Hi bbs! Let me start off by saying I am just overwhelmed with the positive response from this story, and I am so grateful. 9 reviews on the last chapter! Crazyyyy! I didnt even get that many when I wrote Camp Rock fanfiction, and let me tell you, those JoBros sure have a lot of crazed, reviewing fans. Anyone wanna make it 10? ;)
So, heres the second chapter. I dont usually post on weekdays, but I'll make an exception. And for those who want to know all about their separation and reunification, be patient darlings. It'll all make sense eventuallllly.
To Melissa: Thanks for your review! And Santana is intended to be exotic, but in a way that is like an American, mixedrace beauty. Katya is meant to be the foreign one with the crazy last name. I kept Santana's last name simple, because a lot of celebrities have changed their formerly "convoluted" and hard-to-pronounce names to something that is easily said, or rather easily remembered. Plus, Madison has sentimental meaning for her. Thanks for your input, hope that cleared things up.
Noah Puckerman ate his "dinner" slowly, bite by bite. He wasn't savoring it though. He'd done this long enough to know that if you ate the processed mush they passed off as food too fast, you'd be tossing and turning all night long with a gnawing pain in your belly. And life sucked enough already.
The guys in the corner of the station were huddled together, occasionally whooping and well, being guys. Puck stood up, dumped his tray, and moved over there to see what all the commotion was.
"What's going on over here, fellas? Having another poker tournament? Cause I got a couple of Clovis cigarettes to offer if you boys have room for one more," Puck said suavely. Having been in the service for six years, it was weird that he hadn't made very many friends. Joining the military was usually accompanied by a feeling of camaraderie among troops, but Puck was never one for "bromances." Still, when you're stuck in the middle of the desert bored out of your mind, friends are good. Especially when you're cut off from the rest of the world. He hadn't touched a computer for months. And on the rare occasions that he had the chance to surf the internet, it was only to write emails to his mom and sister. Not that he was complaining, he'd signed up for this: the most rigorous and secluded division of the U.S. armed forces.
"Nah. Tucker got one of them Victoria's Secret catalogues from one of the lieutenants. Not as good as a Playboy and a couple months old, but pretty damn close," commented one of the new recruits, O'Sullivan.
"Let me see," Puck said, grabbing the dog-eared magazine. It had been a while since he'd gotten some action, not that he really wanted to here anyways. He'd tried to get with some of his female cohorts, but it was hard to get hot and heavy with some chick who looked just like you except with long hair in a rank barrack in the middle of nowhere. He'd expected the usual blonde skanks, the ones with double-Ds and collagen pumped lips. Not that that was terrible or anything, but to be honest, he'd seen it all by now and very little impressed him anymore. He flipped mindlessly through the pages, the guys behind him hanging on to each glossy image. He stopped at the centerfold, and did a double take. The alluring brown eyes that had stared back at him seemed familiar…like he'd seen them somewhere before…like he'd gazed into them before. Oh shit. Oh shit.
"Puckerman, you okay?" asked O'Sullivan. Puck was sure he looked like a madman, eyes scanning the page hysterically, looking for a name. Yup. It was her. Santana. Santana Madison. She must have changed her name. He could still recognize her, although some things were a bit different from what he remembered. Her lips seemed a little poutier, her breasts a little perkier, her legs a little longer. Everything was just a little…off.
Now, an exclusive interview with our longtime Victoria's Secret model Santana Madison, who celebrates her fifth year as an Angel this winter. Santana dishes about love, success, and more.
Victoria's Secret: Of course, we need to start with the burning question. Do you have a special someone in your life? A boyfriend maybe?
Santana Madison: (laughs) Everyone wants to know that! No, nobody serious, but I'm always looking.
VS: How do you stay so thin? Share your diet tips!
SM: Well, since I work in this industry, it's really important to me to stay fit. I actually don't diet, but I do have this super secret shake I drink religiously. My high school cheerleading coach actually introduced it to me. I would tell you what's in it, but I'm sure she has a copyright on it or something.
VS: Nice to know. So you've walked in high fashion shows in Paris, Milan, but you also work with us in our runway shows and our print ads. Which do you like better?
SM: It's hard to say. Obviously, haute couture is glamorous and beautiful, but it's so stressful and draining. Working at Victoria's Secret is great because it's so fun! And the girls are great too.
VS: A lot of readers want to know what it feels like to wear the wings down the runway.
SM: Oh, that's a really good question. No, as fun as they are, they're actually really heavy. Having to walk down the runway with them strapped onto your back is difficult, but worth it cause they look hot! Oh my god, oh my- (starts hysterically laughing)
VS: What?
SM: Oh, nothing. Sorry. I just remembered this music video I was in in high school. It was a remake of that terrible song, Run Joey Run. And me and my best friend, we wore these hugemongous angel wings, like the Victoria's Secret ones but ten times less exciting. Oh man, that was an exciting day.
VS: Oh cool! You'll be walking in our annual live fashion show December 10th, broadcasted on CBS. Now our last question, from show sponsor Lotto. Do you have a lucky number?
SM: Uhm…yeah, I'd say I do. It's 20. That number, uhm, it reminds me of someone I used to know. Someone who was really important to me. Yeah. 20.
VS: Well thank you for taking the time to talk to us Santana. We'll see you next in the print ads for the Invincible campaign. And for the readers out there, don't forget to tune in December 10th!
SM: It was a pleasure. And yes, watch the show!
"I know that girl! Fuck, she finally made it. The crazy bitch finally made it," he said, his voice hinting disbelief. Sure, he'd always known she had the potential to do it, but fuck, this was real. The last he'd seen of her was in the background of a jeans ad in a magazine at the recruiting office lobby four years ago when he signed up for this gig. The last time he actually saw her? That's a different story. Now she was a Victoria's Secret Angel. She wasn't on billboards for local diners anymore in middle America anymore. She'd gone off and become a national icon while he went away to protect their country.
They stood in the parking lot at school, dripping wet from the pouring rain. It was well after hours, and they'd just finished their locker room tryst after their respective Cheerios and football practices. He pushed her into a puddle and she shoved him, giggling. Nobody else was around to witness the two teenagers in their playful, uncharacteristic state. He pinned her against his truck and planted a kiss on her. A cough interrupted their impromptu makeout session. They broke apart and noticed the woman standing in front of them. She was impeccably dressed and hiding under a Burberry umbrella. Santana hoped she hadn't been here watching them the whole time, because that would have been really creepy.
"Yeah?" asked Puck. Sure, the lady was totally hot in that sophisticated way and on any other occasion he would have asked for her number, but right now he had Santana and that was more than enough.
"Actually, I'd like to speak to your girlfriend," the lady said. Santana ducked out of Puck's arms and raised an eyebrow. "I'm Stacy Longchamp, and I'm a modeling scout from New York. I've been in town for a couple of days, looking for some fresh talent. I saw you at your cheerleading practice and I think you're just what I've been looking for."
"Seriously?" Puck asked incredulously.
"If I wasn't serious, I wouldn't have waited this long for you to finish. So what do you say? I could represent you and with your look, I'll find you a job in no time. Maybe you'll even be the next Iman. Of course, we could stick to local modeling if you wanna go that route," she added with a giggle. Santana remained silent; Puck nudged her.
"Uhm, I'll think about it," Santana hastily said, meaning no.
"Sure, of course. Here's my card. Call me if you decide you want to be a model," Stacy said, before walking away towards her car, heels clicking against the wet asphalt.
A couple days later, he was still thinking about what the talent agent said. She, however, had completely disregarded the thought. She had ditched the business card in the glove department of his truck, where it stayed. They were sitting in the back of choir room, ignoring whatever Mr. Schue had to say about seminal Broadway classics.
"Guess what I found when I was cleaning out of my truck this morning," he said.
"What?" she replied, feigning interest. She was filing her nails, of course.
"That talent agent's card," he said, fishing it out of his jeans pocket. The heavily gold embossed card was crumpled and looked like it had gone through a couple of wind tunnels.
"So?" She continues to file her nails, her pinky finger a flawless square shape now. He shrugged
"I don't know, don't you wanna like call her at least? You'd be good at it I bet, you love attention. Plus you'd look smoking hot," he suggested. He figured she'd be more excited about the whole thing. She could be a fucking model. She could have a chance at getting out of this shithole.
She scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. When she said model, she meant being a K-Mart print ad wearing reindeer sweaters for the holidays, not strutting down some runway in Paris. Please, why would she come to here of all places to look for a real model, if she was legit?" Of course, she was being her usual cynical and skeptical self about everything.
"Wanna know what I think?"
"Not really, but what?"
"I think you're scared."
She let out an artificially shrill laugh, one that caused Rachel Berry to turn around and glare at her. Whatever.
"What would I be scared of? Being stabbed to death by a jealous stage mom with a tacky stiletto at the aforementioned K-Mart shoot?" She refused to meet his daunting gaze and moved the nail file into her other hand.
"No. I think you're scared that you might actually have a chance at getting the hell out of here, and I think you're scared you're going to go and fuck it up. And it's okay San, because I'm not going to let you."
Silence. She raked her sharpened nails up and down his arm, her charm bracelet jingling against her wrist. She didn't know why he cared so much. It wasn't like he was the one who was scouted for a modeling job. Maybe the real question was why he cared so much about her. They weren't even dating. They were…undefined.
"Fine. So I am. There are other ways to have a real life; I don't need to be a model. What are you going to do about it?" He knew her confession was sincere, and the fact that she had admitted her fears to him was a testament to how mature their relationship was, whatever it was. Proof there was a deeper side that no one expected from the two of them.
"I'm going to make sure you call that agent, make sure you set up an appointment, and make sure you become a model, even if I have to tie you up. Because this is legit, Santana. This could be it. You're gonna kick ass," he said genuinely. Fuck their little plan, fuck the suburban housewife ideal.
"I hate you," she snipped, and he knew immediately that she'd given in.
"Hate you too." But the truth was that he didn't hate her. In fact, he loved her. And the only thing worse than a boy who hated you was a boy who loved you.
That night at his kitchen table, she called Stacy Longchamp. A month later, she was indeed shooting a K-Mart ad, wearing a dowdy outfit no less, but it was okay because she wasn't always going to be. She was on her way. And no one was more proud than Puck.
"Ha. What did a supermodel like Santana Madison want to do with someone like you?" teased O'Sullivan, "Are you sure it's her you knew?"
"Very funny, O'Sullivan. And yeah, I'm sure it's her. We went to high school together. Look, her lucky number is my jersey number…" Wow. He'd never forgotten Santana, despite the way things turned out. But to hear that she still remembered him, especially now that she was a celebrity and he was still a nobody, it felt good. It felt good that he meant something to her. It felt like he'd actually done something in his pathetic little life.
"Did you screw her? She's smokin', man," asked O'Sullivan. Although O'Sullivan was just stating the obvious (she was smokin'), Puck found himself getting a bit agitated. He'd always been defensive of the relationship he and Santana had, whatever it was.
"Yeah, I wonder if those tits are real. They look too perfect. Actually, who cares they aren't. I'd fuck her anyway…" chimed in Tucker.
"Hey, watch it. Don't push me, Tucker," grunted Puck.
"What? So you did do her? Was the sex good?" taunted Tucker. Okay, that was it. Puck grabbed Tucker by the shoulders and pushed him against the metal wall, the catalogue between them slipping to the ground. Puck was the first to throw a punch, his hand coming in contact with Tucker's nose. A loud crack was heard, and blood gushed out. Tucker pulled back and jabbed Puck in the throat. But before their scuffle could continue (and both of them had it in them), the commanding officer had pulled the two of them apart with the help of the other cadets.
"What the hell, man? What was that for?" yelled Tucker.
To be honest, he didn't even know. All he knew was that he definitely wasn't sorry. He picked up the catalogue, ripped out the piece about Santana, and walked out.
So Puck is in the army! Bet y'all didnt see that one coming! Aho! Like it? Hate it? Let me know what you think. And for all of you silent readers, drop a review and say Hi! Reviews make me REALLY happy and motivate me to post...Just sayin' ;)