A/N: Hi, everyone! So this chapter is long compared to other Cass POVs because I've had a ton of time to write. I'm on break and in the middle of nowhere without internet and my family came into town for Starbucks so I got Wifi and decided to give this to you. I hope you enjoy.

Also, I have a started a very brief outline for a new story, just an fyi. And I'm looking for a beta. I have been apprehensive to get one because I'm lame like that, but I'm looking for one now. If you are a good editor, but also helpful with ideas and helping me keep the right voice and such... PM me or something. I'm not sure how the beta thing works, maybe someone could help me? Thanks to all who reviewed. With lots of love,

Angie

"Hey."

"Hi."

"You skipped gym again."

As you can probably tell, Tía, nothing gets past John Crater. Especially the fact that I had skived on Brittany's class again. I had done it three times by then. And as far as I could tell, Brittany hadn't said anything about it to you. I'm not sure if she believed it to be my choice to go to class or not, or if she was trying to get on my good side, but either way, I appreciated that she hadn't ratted me out to you.

I guess maybe I kept ditching because I could feel the small amount of control I had over her slipping. Not that I had control over her, but it was easy when I could decide if I wanted to like her or not and I liked that I had control over that.

The thing was, she made you so happy, and you were – are – disgustingly cute together. The night before, she had come over for dinner again and you guys cooked together and God, just, I can't even think about it right now. That's how cute you were. She made you all giggly and you almost burnt the chicken because you were too busy watching her wiggle to some imaginary beat while she washed a pan. I'm not even exaggerating, I swear.

The point is that the happier she made you, and the more time I spent around her, I could feel myself slowly starting to like her. She was all smiles all the time. She was funny. And she knew all the right things to say to make your cheeks darken slightly. It was infuriatingly endearing.

So I skipped. Sue me.

"Yeah, so?"

John just shrugged and sat down across from me and spread his lunch on the table. He seemed extra tall today. Like a lanky redwood, shooting into the sky. "Where do you go when you ditch?"

"Nowhere really. The library. Or the staircase on the east side."

"Oh." He laughed quietly. "I thought you left school."

I raised my eyebrows. "Where would I go?"

"I don't know. Somewhere cool. Like the art museum. Or, I don't know. Just somewhere cool, okay?"

"Where do you go when you don't go to class?"

"I always go to class."

I set my sandwich down on the table and really looked at him, taking in his sheepish smile and light blonde hair, slightly ruffled from gym. "You've never ditched before?" He shook his head and I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up my throat. "Oh my God. Dude. You need to get out more."

He shrugged and I thought about pointing out that he was a total nerd, but I realized he probably didn't care. Then I had an idea. "C'mon," I told him, as I stood up and tossed my half eaten sandwich into the nearest trash can.

He shot me a confused look and I wanted to laugh. He was sort of cute. Kind of. Whatever. "C'mon where?"

I smiled hugely, excited about my idea. "Somewhere cool."

There's something amazing about the city that I can't quite put my finger on. It feels alive. The buildings seem to swell with energy and it's like there's a general atmosphere of wonderment and purpose that everyone can feel. It's invigorating.

"Why are we doing this again?"

I rolled my eyes and looked over at John. He was twisting his head back and forth, taking everything in. "I'm culturing you. You need to live a little."

"Okay, but why are we here?"

By here, he meant Battery Park.

I shrugged sheepishly. "It's cool."

"It's touristy." He sighed and met my eyes. He has really dark blue eyes, interlaced with these cool black flecks. They're the calm that comes after hurricanes, the stillness after tsunamis, settling over you with a natural ease. "And now we won't make it back until after school is over."

I ignored him and grabbed his hand, dragging him to the nearest hot dog vendor. I wanted to laugh because he seemed surprised that our fingers were tangled together. Boys are so dumb, but I don't think I really have to tell you that, Tía.

John lightened up after he ate three hot dogs. Maybe he was hungry because we left during lunch, but Jesus. Boys are so weird, I don't get it.

"Okay," I said, crumbling up the aluminum foil from my (one) hot dog. "Do you want to see why I think this place is cool?"

He gave me a lighthearted shrug and a goofy grin. "Yeah, okay."

I led him through a maze of people and past vendors selling shirts and hats and posters until I found what I was looking for.

I had never used spray paint to make my art, but as I looked at the guy, barely older than me, spinning around his canvas as he sprayed it dark blue, I desperately wanted to try.

I'm pretty sure this was a different guy than the one I saw when you brought me to see the Statue of Liberty, but he was just as good. He had a pretty decent crowd, but I grabbed John's hand again and squeezed through to the front so I could see better. I hate being short sometimes.

Watching this guy do his thing, I was pretty sure I could do it, easy. It wasn't as complicated as it had originally looked. You just had to layer the colors right and know when to put tape on so that you wouldn't have too much color when you didn't need it. Then you would just blot and scrape and, voila, cool spray paint art.

We watched the guy make about four or five paintings and then I dragged John back out of the crowd.

He looked at me expectantly as we weaved in and out of groups of people standing around taking pictures of everything in sight. "So that was it, huh? Cass' big surprise?"

He was teasing, but I still felt defensive. "It's just really cool, okay? And I thought it'd be better than school, so shut up."

He laughed loudly and I could see that too-energized, too-spastic part of him that came out when he was nervous or really happy. His pace unconsciously picked up, his long legs surging forward excitedly. "No! It was cool, though. And it's so you. Can you do that? I bet you can. Can you?"

I laughed at his exuberance and tried to make my short legs keep up with his long strides. "I don't know."

"Well, have you ever tried?"

"No, but I want to."

He stopped walking and pointed across the street to the subway station. "Do you want to go back?"

"Sure." We crossed the street and while we were waiting for the train, John looked at me nervously. "What?"

He took a deep breath, cheeks hollowing out comically. "Do you want to hang out tomorrow night?"

"I can't," I told him. "I'm going to a play with my aunt." I didn't really think it was necessary to tell him you were dating Ms. Pierce and she was the reason we were going. Maybe Ms. Pierce didn't want people to know she was gay.

Disappointment flashed across his face, and I was surprised I felt guilty and a little sad that I had to say no. It had been a really fun day. "Sorry," I whispered and he just shook his head, his happy smile returning.

"That's okay, I had a lot of fun today. Thanks for kidnapping me."

I laughed and shrugged. "Me too, anytime."

When we were on the subway, John turned back to me, that same excitement from before still in his eyes. "So, do you think you could do it?"

"What, spray paint like that?" He nodded and I shrugged. "I think I could, after a bit of practice."

"You should try!"

I laughed lightly, letting his easy going attitude engulf me in a light happiness I wasn't used to feeling. "This is us." I led him off the train when it cruised to a stop, proud that I was getting the hang of the subway.

I started to head back toward school, but John grabbed my hand and pulled me the other way. "Where are we going?"

Interlacing our fingers again, he smiled brightly. "Somewhere cool."

"No. John, no."

"Come on, Cass, I don't care, I want to."

"No."

"Yes."

It probably wasn't polite to be arguing in front of the cashier at Hanson's Art Supplies, but that's what was happening. John had taken me there, said it was his special art place, and proceeded to try to convince me to let him buy me stuff to spray paint with. I didn't need his charity, I had money saved up.

"No, give it up."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed the basket of stuff from my hands and slid it across the counter to the cashier. She rang it up and he pushed me aside and handed over his credit card.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Can't a guy buy a girl some art supplies without an interrogation?"

"No, I can buy my own art supplies."

I could see him shake out his leaves, limbs readying for an argument. "I know, but if you're good then you'll have to keep buying them when you use it all. At least let me start you off."

I wanted to argue, but it was too late. The cashier slid a receipt across the counter and he signed it, then grabbed the bag with supplies and smiled brightly at me. He looked so dorky, with his giant smile and crooked glasses, the backpack on his back way too big for him. It was annoyingly endearing.

I sighed. "Fine." He grinned even bigger and… just, ugh.

We walked back to school and sat outside, sorting through the things we got at the store. John pulled out one of the many thin canvases and a few cans of spray paint. A scraper and some masking tape. Then he told me to stay there, and he ran into the school, coming out a few minutes later with a bunch of paper towels.

Finally, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a red bandana.

"What's that for?" I eyed it curiously.

John puffed up, a big fluffy marshmallow of excitement, like he was glad he knew something I didn't. "So the fumes don't make you loopy. You cover your mouth and nose with it."

"Oh." I hadn't thought of that, but I did remember the guy had his shirt pulled up over his mouth. I guess I had just been too busy staring at his hands. "Why do you even have that?"

"I had it from when Mel and I graffitied once and I had kept it in my backpack and later stored it in my locker." He twisted it around his fingers before handing it to me. "Okay, so do you want to try?"

We spent the next two hours experimenting and goofing around and when I went home later, I realized that that day was the most fun I'd had since coming to New York.

Now that I think back on it, I don't really think it had much to do with skipping school, but more to do with the quirky kid I had spent the day with.

Who'd have known.

Everybody has their thing. Mine is art. Rachel's is performing. Kurt's is fashion. Yours might be bartending.

Brittany's is definitely dancing.

Watching Brittany on that stage was like watching an eagle glide through the air, or a surfer ride out a huge wave. It was miraculous and natural and I had never seen anything like it.

But more than that, watching you watch Brittany was like watching a mother see her baby for the first time. It reminded me of when my cousin Miguel was trying to teach me to ride my bike, but I kept falling. I would get going and as soon as he let go, I would be on the ground. Then one time I made it like, halfway down the street, maybe ten feet, before I fell. I started crying because I had been so close and then I fell, and frustrated, I picked my bike up, just to push it back down on the ground. But Miguel had picked me up and swung me around in a circle excitedly.

"Tu lo hisiste! You did it, Cass!"

He gave me this proud look that I didn't understand, but it felt like heat was spreading to my toes and he kept laughing happily.

Looking at you reminded me of him, but instead of looking at me, you were looking at Brittany. Your eyes were wide and your mouth was open slightly and I swear the buttons on your tight white polo shirt were going to burst, you were so swollen with pride.

Tía, watching you love Brittany is like watching the sun rise every day. It is gentle and tender on some days, and fiery and colorful on others. But no matter what, the sun always comes up, and even on your worst days, it's obvious you always love Brittany.

Watching you love Brittany makes me feel like all that cheesy love stuff is real. But it also makes me angry. It makes me angry at all the injustice in the world. Your love is so obvious to me. When I think of you, I think of my aunt and how fiery you are and how passionate you can be and how protective you are, of yourself and of others. But mostly I think of how you can love somebody so, so hard and how that person just happens to be a girl. And I wonder why that matters.

You love Brittany more than so many people love all the people they love put together. You have always loved Brittany, even when you weren't sure what you felt for her. It was obvious from the first time she came over for dinner. The way you look at her is so special.

You look at Puck with this fond annoyance, like you can't believe you care about him even a little bit. You look at Rachel like you're happy that you've been important to someone who is doing amazing things with their life. You look at Kurt like he's a dork, but you like him anyway. You look at Quinn like she's the biggest waste of space to ever come into your life, but you can't help but love her.

You look at me like you're still surprised I'm in your life, like you can't believe that together we make a pretty good little family.

But you look at Brittany like you've never seen her before. Every time. Like this wonderful, beautiful person had just been introduced to you the minute before. Sometimes you look at her like you're confused, and I think you're confused as to why she even likes you (I'm still confused on that, too, a little. (Ha, just kidding, Tía)).

The way you look at her should be enough proof that together you are just like everyone else. Better even.

Either way, the way you looked at her after you saw her dance was enough to make me want to get the fuck out of there before you started dry humping in front of everyone. Don't make that face, Tía. I wouldn't put it past you.

I thought getting out of there would be enough, but of course it wasn't.

The next morning I had woken up and sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee like I always do when I wake up before you. You always sleep so late. I have never met an adult who sleeps in as much as you do.

Anyway, I had flipped through the paper and there was this comic and it was making fun of that Balloon Boy kid from so long ago so I grabbed my sketch pad and started drawing. I was lost in my own little world and then the chair across the table scraped across the floor and Brittany plopped down in it. And I remember thinking of course she slept over.

I looked up and she smiled softly through a yawn, completely at ease like we had been in this situation a million times. Like it wasn't weird that my teacher had fucked my aunt then came to hang out in the kitchen with me the next morning. But that's Brittany, I guess.

"Hey," she said.

"Hi," I said cautiously. The night before had made me feel strange. I felt comfortable around Brittany and that was making me wary. Also, did I mention she was my teacher and she was fucking my aunt?

"What are you drawing?"

I shrugged. "Hot air balloons."

"Can I see?"

"No," I shot out with a sense of too much urgency. Her lips twitched and I quickly continued. "I mean, it's not done yet."

She nodded and smiled warmly, like she understood. I didn't see why she would, most people didn't. They would say they didn't care because they bet my art was still good, even if it wasn't done. But I like my art to be done before people see it. If they see it when it's not, they're seeing an imperfect version of me. Not that I'm perfect, but it's not the whole version of me if it's not done. It's not the message or the picture I intended it to be.

I don't know. It's complicated, okay?

Brittany stood up and poured herself a cup of coffee, dumping a little bit of sugar in it. I like my coffee black, just like you.

"In Colorado, they have this really cool hot air balloon festival in Steamboat. You get up at like, four in the morning and then a bunch of balloons float up into the air. It's unbelievable." She smiled brightly as she sat back down across from me.

I set my blue pastel down and gave her my attention. I thought I could at least try. For you, if not for any other reason.

"Have you ever been in one?"

She seemed pleased I was having a conversation with her that wasn't slightly abrasive and stand-offish. "No, but I want to. That'd be awesome."

I shrugged. "I think it looks scary. What do you do if there starts to be too much wind? Can you even steer the thing?"

"I don't know. That's why it would be fun, though."

I nodded and tilted my head to the side, looking at her looking at me softly. "You're a really good dancer," I said. "I don't know how you do it."

"Dancing isn't really something I do." I looked at her confused and she continued. "Dancing is something I am."

I remember smiling hugely, surprised that Brittany had said something like that. "Me too. I mean, about art."

She nodded. "Are you hungry? We could make breakfast."

"Okay."

She smiled again and stood up, opening the fridge and holding the door at arm's length. "What are you hungry for?"

I noticed she was wearing your hoodie. I had seen you wear it once, and I liked it. I kind of wanted to steal it. "Pancakes," I suggested, because you always made pancakes so it seemed right.

"Okay," she nodded and rummaged in the fridge. "Bacon?"

"Yeah."

She took the package out of the fridge and set it on the counter. Then I told her where the pans and stuff were, and soon we were making pancakes. While Brittany flipped the pancakes, I put the bacon in the microwave.

"Brittany," I said, and the name sounded weird on my tongue, like it knew it was disrespectful to not call my teacher Ms. Pierce.

"Yeah?" She sounded like she didn't even notice I had called her by her first name. She just kept pouring little circles of batter in the pan.

"I'm sorry I was so… rude to you. Before." I breathed out through my teeth. It felt strange to apologize to a teacher while she was in my kitchen making me breakfast.

She looked over her shoulder, eyes soft and cool like the local pool I used to go to back in Ohio during the summer. "It's okay." She shrugged and flipped on the radio next to the coffee pot. I don't even know why you have that radio, Tía. I've never seen you use it. It was playing Ryan Seacrest's top 40 countdown and Brittany started to wiggle around to the song popping from the speakers. I just watched her for a second before she whipped around and grabbed my hand, pulling me so I slid across the floor in my socks. I laughed at her dorky energy and she spun me around and I couldn't remember why I had been trying to not like her.

"Hey," she asked. "Does Santana even like pancakes?"

"Yeah," I laughed out, sliding back to the microwave to take out the bacon. "Actually her pancakes are the shit, but don't tell her I said so." She nodded and I saw you slink into the kitchen, a dubious look on your face, before you slid into the chair I had been sitting in before. Brittany gave you coffee and when I gave her a high-five, your eyes bugged out so much that I couldn't help the loud laugh I let out.

You missed the wink Brittany shot me, but I don't think it matters.

Somehow, I think it was just for me.

A cold bead of sweat dripped down my nose and it felt nice against my hot face. Despite the chilly November air, I was burning up. I ran my hand over my forehead and blotted some paint away from the canvas. I leaned back a little, looking at the seaside bridge and sunset I had created out of nothing but my spray paints and a thin canvas. A feeling of pride and happiness shot through me and I let out a happy breath.

I looked up at the small crowd of people that had assembled around me and held up the canvas. A few people clapped and a man stepped forward.

"How much?"

"Uh…" I wasn't really sure and I could feel nerves settling in my stomach now that I wasn't painting. "Thirty?"

A little boy jumped out on the left. "I have thirty-five dollars. Can I please have it? Please?"

He was cute and I looked at the man apologetically. "Sorry." I handed the canvas to the little boy. "Be really careful, okay? It's still wet." He nodded eagerly and gave me a few bills. I dropped them into the empty jar next to my supplies. I had stolen it from the trash last night after you had made spaghetti.

The boy ran back to his mom and I slid the next canvas over to me, preparing for the next painting.

It was amazing to be out on the street, just like those guys I had seen, painting and making art. I had done all my research and practiced and now I was selling my stuff. It was so legit.

At first, I had felt a little guilty. I had lied to you, saying I had study group after school, knowing you wouldn't let me go down to the bay alone. Adults worry too much. But once I had the idea in my head, I really wanted to go. I could use the money. I hadn't brought much with me to New York and I really needed it, just in case. Plus, the more I had, the better quality supplies I could get.

When I got down there, I just picked a spot and started spraying and after only two minutes, people had starting watching. It was so awesome. And I was glad that little boy was my first customer. It made me feel good inside, like when you eat four pieces of pizza and even though you're full, it feels so good that you just ate so much deliciousness.

For two hours, I kept at it. I sprayed and blotted and scraped and bargained. By the time I finished my last painting, my knees were sore from kneeling on the hard ground and I had paint all over my hands and my ripped jeans.

I sold the picture of the skyline at night, a big moon hanging down, to a younger woman, and wiped off my colorful palms. The crowd looked on expectantly, like they were waiting for more, and I held up my hands. "Sorry, guys. That's all for today." A few people let out a disappointed groan and I smiled as everyone began to leave. I packed up all my stuff in my backpack and jumped, startled, when a hand reached down to help me up.

I looked up and felt the blood rush out of my cheeks. Then I grabbed Brittany's hand and stood up. "Hi," she said brightly.

"Hello," I awkwardly replied, my hands tingling in frightened anticipation. I hadn't even made it one day without getting caught. "How long have you been here?"

She shrugged, hair bouncing on her shoulders. "About an hour."

I closed my eyes in defeat. Great. There was no way I could talk myself out of the situation. "Oh."

She reached down and picked up my backpack, slinging it over her shoulder. "You look hungry, and Santana had to go into work early today. Why don't you come with me?" My eyes widened in surprise. But Brittany has always been like that, saying and doing the last thing you expect. I had thought I was going to get in trouble, and instead she offered me dinner.

"Okay." She smiled and hitched my backpack up farther on her shoulder before turning and walking away. I scurried after her, trying to match her long strides. She led me underground and paid for my subway ticket.

When we got on the train, she opened my backpack and held up the jar. I would've been mad that she was going through my shit, but she had caught me. "How much did you make?"

I had sold five paintings, and I had done it for about thirty dollars each. "Probably around $150."

I could see genuine curiosity flit across Brittany's face, fast as lightning. Her eyes were waves, bubbling up the shore at high tide. "How long were you out there?"

"Since school ended." She nodded and put the jar back in my backpack. "What were you doing there?"

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bag of round chocolates. "I had to get these for my roommate. They're his favorite and I lost a bet." She shrugged cutely and I cursed my luck.

We didn't really talk anymore for the rest of the trip. Brittany kept looking at me though, her ocean eyes studying me intensely. It made me uncomfortable and I checked my phone. I had a message from you saying you had to go into work early, but you left money for me to order pizza. I guess it didn't matter much since Brittany was feeding me.

We got off the train and walked a few blocks over and she led me into an apartment building and up to the fourth floor. I never really realized how lucky it was that yours was on the first floor.

"How come Santana never spends the night here?" I asked as she unlocked the door.

"I don't like to disturb Mike." I guessed Mike was her roommate. "Plus," she smiled at me. "I don't think Santana really likes to leave you home alone."

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes I think you think I'm like, five or something. "I can take care of myself, I'm not a baby."

"Oh, I know. I just think she feels guilty. Santana doesn't like being lonely." Brittany set my backpack on the kitchen table. I made an interested noise. I had never really thought of you as being lonely, but I guess before I came you probably were. "Anyway, if she stays here, then you and I can't hang out."

I couldn't tell if she was joking or not, so I just stared at her. Sometimes I think Brittany says things that make it seem like she's kidding, but really she means it, she just doesn't want you to feel pressured to respond. I think that's her way of feeling self-conscious. Brittany is a very complex person sometimes.

"So…" I said and sat down at the table. Brittany opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. "Where is your roommate?"

Brittany shrugged. "I'm not sure." She reached into the fridge again, a thoughtful look on her face. Then her nose scrunched and she looked at me. "Do you like Chinese?"

"Yeah."

Brittany nodded and picked up the phone. "Kay, what do you like?"

"Uh…" It felt weird to be in a teacher's house, having them order me takeout. I think I needed to stop thinking of Brittany as my teacher and start just thinking of her as Brittany. Otherwise I would never get over the weirdness. "Cashew chicken?"

She dialed the phone and started ordering and I was thoughtful while I watched her. I still wasn't sure if I was in trouble yet. I wondered if she would tell you. Maybe I could ask her not to.

She hung up and sat down across from me. "You're really good at that spray paint thing," she said.

"That was my first time," I admitted sheepishly.

"It was cool. You should get Santana to hang one up in the apartment."

"Actually," I began, clearing my throat nervously. "She doesn't know I can do that. I didn't tell her where I was going. She thinks I'm at a study group."

Brittany stared at me, her lips twisting in thought. Her fingers twiddled on the tabletop, tapping out a beat. Brittany's face is like a traffic light. You can always tell what she's thinking. When to keep going and when to stop and just let her think. Right then it was on yellow, like she was trying to decide what she should say.

"Why did you lie?" She eventually asked.

"What if she said no?"

"She might've said yes. You don't know if you don't ask."

"I didn't want to risk it." She opened her mouth to say something else, but I kept going. "I really needed to do this. And it would be really, really cool if you didn't tell her."

Her cheeks sucked in, and I thought that meant red. I closed my mouth. "You want me to keep this from Santana?" I nodded and held my breath. Her lips thinned and I could see the reluctance in her eyes. Brittany doesn't like secrets.

"Please, Britt," I whined. I was desperate.

She closed her eyes and breathed out deeply. The air blew her bangs slightly. She pressed her palm to her forehead before opening her eyes. "Are you going to go again?"

"Yes. Santana thinks I have study group three times a week." I needed to tell the truth or she would definitely tell.

"Fine," she said after a minute. "But you have to make me a promise." I nodded and she looked at me seriously. "You have to let me come with you. And if I can't you have to text me so that I know you're safe."

"Okay." I nodded eagerly. I could do that.

"Promise?" She stuck her pinkie out and I felt the corners of my mouth pull up.

"If you promise not to tell."

She exhaled again, but nodded. I grabbed her pinkie, twisting it around my own. "Deal." She made a face, like she couldn't believe she had just agreed to that.

The door opened and a lanky Asian guy walked in carrying our Chinese. "Britt," he called. "Did you order food?"

She stood up from the table and grabbed the bag from him. "Yeah, let me pay you back."

He waved her off. "Don't worry about it, you can just pay for my dinner next week or something."

"Okay." She pointed to me. "Mikey, this is Cass, Santana's niece. Cass, this is my roommate, Mike."

"Nice to meet you," I said politely. I didn't want to upset Brittany after she had just promised me something she didn't want to promise. Plus, he did just pay for my food.

"Wow," he smiled at me. "You look just like Santana!" I rolled my eyes. I had heard that enough by then for the compliment to start to wear off.

"Thanks," I said dryly.

Brittany smile hugely and I couldn't help but smile a little too. Sometimes I feel like Brittany's emotions are light as air. She feels everything so easily and naturally. Then she lets her feelings float around the room so you feel them too, like paint fumes dissipating and diffusing.

She's the perfect match for you. You always hold your feelings back, like you're calculating if you should be feeling whatever your feeling. If I wait long enough, you'll show me what's going on in your mind, but I have to be patient. Brittany just pulls everything right from your brain, like she knows what's going on in that head of yours. She does that to me, too. Sometimes it's really annoying.

"Here, Cass." Brittany put my chicken in front of me and handed me a fork. "I don't do chopsticks," she said with a smile.

I nodded. "That's okay. Thanks."

"Of course." She smiled and sat down and her roommate disappeared down the hall.

We ate in silence until her phone rang and I watched the corners of her mouth twitch when she answered. "Hello?" Her voice popped like the Jiffy Pop I had when I went camping with my cousins once. It was bubbly and excited.

"Hi," she said, leaning back in her chair, like someone had just taken a load off of her shoulders. "Eating dinner with Cass." Her eyes shot to me and she smiled. "Yeah, I talked to her after school when you told me you had to go in early."

I laughed when I realized she was talking to you. And I was glad because I didn't think she'd say anything about me lying to you. I watched as she bit her lip, but a smile formed around it. Then her cheeks darkened and really quietly, she said, "I miss you, too."

I raised my eyebrows at her and she flushed darker. It was really cute. "Okay, I will." Her lips thinned, then she opened her mouth like she was going to say something else. Then she made a pained expression and closed her mouth again. "See you later," she sighed out.

She hung up the phone and smiled down at her food, cheeks still burning like red Starburst. That's when I realized that Brittany loved you. Her usually bouncy attitude was flushed and spacey, like she couldn't stop thinking about you. I didn't know if I wanted to smile or puke.

We finished eating and then Brittany cleaned up and said she'd walk me home since it was dark out. When we got to the apartment, she gave me a big hug and told me she'd see me tomorrow. I tilted my head to the side and looked in her eyes, darker than normal in the black of the night.

"Britt," I said. "Do you love Santana?"

Her eyes widened and I think it was one of the only times I was able to surprise her. She avoided my question, laughing and pushing at my shoulder.

"Get inside. See you in third period."

I smiled and later when I was hiding my money jar under my head, I realized that it didn't matter if she didn't answer my question.

Because I knew the answer was yes.

And that's all that really mattered.