Sleepovers: A Secret History (3/?)
Title: Sleepovers: A Secret History (3/?)
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: PG-13 for this installment, series will probably turn out to be (at least) strong R.
Summary: Brittany and Santana are in 9th grade. Cheerios tryouts, high school party, and of course, the sleepover that follows.
Spoilers: None.
Author's Note: Its been a while since I first posted this story here, but I have been working on it, and I'm still going forward with the concept. So more sleepovers to come. ;)
(also posted at fanfiction.net under my other screenname - shamelsshussy)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3 (part 1)
9th Grade, December
“Como te llamas?”
Brittany squinted at the page. Letters were hard enough in English.
She picked up a pencil, and hesitantly filled in her name. It was the right answer, but it was entirely a guess, based on the fact that this blank space was at the top of the page.
“Donde vives?”
Brittany put her pencil down.
She scanned the rest of the worksheet, then turned it over and tried to read the questions on the back too. She didn’t find one that she could answer.
She pushed her chair a little further back from the desk, and crossed her legs on the seat. She turned the page back over and tried again.
“Que pides a Santa Claus por la Navidad?”
Brittany was sure about the Santa Claus part at least. She leaned over the desk and spent some time carefully drawing a Santa in the margin of the page. Quinn had showed her how to do a good one, but the eyes came out a little evil anyway.
Brittany shoved the paper away and stood up. She slid the elastic band out of her hair and teased her braid loose with her fingers. Her hair fell to her shoulders in blonde waves, still a little damp.
The bedroom door was ajar, but her mother knocked softly before pushing it open further.
“How’s the homework coming sweetie?”
“Math was ok. But Spanish…”
It was rare to see a scowl that dark on Brittany’s face. Anna moved closer and took a look at the work sheet on Brittany’s desk. She could make out some of it, but not much more than Brittany. She had studied German in college.
“Maybe Santana can help you...”
Brittany shrugged. Santana actually took French. Even when her parents spoke to her in Spanish, she always answered in English. But she still was better at Spanish than almost everyone in school. If Brittany asked nice enough, she’d probably do the homework in 2 minutes flat.
“Daddy’s getting Chrissy into her pjs. I’m going to finish getting ready. We’re leaving in about 20 minutes.”
Brittany glanced at the digital clock by her bed. It was 7:15.
Anna turned and wrapped an arm around her daughter.
“You’re doing a good job in school this year Brittany. Daddy and I are very proud of your grades this term.”
Bs and Cs were a big improvement from the Ds in middle school. It took a lot of work from both of her parents and even some of her friends but strategies like color-coded notes and graphic organizers seemed to be helping Brittany a lot.
“You and I can double check the math tomorrow ok?”
Brittany nodded glumly into her mother’s shoulder. She knew there would be mistakes, and hours of correcting them. She understood more about her trouble in school now, but it still sucked. Santana and Quinn and everyone would just dash off their assignments the night before they had to head back to school, but here she had to start her winter break homework the day after Christmas.
But her mother smelled nice, like the fancy new perfume Brittany and Chrissy had helped their dad pick out at the mall. Brittany relaxed into her hug and ended up smiling.
When her mother had gone, Brittany wandered over to the window. She watched a shiny red pickup truck pull up to the curb. She could make out Santana’s dark hair through the passenger window.
Brittany had been in that truck last weekend. She wondered what Santana thought about the way John’s lips tasted like menthol cigarettes, and if the door handle would leave the same kind of bruise on Santana’s back.
--
The cab of the truck was chilly. John had the driver’s side window down and Nickleback blaring on the stereo. On the ride over from the movie theater, he hadn’t said a word, just kept his hand on Santana’s thigh and drove. Santana had let the noise wash over her, pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, leaned her head back, ignored his clammy grip.
But now John was leaning closer, his cigarette smell crawling onto Santana’s hair and clothes.
Santana swallowed, sat up and kissed back. She didn’t say anything when his hand crept higher on her thigh, she didn’t stop him from untying the belt of her coat and reaching up with his other hand to palm her breast through her cashmere sweater.
“You’re soft.” He mumbled against her lips, and pushed hard into her mouth with his tongue.
Santana had kissed enough by now to know John wasn’t a great kisser, or even a very good one. But he was quarterback, and handsome, and going to Ohio State next year on a partial football scholarship.
He’d been working his way through the new girls on Cheerios since October. Santana was one of the last girls he asked out, she guessed because she was small and flat-chested and the opposite of blonde. That had made her angry and she had been determined to hold his attention for longer than anyone else had, to prove him wrong. Which is why she had snuggled up during the movie and after a little making out, reached down and stroked him through his jeans until he gasped.
Santana got tired of listening to them talk, but it was kinda fun, watching boys squirm.
After a few minutes of that he had to go to the bathroom to clean up.
When he slipped back into his seat, John had taken took a long look at Santana. This date was certainly different than most of the others he had had with the freshman girls. Most of them had been like Quinn, giggly and teasing, but not willing to do much more than hold hands. Brittany had been willing, but easily distracted by the movie she had chosen, some animated nonsense about a dog with superpowers. He studied Santana in the flickering light from the screen, then leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You a virgin?”
She had nodded, sipping her diet coke.
“Well you sure as fuck don’t act like one.”
Now, in the truck, he was leaning over her again. “My parents are heading out of town for New Year’s…”
Santana pretended this was news to her.
“…I’ll have the house. You should come over.” John grinned, thinking he sounded studly.
It was what she had been expecting, but still, her throat went dry. She pressed her back against the door, and felt the handle dig into her spine.
“Yeah…ok. Yeah.”
“Cool.” John leaned back and unwrapped a stick of Big Red gum. He chewed, loudly. “I’ll text you.”
--
“Santana’s here, Santana’s here!”
Chrissy had watched from her bedroom window as Santana slid out of the truck’s passenger seat and headed up the walkway. Before Santana had even reached the door, Chrissy had come barreling down the stairs, wearing only the bottom half of her pajamas, blonde hair still wet from her bath.
Tom swallowed a swear and chased after his daughter, her pajama top in one hand, a hairbrush in the other.
Chrissy flung the door wide before Santana had a chance to knock.
“Hi! Hi! You have to see what Santa brought me!” Chrissy reached for Santana’s hand and tugged.
Santana grinned and let herself be pulled inside. Behind Chrissy, she could see Tom making his way down the stairs two at a time, his tie askew, stocking feet slipping on the smooth wood. He met Santana’s eyes, smiled, waved the tiny t-shirt in his hand and mouthed “Help me.”
Santana closed the door behind her and took off her coat. Immediately, the warmth of the house settled around her, driving the chill of John’s truck from her skin.
Chrissy was hopping from foot to foot, eluding Tom’s attempts to get the shirt over her head.
“C’mon, c’mon! Come see my toys!”
“OK, but only after you put your shirt on.”
Chrissy stopped jumping, plucked the shirt from her dad’s hands and wriggled into it in seconds.
“And brush your hair.”
Chrissy rolled her eyes, but she stayed still, and motioned for her dad to brush.
“Actually, can you help her out with that Santana?” Tom held the brush out and Santana took it. “I have to finish getting ready or Anna’s gonna...”
“I’m gonna what?”
Tom turned toward his wife’s voice to answer. At the sight of her, his witty retort died on his lips.
She was wearing a rather simple cocktail dress, midnight blue, knee length. But the dress was fitted, the fabric hugging every curve, revealing that even after two kids, she still had a dancer’s lithe body. The short sleeves of the dress were off-the-shoulder, the neckline just below her clavicle. Tom’s eye’s lingered on the delicate curve of his wife’s neck and a soft “wow” tumbled out of his mouth.
Santana followed his gaze. Her first thought was that Puck, with his MILF fixation, would fucking die if he saw Brittany’s mom looking like this. Her second thought was that even though Anna’s hair was honey-brown instead of blonde and her eyes a darker blue, she looked an awful lot like Brittany. A blush sprang to Santana’s cheeks and she bit her bottom lip before she could say anything.
Chrissy’s face lit up when she saw her mother. She put two fingers in her mouth and wolf whistled.
Anna laughed and came the rest of the way down the stairs.
“Chrissy, who taught you that? “
“Uncle Teddy. He said it's the international sign for pretty ladies.”
“Ignore everything your uncle says.” Anna turned to Santana. “Hey sweetie. Merry day-after-Christmas!” She took Santana’s coat and pulled her into a hug.
Santana accepted the hug awkwardly, not sure where to put her hands, the flush in her cheeks deepening.
“Um. Merry Christmas.”
Chrissy was tugging at the pocket of Santana’s jeans. “C’mon, brush my hair so we can play.”
Anna went to hang up Santana’s coat in the hall closet. “Don’t be so impatient Chrissy,” she called over her shoulder. “Santana’s going to be here with you all night. You’ll have plenty of time to play.”
But Santana let Chrissy lead her to the couch, and started working through the snarls in her hair.
Tom snuck up behind his wife, dropped a kiss on her shoulder and hurried off to finish dressing.
Anna joined Chrissy and Santana in the living room. “How are your parents Santana? You have a nice holiday?”
Santana thought about the quiet Christmas morning at her house yesterday. Her dad had built a fire in the fireplace. After they had eaten the unnecessarily complicated breakfast that her mom made, she and her parents had exchanged gifts. Then, they had sat around the fire, sipping second cups of coffee and messing around with their new phones and laptops. It had been cozy, in a way. But in another way, it was just boring.
“Yeah. Yes. We had a nice time.”
“Is J.P. home?”
“He’s at his mom’s house for Christmas. I think he’ll come see us after New Year’s. Before he goes back to school. “
Santana wished her half-brother had come for Christmas. J.P. was loud and funny and would play the guitar while she sang. When he was around, the house wasn’t so deadly quiet and even their dad cracked a few smiles. But now that he was almost done with college, he visited a lot less often than he used to.
“Well, bring him by when he comes. Its fun for Tom to play the guitar with someone as good as J.P. is.” Anna leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Plus, I think Brittany has a little crush on him.”
“Uh...sure. Maybe. I’ll try.” Brittany did have a crush on J.P., more than a little. Santana thought it was gross, bordering on incestuous. She had given up trying to explain the word “incestuous” to Brittany, but she still didn’t love the idea of them all hanging out together.
Santana ducked her head and concentrated on working gently through a tangle in Chrissy’s hair.
“Let me get Brittany, and I’ll show you everything you need to know for tonight.”
Anna walked back over to the foot of the stairs.
“Brit...”, she started to call, but Brittany appeared at the top of the stairs before she could finish. “Oh. There you are.”
“I was changing.”
Brittany had traded her sweats and t-shirt for one of the new outfits that Santa had brought - black skinny jeans, and a soft, slouchy grey sweater with thin horizontal black stripes. Her feet were bare, but her toes sparkled with a coat of her new silver glitter nail polish.
Santana had finished brushing Chrissy’s hair and was messing around, trying to do a French braid when Brittany and Anna returned to the living room.
“Hey.”
Santana looked up and immediately broke into a smile. “Are those the new jeans? You look awesome.”
Brittany nodded and bounced over to Santana. She reached out to touch the silver pendant around Santana’s neck “Is that the necklace your dad gave you?”
Chrissy could see where this conversation was headed, flopped back against the couch and rolled her eyes, “Nooooo…You said we could play.”
“Hang on a second everyone.” Anna interrupted. “Chris, if you want to go play, go ahead, but I have to talk to Brittany and Santana.”
“No, I’ll wait.” Chrissy climbed into Santana’s lap and Brittany joined them on the sofa. All three of them looked at Anna expectantly.
“Ok. Here’s the invitation for the party where Daddy and I will be.” She handed it to Brittany, who handed it to Santana.
“The number and address are on there, and of course we’ll have our cell phones on. It's almost an hour drive though, so if it's a real emergency, call 911 and then call a neighbor. Carole Hudson said she’d be home tonight if you need anything. “
“Don’t worry mom.” Chrissy piped up. “Britty and San are like, grown up now. They can take care of me.”
Santana squeezed Chrissy tight. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Anna studied the girls. Brittany did look older in her new clothes, her legs impossibly long. And Santana had a decidedly un-little-girl-like hickey that she was trying to hide under her long hair.
“I’m sure you can all take good care of each other.” Anna looked toward the stairs. “Where is your…”
On cue, Tom’s voice floated down from upstairs. “I’m coming babe. I swear.”
Anna went to the hall closet to get their coats.
“Did you eat Santana?” she called from the hallway.
“Yeah.” She had poked at a salad while John scarfed a burger before the movie.
“Well, there’s plenty of dessert when you girls want it.”
Anna came back, her coat buttoned, Tom’s slung over her arm.
“Chrissy, you listen to Brittany and Santana.”
“Yeah Chis, we’re the anomalies tonight.”
Everyone in the room knew Brittany meant authorities, so no one corrected her.
“When they say it’s bedtime, it’s bedtime.”
Chrissy nodded at her mother, but the hard set of her mouth gave Santana the suspicion that she and Brittany were in for some trouble later on.
Tom came down he stairs and this time his shoes were on, his shirt tucked in, his tie tied, his jacket buttoned.
“Ready?”
“Am I ready?” Anna swatted at his arm and handed him his coat.
“Come kiss us goodbye.”
Chrissy slid off Santana’s lap and ran to her father. He picked her up in a fierce hug, and she squirmed around in his arms so she could lean over and kiss her mother.
Brittany hugged her mother, stood on tiptoe to reach her father’s cheek.
Santana stayed on the couch, smoothed her skirt down over her thighs.
“Group hug!”
Santana looked up and saw Brittany beckoning.
She shifted uncomfortably. There was a lot less hugging at her house.
“C’mon San.”
“C’mon San.” Chrissy echoed.
“C’mon San.” Anna and Tom chorused.
Santana could help grinning then. She crossed the room and let Brittany pull her into the family hug. She felt Brittany’s soft sweater against her check, smelled Anna’s perfume and lipstick, felt Tom’s hand mussing her hair, Chrissy’s foot digging into her ribs.
“Bye sweeties.”
“Bye Mama, bye Daddy.”
“Be good. Be careful. Lock up!”
“Bye!”
“Bye!”
Brittany locked the door and Santana double checked it. Everything was suddenly quiet and still.
Chrissy grabbed Brittany’s hand with her left and Santana’s with her right and pulled them toward the playroom. “You have to play with me now.”
**
An hour later, the playroom was a mess, and Chrissy was deliriously happy. They had played Candy Land, built layer cakes out of Play Doh, and set up the new Cris-Cross-Crash track for Chrissy’s Matchbox cars.
Santana sent one car and then another flying around the track and waited for the crash. She looked quickly over at Brittany, who was sitting at the little playroom table, on a chair that was much too small.
“I can’t lie, this is awesome.”
Brittany nodded, but didn’t look up, intent on the page she was working on in Chrissy’s new Disney Princess coloring book.
The cars went smash and Chrissy collapsed into giggles.
“Again!”
“Hell yeah!”
“Santana!”
“I mean, heck yeah.”
Brittany looked up at the clock. It was almost 9. “Maybe it’s bedtime soon Chris.”
“Maybe it’s not Britty.”
Santana stayed out of it and sent the cars racing again.
“Anyway, Mama said we could have dessert.”
“Ok. I’ll finish this. Then dessert. Then bedtime.”
The cars smashed again, and Chrissy and Santana high fived.
While Santana set it up again, Chrissy got up and went to Brittany, slung an arm over her shoulder.
“You’re good at coloring.”
She was good at coloring. She had chosen a picture of Belle and the Beast. Belle’s dress and the Beast’s fur were carefully shaded in, using multiple crayon colors to give depth and warmth to the picture.
“Give it to Santana.”
“I was gonna. Can I tear this out?”
Chrissy nodded.
Brittany carefully tore the page from the coloring book, trying hard not to leave any ragged edges.
She picked up a purple crayon and wrote “For San. Cause you act growly but your not. ♥ B.
“Put me too.”
“You do it.” Brittany handed her sister the crayon and Chrissy added a shaky “C” next to Brittany’s B.
“Santana!”
Santana looked up from the toy cars and took the drawing Chrissy was holding out to her.
“Awww. Thank you Chrissy.”
Santana got to her knees and drew Chrissy into a hug. Chrissy plopped a sloppy, wet kiss on Santana’s check. Santana blew a raspberry into the little girl’s neck, and Chrissy squirmed and shrieked with laughter.
“Britty too. Cause she colored it.”
Santana made her way over to Brittany, still on her knees. “Thank you Brittany.” She placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. But Brittany lunged and blew a raspberry on Santana’s neck, just where John had left a bite mark earlier that afternoon.
Santana’s hair slid over Brittany’s cheek, brushed at the corners of her mouth. Santana smelled only a little like John’s cigarettes now. Mostly, Brittany smelled the candy cane Santana had grabbed off the Christmas tree and crunched on while they played Candy Land.
Santana felt the buzz of Brittany’s lips on her skin. It wasn’t exactly a new sensation, but her response was stronger than usual. Instead of a lively, warm feeling, Brittany being so close made her felt tense, hot.
Brittany felt Santana stiffen and looked at her, a question in her eyes. But Santana didn’t meet her gaze.
She stood up and swung Chrissy up into her arms. “C’mon, lets have dessert.”
Santana turned back to the Matchbox cars. “I’m gonna do one more crash.”
--
It was three more crashes before Santana joined them in the kitchen. They were sitting at the table, Brittany on one of the long sides, Chrissy in her dad’s usual place at the head. Brittany had cut herself a slice of leftover pumpkin pie, and piled a scoop of vanilla ice cream and some homemade whipped cream on top of it, dusted it with cinnamon because she liked to make her food look pretty. Chrissy had a plate full of different kinds of cookies. She was alternating bites between each one, a big grin on her face.
Santana sat next to Brittany, leaned over and slid the spoon from her hand. She helped herself to a bite of Brittany’s dessert.
Brittany let her, glad to see that whatever had been bothering Santana in the playroom had passed.
“You want me to make you one?”
“Nope.” Santana kept eating from Brittany’s plate.
“Well, get a spoon then.”
“Nope.” Santana carefully arranged the ratios of pie, ice cream and whipped cream into a perfect bite, then popped it in her mouth.
Brittany bumped Santana with her shoulder and grabbed her spoon back.
“How was your date?”
Santana shrugged and reached for the spoon again. But Brittany was too fast for her. So she just stuck her finger in the whipped cream, licked it off.
“What do you do on a date?” Chrissy carefully separated the sides of a mini Lindzer tart and licked the jelly.
“You know what a date is Chrissy. You go somewhere fun with a guy. The movies or mini golf. You know.”
“And the guy has to pay for everything” Santana added. She stuck her finger in the whipped cream again and this time, swiped it onto the tip of Brittany’s nose.
Brittany stuck her tongue out at Santana and got up to get a napkin.
Santana snatched up the spoon and took a big bite of pie.
“I know that. But what do you do? Really?” Chrissy kicked her legs for emphasis, and accidentally connected with Santana’s leg.
“Ow, Chris. “ Santana put the spoon down and bent to rub her shin.
Brittany slid back into her seat and reclaimed her spoon. “You just hang out. Talk. Get food.”
Chrissy scowled and bit the head off a gingerbread man. “But that’s just regular stuff.”
“Yeah, but if you do it with someone you really like, it’s…different.”
“So it’s only really a date if you really like the person?”
“Right.” Brittany saved Santana the last bite and handed over the spoon.
Santana didn’t think so, at all. She and John had run into Morgan and Nate at the movie theater. Morgan didn’t look like she really liked Nate. In fact, she’d looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. Even while they talked, she kept texting, and Santana knew she had been texting Sash.
But she didn’t mention it. Chrissy would just have more questions.
“What about kissing?”
“What about it?”
“Do you have to do kissing for it to be a date?”
“Yeah.” Brittany looked at Santana for confirmation. “Right?”
“Definitely.” Santana did not count Quinn and Finn’s little hand holding expeditions as dates.
Santana got up and took the spoon and plate to the sink. She rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher.
Brittany handed Chrissy a napkin. “It’s 9:30. Way past your bedtime.”
“I know.” Chrissy grinned and slid off the chair. “Let’s do a pillow fort.”
Santana watched her run off toward the living room. “She kinda has good ideas.”
Brittany tossed the remnants of Chrissy’s cookies in the trash.
“How was it really?” Brittany knew how long Santana had been waiting for her chance with John.
“We hooked up. At the movies.”
“Made out, or like, hooked up-hooked up?”
“Hooked up.” A sly smile crept onto Santana’s face. “He was totally into it.
“You’re bad.”
“Kinda good actually. He invited me over next weekend, when his parents are away.”
Brittany slid Chrissy’s plate into the dishwasher and contemplated the implications of Santana’s statement.
Brittany had trouble with reading and Brittany had trouble with math, but Brittany didn’t have trouble with people. People liked her. They liked her shiny hair and her pretty eyes and the easy way she did no-hands cartwheels on the grass at lunchtime. And she liked most people. In fact, thus far in her high school career, she had gotten a reputation as a girl from whom it was easy to get a date, even easier to get a kiss. Brittany made out with the boys who asked because she liked kissing, liked being close to people and learning about their bodies. It was a much easier way for her to get to know people than talking, when her words came out wrong and the confused looks or snickers that came back her way made her mind rush and her ears burn.
Making out had taught her a lot about the boys she knew. Not all of their bodies matched the way they talked and acted at school or at parties. She had learned that Harris was a braggart but unimaginative, that Finn’s body was grown but his mind was boyish, that Mike Chang was bad at math like her, but a genius at the geometries of the body. Making out had taught her that Noah was really a little sad and lonely, the way he always reached out first and held on longer.
Last week, after their movie date, John had driven them to the empty middle school parking lot and Brittany had happily submitted to his kisses in his truck. But up close, John’s handsome face revealed hard angles. He pretended to be playing, but he bit too hard and pushed against her until could hardly breathe. She had squirmed and tried to twist away and been glad when a teacher working late had shooed them out of the parking lot and John had brought her home. She had learned that John thought freshman girls were easy to bend, and fun to try to break.
Brittany never mentioned any of these conclusions. People were made of contradictory, complicated ideas, and she didn’t know the words and she didn’t see the point. If she could find the people who were fun and tasty, she could avoid the ones who were grasping and mean, then that was enough, for 9th grade at least.
But Santana, for all her scheming and strategy, didn’t think about other people’s motives nearly enough.
It wasn’t easy to say it. Santana was always convinced that her ideas were the best ones, used to her daddy’s approval and her mother’s indifference and Brittany’s undying affection. She didn’t accept help, and she didn’t like commentary. Brittany knew that suggesting Santana’s idea might be a bad one could unleash a storm that would put an end to their cozy evening.
Still, Brittany thought, John had squeezed her way too hard.
“San. Maybe you shouldn’t…”
She was interrupted by a loud thump from the living room.
Brittany’s eyes went wide. “Chrissy?” She was all the way across the kitchen in two big strides. “Chris?”
Chrissy’s voice came back to them, subdued but unharmed. “I’m ok.”
Brittany was in the living room in seconds, Santana right behind her.
Chrissy was fine, standing in front of piles of cushions that had been taken from the couch and loveseat. The thump had clearly come from the ottoman, which was lying on its side, one of its little feet missing.
Chrissy came over and leaned against Brittany, looked up at her. “I’m sorry.” She rubbed her eyes. “It was slippy.”
Brittany rubbed her sister’s back, saw her stifle a yawn. She looked at the missing foot on the ottoman and bit her lip.
But Santana was already down on the floor, searching under the coffee table for the missing foot.
“Got it.”
She studied the foot and then scooted over to see how it had attached to the ottoman.
“Oh, we can just screw this back on. It might be wobbly but…”
Santana knelt, bent over the ottoman to reattach the piece. Brittany knelt behind her and threw her arms around her.
“You’re the best.”
“I know.”
Brittany laughed and squeezed harder, snuggling against Santana’s cashmere sweater.
“You’re soft.”
Santana remembered John’s voice saying the exact same thing a few hours ago.
Brittany didn’t move and Santana didn’t want her to.
“Can you guys stop cuddling and do the fort?” Chrissy had climbed back into the pile of pillows and was trying to get one wall to stay up.
Brittany squeezed Santana one more time, then got up and went to help Chrissy. Santana finished screwing in the foot of the ottoman and set it on its side, pushed it over to serve as a support for the left wall of the fort. Brittany helped Chrissy move the couch cushions into a more stable arrangement on the right side.
“Let’s use the coffee table for like, the door. It’ll hold up the sides, and help make a roof too.”
Chrissy watched Santana execute her plan, her eyes shining with unabashed admiration.
Santana beamed. Recognition was recognition, regardless of the age of the person who acknowledged she was awesome.
Brittany knew a thing or two about pillow forts herself. “We need blankets for a roof.”
“I’ll get ‘em!”
“Ok Chris. You can get the sheets and quilts from my room and yours too. But be careful ok?”
Chrissy skipped off up the stairs. Within a few minutes she was coming back down the stairs with Brittany’s bedding. She struggled and swayed beneath the weight.
“Need some help?” Santana asked.
“No.”
Santana went over and took the heaviest quilt off the pile anyway.
“I said NO.” Chrissy insisted.
Brittany chided her sister from inside the walls of the fort. “Don’t be mean just ‘cause you’re tired.”
“Am not.”
But she couldn’t hold back the yawn that came next.
Before Brittany could say anything else, Chrissy darted back upstairs for more blankets.
For a few minutes Brittany and Santana worked hard on the finishing touches of the fort, reinforcing walls, trying to create the largest possible square footage that was stable. Brittany got two of the small playroom chairs and placed them back to back on top of the coffee table. When she draped blankets over them, it created a tent-like effect for the roof.
“I approve.” Santana said, clapping her hands softly.
“Chrissy doesn’t even need to bring more sheets and stuff.”
“Yeah, where is she anyway?”
Brittany went up to check and found Chrissy in the hall outside her bedroom, curled up on a pile of blankets.
She knelt beside her. “Hey Chris,” she whispered softly. “Let’s get you in bed.”
Chrissy opened her eyes. “I'm coming down.”
“Ok sleepy.”
“Its just cozy.”
“I know.” Brittany stayed beside her, stroking her back in small, soothing circles.
Chrissy’s eyelids slowly lowered, and Brittany gathered her up, blankets and all, and carried her down the hall to her own room. She placed her on the bed, still in the nest of blankets.
Brittany was trying to tiptoe out when Chrissy’s eyes fluttered open again “The fort.” She struggled to get up.
“We’ll leave it up. We can play tomorrow.”
Chrissy snuggled deeper into the blankets. “Promise?”
“Pinky promise.” Brittany locked her pinky with Chrissy’s smaller one and Chrissy relaxed into sleep, knowing Brittany would never break a promise like that.
Brittany waited a few more minutes, until she was sure her sister was asleep.
Back in the living room, Santana had finished the roof and crawled into the fort. She heard Brittany on the stairs and poked her head out.
“Where’s Chris?”
“She passed out.”
Santana’s face fell.
“Oh. I guess we should…”
Santana didn’t really want to say it. “…put this back.”
“I told her we’d leave it up for tomorrow.”
Brittany watched a smile spread on Santana’s face and liked it, because it wasn’t one of those fake smiles she shot at Quinn, or the sly smiles she tossed the boys, or the good girl, tight lipped grin she gave teachers and parents. This smile was real San, all cheeks and teeth.
“Brits?”
Brittany realized she was staring.
“You’re coming in here right?”
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: PG-13 for this installment, series will probably turn out to be (at least) strong R.
Summary: Brittany and Santana are in 9th grade. Cheerios tryouts, high school party, and of course, the sleepover that follows.
Spoilers: None.
Author's Note: Its been a while since I first posted this story here, but I have been working on it, and I'm still going forward with the concept. So more sleepovers to come. ;)
(also posted at fanfiction.net under my other screenname - shamelsshussy)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3 (part 1)
9th Grade, December
“Como te llamas?”
Brittany squinted at the page. Letters were hard enough in English.
She picked up a pencil, and hesitantly filled in her name. It was the right answer, but it was entirely a guess, based on the fact that this blank space was at the top of the page.
“Donde vives?”
Brittany put her pencil down.
She scanned the rest of the worksheet, then turned it over and tried to read the questions on the back too. She didn’t find one that she could answer.
She pushed her chair a little further back from the desk, and crossed her legs on the seat. She turned the page back over and tried again.
“Que pides a Santa Claus por la Navidad?”
Brittany was sure about the Santa Claus part at least. She leaned over the desk and spent some time carefully drawing a Santa in the margin of the page. Quinn had showed her how to do a good one, but the eyes came out a little evil anyway.
Brittany shoved the paper away and stood up. She slid the elastic band out of her hair and teased her braid loose with her fingers. Her hair fell to her shoulders in blonde waves, still a little damp.
The bedroom door was ajar, but her mother knocked softly before pushing it open further.
“How’s the homework coming sweetie?”
“Math was ok. But Spanish…”
It was rare to see a scowl that dark on Brittany’s face. Anna moved closer and took a look at the work sheet on Brittany’s desk. She could make out some of it, but not much more than Brittany. She had studied German in college.
“Maybe Santana can help you...”
Brittany shrugged. Santana actually took French. Even when her parents spoke to her in Spanish, she always answered in English. But she still was better at Spanish than almost everyone in school. If Brittany asked nice enough, she’d probably do the homework in 2 minutes flat.
“Daddy’s getting Chrissy into her pjs. I’m going to finish getting ready. We’re leaving in about 20 minutes.”
Brittany glanced at the digital clock by her bed. It was 7:15.
Anna turned and wrapped an arm around her daughter.
“You’re doing a good job in school this year Brittany. Daddy and I are very proud of your grades this term.”
Bs and Cs were a big improvement from the Ds in middle school. It took a lot of work from both of her parents and even some of her friends but strategies like color-coded notes and graphic organizers seemed to be helping Brittany a lot.
“You and I can double check the math tomorrow ok?”
Brittany nodded glumly into her mother’s shoulder. She knew there would be mistakes, and hours of correcting them. She understood more about her trouble in school now, but it still sucked. Santana and Quinn and everyone would just dash off their assignments the night before they had to head back to school, but here she had to start her winter break homework the day after Christmas.
But her mother smelled nice, like the fancy new perfume Brittany and Chrissy had helped their dad pick out at the mall. Brittany relaxed into her hug and ended up smiling.
When her mother had gone, Brittany wandered over to the window. She watched a shiny red pickup truck pull up to the curb. She could make out Santana’s dark hair through the passenger window.
Brittany had been in that truck last weekend. She wondered what Santana thought about the way John’s lips tasted like menthol cigarettes, and if the door handle would leave the same kind of bruise on Santana’s back.
--
The cab of the truck was chilly. John had the driver’s side window down and Nickleback blaring on the stereo. On the ride over from the movie theater, he hadn’t said a word, just kept his hand on Santana’s thigh and drove. Santana had let the noise wash over her, pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, leaned her head back, ignored his clammy grip.
But now John was leaning closer, his cigarette smell crawling onto Santana’s hair and clothes.
Santana swallowed, sat up and kissed back. She didn’t say anything when his hand crept higher on her thigh, she didn’t stop him from untying the belt of her coat and reaching up with his other hand to palm her breast through her cashmere sweater.
“You’re soft.” He mumbled against her lips, and pushed hard into her mouth with his tongue.
Santana had kissed enough by now to know John wasn’t a great kisser, or even a very good one. But he was quarterback, and handsome, and going to Ohio State next year on a partial football scholarship.
He’d been working his way through the new girls on Cheerios since October. Santana was one of the last girls he asked out, she guessed because she was small and flat-chested and the opposite of blonde. That had made her angry and she had been determined to hold his attention for longer than anyone else had, to prove him wrong. Which is why she had snuggled up during the movie and after a little making out, reached down and stroked him through his jeans until he gasped.
Santana got tired of listening to them talk, but it was kinda fun, watching boys squirm.
After a few minutes of that he had to go to the bathroom to clean up.
When he slipped back into his seat, John had taken took a long look at Santana. This date was certainly different than most of the others he had had with the freshman girls. Most of them had been like Quinn, giggly and teasing, but not willing to do much more than hold hands. Brittany had been willing, but easily distracted by the movie she had chosen, some animated nonsense about a dog with superpowers. He studied Santana in the flickering light from the screen, then leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You a virgin?”
She had nodded, sipping her diet coke.
“Well you sure as fuck don’t act like one.”
Now, in the truck, he was leaning over her again. “My parents are heading out of town for New Year’s…”
Santana pretended this was news to her.
“…I’ll have the house. You should come over.” John grinned, thinking he sounded studly.
It was what she had been expecting, but still, her throat went dry. She pressed her back against the door, and felt the handle dig into her spine.
“Yeah…ok. Yeah.”
“Cool.” John leaned back and unwrapped a stick of Big Red gum. He chewed, loudly. “I’ll text you.”
--
“Santana’s here, Santana’s here!”
Chrissy had watched from her bedroom window as Santana slid out of the truck’s passenger seat and headed up the walkway. Before Santana had even reached the door, Chrissy had come barreling down the stairs, wearing only the bottom half of her pajamas, blonde hair still wet from her bath.
Tom swallowed a swear and chased after his daughter, her pajama top in one hand, a hairbrush in the other.
Chrissy flung the door wide before Santana had a chance to knock.
“Hi! Hi! You have to see what Santa brought me!” Chrissy reached for Santana’s hand and tugged.
Santana grinned and let herself be pulled inside. Behind Chrissy, she could see Tom making his way down the stairs two at a time, his tie askew, stocking feet slipping on the smooth wood. He met Santana’s eyes, smiled, waved the tiny t-shirt in his hand and mouthed “Help me.”
Santana closed the door behind her and took off her coat. Immediately, the warmth of the house settled around her, driving the chill of John’s truck from her skin.
Chrissy was hopping from foot to foot, eluding Tom’s attempts to get the shirt over her head.
“C’mon, c’mon! Come see my toys!”
“OK, but only after you put your shirt on.”
Chrissy stopped jumping, plucked the shirt from her dad’s hands and wriggled into it in seconds.
“And brush your hair.”
Chrissy rolled her eyes, but she stayed still, and motioned for her dad to brush.
“Actually, can you help her out with that Santana?” Tom held the brush out and Santana took it. “I have to finish getting ready or Anna’s gonna...”
“I’m gonna what?”
Tom turned toward his wife’s voice to answer. At the sight of her, his witty retort died on his lips.
She was wearing a rather simple cocktail dress, midnight blue, knee length. But the dress was fitted, the fabric hugging every curve, revealing that even after two kids, she still had a dancer’s lithe body. The short sleeves of the dress were off-the-shoulder, the neckline just below her clavicle. Tom’s eye’s lingered on the delicate curve of his wife’s neck and a soft “wow” tumbled out of his mouth.
Santana followed his gaze. Her first thought was that Puck, with his MILF fixation, would fucking die if he saw Brittany’s mom looking like this. Her second thought was that even though Anna’s hair was honey-brown instead of blonde and her eyes a darker blue, she looked an awful lot like Brittany. A blush sprang to Santana’s cheeks and she bit her bottom lip before she could say anything.
Chrissy’s face lit up when she saw her mother. She put two fingers in her mouth and wolf whistled.
Anna laughed and came the rest of the way down the stairs.
“Chrissy, who taught you that? “
“Uncle Teddy. He said it's the international sign for pretty ladies.”
“Ignore everything your uncle says.” Anna turned to Santana. “Hey sweetie. Merry day-after-Christmas!” She took Santana’s coat and pulled her into a hug.
Santana accepted the hug awkwardly, not sure where to put her hands, the flush in her cheeks deepening.
“Um. Merry Christmas.”
Chrissy was tugging at the pocket of Santana’s jeans. “C’mon, brush my hair so we can play.”
Anna went to hang up Santana’s coat in the hall closet. “Don’t be so impatient Chrissy,” she called over her shoulder. “Santana’s going to be here with you all night. You’ll have plenty of time to play.”
But Santana let Chrissy lead her to the couch, and started working through the snarls in her hair.
Tom snuck up behind his wife, dropped a kiss on her shoulder and hurried off to finish dressing.
Anna joined Chrissy and Santana in the living room. “How are your parents Santana? You have a nice holiday?”
Santana thought about the quiet Christmas morning at her house yesterday. Her dad had built a fire in the fireplace. After they had eaten the unnecessarily complicated breakfast that her mom made, she and her parents had exchanged gifts. Then, they had sat around the fire, sipping second cups of coffee and messing around with their new phones and laptops. It had been cozy, in a way. But in another way, it was just boring.
“Yeah. Yes. We had a nice time.”
“Is J.P. home?”
“He’s at his mom’s house for Christmas. I think he’ll come see us after New Year’s. Before he goes back to school. “
Santana wished her half-brother had come for Christmas. J.P. was loud and funny and would play the guitar while she sang. When he was around, the house wasn’t so deadly quiet and even their dad cracked a few smiles. But now that he was almost done with college, he visited a lot less often than he used to.
“Well, bring him by when he comes. Its fun for Tom to play the guitar with someone as good as J.P. is.” Anna leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Plus, I think Brittany has a little crush on him.”
“Uh...sure. Maybe. I’ll try.” Brittany did have a crush on J.P., more than a little. Santana thought it was gross, bordering on incestuous. She had given up trying to explain the word “incestuous” to Brittany, but she still didn’t love the idea of them all hanging out together.
Santana ducked her head and concentrated on working gently through a tangle in Chrissy’s hair.
“Let me get Brittany, and I’ll show you everything you need to know for tonight.”
Anna walked back over to the foot of the stairs.
“Brit...”, she started to call, but Brittany appeared at the top of the stairs before she could finish. “Oh. There you are.”
“I was changing.”
Brittany had traded her sweats and t-shirt for one of the new outfits that Santa had brought - black skinny jeans, and a soft, slouchy grey sweater with thin horizontal black stripes. Her feet were bare, but her toes sparkled with a coat of her new silver glitter nail polish.
Santana had finished brushing Chrissy’s hair and was messing around, trying to do a French braid when Brittany and Anna returned to the living room.
“Hey.”
Santana looked up and immediately broke into a smile. “Are those the new jeans? You look awesome.”
Brittany nodded and bounced over to Santana. She reached out to touch the silver pendant around Santana’s neck “Is that the necklace your dad gave you?”
Chrissy could see where this conversation was headed, flopped back against the couch and rolled her eyes, “Nooooo…You said we could play.”
“Hang on a second everyone.” Anna interrupted. “Chris, if you want to go play, go ahead, but I have to talk to Brittany and Santana.”
“No, I’ll wait.” Chrissy climbed into Santana’s lap and Brittany joined them on the sofa. All three of them looked at Anna expectantly.
“Ok. Here’s the invitation for the party where Daddy and I will be.” She handed it to Brittany, who handed it to Santana.
“The number and address are on there, and of course we’ll have our cell phones on. It's almost an hour drive though, so if it's a real emergency, call 911 and then call a neighbor. Carole Hudson said she’d be home tonight if you need anything. “
“Don’t worry mom.” Chrissy piped up. “Britty and San are like, grown up now. They can take care of me.”
Santana squeezed Chrissy tight. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Anna studied the girls. Brittany did look older in her new clothes, her legs impossibly long. And Santana had a decidedly un-little-girl-like hickey that she was trying to hide under her long hair.
“I’m sure you can all take good care of each other.” Anna looked toward the stairs. “Where is your…”
On cue, Tom’s voice floated down from upstairs. “I’m coming babe. I swear.”
Anna went to the hall closet to get their coats.
“Did you eat Santana?” she called from the hallway.
“Yeah.” She had poked at a salad while John scarfed a burger before the movie.
“Well, there’s plenty of dessert when you girls want it.”
Anna came back, her coat buttoned, Tom’s slung over her arm.
“Chrissy, you listen to Brittany and Santana.”
“Yeah Chis, we’re the anomalies tonight.”
Everyone in the room knew Brittany meant authorities, so no one corrected her.
“When they say it’s bedtime, it’s bedtime.”
Chrissy nodded at her mother, but the hard set of her mouth gave Santana the suspicion that she and Brittany were in for some trouble later on.
Tom came down he stairs and this time his shoes were on, his shirt tucked in, his tie tied, his jacket buttoned.
“Ready?”
“Am I ready?” Anna swatted at his arm and handed him his coat.
“Come kiss us goodbye.”
Chrissy slid off Santana’s lap and ran to her father. He picked her up in a fierce hug, and she squirmed around in his arms so she could lean over and kiss her mother.
Brittany hugged her mother, stood on tiptoe to reach her father’s cheek.
Santana stayed on the couch, smoothed her skirt down over her thighs.
“Group hug!”
Santana looked up and saw Brittany beckoning.
She shifted uncomfortably. There was a lot less hugging at her house.
“C’mon San.”
“C’mon San.” Chrissy echoed.
“C’mon San.” Anna and Tom chorused.
Santana could help grinning then. She crossed the room and let Brittany pull her into the family hug. She felt Brittany’s soft sweater against her check, smelled Anna’s perfume and lipstick, felt Tom’s hand mussing her hair, Chrissy’s foot digging into her ribs.
“Bye sweeties.”
“Bye Mama, bye Daddy.”
“Be good. Be careful. Lock up!”
“Bye!”
“Bye!”
Brittany locked the door and Santana double checked it. Everything was suddenly quiet and still.
Chrissy grabbed Brittany’s hand with her left and Santana’s with her right and pulled them toward the playroom. “You have to play with me now.”
**
An hour later, the playroom was a mess, and Chrissy was deliriously happy. They had played Candy Land, built layer cakes out of Play Doh, and set up the new Cris-Cross-Crash track for Chrissy’s Matchbox cars.
Santana sent one car and then another flying around the track and waited for the crash. She looked quickly over at Brittany, who was sitting at the little playroom table, on a chair that was much too small.
“I can’t lie, this is awesome.”
Brittany nodded, but didn’t look up, intent on the page she was working on in Chrissy’s new Disney Princess coloring book.
The cars went smash and Chrissy collapsed into giggles.
“Again!”
“Hell yeah!”
“Santana!”
“I mean, heck yeah.”
Brittany looked up at the clock. It was almost 9. “Maybe it’s bedtime soon Chris.”
“Maybe it’s not Britty.”
Santana stayed out of it and sent the cars racing again.
“Anyway, Mama said we could have dessert.”
“Ok. I’ll finish this. Then dessert. Then bedtime.”
The cars smashed again, and Chrissy and Santana high fived.
While Santana set it up again, Chrissy got up and went to Brittany, slung an arm over her shoulder.
“You’re good at coloring.”
She was good at coloring. She had chosen a picture of Belle and the Beast. Belle’s dress and the Beast’s fur were carefully shaded in, using multiple crayon colors to give depth and warmth to the picture.
“Give it to Santana.”
“I was gonna. Can I tear this out?”
Chrissy nodded.
Brittany carefully tore the page from the coloring book, trying hard not to leave any ragged edges.
She picked up a purple crayon and wrote “For San. Cause you act growly but your not. ♥ B.
“Put me too.”
“You do it.” Brittany handed her sister the crayon and Chrissy added a shaky “C” next to Brittany’s B.
“Santana!”
Santana looked up from the toy cars and took the drawing Chrissy was holding out to her.
“Awww. Thank you Chrissy.”
Santana got to her knees and drew Chrissy into a hug. Chrissy plopped a sloppy, wet kiss on Santana’s check. Santana blew a raspberry into the little girl’s neck, and Chrissy squirmed and shrieked with laughter.
“Britty too. Cause she colored it.”
Santana made her way over to Brittany, still on her knees. “Thank you Brittany.” She placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. But Brittany lunged and blew a raspberry on Santana’s neck, just where John had left a bite mark earlier that afternoon.
Santana’s hair slid over Brittany’s cheek, brushed at the corners of her mouth. Santana smelled only a little like John’s cigarettes now. Mostly, Brittany smelled the candy cane Santana had grabbed off the Christmas tree and crunched on while they played Candy Land.
Santana felt the buzz of Brittany’s lips on her skin. It wasn’t exactly a new sensation, but her response was stronger than usual. Instead of a lively, warm feeling, Brittany being so close made her felt tense, hot.
Brittany felt Santana stiffen and looked at her, a question in her eyes. But Santana didn’t meet her gaze.
She stood up and swung Chrissy up into her arms. “C’mon, lets have dessert.”
Santana turned back to the Matchbox cars. “I’m gonna do one more crash.”
--
It was three more crashes before Santana joined them in the kitchen. They were sitting at the table, Brittany on one of the long sides, Chrissy in her dad’s usual place at the head. Brittany had cut herself a slice of leftover pumpkin pie, and piled a scoop of vanilla ice cream and some homemade whipped cream on top of it, dusted it with cinnamon because she liked to make her food look pretty. Chrissy had a plate full of different kinds of cookies. She was alternating bites between each one, a big grin on her face.
Santana sat next to Brittany, leaned over and slid the spoon from her hand. She helped herself to a bite of Brittany’s dessert.
Brittany let her, glad to see that whatever had been bothering Santana in the playroom had passed.
“You want me to make you one?”
“Nope.” Santana kept eating from Brittany’s plate.
“Well, get a spoon then.”
“Nope.” Santana carefully arranged the ratios of pie, ice cream and whipped cream into a perfect bite, then popped it in her mouth.
Brittany bumped Santana with her shoulder and grabbed her spoon back.
“How was your date?”
Santana shrugged and reached for the spoon again. But Brittany was too fast for her. So she just stuck her finger in the whipped cream, licked it off.
“What do you do on a date?” Chrissy carefully separated the sides of a mini Lindzer tart and licked the jelly.
“You know what a date is Chrissy. You go somewhere fun with a guy. The movies or mini golf. You know.”
“And the guy has to pay for everything” Santana added. She stuck her finger in the whipped cream again and this time, swiped it onto the tip of Brittany’s nose.
Brittany stuck her tongue out at Santana and got up to get a napkin.
Santana snatched up the spoon and took a big bite of pie.
“I know that. But what do you do? Really?” Chrissy kicked her legs for emphasis, and accidentally connected with Santana’s leg.
“Ow, Chris. “ Santana put the spoon down and bent to rub her shin.
Brittany slid back into her seat and reclaimed her spoon. “You just hang out. Talk. Get food.”
Chrissy scowled and bit the head off a gingerbread man. “But that’s just regular stuff.”
“Yeah, but if you do it with someone you really like, it’s…different.”
“So it’s only really a date if you really like the person?”
“Right.” Brittany saved Santana the last bite and handed over the spoon.
Santana didn’t think so, at all. She and John had run into Morgan and Nate at the movie theater. Morgan didn’t look like she really liked Nate. In fact, she’d looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. Even while they talked, she kept texting, and Santana knew she had been texting Sash.
But she didn’t mention it. Chrissy would just have more questions.
“What about kissing?”
“What about it?”
“Do you have to do kissing for it to be a date?”
“Yeah.” Brittany looked at Santana for confirmation. “Right?”
“Definitely.” Santana did not count Quinn and Finn’s little hand holding expeditions as dates.
Santana got up and took the spoon and plate to the sink. She rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher.
Brittany handed Chrissy a napkin. “It’s 9:30. Way past your bedtime.”
“I know.” Chrissy grinned and slid off the chair. “Let’s do a pillow fort.”
Santana watched her run off toward the living room. “She kinda has good ideas.”
Brittany tossed the remnants of Chrissy’s cookies in the trash.
“How was it really?” Brittany knew how long Santana had been waiting for her chance with John.
“We hooked up. At the movies.”
“Made out, or like, hooked up-hooked up?”
“Hooked up.” A sly smile crept onto Santana’s face. “He was totally into it.
“You’re bad.”
“Kinda good actually. He invited me over next weekend, when his parents are away.”
Brittany slid Chrissy’s plate into the dishwasher and contemplated the implications of Santana’s statement.
Brittany had trouble with reading and Brittany had trouble with math, but Brittany didn’t have trouble with people. People liked her. They liked her shiny hair and her pretty eyes and the easy way she did no-hands cartwheels on the grass at lunchtime. And she liked most people. In fact, thus far in her high school career, she had gotten a reputation as a girl from whom it was easy to get a date, even easier to get a kiss. Brittany made out with the boys who asked because she liked kissing, liked being close to people and learning about their bodies. It was a much easier way for her to get to know people than talking, when her words came out wrong and the confused looks or snickers that came back her way made her mind rush and her ears burn.
Making out had taught her a lot about the boys she knew. Not all of their bodies matched the way they talked and acted at school or at parties. She had learned that Harris was a braggart but unimaginative, that Finn’s body was grown but his mind was boyish, that Mike Chang was bad at math like her, but a genius at the geometries of the body. Making out had taught her that Noah was really a little sad and lonely, the way he always reached out first and held on longer.
Last week, after their movie date, John had driven them to the empty middle school parking lot and Brittany had happily submitted to his kisses in his truck. But up close, John’s handsome face revealed hard angles. He pretended to be playing, but he bit too hard and pushed against her until could hardly breathe. She had squirmed and tried to twist away and been glad when a teacher working late had shooed them out of the parking lot and John had brought her home. She had learned that John thought freshman girls were easy to bend, and fun to try to break.
Brittany never mentioned any of these conclusions. People were made of contradictory, complicated ideas, and she didn’t know the words and she didn’t see the point. If she could find the people who were fun and tasty, she could avoid the ones who were grasping and mean, then that was enough, for 9th grade at least.
But Santana, for all her scheming and strategy, didn’t think about other people’s motives nearly enough.
It wasn’t easy to say it. Santana was always convinced that her ideas were the best ones, used to her daddy’s approval and her mother’s indifference and Brittany’s undying affection. She didn’t accept help, and she didn’t like commentary. Brittany knew that suggesting Santana’s idea might be a bad one could unleash a storm that would put an end to their cozy evening.
Still, Brittany thought, John had squeezed her way too hard.
“San. Maybe you shouldn’t…”
She was interrupted by a loud thump from the living room.
Brittany’s eyes went wide. “Chrissy?” She was all the way across the kitchen in two big strides. “Chris?”
Chrissy’s voice came back to them, subdued but unharmed. “I’m ok.”
Brittany was in the living room in seconds, Santana right behind her.
Chrissy was fine, standing in front of piles of cushions that had been taken from the couch and loveseat. The thump had clearly come from the ottoman, which was lying on its side, one of its little feet missing.
Chrissy came over and leaned against Brittany, looked up at her. “I’m sorry.” She rubbed her eyes. “It was slippy.”
Brittany rubbed her sister’s back, saw her stifle a yawn. She looked at the missing foot on the ottoman and bit her lip.
But Santana was already down on the floor, searching under the coffee table for the missing foot.
“Got it.”
She studied the foot and then scooted over to see how it had attached to the ottoman.
“Oh, we can just screw this back on. It might be wobbly but…”
Santana knelt, bent over the ottoman to reattach the piece. Brittany knelt behind her and threw her arms around her.
“You’re the best.”
“I know.”
Brittany laughed and squeezed harder, snuggling against Santana’s cashmere sweater.
“You’re soft.”
Santana remembered John’s voice saying the exact same thing a few hours ago.
Brittany didn’t move and Santana didn’t want her to.
“Can you guys stop cuddling and do the fort?” Chrissy had climbed back into the pile of pillows and was trying to get one wall to stay up.
Brittany squeezed Santana one more time, then got up and went to help Chrissy. Santana finished screwing in the foot of the ottoman and set it on its side, pushed it over to serve as a support for the left wall of the fort. Brittany helped Chrissy move the couch cushions into a more stable arrangement on the right side.
“Let’s use the coffee table for like, the door. It’ll hold up the sides, and help make a roof too.”
Chrissy watched Santana execute her plan, her eyes shining with unabashed admiration.
Santana beamed. Recognition was recognition, regardless of the age of the person who acknowledged she was awesome.
Brittany knew a thing or two about pillow forts herself. “We need blankets for a roof.”
“I’ll get ‘em!”
“Ok Chris. You can get the sheets and quilts from my room and yours too. But be careful ok?”
Chrissy skipped off up the stairs. Within a few minutes she was coming back down the stairs with Brittany’s bedding. She struggled and swayed beneath the weight.
“Need some help?” Santana asked.
“No.”
Santana went over and took the heaviest quilt off the pile anyway.
“I said NO.” Chrissy insisted.
Brittany chided her sister from inside the walls of the fort. “Don’t be mean just ‘cause you’re tired.”
“Am not.”
But she couldn’t hold back the yawn that came next.
Before Brittany could say anything else, Chrissy darted back upstairs for more blankets.
For a few minutes Brittany and Santana worked hard on the finishing touches of the fort, reinforcing walls, trying to create the largest possible square footage that was stable. Brittany got two of the small playroom chairs and placed them back to back on top of the coffee table. When she draped blankets over them, it created a tent-like effect for the roof.
“I approve.” Santana said, clapping her hands softly.
“Chrissy doesn’t even need to bring more sheets and stuff.”
“Yeah, where is she anyway?”
Brittany went up to check and found Chrissy in the hall outside her bedroom, curled up on a pile of blankets.
She knelt beside her. “Hey Chris,” she whispered softly. “Let’s get you in bed.”
Chrissy opened her eyes. “I'm coming down.”
“Ok sleepy.”
“Its just cozy.”
“I know.” Brittany stayed beside her, stroking her back in small, soothing circles.
Chrissy’s eyelids slowly lowered, and Brittany gathered her up, blankets and all, and carried her down the hall to her own room. She placed her on the bed, still in the nest of blankets.
Brittany was trying to tiptoe out when Chrissy’s eyes fluttered open again “The fort.” She struggled to get up.
“We’ll leave it up. We can play tomorrow.”
Chrissy snuggled deeper into the blankets. “Promise?”
“Pinky promise.” Brittany locked her pinky with Chrissy’s smaller one and Chrissy relaxed into sleep, knowing Brittany would never break a promise like that.
Brittany waited a few more minutes, until she was sure her sister was asleep.
Back in the living room, Santana had finished the roof and crawled into the fort. She heard Brittany on the stairs and poked her head out.
“Where’s Chris?”
“She passed out.”
Santana’s face fell.
“Oh. I guess we should…”
Santana didn’t really want to say it. “…put this back.”
“I told her we’d leave it up for tomorrow.”
Brittany watched a smile spread on Santana’s face and liked it, because it wasn’t one of those fake smiles she shot at Quinn, or the sly smiles she tossed the boys, or the good girl, tight lipped grin she gave teachers and parents. This smile was real San, all cheeks and teeth.
“Brits?”
Brittany realized she was staring.
“You’re coming in here right?”