Hey! Another update is finally here! So sorry for the wait...the holidays are always crazy.
If you can, I'd love it if you could leave a review! I like going back and reading what you guys think of the story! :)
"Okay, we're in…" Quinn trails off as she looks down at her ticket, "orchestra center, row E."
Santana nods her head in understanding, taking in Quinn's panicked stance.
"Now, it's gonna be a mad house in there, so let's stick together, alright? I don't wanna get stranded."
She nods again, rocking on the balls of her feet as they wait in line to turn over their tickets. "Got it." Quinn's looking around the place frantically and won't stand still. She's shifting her weight back and forth between her feet and anxiously watching everyone around them. "Are you okay?" Santana asks, surveying the girl with narrowed eyes.
"I'm fine," Quinn shrugs, trying to feign nonchalance. "Why do you ask?"
"You just seem a little…on edge," she answers, waving to Quinn's entire body, practically vibrating in place.
"No, no, I'm fine." She waves dismissively. "Maybe a little nervous, but everything's fine." She turns her attention back to the people around us.
Santana notices a few stares shoot in their direction—clearly, she's not the only one noticing Quinn's behavior. "Um…the fact that you've said fine about three times within the span of thirty seconds tells me that you are, indeed, not fine." She emphasizes the last words. "Seriously, what's wrong with you?"
Quinn looks at her through the corner of her eye before diverting her attention again. It's almost like she was going to talk but then decided against it. Santana shrugs, deciding not to bother herself with Quinn anymore if she isn't going to tell her anything.
At the ticket kiosk, Santana and Quinn hand their tickets to the man sitting behind the glass, thanking him before walking through the large doors to the theater. Santana's eyes widen at the sheer size of the crowd inside.
The main lobby is extravagant, but not large. There are signs pointing to concessions on the left side of the room, and Santana can smell the fresh popcorn available for purchase. However, her vision is restricted to a six-foot parameter due to the amount of people gathered around. Some are standing in groups, talking amongst each other, some are in line for the concessions stand, and others are walking around, lost, trying to find their way around the theater.
Santana feels a tug on her right arm, followed by Quinn nodding her head to the right. "The auditorium's this way." She has to raise her voice slightly to be heard over the buzz of conversations in the room.
Santana nods and follows Quinn, who still has a tight hold on her arm. She practically drags Santana through the lobby until they break through the double doors leading to the auditorium.
When they enter, the loud sounds of the lobby are instantly muffled as they slowly walk into the nearly desolate auditorium. Santana's never been in a Broadway theater before, and she has to admit, it's a lot more impressive than she thought. The sheer amount of seats in this room is amazing her. There seems to be endless rows of seats on the bottom floor, but above their heads, there's a whole second story containing a similar amount of seats.
"Woah," she mutters, looking around the room. Her eyes land on the huge stage positioned at the front, and the set designers are beginning to put together props for the first scene. No actors are visible yet, more than likely preparing for opening.
"Row E," Quinn says determinedly, leading them to their respective row. There are a few other people scattered around the theater, but nobody in their row is seated yet.
When they reach their seats, both girls flop down with a sigh, relieved to be out of the haze of people. They have a perfect view of the stage, front and center, but still far enough so they're not craning their heads to look up at the performance.
"Apparently, these are the best seats in the house," Quinn says after a moment, most of the adrenaline leaving her system.
"Really?" Santana looks around. "How did Berry score these?"
"I guess being the star of the hottest up-and-coming show has its perks," Quinn laughs. She has a proud smile on her face, staring up at the stage.
Santana pulls out her phone, opening a few apps to pass the time, as Quinn closes her eyes and relaxes in her seat. She's got forty-five minutes to kill until showtime.
As the minutes pass, more and more people start trickling into the auditorium, each finding their respective seats. The orchestra begins to file from backstage, the instrumentalists tuning their instruments to prepare for showtime. The countdown has started. She's watching a cellist pluck and adjust a few strings on his instrument when Quinn takes a deep breath beside her.
"This is just a really big night for Rachel," Quinn mutters. Santana looks over at the blonde and sees her eyes still closed. If the girl hadn't spoken a moment ago, Santana would think she was asleep. "The start of all her dreams coming true is riding on tonight."
"I get it," Santana says with a shrug. "But don't you think you're putting too much pressure on one performance?" Santana reasons. "Even if it bottoms out and turns out to be the worst revival ever created, Rachel's still gonna plenty of other opportunities—she's too talented not to."
Quinn opens one eye and looks over at her. After a moment, she sighs and nods her head. "You're right." She sits up and straightens, resting her arms on the armrests of the chair.
Santana can't help but find Quinn's worry somewhat confusing. Why would she care so much about Berry's performance? Sure, it's what friends do, but Quinn seems to care a lot more than she should. It's not like they're particularly close to Rachel anymore—they used to be. Maybe Quinn never lost contact?
"Santana?" She hears from beside her. Immediately brought out of her thoughts, Santana stiffens at the voice. It's the same one that's been on her mind for the last few weeks. She slowly turns her head to the right, searching for the source of the sound.
"Brittany?" she speaks, seeing the blonde walk over to her with a bright smile. "What are you doing here?" she asks, standing from her seat. She raises her hand to her forehead and chuckles, shaking her head. "…obviously, you're here for Funny Girl."
Brittany laughs as she comes to a stop near Santana. She's wearing a light blue dress with a white cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her small purse and heels are a grayish color, accenting the white and blue of her outfit. "Kurt's been looking forward to this for months now," she says, gesturing to the man standing beside her.
Santana didn't notice him until now—her heart sinks at the sight of him.
"How've you been?" Brittany asks, breaking Santana's focus on Kurt.
"I'm good! How are you?" she returns.
"Same here," the blonde replies. "You look amazing," she compliments, her eyes widening slightly as she gazes at Santana's outfit, gently running her fingers along the top of Santana's arm.
"You do, too," she returns, trying not to look at Brittany for a long time. Her eyes flutter over to the man behind Brittany, seeing he's looking at the stage now.
Brittany catches her line of sight as her eyes light up, and she steps to the side, pulling Kurt closer to her. "Oh, this is Kurt. Kurt, this is Santana."
"Nice to meet you," Kurt supplies, extending his hand to Santana.
Santana shakes it with a smile, subtly examining Kurt's outfit. He's wearing a sparkly blue suit with perfectly polished black shoes. The suit has just enough sparkle to make him look sharp but not enough to cause attention to himself.
She feels a new warmth behind her, bringing her attention the fact that she's not here alone either. She turns around to see Quinn standing behind her, a small smile on her face. Quinn's eyebrow is slightly raised in Santana's direction, but no one else is able to tell.
Santana waves her hand to the blonde. "Brittany, Kurt, this is Quinn. Quinn, meet Brittany and Kurt."
Quinn gives them a wave in greeting since the aisle's blocked, preventing her from stepping forward to shake their hands. "Nice to meet you both," she says politely. "Where are you guys sitting?"
"We're in row J on the right side," Brittany responds, turning and pointing in the direction of their seats.
"Those seats are good as well," Quinn says with an approving nod. "I hear rows E through J are the best in this theater."
"Yeah, I did some research before we bought the tickets and saw the same thing," Kurt explains. "I wanted to make sure we got seats that had a good view and sound quality." He nods his head quickly with a smile, seeming rather excited about this show. Brittany's standing beside him with a polite smile, but doesn't seem as invested as Kurt is.
"Well, Brittany, you got yourself a good one, then," Quinn compliments. "This one," she points to Santana, "was no help at all. Took forever even convincing her to come tonight."
Kurt's eyes widen in somewhat surprise as his attention is brought back to Santana.
Quinn chuckles at his reaction, and Santana can feel the heat creeping up her cheeks at the new attention.
"Well, I'm glad you did," Brittany says, shrugging. She gives Santana a slight nod and folds her hands together politely.
Kurt moves his glance over to Brittany, who wastes no hesitation in waving him off. "Well," he drawls, looking back over to Quinn and Santana, "you ladies enjoy the show."
"You do the same," Quinn replies.
"It was lovely meeting both of you," Kurt says, turning to walk down the aisle to his seat. Brittany smiles as she follows Kurt, looking over her shoulder at Santana once before exiting the row.
Santana remains standing, watching Brittany as she finds her seat. It's a few rows behind her and Quinn, and on a different side of the theater, but the blonde's still in her line of vision. She watches as she sits down and pats Kurt's knee, giggling at something he said.
"Hey, lady, can you move? You're standing in front of my seat," a plump, middle-aged man says, standing in front of her, looking at her expectantly.
Santana notices his suit, which probably hasn't fit in years, and the bright toupe gingerly placed on his head, fooling absolutely nobody. She apologizes to him in mock sincerity and sits in her seat. He plops down right next to her, causing the stench of cheap cologne to puncture her naval cavity, and she uses every ounce of control to prevent from coughing.
He scowls at her, which she has no problem returning.
"Seriously, Donald Trump wants his hair back," she insults, folding her arms across her chest and folding her legs.
The man reaches up to adjust his hairpiece, almost eliciting a laugh from Santana.
"Can you not start shit before the show, please?" Quinn scolds. "We're gonna have to sit next to him for three hours."
That comment—mixed with the man's cologne—nearly brings tears to her eyes. She looks ahead, hopeless, as the lights dim and a red curtain falls, blanketing the stage.
/
"Oh my God, Rachel! You were amazing!" Quinn yells, running toward the smaller brunette backstage.
Rachel opens her arms wide as Quinn jumps into them, a bright smile taking over her features. Santana stands awkwardly behind them—not one for physical contact like that—with her hands crossed politely in front of her body, smiling at everyone who passes them.
"Santana!" Rachel practically screeches, her face bursting at the seams with happiness. "Thank you for coming! What'd you think?" she asks, stepping forward to wrap her arms around Santana despite the girl's rigid stance when she does so.
"Hey, um—" Santana begins, struggling to find comfort in the tight embrace, "it actually wasn't too bad. I didn't have to put in the earplugs I brought," she chuckles.
Rachel steps back and waves her hand dismissively. "Please…you didn't bring earplugs."
Santana raises her eyebrows challengingly and moves to open her handbag, intent on pulling them out.
"Okay, okay!" Rachel shouts, grabbing Santana's wrist to still her movement. "Thank you for your kind words." She sends Santana a sheepish smile before turning to Quinn. "What are you guys' plans for the night? There's an afterparty if you don't have anything to do." She grasps her hands together, hoping her friends don't have anything planned.
"Free! We're all yours!" Quinn responds instantly.
Santana looks over at her with narrowed eyes, taken aback at the sudden agreement. Did she just volunteer her to go to a broadway afterparty? Oh, hell no.
"Yay!" Rachel claps her hands and jumps up and down.
"Quinn, can I speak with you for a moment?" Santana asks.
Quinn side-eyes her for a second but doesn't answer her question.
"We're going to this Italian place across town—apparently, eggplant parmesan is my producer's good luck charm or something," Rachel rambles with a slight eye roll at the end. The smile never leaves her face.
Santana's practically glaring at Quinn's side profile, even though she knows the blonde's not paying attention to her. She's listening intently to Rachel's enthusiastic rants, smiling and nodding along.
Fine, Santana thinks. Whether she'll admit it or not, she wouldn't be totally opposed to dinner. She sort of missed Rachel's somewhat obnoxious, totally overbearing attitude.
"Dinner's paid for?" Santana blurts.
Rachel looks between Santana and Quinn and laughs. "Don't be silly," she gently nudges Santana's shoulder, but Santana doesn't move. "Sandy's covering it."
Santana nods, satisfied.
Rachel excuses herself a moment later to get out of her costume before dinner. She tells Santana and Quinn to remain where they are, and a limo will arrive shortly to take them to the restaurant.
In the meantime, Santana looks around the backstage area with interest. People are constantly shuffling by, barely missing Santana's body. They all walk briskly, some carrying different props, others carrying different outfits. It's constant stimulation. You can't look in any direction and not see a group of people rushing about. Who knew it took this much staff for a theater production?
It doesn't take long for Rachel to rejoin them. When she reappears, she's back in her typical clothes, her hair pulled in a nice ponytail, and her face free of the heavy makeup she was previously wearing. She leads Santana and Quinn down a side hallway to the back of the theater. When she opens the door, the press is outside, all hurdled around the small aisle they leave for people to walk through.
Santana's eyes widen at the sheer amount of light in the area. Muffled shouts are heard in all directions, and she can't help but feel somewhat startled by the crowd. She knows none of them care about her or Quinn—they're here for the cast. But it's still strange to see that many cameras pointed in your general vicinity, not knowing how to react.
Rachel waves and smiles, giving a few autographs as she passes. Quinn and Santana continue walking to the limo, the door held open by a gruff man who looks like he's had enough of the commotion. Taking their seats, Quinn lets out a relieved sigh and rubs her hands down her dress.
"Whew. Based on that reaction, I'd say the show was a hit," Quinn says, craning her neck to look out the still-open door, watching as Rachel interacts with the fans. "It's everything she ever wanted."
"She was right," Santana relents, feeling a small smile creep up her face at the sight. "We couldn't stand in her way."
Her thoughts flicker back to high school and how far they've come. Who would've thought that the two most popular girls in school would become friends with one of the most teased? When she looks back on her high school career, the memories are tinged with nothing but regret. She knew back then that Rachel was special—now it's proven. Through all the slushies and hurtful words, especially from people who were supposed to be your teammates, Rachel came out on top.
It makes Santana's chest fill with pride.
Rachel finally enters the car, looking flustered but relieved. A bright smile is etched on her face, the same one that's been there since the end of the show, as she picks up two champagne glasses to hand to Santana and Quinn.
Santana takes her glass gingerly, tapping it against Quinn's and Rachel's as they shout, "Cheers!"