Note: This chapter takes place after the past four.
Okay, so, Glee is decent, but like, seriously boring.
Santana knows Britt is actually learning something about singing, but even Quinn is at a higher vocal level than what they're being taught - and that bitch hasn't sung a note outside of her car since her parents canceled her vocal lessons because of her deviated septum - and the dancing? Pathetic.
Her best friend is going to be a professional dancer someday, and all three of them have been doing harder routines than this since the first day they joined Cheerios. None of them really need something else Cheerios-level hard in their lives - not that Schue has the iron fist necessary to run them like Coach Sylvester does - but this? This is mind-numbingly boring.
So, she decides to actually have a conversation with Quinn and Britt about it.
"Okay, am I the only one who's bored to death in Glee?" She asks in the middle of Spanish tutoring (and it's actual Spanish tutoring this time; she and Britt are a whole foot away from each other).
After a pause, Britt says slowly, "I think I'm getting better at singing."
Santana knows it's true. They can actually harmonize now, instead of Britt just singing under her breath while Santana belts it out and Quinn rolls her eyes - jealous bitch - and now they rock the shit out of some angry-girl alternative (and also blues; every time Adele's Chasing Pavements comes on, Santana has this uncomfortable stabbing pain in her gut that she's 100% not ready to deal with yet).
Quinn gives Britt a searching look but doesn't say anything, and Santana goes on, "yeah, but Britt, I don't know how you sit through the dancing. I mean, you could choreograph a million times better than that in your sleep."
Britt nods solemnly. "I could."
Quinn's eyes move back to Santana, and she leans back on the bed. "They wouldn't listen."
Quinn is giving her the because everyone thinks Brittany is dumb look, and Santana's first reaction is to snap on her, but they both know Quinn is right.
"They would if I were a grown-up," Brittany says, her eyes lowering to the floor. (Before Santana can say or do anything to make it better), Britt bounces up and kisses Santana on the cheek before saying, "I'm going to go make some popcorn."
(Santana's cheeks flare and) Quinn's eyes follow Brittany out, then she turns to Santana. "Look. We both know that if Coach Sylvester and Mr. Schue didn't think she's stupid, they would have Britt choreographing everything."
Santana sighs and rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. (She wants to defend Britt, but Quinn isn't saying she thinks Britt's dumb because Quinn knows better, so) Santana crosses her legs and says, "we'll have to come up with something else, because I am not going to die of fucking boredom while we wait for Hudson to take his eyes off Berry."
Quinn's eyes flash warning, and she throws her a cutting look. It's whatever. If Quinn can talk about how it's obvious everyone thinks Britt is dumb, Santana can talk about how it's obvious that the Jolly Green Giant wants all up ons Santa's Ugliest Helper. (Santana willingly doesn't see the parallels and instead concentrates on the task at hand).
"Let's google that shit," Santana suggests, and pulls out her laptop, leaning back against Brittany's headboard.
By the time Britt gets back (with popcorn made exactly how Santana likes it), they've got a plan formed, and the three of them giggle about it between mouthfuls of popcorn.
[*]
It's ridiculously easy to corner Berry and get her to pitch their idea like it's hers. One easily-convinced hobbit and a few cutting comments from Quinn later, and Schue is neutered.
Nothing changes for a few weeks, but Santana can be patient. It dawns on her one day that if Dakota Stanley is as good as his website thinks he is, he'll completely massacre the Glee clubbers. She congratulates herself on being so completely fucking awesome, and when Coach Sylvester agrees, it's basically sealed.
A little more fiddling with Rachel Berry's head, moving in on Mercedes Jones and flamingly-faggotronic Kurt Hummel, and they're good.
Then the trace she put out on Puck's credit comes back, and suddenly she could give less of a shit.
She needs
(someone who won't care that she's fucking Britt -
the perfect beard - )
someone who will be able to pay for all the awesome shit she wants in her life, and he's obviously not going to be able to be that guy. Who already has a bad credit score at fifteen?
So, she breaks up with him and feels
(better -
worse - )
like she's investing in her future. She'll find somebody else easy enough.
[*]
Then Britt gets busy - something about dance tutoring, and Santana waves her off (because she will never, ever ask to Britt put her before dancing) - and Santana finds herself with, for once, nothing to do.
Puck isn't responding to her texts, Britt is obviously busy, Matt's busy as hell with football, and she doesn't want to hang out with Quinn's high-strung, depressing ass without Britt to lighten shit up.
So she ends up singing a lot more. She would like, go places and do shit, but she doesn't want to move too much after Cheerios practice, and whatever, she has a serious musical backlog to catch up on.
She chills out to Lily Allen and Norah Jones, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling. Occasionally she grabs one of her father's cigars and watches the smoke drift up to stain her walls.
(It's peaceful, and helps her ignore the tension she watches rising in Quinn, and how it makes her anxious to be away from Britt for too long.
She knows something big is coming. She just doesn't want to deal with it.)
[*]
Single Ladies happens.
She watches the dancing jerseys and somehow even Hudson is rocking the shit out of it. There's at least a thousand pounds of rippling man-flesh bouncing to Beyonce, and she isn't sure she'll ever be able to breathe again from how hard she's laughing
They actually win the game (and Santana gets swept up in the moment and ends up hugging the shit out of Brittany for like five straight minutes), and Santana has to admit that maybe Hummel is good for more than just standing around prissily while other people do the real work.
There's no way the Titans will ever actually be worthy of the Cheerios' routines, but maybe they'll actually be able to tell people at Nationals what team they cheer for, because they're not a complete fucking disgrace anymore.
It's actually a pretty awesome thought.
[*]
The night after the game, she shows up at Matt's uncle's - he's there more than he's at his parents' house anyway - and lets herself in. He's on the couch playing Call of Duty like she figured he would be, and she slouches in the doorway until he looks up.
His face lights up, and he drops the controller next to him, not bothering to warn the people he's playing with. Seconds later he's got her in a tight hug (and she kind of feels like a bitch for not being around more often; she knows he'll lock himself away and only come out for school and football if she and Mike let him), and she's laughing and slapping at his arm when he picks her up.
"So, does this make you a single lady?" Santana smirks when he lets go, falling onto his couch and swinging her legs up to be in his lap.
He smiles and gets that face that dark-complected people do when they're blushing, and shakes his head. "See, that's why I didn't tell you."
She digs her heel into his thigh playfully and says, "if you want to be a lady, Ruthers, I'm sure we can hook you up with Puck. He's decent in the sack."
Matt tilts his head at her. "I thought you guys were together."
She shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest and shifting her eyes to the television. "His credit score sucks."
(Matt knows her well enough to know she's lying, but he also knows her well enough to know pushing her won't do anything but piss her off. It's probably why they've been friends so long.)
After a few seconds, she shrugs and looks back to him, demanding, "show me."
He laughs and gets up, stretching his arms over his head while he queues up the song on his ipod. "Shut up, I had to have it for football," he teases, stepping into the middle of the room.
Matt kills it, of course, and even though she already saw half the Titans doing it, it's still just as funny when it's Ruthers going solo.
"Maybe you should join Glee," she tells him, putting her feet back in his lap when he sits back down.
"Mike was talking about it," he shrugs, grabbing the controller and reaching under an end table to get her one. "So, I might."
Santana snorts and logs into her XBOX Live account. "Maybe if you and Mike join, we'll get some dance routines that don't make me want to kill myself."
"You think?" Matt asks, starting an online game.
"I think I'm about to snipe the shit out of you," she taunts, rearranging herself so she can concentrate on the game.
She does, and he shoves her off the couch, and it's good.