For those of you that caught the Carmen Sandiego thing, yes, it was a reference to our dear friend NayNay's Halloween costume. Kind of. I googled "90s board games" and the first article I clicked on had Carmen Sandiego at the top. I was like "oh, how appropriate" and decided to include it. Someone asked about a timeline for this story, and I do have one. I actually have the entire story mapped out in an outline. It ends on August 16, 1999, which is the day the 1999-2000 school year began at Columbine. It will then be followed by a present day-type epilogue. This story is far from being over, though.
Also, I am very sorry to admit that I will have very little time in the next week to write, and I probably won't be updating until the week after Thanksgiving. I will do what I can to get a good start before the holiday, but it's highly unlikely that you'll see the next chapter for another week or two. So without further ado, I leave you with this very long chapter. Read it slowly.
Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who celebrate it :)
Tuesday, May 18th, 1999, 8:00 a.m.
"It's… so… fucking… hot," I wheezed, surprised I could form a coherent sentence. Brittany had convinced me to go running again, and so we found a secluded dirt trail in the woods behind Brittany's house, that, oddly enough, she had never run on. I watched her jump over a branch lying across the path. It was evident that not many people had used it recently. I ran around a patch of overgrown brush, trying to catch up to Brittany, but not really wanting to. It was nice to be a good fifteen feet behind her. I could see the muscles in her calves move with each step she took, and every time she smiled at me over her shoulder I felt warm inside. Staying behind her was definitely worth it. Plus, I could admire her running form. It was graceful and powerful, probably perfected by years of cheerleading and gymnastics.
And she had a pretty nice butt. But that was irrelevant.
"Stop complaining," she yelled over her shoulder. "It's good for you." I groaned, but she ignored me.
It really was hot, and sweat was dripping down my forehead. My shirt stuck to my back, leaving me to pluck at the fabric uncomfortably every few seconds to get some air onto my hot skin. I shielded my eyes and looked up at the sun, which was steadily rising in the sky. Summer was approaching rapidly, and the weather was getting warmer. It had been an unusually warm week, which I attributed to the spell of rain the week before. Having lived in Colorado my entire life, I knew the mountain air would dry out and cool down by the next week. However, skis were noticeably disappearing from the tops of cars, replaced by bike racks. Summer was coming.
School was still difficult, but it was getting easier. There was still an obvious air of sadness in all of the classrooms, but more and more smiles cracked at Dumb and Dumber, and it seemed as though everyone had run out of black clothes to wear. The sports teams started up practice again, and that included cheerleading. The cheerleading squad didn't cheer for any of the spring teams, yet Brittany told me her coach was evil and made them practice all the time. I agreed that her coach was evil, because Brittany was now taken from me for an extra two hours on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. She said the workouts wouldn't be as frequent in the summer.
Summer. People had begun to talk a lot about summer, including Brittany. She mostly talked about how excited she was to go swimming at Shadow Mountain Lake, where her grandparents had a house. Brittany and Emily both talked about that cabin a lot in the time I'd spent with them. It seemed to be a tradition for them to spend time there during the summer. I selfishly hoped that Brittany wouldn't be away for too long.
My mom talked about college visits and applications, asking me to write out a list of schools I wanted to see that we hadn't visited yet. I hadn't started writing it yet. Every time I mentioned college, Brittany changed the subject. I didn't pressure her to talk about it; it was a sensitive topic for a lot of my classmates, who were constantly under enormous pressure from parents, teachers, and the school's guidance counselor to get started on applications. It was nerve-wracking for everyone, including me, so I wasn't surprised that she avoided the topic. I was content to avoid it too.
The ground felt wet under my feet as I ran clumsily after Brittany, trying to maintain the fifteen-foot gap between us. It was incredibly difficult, and I found myself gasping for oxygen after another two or three minutes.
"Britt," I gasped, unable to spare the oxygen to say her full name, "how much longer?" I knew I sounded desperate and out of shape, but I didn't care. We had been running for at least fifteen minutes, and at Brittany's pace, that was practically a marathon for me. Knowing that we would have to walk (or even run) back the same distance to where we started was even more discouraging; I was ready to stop.
"One more minute," Brittany replied, kicking up mud with her old sneakers. "We're almost there."
"Almost where?" I demanded, ducking under a low tree branch.
I could see Brittany shake her head, even from behind her. "You'll see."
"Oh my god," I gasped, pushing my muscles to carry me to wherever "there" happened to be. I knew that the farther we ran, the farther we'd be from the entrance to the trail, and the farther we'd have to walk to get back. I was not looking forward to it.
My lungs burning, we came to a portion of the trail that was so overgrown I could barely see the trail itself. I kept my eyes trained to the ground, looking up every few seconds to find Brittany. After about forty-five seconds of dodging weeds, brush, and fallen tree limbs, I ran smack into her.
"Ow!" I exclaimed, rubbing my nose, which had connected with Brittany's shoulder. I looked up to find that we were at the beginning of the trail. Confused, I turned in a circle, looking for landmarks. Brittany had taken us in a loop. "How did you–" I started, at a loss for words. "I thought that said you'd never run this before."
Brittany shrugged, a faint smile on her face. "I have a good sense of direction, I guess," she told me, exiting through the trees. She raised her arms over her head, stretching them. She then bent down to touch her toes, exposing a few inches of pale skin on her lower back. I exhaled slowly and rubbed my nose, wondering if the dull ache in my body was coming from the run or from looking at her.
2:45 p.m.
Brittany found me at our usual meeting spot after school. She was smiling brightly and she had both straps of her black backpack on her shoulders. Like most of my lackadaisical classmates, I had it slung over one shoulder.
"Hi," she said sweetly, swinging her hands in front of her.
"Ready?" I asked, falling into step next to her. She nodded and we walked towards the front exit. Her hand bounced off of mine where it swung between us, sending tingles up my arm. My fingers twitched.
The mid-May sun had only grown warmer since that morning, and I regretted wearing jeans. As I reached for the car door, I saw Quinn standing by a tree with a few other cheerleaders. All five of them were wearing mini-skirts.
Quinn looked at me standing by Mrs. Pierce's car, and then to Brittany. She said something to her friends, and I could see that smirk pulling at the corners of her lips, but I couldn't hear what she was saying. All of the girls laughed, and I saw a few of them send a glance Brittany's direction. Any other time, I would've thought that they were making fun of me; I wouldn't put it past them. But why would they be talking about Brittany behind her back? She seemed perfectly friendly with them at the memorial.
I frowned. I could tell Brittany had seen the exchange between Quinn and her posse; her eyes became downcast, sinking to look at the asphalt as she climbed into the passenger's seat of the car. I followed, sliding onto the leather next to Emily.
"Hi, Santana," she said, smiling her gap-toothed smile at me. She had recently lost her first two bottom teeth. It seemed like a new one was falling out of her head every day. She was very excited about losing her teeth, and she showed Brittany and me her earnings from the Tooth Fairy every time she came.
"Hey, Em," I said distractedly, trying to look around her blonde head to see Quinn through the car window. She was still standing by the tree, shaking her head. Her short hair caught the sunlight as she moved, but it wasn't beautiful like Brittany's hair. I got the sense that the hair toss was something Quinn practiced in the mirror. I scowled.
"How was school, girls?" Mrs. Pierce asked as we pulled out of the parking lot.
"It was great," Brittany said brightly. I studied her, searching for that dejected look in her eyes that I had seen just moments earlier. Was she putting up a front? "We're finishing up our final projects in class this week. I think I did really well on mine. I'm just looking forward to finishing on Friday."
"So am I," Mrs. Pierce agreed. "I'm tired of driving you girls around."
Brittany laughed, but it didn't sound like her normal laugh. It was forced, like the laugh track in Friends. Mrs. Pierce didn't seem to notice.
Am I being paranoid?
We pulled into the Pierce's driveway and got out of the car. Brittany and I immediately went up to her room to do homework, as we always did. Our teachers had given us about a week of healing time, but we still had coursework that needed to be completed, even though our finals had been canceled. Even so, Brittany and I barely had any homework; we usually spent less than a half hour working, and another two or three talking on Brittany's bed until Mrs. Pierce called us down for dinner. It was the best part of my day.
Brittany and I lay on her bed, just inches between us. I was still thinking about the way Quinn had looked at her, but Brittany hadn't brought it up. She was working diligently on her Calculus homework, stopping every few minutes to erase a problem and start over. The tip of her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth, an obvious indicator that she was deep in thought. I stared at her for so long that my American History homework was still blank after fifteen minutes.
"Is your homework really hard?" she asked me, glancing at the worksheet on top of the closed textbook in my lap. "You haven't done any of it."
"Uh, no," I said, my cheeks turning pink. "I'm just distracted."
"Alright, spaceman," she said, returning to her homework.
"I do have a question, though," I told her. She looked back up at me, dropping her eraser onto the worksheet.
"I'm terrible at History," she said apologetically. "I can never remember any of it."
"It's not about the homework," I said, shaking my head.
She gave me her full attention, removing her homework from her lap and angling her shoulders towards me. Brittany was good at that, showing me she was paying attention. I always knew she was listening.
"I don't know if I misinterpreted this, but today in the parking lot, I saw Quinn–"
Brittany winced. "You saw that?"
So I'm not crazy. "Were they talking about you? Are you and Quinn still fighting?" I had a million questions, but I settled for asking two. I didn't want to overwhelm her.
She sighed and ran a hand through her bangs. They were getting longer. "You could say that. They were probably talking about a stupid rumor or something. Don't worry about it. Quinn is always making up rumors."
"Why would she spread rumors about you? I don't understand." My eyebrows knitted together.
"If that's what she needs to feel confident, whatever," Brittany said, rolling her eyes. "It's kind of something I've always tolerated." She sighed.
"But I thought you guys were friends," I countered, still confused. "Why was she talking about you? What did you fight about after the memorial?"
"It was nothing, Santana, really. She's just mean. I don't want to talk about her." Brittany wouldn't look at me, and I got the sense that I wouldn't get another word out of her. I nodded in response.
Now with more questions than answers, I opened my textbook up and started working on my homework. Brittany resumed her Calculus. Even though I was filling out a worksheet on American Conservatism, my mind wasn't on my schoolwork. I kept glancing at Brittany, hoping she would decide to tell me what Quinn's problem was. I could tell the girl was hurting her, but I couldn't do anything about it because I didn't know what the problem was.
"And Santana?" Brittany said after a while, putting her pencil down.
"Yeah?"
"If you hear the rumor, please don't believe it."
"I want to hear it from you, if anyone, Britt. Besides, it's not like I talk to anyone but you," I said, trying not to let my frustration show. What in the world could this rumor be? And why would people be starting rumors about each other, after what happened? Spreading rumors is bullying. And that's why Eric and Dylan went on that rampage, apparently. Because they were bullied. I started getting angry.
"Seriously, it's not even worth telling you," Brittany said, laughing mirthlessly. She was trying, and failing, to make a joke out of it. I noticed that it was something she did frequently, as sort of a method of deflection. She made a lot of jokes when she was uncomfortable. "It's not worth your time."
"Okay," I conceded, leaning back into Brittany's pillows. It pained me not to pry, but I knew that I couldn't do that with Brittany. She would tell me when she was ready, and she'd appreciate that I didn't force it out of her. I just hoped she would tell me soon. My only comfort was the knowledge that school, and therefore all of our interaction with Quinn, would end on Friday.
"Santana!" Mrs. Pierce yelled from downstairs. "Your mom is here!"
"Okay!" I yelled back, standing up from Brittany's bed. I picked up my backpack from Brittany's floor – I could tell it was mine because Brittany had put a ballerina keychain on hers – and put my History book in. Brittany stood with me, prepared to walk me to the door. I quickly counted the number of afternoons I had spent at Brittany's house; this was the twelfth time. The twelfth time we had lain on her bed together, and the twelfth time Mrs. Pierce had called me downstairs when my mom picked me up after work. Eleven times before, Brittany and I hugged before we went downstairs; it was unspoken that we wouldn't hug in front of Mrs. Pierce. We both knew our hugs lasted longer than what was considered "normal" for two teenage girls, even considering the tragedies of the past month.
I slung one of my backpack straps over my shoulder. Brittany stood awkwardly behind me, looking at the floor.
"I'm not mad at you, Britt," I sighed, stepping towards her. A car horn honked from the street below. Brittany looked at the window briefly before finding my eyes. Hers were sad.
"Are you sure?" Brittany asked, scuffing her toe against the carpet.
"Yes," I said confidently, stepping close enough to brush away piece of her bangs that had fallen over her forehead. It wasn't quite long enough to stay behind her ear yet.
She sighed. "I'm sorry. I will tell you." Her blue eyes looked heavy, heavy with the secrets she was keeping from me. It hurt to see her holding back.
"Whenever you feel comfortable. Really," I insisted, wrapping my hands around her forearms. The car horn honked again outside. I rolled my eyes, and Brittany grinned, flashing me her white teeth.
"There's that smile," I said affectionately, poking the tip of her nose. She scrunched her face up and laughed.
"Santana!" Mrs. Pierce's voice came from downstairs. "I don't want to keep your mother waiting!"
"I'll be right there," I yelled back.
"You have to go," Brittany said, frowning.
"I always do. But I'll see you tonight, right?" I rubbed my hands down her forearms, and she leaned forward into my touch.
"Yes." She smiled and pulled me towards her for a goodbye hug. It was brief, but only because of time constraints. We both knew how impatient our mothers could be. "See you tonight," she promised. After releasing each other, we ran down the stairs, Brittany in her socks, me in my Chucks with the laces untied.
"Bye Mrs. Pierce!" I called as I walked quickly to the front door. "Bye Emily!"
"Bye!" they chorused from the kitchen.
"Bye, Britt," I said over my shoulder as I made my way across the front lawn. My mom was beckoning me over frantically from the driver's seat.
"Bye, San," she said softly from behind me. "See you later."
I ducked my head so my mom didn't see me grinning like an idiot.
7:00 p.m.
I didn't mean to smile when I was eating my peas. I was thinking about Brittany and it just sort of happened.
"Santana, what are you smiling at?" my mom asked from over the top of the newspaper. The headlines were still about the shooting. My thoughts about Brittany disappeared.
"Nothing," I said, wiping the smile from my face. I busied myself with my peas. They kept sliding off of my fork.
"Santana," she scolded, her tone stern. She meant business. "I haven't seen you smile in a long time. I only see you smile with your new friend."
"Brittany?" I suggested, raising my eyebrow. She had to be kidding about not remembering Brittany's name. I had spent nearly every second with the girl in the last month. It was the same trick she had pulled with Ms. Pillsbury; she refused to give people any identity. Giving them identity meant admitting that someone was worth her time besides herself. I put my fork back on my plate and crossed my arms.
"Si, si," she said, waving her hand in the air. She folded the newspaper once and put it back on the kitchen table. A picture of a street corner memorial occupied the cover. "You never smile with me. Why don't you smile at home? Only with that girl. You leave her house, you're smiling."
Shit.
"You sit here, you eat these peas, you're smiling. And I know you're thinking about her, it's all over your face."
I immediately felt the telltale heat of embarrassment creeping onto my face and my neck. I looked at my hands in my lap. Could she really tell?
"You know, it'd be nice to have my daughter home with me, for a change. You spend your mornings with her, your afternoons, the weekends. Always. I never see you, only at dinner. You're always at that house. What am I, chopped liver?"
"Mama–" I opened my mouth to defend myself, but she was quick to shush me with a single finger.
"You spend too much time there. You know I'm concerned about you healing, and I'm worried this girl may be getting in the way. She seems a little… different from you. Not someone I'd think you would get along with," my mother said, almost distastefully. She still refused to say Brittany's name. The embarrassment morphed into anger as I stewed in my chair. I was about to lose it. "That family has had you over hundreds of times, but I can count the number of times that girl has been here on one hand." She held up her hand to show me. She spat "that girl" like she was talking about a prostitute.
I was about to argue that Brittany spent every night at our house, but I stopped short when I remembered that no one knew about that but Brittany and me. I shut my mouth quickly.
"I try to provide for you, Santana. I save money for your college, I take you to school, I feed you, I clean, I take you to church. Is it not good enough? You want a new family?"
I was irate. My fists clenched and unclenched in my lap. Not knowing how to even respond, I seethed for a few seconds, before saying, with clenched teeth, "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"What did you just say to me?" my mother asked, looking me dead in the eyes. They were so dark.
"I said, you have no idea what you're talking about," I repeated. "She is my friend. My best friend. She's the one helping me heal, not you. You're always working. Why would I want to sit at home by myself? When you can offer any kind of emotional support, then maybe I'll consider spending half as much time at this house." I stood up abruptly and slammed the chair against the table as I pushed it in. It hit the fork balancing on the edge of my plate, effectively knocking it off of the plate and onto the edge of the table, where it balanced precariously before falling to the floor with a deafening clang. I stared at it resentfully before resolving not to pick it up.
I stalked upstairs and slammed my door. Trying to calm down, I paced the length of my room, mumbling to myself. Angry tears pricked at my eyes. I squeezed them shut.
"Fuck you," I whispered. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you."
I picked up my pillow and punched it as hard as I could.
Wednesday, May 19th, 1999, 12:01 a.m.
I had calmed down considerably by the time Brittany came over, but I was still angry. I hadn't spoken to my mom since dinner, and she hadn't bothered to come upstairs to talk to me. Around 11 she had come upstairs to go to bed. I heard her footsteps, and I watched my bedroom door, half wanting her to come in and half wanting her to just walk past. I was half satisfied with the latter.
For the entire night, I'd alternated between crying and pacing and willing the clock to go faster. I wanted Brittany to come over. I hadn't decided if I wanted to tell her what happened, but I knew that just having her near me would make me feel better.
I initiated the hug as soon as she walked in, in lieu of a greeting. She pulled me into her, protecting me. I was always surprised by how strong she was. It made her hugs the best. She didn't ask any questions at first, she just stroked my hair. I didn't cry, but I think she knew something was wrong.
"You're tense," she said, pulling away to look at me. She kept her hands on my shoulders, kneading them gently. It felt really good.
"Yeah," I breathed.
"Did something happen?" Brittany asked, her eyes wise. Her hands moved to my upper arms, where she rubbed her thumb across the edge of my sleeve. I shivered as her fingers made contact with my skin.
My eyes shifted to the right, where I focused on Brittany's hair, before I managed to meet her eyes again. "My mom thinks we're spending too much time together."
Brittany paused. She didn't stop moving her fingers on my arms, but the strokes felt less steady, less confident. I heard her take a deep breath. "How do you feel about it?"
"About us spending too much time together?"
"Yeah."
I didn't even have to think about my response. "I don't think we are."
Brittany's entire body relaxed, and she stepped a little closer to me. My heart sped up. "Good," she whispered. "Neither do I."
She was so close. I could smell her toothpaste. It smelled delicious, and I was tempted to lean closer and taste it on her lips, but I didn't. That would've ruined everything.
"It's kind of necessary, when you think about it. For us to spend so much time together."
I looked at her, curious about her reasoning. "Why?"
"You were with me when it happened," she explained. "You know how I feel, and I know how you feel. There's no one better for me to spend so much time with. If we're going through the same thing, it only makes sense for us to be together."
Instead of responding, I hugged her again. She hugged me back, and I felt her smile. "You're so smart," I told her, holding her close.
"Now that's something I don't hear very often," Brittany joked. I knew she wasn't being serious, but it was still saddening to hear that people didn't think she was smart. I decided not to comment, knowing that most people probably didn't understand Brittany the way I did.
We went upstairs quietly, slipping into my bedroom. I closed the door behind us and Brittany and I got into bed, immediately finding each other under the covers. Our heads were so close, and I was finding it harder and harder not to eliminate the few inches separating us and press my lips to hers. She interrupted my thoughts about kissing her.
"Can you believe it's been almost a month? We've only known each other for that long. That's hardly any time." She seemed in awe of this fact. I had to admit, it was impressive that we'd become so close in so little time.
"I kind of feel like I've known you for fifty years," I said, half-joking. It really did feel as though Brittany and I had known each other for a lifetime.
"Well if you ask me, you kind of run like you're fifty years old," Brittany said, laughing. It was her way of agreeing with me. I rolled over in the dark and punched her lightly in the shoulder, effectively bringing us even closer together. I positioned myself just over her, propping myself up on my left arm, which I had moved, allowing me to hover just over her. My hair hung down in her face. I don't know what provoked me to position myself that way, but I did anyway.
Her expression was one of content, and she reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear. The corners of her mouth curled slightly. Blue eyes scanned my face, searching for something. I watched her, completely captivated. It was hard to look away, so I didn't. I didn't even notice the muscles in my arm burning, but Brittany did.
"Your arm is shaking," she said, nodding towards it, still smiling faintly. And then I noticed; my arm couldn't hold me up for this staring contest. I shifted my body weight to lie back down on the bed next to her, but she stopped me with a gentle hand on my waist. "Wait," she said. "Stay here."
"Britt, I can't hold myself up," I told her, shaking my head. My muscles continued to burn.
"Just lay down on top of me," she said. "I don't mind."
I couldn't believe it. I blinked at her stupidly.
"I just want to be close to you," she told me, her voice small. "Please." Her eyes scanned my face again, this time looking for permission. She was worried that I would say no.
I closed the distance between our bodies, lowering myself gently so that our fronts were flush against each other. Her hands found my waist and guided me so that we fit together. It was perfect, like hugging her, but it lasted longer. She didn't seem to mind the weight of my body on hers; she sighed, moving her hands up to rest on my ribs, her fingers finding the grooves between them.
I wasn't an idiot. I knew friends didn't lay on top of each other, even best friends. The idea sent tingles down my spine and a lot of heat to unmentionable body parts, but I had a lingering suspicion that Brittany was just lonely, and I was filling in for a boyfriend she didn't have. She sighed into me, and I watched her eyelids flutter closed from my position on her shoulder. My nose pressed into her cheek, which was even softer than I remember it being.
Dammit, I'm Santana fucking Lopez. I won't settle for being a substitute.
But with Brittany, who made me feel like so much more than Santana Lopez, I was content with being just a substitute.
Don't get attached, I told myself. You can't get attached.
But I already had. There was no going back.
Friday, May 21st, 1999, 2:45 p.m.
"School's out for summer," Brittany sang as we walked to her mom's car. I shook my head at her, making my hatred for the horrible rock ballad clear. Brittany insisted on singing it off-key, just to make it that much more annoying. "School's out, forever," she continued, sending a devious glance towards Santana. I tried not to let her see me smile; that was like a white flag of surrender. Brittany cleared her throat pointedly, building up to a grand finale that was sure to burst my eardrums. I winced prematurely. "School's… been… blown… to…" I waited for the last word, but it never came. I looked back at her quizzically.
"I probably shouldn't say that last part," Brittany said thoughtfully before a nervous laugh escaped her lips.
At first, I didn't know what she was talking about. And then I got it. It probably wasn't the best idea to talk about our school being blown to pieces; there were still armed guards monitoring the building just fifteen feet a way. "Right," I said. "Good call." Brittany really was smarter than she gave herself credit for.
Brittany laughed, and we moved on, stepping off of the curb and making our way across the faded asphalt, our bare arms bumping together as we walked.
"Do you feel like going for a run?" Brittany asked me, glancing to the back seat with that same glint in her eye. She knew running made me absolutely miserable, and she seemed to get great satisfaction from it.
But secretly, it didn't hate running. I loved it. I loved watching Brittany run, and I loved the way my muscles felt afterwards. I loved the way my shoes sounded when they hit the dirt on the trail behind Brittany's house. Even though it was physically exhausting, running was the easiest thing in my life. There wasn't confusion and hesitation and fear, it was just me and my legs. And Brittany's, which provided a blessed distraction from the burn in my body. Running was simple in ways that life couldn't be.
"Do we have to?" I mock pouted, keeping up the charade. I could see Mrs. Pierce smiling at me in the rearview mirror. Emily was turning the pages of a picture book, completely immersed in the story.
Mrs. Pierce interrupted, trying to save me from exercise. "Brittany, it's almost ninety-five degrees outside. Don't make Santana run in this heat. Besides, you're celebrating the last day of school by going running? What about a popsicle?"
"Oh, it's okay Mrs. Pierce, it's good for my health," I said seriously, and Brittany fist-pumped triumphantly in the front seat, satisfied that she had won.
"Can I have a popsicle?" Emily asked hopefully, suddenly entering the conversation at the mention of food. I rolled my eyes and looked out the window, watching the cars go past on the main road back to Brittany's house. Mrs. Pierce just laughed and promised her daughter a popsicle.
"Do you have sneakers?" Brittany asked me as we entered her house through the side door. She dumped her new backpack on top of her shoes, not caring that someone could trip and fall. My eyes followed her as she walked into the kitchen, out of view, but not out of earshot.
"Yes," I told her, rifling through my backpack. I found my sneakers and pulled them out, placing them on the floor next to my backpack. I could hear Brittany getting herself a glass of water in the kitchen, so I used the time to replace Brittany's backpack in an upright position. I fixed her Chuck Taylors so they lined up neatly with the wall. Mrs. Pierce abruptly returned to the mudroom, placing her purse on a hook that was already overcrowded with jackets and other purses. She winked at me, seeing my hands hovering above Brittany's shoes. I blushed furiously.
"Santana!" Brittany yelled from the kitchen. "Let's go, it's only going to get hotter!"
Brittany wasn't quite right about that; high noon had already come and gone, but I didn't bother correcting her. I quickly removed my own shoes and arranged them neatly next to Brittany's. I jogged past Emily, who was waiting for her popsicle at the counter, and followed Brittany up to her bedroom. It was a route I had taken hundreds of times, it seemed. The carpet on the stairs felt familiar under my toes as I skipped the last step and reached the landing. I caught a glimpse of Brittany's smile as she turned into her room. When I made it into the room, she was already opening drawers, looking for running clothes.
"Shorts," she said, tossing me a pair of very short, black mesh shorts. I caught them with one hand. "Shirt." She threw a blue shirt over her shoulder without so much as a backwards glance. I changed into the borrowed clothing quickly, not wanting to stand around half naked in Brittany's room for too long.
Something in my head told me that could potentially have disastrous consequences.
When we were both dressed, we ran back down the stairs, reaching the mudroom to put on our sneakers. Brittany didn't notice that I had lined them up neatly for her; she pulled them on quickly, tying the laces expertly. I did the same to mine, and we exited through the side door, yelling our goodbyes to the rest of the Pierce family.
"I'm so glad it's finally summer," Brittany admitted, her held tilted towards the sky. If I looked hard enough I could see the clouds reflected in her thoughtful gaze. "This year felt like an eternity."
"Totally," I agreed, stretching my arms over my head to prepare for our run. We reached the patch of forest through which the trail was barely visible.
"Do you stay here for the summer?" she asked casually, pulling her leg up to stretch her hamstrings. Her question was normal; it was not uncommon for teenagers our age to spend the summers up in the mountains or at a lake house. Some even worked at the waterparks around Colorado. By 'here,' she meant Littleton.
Unfortunately, I'd never had the resources to go anywhere but 'here' for the summer. "Yes," I told her. "All summer. My mom said we might go to the East Coast to look at some colleges, but she hasn't brought that up in a while."
Brittany nodded.
"How about you?" I asked, reaching down to tighten the laces of my sneakers.
"We usually go to my grandparent's lake house for a week or two," Brittany said. "It's a lot of fun." She smiled, and her eyes got a faraway look to them. She looked at me curiously, like she was about to say something, but she seemed to think better of it. I decided not to ask. "You ready?" she finally said, gesturing towards the trail.
I nodded and ducked under the foliage with her, standing to my full height once the branches were out of the way. She began to jog, slowly picking up speed as we rounded the first bend in the dirt. I kept running at my normal pace, content to stay behind to watch her.
10:00 p.m.
After dinner, my mom cajoled me into watching a cheesy made-for-TV romantic comedy. I didn't find it funny or romantic, but it was a decent way to pass the time while I waited for Brittany to come over. My mom sat on the couch, drinking a glass of wine, an indulgence she often allowed on Friday nights. She smiled at the characters on the screen, enamored with the charm of the male lead. He was dancing with a woman, an attractive (but not gorgeous) brunette spinning across the dance floor at somebody's best friend's wedding. Her hands were wrapped around his neck, and their feet moved in time.
I was sure that Brittany would be a good dancer. Cheerleaders did a lot of dancing. I wondered what it would be like to dance with her and to be able to wrap my arms around her neck and move with her to a song. I would give a lot to just have one dance with Brittany.
I blinked at the screen, where the couple was standing in a hotel room. Why in the world was I thinking about dancing with Brittany? It was one thing to think about kissing her, it was entirely another to want to do something so romantic with her.
I was really confused. My mother sipped her wine, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
At the conclusion of the movie, where the girl had left the abusive boyfriend and kissed the handsome dancer in the pouring rain, I found myself feeling incredibly lonely. I had no one to dance with, or kiss in the rain. I had no one to say "I love you" to before I went to bed.
I frowned as I walked upstairs to my bedroom, flicking on the light to reveal some of my clothes strewn about the floor. I bent over to pick them up, groaning at the soreness in my muscles. Brittany and I had been running just about every morning, and I was getting much better at it, but my legs muscles were usually stiff and painful from the constant exercise. It did seem to be paying off, though. I had never been one for physical activity, but I was naturally thin to begin with, so it wasn't something I thought much about. But now, when I looked in the mirror, I could trace muscles on my abdomen that hadn't been visible before. My legs looked more muscular. Brittany was right about the running being good for me.
She tiptoed quietly into the house a little before midnight, giggling when she shed her pants immediately before slipping into my bed.
"No pants?" I asked her, secretly enjoying the feeling of her bare legs against mine.
"It's summer now, I don't sleep with pants on."
"Fine with me," I said, turning around so we could spoon. Brittany chuckled as she pressed her front to me. I could feel the thin fabric of her underwear on the strip of skin between the hem of my shirt and my own pajama shorts. I shivered.
I froze, thinking about the implications of what I had just said. Had that sounded sexual?
Oh god, she's going to figure it out. She's going to know. Fuck.
I tried to ignore my panic and chatted with Brittany about the upcoming summer; she was very excited, so it was easy for me to be mostly silent and listen to her talk, nodding or smiling every once in a while, but I was distracted. Were there other things I said or did that made it seem like I wanted to kiss her? Why had I never thought about that? Sweat collected on my hands, but luckily Brittany didn't notice. I took deep breaths.
"Hey San?" Brittany asked. She had finished her story about trying to swim in the lake with her grandparents' cat a few minutes before, and I assumed that she had fallen asleep.
"Yeah, Britt?" I said in reply, turning my head slightly to hear her better.
"I'm cold." I frowned. We were under the blankets, and as close as we could possibly be to each other. How could she be cold?
"Do you want your shorts?" I asked her, knowing that they would probably offer a little warmth. I began reaching over the side of my bed, where her shorts were crumpled up on the floor. She stuck her hand out quickly, stopping my arm.
She cleared her throat. "Um, no."
I scrunched my eyebrows together, unsure what she wanted from me.
She shifted behind me. "You know how, uh, we fell asleep on Wednesday?" I thought back to Wednesday. Then it clicked, and I remembered. I had fallen asleep on top of Brittany.
My heartbeat stuttered and began to sprint. "What about it?" I asked, suspecting what it was she wanted. I wanted to hear her say it.
Brittany remained mostly still behind me, but her fingers fidgeted where they rested on my hips. I think she forgot that I could feel them. I smiled. "Can you, uh, do that again?" she asked me, and I felt her muscles lock, anticipating my response. "It was really warm," she continued, her words running together.
I pretended to think for a second, loving the way Brittany was getting uncomfortable. I let her sweat for a few seconds.
"Sure," I agreed, rolling over out of her grasp to show her my smile. She smiled back through the dark, and I heard her sigh of relief.
"Cool, thanks," she said. "I should just wear pants or something, shouldn't I?" She chuckled nervously again. I thought it was cute how nervous she was.
I shrugged, tucking my hair behind my ear while I pulled back the covers to give me room to lie on top of Brittany. She lay with her arms at her sides, and she stared up at me with nervous eyes as I straddled her. Her lips parted slightly; I leaned down, just like I had on Wednesday, and let my body mold to hers. Our ribs interlocked, and she exhaled, wrapping her arms around me. I buried my head in her neck, letting the slope of my nose match the curve of her jaw. She sighed.
I had come to recognize her sighs for the emotions behind them; there was the sleepy sigh, which was long, and usually morphed into a yawn, and the exasperated sigh that came with an eye roll, and the content sigh, which was my favorite. When Brittany was happy, I could tell, and I felt happy too. It was incredible.
She yawned, leaning away from me and bringing her hand up to her mouth to stifle it.
"You tired?" I asked, nuzzling into her cheek. She tightened her arms around me in response.
"I don't know why," she said, yawning again, "but I am. I can–" she yawned again "–stay up."
"Just go to sleep, Britt." I told her. She smiled.
"Good night San," she said, hugging me close to her.
"Good night, Britt," I replied. I shut my own eyes, satisfied, but I was left with the distinctly empty feeling that something was missing from our goodnight.
Saturday, May 22nd, 1999, 6:42 p.m.
Mrs. Pierce teetered into the kitchen on her heels, a whirlwind of citrusy perfume and blonde hair. She seemed to be looking for something; after a few seconds, she pulled a red purse out from behind a potted plant and slung it over her shoulder. It clashed wildly with the turquoise of her dress. The music of Aladdin played on the TV in the adjoining living room, and Emily was draped over the back of the couch, upside down. Her face was bright red, and her white-blonde hair hung down onto the green fabric, wet from a recent bath. By the open oven, Brittany was bending down to place a pan of frozen pizzas on the bottom rack to cook.
It was chaos, and I stood back and observed it fondly. I loved it.
"Brittany!" Mrs. Pierce said sharply. The pan clattered against the oven, and I winced. "Get your sister off of the couch!" Brittany stared at her mother, wide-eyed, and left the oven open to go stop her sister from sustaining a head injury. Mrs. Pierce walked around the island, nearly tripping over the open oven door. She stumbled, but didn't bother closing it. I shook my head and walked quickly over to the hazard to close the oven.
"Thanks, Santana," Mrs. Pierce spoke over her shoulder. She was looking for something in her purse.
"No problem," I said coolly, watching Brittany hold her sister upside down in one of her arms. She shook the girl, making her hair swing by Brittany's knees. Emily shrieked with laughter. The chorus of Prince Ali played in the background, the colorful characters dancing through the Arabian marketplace.
"Alan!" Mrs. Pierce nearly screamed up the stairs. "We were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago!"
Shoes that could only belong to Alan Pierce thundered down the staircase. He waltzed into the kitchen, his strides long and his tie crooked. He grinned at me.
"Sorry honey, had to do my makeup," he joked. He sent a friendly wink in my direction.
Mrs. Pierce was too far past frazzled to even call her that. "Just get in the car," she said. "Brittany, are you sure you guys will be okay while we're gone?"
Brittany looked up at the sound of her mother's voice. She then looked at her sister, who was still upside down in her arms, and her mother, who hadn't even seemed to notice. The final line of Prince Ali reverberated through the living room, and the tubas played on. Brittany dropped her sister on her back onto the couch. Emily glared at her.
"Yeah, we'll be fine," she told her mom.
"Okay, good," Mrs. Pierce said, walking towards her daughters. "Emily needs to be in bed by nine–"
"Nine-thirty!" Emily protested.
"Nine," Mrs. Pierce said, looking sternly at Emily. The younger girl shrank into the couch. "The pizza will be ready in fifteen minutes. We should be back by midnight." She glanced at her watch. Mr. Pierce stood in the kitchen, rifling through the refrigerator.
"Alan!" she reprimanded. He held up his hands and let the fridge door shut closed. Mrs. Pierce put her head in her hands. "Santana, are you sleeping over?"
"Yes," Brittany answered for me. I looked at Brittany.
"What she said," I told Mrs. Pierce.
"Excellent. Be good, girls." She leaned over and planted a kiss to Emily's cheek, and then Brittany's forehead.
"Yuk," Emily said, wiping the kiss off of her cheek. Brittany stuck her tongue out at Emily and crossed her eyes.
"Santana, you're the babysitter. Make sure no one breaks any bones."
"Aye-aye, captain," I agreed, saluting Mrs. Pierce. Brittany giggled.
She rushed over to the side door, ushering Mr. Pierce out onto the driveway.
"Goodbye, my beautiful ladies!" he called over his shoulder.
"Alan!" Mrs. Pierce said again, more exaggerated .
"Oh my god, they're so embarrassing," Brittany moaned. Emily giggled. The older Pierce flopped onto the couch beside her sister, placing her hands over her eyes to hide from me. Her cheeks were almost the same color as Emily's had been just minutes earlier, but she wasn't hanging upside down. The car started in the driveway and faded as Brittany's parents drove down the street.
"Where are your parents going?" I asked Brittany, plopping down next to her on the couch. I crossed my legs in front of me. Emily was already re-invested in Aladdin.
"Sh," she whispered, poking me in the shoulder with a tiny finger.
"Sorry," I whispered back. Brittany smiled.
"A work event with some of dad's colleagues, I think," she informed me, answering my original question. "I guess it'll go pretty late, so we're in charge of the monkey," Brittany said, nodding at Emily.
I laughed. "Sounds good. What do you want to do tonight?"
"Carmen Sandiego!" Emily piped in, balling her tiny fists high in the air.
"No!" Brittany protested adamantly, her blue eyes huge and round. "I am not playing Carmen Sandiego! I am putting my foot down!"
Emily sneered at her older sister and crossed her arms. "Fine. You're boring."
"It's okay, Britt, being boring has its benefits," I teased, tickling her stomach. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but lately I couldn't stop myself from touching her; she either didn't notice or didn't mind. Brittany immediately grabbed at my hands, laughing and pushing me off of her. Her resistance was futile. I continued to tickle her stomach, beginning to laugh at the way her face contorted.
"Can we play hide and seek?" Emily asked, bored with Aladdin.
"After pizza," Brittany answered. "Which should be done by now."
I removed my hands from Brittany's stomach. They suddenly felt awkward and out of place with the reminder that Emily was in the room. I sighed and turned around, watching Brittany bend over to pull the pizza out of the oven with lobster oven mitts on her hands. I smiled.
"Why are you smiling?" Emily asked me, staring at me with intense blue eyes. I snapped towards her, and the smile scampered from my face. All of her attention was on me.
I had no idea how to answer that. "I, uh, don't know. Because I can?"
Emily looked skeptical. "Okay," she said slowly, looking from me to Brittany, who was rolling a pizza cutter across our dinner. The younger Pierce abruptly hopped off of the couch and went to stand next to her sister in the kitchen. I watched her, knitting my eyebrows together, before shaking off Emily's strange behavior and joining them at the counter.
Brittany placed unevenly sliced pieces of pizza on three paper plates for each of us. She slid them across the counter. I took the apple juice out of the fridge, pouring it into a cup for Emily.
"Britt, what do you want to drink?" I asked her, setting the juice on the counter in front of Emily.
"I'll have apple juice," she replied, opening a drawer to pull out some napkins. I poured Brittany's juice, filled my own cup with water from the sink, and took a seat at the counter. Brittany sat between Emily and me. She did most of the talking, telling me about her grandparents and their cat and the different things they did up at her grandparents' lake house. I loved hearing about Brittany's family, but I felt a pang in my chest knowing that she would be leaving me in Littleton while she spent anywhere from one to three weeks two hours north. It was disappointing to know I would be alone for an unspecified amount of time; Brittany said her parents were spontaneous about how long they spent at the lake. I thought about asking my mom to take me on some college tours while Brittany was gone.
We finished dinner quickly and tossed our paper plates in the trash. Brittany stood and walked to the sink to do a few of the dirty dishes that rested in the sink.
"Santana, can you dry for me?" she asked, picking up the pizza pan and a sponge.
"Sure." I grabbed a towel from the handle on the oven door. Brittany turned on the water.
"Hey Emily, do you want to go put your pajamas on? When you're finished we can play hide and seek," Brittany proposed, scrubbing the metal surface of the dirty pan. She pumped some dish wash into the sponge and returned to scrubbing. I watched her hand move in rhythmic circles, waiting for her to finish washing so I could dry. I must have zoned out, because after a few seconds, a warm splash of soapy water hit me in my face.
"Brittany!" I exclaimed. "What was that for?"
"You zoned out," she explained. "You do it all the time." I gulped. "I just happen to have warm, soapy water at my disposal to get you with." She flicked a few more bubbles at me to prove her point.
"That's not fair!" I protested. "What am I supposed to hit you with?"
Brittany raised an eyebrow at me. She scooped up a handful of the soapy water and hit me directly in the face. I stumbled backwards and wiped my hand across my mouth, shaking off the water.
"Oh it's on, Pierce," I told her. She shrieked and ran around the counter in front of the fridge. I took a handful of water from the sink and flung it at her. She shrieked again and ducked behind the counter, causing the splash to hit the fridge. It dripped down to the floor.
"Hah!" Brittany boasted, dancing around where she stood. She twirled around, exposing her back to me, and I pounced. Figuratively. I threw more water at her, this time hitting her in the neck. She yelped and slapped her hand against her wet hair, catching a few of the suds.
"You little–" she didn't even finish her sentence as she came running around the counter, arms outstretched to tackle me. I took off, slipping on the floor in my socks. The pizza pan lay forgotten in the sink. Brittany picked up the wet sponge out of the sink and hurled it at me, hitting my side and leaving a huge splotch on the dark fabric of the t-shirt I was borrowing from her. If she wanted to make her own clothes wet it was fine by me.
I bent down and picked up the sponge, grinning to find that it was still wet enough to do some damage. Brittany's eyes widened when I held the sponge high above my head, poised to throw.
"Uh oh," she whispered. She dashed to the living room, hiding behind one of the couches.
"You can run, but you can't hide!" I growled, sprinting after her on my newly developed muscles. Another high pitch noise escaped her mouth, and she leapt over the back of the couch, landing on the living room rug. She jumped off of the ground and ran towards the kitchen. I ran after her, the sponge dripping in my left hand.
Because she had her head turned to monitor my progress, she ran smack into the counter with a painful crack. She didn't seem to be in pain, but the look of terror on her face told me that she knew I had her cornered. I grinned like a maniac and pulled my arm back to launch the sponge at Brittany.
"What are you guys doing?" Emily asked from the doorway, clad in pink princess pajamas.
I looked at the sponge at my hand, and then at Brittany's face. She looked guilty. I followed Emily's curious eyes as she scanned the kitchen, looking at the soap and water dripping from every surface. I slowly lowered the sponge, holding it behind my back, out of view. We had been caught red-handed. I stepped to my left, putting some distance between Brittany and me, and looked at the floor. Brittany looked at Emily.
"Washing the dishes," Brittany finally answered. Her inflection at the end of her answer made it sound more like a question than an answer, though.
Emily surveyed the messy kitchen again. "You're taking forever. I want to play hide and seek." She ended the conversation by walking into the living room and turning on the TV.
Brittany looked at me, and we both burst out laughing.
"Come here," she said. "You've got bubbles in your hair." I looked up at the loose hair in my face, trying and failing to locate the bubbles. I frowned. She smiled as she came closer, gently reaching up to run her fingers through my hair.
"There you go," she told me, tucking the loose strands behind my ear. Her eyes were so beautiful. If I focused on them, then it was easy not to look at her lips.
"Are you guys done yet?" Emily asked from the living room. "I'm bored."
Brittany took a step back from me and rolled her eyes, taking the sponge from my hand and continuing to wash the few dishes in the sink. I found a roll of paper towels and used a few to wipe the soapy water from the fridge, the counter, and the floor. When she finished washing, I dried everything meticulously. When we put the dishes away, I had to ask Brittany where a few things were, but after spending a month at the Pierce house I had the layout of the kitchen nearly memorized. We then reconvened with a sufficiently annoyed Emily in the living room. She turned off the TV and glared at us.
"What time is it?" she demanded.
"A little after eight," Brittany said, wincing a little. Emily would not be happy that we had so little time to play.
"How much time until nine?" Emily said, trying to count on her fingers. She looked frustrated.
"Forty-five minutes," Brittany told her.
"Then we have to start now!" Emily said. "I'm counting, go hide." She walked over to the corner. "Mom and dad's room and the shed are off limits!"
I looked at Brittany incredulously. "I don't know anyone who ever wants to count first. And why would we hide in the shed?"
"She's a control freak," Brittany said, shrugging. "I hid in the shed and locked myself in there by accident when I was younger. Emily wasn't even alive, it's just been a hide and seek rule forever." It was kind of funny. I smiled. "Let's go hide, I know the best spots," she said. I followed her to the staircase, where she instructed me to walk quietly up the stairs. We were both pros at walking up staircases quietly, so I was pretty sure Emily didn't know where we were going.
"Where should I hide?" I asked Brittany.
"With me," Brittany said simply, offering no other explanation.
I thought for a minute as she led us down the hallway, past what I knew to be Emily's room and a guest room.
"Won't that make Emily find us faster?" I asked, confused.
"No. It makes it 50% less likely to find us, because we're only in one hiding spot. Or something." She waved her hand. "Who cares?"
I shrugged, following Brittany into a room I had never seen before. It had a large four-poster bed in the center, with two matching nightstands on either side. There was a bookshelf against the far wall between two windows that looked out over the darkening street. There was an ironing board open next to the bookshelf. A few men's dress shirts were dressed over it.
"Britt, is this your parents' room? I thought we weren't allowed in here," I said, confused. I looked around at the furniture. It was definitely Mr. and Mrs. Pierce's room.
"They have the best closet, and Emily will never look in here," Brittany replied, as if she was pointing out the obvious.
"Yeah, because Emily told us we shouldn't hide in here!" I insisted. I didn't want to ruin the Emily's night; I was basically in charge. Brittany was being very competitive.
"She's six," Brittany said, exasperated with me.
"Ready or not, here I come!" Emily yelled from downstairs.
"Oops," Brittany whispered devilishly. "Come on." She grabbed my hand and led me to a door on the side of the room. "In here." She opened it and slipped inside. I followed her into the dark recesses of the closet, immediately claustrophobic in the dark space. It was very small, and definitely not big enough for the two of us. I bumped against clothes hanging directly in front of us. Brittany let go of my hand, and I frowned, but it was too dark to see. The closet was warm, and I could feel her shoulders bumping against mine.
"It's a little cramped in here," I whispered. I didn't particularly mind, but I wasn't about to tell Brittany that.
"I guess I should've thought about that before we hid here, shouldn't I?"
I groaned. Brittany giggled softly. She offered her arms out, placing her hands on my arms, and I could make out the outline of her features in the tiny bit of light shining through the crack at the bottom of the door. "Here, turn towards me," she instructed, gently turning my shoulders so we were facing each other. I stumbled over what I hoped was a shoe. I tripped directly into Brittany, who caught me easily, despite hardly being able to see me.
She giggled again. "Be quiet, she'll find us!"
I smiled in the dark, and I didn't move from my position against Brittany. I straightened up a little, putting me at about eye level with what I thought to be her lips.
"Where are you?" Brittany asked, reaching out with her hand and grabbing my face.
"Hmph," I tried to speak, but Brittany's hand covered my mouth.
"Found you," Brittany said proudly, not removing her hands from my face. I licked her palm.
Brittany chuckled. "Not going to work."
"Dammit," I cursed, but it hardly sounded like English with the obstacle of Brittany's hand in front of my face. I went for her arms, pushing them away from me. She removed the hand on my face and placed both hands on my elbows. I leaned forward, purely out of instinct. I could feel her breathing against me.
What if I kiss her?
I could do it. I could do it and call it an accident, say it was dark and I couldn't see her.
Would she believe that?
Fuck it. I leaned forward, parting my lips. Tingles shot down my spine. I needed to do this now, or I would never be able to. But then the closet door burst open, revealing a pissed off six year-old.
"Brittany, I said you couldn't hide in mommy and daddy's room!" I threw myself back from Brittany, needing to be away from her when the light hit us. I had a feeling it was already too late. Brittany and her sister both gave me a curious look. "Santana, what are you doing in here?"
"Britt and I decided to hide together," I said quickly, out of breath.
"Are you okay?" Brittany asked, scrunching up her eyebrows. She was concerned.
I nodded. "I'm fine. Let's get out of here." I stepped into the bedroom, hoping the weak light in the room hid my blush and my dejection from Brittany.
I took it as a sign from the universe. A very, very disappointing sign.
Monday, May 31st, 1999, 9:00 p.m.
Watching romantic comedies with my mom became a routine occurrence for us. I don't think either of us enjoyed them all that much, but every night around eight p.m., we never failed to find one on TV.
"Feel like a movie?" my mom would ask. It was the same every night.
And just like I responded every night, I said, "Sure."
She didn't drink wine every time we watched the movies; that was reserved for Fridays and Saturdays. We were usually quiet when we watched, with the exception of a random comment here and there. Sometimes one of the characters would do something that reminded me of Brittany and I'd laugh. Sometimes she laughed, but I never really understood why she laughed at the things she did.
Maybe they reminded her of someone.
I'd been thinking about Brittany a lot lately. Even more so than I had been, which was difficult for me to fathom. I knew she was beautiful. But there was something about her on the inside that was just as beautiful; it drew me in, pulling me towards her. It begged me to reach out and feel, to kiss, to touch. It was maddening to be around her and not be able to do the things I thought about during every waking moment. I found myself giving her these looks, and I knew what I looked like. A puppy dog, maybe, or perhaps just a goldfish. I was addicted to her, and if she hadn't figured it out yet, then she was just as clueless as everyone thought she was.
We'd become extremely close in the past month and a half. I knew almost everything about her because of our extensive bonding. I knew all about Michael, and I knew how she sometimes thought that there were monsters in my closet, but she didn't admit that very often. I just held her tighter at night. I knew all about her struggles with school, and I had inferred her fears about going to college, though she never really told me about them. I knew that she loved her sister. I knew that she received a stuffed animal duck as a present when she was almost three, and she threw it in the pool and told it to swim. I knew that she was ticklish everywhere, but mostly her stomach. I knew that she was self-conscious about her ankle bones. I knew that she had become my favorite smell.
I knew that she was my best friend, and we told each other everything.
And I think I knew that I loved her. That was the one thing I hadn't told her. And sometimes, when Brittany went home after our sleepovers, I thought about the fact that it might not be the platonic love normal people have for their friends. This was different. I never entertained the idea for very long, mostly because it scared me. It was possible to fall in love with another girl. I just never thought it'd be me.
So I tried to maintain that mentality, hoping that the feelings would go away with time, but they only intensified. Every new thing I learned about Brittany captured another piece of my heart and gave it to her. Each smile she sent my way made me warmer than they should.
Being Brittany's best friend was easy. But knowing I could potentially, no, probably, be falling in love with her? The hardest thing I had ever experienced.
"Hey mom?" I asked. A commercial rolled on the screen.
"Hm?" she grunted in response.
"What does being in love feel like?"
I don't know why I was asking her. I clenched and unclenched my fists. If she laughed at me, I would lose it.
"Why do you ask, Santanita?" she said curiously. There was no judgment. I sighed in relief.
I didn't really know how to explain myself. So I made something up. "They don't really explain it in these movies. You can only see it in the acting."
"Ah, yes," my mother answered, putting on her 'I am a wise turtle' face. It was one I hadn't seen in quite some time. She pursed her lips, and her wrinkles became a little more pronounced. "It's hard to describe, you know. But you really know when you're in love with someone when you're willing to give up everything for them." She looked down at her hands, something I often did when I was nervous. "There's no question about whether you love them. It should be instinctive. You don't have to think, 'do I love this person?'" She looked me dead in the eyes, and I saw her brown eyes grow heavier. "One day you just know. And that's it." She sighed.
"You sound like you're speaking from experience," I blurted out. I think Brittany's bluntness was rubbing off on me; I rarely thought before I spoke anymore. Rage flickered across my mother's eyes, but I blinked and it was gone.
"I was in love once," she said. "I know how it feels."
"With my dad?" I asked. Again, no filter. I figured it was probably a good thing, because if I didn't ask her directly, she would never tell me.
"Yes, with your father. I loved him very much when I was about your age. Older, actually. I had finished high school." I had known they met each other after high school. I knew his name was Antonio, but she always called him Tony. "He was a gentleman. He was dirt poor, but he still managed to take me out every week. And one day, I realized I loved him."
It qualified as one of the least descriptive stories I'd ever heard.
"That's it?" I asked. "That's all you can tell me?" I was beyond frustrated.
The flash of anger in her eyes was longer this time. She continued.
"That night, we made love. A few weeks later I found out I was pregnant. I called him to tell him the good news, and then I never saw or heard from him again." She sneered. I felt guilty. It was my fault he left. I couldn't imagine what would happen to me if Brittany left, and I couldn't imagine how my mom survived all of these years without the person she fell in love with.
I didn't understand why love was so difficult.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, Santana. You're the best mistake I ever made." Despite the line being the most cliché thing a single mother could say, it meant a lot to me.
"Thanks, mom."
"Of course, mija."
And then I knew it definitely wasn't platonic.
Tuesday, June 1st, 1999, 4:00 p.m.
"Thanks again for taking me to the school, Mrs. Pierce," I said from the back seat of the Buick. I had spent more time in that Buick than our family car in the last two months, especially because I was giving Brittany driving lessons; she had logged almost thirty. We had moved on to parallel parking, which was nerve-wracking. Now, on the way to Columbine, I felt lonely in the back seat, even though Emily was just a foot away in her booster seat.
"It's no problem, sweetie," Mrs. Pierce replied, driving towards our school. I could see the roof it over the tops of the trees lining the street.
I was scared to go back to Columbine. Going to Chatfield had been relatively easy; it wasn't where everything happened. We weren't actually going inside of the building, but the thought of being at the crime scene was terrifying. Mrs. Pierce pulled into the parking lot, where squad cars were parked near long rows of folding tables. About thirty students were walking around the tables, looking for their stuff.
Brittany had called me that morning after leaving my house. She told me that her mom heard from a friend that all of the student property had been removed from the building and was going to be available for students to take home starting at four p.m. Apparently the Jefferson County PD had decided not to send out a letter telling everyone about the reclaim, but I didn't mind. Brittany's mom suspected that they were sending out the letters in waves to decrease traffic at the school. Mrs. Pierce had offered to drive Brittany and me to the school, and I immediately accepted. I was looking forward to getting my bag back.
"We're going to wait in the car, girls. Try to make it quick," Mrs. Pierce told us. We nodded and stepped into the parking lot. Brittany had been just as quiet as I had on the ride to Columbine; she was clearly anxious about seeing the building again. Once we were out of the car, evidence of the aging mini-memorials was scattered around the property. There were some bouquets of fresh flowers propped against a few trees, but most of the candles had melted down to stumps, and the pictures had torn and faded. I tried not to look as we made our way towards the tables.
A cop intercepted us. "Good afternoon, ladies. We've organized everything by location today, so anything in lockers 1-250 are at this table, 251-500 at this table, you get the point. Piles are numbered individually. The JCPD holds no responsibility for lost or misplaced items. Any loose papers were thrown out. Textbooks were returned to the school, so you don't need to worry about those. Good luck." He began to walk away. "Find the nearest officer if you need any help."
"Um, sir?" I interrupted. He turned around, threading his thumbs through his belt loops.
"Yes?"
"We were, uh, in the library. I had stuff in my locker, but my backpack was in the library."
He looked from me to Brittany, and then he chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "Let me talk to my advisor about that. For the time being, you can get your things that were in your locker. I'll find you in a few minutes.
Brittany and I went our separate ways to retrieve our things. I had left a few books and three binders in my locker. I found them easily and went to find Brittany, who seemed to be struggling with the contents of her locker.
"Jesus, you have a lot of crap," I said as Brittany's locker pile came into view. She had a multitude of different colored pens scattered over a few novels and some brightly colored notebooks. She also had two or three jackets on top of her stack.
"Do you ever bring any of this stuff home?" I asked her. She cracked a smile.
"Not usually," she replied.
"Come on, let me help you," I said, taking a third of the pile and adding it to mine, making our loads equal. We walked back towards the officer, who was speaking into a walkie-talkie connected to his belt. He replaced it when he saw us approaching. He looked apologetic.
"I'm sorry, ladies. I can't give you your backpacks today, they're still considered evidence."
"Do you know when we'll get them back?" Brittany asked, toeing the ground with her sneakers.
"I'm sorry, I don't. I can have the station contact you when they're cleared for return."
We gave him our names and our phone numbers, which he wrote down on a little notepad he pulled out of his back pocket.
"Again, sorry for the inconvenience," he said. "You ladies have a nice day."
"Thank you," Brittany and I said in unison, turning around to walk back to the parking lot. We didn't say anything until we reached the trunk of the car. Brittany pulled it open and placed her stuff in the trunk, and I put mine next to it.
"I don't even know if I want my bag back," Brittany said. "That will be kind of weird."
"Yeah, it will be. I really don't mind the ones that they donated to us."
"Me neither," Brittany agreed. "And I like that we have matching backpacks."
I smiled as I slid into the back seat.
7:00 p.m.
Mr. Pierce grilled hamburgers and hot dogs for dinner to "kick off the summer the right way." According to him, summer started on the first day of June. Brittany found this funny. The food was delicious, and it was made even better by Mrs. Pierce's macaroni salad, sliced watermelon, and a buttery piece of corn on the cob that Brittany and I split down the middle to share. It was a delicious dinner.
I felt a little bad that my mom was eating at home by herself, but not too terrible. I was having fun.
After dinner, I helped Brittany clear the table, admiring the grace that came with everything she did. Her long arm swooped across the table and grabbed a bottle of mustard. I don't know how she managed to do it, but she looked fantastic clearing the table.
She also looked fantastic as we joined Emily in the living room. We sat next to each other in the couch, and Emily sat in the arm chair by the fireplace. Brittany crossed her long legs, which were already tanning because of our morning runs. Her eyes looked brighter against the tanned skin of her face, and I knew that by August her skin would almost match mine. Or how it looked in the winter, at least.
Brittany channel surfed, flipping between cartoons and the 1978 Superman movie. Brittany's erratic channel changing was making me nauseous, so I looked back into the kitchen, where Mr. and Mrs. Pierce were doing dishes. She was washing, and he was drying, moving a towel quickly across the dishes and placing them in various cabinets and drawers. I watched them for a little while, curious. Because I had never had a father figure in the house, I loved watching Mr. Pierce. He made me laugh, and I could tell that Brittany was a total daddy's girl. When she was with him, she was even more energetic, and her eyes were a little brighter.
Crickets chirped outside. Mr. Pierce said something funny, and Mrs. Pierce laughed. Mr. Pierce smiled a smile that looked very familiar; it was one I saw on Brittany every time she made me laugh. It was a proud smile.
Mr. Pierce said something else, and Mrs. Pierce's mouth opened into a shocked 'o.'
"Alan!" she whispered harshly, trying to contain a smile. She looked at the sponge in her hand, which was dripping into the sink, and she reached up and slapped him in the face with it. Suds dripped onto the collar of his t-shirt. He rubbed his cheek, feigning offense. He leaned over, a dopey grin on his face, and kissed his wife on the cheek.
The scene looked too familiar. My muscles locked, and alarm bells rang in my head.
From their vantage point, I was invisible, free to watch them. Mr. Pierce said something again, and I was able to read his lips.
"I love you." He said it softly, like he really meant it. Mrs. Pierce rolled her eyes, just like Brittany did so often. She pinched his cheek. I couldn't tell what she said back to him, but I assume she said that she loved him back.
I wanted that. And I knew exactly with whom I wanted it.
"Fuck," I whispered. Brittany didn't seem to hear me.
Wednesday, June 2nd, 1999, 2:30 a.m.
Later, when Brittany had come over, my emotions had become too much to handle. I was in a state of panic for hours wondering if she could read them on my face. It was unlikely, seeing as I could barely decipher the confusion in my head.
Confusion. That was the most powerful emotion. I knew I loved her, but I don't know why I did. There were the obvious reasons; she was beautiful, smart, kind, and funny, and the perfect best friend. I was confused about me, and why I had fallen in love with those things.
I wondered if she could feel my love for her swirling around with the confusion. Every time I touched her, and as I lay on top of her, which we did almost every night, I worried that the currents of electricity through my body were being conducted to hers. She was going to figure it out.
I had to tell her before that happened.
Our goodnight around 1:30 was the same as it always was. She was falling asleep, and I could tell.
"Goodnight, Brittany," I whispered, snuggling into her neck.
"Goodnight, Santana," she mumbled back, tightening her hold around me. After a minute or two her grip loosened, and I knew she had fallen asleep.
While she slept, I watched her, unable to fall asleep, because that would mean letting her out of my sight. I ran my fingers lightly over her hair and her cheeks, careful not to wake her up. I knew she was a deep sleeper.
"I love you," I whispered, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She didn't stir. My heart thundered in my chest.
I had to tell her for real. If I waited any longer, I was positive it would kill me. I needed to do this, and face the consequences, whether they were positive or negative.
I was logical about it. I knew I could just be a placeholder for Brittany, a warm body for her to cuddle with until she fell asleep. I knew that she was very touchy with me, and I liked that, but I knew that she could be like that with everyone. I knew that she had told me almost everything about her. Every intimate detail, except about her argument with Quinn. I had given up wondering about that, but I knew she hadn't seen Quinn since the memorial anywhere other than school. Sometimes she got a look in her eyes that made me think that she might love me back. It was fleeting, though, that I didn't let myself think too much about it. It was highly possible that she would freak out when I told her, but it was also possible that she would pull me into one of those kisses that I dreamed about.
I was in love with her. And it scared the crap out of me.
Friday, June 4th, 1999, 2:00 p.m.
I waited for two more days. I had chickened out every day before, multiple times, unwilling to bring myself to tell her the truth. Sometimes I thought I had the willpower to do it, but as soon as I opened my mouth to tell her, I froze up. I wasn't ready.
We were in my bedroom, and my mom was at work. Brittany had come over early to help me make dinner for my mom and me, but it didn't need to be started until four. My hands were sweating, and I rubbed them together nervously. She stood over by my dresser, looking at the framed pictures of me as a child. She turned around to face me.
"San, are you okay? You've been acting a little different this week," she told me, interrupting my panic. I never thought it would be Brittany to initiate this conversation.
I took a deep breath, using the few seconds it took the air to fill my lungs to think about how to tell her.
"Actually, I have something to tell you."
She knit her eyebrows together, concerned.
I put my head in my hands, rubbing my temples. I stood up from the bed.
The words were on the tip of my tongue, threatening to wreak havoc if they were to break the silence. And then I started to say them. I could barely look at her. And she knew. Jesus, she knew. I could see it in her eyes in the split second I was able to make contact with the curious blue.
"I think… I think I might be… in…" I stuttered. This was it. "In–"
I couldn't even finish my sentence. I had been so distracted by my thoughts that I had failed to notice the two strides she took towards me, closing the distance between us. I looked up, about to utter the scariest words I had ever spoken, but her lips were a half-inch away from mine, with every intent to kiss me. She leaned forward, and our lips met. My words died in my throat.
It was like her lips were barely there. It was hardly even a kiss; her lips ghosted against mine. We didn't move for a few seconds, and I knew she was nervous. Her lips trembled slightly where they pressed lightly against mine, and I was dying to taste them. There were still a few inches of space between our bodies, and our arms hung at our sides. Mine twitched nervously, wanting to reach out and feel her. Her lips were so warm, and each breath she took mixed with mine, making me feel deliciously intoxicated. My head spun and my pulse raced in my ears, deafening in the silence of the room. I opened my eyes and looked into hers, and the first thing I saw was hesitation. But when I really looked, I thought I saw love; something I saw in my own eyes when I looked in the mirror in the mornings after Brittany left. The expression I saw on my mom's face when she talked about my dad. The look in Mr. Pierce's eyes when he kissed Brittany's mom on the cheek. The look dared me to finish my sentence. And that's what made me say them. Just five words.
"I'm in love with you," I breathed against her lips, barely audible. The fate of my life – my world, really – hung suspended in the silence. It was in Brittany's hands now, along with my once carefully protected heart. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Her head tilted slightly to my left, and I kept my head still, waiting patiently for a reply from her. It felt like hours had gone by, and I had to restrain myself from parting my lips and diving headfirst into her, or just sprinting out of the room. Seconds passed.
And then Brittany Pierce was kissing me.
The movement was hardly distinguishable at first, but then she tilted her head forward, and the sensation was incredible. I responded to the new feeling against my lips, parting them slightly and feeling the electric currents run through my body. I knew that she felt them too. She stepped forward into me, slipping her arms around my waist. Her lips pressed harder against mine, more urgent, hungry. I kissed her back, desperate to find out what I had been missing. Kissing her was easy; she led, and I followed, letting my lips mold to hers. She tasted like mint toothpaste, just as I thought she would. I was unsure of where to put my hands, so they fluttered for a few seconds by her neck, tempted to touch her hair, just like I had imagined doing so many times before. Brittany smiled into the kiss, sensing my hesitation. My smile mirrored hers as I found her long hair and wound strands of it around my fingers, right at the nape of her neck. She seemed to like this; she got closer to me, and her fingertips pressed harder into my waist. Her breathing became uneven. It was everything I could have imagined and more, and I could barely breathe. There was a buzzing in the back of my skull that I had never felt before. We continued kissing gently, and I moved my thumb to her jaw to guide her lips to mine. I kept my eyes shut tight, knowing that opening them would cause the bubble surrounding us to shatter.
The kiss said a lot of things. It said, "You're my best friend," and, "I'm so glad this is finally happening." It said, "I'm so glad you told me," and, "This is what I've been waiting for." But I didn't know if it said, "I love you back." She certainly hadn't said that to me. As far as I knew, she was just kissing me because she could. And that's why I panicked.