Previously on a New Friendship

-Brittany overhears Puck talking about hanging with Santana

-Brittany asks Santana "what about us" in art. Santana is curious as to what Brit means, but she doesn't say. Santana later admits she didn't tell Brittany about Puck because she was confused.

-Santana walks out in the middle of their conversation

-Quinn pulls Brittany aside and thinks Brittany has a crush on Puck. She encourages her to talk to Santana about how she's feeling.

After my talk with Quinn, my head felt a little clearer. I immediately wanted to tell Santana everything I was feeling. I wanted to tell her how I wanted to look in her eyes forever, how I wanted to fall asleep in her arms every night, and how I wanted to kiss her, everywhere and in every way. But the more I thought about it, the riskier it felt. Telling her so much was so scary. I don't even know if she wants to hold my hand, so how do I know if she'd let me kiss her everywhere? I know she isn't the most open person ever, so I know I shouldn't be so aggressive. But I decide I have to let her know how I'm feeling, even if it isn't all of what I'm feeling.

But I can't help wonder why me? Why does she open up to me? It makes me feel like the most special girl in the world. Walking down the halls with her, I grin like a foolish child nonstop. It's like everyone else can see how special I am. She chose me. Maybe not in the way I want her to choose me, but as a friend. And that counts more than anything.

I bolt into the locker room, throw my bag down in front of my locker, and sprint into the bathroom. I drank three water bottles today and still haven't peed once since breakfast. Every step was a struggle getting here. I had to clench every muscle from my boobs down to hold it in. I think I forgot I had to pee at all when my mind became obsessed with analyzing my feelings and it all built up.

All my muscles relax the second I sit on the toilet.

Ah. Relief.

The sound of my pee against the toilet water has always been calming to me. It's like a river or a creek. As soon as I finish I take in the comfort of having an empty bladder.

"I hate his class," I hear Santana's voice enter the locker room and I feel ten times more relieved than I just felt draining my bladder. Even though she said she'd see me at practice, I was worried she was going to disappear again.

"Me too, he's so boring. The presentations are so dumb, and he seriously needs to figure out his sweating problem," Quinn says, and I can feel her smirking. Santana laughs. I immediately know they are talking about Mr. Tempus. I had him last year for History and his pit stains were seriously gross.

I'm glad Quinn's there. Now when I walk out, there's less of a chance Santana and I will feel awkward.

I'm about to stand up and flush the toilet when Quinn's question stops me.

"So, I heard you and Puck have a little thing. True?" She asks.

I'm not usually snoopy, but I'm too curious to hear her answer. So I wait to flush the toilet.

"Yeah, I guess," she says indifferently. "We hung out a couple of times."

My heart stops. A couple of times? I'm praying she's exaggerating. I know she hung out once before, when she got the hickey. And then Sunday, too. That's a couple, right? A couple is two, isn't it? So they only hung out twice. I can handle that, I think.

"You like him?" she says.

There isn't a verbal answer for a minute so I picture Santana shrugging.

"Can you pass me the black one?" Santana asks. I guess they're applying eyeliner, something not unusual for practice.

"He's cool," Santana adds. I'm assuming Quinn was still staring at her, looking for an answer. Her eyes have a way of making you say things you don't always want to. They're really trusting. They trick you in to saying too much, sometimes.

"Yeah," Quinn says. "Been there, done that," she jokes in a light voice. They both share a laugh.

I'm about to stand up, thinking their conversation's over when Quinn's voice stops me again.

"So you and Brit have been better?" She asks with a softer tone. I know she's referring to last week when she set us up at Breadstix to make up.

My heart starts beating faster. Thinking of other people talking about me always makes me nervous. Without thinking my feet rise off the floor but my butt stays on the toilet. I know it's better if they don't know I'm here. So I stay as quiet as possible. I even use my hand to cover my mouth.

"Yeah," Santana says. Her tone is normal. The same way she'd answer a question about the color of her nail polish. Which right now is a deep red. "Thanks for setting that up, by the way," Santana says.

"No problem," Quinn answers. "I knew you two didn't want to lose each other over something dumb," she says.

They stay quiet for at least fifteen seconds before Santana talks again.

"We're lucky," is all she says. Quinn doesn't answer. Or she nods. I can't see that though.

"She's an amazing friend," Santana says again and I know I'm blushing. "Genuinely the sweetest girl I know." I know no one can see me, so I allow myself to blush even harder.

"She really is," Quinn answers.

I know friends are supposed to think amazing things of you, that's why they're your friends, right? But hearing the nice things out loud still feels incredible. It means so much more coming from people you care about that much, too.

"Look," Quinn says with a more serious voice. "I'm telling you this because I know how much you care about Brittany. I think she may have a thing," her voice gets softer before whispering, "for Puck."

I should be mad, it's not that I like Puck but if I did and I told Quinn that I would expect her not to tell anyone. The thing is, though, I trust Quinn. With anything. For me, trusting someone with a secret isn't trusting they won't tell anyone. It's trusting that they do what's best for you with that information. So if Quinn thinks telling Santana would be best for me, then I can't be mad at her. She wouldn't tell someone something that isn't trustworthy, too. And I see where she's coming from. I really do. But I don't like Puck. I almost rise to my feet to put a stop the rumor but my curiosity takes over me. I want to hear what she says.

There's a longer silence than before.

"Really?" Santana's voice sounds quieter than before, and she sounds like she's in disbelief.

"She didn't admit it for sure, but it seemed like it," Quinn says slowly. "I just thought you should know. Brit looks out for everyone except herself. I can't expect her to tell you herself because she knows if you like him, it will hurt you. But I just didn't want something else to come in between you guys."

"I need to stop. I don't want to hurt her," Santana says weakly.

My eyes soften. As bad of an idea I thought this was, to lie and say I liked Puck, part of me wants to keep it up. If that will make her stop hooking up with him, is it so bad? I also can't help but smile a little. She doesn't want to hurt me. The fact that she is willing to give up a guy for me just proves how much she cares about me as a friend. And how loyal she is. And I love it.

"Just talk to her," Quinn tells her. "I think that will straighten things out. She's easy to talk to. And really understanding."

I hear their footsteps move.

"Thanks, Quinn," Santana says softly. "Really, I appreciate it."

By the way their feet are moving I think they're hugging.

I hadn't realized how much my legs were shaking. I hug them with my arms and feel them vibrate against my chest.

I have to wait for Quinn and Santana to leave the locker room completely now. Otherwise they'll know I was here. So I'll probably be late for practice. Great. Coach is going to kill me.

As I sit, waiting for the locker room to clear out, I almost want to cry.

It's not right. What I'm doing. I can't let Santana think I like Puck. I like her. I want her to know that, too. And I don't want her to stop hooking up with him because I like him. I want her to stop hooking up with him because I like her. And she likes me. That's what I really want.

Does it make me a bad person?

When I calm myself down I realize the locker room is empty. I slowly crack the door open and peek out to make sure I'm alone. I quickly run to my locker and change into my practice uniform. I check the clock and see I'm already eight minutes late.

I run out of the locker room and towards the gym. I'm about fifteen feet from the gym door when a voice stops me.

"Excuse me?" A deep male voice says.

I turn to face him. He's young, probably not yet forty. Something about his appearance strikes me. His hairs dark, probably black, and super shiny. It's gelled back the way James Bond's would be. But it's still kind of flowy. It doesn't look hard like my Dad's does when he gels it. His face has a familiar look. His skin is tan too, but not like vacation tan. Like naturally tan.

"Mhm," I answer as I exhale. I'm a little out of breath from sprinting to the gym.

"Is this the gym?" he asks as he points towards a set of doors to his left.

"No," I say.

I stare intensely trying to figure out where I know him from.

He lets out a small laugh after a moment. "Do you know where it is?" he asks. I blush a little embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. It's right through these doors," I say as I point to them. "You can follow me if you want. I have practice now," I tell him.

"That's alright," he smiles. His smile. It's so warm. He has two dimples. One on each side of his face. He really is an attractive older guy. "I'll wait here until practice is over," he gives me another warm smile. "Thanks."

I stare into his eyes for a moment. They're a deep brown. So dark. This is the second time I've ever thought someone's brown eyes were pretty. First were Santana's, of course.

"No problem," I smile.

I run into the gym.

"Brittany Pierce, you're lucky we need you for stunts or I'd break both your legs off right now. If you're late again I'll run you to the ground."

I don't even have a chance to give an excuse. I just nod and say sorry.

That's the good thing about being one of the best cheerers, dancers, and the best tumbler. If someone else, besides Quinn, was late, they'd already be starting their first of five miles. Or they'd be cut. On the spot.

"Where were you?" Quinn whispers as I walk past her towards the mats.

Shit. I hadn't thought about this. Where was I?

"Project," I blurt out. "I had to work on a project," I say more definitely.

She nods a little.

"I talked to Santana," she whispers.

I try to look surprised. "About what?" I ask.

"Puck. You."

I stare at her, waiting for more. I don't know what to ask because I already know what happened.

"She cares about you, Brit. She doesn't want to hurt you. You guys should talk about it. I don't want either of you getting hurt. Puck's not worth it," she says. "Trust me."

I let out a little laugh at Quinn's hint at their past romance.

"Thanks," I say before running onto my mats.

After I stretch out and warm up, I start practicing my back handsprings. I don't know how many I do, but my back is starting to get sore.

"Brittany!" I hear my voice called through Coach's megaphone. I could have heard her perfectly fine without that dumb thing. But it is kind of cool. To have that much power.

"Yes?" I say as I jog towards her.

"Teach Santana how to do a back handspring. She can do it, I can tell. She just needs a spotter," Coach Sue demands.

I nod quickly in agreement.

I hadn't realized until now what she was asking. That happens when she talks. I just do what she says. So sometimes I don't even realize what it is I have to do. I just don't want to disappoint her.

"Ready?" I ask Santana, smiling.

She gives me a hesitant nod.

I turn and walk towards the mats. I give her a brief explanation, but since she can already do a back walkover, she's already kind of ready. I get on my knees and put my hands out to spot her.

"Whenever you're ready," I tell her, encouraging her to try a quicker walkover.

She nods.

She arches her back and just when I think she's about to do it, she stands back up straight. She does this two more times before I stop her.

"Santana," I say as I stand up. "Are you nervous?" I ask.

"What do you think?" she says sharply. She isn't directing it at me, though. She's just being sarcastic.

I smile. I love her sense of humor.

I place my hands on her shoulders and make her look at me. I look into my favorite dark brown eyes.

"San, you can do this. You wouldn't be here if you couldn't. Do you trust me?" I ask.

It's funny. As I ask that, I don't mean do you trust me not to drop you. I actually am curious if she trusts me. Part of me already knows she does. She's opened up to me already. But I still want to hear it said.

"Of course," she says softly. I feel like she's answering my question. The secret one. A chill runs through my body.

It takes me a second to snap out of it and talk again.

"I'm not going to drop you. I've got you, okay?" I say. "I won't let you fall," I smile.

"Promise?" she asks.

I nod. "Pinky promise," I say as I reach my pinky out for her. She reaches up and wraps her pinky around mine.

"I won't let you fall," I repeat.

Santana arches her back and on the count of three does a perfect back handspring with little help from me.

I let out a scream and jump up. I throw my arms around her neck in excitement. She slips her arms under me and pulls me tightly to her.

"You did it!" I squeal.

As we pull away she's giggling and I notice it. Her dimple. I don't know how I missed it. Probably because her eyes had distracted me so much. And her lips. But her dimple. On her left cheek. Right outside where her smile lines are. It's the cutest thing I've ever seen. Her smile is beautiful.

"Thanks," she say. I'm so enchanted by her smile that it takes me a minute to remember what she's thanking me for.

I look back to her eyes. So dark. So soft.

Oh. My. God.

Her eyes.

The dimple.

Her Skin tone.

Her Smile.

How did I not figure this out earlier?

"Santana," I'm barely able to say her name. I know my face looks like I just found out about a murder. Her concerned look is understandable.

"What?" she asks. "What is it?" she repeats when I don't answer.

"Your," I start. I take a few deep breaths. "Your Dad," I whisper.

Her face looks like mine now. She searches the room around frantically.

"What about him?"

"I think- I think I saw him. Outside the gym." My words are short and breathy.

"You think?" she asks.

"I know," I say. "It has to be him. Your eyes. The dimple. Your smile."

She nods as if these are traits that commonly link them together.

"He's outside the gym," I say. "He said he was going to wait till practice was over. I didn't know who he was. Until now," I know I sound like I'm about to cry. But only because she looks like she's about to cry. She looks terrified. And hurt. And sad. And angry.

"I can't," she says. "I just can't." I see a tear on her bottom eyelid. She wipes it away quickly before it falls.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't know it was him."

"Brit, it's not your fault," she says sincerely. I don't even know why I'm apologizing. I just hoped it would make her feel better. Or maybe blame me, and not her dad. And then she could feel happy again.

I hug her. It's the only thing I can think of. I don't know what to say. So I hug her. She buries her face into my neck.

"I can't see him," she muffles into my neck. Her words hitting my neck send another chill through me.

I know she's crying now because I feel a teardrop on my collarbone.

"I'll sneak you out. That door goes to Mr. Fen's office. His office leads to the parking lot. We can take my car. You can come home with me. He won't find you," I whisper.

She doesn't say anything. But then I feel her nod into my neck.

"It'll be okay," I whisper. "I promise."

After we successfully sneak into my car, Santana finally breaths.

She hasn't spoken once since we were inside the gym.

"Thank you," she finally tells me as she settles into her seat.

I don't answer. Not because I don't want to. But because she shouldn't have to thank me for this. I want to do this and I should do this. I have to do this. It isn't a favor.

"I'm sorry," she says again. "I just can't see him. Not yet. It's too soon. The wound is too deep."

My heart breaks as I feel her pain.

I don't remember when I realized my dad was an alcoholic. I don't think there was a moment. If there was, I don't remember it. I remember being little and not knowing, or maybe not caring. Or not understanding. But I don't remember the change. When I realized what my dad really was. Who he really was. I know alcohol isn't who he is, but it's changed who I get to see and know. I don't know at what point I figured it out, though. Maybe I'll never know. Maybe it was a gradual thing. Because I can't remember waking up one day and suddenly figuring it all out.

I can't imagining what Santana is going through, though. To know your dad your whole life. Have him be this amazing guy. Your best friend. And suddenly, one day, at 16 or 17 years old, realize he's not who you thought he was. I can't imagine that pain.

At least my dad has a disease. I know it still sucks, but deep down I know he loves me. He's just sick. Mentally sick. He's hurt me an insane amount, sure. But for most of it, he was drunk. It's no excuse. I don't excuse what he's done to me and my family. But still, if he had hurt me this way sober I think I would be in ten times more pain.

"You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I understand, Santana. Please don't feel ashamed, either," I add when I see her look down, embarrassed.

"Thank you," she says again.

I can't tell if she's still crying. I don't hear the tears anymore and I don't hear it in her voice. But her hand still reaches up every couple minutes to wipe below her eyes.

As I pull into my driveway I realize were here again. Back at friendship. Relief floods me again for the third time today. I can't deal with these ups and downs anymore. I need her in my life. Someway. If it's only as a friend, that's fine. But I need her to tell me that. I have to tell her that, too. I don't know if I'm going to get to tonight, but I know I need to tell her. If the mood lightens at all, I have to tell her.

As we climb out of my car and towards my door, Santana reaches for my hand. I think she's going to tug me to say something or to get my attention, but she doesn't. She just places her hand in mine. As soon as my heart flutters at the thought of holding hands with her, her hand starts slipping. Only hours ago I had thought about her wanting to hold my hand. But as her fingers slip through mine, I feel my heart drop slowly in my chest. As my fingers are about to completely lose contact with her, she grabs her pinky with mine.

We lock them around each others.

I smile.

I remember the last time this happened. It was the first time, too. Leaving English class. She knew I was upset. She didn't know why, but she knew I was. And she told me if I ever needed to talk, she was there. And our pinkies linked together. It was the most amazing feeling. Comfort. Knowing someone wanted to be there for me.

I'm mad I didn't do it first. To show her I was there for her.

But I still smile. Because I know what it means. Santana needs my comfort. She needs me to hold her. She needs me to make her feel better. And she's accepting my help. For me, at least, that's what true friendship is.

I wanted to get a chapter up tonight so here it is! I will have the next one up soon! Hopefully friday?

Please let me know what you think!

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