"I can't believe you dragged me into this."
"Quinn, calm down. What's the worst that could happen?"
"Uh, I could die!"
Santana rolls her eyes and places an annoyed hand on her hip, glaring at her best friend in exasperation. "When have you ever heard of someone dying in motocross?" she challenges.
"There's a first time for everything," Quinn mutters. She tiptoes her fingers along the handlebar of the oversized blue bike in front of her, avoiding eye contact with Santana from across the garage.
Santana shakes her head with a slight chuckle, bringing her helmet to sit snugly on her head, yanking it a couple of times to make sure it's secure. "I've been doing this for ten years, Q. Trust me, it'll be fine."
"Why would you choose me of all people, though?" Quinn asks defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest. "We have an entire group of friends that race…couldn't pick one of them?"
Santana flips her visor open to look at the blonde. "Oh, come on. You know they're all lame," she teases. "Plus, I haven't had a good laugh in a while, and I figured seeing you ride would do the trick."
Quinn groans in agitation and throws her arms out to the side as Santana winks at her, slapping her visor down and straddling the new shiny red bike her mother recently gifted her for her birthday. She revs the engine a couple of times before raising her feet and jetting out of the garage, leaving a gust of wind behind to flow through Quinn's hair.
As she rides out to the track, Santana can feel the wind moving around her body as she flies through the air, the crunch of rocks under her tires as she moves along the dirt road, and the gazes other riders send her way as they watch her navigate the course with ease.
She expertly shifts her weight when taking sharp corners and flying over hills, ensuring to land on the ground smoothly so her speed doesn't waver. She's surprised to find that she adjusted to the new bike so easily, given that she'd been riding her old one for many years prior.
After going around the track a few times, she spots Quinn slowly riding along the right fringe, awkwardly gripping the handles. She smirks at her friend behind her helmet and skirts up beside her, kicking up a cloud of dirt around the girl as she passes.
She turns around for a moment, laughing as she sees a single hand stick out from the cloud, aiming a solid middle finger in her direction.
/
At school the following week, Santana wears her usual leather jacket and skinny jeans, walking confidently down the hall. She gets nods and slight smiles thrown her way in greeting as she passes various students on her way to her locker.
School may suck, but being the best amateur motocross racer in town has its perks.
"'Sup, babe?"
She hears a loud, obnoxious voice boom through the hallway, a sly grin etched on the owner's face.
"Fuck off, Puckerman," Santana sneers, rolling her eyes.
"What?" he asks, holding his hands up in defense. "Don't act like you've never wanted all up on this." He runs his hands through his short mohawk and across his chest, biting his bottom lip in an attempt to look lustrous.
"Hard pass," she responds, removing her eyes from his and veering off to open her locker.
"Well, as long as something's hard, right?" he jokes, leaning his arm on the locker adjacent to hers, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.
"You're disgusting," she says, cringing as she moves books and other materials around in her locker—really doing anything to avoid his gaze.
"Anywho," he whistles, changing the subject, "going to the track later?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" she responds, narrowing her eyes.
"Just checking. Been dying to see that new bike in action."
Santana scoffs, smirking as she turns to face him. "Why? Think it'll give you a better chance at beating me?"
Puck shrugs. "You never know. Plus," he tilts his head to the side, looking at her from the corner of his eye, "this whole rivalry thing we got going on? Super hot."
"Give it up, Puckerman," she bites. "You've been trying for four years…didn't work then, not gonna work now."
"But it worked once," he argues.
"Right," she agrees, nodding, "consider that my one regret in life. And take that as a note to your performance." She furrows her brows and pats his shoulder in sympathy.
His jaw drops slightly, staying in that position for a moment before their mouths lift into small grins.
"I'll just see you then, Lopez." He stands upright and begins to walk past her, bumping his shoulder gently against hers as he passes.
Santana shakes her head with a small laugh as she watches him strut down the hallway, pointing at a few friends and greeting random kids as he passes. She and Puckerman have always had a…special…relationship. They're great friends, no doubt, but they have a certain dynamic that might confuse others on the outside looking in.
When the loud echo of the first-period bell rings through the now near-empty hall, Santana grabs her needed materials quickly before hurrying to her first period. She arrives barely in time, almost everyone already in their seats, and the teacher glancing at her over the rim of her glasses in judgment.
Santana gives her a weak smile before walking to her seat in the back, sitting down, and placing her materials on the desk quietly.
"Right in time," Quinn smirks from beside her, watching as Santana looks over to Quinn's desk and opens her textbook to the right page. "Thought you were skipping again…this lesson's gonna be hell."
Santana gives her a mocking smile. "Very funny, Quinn. And bold of you to assume I skip this class 'cause of the lecture and not who I'm stuck sitting by."
"You love me," Quinn argues, elbowing Santana's forearm on the desk.
"Debatable," Santana retorts, moving her arm out of Quinn's reach and turning her full attention to their teacher speaking at the front of the room.
Santana sits in mock engagement, knowing it'll bother Quinn, as Mrs. Thompson discusses the reading assignment for the day and the amount of homework she plans to flood on them for the week. English never really bothered Santana—it's math and science that she hates. She's always been good at understanding things like literature but can never wrap her mind around things like equations and principles.
"So," Quinn starts after Mrs. Thompson's done with her spiel, "what do you think about Paul Bunyon?"
/
Slinging her backpack into its usual spot in the foyer, Santana kicks off her shoes and takes off her coat, neatly hanging it on the rack so her mother doesn't scold her for it later. She runs her fingers through her hair, working out any tangles, as she walks to the kitchen.
Before heading to the track, she needs to find something to eat that gives her energy. That's always been an unspoken rule in her house.
But she's scared half to death when she enters, not expecting to find her mother there, unloading grocery bags. She pauses in the doorway, hand on her heart, as her mother chuckles at her daughter's state.
"How was school, Mija?" Maribel asks nonchalantly, moving to place a box of granola bars in the cabinet.
"Um…it was okay," Santana responds, entering the kitchen fully. "What are you doing home so early?" She reaches into the remaining bags and pulls out various groceries, placing them in their respective spots.
"My last appointment canceled, so I got off a couple of hours early." She leans against the counter, looking her daughter up and down as she moves about the kitchen. When Santana grabs a pack of fruit gummies from the box before placing it on the shelf, she juts her chin toward her daughter's hands. "Going to the track?"
Santana nods, opening the pack of gummies in her hand. "If that's okay?"
"Of course," Maribel responds, "just remember to come back for dinner at 7." She pushes herself off the counter and gives Santana a quick kiss on the cheek as she passes, rubbing her arm affectionately as she exits the kitchen.
Santana watches her mother walk away, letting out a sigh once she's out of earshot. She hates how her relationship with her mother has dwindled over the last few months. It just seems like their entire family fell apart.
She finishes her snack and throws away the garbage before jogging up to her room to change, taking two steps at a time to get there as fast as possible. She puts on her tight red and black racing suit quickly, grabbing her boots on her way out the door.
At the track, she finds Puck, Quinn, Mercedes, and Tina already there, standing in a small circle near the wooden garage housing all their gear. It doesn't take long before one of them spots her approaching, getting everyone's attention and waving at her as she nears.
"Lopez," Puck greets first.
"Puckerman," she responds but doesn't spend any more time focused on him before turning to her other friends. "What are you guys doing here?"
"Well, I haven't raced since the competition last summer," Tina answers, shrugging.
"I was forced," Quinn deadpans.
"And I heard y'all were coming," Mercedes supplies. "Plus, my dad owns the shop, so I'm here anyway."
Everyone laughs at Mercedes's answer, knowing she didn't have to come just because her dad owns the track. Victor's actually the reason they all have their own garage to store everything…he knows they're all his daughter's friends, so he gives them special privileges.
They all stand around talking idly for a few minutes before Mike shows up, slapping Puck on the back, successfully startling him. Puck turns to look at Mike with wide eyes as everyone else breaks out into teasing laughter.
"What are you guys just standing around for?" Mike asks, tossing his helmet between his hands and giving Puck a sheepish smile. "Are we racing or what?"