My alarm was blaring, loudly. I groan at the rude awakening back to the real world, reminding me that school is starting up again way too soon. Not that I really ever get to sleep in that much, anyway. I throw a hand over my eyes and reach a heavy arm over to my obnoxious alarm clock. I yawn and stretch out all of my limbs… noticing how much room I have in my bed. What the hell? I know I went to bed last night with B.
I blink my eyes a few times and rub the sleep out of them. Weird. I get up to pee and shove my toothbrush in my mouth. I despise morning breath. I walk down the stairs… there's no one down here. The kitchen light is on – I know I didn't leave that on last night. I can't believe she just left. I was pretty sure we decided that she was going to spend the night last night, and she definitely isn't the type to leave in the morning. That's always been me. I have a weird feeling in my chest and I'm worried.
I look at my cell phone that I brought down with me. No messages. I put my hair in a messy ponytail, give my teeth one last once over, and spit the toothpaste into the kitchen sink, watching the foam spin down the drain. I'm worried about B. Before I hit number two on my speed dial, I hear the front door softly open and softly close. Normal people would probably be alarmed, but I was more alarmed with the fact that B was gone. It seemed more plausible to me that she was coming back now, instead of someone coming in to rob me of all my, well, expensive belongings. I would totes steal my DVD collection.
Peeking my head around the wall towards the foyer, I see that it is B sneaking in. She has her Cheerios bag slung over her shoulder, but otherwise she looks the same as she did when we went to sleep last night. For once, the turn of events… she doesn't know I'm watching her this time.
She's bending over to untie and pull off her shoes. She really is beautiful. I know the totally acceptable lingo usually has something to do with "a bangin' body" or "fucking hot." I definitely would be one of the first to use those descriptions of B, but really, beautiful kind of sums it up more. It's more than just her body, her eyes, her smile… it's her personality. I really do love every little bit of her. I sigh and lean into the wall I'm peeking around. B hears me and looks up, her eyes lighting up like a deer in the headlights. Well, they do for a second. Then, she's laughing at me. I definitely have my toothbrush still haphazardly hanging out of my mouth. Probably lookin' fine, Lopez… way to go. I pull the toothbrush out and smile. "Morning, B. Where'd you run off to?"
She walks past me toward the kitchen and sets her Cheerios bag down on the island. "Morning!" she cheerfully said. "I ran home quick to get my Cheerios bag and say hi to my mom before she went to work. I didn't know if Q knew I was here and if we would have enough time to stop at my house. I don't like when Coach Sylvester is mad at me, like that one time she made me run until I puked? I hate puke." I laugh at her tangents. Her stories always make me laugh. "You do still have my uniform though, right?"
"Yep! We should get dressed, Q will be here in like 15 minutes." I can't believe that it's only just shy of 6 in the morning. These 6:45am practices were crazy, but Coach will be the first one to tell you that whiners and late sleepers don't make national champions. She may have unconventional approaches, but they were actually successful. Have you seen our trophy room?
I slowly pad up the stairs and feel B close behind me. I turn into my room and open my closet door, pulling out two uniforms. B grabs hers and inspects it closely. "Relax, B. I got it dry-cleaned with mine. Should be up to the royal Commandant's standards." I see her continue to check it over, but only for a few more seconds. She strips her shirt off over her head and pulls the top off the hanger. I turn away to set my uniform on the bed. I can't watch her right now. I'll be watching her do sexy things all practice. Don't need to get the "you're not getting any of that" train started this early in the morning.
We used to shower before cheer practice until we realized it was a giant waste of time. Coach's established rules made sure that you were "displaying the sheen of trained athletes" before she even arrived on the field. We were supposed to run at least a mile before she got there. Why shower just to get gross again? Plus, we always hit the showers right afterwards. Now my mind was wandering to the Cheerios showers… I have many a memory with B with those sea-foam green tiled walls as a backdrop. I almost shudder involuntarily as the memories creep into my mind; the shiver travels down my back. How will showers go now that B and I aren't hooking up every fifteen minutes? I choose not to worry about that until later. Pulling my top on, I turn to grab my spanx from my dresser drawer. B is putting the finishing touches on her Quinn-approved cheer pony. Looks perfect from this side. She must have already had her spanx on. Or she was just naked for a few seconds behind me and I just missed it… damn.
She meets my eyes in the mirror and smiles. I give her a warm smile back, trying to pour all the emotion I just can't say into the smile. I've been trying to do that lately. I know I can't say the words out loud to her, but maybe if I cuddle into her a little bit more or hug a little tighter, she'll just be able to feel what I'm thinking. It would be easier if she really could just read my mind.
I decide to go with modesty (apparently feelings for someone make you kind of shy) and walk to the bathroom with my spanx and skirt. Closing the door partially, I start to pull them on. "Are you ready for practice, B? Hopefully she doesn't go as hard as she did last year." B and I were both so sore we couldn't sit to pee without almost crying for like a week. It got easier, but I'm sure Coach S would have loved to know she practically reduced us to crawling around for a week.
"You can't be ready for hell week, Sanny. Coach told us that!" It was true, she did tell us that. She told us it wasn't worth working out to get ready for practices since we could never be good enough, even with her patented routine of protein shakes and bars. The shake with raw eggs in it made B gag every time, so I made sure to look up some other alternatives that were high in protein but "safer for the baby chicks." Still, I was glad I had been running a lot lately. It will at least make the athletic parts of practice easier. I was pretty sure B never had to work out. Dance was all her body needed to look like she does, and she was in perfect shape.
I walk out into my room and see her check herself out in the mirror one last time. I stand next to her, put my hand on my hip and jut out my leg. I tighten my own ponytail and raise my chin defiantly. I can sense her worry about her appearance. "Every boy's fantasy," I say, playfully hip-checking her and meeting her eyes in the mirror. That didn't seem to help. Reaching my hand over, I pull her beautifully pouty chin to point her face at me. Meeting her endless blue eyes, I cock my head ever so slightly and lower my voice. "You look beautiful, B." I think that may be the first time I've ever said that out loud to her. It felt good to say it… but also extremely awkward. Feelings showing, much? I retracted my hand as quickly as I had put it on her face… dropped it like it was hot. I turned towards my bed where I had dropped my phone. Grabbing it, I tossed it in my duffel and asked towards B, "Ready?"
She nods at me. "I'm super excited for the routines!" As we walked down the stairs, she kept rambling about moves and choreography and insert properly trained dance terms here… I almost could never keep up with the morning fireball that was Britt. Girl could talk at all hours, but I had the hardest time keeping up with her in the mornings. It's like her brain went 75 miles an hour and mine was barely puttering along, stuck in neutral. Coffee usually jutted me forward into at least first gear, but of course, the Cheerios caffeine restrictions were now in effect.
In the kitchen, I search through the fridge for Gatorade. I always ask my mom to pick some up for me, but for some reason it never either makes it onto the shopping list or into the cart. I check the pantry just in case there's some in there, but of course there isn't. That would be too convenient. I sigh, grab a bottle of water, and shut the pantry door. I would lecture my mom about electrolyte imbalances, but the main joke of that thought has something to do with lecturing my mom. Yeah, right.
Turning back to the island, I catch B bending over from zipping up my Cheerios bag. I give her an inquisitive look, but she gives me an innocent look back and swings her own bag over her shoulder. She lifts mine to hand it to me. I unzip my bag to put the water into it, and my heart swells when two bottles of the "No Excuses" Gatorade stare back up at me. Of course, it's my favorite flavor, and of course, B grabbed some for me when she stopped off at her house for her Cheerios bag. Best friend, ever. I don't even remember ever telling her that kind was my favorite.
B has already danced her way to the front door and is opening it for me. I'll be sure to thank her later. She pirouettes her way to the middle of the lawn, off in her own little world. I pull the door shut and lock it behind me. Remembering my thoughts from early this morning, I quickly unlock the door and run inside to grab the spare key. My dad wouldn't be able to come home to open the door for me if I misplaced my key, and I don't even know what city my mom is in. I safely put the spare back under the rock and safely, I hope, tuck my keys into my Cheerios bag. I turn around, and B is still spinning with the morning dew, her shockingly white cheer shoes giving strong contrast to the green grass of my front yard. I take her in for a minute, watching as Quinn's car pulls up to the curb behind her.
I meet Quinn's sunglasses and she smiles, putting a hand up in a small wave to me. B comes out of her spin and rushes to Quinn's car, dropping her bag off in the trunk and piling into the front seat. B loves Q so much. Well, I guess B loves everyone so much. If you want to see how to treat another person, you don't have to look much further than Britt. She reminds me of my shortcomings as a "nice person" on a daily basis.
As I climb into the back seat after depositing my heavy cheer bag in the trunk, I see Britt has latched onto Quinn, giving her as bone-crushing a hug as one can through a seatbelt. Q hugs back just as strongly. I could never protect B as well as I do without Quinn. I know Quinn started off doing it because she wanted to support me, but I know she also loves B. In her own way, she loves us both – we're her best friends.
"Que pasa, Q?" The Spanish rolls over B's lips so naturally, I have to feel proud. "Are you still hung over?" Quinn smiles at B and goes off into a long-winded story about coffee, greasy Chinese food, and a three-hour nap. As they comfortably chat in the front seat, I lean my head against the window and watch the world go by. The trees pass into stoplights and stop signs, and I watch the scenery turn into the blacktop of the William McKinley High School parking lot. I hear the ends of Quinn's story to B, and hear B toss in some Spanish anecdotes. As Quinn cuts the engine, I get ready for the imminent change. I exit the car and go to the trunk, pulling out my own and B's bags. She's still laughing when she reaches my side; I pass her the bag and she tosses it over her shoulder. Q locks her car and I hand her bag over, still emblazoned with the large gold "C" for captain – I'm sure that wouldn't change.
As we fall into step to walk towards the field, I feel the air of the transformation around me. Q walks slightly ahead of Britt and me. I walk to the left, and B walks to the right. B no longer speaks. I know I won't hear any more Spanish from her until we're back in the confines of our own privacy, away from watching eyes. In fact, I won't hear her say much except for the classic one-liners the rest of the student body has come to expect. I love trying to decipher which ones B actually comes up with on the spot, and which ones B has had ready in her arsenal for forever. She loves feeding into what people think about her. She's so secure in herself that she can do that; I'm jealous about it every day.
However, the most amazing transformation is happening in front of me. I don't need to see Quinn's face to know that her features have changed. That her jovial smile from the car has been replaced with a deep smirk, and that her eyes have turned distant and cold. Her posture, if possible, has become even more ramrod straight, and the air of defiance in her raised chin is impossible to miss. This was HBIC Quinn. The Quinn that cared what everyone thought and was the queen of this school. The Quinn with walls that rivaled my own and the Great Wall of China. The Quinn whose parents kicked her out on her ass. The hurting Quinn.
But before we could get much further, I see Quinn toss her head over her right shoulder and give B a passionate smile and a wink. Not quite the same Quinn. People change, right? I know I'm trying to.
A/N: I'm planning on this being a long story, but I know what every true Brittana fic should be about, so to hold you over… the next chapter will have a Cheerios shower scene flashback. Just to keep you interested. :) Thanks for reading! Please keep reviewing and coming back!
