Ok- so I just couldn't stop writing this today. So here you go, chapter 2. Please let me know what you think!

So if I'm dumb like everyone expects, than I shouldn't know the definition of a cliché right? Well, I do know the definition of a cliché, it's something that's tired and worn out. A cliché is an expression or idea that's overused and lost its' meaning. Number one cliché in my world? Love. Don't get me wrong, I'm not jaded or disillusioned… Oooh, big words from the blonde huh? Ok, yeah, maybe I am a little jaded. Listen, I don't say I love something unless I'm really sure I love it. My friend Kurt loves everything and everyone. The way he talks, love is just an overused adjective. He even loves a different celebrity every week. Not me. Nope. I don't love pizza. I don't love TV shows. I love my family, my cat, rhythm, music and dance. As for being "in love"? Well, I've only ever been IN love with Santana. A lot of good that's done me.

Beginning of Freshman Year

"I told you, we're not friends right now Brittany. This hurts. A lot." Santana pushes her way through the crowded hallways and tries to lose me. I'm not easy to lose though, she is my own personal homing device, I could find her anywhere, everywhere.

"Why are you so mad Santana? I don't get it." My eyes threaten to spill over with tears and I'm sure as hell not going to let my stupid expressive eyes betray me like that. I stop and breathe through my nose, clenching and unclenching my fists. In those few moments I lose her and the next time I see her she's wrapped around him. I hate him. That's not a cliché. Noah Puckerman. I throw up in my mouth a little bit and I spin on my heel to go to my locker.

During fourth period History class she walks past me, no, goddamned bounces past me and drops a note on my desk. She sits with her other friends. When she doesn't sit with me I have no one to sit with. I told you earlier I'm bad at making friends. I think it's because I'm always so in my head about things. I'm fun, I'm a great acquaintance to most people. I even figured out this summer that once I'm drunk it feels like I have friends. But I don't. Why? Maybe because I hate clichés, so I hate terms like "BFF" I mean really, if you have ninety-seven "BFF"s? You really don't even have one. I don't throw things around lightly. I don't take people for granted. So, I don't really have friends.

Except for Santana. She's the only person that's really gotten me. She knows I'm not dumb now. She says I act like I'm a river that's only a foot deep but once she waded in she realized I'm deeper than the ocean. I get where she's going with that, I liked that analogy. So why is she mad? I think I know but I decide to read the note instead of listening to Mrs. Parker drone on about some important yet boring facet of World History.

Brittany,

(uh oh. I already know this is going to be bad. She used my full name, and didn't dot my i with a heart.)

I thought we were friends. In fact, I thought you were my best friend. So, funny isn't it, how my best friend never even told me she could dance? Let alone that she had been to Brant Lake dance camps in New York every summer since she was eleven. It's weird, right that I had to find something like that out from Quinn? She said I shouldn't be mad, that you were really drunk at that party last week when you told her. I am mad though. I'm mad because you don't think I'm important enough to talk about your dreams with. I'm mad because I thought I knew you. I'm mad that you're making me spend my first few days of eighth grade without you. I know this sounds stupid but you know I don't trust people. You know I let you in. Guess I made a big mistake.

Have a great year.

Santana Lopez

Shit. Her full name. She really WAS mad. But you know what? I was mad too. I mean, come on! This is coming from someone who never told me what she was feeling. I had to guess when she needed to laugh, when she needed a shoulder to cry on, when she needed a sleepover, or when she needed a cuddle.

Damn that party. Santana couldn't go that night; her mom had her on lockdown again. So I walked to Matt's house with Quinn Fabray. Quinn was cool. She and Santana had been friends since elementary school. She could be icy and even straight up mean sometimes, but most of the time she liked to keep things light and laugh a lot. Those are the kinds of people I like to be around.

We walked to the party and immediately began drinking. I was pretty new to the world of drunk. Santana hated when I drank, probably because of her mom, so when we went to parties we just goofed around, danced around like idiots, and kissed random boys. Yuck. Kissing boys for me became a cliché. It didn't mean anything and I knew somewhere inside that as long as Santana was around it never would mean anything. So, of course, I hated kissing boys right now.

But that night, at the party with Quinn I got really drunk. I got out of my head for once. I danced. I wasn't just goofing off like I did when I was with Santana. I danced like I loved it, because I did. I felt so freakin' free out there. There was nothing stopping me from rolling, dropping, and moving with every beat. I looked up at one point and everyone at the party was staring at me. Then I heard someone shout,

"Move! Everybody out of the way, this thing's heavy!" I looked to my right and saw Matt and Puck (as in Noah Puckerman, gag!) carrying the kitchen table into the middle of our makeshift dance floor in the living room. Matt leered at me as Puck leaned over to speak to me,

"Hey Britt, every sexy dancer needs a stage. Your moves are smokin', we all want to watch." I must have been drunker than I thought and I allowed Puck to give me a hand up onto the table. The music began to thump again and before I knew it I was lost again: riding the beat, moving to the melody.

I can't tell you how long I danced, but finally I heard a voice call my name.

"Brittany! Come down! You're going to sweat to death, let's get another drink." I knew that soft lilting voice belonged to Quinn and I searched the crowded room for her. I saw her and I casually jumped from the table, to the sound of groans from horny teenaged boys, my legs shaking as I crossed the room.

"Damn, I must have been dancing for awhile", I thought. I reached Quinn and she handed me a plastic cup that I drained of its fruity concoction in one long gulp.

"Whoa Britt. Slow down Speed Racer. You're already drunk, there's no hurry." She pulled the cup from my grasp and replaced it with a bottle of water. "Here. This is what you really need after that workout. You want to go sit on the swing?" she asked as she gestured to Matt's wraparound porch. I shrugged and we walked outside. I felt so dizzy and it felt like the beat of the song was still pulsating in my head. We walked out the front door and dropped into the wicker porch swing. I immediately pulled my knees up under my chin and Quinn turned sideways to stare at me.

"What?" I asked softly and a bit defensively.

"Nothing." She replied as her gaze left me and dropped to the ground, "Except.. Where did you learn to dance like that?" I shrugged and replied,

"It's no big deal. I've always danced, as long as I can remember. I've even gone to Brant Lake dance camp every summer in New York since I was like eleven." Quinn rubbed the toe of her flats against the wood of the porch and giggled as she said,

"Um, Brittany. If I went in there and asked ANY of those boys, they would agree with me. What you were doing in there is a big deal. You're amazing." The alcohol caused me to laugh louder than I would normally and I replied,

"Thanks. It's fun." Quinn began to giggle too and really, that's about all I remember from that night.

So now Santana's mad. Okay, she can just stay mad then. I don't know why I never told her I could dance. It just never seemed important that I talk about every little detail of my life. We were best friends, sure, we had been for a few years now. But we weren't "share every second of your life" kind of friends. I honestly didn't think that was what she wanted. Maybe if she'd ask me things about myself or share some things about her, maybe that would cause me to think she really loved me like I loved her. I told you I don't say I love you if I don't mean it. I had been telling Santana I loved her since the sixth grade because I did mean it. I so totally and completely meant it. She never said it back though. I was actually encouraged by that. It showed me that she wasn't someone to throw that word around lightly either, that she recognized its value. It made me trust her. Fine, she wants to be mad, I can be mad too.

She stayed mad for three weeks. It felt like forever. I had to dig my fingernails into my palms every time she was close to me to stop myself from dropping to my knees and begging her to forgive me for being so thoughtless. Then the thought would hit me,

"I'm not the only one that's being thoughtless. At least I'm not also stubborn and childish like she is."

Exactly three weeks after I received the note of doom, Santana dropped another note on my desk in History class. She didn't bounce past this time. She sat a row over from me. I waited until halfway through class to open the note. It simply said,

Mom works the late shift tonight. Come to my house about 10? Please?

I looked at her and saw she was staring at me. She looked tired and sick or something. Her eyes had dark circles under them and I noticed her tugging the sleeve of her blouse down to cover what looked suspiciously like bruises on her upper arm. I was immediately concerned and a little angry. I caught her soft eyes and gave her a tiny smile as I nodded. She smiled genuinely at me and reached for her pencil. I grabbed mine too and prepared to listen to Mrs. Parker for the first time in weeks.

That night I snuck out of my bedroom window and jogged to Santana's house. No way my parents would have let me leave the house at ten on a school night, so no way was I going to ask their permission. I peeked into the garage window and saw no car so I walked to the front door and knocked gently. Seconds after knocking the door was being unlocked and I grinned to myself slightly, picturing Santana waiting by the door for me to arrive. She opened the door and I saw she was already dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, ready for bed. She started to smile at the sight of me, but quickly dropped her head. When she looked at me again her eyes were steely and she nodded,

"Hi Brittany." I nodded back,

"Santana." I stood awkwardly on her front porch as she seemed to wrestle with whether or not to even let me in the door. Finally I said, "Hey, if this isn't what you want I can go-" I trailed off when she grabbed my wrist and softly whispered,

"Stay. Please?" I nodded once more to work up my courage and then walked into the house without a real invitation. I immediately began to go upstairs to Santana's room. She looked at me quizzically as I headed up the stairs and said, "Where are you going?" I avoided her eyes as I said,

"We're going to talk. Really talk. I want to do that in your room. It feels more like us. Just come on." I continued walking upstairs. Santana stood at the bottom of the stairs for a few more minutes, probably trying to decide if this was the best idea. By the time I made it into her room I could hear her feet on the stairs and I knew she was following me.

When Santana walked into the room I was pacing back and forth from her closet to her desk and I began speaking as she sat on the edge of her bed.

"Santana, just hear me out ok? Yes I go to Brant Lake for dance camp every summer. Yes, I love to dance and I hear I'm pretty good at it. When there's music I feel alive, whole, and valuable. I've been pretty upset these past few weeks too because you know, even though you're my best friend, half the time you seem like you really don't want to know that much about me. That's why I haven't brought up dance. It's why I haven't talked to you about a lot of things. You confuse me. One minute you want one thing from me, and the next it's something else. I'm not dumb but I'm also not good at reading your mind…"

"Britt," she interrupted me, "are you sure about that? Because I think you can read my mind like an open book. Listen, I said all that stupid crap because I was jealous. I didn't like that you talked to Quinn about stuff you'd never talked to me about. I don't like needing you. I never planned to need you. But I do. Brittany Pierce I love you." She stalled and stammered and I saw a faint blush cover her neck. "I.. I mean.. I mean, not like that. I love you like a best friend. You're the only person I love." The blush began creeping further up her neck and she tried again, "It's just, I mean… You should tell me stuff.. You should.." She dropped her head to watch her fingers nervously twirl around one another. I slowly made my way over to her bed and dropped to my knees. I put my fingers under her chin and lifted her face to mine. I looked as deeply in her eyes as I could and I said,

"I love you too." Then I wrapped her in my arms and she laid her head on my shoulder. I was home.

"Come on." She said, and she pushed me away, standing up and walking around me.

I looked up at her confused. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"We're going to your house. We're going to sleep in your bed, and then tomorrow we're going to walk around school with our pinkies linked. This fight is over. I promise I'll try to open up to you more."

"Wait, San. One more thing ok?" She looked at me nervously but I walked over to her and grabbed her hand. I led her back to her bed and pushed her shoulders down so she was sitting. I walked back to the empty floor space, kicking some clothes and shoes out of my way. She is such a slob. I reached into my hoodie pocket, pulled out my iPod, plugged it into her iPod dock and selected a song. I had thought long and hard about the song I chose to dance to for Santana the first time. I spent that entire evening in my room choreographing and planning and finding the song that said the words I wanted her to hear so bad. So when the first hard licks from the guitar began and the voices of Relient K played through the speakers I began Santana's private show. The dance was upbeat and difficult. I put every one of my best moves into the song as the lyrics spoke everything I knew I wasn't allowed to say.

I made a habit
Of never making promises
That aren't easy to keep
And there you have it
But now I'll make you one that is
To keep you here with me

But as every second that goes by
I feel it's just a waste of time
If I'm not with you

If home is where the heart is
Then my home is where you are (my home is where you are)
But it's getting oh so hard
To spend these days
Without my heart

So I'm taking you with me
Anywhere that I
Could ever wanna be
For the rest of my life
I want you there with me
And if there ever comes a time
When I should have to leave
I hope you know that I
I'm taking you with me

I ended the dance with a no hand catwheel, landing in the splits. I thought I was going to die from being out of breath, it had been a long time since I'd done a routine that intense. I looked toward the bed and I saw Santana sitting there with her hands clasped under her chin. She slowly rose from the bed and walked toward me. She offered her hand and pulled me to my feet. She took a deep breath and asked,

"Did you mean that? Those words, were those for me?" I nodded, face flushed, still too out of breath to speak. Santana's face split into a grin and she squeaked,

"You're beautiful when you dance." Then she surprised the hell out of me, stood on her tiptoes and kissed me hard on the mouth. "Come on, "she said, tugging me into the hallway, "I'm tired." I followed her, shocked, down the stairs, out the front door, and to my house.

Thanks for sticking with the story. This is so much fun! The song is by Relient K it's called, "I'm Taking You With Me" in case you want to listen. Please review, I need your criticism.