Chapter Three
Monday, June 13, 2011 / 8:37am
Rachel, Quinn, and Brittany knew it was Santana's car roaring toward them by the sheer speed with which it was approaching.
"Finally," Quinn sighed, checking her watch yet again as the hum of the motor grew lower. It was 8:37.
They were waiting beside Quinn's car in her driveway, Brittany sipping one of the two coffees she held in her hands, Quinn leaning against the driver's side door, arms crossed over her chest. Rachel paced the length of the car and back, scribbling on a clipboard.
"I do some of my best brainstorming during unplanned down time," she had explained to Brittany approximately six minutes ago. "I once outlined an entire English paper while standing behind a coupon lady at Walgreens."
"You're late," Quinn said as Santana slammed her car door and grabbed the coffee Brittany had picked up for her.
"You bitches be lucky I showed at all," she rasped from behind gigantic sunglasses. "I wasn't planning on it, but someone's mother told my parents about it. Now they won't shut up about how great it is that I'm 'giving back.'" She punctuated the last two words with air quotes.
"It is great, though," Brittany said with a small smile, elbowing her.
"Whatever. I'm not sure what a bunch of snot-nosed little brats have ever given me besides this headache from waking up so early."
"Santana, you get up two hours earlier than this for school. What's the big deal?" Quinn asked.
"It's summer, Q. Teenagers are genetically incapable of functioning this early from June to September," Santana said as she crossed in front of the car to the passenger side door. "Why do you think we have summers off?"
"Um, Santana?" Rachel said, looking up from her clipboard. "I was going to sit there," she said, indicating toward the front passenger side seat with her pen.
"No, I have to ride shotgun," Santana informed her. "My dress will get wrinkled if I have to bunch up in the back."
"I hope you realize that every boy over the age of eight is going to be trying to look up that dress all day," Rachel grumbled as she took a seat in the back next to Brittany.
"How do you think I plan to keep them from misbehaving?"
"Also, that's heterosexist, Rachel," Brittany added.
Santana smirked and sipped her coffee as Quinn backed out of the driveway.
…..
Quinn's nerves built up steadily as she drove. Why she was apprehensive was beyond her; she was usually comfortable at churches, and she was confident that she was good with kids. It was probably her first day at Ohio State tomorrow that she was truly nervous about.
It wasn't really that she was afraid they'd know at the Bible School that she was dating Rachel. Having volunteered there last summer, Rachel already knew that all high school volunteers were discouraged from dating each other, which meant they would have had to hide that part anyway. (Although, she was making silent bets with herself over how long it would take before the kids would catch Santana and Brittany making out somewhere and they'd be asked to leave.)
Rachel enthusiastically played tour guide, complete with backwards walking, as they made their way toward the school building from the parking lot.
"During the school year this is a parochial middle school, as well as a Sunday school on the weekends. In the summer they open it up to the community. They call it Bible School, but it's really more like free summer day care. It's such an important resource for parents who can't afford other places, so you guys, we're helping out a really great cause.
"Most of the kids get here between 8:30 and 9," she explained as they approached the door. "Then we start activities, which can include Bible study, reading or story time depending on the age level, physical fitness, arts and crafts, or music. There's also morning snack, lunch, afternoon snack, and nap time. "
"That sounds busier than a day in high school," Quinn remarked warily.
Rachel nodded, her eyes wide. "Totally. It's organized chaos, which is why they need us. It's just starting, so today it'll probably be more chaos than organized, but things should settle down by next week. We'll be here until lunch and then another group of volunteers will take our place for the afternoon half."
"Now just remember," she concluded as they reached the entrance. "You're here to help the counselors, but more than that you're here to make sure the kids are safe and happy."
"Ummm, whose job is it to keep us safe and happy?" Santana muttered in dismay as Rachel opened the double doors into the roar of the multi-purpose room.
Rachel led them on a serpentine path among tables crowded with their small, loud charges toward the back wall. Here, an army of counselors in bright yellow t-shirts were passing stacks of paper among themselves, looking more than a little crazed.
"Hello Pastor Mitchell," Rachel said cheerfully to a really tan guy in a tie-dyed shirt who looked entirely too young to be a pastor.
"Rachel!" he exclaimed, and hugged her. "Great to have you back this year!"
Rachel dutifully introduced everyone, but before the words were even out of her mouth Pastor Mitchell was already handing her a stack of sheets of perforated cardboard.
"Can you guys start with nametags? We need to get the kids identified before we lose anyone." He reached back to the table behind him and dropped a box of lanyards and wide-tip sharpies into Santana's arms. "Mrs. Mills has the class lists, and your hats are in a box in the music room. Have fun!"
He clapped Rachel on the back and turned his attention back to the group of counselors.
"Lanyards?" Santana asked, reaching into the box and holding up its contents skeptically. "Won't they try to strangle each other with these things?"
"Santana, they're kids, not demons," Quinn said.
"Same thing," she shrugged. "Also, hats? What is that about, Berry, because I did not agree to accessorization."
Rachel was already surveying the room, her lips pressed firmly together. "Hats to identify us as volunteers; I'll get them in a second," she said absently, then turned back to the group. "Okay, so I realize you're all still adjusting, based on the looks of horror on your faces, but we're going to have to split up to get the nametags done. Everyone take one corner of the room and work your way inward. We'll meet in the middle.
"Ladies," she said, putting her free hand on Brittany's shoulder, "Good luck."
…..
By the time every child in the room had a nametag with his or her actual given name written legibly on it, encased in plastic and hanging around his or her neck, their first hour and a half was over.
"I'm not sure what the point of that was," Quinn said in half-amusement as they reconvened at the entrance to the kitchen. "By the end of the day those nametags will be illegible. They'll be covered in fingerprints or food."
"Or worse," Santana added.
"Your hair's messed up," Brittany said to Santana, batting at the wisps that hung in her face from beneath her "TSBS Volunteer" baseball cap.
"I'm aware," Santana said, scowling. "Do you see that girl over there with the sweet little purple bow in her hair? She kept stealing my freaking hat," Santana explained, glowering and adjusting it on her head self-consciously.
"She's just a little kid," Brittany reassured her. "Maybe she liked your hair."
"As a weapon, maybe. She used a handful of it to lower my head to the table so she could spell her name in my face."
"Were you not nice to her?"
"Why would I be nice to her? She was a little shit."
A little boy of six or seven sitting at the table next to them was listening with increasingly widening eyes. At Santana's last sentence, he appeared ready to explode.
"PASTOR LUKE!" he bellowed, "PASTOR LUKE, she said the s-word!" He stood on the bench of the cafeteria table, waving his arms and pointing at Santana.
"What the-?" Santana said, brow furrowing.
Glaring at Santana, Rachel strode to the little boy's side. "Cristofer, get down from there."
Cristofer, clearly recognizing Rachel, frowned and stepped down from the bench. "But Miss Rachel, she said the s-word!"
Rachel put her hands on her hips. "That doesn't mean we can use our outside voices, or do things that aren't safe."
"But—"
"And I'm sure you remember how we feel about tattling. Now you sit down, please," Rachel continued. "Very good, thank you. Now Miss Santana will apologize for using that naughty word."
"Like hell."
"SHE – NOW SHE SAID THE H-WORD!" Cristofer sputtered in disbelief, leaping to his feet again.
"Santana!" Rachel exclaimed.
"I'm telling Pastor Luke," he said, swinging his legs over the bench and starting resolutely toward the gathering of counselors a few tables away. "You can't stop me!" he challenged, looking back over his shoulder.
Rachel looked at Santana pleadingly, trying to silently convey something like "Please, please do not get kicked out less than two hours after I brought you here."
Rachel soon realized she should have been more specific as to how, exactly, to accomplish that, because what Santana apparently understood was more like "please take off running down the aisle after this seven-year-old boy."
"No running!" Rachel shouted futilely. "Santana! No tackling the children!"
She didn't tackle him, not exactly, but Santana brought Cristofer back by the waist, holding him against her hip as he kicked his legs in vain.
"Fine. I'm sorry, okay?" she exclaimed as she set him squarely back in his seat. "God!"
"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," he called after her as she walked back toward Quinn, Rachel, and Brittany.
"I fucking hate that kid," she muttered under her breath. Brittany clamped a hand over Santana's mouth.
"Maybe Santana's potty mouth is going to be a little cleaner by the end of this summer," Quinn commented with a smile.
…..
"Now they're yelling at each other in Spanish," Brittany reported to Rachel as they watched Santana and Cristofer scream at each other over a crate of chocolate milk that she was supposed to be distributing for morning snack.
"Looks like Santana might have to learn to curse in a third language," Rachel sighed, as one of the counselors broke up the fight.
As Rachel and Brittany finished handing out granola bars, Santana approached in a huff.
"I switched my swearing to Spanish to get around the profanity police, but he fucking understood it. These have to be the most annoying kids ever," she said, disgusted. "Are they going to be like this all summer?"
"They're actually really sweet," Quinn said, coming over to pack up the leftover chocolate milk cartons. "Your problem is that your conflict resolution skills are on the same level as a seven year old boy's."
"Oh suck it, Fabray."
Quinn pressed her lips together and nodded. "No, really. I suddenly have new perspective on the last few years of our relationship."
Pastor Mitchell approached, eager to get the children occupied as the post-snack spike in their blood sugar took effect. "Okay, we're ready for helpers for morning activities," he said, reading from his notepad. "Who wants to help supervise kickball on the playground?"
"Oooh, me, me!" Brittany volunteered, her hand shooting into the air so emphatically it brought the rest of her body with it. "I rule at kickball."
"Just to be clear, you're not actually playing kickball, though," he clarified to Brittany gently. "You roll the ball for them, and help them pick teams, stuff like that."
"I'm on it, coach!" she agreed, taking the ball from him.
"All right, it's table four over there with Counselor Greg," he said as she bounded away. "Okay, and I need one for story time. How about you?" he asked, looking at Santana. "That's Cristofer's group, and I did notice that you're already becoming friends," he said with a wink.
Santana slumped her shoulders.
"The library is the third door on the left down that corridor," he gestured. "Counselor Sarah is already there, so she'll help you get started."
"Can't I be in charge of nap time?" Santana asked over her shoulder as she started toward the library.
"Be careful what you volunteer for – that's harder than you think," he cautioned.
"Okay, aaaand," he said, turning his attention to Rachel and Quinn. "Can you two cover the arts and crafts room? That's our little ones, so they need some extra hands."
"Absolutely!" Rachel replied. She took Quinn's hand and led her down the hallway toward the art room. "I love working with the kindergartners. So little and cute. You'll fall in love," she beamed, squeezing Quinn's hand gently.
…..
"We're not doing anything fancy for the first day," Counselor Janet told Quinn and Rachel as she handed them stapled stacks of black and white cartoons. "No paint, no glue, no scissors, and therefore hopefully no injuries." Turning to the class, she announced, "I need a volunteer from each table to come up and get a bowl of crayons!"
Rachel and Quinn smiled as nearly every hand flew into the air.
"Then Miss Rachel and Miss Quinn are going to come around and ask if you want to color dinosaurs or creatures of the sea, so I want everyone to start thinking about that!"
"Arts and crafts is all about copious positive reinforcement," Rachel whispered to Quinn a few minutes later, as they strolled among the tables ringed by knee-high benches. "I've learned you have to tell them their creations are beautiful, even if their color choices are lackluster."
"I know how to talk to kids, Rachel," Quinn assured her.
"Oh no," Rachel said, grabbing Quinn's forearm in alarm. "Crier – 10 o'clock!"
Rachel pointed to the front of the room, where a little girl with an adorably messy tangle of dark, curly hair sat staring at the floor, her nose turning redder by the second.
"It's go time," Rachel said, starting toward the girl.
"Wait, Rachel," Quinn said, grabbing Rachel's hand to hold her back. "Look at her – she's probably scared. If we both come at her together she'll be totally overwhelmed."
"Perhaps you're right," Rachel said, frowning. "Alternate suggestions?"
"I'll go," Quinn said. She nodded once at Rachel and left her side.
She approached the girl quietly. "Hey Dottie," she said, squatting down to meet her at eye-level. "I'm Miss Quinn."
Quinn waited as Dottie lifted her gaze.
"Do you remember me from this morning when we did your name tag?"
Dottie nodded sadly.
"I like your sea turtle," Quinn said, pointing to the half-shaded cartoon the little girl had been working on. "Green is one of my favorite colors, how about you?"
The little girl's face contorted into a frown. "I want to go hooome!"
They weren't supposed to touch the kids unless they had to. Quinn decided this was an emergency. She held out her arms and Dottie attached herself like Velcro.
Quinn felt hot teardrops dampening her shoulder. "Hey, it's okay," she said gently, sliding her hand reassuringly up and down the little girl's back. "Come on, let's go sit over here for a minute."
Quinn grabbed her purse from the front desk and carried Dottie to the supplies area, an offshoot of the main room, away from the din of the class. Still holding the girl in her arms, she sat down on the floor.
"Hey, look what I have," she said, rummaging in her purse and coming up with a mostly-empty bag of gummy bears. "Do you like these?"
Dottie sniffled, then nodded.
"I got them when I went to the movies the other day. Would you like some?"
Dottie nodded again.
"Okay, hold out your hand."
This was also entirely against the rules, Quinn was sure. But if Dottie were diabetic or had food allergies, she would be wearing a brightly colored wristband that said so. And except in cases of health, candy was too good a problem solver to be off-limits.
"How about a green one?"
Dottie held out her hand and said "thank you," as Quinn deposited the candy into her palm.
"Are your mom and dad at work, Dottie?" she asked
She nodded once more. "My mommy says she has to go to works so she has some money to buy toys for me and my brother," she sniffled.
Quinn laughed and vowed to file that one away for future use. "Oh yeah? What kind of toys?" she asked.
…..
"Quit staring at me."
"You're supposed to be helping pass out lunches, Santa."
"I'm off the clock, Frodo. And it's SanTANa."
"Miss Rachel always helps pass out lunches, so we get them faster."
"Oh really? Well why don't you go bother her? I think she's out playing in traffic, so why don't you check there first?"
"You're mean."
"You're . . . short." The fact that this boy was only 7 was seriously cramping her style.
"Good one," Cristofer said, sticking out his tongue.
As Santana scanned the windows impatiently, looking for Brittany to come back from the playground, Quinn and Rachel emerged from the long hallway of classrooms. Rachel, just as Cristofer said, disappeared into the kitchen to help with distributing lunches. Quinn joined Santana at the counselors' table.
"What is that?" Santana said, pointing to the growth sprouting from Quinn's side.
"She's not a 'what,' she's a 'who,'" Quinn said. "Dottie, this is Miss Santana. Can you say hi?"
Dottie lifted her head from Quinn's shoulder and sniffled. "Hi," she said.
"Charming," Santana said. "You know you have to leave her here, right? Cause if this is some sort of replacing your bastard child thing, I refuse to be a party to it."
"Tactful," Quinn said. "It has nothing to do with that. She's homesick."
"Yeah, well, me too. When do we get to leave?"
"Quinn, I have her lunch," Rachel called out, and Quinn set Dottie down. The little girl ran toward her plate full of macaroni and cheese.
"See you on Wednesday!" Quinn called after her, as Dottie turned around and waved.
Santana rolled her eyes. At least Brittany was finally back. She was also muddier than all of her students combined.
"What the hell happened to you?" Santana asked, as Brittany approached with a smile.
"You can't be afraid to put your body on the line for the game, Santana," she said solemnly.
"Right. Okay, are we done, Berry?" Santana asked, thoroughly pissed off that everyone was having a good time at this place.
Rachel only put her index finger to her lips, as a hush came over the room. Santana realized it was because one of the priests or whatever was going up on the stage at the front of the room. Great, because she so wanted to have to wait through a fucking speech before she could go.
She zoned out while he welcomed back all the little shit heads for another awesome summer and droned on about how God loved them. It was kind of hard to daydream the way she usually did, though, because it really felt too weird to think about sex among all these kids. She shifted her weight back and forth as the bishop or whatever started the Lord's Prayer. Ugh, not this one – she had to say like thirty of these things every time she went to confession.
Berry was standing with her hands folded and her head bowed. Couldn't you get in trouble for pretending to love Jesus?
Brittany was mumbling the words to the prayer on about a half-second delay.
Santana glanced reluctantly at Quinn, sort of afraid she was going to catch her in the middle of some kind of rapturous state of Jesus-loving that she had no desire to witness. Quinn, however, was fixated on her new pet rug rat, who was sitting at the table with her hands pressed together, reciting the words of the prayer.
Even Santana was forced to admit it – it was sort of adorable. Still, she would be remiss to not take enough mental notes to be able to taunt Quinn about it later.
Oh, shit. Wait a second, Santana thought, as she looked back over at Quinn. Oh, son of a bitch – was she crying?
On a closer look there was no mistaking it – she was keeping it under wraps in that Quinn Fabray way where you could barely tell except that her mouth curled down at the corners and her eyelashes clumped together with tears she wouldn't let hit her cheeks.
Okay, okay. I'm going to look away for a minute and then she'll be done.
Santana examined her shoes for a few seconda and then looked back up.
Shit. Quinn's shoulders heaved. Okay, this shit was getting real. Why the hell did she have to be the one who noticed it?
Santana leaned forward to look hopefully at Rachel, who clearly hadn't noticed that anything was amiss. She glanced at Brittany, who noticed Santana looking at her, and smiled.
They were oblivious. Did this mean she had to say something? To Quinn? To Rachel?
As the prayer came to an end, Quinn turned away from her friends and pretended to scratch her eyebrow. Santana tried to send a telepathic message to Rachel over the slow-rising roar of the voices of a hundred children finally allowed to eat their lunches.
"Thanks for your help today, ladies," Pastor Mitchell said, passing by them on the way to the kitchen. "I'm sure Rachel told you, but you're welcome to stay and have lunch before you head home."
"Do you guys want to eat?" Rachel asked, turning to Santana, Brittany, and Quinn. "They never have anything vegan, but I don't mind waiting. I want to talk to Mrs. Mills about the musical numbers for Wednesday anyway."
"I want to leave," Quinn said decisively, turning back around to face them.
"But Quinn," Brittany said sadly, "Molly Jones told me they had SpongeBob Squarepants macaroni and cheese on Mondays."
"Brittany, you can buy that for fifty cents at the Save-A-Lot down the street from your house. Let's go."
Rachel furrowed her brow and frowned, and appeared ready to protest after Quinn.
Santana elbowed her. "Let's just go," she said under her breath.
"What?" Rachel asked, turning to her, startled. "Why?"
Leave it to Rachel fucking Berry to draw attention. Brittany and Quinn stared at Santana in puzzlement.
It was about two seconds before Quinn caught on that Santana was expressing some kind of awkward, reluctant concern.
"Well, I'm going," she said, glaring a warning at Santana, then turned on her heel and headed for the door.
Rachel's head whipped back and forth between Quinn and Santana. "Is she— is it..?"
"I don't know," Santana said. "I think it's the kid. Go on," she urged with a tilt of her head.
Rachel threw Santana a worried, grateful look and followed Quinn.
"Britt," Santana sighed, "I'll walk to Save-A-Lot with you when we get home."
"Yesssss," Brittany said, fist-pumping as they made their way through the maze of tables full of children toward the door.
"See you tomorrow, SANTA," Cristofer yelled across the room.
"Not until Wednesday, you mutant," Santana yelled back at him. It wasn't until she turned her back on him that she let herself smile.
...
Thursday, June 16th / 8:30am
Brittany was already awake and looking at her when Santana opened her eyes.
"Dude, that freaks me out," she mumbled, rolling over.
"I know. But I like the way you wrinkle your forehead when you're sleeping, like you're concentrating really hard on keeping your eyes closed."
Santana touched her forehead self-consciously, suddenly feeling the need to check for premature wrinkles.
"Did you sleep okay?" Brittany asked, snuggling up behind her.
"I think so," Santana said. She smiled, remembering the night before. "You put me right to sleep."
"No bad dreams this time?" Brittany asked after a few kisses on Santana's neck.
"No, not this time."
"Are you excited for today?" she asked, pulling back to gauge Santana's reaction.
"I guess," Santana said unenthusiastically. "I don't know why everything has to start so god-awful early in the morning, though."
"My mom can make coffee," Brittany offered. "HEY MOM! MOOOM!"
Santana widened her eyes in a panic and reached over the side of the bed to try to find her discarded pajamas. "Britt, wait! I'm—"
Brittany's mother, balancing a tall stack of folded laundry, poked her head inside the bedroom door. "What, Britt? Morning, Santana."
Santana sank into the mattress and hugged the comforter to her chin, mortified. "Um. . . good . . hi."
"Mom, can you make us coffee?"
"All right," she sighed, "But give me twenty minutes, because I need to throw your sister's soccer uniform in the dryer and water the garden before I get dressed and ready to go."
"Can you put it in those mugs that have the painting of the little village inside? I like to pretend that as I drink I'm rescuing the townspeople from a flood."
"You can do that part yourself, sweetheart. In the mean time you girls need to get a move on, you know we're supposed to be there by eleven."
She backed out of the doorway and closed the door.
Brittany turned to Santana and smiled, but it faded when she saw the horrified look on Santana's face.
"What's wrong?" she frowned.
Santana stared at Brittany, mouth agape. "What just happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did you not notice that you just called your mother in here while we were waking up in bed together?"
"So?"
"So?" Santana stared at Brittany incredulously. "Wait – you TOLD her?"
"Yeah, I told her a couple of weeks ago, but she already knew."
Santana was unsure that she was currently breathing as she struggled to pick a sentence to start with. "What did she say? She doesn't care if I sleep here? Will she—is she going to tell my mother?"
"I think she's waiting for you to do that, Santana. Come on, let's go get in the shower."
Brittany rolled off the bed with a giggle, taking the comforter with her.
…..
Brittany's mother drove, with Brittany in the passenger seat and Santana curled up silently in the back seat.
"Feeling nervous, Santana?" Mrs. Pierce asked as they merged onto I-75 toward Toledo.
"What? Why?" Santana asked, sitting up straighter.
"About meeting the cheerleading coach. Are you nervous? You're awfully quiet back there."
"Oh. A little."
"If it helps, I'm sure you're both shoo-ins to make the team."
"Even though they're, like, a college team?"
"Absolutely," Mrs. Pierce reassured her, looking back at Santana in the rearview mirror. "Tons of girls from Sue's teams wind up on the Toledo State squad. You have nothing to worry about."
"I guess it's also that like. . . I don't really know if I want to start doing all of this again," she added, not entirely sure why she was getting into this right now. "I kind of got used to not being screamed at every single day, and not being constantly sore. And, you know, eating solid food."
Mrs. Pierce laughed. "I think you might find there are other ways to lead a top-notch cheerleading team besides the way Coach Sylvester does it, Santana. She's certainly well-respected in her field because she wins, but her methods are anything but universal."
"No offense, Mrs. Pierce, but like. . . how do you know all this?"
"Wellll, I know because the coach we're going to meet, Laura Brighton, is one of my oldest friends. We were on the squad together in Toledo twenty years ago. Did Britt never tell you that?"
"No," Santana said, and because it was Brittany's mother, suppressed the urge to add, "Surprisingly, considering her big fucking mouth."
…..
At eleven o'clock sharp, Santana, Brittany, and Mrs. Pierce filed into the University of Toledo gymnasium and took seats in the top row of bleachers to watch the Toledo Rocket cheerleaders practice. Right away, Santana wasn't so sure about this coach, friend of Mrs. Pierce or not. She was wicked short, first of all, and she didn't even have a megaphone. And unless this was just some clever disguise put on only for prospective cheerleaders, it appeared that she was also . . . nice.
Santana glanced to her left, where Brittany and her mother were talking and pointing excitedly.
"What do you think, Santana?" Brittany asked.
Santana regarded the crop of cheerleaders on the floor skeptically.
"That one has fat arms," she pointed out. "And those two flyers totally have weird, lumpy legs. Also, the girl in the second row of the third pyramid has a unibrow. I mean, seriously, I can see it from up here."
"Santana," Mrs. Pierce interrupted, "Those girls could be your future teammates. What do you think of their cheerleading?"
"Oh. I don't know," she shrugged. "They're just warming up, right? So far I totally haven't seen them do anything Britts and I can't do."
"I told you you were shoo-ins," Mrs. Pierce said.
"Those uniforms are hideous, though," Santana added grimly.
…..
"Wait, that was it?" Santana asked half an hour later as the squad disbanded to hit the showers. "We didn't even get to see anything good yet!"
Mrs. Pierce gave her a slightly puzzled expression. "Well, it is a summer practice, Santana. I think they take it a little easier."
"I used to sweat blood five times a week at Sue's summer workouts."
Mrs. Pierce smiled. "I think you might be exaggerating."
Santana scowled and followed Brittany and her mother down the bleachers.
…..
After practice, they met Coach Brighton in the campus cafeteria for lunch.
Brittany's mom hugged her, and they called each other by their first names. "Laura, this is my daughter, Brittany, and this is Santana Lopez."
"Hi Brittany," Coach Brighton said, "I met you once when you were about three years old."
"I'm much taller now," Brittany said, shaking the coach's hand.
"Indeed," Coach Brighton agreed. "And Miss Lopez, it's nice to meet you as well."
Santana took the coach's outstretched hand in silence, forcing herself to smile.
"Why don't we sit and have some lunch?" Coach Brighton asked cheerfully.
…..
"I'm not surprised your daughter was one of the top cheerleaders on Sylvester's squad, Gail," Laura Brighton said as they sat in the cafeteria, with their orange trays outlining a perfect square on the table. "Brittany, your mom was pretty awesome when we were younger."
"She's still awesome," Brittany corrected.
Brittany's mother smiled. "So Laura, how would the tryout and scholarship process work, roughly?"
"Well, auditions are in late August, so we'll email you with the exact dates as soon as they're set. Once you qualify for the team, the admissions department will be looking to make sure you meet the academic requirements for the school. Now, they're a little more relaxed for competitive athletes, but we do expect you to graduate with certain qualifications. Make sure you take the SAT, girls, and get decent grades in your science, math, and English this fall. Once we take all of that plus financial need into consideration, we start making scholarship offers."
Santana and Brittany looked at each other soberly.
"So Santana," Laura continued brightly, "You were head cheerleader for a while, right?"
Santana was currently hunched over her tray with a chicken fajita wrap in her mouth. "Mmmhmm," she mumbled. "Um, yes."
"Very impressive," the coach said with a smile. "Now, did you two become friends while you were on Sue Sylvester's team?"
"Actually, Santana and Brittany have known each other since they were nine," Mrs. Pierce replied, to give Santana time to swallow.
"We met at cheerleading camp," Brittany explained. "We became best friends, and now she's my girlfriend."
Santana coughed, nearly spewing fajita onto her tray. "Brittany!"
"What?"
"Wow," Coach Brighton said, raising her eyebrows at Gail. "Well that's something, now isn't it?"
Gail smiled back, amused.
"Don't worry, Santana," the coach said, noting Santana's horror. "I want girls for my team who are confident enough to embrace who they are. So," she said pensively, "Two of Sue's top cheerleaders quit the team and wind up together. It's quite a story."
"Totally," Brittany said. "The other head cheerleader, Quinn Fabray, she has a girlfriend too, even though last year she had a baby. Her girlfriend Rachel is the only one who isn't a cheerleader, even though Santana says she's really flexible."
As Santana flushed in utter mortification, Brittany's mother gently intervened, "Okay, Brittany. That's enough for now."
"Well," Coach Brighton said, the water bottle she sipped from not quite concealing her amusement, "I am certainly looking forward to your tryouts. It sounds like the two of you could make thoroughly exciting additions to our team."
…..
"Santana?" Brittany asked that night, sprawled out on Santana's floor.
"Mmm," Santana grunted from the bed, on her third cycle through the cable programming guide.
"Why didn't you like Toledo?"
"I never said I didn't like it."
"You've been mad all day."
"I'm not mad."
"Well then, what are you?"
Santana flicked off the TV. There was a knot of general dissatisfaction in her stomach, and Brittany was poking at it.
"I don't know, I guess I just don't get it."
"Get what?"
"What the point is. Of like, being a cheerleader there."
"I don't understand, Santana," Brittany said, sitting up so she could see Santana's face.
"Britt, didn't you notice that team was super lame?" Santana asked. "They're supposed to be a college team, and they weren't doing anything we didn't do when we were sophomores in high school. I mean, why be on a squad that isn't going anywhere?"
"Soooo, you only want to do cheerleading for winning championships?"
"What's the point of cheering if you're not on the best team?"
"I thought the point of cheerleading is that it's fun. My mom said it was the most fun four years of her life being on the squad at Toledo. Anyway, Santana, I don't get it, because this morning you didn't even know if you wanted to cheer again and now Toledo isn't even good enough for you?"
"Britt, we were NATIONAL champions. You and I, we're the best. If we're going to cheer again, let's go somewhere we can be the best again."
"Like where?"
"I don't know," Santana said, folding her arms over her chest. "But I'm going to find out."
"Look, just don't tell my mom, okay? She was really excited for us to meet her friend. Didn't you think she was awesome, and so nice?"
"First of all, I didn't ask her to do that. Second of all, Britt, she was TOO nice. How are we supposed to take a coach like that seriously?"
"My mom took you there with me because she cares about you, and she knows I care about you."
Santana pushed past the pout in Brittany's bottom lip that made the pit of her stomach ache.
"Well, we need to make up our own minds, Britt."
"Yeah, I. . . I know that."
"And we need to train harder," Santana continued. "If we do go to Toledo, I want to be co-captains by our second semester. Between the two of us, we can whip even that band of misshapen, misfit toys into championship shape."
Brittany sighed. "Can you promise we can try to have fun, too, though?"
Santana shrugged. "I don't know, I guess."
"Okay then, Santana, I'm down. I don't mind training harder. But no crying when I kick your ass on our next 10k run."
"Oh, for real?" Santana said, raising her eyebrows. "How about no crying when I kick your ass RIGHT NOW," she said, pouncing on Brittany from the bed.
...
Wednesday, June 22 / 10:42pm
Brittany sat on her front porch, watching Santana pace the sidewalk at the end of the driveway. It was raining, but Santana refused to come inside.
She was out there kicking at puddles, sending miniature tidal waves of water crashing into the curb. Brittany played with the cuffs of her pants, which were soaking wet from the walk home. As she lifted them, she could see that her socks had brown spots of beer all over the backs of them. She frowned and smoothed them back down.
Santana walked up to the Pierces' mailbox and smacked it with the ball of her hand, and that was when Brittany stood up. She didn't bother to bring Rachel's umbrella as she tromped out to the sidewalk.
Santana smacked at Brittany's forearms as Brittany tried to pull her up the driveway toward the house. So Brittany wrapped her up in a bear hug, lifted her off her feet, and deposited her on the front porch. Santana glared, kicked off her shoes, and went inside.
Upstairs in Brittany's room, they peeled off their wet clothes wordlessly, and Brittany retrieved a couple of towels from the bathroom. Dry now but shivering, Santana balled herself up under the blankets of her bed.
"I've never been called ugly in my life," she said in a soft voice as Brittany slid into bed next to her.
Brittany curled herself around Santana.
"He didn't mean it," she said, stroking Santana's damp hair back from her face. "He was mad you didn't like him."
"I wish I'd punched him in the face."
"He was bigger than you, and drunk. You did the right thing."
Santana sniffed and shook her head. "I'm getting out of here."
"No Santana, don't go back out, please? It's late, and you're upset and naked."
"No, that's not what I mean," she said, rolling over to face Brittany. "I mean I'm getting out of here, for good."
"You're running away?"
"No, for college. I'm getting out of Ohio – I'm leaving this frickin' god awful, ugly, stupid, backwater hillbilly state."
Brittany took several seconds to absorb Santana's words.
"He was just one person, Santana."
"Yeah, well. We have to go someplace where nobody cares. Someplace where it's not full of rednecks. My mom found out USC has the top college cheerleading program in the country. She said I can go visit if I want to. And tomorrow when I get home, I'm going to tell her I want to go check it out."
"Where is USC?"
"LA."
"In California? That's like a hundred miles away."
"It's about as far away as we can get from here."
"But. . . I don't really want to get away from here."
"How can you say that after tonight?" Santana asked, anger raising the volume of her voice.
"Cause, I want to be near my mom and dad, and my brother and sister. Santana, I don't think leaving Ohio fixes anything."
"Well, I think you're wrong."
Brittany looked sadly at Santana's determined face.
"Well, can we still workout together?"
"'Can we still work out together?'" Santana repeated. "That's it, you're just going to accept it? Me and you going to different schools?"
"Santana, I know how you are when you make up your mind."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Brittany rolled onto her back, away from Santana.
"Can we talk about this in the morning? You're upset, Santana."
"Why aren't YOU?"
"I am!" Brittany said, putting her palms over her face. She took two deep breaths.
"Santana, I am upset, because you're like asking me to pick between you and my family, and it's all really fast and confusing. All I'm asking for is to talk about it when we're both calm."
"You mean when I'm not being a crazy bitch."
"Santana, no. That's not what I'm saying and you know that. Stop taking this out on me."
Santana curled her knees up closer to her chest, and buried her face in the pillow. She closed her eyes and two tears tracked down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Brittany rolled back onto her side, pressing the skin of her stomach and chest into Santana's back.
"Baby," Brittany said into her ear, squeezing her tight as she said the word. "It was just one guy. Okay?"
Santana inhaled sharply, and nodded.
"Yeah."
"I want you to go see USC if that's what you want to do. But can you promise me one thing?"
"What?"
"Come try out with me at Toledo anyway. And keep working out and practicing with me all summer."
Santana smiled, just a little, into her pillow. "That was two things."
"I know, I thought of the second thing after I was already talking."
"Yeah, Britt," Santana said, rolling back over to face her. "Yeah, I can do those two things."