She decided to try the most direct approach—just plead her case to the Latina. She found her in the hall on her way to first period.
"Santana," she called, tapping the Cheerio's shoulder.
The girl paused a moment to identify the speaker, glare, then turn heel coolly without bothering to address the brunette.
Rachel would not give up that easily. "Santana, please; I just need—"
"Go to hell, Berry," the girl retorted just before slipping into a classroom.
Rachel halted, staring at the door that now separated her and her goal. Maybe she was going about this the wrong way.
During Chemistry the universe was apparently on her side, because Mr. Kurnett declared it study hall to catch up on old work. While half the class scurried between make-up projects, Rachel decided to take a chance on another friend. She folded a note and passed it behind her, before making her way to the front and asking for a hall pass.
Two minutes later, she and Matt were standing in an empty hallway.
"What's up Rachel?" he asked, curious but kindly. Rachel took his attitude as a good sign: Matt was another of the more popular Glee members, and they were not innately friends; but she needed his help if she was going to achieve her goal.
"I need your help with Santana," she told him upfront. Matt tilted his head in confusion, so she continued. "I need to get something from her, and I was hoping that perhaps, since you two were involved in a personal relationship, you may know how I could convince her to relinquish the object in question."
Matt smiled a little. "This is for Puck, right?" he asked, and Rachel blushed but did not reply. She decided it would still be safer to keep her motives to herself. He grinned a little wider, however, at her color, and replied, "Man; you're both crazy."
"Okay," he said, standing straight. "San—I'm probably not the person to help you get to her. Honestly, we only dated like two months, and she wasn't exactly exclusive."
"Surely you must know something about her that could put me in her good graces enough to surrender what I need?" Rachel insisted.
"Dude, I'm not the one who would know Santana's secrets," Matt started to shake his head, then jerked it back up in realization. "But Brittany would." He smiled at his own epiphany. "Of course—talk to Brit. She and San are best friends and then some. You get into her good graces, she can probably get you into Santana's."
Rachel hugged Matt tightly, thanking him profusely. She scurried back to chemistry and waited impatiently through the rest of her classes for the lunch bell, then went off in search of her new target.
She caught a glimpse of her walking up the stairs, and quickly moved after her. She caught up to the blonde just as she reached the door to the roof.
"Brittany—" she began, then noticed the excited grin adorning the girl's face. "What are you doing up here?"
"Summer Foley told me that I was being promoted to the top of the period, and that made me totally fly," Brittany reported happily. "I couldn't remember ever doing it, so I decided to practice during lunch."
Oh good lord. Rachel took Brittany's hand and began leading her back down the stairs to the safety of the first floor. "Brittany, I believe when she said fly, she was speaking figuratively about your upgrade in the Cheerios."
The blonde tilted her head in confusion. "She was saying she thought I look fat?" she asked. "Because I'm three inches taller than her and still ten pounds lighter."
Rachel shook her head. "No," the brunette amended. "I think she was using slang to tell you that you did well." This conversation was going nowhere she wanted it to. "Brittany," she segued; she didn't have time for subtlety. "Have you ever looked inside Santana's locker?"
"Lots of times—I hide my diary there so my cat can't find it."
Rachel nodded, not even trying to figure out that last sentence. "Have you ever seen a large envelope in it?" she pressed.
Brittany nodded again, apparently happy that she could accurately answer the questions. "Sure; the Slam Pages," she informed the other. "San and Q love those."
"Right," Rachel worked to word her next question carefully. "I need to get those from Santana for Quinn, but she probably won't want to give them to me right?"
"Nope; San doesn't even let Quinn hold onto them for very long," Brittany told her, playing with her ponytail.
Rachel stopped them on the stairs. "Britt, if I got into Santana's locker, how would I get the folder?"
Brittany was still blissfully clueless about the direction of the conversation, now looking around for her bestie among the throngs in the hall below them. "Well, you'd have to get past Summer and her wannabe cronies," she parroted the Latina's description of her fellow Cheerios. "But that wouldn't be hard—San says they eat their feelings, so just bring them bad feelings and they'll probably get sick."
"Uh, Okay," Rachel acknowledged, urging the girl on. She knew the information was probably useful, but she was running out of time. "What else?"
"And you wouldn't want to take any of the food from the locker except gum," Brittany informed the brunette. "Once, I drank part of San's pomegranate smoothie and my teeth turned red for a week."
Rachel's eyes went wide at the last point, but she still motioned for the blonde to continue.
"Oh, and once you get your hands on the folder—don't open it," Brittany finished proudly. "It's a super secret," she whispered.
The brunette was about to ask how she could convince the Cheerio to give her the folder when Brittany suddenly shouted, "San!" and ran toward the Latina.
"B!" Santana shouted, her grin turning glare as she noticed the petite girl beside her friend. "Where have you been?"
"I went up to the roof to practice flying, but Rachel said my body wasn't light enough for it," Brittany summarized, and her friend's eyes glared at the brunette's in accusation.
"Apparently, there was a misunderstanding between Brittany and Summer regarding her promotion to the top of the pyramid," Rachel explained quickly.
"She said I could fly," Brittany added disappointedly.
Rachel didn't miss the darkened expression that took Santana's face before it softened for the bubbly blonde. "Britt; you're not at the top of the pyramid hon, remember? Q's still got that spot," she told the now crestfallen girl. "You're just below her, right next to me," she added with a smile as her friend nodded.
"So I can't fly?" Brit pouted. "Then why would Summer say I could?"
"Because she's a bitch who's going to be sporting black and blue as her new colors as soon as I find her," Santana muttered angrily, taking the blonde's pinky in her own and smoothing her hair. "Come on B."
Rachel knew this may be her only opportunity. "Santana?" she said.
The girl stopped, giving the girl her second once-over in one day. "Q sent you, right?" she asked, not waiting for a reply. "Fine; meet me in the locker room after school and I'll give it to you." With those words, she guided Brittany back to the safety of the cafeteria.
The bell signaling the end of school rang as Rachel stood outside the exclusive Cheerios locker room (an addition made by Sue adjacent to the original locker room after she insisted that her girls shouldn't have to deal with the added stress and potential taints of the insignificant student body). She'd convinced her history teacher that she needed to leave early for an appointment, citing her immaculate record as grounds for leniency; all so she could get here now, to avoid a scene. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and stepped forward, her hand reaching out towards the door.
"What do you think you're doing here loser?" a voice called from behind her. The brunette whirled around turned to see three Cheerios—more specifically, Summer Foley and her two friends (or cronies, as they had been aptly called before)—glaring at her menacingly. "This space is for Cheerios only."
Rachel thought fast. "Well," she replied, thanking Brittany for her unintentional assistance. "Quinn approached me this morning and told me that there would be an opening in the Cheerios soon—that one of the tumblers was dragging the team down, and they were quietly looking for a replacement." She stood tall as if to emphasize her physical credentials. "With my extensive background in dance and gymnastics, I thought I had potential to prove myself useful."
The redhead raised an eyebrow at the Gleek's statement. "I'm our alpha tumbler—the best we have," she stated. "If Quinn thought we were giving someone the boot, why wouldn't I have been informed?"
Rachel's innocent eyes widened in surprise. "Well, I'm not sure I would be the person to ask; after all I'm not even a Cheerio yet," she told the junior. "However, Quinn did imply it was some sort of 'problem within the family', and," she whispered conspiratorially to the other girl, "Quinn said that Santana had personally lobbied for her dismissal."
The Cheerio, worry already etched on her face, now looked horrified: Rachel figured her mind was racing to try to find any other girl besides herself with whom Santana would be unusually livid.
"If it were me," Rachel finished, pushing aside the slight guilt she was starting to feel. "I'd just be glad that it's Ice Cream Day in the cafeteria." She gave the girls a knowing look.
Summer was the first to crack. "Oh God," she whispered. "You don't think she found out about my comment to Ditzy?" she hissed at the others. Their wide eyes apparently did not console her. "I need to go," she whimpered, and the other two rushed to her side as they guided her out the door, presumably to the cafeteria.
Rachel, left alone for a moment, felt uncomfortable for the pain she'd caused. However, she pushed the thought aside and pulled open the door.
A dozen or so girls already occupied the space, but they were apparently too caught up in their own worlds to notice her presence. She walked through them, up to the end of the row where the raven-haired Cheerio preened in front of a mirror.
"Santana?" Rachel voiced softly, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to the two of them.
She didn't turn, but watched the brunette through the reflection as she retouched her make-up. "Berry," she greeted, closing the lid on her mascara and moving toward her locker.
"Do you want anything?" the Cheerio offered, smiling. "Smoothie, diet shake, crusty old bread?"
The petite brunette knew it wouldn't be wise to refuse her host, and thanked Brittany yet again as she replied, "No thank you, but if you have any gum, that'd be wonderful."
The smile on the Latina's face flickered, but quickly righted itself as she pulled out a stick of minty freshness and handed it to the other girl. Rachel placed it in her mouth and chewed hesitantly (she even flashed her teeth at the mirror while the cheerleader's back was turned); but nothing seemed amiss. She breathed a small sigh of relief.
They finally reached the locker, and Rachel watched as the combination whirled back and forth in a blur before suddenly flying open. Santana reached inside and pulled out a large manila envelope, very thin, but apparently important by the meaningful look she now gave to Rachel.
"Don't open it," she instructed. "Just take it straight to Q."
Rachel hesitated a moment, but the Cheerio just flounced away, her locker slamming behind her. Suddenly alone in the prestigious locker room, she quickly sped away, clutching the envelope in her hand.