No trigger warnings.
Chapter 38 – A Whisper and a Clamor
Santana P.O.V.
I see Brittany for the first time since that day in the hospital in my homeroom.
I'm excited for any opportunity to get to see her, but the truth is that I'm more nervous.
I make it to class with only seconds to spare. The final bell rings just as I am skidding through the door, which means that my class is full, and everybody stares at me as I walk to my usual seat, right behind Brittany.
I try to make eye contact with her on the way past, but she avoids it strategically, and anyway, this is hardly the place for a confrontation. The only thing she offers me is a shy smile and a quick nod. It's not much, but at least she is acknowledging me.
"Pass these around and get started, please," my English teacher ultimately ruins the moment, as he so often does. A pop quiz, all on a book I haven't even opened.
When Brittany turns around inside of her seat to hand me my paper, my heart leaps inside of my throat. She is staring at me with those ocean blue eyes and a soft smile that always makes my heart speed up. I feel like I'm falling in love all over again.
"Santana?" Those blue eyes dip with confusion when she notices that I am only staring at her like an idiot.
She is holding out my quiz for me, but I'm too absorbed in the way that her straight, blonde hair perfectly frames her face to notice until she says something and reality rushes over me like a bucket of cold water.
"Sorry," I blush deeply, grabbing the quiz from her hands. I hate myself for being so stupid. The way I see things, it would be much easier to just stop doing things that I have to be sorry about when it comes to Brittany.
Our brief interaction ends just like that. Brittany turns back around inside of her seat, leaving me to stare at the back of her perfect head. I get lost inside of it, but quickly feel creepy doing so, so I turn back to my quiz, trying to concentrate even though I don't know a single answer.
After the quiz, we discuss the next section of the book. Seeing how I hadn't even read the first part, I get lost quickly.
I am so bored that I actually think that it is going to kill me. By the time the bell finally rings, I feel like I have been sitting in this classroom for a year.
"Hey Brittany!" I call after the blonde before I can think better of it, chasing her out of the classroom. She turns towards the sound of her name. For a second, when she sees me, her cheeks flush and it takes everything that I have inside of me not to reach out and touch her.
Her eyes are fixed and staring. She is waiting to hear why I had called her back. I realize that I hadn't had a reason. Quickly, I scramble to come up with one.
"Hi." It is the only thing I can come up with. An entire period to figure out what to say, and I still embarrass myself. I could smack myself for being so stupid.
"Hi," she smiles shyly, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. I stammer with something to follow up on but come up with nothing.
Get it together, Santana, I beg myself.
"Are you okay?" Brittany finally asks me after a moment. I watch her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrow with concern.
"I just… I missed you in glee yesterday." I can feel myself fumbling to fill the void with meaningless conversation. I probably would have been better off mentioning nothing at all. I am having a hard enough time trying to forget our last disastrous conversation at the hospital…
"I know," Brittany sighs, her eyes turning away from mine. "Coach Sylvester has just been more ruthless than usual with the football team in the playoffs and now Nationals coming up…
I nod absently. How selfish have I been that I haven't considered the fact that the Cheerios are still striving for Nationals and Noah is still trying to prove to college scouts that he is worthy of their scholarships on the football field?
"How's Rachel?" Brittany asks after a moment when I refuse to fill the void with anything meaningful.
"She's better," I nod, appreciative that she had thought to ask. "She's home now. She still has some healing to do, but I think she'll be okay."
Brittany nods softly and the two of us fall victim to that uncomfortable silence once more. Around us, the crowds are starting to thin, indicating that we should probably start heading to class, but neither one of us moves. There is just too much left unsaid.
"I'm sorry," I finally stumble over a makeshift apology before taking a deep breath and holding it, waiting for a response.
When Brittany finally finds the strength to meet my eyes, I realize that her face is sad again. It makes my heart break.
"There seems to be a lot of that between us these days," she sighs. "Have you noticed that?"
I have, but I don't want to admit to as much.
"We had such a good thing," I breathe instead. It is a complete deflection, but I just can't help it. "We still could."
I watch the color mount high inside of Brittany's cheeks. I know that she is flattered, but the way that she is struggling not to cry, I know that I shouldn't get my hopes up.
"I love you, Santana, really I do," she shakes her head. "I just… I think that you would be better off focusing on your family right now. Maybe we can try again another time. I… I want to try again. Just not right now."
She makes so much sense that I want to shake her, if only because this is the kind of sense that I don't want to accept. Sometimes, two people who are in love reach a crossroads and they just linger, reluctant to pick a direction because it is impossible to pick which direction is right and which one is wrong. Brittany and I seem to be facing that crossroads right now, and I don't like it.
"Okay…" I slump, saying nothing that I mean. Brittany seems to notice all the words that I am holding onto because she reaches out and grabs onto my arm, holding me tight.
"I'd still like to help you and Rachel, if that's okay," she offers sincerely. "I still want to be friends."
I nod, but keep my mouth shut because I am afraid that I will tell her that being just friends with her isn't enough for me, and Brittany doesn't need to hear that right now.
"Listen, why don't you come to the party at Alan Lonergan's house tonight?" she offers, searching for a way to bridge the gap between us.
I raise an eyebrow at her. "It's Wednesday."
"It's the last day before Thanksgiving break," she explains. I blink at her. I had completely forgotten that tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I'm pretty sure everybody else in my house has too. "It's sort of tradition. The Titans have a football game, and then we party after. It'll be fun."
"I have to ask my mom," I breath, my tone indicating my uncertainty. My mother hasn't been fond of so much as letting me out of the house recently, let alone to a party.
"Sure," Brittany nods as the bell rings over our heads. "Listen, I have to get to class Santana. I'll talk to you later."
I nod stupidly, watching Brittany rush off down the hall. I don't want her to go. I want to reach out, pull her into me, and never let go again, but I don't. I don't understand what my problem is. There must be something inside of my head taking over, turning me into somebody I am unfamiliar with. The seasons are growing colder, but so it seems, is my heart.
A part of me wants to chase Brittany. I want to insist that she skip class so I can drag her to a secluded section of the school and tell her how I really feel, but I don't want her to think I'm a creep, so I don't. It probably wouldn't matter anyway. Every time I even get close to her, I clam up. My voice gets stuck somewhere in the back of my throat, hidden.
I am in love with Brittany S. Pierce. The problem is, that I am terrified that I am in love with her all on my own. Who would ever think that the three little words I think about the most are the hardest to say?
"I love you," I hear myself whisper, but by then, Brittany is much too far away to hear them.
At lunch, I go to glee alone in a sour mood.
Rachel is already here. She is grounded from singing and dancing thanks to her broken ribs and diminished lung capacity, but she continues to work hard on the sidelines, desperate to have a sense of normality return to her life.
Today, she is working with Finn, trying to help him perfect some choreography. I want to warn her not to bother, that Finn Hudson roughly resembles an oak tree caught in a hurricane, but Rachel looks to be into it, so I let her be.
I am just sinking into my usual chair when I hear the unmistakable sound of skin-against-skin, followed by a soft gasp of pain.
I dart up from my seat so fast that my head spins. The music that had only just filled the choir room has stopped, and everybody seems to be gathering around the piano where Rachel and Finn were just standing.
Jumping into action, I elbow my way through the crowd where Rachel is crumpled on her knees on the floor. She is pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand, using the other to catch the blood that is streaming steadily from each one of her nostrils. Finn is hovering above her stupidly. He wears a look of oblivious bewilderment and immediately, I put together the fact that he is responsible for this.
"What the hell is the matter with you, you moron?" I push Finn hard directly against the center of his chest. The boy is easily twice my size, but he stumbles anyway, his mouth hanging open as he begins to stammer a series of excuses, none of which I accept.
"I… I didn't mean to, I swear!" He at least has the decency to look apologetic as he attempts to talk his way out of me murdering him.
I take another step towards him, bearing my teeth. I want to kill him, but before I can, I feel somebody grab me around my upper arms and pull me back. I fall into a muscular chest and smell a terrible combination of cologne and dip.
Noah.
"Calm down, Santana, she's okay," he whispers in my ear. He tells me this, but Rachel certainly doesn't look okay. She is bleeding all over the floor. Her face is a mask of pain. She looks like everything hurts.
"I was supposed to turn left, but I went right by accident. My elbow must have… oh God, Rachel I am so sorry. Are you alright?"
"Of course she's not alright, you idiot!" I bellow through Finn's attempted apology. "Look at her."
"Santana, stop it!" Rachel forces herself to play mediator as she attempts to pull herself off the floor. Quinn lunges forward, helping to steady my sister, who uses her arm as a support beam, even though she leaves a bloody handprint on Quinn's yellow cardigan.
"Rachel, I'm sorry," Finn apologizes in between the silent argument currently brewing in between Rachel and I. The poor guy sounds like he wants to cry. That doesn't make me want to kill him any less.
"I know you are, Finn," Rachel tells him quietly. Even with blood smeared all over her face, I can tell that she is blushing. It makes me want to hit Finn harder.
"Here, let me help you," the boy offers, shrugging out of his zip-up hoodie and pressing it into a ball. He offers it to Rachel as a means an alternative to her hand in stopping her bleeding nose, but Rachel refuses.
"Oh no, Finn, I'll ruin your sweatshirt!"
"No, it's fine. My mom is really good at laundry." Finn is insistent. He presses the sweatshirt into Rachel's hands. When I notice the way that his massive bear paws linger just a little bit too long against Rachel's hand, I snap again.
"You," I rip out of Noah's grip and point an accusing finger at Finn. "Hands off before I cut them off."
Swallowing, Finn leaps out of the way. Rachel looks pissed at me for threatening him. I scan her up and down, gauging her reaction. Despite using Finn's sweatshirt, her nose is still bleeding pretty badly. Her sweater is ruined. Blood curls underneath her chin and drops onto her chest where the droplets blossom like poppies.
"Come on," I whisper to her, shuttling her out of the choir room. "Let's get you cleaned up."
I take her out of the choir room and start to guide her towards the nurse. Luckily, the journey isn't far, and we won't have to pass the busy cafeteria on the way there. Still, Rachel keeps her head down the entire time.
"You shouldn't be so mean to Finn, Santana," she scolds me after a moment. Her voice is quiet, but she sounds embarrassed. "It was an accident. It's not like he elbowed me on purpose."
"He's about as coordinated as a Great Dane puppy, Rachel," I roll my eyes. "Maybe if he actually figured out how to use those tree branches he calls limbs and didn't parade around glee like a human battering ram, I wouldn't have to be mean to him."
"He's the best baritone we have!" Rachel argues, like this is a good enough reason to give him free pass to hit her.
"Then maybe it's time we do some recruiting," I roll my eyes sarcastically.
"What is your problem with him, anyway?" Rachel asks. Her voice is low and nasally, plugged up by Finn's sweatshirt. When she turns to look at me, I notice that her left eye is already starting to bruise and the right one is not far behind it.
"He just punched you in the face!" I argue, delivering my answer much louder than expected. I don't mean to get sharp with her, but all-in-all today has sucked, and it's only lunch.
"He didn't do it on purpose!" Rachel reminds me. I notice her voice rising to meet mine, before surpassing it. "I know what you're so angry about, and I know what you're thinking. This has nothing to do with Andrew, Santana."
"Everything has to do with Andrew!" I remind her. Rachel stares at me, but her face remains stony. I know that I should stop. Rachel doesn't need what happened to her rubbed in her face. The problem is that now that I have started, I can't seem to make myself stop. "Like it or not, Rachel, he is a part of our lives now. Every single thing that we do now, we do because of him."
"Just because I'm moving on and you're not doesn't mean that you have to scare away everybody who tries to get close to me!"
Rachel is breathing fire, and I allow myself to be burned by it. It is like I am only now seeing that Rachel's entire face is glowing red. She is angry at me for breathing down her neck. She is angry at my mother for doing the exact same thing. She is angry that this had to happen in the first place. She is angry that despite her words, she isn't moving on. She is right about one thing, though. Neither am I.
"Rachel…" I breathe, but I don't know what else to say. I don't know that there is anything else to say.
"No, Santana," she cuts me off with a sharp bite. "I'm not this fragile little thing that needs you to hover over me twenty-four hours a day. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. I can find my own way to the nurse."
"Rachel! Rachel wait, stop!" I chase after her as she storms angrily down the hall, pressing despite her injuries to get ahead of me.
"Corcorans!"
Before either of us can disappear from even each other, we are cornered by another. Coach Sylvester has spotted us, and now, she is marching our way.
She is wearing a dark orange sweat suit that makes her look like a literal fireball. In a way, I guess that she is.
"Unless one of you is literally dying, you better have a damn good excuse as to why you aren't in the cafeteria where you're supposed to be right now!"
As she gets closer, I can tell that she knows that something is wrong because her entire face changes. When she catches a glimpse of the abysmal state that my sister is in, something almost like fear flashes across her face.
"What happened?" There is a calm in her voice, but it sounds almost forced. She sounds almost as afraid as I feel, which I don't know how to interpret.
"It was just a glee accident Coach," Rachel insists. She sounds frustrated. I know that she is tired of having to explain herself, and more specifically, her injuries.
"You got this in glee?" Coach Sylvester asks. She is staring Rachel up and down, evaluating her, and I can tell that it is starting to make my sister uncomfortable because she attempts to hide behind me after too long.
"Come with me," the coach demands, interpreting Rachel's silence as answer enough.
Coach Sylvester turns on her heels and starts to make her way back down the hall in the direction that she had just come, towards the nurse's office where Rachel and I were heading anyway. Except now that it is Coach Sylvester leading us, Rachel is understandably hesitant.
"That wasn't a suggestion," the coach informs Rachel after she gets a couple of steps in only to realize that Rachel is not following her.
"Coach, I swear that this was just an accident," Rachel practically cries. She sounds desperate. Making a big deal out of anything is something that Rachel has been actively trying to avoid since she had been released from the hospital, and even before that. Whatever Coach Sylvester has planned for her, she doesn't want any part of it. Unfortunately, Rachel understands that she has become the poster-child for lost causes recently. She doesn't bother fighting too hard.
"And you can explain everything about that accident to the school nurse while she is checking you out and making sure that you're okay." Coach Sylvester wears a tone of finality that not even my stubborn sister can ignore. She still doesn't look pleased, but eventually, she does drag her feet down the hall, following Coach Sylvester like a duckling.
I follow behind the duo. I know that Rachel was just yelling at me about my overbearing presence, but I doubt very much that she would call me out in front of Coach Sylvester. I am not surprised when she doesn't.
"When did this happen?" Coach Sylvester eases the burden of our journey by attempting to make conversation.
"A couple of minutes ago," Rachel mutters.
"At glee?" The coach asks for confirmation. She is grilling Rachel. When my sister only nods in response, the only thing the cheerleading coach does is scoff. "And I guess that Will Schuester just thought it was in his best interest to let you make your way to the nurse's office on your own. How typical."
"It wasn't his fault, Coach," Rachel attempts to defend her director. "I told you, it was an accident."
"That's all fine and well, Rachel, but when you're under the radar like you and your family are now, things like this usually require more explanation than calling it an accident and moving on."
Rachel's cheeks flush. She swallows nervously but falls silent as Coach Sylvester guides her into the nurse's office.
The school nurse is already fluttering up and down the sick bay, tending to a boy who is laying on his back with a wet cloth folded across his forehead. His face is contorted into a look of pain, but he is groaning just a little bit too loudly to be entirely passable.
"Coach Sylvester," the woman states simply, her lips thinning into a straight line when she sees the Cheerios coach approach her. "Can I help you?"
"I hate to bother you, Marilyn, but it seems I've got a little situation," Coach Sylvester announces, stepping to the side to reveal Rachel and I lingering inside of the doorway.
Nurse Marylin Rose gets one good look at Rachel and her face falls with immediate surprise. Her reaction doesn't shock me. With dried-up blood smeared all down her front and her face pale and terrified, Rachel is looking more and more like patient zero in a zombie apocalypse movie than a teenage girl.
"What happened?" the nurse gasps, rushing towards Rachel.
"I got elbowed by accident," Rachel sighs. She sounds tired of explaining herself.
"Well come over here and sit down," the nurse guides her to a cot next to the faking boy, although he is not moaning nearly as vigorously now that he knows that the nurse isn't paying him any attention.
I follow Rachel, standing at her side like a body guard as she hoists herself up on the plastic bed.
"Sit here. Stay." Coach Sylvester gives Rachel and I the firm warning like she is talking to a dog before she turns to leave the room.
"Where are you going?" Rachel call after her. She sounds like she is not sure that she wants to know.
"To call your mother," the coach insists, and with that, she is out the door.
The nurse takes all of five minutes to evaluate Rachel's nose. Much to my sister's disappointment, she informs her that she is confident that it is broken. This combined with the fact that Rachel had only just been diagnosed with back-to-back concussions makes the nurse insistent that Rachel takes a trip to the Emergency Room.
Rachel is understandably argumentative. She had only just been released from the hospital Monday, and given how that last trip had gone, she is not exactly in a rush for more.
We don't hear anything more from Sue Sylvester. In fact, the first thing that we hear at all is the sound of rapid footsteps rushing down the hall towards us.
My eyes snap towards the door, waiting. I am expecting my mother but get a surprise when instead, I see Lucy Sherman turn inside of the nurse's office. She looks confused. When she spots Rachel and I sitting in the corner, that confusion only deepens. I assume that Coach Sylvester had called her, and I am willing to bet that she hadn't given many details about why she was needed here at William McKinley at all.
"Rachel? Santana?" the woman questions, walking towards us. She looks and sounds confused, and her confusion is starting to confuse me. "What are you doing here? What happened?"
"I had an accident in glee club, but it's okay. I'm okay." Rachel rolls her eyes as she explains herself for the millionth time, but despite Rachel's best efforts, Lucy doesn't seem any less appalled by her appearance.
"You got this in glee?" she gasps, stunned as she leans slightly closer into Rachel to inspect the damage.
"It's not usually a contact sport," my sister mutters. I don't think she likes having to defend the only outlet she has from everything going on at home. I wonder if she is afraid that Lucy is going to make her quit glee club next when she has already lost everything else.
"How did it happen?" Lucy's concern does not seem to waver.
"Never get too close to a kid that can't dance," Rachel simplifies her story with minimal enthusiasm.
"I'm sorry girls, but I'm a little confused," Lucy admits. She seems to be missing something here. I wonder what Coach Sylvester told her to get her here so fast.
"Join the club," I shrug. Lucy doesn't seem satisfied by my answer. Her eyes shift nervously, back and forth between Rachel and I.
"Coach Sylvester said that there was some sort of emergency over the phone…"
"I think that she wanted to talk to you," Rachel swallows quietly.
"But she said it was an emergency," Lucy reiterates.
"Coach Sylvester usually gets what she wants," I nod, hoping that she understands just how much I mean it. "I'm sure she does consider whatever she needs to be an emergency."
"Where's your mother, girls?" Lucy asks suddenly, her face falling. When she watches Rachel and I both shrug simultaneously, the concern on her face only deepens.
"And where is Coach Sylvester?"
"Right here."
A new, cool voice answers suddenly from the doorway. Lucy's head snaps around while Rachel and I glance over her shoulder, trying to get a good look at Sue Sylvester as she saunters back into the nurse's office.
"Marilyn, would you give us a moment, please." Coach Sylvester nods her head to the nurse, who looks astonished that she is being asked to leave her own office, even if it is by Sue Sylvester.
"I have patients, Sue," she reminds the woman, looking from Rachel to the boy who is still sitting on the cot, gaping at the apparent production that has emerged throughout an attempt to just skip class.
Coach Sylvester turns to him and I watch his face slide into an expression of terror as he starts to realize that he seems to have picked the absolute worst day to fake being sick.
"You," Coach Sylvester points at the boy. "You have exactly thirty-seven seconds to cut the bogus act and pull your lazy ass off that bed and back to class.
"But… but I'm dying, Coach!" he insists. He is exaggerating, of course, but he is determined not to get caught up in his own lie.
"Thirty-six seconds, thirty-five, thirty-four…" Ignoring him entirely, the cheerleading coach begins to count the boy down with a glare in her eyes that is good enough to kill.
He scrambles to his feet with a surprising quickness for a boy who had just claimed to be on his deathbed, grabs his backpack, and scrambles out of the nurse's office.
"Rachel will be in good hands, Marilyn," Coach Sylvester assures the woman when it is only us remaining. "Now if you please, you look like you could use a cup of coffee."
The cheerleading coach reaches into the pocket of her track suit and pulls out a tattered looking wallet. With a $20 bill in her hand, Nurse Rose seems a lot less reluctant to leave. The next time I don't feel like going to class, I will have to remember that the school nurse is not above taking bribes.
"Coach Sylvester, what is going on?" Lucy asks after we are finally alone. She sounds upset and confused, but mostly confused. "You said over the phone that there was some sort of an emergency here."
"There is an emergency," Coach Sylvester insists seriously. "I have a bone to pick with you and the institution that you work for."
If anything, Coach Sylvester's explanation leaves Lucy looking even more lost. Clearly, she doesn't understand why Coach Sylvester might consider a standard complaint to be an emergency. I am assuming that she doesn't have much experience with people like Sue Sylvester, despite her line of work. To be fair, I don't think that there is any person in the world that could compare.
Lucy still looks like she is struggling to come up with something to say when she is cut off by the sound of frantic, high-heeled footsteps fluttering towards us closer and closer.
"Ah, our final guest has arrived," Coach Sylvester announces seconds before my mother rushes into the room, her face sunk inward with worry. She looks like she is a hundred years old, that is how much the fear has changed her.
"Where are my kids?" My mother does not pause. She asks her question breathlessly to nobody in particular. She is so panicked that she doesn't even seem to notice that Rachel and I are sitting right in front of her. Or Lucy.
I can only assume that Coach Sylvester had been as vague on the phone with my mother as she had been with Lucy. No wonder she looks as worried as she does.
"They're right here, Shelby, they're okay," Lucy pushes forward, stepping out of the way so that my mother can see Rachel and I for herself. Sure, the word okay might be an overstatement, but considering my mother looks like she is about five seconds away from having a heart attack, it seems appropriate.
"Thank God," my mother exhales, placing a hand over her chest, trying to still her racing heart. The look of relief that washes over her is so powerful that even I feel as though I can breathe a little bit easier.
Concentrating on coming down from her panic, my mother doesn't seem to notice right away that Rachel is looking a little bit worse for the wear. I can feel Rachel try to prolong the inevitable, trying to inconspicuously hide her face behind my body.
"Mom, before you freak out-"
"Oh my God, Rachel, what happened? Who did this to you?"
Before Rachel can effectively prepare our mother, she manages to spot Rachel's bruised and bleeding nose for herself. Immediately, her mind turns to the worst-case scenario. She rushes the last couple of steps towards Rachel and I, turning to the both of us for answers. Her eyes lock with mine. Silently, I can read her begging me for honesty.
Was this him?
I shake my head quickly, trying to extinguish her fears, but I can't be certain how effective it is. This mantra is starting to feel like a broken record. Every time we try to stop it, the orchestra seems to make the decision that the show must go on. It's exhausting.
"It was just glee, mom," Rachel answers as our mother reaches out carefully and cups Rachel's chin, tilting her head back in an effort to get a better look at her injury. "I was dancing with Finn."
"Finn did this to you?" my mother asks seriously. Her tongue clicks clearly upset. "Maybe you shouldn't be dancing with that boy anymore, Rachel."
"Mom, that's not fair!" Rachel cries out in protest. She rips her face out of our mother's hand, hiding a grimace so that she can clearly display her horror towards my mother's wishes. "He's the best male lead we have. He's the only person who can keep up with my talent!"
I can't help but scoff and refrain from pointing out to Rachel that Finn is graduating at the end of the year, meaning that Rachel would be better off practicing with somebody else anyway, preferably somebody who she doesn't have to wear bubble wrap around.
I keep my mouth shut because as much as I might not like him, I know that Finn is nothing but a scapegoat here. She has a stupid crush, and I am using this experience to chastise him for it because it is a conversation that I would otherwise never want to have with my mother, Lucy Sherman, and Sue Sylvester present.
"This is not okay, Rachel," my mother insists. She is overreacting, even by my standards. After months of teetering on the outskirts of our lives, my mother has decided to compensate by becoming hyper-involved. It has a tendency to make her do some pretty crazy things, I've noticed. I might not like Finn, but that doesn't mean that I want him to have to face the wrath of my mother.
"Your kids get second degree burns if they stand under your stage lights for too long," Rachel rolls her eyes. "This was an accident, mom. Things like this happen."
"But things like this can't happen!" my mother argues. "Not to you!"
Just like that, the truth accidentally slips from my mother's mouth. To this end, Rachel has absolutely nothing to say. She didn't want to hear this. I think that she was trying not to even think it.
"Look Rachel, I'm sorry," my mother sighs apologetically after a moment. She isn't really sorry, not about what she said, but Rachel doesn't need to know that. "I just panicked. That phone call really freaked me out. I don't like to see you hurt."
Nervously, my mother turns her head over her shoulder towards the two women standing behind her. She is prone to crumbling under pressure, but I need her to stay strong for right now.
The understanding that this was not Andrew's doing seems to have calmed her down a little bit, but she is still on edge. There is so much that she doesn't know. In a situation like this, that can be deadly.
"The nurse says it would be best to get Rachel's nose x-rayed," Coach Sylvester nods to my mother, who returns the gesture stiffly.
"Is that it?" She sounds like she has been anticipating something much worse. Not for the first time today, I wonder what Coach Sylvester has told my mother and Lucy over the phone to get them here so quickly and in such a state.
"She also mentioned that the doctor might want to do an MRI because Rachel was diagnosed with a concussion last week, just to be safe," Coach Sylvester specifies.
"And you didn't think to mention this over the phone?" my mother challenges. I have never seen Coach Sylvester be challenged before. Her and my mother in the same room together makes it feel like we have been sucked into a black hole. Cringing, I struggle to remember how to breathe.
"It got you here faster, didn't it?" Coach Sylvester reasons with a shrug, crossing her arms.
"I thought they were in trouble!" my mother bellows, like the mere memory of the uninformative phone call that Coach Sylvester had placed to her is enough to get her worked up all over again. "I thought that they were dying! You can't just call me at work and tell me that there's a medical emergency involving my children after everything that they've been through!"
Her voice is hard, but her face gives away the fact that she is not without emotion.
To her credit, she is learning. She is getting better at keeping it together, not only for Rachel's sake, but for mine as well. Still, I know that setbacks like this kill her. We had tried so desperately to have a normal week. Maybe we had tried a little too hard too soon.
"I needed to have a conversation with the both of you," Coach Sylvester shrugs as though my mother's distress is a small price to pay. She is unapologetic. I don't think that my mother knows the woman well enough yet to have been expecting this. "And I don't exactly have all day to wait."
"Well, I'm right here," my mother challenges, expanding herself as though trying to prove something. "So, what is it exactly you have to say that was too important to say over the phone?"
Coach Sylvester hesitates. For a moment, I think that she might actually be intimidated by my mother, but then I see the way that her eyes flicker towards Rachel and I. Immediately, I understand that it is not my mother that she is afraid of, but of Rachel and I hearing this conversation.
"In my office, if you don't mind," the woman lowers her voice, implying the desire for privacy. My mother hesitates. She looks unsure as to whether or not this is a trap.
"Rachel needs a doctor," she reminds the cheerleading coach.
"Rachel will be okay for a couple of minutes," Coach Sylvester insists. Her eyes shoot towards Rachel's, searching for confirmation of this statement. Slowly, everybody else follows. They stare at my sister, who shrinks under the attention, but nods her head softly anyway.
"See," the coach says, waving off the last of my mother's excuses. "She's tougher than what you people give her credit for."
"Fine," my mother concedes with a scowl. "But this better be quick."
"It will be," Coach Sylvester promises.
All three women warn us to stay right where we are before they shuffle out the door. Sue Sylvester brings in the rear. She towers over both Lucy and my mother, who gives us one final, fleeting look of uncertainty before disappearing into the hallway. I attempt to tell her good luck using my eyes alone, but I am not sure how clear the message comes through.
After the door closes behind the three women, Rachel and I sit for several tense seconds in silence. We stare ahead, fidgeting nervously. I look at her first, and then she looks at me back, and I can tell exactly what she is thinking.
Without either one of us saying a word to each other, we shoot up from our seats at the exact same moment. We sneak silently out of the nurse's office, slipping into the hallway where we creep towards Coach Sylvester's office.
We move carefully and quietly through the hall. Luckily, lunch had ended at some point while we had been waiting for Lucy and my mother to arrive, meaning we do not run into a soul that might be able to ruin our mission before it could even get started.
Despite the circumstances, it feels good to do something daring with my sister again. Sure, it is a far cry from sneaking out of the house to go to a party, or whatever it is that normal teenage sisters do now a days, but at this point, Rachel and I will take what we can get.
Coach Sylvester's office door is shut, just as I had anticipated. The blinds are drawn over the glass walls, too, which I had also counted on.
Scrambling, I press my ear up against the closed door. I get close, but not too close as to not risk making any noise.
Rachel and I fight briefly over who gets the better position to eavesdrop. In the end, I win because I am the oldest. Besides, Rachel can't fight too hard, seeing how she is still hurt.
I am barely even breathing as I press my ear up against the closed door. I strain hard to hear while Rachel settles to crouch below me in an awkward squat. She is so low to the ground that she is practically sitting on it. If anybody were to turn the corner and walk down this hall right now, they would probably think we are crazy.
Well, crazier.
"I want to be a confidant for these girls. I want to be somebody who can give them a safe place to go if need be."
It takes a moment for my ears to focus enough to pick up on the voices inside. When they do, I hear what sounds like Sue Sylvester's voice, although the words coming out of her mouth are remarkably un-Sue Sylvester like…
"I'm sorry, but who are you exactly?" My mother offers her input with sarcasm. I can tell that she is intimidated by Coach Sylvester. I can hear the stiffness of her voice, even through the door. She sounds offended. Here she is, trying her hardest to make things right with Rachel and I and here comes a woman who she barely knows, swooping down from left field to try to interfere.
"I am the only person here who knew that something was happening in the first place, thank you very much," Coach Sylvester's voice echoes with a stiffening silence. It doesn't sound like she is trying to rub this fact in my mother's face, it just sounds like she is trying to make a point. I doubt very much that my mother will interpret it as anything less than the latter, though. "If you recall, Ms. Sherman, I am the one who called your office first about my suspicions regarding those girls, and that was weeks ago."
"Your initial call was screened out. It didn't meet our criteria." This third and final voice belongs to Lucy Sherman. She sounds exasperated, like she has tried and failed to explain this concept to Coach Sylvester before.
"And it meets your criteria now that those girls will never get back what was taken from them?"
"You called in a report that indicated no outcry by either girl and no physical marks on them either. Your basis was off the fact that they looked sad. We cannot investigate every single call that we receive that looks like that. We would get nothing done! Unfortunately, at the time, we did not have enough to go on to interpret that there was a substantial threat to the girls' well-being."
"Well, clearly that was your first mistake," Coach Sylvester scoffs. She doesn't sound satisfied by the answer. "I thought that given your profession, I would be able to trust not having to lump you in with my fellow co-workers at this good-for-nothing school. They too specialize in not seeing what is right in front of their faces. Usually, I give them free passes because they're all morons, but you, Ms. Sherman, this is your job."
"San," Rachel whispers to me through the resulting silence, catching my attention. Her big, brown eyes are wide with surprise, looking to me for answers. "San, did you know Coach Sylvester called about us?"
Cringing, I look down at Rachel. Her forehead is crinkled in concentration as she attempts to piece all this new information together, information that me and my mother had been privy to while she was too busy dying in the hospital.
"Shh," I press my finger against my lips, silencing her before I have to give her an answer. This is hardly the time to have to explain myself.
"What I don't understand, Coach Sylvester, is why you can call CPS when you suspect that my kids are in trouble, but you didn't think to call me." My mother's voice is stiff. I can practically see the look on her face and know that it is no match for even somebody like Sue Sylvester.
"I thought that somebody was hurting them. I didn't know who that person was."
"And you thought that person was me?" My mother asks. I can hear how offended she is even through the door.
"Like I said, I didn't know who it was and neither one of them was telling me anything. Those girls' lips were sealed the entire time this was happening. I didn't think it wise to parade that kind of information around to anybody who would listen. I wasn't about to put those kids in even more danger than what they were already in over a mere suspicion. I don't know your story."
"And I don't know your story either, yet you call me in here in the middle of the afternoon and my daughter has a broken nose and you're telling me that you want me to put my kids' safety in your hands."
"Somebody needs to be a fallback for those kids, Mrs. Corcoran, and clearly CPS cannot be trusted. I want to be that person for them."
"What is your interest in my children, Coach Sylvester?" My mother's voice is rigid, all business.
"Listen, Mrs. Corcoran," Coach Sylvester pauses, sighing. "You have two incredible children out there, both of whom are as tough as they are resourceful. But they are in a uniquely vulnerable situation right now. Who is supposed to look after them while they are here? If, God forbid, something happens at school and you cannot be here, what happens to them after that?"
"Rachel has Santana…" my mother breathes. She sounds much less confident than she had only a couple seconds ago, and I can tell that Coach Sylvester's words have managed to strike a nerve.
We all know that Coach Sylvester is right. There can very easily come a day where our mother cannot be here fast enough, or even at all if something happens. Today is a perfect example. It had taken her nearly an hour after Rachel was initially hurt to get here. What would have happened if Rachel's injuries had been so much worse than accidentally getting knocked in the nose at glee rehearsal? What if next time, Andrew is pulling into the parking lot while we are in class and she is at Carmel? I highly doubt that he would wait politely outside while Rachel and I wait for our mother to arrive…
"And who does Santana have?" Coach Sylvester asks, pointing out the flaw in my mother's spotty logic. I try not to take offense at her comment. I have Rachel and Rachel has me. I thought that point was obvious by now. Our age seems irrelevant. The two of us have experienced more in our few short years than most adults do in a lifetime. We can take care of ourselves.
"Listen Coach, I appreciate everything that you have done for Santana while she was on your squad and everything that you are doing for her and Rachel now," my mother breathes. She sounds like she is trying desperately to keep her composure. "But like I said, I don't know you. I'm not going to just trust my children's safety in the hands of somebody I have only met twice."
"I understand that this decision might take some time," Coach Sylvester tells her. "But time is something that is not always on our side. Those girls have been betrayed before. There might not be a third chance to make up for it if we fail them again."
"What are you trying to say?" my mother asks, her voice growing defensive again.
"I'm saying that it is our responsibility to do what is best for those kids."
"No, it is not your responsibility," my mother points out to the woman. "It is my responsibility. Those are my kids, not yours."
"As an educator to Santana and Rachel, I'm going to have to respectfully disagree," Coach Sylvester informs my mother. "I do have a responsibility to those girls as long as they are students at this school. I have a responsibility to help them learn how to trust people outside of their inner circle again. You might find that strategy helpful yourself, Mrs. Corcoran."
"You don't know me," my mother points out icily. "You don't get to call me down here and tell me how to take care of my kids. You don't get to sit here and judge me when frankly, the things that I have heard about you aren't exactly the greatest."
"Most kids these days can't handle criticism," Coach Sylvester sighs nonchalantly. My mother makes a strange little noise like she has taken personal offense to the comment.
"Okay, these bizarre little side-comments are not helping your case…"
"The point that I'm trying to make, Mrs. Corcoran, is that Santana and Rachel are not like most other kids," the coach clarifies. "They're stronger than others and they are fiercely independent, but they need to be shown that there are still people in this world that mean good by them. And who knows, seeing different aspects of their world working together might help them to piece their lives back together."
"You're suggesting that you and I work together?"
"I'm not expecting a miracle overnight," Coach Sylvester breathes. "I am just asking for you to consider it."
A silence billows from inside of the room as my mother finally runs out of excuses to not consider what Coach Sylvester is offering her. For a long time, the only thing that I hear is the low rumble of the air conditioner from inside of Coach Sylvester's office, which the woman always seems to have blasting even though it is late November.
"I need to talk to my girls about it," my mother finally answers. It is not a yes, but it isn't exactly a no, either.
"Of course you do," Coach Sylvester sounds understanding. They seem to have at least come to some sort of an agreement. "Just let me know."
The conversation seems to end suddenly after that. Still pressed up against the door, I notice, too late, that somebody is walking towards it trying to get out. Rachel and I scramble simultaneously trying to get away, but we get caught up in a tangle of limbs and when the door opens, I lose my balance and fall forward through the suddenly open doorway. Somehow, I take Rachel with me. Before we know it, the two of us are sprawled across the floor of Sue Sylvester's office.
My mother lets out a small gasp of surprise and leaps backwards. Her face is pink and flustered. She looks like she has just seen a ghost.
Nervously, I look up into the room. Coach Sylvester is sitting behind her desk. Lucy is pressed up against the bookshelf to her immediate right with her arms crossed. Both stare at Rachel and I hard, but neither one of them says a thing. They make no indication of the conversation that they know we had just heard. In fact, they don't even look terribly surprised to find us here.
"Come on, girls." It is the only thing that my mother says. I had been anticipating an earful from her for so blatantly disobeying her orders in a time like his, but to my surprise, her tone only softens as she helps pull Rachel and I to our feet. "We're leaving."
An X-Ray confirms that Finn's clumsiness had indeed broken my sister's nose. The good news is that it was a clean break and required no treatment aside from an ugly looking bandage taped across the bridge of Rachel's nose. The better news is that, as Emergency Room regulars, Rachel was taken into the back relatively quickly and we are in and out of there in no time. The bad news is that I make it home just in time to meet Quinn at her house for her meeting with Lucy.
Quinn picks me up at home, luckily while Rachel is resting so she doesn't demand to come, and drives at breakneck speeds through Lima. Quinn is usually a relaxed sort of driver, but today she is gripping the steering wheel tight with both hands. Her eyes never leave the road, but I get the impression that she isn't really paying attention. Miraculously, we make it to her house without getting into an accident.
"They aren't even home," the blonde sighs, staring up at the house that had been hers up until a couple of weeks ago.
I glance over at the clock on the dashboard. We are a little bit early, but not so much so that Mr. and Mrs. Fabray wouldn't even be home, which appears to be the case. The driveway is empty. The house is dark.
"Maybe we can wait inside?" I suggest as Quinn turns the keys in the ignition and shuts her car off. I know how nervous she is. Maybe her parents not being home is a blessing in disguise. At least now, Quinn will have an opportunity to reacclimate herself to her home a little bit without having to worry about her parents breathing down her neck.
Quinn agrees to my suggestion. She wraps her car keys around her pinky finger by the loop and guides me up the path to her front door. She tests the handle but seems unsurprised to find it locked. What does surprise her however, is the fact that when she tries her house key in the door, it doesn't budge.
"They changed the locks," she breathes, sinking.
Quinn takes several deep breaths before settling to admit defeat. She places her keys gently back inside of her pocket before moving to sit on the porch steps. I don't know what to say to her to make her feel better. I don't know if there is anything that I can say to her. Instead, I sit down next to her. It is only when I am no longer moving that I realize just how hard the wind is blowing. The chill freezes me to the bone quickly.
We wait outside for about ten minutes. By then, I am so cold that I don't think it will be possible for me to ever get warm again. I am just about to suggest going back into Quinn's car when another car pulls up and parks on the curb behind Quinn's. I perk, hoping to finally be let inside and de-thaw, but it isn't Quinn's parents who are here, it is Lucy Sherman.
She doesn't spot us at first. She looks frazzled. I realize that between Sue Sylvester calling her into the school and this meeting with the Fabrays, she has had a very busy day. She must be sick of seeing me. When she does, her face suggests it, but then it turns, like she is only confused as to what I am doing here. I guess that Quinn failed to mention that she had asked me to be present.
"Santana, what are you doing here?" she questions, walking towards us. She sounds surprised, yet not at the same time.
"Quinn asked me to come," I explain, scrambling to my feet.
"Is Rachel okay?" she asks, perplexed.
"She's fine," I wave off Lucy's concern. "Her nose is broken, but it's not bad. It will heal on its own in a few weeks."
"Can she stay?" Quinn butts in, standing up next to me and looking at Lucy with panic in both her eyes.
I watch Lucy survey the two of us momentarily, evaluating the looks on our faces. She looks at me the longest. She has probably known me long enough at this point to understand that even if she tells me that I can't stay, I probably will anyway. Catching me snooping outside of Sue Sylvester's office door earlier this morning should be proof enough.
"Okay," she finally nods, and I feel my entire body relax with relief until Lucy turns back to Quinn. "Are your parents inside?"
"I haven't seen them yet," Quinn swallows. Her face has turned bright pink and I recognize that it has little to do with the cold. She is embarrassed for her parents, over a situation that she has absolutely no control over. I wonder if she will ever be able to recover from everything they had put her through.
"You're locked out?" Lucy asks, alarmed.
"Yeah," Quinn nods with a grimace.
"Then I guess we'll wait," Lucy shrugs and smiles at Quinn like she is trying to offer Quinn a semblance of comfort.
"You know, I don't think I've ever properly introduced myself," Lucy tells Quinn, taking a seat next to her on the porch step on the other side of me.
"We spoke on the phone," Quinn shrugs as though this is a satisfactory enough introduction.
"Well Lucy," she nods at Quinn, and for a moment I think that the woman has lost her mind, talking to herself before I remember Quinn. The blonde cringes at the sound of her birth name, but when Lucy offers the girl her hand, she accepts it politely. "I'm Lucy."
Quinn's face crunches further at the corny joke.
"You can call me Quinn," she mutters, dropping her arm back to her side.
"Where did you get Quinn from?"
"It's my middle name."
"Pretty," the woman comments in an off-handed manner.
I turn away from the small talk, which seems terribly private and shiver as another gust of wind blows through my bones. I find that while I am now fairly familiar with this process, it is strange to watch somebody else go through it. I wonder if I had worn the same dazed look on my face the day I had met Lucy as Quinn is wearing now. Probably. Most days I feel like I still look like that.
We wait for Quinn's parents for so long that Lucy almost runs out of topics of conversation. She asks about how Quinn is feeling, about her pregnancy and her plans for after she has the baby. She asks about her parents, and what her relationship is like with them. Quinn answers everything with a brutal honesty.
Finally, a car pulls in the driveway. Quinn is the first to her feet. She moves in clumsy, awkward motions that are very unlike a girl who had once been the pride of western Ohio cheerleading. Her entire body is clenched in uncertainty.
Lucy and I meet Quinn at our feet. We watch Russell Fabray step out of the driver's seat, stone faced and silently seething. His wife is a couple steps behind him. She is in the back because the front, I notice for the first time, is occupied by an unfamiliar presence. The man that I do not recognize is wearing an expensive looking gray suit and is carrying a briefcase. I can only assume he is a lawyer. He looks like a lawyer, anyway.
Mr. Fabray does not say a single word to us as he approaches. His lawyer walks in step with him, attached to his hip. Both are broad-shouldered and square-jawed. They walk with their chests puffed out like they had already won this case, which I would think can have no winners. I wonder if he knows or even cares that the person who has the most to lose here is his own daughter.
Mrs. Fabray walks several steps behind her husband. Her outfit seems extravagant for a meeting like this. She wears a tight, white dress that cuts off mid-thigh in an overwhelming burst of sequence. A white fur is draped over her shoulders. Her blonde hair still sits perfectly tight on top of her head.
The woman is used to being silenced by her husband but today, she looks more subdued than usual. I can tell that she is in no hurry to do this. She is afraid of what might come out once Lucy starts to dig.
Despite her conflicted expression, she walks right past Quinn without so much as a second glance.
"Mr. Fabray," Lucy nods to the man stepping in between him and Quinn. Her voice is curt. I have never heard that tone on her. "I could have sworn I said three o'clock."
"It's my house," the man grumbles, unapologetic as he forces his way into his house.
"What are you doing here?" he barks the second he notices my presence. I stare up at him, challenging him, but do not say anything. I have faced far worse people in my life than Russell Fabray but realize that the only difference between him and Andrew Richardson is that Andrew has nothing. He is nothing. Russell Fabray has the entire town of Lima at his back, not to mention endless amounts of power and money. That is what scares me the most.
"I asked her to come with me," Quinn stands up in my defense. I watch Mr. Fabray scowl at her.
"Mr. Fabray, Santana has an involvement with this case that we need to discuss."
"Fine." The man rolls his eyes, the universal symbol for whatever.
Turning away from us, he unlocks the front door, moving slowly as though to emphasize to Quinn just how unwelcome she is in this home, that he alone has the power to let her inside. I turn to look at Quinn, studying her carefully. Her cheeks are flaming with embarrassment. It is difficult to watch. I can't imagine what it might feel like to be put in this position by your own father.
He walks wordlessly through the door, stripping his coat and scarf as he moves. He never formally invites us inside, but Lucy follows him anyway. We trail after her like a line of ducklings, waiting to get this whole thing over with before it even starts.