Baila Conmigo: Brittany/Santana, R
Title: Baila Conmigo
Author: Kelsey / marliskelsey
Pairing,Character(s): Brittany/Santana, appearances by Quinn and Puck
Rating: R, for swearing.
Word Count: 3,902
Spoilers: Through 1x22, Journey
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. I can only dream.
Summary: Santana hates the guy her parents are forcing her to take to her Quinceañera. But as long as Brittany gets the first and last dance, Santana thinks she can handle it.
A/N: Written for this prompt on the glee_fluff_meme. This takes place pre-series. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. The title means "Dance With Me" in Spanish (or at least I hope so, because I used Google Translator). I hope you enjoy it!
Santana folds her hands and stares across the table at her parents. They only had discussions like this - Santana on one side of their grand wooden table, her parents side-by-side on the other - when they had something to tell her that they knew she wouldn’t like. Something about putting up a united front.
And Santana is right. She doesn’t like what her parents have to say.
“What can I do to make you change your minds?”
Alberto chuckles, leaning across the table to pat his daughter’s clenched fists. “Niña, please see reason. Cousin Luis is a lovely boy and it would mean a lot to Abuela if you would let him be your Quinceañera escort.” Her mother nods her head along with her husband.
Santana frowns. This Quinceañera is currently the bane of her existence.
“Cousin Luis is a giant perv. And he’s not even my blood cousin! He’s your best friend’s brother’s son.”
Celia leans forward to look into her daughter’s eyes, and her own brown irises flash with what Santana recognizes as determination. “Santana Consuela, you will go to the Quinceañera with Luis, and you will make your Abuela happy. End of discussion.” She nods for good measure.
Santana stands up from the table with strangled screech of frustration.
Her father looks genuinely remorseful. Her mother stares at her with steely resolve.
Santana spins on her heel and stomps for the stairs. “Esto es tan injusto!” she cries to no one in particular before throwing herself into her room and slamming the door behind her.
Santana sits down on her bed and sighs.
When she was a little girl, her Quinceañera was a huge, looming rite of passage, and she enjoyed imagining every detail. She can recall a time when she had it planned perfectly. The dress, the party, the escort - at the time, Santana had wanted Johnny Sheik to take her, until he pushed her off the swings on the playground, causing her to get up, turn around and land three punches before a playground aide pulled her off.
But now, Santana wishes she could just turn fifteen in peace.
Still angry with her parents, Santana swings her legs over the side of her bed and walks to her desk, fishing around in her backpack until her phone is produced. Black and red, engraved with the WMHS insignia. Coach Sylvester special ordered every member of the Cheerios one.
Her fingers nimbly dial the familiar number and the phone rings in her ear, once, twice, three times before a message clicks on.
“Hi, you’ve reached Brittany! I - yeah, Mom, I want spaghetti for dinner - anyways, I can’t come to the - yes, Mom, with the special meatballs - I can’t come to the phone now. Leave me a - oh! Yes! Okay, I’ll be right there. One minute, just let me -“
Santana smiles a little bit. Her best friend’s answering machine is a constant source of entertainment. It always cheers Santana up, just hearing Brittany’s voice.
“Hey, B. It’s S. Call me later, okay? Bye.”
She sighs and puts the phone down. She wishes that Brittany had answered the phone. Something about her just made Santana feel better, like her baby blanket. Brittany was her comfort. She’s known her their entire lives.
Santana curls up on the bed.
It's the weekend. The Quinceañera is next Saturday.
She has plenty of time to convince her parents that Cousin Luis is not escort material.
--
The only redeeming thing about this freaking Quinceañera is that Santana gets to wear a pretty dress. She stalks the aisles of the store with Brittany and Quinn, snickering at the stranger options and holding the nice ones to her body.
Her mother stays out of the way for the most part. Who is she to deny her daughter the dress she wants?
Santana drapes her favourites over her arms, traipsing into the dressing room and shutting the curtain. When she emerges, in a tight pastel yellow dress, her mother bites her lip. Brittany claps.
“I think you can find something else, niña.” Her mother smiles.
Brittany shrugs. “I like it,” she chirps, smiling at Santana, who smiles back. Her palms are suddenly sweaty and she wipes them on the butt of the dress.
Quinn crosses her legs, cool as ever and doesn't offer any criticism.
Santana rolls her eyes, wondering why she even invited Quinn along if she knew that all Quinn would do was disapprove of everything. It’s what Quinn did, and as much as Santana appreciates it to keep her on her toes, it’s infuriating too. The constant power struggle is tiring, to say the least.
This cycle goes on for a while. Santana will debut a dress, her mother will say no, Brittany will approve and Quinn will sit in aloof silence.
Admittedly, the choices aren’t huge. She’d rather not wear a poufy dress, but she’s required.
Santana moves back into the dressing room and flips through the remaining dresses. She’s inspecting a baby pink dress when the curtain moves back and there’s suddenly another person in the change room. Santana spins around in shock only to see Brittany smiling sheepishly.
“Your mom went to the washroom and Quinn’s looking at dresses, and I thought you might want some help deciding,” she explains, stubbing the carpet with her toe.
Santana nods slowly and returns to flipping through the dresses on the hook. She takes a few deep breaths, confused with the strange energy in the room. Brittany’s never been shy about seeing Santana in her underwear, but now she’s looking up at the ceiling and down at the floor and anywhere but Santana.
“I like that one,” Brittany points to a white lacy dress and Santana nods. It’s not heinous, she’ll admit it.
She quickly pulls it on, allowing Brittany to zip up the back, shivering as her cool fingers brush the exposed skin. This is getting too weird. She’s needs to get out.
Santana emerges quickly from the room, Brittany close behind. Her mother and Quinn, back in their seats, give them quizzical looks. Santana looks at herself in the mirror. The dress actually looks pretty good on her, and from the way her mother is nodding, she can tell that others agree.
Brittany grins, watching Santana closely. “You look really pretty, S.”
Santana turns to her mother. “I want this one.”
--
"Yo, chica! Hold up a minute!"
Santana turns around slowly, a hand on her hip. She cocks an eyebrow at Puck, who's running down the hallway towards her. He comes to a stop quickly and shoves his hands in his pockets.
"Why the hell are you going to your dance thingy with that douche Luis?"
She sighs. "My parents are making me. And why do you care?"
Puck looks away, over her head. She's known Puck almost as long as Brittany and she curses the day that his growth spurt that made him easily the most attractive boy in school. Not because she likes him, but because girls who see her with him automatically assume she's competition.
And let's face it. When it's Santana Lopez, there is no competition. And the fact that they think they pose any sort of challenge to her gets irritating.
Puck looks back down at her.
"Because he's a douchebag. Whenever we play North Lima, he's always hitting on the McKinley chicks."
Santana rolls her eyes. "You can't tell me you don't mack on the North Lima girls. I've seen you do it. Cheerio, remember?"
Puck pouts a little bit. "Yeah, but…he sucks. And I treat the ladies right."
She can't help but laugh, and pats him on the chest. "I'm sure you do, Puckasaurus." Santana turns around to leave. She promised Brittany she'd meet her in the cafeteria. It is taco day, and Brittany's too nice to use her Cheerio powers to cut in line, so that's usually Santana's job. She doesn’t mind, though. There's something relaxing about barking orders to upperclassmen and having them obey in fear.
"I would have taken you, y'know. If you had asked me."
Santana looks at him. She knows he would have. But the simple (and slightly scary) truth is that if her parents weren't forcing her with Luis, he's not the person she'd want to escort her.
"I'll tell you what. Escort Brittany for me. You’re the only dick in this school I trust with her."
Puck laughs and mock-salutes her.
"Yes, ma'am."
--
Santana really dislikes her parents sometimes. She stares at the tapas on her plate sullenly, refusing to look up and acknowledge the fact that Luis and his parents are here for dinner.
Her mother beside her nudges her side. She huffs.
"So, Luis, I heard that you play football for North Lima? My Santana is a cheerleader."
She can hear the kid put his fork down. "Yes, Mrs. Lopez. I play running back for the team."
Santana peeks up through her eyelashes at him. He's pretty hot, sure, all dark eyes and white teeth, but she can see just from the way he sits that Luis thinks he's a big deal.
Her mother makes an impressed noise. "That's quite an achievement for a freshman!" she exclaims.
Santana gags just a little.
Her father and Luis' father have been pretty silent for the meal, and Santana can tell that the mothers were the masterminds behind this little arrangement from the way they launch right into discussions about the Quinceañera.
She picks at her tapas. Her mother makes the best tapas in the world, but she's really not hungry.
When dinner's over, her mother turns to her and smiles. "Querida, why don't you and Luis go down to the basement and get to know each other?" Santana widens her eyes in protest, but Celia stares her down.
She sighs and gestures to Luis, who's looking at her with a huge, lecherous grin on his face.
"Follow me," she mutters.
"Keep the door open!" her mother calls. Santana rolls her eyes.
Like she's going to do anything with Luis.
The Lopez's basement is big and airy with comfy leather couches and a huge flat-screen television. She always brings her friends down here, Quinn, Puck, but Brittany most of all. The amount of time she's spent in this room with Brittany is ridiculous - the girl may as well live in Santana's basement. Bringing Luis down here feels wrong, somehow. Like she's tainting the space.
"So, do you like, wanna watch TV or something?"
Luis shrugs, an easy smile on his face, and Santana can see why he has no issue charming the ladies. If he wasn't being forced on her, and she didn't know his rep, she might actually entertain the thought of dating him.
They sit down on one of the couches, Luis on one end, and Santana as far as possible from him.
She flips through the satellite channels, settling on an old episode of MTV Cribs. She glances to him for confirmation and he nods.
"I wanna live in a big house like that someday," he comments, smiling at her, "when I'm in the NFL."
Santana raises her eyebrows, feigning interest.
They sit in the silence for a minute, listening to some has-been who's desperate for their fifteen minutes yammer on and on about their house in Beverly Hills.
"You don't like me very much." He states it.
"Well, I don't like having some dude I've never met forced on me."
Luis shrugs again. "Fair enough. You're honest, I can respect that. Truth be told, I have a girlfriend, but my mom is forcing me to take you and I'm really not thrilled. No offense."
Santana looks at him. "None taken," she replies and smiles. Maybe he's not as heinous as she imagined.
It’s when she feels his hand snaking its way onto her bare thigh that Santana realizes that yeah, he is as heinous as she imagined, and Santana Lopez is not going to be groped in her own home.
"Excuse you," she hisses. Luis smirks.
"You know you want me, Santana."
Oh, hell to the no. Santana jumps off the couch and glares at Luis, who reclines lazily onto the couch and looks up at her with lidded eyes. "First off, do not ever touch me." She's careful to keep her voice low so that her mother won't hear. It's more effectively terrifying that way anyway. "Second, that's the stupidest line I've ever heard. Third, I don't know who you think you're dealing with here, but I'm not just some chick who takes one look at your Latin ass and falls head over heels. You're not that hot. Fourth, you're a douchebag, and fifth, you are not going to repeat a word of this to either of our parents, or I will make you pay. You got that?"
Luis stands and rolls his eyes, all traces of charm gone from his face.
"Whatever. Crazy bitch."
"Loser."
Her mother flounces down the stairs at that exact moment, and Santana casts a warning glance at Luis.
"How is everybody?"
Luis pastes on a smile. "Good, Mrs. Lopez. But, you know, I'm getting pretty tired and I've got a game tomorrow, so would you mind telling my parents that I’d like to head out?"
Her mother's already nodding and the stars in her eyes are making Santana sick.
"Of course, Luis, of course. We'll see you at the party!"
Celia wraps an arm around her daughter's shoulders and squeezes, as if to say you lucked out.
As her parents say goodbye, Santana glares at Luis.
When they leave, she goes upstairs to call Brittany.
--
The next few days are filled with anticipation, appointments and boring ballroom dance lessons with Luis so that they're choreographed for their waltz.
Luis makes a pass at her after their second lesson.
She twists his hand behind his back and tells Brittany all about it when she comes over later.
Santana paces her bedroom floor in a well-worn pattern while Brittany sits on her bed and plays with the stuffed bulldog Santana's had since she was born. Brittany loves that thing. She says it reminds her of Santana, scary on the outside, but full of fluff on the inside. Santana tries to pretend that she's badass through and through, but it makes her happy whenever Brittany says it.
"So, your parents are, like, forcing you to go with him?" Brittany looks at her questioningly.
"Yup."
Brittany shrugs her shoulders. "That sucks. We can still dance together at the party, right?"
The feeling in her stomach flutters furiously, and Santana grits her teeth against it. She turns and smiles a tight-lipped smile at her best friend. "Sure, B. Of course."
The blonde smiles and bounces on the bed. "Good. That's all I want."
--
It's the day of the Quinceañera.
Santana, Luis and her parents ride to the church in a limo they rented for the occasion. The rest of her court follows them in various parent chaperones cars. Puck and Brittany, Quinn and the quarterback, Finn Hudson, who she demanded Santana invite, and twelve of Santana's cousins and their dates.
She sits in the front pew with her parents and her court and listens to the priest make a speech about a girl becoming a woman.
After the ceremony, all the guests move to a banquet hall down the street from the church.
It's decorated to the hilt, flowers and balloons and streamers. It reminds Santana of her cousin Rosaline's wedding. Everyone finds their seats swiftly at their assigned tables, waiting for the ceremonial gift presentation.
She gets all the traditional gifts. Delicate earrings, a silver ring, a cross necklace and a rosary.
There's a feeling in her chest that's something like pride. She feels…grown up, Santana guesses, finally being accepted by her parents and everyone else as a woman. The symbolism is wonderfully sappy too, and despite the tough outer shell, she appreciates that her family loves her this much.
After the gifts, Celia takes the microphone and taps it daintily.
"We are going to start the evening with a casual dance, so everybody grab a partner and hit the floor."
The party crowds the dance floor to a happy, slow song. Little girls dance on older boy's feet, couples twirl like they’re in the movies. Everybody smiles.
Santana glances up and sees Luis stalking her way, and she makes a face.
Brittany sees her speed-walking away and swiftly ducks through the crowd to get to her. Santana spins to greet her best friend and stops.
Brittany's wearing this short yellow dress and her hair is straight and swept away from her face. She's smiling brightly and is easily a full head taller than Santana in her heels.
Santana swallows and blinks, like she's staring into the sun.
She shakes her head a little bit, trying to push away the feeling that's settled at the bottom of her stomach.
"B, quick, dance with me, Pervy Luis is trying to get up on this."
Brittany smiles happily and takes Santana's hand, pulling her to the centre of the dance floor. She begins to move and sway to the music and Santana is captured, like she always is, by how radiant Brittany looks when she dances. When they say you're born to do something, it's never been truer than when it comes to her best friend.
And while Santana can dance, Brittany is a dancer. Plain and simple.
They dance together for three full songs, until the lights go low and it's time for the father-daughter dance.
--
After the dance and the traditional swapping of shoes, it's time for Santana and Luis to do their choreographed dances.
She tries to maintain a blank face in Luis's arms while her court spins around her.
Santana catches a glimpse of Puck and Brittany - Puck's twirling her under his arm, and Brittany laughs happily as he lowers her in a dip. She sighs.
Quinn looks pissed. Her little boyfriend has no rhythm.
Santana smirks at that.
Luis grips her tighter in his arms and she scowls at him. "Don't go getting any ideas, home boy," she hisses and he rolls his eyes. "It's just a matter of time before you succumb to my charms. What's the point in fighting?"
She pretends to gag and Luis chuckles under his breath.
In the middle of the second dance, Luis looks over at Brittany and makes an amused face. "I believe your friend is trying to eat a stuffed pepper and potato chip sandwich." Santana looks over to the refreshments, confused. Sure enough, Brittany is attempting to stuff the thing in her mouth. Santana smiles fondly.
Luis makes a noise somewhere between disgust and attraction. "Not the sharpest tool in the shed, is she? She's pretty hot, though."
She tightens her grip on his fingers and scowls. He has no right to be checking Brittany out.
He has no right to call her stupid.
"Screw you. Don't talk about her like that," Santana growls, and Luis turns to face her with a know-it-all grin on his face. Santana wants to slap it off.
"Don't be jealous. You're hotter."
It seems like he leans in slow motion, his lips puckering and eyes closing.
What happens next is a total accident.
Santana really can't be held responsible for punching him. She doesn't even remember it, just the satisfying smack of fist on nose and Luis screaming like a little girl.
She imagines it's some sight to see - Santana in her frilly white dress, standing with clenched fists over the writhing body of her supposed escort. Luis makes a blubbering noise. "By gnose," he moans.
Everyone stares in horror.
Except for Brittany. Dear, sweet Brittany, who's laughing her ass off next to the refreshment table.
And really, that makes punching Cousin Luis worth it.
--
"What were you - I don't know what - what is wrong with you?" Her mother's face is deep red as she stalks around the tiny coat closet. The thumping bass of the party shakes the coats.
Santana shrugs and inspects her nails. "I dunno," she replies.
Her mother's eyes bug out of her head.
"Santana Consuela Lopez, what on Earth possibly possessed you to punch your escort in the face?"
"He deserved it."
Celia laughs once, and puts her hands on her hips. "And what did he to do deserve it?"
Santana stares up at her mother intensely. If she thinks hard enough, her mother should already know the answer. The reason why Santana does anything.
"He insulted Brittany."
All at once, the breath whooshes out of her mother, who shakes her head and purses her lips.
"I see. Well, as valiant as it is to defend Brittany's honour, it doesn't constitute punching a family friend in the nose. So, you're grounded for a week."
Celia turns to leave, but leans down to caress Santana's cheek before she leaves.
Santana's sure she saw the hint of a smile as her mother left.
--
The night winds down uneventfully - uneventful if you count that nobody else got punched in the face.
Luis was whisked away by his parents right after the incident.
His mother wasn't happy.
His father came up to Santana before they left and informed her that he probably deserved it, so even though he's not happy his son got decked, he's not all that angry with her.
Now that most of the older guests have danced themselves out, it's only the younger guests out on the dance floor.
Santana rolls her eyes at Puck and Finn in the middle of the floor - Puck is desperately trying to spin on his head. Finn just looks confused as to what he's supposed to do with his hands, and instead settles for shuffling awkwardly until the song ends and a slow song comes on.
"Santana?"
The voice has her turning around slowly.
Brittany looks at her and then looks down at the ground. She's got her arms crossed behind her back, and her face is bright red. Santana blinks furiously.
"Yeah, B?"
"Do you want to dance with me?"
She battles the feeling in her stomach, the one that feels like butterflies and nods her head. Brittany smiles at her and holds out a hand, which Santana takes, and leads her onto the floor.
She's vaguely aware of the eyes on them. The way her parents are staring at them like they expected this.
But all she can really see is Brittany.
Her best friend. Her very best friend. The girl she'll know forever. And all she can feel is Brittany's hand on the small of her back, and Brittany's hand in her hand and Brittany's eyes on her face.
It feels like something she's felt for a long time.
It feels like it should be wrong, but it's not. It's perfect.
So Santana smiles, and twirls Brittany around so that she giggles happily, because it's just another step towards the future. Their future.
The future that Santana is seeing clearer every day, the one with her and Brittany together forever.
When the song ends, Brittany pulls Santana into her arms, and holds her to her body with surprising force. She wraps her long arms around Santana's shoulders and squeezes.
"Happy birthday, Santana. Love you," she whispers into Santana's hair.
Santana grins like a fool into Brittany's shoulder.
"Thanks, B. Love you too."
Author: Kelsey / marliskelsey
Pairing,Character(s): Brittany/Santana, appearances by Quinn and Puck
Rating: R, for swearing.
Word Count: 3,902
Spoilers: Through 1x22, Journey
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. I can only dream.
Summary: Santana hates the guy her parents are forcing her to take to her Quinceañera. But as long as Brittany gets the first and last dance, Santana thinks she can handle it.
A/N: Written for this prompt on the glee_fluff_meme. This takes place pre-series. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. The title means "Dance With Me" in Spanish (or at least I hope so, because I used Google Translator). I hope you enjoy it!
Santana folds her hands and stares across the table at her parents. They only had discussions like this - Santana on one side of their grand wooden table, her parents side-by-side on the other - when they had something to tell her that they knew she wouldn’t like. Something about putting up a united front.
And Santana is right. She doesn’t like what her parents have to say.
“What can I do to make you change your minds?”
Alberto chuckles, leaning across the table to pat his daughter’s clenched fists. “Niña, please see reason. Cousin Luis is a lovely boy and it would mean a lot to Abuela if you would let him be your Quinceañera escort.” Her mother nods her head along with her husband.
Santana frowns. This Quinceañera is currently the bane of her existence.
“Cousin Luis is a giant perv. And he’s not even my blood cousin! He’s your best friend’s brother’s son.”
Celia leans forward to look into her daughter’s eyes, and her own brown irises flash with what Santana recognizes as determination. “Santana Consuela, you will go to the Quinceañera with Luis, and you will make your Abuela happy. End of discussion.” She nods for good measure.
Santana stands up from the table with strangled screech of frustration.
Her father looks genuinely remorseful. Her mother stares at her with steely resolve.
Santana spins on her heel and stomps for the stairs. “Esto es tan injusto!” she cries to no one in particular before throwing herself into her room and slamming the door behind her.
Santana sits down on her bed and sighs.
When she was a little girl, her Quinceañera was a huge, looming rite of passage, and she enjoyed imagining every detail. She can recall a time when she had it planned perfectly. The dress, the party, the escort - at the time, Santana had wanted Johnny Sheik to take her, until he pushed her off the swings on the playground, causing her to get up, turn around and land three punches before a playground aide pulled her off.
But now, Santana wishes she could just turn fifteen in peace.
Still angry with her parents, Santana swings her legs over the side of her bed and walks to her desk, fishing around in her backpack until her phone is produced. Black and red, engraved with the WMHS insignia. Coach Sylvester special ordered every member of the Cheerios one.
Her fingers nimbly dial the familiar number and the phone rings in her ear, once, twice, three times before a message clicks on.
“Hi, you’ve reached Brittany! I - yeah, Mom, I want spaghetti for dinner - anyways, I can’t come to the - yes, Mom, with the special meatballs - I can’t come to the phone now. Leave me a - oh! Yes! Okay, I’ll be right there. One minute, just let me -“
Santana smiles a little bit. Her best friend’s answering machine is a constant source of entertainment. It always cheers Santana up, just hearing Brittany’s voice.
“Hey, B. It’s S. Call me later, okay? Bye.”
She sighs and puts the phone down. She wishes that Brittany had answered the phone. Something about her just made Santana feel better, like her baby blanket. Brittany was her comfort. She’s known her their entire lives.
Santana curls up on the bed.
It's the weekend. The Quinceañera is next Saturday.
She has plenty of time to convince her parents that Cousin Luis is not escort material.
--
The only redeeming thing about this freaking Quinceañera is that Santana gets to wear a pretty dress. She stalks the aisles of the store with Brittany and Quinn, snickering at the stranger options and holding the nice ones to her body.
Her mother stays out of the way for the most part. Who is she to deny her daughter the dress she wants?
Santana drapes her favourites over her arms, traipsing into the dressing room and shutting the curtain. When she emerges, in a tight pastel yellow dress, her mother bites her lip. Brittany claps.
“I think you can find something else, niña.” Her mother smiles.
Brittany shrugs. “I like it,” she chirps, smiling at Santana, who smiles back. Her palms are suddenly sweaty and she wipes them on the butt of the dress.
Quinn crosses her legs, cool as ever and doesn't offer any criticism.
Santana rolls her eyes, wondering why she even invited Quinn along if she knew that all Quinn would do was disapprove of everything. It’s what Quinn did, and as much as Santana appreciates it to keep her on her toes, it’s infuriating too. The constant power struggle is tiring, to say the least.
This cycle goes on for a while. Santana will debut a dress, her mother will say no, Brittany will approve and Quinn will sit in aloof silence.
Admittedly, the choices aren’t huge. She’d rather not wear a poufy dress, but she’s required.
Santana moves back into the dressing room and flips through the remaining dresses. She’s inspecting a baby pink dress when the curtain moves back and there’s suddenly another person in the change room. Santana spins around in shock only to see Brittany smiling sheepishly.
“Your mom went to the washroom and Quinn’s looking at dresses, and I thought you might want some help deciding,” she explains, stubbing the carpet with her toe.
Santana nods slowly and returns to flipping through the dresses on the hook. She takes a few deep breaths, confused with the strange energy in the room. Brittany’s never been shy about seeing Santana in her underwear, but now she’s looking up at the ceiling and down at the floor and anywhere but Santana.
“I like that one,” Brittany points to a white lacy dress and Santana nods. It’s not heinous, she’ll admit it.
She quickly pulls it on, allowing Brittany to zip up the back, shivering as her cool fingers brush the exposed skin. This is getting too weird. She’s needs to get out.
Santana emerges quickly from the room, Brittany close behind. Her mother and Quinn, back in their seats, give them quizzical looks. Santana looks at herself in the mirror. The dress actually looks pretty good on her, and from the way her mother is nodding, she can tell that others agree.
Brittany grins, watching Santana closely. “You look really pretty, S.”
Santana turns to her mother. “I want this one.”
--
"Yo, chica! Hold up a minute!"
Santana turns around slowly, a hand on her hip. She cocks an eyebrow at Puck, who's running down the hallway towards her. He comes to a stop quickly and shoves his hands in his pockets.
"Why the hell are you going to your dance thingy with that douche Luis?"
She sighs. "My parents are making me. And why do you care?"
Puck looks away, over her head. She's known Puck almost as long as Brittany and she curses the day that his growth spurt that made him easily the most attractive boy in school. Not because she likes him, but because girls who see her with him automatically assume she's competition.
And let's face it. When it's Santana Lopez, there is no competition. And the fact that they think they pose any sort of challenge to her gets irritating.
Puck looks back down at her.
"Because he's a douchebag. Whenever we play North Lima, he's always hitting on the McKinley chicks."
Santana rolls her eyes. "You can't tell me you don't mack on the North Lima girls. I've seen you do it. Cheerio, remember?"
Puck pouts a little bit. "Yeah, but…he sucks. And I treat the ladies right."
She can't help but laugh, and pats him on the chest. "I'm sure you do, Puckasaurus." Santana turns around to leave. She promised Brittany she'd meet her in the cafeteria. It is taco day, and Brittany's too nice to use her Cheerio powers to cut in line, so that's usually Santana's job. She doesn’t mind, though. There's something relaxing about barking orders to upperclassmen and having them obey in fear.
"I would have taken you, y'know. If you had asked me."
Santana looks at him. She knows he would have. But the simple (and slightly scary) truth is that if her parents weren't forcing her with Luis, he's not the person she'd want to escort her.
"I'll tell you what. Escort Brittany for me. You’re the only dick in this school I trust with her."
Puck laughs and mock-salutes her.
"Yes, ma'am."
--
Santana really dislikes her parents sometimes. She stares at the tapas on her plate sullenly, refusing to look up and acknowledge the fact that Luis and his parents are here for dinner.
Her mother beside her nudges her side. She huffs.
"So, Luis, I heard that you play football for North Lima? My Santana is a cheerleader."
She can hear the kid put his fork down. "Yes, Mrs. Lopez. I play running back for the team."
Santana peeks up through her eyelashes at him. He's pretty hot, sure, all dark eyes and white teeth, but she can see just from the way he sits that Luis thinks he's a big deal.
Her mother makes an impressed noise. "That's quite an achievement for a freshman!" she exclaims.
Santana gags just a little.
Her father and Luis' father have been pretty silent for the meal, and Santana can tell that the mothers were the masterminds behind this little arrangement from the way they launch right into discussions about the Quinceañera.
She picks at her tapas. Her mother makes the best tapas in the world, but she's really not hungry.
When dinner's over, her mother turns to her and smiles. "Querida, why don't you and Luis go down to the basement and get to know each other?" Santana widens her eyes in protest, but Celia stares her down.
She sighs and gestures to Luis, who's looking at her with a huge, lecherous grin on his face.
"Follow me," she mutters.
"Keep the door open!" her mother calls. Santana rolls her eyes.
Like she's going to do anything with Luis.
The Lopez's basement is big and airy with comfy leather couches and a huge flat-screen television. She always brings her friends down here, Quinn, Puck, but Brittany most of all. The amount of time she's spent in this room with Brittany is ridiculous - the girl may as well live in Santana's basement. Bringing Luis down here feels wrong, somehow. Like she's tainting the space.
"So, do you like, wanna watch TV or something?"
Luis shrugs, an easy smile on his face, and Santana can see why he has no issue charming the ladies. If he wasn't being forced on her, and she didn't know his rep, she might actually entertain the thought of dating him.
They sit down on one of the couches, Luis on one end, and Santana as far as possible from him.
She flips through the satellite channels, settling on an old episode of MTV Cribs. She glances to him for confirmation and he nods.
"I wanna live in a big house like that someday," he comments, smiling at her, "when I'm in the NFL."
Santana raises her eyebrows, feigning interest.
They sit in the silence for a minute, listening to some has-been who's desperate for their fifteen minutes yammer on and on about their house in Beverly Hills.
"You don't like me very much." He states it.
"Well, I don't like having some dude I've never met forced on me."
Luis shrugs again. "Fair enough. You're honest, I can respect that. Truth be told, I have a girlfriend, but my mom is forcing me to take you and I'm really not thrilled. No offense."
Santana looks at him. "None taken," she replies and smiles. Maybe he's not as heinous as she imagined.
It’s when she feels his hand snaking its way onto her bare thigh that Santana realizes that yeah, he is as heinous as she imagined, and Santana Lopez is not going to be groped in her own home.
"Excuse you," she hisses. Luis smirks.
"You know you want me, Santana."
Oh, hell to the no. Santana jumps off the couch and glares at Luis, who reclines lazily onto the couch and looks up at her with lidded eyes. "First off, do not ever touch me." She's careful to keep her voice low so that her mother won't hear. It's more effectively terrifying that way anyway. "Second, that's the stupidest line I've ever heard. Third, I don't know who you think you're dealing with here, but I'm not just some chick who takes one look at your Latin ass and falls head over heels. You're not that hot. Fourth, you're a douchebag, and fifth, you are not going to repeat a word of this to either of our parents, or I will make you pay. You got that?"
Luis stands and rolls his eyes, all traces of charm gone from his face.
"Whatever. Crazy bitch."
"Loser."
Her mother flounces down the stairs at that exact moment, and Santana casts a warning glance at Luis.
"How is everybody?"
Luis pastes on a smile. "Good, Mrs. Lopez. But, you know, I'm getting pretty tired and I've got a game tomorrow, so would you mind telling my parents that I’d like to head out?"
Her mother's already nodding and the stars in her eyes are making Santana sick.
"Of course, Luis, of course. We'll see you at the party!"
Celia wraps an arm around her daughter's shoulders and squeezes, as if to say you lucked out.
As her parents say goodbye, Santana glares at Luis.
When they leave, she goes upstairs to call Brittany.
--
The next few days are filled with anticipation, appointments and boring ballroom dance lessons with Luis so that they're choreographed for their waltz.
Luis makes a pass at her after their second lesson.
She twists his hand behind his back and tells Brittany all about it when she comes over later.
Santana paces her bedroom floor in a well-worn pattern while Brittany sits on her bed and plays with the stuffed bulldog Santana's had since she was born. Brittany loves that thing. She says it reminds her of Santana, scary on the outside, but full of fluff on the inside. Santana tries to pretend that she's badass through and through, but it makes her happy whenever Brittany says it.
"So, your parents are, like, forcing you to go with him?" Brittany looks at her questioningly.
"Yup."
Brittany shrugs her shoulders. "That sucks. We can still dance together at the party, right?"
The feeling in her stomach flutters furiously, and Santana grits her teeth against it. She turns and smiles a tight-lipped smile at her best friend. "Sure, B. Of course."
The blonde smiles and bounces on the bed. "Good. That's all I want."
--
It's the day of the Quinceañera.
Santana, Luis and her parents ride to the church in a limo they rented for the occasion. The rest of her court follows them in various parent chaperones cars. Puck and Brittany, Quinn and the quarterback, Finn Hudson, who she demanded Santana invite, and twelve of Santana's cousins and their dates.
She sits in the front pew with her parents and her court and listens to the priest make a speech about a girl becoming a woman.
After the ceremony, all the guests move to a banquet hall down the street from the church.
It's decorated to the hilt, flowers and balloons and streamers. It reminds Santana of her cousin Rosaline's wedding. Everyone finds their seats swiftly at their assigned tables, waiting for the ceremonial gift presentation.
She gets all the traditional gifts. Delicate earrings, a silver ring, a cross necklace and a rosary.
There's a feeling in her chest that's something like pride. She feels…grown up, Santana guesses, finally being accepted by her parents and everyone else as a woman. The symbolism is wonderfully sappy too, and despite the tough outer shell, she appreciates that her family loves her this much.
After the gifts, Celia takes the microphone and taps it daintily.
"We are going to start the evening with a casual dance, so everybody grab a partner and hit the floor."
The party crowds the dance floor to a happy, slow song. Little girls dance on older boy's feet, couples twirl like they’re in the movies. Everybody smiles.
Santana glances up and sees Luis stalking her way, and she makes a face.
Brittany sees her speed-walking away and swiftly ducks through the crowd to get to her. Santana spins to greet her best friend and stops.
Brittany's wearing this short yellow dress and her hair is straight and swept away from her face. She's smiling brightly and is easily a full head taller than Santana in her heels.
Santana swallows and blinks, like she's staring into the sun.
She shakes her head a little bit, trying to push away the feeling that's settled at the bottom of her stomach.
"B, quick, dance with me, Pervy Luis is trying to get up on this."
Brittany smiles happily and takes Santana's hand, pulling her to the centre of the dance floor. She begins to move and sway to the music and Santana is captured, like she always is, by how radiant Brittany looks when she dances. When they say you're born to do something, it's never been truer than when it comes to her best friend.
And while Santana can dance, Brittany is a dancer. Plain and simple.
They dance together for three full songs, until the lights go low and it's time for the father-daughter dance.
--
After the dance and the traditional swapping of shoes, it's time for Santana and Luis to do their choreographed dances.
She tries to maintain a blank face in Luis's arms while her court spins around her.
Santana catches a glimpse of Puck and Brittany - Puck's twirling her under his arm, and Brittany laughs happily as he lowers her in a dip. She sighs.
Quinn looks pissed. Her little boyfriend has no rhythm.
Santana smirks at that.
Luis grips her tighter in his arms and she scowls at him. "Don't go getting any ideas, home boy," she hisses and he rolls his eyes. "It's just a matter of time before you succumb to my charms. What's the point in fighting?"
She pretends to gag and Luis chuckles under his breath.
In the middle of the second dance, Luis looks over at Brittany and makes an amused face. "I believe your friend is trying to eat a stuffed pepper and potato chip sandwich." Santana looks over to the refreshments, confused. Sure enough, Brittany is attempting to stuff the thing in her mouth. Santana smiles fondly.
Luis makes a noise somewhere between disgust and attraction. "Not the sharpest tool in the shed, is she? She's pretty hot, though."
She tightens her grip on his fingers and scowls. He has no right to be checking Brittany out.
He has no right to call her stupid.
"Screw you. Don't talk about her like that," Santana growls, and Luis turns to face her with a know-it-all grin on his face. Santana wants to slap it off.
"Don't be jealous. You're hotter."
It seems like he leans in slow motion, his lips puckering and eyes closing.
What happens next is a total accident.
Santana really can't be held responsible for punching him. She doesn't even remember it, just the satisfying smack of fist on nose and Luis screaming like a little girl.
She imagines it's some sight to see - Santana in her frilly white dress, standing with clenched fists over the writhing body of her supposed escort. Luis makes a blubbering noise. "By gnose," he moans.
Everyone stares in horror.
Except for Brittany. Dear, sweet Brittany, who's laughing her ass off next to the refreshment table.
And really, that makes punching Cousin Luis worth it.
--
"What were you - I don't know what - what is wrong with you?" Her mother's face is deep red as she stalks around the tiny coat closet. The thumping bass of the party shakes the coats.
Santana shrugs and inspects her nails. "I dunno," she replies.
Her mother's eyes bug out of her head.
"Santana Consuela Lopez, what on Earth possibly possessed you to punch your escort in the face?"
"He deserved it."
Celia laughs once, and puts her hands on her hips. "And what did he to do deserve it?"
Santana stares up at her mother intensely. If she thinks hard enough, her mother should already know the answer. The reason why Santana does anything.
"He insulted Brittany."
All at once, the breath whooshes out of her mother, who shakes her head and purses her lips.
"I see. Well, as valiant as it is to defend Brittany's honour, it doesn't constitute punching a family friend in the nose. So, you're grounded for a week."
Celia turns to leave, but leans down to caress Santana's cheek before she leaves.
Santana's sure she saw the hint of a smile as her mother left.
--
The night winds down uneventfully - uneventful if you count that nobody else got punched in the face.
Luis was whisked away by his parents right after the incident.
His mother wasn't happy.
His father came up to Santana before they left and informed her that he probably deserved it, so even though he's not happy his son got decked, he's not all that angry with her.
Now that most of the older guests have danced themselves out, it's only the younger guests out on the dance floor.
Santana rolls her eyes at Puck and Finn in the middle of the floor - Puck is desperately trying to spin on his head. Finn just looks confused as to what he's supposed to do with his hands, and instead settles for shuffling awkwardly until the song ends and a slow song comes on.
"Santana?"
The voice has her turning around slowly.
Brittany looks at her and then looks down at the ground. She's got her arms crossed behind her back, and her face is bright red. Santana blinks furiously.
"Yeah, B?"
"Do you want to dance with me?"
She battles the feeling in her stomach, the one that feels like butterflies and nods her head. Brittany smiles at her and holds out a hand, which Santana takes, and leads her onto the floor.
She's vaguely aware of the eyes on them. The way her parents are staring at them like they expected this.
But all she can really see is Brittany.
Her best friend. Her very best friend. The girl she'll know forever. And all she can feel is Brittany's hand on the small of her back, and Brittany's hand in her hand and Brittany's eyes on her face.
It feels like something she's felt for a long time.
It feels like it should be wrong, but it's not. It's perfect.
So Santana smiles, and twirls Brittany around so that she giggles happily, because it's just another step towards the future. Their future.
The future that Santana is seeing clearer every day, the one with her and Brittany together forever.
When the song ends, Brittany pulls Santana into her arms, and holds her to her body with surprising force. She wraps her long arms around Santana's shoulders and squeezes.
"Happy birthday, Santana. Love you," she whispers into Santana's hair.
Santana grins like a fool into Brittany's shoulder.
"Thanks, B. Love you too."