What's so Great About Harvard, Anyway?
Title: What's so Great About Harvard, Anyway?
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Length: 1764
Spoilers: None, unless you search really hard.
Summary: From the glee_fluff_meme. Prompt: Brittany gets into like Harvard or something (even if its just the perfoming arts or dance program) and the Glee gang are shocked, except Santana, she's just proud of her bb.
AN: It got a little out of control. My apologies.
Will Schuester casually flipped through the pile of various college acceptance and rejection letters on his desk. He wasn’t… nosy, or anything-he just cared about these kids and their futures. Besides, as the school’s newest and only college counselor (what? Terri wanted a Jacuzzi and money was hard to come by), it was his job to care. Therefore, this wasn’t even a little nosy. Not even a little.
He was ripped from his thoughts, however, upon noticing a very familiar, yet unexpected, college logo.
When he read the student name on the envelope, he nearly fell out of his swivel chair. Apparently, Brittany (who had an inexplicable ink stain following her first name) had received a letter from Harvard. And, if he were to judge by the bulk of the envelope, they had more to say to her than just “you’re rejected.”
He contemplated opening the letter for several minutes. Not because he was nosy; because he cared about his students. After all, Brittany would never have to know. He could reseal it. But… apparently the tall, blonde Cheerio was some sort of secret super-genius. She’d figure everything out and have him fired… or something.
He rubbed his hand across his face, trying to ward off an impending headache, and buried the all-too-tempting letter at the bottom of the stack.
---
Throughout the year, it had become a sort of Glee tradition (or ‘Gleedition,’ as only Rachel called it) to open up college letters during Glee practice (and very often when Mr. Schuester was trying to teach them something). The senior Gleeks all had this sort of weirdly tight bond with one another-the kind of bond where they just knew how to deal with all their crazy personal drama. Like, that time when Rachel got rejected by Juilliard and she acted like some indignant diva-master from the pits of thespian hell. Or, like that other time just a week later when Rachel got accepted to some tiny college in Manhattan with an arguably awesomer theatrical department than that of Julliard and she acted all proud and superior for the next day and a half. Or, that other time when Rachel was told she wasn’t allowed to give her senior speech in the form of a song and she tried to start a school-wide rebellion against Figgins. (If anyone is noticing at this point that all of the personal drama seems to be coming from one person, they would be absolutely right.) But, really, the Glee kids were there for one another.
So, when the Glee director/Spanish teacher/college counselor/occasional-assistant-guidance-counselor passed out the latest batch of letters along with the sheet music to ‘Pokerface’ (Rachel huffed), the seniors all pulled their chairs together in a circle, away from the younger members (“noobs”) without a word in order to compare results.
“Fuck yeah! UCLA!” Santana actually fist-pumped like a complete nerd and then proceeded to high-five the other seniors (Brittany went last, grabbing onto her hand and pulling it to her lap excitedly) while Puck sang ‘Beverly Hills’ off-key in the background. Mr. Schue didn’t even lecture her on appropriate language-just shot her one of his usual upset-but-helpless looks.
---
It wasn’t that Rachel was nosy or anything… she just liked to know the details of other people’s lives so that she would know when they needed her expert interference. So, that’s why she’d noticed that Brittany never really liked to share her plans for college with the rest of them.
At first (although she kind of hated to admit it), Rachel had just assumed it was because there wasn’t any good news to share. Because, yeah, Brittany is probably the nicest person alive, but… she’s just not… well. She tried to write with the wrong end of the pen for like five minutes last week in English class. That’s all Rachel will say.
So, because Rachel is just a little bit nosy, when she saw Brittany looking bored and tearing at the corners of a thick envelope before Glee practice one day, she just had to ask.
“So. Brittany.” Rachel would have described her tone as cool, casual, and confident. Anyone else would probably have described it as just mildly unnerving. “What’s that?”
The blonde looked down, as if she had, in fact, forgotten what was in her hands. “A letter.”
Rachel sometimes wanted to strangle really loved Brittany. “From whom?”
“Um,” Brittany looked down again. “Harvard,” she read.
Rachel frowned and-okay, so this probably made her a little more than a little nosy-leaned in to look at the letter herself. Sure enough, there was Harvard’s logo. And sure enough, there was Brittany’s name. “Wow. So, you’re-” the first thing Rachel wanted to say was ‘smart,’ but that would be horrible, so she instead finished “-going to Harvard.”
Brittany hesitated. (She wasn’t looking down anymore, just staring into space.) “I’unno.”
“Um. Cool. Well, I have to go do something.” And Rachel left, without any further explanation, even though there was only ten minutes until practice started and she usually spent that long just warming up her chest voice.
---
Of course, Rachel texted Quinn, and Quinn texted Everybody, and by the next day of school, rumors were spreading like a wildfire on Vitamin D. (By the time the word got to Santana Lopez, it had been decided that Brittany was having an affair with the Dean of Admissions. The freshman that told her that got a face full of toilet water.)
Of course, Rachel and the Gleeks (minus Santana, who was running damage control on the rumor that Brittany’s father was actually the owner of Harvard) had begun to follow the blonde around to her classes and watch for any secret sign of brilliance they had previously missed.
They were all surprised (and, yeah, just a little guilty) when the third period bell rang and Brittany headed toward the classroom for AP Chemistry.
---
Quinn dialed the familiar number into her cell phone and, without waiting for any sort of greeting, began to speak, “Team Glamour to North Star. Repeat, Team Glamour to North Star.”
“Ten-four,” Rachel responded.
“Give me the coordinates on the subject… um… Golden Mallard.”
“I made a copy of her schedule. She should be in the Chem lab, now.”
“Cool. Er, ten-four.”
“Guys, guys!” Kurt interrupted, speaking into his glittery iPhone a foot away from Quinn, “This is ridiculous. Can’t we just ask her in person?”
Kurt, of course, was simultaneously ‘shush’ed by both Rachel and Quinn. (“How did I get roped into this?” he asked no one in particular.)
“So, commence with plan ‘Borrow-Brittany’s-acceptance-letter-and-see-if-it-is-the-Real-Deal-or-not’ as discussed?” Quinn continued.
“Ten-four.”
“Cool.”
“Good. North Star, out.”
Kurt smirked at this, “Prada Bag, way out.”
“See you later, Rach.” (Quinn wasn’t very good at the whole ‘spy’ thing.)
---
“Quick! She’s coming! Get down,” Quinn hissed, and before Kurt could say a word of protest, she had grabbed onto the collar of his Armani coat and yanked him behind the nearest trashcan.
“Okay,” Kurt said, readjusting his collar (and his hair) and trying to ignore the disgusting-yet-sadly-familiar scent of garbage that would probably linger on his clothes for the rest of the day, “this is not going to work for m-”
“Shut up! She’ll hear us.”
Sure enough, the door to the Chemistry lab began to swing open. Kurt ducked further behind the trash can (scooting much closer to Quinn than he would have liked-God, why couldn’t he have done this with someone like Finn?) at the first sight of blonde hair and Cheerios-Red clothing.
“Hey, guys.” Brittany casually leaned over the trash can to greet the two teenagers crouching in the corner like a couple of idiots. “Are we hiding from something?”
Well, they were caught red-handed. “Shit,” Quinn mumbled, followed seconds later by, “Sorry, Lord.”
Kurt stood as gracefully as possible, followed by the ex-head-Cheerio, and said, “No. Actually, we wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay. What?” Apparently, that was all the explanation Brittany needed.
“Is it true that you got accepted to Harvard?”
“Yeah. Why?” Brittany fiddled with her hair. Kurt gaped.
“Um, what are you thinking of majoring in?” Quinn cut in, since the boy beside her didn’t seem to be able to speak.
“Chemistry, probably.” Brittany pointed to the door of the Chem lab, as if offering an explanation. “It’s kinda fun. I like balancing equations and stuff. It reminds me of trading Halloween candy with Santana, you know?”
Quinn, apparently, did not know. Neither did Kurt, for that matter. They both just kind of sort of stood there and stared at the Cheerio for several minutes, trying to think of a proper response, when God help them all Santana showed up.
“Hey, babe,” she said, linking her arm with Brittany’s. “You wanna come help me with my science homework?” Her voice dropped slightly, “I have an Anatomy test tomorrow.”
“But, I’m not very good at, like, Biology-stuff,” Brittany protested, frowning, as Santana led her by the arm to the closest unoccupied classroom. A moment later, Brittany’s voice briefly rose above the clamor of the hallway: “Oh! You mean like sex!”
Quinn looked at Kurt.
Kurt looked at Quinn.
A moment of mutual understanding passed between them. They spoke simultaneously, “What the hell?”
---
But, seriously, Rachel is totally not a nosy person for still thinking about this whole Brittany-Harvard thing. Maybe everybody else stopped caring around lunchtime when the word got out that some sophomore girl had gotten pregnant (again), but Rachel was a really good friend, and she wanted to make sure that everything was okay for Brittany.
So, that’s why she approached the girl during Glee practice, despite the unofficial rule to never bother Brittany when she’s cuddling with Santana on the bleachers because seriously Santana will cut someone. Because she cares. And she isn’t nosy.
“So, Brittany,” Rachel hesitated, because Santana was giving her this look, like she’d better hurry the hell up, and Brittany was fiddling with a piece of paper and looking upset at the interruption, “are you going to go to Harvard?”
“Um,” Brittany carefully folded the corners of the paper in, and now the Harvard logo was prominent on the front of Brittany’s apparent-origami-experiment. “I don’t think so. There!” She held up the paper, now in the crude shape of a pirate hat. Smiling, she set the hat on Santana’s head (Santana wrinkled her nose but straightened the hat anyway). “I mean, like, Chem is fun and stuff, but I really want to dance.”
She leaned her head into the crook of Santana’s neck. “Plus, I think I want to move to California.”
Thank you for reading!
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Length: 1764
Spoilers: None, unless you search really hard.
Summary: From the glee_fluff_meme. Prompt: Brittany gets into like Harvard or something (even if its just the perfoming arts or dance program) and the Glee gang are shocked, except Santana, she's just proud of her bb.
AN: It got a little out of control. My apologies.
Will Schuester casually flipped through the pile of various college acceptance and rejection letters on his desk. He wasn’t… nosy, or anything-he just cared about these kids and their futures. Besides, as the school’s newest and only college counselor (what? Terri wanted a Jacuzzi and money was hard to come by), it was his job to care. Therefore, this wasn’t even a little nosy. Not even a little.
He was ripped from his thoughts, however, upon noticing a very familiar, yet unexpected, college logo.
When he read the student name on the envelope, he nearly fell out of his swivel chair. Apparently, Brittany (who had an inexplicable ink stain following her first name) had received a letter from Harvard. And, if he were to judge by the bulk of the envelope, they had more to say to her than just “you’re rejected.”
He contemplated opening the letter for several minutes. Not because he was nosy; because he cared about his students. After all, Brittany would never have to know. He could reseal it. But… apparently the tall, blonde Cheerio was some sort of secret super-genius. She’d figure everything out and have him fired… or something.
He rubbed his hand across his face, trying to ward off an impending headache, and buried the all-too-tempting letter at the bottom of the stack.
---
Throughout the year, it had become a sort of Glee tradition (or ‘Gleedition,’ as only Rachel called it) to open up college letters during Glee practice (and very often when Mr. Schuester was trying to teach them something). The senior Gleeks all had this sort of weirdly tight bond with one another-the kind of bond where they just knew how to deal with all their crazy personal drama. Like, that time when Rachel got rejected by Juilliard and she acted like some indignant diva-master from the pits of thespian hell. Or, like that other time just a week later when Rachel got accepted to some tiny college in Manhattan with an arguably awesomer theatrical department than that of Julliard and she acted all proud and superior for the next day and a half. Or, that other time when Rachel was told she wasn’t allowed to give her senior speech in the form of a song and she tried to start a school-wide rebellion against Figgins. (If anyone is noticing at this point that all of the personal drama seems to be coming from one person, they would be absolutely right.) But, really, the Glee kids were there for one another.
So, when the Glee director/Spanish teacher/college counselor/occasional-assistant-guidance-counselor passed out the latest batch of letters along with the sheet music to ‘Pokerface’ (Rachel huffed), the seniors all pulled their chairs together in a circle, away from the younger members (“noobs”) without a word in order to compare results.
“Fuck yeah! UCLA!” Santana actually fist-pumped like a complete nerd and then proceeded to high-five the other seniors (Brittany went last, grabbing onto her hand and pulling it to her lap excitedly) while Puck sang ‘Beverly Hills’ off-key in the background. Mr. Schue didn’t even lecture her on appropriate language-just shot her one of his usual upset-but-helpless looks.
---
It wasn’t that Rachel was nosy or anything… she just liked to know the details of other people’s lives so that she would know when they needed her expert interference. So, that’s why she’d noticed that Brittany never really liked to share her plans for college with the rest of them.
At first (although she kind of hated to admit it), Rachel had just assumed it was because there wasn’t any good news to share. Because, yeah, Brittany is probably the nicest person alive, but… she’s just not… well. She tried to write with the wrong end of the pen for like five minutes last week in English class. That’s all Rachel will say.
So, because Rachel is just a little bit nosy, when she saw Brittany looking bored and tearing at the corners of a thick envelope before Glee practice one day, she just had to ask.
“So. Brittany.” Rachel would have described her tone as cool, casual, and confident. Anyone else would probably have described it as just mildly unnerving. “What’s that?”
The blonde looked down, as if she had, in fact, forgotten what was in her hands. “A letter.”
Rachel sometimes wanted to strangle really loved Brittany. “From whom?”
“Um,” Brittany looked down again. “Harvard,” she read.
Rachel frowned and-okay, so this probably made her a little more than a little nosy-leaned in to look at the letter herself. Sure enough, there was Harvard’s logo. And sure enough, there was Brittany’s name. “Wow. So, you’re-” the first thing Rachel wanted to say was ‘smart,’ but that would be horrible, so she instead finished “-going to Harvard.”
Brittany hesitated. (She wasn’t looking down anymore, just staring into space.) “I’unno.”
“Um. Cool. Well, I have to go do something.” And Rachel left, without any further explanation, even though there was only ten minutes until practice started and she usually spent that long just warming up her chest voice.
---
Of course, Rachel texted Quinn, and Quinn texted Everybody, and by the next day of school, rumors were spreading like a wildfire on Vitamin D. (By the time the word got to Santana Lopez, it had been decided that Brittany was having an affair with the Dean of Admissions. The freshman that told her that got a face full of toilet water.)
Of course, Rachel and the Gleeks (minus Santana, who was running damage control on the rumor that Brittany’s father was actually the owner of Harvard) had begun to follow the blonde around to her classes and watch for any secret sign of brilliance they had previously missed.
They were all surprised (and, yeah, just a little guilty) when the third period bell rang and Brittany headed toward the classroom for AP Chemistry.
---
Quinn dialed the familiar number into her cell phone and, without waiting for any sort of greeting, began to speak, “Team Glamour to North Star. Repeat, Team Glamour to North Star.”
“Ten-four,” Rachel responded.
“Give me the coordinates on the subject… um… Golden Mallard.”
“I made a copy of her schedule. She should be in the Chem lab, now.”
“Cool. Er, ten-four.”
“Guys, guys!” Kurt interrupted, speaking into his glittery iPhone a foot away from Quinn, “This is ridiculous. Can’t we just ask her in person?”
Kurt, of course, was simultaneously ‘shush’ed by both Rachel and Quinn. (“How did I get roped into this?” he asked no one in particular.)
“So, commence with plan ‘Borrow-Brittany’s-acceptance-letter-and-see-if-it-is-the-Real-Deal-or-not’ as discussed?” Quinn continued.
“Ten-four.”
“Cool.”
“Good. North Star, out.”
Kurt smirked at this, “Prada Bag, way out.”
“See you later, Rach.” (Quinn wasn’t very good at the whole ‘spy’ thing.)
---
“Quick! She’s coming! Get down,” Quinn hissed, and before Kurt could say a word of protest, she had grabbed onto the collar of his Armani coat and yanked him behind the nearest trashcan.
“Okay,” Kurt said, readjusting his collar (and his hair) and trying to ignore the disgusting-yet-sadly-familiar scent of garbage that would probably linger on his clothes for the rest of the day, “this is not going to work for m-”
“Shut up! She’ll hear us.”
Sure enough, the door to the Chemistry lab began to swing open. Kurt ducked further behind the trash can (scooting much closer to Quinn than he would have liked-God, why couldn’t he have done this with someone like Finn?) at the first sight of blonde hair and Cheerios-Red clothing.
“Hey, guys.” Brittany casually leaned over the trash can to greet the two teenagers crouching in the corner like a couple of idiots. “Are we hiding from something?”
Well, they were caught red-handed. “Shit,” Quinn mumbled, followed seconds later by, “Sorry, Lord.”
Kurt stood as gracefully as possible, followed by the ex-head-Cheerio, and said, “No. Actually, we wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay. What?” Apparently, that was all the explanation Brittany needed.
“Is it true that you got accepted to Harvard?”
“Yeah. Why?” Brittany fiddled with her hair. Kurt gaped.
“Um, what are you thinking of majoring in?” Quinn cut in, since the boy beside her didn’t seem to be able to speak.
“Chemistry, probably.” Brittany pointed to the door of the Chem lab, as if offering an explanation. “It’s kinda fun. I like balancing equations and stuff. It reminds me of trading Halloween candy with Santana, you know?”
Quinn, apparently, did not know. Neither did Kurt, for that matter. They both just kind of sort of stood there and stared at the Cheerio for several minutes, trying to think of a proper response, when God help them all Santana showed up.
“Hey, babe,” she said, linking her arm with Brittany’s. “You wanna come help me with my science homework?” Her voice dropped slightly, “I have an Anatomy test tomorrow.”
“But, I’m not very good at, like, Biology-stuff,” Brittany protested, frowning, as Santana led her by the arm to the closest unoccupied classroom. A moment later, Brittany’s voice briefly rose above the clamor of the hallway: “Oh! You mean like sex!”
Quinn looked at Kurt.
Kurt looked at Quinn.
A moment of mutual understanding passed between them. They spoke simultaneously, “What the hell?”
---
But, seriously, Rachel is totally not a nosy person for still thinking about this whole Brittany-Harvard thing. Maybe everybody else stopped caring around lunchtime when the word got out that some sophomore girl had gotten pregnant (again), but Rachel was a really good friend, and she wanted to make sure that everything was okay for Brittany.
So, that’s why she approached the girl during Glee practice, despite the unofficial rule to never bother Brittany when she’s cuddling with Santana on the bleachers because seriously Santana will cut someone. Because she cares. And she isn’t nosy.
“So, Brittany,” Rachel hesitated, because Santana was giving her this look, like she’d better hurry the hell up, and Brittany was fiddling with a piece of paper and looking upset at the interruption, “are you going to go to Harvard?”
“Um,” Brittany carefully folded the corners of the paper in, and now the Harvard logo was prominent on the front of Brittany’s apparent-origami-experiment. “I don’t think so. There!” She held up the paper, now in the crude shape of a pirate hat. Smiling, she set the hat on Santana’s head (Santana wrinkled her nose but straightened the hat anyway). “I mean, like, Chem is fun and stuff, but I really want to dance.”
She leaned her head into the crook of Santana’s neck. “Plus, I think I want to move to California.”
Thank you for reading!