Log: Artie & Santana
Who: Artie & Santana
When: Thursday before school
Where: lockers, then an empty classroom
What: don't join Glee
Talking to Santana at her locker was ballsy, it was a very public spot and he knew that she did not acknowledge him in public. Or at all. That was why he was going to force her hand. “What gives, Santana?” he demanded, coming to a stop practically on her feet. “You’re joining glee?” That was his club. His. Where he had friends. Where it was safe. And now SHE was invading. No. Way.
Santana froze at his words. She looked around sharply, wondering if anyone had heard him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” She snapped quickly, folding her arms. She stared him down. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone? She didn’t want to be friends anymore.
“Brittany said that you and her were going to audition for glee,” Artie spoke slowly, enunciating clearly in case she didn’t understand him. Was he being condescending and rude? Yes. Did he care? Not really. Not with Santana. “Is that true?”
“Why would she lie about that?” She asked defensively before strolling past him. She was so not going to have this conversation in the hallway where anyone could overhear them.
“I don’t know,” Artie replied, following Santana and taking a moment to appreciate her body in that skirt. She might be a bitch, but she was one who knew how to work that cheerios skirt. “But I don’t see why you would waste your precious time joining a group of losers you hate.”
Tapping her foot impatiently, Santana wanted to ignore his words. “Why do you care what the fuck I’m doing? It’s kind of none of your busy, geek.” She ducked into an empty classroom. If anyone came in she’d just say she didn’t want to be seen in the hall beating a cripple.
Did he really have to spell it out for her? “I’m in Glee, Santana,” he replied, staring up at her, eyes hard. “Therefore, it is completely my busy. You do whatever the hell you want, hate me, fine. But stay out of Glee. Stay away from me. That’s what you want, right?” The words hurt to say, but she had made it abundantly clear that they weren’t friends and there was no hope of changing that.
“Well, so sad for you there’s nothing I can do about it. You should’ve kept Berry from putting the idea in Brittany’s head. Now my best friend wants to join and I kind of promised I would.” She shrugged nonchalantly but gave him a pointed look.
The words cut, just like she had intended. Artie tried not to let it show. “So then what?” he asked, “She speaks and you follow? Are you her trained dog?” Artie was just trying to hurt now too. He knew they were best friends already. “Her bitch?”
Santana’s eyes narrowed and she stared at him for a long moment. A lot of people thought she was soft because of her friendship with Brittany, but most people didn’t get that being mean to Brittany was the equivalent to punching an infant in the throat. She leaned forward and poked him in the chest hard, letting her anger and frustration she felt with this conversation and the idea of having to spend any significant amount of time in the same space as Artie. “Listen up, Wheels because I’m only going to say this once. You don’t know shit about my friendship with Brittany and don’t ever talk about it again, got it? I don’t mind doing stuff for her because she’s my best friend and that shit means something to me.” The irony of the statement wasn’t lost on her, but it didn’t make it any less true.
“Oh yeah, it means so much,” he shot right back, angry and sarcastic. “I know all that it means to you. Maybe I should tell her, huh? Warn her about how you treat your friends after you’re done with them?” Not that Artie would actually do it, not at this point, but he knew it would strike and hurt her. And he knew he was right.
Her smile was actually cruel as she straightened. “I don’t think she needs to worry about that. I only do that to people who slow me down.” She let her eyes drift to his wheelchair for a moment before looking away. She felt a knot twist in her stomach. “Just stay the fuck away from me, Abrams. I don’t exactly want to be seen talking to you. But if you insist on continuing with these little...’friendship interventions’ I won’t have any choice but to make your life hell. So far, I’ve left you alone.”
Artie pursed his lips, “Good luck in glee then. Seeing me every practice. Having to play nice. Maybe dance with me. Sing. But don’t worry, I won’t slow you down...too much,” his shoulders and back were straight as he turned his wheelchair around and headed out the door.
When: Thursday before school
Where: lockers, then an empty classroom
What: don't join Glee
Talking to Santana at her locker was ballsy, it was a very public spot and he knew that she did not acknowledge him in public. Or at all. That was why he was going to force her hand. “What gives, Santana?” he demanded, coming to a stop practically on her feet. “You’re joining glee?” That was his club. His. Where he had friends. Where it was safe. And now SHE was invading. No. Way.
Santana froze at his words. She looked around sharply, wondering if anyone had heard him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” She snapped quickly, folding her arms. She stared him down. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone? She didn’t want to be friends anymore.
“Brittany said that you and her were going to audition for glee,” Artie spoke slowly, enunciating clearly in case she didn’t understand him. Was he being condescending and rude? Yes. Did he care? Not really. Not with Santana. “Is that true?”
“Why would she lie about that?” She asked defensively before strolling past him. She was so not going to have this conversation in the hallway where anyone could overhear them.
“I don’t know,” Artie replied, following Santana and taking a moment to appreciate her body in that skirt. She might be a bitch, but she was one who knew how to work that cheerios skirt. “But I don’t see why you would waste your precious time joining a group of losers you hate.”
Tapping her foot impatiently, Santana wanted to ignore his words. “Why do you care what the fuck I’m doing? It’s kind of none of your busy, geek.” She ducked into an empty classroom. If anyone came in she’d just say she didn’t want to be seen in the hall beating a cripple.
Did he really have to spell it out for her? “I’m in Glee, Santana,” he replied, staring up at her, eyes hard. “Therefore, it is completely my busy. You do whatever the hell you want, hate me, fine. But stay out of Glee. Stay away from me. That’s what you want, right?” The words hurt to say, but she had made it abundantly clear that they weren’t friends and there was no hope of changing that.
“Well, so sad for you there’s nothing I can do about it. You should’ve kept Berry from putting the idea in Brittany’s head. Now my best friend wants to join and I kind of promised I would.” She shrugged nonchalantly but gave him a pointed look.
The words cut, just like she had intended. Artie tried not to let it show. “So then what?” he asked, “She speaks and you follow? Are you her trained dog?” Artie was just trying to hurt now too. He knew they were best friends already. “Her bitch?”
Santana’s eyes narrowed and she stared at him for a long moment. A lot of people thought she was soft because of her friendship with Brittany, but most people didn’t get that being mean to Brittany was the equivalent to punching an infant in the throat. She leaned forward and poked him in the chest hard, letting her anger and frustration she felt with this conversation and the idea of having to spend any significant amount of time in the same space as Artie. “Listen up, Wheels because I’m only going to say this once. You don’t know shit about my friendship with Brittany and don’t ever talk about it again, got it? I don’t mind doing stuff for her because she’s my best friend and that shit means something to me.” The irony of the statement wasn’t lost on her, but it didn’t make it any less true.
“Oh yeah, it means so much,” he shot right back, angry and sarcastic. “I know all that it means to you. Maybe I should tell her, huh? Warn her about how you treat your friends after you’re done with them?” Not that Artie would actually do it, not at this point, but he knew it would strike and hurt her. And he knew he was right.
Her smile was actually cruel as she straightened. “I don’t think she needs to worry about that. I only do that to people who slow me down.” She let her eyes drift to his wheelchair for a moment before looking away. She felt a knot twist in her stomach. “Just stay the fuck away from me, Abrams. I don’t exactly want to be seen talking to you. But if you insist on continuing with these little...’friendship interventions’ I won’t have any choice but to make your life hell. So far, I’ve left you alone.”
Artie pursed his lips, “Good luck in glee then. Seeing me every practice. Having to play nice. Maybe dance with me. Sing. But don’t worry, I won’t slow you down...too much,” his shoulders and back were straight as he turned his wheelchair around and headed out the door.