Doing It Right (24/27)
Title: Doing It Right: Volume 2, Chapter 24: Blondie Does Walk of Shame
Author: creedogv
Rating: T
Summary: Santana was given the opportunity to correct her past mistakes with Brittany, and she succeeded, but now she’s haunted by dreams that drive her to continue righting wrongs. Quinn deals with the aftermath of another rumor and Santana tries to get back on Brittany’s good side.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Word Count: ~7000
Spoilers: 2x19 “Rumours”
Author’s Note: So, another late chapter. My apologies. I really had to work on this one to get all the pieces to fit. In anticipation of further delays, I’ve gotten moving on the next chapter.
VOLUME 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6-1
Chapter 6-2
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16-1
Chapter 16-2
Chapter 17-1
Chapter 17-2
Chapter 18-1
Chapter 18-2
Chapter 19
VOLUME 2
Chapter 20
Chapter 21-1
Chapter 21-2
Chapter 22-1
Chapter 22-2
Chapter 23
* * *
So here’s what you missed on Glee. April Rhodes came to visit Will after her Broadway play bombs, and suggests the week’s assignment: Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours album. Brittany started her Fondue for Two webseries, and tells everybody that Quinn still has feelings for Puck, but it turns out what she really meant was: “You have angry feelings.” This gets Sam hopping mad, but he eventually forgives Quinn. Santana sings “Songbird” to Brittany in front of the whole class, so Brittany asks her out to prom. Well, after this at least: “Will you marry me?” Oh, Brittany, you silly girl. Artie and Genevieve break up, but Artie’s not too broken up about it, because Genevieve’s kind of strange: “Would Jesus turn the other cheek?” Oh, Genny, you silly girl. Carl and Emma ask Will and Holly to sing at their wedding, and they agree. But all’s well doesn’t end well, because Santana gets herself into hot water when she tries to get Brittany to run for prom queen with her and uses their hot girl-on-girl action to garner votes. Oh, Santana, you bad girl! And that’s what you missed on… Glee!
* * *
Terri was flummoxed to walk into the principal’s office and see Sue and April Rhodes sipping on cosmopolitans at four o’clock in the afternoon.
“Ah, Coach Delmonico, have a seat,” Sue welcomed.
“I really couldn’t.”
“Sit, Mulholland Drive, we’re having our own little Sexy and the City soirée.”
Terri shrugged unaffected. “You realize I cancelled a Cheerio practice for this? Thank you.” She casually poured herself a drink and sat down in the chair, crossing her legs. “So, what’re we discussing?”
“Ms. Rhodes here has written herself a play which she’s about to put on Broadway.”
April leaned forward and theatrically narrated, “It’s called Short Storey: The Tale of May Storey. It’s about a beautiful but diminutive high school dropout with an angelic voice who gets back on her feet after helping a struggling French teacher leave his harpy of a wife. She goes on to become the fiancé of a used car dealership owner. After inheriting his fortune when he dies of lupus, she moves to New York and produces a play called Pushing Up Daisy, about a woman named June Daisy who solves crimes by talking to ghosts.”
Terri’s only comment was, “I’m not crazy about the wife character. It’s very cliché.”
“Yeah, I knows, but I loves me a good love triangle. Frankly, she disappears after the first act, because, to be honest, I didn’t know what to do with her.”
Sue groaned. “If you two ninnies are done discussing the thankfully lost art of literature, I think we ought to concoct our plan to get Will Schuester out of this school.”
“Well, why would we wanna do that, Sugar?” April asked, “Will loves it here, Lord knows why. Plus, he’d never leave his little stable of misfits or his bombin’ girlfriend.”
“The one thing that we all share here is that we all hate him.”
“Not true. I don’t hate him,” April pointed out.
“Me, neither,” Terri agreed.
“Yes, but we’d all like him gone.”
“It is rather annoying seeing him every day,” Terri noted, “At least deceased relatives have the courtesy never to be seen again, ghostly hauntings excluded.”
“Well, why would I want him gone?” April wondered.
“Because you know he’s the ideal candidate for the male lead of your play,” the principal suggested.
“Phil Rooster? Well, golly, I didn’t think you were paying me any mind.”
“Wasn’t, but I knew a wanton spinster like you couldn’t resist incorporating a hot male lead into your show.”
“Well, surely I do want me some beefcake to play opposite of, but that don’t mean I want to drag Will away from everything he loves.”
“Schuester’s abandonment issues will be easily assuaged by the fact that he has a co-director to pick up where he left off, not to mention he’ll see himself as some sort of inspirational figure to his troupe of Hairspray High rejects. Concerning Mata Hari, if she follows him to the Fat Apple, you don’t have to feel guilty about breaking up true lust; if she doesn’t, well, that means he’s on the market for you.”
April seemed thoughtful about this proposition, briefly turning her head toward Terri.
Terri sighed. “I’m over it, I suppose. It’s kind of flattering that he keeps going after blondes.”
Sue explained, “I’m having Joseph Ben Jewish run a story about how Holly Holliday is plotting a coup-d’état on the club so that she can assemble a set list featuring ‘The Cell Block Tango’ and the closing number from The Full Monty. It’s heavily implied that she’s planning on winning Nationals by incorporating full-frontal nudity into the performance.”
“I don’t think she’d do that,” Terri remarked.
“I think she’d do a live recreation of Madonna’s spectacular ‘Justify My Love’ music video if she could trick the school board.”
“No, I meant she wouldn’t do that to Will.”
April said, “I gotta agree with Push-up here. Holly would be nuts to cut herself from Schue. That man’s gotta have stamina, amirite?”
“He did have his moments,” Terri admitted nostalgically.
“Please, ladies, I’ve already lost six months of my life due to brain toxicity from this conversation. The truth is irrelevant. Will has a history of leaving women who disappoint him after the slightest provocation.”
“I faked a pregnancy.”
“I fell off the wagon.” After a pause, April told Terri, “Alright, you win.”
* * *
Santana cornered Brittany at her locker. “Brittany, please, talk to me.”
Brittany didn’t meet Santana’s eyes. “No, your behavior has made me cry inside,” she replied, officiously, “in my special, angry place.” Without another word, she walked away.
Santana chased her. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? I called you like twenty times and I left you probably fifty texts. Even if you won’t talk to me, please just… let me know where we stand.”
The blonde planted her feet. “We’re standing right here, outside of Mr. Schue’s Spanish room.”
“Hey, don’t do that. Don’t pretend like you don’t understand what that phrase means.”
“You’re still my girlfriend, okay? But you’re my girlfriend who I’m still going to give the frozen shoulder to right now.” After the rueful response, Brittany put on a steely gaze.
“I can work with that,” Santana noted, only to have Brittany turn away again. “Hey, c’mon, don’t run off.”
Exasperated, Brittany whined, “Santana, I can’t not talk to you if you keep making me talk to you. So, zip.” She mimed ‘zipping’ her lips.
“Fine, Britts, don’t talk to me. I’ll talk. You just listen. Just because some evolutionarily-deprived cavemen want to watch us get our mack on is no reason to think our relationship is just pretend. In fact, I thought you’d be happy that I was willing to engage in public displays of affection.” That’s what you wanted in the other timeline. When Brittany remained silent, but with a thoughtful face, Santana pressed on, “I mean, think about it like this: people kiss at the end of all those movies you drag me to, and I think it’s your favorite part. And why not? It represents that moment when two people who have been fighting to find true love finally get to express their passion in that simple gesture: a kiss.”
Brittany ‘unzipped’ her lips, grinning. “It sounds like it’s your favorite part, too.”
“Maybe,” Santana noted defensively, “But the movie people put that kiss in there because they know we’ll like it.”
Brittany then realized that they were smiling at each other, so she forced a frown. “I know what you’re doing, Santana. I’ve watched a lot of Law & Order. Like three or four episodes. Maybe five. And you’re acting just like one of those lawyers that convince all those people in the penalty box that the bad guy didn’t convict a crime. You’re just trying to make me think you didn’t convict a crime.”
Santana threw up her hands. “I’ll admit I’m in the wrong here and that I’m sorry. But I love you and I’m not too proud to beg. As you know, I’m a very, very proud person, so I hope you realize how much you’re worth it.”
“I’ll think about it, Santana. Just give me a little bit of time to… have thoughts.”
Santana sighed with relief. “I can do that.”
* * *
Quinn and Rachel were not pleased. All the attendees of the Chastity Club meeting were clustered in small groups reading The Muckraker, pausing only to look up at their presidents.
“Do you think they’re talking about me?” Rachel asked in a tone that was half-concern and half-hopefulness.
“Doubtful. Jacob ran a headline about catching Sam doing the walk of shame from my house the other morning.” There was a certain lack of incredulity in her voice.
“At least he’s not writing ridiculous rumors about how you’re actually in love with him and only dating your current boyfriend because he’s the illegitimate child of the Vice President.”
Faith Jennings walked up to Quinn, holding a copy of The Muckraker. “Listen, I need to clarify something…”
“It’s not true, okay?!” Quinn snapped, “There’s a very good explanation why… I still deserve to be the president of this club!”
“Co-president,” Rachel corrected.
Seeing she had attracted the attention of the entire room, she continued, “Not that it’s any of your business, but Sam and I are still chaste.” She held up her hand, palm inward. “This is a promise ring. Not only am I promising to remain stuck with him, but that I will wait until marriage to consummate our love, okay?” She finished this with a glare. “Anyone need more clarification?”
“Yes, I was going to clarify that that rumor’s not about me… either, I guess. ‘Blondie Does Walk of Shame from Former Head Cheerio’s House’? I thought that was about me. I babysit for the Clarkes. Their daughter Wynnie was Head Cheerio for… I think like five days. Coach Delmonico apparently has a crazy high turnover rate. Anyway, I’m very protective of my reputation, especially about… this. Honestly, I didn’t even make the connection until my parents accused me of it.”
Quinn wondered aloud, “Why would they think you’re having an affair with a girl?” Faith had no answer for that. “Trust me. It’s not about you.”
Her insistence seemed to perplex Rachel and Faith, but before they could press the issue, Santana walked in, greeting them with, “Hey, ñoñas, how goes the whole not-getting-laid business?”
Quinn snapped back, “I should be asking you the same question, Santana. I heard you screwed it up big time with Brittany. Guess you finally belong here.”
“Heard Sam forgave you for stringing along Puckerman. I can only guess what perverse acts you had to perform, while still maintaining your technical second virginity.” When Quinn turned a rather dark shade of angry crimson, Santana backed off. Surveying the disquieted faces of her friends, she asked, “Why do you ladies all look like someone filled your granny panties with gravel?”
Quinn answered, handing her the paper, “Jacob wrote an incriminating article about me. He doesn’t have all the facts straight. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation to why Sam was-”
“‘Kay, Honey, gonna stop your right there. Now we will be returning to this confession hour later, because you’re about to drop a doosie. But let me save you blushing schoolgirls the trouble. The ‘Blondie’ in question is Britts. She caught Jewfro outside my house a few days ago. Article’s about us.”
Quinn reread the headline and blushed the deepest shade of pink that Santana had ever seen her. And I’ve seen her plenty of shades of pink before.
“Okay, everybody,” Quinn announced loudly enough to be heard through the hallways. “We’re all going to stop discussing that front page article. Which we’ve now determined is not about me.”
Zira held up her paper, which was visibly flipped to an inside page. “We’re not on the title page, poppy. We was actually speculating on the rumour about the closeted footballer. I’m thinking Puckerman’s the poof. He dated Santana, din’ he?”
“He wasn’t my beard,” she insisted.
“He dated Lauren Zizes,” another girl suggested.
“That’s offensive,” Rachel noted.
“He went to jail. Just sayin’.” Zira at this point was simply poking Puck’s friends with a metaphorical stick.
“It was juvie,” Santana remarked.
Zira wasn’t finished, “I heard he snogged Mike Chang at one o’ yer house parties.”
“I don’t know where you heard about that…” Rachel noted.
“And din’ he get you pregnant?” Zira laid the last shred of evidence in her case.
Quinn was flabbergasted. “Why would you think that made him gay?”
Mercedes raised her hand. “Well, you did say that closeted gays tend to have unwanted pregnancies.”
“Mercedes Loretta Jones, please don’t add to this conspiracy. I can tell you firsthand that Puck is not gay. In fact, he’s a little too straight for his own good. I would ask you all to please kill this rumor in its tracks. Puck would be very sensitive about this and he doesn’t deserve it, no matter what you’ve heard about his past. He’s come a long way in the past couple of years. He’s a good guy and any woman would be lucky to have him.”
“Maybe Brittany was right,” Santana remarked under her breath.
“About what?” Rachel asked.
“Nothing,” Santana replied. She noticed Faith eyeing her closely. “Look, I know where you come from in Utah, people like me are like zoo animals primed for ridicule…”
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to express my apologies about you and Brittany breaking up.”
“We did not break up,” Santana fierily insisted.
“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry.”
“‘Gosh’? You really did grow up in YFZ territory, didn’t you?”
“Hope you can get Brittany back,” she mumbled before quickly looking for a seat.
* * *
Kurt was digging through his locker when a familiar voice greeted him. “So, do you keep all that wedding crap in your locker for kicks? Your folks got hitched months ago.”
“Well, hello to you, too, Santana. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Eh, I feel like I’ve been neglecting you ever since Brittany and I got together. I can only imagine what depraved things Johnny Rocket has had to do to keep your mind off my conspicuous absence.”
“So, you didn’t come here for advice about this fight you and Brittany are having?” Kurt finished arranging the items in his locker and closed it.
“More to vent.”
“Vent away, chica. Consider me your expertly-wallpapered sounding board.”
“She’s so angry with me… and it sucks and… that’s all I got.”
“My advice? Apologize.”
“I did. And I’m still not convinced this is all my fault.”
“The best way to approach reconciliation is to go in with that very philosophy.”
“Fine, fine. But I am not turning into the man in this relationship. And you never answered my questions about the bridal boutique that you’ve converted your locker into.”
“Miss Pillsbury became aware of my flawless work on my parents’ wedding, so she and Dr. Carl hired me to do plan theirs, no doubt because of my exceptional skills.”
“And pauper’s fee, I’m assuming.”
“I do work for peanuts,” Kurt admitted, “Or rather the privilege of taking home all leftover decorations and food. Not to mention, I’m assembling a bridal entourage who will work for slave wages.”
“Any suckers I know?”
Kurt looked Santana straight in the eye. “I need a hair stylist.”
“For my skills, I ain’t doin’ it gratis.”
“Rehearsal dinner is at Breadstix. You have five seconds to agree or the job goes to Tina.”
“Agreed,” Santana replied automatically. “Dammit, you found my soft spot. Okay, but if there’s more than four bridesmaids, I’m out, and I reserve the right to punch the mother of the bride if she’s snippy.”
“There are three and I understand Mrs. Pillsbury is timid, so I think we have a deal. I want Brittany on makeup. I think I can win her over with a small mountain of sweets.”
“Easily,” she affirmed.
Kurt sighed blissfully. “All this talk, it makes you plan your own wedding in your head, doesn’t it?”
Santana hummed thoughtfully. “You know what? I don’t think I ever really did that, as a kid. I mean, I did, but I wasn’t really imagining the wedding so much as the reception. My folks spoiled my brothers and I with big birthday parties, so it was just another big celebration on the horizon. I don’t think the boy ever factored in. Should’ve known, right?”
“I should’ve. I watched all those Disney movies and kept putting myself in the princess’s place, getting to marry the handsome prince. Are you saying you didn’t imagine yourself with the gorgeous princess?”
“Again, never cared about the wedding. I wasn’t really a romantic. And I didn’t watch much Disney. I watched my brother’s Ninja Turtles tapes.”
“Ugh, you’re impossible. Tell me you’ve at least starting fantasizing about your wedding in the past year.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s embarrassing, but I didn’t even start until… the Hummel-Hudson wedding extravaganza.”
“And tell me, in your lovely wedding to the future Mrs. Pierce-Lopez, which one was wearing the dress?”
“Bitch, we were both wearing dresses. I mean, maybe I’ll wear a wrap or a short coat, and Lord knows she’s have some funny hat on, but I ain’t letting no tux obscure my luscious figure. But I did imagine Puck in a dress.”
Kurt hummed appreciatively. “That makes two of us. So he’s your Maid of Honor?”
“I kind of think he won’t agree to that title, especially if he ever sees that Muckraker article.”
“Man of Honor, Bro of Honor, whatever. Speaking of tuxedos, prom plans?”
“I’m definitely going. Not just because I’m definitely going anyway, but don’t forget I got asked in front of the whole damn Internet. Granted, I am in the process of trying not to lose that invite. What are your plans with Sir Warblesmith?”
“I think he knows I’m planning on asking him, but I haven’t gotten a chance to. He’s majorly buried in his year-end projects.”
Santana scoffed. “Benefits of a public education: You can sleep through Computer Skills and still get an A.”
* * *
Will and Holly walked into glee rehearsal to a shouting match.
Will stalwartly positioned himself in the center of the room. “Okay, guys, I think I know what’s going on. This is about the rumor in The Muckraker about me abandoning you guys to be in April’s play. I’m not.”
Holly backed him up. “And even if he was, I think you guys know me well enough to realize none of you would be comfortable nude on stage.”
Puck, Santana, and Brittany all raised their hands inquisitively.
“No way, Mr. Schue,” Mercedes explained, “we know you’re too invested with the glee club.” She held back a snicker when Will subconsciously adjusted his vest.
“Plus, even if you were,” Santana added, “I was chillin’ with Bleachie McLifefail, taking shots of… Diet Coke… and she says her play doesn’t start until July. You’d still have time to take us to rock Nationals in the… face.”
“And we’ve got Ms. H to step in,” added Puck, winking at the blonde.
“Then why are you guys fighting?”
Rachel answered, “Well, us ladies started a civil discussion of who would play each part were we to be doing the Chicago classic ‘Cell Block Tango’. I was arguing that, as the star singer of the group, I definitely deserved Velma’s verse.”
“And I was arguing,” Quinn spat, “that my time on the Cheerios made me a much better fit for physicality of the role. She had the audacity to suggest I be Lipschitz.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Then convince Santana or Tina to switch. Pop and Six have major dance solos, too.”
Tina spoke up, “Uh uh, If you’re going to insist that Brittany be Uh-Uh…”
“You don’t have the legs for it,” Santana pointed out, “Plus, she can totally do that.”
On cue, Brittany started to ramble, “Mit keresek, én itt? Azt mondják, hogy a híres lakem lefogta a férjemet én meg lecsaptam a fejét…”
“That’s enough, B,” Quinn remarked proudly.
“How did she…?” Will wondered.
“They’re just words, Mr. Schue,” Brittany explained snidely, “just because I don’t know what they mean doesn’t mean I can’t say them. Never stopped me before.”
Tina continued, “If Brittany’s Uh-Uh, I want Pop. Mike and I already know the dance.”
Santana finally spoke up. “Look, Q, I don’t mind being Lipschitz. It’s just since it was kind of an unspoken fact that I would be playing Veronica during the Cicero verse, I’d be scrambling to get to my own part.”
“You guys are talking like we’re actually going to do this,” Will remarked.
“Can’t we do it later, Mr. Schue?” Quinn asked.
“No,” Will refused.
“Sure,” Holly agreed, at the same time, before appending her response, “maybe, but if you’re going to wear costumes, they’d better be school-appropriate.” She avoided eye contact with her co-director.
Will finally took control of the room and Santana found herself sitting beside Puck instead of Brittany, who’d isolated herself with Quinn and Sam.
Quinn whispered to him, “Oh, crap, I’m so sorry. That conversation… damn, I can’t believe I got…” Sam brushed it off.
Santana told Puck, “You know, Puckerman, since process of elimination would put as dancing partners again for the song, that makes you Al the bisexual manwhore. Guess The Muckraker was right.”
“Wait, what?”
* * *
Will was sitting in his classroom, grading papers on relative pronouns when he suddenly realized two women were hovering over him.
“Holly, Emma, what can I do for you?”
“Well, firstly, Ricosuave, you need to review the difference between ‘el que’ and ‘lo que’, because you’re about to give Miss Lopez a C+ when she deserves an A.”
Emma cleared her throat. “We wanted to talk to you about this.” She held up a copy of The Muckraker.
Will wondered what awful rumors were floating around now as he looked over the paper, only to realize it was the old version.
“I thought you realized this rumor was false from the get-go,” he told Holly.
“Will, Puck wasn’t wrong. If you wanted to take a sabbatical, try your luck on the big stage, I can handle the glee club.”
“Will, it’s been your dream,” Emma added.
“Emma, you’re the one who convinced me to stay a teacher not two years ago.”
“I told you to follow your heart. You’re a wonderful teacher, and I’d never want to lose you.” She felt Holly’s eyes on her. “As a friend. And as a colleague. But we both know that part of your love of doing glee to recapture some of the fame of your youth.”
Holly bit her lip.
Will turned to his girlfriend. “As my co-director, I can understand you pushing me to reach for the stars. But as my girlfriend, I don’t understand why you’d be pushing me to move 600 miles away for several months.”
“We don’t live in the 1800s, Pioneer Bill. We’ve got phones and Skype, which I will show you how to use, because it makes phone sex much more interesting.”
Emma cleared her throat. “Yeah, um, should I… go… somewhere else?”
“Plus, if you get lonely, it’s not like you won’t have a flirty blonde nearby,” she teased.
“Holly, that’s not funny. Just because you don’t see any problem eyeing Dustin Goolsby doesn’t mean I’m going to flirt with April.”
“Yeah, I think I’m definitely needed elsewhere,” Emma remarked, fleeing, growing twice as uncomfortable when she met Santana at the door.
Santana spoke, not paying attention to the redhead fleeing in terror. “So, Mr. Schue, Ms. H, I’ve actually got more pressing issues at hand, but I do want to say how awesome you are, Mr. Schue, and how thankful we are that you’ve taken glee so far and…” She checked her watch. “…and, uh… actually, you know the drill, so could you just assume I gave this whole touching speech? Actually, pretend Finn gave it. I gotta…” And with that, she ran out, a bundle of restless energy.
* * *
“Can I talk to you?” Brittany asked the last person who ever expected to be approached by her.
“Uh, sure,” Faith replied.
“It’s about Santana.” Faith tensed but nodded. “Santana doesn’t have a whole lot of friends-she’s getting better, though-and you’re the only one outside of glee.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“She wants to run for prom queen-”
“She hasn’t submitted an application,” Faith mused, “but she seems like the type.”
“I know that,” Brittany noted defensively. “But she wants to get votes by promising that we’ll kiss on stage.”
Faith giggled. “Well, that’s an effective technique. It’ll only work on half the population.”
“Don’t you think it’s kind of maniacal?”
“No,” Faith said immediately, before studying Brittany long and hard, “Oh, did you mean… ‘manipulative’?”
Brittany’s eyes bugged out and she briefly looked down at her chest. “I don’t think so,” she remarked, half-scandalized. She shrugged and asked, “It just feels… yucky.”
“Well, I’ll admit it’s not the most dignified of campaign strategies, but this isn’t exactly a presidential election. I’m pretty sure Lauren Zizes photoshopped a couple of Quinn’s campaign posters to make her look 5 months pregnant and to give Sam Evans a cowlick and buck teeth.”
“So you think I’m dumb to be mad at her?”
“I’m sure you have your reasons,” Faith remarked diplomatically, “I’m not privy to the exact dynamic of your relationship, but Santana loves you, and relationships are about give and take, and I do think you’re being a little unfair.”
“You’re right,” Brittany replied. Her voice then grew dark. “You don’t know how me and Santana work, and why what she’s doing makes me so mad at her. And I probably shouldn’t have asked you.”
Faith held her poker face. “So, general consensus about you is that you’re friendly to everybody if a bit tactless, so maybe I’m just the exception. Perhaps I don’t have an adequate appreciation for Spongebob Squarepants, I don’t know. But you’re right. I’m not that good of friends with Santana. You should ask someone who knows her better.”
“I will. Sorry to bother you,” she remarked politely. “But Spongebob is awesome.”
Faith chuckled. “Maybe sometime we can try to get off on the right foot.” When Brittany looked down at her shoes, she amended, “Maybe we can try a conversation where we’re friendly.”
“I’d like that,” Brittany admitted, “This ‘not liking people’ thing? It’s exhausting. I gotta go.”
Brittany made her way into the choir room, finding it dead silent from a palpable air of nervousness.
“J-jail?” Tina asked.
Sam, his head bowed, nodded. “My folks lost their jobs and the only work they could find was at a local Mexican restaurant. One morning, they were pulled over for expired tags and the next thing they knew they were being arrested for smuggling illegal immigrants. They were just carpooling with coworkers.”
Rachel wondered, “Why would the police think they were smuggling Mexican immigrants when they were in Ohio?”
“No, the coworkers were Canadians. Expired green cards or something.”
“So you’re living with Quinn?” Puck asked.
“In the guest room,” Quinn pressed, “that’s why I thought Jacob was referring to Sam in his ‘Walk of Shame’ article.”
“I leave early in the morning because Coach Beiste lets me use the weight room to work out.”
“Can’t your parents just say what happened?” Finn asked.
“Yeah, but they’ve got a state-appointed lawyer, and even though the charges will probably be dropped, it’s gonna take a while: days, maybe even weeks, before they’re released.”
* * *
Mercedes was staring at the screen of her phone. When the screen faded, she pressed a button so it would light up again. “i need time 2 think” was displayed on screen.
“I’m pretty sure you’re killing your battery life,” Quinn remarked.
Mercedes looked up, seeing Quinn take a seat beside her on the lockers. She eyed Sam in the distance, reading a comic book. “I think I’m a cheater,” she finally explained to Quinn.
“So who’d you cheat on?” When Mercedes couldn’t answer immediately, Quinn nodded. “That’s what I thought. I’m a cheater. You played the field and picked a favorite. He’ll come around, I promise. Boys are more forgiving than you’d expect.”
Her eyes traveled to where the blonde boy sat, and Mercedes’ followed her line of sight. “You really believe that?”
“I’m so sure that I will offer to buy your prom ticket and dinner, just because I know Raj will actually be doing so.”
“And you’re taking me dress shopping.”
“I’ll do that either way, okay?”
“Okay,” Mercedes replied, looking down at her phone again.
* * *
“Hey, Sugar, you got time to talk?” April remarked.
Will looked down at his stack of papers, still ungraded due to the interruptions of the past few days. “Why not?”
“So, Pardner, this is kind of my walk o’ shame, if you know what I mean?”
“April, I’m not sure I want to know what you mean.”
“It was me who leaked the rumor about you leavin’ and Holly taking over glee.”
Will frowned. “It’s no big deal, but… why?”
“Ain’t it obvious?” Will gave her a look that said that whatever obvious conclusion he’d come to had him concerned. “I wanted you for my play.” The Spanish teacher seemed simultaneously surprised and relieved. “My luck so far hasn’t been dandy, and my play’s probably crap, and I figured if a handsome, talented guy like you got noticed, maybe when the play fell on its ass, I could ride your coattails instead of you riding mine.”
Will shifted into teacher mode. “April, sit down. Do you know how many times New Directions has almost lost a competition, or lost one? Basically every time we compete. Do you know the insanity of starting a show choir from scratch, over a month into the school year, and promising to place at Regionals? We may not have cleared the bar last year, but we came this close…” He held his thumb and index finger an inch apart. “…because of blind faith. April, do you know why I think you struggle in life? Because you have low expectations of yourself. The moment I instilled an iota of confidence in you, you were making plans to try your luck in Branson.”
“That sure didn’t happen.”
“But you stopped squatting in open houses. Six months later, you’re putting on a play on Broadway.”
“Off-Broadway,” April corrected.
Will was undeterred. “That’s more than a lot of people accomplish, especially someone with a GED from Lima, Ohio.”
“Yeah, about that GED…” April admitted.
“April, you believed that you could have success on Broadway and you found your way to New York. And now you’re thinking of going again. Stop worrying about failure and you’ll be surprised how far you get.”
April seemed moved. “You tell your kids these things? How they’re going to win Nationals?”
“I don’t stop to think we won’t. Our idea to use original songs will give us the edge over the competition, I just know it. What could go wrong?”
April just knocked on the top of the desk she was sitting at.
* * *
The band was playing an uptempo rock beat while Tina was walking from one side of the room to the other, less hindered than usual in a knee-length-but as always black-dress, bouncing along with the music. Mike was hovering around her, dancing in circles, gracefully managing to keep out her way as she strutted. In her hand, she held a microphone.
Sweet wonderful you,
You make me happy with the things you do,
Oh, oh, oh can it be so,
This feeling follows me wherever I go.
I never did believe in miracles,
But I’ve a feeling it’s time to try.
I never did believe in the ways of magic,
But I’m beginning to wonder why.
There was an instrumental break in the song, during which the couple danced together happily, smiles plastered on their faces, playfully catching each other’s eyes every chance they got. Once the chorus arrived, Mike was gesturing for the crowd to sing the countermelody under Tina, which he appeared to be doing-softer, of course.
You, you make loving fun.
(It’s all I want to do)
You, you make loving fun.
(It’s all I want to do)
You, you make loving fun.
(It’s all I want to do)
You, you make loving fun.
(It’s all I want to do)
Given the circumstances, Santana was less animated than the others. Brittany was seated on the front row with Quinn and Sam-a small sea of blonde reminding Santana of her failures. Brittany seemed to be bouncing as much as usual, but she was obviously taking peaks behind her. She finally seemed to work up the courage to mouth “Can we talk?” to Santana, keeping her face neutral.
The song had come to an end without Santana and Brittany noticing. No one else missed it, as the Asian duo chose to end their song by making out shamelessly against a dejected Brad’s piano. Holly just beamed at the happy couple, so it was up to Will to dismiss the rehearsal, yanking the lovers apart and sheepishly congratulating them.
Santana, who was eager to finally talk with her girlfriend, was blindsided outside the choir room by Jacob Ben Israel. Brittany noticed this, so passed them by and took her place on the other side of the hallways, leaning against the lockers patiently while Santana addressed Jacob.
“Word on the street is that you and Brittany are having a bit of a lovers’ quarrel. Does this mean your youthful experimentation is coming to an end and you’ll soon be available for certain worthy members of the male gender?”
Santana’s eyes narrowed menacingly. Jacob started plotting exit routes, but all the brunette did was growl sharply into the mic. “Listen, Jewfro, it’s not ‘youthful experimentation’, okay? I am gay and I am also very much in love with Brittany, and like it or not we are going to be the reigning power couple of McKinley whose love puts everyone else to shame.”
Jacob seemed rather unrattled. “So, it’s true love then? You two are soul mates, so to speak?”
Santana was used to the déjà vu by now. “I’d say that was accurate,” she replied proudly.
Jacob continued to ramble on about something, but Santana’s world only existed to watch Brittany bite her bottom lip, unable to hold back a smile. The blone charged across the hallway and grabbed the microphone while Jacob was still mid-sentence. “Vote Santittany for Prom Queens. It’s the only couple with a ‘tit’ in the name and four on the candidates.”
She thrust the microphone back to Jacob, who remarked, “Oh, my.”
“You should take our picture.” It was more of an order than a suggestion.
“Jules!” Jacob called out, snapping his fingers, beckoning a stout black boy with a camera over. Brittany leaned over in a sorority squat, puckering her lips, so Santana bent forward, too, placing the corner of her mouth perilously close to Brittany’s lips while doing a demure pout. The camera flashed, and Jacob dragged his photographer away toward the journalism room.
The couple was now alone in the corner. “Brittany, you didn’t have to do that. We’re not running for prom queens.”
“Yes, we are, Sweetie. I just didn’t realize how important it was to you before.”
“It’s not, honestly.”
“Yes, it is,” Brittany pressed, “I talked to Karofsky. He told me how you convinced him to run.”
“I was trying to convince him not to run.”
“You said you wanted to run so that you could prove that the whole school respected you still. And then Puck let me know that you were questioning whether you were a lesbian. While I’ve just been screaming about your gayness from the bell towers.”
“I’m gonna kick his ass. Look, Brittany, I wasn’t questioning whether I liked girls. I am super hot for you and super in love with you, okay?”
“I know that,” Brittany replied cockily. “Honestly, Santana, it’s pretty obvious you want all up on this. But I figured out you were probably comparing yourself with all the lesbians on TV. And you think you’re not the same as them.”
“I…”
Brittany placed her hands on her girlfriend’s shoulders. “Santana, it’s okay. Me, I’ve always loved who I am: Cheerio, glee clubber, dancer, singer, not… super-smart person. But you, you’ve always played pretend for, like, your whole life. And that’s why I like being around you. For everybody else, you just turn into the person you think they want you to be. But for me, you’re you. I know you don’t know who that is, or don’t think you know her. And I love that about you. It’s one of those things that makes you you.”
Santana seemed more insulted than comforted. “So one of the things that makes me me is that I’m mad insecure about myself? That’s not something to love, Britt-Britt.”
“Well, too bad, because I do love it. And because I love it, I’ll tell you another thing about you. You’re ambidextrous.”
Santana scoffed. “No, I’m not. This hand can’t even sext my girlfriend.” She held up her right hand. “Wait, did you mean ‘ambitious’?” she divined.
Brittany shuffled her feet. “Probably. That means you want to be everyone’s boss, right?”
Close enough. “Yeah.”
“So, that’s why we’re running for prom queens. Because you’re Santana Lopez and you claw your way to the top like the badass bitch you are.”
“Damn straight… or not. Let’s do this then.” She held out her pinky, which Brittany took. Santana added, “You know Quinn’s going to be pi-issed at me, especially after I promised to help her win.”
“Well, Quinn is ambient, too,” Brittany’s brow immediately furrowed, “Ambi-…”
“‘Ambitious’,” Santana softly repeated.
“My brain can’t hold words,” Brittany mumbled with shame, shuffling her feet again.
“It’s okay. That is one of those things I love about you. That your brain is so genius about knowing people and understanding people and helping people and loving people that all the other parts got a raw deal. Except for the motor cortex; that part’s pretty awesome.”
Brittany disagreed, “No, cars confuse me, too. Fixing them… driving them… telling the difference between them and those carts that they sell snow cones from…”
“Sorry, the dancing lobe. But, for reals, Britt, I would give anything to trade one brain cell that’s keeping track of random historical trivia for one that could help me figure myself out.”
“Well, maybe that’s why you have me. And I know the most important thing to you is feeling accepted. You got people to accept fake-you and now that you’re almost real-you, you need people to accept that person, too. The way I do.”
Santana couldn’t stop the wetness that flooded her eyes. “So, um, are you this good at making everybody fall head over heels in love with you, or does it only work so perfectly on me?”
* * *
Santana and Brittany were the last ones to arrive at the auditorium, nearly fifteen minutes late. With the exception of Rachel, everyone was more focused on the fact that they were walking in hand-in-hand rather than tardy. Santana apologized on behalf of the couple. “Hey, guys, Mr. Schue, Ms. H, sorry for being late, but we were… running late.”
Brittany remarked dramatically, “The janitor’s closet is like that maze in The Labyrinth. You know, they called it something special; I forget, though.”
Santana noticed a little blond boy and a little blond girl holding Sam’s hands. “Oh, look, small things. That we’re having this discussion in front of.” Yeah, and I could have predicted they’d be there.
Sam explained, “Quinn’s mom had to work this afternoon, so Mr. Schue let me bring them here.” Sam’s sister Stacy, under the scrutiny of the new arrivals, blushed and shyly dropped Sam’s hand to hide behind Quinn’s legs. Quinn spun around and pulled the little girl into her arms, moving even closer to Sam, looking very much like they were posing for a picture to be hung on the wall in the living room.
With Stevie by his side, Sam explained, “I was… or Quinn and I were listening to the CD for this week’s assignment, and these guys had a favorite song, so I thought they’d like to sing it with us.”
Why not think about times to come,
And not about the things that you’ve done,
If your life was bad to you,
Just think what tomorrow will do.
Don’t stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Don’t stop, it’ll soon be here,
It’ll be, better than before,
Yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone.
All I want is to see you smile,
If it takes just a little while,
I know you don’t believe that it’s true,
I never meant any harm to you.
Midway through the song, Santana pulled away from the group. In all the racing around, she’d lost Brittany’s hand, but it looked like someone else had claimed it: Stacy was grasping her wrist with both hands. Brittany took the opportunity to pull the little girl into her arms, singing to her while the child shook her blond pigtails. At that moment, Santana couldn’t help but notice the identical shade of their hair color, and how completely comfortable Brittany was around the child. If she didn’t know any better…
She quickly banished the thought that was equally exciting and terrifying. She rejoined the group, singing the lyrics louder than before.
Don’t stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Don’t stop, it’ll soon be here,
It’ll be, better than before,
Yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone.
Don’t you look back,
Don’t you look back.
Author’s Note: So I only included Zira in that one scene so I could spell ‘rumour’ with the British ‘u’ so you knew what episode I was using. Since there were no other clues.[/sarcasm] I noticed her accent’s getting thicker.
I suspect that I’ve created a bunch of locker scenes that could be named much like the canon Locker Scenes (Hurt, Dirt, etc.). Send me your suggestions. I bet the one at the beginning of this chapter could be the Curt Locker. Or maybe I need a new rhyming scheme. (Plead… Seed… Read…?)
Chapter 25: The Big Night
Author: creedogv
Rating: T
Summary: Santana was given the opportunity to correct her past mistakes with Brittany, and she succeeded, but now she’s haunted by dreams that drive her to continue righting wrongs. Quinn deals with the aftermath of another rumor and Santana tries to get back on Brittany’s good side.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Word Count: ~7000
Spoilers: 2x19 “Rumours”
Author’s Note: So, another late chapter. My apologies. I really had to work on this one to get all the pieces to fit. In anticipation of further delays, I’ve gotten moving on the next chapter.
VOLUME 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6-1
Chapter 6-2
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16-1
Chapter 16-2
Chapter 17-1
Chapter 17-2
Chapter 18-1
Chapter 18-2
Chapter 19
VOLUME 2
Chapter 20
Chapter 21-1
Chapter 21-2
Chapter 22-1
Chapter 22-2
Chapter 23
* * *
So here’s what you missed on Glee. April Rhodes came to visit Will after her Broadway play bombs, and suggests the week’s assignment: Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours album. Brittany started her Fondue for Two webseries, and tells everybody that Quinn still has feelings for Puck, but it turns out what she really meant was: “You have angry feelings.” This gets Sam hopping mad, but he eventually forgives Quinn. Santana sings “Songbird” to Brittany in front of the whole class, so Brittany asks her out to prom. Well, after this at least: “Will you marry me?” Oh, Brittany, you silly girl. Artie and Genevieve break up, but Artie’s not too broken up about it, because Genevieve’s kind of strange: “Would Jesus turn the other cheek?” Oh, Genny, you silly girl. Carl and Emma ask Will and Holly to sing at their wedding, and they agree. But all’s well doesn’t end well, because Santana gets herself into hot water when she tries to get Brittany to run for prom queen with her and uses their hot girl-on-girl action to garner votes. Oh, Santana, you bad girl! And that’s what you missed on… Glee!
* * *
Terri was flummoxed to walk into the principal’s office and see Sue and April Rhodes sipping on cosmopolitans at four o’clock in the afternoon.
“Ah, Coach Delmonico, have a seat,” Sue welcomed.
“I really couldn’t.”
“Sit, Mulholland Drive, we’re having our own little Sexy and the City soirée.”
Terri shrugged unaffected. “You realize I cancelled a Cheerio practice for this? Thank you.” She casually poured herself a drink and sat down in the chair, crossing her legs. “So, what’re we discussing?”
“Ms. Rhodes here has written herself a play which she’s about to put on Broadway.”
April leaned forward and theatrically narrated, “It’s called Short Storey: The Tale of May Storey. It’s about a beautiful but diminutive high school dropout with an angelic voice who gets back on her feet after helping a struggling French teacher leave his harpy of a wife. She goes on to become the fiancé of a used car dealership owner. After inheriting his fortune when he dies of lupus, she moves to New York and produces a play called Pushing Up Daisy, about a woman named June Daisy who solves crimes by talking to ghosts.”
Terri’s only comment was, “I’m not crazy about the wife character. It’s very cliché.”
“Yeah, I knows, but I loves me a good love triangle. Frankly, she disappears after the first act, because, to be honest, I didn’t know what to do with her.”
Sue groaned. “If you two ninnies are done discussing the thankfully lost art of literature, I think we ought to concoct our plan to get Will Schuester out of this school.”
“Well, why would we wanna do that, Sugar?” April asked, “Will loves it here, Lord knows why. Plus, he’d never leave his little stable of misfits or his bombin’ girlfriend.”
“The one thing that we all share here is that we all hate him.”
“Not true. I don’t hate him,” April pointed out.
“Me, neither,” Terri agreed.
“Yes, but we’d all like him gone.”
“It is rather annoying seeing him every day,” Terri noted, “At least deceased relatives have the courtesy never to be seen again, ghostly hauntings excluded.”
“Well, why would I want him gone?” April wondered.
“Because you know he’s the ideal candidate for the male lead of your play,” the principal suggested.
“Phil Rooster? Well, golly, I didn’t think you were paying me any mind.”
“Wasn’t, but I knew a wanton spinster like you couldn’t resist incorporating a hot male lead into your show.”
“Well, surely I do want me some beefcake to play opposite of, but that don’t mean I want to drag Will away from everything he loves.”
“Schuester’s abandonment issues will be easily assuaged by the fact that he has a co-director to pick up where he left off, not to mention he’ll see himself as some sort of inspirational figure to his troupe of Hairspray High rejects. Concerning Mata Hari, if she follows him to the Fat Apple, you don’t have to feel guilty about breaking up true lust; if she doesn’t, well, that means he’s on the market for you.”
April seemed thoughtful about this proposition, briefly turning her head toward Terri.
Terri sighed. “I’m over it, I suppose. It’s kind of flattering that he keeps going after blondes.”
Sue explained, “I’m having Joseph Ben Jewish run a story about how Holly Holliday is plotting a coup-d’état on the club so that she can assemble a set list featuring ‘The Cell Block Tango’ and the closing number from The Full Monty. It’s heavily implied that she’s planning on winning Nationals by incorporating full-frontal nudity into the performance.”
“I don’t think she’d do that,” Terri remarked.
“I think she’d do a live recreation of Madonna’s spectacular ‘Justify My Love’ music video if she could trick the school board.”
“No, I meant she wouldn’t do that to Will.”
April said, “I gotta agree with Push-up here. Holly would be nuts to cut herself from Schue. That man’s gotta have stamina, amirite?”
“He did have his moments,” Terri admitted nostalgically.
“Please, ladies, I’ve already lost six months of my life due to brain toxicity from this conversation. The truth is irrelevant. Will has a history of leaving women who disappoint him after the slightest provocation.”
“I faked a pregnancy.”
“I fell off the wagon.” After a pause, April told Terri, “Alright, you win.”
* * *
Santana cornered Brittany at her locker. “Brittany, please, talk to me.”
Brittany didn’t meet Santana’s eyes. “No, your behavior has made me cry inside,” she replied, officiously, “in my special, angry place.” Without another word, she walked away.
Santana chased her. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? I called you like twenty times and I left you probably fifty texts. Even if you won’t talk to me, please just… let me know where we stand.”
The blonde planted her feet. “We’re standing right here, outside of Mr. Schue’s Spanish room.”
“Hey, don’t do that. Don’t pretend like you don’t understand what that phrase means.”
“You’re still my girlfriend, okay? But you’re my girlfriend who I’m still going to give the frozen shoulder to right now.” After the rueful response, Brittany put on a steely gaze.
“I can work with that,” Santana noted, only to have Brittany turn away again. “Hey, c’mon, don’t run off.”
Exasperated, Brittany whined, “Santana, I can’t not talk to you if you keep making me talk to you. So, zip.” She mimed ‘zipping’ her lips.
“Fine, Britts, don’t talk to me. I’ll talk. You just listen. Just because some evolutionarily-deprived cavemen want to watch us get our mack on is no reason to think our relationship is just pretend. In fact, I thought you’d be happy that I was willing to engage in public displays of affection.” That’s what you wanted in the other timeline. When Brittany remained silent, but with a thoughtful face, Santana pressed on, “I mean, think about it like this: people kiss at the end of all those movies you drag me to, and I think it’s your favorite part. And why not? It represents that moment when two people who have been fighting to find true love finally get to express their passion in that simple gesture: a kiss.”
Brittany ‘unzipped’ her lips, grinning. “It sounds like it’s your favorite part, too.”
“Maybe,” Santana noted defensively, “But the movie people put that kiss in there because they know we’ll like it.”
Brittany then realized that they were smiling at each other, so she forced a frown. “I know what you’re doing, Santana. I’ve watched a lot of Law & Order. Like three or four episodes. Maybe five. And you’re acting just like one of those lawyers that convince all those people in the penalty box that the bad guy didn’t convict a crime. You’re just trying to make me think you didn’t convict a crime.”
Santana threw up her hands. “I’ll admit I’m in the wrong here and that I’m sorry. But I love you and I’m not too proud to beg. As you know, I’m a very, very proud person, so I hope you realize how much you’re worth it.”
“I’ll think about it, Santana. Just give me a little bit of time to… have thoughts.”
Santana sighed with relief. “I can do that.”
* * *
Quinn and Rachel were not pleased. All the attendees of the Chastity Club meeting were clustered in small groups reading The Muckraker, pausing only to look up at their presidents.
“Do you think they’re talking about me?” Rachel asked in a tone that was half-concern and half-hopefulness.
“Doubtful. Jacob ran a headline about catching Sam doing the walk of shame from my house the other morning.” There was a certain lack of incredulity in her voice.
“At least he’s not writing ridiculous rumors about how you’re actually in love with him and only dating your current boyfriend because he’s the illegitimate child of the Vice President.”
Faith Jennings walked up to Quinn, holding a copy of The Muckraker. “Listen, I need to clarify something…”
“It’s not true, okay?!” Quinn snapped, “There’s a very good explanation why… I still deserve to be the president of this club!”
“Co-president,” Rachel corrected.
Seeing she had attracted the attention of the entire room, she continued, “Not that it’s any of your business, but Sam and I are still chaste.” She held up her hand, palm inward. “This is a promise ring. Not only am I promising to remain stuck with him, but that I will wait until marriage to consummate our love, okay?” She finished this with a glare. “Anyone need more clarification?”
“Yes, I was going to clarify that that rumor’s not about me… either, I guess. ‘Blondie Does Walk of Shame from Former Head Cheerio’s House’? I thought that was about me. I babysit for the Clarkes. Their daughter Wynnie was Head Cheerio for… I think like five days. Coach Delmonico apparently has a crazy high turnover rate. Anyway, I’m very protective of my reputation, especially about… this. Honestly, I didn’t even make the connection until my parents accused me of it.”
Quinn wondered aloud, “Why would they think you’re having an affair with a girl?” Faith had no answer for that. “Trust me. It’s not about you.”
Her insistence seemed to perplex Rachel and Faith, but before they could press the issue, Santana walked in, greeting them with, “Hey, ñoñas, how goes the whole not-getting-laid business?”
Quinn snapped back, “I should be asking you the same question, Santana. I heard you screwed it up big time with Brittany. Guess you finally belong here.”
“Heard Sam forgave you for stringing along Puckerman. I can only guess what perverse acts you had to perform, while still maintaining your technical second virginity.” When Quinn turned a rather dark shade of angry crimson, Santana backed off. Surveying the disquieted faces of her friends, she asked, “Why do you ladies all look like someone filled your granny panties with gravel?”
Quinn answered, handing her the paper, “Jacob wrote an incriminating article about me. He doesn’t have all the facts straight. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation to why Sam was-”
“‘Kay, Honey, gonna stop your right there. Now we will be returning to this confession hour later, because you’re about to drop a doosie. But let me save you blushing schoolgirls the trouble. The ‘Blondie’ in question is Britts. She caught Jewfro outside my house a few days ago. Article’s about us.”
Quinn reread the headline and blushed the deepest shade of pink that Santana had ever seen her. And I’ve seen her plenty of shades of pink before.
“Okay, everybody,” Quinn announced loudly enough to be heard through the hallways. “We’re all going to stop discussing that front page article. Which we’ve now determined is not about me.”
Zira held up her paper, which was visibly flipped to an inside page. “We’re not on the title page, poppy. We was actually speculating on the rumour about the closeted footballer. I’m thinking Puckerman’s the poof. He dated Santana, din’ he?”
“He wasn’t my beard,” she insisted.
“He dated Lauren Zizes,” another girl suggested.
“That’s offensive,” Rachel noted.
“He went to jail. Just sayin’.” Zira at this point was simply poking Puck’s friends with a metaphorical stick.
“It was juvie,” Santana remarked.
Zira wasn’t finished, “I heard he snogged Mike Chang at one o’ yer house parties.”
“I don’t know where you heard about that…” Rachel noted.
“And din’ he get you pregnant?” Zira laid the last shred of evidence in her case.
Quinn was flabbergasted. “Why would you think that made him gay?”
Mercedes raised her hand. “Well, you did say that closeted gays tend to have unwanted pregnancies.”
“Mercedes Loretta Jones, please don’t add to this conspiracy. I can tell you firsthand that Puck is not gay. In fact, he’s a little too straight for his own good. I would ask you all to please kill this rumor in its tracks. Puck would be very sensitive about this and he doesn’t deserve it, no matter what you’ve heard about his past. He’s come a long way in the past couple of years. He’s a good guy and any woman would be lucky to have him.”
“Maybe Brittany was right,” Santana remarked under her breath.
“About what?” Rachel asked.
“Nothing,” Santana replied. She noticed Faith eyeing her closely. “Look, I know where you come from in Utah, people like me are like zoo animals primed for ridicule…”
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to express my apologies about you and Brittany breaking up.”
“We did not break up,” Santana fierily insisted.
“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry.”
“‘Gosh’? You really did grow up in YFZ territory, didn’t you?”
“Hope you can get Brittany back,” she mumbled before quickly looking for a seat.
* * *
Kurt was digging through his locker when a familiar voice greeted him. “So, do you keep all that wedding crap in your locker for kicks? Your folks got hitched months ago.”
“Well, hello to you, too, Santana. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Eh, I feel like I’ve been neglecting you ever since Brittany and I got together. I can only imagine what depraved things Johnny Rocket has had to do to keep your mind off my conspicuous absence.”
“So, you didn’t come here for advice about this fight you and Brittany are having?” Kurt finished arranging the items in his locker and closed it.
“More to vent.”
“Vent away, chica. Consider me your expertly-wallpapered sounding board.”
“She’s so angry with me… and it sucks and… that’s all I got.”
“My advice? Apologize.”
“I did. And I’m still not convinced this is all my fault.”
“The best way to approach reconciliation is to go in with that very philosophy.”
“Fine, fine. But I am not turning into the man in this relationship. And you never answered my questions about the bridal boutique that you’ve converted your locker into.”
“Miss Pillsbury became aware of my flawless work on my parents’ wedding, so she and Dr. Carl hired me to do plan theirs, no doubt because of my exceptional skills.”
“And pauper’s fee, I’m assuming.”
“I do work for peanuts,” Kurt admitted, “Or rather the privilege of taking home all leftover decorations and food. Not to mention, I’m assembling a bridal entourage who will work for slave wages.”
“Any suckers I know?”
Kurt looked Santana straight in the eye. “I need a hair stylist.”
“For my skills, I ain’t doin’ it gratis.”
“Rehearsal dinner is at Breadstix. You have five seconds to agree or the job goes to Tina.”
“Agreed,” Santana replied automatically. “Dammit, you found my soft spot. Okay, but if there’s more than four bridesmaids, I’m out, and I reserve the right to punch the mother of the bride if she’s snippy.”
“There are three and I understand Mrs. Pillsbury is timid, so I think we have a deal. I want Brittany on makeup. I think I can win her over with a small mountain of sweets.”
“Easily,” she affirmed.
Kurt sighed blissfully. “All this talk, it makes you plan your own wedding in your head, doesn’t it?”
Santana hummed thoughtfully. “You know what? I don’t think I ever really did that, as a kid. I mean, I did, but I wasn’t really imagining the wedding so much as the reception. My folks spoiled my brothers and I with big birthday parties, so it was just another big celebration on the horizon. I don’t think the boy ever factored in. Should’ve known, right?”
“I should’ve. I watched all those Disney movies and kept putting myself in the princess’s place, getting to marry the handsome prince. Are you saying you didn’t imagine yourself with the gorgeous princess?”
“Again, never cared about the wedding. I wasn’t really a romantic. And I didn’t watch much Disney. I watched my brother’s Ninja Turtles tapes.”
“Ugh, you’re impossible. Tell me you’ve at least starting fantasizing about your wedding in the past year.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s embarrassing, but I didn’t even start until… the Hummel-Hudson wedding extravaganza.”
“And tell me, in your lovely wedding to the future Mrs. Pierce-Lopez, which one was wearing the dress?”
“Bitch, we were both wearing dresses. I mean, maybe I’ll wear a wrap or a short coat, and Lord knows she’s have some funny hat on, but I ain’t letting no tux obscure my luscious figure. But I did imagine Puck in a dress.”
Kurt hummed appreciatively. “That makes two of us. So he’s your Maid of Honor?”
“I kind of think he won’t agree to that title, especially if he ever sees that Muckraker article.”
“Man of Honor, Bro of Honor, whatever. Speaking of tuxedos, prom plans?”
“I’m definitely going. Not just because I’m definitely going anyway, but don’t forget I got asked in front of the whole damn Internet. Granted, I am in the process of trying not to lose that invite. What are your plans with Sir Warblesmith?”
“I think he knows I’m planning on asking him, but I haven’t gotten a chance to. He’s majorly buried in his year-end projects.”
Santana scoffed. “Benefits of a public education: You can sleep through Computer Skills and still get an A.”
* * *
Will and Holly walked into glee rehearsal to a shouting match.
Will stalwartly positioned himself in the center of the room. “Okay, guys, I think I know what’s going on. This is about the rumor in The Muckraker about me abandoning you guys to be in April’s play. I’m not.”
Holly backed him up. “And even if he was, I think you guys know me well enough to realize none of you would be comfortable nude on stage.”
Puck, Santana, and Brittany all raised their hands inquisitively.
“No way, Mr. Schue,” Mercedes explained, “we know you’re too invested with the glee club.” She held back a snicker when Will subconsciously adjusted his vest.
“Plus, even if you were,” Santana added, “I was chillin’ with Bleachie McLifefail, taking shots of… Diet Coke… and she says her play doesn’t start until July. You’d still have time to take us to rock Nationals in the… face.”
“And we’ve got Ms. H to step in,” added Puck, winking at the blonde.
“Then why are you guys fighting?”
Rachel answered, “Well, us ladies started a civil discussion of who would play each part were we to be doing the Chicago classic ‘Cell Block Tango’. I was arguing that, as the star singer of the group, I definitely deserved Velma’s verse.”
“And I was arguing,” Quinn spat, “that my time on the Cheerios made me a much better fit for physicality of the role. She had the audacity to suggest I be Lipschitz.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Then convince Santana or Tina to switch. Pop and Six have major dance solos, too.”
Tina spoke up, “Uh uh, If you’re going to insist that Brittany be Uh-Uh…”
“You don’t have the legs for it,” Santana pointed out, “Plus, she can totally do that.”
On cue, Brittany started to ramble, “Mit keresek, én itt? Azt mondják, hogy a híres lakem lefogta a férjemet én meg lecsaptam a fejét…”
“That’s enough, B,” Quinn remarked proudly.
“How did she…?” Will wondered.
“They’re just words, Mr. Schue,” Brittany explained snidely, “just because I don’t know what they mean doesn’t mean I can’t say them. Never stopped me before.”
Tina continued, “If Brittany’s Uh-Uh, I want Pop. Mike and I already know the dance.”
Santana finally spoke up. “Look, Q, I don’t mind being Lipschitz. It’s just since it was kind of an unspoken fact that I would be playing Veronica during the Cicero verse, I’d be scrambling to get to my own part.”
“You guys are talking like we’re actually going to do this,” Will remarked.
“Can’t we do it later, Mr. Schue?” Quinn asked.
“No,” Will refused.
“Sure,” Holly agreed, at the same time, before appending her response, “maybe, but if you’re going to wear costumes, they’d better be school-appropriate.” She avoided eye contact with her co-director.
Will finally took control of the room and Santana found herself sitting beside Puck instead of Brittany, who’d isolated herself with Quinn and Sam.
Quinn whispered to him, “Oh, crap, I’m so sorry. That conversation… damn, I can’t believe I got…” Sam brushed it off.
Santana told Puck, “You know, Puckerman, since process of elimination would put as dancing partners again for the song, that makes you Al the bisexual manwhore. Guess The Muckraker was right.”
“Wait, what?”
* * *
Will was sitting in his classroom, grading papers on relative pronouns when he suddenly realized two women were hovering over him.
“Holly, Emma, what can I do for you?”
“Well, firstly, Ricosuave, you need to review the difference between ‘el que’ and ‘lo que’, because you’re about to give Miss Lopez a C+ when she deserves an A.”
Emma cleared her throat. “We wanted to talk to you about this.” She held up a copy of The Muckraker.
Will wondered what awful rumors were floating around now as he looked over the paper, only to realize it was the old version.
“I thought you realized this rumor was false from the get-go,” he told Holly.
“Will, Puck wasn’t wrong. If you wanted to take a sabbatical, try your luck on the big stage, I can handle the glee club.”
“Will, it’s been your dream,” Emma added.
“Emma, you’re the one who convinced me to stay a teacher not two years ago.”
“I told you to follow your heart. You’re a wonderful teacher, and I’d never want to lose you.” She felt Holly’s eyes on her. “As a friend. And as a colleague. But we both know that part of your love of doing glee to recapture some of the fame of your youth.”
Holly bit her lip.
Will turned to his girlfriend. “As my co-director, I can understand you pushing me to reach for the stars. But as my girlfriend, I don’t understand why you’d be pushing me to move 600 miles away for several months.”
“We don’t live in the 1800s, Pioneer Bill. We’ve got phones and Skype, which I will show you how to use, because it makes phone sex much more interesting.”
Emma cleared her throat. “Yeah, um, should I… go… somewhere else?”
“Plus, if you get lonely, it’s not like you won’t have a flirty blonde nearby,” she teased.
“Holly, that’s not funny. Just because you don’t see any problem eyeing Dustin Goolsby doesn’t mean I’m going to flirt with April.”
“Yeah, I think I’m definitely needed elsewhere,” Emma remarked, fleeing, growing twice as uncomfortable when she met Santana at the door.
Santana spoke, not paying attention to the redhead fleeing in terror. “So, Mr. Schue, Ms. H, I’ve actually got more pressing issues at hand, but I do want to say how awesome you are, Mr. Schue, and how thankful we are that you’ve taken glee so far and…” She checked her watch. “…and, uh… actually, you know the drill, so could you just assume I gave this whole touching speech? Actually, pretend Finn gave it. I gotta…” And with that, she ran out, a bundle of restless energy.
* * *
“Can I talk to you?” Brittany asked the last person who ever expected to be approached by her.
“Uh, sure,” Faith replied.
“It’s about Santana.” Faith tensed but nodded. “Santana doesn’t have a whole lot of friends-she’s getting better, though-and you’re the only one outside of glee.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“She wants to run for prom queen-”
“She hasn’t submitted an application,” Faith mused, “but she seems like the type.”
“I know that,” Brittany noted defensively. “But she wants to get votes by promising that we’ll kiss on stage.”
Faith giggled. “Well, that’s an effective technique. It’ll only work on half the population.”
“Don’t you think it’s kind of maniacal?”
“No,” Faith said immediately, before studying Brittany long and hard, “Oh, did you mean… ‘manipulative’?”
Brittany’s eyes bugged out and she briefly looked down at her chest. “I don’t think so,” she remarked, half-scandalized. She shrugged and asked, “It just feels… yucky.”
“Well, I’ll admit it’s not the most dignified of campaign strategies, but this isn’t exactly a presidential election. I’m pretty sure Lauren Zizes photoshopped a couple of Quinn’s campaign posters to make her look 5 months pregnant and to give Sam Evans a cowlick and buck teeth.”
“So you think I’m dumb to be mad at her?”
“I’m sure you have your reasons,” Faith remarked diplomatically, “I’m not privy to the exact dynamic of your relationship, but Santana loves you, and relationships are about give and take, and I do think you’re being a little unfair.”
“You’re right,” Brittany replied. Her voice then grew dark. “You don’t know how me and Santana work, and why what she’s doing makes me so mad at her. And I probably shouldn’t have asked you.”
Faith held her poker face. “So, general consensus about you is that you’re friendly to everybody if a bit tactless, so maybe I’m just the exception. Perhaps I don’t have an adequate appreciation for Spongebob Squarepants, I don’t know. But you’re right. I’m not that good of friends with Santana. You should ask someone who knows her better.”
“I will. Sorry to bother you,” she remarked politely. “But Spongebob is awesome.”
Faith chuckled. “Maybe sometime we can try to get off on the right foot.” When Brittany looked down at her shoes, she amended, “Maybe we can try a conversation where we’re friendly.”
“I’d like that,” Brittany admitted, “This ‘not liking people’ thing? It’s exhausting. I gotta go.”
Brittany made her way into the choir room, finding it dead silent from a palpable air of nervousness.
“J-jail?” Tina asked.
Sam, his head bowed, nodded. “My folks lost their jobs and the only work they could find was at a local Mexican restaurant. One morning, they were pulled over for expired tags and the next thing they knew they were being arrested for smuggling illegal immigrants. They were just carpooling with coworkers.”
Rachel wondered, “Why would the police think they were smuggling Mexican immigrants when they were in Ohio?”
“No, the coworkers were Canadians. Expired green cards or something.”
“So you’re living with Quinn?” Puck asked.
“In the guest room,” Quinn pressed, “that’s why I thought Jacob was referring to Sam in his ‘Walk of Shame’ article.”
“I leave early in the morning because Coach Beiste lets me use the weight room to work out.”
“Can’t your parents just say what happened?” Finn asked.
“Yeah, but they’ve got a state-appointed lawyer, and even though the charges will probably be dropped, it’s gonna take a while: days, maybe even weeks, before they’re released.”
* * *
Mercedes was staring at the screen of her phone. When the screen faded, she pressed a button so it would light up again. “i need time 2 think” was displayed on screen.
“I’m pretty sure you’re killing your battery life,” Quinn remarked.
Mercedes looked up, seeing Quinn take a seat beside her on the lockers. She eyed Sam in the distance, reading a comic book. “I think I’m a cheater,” she finally explained to Quinn.
“So who’d you cheat on?” When Mercedes couldn’t answer immediately, Quinn nodded. “That’s what I thought. I’m a cheater. You played the field and picked a favorite. He’ll come around, I promise. Boys are more forgiving than you’d expect.”
Her eyes traveled to where the blonde boy sat, and Mercedes’ followed her line of sight. “You really believe that?”
“I’m so sure that I will offer to buy your prom ticket and dinner, just because I know Raj will actually be doing so.”
“And you’re taking me dress shopping.”
“I’ll do that either way, okay?”
“Okay,” Mercedes replied, looking down at her phone again.
* * *
“Hey, Sugar, you got time to talk?” April remarked.
Will looked down at his stack of papers, still ungraded due to the interruptions of the past few days. “Why not?”
“So, Pardner, this is kind of my walk o’ shame, if you know what I mean?”
“April, I’m not sure I want to know what you mean.”
“It was me who leaked the rumor about you leavin’ and Holly taking over glee.”
Will frowned. “It’s no big deal, but… why?”
“Ain’t it obvious?” Will gave her a look that said that whatever obvious conclusion he’d come to had him concerned. “I wanted you for my play.” The Spanish teacher seemed simultaneously surprised and relieved. “My luck so far hasn’t been dandy, and my play’s probably crap, and I figured if a handsome, talented guy like you got noticed, maybe when the play fell on its ass, I could ride your coattails instead of you riding mine.”
Will shifted into teacher mode. “April, sit down. Do you know how many times New Directions has almost lost a competition, or lost one? Basically every time we compete. Do you know the insanity of starting a show choir from scratch, over a month into the school year, and promising to place at Regionals? We may not have cleared the bar last year, but we came this close…” He held his thumb and index finger an inch apart. “…because of blind faith. April, do you know why I think you struggle in life? Because you have low expectations of yourself. The moment I instilled an iota of confidence in you, you were making plans to try your luck in Branson.”
“That sure didn’t happen.”
“But you stopped squatting in open houses. Six months later, you’re putting on a play on Broadway.”
“Off-Broadway,” April corrected.
Will was undeterred. “That’s more than a lot of people accomplish, especially someone with a GED from Lima, Ohio.”
“Yeah, about that GED…” April admitted.
“April, you believed that you could have success on Broadway and you found your way to New York. And now you’re thinking of going again. Stop worrying about failure and you’ll be surprised how far you get.”
April seemed moved. “You tell your kids these things? How they’re going to win Nationals?”
“I don’t stop to think we won’t. Our idea to use original songs will give us the edge over the competition, I just know it. What could go wrong?”
April just knocked on the top of the desk she was sitting at.
* * *
The band was playing an uptempo rock beat while Tina was walking from one side of the room to the other, less hindered than usual in a knee-length-but as always black-dress, bouncing along with the music. Mike was hovering around her, dancing in circles, gracefully managing to keep out her way as she strutted. In her hand, she held a microphone.
Sweet wonderful you,
You make me happy with the things you do,
Oh, oh, oh can it be so,
This feeling follows me wherever I go.
I never did believe in miracles,
But I’ve a feeling it’s time to try.
I never did believe in the ways of magic,
But I’m beginning to wonder why.
There was an instrumental break in the song, during which the couple danced together happily, smiles plastered on their faces, playfully catching each other’s eyes every chance they got. Once the chorus arrived, Mike was gesturing for the crowd to sing the countermelody under Tina, which he appeared to be doing-softer, of course.
You, you make loving fun.
(It’s all I want to do)
You, you make loving fun.
(It’s all I want to do)
You, you make loving fun.
(It’s all I want to do)
You, you make loving fun.
(It’s all I want to do)
Given the circumstances, Santana was less animated than the others. Brittany was seated on the front row with Quinn and Sam-a small sea of blonde reminding Santana of her failures. Brittany seemed to be bouncing as much as usual, but she was obviously taking peaks behind her. She finally seemed to work up the courage to mouth “Can we talk?” to Santana, keeping her face neutral.
The song had come to an end without Santana and Brittany noticing. No one else missed it, as the Asian duo chose to end their song by making out shamelessly against a dejected Brad’s piano. Holly just beamed at the happy couple, so it was up to Will to dismiss the rehearsal, yanking the lovers apart and sheepishly congratulating them.
Santana, who was eager to finally talk with her girlfriend, was blindsided outside the choir room by Jacob Ben Israel. Brittany noticed this, so passed them by and took her place on the other side of the hallways, leaning against the lockers patiently while Santana addressed Jacob.
“Word on the street is that you and Brittany are having a bit of a lovers’ quarrel. Does this mean your youthful experimentation is coming to an end and you’ll soon be available for certain worthy members of the male gender?”
Santana’s eyes narrowed menacingly. Jacob started plotting exit routes, but all the brunette did was growl sharply into the mic. “Listen, Jewfro, it’s not ‘youthful experimentation’, okay? I am gay and I am also very much in love with Brittany, and like it or not we are going to be the reigning power couple of McKinley whose love puts everyone else to shame.”
Jacob seemed rather unrattled. “So, it’s true love then? You two are soul mates, so to speak?”
Santana was used to the déjà vu by now. “I’d say that was accurate,” she replied proudly.
Jacob continued to ramble on about something, but Santana’s world only existed to watch Brittany bite her bottom lip, unable to hold back a smile. The blone charged across the hallway and grabbed the microphone while Jacob was still mid-sentence. “Vote Santittany for Prom Queens. It’s the only couple with a ‘tit’ in the name and four on the candidates.”
She thrust the microphone back to Jacob, who remarked, “Oh, my.”
“You should take our picture.” It was more of an order than a suggestion.
“Jules!” Jacob called out, snapping his fingers, beckoning a stout black boy with a camera over. Brittany leaned over in a sorority squat, puckering her lips, so Santana bent forward, too, placing the corner of her mouth perilously close to Brittany’s lips while doing a demure pout. The camera flashed, and Jacob dragged his photographer away toward the journalism room.
The couple was now alone in the corner. “Brittany, you didn’t have to do that. We’re not running for prom queens.”
“Yes, we are, Sweetie. I just didn’t realize how important it was to you before.”
“It’s not, honestly.”
“Yes, it is,” Brittany pressed, “I talked to Karofsky. He told me how you convinced him to run.”
“I was trying to convince him not to run.”
“You said you wanted to run so that you could prove that the whole school respected you still. And then Puck let me know that you were questioning whether you were a lesbian. While I’ve just been screaming about your gayness from the bell towers.”
“I’m gonna kick his ass. Look, Brittany, I wasn’t questioning whether I liked girls. I am super hot for you and super in love with you, okay?”
“I know that,” Brittany replied cockily. “Honestly, Santana, it’s pretty obvious you want all up on this. But I figured out you were probably comparing yourself with all the lesbians on TV. And you think you’re not the same as them.”
“I…”
Brittany placed her hands on her girlfriend’s shoulders. “Santana, it’s okay. Me, I’ve always loved who I am: Cheerio, glee clubber, dancer, singer, not… super-smart person. But you, you’ve always played pretend for, like, your whole life. And that’s why I like being around you. For everybody else, you just turn into the person you think they want you to be. But for me, you’re you. I know you don’t know who that is, or don’t think you know her. And I love that about you. It’s one of those things that makes you you.”
Santana seemed more insulted than comforted. “So one of the things that makes me me is that I’m mad insecure about myself? That’s not something to love, Britt-Britt.”
“Well, too bad, because I do love it. And because I love it, I’ll tell you another thing about you. You’re ambidextrous.”
Santana scoffed. “No, I’m not. This hand can’t even sext my girlfriend.” She held up her right hand. “Wait, did you mean ‘ambitious’?” she divined.
Brittany shuffled her feet. “Probably. That means you want to be everyone’s boss, right?”
Close enough. “Yeah.”
“So, that’s why we’re running for prom queens. Because you’re Santana Lopez and you claw your way to the top like the badass bitch you are.”
“Damn straight… or not. Let’s do this then.” She held out her pinky, which Brittany took. Santana added, “You know Quinn’s going to be pi-issed at me, especially after I promised to help her win.”
“Well, Quinn is ambient, too,” Brittany’s brow immediately furrowed, “Ambi-…”
“‘Ambitious’,” Santana softly repeated.
“My brain can’t hold words,” Brittany mumbled with shame, shuffling her feet again.
“It’s okay. That is one of those things I love about you. That your brain is so genius about knowing people and understanding people and helping people and loving people that all the other parts got a raw deal. Except for the motor cortex; that part’s pretty awesome.”
Brittany disagreed, “No, cars confuse me, too. Fixing them… driving them… telling the difference between them and those carts that they sell snow cones from…”
“Sorry, the dancing lobe. But, for reals, Britt, I would give anything to trade one brain cell that’s keeping track of random historical trivia for one that could help me figure myself out.”
“Well, maybe that’s why you have me. And I know the most important thing to you is feeling accepted. You got people to accept fake-you and now that you’re almost real-you, you need people to accept that person, too. The way I do.”
Santana couldn’t stop the wetness that flooded her eyes. “So, um, are you this good at making everybody fall head over heels in love with you, or does it only work so perfectly on me?”
* * *
Santana and Brittany were the last ones to arrive at the auditorium, nearly fifteen minutes late. With the exception of Rachel, everyone was more focused on the fact that they were walking in hand-in-hand rather than tardy. Santana apologized on behalf of the couple. “Hey, guys, Mr. Schue, Ms. H, sorry for being late, but we were… running late.”
Brittany remarked dramatically, “The janitor’s closet is like that maze in The Labyrinth. You know, they called it something special; I forget, though.”
Santana noticed a little blond boy and a little blond girl holding Sam’s hands. “Oh, look, small things. That we’re having this discussion in front of.” Yeah, and I could have predicted they’d be there.
Sam explained, “Quinn’s mom had to work this afternoon, so Mr. Schue let me bring them here.” Sam’s sister Stacy, under the scrutiny of the new arrivals, blushed and shyly dropped Sam’s hand to hide behind Quinn’s legs. Quinn spun around and pulled the little girl into her arms, moving even closer to Sam, looking very much like they were posing for a picture to be hung on the wall in the living room.
With Stevie by his side, Sam explained, “I was… or Quinn and I were listening to the CD for this week’s assignment, and these guys had a favorite song, so I thought they’d like to sing it with us.”
Why not think about times to come,
And not about the things that you’ve done,
If your life was bad to you,
Just think what tomorrow will do.
Don’t stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Don’t stop, it’ll soon be here,
It’ll be, better than before,
Yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone.
All I want is to see you smile,
If it takes just a little while,
I know you don’t believe that it’s true,
I never meant any harm to you.
Midway through the song, Santana pulled away from the group. In all the racing around, she’d lost Brittany’s hand, but it looked like someone else had claimed it: Stacy was grasping her wrist with both hands. Brittany took the opportunity to pull the little girl into her arms, singing to her while the child shook her blond pigtails. At that moment, Santana couldn’t help but notice the identical shade of their hair color, and how completely comfortable Brittany was around the child. If she didn’t know any better…
She quickly banished the thought that was equally exciting and terrifying. She rejoined the group, singing the lyrics louder than before.
Don’t stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Don’t stop, it’ll soon be here,
It’ll be, better than before,
Yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone.
Don’t you look back,
Don’t you look back.
Author’s Note: So I only included Zira in that one scene so I could spell ‘rumour’ with the British ‘u’ so you knew what episode I was using. Since there were no other clues.[/sarcasm] I noticed her accent’s getting thicker.
I suspect that I’ve created a bunch of locker scenes that could be named much like the canon Locker Scenes (Hurt, Dirt, etc.). Send me your suggestions. I bet the one at the beginning of this chapter could be the Curt Locker. Or maybe I need a new rhyming scheme. (Plead… Seed… Read…?)
Chapter 25: The Big Night