany dug her toes into the mattress and, taking care not to creak the bed or rustle the blankets, used the leverage to rock herself up and down against Santana. That was part of how it all started, too. One of them bumping against the other in just the right way and catching a look that said, oh my God, I felt that too.
Santana's stomach tensed up beneath Brittany as she curled her hips upward. Brittany lifted her head from Santana's ear and looked down at Santana's face as their centers melded together.
Brittany let the pressure of Santana's fingers against her lower back tell her how fast to go, and how hard. Santana opened her mouth in a soundless gasp as Brittany's hips went to work against her, her eyes pleading with Brittany behind fluttering eyelashes. Brittany worked her fingers into the hair at the back of Santana's neck, finding it starting to dampen with sweat.
Santana squeezed her eyes shut tight, a grimace of concentration on her face. Brittany rose to her knees above Santana and, in the same fluid motion, found Santana's clit with the fingertip of her right hand.
It was Brittany who had been brave enough to do it first, back then. She knew they both knew there was a faster, easier thing to do, but for a long time, neither of them made the move. Then one night when Santana was sweating and frustrated, Brittany couldn't take it anymore, and she reached down and touched. It was the first time she learned that girls got their underwear all wet when they were having sex. After that, she had trouble keeping her fingers out of that warm, slippery stuff at all.
Tonight, Brittany wanted to be inside so badly, the pool between Santana's legs teasing her fingers. But it was too much movement and, with Santana this wet, it would make too much noise.
Brittany flattened the palm of her hand against Santana's lower belly, fingers pointing down, the middle one poking in between the folds of her skin. She pulled upwards with her fingertip brushing lightly against Santana's clit, watching, patiently waiting until she knew she had found the exact right motion. When Santana's legs shuddered against her, she knew she had it. So she repeated it again, and again, and again, Santana's hard little nub moving satisfyingly beneath her fingertip.
The weight of Brittany's palm covering her abdomen, the way her whole hand was rocking against Santana's body, it was almost as good as the fingertip against her sensitive little bundle of nerves. Santana let her knees fall open as she felt her body begin to surrender. With her free hand, Brittany nudged her pillow closer to Santana, and Santana remembered and covered her face with it, throwing her arm over top to smother any accidental noises that could escape her throat.
"I love you, Santana," Brittany was whispering in her ear as the hazy tunnel vision started to clear from Santana's brain. Yes, that had been said once a long time ago in a bunk bed, too.
Santana opened her eyes and looked up to see Brittany hovering over her. She wasn't sure which of them had moved the pillow from her face, but she didn't think it she had done it herself. Her hands were above her head, and she wasn't sure how that had happened either, but she hoped it hadn't been noisy.
Brittany was staring down at her with a small smile and heavy eyelids.
Santana grabbed her roughly at the back of the neck and slid her hand beneath their bodies. Brittany drew her knees up beside Santana's hips, her center open above Santana's belly. Santana lifted the big, white t-shirt Brittany had worn to bed and pulled Brittany's left nipple into her mouth. It probably wasn't until a while later they had learned this made Brittany come fast.
Brittany rubbed herself against Santana's fingertips in quick, tiny strokes, silent because she was moving only her hips. She leaned forward and breathed into Santana's neck while she came, Santana holding the side of her face to muffle noise.
Brittany sunk her teeth lightly into the skin of Santana's neck as the last waves of pleasure radiated through her.
Fuck, Santana mouthed at her silently and let her eyes roll back into her sockets.
Brittany smiled and raised her eyebrows as if to ask, again?
Santana smiled back, and shook her head a little. Brittany rolled off of Santana and onto her side, and Santana settled into her, her lips against Brittany's chest, their legs tangled together, doing nothing for a while except breathing against each other.
"What if you get in and I don't?" Santana asked later, in a whisper so soft, it barely made it to Brittany's ears.
Brittany smiled, lifting Santana's chin so she could read her lips.
"We're both going to get in," she whispered back.
Santana shook her head and pressed her fingertips into Brittany's back.
"You don't know that."
"Yes I do."
"But what if we don't?"
"It doesn't matter," Brittany said, taking soft tastes of Santana's bottom lip. "Wherever we go, it's going to be okay. It doesn't mean we lose each other."
Brittany knew Santana thought she was naïve sometimes.
What Santana didn't understand was that sometimes, it's the saying things in the first place that helps make it become more than just words.
She kissed Santana's forehead.
"Don't worry, baby," she whispered. "It's going to be okay."