The Lights Shine, Just For Me and You
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, or High School Musical. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Part One: Fifteen
Chapter Thirteen: Party in the USA
"Gaby, you and Troy are coming to my party, aren't you?"
Brittany drops onto the bench seat beside Gabriella, blue eyes bright and guileless. She's been looking forward to her Halloween Party (costumes mandatory, alcohol optional) for weeks, and it's all anyone on the Cheerios has been able to talk about. Troy says the Freshman and Junior Varsity basketball teams are similarly preoccupied, and Gabriella still doesn't get it. She and Troy are going, because Brittany is their friend and they can do no less, but Gabriella can't say she's particularly excited by the thought of being packed into a house full of her drunken, uninhibited classmates.
As is, she already can't stand most of them when they're sober, and maybe that makes her a terrible person, but Gabriella can't bring herself to care much.
"Of course I am," Gabriella confirms, "I wouldn't miss it for anything."
"Great," Brittany beams. She claps her hands together, delighted, "Did you want to come get ready at my place? Quinn and San are coming, too."
The prospect sounds entirely unappealing, in truth, but Brittany looks painfully hopeful, and Gabriella realises - with a dawning sense of guilt - that Brittany doesn't want to endure the unholy duo on her own.
"Sure, Brit," Gabriella replies, "It'll be good to hang out, and no one does makeup like you do."
Brittany throws her arms around Gabriella in a hug that's more gratitude than excitement, and Gabriella returns it wholeheartedly, apologetic and guilty for her inadvertent abandonment of the blonde. It seems, in her avoidance of Santana and Quinn, she's let Brittany down, and apparently Taylor isn't the only one who has been a terrible friend, of late.
"it'll be good to catch up," Brittany says, "I've missed you. I feel like I never see you anymore."
"Sorry," Gabriella winces, chagrined. She rifles around her duffel for a clean pair of socks, "That's on me, Brit. I just…"
Brittany offers her a reassuring smile. "I get it, Gab, don't worry. Sometimes, I wish I could bail, too."
"Why don't you?"
"You know as well as I do Santana wasn't always like this," Brittany says, and Gabriella's glad most of the Cheerios have already left the change rooms. The rest aren't remotely interested in them, or in the conversation they share. "I figure something must have happened to her in Mexico. She came back and she was, I don't know, meaner? Angrier? Whatever it is - whatever is making her hurt like this - it won't last forever. I figure, when that day comes, she'll need a friend, and since she's already pushed you and Taylor away, she doesn't have many of those left. Not the real kind, anyway."
"They treat you horribly," Gabriella frowns. She can't deny Brittany's words though - she'd noticed the attitude shift, too, but she'd chalked it up to family issues - and she wonders when it all got so complicated. Life, that is. "You don't deserve that."
Brittany shrugs. "They treat others worse."
"So that makes it okay?"
"No," Brittany replies, "But it makes me feel better."
"That's messed up."
"Everything about this year - with the exception of you and Troy - is messed up," Brittany replies succinctly, "Sometimes, I just want to go back to that last Friday of summer, you remember? At Chad's place?"
"I do too, sometimes," Gabriella sighs, "But, I don't know, sometimes I wonder if all this was inevitable. Taylor and San were already arguing - they had been for months - and Chad and Taylor weren't much better. Maybe it was just a matter of time."
"I don't think I can believe that," Brittany says, "That it was, I don't know, fate or whatever. We were all friends for years. I can't believe it could all just fall apart because of some sort of pre-ordained destiny or whatever. I'm not even sure if I believe in that sort of thing, because if it was inevitable, what was the point?"
Gabriella shrugs. "I don't know, Brit. All I do know is that people change - that relationships change - and that's just life. People come, and sometimes they stay. Other times, they go.
"I'm not prepared to let her go yet," Brittany says, "I'm not prepared to let any of you go yet. Is that dumb?"
Gabriella smiles softly. "I think that's called loyalty, Brit, and it's not dumb at all. You're a lot stronger than the rest of us."
Brittany's eyes are bright with tears. "It doesn't feel like it."
Gabriella hugs her friend, because she doesn't know what she could possibly say in response. It's obvious that Quinn and Santana's treatment of kind, compassionate Brittany is wearing on the blonde's spirit - not to mention their behaviour concerning their WMHS peers - and Gabriella silently chastises herself for abandoning the other girl to the caustic, unpleasant person Santana has become as Quinn Fabray's new best friend.
"I'm sorry I let you down."
"You didn't," Brittany insists, "You want no part in what they're doing, and that's fine. I wish other people were as brave as you."
Gabriella's not sure she agrees she's brave, but she doesn't argue. Instead, she resolves to do better - to be better - tugs on her sneakers, and wrangles her hair into the high ponytail Coach Sylvester demands of her Cheerios. She does her makeup and packs her bags, and all the while, Brittany chatters enthusiastically about her cat, her dance classes, her art lessons. By the time they leave the change rooms and meander towards their lockers, they're busy rehashing the most recent episodes of Grey's Anatomy and Gossip Girl, and it's easy, and Gabriella can pretend nothing has changed at all.
-!- -#-
Gabriella takes the bus straight from her workplace to Brittany's, and walks from the bus stop with her headphones in her ears, TLC on loop, her feet aching in her sneakers. It had been a long shift, and Gabriella's desperate to wash away the stink of grease and coffee and burgers from her skin and hair and clothes, but she sardonically wonders what the high and mighty Quinn Fabray will think about her appearance - makeup smudged, ponytail limp, uniform stained - and reasons she'll find out soon enough.
Mrs Pierce meets Gabriella at the door, and they chat for some time, Brittany's mother determined to catch up on all that she'd missed in Gabriella's life since they'd seen each other last. She's tickled to learn Gabriella and Troy are now together, pleased to hear she's doing well in her academics and athletics, impressed to learn that she and Troy both have jobs.
It's only when Brittany piles downstairs in only her towel that they're diverted, and Gabriella grins at the sight of her friend, who grins back in turn, heedless of her mother's long-suffering sigh.
"Brittany, where are your clothes?"
"I was just getting out of the shower when you called," Brittany shrugged, "I thought you told me it was polite to meet my guests at the door."
"I thought wearing clothes was implied."
Brittany shrugs again. "It's only Gaby."
Mrs Pierce rolls her eyes, but she doesn't pursue the matter. Instead, she throws up her arms in resignation, and wanders further into the house with a shake of her head. Brittany, meanwhile, beams at Gabriella, takes hold of her hand, and tugs her back upstairs.
"I'm glad you made it," Brittany says, "Quinn and San have been talking shit about everyone for ages, and I'm so over it. Do you want anything? Water? Food?"
"A shower?" Gabriella requests, "I just got off work, and I feel disgusting."
"Sure, I'll grab you a towel," Brittany acquiesces, "You know where everything is. Feel free to use any of the products in there."
Brittany retrieves a towel from the linen closet as they pass it by, walks with Gabriella to the bathroom door, and informs her that she would be in the bedroom when Gabriella is done with the shower. In turn, Gabriella nods her acknowledgement, shuts the door on Brittany's retreating back, and steps under the high-pressure spray with a grateful sigh. It's tempting to linger, but she remains only as long as it takes to wash her hair and scrub herself clean, gets dressed in (part of) her costume when she's done, and traverses the familiar hallway until she reaches Brittany's pale pink and creme bedroom.
"Hey," Gabriella greets Santana and Quinn. Brittany waves from her dresser, where she's busy with her hair straightener, "Sorry I'm late. There was some drama at work."
"Everything okay?" Santana asks absently. Most of her attention is on her toenails - she's painting them a bright, cherry red - and Gabriella's fairly certain her fellow Latina couldn't care less about Gabriella's answer.
"Yeah," Gabriella confirms, feeling oddly hollow, "Everything's fine."
Gabriella wanders over to Brittany, and blow dries her hair as Brittany straightens her own. They linger in companionable silence until they're both done (hard to do anything else, with the blow dryer going), and then without talking about it, Gabriella sets about helping Brittany with her hairstyle. They switch places when she's done, content to chat between themselves as Quinn and Santana do the same.
Eventually, however, Quinn addresses Gabriella.
"Are you and Troy wearing matching costumes?"
"No," Gabriella denies, and doesn't explain that neither of them are invested enough in Halloween to make the effort. She's pretty sure Troy's just going to wear his 'Vote for Pedro' T-shirt and claim he's Napoleon Dynamite, but Gabriella - in a mini skirt, combat boots, prop glasses, and a green, oversized jacket liberated from her father's closet - at least wants to pull off a moderately convincing Daria.
"Too bad," Quinn replies, a peculiar grin on her face, "That would have been cute."
Gabriella shrugs, unruffled and still uninterested in the prospect. She and Troy are a couple, yes, but she doesn't need matching costumes to prove it, or to prove their relationship at all, really. Moreover, Quinn's opinion isn't one Gabriella particularly cares for, and she bites her tongue on the desire to point out that fact to the blonde in question.
"Huh," Santana wiggles her toes, brows furrowed in thought.
"What?" Gabriella asks her.
"Nothing," Santana shrugs, "I just figured you two would be one of those cutesy couples."
Gabriella furrows her eyebrows, nonplused, and shares a perplexed glance with Brittany through the mirror of her vanity.
"You know," Santana continues, "Matching costumes, silly pet-names, blah blah blah."
"There's nothing wrong with relationships like that," Quinn opines. She wears that same peculiar smile on her face, and Gabriella can't shake the feeling she's being mocked somehow.
Gabriella's fairly certain the only time she'd use a cutesy pet-name outside of a joke is if she were lobotomised first, and expressing as much, Santana laughs - more cackles, really - and for a moment, it's like it's summer again. Brittany's giggling, wielding her hair straightener with deft, expert fingers, and she could almost pretend Taylor's in the bathroom, or headed downstairs to raid the kitchen, but as she meets Quinn's sharp green eyes, the feeling doesn't last.
Oddly unsettled by Quinn's gaze, Gabriella busies herself with her phone as Brittany finishes up with her hair. She listens to Santana and Quinn's conversation - they're talking about their WMHS classmates, and the question of who would turn up that night - and she chats idly with Brittany about the latter's preparations for the party until they're interrupted by a knock on Brittany's bedroom door.
It's Brittany's mom, with word that she and Mr Pierce are headed out and would they please be careful. She compliments them all, leaves a moment later, and Gabriella marvels.
"I can't believe they're letting you have a party."
"They're paying Andrew to supervise."
Andrew is Brittany's older brother. He's 21, studying Sports Science at OSU's Lima campus, and he's more likely to provide Brittany with alcohol - or sleep with the senior cheerios - than genuinely supervise things. Brittany knows it, Gabriella and Santana know it, Quinn probably knows it too, but none of them mention it.
"Lucky you," Gabriella says instead.
Brittany offers her a conspiratorial grin. "I know."
-!- -#-
Later that evening, Gabriella and Troy are sober, though they are some of the few people who are. As their friends dance, or play drinking games, or sneak off for some private time, they've stretched out on the outdoor chaise, content to cuddle, to kiss languidly between sporadic bouts of conversation and companionable silence. The party continues on around them, EDM blasting from the speakers, the voices of friends and strangers indistinguishable in the din.
That is, at least, until Brittany flops down beside them, fanning her face and with a bottle of water in her other hand. She's joined shortly thereafter by Mike and Matt, Chad, Zeke, and Jason, and reluctantly, Troy and Gabriella straighten themselves out, sit up and make an attempt at appearing presentable under the collective gaze of their entertained, indulgent friends.
"We wondered where you two had disappeared to," Mike says conversationally, "Danforth thought you'd snuck off to one of the bedrooms."
"Classy," Gabriella replies.
"I'm sure Brittany would have loved that," Troy contributes.
Brittany shrugs, unruffled. "That didn't stop San and Puck."
"Santana and Puck?" Gabriella echoes, bemused, "Are they together?"
Chad scoffs at the thought. "As if."
Gabriella glances at Zeke, who is unfazed, and tries not to grimace. Santana can do what she wants, really, but the other girl's casual treatment of sex is sort of baffling. How does Santana not worry about the potential for a pregnancy, or an STD, every time she hooks up with someone?
Gabriella understands, of course, that there is enjoyment to be had in the act - she's started exploring her own pleasure since she'd started seeing Troy, after all - but Gabriella can't ever imagine being so reckless with her body and sexual safety like that. As is, she and Troy have only recently furthered their physical relationship to the point of heavy petting - barely, at that - and it's intense and nerve-racking to do those things with him. She can't imagine what it'd be like with anyone else, never mind someone she barely knows.
In any case, what Santana chooses to do with her body is none of Gabriella's business, and Gabriella can only resign herself to the fact.
With that in mind, she replies with a wry grin, "Each to their own, I guess."
Troy runs his hand down her back, wraps his arm over her shoulders, and tugs her into his side in a gentle, one-armed hug. As he does so, Jason makes an idle comment about the drinking games inside, and the conversation drifts from Santana and Puck, to the music, the drinks available, the embarrassing, drunken hijinks observed that evening. They talk about their weekend thus far, Friday night's football game, TV shows and homework and their respective Sunday plans. It's pleasant, hanging out with friends, talking about nothing and shooting the breeze, and Gabriella almost regrets it when Troy informs her that his mom's arrived to collect them.
"You guys are heading off?" Brittany assumes. Gabriella nods her confirmation, and offers Brittany a warm, fierce hug. "I had fun with you today, Brit. Thanks for having me this afternoon. I've missed you."
"I've missed you too," Brittany answers. She returns the hug wholeheartedly, "I'll come with you to get your things. I locked my door, so…"
Gabriella addresses Troy, "Meet you in the driveway?"
Troy nods his acquiescence, shoots a text to his mom, and starts exchanging those cliche bro hug back slap things with the guys. Gabriella hugs them as well, just because, before she and Brittany retreat inside with their arms linked.
It doesn't take long to gather Gabriella's things, to wade through the party goers, and to reach the driveway, and Brittany's arm is still linked through hers, the blonde apparently reluctant to part ways.
"Do you think maybe I could come over next Saturday?"
"I don't see why not," Gabriella shrugs, "I'll have to confirm with Nonna, but I can let you know?"
Brittany smiles, pleased. "Great."
They hug again, before Troy makes his presence known, and informs her quietly that his mom is still waiting.
"Let's go, then," Gabriella acquiesces, "Stay safe, Brit."
"I will," Brittany replies, "Night, guys. Happy Halloween."
Gabriella, already turned towards the end of the street, casts her gaze over her shoulder, a fond smile on her face. "Happy Halloween, Brit."
