(Santana)

The semester and classes resumed after a nice break. New York was white. It was good to have new classes and my routine mostly back on track. I decided to listen to Rachel and put the brakes on a little more for my second semester at Columbia. I only took three subjects and the work with professor Harris. In the end, it was a good opportunity offered by Professor Harris, because tutoring gave me a kind of allowance, something like 50 dollars a week, but that was enough for the subway and part of my lunch at the central cafeteria.

My new schedule had a breather for healthier activities, like going to the gym and the community choir. Matt, Lucy and I no longer had classes in common this semester. But I still had a class with Andrew and Izabella.

While I continued at Columbia, Rachel decided to stop enrolling at NYU, because she said she wouldn't be able to combine work and college. This seemed like a reasonable decision on her part, because she really couldn't study right and working four times a week and with professional obligations along the way. Rachel chose Broadway. But that didn't happen without a heated debate first.

Shelby defended academic training, and argued from her own experience. She said that, in the end, it was her college degree that gave her the qualification to get a job as a drama and singing teacher. She admitted that the Broadway experience was a plus, but the college degree was fundamental. Basically, she said that my sister needed to be cautious and not bet on just one thing. Papi was radically against Rachel giving up on having a higher education. I was a privileged spectator of what was going on at home. I didn't think Rachel could go to college and work on Broadway at the same time because her heart wasn't in it. If she wanted to study, she would have to stop working on long-term projects. Quinn only supported Rachel. She herself argued that her life wasn't easy with college, her part-time job and the freelancers she had to pick up to supplement the meager salary R&J paid.

Finally, Rachel left college after just one semester to devote herself exclusively to Broadway. Papi and Shelby were disappointed. To make up for the money that would no longer be deposited at NYU, Papi decided to give me an allowance again: a thousand dollars so that I could pay my share of the rent and other small expenses. For me, it was great not to be completely dependent on my sister's charity anymore. It was an amount that Papi and I agreed on. As the new accountant in the family, I knew that he needed to save more to make ends meet. After all, he was still paying for our medical insurance, which were expensive, and he had the household expenses and everything else, even with Shelby contributing to the bills again.

At lunchtime on an ordinary college day, Izabella asked me to drop by her apartment. I didn't think there were any sexual motives behind it: we had a class together and I thought Izabella wanted some academic help. When I got into the dormitory, Lucy wasn't there. It was just me and Izabella. She pointed to a coat I'd forgotten in her dorm, which was on the back of a chair.

"Would you like a beer?" She offered.

"I have class in the afternoon. Isn't it too early for that?"

"Water?"

"Yes, please!"

"Are you up for a pot?"

"Definitely not." I stared at Izabella. "What's wrong with you?"

"Can't I be nice and offer you the good stuff?"

"I don't want to make a fool of myself here, but having a drink at a party is one thing. Consuming on a regular basis is a problem."

"Do you mind?" She showed me a bottle of beer.

"No."

Izabella gave me a glass of water and then opened a bottle of beer. I sat down in the chair where my bcoat was, while Izabella stood, leaning against the closet.

"Lucy and I are going to need another roommate to help with the rent. Are you up for it?"

"Thanks, but I'm perfectly fine with my sister and the other two stooges."

"But you'd save a lot of money on transportation if you moved out of Brooklyn."

"I'm still living with the stooges."

"That's a shame. I'd love to have you here." Izabella came over, sat on the edge of the bed, right next to where I was, and put her hand on my leg.

"You didn't call me here just so we could work on a calculation?"

"Did you honestly believe that I dragged you here for math?"

"Sometimes I'm naive..." I smiled slightly flattered. "But our quickie isn't going to happen. Not today." I sipped my water.

"Why not?"

"Because I have to rush to lunch, attend a class straight afterwards and then go to Mr. Harris' office to get some things done about tomorrow's class. Being a monitor is more or less like being a professor's slave, you know? Then I'm off to that first choir meeting."

"It's a shame..." Izabella took her hand off my leg.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead!"

"Why me?"

"Why you? I don't understand."

"You can have anyone on this campus, but I only see you alone... or with me. And we don't even have a thing that could be called a... thing. I just wanted to understand: why me?"

"It's a fair question..." Izabella took a sip of her beer and avoided looking at me. "When you do what I do, you end up developing a more cynical view of the world, and also of love. It's easier to stay with someone who's safe."

"Am I safe?"

"You don't want to get involved... with me, at least... you're clean, you always wear protection, you're focused on college, you've got your vices under control... not to mention that you're a woman and, as far as I know, you don't like juggling in bed, which I think is great. So I think you're safe in the sense that you and I won't experience any drama."

"I don't know whether to be flattered or offended."

"If it wasn't a compliment, Santana, you wouldn't even be in this room." She stood up and kissed me. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the caress for a short while before breaking off.

"If it's a compliment, I'm happy. But I won't be able to stay."

"It's because of Andrew, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Andrew, the nerd! You have a crush on him. I noticed it on New Year's Eve when you chose to kiss him first."

"Andrew is a great friend. He's perhaps my best friend on campus. That's why... as far as I remember, we also kissed at the New Year's party."

"You could have kissed me first."

"Did you call me here because you're jealous?"

"What if I am?"

"I'm flattered, Iza, but we're just friends... with benefits... casually..."

"Okay... San... You know you're hot and beautiful. Above all, you know you're very intelligent. Our group of friends is very small and you just haven't gotten involved with Lucy until now. For good reason. So I'm talking to you as a friend. Neither Matt, Andrew nor I are suited to this open relationship thing. Either you choose one of us, or you don't get involved with any of us. Understand? You have no right to play with us like that."

"It wasn't my intention, Iza. Things just happened and I thought you were all cool with it."

"We're not, San. As I said, either you choose one, or you get another booty call somewhere else. It can't be in our group of friends anymore."

I left Izabella's dorm intrigued. I understood that she wanted to be chosen by someone she considered a safe and clean bet for an engagement. I also understood that she had a very valid point and she was right. I needed to stop getting sexually involved with these friends of mine, unless I was going to choose someone to actually have a relationship with.

I saw Andrew walking towards the library. We said hello, and I stood there watching him enter the building. He wasn't a handsome guy in the traditional sense, but maybe Izabella was right: there was something about him that attracted me. I think it was the fact that I myself was a nerd who studied mathematics applied to economics. Or maybe it was because he was a really nice and helpful guy who had attitudes that made my heart warm. I looked at my watch. I was running late. I needed to swallow something and get to class.

As soon as I'd finished all my obligations for the afternoon, I had to rush off to the first appointment of what I claimed was my anti-stress class. I even made a mental note of the need to get back into shape as an athlete as soon as possible in a gym. I entered the soundproofed room inside the university's music institute. There were 23 people in it, including Professor Tomine.

"Sorry!" I sat down on a chair.

"Who are you?" The professor checked the list.

"Santana Berry-Lopez."

"Right..." He jotted something down, I think it was the presence list. "All right, everyone, the older ones know that this choir here is more performance and pop oriented. So anyone interested in something classical and traditional, look for Professor Holland right here on Thursdays." Everyone remained in their seats. "Good. I'm glad everyone in the class can interpret simple information. This month we're going to talk about the new divas who can be considered heirs to Motown. Can anyone tell us anything interesting about Amy Winehouse other than the scandals and the announced death?"

My cell phone vibrated. It was a text message from Brittany.

"S, I'm going to NY with B-on-c next month. How cool is that?" – Britt Britt

I couldn't help but smile. I looked at Professor Tomine and my classmates. I was going to blow these nerds away!

...

January 16, 2014

(Quinn)

My mother liked to say a phrase to justify certain stories she heard from friends at church: "intimacy breeds children and lack of respect". I heard the saying inside my head every time I came across a situation that exemplified it. They were Santana's cross and ironic answers. Mike's testosterone-filled rudeness. Rachel's orders and commands. Sometimes I had to go down the stairs, count to ten and come back up. Otherwise I'd explode and I hated it when I was pushed to the limits of tolerance. I always ended up frustrated and the villain of the story.

Sharing space with three different people in a small apartment was extremely difficult. I even thought that if I managed to endure and survive such an ordeal for two years, marriage would be a piece of cake. Especially since Rachel and I were similar when it came to organizing the house and liking everything to be clean. Moments of isolation were rare, almost impossible in that small universe, and I missed having the right to a little privacy. The first year in New York was important for me to learn to give in and let go, after all, this was my new family and I had to get along with them. But as my economic situation improved with increases in freelance work and also with better salaries at the production company, the idea of moving on became stronger and stronger.

The idea matured every time I found one of Mike's underpants in my drawer. That I could smell the heavy air in the bedroom because he slept with the windows closed and exhaled odors that weren't so pleasant because he wasn't in the habit of taking a shower when he came in from the street. The initial embarrassment when Mike caught me in my underwear. The same when I caught him completely naked.

If Rachel and Santana's problem was the eternal war between organization and mess, Mike and I fought over space. We were relatively organized with our things, but we still couldn't agree on the space for the books I had to resell to the bookstore. It was frustrating not to be able to pursue a dream of having a library, like the one in the Berry-Lopez's house and even the one that existed in my parents' house before my mother decided to get rid of 90% of it when she moved to her current home. Mike had a thing for collecting action figures. Books and toys could coexist to a certain extent. The problem was that my roommate was jealous and fought every time I had to put everything together and put it in the corner so he could get one of my books, or even put it away. It was a pain. That was the part that referred only to the bedroom. There was also the rest of the house.

Santana studied hard, but she had a habit of leaving her books scattered around the house. Not to mention the fact that she left empty containers in the fridge (especially gallons of milk and juice boxes) and didn't sort the garbage. Rachel also had certain quirks. She demanded absolute silence when watching her favorite series. This annoyed us so much that Santana ordered her (yes, ordered her) to record it and only watch it when none of us were at home. Easy to resolve? Except that this discussion took almost a year. It was a daily fight to throw the trash in the bin (I was usually the only one left). We fought over the beer bottles that piled up in the corner of the kitchen, especially when Johnny came over to watch football with Mike. The fight when our favorite cookie wasn't bought (and we each had our own), the fight over the remote control, the fight over the bathroom in the morning. The only reason we didn't fight too much about the housework was because we organized it relatively well, and partly because most of the cleaning was Santana's responsibility.

At first, I tried not to complain because I needed to hold on to the opportunity of a lifetime. Now that my life was stabilized in the city, I honestly thought I didn't need to go through that kind of situation anymore. I could rent a studio apartment in Brooklyn or Queens if I wanted to with my salary at R&J and my work as a freelance photographer. If Rachel lived with me, it would be easy to rent a one-bedroom apartment. There were some great ones in Park Slope, Brooklyn, near Prospect Park. It was a great neighborhood with good real estate and affordable prices for Rachel and me to split the rent, since Manhattan was still out of the question.

"Rachel?" I answered my cell phone when I was leaving class at NYU.

"Quinn, where are you?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

"Leaving campus. And you?"

"I've just left a photo shoot with the cast here at the Public. I was wondering... would you like to go home?"

Wanting to go home was Rachel's code when she wanted to make love to me and wouldn't settle for a quickie somewhere at NYU or in a public restroom. I loved it when she was in this mood because it made things even better. Besides, we hadn't made love for a week and I missed it.

"I'll meet you at the station." I hung up.

Twenty minutes later, I was on the subway, walking home hand in hand with my girlfriend. It wasn't an elegant ride either, but there was romance in it. Rachel was kissing me near the ear and it set me on fire. I could undress her right there on the steps with just my gaze. Rachel was happy with the play and the attention it had generated for the actors. For her to celebrate like that, it's because something she liked was said during the photo shoot. We got into the apparently empty apartment and I immediately took off Rachel's blouse to save time in the bedroom. I lifted her skirt and slipped my hand inside her panties to touch her sex. Rachel was wet, ready to have me. I didn't shy away and penetrated her right there. We stumbled towards Rachel's room, my fingers feeling how delicious it was to be inside, so soft and warm. But the sight of Santana lying on my girlfriend's bed was like a bath in the middle of the Arctic.

"Wake that girl up and tell her to get out of here!" I was panting and getting sexually frustrated.

"No... leave her." Rachel resumed kissing. "Let's go to your room."

"Not in Mike's bed." He had sex with girls in that bed. It was disgusting!

"In yours!"

"I won't be able to concentrate properly on you at that height and on that wobbly bunk." Mike had promised over a month ago that he would fix the bed.

"Quinn, if you leave me like this, it'll be cruelty."

"So… let's have a quickie?"

"Yes." We kissed again, heading for my room.

Right there, against the door of my bedroom, I moved Rachel's panties out of my way and penetrated her again. I made strong, quick strokes, because I wanted her to have her well-deserved orgasm as quickly as possible. I loved it when Rachel tried to hold back her moans by biting her lips and still couldn't. Her whole body shook and she relaxed. As soon as put my fingers out, Rachel got down on her knees and pulled my panties down. It was so unfair. I almost had an immediate orgasm as soon as I felt her tongue on my sex. I lasted five minutes. What a shame!

You didn't have to go home to have a quickie like that. You just had to get into our special spot in the editing studio at NYU's film school: it was almost always empty and my friend from college, Santiago, was a monitor there and did me the favor of reserving a booth for inappropriate and urgent purposes twice. It wasn't what I wanted, but at least we didn't lose out. After a few minutes catching our breath, we started to pack our clothes. Rachel ran into the living room and retrieved the blouse that was on the table.

Only then did she return to her room. Santana was still asleep and it was a relief to see that she hadn't even noticed us. She was really sick with the flu, but in the morning she seemed well enough to go to class.

"Ray?" Santana woke up half-scared when Rachel took the heavy blanket off her. She was wet with sweat. I was sweaty too, but for a different reason.

"I told you not to go to class and face this freezing weather!" Rachel scolded and it seemed paradoxical. "It's only made it worse." She picked up the thermometer and checked her sister's temperature.

"Sorry..." Santana whispered and I began to feel sorry for her. She tried to pull back the blanket, but Rachel stopped her. She picked up the thermometer as soon as it beeped and checked the temperature.

"You're burning up, Santy. You need a cold bath... Quinn, can you help me?"

I helped Santana to her feet and practically led her to the bathroom. She had almost sabotaged my moment with Rachel. Almost, but this time it was unintentional. She thanked me for my help, which was rare. A sign that Santana was very ill indeed. Rachel followed soon after with clean clothes for her sister. She helped Santana with the bath, and after leaving her sister lying on the bed, but only with a thin blanket, she went into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" I went into our small kitchen and watched Rachel boiling water.

"Tea. Santana has a high fever, and it's always good to have some tea with the antipyretic medicine. It relieves it more."

In the meantime, we heard the door slam. We saw Mike walk down the corridor practically hitched up with some girl. His jacket ended up on the floor in front of the kitchen. My bedroom door slammed and it didn't take two minutes for the girl to start screaming. I sighed defeatedly and faced my girlfriend.

"Rachel, I've been thinking about some important things regarding us. Our relationship is solid and we've achieved a good enough financial situation to think about..."

"Finding a new place?" Rachel surprised me by saying exactly what she was going to propose. "I've been thinking the same thing for a while."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I was a little miffed at her omission.

"I was working on the idea of proposing..." Rachel kissed me lightly on the lips. "I love our life, but I think our arrangement has reached its limit and it won't be long before our fights in here start to take on undesirable proportions."

"We can get a really nice one-bedroom apartment. There are some very nice ones right here in Brooklyn."

"Not one bedroom! At least two bedrooms."

"When I said move, I meant both of us!"

"I know that, Quinn. But when I think of moving, I envision a bigger place that we can organize, unlike this small apartment and this rat- and cockroach-infested building. But my sister is going with us." I was a little discouraged, but just the fact that Rachel wanted to get out of that place was positive. "As long as she depends on me to stay in the city, that's the way it's going to be."

"How much longer do you want to share a room with her?"

"Not with her..." Rachel stroked my cheek. "With you, you dork. The plan is for Santana to have her own bedroom and we have ours. What do you think?"

"Those terms are acceptable." I smiled mischievously and kissed Rachel, but the high-pitched scream coming from my room made me retreat in dismay. "That girl Mike set up has a serious vocal dysfunction problem."

Santana left her bedroom with a frown because of the extra noise. The situation in the room I shared with Mike was so unbearable for us that even Santana, at the height of her 38°C fever, couldn't lie down in the next room.

"Who's the girl?" She asked in a hoarse voice.

"I have no idea." I replied.

Rachel handed over the warm tea along with the antipyretic medicine. I took the opportunity to have some with a chocolate cookie. We sat down at the table. Rachel turned on the radio at a good enough level to reduce the unpleasant noises coming from my room. We didn't say anything for a while about our new plans with Santana. It wasn't the time to talk about important things with other people when the third element was sick and feverish, and the fourth element was itching inside the room. Anyway, I was determined: I would start looking for a new place as soon as possible.