Monday, June 6, 2011 / 7:39pm
Quinn descended the stairs to Rachel's dads' finished basement (for some reason it galled her to call it "the Oscar Room") about ten minutes later than Rachel had asked her to be there. She hated being late, so she was a little breathless from the hurry.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, surprise collapsed her speed to a slow stride. On the stage, Santana stood with Rachel at a heavy, wooden podium which was complete with a built-in microphone. The two of them were conversing in hushed tones, Rachel's hand over the microphone as if to block out the official business they were discussing. Rachel was wearing a knee-length gray pencil skirt and a dark green blazer; Santana wore a button-down collared white shirt and a green and gray striped tie that had been quite obviously color-coordinated with Rachel's outfit. Behind them stretched a full-sized projection screen that dropped from the ceiling.
Santana caught sight of Quinn first and greeted her with a brusque, "You're late, Fabray."
"I'm. . .sorry?" she stammered.
Rachel smiled broadly and bounded across the room, taking Quinn's hands and leading her to the couch. Brittany sat Indian style on one half of it, and she smiled up at Quinn reassuringly.
"Sit here," Rachel urged.
Quinn lowered herself to the cushions, and Rachel returned to the stage.
"It's okay, Quinn," Brittany assured her. "You haven't missed anything yet."
"Do you know what's going on?" Quinn whispered.
"They're having a presentation."
"About what?"
Brittany shrugged, and Rachel approached the podium and cleared her throat.
"Good evening ladies and . . . girlfriends." She slid a lever in front of her on the podium and the lights in the room dimmed halfway. Then she punched a few buttons on the laptop computer in front of her, and a title slide appeared on the projection screen.
Rachel B. Berry AND Santana L. Lopez
PRESENT
Conquering McKinley in Seven Steps:
A Guide to Model Student Citizenship 2011-2012
June 6, 2011
"As you all know," she continued, "The four of us have recently undertaken steps to become one half each of two lesbian relationships. I think we can all agree that this is, to varying degrees, unexpected and challenging. As you are undoubtedly aware, embarking on such a journey while attending high school in West Central Ohio can present difficulties for one's self-esteem, not to mention, unfortunately, one's personal safety."
Santana, standing demurely at Rachel's side, clicked a button on the controller in her hand and a photograph of Kurt Hummel's smiling face appeared on the projection screen.
Nodding her approval at Santana, Rachel continued. "While our relationships have thus far by design remained under the radar of the McKinley High School population at large, we cannot expect this to last, even if that is our wish."
Santana and Rachel exchanged places, and Rachel took the controller to change the slide to a shot of Santana and Dave Karofsky in red berets.
"That's right," Santana agreed, leaning in to the podium microphone. "And while the Bully Whips have kicked ass at preventing any actual violence, we all saw what happened to Kurt at Prom last month."
Ducking her head in front of Santana, Rachel continued. "Therefore, I think we can all agree – it's not just about preventing bullying. We need to change people's attitudes. We need to educate them. We need to –"
"We need to be untouchable," Santana cut her off, grasping the neck of the microphone and directing it towards her face. "By the time we go back to school, we need to make it so that we're so feared and admired that nobody will even whisper about us in the bathrooms."
On the couch, Quinn and Brittany exchanged skeptical glances.
Rachel took back the microphone. "So, here is my –our – seven point plan for problem-free acceptance by our peers during our senior year."
Changing the slide again to an outdoor shot of the school building, Santana added, "The bottom line is, we need to be hot, talented, and ambitious."
"And smart. And leaders!" Rachel enthused. "Next slide, please. Point number one: academics."
Santana clicked the button again, and a photo of Rachel, grinning behind thick black glasses and holding up a pile of textbooks appeared on the screen.
"To be respected, you need to be successful in your field of endeavor. As high school students, that means good grades. I suggest tri-weekly study groups and practice exams on the weekends.
"Point number two: Glee Club." Santana changed the slide to a shot of the group at Nationals. "Our collective star shines brighter now that we traveled to compete in New York, but let's be frank. Nobody will remember that when we go back in September. We need to put together a back-to-school assembly that will knock the student body's socks off. We're talking a bigger riot than ever before. I have a suggestion box that will remain open until mid-July, at which time I will peruse the suggestions and put together our program." Rachel pulled a giant shoebox with the words "SUGGESTION BOX" printed in big, bold letters on the front from beneath the podium, and set it on the stage.
"Point number three: Student government. We need to be leaders, in a position to influence not only policy but popular opinion. We need to infiltrate the power structure of McKinley High! Now, not all of us are electable. This may be due to certain. . . attitude impairments. . ." she said, side-eyeing Santana, "or the fact that most people don't really like me. Therefore I suggest pouring our collective energies behind one perfect candidate. . ." she trailed off.
"Santana. Santana!"
"What?"
"Next slide. Come on, we rehearsed this!"
Santana, rolling her eyes, clicked through to the next slide. "I don't know why you can't change your own damn slides."
A picture of Quinn with the banner "Quinn Fabray for Student Body President!" smiled out at them.
"We're going to get Quinn elected as class president! Quinn, I suggest that immediately following this meeting, we begin drafting our, I mean your, winning platform."
"Hold up," Santana interrupted again. "I thought we said it should be Britt. Stretch marks over there crashed and burned the last time she campaigned for something."
"You're one to talk," Quinn shot back from the couch.
"Okay, let's move on? I believe this has been decided," Rachel interrupted. "Point four: volunteer work. It's hard to hate people who are working to make a difference. With that in mind, I signed us up for two mornings per week at the Trinity United Methodist Summer Bible School. "
Quinn smiled for the first time as Santana choked out, "You did what?"
"Moving along to point five: future plans. We want to dazzle our would-be detractors with blindingly bright futures. For instance, I have already begun to prepare my applications and audition pieces for New York University, University of the Arts, and Carnegie Mellon University. If anyone would like college counseling, I am available by appointment."
Rachel looked pointedly from Brittany to Santana and back.
"Point six. Oh, Santana insisted on this one. Santana?"
Santana elbowed Rachel out of the way. "Point six is that we have to look hot. Like, smokin hot. All the time. Obviously, Britts and I already have that covered. You two, on the other hand, are gonna need some work. Especially Berry. Although Q, while that haircut is an improvement, I have to say that your button down sweaters and floral prints are an outrage on a teenaged lesbian."
"Don't call me that."
"Fine. Those clothes are an outrage on anyone. We're going shopping, chica."
"I like your sweaters," Rachel whispered into the microphone as Quinn looked down at her pink cardigan self-consciously. "Finally, and most importantly, is point seven: education of our peers."
"Rachel, is that a picture of two monkeys having sex?" Quinn asked, shielding her eyes in horror from the image on the screen.
"Indeed, Quinn, it is!" Rachel replied with an enthusiastic smile. "That is two MALE bonobos, a primate which, next to chimpanzees, is our closest relative. Did you know that homosexuality has been documented in thousands of animal species, including sheep who pair bond for life and gay penguins who have actually raised foster offspring together?"
"I do not want to know what you had to google to find that picture of the monkeys," Santana said.
Unfazed, Rachel continued, "The evolutionary benefits of homosexuality in the animal kingdom are just beginning to be understood, but studies indicate that homosexual relations may serve to resolve conflict and establish hierarchy in primate societies. And so-called 'gay genes' in men have even been linked to increased fertility in female relatives.
Furthermore, you may know that LGBT humans are responsible for not just some of the best art in the history of humanity, like that of Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Elton John, but there was also Alan Turing, widely credited as the father of the modern computer."
"Is that true?" Quinn asked.
"Of course! You may also remember the name Jane Addams, namesake of our ethically challenged Sectionals competition last year. She was a lesbian and the first American woman to win the Nobel Peace Prize."
"Remember all those hot delinquent girls, Santana?" Brittany reminisced.
"Walt Whitman and Henry David Thoreau," Quinn murmured, almost to herself.
"Very good, Quinn!" Rachel encouraged. "Two of our best American writers of poetry and prose."
"Umm, I hate to interrupt this nerd festival," Santana said, "but Berry isn't the only one with a plan."
"Right," Rachel said, nodding with a slightly pained expression on her face. "Go ahead, Santana."
"Well for starters, in my plan I'm going to disable every slushie machine in a twenty-mile radius."
"How?" Quinn asked.
"Four words, Q: Dead bugs, health department."
"You're deranged."
"Second," Santana continued, changing the slide to show a picture of a small boy in a flowing pink dress. "Blackmail."
"Is that Azimio?" Brittany asked.
"Mmhmm. In his fourth grade school play. And this is just the beginning. By the end of the summer, I intend to have dirt on every student at that school. They won't be able to give us crap unless they're prepared to be publicly humiliated."
Brittany frowned.
"Third: we're going to start a band."
"We- we are?" Rachel asked. "Santana, we didn't – wait, who gets to sing?"
"I do."
Rachel stared at her, appalled.
"Face it, Berry. People don't want to see an all-girl band fronted by Barbra Streisand. They want to see an Amy Winehouse tribute."
"But, what will the rest of us do?" Rachel protested. "Nobody plays guitar, or drums."
"Who cares? We're four hot girls forming a band. Well, three plus Quinn. We'll figure out the rest as we go along."
Quinn stood up. "Okay, I think I've seen enough. Rachel, walk me out?"
As Santana wrinkled her brow in dismay, Rachel frowned and followed Quinn, who was already rapidly disappearing up the stairs.
"Okay," she conceded, "but we still need to talk about your platform issues!" She paused halfway up the stairs to call back to Santana and Brittany, "You two, don't leave! We need to brainstorm what I'll be singing at our back to school assembly."
Santana watched Quinn and Rachel's legs disappear up the stairs and followed their footsteps across the living room above their heads. The front door slammed, and Santana stepped off the stage and sat next to Brittany on the couch.
"God, Fabray is so hostile, and that's coming from me."
Brittany only smiled at her.
"What? Why are you smiling?"
"Can I play drums?"
Santana smiled back. "Totally."
"Why are you sad?"
"I'm not sad, I'm annoyed. All this shit about college, it's like all everyone is talking about."
"I'm totally excited, Santana. I mean, not about studying or anything, but all the other stuff about college."
"My mother won't shut up about it. She's making me download all these applications and take the SATs this fall. It's tyranny."
"What's wrong with applying to college? You want to go, right?"
"Shit, I want to get outta here more than anyone. But it's hard enough thinking about getting through this fall. When do I have time to think about a year from now?"
"Wellll, maybe this will change your mind," Brittany said with a small smile as she reached into her purse. "I have something to show you."
Santana took the brightly-colored brochure from Brittany's hands. "University of Toledo?"
"Check out page five," Brittany directed.
"You want to join their cheerleading program?" Santana asked, examining the text.
"Totally. My mom thinks we can get scholarships."
A trill of excitement fluttered through Santana's stomach. Brittany wanted them to go to college together?
"But, Britt, we quit cheering. They're not going to want a couple of quitters."
"Santana, we were on two national championship teams. How many girls can say that?"
Santana paused in thought. "But we couldn't be scouted, right? We would have to try out."
Brittany nodded. "We can work on our routines all summer. Maybe Quinn can help us with the choreography."
Santana pursed her lips at the thought of it. "That's like, a ton of work, Britt. I haven't worked out like that in months."
"It'll be fun, Santana. We can go to the gym together, and take pilates. We can run in the park."
That actually did sound like fun.
"All right," Santana acquiesced.
Brittany clapped her hands rapid-fire and pushed the brochure toward Santana. "Take it home and show your mom. She's going to be so excited for you."
"I guess anything that makes me too busy to do Berry's nerd party crap and gets my mom off my back about college is a win-win."
"So win-win!" Brittany exclaimed, throwing her arms around Santana's shoulders.
...
Quinn leaned backwards against her car door and pulled Rachel forward against her. Rachel stiffened and planted her toes into the driveway.
"What?" Quinn asked impatiently, tugging at the pocket of Rachel's blazer.
It's not that Rachel didn't want to be kissing Quinn. It's just that the abrupt change of mood from 45 seconds ago in her basement had been, well, abrupt.
"Is everything okay?" she asked. "You seemed to really hate that meeting, and I sort of expected you to be excited about some of my ideas."
Quinn sighed and dropped her hands to her sides.
"Rachel," she said, the reprimand in her voice barely restrained. "You don't think any of that stuff in your presentation is actually going to work, do you?"
"Why wouldn't it?"
Quinn looked at Rachel for a beat as if waiting for her to come to her senses, or to smile like she was kidding all along.
"Santana's ideas are ridiculous, for one. You shouldn't spend so much time with her, Rachel, she's warping your brain. And the rest is unrealistic. Do you really think getting good grades or talking about gay monkeys is going to make any difference at all when we go back to school?"
"Okay, I'll admit that some of those proposals might look like a stretch. But what about volunteering and student government? It can't hurt, can it?" Rachel said. "To be involved and successful?"
"Rachel, when we go back, it's going to be seriously hard," Quinn said. "For all of us. You need to stop with these childish ideas and understand that."
Rachel pouted her bottom lip in an exaggerated frown. "I don't understand what's wrong with trying to make it better, Quinn. Look at Brittany, you know? She's completely confident, so she's not worried at all. Maybe if we could all be more confident like that –"
"Brittany?" Quinn repeated. "Rachel, Brittany is too dim to be anything but confident. "
Rachel stared at her, blinking. Quinn lowered her voice but added, "I'm sorry, but it's true."
"Quinn, that's – you're being rude," Rachel said. "Brittany deals with the same issues as the rest of us."
"Look, I'm sorry if that's harsh, Rach. It's just that none of this is a joke to me."
"The meeting wasn't meant to be a joke, Quinn. You don't think Santana, at least, gets that this will be hard on all of us? Look at the lengths she went to to make sure we were in it with her."
"Yeah, so it means she'll make ridiculous plans, Rachel. It doesn't mean she takes anything seriously."
When Rachel said nothing in reply, grinding the toe of her right shoe into the gravel of the driveway, Quinn decided it was probably time to make peace.
"I do like the idea of volunteering, though," she said. "It looks really good on college applications."
"So does being student body president," she added, smiling at Quinn. "Will you think about it? I'd be the best campaign manager the halls of that high school have EVER seen."
"I've no doubt of that. I'm not sure I want to do anything that puts me back in the spotlight right away," Quinn said carefully. "But I'll think about it."
...
Sunday, July 17 / 9:56am
Somehow, it was 10am on a Sunday, and Brittany and Santana had been not only awake for three hours, but out of the house for two and a half of them. And it had been Santana's idea.
Sure, when Brittany's phone alarm went off at 6:51, Santana had threatened to throw it in the toilet. And when the first snooze rang out at 7:00, Brittany had to wrestle it from Santana's hands to keep her from turning it off entirely.
The thing about Santana was, she hated getting out of bed, but she secretly liked the part where you talked her into it. This morning, kisses on her neck and behind her ears had done the trick. After a few minutes, it had gotten Santana to roll out of bed and stomp around the room all grumpy, getting dressed.
Now, after a ninety-minute 7:45am vinyasa yoga class, they were jogging home.
This part had been Brittany's idea. She never could stand being bottled up in a car after yoga class. Her muscles had all this stretchy lightness and energy in them after that, and her head felt all blissed out. She needed to move, to be outside. One time on the way home, she'd jumped out of her mother's car at a stop sign. Since then, her mother usually drove her to class and let her make her own way home.
Also, she didn't like to talk. Somehow, it broke the spell.
Earlier in the summer, Santana had grumbled and moaned about the after-class routine, too. She'd gone so far as to bring her own car so she didn't have to take part in it. Then one morning she found herself pulling into a park on her way home because the traffic was ruining her yoga buzz, and she realized that maybe Brittany was onto something.
This morning, a Sunday, it was still early enough that there wasn't too much noise on the suburban streets. You could hear church bells in the distance and smell bacon and eggs, or sometimes pancakes, drifting out of the kitchens of the early risers. The loudest sounds, though, were their breath and their footsteps; the strongest scent was still the trees and the damp, dewy air.
It was soothing. Brittany liked following the patterns of their steps that fell in and out of synch because her legs were just a little bit longer than Santana's. She also liked when they passed another jogger or bicyclist on the sidewalk. She always let Santana go ahead, and fell in line behind her to make way. Sometimes she watched Santana's sneakers hit the sidewalk in a rhythm, and sometimes she watched her ponytail bounce. Sometimes she stared at her cute little butt in her yoga pants.
This was one of those last ones. Santana looked back over her shoulder quizzically after Brittany failed to return to her side a few moments after the last jogger had passed by. Brittany tilted her head in an exaggerated gesture and let Santana figure out where she was looking.
Santana smirked and turned back around, and pointed a warning at the street lamp they were about to pass. They didn't need a repeat of a few weeks ago when Brittany had been staring at her a little too hard, and forgot to look where she was going.
Nonetheless, Santana slid her fingers beneath the hem of her tank top and hitched it up a few inches, revealing some skin above her waistline.
Brittany grinned. Not really at the skin so much as at Santana showing it to her.
It was understood that they wouldn't want Santana's parents to know they were home yet. Wordlessly, they cut through the side yard and climbed the tree in Santana's back yard that let them up to the first story roof, which gave them access to her bedroom window.
As Santana hoisted herself up ahead of Brittany, Brittany reached her hand between Santana's legs and tickled the inside of her thigh. Santana yelped and nearly fell through the window frame.
Brittany grinned at her, proud of herself, as they found themselves face to face in Santana's bedroom. Santana scowled unconvincingly, her hands on her hips.
Brittany took a step toward Santana and yanked her closer by the hips, then peeled the light gray tank top over Santana's head. Brittany bit her bottom lip at the sight of Santana in only the black sports bra she wore underneath. Santana smiled, and stood still to let Brittany stare.
Brittany took the bra off next, yanking it over Santana's head with a quick jerk that bounced Santana's breasts against her ribs. Then she leaned in close and took down Santana's hair, ruffling it with her fingers so it fell messy and tangled across her shoulders.
Santana smelled so good. Like shampoo, still, and other hair stuff that Brittany didn't understand, plus a little like outside and a little sweaty. It all added up to summer Santana.
Santana stood motionless, expectant. She watched as Brittany cupped her breasts in her palms and ran her thumbs over the nipples. She closed her eyes and smiled a little as they hardened under Brittany's fingertips. Holding her at her sides, Brittany backed Santana toward the bathroom.
Once inside, Brittany lifted Santana and set her down on the counter next to the sink while she started the water in the shower. Santana swung her legs side to side, her hands resting on the counter by her knees. Once Brittany was satisfied it was at the perfect temperature, she beckoned Santana over with her finger.
Santana hopped down and Brittany swept her eyes up and down. With a small circular motion of her index finger in the air, she told Santana to turn around.
Santana gave her a little, amused smile, and turned her back to Brittany. Brittany peeled Santana's yoga pants down, and off. Brittany sighed. Naked Santana was one of her favorite kinds of Santana.
She reached around Santana's front and covered her belly with her hands, pulling her ass back against herself, kissing where her neck met her shoulder. She really wanted to know if Santana was wet. That would mean the shower would be fun, and probably really long. She slid one hand lower on Santana until she found her answer. Santana made a cute little noise when Brittany went inside her with her middle finger.
She guided Santana toward the shower. Santana stepped inside and rinsed off, shampooing her hair as Brittany discarded her sweaty clothes on the bathroom floor, watching Santana through the sliding glass doors.
Another favorite thing about Santana, Brittany was reminded as she stepped into the shower, was how she had like a million kinds of soap, all lined up on the ledge at the back of the tub. They all smelled amazing. Even when they were little, Brittany loved taking baths at Santana's because of all those soaps.
Today Brittany chose vanilla. It went nice with the orangey one Santana was using.
She loved how their soapy skin felt sliding across each other as they shared the water to rinse off, all slippery and smooth. Santana poked at Brittany's belly with one of her knuckles. She was right, Brittany realized. If Brittany held them together that hard their bellies would stay all soapy. Reluctantly, she let Santana take one step backwards.
Then, having a concerned thought, she reached out and lifted Santana's boobs so the water could get underneath. You wouldn't want soap to get stuck in there, either.
For some reason, that made Santana laugh and kiss her.
Confident then that Santana and she were both rinsed clean, Brittany knew it was time for other things now. She took hold of Santana at her waist and pushed her back into the side wall of the shower.
Santana looked at her, waiting. Brittany knew that look, even through the foggy steam, and even though Santana had her left eye closed because water drops were hitting that side of her face. Brittany liked this look, but also knew that it was the look that came only a few minutes before impatient Santana, which was a little bit less fun.
She ran her hand along the inside of Santana's thigh, pushing upwards. Santana lifted her leg a little and rested her foot on the bathtub ledge. Brittany looked at the space between Santana's open legs, the little rivers of water flowing down to it and disappearing. She put her fingertips in their way, and watched as the water had to find new paths over Santana's skin.
Brittany bent her neck to kiss Santana, who tasted like Santana's lips plus water, and smelled like oranges and vanilla. She pressed her boobs to Santana's and felt a little gasp come out of her, against her mouth. She wiggled two fingers over Santana's clit, one on each side.
Santana's body went all tense right away, as soon as Brittany got it between her fingers securely. Santana's nails dug into the side of Brittany's neck and her ribs, and she stopped kissing Brittany, her head tilted back.
Brittany massaged, careful not to squeeze (Santana did NOT like that), watching Santana's face to know what was good and what was really good. She changed directions sometimes – up and down, side to side, or circles. Sometimes she looked down to watch her fingers move on Santana's slippery skin.
Santana started rocking her hips against Brittany's hand, pressing the knee of her leg back harder against the side of the shower. It meant – go inside.
There were too many favorite places on Santana to name, but the place right now under the tip of Brittany's longest finger, up inside of Santana's body, might be the absolute best one.
It wasn't just that place, though, Brittany had figured out a long time ago; it was the way the muscles around it hugged her fingers, and the way the very top insides of Santana's thighs felt against the rest of her hand, all strong and a little wiry.
She stopped kissing Santana on her cheeks and her neck now, because she needed to focus. Wet skin was extra slippery. Santana opened her mouth and breathed hard in Brittany's ear and Brittany braced herself against the wall behind Santana.
Brittany liked looking down while she had sex with Santana. It looked so good, the way her fingers disappeared over and over inside Santana's body. Her stomach muscles had gotten even better lately, too, ever since they'd been working out so much. They flexed, relaxed, flexed, relaxed in a pattern that was getting steadily faster, and Santana was making little whining noises upon every flex.
Brittany used her whole arm now, pushing up inside her hard and pulling Santana's lower body against her each time with the force of her upstroke. The water made the smack of the skin of their bellies hitting together louder than usual.
Brittany took her fingers out, and Santana growled in protest. Brittany ignored her, bearing down on her clit with her fingertips, swirling the wetness from inside Santana all over it – if you rubbed Santana here until she could barely stand it anymore and then finished her inside, she had the best orgasms of all.
"Fuck," Santana whispered as Brittany slipped two fingers back inside.
Only a few seconds later, the best part was about to happen.
She knew first because Santana's leg, propped up on the ledge, started shaking. And then Santana's eyes squeezed shut and her mouth opened wide, and Brittany couldn't help but put her free hand on the side of Santana's face, cradling her cheek, pressing her fingers into the top of her neck.
"Oh. . . Britt," Santana said, all urgent and quick and full of breath.
Then she relaxed so much that Brittany was holding her up, letting Santana's breath come hard against her, kissing the side of her face and her lips and then the side of her face some more.
"You're so hot," Brittany murmured, and Santana smiled up at her shyly.
Santana kissed her, once she stood back up on her own legs. Then she ducked her head to suck on Brittany's nipples. Brittany loved that, feeling the warm water running over them and then the even warmer inside of Santana's mouth taking its place. She glided her hand over Santana's back, feeling the slickness from inside Santana rinse from her fingers in the falling water.
Santana knelt on the shower floor, pushing open the skin that hid Brittany's wetness. Brittany dug her fingers into Santana's hair as Santana craned her neck to get her tongue reaching up and in. She kept her hand there on Santana's head, because it blocked most of the water from falling on her face, and put the other hand on the side of Santana's face, stroking gently with her thumb.
For a while she watched Santana, especially the way the water cascaded down over her long, dark hair and her body. But then Santana slid a finger inside of her, and the tip of her tongue was rubbing tingles through Brittany's body, and Brittany had to close her eyes.
She felt her calves flexing and she rose to her tiptoes involuntarily. Santana had to lift herself to follow. Brittany held out her left hand as she was about to come, and Santana's right hand found it, entwining their fingers together. Brittany gripped it and held on tight as Santana's tongue finished her.
After it was over, Santana stood up, her chin all shiny, her lips dark. She let the water wash away the stickiness on her face and then she rested her cheek on Brittany's chest, hugging her tight.
The water was getting cold. Santana bent over to turn it off, and Brittany smacked her butt. Santana threw one of those mock glares that was totally unconvincing over her shoulder, and tickled Brittany's sides as they climbed out of the shower and wrapped themselves up in big, fluffy towels.
...
Santana and Brittany exited Santana's bathroom in a cloud of vanilla and citrus-scented steam.
"Shit, I'm dizzy," Santana said, taking a deep breath of the cooler air of her bedroom. "I think I need food."
"We were in there a long time," Brittany agreed. "Do you wanna go to the farmers market and get stuff for smoothies?"
"Fuck that," Santana replied, unwrapping her towel from her hair and wrapping it around her body. "We just exercised for three hours. Three and a half if you count the shower. I wants me a milkshake."
"Santana," Brittany said, suddenly stopping in her tracks partway across the room. "Why is Rachel in your bed?"
"What?"
Santana turned around. There was Rachel Berry, curled up and sleeping against Santana's pile of pillows.
"Was she there when we came in?"
"I don't know, I was looking at you."
"Britt, put your robe on," Santana said, and sat down next to Rachel on the bed.
"Berry?" she said, touching Rachel's shoulder.
Rachel stirred, and blinked her eyes up at Santana as though she didn't recognize where she was. As soon as the look of realization spread across her face, her arms shot up into the air and wrapped around Santana's shoulders.
Dread spread slowly through Santana's stomach. She was afraid she already knew the answer to the question she was about to ask.
She met Brittany's alarmed gaze over Rachel's shoulder and asked, "Rachel, what's wrong?"
"She broke up with me," Rachel whispered, digging her nails into Santana's bare shoulders. "It's over. She called me in the middle of the night."
Across the room, Brittany put her hands on her head in dismay.
"Why?" Santana asked. "For what? What did she say?"
"She was drunker than I've ever heard her before," Rachel said in a monotone, wiping her eyes. "She said a lot of different things," she sniffled. "Half of it didn't make sense."
Rachel looked like she'd replaced every shred of sleep last night with crying. Her eyelids were swollen and darkened, her face blotchy red, the outsides of her nostrils already peeling from the sweep of too many tissues.
"Things like what?" Santana prompted.
"Umm, she accused me of still liking you. Then when I said that was wrong, she said I didn't understand anything, and I didn't love her," Rachel recited it like she was spelling a long, painful word at a spelling bee. "She said I was being, um, pushy and that I always had to make things my way. She said things went too fast and she was tired of me making her scared all the time. And then," she said, blinking and sending tears floating down her cheeks. "She said she liked a boy."
"A boy? What the fuck? What boy?"
"She didn't tell me. I mean, I didn't ask because I dropped my phone by then."
A look of realization spread across Santana's face. "Where is she right now?"
"I have no idea. At home, probably, or church. She must be sick this morning, she was so drunk."
Santana unwrapped Rachel from her arms and laid her gently on a pile of pillows. She crossed the room to her dresser and pulled on underwear under her towel.
"What are you doing, Santana?" Brittany asked, following her.
"I'm going over there to punch Quinn's lights out," Santana said. "I need you to take care of Rachel," she added in a whisper.
Brittany's eyes widened in alarm. "But, maybe I should come with you," she said.
"What? No, you have to stay with her," Santana said, snapping closed the clasp on her bra. "We can't leave her alone like this."
"But, I don't know what to do with sad Rachel," Brittany said softly.
"Yes you do, Britt. You're like the sweetest person ever. Give her a hug, and see if she needs anything to eat. I'm not going to be gone that long." Santana kissed her on the cheek as she pulled on her jeans and grabbed her car keys off the dresser.
As the door slammed shut behind Santana, Brittany put the palms of her hands against her cheeks and stared down at Rachel Berry in a ball on Santana's bed.
...
Wednesday, July 27 / 9:27pm
Quinn had a feeling something was up when Brittany called her out of the blue and asked if they could do an extra math practice for the SAT. Her first thought was of a trap being laid by Santana. She agreed to it anyway; mostly it was because she didn't have the energy to refuse.
Also, she supposed, some company besides her mother might be nice.
Now, as Brittany twirled her pencil in her hand for the 87th time, she was positive Brittany had ulterior motives. She had done exactly four math problems in the hour since she'd gotten here. That was a poor showing, even for Brittany, and Quinn was getting annoyed. If this was a trap, she'd like to get on with it.
"Brittany," Quinn said, slamming shut the study guide in front of them. "You hate these math lessons. Why are you here?"
Brittany pouted. "I realized I love special right triangles."
On Quinn's stare, she abandoned that story. "I was worried about you?"
"Really," Quinn said, "So you're not mad at me, too?"
"No," Brittany said, with a hitch in her voice.
"Why am I not convinced by that?" Quinn said. She rolled her eyes and glowered at Brittany, expecting to wait only a moment or two before Brittany spilled whatever it was her true purpose here was.
Instead, Brittany started to cry.
"Are – are you okay?" Quinn asked. Hesitantly, she put her hand on Brittany's shoulder.
"Quinn, Rachel is so sad."
Oh. Here we go. Quinn took her hand away.
"What's your point, Brittany? Do you have something to say?"
"I want to know how you do it. Like, how do you stand making somebody so sad?"
Quinn crossed her arms over her chest. Unbelievable. The tears were a really low blow. "If you're trying to tell me I'm a heartless bitch, Brittany, I wish you'd just come out and say it."
"Why would I say that?" Brittany asked, her confusion mounting. "Is that what you have to do? Be heartless? I don't really understand what that means, cause we learned in health class that it never even stops beating or you'll die."
"It means I'm doing what I have to do," Quinn said. This had to be a Santana plot that was only coming off weird because of the agent. "If you and Santana don't like it, nobody is forcing you to be my friend."
"Quinn, of course I want to be your friend. Why are you saying that I don't? I just want you to tell me how you keep from being upset that you made someone so sad."
A tear slid from the corner of Brittany's eye, and it tied up Quinn's tongue just long enough for Brittany's actual point to dawn on her. And now, Quinn felt truly awful. (And really, for her to notice an uptick in the amount of awful she was currently feeling on a regular basis was notable.)
Brittany's lip quivered, and Quinn felt a sting of regret in the pit of her stomach. She should be more careful, she realized. But sometimes accepting the amount of sheer sincerity Brittany could project wasn't easy.
She put her hand on Brittany's. "Is this about Artie?" she asked gently.
Brittany looked at Quinn with utter gratitude, as if she had been waiting a long time for someone to ask her that question. Quinn found herself mirroring Brittany's frown.
What must it be like to be in love with somebody who bleeds earnestness like this? Quinn caught herself thinking. I couldn't do it.
"I thought that maybe you could help me because you had to do it too."
Poor thing, Quinn thought. This must have been bothering her for months and then I made it worse by breaking Rachel's heart.
"I'm not sure I can," she said carefully. "It hurts a lot, Brittany. I don't know if there's any way around that."
"He must have been so sad," Brittany said quietly. "Santana and I are trying to take good care of Rachel, but what if Artie was all alone?"
"No, he wasn't, Brittany. He has Puck, and Tina and Mike."
"Can I tell you a secret?" Brittany asked with a sniffle.
It's not like I speak to anyone these days, Quinn thought. "Go ahead," she said.
"I sent Artie a Facebook message the other day. He said we could see each other if I wanted to talk."
Well, that's playing with fire.
"So what did you say?" Quinn asked.
"I don't know yet," Brittany shrugged desperately. "Do you think I should?"
"I think. . ." Quinn said carefully, "I think you need to think about why you're keeping it a secret."
Brittany's face fell, and she stared at the floor. "Because she'd be super mad."
Quinn nodded. "It's hard to see the person you love with their ex," she said.
"You mean like Finn with Rachel?"
Quinn nodded. "Yeah, that's a good example."
"But isn't it so weird to go from loving someone and being with them every day to not talking to them at all? Like, why can't I talk to him?"
"That's just how it works sometimes. But, Brittany, have you tried talking to Santana about this? Maybe if you explained that you need closure, she would understand."
"What's closure?"
"I think it's what you want," Quinn said. "One way to get it is to have a talk. Talking about why things changed, and trying to feel okay with it."
"I totally want closure," Brittany said, nodding vigorously.
"Why don't you call Santana?" Quinn suggested. "Or go over there, so you can talk to her about this."
"I can't. She's out with Rachel."
"Rachel is out with Santana?" Quinn said, the edge returning to her voice.
"Yeah, Kurt and Blaine took them to a gay club in Toledo."
"Rachel and Santana are out at a gay club together? Right now?"
"It's sixteen and over night."
Quinn stared at Brittany incredulously. "And this is fine with you?"
"Why wouldn't it be? I was gonna go too, but I decided to come talk to you instead."
"Brittany? Do me a favor," Quinn said, sucking on the inside of her cheek.
"What?"
"When Santana comes home tonight, you tell her that if she gets to go out with her ex, you get to talk to yours. That's only fair."
"Maybe," Brittany said solemnly. "Quinn?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you and Rachel really over?"
Quinn nodded. "I have feelings for someone else."
"I loved you and Rachel being together, but. I guess it's like how I had to break up with Artie so I could be with Santana. Right?"
"I guess," Quinn said hesitantly.
"Like, it hurts to make someone you loved sad, but you have to be with the right person."
"Right."
Brittany leaned forward and encircled Quinn in a hug.
"Quinn?"
"Yeah?" Quinn asked, wiping a tear from her eye over Brittany's shoulder.
"Can we watch TV? I don't actually like special right triangles that much."
"I had my suspicions," Quinn said, hugging Brittany back.
...
Quinn was almost asleep on the couch when her phone buzzed. She blinked over at Brittany, who was sitting on the recliner, hugging her knees to her chest and laughing silently at a marathon of Wizards of Waverly Place. Quinn fumbled for her phone beneath the blanket.
It was a text from Santana.
She's really drunk. I tried to stop her.
Quinn sat up. That could only be about Rachel.
"What's wrong?" Brittany asked.
"Nothing, I just got a really weird text from Santana."
Brittany hopped from the recliner to the couch next to Quinn just as Quinn's phone buzzed again. This time it was from Rachel.
You arre sstupdc.
"Does Rachel speak another language too?" Brittany asked with hushed awe.
"No, she's drunk," Quinn said. "And she's calling me stupid."
"But, I don't get it. You're the smartest person I know."
"She's mad at me," Quinn said. She set her phone down without replying.
It buzzed again ten seconds later.
Wee coldgdve had what britten n Satan have
Immediately following that, came:
i new I wasnny prettty enugoh for yp
and
Sattana takes bitter care fo me then uyo
"I'm going to bed," Quinn said, forcing her shoulders not to shudder. "You can stay if you want." Quinn tossed the remote into Brittany's lap and trudged up the stairs.
She was just about to turn off her bedside lamp and try to sleep when the final text message came.
I kow you live me
Quinn silenced her phone and tried to shrink herself away beneath the covers of her bed.
...
Wednesday, July 20 / 3:22pm
It was all Rachel could do to put one foot in front of the other as she forced herself to walk up the driveway to the Fabrays' front door.
She hadn't gone out of her way to look terrible; she pretty much woke up that way, and didn't have the energy to fix it. Part of her hoped Quinn would lay eyes on her and feel truly, gut-wrenchingly horrible. Another part of her thought that maybe Quinn felt that way already, and it didn't make any difference.
The hand holding the envelope trembled as she rang the doorbell. If anyone answered at all, it would be Quinn. Her car was here, and Judy's was gone. Rachel sighed as she heard footsteps inside the house. All she wanted from this encounter was to get out of it without crying. She could manage that much, right?
Quinn opened the door wordlessly. She looked awful – possibly even worse than Rachel did. Rachel allowed herself to feel satisfied by that.
"I'm not here to talk," Rachel said by way of a hello. "I'm here for your signature. We need to get a few things straight before we can continue with our summer." She was pleased to find that the shaking in her voice wasn't overtly noticeable. She opened the envelope and took out a two-page document.
"What is this?" Quinn croaked at her.
"It's a breakup contract," Rachel said matter-of-factly. "I realized this morning when Brittany and Santana got up for Bible School that we had a.. . a foursome problem. I think you'll find this document remedies some of the more pressing issues we're likely to face."
"A breakup contract?" Quinn repeated. Was that even a real thing?
"Item number one," Rachel continued, pointing to the first bullet point on the page. "You agree to switch to Bible school on Tuesday and Thursday, allowing me to keep Monday and Wednesday without any emotional turmoil. Feel free to ask Brittany to switch as well, but Santana stays with me on Monday and Wednesday.
Item two," she said, sliding her finger down to the next bullet point. "This item addresses our summer plans. First, you are no longer obliged to run for student government. In fact, as I'll be throwing all of my management efforts behind Brittany now, I must ask that you formally withdraw from school politics. You are also, obviously, no longer obliged to play in Santana's band, not that you ever wanted to in the first place. I'm sure it will break up unless we can get Puck or someone to play guitar, but knowing how important the all-girls aspect was to Santana, that's not likely to occur."
"Tina?" Quinn croaked.
"Santana will never bring in her or Mercedes, or anyone whose voice is competitive with hers. The band is destroyed."
"Moving on to item three. In signing this document, you, Quinn Fabray, agree to grant me, Rachel Berry, full custody of one Santana Lopez. While I realize the two of you are old friends, as the jilted party I feel justified in placing this perhaps unreasonable request. You have your new boyfriend and your friends from church, and since those are obviously the people who matter the most to you, it shouldn't be that hard to give up what passes for a friendship between the two of you. I need to be able to go to her house or hang out with her and Brittany without threat of the emotional trauma of seeing you, or risking that you're monopolizing her time."
"Fine, take her," Quinn said, her face blank.
"Fine," Rachel continued, flipping to the second page of the document. "The fourth and final clause states that upon returning to school in September, you, Quinn Fabray, agree to resign from The New Directions. I'm the one who made the club what it is, whereas you only joined to come after Finn. Or me, I'm not really sure. Either way, I can't have you around jeopardizing my focus and thus our chances to win a national championship. I'd like you to formally present your letter of resignation to Mr. Schuester on the first day of school.
Okay, that's it. If you agree to all these terms, please sign next to the second X, below my name."
Rachel held the pen out defiantly, daring Quinn to refuse to take it.
Quinn snatched the pen out of Rachel's hand immediately, scribbled an illegible signature, and shoved both it and the papers back into Rachel's hands.
"Is that it?" she said.
Rachel nodded. "Thank you for your time," she said, already turning away as the tears threatened to burst out of her at any second. "Have a nice life," she murmured to herself as she heard the door close behind her, and the first tears shot down her cheeks like little rockets.
Quinn ascended the stairs to her room, stunned. By the time she reached her bedroom doorway, the flimsy walls she'd built up to convince herself that her life was about to get much better were shaking like an earthquake. No Santana? No glee club? She hadn't pegged Rachel as quite so vengeful.
People make new friends, Quinnie, maybe even ones in college, she told herself. It's fine.
But then suddenly her legs were running, despite her mental stupor. They were running toward the bathroom, and she was throwing open the toilet lid, and then she was throwing up, emptying her stomach of everything she'd eaten for lunch this afternoon.
A few blocks away, Rachel was sitting on a curb, holding the shreds of paper that used to be the breakup contract Quinn had signed only moments ago. She hadn't really authorized her hands to do that, to rip it up like that.
But what did it matter, she thought as she stood up and deposited them in the nearest trash can. Quinn had signed it. In fact, she had signed it without even blinking. That was that, Rachel thought to herself.
That was that.