Title: Inside Out
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8.4k
Summary: Santana's back from Indiana for Senior year. She lived her five years ago, but there's something different about the place.
Warning: G!P
Notes: Let me know what you think!
/
The following Monday, the next school day back, Santana feels pretty normal – maybe a little bit more chipper than usual, because she made a new friend over the weekend and that's the only reason, but she feels good.
She picks Quinn up in the morning, after hearing that her friends tyre had a puncture and is shocked at the disgruntled blonde that clambers into the passenger side. Her hair is sticking up, black bags underneath her eyes and Santana picks at her jumper when she's next to her, twisting her face in disgust. What's happened? Quinn's usually so damn prepared. Like no-hair-sticking-out-anywhere prepared, always pristine with pressed clothes and this is the polar opposite.
"Did you fall asleep on the couch again?"
Hazel eyes slide to Santana, narrowing in annoyance. "Fuck off, I was just up later than usual cramming for the biology exam."
Santana would say wanky but getting into Quinn's pants is near impossible. Rumour has it she's only ever been with one guy, but he was a childhood crush that eventually fucked the girl over and she's worn that chastity belt ever since. It's not like none of the guys try – Santana's not blind, her best friend is incredibly attractive, but she'd rather stick her dick in a blender than even attempt to think about Quinn like that – but they just get shot down every time.
"If you weren't so frigid, I'd think you were lying," Santana giggles and pokes her tongue out.
Quinn slaps her bicep and plants her feet on the dashboard. "Just shut up and drive."
/
The parking lot is relatively empty, only a few cars here and there, and Santana parks in her usual spot in the corner of the lot.
Quinn gets out the truck, slamming the door a little loudly and the brunette hisses bitch over the flatbed trunk. Naturally, Quinn waves Santana off with a middle finger and shambles into school, dropping her bag at the entrance where other students kick her books across the pavement. Probably by accident, because most people don't fuck with Fabray, but it still makes Santana chuckle lightly because this is so not her friends' day.
She wouldn't be surprised if the girl ditched out after second period. Days like this usually end like that.
Her bag is halfway up her shoulder when she feels a familiar presence, and she pauses in step, turning her head slightly to see Brittany, walking across the parking lot with textbooks wrapped up in her arms, a smile beaming at Santana. For a second, she wonders if she's actually smiling at her, or Puck's behind her and she's about to make a real dick of herself as she waves in response.
A fucking wave. What the fuck?
"Morning stranger," Brittany breathes, coming closer. She stands a few feet away, rocking up on to her toes, her calves flexing, and brown eyes forcibly look away.
Santana leans against the side of her truck, biting her bottom lip. Are they like, friends? "Hey yourself," she says and ignores the flutter in her stomach. "You're at school early."
Blue eyes narrow. "How would you know?"
If it wasn't for the truth – that Santana gets here so early and has done for the last two and a half months of living here, that she's pretty familiar with who turns up at 730 in the morning – she would be embarrassed, but she instead offers a shrug and tries to get some of her game back. That wave was a serious loser move and after Brittany said their paths should cross more, she wants to make every interaction they have a positive one.
"The Cheerios aren't don't start school until first practise, at 8am sharp," Santana recites.
There's been many mornings of her sitting in the truck waiting for Quinn to pull up watching the order of attendance. A large group of the Cheerios gather in the seating area nearest the lot until 755, and they all go to the gym together, shortly followed by the jocks, who throw footballs at each other and laugh irritatingly loud, trading whispers of their latest sexual conquests. The AV nerds and Glee kids are always inside school at 7am, making sure not to avoid anyone who might slushie them prior to first period.
It happens more than Principal Figgins would like to admit. Maybe taking the machine away would be a good start.
"Stalker," Brittany breaks her out her thoughts and for a second, she's scared, but then she sees the teasing glint in the blue and relaxes. "Will you take me to your dad's garage after school? He left my dad a message that it'll be fixed by lunch."
"It's not my dad's garage," Santana corrects and pushes off the truck, turning to walk to school. She's only doing it because she wasn't expecting that question, nor was she expecting to be spending time with Brittany alone again so soon, and she can't hide the surprise that shows in her expression. "But sure."
She's sure it doesn't come out as smooth as she'd hoped, but Brittany is skipping up beside her, thumbs looped into the straps of her backpack and they both head into school for first period.
All eyes are on them though, and that's seriously hard to ignore.
/
"So, you and Brittany, huh?"
It's Rachel that asks, which is surprising because Quinn's the nosier of the two, but she guesses due to the terrible day the blonde's having, she's probably focused on surviving the school day and not the silly hearsay moving through the school halls. She confirms this when she looks at her friend who's half asleep in her macaroni cheese.
"My dad's fixing her car, so she asked for a lift there after school," Santana explains, taking a bite of the salad in front of her. School food is crappy, and honestly, she can't stomach anything that isn't green because she's sure it's also used to feed prisoners and/or contains horse meat. She usually just has a snack and then inhales half the fridge when she gets home.
Rachel eyes her from across the table, briefly flickering to the students passing in the food hall behind Santana. "No-one else could take her?"
Well, yeah, she guesses one of the cheerleaders' friends could've offered, but she hadn't thought about it and now she doesn't know how to respond, so she just offers a shrug. "Guess no-one offered," she swallows some drink and continues eating.
It's not a good enough explanation, and Santana can see the many questions that linger in Rachel's expression following response, but she doesn't have time to focus on that because there's a loud group of people storming into the food hall and everyone's turning around to find the football team coming in, holding a trophy above their head.
It's all very Animal Kingdom¸ because Puck is jumping on the table, beating his chest like a fucking gorilla – they share as many brain cells, so it makes sense – and the rest of the team are chanting him on with a deep grunting cheer. The only good thing about this is that the Titans finally won a noteworthy trophy at the recent game, but Santana knows they're dragging it on and it's already getting old hearing about their once-in-a-lifetime win.
"Fucking Neanderthals," she comments, putting her attention back on her salad.
Rachel tuts at her. "They did well," she scolds, and Santana knows it's because of her silly crush.
"Just because you want to bone the other Jew," she juts her chin over to Jake in the corner, with Kitty wrapped around his neck. Rachel visibly winces and averts her gaze, and Santana didn't mean to gesture to that, but it just adds effect.
She's such a bitch.
"Well, your girl isn't in any better situation," Quinn interrupts, and Santana almost forgot the blonde was here.
She follows her line of sight to see Puck in the corner, his hand above the lunch hall wall as he towers over Brittany who's fluttering her lashes up at the jock. He's leaning down to whisper something in her ear, his hand brushing back her golden hair and Santana feels the same way Rachel did two seconds ago, following suit as she tears her vision away to the table in front of her when the cheerleader giggles. Santana's stomach twists uncomfortable and she shifts in her seat.
"He's such a dick," she says, curling her upper lip in anger. She pokes at the salad in front of her, her appetite suddenly vanishing. "I don't get what Brittany sees in him."
Quinn lifts her head from the table, meeting brown eyes. "Puckerman's not that bad," she defends, and Santana tilts her head to the side in a silent what did you say? "He's misunderstood."
It's weird, because Santana's never heard her friend defend that asshole. They've had many bitching sessions about him because he seems to love bullying anyone that isn't on the same social level as him, and now she's stepping in like they're friends or something.
"The fuck you defending him for?" She spits and pushes her food away. "You got a crush on Puck or something, Fabray?"
The huff that comes out the blonde's mouth makes Santana think she actually might, but Quinn stands abruptly, knocking the table slightly with her knee and glaring down at them. "I'm going home," she replies, completely monotone. Her face is completely void of emotion but her eyes are almost shut they're narrowed so far. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."
Weird.
"Bye, Quinn," Rachel mumbles, but the blondes too far gone to hear it. "That was strange," she comments.
Santana furrows her brow, watching her friend walk away and out the lunch hall. "Yeah, Berry, you can say that again."
They spend another five minutes in there before they look up at each other and make a silent mental agreement that being in the school hall with the jocks and cheerleaders is just depressing.
/
It's just gone 4pm, and the school bell rings, signalling the end of the day.
Santana makes her way to her car, waving off Rachel who heads to other end of the parking lot and she's grabbing her keys out her pocket when she hears her name called from behind. Her head whips up, and around, to find Brittany fucking skipping towards her. It's annoying the sparks she feels in her chest when the girl does that. It's becoming a habit and she really doesn't want to feel that way towards someone who's currently involved and, oh yeah, totally not interested in her.
Not that she's interested in Brittany. She's just interested in why the girl wants a life to the garage when she's so popular, people would probably jump at the chance to drive herif she announced she was car-less.
"Hey," Santana draws out slowly, eyes shifting around the parking lot in case Kitty's there with a slushie. She's still wondering if she's on her hit list or if Quinn was just trying to scare her. "Still need that lift?"
Brittany pauses, almost awkwardly, and tries to start speaking a couple times before she settles on, "If that's still okay?"
It's more of a question than a confirmation, but Santana nods her head almost instantly, not wanting to admit that she's totally okay with that. Although it strikes her she may be being too eager, so she swallows and drops her head, hand rubbing the back of her neck. She swears she loses her confidence every time she talks to this girl and she's not getting used to this feeling.
"Awesome," the blonde flashes a soft smile, moving to the passenger and sliding in, throwing her bag to her feet and it's such a practised movement that Santana thinks she could definitely get used to that.
No. No. She doesn't need to get carried away with this stupid little spark she feels when she's around the girl.
/
The garage is only five minutes from school, so by the time Santana's managed to get her thoughts in order to speak to the girl beside her, they're pulling up outside and she's kicking herself mentally for not holding a conversation on the journey.
She swears she's talked to girls before this. She's not even a virgin anymore, far from it in fact. There were a few groups of sexually confused girls back in Indiana who all found out about Santana's little – or not so little, as it turns out – secret and basically had to give it a go. Thankfully, Santana was cool with it because she never had feelings for any of them, and she got hers so, she was good.
Although the guys that went to her school weren't so cool with it, mostly because they wouldn't have been able to find a girl's special spot with a map and a flashlight and Santana could actually make a girl come.
Something the guys had only dreamed of.
Another reason why she didn't mind being an experiment for curious school mates.
Her dad is handing Brittany the keys before she registers that they're now outside the garage office, and there's a credit card being swiped through the machine to pay the bill. It's an American Express, so probably not the blondes, but Santana can't deny she'd get her dad to pay for her repairs if he wasn't doing them himself so she can't exactly cast judgment.
"Thank you, for helping me and all," Brittany starts, and Santana's so caught up in her thoughts she hasn't realised her dad's back in the office, door shut, on the phone to probably another customer. "It's been cool spending time with you when you weren't falling over or trying to hit me with your truck."
The girl is mocking Santana, who just rolls her eyes and chews the inside of her cheek. It's kind of funny, now.
"No problem," she digs her hands in her pockets, rocking on to the balls of her feet. "You should start looking for reversing cars though, on a serious note. Next one, you might not be so lucky."
It's a sad moment, because thanks to the express service, the car repair has been brief, therefore so has their alone time together. They haven't exactly breached friendship ground with Santana's sudden severe lack of communication skills – she's a freaking social butterfly, usually – and so she can't imagine why the blonde would want to spend any more time around her. First impressions are important, and hers has sucked.
"I'll try to watch out," Brittany breathes and swings her arms about, her eyes moving around like she's trying to pluck a conversation out the sky.
Santana knows she's blown it, and accepts the defeat, realising that her little feeling is just a pipe dream and begins to turn around when there's a hand on her wrist, long fingers wrapping around and pausing the movement.
"I could really do with a Taco Bell," Brittany suggests, biting her bottom lip and staring hopefully. "And we can make sure my car's fixed at the same time."
It's a joke, because Santana's dad is the best mechanic in not only Lima, but Ohio – she's bias, but it's true. Her dad won a couple certificates for the high ratings of his business – but she can't resist the suggestion. The thought makes her stomach flutter for the millionth time since she's met this girl, and she chuckles lightly, her stomach rumbling in lieu of an answer.
/
There are twelve double stuffed tacos, four bags of French fries, two orange sodas and hundreds of sauce packets spread out in front of them.
They'd opted for the drive-thru, ordering way more than either of them could stomach and headed up to Lima Point, a little lookout over the city. It wasn't like an infamous make-out spot or anything, but when they were staring at the city lights lighting up the sky, she thinks it could be a pretty fucking god one.
Not that she'll get to test that theory.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry but that's funny," Brittany's laughing, wiping the sauce of her own chin, enjoying Santana's last answer in the little game their playing. It's not like either one of them is winning, but they started asking questions about each other and it slowly went from any siblings to most embarrassing moment where they are now, Santana reliving the time she got wedgied in middle school in the middle of gym.
"Puck was even an asshole back then," she comments, completely forgetting whose company she's in and the handful of fries she's trying to eat freezes, mid-air, the fear of whether she's crossed a line insulting the girls boyfriend striking her. Good one. Insult Brittany's boyfriend. Maybe she should write a book on how not to talk to girls, seeing as she's doing a swell job at fucking it up.
But the blonde doesn't skip a beat, her eyes meeting brown ones. "Some things don't change, then," she agrees and Santana forces herself to continue moving normally.
Maybe she didn't go too far.
Still, she doesn't want to continue, and fearing the lines are becoming blurry, she searches through her mind for Brittany's next question. Something completely off this topic, because she's having a good night with good food and good company. Although, what she intends to say seems to disappear, because her mouth is moving without her mind choosing what's coming out and she's continuing the questions but about the elephant in the room.
"How long have you and Puck been together?"
Brittany stills and brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. "Just gone a year," she mutters, quietly.
"Pretty serious then," Santana urges on, fearing silence. She takes another bite of her taco and swallows. A year is a fair amount of time, especially at their age and she ignores the way her gut sinks. "You guys suit each other."
"Don't lie, Santana," Brittany's eyes flash to hers. "I know more than anyone how much of an asshole he is."
"Maybe that means you're an asshole, too," Santana jokes, unable to feel serious in this moment. She's pretty sure she's in hot water, and panicking is not the way so save herself.
Instead of answering, Brittany gets this serious look in her eye, her face dropping from a smile to a pinched purse of her lips, and she begins thumbing the hem of her Cheerio top. It worries Santana, but when she sees the hesitation of perfect lips opening and closing, she realises that it's her turn for a question and there's obviously something the blonde wants to ask her.
"Can I ask you something, San?"
It's strange, because they've been asking each other questions for the past forty-five minutes without asking permission.
But when the girl looks up, she has a totally different glint in her eye than she did a second ago and Santana isn't sure what it means. There's this… darkness behind the usually bright blue, and Brittany sucks in her bottom lips, taking in a deep breath before it comes out.
"Is it true?"
The question flickers through Santana's brain for a second, trying to find out what the hell she means, but then blue eyes are dropping, focusing on the Taco Bell wrapper spread across her lap and she guesses the blonde isn't referring to the Mexican cuisine. It catches her off guard, the natural reaction to cough pulling at her throat, and she sits up a little more, fists digging into the leather of the seats to support her weight.
People talk, she knows that. She just wasn't expecting Brittany to ask her.
"Uh –" her breath catches. Her heart's suddenly beating super loud and the fear of rejection slices through her. "Yeah," she says breathily.
"Awesome," is not the response she's expecting, purely because she's only heard Brittany say that one other time and it was when she agreed to take her to the garage earlier today. Also, because, yeah¸ it's kind of news that shocks most people, but the blonde is acting like it's the most normal thing in the world.
And it only takes a second longer to recognise theglint in her eye, and Santana's mouth pops open in shock.
Because it's something she's seen before. Something she saw in the girl back in Indiana when they asked Santana the very same question, the very same way. It's intrigue. Its curiosity. It's hunger.
She allows the heat to pool in her this time, suddenly uber aware of the proximity they're in. There's basically no other sound besides the crinkling of fast-food wrappers and their shallow breathing in the SUV, and the gap that was fairly large between them suddenly seems super small. Their eyes are locked, and Santana can't read the girl, wondering whether she should explain more, or just not say anything at all, but she then thinks that even if she tried, she wouldn't be able to say anything because they're locked in this weird staring contest that's wordless, but speaking volumes.
If anything told her this was a good idea, Santana would probably close the remaining gap between them and give into something she dreamt about last night – not that she'll ever admit that – but she's hyper-aware of the relationship they were just discussing and the serious lack of knowledge she has on this girl. How is she to know if there's any agenda behind this sudden friendship? How does she know she won't be another experiment in this school?
And why does she suddenly care? She didn't back Indiana.
The sudden clang of a branch hitting the roof of the car scares both of them, a few French fries falling into the cup holder in the centre console and Santana clears her throat loudly, snapping herself out of the trance she was under.
"It's late," she gets out, wrapping the food away and packing some into the paper bag in the footwell. "I need to be heading back. Still gotta cook my pops dinner."
It's a lame lie, because her dad's been home since just after school finished, and has probably eaten by now, but she doesn't know what else to say.
Her spine is tingling and there's a pressure in her boxers that's building in a way that only a cold shower will fix, and there's definitely a jock boyfriend that would probably kick her ass if he even knew she was up here. This whole night was a stupid idea. They'll just go back to barely seeing each other at school now there's no car to fix, and they hang around completely different social groups.
The guards she holds shoot straight back up.
"Right, of course," Brittany blinks multiple times, like she's beating herself up inside. Santana chooses to swallow the I'm sorry that burns her throat.
The car engine rumbles, and Brittany pulls out of Lima Point, the silence between them now deafening.
/
They had dropped Santana's truck off at her house before swinging by Taco Bell earlier, so Brittany drops her off back at home, the sudden regret as the school parking lot was closer, and it would've meant a shorter trip. The journey had been painfully quiet, the lingering awkwardness causing physical pain, and it's only when her hand reaches for the door handle that there's any more words exchange between them.
"I had fun, tonight," Brittany whispers, so quiet that Santana almost doesn't catch it. She turns to meet blue eyes.
She can't lie. "I did, too."
It softens the tension between them, and Santana hops out the car, twisting to press her thighs into the side of the seat at the call of her name.
"Here's my number," Brittany reaches into the glove compartment and grabs a post-it note from inside. There's writing on it, and Santana wonders why there's a pre-prepared piece of paper with her number on it. Was she planning on giving her, her number? Or does this happen to Brittany a lot.
She hopes it's not the latter.
"Text me, some time."
She's stepping back on to the sidewalk and closing the door without saying anything else, because she's too stunned. Barely even a week ago, this girl had never existed in her life – even though she kind of did – and now she's handing her over her phone number and telling her to text her like they're going to be friends. The whole thing is super strange, because Santana's not the new-friend kind of person, but there's something about Brittany that's just pulling her in.
Like a moth to the flame.
Brittany winks and Santana's knees damn nearly buckle as the SUV peels away from the curb.
/
She didn't realise just how weird her and Brittany hanging out was until she told her friends.
Quinn had frozen like she'd been zapped with a freeze ray and spluttered out that this was like a major thing and when Rachel had approached the lunch table and overheard, she'd fucking screamed like this was an earth-shattering breakthrough. It was all sorts of embarrassing, with Santana wishing the floor would turn into a black hole and swallow her up, especially when Brittany and her friends had looked over from the Cheerios table in the corner, curious as to where the ruckus was coming from.
"Shut the fuck up," she hisses, lowering her head. She should write a book – Embarrassment 101. "Everyone's staring."
"As they fucking should be Lopez," Quinn bangs her fist against the table. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Slightly offended, Santana flicks a kernel of sweetcorn from her plate across the table, hitting the blonde square in the forehead. "I'm not a loser, Fabray. I can make friends."
Rachel slides on to the seat finally, her tray in hand. It clatters on the tabletop, the girls juice spilling slightly. "With Brittany though?"
There really isn't a reason why this should be such a big deal. Brittany's actually really normal, and friendly, and good to hang out with. She's like a breath of fresh air, with her little quirks and ways of viewing things, and Santana can't deny the weird tug she feels towards this girl. Not that she'd ever tell her friends that. They'd rip into her for weeks.
"She's just like us," she defends, trying not to forcing it too much. "She's not like those other Cheer-bitches."
There are hazel eyes burning into her temple. "But she's friends with Kitty," it speaks for itself, really. Kitty is known for being a vile creature to even the nicest people. Her need to humiliate and use anything and anyone is one of her strongest powers, and Quinn is actually saying that, not just pointing out the obvious. "She's co-captain of the Cheerios and her dad is a fucking senator. How many times do I have to point that out?"
Fearing their conversation is too loud, Santana ducks her head and glares at her blonde. "Could you say it any fucking louder? I don't think Australia heard that."
Quinn picks up the kernel of corn that was thrown at her and chucks it back, missing Santana completely. "Just watch yourself. If Puck gets wind you're trying to bone his girlfriend–" Santana tries to interject, but there's a finger hovering before her, shushing her. "-he's going to throw you in the dumpster with your mouth, hands and feet tied and wait for the bin men to throw you away."
It's not untrue. Puck has been known to do such things with some of the AV nerds and Glee kids, and she wouldn't put it past him to do her worse. Especially as she's actually hanging out with his girlfriend and she doesn't know, but she suspects Brittany hasn't told him. Or anyone, for that matter. There's no-one staring at her or whispering in the halls – a sure-fire result of that type of news spreading.
"We just hung out one time," she thinks it's a reasonable response, but she knows inside she hopes it's not something she'll be able to repeat.
Rachel just stares at her, wide-eyed and confused and Quinn scoffs, picking up her diet soda and shrugging her shoulders. "Your funeral, Lopez."
Santana clenches her jaw. Hopefully not.
/
She's by her locker, sorting out books for her next few classes when she becomes away of a body behind the metal door.
Interested, and confused, she slowly shuts it, revealing a wide smile and dark eyes. It's a Cheerio – not Brittany – and she's staring up at Santana like they know each other. Which they really don't, but Santana knows who the girl is. She knows who all of the Cheerio's are. It's hard not to in a school like this, and for a second, she wonders if this is the beginning of Kitty's plan.
Shit.
"Santana, right?" The girl says and Santana shuts her locker, loading her books into her backpack.
She nods slowly. "Yeah," she confirms and searches the hallway for cheerleaders holding slushies. Nope. Still not here. "And you're Dani."
Dani narrows her eyes but smirks. "So, you know who I am?"
"Everyone knows who's in the Cheerios," Santana replies and leans against the cool metal.
She's not sure why the girl is talking to her, but she can't deny she's hot. Her hair is dyed blonde but her rooks are dark, she's got these deep, brown eyes, a rasp to her voice and her butt chin is fucking adorable. Plus, it seems to be a reoccurring thing at the minute, having popular girls come up and talk to her. First Brittany, now Dani. Maybe the rest of the Cheerio squad will follow.
Wait, no. She doesn't want that. With great popularity comes great responsibility.
Okay, lame version of the classic Spiderman quote, but it sort of applies here.
"Then why have we never spoken?"
Dani's eyebrow is raised, her face almost cheeky and if Santana didn't know any better, she'd think the girl was flirting.
A breath hitches in her throat when Dani's hand comes to the buttons of Santana's shirt, toying gently with them. Yup, okay, definitely hitting on her.
Her throat suddenly thickens, the knowledge that she's in the middle of the school hall being hit on by a Cheerio slapping her in the face. There's plenty of people watching as the students make their way to next period, and they're no doubt already tweeting about it – just because that's how shit spreads around here, like fucking wildfire – about this interaction.
Not that there's anything to comment on. This is literally the first time they've ever spoken, but in McKinley High, there's not exactly time to explain anything. Just the cold hard first impression. What you see is what you get.
Which is Dani, licking her lips and biting the bottom one, eyes fluttering in a way that makes Santana's face hot.
"Guess we just haven't had a chance," Santana replies, and she doesn't mean to flirt back, but its just natural for her. The girl's attractive. Not Brittany attractive, but Dani's hot and she knows it.
"We should make some time for that," the cheerleader looks up through lashes, biting her lip suggestively and Santana, for the second time in under a minute, swallows thickly. "Come to my party, Friday?"
It's not like Santana hasn't ever gone to a high school party – she went to her fair share back in Indiana – but this is different. McKinley High is a different high school with the same hierarchy as every other school, but these people know her from years ago. They all went to middle school together, and Santana chose not to be popular. She has all the boxes ticked to be popular, but due to her situation, she chose against it.
Plus, there's no way in hell she's going to go to a house party without her friends. That would be suicide.
"Only if I can bring Quinn and Rachel," she replies, and Dani isn't shocked by the answer. In fact, she looks like she was half-expecting it.
"Can't wait," the girl grins, her palm now smoothing down the collar of Santana's shirt. "You look cute today, by the way."
If there was any doubt Dani was flirting, that's slipped far out of her mind. Instead, she's bobbing her head like an idiot, sucking her lips into her mouth and watching as Dani walks away, hips swaying side to side and head turning, the wink shooting straight down Santana's spine.
Guess she's going to her first McKinley High party this weekend.
/
The next couple of days go by without a breeze.
No more Cheerio's hit on Santana, Quinn's being suspiciously quiet about why Santana's had to pick her up every morning in a tired mess, but Rachel's being annoying as per usual, and it restores some normalcy to this otherwise weird week.
It's not until Thursday that anything happens.
They're sitting at the lunch table, as per usual, but Santana's so very aware that she and Brittany have haven't spoken, nor has she summoned the courage to text the girl after she gave her the post-it note with her number on, and that Dani keeps winking at her every time they pass. There's no more conversation, but Santana gets this lump in the back of her throat every time they encounter each other – which apparently is a lot as they share a few classes together – and can't help but be suspicious about this whole thing.
Two months of being ignored by everyone that wasn't Quinn and Rachel, and now people are nodding at her in the hallway and there's two fucking Cheerios speaking to her like Kitty wouldn't condemn both for even acknowledging her existence.
"You guys still down to come to Dani's party tomorrow?"
Rachel rolls her eyes and lets her head hang, saying are you seriously asking again without actually saying it. "Yes, Santana, for the fourth time today, yes."
It's true, Santana's check three times already and it's only midday, but she can't hack going alone because then she'd totally wuss out and end up having to explain to Dani why she didn't go. Not that she would owe her, but considering the girl specifically came up to her to invite her, she thinks anything less than turning up would just be rude.
Plus, if Dani's there… So is Brittany.
Two reasons for going is good.
"You coming Quinn?"
The blonde hasn't confirmed attendance, but it's not like she'll have anything better to do on a Friday night. Santana stops and cocks her head. Unless she does.
"Or you two busy cramming for exams," she mimics her friends' words from the other day. There's no way in hell she's been cramming for exams every night for the past four days. Sure, the girls smart, which means she's in the highest classes, but there's something else there.
"No, Santana," Quinn draws out, clenching her jaw. "I've been tutoring on the side; I just didn't tell you guys because you'd just give me crap for biting off more than I can chew."
Santana's face scrunches in confusion. "Tutoring?" She repeats. "Who are you tutoring?"
The blonde freezes, her mouth opening to answer but she quickly snaps it shut. "No-one important," she says and shakes her head. "But I'll be there. I don't tutor on Fridays."
It's not really the answer Santana was looking for, but she guesses it's the best she'll get. Quinn's been known to tutor before, or so Rachel tells her, but she's being oddly quiet about who the person she's tutoring is and it's weird. There's no reason why she shouldn't say, unless said person has like, paid her not to say. Maybe the embarrassment of being tutored at in Senior year is just too much.
Rachel's staring at the girl, probably thinking something similar, but Santana drops it and continues picking at her lunch. She's not going to push her for the truth; she doesn't really care enough. "So, we'll meet at mine then go to Dani's from there?"
Both her friends agree to it, and Quinn changes the subject rapidly.
"Heard Dani invited you directly," the blonde asks, mouth smirking. "Looks like you're gaining popularity round here."
Brown eyes roll. "God, I hope not," she can't help but look at the group of Cheerios over the other side of the canteen. Brittany and Dani are chatting away, both pairs of eyes sliding back to meet Santana's almost on cue. She averts her gaze back to her lunch. Shit. She's been caught. "Just branching out into new social areas."
"Social areas," Quinn scoffs, standing from the table. "Just watch your back, Lopez. Everyone knows which social areas you're visiting." It's said with a knowledge that makes Santana suspicious and hazel eyes slide to the table of Cheerios in the corner. "See you after school?"
Santana nods, deciding not to delve into the subject anymore and her friend leaves, Rachel in tow, who offers a weak, confused smile back at her.
She's not the only one who's confused.
/
She almost got away with it.
She almost manages to get out of school without another hitch, but because the heavens are just beaming down on her, as she makes her way to the parking lot after school she's suddenly aware there's a few sets of footsteps behind her that are a little too fast just to be anyone. She quickens her step, adjusting the strap of her backpack on her shoulder and ducks out the school hall, into the small alley that runs alongside it.
Which, really, was a dumb idea, because it also happens to be where the dumpsters are, and it's only when she's a couple meters down the alley that she realises the footsteps are still following her and are most likely not some randos.
"Yo, Lezpez," comes from behind and shit, it's Puck.
At least it's not Kitty.
Although the jock may not be an upgrade.
The thought is confirmed when she turns and sees the way his lip is curled up, like he's pre-annoyed at whatever crap he's conjured up inside that thick skull of his. Two of his friends are next to him, Karofsky and a dope, Santana thinks is called Azimio, and they're standing in a pyramid, Puck at the point.
"What do you want Puckerman?" She hisses. She really doesn't have time for this asshole. Their interactions have only consisted of shoving Santana into lockers and her flipping him off and that's not exactly the foundation of a friendship. A friendship that she definitely doesn't want to pursue.
Two new friends are enough for the year.
Still, the jock approaches her, his crew of little bitches beside him who eye her up and down like a piece of meat. If only they knew her dick was bigger than hers. Rumours fly and Karofsky has a chipolata in his pants, Azimio a Twiglet. Girls talk, and Rachel's privy to all the gossip because she's in that damn Glee club, and they just seem to know everything.
"Heard you fixed up Brittany's ride."
Double shit.
That's the least worrying part of that night, and she panics, fearing if he knows more. Still, if he doesn't, she doesn't want to give it away.
"So?" She raises her eyebrow and glares. "I work there on the weekends, my dad repaired it, actually. It was all a coincidence."
Puck doesn't seem to buy it and narrows his eyes, suddenly towering over the girl. God knows why, it's technically the truth. She's just forgoing the bit where they had Taco Bell at Lima Point, but she's assuming he doesn't know or he would've started with that.
"It better be," he growls. "But still… You really should stay in your lane."
"And what lane is that?"
Santana's not scared of him. What's he going to do? Punch her? A girl?
There's a huge difference between shoving into her and her into lockers and taking a swing. No-one here would stand for it and his social ranking would crash hard if he even tried anything. So, she taunts him, folding her arms over her chest and tilting her head in a condescending I'm waiting expression.
It seems to work too, because he takes a step back, and she ignores the way his fists clench by his sides because even if he did take a swing at her, she's quick. She grew up around a mostly male influence, in Lima Heights, too – the rougher end of Lima – and that male influence taught her self-defence, so the jock would be on the floor in seconds.
(The Karate Kid was her favourite film growing up, too, so she may have tried to re-enact several moves the little kid did on it and somehow mastered them.)
"Loser lane," he states, and if Santana thought for a second that it was even remotely close to the truth, she'd be offended, but he's wrong.
She's in the weird limbo between loser and popular. She's smart, funny, fierce, but there's a certain mystery about her. She's obvious hot – she's not cocky, she just owns a mirror – and she's sure that Puck's only approaching her because he's threatened. Not Santana's fault his girl deserves better than him and the pathetic landing strip he calls a hair cut.
"Sure thing, Puckerman," she answers, spinning on her heels. But then there's arms scooping her up, her legs kicking in the air, and she protests loudly. "Get the fuck off me."
Puck chortles in a way that makes her want to bitch slap the guy, but she doesn't even have time to look at him before she's dropping heavily into a too-soft crash pad and recoiling at the trash surrounding her because of course, they tossed her in a dumpster. Azimio and Karofsky are peering over at her, obviously having done Puck's dirty work, and there's a banana skin beneath her palm and just ew, she's going to reek of trash for days. She's going to need at least seven showers to get this stank off her.
"Fucking assholes," she spits, waving her hands around in the air to shrug off the banana peel like it'll make the trash smell go away.
The jocks laugh loudly at her, leaving her to help herself out the dumpster as they head back into school.
Well, Dani's party should be fun. Especially now.
/
"We can still ditch, Santana," Rachel says from the passenger seat. Quinn's crammed in beside her, the double seated cab too crowded but there's no way they're not going to this party now. "That was a real dick move on Puck's behalf."
They're heading to the party now, and Santana's nearly turned the damn truck around several times, unsure whether to go still.
"Sure", Santana snorts, wincing at the memory of standing in school-lunch leftovers that ruined her converses. "Just so needle-dick can win? No way."
Quinn sighs loudly. "He's just peacocking," she explains, and the truck pulls up outside the address.
Dani's house is like a small Greek mansion. It's not as big as Brittany's, but it's impressive none-the-less. It's on the wealthy side of Lima, much like the blonde co-captains, and Santana's left wondering what Dani's family do. Old money, perhaps. Her parents aren't senators or anything like Brittany's dad. He's in the local news all the time.
"I don't really care," she says, switching off the ignition and takes a deep breath. "Let's go girls."
Rachel laughs at the Shania Twain impression and Quinn – unsurprisingly – rolls her eyes. They grab the few liquor bottles they managed to steal from their respective parents' alcohol cabinets out the flatbed of the truck and head towards the party.
/
Music is blaring, sweaty teenagers are dancing in a large living room where the furniture is pushed against the walls and there's a good fifty people here or so. There are a few beer kegs in the kitchen, visible from the foyer Santana's standing in with her friends, with guys surrounding it and one jock upside down, t-shirt hanging around his neck, chugging it in the way college guys do.
She searches the crowd, unable to distinguish the Cheerios from other kids because they're not wearing their uniforms and Santana's suddenly worrying, she'll not be able to find either of the girls she came here for.
As long as she's got Quinn and Rachel, she's good, though.
"I'm gonna go get a drink," the blonde starts, eying the beer keg situation. Her lip wrinkles in disgust and she looks at her friends. "You guys coming?"
They nod and all make their way through the crowd, ignoring the several eyes on them. Prior to Santana coming, Quinn and Rachel never came to parties. They always stayed home and Santana guesses she's helping breaking them out of their social – or not so social – shell because everyone's staring like they don't know why they're here.
They're not the only wondering why. This was a stupid idea.
She's mixing up a couple of cocktails – a concoction of juice and cheap liquor – when the first Cheerio approaches her.
Santana tries not to look up straight away when she feels the familiar prickle in the air, notifying her of the girls presence, but she guesses she doesn't do it so smoothly because there's now juice dripping on to the kitchen counter and then a hand snaps out in front of her, paper towel in hand, mopping it up. Quinn snorts beside her – fuck off Fabray slipping from her lips – and she looks up through her lashes at Brittany, who owns said hand.
Who – fuck – looks so damn good in a small black dress, that Santana's mouth runs dry at the mere image. Her hair is straight and down, cradling her impressive facial features and there's a small smile tugging at perfect lips.
Jesus Christ. This girl could end Santana with a grin.
"Make me one?" Brittany questions, but it's more like an order and Santana smirks at the dominance. How could she refuse?
She hands over the one in hand – ignoring Rachel's offense because that was totally her drink – and she begins making another, knowing she's going to need a few of these to chill the fuck out. Berry can wait a minute for another.
"Good to see you here," blue eyes sparkle. "And you guys, too," she addresses the girls behind Santana who smile in response.
"Thought we should make an appearance," Santana takes a long sip of the drink in hand, trying it before it's passed to Rachel.
"I'm glad, I didn't know you'd be coming," Brittany studies her for a second. "But how have you been? Haven't seen you around much."
There's an undertone in the question that makes Santana hesitate, because she's sure she hears another question that refers to the number she's been conjuring up the confidence to text over the past week, but she shakes it off and watches as Quinn and Rachel narrow their eyes. Sure, they know they hung out, but Santana sort of forgot to mention that she had Brittany's number. They only would've bullied her into texting something that would make her look ever lamer than she's made herself look and that wasn't something she was straining for.
"Been good," she nods and wonders for a second if she should mention that Dani invited her. It was weird, but it's not like she owes Brittany an explanation for being at the party, so she swallows that thought. "How about you?"
"Craving a Taco Bell again, actually," Brittany bites down on her bottom lip, the real meaning of her words not passing Santana. She wants to see her again, privately.
Santana ignores the inflation in her chest. "Maybe we should–"
The words are interrupted by someone throwing their arms around Brittany and it only takes a split second to recognise the girl to be Dani. How convenient.
"Santana," the brunette cheerleader's words slur, and there's a reason behind it – alcohol. "See you accepted my invite."
If they weren't before, Quinn and Rachel are now completely dumbfounded with what's going on because Santana didn't really elaborate on the situation in the hallway with Dani playing with her shirt buttons. It just didn't seem necessary at the time, and now she wishes she had because all she'd explained was that one of the Cheerios invited her which neither of friends initially believed, and now they know it was Dani.
And maybe she should have text Brittany that Dani invited her? Isn't that information they should've shared anyway?
"I'm glad," Dani continues and Brittany's eyes flicker between the two, confusion clear on her face.
Obviously, Santana wasn't the only one who didn't elaborate. Obviously, that wasn't information they shared.
Is that bad?
Feeling all sorts of uncomfortable, Santana takes a long swig of her drink, internally flinching at the burn that goes down her throat but happy when the warmth hits her stomach, and she feels the buzz of the alcohol start working, easing the discomfort. It replaces itself with this confidence – something she has in normal real-life situations – but this one seems too cliché and forced, and it might have something to do with her avoidance of the truth.
To both Brittany, and her friends.
A group of girls now standing in the kitchen next to the beer kegs call for Dani and Brittany, and Santana's never been so happy for the interruption because there's like nothing going through her mind right now that would seem like a suitable topic of discussion. She doesn't know if she should explain anything or just move on, and the hesitation brings this weird silence that hovers between the five girls.
"Find me for a dance, later," Dani moves towards Santana and Brittany just lets her.
Santana doesn't know why it bothers her, but she widens her eyes and manages to nod her head because yeah, okay. What harm is a dance going to do? Especially if Brittany's just going to let Dani get up in her grill without even flinching.
"Sure," she accepts and Dani's blowing her a kiss as she grabs Brittany's hands and tugs them towards the kitchen.
Then there's a finger poking into her chest and she's meeting Quinn and Rachel's glare.
"What the fuck was that about?" Quinn demands.
Rachel folds her arms across her chest with pursed lips. "You got some explaining to do."
Santana just gulps, finishing off her drink with a third swig.
Shit.
/
I'm vibing this fic already.