Note:
Hey guys! Chapter dealing with The Spanish Teacher episode.
Big shout out to everyone who helped me with all things Spanish- I really, really hope I did it justice.
Enjoy.
Ch 20: La Cucaracha
It was useless taking her Spot the Dog picture books to her Abuela's house. Santana had learnt that by the time she'd turned five. Her Abuela would just screw up her nose at them and tell her she couldn't read English.
Santana couldn't read yet either but she knew that her Abuela was telling lies because Santana had seen her read the TV Guide and the Bible.
But Santana didn't mind that she didn't get to hear Spot the Dog when she went over to stay because her Abuela told her better stories. Well, they weren't really stories- they were words- but Santana felt like they belonged in the place where stories came from.
Her Abuela twisted the world that Santana was used to. She made sure Santana knew that even the littlest things could be different to what everyone always said they were.
For example, leaves weren't leaves- not the ones on her Abuela's trees any way. They were hojas. And the grass wasn't actually grass, it was pasto. And the flowers, they had pétalos instead of petals.
Santana grew up with Spanish words flavouring her conversations with her parents and her relatives- but she was never able to escape the fact that her Abuela was the one that carried the words properly- that connected with them and fleshed them out and used them to put beauty in the most unexpected places.
At high school Santana only took Spanish as a subject because she was guaranteed an easy A. Granted, if she went to Spain she'd probably be about as competent with the language as a five year old , but for all intents and purposes, at McKinley she was fluent.
It should have been her easiest class. It should have been a piece of cake.
But the minimal amount of effort she had to put into the lesson meant that a lot of the time her mind was free to wander. She'd only have to catch a snatch of a word in Spanish- awkwardly executed but still enough to set her memory running.
The details would always pull focus first- the threadbare arm of the couch- worn away by the mugs of tea her Abuela always sat there. The distinct smell of the spare room- the red rosary on the wall and the toy dog with black button eyes who was stiff and scratchy from not being hugged enough. It was the only toy that her Abuela kept at her house so Santana used to play with the fridge magnets- rearranging them around the Dominican Republic flag which had been stuck there for so long that the tape had begun to turn yellow.
"La Cucarachaa! La Cucaracha, La Cucaracha…"
Santana started, jerking her eyes upwards to the classroom door which had just flown open. Artie, Puck and Finn, lead by Mr Schue, shimmed into the class. Santana's eyes bugged at their sombreros and ponchos .They looked like they were part of some kind of cheesy commercial for 'Authentic Mexican tequila- made and bottle in the U.S.A'.
"Oh jesus…" Santana muttered, hovering her eyes around them all in disbelief.
Finn approached her, waggling his maracas in her direction and shooting her an encouraging grin. The fact that she mimed being sick didn't seem to phase him and he veered away to shake the maracas in some other poor bastards face.
With three jerks on Puck's guitar and a resounding "cha!", the song finally ended. They stilled, arms out theatrically, grinning around the class. Mr Schue was the first to collapse out of his end pose with a breathy, awkward laugh.
"Woo! Okay guys, give it up for the El Spanisho Amigos!"
A couple of people brought their hands together once or twice. Santana was not one of them.
Puck, Artie and Finn's grins faltered.
"Uh...uh...So that…" Mr Schue stuttered, attempting a recovery. "That was a prelude to the very special event I've planned for next weeks Taco Tuesday! It's the annual class dinner where we get to try some authentic Latina food!"
He leant over his desk to grab a stack of papers and began walking through the isles, putting one in front of each student.
"Um. Sorry. Mr Schuster?" A girl in the front row waved her hand in the air, frowning down at paper that she'd been given. "Why do we need permission slips to go to Taco Bell?"
"I just ditched first period to go there," a guy sitting in front of Santana muttered.
"It's school protocol guys," Mr Schue was saying as he reached Santana and placed her permission slip on the desk in front of her. She frowned down at it and then laid her palm flat, curling her fingers inwards so that the paper crumpled into her fist.
"Mr Schue," she raised her free hand.
"Yes Santana?"
"Can I use the bathroom?"
"Oooonly if you ask me in Spanish!"
"Necesito salir de aquí," she muttered, sliding out of her chair. I need to get out of here.
"Very good…" Mr Schue said distractedly, waving a hand and then adding in Spanish, "jump off."
Santana stared at his retreating back, her lips curling in disgust. Then she picked up her bag and pushed past Artie, Puck and Finn towards the door.
The heavy set old lady that was supposed to be Principal Figgins assistant was sitting at her desk- yelling into the microphone of her headset.
"I got him, A5! I got him but cover me, cover me!" She was jamming the buttons of her computer key board furiously.
"Uh…" Santana waved a hand in front of her face.
The woman glanced up, huffed in annoyance and then ripped one of the ears of her headset sideways.
"May I help…" Something made her switch her eyes back to the computer screen. "What? No, no, no no! Hold on!" She began stabbing at the keyboard again. Santana rolled her eyes and walked straight passed her to Figgins door where she could see him through the glass, sitting at his desk.
"Principal Figgins?" She asked, clearing her throat.
He glanced up.
"Miss Lopez? Did you speak to with Ms Crane at the front…"
"Sorry, I just came right through. She's kind of busy…"
Principal Figgins leant sideways to look around Santana and then shook his head.
"I've told that woman time and time again…" he huffed a sigh and then turned his eyes back to Santana.
"Anyway, Miss Lopez, what can I do for you?"
Santana squeezed her fist more tightly around the Taco Bell permission slip.
"I want to know how I go about laying a formal complaint against one of the teachers at this school."
Principal Figgins's eyes widened and he leant back in his chair, panic etching itself across his face.
"A formal...who...Look, Miss Lopez if you've been touched in your special parts...Miss Pillsbury...She'll handle...She- she has pamphlets…" He was a stuttering mess, his accent cluttering the words up even more.
Santana held up a hand to slow him down.
"God. Okay, no. No one touched me….and I don't...I don't need pamphlets. But, I am disturbed."
Principal Figgins closed his slack mouth and stared at her blankly.
Fed up, Santana rolled her eyes and motioned to the free chair in front of his desk.
"May I?"
"Of course, of course," He muttered faintly.
Santana pulled it out, perched on it and then laid her free hand flat on the desk between them.
"Look, Principal Figgins, I get that this school manages to stick to it's budget because we employ community service workers in the cafeteria and only serve real food there on Thursdays. And I…"
"Now Miss Lopez," Principal Figgins interrupted, holding up a hand. "I must stop you there to point out that things have become much better since Mr Motta has started paying us to overlook the fact that his daughter Sugar Motta studies Twilight in every class she takes. I mean we now have toilet paper," he ticked off on his fingers. "And light bulbs, and a working fire alarm system. All in all, I think you can hardly complain."
He leant back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking at her smugly.
Santana narrowed her eyes and twitched her head to the side.
"While that may be so, all the Quality Education Institution points you gained during that little spiel of yours are sort of void considering that the Spanish teacher at this school can barely get through a lesson without," she rolled her eyes jauntily to the ceiling and ticked off on her own fingers, "referring to prison, piñatas or making it a personal goal each lesson to offend as many Latina cultures as possible. Even the ones he doesn't know exist."
Principal Figgins trailed his beady eyes over her face.
"Our Spanish teacher is William Schuester," he said slowly.
Santana widened her eyes and gave a slow nod.
"Uh...yup...I know…"
"Well, I thought that you liked him because he teaches you in your singing club."
Santana squinted at him, shaking her head in disbelief. She could feel her anger surging up to get the better of her and she gritted her teeth to fight the bulk of it away. Then she tossed her scrunched up ball of a permission slip onto the desk between them.
"He wants to take us on a class trip to an authentic Spanish themed dinner. At Taco Bell."
She rose to her feet as Principal Figgins picked up the permission slip and began to struggle to pull it apart.
"So," she continued, "do I like him? No, no I don't really like him at this moment. And seeing as you never actually answered my question about how to lay a formal complaint I'm just going to assume that this counts as one."
She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her Cheerios jacket and turned on her heel, walking out of his office and passed his assistant who was still calling frantically into her headset.
"On the right, on the right A9. Yes...yes...YES!"
Santana tried to walk calmly down the hall- but thowing paper at your Principal and storming out of his office didn't exactly carry the same effect as aroma therapy.
To give her adrenalin threaded hands something to do, Santana pulled her phone from her pocket and pressed a button to light up the display. She was still able to smile faintly at the picture of Brittany sticking out her tongue that she'd taken of herself last night and set as Santana's wall paper.
Brittany was the person that Santana was going to call, Santana knew that already. But something made her click into her contacts list instead of just holding down Brittany's speed-dial number.
She didn't need to scroll far at all- only past one name, Aaron- until she got to 'Abuela- Home'.
Santana wanted to act as if it was any other day- after any other crap Spanish lesson. She hovered her thumb over the 'call' button, mentally running through the things that her Abuela could be doing. Santana could picture her in her garden- bent over the concrete path to the washing line and pulling the weeds out of the cracks. Santana knew that even if she was outside, she'd have brought the cordless out and balanced it on the railing of the decking.
"Yes?"
"Abuela, it's Sant…"
"Sí, I know your voice."
"I just had Spanish class."
"Is it that time again?"
"Yep. Today we were treated to a fun little performance of La Cucaracha and then invited on a class trip to enjoy a traditional meal at…"
"Taco Bell," they said together.
"Silly, silly man," her Abuela muttered again as they both broke into laughter.
"I know. I swear I could teach that class better than he could."
"With that accent of yours? Don't be stupid."
"At least I know the Spanish word for white board. He keeps telling us he's written up today's lesson on the front door."
"Alright, alright. He needs a hard smack around the back of the head. But they are all the same. So just get your easy A and stop talking on your cell phone because you'll get tumours. Goodbye."
"Abuela…"
"Babe?" Brittany's voice came breathless into her ear through her phone speaker.
"Wait...What? Britt?" Santana blinked in surprise, pulling the phone away from her ear to double check the name on the call screen.
Brittany's voice came in a small buzz."You called?"
Santana put the phone back to her ear and caught the sound of Brittany taking gulps of air.
"You're- you're out of breath," Santana pointed out blankly, her thoughts still scrambling to catch up with the situation.
"Uh-huh. A bunch of us are having Cheerios practise in our free period."
This ratcheted Santana's brain to life.
"Cheerios practice? Why didn't I know about this?"
"It's for Coach Roz. We're learning a number to show you and Becky and Coach Sylvester."
"Coach Roz?" Santana frowned. "As in the swim coach?"
"Uhuh," Brittany said brightly. "She keeps on talking about our 'behinds' and how she'd going to treat them like a stain in a Clean-n-Brite commercial."
"What the hell…"
"I don't really understand what she's saying because I get distracted by her lips. But anyway, why'd you call?"
Santana shook her head and shrugged and then remembered that Brittany couldn't see her.
"Nothing. Never mind."
"Wait, aren't you in Spanish right now?"
"I'm ditching," Santana decided aloud.
"But it's Taco Tuesday! Artie told me," Brittany pointed out.
"Yeah well Taco Tuesday also happened to coincide with Tacky Tuesday so I'm out."
"Oh." Brittany faltered. "Well, I would say come and watch but it's supposed to be a surprise and it'll totally be worth the wait!"
"That's okay, I'll find something to do."
"Alright, bye babe!"
"Bye."
Santana drew the phone off her face and watched the screen flicker as Brittany disconnected the call. She always felt the absence of Brittany's voice after they talked, but today it felt worse than usual.
She bit her lip and glanced down the hallway to the door of her Spanish class. She could hear a chorus of people repeating some indistinguishable word after Mr Schue and then the shimmer of Finn's maracas and a loud 'cha!'. Santana squeezed her eyes closed in horror and shook her head, deciding to take it as sign. Then she spun back around and walked briskly to the car park, trying to remember what time exactly the manicurist down the road opened.
The next day, Santana realised how grateful she was to Brittany for not letting her come and watch Coach Roz's Cheerios practice.
Firstly, because it meant that her nails- for the first time since she and Brittany had both sat down with nail clippers and performed the lesbian rite of passage- actually looked pretty. They were still short, but at least they were shiny and smooth and French tipped.
The second reason she was grateful was because the rehearsal would not ever have held the same beauty as the actual performance- simply because it would have been absent of the look on Coach Sylvester's face. And Becky's excited imitation of a baboon mating ritual.
When it was over and Coach Roz dismissed the dancers to the showers, Santana bobbed up out of her seat and jogged over to Brittany who was wiping her face with a towel.
Santana, excited like a seven year old, pressed her feet together and tapped her on the shoulder.
"Nice," she said once Brittany lowered the towel and looked around.
Brittany's grin struck up so suddenly that the gum nearly flopped out of her mouth. She darted her tongue to the corner of her lips just in time and slurped it back in.
"You really liked it?"
Santana pursed her lips. "You could say that," she said mildly.
"I gots ma swag owwnnn," Brittany pouted and made awkward gangster signs with her fingers.
"Go get your swag ass in the showers then," Santana laughed, shunting Brittany with her hip. But her amusement stalled when she caught the look that had changed Brittany's face.
It was lit up with an idea and coy with it's half-possibility.
Santana narrowed her eyes. She knew what was coming and she broke the suggestion at it's stem.
"Na-huh. There's no way I can sneak in with you. Everyone will be…" She broke off as Brittany's look grew even more coy and more confident.
"They'll already be in the showers anyway. Just...come on…" She tugged Santana forwards briskly.
The changing room was full of steam and echoing voices but the changing bay was deserted. Santana and Brittany's bags were the only ones left on the benches.
Brittany shifted her eyes sideways to Santana and raised an eyebrow.
"No," Santana said, shaking her head. "Brittany…"
Brittany ignored her, hooking both their bag straps up onto her shoulders and walking away around the jut of the lockers to where the showers were.
Santana's bag had her cell phone. Her wallet. Her car keys. She sort of had to follow Brittany. Option two was sitting on the benches and waiting while her bag got to have all the fun.
Brittany had left her cubical door ajar but Santana paused and glanced up and down the steamy row of shut doors on either side of it.
She could hear two Cheerios sharing a shouted conversation about the pros and cons of wearing bras to parties and another few were singing a muddled Jessie J medley.
Santana turned her eyes back to the cubicle door in front of her, watching as it twitched open a little more to allow Brittany's hand to snake out and grapple in the air in front of Santana's crossed arms.
"I see your shoes," Brittany called softly through the crack.
Rolling her eyes and batting away a smile, Santana unfolded her arms and caught Brittany's hand in her own.
After Brittany had tugged her inside and shut the door- swinging the lock into place- they stood together and shared a smile. Brittany's smug. Santana's exasperated.
Behind the curtain, the shower was already thundering. Brittany stepped back, dropped the towel wrapped around her and drew back the curtain- shooting Santana one last smug look before she tugged it back across the rail and disappeared.
The steam hit Santana full in the face when she slipped in past the curtain a few minutes later and she had to blink several times until she could see Brittany properly- facing the back shower wall- rubbing shampoo through her tangles of hair. As she twisted her arms up, her back muscles flexed. Santana trailed her eyes up Brittany's body- wanting to just watch her- take in every drop of water that glided down her skin.
But she wanted to touch her more.
She reached out through the stream of water and pressed her palms against the rise of Brittany's hips. Her skin was hotter than the water temperature and smooth like a wet stone. Brittany stilled and dropped her arms from her head, taking a step back until her body was fully pressed up against Santana's.
When she dipped her head back to rest against Santana's shoulder, Santana noticed that the smug smile still hadn't faded.
Santana wanted to laugh at that, but instead her breathing caught in her throat and then quickened.
Not wanting to miss a single inch of skin, Santana drew her hands slowly up Brittany's sides and around across her stomach- whose muscles flickered at the touch- and then up to her breasts.
Santana filled both her hands with the weight of them and then bent her head, sliding her lips against Brittany's neck.
Santana tasted mostly water- but Brittany reacted to the touch like Santana's mouth contained voltage. A shiver juddered her spin harder against Santana's front and she felt Brittany's nipples shrink to points under her palms.
"Santana…" Brittany breathed.
Santana shushed her and placed her lips- open and hungry- back against the flexing tendons on Brittany's neck. She pinched one nipple between her fingers and dragged her other hand down Brittany's body.
Brittany was twitching and rolling against her touch and Santana felt her own nipples stiffen into Brittany's back. She ghosted her hand over Britt's belly button and further, further down until her fingers peeled apart the folds between Brittany's legs and dipped into a wetness that was so much more slick and urgent than the falling water.
At the feel of it, Santana had to pull her lips back off of Brittany's neck and clench them down on the top of her shoulder - so that her moan turned into merely a hum against Brittany's skin.
Her fingers bumped across the folds and she edged them down to the sweltering dip. Brittany flexed harder against Santana- reaching around to grapple hook her hand through the hair on the back of Santana's head and then curve it against her scalp.
Santana felt the burn of Brittany's insides like all every single nerve in her body ended in her finger tips. She angled her arm further around Brittany, pushing her fingers further into the long, wet, slip of her- trying to pick up a rhythm.
But as she jerked her fingers in and out Brittany's body became barely controllable- she arched and gasped and made it harder for Santana to catch the right angle.
Frustrated, Santana dropped both her arms- unravelling their bodies. At the loss of contact Brittany spun to face her and wasted no time settling her hot kiss against Santana's lips.
Brittany's mouth contained the same kind of heat as between her legs and Santana felt her own insides twitch and twist as she caught the curl of Brittany's tongue against her own.
They backed up until, with a wet 'fapp', Brittany's back collided with the shower wall. Their mouths climbed desperately against one another and the heat of the water and the banging of the other cubicle doors and the wafting voices and laughter all heightened the urgency.
Brittany's thighs were spread open- Santana could feel the press of them on either side of her own upper legs. With the stream of water beating behind her, Santana reached her hand back down to where it had been before.
From the better angle, Santana could push deeper against the soft swell of skin that she'd felt inside Brittany earlier. She curled her fingers- edging against it once- twice- until Brittany's mouth slackened amidst their kiss, her body hunching over Santana's in pleasure.
There was less noise around them now- Santana could hear their own shower dripping more intricately when before it had just been a part of a steady hum.
Their own sounds became heightened too. The soft smack of their lips against one another, the quickened rasping of their breathing- Brittany's staggering and turning occasionally into a guttural moan.
Santana tried to kiss Brittany's noises away but they also excited her so much that she surged her fingers deeper- harder, faster. She felt Brittany's nails digging and raking down her back, and her body bending, contorting as she struggled against the gravity-esque pleasure trying to pull her too soon over the edge.
"Oh, god...Santana...oh…"
"I know baby," Santana hushed her.
"Sand-bags?"
Brittany and Santana jumped apart so fast that Santana nearly fell over- twisting around and making a desperate bid for the curtain to keep herself upright.
"That you Sand-bags?" There was a muffled thudding.
"Uh…" Santana coughed away the squeak in her voice. "Yeah, Coach. It's me."
"You've been in there so long I was worried your weave had gotten wet and you'd decided on impulse to check out of this cruel, cruel world."
"Uh, no...just…" Santana stared despairingly at the shower curtain right in front of her nose. "Just... shaving my legs."
"Alright well get out, rescue Brittany from whatever corner of the room she's stuck in and come out to help pack up the pom-poms and construct a plan to subvert the congealed, loud, and only half-deciferable rage of a fat-lipped black woman who's just found out that someone slipped a triple dosage of hormone enhancer into her morning rum and coke."
"Okay, uh-huh," Santana called back- only half registering what Coach Sylvester had said through the panic in her pulse. She clawed the curtain out of her way and stepped down into the cubical, taking gulps of it's thinner air to calm herself down.
She picked her towel up and plunged her face into it and then heard the water shut off and the curtain glide open behind her.
When she looked up, Brittany was wrapping a towel around her own body and looking at her sheepishly.
"Whoops," she mouthed.
Santana still hadn't quite recovered from the bathroom incident as the bell rang for lunch. She tried not to think too hard about it as she picked up her tray of food and wound her way through the student clustered tables- trying to spot her friends.
She didn't have to look for long because of course it would be them inhabiting the table in the middle of the room, responsible for all the shrillness- c/ Rachel Berry.
Santana rolled her eyes and made her way over to them, plonking herself and her tray down between Sugar and Quinn.
"Well, hello," Kurt said, smiling dreamily across at her.
"...hey…" She shot him a funny look. "Why are you so zen with the universe?"
"We've been discussing Mr Martinez," Rachel said from beside Kurt.
"And his fine Spanish butt cheeks," added Sugar. "Which, by the way, I have dibs on.
Santana wrinkled her nose.
"Don't you like him Santana?" Mercedes asked through a bite of her cookie.
"Oh, by the way Santana, Brittany told me in second period to tell you that she wouldn't be at lunch today," Tina said, looking glum.
Santana looked up. "Oh?"
"Yeah," Tina huffed a sigh. "She and Mike have to spend the whole of it practicing a routine or something. "
The news didn't phase Santana, but she became slightly alarmed as she took in the look on Tina's face.
"Jesus christ Chang- You're acting as if they got shipped off to war."
Tina stared down at her tray, her mouth squirming. Santana shot a look around the others for confirmation that this insanity was actually happening.
"Tina, hey, don't- don't cry…" Mercedes said, patting Tina on the back gingerly.
"It's just…He usually gives me at least four hours notice before he has to do something and I just...I haven't prepared for not having him around…"
"Oh dear god…" Santana muttered, staring at Tina. It was like driving past a car crash- you know you shouldn't look because it'll be awful and disturbing but something about the tragedy was magnetic.
"Just close your eyes and think of Mr Martinez," Kurt said, pointing a chip at her. "Trust me when I say that it is very distracting."
Tina sniffed and nodded, accepting the pressed white handkerchief that Rachel gave her.
"You know- I never actually realised that Spanish could be that sexy," Quinn mused. Glad to have something other than Tina to look at, Santana and the others turned to her.
"You're right Quinn, Mr Schue always kind of made it seem like Spanish people were like," Rachel shrugged, "drunk all the time and creepy."
"I didn't want to do this assignment. Because our cleaning lady is Spanish and she scares me," Sugar said. "But Mr Martinez…" She pursed her lips and trailed off into a high pitched giggle.
"A-anyway," Rachel said, leaning forwards. "As much as I like Mr Martinez I think that this lesson is a bit of a waste of time when we have Regionals coming up. So, I've been thinking I'll just resurrect Don't Cry For Me Argentina and use that so I can concentrate on drafting a set list."
"Hey!" Kurt batted a hand at her. "That's what I was going to do!"
"Duet?" Rachel exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.
"Eee!" Kurt nodded in excitement.
Santana glared at them, feeling her cheeks tinged warm with annoyance.
"Hold on. Don't Cry For Me Argentina?"
"Uh...yeah…" Rachel said, nodding at Santana like she was retarded.
"You're going to sing Argentina's national anthem?" Sugar asked.
Santana looked between Sugar, Rachel and Kurt and shook her head, giving a breathy laugh.
"Please say you're all just screwing around."
"No, Don't Cry For Me Argentina is the perfect song to sing…"
"It's lazy." Santana snapped.
"And, it was written by two British guys," Mercedes pointed out.
"Yeah, but who will really care about that when they hear mine and Kurt's…"
"I'll care," Santana snapped. "I really can't believe I'm hearing this. You just have no idea do you?"
"About what?" Rachel asked.
"About anything!" Santana spat. "You don't give a crap that it may actually be important to some people to have the places that they come from remembered properly and not...not distorted by people's stupidity."
"Woah...Santana…" Mercedes reached over and put her hand on Santana's arm.
"...I'm...I'm sorry if I offended you," Rachel back tracked. "It's just- well we don't really know any songs that would be appropriate."
"Yeah. For me it was either Don't Cry For Me Argentina or the Speedy Gonzales theme song," Kurt added.
"It's not that we don't care Santana. But it all just seems so complicated," Quinn said softly. "I mean okay, the Spanish song bit isn't the biggest challenge but then Mr Schue started talking about dwarves and it just went downhill from there."
Santana opened her mouth, ready to retort- her defences still firing from all cylinders-when Sugar cut in.
"Oh. My. God. Guys, everyone shut up and listen because I've just had the best idea in the history of ever." She spun to Santana, pointing a celery stick at her. "You should sing a song with Mr Martinez and like… Be all sexy and Spanish together."
Everyone had turned to look at her, their faces alight as they caught onto Sugar's enthusiasm. The carrot stick that Santana had been chewing suddenly felt overly thick and chunky on her tongue. She struggled through a swallow and then shook her head.
"No way, there's no point…"
"There so is!" Mercedes argued. "You two would be the perfect people to do this."
Santana dropped her eyes to her tray and concentrated extra hard on opening her juice box. There was a beat of silence around her before Kurt wondered aloud if they'd be able to find David Martinez's teeth commercials on YouTube- which sent the rest of the table into trills of excitement.
Santana let the talk flow around her and tried not to think about how watching Mr Martinez in the choir room the other day had made her happy and sad all at the same time. Sure, she'd danced and laughed and loved every moment of watching Brittany's ghetto alter ego, but it had also been tinged by something. Some kind of odd longing- like she was supposed to be somewhere but she wasn't sure where that was or how to get to it.
Hearing Spanish on the lips of someone practised like Mr Martinez had made Santana ache. Not in the way that Sugar or Quinn or Kurt did, but in a sad sort of way. He could have been one of her older cousins or her uncles and it had made her think of the Christmas she had missed- with everyone jumbled around the living room- laughing and eating too much and swearing at one another for buying the same presents as last year.
Her head was still down as she concentrated on ripping the soggy cardboard opening of her juice box when she felt the warm sweep of a hand across the back of her neck. She rose her eyes and saw Brittany circling around the table away from her to the free seat beside Kurt.
"Hey guys," she grinned around at them
There was a squeal and Tina vaulted up off her own seat as Mike appeared beside her. Preferring not to see them attempt sex with their tongues, Santana turned her eyes to Brittany and watched her interaction with Kurt. Everyone was too loud for Santana to pick up exactly what they were saying but Kurt was pointing to the tub of jelly on Brittany's tray and said something that made her grin.
Santana blinked slowly, not wanting to miss the way Brittany looked- her cheeks flushed from her rehearsal and her hair whisping out of her ponytail to fuzz around her head like a soft, gold aura. She slid her knuckles across her nose, said something else to Kurt, plopped a chip in her mouth and then looked up to Santana.
They both caught the other looking and ducked their heads, grinning. Santana felt herself relax with that smile and she wanted to go to Brittany and lean on her and smell her- her deodorant and the sweet natural smell of her skin. She knew it was weird, but the smell of Brittany was some sort of sedative that untangled her thoughts and eased her.
Brittany fluttered her eyes away from Santana as Quinn spoke to her, but it looked to Santana like Brittany was still trying to see her out of the corner of her eye. Santana didn't look away, her grin widening.
Santana knew without having to ask, what Brittany would say about her doing a performance with Mr Martinez. She would try not to smile too wide or let the excitement twitch onto her face because she recognised all the reasons why it was complicated for Santana. She'd use her soft voice, her soft grasp- to tell Santana that it was okay- just to do what she needed.
When the bell rang Santana dropped into place by Kurt as they sidled up with the rest of the school to stack their food trays.
"Hey, you have Mr Martinez's number right? Seeing as he helped you guys out with the Mexican hipster boots?"
Kurt's head shot sideways and he pouted at her moodily.
"No, Finn wouldn't let me have it for some ridiculous reason. But I can get him to text it to you."
"Thanks," Santana reached the bin and clattered her tray down on top of the stack. Kurt followed suit.
"Hey…" He spun on his heels and looked like he'd just discovered some secret of the universe. "Does this mean you're going perform with him?"
Santana rolled her eyes away from him.
"Congratulations Inspector Gadget, well solved."
You'd think that up close, the smile would have been less perfect. That you'd be able to see a crook in one of the teeth, or a stain.
But nope- it was just more blinding. And frustrating because Santana really was trying to listen to what Mr Martinez had to say- but her eyes kept drifting down to those freaking teeth.
Santana was alone with a guy, noticing his smile and getting butterflies.
Not how she'd spend a typical Thursday afternoon.
And she actually was beginning to wish that the butterflies were being caused by Mr Martinez instead of the awkward clutch of reasons she had for their existence.
Shaking her head slightly, Santana tried to bring her concentration back to figuring out what he was saying to her. But then with a twinge of alarm, she realised that he'd stopped talking and was leaning against the desks, looking at her all polite and expectant.
"S-sorry?" She blurted.
"Oh, I...I just asked where your family come from."
"Oh," she blinked. "Um the Domincan Republic mostly- but it's a mix."
Mr Martinez grinned. "And who taught you your Spanish?"
The question made her flinch, even through she tried to keep herself still.
"My parents speak it." She said, cutting away all the words that contained the pain.
"Oh okay," Mr Martinez nodded, smiling good naturedly.
Something about that god-damn smile made her carry on.
"But my- my Abuela took teaching me the most seriously." She said it quickly. Like ripping off a band-aid. "She used to take me to church when I was little and make me speak the words she'd taught me. Showing off to the other old ladies about how her American nietita wasn't completely without hope."
Mr Martinez threw his head back and belly laughed.
"That's very good."
"Huh, yeah, guess it is," Santana admitted, trying to laugh along but it jammed in her throat.
"You're very lucky to have your Abuela," he said- that smile still showing. "I cannot remember my own because she died when I was very young but I imagine that they would help you connect the dots back to where your family came from. Especially if you have never been there yourself."
Santana recycled her laughter from before- dragged it back up and out of her mouth until it burst awkwardly into the room.
She tried to recover- "Yeah, yeah. It's good."
Mr Martinez's smile flickered.
"Sorry...did I...did I offend you?"
"No!" She corrected the overly loud tone of her voice, "no."
He narrowed his eyes. "Okay, if you're sure. Entonces, ¿qué canción querés cantar?"
So, what song do you want to sing?
Santana faltered at the Spanish. She knew what it meant but, like in the choir room, the sound of the words sunk into her like an ache.
"Are there any Spanish songs you were thinking of…" Mr Martinez prompted when she forgot to answer.
This made Santana falter again because she had never really sung the Spanish songs she knew. She hadn't been even been properly taught them.
She'd heard them during the sick days she'd spent at her Abuela's- when neither of her parents could stay home with her. They would float to her over the hum of the TV. Santana's hearing would prick up at the sound - even if her ears were blocked from a cold. She'd carefully inch the volume of the TV down and lay her head back- listening to her Abuela sing while she made lunch.
Santana could never do for those songs what her Abuela could. She made the words twine together effortlessly- so that the meaning came not directly from each of them- but from the whole sound of it all together. Once Santana had asked her if she would sing to her- but her Abuela had only flapped her hands and pretended that Santana was insane.
The songs were so beautiful that Santana never understood why they had to be lied about. And she always thought they sounded out of place- being sung in that voice for only the simmering pots or a crossword or the wet washing being hung on the line to hear.
On the nights when Santana stayed over, her Abuela would coax her to the cusp of sleep by telling Santana to turn onto her tummy. Then, she would sweep slow, rhythmic circles around Santana's back. And on some special nights, before Santana dropped off, she'd hazily hear that voice again- threading a tune through a whisper.
Santana would fight sleep to hear that voice. She'd wade back through her dreams and and try her best to keep her eyes alert beneath her eyelids.
But she was always asleep before her Abuela stopped singing.
Santana wasn't crying, but she also wasn't quick enough to keep the sadness off her face. And she knew Mr Martinez had seen it because his smile dried up. He pushed up off the desk and stepped closer to her.
"Santana, are you alright?"
Santana nodded, shrugged, and then shook her head. After a pause she looked up at him and almost laughed at the confusion on his face.
She took a breath- hoping she'd find the words in it, already formed. But it just gushed hollowly into her lungs and she knew they'd have to come from somewhere else.
"Mr.. Mr Martinez…"
"David," he corrected softly.
"I don't see my Abuela much anymore. Because…" She took another breath, and tried to stop her mouth jerking into tears. "Because I'm gay."
To his credit, David Martinez barely let a reaction to Santana's words show. After a moment, he tilted his head and warped his lips into his mouth by sucking on them thoughtfully.
"And," Santana continued, "that's why I need your help with this number. Because I'd usually have...well, she's the one…"
She stopped to compose herself but the silence pressed to hard up against her. "But I haven't really thought about what songs," she started again. "I mean I brought my iPod but I don't…"
"Santana," Mr Martinez interrupted her. He hadn't once looked away from her face. "I am very sorry about your Abuela."
"Thanks." It was all she could think of to say.
"You know, it's funny because Mr Shuester told me that this glee club lesson was about trying to overcome ignorance. But there are so many ways to be ignorant. Too many, I think, to be noticed. And on top of that, most people are ignorant of their ignorance- which is the hardest thing to overcome. People get trapped into them without even knowing. You're Abuela…She's…she's a God-fearing woman, Sí?"
"And a neighbour-fearing one," Santana added.
David nodded. "Perhaps it is because she had to be. She could have been taught that she'd have to work her hardest to earn respect, to make her way in this country. Ignorance happens when we're not looking. When we look left and right but don't check our blind spots. Your Abuela…Look, forgive me if I'm assuming too much…"
"No," Santana managed, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. "No, you're not."
Mr Martinez nodded and pressed his lips together. She could see in his face that he was sad for her. She didn't want to cry so she dropped her gaze to the floor and watched as Mr Martinez's shoes shifted closer to her. The warm cup of his palm was on her shoulder.
"You may love your Abeula, and this must be very hard for you to deal with. But you don't need her approval to be who you are. And- the thing most relevant to why we're here now- you don't need her permission to explore the culture that you came from. Because you belong to it by blood, not by invitation."
The truth- the one she'd needed- made her flush. She took a shaky breath, steady herself and then looked up.
That smile was beaming straight into her face.
"Hey."
At the sound of Brittany's voice- soft, pensive- Santana drew her head out of her locker and looked sideways at her.
She'd changed back into her Cheerio's uniform, and she was hugging her folder to her chest so hard that Santana noticed the skin on her hands pressing white against the ridges.
"Hey." Santana trailed her eyes over the creases in Brittany's forehead, the downturned corners of her mouth. "What's wrong?"
"I'm really sorry about today."
"What for?"
Brittany pulled a face and placed her fists on either side of her head, sticking her index fingers into the air and curling them into horns.
Brittany must not have been expecting Santana's laughter because it made her start, drop her hands from her head and blink rapidly at her.
"You're not supposed to laugh when you're mad," she mumbled, dropping her eyes to the floor.
"Who said I was mad? And, you don't need to be sorry."
Brittany was still looking at the floor.
"Yep I do," she murmured.
"Nope," Santana countered, raising her voice enough to make Brittany glance up in surprise. "I'm pretty sure I've made the person accountable for your guys performance feel sorry enough. You shouldn't feel bad because you didn't know any better."
"Yeah, but I should have. I'm your girlfriend...I should have known that stuff you said."
Santana cocked her head. "Brittany, how often do I speak Spanish to you?"
Brittany's face told Santana that they both knew the answer to this.
Only ever in the dark. When they moved together, their breathing hitching over one another and Santana would curl a word, or a phrase with her tongue and press it into Brittany's mouth like a secret. And Santana knew that they both knew about the other times- when she would wake herself up with the after-taste of her voice lingering around the room. And Brittany laying wide eyed next to her, reaching for her.
They looked at one another and Santana twisted her mouth to the side.
"It's not your fault."
She kissed Brittany then. Just a quick peck- the briefest flicker of soft skin and mingled breath. But it was enough to coax a smile on Brittany's face. Santana didn't dart her eyes around to see who had been watching. She was on a roll. She took Brittany's hand.
"Come with me."
They headed out the nearest exit that led to the very top of the wide concrete stairs heading down to the courtyard. About a quarter of the school was milling around down there. Santana turned to Brittany.
With the hand that wasn't holding Santana's, Brittany was pinching her bottom lip together and looking hesitantly around the space as though she was waiting for something to pop out. When her gaze trailed to Santana's she furrowed her eyebrows.
"Do you…do you want to eat lunch here?" She asked uncertainly.
Santana wanted to kiss her again. But instead she just smiled and shook her head.
"Point to anything and I'll tell you what it is in Spanish."
It took a moment for Brittany's face to flicker with understanding and then Santana thought she had never seen a face so changed by a smile.
Brittany wheeled around, considering everything she could see.
"That guy's hair…over there…like Puck's…" Santana angled her head to see down to where Brittany was pointing.
"Cresta."
"Him…" Brittany pointed to another guy tipping his head back and angling a massive spoonful of pasta into her mouth. Santana laughed.
"Chancho."
Brittany looked at her questioningly.
"Pig," Santana said with a smirk.
"Hmmm…" Brittany's bright eyes continued her search of the courtyard below.
"…those balloons."
"Globo is balloon."
"Glow-bow…?" Brittany repeated the word - testing the syllables hesitantly.
"Globo, uhuh."
Brittany half glanced at her and then tried the word again, louder.
"Globo."
Santana grinned. "You got it. What else?"
"Hmmm, what else…" Brittany spun on her toes, glancing back over her shoulder, darting her eyes upwards, downwards and then finally bringing them to Santana's face.
Brittany's sneaker scuffed on the concrete as she took a step closer. Santana could see the tendons in her neck pull as Brittany's breath juddered. And then Brittany's face came closer to hers and Santana fluttered her eyelids closed because it's part of their rhythm- and she knew it by heart.
She felt Brittany's lips- their softness and fullness- against hers. They twitched a short rhythm into the kiss- giving Santana just a hint of heat and dampness.
Then she jerked her head back and surveying the look on Santana's face with a small smile.
"What's that called?"
"Un beso," Santana replied in a cracked voice. The corner of Brittany's mouth tugging as she said the word. She repeated after Santana, taking the word softly and tinging it with the sound of her own voice.
To Santana, it sounded just right.