why santana hates circles (and other more important things) - part oneendinginablazeJanuary 3 2010, 03:45:33 UTC
{ a/n: actually working on a fanfic that sort of incorporates mention of their first meeting, so i went off of that and elaborated. hopefully it’s halfway decent/what you were looking for. :3 }
why santana hates circles (and other more important things) g. 827 words. brittany/santana.
Being six years old and frustrated is never a good combination, especially when it comes to Santana, but she’s been at this for at least two and a half minutes and she just can’t seem to get it right.
They’re supposed to be drawing an imitation of that famous guy’s sunflower picture-which, whatever, how does a person get that famous just because he can draw a couple flowers?-but she’s realizing that drawing a circle might be out of her reach. The whole paper’s ruined by this point, anyway; there are so many eraser marks that it has become a blurry smudge of absolutely nothing and definitely not a flower.
How is she going to do anything if she can’t draw a circle? Humiliation runs down her cheeks in hot tears and she smashes her pencil as hard as she can against her paper. The lead breaks and rolls onto the floor and leaves a dark spot behind that makes Santana feel a little bit better, for a minute, before the teacher tells her she needs to go sit outside because no tantrums are allowed in his classroom. “Idiot,” she mutters under her breath once she’s outside-and it tastes a little bit like daring, saying a word forbidden in her house. But she rolls her eyes because her parents aren’t around to stop her.
The bell rings, signaling recess, but she’s been told to stay put. And, fine, it’s not like she’s really missing anything, anyway. Her friends run past her, offering about point two seconds of sympathy before freedom calls their names. They have no choice but to answer.
After another minute or so of sitting alone-and silently debating whether or not to just leave because the teacher doesn’t seem to be coming, anyway-a blonde girl comes and takes a seat beside her. She’s the last one out of the classroom-and it takes Santana only a moment to recognize her as the girl who drew the perfect circles. Irritation curls her lips into a sharp scowl (an imitation of the ones her mom’s always giving her dad when he doesn’t do his chores) and she doesn’t say a word.
“Hi,” the girl says after a moment, and it’s then that Santana remembers her name: Brittany.
Six year old Santana just shrugs, like offering a greeting would mean deigning to speak to a lower being. She can’t be bothered. “I’m Brittany,” Brittany adds, after only a few seconds.
For the first time, Santana looks over at her properly, prepared to demand an explanation about circles or possibly just glare at her, she hasn’t quite decided yet. But that’s when Brittany smiles at her. Santana doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything that bright, ever, except maybe the sun. But the sun hurts and this doesn’t really hurt, although her stomach does this thing she can’t explain and her face heats up just a little bit, like when her mom catches her awake past her bedtime. But her mom’s not here now.
why santana hates circles (and other more important things)
g. 827 words. brittany/santana.
Being six years old and frustrated is never a good combination, especially when it comes to Santana, but she’s been at this for at least two and a half minutes and she just can’t seem to get it right.
They’re supposed to be drawing an imitation of that famous guy’s sunflower picture-which, whatever, how does a person get that famous just because he can draw a couple flowers?-but she’s realizing that drawing a circle might be out of her reach. The whole paper’s ruined by this point, anyway; there are so many eraser marks that it has become a blurry smudge of absolutely nothing and definitely not a flower.
How is she going to do anything if she can’t draw a circle? Humiliation runs down her cheeks in hot tears and she smashes her pencil as hard as she can against her paper. The lead breaks and rolls onto the floor and leaves a dark spot behind that makes Santana feel a little bit better, for a minute, before the teacher tells her she needs to go sit outside because no tantrums are allowed in his classroom. “Idiot,” she mutters under her breath once she’s outside-and it tastes a little bit like daring, saying a word forbidden in her house. But she rolls her eyes because her parents aren’t around to stop her.
The bell rings, signaling recess, but she’s been told to stay put. And, fine, it’s not like she’s really missing anything, anyway. Her friends run past her, offering about point two seconds of sympathy before freedom calls their names. They have no choice but to answer.
After another minute or so of sitting alone-and silently debating whether or not to just leave because the teacher doesn’t seem to be coming, anyway-a blonde girl comes and takes a seat beside her. She’s the last one out of the classroom-and it takes Santana only a moment to recognize her as the girl who drew the perfect circles. Irritation curls her lips into a sharp scowl (an imitation of the ones her mom’s always giving her dad when he doesn’t do his chores) and she doesn’t say a word.
“Hi,” the girl says after a moment, and it’s then that Santana remembers her name: Brittany.
Six year old Santana just shrugs, like offering a greeting would mean deigning to speak to a lower being. She can’t be bothered. “I’m Brittany,” Brittany adds, after only a few seconds.
For the first time, Santana looks over at her properly, prepared to demand an explanation about circles or possibly just glare at her, she hasn’t quite decided yet. But that’s when Brittany smiles at her. Santana doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything that bright, ever, except maybe the sun. But the sun hurts and this doesn’t really hurt, although her stomach does this thing she can’t explain and her face heats up just a little bit, like when her mom catches her awake past her bedtime. But her mom’s not here now.
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