Not Making the Same Mistake Again

Summary: Less than four months remain of the school year, for some students it's the last four months at William McKinley High. Therefore it's natural for the kids to want to make the best of the remaining time. However, a lot of things can go wrong in sixteen weeks . . .

Rated Teen for language primarily. There may be some spoilers for the two first seasons of the show as well as the third up until somewhere short after the episode Hold on to Sixteen.

I hope you will enjoy reading this multi-character fanfiction as much as I have enjoyed writing it!

I apologize in advance for any incorrect grammar or typo that may occur.

Reviews are very welcome.

Disclaimer: I donot own Glee nor do I own any of its characters. The same goes for anything involving the music mentioned.

End of author's note. Now on to the story!


Chapter 12 – Somebody to Love

[THURSDAY]

It has become somewhat of a new hobby for her. It is not like she is a total outcast, but distancing herself from everyone else has somehow become important, vital. When all of your friends have a tendency to stab you in the back if you so carelessly turn it to them, you will soon find no reason to talk to them, let alone spend time with them. Therefore silence and solitude becomes your new best friends. And the greatest thing about them is that when you are not keeping an eye on them they won't go and stab you in the back. They won't even trash talk you. They will always be loyal and they will always be there to company you. Unfortunately there is a backside to everything—why can't there exist something that is pure good?—Silence and Solitude will sooner or later invite their friends, and those; well they are not as good a company. There are Insignificance, Invisibility and Exclusion, and they are not nice guys.

One thing that hasn't changed though, since the word got around, is that everyone keeps throwing glances at her, but sadly it isn't those of admire, respect and awe anymore . . . Instead, try: disgust, loathing and gloat.

Being too caught up in her gloomy thoughts, the slender blonde doesn't notice the upright confident figure that is coming her way. And it isn't until she hears a familiar voice that she snaps out of her cocoon of thoughts. 'You don't seem too happy,' the familiar voice says. The one she would recognize any day as Santana's.

Since when do you care if I'm happy or not? You made out with Sam right in front of me at Rachel's party, but you didn't seem to care then. 'Oh,' comes her response instead.

'That's all you have to say?' the Latina asks and arcs a questioning eyebrow. The blonde shrugs. 'I just wanted to make sure you don't go join the Skanks again, you know. I actually care about you, Q.' Santana sits down on the bench beside Quinn. Somehow the two girls have grown closer during this year than they have ever been before. Even though the two have ended up stealing each other's boyfriends on more than one occasion. Sure they had been so called best friends since freshmen year, but it had mostly been for show. But now they could talk about feelings, like true, real feelings. Sometimes Quinn thinks it has to do with the fact that Santana is finally somewhat confident and at peace with her sexuality. She doesn't need to bring others down any longer to make herself feel good.

The Latina takes a deep breath and leans back against the cold concrete wall. 'This is pretty messed up, Q.' Quinn glances sideways at her. The look says more than any words ever could. 'The English teacher . . .' Santana speculates, completely ignoring the look from Quinn begging her not to carry on with this conversation, or monologue so far. 'At least he is pretty hot. I mean, isn't that better than people saying you slept with, uh . . . like Mr. Schuester or Principle Figgins?'

Quinn figures that the comment was an attempt from Santana's to try and cheer her up. And it did indeed make Quinn's lips curl up at the corners for a split second. And that microscopic movement of Quinn's lips didn't go unnoticed. The next thing Quinn feels is Santana's sharp elbow in her ribs. 'I saw that, Q!' the Latina nearly shouts.

Wincing from both the pain in her side and the sudden increase of the decibel level in Santana's voice, Quinn cannot help but to let a small almost absent smile play on her lips.

'Now thank me,' Santana says, now back to her normal tone.

Quinn frowns. 'For what?'

The Latina rolls her eyes theatrically. 'For cheering you up, Stretch Marks.'

'Santana,' Quinn says annoyed. She doesn't appreciate the nickname Santana gave her after she had given birth to Beth.

'Okay, okay,' Santana says while holding her hands up in defense. 'I'll stop . . . for a while.' The blonde shoots her a sharp look. 'Okay, I get it!'

'Good,' Quinn mutters and crosses her arms over her chest.

'Since we're doing such a damn good job bonding right now, can I ask you a question, Q?' Not completely convinced by the fact that Santana can be serious about something Quinn sighs and gives her a questioning look.

'Do you still love him?' Santana's queer comes.

Quinn blinks confound, surprised by the Latina's straight forwardness and the fact that she doesn't know what to say. So her answer comes stuttered out as a confused question instead. 'W-who?'

Santana rolls her eyes for the second time since she sought up Quinn. 'Trouty Mouth.'

'He has a name, you know,' Quinn mumbles, not knowing what else she is supposed to say or do.

'Yeah, whatever,' Santana nonchalantly waves it away with her hand. 'It still doesn't answer my question, Barbie?' Quinn swallows hard. Her throat suddenly feeling very dry but at the same time sticky.


'I don't get it, dude . . . Why didn't you stay with her if you love her so much?' Sam says and leans back into the back rest of the couch. He tosses the crumbled paper ball in his hands, which once were his Spanish essay, to the boy with the Mohawk.

Puck sighs and leans his head against the wall. The cold cream colored concrete, which is in a bad need of a re-paint, cools the back of his neck and the top of his back. He is semi-sitting, semi-laying on the short side of the bed, with his feet hanging off the edge. 'She didn't want me,' he mumbles and pokes with his right hand index at a hole in the bedspread.

Sam arcs an eyebrow, not really out of surprise or confusion, but rather in disbelief. The Puck he has gotten to know could probably get any girl at school—or elsewhere—if he just wanted to. So why not her? If she could fall for Finn and his manboobs then why can't she fall for Puck. The guy's got a rocking body and he's got more brains than Finn. Not that that is a huge achievement . . . Finn's like a caveman in a Leatherman jacket and denims. Otherwise known as the typical jock.

'She said I ruined her life. Said she hated me,' the Jewish boy shrugs and tosses the paper ball back to Sam.

'She does have a point,' Sam notes, remembering what the girl had told him about her rough sophomore year.

'I gave her free hands to do what she wanted with the baby, abortion, keep it, adoption.'

Sam arcs his brow again. 'Look man, as far as I've understood her parents didn't give her much choice. They threw her out! I mean raising a child on your own without a home is not easy. Trust me, I kinda know' he says referring to having to take care of his two younger siblings when his family went bankrupt and was forced to live in a small motel room.

He throws the ball back to Puck.

'I still gave her every option. I even offered her money.'

The blonde boy rolls his eyes. 'I don't think it was the free rein she wanted. I think what she wanted was someone—you—to be there to support her. Someone to lean on, you know.'

'Are you implying that I failed her? he throws the ball back over to Sam. This time he puts a little more force behind it.

Sam catches the ball with little effort; Puck has never had the qualities to become quarterback. He is strong and sustain and very good at awe the opponents, but his pitches are not good enough. The blonde shakes his head. 'No, I'm not. All I say is that you could have done more, if you really wanted to stay with her.'

Puck purses his lips, the way he does when he thinks hard, and gazes down.

'What I'm saying, dude, is that you're better than most. Hell, you're the best at this school. And you're better than Finn. Despite what people say you're a great guy, Puck.' The sincerest in Sam's voice impossible misunderstand. He truly means what he is saying.

The tanned boy glances up at his blonde friend. 'You really are gay, Evans,' he mocks. Sam smirks, knowing that Puck doesn't mean what he just said. 'You're not that bad either,' Puck adds after a short moment which makes the blonde boy's smile widen even more. Puck's face remains serious though. 'How come we're the two sexiest dudes at school and none of us can seem to find true love?' He gazes at Sam who shrugs and drops his glare to his lap.

Had it been a week ago Sam would have found the fact that Puck, the residential bad boy, were talking about true love and heartbreak rather amusing. Though, today, it just made him more aware of how unhappy he himself really is.

'Because we've already screwed up our chances,' he mumbles.


'Tell me I'm a genius!' she says as she slides into the booth at the rear back of the burger joint.

'I'm a genius,' the blonde girl, who was already seated by the table, mumbles between bites. Judging by the small pieces of pickles, cheese and tomato that is spilled on the table she is eating a cheeseburger. Or the person—whoever he or she was—how sat here before ate one. Anyways, it doesn't really matters.

The other girl rolls her eyes theatrically, but decides to drop whatever sharp comment she has on her tongue. Had it been someone else sitting opposite of her, she would never think twice about it, she would just let it roll off her tongue and take the consequences later – because there are always consequences. Negative or positive, good or bad, there are consequences either way you look at it.

'You ain't gonna ask me why I'm a genius, Britt?' the girl says as she steals a French fry from the blonde.

'Why are you a genius, Santana?' Brittany asks as she steals back the French fry from the Latina. 'My fries,' she points out. When she sees the surprised look on Santana's face, the blonde starts giggling and slides her box of French fries across the table to Santana. 'What's mine is yours.'

Santana chuckles nervously. 'You kinda freaked me out there, Britt.'

'I know,' Brittany answers nonchalantly. 'You should have seen your face. Epic!' The last word she basically sings out.

The Latina grimaces and sighs. 'You'll pay for it one day, you know that.'

Brittany nods carefree. 'No, I won't,' she says in her usual bubbly voice and Santana frowns. There is only one person that can get away with rebelling against Santana and that is Brittany, unfortunately—sometimes—for the Latina, the not too clever blonde is fully aware of this. 'You love me too much.'

Santana can feel her cheeks warming up. 'No, I don't,' she protests, though she knows it is no use for it. Brittany is fully conscious of how Santana feels about her. And it isn't even that the Latina is afraid of. What she is afraid of though—no, what she is terrified of—is losing her authority, the respect. The fear that other students, and random citizens of Lima for that matter, have for her. She has come to realize that she has a lot in common with another Lima Heights rebel. Though, she is not too happy to admit it, she can see parts of herself in Noah Puckerman. Yep, the residential bad boy, Puckerman. One of those things being the fear of losing their respect. Maybe Puck isn't just a Lima Loser? Or maybe I am one too?

Brittany smiles. 'You do.' She takes a sip of her Coca Cola. 'But, forget about that now. Why are you a genius? You didn't even pass the English test, did you?'

Santana gives her girlfriend a sharp look. 'No, I didn't, Britt. Thank you very much for bringing that up. And for the record, I don't care what the fuck that loser Mr. Eaton says. He's probably just givin' A's to little Quinny.' She angrily pops another fry into her mouth and chews it like it was the head of her worst enemy, which by the way would be Rachel, huh?

'I thought you too were friends again?' Brittany asks confused.

Sheepishly Santana nods and sighs. 'We are, I just got a little upset, you know. She's so damn perfect. All the time. Got straight A's and everything.'

'She isn't more perfect than you,' the blonde girl says and smiles. 'Not to me.'

The Latina licks her lips. 'You mean that?'

'Mm-hm,' Brittany hums and nods. 'I do.'

'You're pretty perfect too, you know.'

'I know.' The girls snicker. 'Can you tell me now?' Brittany asks again after a moment.

'We're going to a party,' Santana informs and smiles proudly before she snatches another fry from Brittany's box.

A frowning Brittany blinks confused. 'We are?'

'Yep.'

'Where?'

Santana smiles deviously. 'At Q's.'

'At Quinn's?' Brittany asks and Santana nods. 'Why hasn't she said anything to me?' A sudden look of disappointment and sadness spreads across the blonde's face.

'Because she doesn't know about it yet,' Santana says and winks.

Looking as confused as ever Brittany tries to puzzle together what she has gotten from her friend. Not surprisingly she ends up piecing together a misshapen puzzle that is missing a lot of pieces—important pieces—and that are giving her an image that could easily be a work done by Pablo Picasso. 'How can she have a party without knowing it? How does she invite the guests?' the blonde asks confounded.

'Simple,' Santana sniffs and glances at Brittany. 'She doesn't.' The blonde wrinkles her forehead and Santana decides she better continue explaining before her friend comes up with another not too clever question. 'We are inviting the guests.'

The daffy blonde blinks slowly as if she is processing the news. After a moment she asks, 'Can I invite Lord Tubbington?'

Santana shakes her head. 'Nope. He doesn't like pool parties if I remember right.'

Brittany nods, remembering the last time she went swimming with her cat. She had to lure him with cat treats and catnip to make him leave his hideout under her bed. 'Then who are we inviting?'

Santana smirks. 'Glee Club.'

'Glee Club?' Brittany repeats.

'Yes, Glee Club. What are you, ninety and deaf?'

Brittany shakes her head. 'No seventeen, I think.'

Santana rolls her eyes. 'Anyway, we're inviting Glee Club.'

'Last time,' Brittany mumbles. 'Didn't we kind of get in trouble for throwing a Glee party?'

The Latina shrugs. 'So? When did that ever stop us?'

Thinking about it, Brittany decides that Santana is right. When did that ever stop them? 'But, San, there is one thing I don't understand . . .'

'Yeah?'

'I thought you said the guys in Glee were super lame at parties. So why'd you wanna throw a party for them?'

The Latina smiles her most devious smile. 'Because Troudy Mouth'll be there.'

The tall blonde frowns. 'I don't follow . . .'

'You don't have to. Just make sure everyone's in Glee Club knows about the party,' Santana says and begins to rise. 'And Britt, make sure Lady Lips knows, 'kay?' The Latina leaves the table and heads for the exit.

Brittany nods, though she is still not quite sure why Santana is suddenly so interested in seeing Sam Evans at the party. He's got nice abs, and his ass is pretty damn nice too, but still . . .


Author's note

First of all, I'd like to thank those of you who take time to post reviews! You're awesome! :)

Also, I had neglected to read up on this student-teacher-romantic relationship thing that Quinn is rumored to have going on with her English teacher. I apologize for that. I guess I got so caught up in putting my ideas on paper that I completely forgot to check if what I stated about students getting suspended for having romantic relationships with teachers were true or not. Anyway, I'm happy someone pointed it out though. And hopefully I'll learn from my mistake :)

Secondly, I would like to apologize for any recurring grammar, spelling and/or idiomatic mistakes I might have made. I'm going to blame them on English not being my first language ;)

Finally, I hope you liked this chapter and please don't forget to review! :)