Fic: Satan and the Schoolgirl (2/7?)
Title: Satan and the Schoolgirl
Author: Helion
Chapters: Chapter 2: Seeing Stars; And Little Birdies
Pairing: Rachel/Santana, illusions to Brittany/Santana (past)
Rating: PG-13-R (This may change)
Summary: After being named the scariest ruling psycho-bitch in three counties, there is really just one thing Santana Lopez would like to know.
Warnings: Language, Implied dirty thoughts =D
Spoilers: 1x14-1x18
Disclaimer: If they were mine, we wouldn't NEED fanfiction. Also, Glee would prolly be on Showtime, because the places that my brain takes them are not FCC compatible.
A/N: Thanks to everyone that reviewed/commented the first part! I'm a comment nut and love to hear what you guys think! Also, the title is from a Who's Line Is It Anyway skit/song. I thought the lyrics fit them, so I used this one. This part is broken up into two, not because it needed to be but because it felt right to have it split into different scenes I guess. Never the less, its all Chapter 2. Also, this was one of my favorite chapters to write, and one of the scenes that nagged me into starting this in the first place, hope you guys like it!
Also, Estrella means star in Spanish. Yes, I'm a dork.
Seeing Stars
Santana Lopez hated Finn Hudson. She had hated him since the first grade, for the idiotic comment that had ruined her first day at her new school. She hated that he was dumber than a rock, she hated that he had both Rachel and Fabray all over him. She despised him for not appreciating Berry. She detested that McKinley’s resident demon in a track suit had ordered Brittany and herself to seduce him.
She loathed that, because of this, Rachel had become livid, and when she was livid she sang. Santana Lopez hated that she was forced to admit to herself, during the brunette’s heated rendition of “Gives You Hell” that not only was Rachel Berry hot when she sang her heart out, she was hot when she was pissed.
Sure, she was pleased at first about Hudson having to listen to the smaller girl essentially yell at him in song. She was elated that her plan was working and soon she would be completely untouchable. Then Berry just had to come up and sing in their faces. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling almost like the singer’s words weren’t just directed at Hudson.
When she turned her voice to Brittany and Santana, she had flashbacks of them in the second grade, when she had beaten up a young Kurt Hummel for dishing out more childish versions of every fashion related insult she had thrown at the short girl over the last few years. Then, in a split second decision she snapped herself out of it.
You’re a badass, Lopez. Don’t just sit there looking like a wounded turtle. Get up and dance.
And dance she did. When she sang the words “Treat you well” she was singing them to Rachel, and to Hudson who she felt the strange need to hurt.
The majority of the after year after Sectionals went similarly, with Berry fawning over Hudson and that St. James asshole. Santana tried to ignore her feelings, which was an increasingly hard task as she and Rachel were becoming a strange sort of almost friends in the few months since their win. They had a strange bond formed in a (mostly denied on Santana’s part) love of singing and dancing. They would laugh together in rehearsal, dance together without embarrassment or cruel comments, and generally enjoyed each other’s company. They even managed a few civilized conversations. Still, like many of their classmates, they never hung out outside of glee club, and rarely recognized each other as having ever shared the same place outside of the club activities. Which, Santana acknowledged, on Rachel’s end was probably an improvement.
Then Santana found the girl crying after her Broadway whore of a boyfriend walked out on her just because she wanted to be more popular.
Like that was the biggest sin in the world?
“Out.” The freshman loitering the bathroom near the choir room scattered, including one that was using one of the toilets. Santana smirked; it was good to be head bitch sometimes. She locked the door behind the last of them and marched over to the stall the sobs were coming from. Crossing her arms she rapped on the door.
“Open up, Berry, I can hear you crying from down the hall.”
It took a second, in which she could almost sense Rachel running pro’s and con’s through her head. She knocked on the stall door twice before it opened. Santana started before the other girl, who had tear streaks and mascara running down her cheeks, could accuse her of having any less-than-noble intentions.
“What makes you think you need that asshole?” Rachel definitely looked thoroughly confused, not trusting the Latina girl.
“It’s not like I have numerous options to choose from, Santana. I don’t exactly have a colossal number of people trying to get in my pants like one of Coach Sylvester’s Cheerio’s. Might I ask just why are you concerned with my romantic liaisons in any case?”
Because I want to be one of them?
“I’m not talking about your liaisons, Berry. Why do you think you need those jerks to be popular?” The devastated diva didn’t look convinced. “Seriously, Rach, you’ve got an amazing voice, your almost bossy enough to beat me for bitchiness; and aside from that unfortunate yet intriguing obsession with argyle that you’ve had since the first grade, your actually pretty hot. You don’t need those dicks.”
Or any dicks… damnit, Lopez, keep it in your pants.
Also, mental note: NEVER come that close to admitting you like her in the argyle again. Ever.
“Why are you telling me this Santana?”
“Because you deserve to have someone believe in you. Even if I’m too badass to admit it to the rest of the school.” This statement accompanied by a patented hair flip.
“Admit what, that you believe in me? Or that you actually give a damn about someone other than yourself?” She smirked. Damn, Berry actually smirked! This girl was going to be the death of her, Santana was sure of it.
“Maybe both?” She answered, not sure she knew herself. She noticed Rachel was still crying, but softer now, and she had the strangest feeling that it was for some other reason. Then the girl hugged her, and Santana had to resist the reflex to pushing her away, reminding herself that the door was locked. It wasn’t a big deal, as much as Coach wanted them all to believe that she could materialize at any moment, she couldn’t. No one could get through the locked door, and the school was almost empty in any case.
She looked down at the tiny brunette girl in her arms, and over into the mirror next to them. Santana smiled at what she saw. They actually looked good together.
Who the fuck would have thought?
Santana laughed then, at the shear absurdity of it all, and put her arms around the Rachel, relaxing into the smaller girl’s hold. All the years, the popularity, the power. They almost weren’t worth it if she could have been feeling this the whole time. As she wrapped herself around the softly crying girl, she caught a whisper, directed into her hair, so soft it had almost not been heard.
“I missed you Santana.”
“I missed you too, mi Estrella.”
Santana tried to be supportive of her newfound, old friend. Puck and Brittany, her main confidants, had no problem with her inviting Rachel to their movie nights (under the guise of glee practice of course, to keep their reputations intact). Puck had already made out with the girl, and even he had to admit that she was a little less obnoxious when she was with friends, and not constantly worrying about super-stardom. The blonde liked everybody, even if she did seem to have no filter when it came to fashion faux-pas’. Both of them took great pleasure in teasing their friend about the little singer, and she could tell they made comments behind her back. Up front, both of them still encouraged Santana to ask out the small girl.
“We don’t even know if she’s into girls, what makes you think she would fall for me!” Santana shot back at Puck, the venom in her words finally betraying her greatest concern.
“She likes you.” Brittany said simply.
“How do you know!”
“Hey! You don’t need to snap at her, Lopez.”
“Shut up, you meathead!”
“Seriously? You couldn’t come up better insult than meathead? Berry really does have you panties in a knot.”
“My panties are no longer any of your business, Puckerman. Neither is your interpretation of my relationship with Rachel Berry.”
“San, seriously, it’s Brittany. Listen to her. She reads people like Puckzilla reads sex!”
“That doesn’t make any sense!”
“She looks at you funny.”
Brittany was quiet, almost speaking to herself. The change in tone cut through the argument so quickly, Santana simply turned to look at her friend, forgetting the lack of sense that usually spewed from Noah Puckerman’s mouth. Brittany had her head cocked to the side, a peaceful, almost angelic look on her face as she stared at nothing, then abruptly turned to Santana.
“She doesn’t look at you like she looks at the boys, with them it’s kinda like she’s hungry for power; or like she looks at us, like she’s just glad that were around, but that’s it. It’s sweet. You look at her the same way.” Santana stood there, blindsided by her friends revelation and still not quite ready to believe it anyway.
“And what way would that be?”
“Like your eyes are made of stars. Or she is.” Santana sat down hard on Brittany’s bed. The dancer took the pinky that was offered and smiled, almost sadly, and looked the Latina in the eyes. “But only when you look at her.”
She knew better than to question Brittany.
That’s what she told herself.
The rest of the night was spent in Brittany’s room. Puck played Call of Duty on Santana’s laptop; the two girls lay on the bed, and Brittany held on tightly as her best friend cried.
And Tiny Birdies
Fin Hudson was going to die. That was the end of it. She saw the way Rachel looked at him when he sang Jessie’s Girl. Duh, he wanted Jessie’s girl. Anyone with their right mind intact would want Jessie’s girl. That didn’t mean that he had any right to take Rachel away from their movie nights. It didn’t mean that Rachel could ignore Santana (the fact that they always ignored each other inside the halls of McKinley anyway was overlooked by the Latina for sake of her argument), and just where the hell did Hudson think Berry got those Fruity Pebbles from in the middle of the day anyway, the Cereal Fairy?! It had taken a ton of cunning and distraction to get into Coaches refrigerator to get the milk for that.
On top of her insanity over Rachel, Puck had become completely useless to her thanks to that hag Mercedes (once more, the fact that she actually liked the black girl was over looked in her complete non-insanity) and Brittany was spending her time with that over dressed closet case Hummel. So it wasn’t really her fault when the duet she had been working on with Mercedes turned more than a little heated. She just wanted to hardcore beat someone. Anyone.
Hell, she was ready to go straight through Schuester, or anyone else, to do it. She stalked through the halls and the angry energy she radiated could almost be seen. She was vaguely aware of the fact that most of the school had taken to referring to her like she was an out of control Pit-Bull. She stalked the halls, just waiting for someone to say the wrong words so she could justify beating the bloody shit out of them. Kids ducked into classrooms or pretended to be overly interested in the contents of their lockers. Pillsbury squeaked and hid in her office with the curtains closed after she glared at her the day after the vocal fight. She even saw Figgins catch sight of her and actually run in the opposite direction twice before the week was out.
Yeah, Fin Hudson was going to die; and if he didn’t, someone else would.
In the end the unfortunate focus of her intentions ended up not being Mercedes after all, as she had come to her senses and realized that Puck was a man-whore, but was instead one of Tanaka’s hocky-slash-football players. The poor boy, who was no lightweight himself, had made the mistake of making a comment about how ‘that Glee freak’ actually looked hotter with slushy dripping down her front. This comment, unfortunately, came at the height of Santana’s irrationality and she only stopped before breaking something vital in the unlucky bastard because Puck pulled her off.
Fortunately for the rest of the student body, Puck knew his closest friend well. He carried her with one arm the whole way to his truck, slammed the door, and txted Brittany to meet them at Santana’s house.
“What the fuck Lopez!” He slammed one hand down on the steering wheel.
Santana crossed her arms and looked out the window at the now passing scenery.
“We can’t afford for you to get suspended right now.”
More silence.
“Sylvester’s already a nut job, we don’t need her finagling a way around the rules AGAIN, to get you kicked out of Glee.”
“You know the word finagling?”
Puck rolled his eyes.
Sadly, it was not the first time Mrs. Lopez had witnessed Noah Puckerman half carrying her oldest daughter up the stairs, muttering furiously about crazy Hispanic women. She noticed the blood on her daughters knuckles and laughed lightly, shaking her head and looking at the previously mohawked boy. The answer she got upon the quirk of her eyebrow was gruff.
“Hockey player, and I don’t know. Possibly a girl.”
“Door open!” She called after them. She may have trusted the boy to not physically harm her daughter, and she may have been nearly positive that her daughters affections did not lie with the football player or any of his gender any longer. She even believed that the Jewish boy may have been able to keep her unfortunately short-tempered daughter out of trouble better than she could, however she was still a mother, and her experience dictated that you never completely trust a teenager.
“What happened?” The blonde cheerleader sighed, bursting into Santana’s room a half hour later to find a sulking Santana. Her question was aimed at Puck.
“San here went mental on Georgeo.” He answered, not looking up from the sports illustrated swimsuit edition he had found on Santana’s desk.
“How many?”
“How many what?” The girl on the bed asked.
“How many bones did you break?”
“Not enough. Fuck-a-saurus dragged me home before I could hurt him worse.”
“Hey!” Puck put the magazine down.
“What did he do?”
“Nothing. I just felt like it.”
A quirked eyebrow met by silence.
Brittany sat on the bed and smacked Santana’s calf sharply.
“Rachel?” She inquired when the Latina looked up.
“Said she looked hotter with slushy dripping down her front.”
Brittany nodded and laid down next to her friend, offering her pinky. They laid like that for a while, until Puck inched the magazine down enough to see over the top of it. Brittany saw the glint in his eyes, and laughed.
“You know, S?”
“Yeah, B?” Santana’s voice was flat as she turned to her friend. Then, following Britt’s line of sight, she started to worry. Puck had put the magazine down and was grinning. Puck’s grinning only meant two things, and he definitely was not getting laid tonight.
“It worked for me.”
NEXT PART: World War S: The Great Slushy War Begins
Author: Helion
Chapters: Chapter 2: Seeing Stars; And Little Birdies
Pairing: Rachel/Santana, illusions to Brittany/Santana (past)
Rating: PG-13-R (This may change)
Summary: After being named the scariest ruling psycho-bitch in three counties, there is really just one thing Santana Lopez would like to know.
Warnings: Language, Implied dirty thoughts =D
Spoilers: 1x14-1x18
Disclaimer: If they were mine, we wouldn't NEED fanfiction. Also, Glee would prolly be on Showtime, because the places that my brain takes them are not FCC compatible.
A/N: Thanks to everyone that reviewed/commented the first part! I'm a comment nut and love to hear what you guys think! Also, the title is from a Who's Line Is It Anyway skit/song. I thought the lyrics fit them, so I used this one. This part is broken up into two, not because it needed to be but because it felt right to have it split into different scenes I guess. Never the less, its all Chapter 2. Also, this was one of my favorite chapters to write, and one of the scenes that nagged me into starting this in the first place, hope you guys like it!
Also, Estrella means star in Spanish. Yes, I'm a dork.
Seeing Stars
Santana Lopez hated Finn Hudson. She had hated him since the first grade, for the idiotic comment that had ruined her first day at her new school. She hated that he was dumber than a rock, she hated that he had both Rachel and Fabray all over him. She despised him for not appreciating Berry. She detested that McKinley’s resident demon in a track suit had ordered Brittany and herself to seduce him.
She loathed that, because of this, Rachel had become livid, and when she was livid she sang. Santana Lopez hated that she was forced to admit to herself, during the brunette’s heated rendition of “Gives You Hell” that not only was Rachel Berry hot when she sang her heart out, she was hot when she was pissed.
Sure, she was pleased at first about Hudson having to listen to the smaller girl essentially yell at him in song. She was elated that her plan was working and soon she would be completely untouchable. Then Berry just had to come up and sing in their faces. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling almost like the singer’s words weren’t just directed at Hudson.
When she turned her voice to Brittany and Santana, she had flashbacks of them in the second grade, when she had beaten up a young Kurt Hummel for dishing out more childish versions of every fashion related insult she had thrown at the short girl over the last few years. Then, in a split second decision she snapped herself out of it.
You’re a badass, Lopez. Don’t just sit there looking like a wounded turtle. Get up and dance.
And dance she did. When she sang the words “Treat you well” she was singing them to Rachel, and to Hudson who she felt the strange need to hurt.
The majority of the after year after Sectionals went similarly, with Berry fawning over Hudson and that St. James asshole. Santana tried to ignore her feelings, which was an increasingly hard task as she and Rachel were becoming a strange sort of almost friends in the few months since their win. They had a strange bond formed in a (mostly denied on Santana’s part) love of singing and dancing. They would laugh together in rehearsal, dance together without embarrassment or cruel comments, and generally enjoyed each other’s company. They even managed a few civilized conversations. Still, like many of their classmates, they never hung out outside of glee club, and rarely recognized each other as having ever shared the same place outside of the club activities. Which, Santana acknowledged, on Rachel’s end was probably an improvement.
Then Santana found the girl crying after her Broadway whore of a boyfriend walked out on her just because she wanted to be more popular.
Like that was the biggest sin in the world?
“Out.” The freshman loitering the bathroom near the choir room scattered, including one that was using one of the toilets. Santana smirked; it was good to be head bitch sometimes. She locked the door behind the last of them and marched over to the stall the sobs were coming from. Crossing her arms she rapped on the door.
“Open up, Berry, I can hear you crying from down the hall.”
It took a second, in which she could almost sense Rachel running pro’s and con’s through her head. She knocked on the stall door twice before it opened. Santana started before the other girl, who had tear streaks and mascara running down her cheeks, could accuse her of having any less-than-noble intentions.
“What makes you think you need that asshole?” Rachel definitely looked thoroughly confused, not trusting the Latina girl.
“It’s not like I have numerous options to choose from, Santana. I don’t exactly have a colossal number of people trying to get in my pants like one of Coach Sylvester’s Cheerio’s. Might I ask just why are you concerned with my romantic liaisons in any case?”
Because I want to be one of them?
“I’m not talking about your liaisons, Berry. Why do you think you need those jerks to be popular?” The devastated diva didn’t look convinced. “Seriously, Rach, you’ve got an amazing voice, your almost bossy enough to beat me for bitchiness; and aside from that unfortunate yet intriguing obsession with argyle that you’ve had since the first grade, your actually pretty hot. You don’t need those dicks.”
Or any dicks… damnit, Lopez, keep it in your pants.
Also, mental note: NEVER come that close to admitting you like her in the argyle again. Ever.
“Why are you telling me this Santana?”
“Because you deserve to have someone believe in you. Even if I’m too badass to admit it to the rest of the school.” This statement accompanied by a patented hair flip.
“Admit what, that you believe in me? Or that you actually give a damn about someone other than yourself?” She smirked. Damn, Berry actually smirked! This girl was going to be the death of her, Santana was sure of it.
“Maybe both?” She answered, not sure she knew herself. She noticed Rachel was still crying, but softer now, and she had the strangest feeling that it was for some other reason. Then the girl hugged her, and Santana had to resist the reflex to pushing her away, reminding herself that the door was locked. It wasn’t a big deal, as much as Coach wanted them all to believe that she could materialize at any moment, she couldn’t. No one could get through the locked door, and the school was almost empty in any case.
She looked down at the tiny brunette girl in her arms, and over into the mirror next to them. Santana smiled at what she saw. They actually looked good together.
Who the fuck would have thought?
Santana laughed then, at the shear absurdity of it all, and put her arms around the Rachel, relaxing into the smaller girl’s hold. All the years, the popularity, the power. They almost weren’t worth it if she could have been feeling this the whole time. As she wrapped herself around the softly crying girl, she caught a whisper, directed into her hair, so soft it had almost not been heard.
“I missed you Santana.”
“I missed you too, mi Estrella.”
Santana tried to be supportive of her newfound, old friend. Puck and Brittany, her main confidants, had no problem with her inviting Rachel to their movie nights (under the guise of glee practice of course, to keep their reputations intact). Puck had already made out with the girl, and even he had to admit that she was a little less obnoxious when she was with friends, and not constantly worrying about super-stardom. The blonde liked everybody, even if she did seem to have no filter when it came to fashion faux-pas’. Both of them took great pleasure in teasing their friend about the little singer, and she could tell they made comments behind her back. Up front, both of them still encouraged Santana to ask out the small girl.
“We don’t even know if she’s into girls, what makes you think she would fall for me!” Santana shot back at Puck, the venom in her words finally betraying her greatest concern.
“She likes you.” Brittany said simply.
“How do you know!”
“Hey! You don’t need to snap at her, Lopez.”
“Shut up, you meathead!”
“Seriously? You couldn’t come up better insult than meathead? Berry really does have you panties in a knot.”
“My panties are no longer any of your business, Puckerman. Neither is your interpretation of my relationship with Rachel Berry.”
“San, seriously, it’s Brittany. Listen to her. She reads people like Puckzilla reads sex!”
“That doesn’t make any sense!”
“She looks at you funny.”
Brittany was quiet, almost speaking to herself. The change in tone cut through the argument so quickly, Santana simply turned to look at her friend, forgetting the lack of sense that usually spewed from Noah Puckerman’s mouth. Brittany had her head cocked to the side, a peaceful, almost angelic look on her face as she stared at nothing, then abruptly turned to Santana.
“She doesn’t look at you like she looks at the boys, with them it’s kinda like she’s hungry for power; or like she looks at us, like she’s just glad that were around, but that’s it. It’s sweet. You look at her the same way.” Santana stood there, blindsided by her friends revelation and still not quite ready to believe it anyway.
“And what way would that be?”
“Like your eyes are made of stars. Or she is.” Santana sat down hard on Brittany’s bed. The dancer took the pinky that was offered and smiled, almost sadly, and looked the Latina in the eyes. “But only when you look at her.”
She knew better than to question Brittany.
That’s what she told herself.
The rest of the night was spent in Brittany’s room. Puck played Call of Duty on Santana’s laptop; the two girls lay on the bed, and Brittany held on tightly as her best friend cried.
And Tiny Birdies
Fin Hudson was going to die. That was the end of it. She saw the way Rachel looked at him when he sang Jessie’s Girl. Duh, he wanted Jessie’s girl. Anyone with their right mind intact would want Jessie’s girl. That didn’t mean that he had any right to take Rachel away from their movie nights. It didn’t mean that Rachel could ignore Santana (the fact that they always ignored each other inside the halls of McKinley anyway was overlooked by the Latina for sake of her argument), and just where the hell did Hudson think Berry got those Fruity Pebbles from in the middle of the day anyway, the Cereal Fairy?! It had taken a ton of cunning and distraction to get into Coaches refrigerator to get the milk for that.
On top of her insanity over Rachel, Puck had become completely useless to her thanks to that hag Mercedes (once more, the fact that she actually liked the black girl was over looked in her complete non-insanity) and Brittany was spending her time with that over dressed closet case Hummel. So it wasn’t really her fault when the duet she had been working on with Mercedes turned more than a little heated. She just wanted to hardcore beat someone. Anyone.
Hell, she was ready to go straight through Schuester, or anyone else, to do it. She stalked through the halls and the angry energy she radiated could almost be seen. She was vaguely aware of the fact that most of the school had taken to referring to her like she was an out of control Pit-Bull. She stalked the halls, just waiting for someone to say the wrong words so she could justify beating the bloody shit out of them. Kids ducked into classrooms or pretended to be overly interested in the contents of their lockers. Pillsbury squeaked and hid in her office with the curtains closed after she glared at her the day after the vocal fight. She even saw Figgins catch sight of her and actually run in the opposite direction twice before the week was out.
Yeah, Fin Hudson was going to die; and if he didn’t, someone else would.
In the end the unfortunate focus of her intentions ended up not being Mercedes after all, as she had come to her senses and realized that Puck was a man-whore, but was instead one of Tanaka’s hocky-slash-football players. The poor boy, who was no lightweight himself, had made the mistake of making a comment about how ‘that Glee freak’ actually looked hotter with slushy dripping down her front. This comment, unfortunately, came at the height of Santana’s irrationality and she only stopped before breaking something vital in the unlucky bastard because Puck pulled her off.
Fortunately for the rest of the student body, Puck knew his closest friend well. He carried her with one arm the whole way to his truck, slammed the door, and txted Brittany to meet them at Santana’s house.
“What the fuck Lopez!” He slammed one hand down on the steering wheel.
Santana crossed her arms and looked out the window at the now passing scenery.
“We can’t afford for you to get suspended right now.”
More silence.
“Sylvester’s already a nut job, we don’t need her finagling a way around the rules AGAIN, to get you kicked out of Glee.”
“You know the word finagling?”
Puck rolled his eyes.
Sadly, it was not the first time Mrs. Lopez had witnessed Noah Puckerman half carrying her oldest daughter up the stairs, muttering furiously about crazy Hispanic women. She noticed the blood on her daughters knuckles and laughed lightly, shaking her head and looking at the previously mohawked boy. The answer she got upon the quirk of her eyebrow was gruff.
“Hockey player, and I don’t know. Possibly a girl.”
“Door open!” She called after them. She may have trusted the boy to not physically harm her daughter, and she may have been nearly positive that her daughters affections did not lie with the football player or any of his gender any longer. She even believed that the Jewish boy may have been able to keep her unfortunately short-tempered daughter out of trouble better than she could, however she was still a mother, and her experience dictated that you never completely trust a teenager.
“What happened?” The blonde cheerleader sighed, bursting into Santana’s room a half hour later to find a sulking Santana. Her question was aimed at Puck.
“San here went mental on Georgeo.” He answered, not looking up from the sports illustrated swimsuit edition he had found on Santana’s desk.
“How many?”
“How many what?” The girl on the bed asked.
“How many bones did you break?”
“Not enough. Fuck-a-saurus dragged me home before I could hurt him worse.”
“Hey!” Puck put the magazine down.
“What did he do?”
“Nothing. I just felt like it.”
A quirked eyebrow met by silence.
Brittany sat on the bed and smacked Santana’s calf sharply.
“Rachel?” She inquired when the Latina looked up.
“Said she looked hotter with slushy dripping down her front.”
Brittany nodded and laid down next to her friend, offering her pinky. They laid like that for a while, until Puck inched the magazine down enough to see over the top of it. Brittany saw the glint in his eyes, and laughed.
“You know, S?”
“Yeah, B?” Santana’s voice was flat as she turned to her friend. Then, following Britt’s line of sight, she started to worry. Puck had put the magazine down and was grinning. Puck’s grinning only meant two things, and he definitely was not getting laid tonight.
“It worked for me.”
NEXT PART: World War S: The Great Slushy War Begins