Author's note: I'm so glad that everyone seemed to enjoy the last couple of chapters. Thank you so much for your reviews and kind messages. Most of all, thank you to everyone who has recommended this story to other Brittana fans. :)
Her Smile Heals Me (part 16)
"And for you, Miss?"
Brittany looked at the menu, her eyes scanning back down the list of the restaurant's entrees. It was at least the fifth time she'd looked it over without anything sounding good to her. She looked back up to see both her mother and father staring across the table at her.
"Do you need another moment to look at the menu?" the waitress asked.
"No, um…I guess I'll just have the chicken soup," Brittany closed the menu and handed it to the waitress, thinking that might be something that wouldn't upset her stomach, because everything lately seemed to upset her stomach.
"You sure that's all you want, sweetie?" Mrs. Pierce asked with a furrowed brow, "Take advantage of a meal away from the cafeteria when you can."
"That'll be fine…thanks though," she confirmed with an awkward smile toward her parents on the other side of the booth.
"If I know my girl then she's saving room for a big slice of cake…right?" Brittany's dad teased.
"Maybe," she answered, smiling politely.
"Do you think your group is ready for tomorrow's performance?" her mom asked.
"Yes, I think so…this week's routines are definitely harder than last week's," Brittany told them, thinking to herself…or maybe I'm just more distracted this week.
"Then it sounds like you got back just in time to learn them," Mr. Pierce stated.
Brittany looked down at the table, nervously straightening her knife before fidgeting with the cloth napkin folded in her lap.
"Ok, let's not have this hanging over us our whole dinner…," Brittany's mom started, "…Brittany, I want you to look at me please."
Brittany looked up at her parents, a look of dread on her face, and swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly very dry.
"Your father and I are very disappointed with your choices this week."
"I know, Mom."
"Let me finish…for you to sacrifice your opportunity here is a risk we would never want you to take…which is, I'm sure, why you tried to hide it from us."
"Dealing with things truthfully is very important…and the fact that you lied is what is most disappointing," Mr. Pierce scolded.
Brittany's stomach started burning, and she leaned into it and grimace, "I tried to do the right thing by talking to my instructor first…I told her the truth…it was a family emergency…Santana is my family."
"But you didn't tell us, B…and that's the one thing your mother and I have always tried to instill in you girls is that you never have to fear coming to us," her father emphasized.
"I'm sorry," Brittany said meekly.
"You may think we don't understand why you did what you did…but we do," her mother added, "We recognize how much you love Santana…that's why I called you as soon as I found out…and I went up to the hospital before I realized she wasn't there."
"I appreciate that you called, Mom…I really do…but that's not the same as me being with her," Brittany pleaded her case.
"I know, sweetie…just next time trust us enough to tell us what you feel you need to do…," Mrs. Pierce explained, "…because there is not a worse feeling in the world than thinking your child is safe in one place just to find out she's actually in a different place."
"I understand…I really am sorry," Brittany told them.
"We know you are, B…we just want to make sure you use better judgment next time, ok?" her father said.
"Yeah, ok."
"We love you…so cheer up a little, and let's enjoy the weekend," he suggested as the waitress arrived to their table with their dinner.
The doorbell sounded.
"Mom - door!"
David Karofsky was stretched out on his living room couch, legs crossed at the ankles and channel-surfing through daytime television. His days had started to run together at this point in his house confinement. He was unsure whether it was Tuesday or Thursday or June or July. Not that it really matters anyway, he thought to himself. He had no place to be and nobody to talk with other than his parents, who he was afraid of, and his defense attorney, whom he thought was a scumbag.
He initially thought this whole ordeal would be done with and behind him in time to start two-a-day practice with the rest of the McKinley High football team at the end of the summer. His attorney kept assuring him it was only a matter of time before the case against him fell apart, since it was primarily a "He said, She said" situation all along. David grimaced and slightly flushed in a moment of mental self-incrimination.
The doorbell sounded again followed by a loud knock.
"Mom! The Door!" Dave stood and set down his bag of Cool Ranch Doritos then moved toward the entryway and yelled up the stairs. He had been instructed to never answer the door under his current circumstances, being told that staying out of the front line of defense was crucial for him.
A louder knock sounded at the door, startling David who was standing beside it. Karofsky could see movement outside the yellow-stained glass set inside the center of the decorative front door. He tried to look while avoiding being seen.
There was another forceful knock before he heard a loud voice announce, "Open up. Lima P.D."
David nervously reached for the knob to open the door, finally giving in to the authoritative instructions.
Immediately several uniformed officers stepped inside his house followed by police detectives.
"David, good to see you again…Detective Sheldon, you may remember...and Detective Mills," the suit-wearing officer reminded him with a big grin, showing his badge before returning it to his pocket and pointing behind him at his very tall partner.
"David," Detective Mills patted the large teen on the shoulder as he stepped inside the house, passing through the entryway into the living room and flashing his badge as well.
David nodded his recognition.
"Keeping up on your Judge Judy, I see...," Detective Mills referenced the show playing on the oversized television built into the wall, "Good choice…she an excellent source of legal knowledge."
"My dad isn't home right now…and my mom's upstairs."
"That's okay, buddy…we are here to serve this search warrant," Detective Sheldon told him, pointing toward the four uniformed officers who accompanied them, "Why don't you show these guys where you are keeping your car?"
"My car?" David asked.
"Yes, your personal car," Detective Mills circled around behind David, squeezing his shoulder, and adding with a sarcastic smile, "…where all the magic happens, am I right?"
"It's in the garage," David swallowed hard.
"Great…lead the way," Detective Sheldon instructed.
The officers followed David through to the back of the house where the garage was set past the laundry room.
Detective Sheldon told Karofsky, "Why don't you step over there. Don't want to set off your monitor, right?"
"Watch him," Detective Mills motioned to one of the young, uniformed officers, as he followed the shorter detective into the attached garage.
Once inside the garage, another suit-clad man opened a large plastic box that resembled a tackle box but was filled with plastic gloves and long cotton swabs and little collection bottles and giant plastic zip bags.
Once all the investigators had their plastic gloves snapped into place, Detective Sheldon turned and announced, "Alright, we finally got enough 'show cause' to get access to this vehicle…let's make this a clean sweep, guys."
"We're not leaving here until each inch of this car is searched and every moldy french fry is bagged…got it?" Detective Mills added.
"What is going on," Mrs. Karofsky asked loudly, coming down the hallway, wearing a pink terrycloth bathrobe, "David?"
"I'm in here, Mom," David called out from the laundry room.
"David, I'll call your father…," she said over the shoulder of the uniformed office monitoring him, "You have no right to just come into our home like this…I'm calling our lawyer."
"You do that, Mrs. K…and let him know he needs to bring you a fresh copy of the Fourth Amendment for your reading pleasure…because this is called a search warrant, and we are not leaving until we find every scrap of evidence there is to find," Detective Mills held up a piece of paper in front of Mrs. Karofsky's face.
"Daniel, did you hear me?" Trey asked as he stepped out of the bathroom inside their master bedroom. He saw his partner sitting up but leaning back against the padded leather headboard with a large red casebook on part of his lap and his laptop on the other part.
"Daniel?" Trey tried again.
Daniel looked up to see his tall, handsome partner looking at him. He pushed his glasses back up off the tip of his nose and responded, "I'm sorry…what?"
"What has you so enthralled tonight? Do you have trial tomorrow?"
"No, this is personal research," Daniel smiled, running a hand through the loose, dark curls of his hair.
Trey turned the light out in the bathroom and moved toward the bed, removing his cotton robe and laying it over the wide arm of a bedside chair. He then got a squirt of lotion from a nearby silver dispenser which sat atop their large, ornate dresser, starting to rub his hands together to apply the lotion.
"Want some?" he asked Daniel before moving away from the dresser.
"Huh?"
"Lotion?" Trey asked again with a raised eyebrow, "It's very dry in here with the air conditioning running."
"No thanks…," Daniel said without looking up, typing on his laptop.
Trey circled around to his side of the king-sized bed, stopping momentarily at the end to step out of his gray slippers before crawling under the fluffy duvet. "What are you researching?"
"Emancipation…," Daniel told him, "…for Santana."
"Okay…well, I know what that did to help my ancestors…but what exactly does that do for Santana?" Trey asked for clarification.
"If we can get the Court to approve an Order for Emancipation then that will release her from the custody and control of her parents," Daniel said with enthusiasm.
"'Release her'?…so sever her parents' rights?" Trey questioned.
"This way she can't be forced to do anything she doesn't want to do…," Daniel said as if it were the obvious choice.
"Like…being forced into rehab?"
"Like being forced into a rehab that isn't appropriate, Trey."
"You haven't even spoken to her about this, Daniel…what makes you so sure she'd want it?"
"What do you mean? It's the perfect legal checkmate in this whole mess…," he said with a furrowed brown, not understanding his partner's protest, "No more of Hector's obnoxious behavior…no more of him bullying her or us…why don't you agree?"
"Because…those are her parents, honey…they will always be her parents…she will always be their daughter…no matter how old she gets or how long she stays with us."
"Well, they're the crappiest parents ever, the poor kid…," Daniel stated boldly.
"Um, no…my parents are the crappiest parents ever…yet…we spend Thanksgiving with them every year," Trey pointed out.
Daniel grimaced, "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
"It has everything to do with this…," Trey leaned over and closed Daniel's book then shut the top on his laptop, "…the way my parents reacted to finding out I was gay twenty years ago…who would ever think we would eventually sit at a table with our daughter and share a holiday meal with them."
Daniel paused then reached across and took his partner's hand in his, "…true…but if you'd been a minor when you came out to them, and your mother thought there was any chance that the gay could be cast out of you like a demon…there would have been a private devotional at your house every night."
"They are people who we will never understand…and who will never understand us…but they're family."
"Family doesn't have to be what you're born into, Trey…it's what you surround yourself with…that's family in the truest sense of the word, right?"
"Okay, your point is valid, dear…," Trey put his hands in the air in an emphasized gesture of giving in to Daniel.
"I hear you too…and I agree that sometimes people can come around to tolerance…even if they can't fully accept…," Daniel assured him, "but…we can at least talk to her about it…to make sure she is informed of her rights."
"If we can find her…." Trey said sadly.
Daniel frowned and sighed, "She's a good kid, Trey…I'm not giving up hope that we can bring her back."
"The abyss is all-consuming sometimes, Daniel."
"We would search every inch of this earth to find Rachel…we'll do no less for Santana."
Cate heard the doorbell ring, and she went toward the front door to answer it, stopping first to light a candle which sat in the middle of a small, round table just behind the couch in her living room.
Right before turning the knob to open the door, Cate fidgeted with the hem of her button down, black shirt, pulling at it to straighten it, then nervously tucked her light brown hair behind both ears, taking a deep breath.
"Hi…," the tall girl beamed as she opened the door to find Quinn on the other side, "You found me!"
"Your directions were perfect," Quinn smiled back, stepping inside and turning to push the door shut.
Quinn was dressed in a loose-fitting, colorful sundress, the streaks of green matching her eyes perfectly. She looked around quickly for a place to set her purse.
"Oh here…let me take that," Cate said chivalrously with a smile, taking the small bag and placing it on a nearby end table.
"Thank you," the blonde smiled back at the brunette.
"You want the tour?" Cate asked her, taking her by the hand.
"Absolutely!"
"Okay…well…this is pretty much it," Cate said jovially, pointing as she named off, "…kitchen, dining room, living room…and that door there is the bathroom…and just beyond that is the, um, bedroom."
"I'll keep that in mind," Quinn joked to lighten the momentary increase in awkwardness.
"Right…," Cate let out a small laugh.
"Candles? Romantic…," Quinn noticed the small table and two other strategically placed glowing flames, "…and they smell nice too."
"I just thought that in candlelight…the place might look bigger," Cate self-jeered.
"Your place is lovely, Cate…it's cozy…," Quinn moved closer to the older girl and put her arms around her, "…like your hugs."
Cate hugged Quinn back, "Are you hungry?"
"Famished…," Quinn told her.
"I knew you like pasta…so I hope that's okay?" Cate went into the kitchen, turning on the overhead light.
"Sounds great…," Quinn assured her, moving into the kitchen behind the taller girl, "You know, I have never had anyone cook for me before."
"No? I'm told I'm a pretty good cook, so you're in luck…well, I'm good with Italian food anyway…," Cate clarified, "I had an Italian grandmother who taught me how to do three things before she died."
"What three things?" Quinn was curious.
"How to make her special Sunday pasta dishes…how to bake the perfect chocolate cake…which I didn't do for tonight, but if you like chocolate then I promise to bake you one…," she teased at Quinn, placing a sweet kiss on her cheek.
"Who doesn't love chocolate…," the shorter girl laughed, "…so what's the third thing?"
"How to flip off someone in Italian…," Cate held up her middle finger, saying in a perfect Italian accent, "Vaffanculo!"
Quinn cackled at that, adding, "All three of those skills are invaluable, I must say."
After their shared laughter faded, Cate paused and looked at Quinn then said, "You are so beautiful when you laugh."
Quinn pulled the taller girl toward her and kissed her passionately. "I seem to laugh more with you than I have with anyone else," she told her, hugging her again and putting her head on Cate's shoulder.
"Come sit down," Quinn said from the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, "You've cooked, you've cleaned up…now come relax with me."
The brunette wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and turned out the light, moving over toward the living room couch. She sat down in the spot next to Quinn where the young blonde patted the cushion.
"Put your feet up…," Quinn told her, pulling Cate closer toward her, "…It was amazing, by the way."
Cate stretched out comfortably on the couch and leaned against Quinn with her head propped on the teen's tucked legs, "My nonna would call that a success then."
"I keep learning all these interesting things about you…your dad's side is Scottish…your mom's side is Italian…," Quinn moved some of Cate's hair from her forehead.
"Adoptive sides, don't forget…," Cate clarified, "My birth mother is German."
"Right…," Quinn acknowledged, "…you're adopted…you cook deliciously…you play the guitar and the piano…you quote poetry…you probably even write it, huh?"
"Well, what are song lyrics but poetry set to music?"
"You write songs too?" Quinn asked with slight awe.
"I dabble," Cate said with a smile.
"Do you sing?"
"I more or less croak out songs," Cate laughed.
"You're too good to be true, Cate Boyd…," Quinn looked down at her and jokingly asked, "…do you turn water into wine too?"
"I used to think I could…but I avoid wine these days," the older girl said honestly.
"Oh right…your darker period…that part of your life that shall not be mentioned."
Cate chuckled, "Does it seem like I avoid it?"
Quinn nodded, lightly running her fingertips down the side of Cate's face, "…the details anyway."
"I don't do it on purpose really…it just seems like such a lifetime ago."
"Would I be shocked to know that Cate?" Quinn inquired.
"Probably...though I'm glad you know me on this side of it all," Cate reached up and gently caressed Quinn's cheek with her knuckles, "I wouldn't have appreciated you then."
"Tell me some of it."
"The short version?"
"We can start with that," Quinn agreed.
"Sex, drugs, and rock & roll, baby…," Cate said in her best Janis Joplin impression, "…that's what it was all about at that time."
"Ok, not that short of a version," Quinn chided.
"Let's see…I hardly remember high school…the two years that I at least attempted to show up occasionally…but then I dropped out to go on the road with an all-girl rock band," Cate explained.
"And your parents…?"
"Were tormented by my behavior…but I was too stoned to care."
"Did you know you were a lesbian then?"
"That's why I was stoned all the time," Cate laughed, taking Quinn's hand in hers, interlocking their fingers.
Quinn wrinkled her nose.
"Well…partly…I just didn't like myself much then…it didn't help that I felt like I was a huge disappointment to my parents…and that mental state didn't combine well with being in a music scene where all vices were readily available."
"Where were the adults in all of this?" Quinn asked, her strict upbringing showing for a second.
"Adults? There are no adults in rock & roll…," Cate teased, "…but sin can find you just as easily here in Ohio as it can out on the road."
The once troubled teen paused, casting her glance to the side as memories of her own discretions flooded her mind, "…true."
Cate drew Quinn's hand to her lips and kissed it, "What else do you want to know about me?"
"Did you have a girlfriend then?" Quinn surprised herself with wanting that information.
Cate smiled up at her, "…several."
"Several?" Quinn swallowed hard and privately wished she hadn't asked that question.
Cate laughed, "In the lesbian world…two dates means you're girlfriends."
Quinn's brow furrowed, and she asked cautiously, "So…we've been on more than two dates…does that mean we're girlfriends?"
"Is that what you want it to mean?"
The blonde took a deep breath then answered, "Yes."
"Does it scare you that you feel that way?"
"Yes," Quinn smiled sheepishly.
"Then we won't rush it," Cate assured her.
"But…I find it comforting at the same time."
Cate sat up and pulled Quinn into an embrace, "Let's just continue as we are…no expectations…no preconceived notions…just you…and me…ok?"
"I just don't want to lose this, Cate…," Quinn confessed, hugging the older girl tightly.
"Don't push yourself too fast, Quinn…cause I'm not going anywhere."
"You're sure?" Austin Royle plopped down on the twin bed next to Brittany who was lying on her stomach with her feet up in the air behind her.
"Yes…you guys go on," she stressed to him with a nudge of her shoulder.
"But this is our last chance to hang out before camp ends." The teenager gave Brittany his best pout face.
"I just don't feel very festive, Austin…I'm sorry."
"It's bowling though…you love bowling."
"I love my bed more…tonight anyway," Brittany joked with him, holding her journal to her chest, internally wishing he would take the obvious hint and just go on.
"You love your bed a lot recently," he said sadly.
"I have a bunch of stuff on my mind."
"Ok, fine…be a party pooper then," he caved, standing up, "…we'll really miss you though."
"Thanks," Brittany said, undeterred.
"Come on, Austin…the van is leaving in two minutes," one of the other girls called to him from the hall.
Brittany watched over her shoulder as he left, pulling her dorm room door shut behind him and leaving her alone in the dimly lit room.
She pulled her pen out of the spiral binding of her journal and reopened it, turning to a page she had started the night before. The tall blonde had so many thoughts spinning in her mind this past week that she found it hard to focus on her dance routines unless she put them down on paper. She glanced back over the random thoughts she previously wrote:
I love that you don't care what I wear or what I look like.
I love the way you challenge me.
I love the way you're always honest with me.
I love that I can tell everything about you by looking in your eyes.
I love the way you know me.
I love the way you understand me when nobody else does.
I love how gentle you are around me.
I love when you smile right before you kiss me.
Brittany had started this list, hoping to read it to Santana once they both were home and together again. She pulled out her phone from the side pocket of her hoodie and checked it again for any messages or texts, but there were none just like there were none any time she looked this week. Still, the ritual of checking had become an obsessive task for her. Brittany never lost hope that there would be one time she would look, and there it would be…a text from Santana, saying, "Hey, babe…everything's cool…we'll talk soon."
Brittany wiped at her face as a tear rolled down her cheek. She sniffed and picked up her pen to add at the bottom of the list:
I love loving you.
She fumbled with the phone again. No texts. No messages. Brittany sighed heavily, pausing then dialing Santana's cell number. It seemed silly to the blonde even as she punched in all the numbers by memory instead of using the fast dial button. She knew Santana's parents had confiscated her phone at the hospital, but Brittany just wanted to hear the sound of Santana's voice again on her outgoing message. The number rang a few times before going into voice mail. Brittany listened, knowing exactly what the message would say, but there is was…Santana's voice…saying, "I can't answer my phone. You know what to do."
After the beep sounded, Brittany hesitated. What if she got it back…should I say something?
"Santana…I'm so worried about you." was all she got out before she was cut off. No wait, I wanted to tell her I love her, Brittany desperately thought. She immediately punched redial to call the number again. She has to know how much I love her, her emotions were taking over her senses as she expected to hear Santana's voice again, but instead she heard, "Brittany?"
Brittany was startled, "Santana?"
The female voice responded, "No, this is her mom."
"Oh…," the young girl's disappointment was evident.
"Have you heard from her at all?" Mrs. Lopez's voice was thick with worry and had a raspy edge to it that Brittany had never noticed before.
She sounds so much like Santana, Brittany thought.
"Brittany?"
"Uh…no, I haven't…not since last week."
"Are you still at dance camp?"
"Yes…how did you know about that?"
"From your mom…when I spoke with her about Santana being in the hospital."
"Oh, right…I have my last performance in a couple of days…I'll be home after that," Brittany explained.
"Well, good luck to you…though you don't need any luck really on your dancing," she said sweetly.
"I need luck on everything right now," Brittany said aloud before she realized it.
"Santana was always so proud of your talent…remember that when you dance, ok?" Santana's mom encouraged.
"…was?" Brittany's heart hurt at hearing that.
"…is…is proud of you, dear," Mrs. Lopez covered. There was a pause then the older woman said softly, "Brittany?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you for being so good to my daughter."
Mrs. Lopez's statement was completely unexpected, shaking Brittany's emotions. Not knowing how to respond, she said, "You don't have to thank me…I love her."
There was another pause on the other end. "I know you do," Santana's mom said with a shaky voice, "I love her too…and I miss her so much."
"Me too."
You say you gotta go and find yourself
You say that you're becoming someone else
Don't recognize the face in the mirror looking back at you…
You say you're leaving as you look away
I know there's really nothing left to say
Just know I'm here whenever you need me I'll wait for you…
So I'll let you go, I'll set you free
And when you've seen what you need to see
When you find you, come back to me…
Take your time, I won't go anywhere
Picture you with the wind in your hair
I'll keep your things right where you left them
I'll be here for you…
Oh and I'll let you go, I'll set you free
And when you've seen what you need to see
When you find you, come back to me…
I can't get close if you're not there
I can't get inside if there's no soul there
I can't face you, I can't save you
It's something you'll have to do…
So I'll let you go, I'll set you free
And when you've seen what you need to see
When you find you, come back to me…
Two older girls drove up to a run-down, brown-painted wooden house and got out of their silver SUV, circling around behind to open the back and pull out a heavy silver container which they carried together up the gravel driveway.
"Hey, Becca…you want the keg on the back porch?" one of them asked a girl who was vegged out in an old, red Adirondak chair in the front yard.
"Yeah…back," Becca gestured with a floppy hand, already on her fourth beer.
"Is Jordan here?" the other girl hollered over her shoulder as they continued up the graveled path.
"Inside," Becca responded.
The girls carried the heavy keg around the back of the old house, stepping past a young red-haired girl who was on her stomach on a lounge chair, sunning herself in the afternoon heat. The two of them had to maneuver sideways as they hoisted the oversized metal canister up a set of nearly-dilapidated wooden steps. They dropped it with a loud thud to the floor of the porch near an old, weathered couch. There was a dark-haired girl seated on the couch with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around herself, staring into the empty space in front of her, who never even flinched at the loud noise.
"Damn, Ash…you almost dropped that on my foot," the heavier-set girl complained.
"Sorry," the other one responded with a loud laugh.
As they moved past the girl on the couch, one of them stopped and waived their hand up and down right in front of her face with no response.
"Fuck man…that must be some good shit," Ashley joked.
"Jordan…you in here?" they yelled as they stepped through the open doorway that entered through a large kitchen, nearly tripping over a gray and white cat who jumped up and ran off with a loud squeal.
"In here," a voice called from the living room.
"Keg's on the porch…we need to get it iced down," Ashley told her.
"Yeah, there's several bags of ice in that blue cooler in the backyard," Jordan said from the living room couch, "We can do another ice run when Robyn gets here with her car."
"Where's your truck?"
"Cate's had it for a few days…she's fixing the transmission on it."
"I thought you two broke up months ago?"
"We did…but she uses that thing more than I do now that she's got her little blonde chickie to cart around town," Jordan took a long sip of her bottle of beer, the glass clanking against the metal piercing as she lifted it to her lip.
"Not that you're bitter though, right?" the larger girl said sarcastically.
"Whatever…she's too good to party with us now anyway," Jordan added.
"Who cares, Jordan…let her go…," the taller, thinner girl plopped down next to Jordan on the couch and put her feet up on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles, "…so, um…who's the hottie on the back porch?"
"Oh no, Ashley…hands off…she's way too fragile and fucked up already…she doesn't need you fucking with her…," Jordan warned.
"Fucked up is right…the colors must be pretty in her world right now," the other girl laughed, "Somebody should probably think about tossing her in the shower occasionally too."
"Yeah, I don't guess I've seen her clean up since she's been here," Jordan observed.
"Well, you could just get the water hose like Cate used to do to sober you up, Jordan," Ashley teased, elbowing the tattooed girl on the couch next to her.
"You're a fucking riot, Ash," Jordan said with no humor.
"Oh come on, J…I'll be gentle with her…get her all cleaned up," Ashley tried again.
"Not a chance," Jordan said firmly, standing and brushing past the other girl to walk into the kitchen, "…besides…there'll be twenty other girls here tonight who will be drunk enough for you to hit on."
Jordan placed her empty beer bottle in an open cardboard case on the counter then turned to the refrigerator, opening it and grabbing another cold bottle which she opened with a purple bottle opener attached to her key chain.
"Hey, Amanda…I think Jordan here has a crush on her new little couch potato," Ashley taunted.
Jordan stepped out of the doorway onto the back porch. She set her beer down on the wooden railing and took a large, round container from the corner and moved it over by the keg.
"Shut up, Ash…make yourself useful and go grab a few of those bags of ice from the cooler…," Jordan instructed, adding, "Amanda, help me lift this into here."
After they transferred the keg into the plastic, yellow tub, Jordan leaned back against the railing and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of back pocket. She put one in her mouth then offered the pack to Amanda who took one too.
Jordan lit her own cigarette then reached out to offer a light to the other girl who leaned toward her and said, "Thanks man."
Amanda sat down hard at the other end of the couch, but the young girl never moved, still balled up tightly and staring off into somewhere that was not the reality of the old porch. Amanda leaned over and poked the girl in the shoulder, laughing when she got no response.
"Don't be a shit, Mandy…leave her alone…," Jordan chastised, kicking Amanda in the knee and running her long fingers through her jet-black hair, revealing the streaks of hot pink as it settled back into place, "…she's just a messed up kid."
Ashley came up the porch steps with four bags of ice. Jordan waited for her to pass before she leaned forward and waved her hand in front of the dark-haired girl's face.
"Hey!" she said loudly, snapping her fingers twice to try and rouse the girl, "Santana!"
There was no response.
Jordan looked at the other two girls and shrugged then took another long sip of her beer.
Author's note: I'm sure you guys will have a lot to say about this chapter…but stay with me here, folks! Don't give up hope yet. Oh, and the song is Come Back to Me by David Cook. Thank you so much for continuing to read my story! Kim