Doing It Right (9/17)
Title: Doing It Right, Chapter 9: New Inspirations
Author: creedogv
Rating: T
Summary: Santana has been given the opportunity to correct her past mistakes with Brittany, so she can’t help but take it. Even though she’s losing the battle, she’s not ready to give up.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Spoilers: 2x09 “Special Education”
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 6.5 Chapter 7 Chapter 8
So here’s what you missed on Glee. Kurtana bond over makeup and their mutual love for their own gender. Everything at Barole’s wedding goes great. Except Santittany are not on. And neither are Furt, who are totally not Kinn despite being kin now. Santana comes out to Puck when she sees Artittany kissing. Wow, at least the poor girl’s got courage. But Puck’s a total lesbro, so Pucktana friendship for the win. Santittany are still besties, though, and they're excited to see Santana was successful in starting some Hollister lovin'. Wow, these couple names are confusing. And that’s what you missed on Glee!
Santana didn’t jump all weekend and she didn’t know who to blame. When she was making honest progress with her relationship with Brittany, she had to savor every moment, but now that she was losing ground, the universe seemed content to allow her to stew in her own misery. And then it threw the blonde in her path just for spite.
“Santana, did I do something wrong? You usually text me on Sundays so we can go to the park and jog and feed the ducks and steal the swings from little kids.”
When she put her hand on Santana’s arm, the brunette flinched away. “No, B, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just going through something right now. I’m a little weird about being touched, too.”
“Oh, you can totally talk to me about it. I always talk about my problems with you.”
“Thanks, Brittany. You’re my BFF and you always will be, but this is just a problem I can’t talk to you about. But, don’t worry; Kurt’s been helping me out. And so has Puck.”
“Puck,” Brittany repeated darkly, “You told me the other day you didn’t like to be around him. You were mad at me for making you dance with him.”
“I wasn’t mad. You’re right all along; the two of us can be friends.”
Brittany’s face remained neutral. “Okay,” she fiddled with her hands, trying to figure how to comfort Santana without touching her. “See you in glee. I’m going to eat lunch with Artie in the band room.”
She walked away and Santana turned back to her locker, fighting back the ache in her chest. The universe wasn’t done with her yet, though, as it then threw Jacob Ben Israel at her. He shoved a microphone, which was not attached to any cord, in her face. “My sources tell me that the infamous Santana Lopez is actually a closeted lesbian. Care to comment?”
“No.”
Jacob seemed wholly confused. “You don’t care to comment?”
“I don’t have time for this, Jewfro. Go harass Donna Tompkins about her sexuality.”
Jacob furrowed his brow. “Tompkins is gay. She was having an affair with Coach Costa and had to transfer to Crawford Country. That was like a month ago.”
Okay, that didn’t happen before. And how did I not hear about this?
“Look, Jacob, I said ‘No comment’, now can I get on with my life? It’s taco day in the cafeteria.”
“Santana, ‘no comment’ is paramount to a confession. Unless you give me something, I’m running with this story,” he warned more than he threatened.
“No one believes your stupid blog anyway.”
Jacob stood in shock for a moment. He then pulled out his cell phone and all but screamed into it, “Kill every story. We’re putting out a special edition and there’s only one story we’re running, and I want it off the presses before the end of lunch.” After a moment, he added, “I don’t care if it’s stupid taco day. I will get you all the tacos you can eat if you get the edition out on time. Of course I won’t get you pork. You’re lucky I’m willing to compromise with ground beef with cheese.”
* * *
Santana walked into the guidance counselor’s office. Miss Pillsbury’s already large eyes widened.
“Calm down, Miss P. I just came to talk.”
“Oh, okay then. Please have a seat, Santana. What can I help you with?”
“Did Kurt ever… come talk to you about… being gay?”
“I’m not exactly sure what you mean.”
“Like, did he ever come in to ask about, you know, coming out, or how to deal with homophobia?”
“Well, I’m not at liberty to discuss a student’s sessions. Can I ask what this is about?”
“I have a friend.” She immediately realized how incriminating that was, especially for her. “She’s on the Cheerios. Anyway, she thinks she might be gay and she wanted to know if there’s anything you could do for her.”
Miss Pillsbury was studying her, like she was trying to figure out if Santana was being honest. On the one hand, Santana wasn’t exactly hiding her questions well. On the other hand, Santana’s sole friend, who was a Cheerio, seemed to be sexually fluid, so it wasn’t out of the question that she may have been referring to a certain blonde. “Well, after all the stuff with Kurt started, I did send for some more pamphlets that you can have… to share with your friend.”
She pulled some pamphlets out of a desk drawer; titles included: I Like Watching Myself in the Mirror, How Do I Know If It’s Just the Vodka Talking?, Bears and Bare-Backing: Come See the Wild West Show in Golden, Colorado!, and half a dozen more. There was also a brochure for a wedding chapel in Las Vegas.
“Miss P, what’s this for? I didn’t think Nevada allowed gay marriage.”
“Oh, sorry, that’s one of mine.”
“You and the tasty dentist tying the knot?”
“We’ll be making a trip to Las Vegas. Given the fiasco that was my wedding to Ken Tanaka last year, Carl and I are seriously discussing eloping.”
“Well, congratulations to you. You’re going to make a lot of Lima bachelorettes very unhappy, not the least of all me. Thanks for these. I’ll see you around, Miss P.”
Emma perked up in surprise. “Oh, you’re very welcome, Santana. Do come by if you need to talk. About your friend,” she added, halfway between sincere and sly. Once the girl was gone, she noticed that Santana had dropped one of the pamphlets behind: He’s Going to Put What Where?!: Ten Myths about Sexual Dysfunction. If the rumors were true, Santana absolutely did not need that pamphlet. After the bell had rung and Emma was sure no one was looking, she unfolded the brochure for a peek.
* * *
Four hours and zero time jumps later, Santana was walking into glee while mentally taking inventory of her life. The moment she set foot in the room, ten pairs of eyes locked on her.
“What’s up? Is there something on my face? ‘Cause if you’re thinking it’s a black eye, you’re probably mistaking it with what’s about to be on your faces.”
The threat was received as seriously as it was issued. Quinn walked straight up to her and asked in her matronly tone, “Santana, where is Jacob Ben Israel?”
“Probably in his little journalism spider hole, claiming Ms. Castle is a hermaphrodite.”
“He’s been missing since fifth period,” Finn explained.
“It’s not like we don’t know what he did,” Tina said.
“What did he do?” Santana asked.
Quinn’s eyes lowered. “Have you been in a hole? He put out an issue of the Olympian claiming you were a lesbian. And he put it on his blog. And he had Lauren Zizes hack the school’s Twitter account and she’s been spamming it with the headline… and a link to a website that is definitely not allowed by the district’s firewall.”
“So what? He can put rumors out all day. Doesn’t mean anyone believes them.”
“Did you hit your head?! This is high school. All we do with rumors is believe them without question! You should know this! It’s been two years and people are still asking Cherie Lin when she’s going to have her baby.”
“That’s mostly her fault,” Santana replied, “She’s a stress eater.”
“I’m detecting a certain lack of anger about this. In fact, you’re running below your everyday baseline.”
“Look, I’ll deal with it, okay? It’s been a long week.”
“It’s Monday. And you still haven’t said what you did to Jacob. ”
“I didn’t do anything to him. I haven’t seen him since before lunch and he talked about doing this.”
“You knew?”
“He tried to confront me about it. I blew him off. Seriously, no clue where the little cockroach is.”
“She’s telling the truth,” Puck stated, standing in the doorway. “I stuffed him in a portapotty. I figure I’ll let him out if we win Sectionals. Anything for my bra.” He slugged Santana in the arm with a wink. Brittany looked perplexed.
Santana sat down in the back row, beside Kurt, relishing the fact that he was still in the room and not hiding out in Dalton. Warmth filled her chest for the first time since she found out about Brittany and Artie. And, side perk: No stupid Lauren Zizes taking his place.
Moments later, Mr. Schue walked in with an announcement. “So, I’m sorry to report that Miss Pillsbury will be unable to chaperone Sectionals like she usually does.” He apparently expected a slew of sad groans, but he was met with only a few giggles. Quinn finally spoke up, “Oh, is Ms. Holiday receiving the honor of being your plus-one this year?”
As usual, Mr. Schue’s cheeks flamed red. “Uh, no, she’s working. Coach Beiste has agreed to accompany us. She’s expecting us to do well since she had to cancel this Saturday’s football practice since we’re stealing half of her starting line. Anyway, I’ve got to send off our set list for printing by Wednesday, so we’re going to be making our final selections today.”
Mr. Schue pulled out the board with the list of the half-dozen songs that were the contenders for their set list. Every last one of them had either Rachel or Finn’s name attached to them, with a few other names for secondary parts. When he didn’t mention spreading out the solos, Santana wondered where his inspiration went.
Inspiration, Santana realized, remembering what redheaded guidance counselor always seemed to show up after Mr. Schue had one of his out-of-the-blue ideas. Maybe his ear is a little less open now that a hot blonde is nibbling on it. Well, Will Schuester, you’re about to get a new muse.
“Santana, did you have something to say?” Schuester asked, seeing the Latina’s arm in the air.
“I’m concerned about our set list. We’ve got the geezers beat hands down, but Kurt tells me the Warblers are good.”
“Their lead singer is fantastic,” Kurt piped in.
“That’s what concerns me. They have a lead singer.”
Rachel remarked, “We have a lead singer.” Finn frowned at her. “Two of them,” she hastily added.
“Exactly. We put Rachel front and center for the entire show, we lose to a team with one good singer. I think there’s some untapped talent in this room.”
Mr. Schue looked at his board, either all the hard work it represented or the failure it might be. “Let’s put it to a vote. Who wants to spread around the solos?”
Eleven hands shot up, which became ten when Rachel glared at Finn. Brittany raised her left hand and Artie didn’t correct her.
“Okay,” Mr. Schue noted, “Let’s not throw everything out. Quinn, Sam, you’re our duets winners. You think you can handle the intro?”
“I think ‘Time of Our Life’ isn’t out our range,” Quinn remarked.
Mr. Schue nodded. “Any contenders for our ballad?” Rachel looked like she had been punched.
“I think Kurt should do it,” Finn suggested. Santana piped in with agreement.
“Thank you for your support, Finn, Santana, but I’ll pass. I’ve got several great songs prepared, but I wouldn’t dare pull them out for anything less than Regionals. I do believe Santana has something, though.”
“Let’s hear it,” Will requested.
“Oh, it’s not ready…” Why did I tell Kurt? I know I rocked it last time, but I’ve been too busy to prepare.
“Sweetie, you should do it,” Kurt firmly suggested, squeezing her hand. “For her,” he whispered.
Santana scrambled to the front of the room before she lost her nerve. “So, uh, I haven’t given the band the music to practice with, so excuse me while I put on the karaoke version.” She plugged her iPod into the stereo. The music started, and she sang the first few lines quietly, self-consciously holding her hands in front of her:
Valerie - Glee Cast
Well, sometimes I go out by myself
And I look across the water
Kurt locked eyes with her with an encouraging smile. He did a cat claws gesture and she responded by bouncing in place with a fierce smile.
And I think of all the things, what you’re doing
And in my head I paint a picture
Finally in character, she began to strut around the room, her arms gesturing confidently.
‘Cause since I’ve come on home
Well, my body’s been a mess
And I’ve missed your ginger hair
And the way you like to dress
She brushed her fingers through Brittany’s locks during the “ginger hair” line, and eyed Tina and Rachel during “the way you like to dress.” She planted her feet on the far side of the room and started to whale out the third stanza:
Won’t you come on over
Stop makin’ a fool out of me
As the chorus began, she rapidly strutted across the room, giving a come-hither gesture to the entire clug.
Why don’t you come on over Valerie?
Valerie... Valerie... Valerie...
The music stopped a few beats into the second verse; Schuester had turned off the music.
Santana brushed back her hair. “Uh, did that suck, Mr. Schue?”
“No, on the contrary, I think it was phenomenal. All in favor of giving Santana the ballad?”
Ten hands shot up, Rachel’s and Finn’s excluded of course, none more enthusiastically than Brittany’s (again left) hand. Polite cheering followed. and Mr. Schue struck through two songs on the board:
“What I Did for Love” - Rachel
“Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina” - Rachel
Quinn had to get a quip in, though. “This won’t exactly squash the lesbian rumors, though.”
Santana blew her a playful kiss and a challenging look.
Rachel remarked, “Well, since you’re all intent on destroying my future career, I suppose I’ll excuse myself.”
“Drop the theatrics, Berry,” Santana spat from the front of the room, “I’m not too petty to admit that you are our powerhouse, and we’d be shooting ourselves in the foot by excluding you.” Kurt’s with us; Dalton can suck it.
“You’re appealing to my vanity.”
“Vanity’s too kind of a word. We’ve still got the group number to pick out. You always take the big solo on those.”
“Our choices this time are ‘Empire State of Mind’ and ‘One of Us’, neither of which I have a solo in. I was allowing others to shine, but you’ve taken that away from me. I find it hypocritical.”
Santana stared at the board, thinking fast. “Hey, Mr. Schue, I don’t see your favorite group number on here.”
“What?”
“The one you were so intent on us doing that you got a certain leggy blonde to mash it up with you.”
Mr. Schue’s reddening cheeks at the mention of Ms. Holiday was becoming a recurring theme. “‘Singin’ in the Rain’ and ‘Umbrella’? Are you sure?”
“The hats and vests would look pretty fly over the outfits we picked out for the guys,” Mercedes commented.
“And the choreography would be cool. ‘Empire’ we planned for the courtyard and ‘One of Us’ had no choreography,” Mike pointed out.
This couldn’t have gone better had Santana planned it.
“But Holly-I mean Ms. Holiday-and I took the leads on that part. Obviously, neither of us can perform…”
Santana’s eyes turned to Rachel. “If only we had a male and female lead to take over.”
“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me…” Rachel mumbled.
“Because your whining makes me want to stick a pencil in my ear.”
“I’m not stupid. Glee clubbers, it would be our honor to bring down the house in our closing number, therefore guaranteeing our win at Sectionals. Right, Finn?”
“Yeah,” her boyfriend agreed, perhaps not aware of what he was agreeing with or to.
Santana’s eyes fell on Brittany. It wasn’t like she’d forgotten the most important thing. “Speaking of choreography, we have more than talented singers in here. Kurt, tell me about the Warblers’ dance moves.”
“It really quite charming,” Kurt remarked, miming the moves in his seat, “it’s a lot of in-sync swaying, some snapping, snazzy arm movements…”
“And I’m sure it fits their style, but I for one have seen Brittany do more elaborate dance moves walking up the stairs.” Artie’s eye furrowed in confusion. Yeah, probably ‘cause you don’t use stairs, Santana thought impishly. “Tina, back me up about Mike.”
“He can’t close his locker anymore without doing a spin.”
“You know, ‘Time of My Life’ has a pretty iconic dance routine that goes with it,” Will added.
“It’s a good idea,” Santana admitted. “But it would also mean a lot to me if Brittany and Mike did a little something during my song.”
Brittany beamed at Santana. It was a like a drink of water in the desert.
“I think Britt and I can work something out,” Mike noted confidently. Brittany turned to him and nodded vigorously. Tina grabbed his hand with a congratulatory smile. Artie looked slightly miffed with this turn of events.
All this and I managed to not only not piss off Rachel and ruin her nauseatingly perfect relationship with Jumbo-Teen, but actually wiggled my way into her good graces. Not that I care about being on her good side except for the obvious fringe benefits I might reap later.
But, more importantly, I’ve gotten into Brittany’s good graces after the distance that’s grown between us since the wedding. For the first time in two weeks, Santana felt a flitter of hope, and it was enough to push her to start driving a wedge between Brittany and Artie.
* * *
Every day was a new opportunity for Santana to regain some of the progress she’d made with Brittany. Sectionals was less than a week away, and with the way things had been gravitating towards the previous states, Santana was set to do a little rewriting. Even if it meant plagiarizing her competition.
Santana remembered Brittany gushing about how Artie had supported her with her stage fright concerning Sectionals, and she wasn’t going to let Wheels worm his way into her heart that way again.
Even though she had plans to directly tackle the problem, she still spent every lucid moment she had with her eyes pointed downward for that stupid plastic comb. Truth be told, the only consistent time she jumped anymore was sleep. She hadn’t dreamed once and she knew she wasn’t falling asleep and waking up that fast.
Keeping her eyes turned down the right idea, because she finally found that plastic comb, not on the ground, but in the platinum blond hair of Genevieve McLaire, the Rachel Berry of the drama department. Like Berry, she was short, probably shorter given the platforms she was wearing. Santana should have felt bad messing up the blonde’s elaborate (and what the thesbian would probably label “spunky”) hairdo, but she was going to end up losing the pink comb anyway.
“Can I borrow this? Thanks.”
“Whatever,” Genevieve replied, either too afraid to confront the Cheerio or not being attached to the hunk of plastic in the first place.
Santana stopped dead. “You’re not pissed?”
“It was part of my costume. I forgot to take it out. Plus, Mr. Ryerson has like a hundred of them. And I’m not a fan of combs. Too many teeth and no mouth.” The girl strolled off to her next class, leaving Santana sniffing for marijuana fumes.
Moments later, the comb found its way into the nearest trash can. It was a small victory in Santana’s mind that she wasn’t using Brittany’s naiveté to further her goals. She enjoyed Brittany’s personality, and there were times she absolutely appreciated her being slow to question things, but using that to her advantage so blatantly, while rather effective, did feel a little cheap.
Trashing the comb would be her undoing. Those ten seconds Artie didn’t use to pick up the discarded item would be the ten seconds that he needed to reach Brittany before Santana could. She watched from outside the classroom as her plans unraveled. Artie was already speaking to the anxious-looking Brittany. That is, until her spotted the Latina spying on them from outside the doorway. When she turned tail and ran, Wheelchair pursued her.
She spun around, too quickly for him to stop in time, but she gracefully stepped out of the way, and then waited for him to reposition himself. It would have been much more convenient for her to move back into his eyeline, but she wasn’t in the business of making Artie’s life easier.
With her default lack of sincerity, she apologized. “Sorry about spying on your private little moment with your girlfriend.”
“It’s okay. She’s just a little nervous about her dance numbers at Sectionals. I think I’ve got her calmed down, but I think she would appreciate a second opinion backing up mine. She trusts you.”
Working together with Wheels wasn’t in the game plan, but she wasn’t content to turn down any opportunity she had.
“Of course.” She walked toward the classroom, leaving Artie behind and praying he’d stay there.
He did. “And make it quick. I think she’s about to wet herself.”
Five minutes later, Santana told Brittany, “You being afraid of dancing has got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and we’ve spent considerable time around both Puck and Finn. Everything you do is dance. When you walk down the hallways, your feet are practically gliding above the tiles. When you greet someone, you leap into their arms like a ballerina. You don’t turn; you pivot. You don’t breathe; you inhale joy and exhale grace. Even in bed, you’re a dancer.” She giggled. “Heck, when I walked into the classroom, you were doing a dance.”
There was a flush, and Brittany came out of the bathroom stall. “Joanna calls that the pee-pee dance.”
“Well, it was the fiercest pee-pee dance I’ve ever seen. Brittany, I love my voice; I am pure sex on stage. But this Saturday, you’re not going to be dancing for my song. I’m going to be singing for your dance.”
It would have been the perfect time for a hug, but Santana could smell Brittany’s shampoo from here. Her heart was already thumping hard enough that Brittany could probably hear it. So, instead, she locked eyes with her best friend, trying to show how proud of her she was without words or touches. When Brittany smiled, Santana hoped she’d done enough.
“What are you doing tonight?” Santana heard herself asking before she could stop herself.
“Artie wanted to take me to this new restaurant at the mall: Loma Del Arbol. It must be a Chinese restaurant.”
“Oh,” Santana remarked sadly.
“But I told him I couldn’t go since it was so important that Mike and I practice our dancing.”
“Oh,” Santana remarked happily.
“And then I have moto-cross practice.”
“Don’t break a leg.”
“I thought that meant ‘good luck’.”
“Not at moto-cross. At moto-cross, that means do not break your leg or you won’t be able to dance for your best friend’s song at your glee club’s sectional competition.”
“Oh, I’ll have to remember that. What are you doing tonight?”
“Well, for one, I’m going to go let Jacob Ben Israel out of the portapotty he’s been in for the last 24 hours.”
“Why? He told everyone you’re a lesbian.”
“I’m nice now, remember? That and I have to convince him not to press charges against Puck, so that he doesn’t get put back in juvie for reckless endangerment and we don’t have to replace him with Lauren Zizes.”
“Why would Lauren Zizes join glee club?”
Mostly to herself, she muttered, “Actually, come to think of it, if Puck’s in juvie, Zizes wouldn’t join glee, would she? Makes no sense, right?”
“Santana, sometimes you say weird things, but it’s okay, I think it’s cute.”
“I know the feeling.” After locking eyes with Brittany for several seconds, she offered, “You want to know what my secret is?”
Brittany just nodded.
“I’m psychic,” Santana finally stated.
“Oh, my mom took me to one of those once. I tried to bury my little sister in the backyard and pour water on her head. I had to sit in this big office and a lady wrote down everything I said. She asked me why I hated my sister and if I was a Satanist, which is silly because I didn’t even know you yet. Anyway, I told her I was just trying to make my sister grow taller and I didn’t have to go again but my family started going to church again.”
“Which is where we met. And the next year, we started sixth grade and learned in Biology that people and plants grow differently.”
“It was the best year ever because we had all the same classes.”
“It was the best year ever.”
But if I have anything to do with it, this year will the best one ever, because you’ll be mine.
Author's Note: Why is Brittany doing what she’s doing? I do have a reason; I promise. The entire series has been mapped out and even though there’s likely still plot holes I’ve missed, Bartie is not one of them. I dare say my excuse makes more sense than the show’s.
Wait, I just remembered “Never Been Kissed.” Of course it’s going to make more sense; any reason is better than no reason at all.
Chapter 10: Victories
Author: creedogv
Rating: T
Summary: Santana has been given the opportunity to correct her past mistakes with Brittany, so she can’t help but take it. Even though she’s losing the battle, she’s not ready to give up.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Spoilers: 2x09 “Special Education”
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 6.5 Chapter 7 Chapter 8
So here’s what you missed on Glee. Kurtana bond over makeup and their mutual love for their own gender. Everything at Barole’s wedding goes great. Except Santittany are not on. And neither are Furt, who are totally not Kinn despite being kin now. Santana comes out to Puck when she sees Artittany kissing. Wow, at least the poor girl’s got courage. But Puck’s a total lesbro, so Pucktana friendship for the win. Santittany are still besties, though, and they're excited to see Santana was successful in starting some Hollister lovin'. Wow, these couple names are confusing. And that’s what you missed on Glee!
Santana didn’t jump all weekend and she didn’t know who to blame. When she was making honest progress with her relationship with Brittany, she had to savor every moment, but now that she was losing ground, the universe seemed content to allow her to stew in her own misery. And then it threw the blonde in her path just for spite.
“Santana, did I do something wrong? You usually text me on Sundays so we can go to the park and jog and feed the ducks and steal the swings from little kids.”
When she put her hand on Santana’s arm, the brunette flinched away. “No, B, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just going through something right now. I’m a little weird about being touched, too.”
“Oh, you can totally talk to me about it. I always talk about my problems with you.”
“Thanks, Brittany. You’re my BFF and you always will be, but this is just a problem I can’t talk to you about. But, don’t worry; Kurt’s been helping me out. And so has Puck.”
“Puck,” Brittany repeated darkly, “You told me the other day you didn’t like to be around him. You were mad at me for making you dance with him.”
“I wasn’t mad. You’re right all along; the two of us can be friends.”
Brittany’s face remained neutral. “Okay,” she fiddled with her hands, trying to figure how to comfort Santana without touching her. “See you in glee. I’m going to eat lunch with Artie in the band room.”
She walked away and Santana turned back to her locker, fighting back the ache in her chest. The universe wasn’t done with her yet, though, as it then threw Jacob Ben Israel at her. He shoved a microphone, which was not attached to any cord, in her face. “My sources tell me that the infamous Santana Lopez is actually a closeted lesbian. Care to comment?”
“No.”
Jacob seemed wholly confused. “You don’t care to comment?”
“I don’t have time for this, Jewfro. Go harass Donna Tompkins about her sexuality.”
Jacob furrowed his brow. “Tompkins is gay. She was having an affair with Coach Costa and had to transfer to Crawford Country. That was like a month ago.”
Okay, that didn’t happen before. And how did I not hear about this?
“Look, Jacob, I said ‘No comment’, now can I get on with my life? It’s taco day in the cafeteria.”
“Santana, ‘no comment’ is paramount to a confession. Unless you give me something, I’m running with this story,” he warned more than he threatened.
“No one believes your stupid blog anyway.”
Jacob stood in shock for a moment. He then pulled out his cell phone and all but screamed into it, “Kill every story. We’re putting out a special edition and there’s only one story we’re running, and I want it off the presses before the end of lunch.” After a moment, he added, “I don’t care if it’s stupid taco day. I will get you all the tacos you can eat if you get the edition out on time. Of course I won’t get you pork. You’re lucky I’m willing to compromise with ground beef with cheese.”
* * *
Santana walked into the guidance counselor’s office. Miss Pillsbury’s already large eyes widened.
“Calm down, Miss P. I just came to talk.”
“Oh, okay then. Please have a seat, Santana. What can I help you with?”
“Did Kurt ever… come talk to you about… being gay?”
“I’m not exactly sure what you mean.”
“Like, did he ever come in to ask about, you know, coming out, or how to deal with homophobia?”
“Well, I’m not at liberty to discuss a student’s sessions. Can I ask what this is about?”
“I have a friend.” She immediately realized how incriminating that was, especially for her. “She’s on the Cheerios. Anyway, she thinks she might be gay and she wanted to know if there’s anything you could do for her.”
Miss Pillsbury was studying her, like she was trying to figure out if Santana was being honest. On the one hand, Santana wasn’t exactly hiding her questions well. On the other hand, Santana’s sole friend, who was a Cheerio, seemed to be sexually fluid, so it wasn’t out of the question that she may have been referring to a certain blonde. “Well, after all the stuff with Kurt started, I did send for some more pamphlets that you can have… to share with your friend.”
She pulled some pamphlets out of a desk drawer; titles included: I Like Watching Myself in the Mirror, How Do I Know If It’s Just the Vodka Talking?, Bears and Bare-Backing: Come See the Wild West Show in Golden, Colorado!, and half a dozen more. There was also a brochure for a wedding chapel in Las Vegas.
“Miss P, what’s this for? I didn’t think Nevada allowed gay marriage.”
“Oh, sorry, that’s one of mine.”
“You and the tasty dentist tying the knot?”
“We’ll be making a trip to Las Vegas. Given the fiasco that was my wedding to Ken Tanaka last year, Carl and I are seriously discussing eloping.”
“Well, congratulations to you. You’re going to make a lot of Lima bachelorettes very unhappy, not the least of all me. Thanks for these. I’ll see you around, Miss P.”
Emma perked up in surprise. “Oh, you’re very welcome, Santana. Do come by if you need to talk. About your friend,” she added, halfway between sincere and sly. Once the girl was gone, she noticed that Santana had dropped one of the pamphlets behind: He’s Going to Put What Where?!: Ten Myths about Sexual Dysfunction. If the rumors were true, Santana absolutely did not need that pamphlet. After the bell had rung and Emma was sure no one was looking, she unfolded the brochure for a peek.
* * *
Four hours and zero time jumps later, Santana was walking into glee while mentally taking inventory of her life. The moment she set foot in the room, ten pairs of eyes locked on her.
“What’s up? Is there something on my face? ‘Cause if you’re thinking it’s a black eye, you’re probably mistaking it with what’s about to be on your faces.”
The threat was received as seriously as it was issued. Quinn walked straight up to her and asked in her matronly tone, “Santana, where is Jacob Ben Israel?”
“Probably in his little journalism spider hole, claiming Ms. Castle is a hermaphrodite.”
“He’s been missing since fifth period,” Finn explained.
“It’s not like we don’t know what he did,” Tina said.
“What did he do?” Santana asked.
Quinn’s eyes lowered. “Have you been in a hole? He put out an issue of the Olympian claiming you were a lesbian. And he put it on his blog. And he had Lauren Zizes hack the school’s Twitter account and she’s been spamming it with the headline… and a link to a website that is definitely not allowed by the district’s firewall.”
“So what? He can put rumors out all day. Doesn’t mean anyone believes them.”
“Did you hit your head?! This is high school. All we do with rumors is believe them without question! You should know this! It’s been two years and people are still asking Cherie Lin when she’s going to have her baby.”
“That’s mostly her fault,” Santana replied, “She’s a stress eater.”
“I’m detecting a certain lack of anger about this. In fact, you’re running below your everyday baseline.”
“Look, I’ll deal with it, okay? It’s been a long week.”
“It’s Monday. And you still haven’t said what you did to Jacob. ”
“I didn’t do anything to him. I haven’t seen him since before lunch and he talked about doing this.”
“You knew?”
“He tried to confront me about it. I blew him off. Seriously, no clue where the little cockroach is.”
“She’s telling the truth,” Puck stated, standing in the doorway. “I stuffed him in a portapotty. I figure I’ll let him out if we win Sectionals. Anything for my bra.” He slugged Santana in the arm with a wink. Brittany looked perplexed.
Santana sat down in the back row, beside Kurt, relishing the fact that he was still in the room and not hiding out in Dalton. Warmth filled her chest for the first time since she found out about Brittany and Artie. And, side perk: No stupid Lauren Zizes taking his place.
Moments later, Mr. Schue walked in with an announcement. “So, I’m sorry to report that Miss Pillsbury will be unable to chaperone Sectionals like she usually does.” He apparently expected a slew of sad groans, but he was met with only a few giggles. Quinn finally spoke up, “Oh, is Ms. Holiday receiving the honor of being your plus-one this year?”
As usual, Mr. Schue’s cheeks flamed red. “Uh, no, she’s working. Coach Beiste has agreed to accompany us. She’s expecting us to do well since she had to cancel this Saturday’s football practice since we’re stealing half of her starting line. Anyway, I’ve got to send off our set list for printing by Wednesday, so we’re going to be making our final selections today.”
Mr. Schue pulled out the board with the list of the half-dozen songs that were the contenders for their set list. Every last one of them had either Rachel or Finn’s name attached to them, with a few other names for secondary parts. When he didn’t mention spreading out the solos, Santana wondered where his inspiration went.
Inspiration, Santana realized, remembering what redheaded guidance counselor always seemed to show up after Mr. Schue had one of his out-of-the-blue ideas. Maybe his ear is a little less open now that a hot blonde is nibbling on it. Well, Will Schuester, you’re about to get a new muse.
“Santana, did you have something to say?” Schuester asked, seeing the Latina’s arm in the air.
“I’m concerned about our set list. We’ve got the geezers beat hands down, but Kurt tells me the Warblers are good.”
“Their lead singer is fantastic,” Kurt piped in.
“That’s what concerns me. They have a lead singer.”
Rachel remarked, “We have a lead singer.” Finn frowned at her. “Two of them,” she hastily added.
“Exactly. We put Rachel front and center for the entire show, we lose to a team with one good singer. I think there’s some untapped talent in this room.”
Mr. Schue looked at his board, either all the hard work it represented or the failure it might be. “Let’s put it to a vote. Who wants to spread around the solos?”
Eleven hands shot up, which became ten when Rachel glared at Finn. Brittany raised her left hand and Artie didn’t correct her.
“Okay,” Mr. Schue noted, “Let’s not throw everything out. Quinn, Sam, you’re our duets winners. You think you can handle the intro?”
“I think ‘Time of Our Life’ isn’t out our range,” Quinn remarked.
Mr. Schue nodded. “Any contenders for our ballad?” Rachel looked like she had been punched.
“I think Kurt should do it,” Finn suggested. Santana piped in with agreement.
“Thank you for your support, Finn, Santana, but I’ll pass. I’ve got several great songs prepared, but I wouldn’t dare pull them out for anything less than Regionals. I do believe Santana has something, though.”
“Let’s hear it,” Will requested.
“Oh, it’s not ready…” Why did I tell Kurt? I know I rocked it last time, but I’ve been too busy to prepare.
“Sweetie, you should do it,” Kurt firmly suggested, squeezing her hand. “For her,” he whispered.
Santana scrambled to the front of the room before she lost her nerve. “So, uh, I haven’t given the band the music to practice with, so excuse me while I put on the karaoke version.” She plugged her iPod into the stereo. The music started, and she sang the first few lines quietly, self-consciously holding her hands in front of her:
Valerie - Glee Cast
Well, sometimes I go out by myself
And I look across the water
Kurt locked eyes with her with an encouraging smile. He did a cat claws gesture and she responded by bouncing in place with a fierce smile.
And I think of all the things, what you’re doing
And in my head I paint a picture
Finally in character, she began to strut around the room, her arms gesturing confidently.
‘Cause since I’ve come on home
Well, my body’s been a mess
And I’ve missed your ginger hair
And the way you like to dress
She brushed her fingers through Brittany’s locks during the “ginger hair” line, and eyed Tina and Rachel during “the way you like to dress.” She planted her feet on the far side of the room and started to whale out the third stanza:
Won’t you come on over
Stop makin’ a fool out of me
As the chorus began, she rapidly strutted across the room, giving a come-hither gesture to the entire clug.
Why don’t you come on over Valerie?
Valerie... Valerie... Valerie...
The music stopped a few beats into the second verse; Schuester had turned off the music.
Santana brushed back her hair. “Uh, did that suck, Mr. Schue?”
“No, on the contrary, I think it was phenomenal. All in favor of giving Santana the ballad?”
Ten hands shot up, Rachel’s and Finn’s excluded of course, none more enthusiastically than Brittany’s (again left) hand. Polite cheering followed. and Mr. Schue struck through two songs on the board:
“What I Did for Love” - Rachel
“Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina” - Rachel
Quinn had to get a quip in, though. “This won’t exactly squash the lesbian rumors, though.”
Santana blew her a playful kiss and a challenging look.
Rachel remarked, “Well, since you’re all intent on destroying my future career, I suppose I’ll excuse myself.”
“Drop the theatrics, Berry,” Santana spat from the front of the room, “I’m not too petty to admit that you are our powerhouse, and we’d be shooting ourselves in the foot by excluding you.” Kurt’s with us; Dalton can suck it.
“You’re appealing to my vanity.”
“Vanity’s too kind of a word. We’ve still got the group number to pick out. You always take the big solo on those.”
“Our choices this time are ‘Empire State of Mind’ and ‘One of Us’, neither of which I have a solo in. I was allowing others to shine, but you’ve taken that away from me. I find it hypocritical.”
Santana stared at the board, thinking fast. “Hey, Mr. Schue, I don’t see your favorite group number on here.”
“What?”
“The one you were so intent on us doing that you got a certain leggy blonde to mash it up with you.”
Mr. Schue’s reddening cheeks at the mention of Ms. Holiday was becoming a recurring theme. “‘Singin’ in the Rain’ and ‘Umbrella’? Are you sure?”
“The hats and vests would look pretty fly over the outfits we picked out for the guys,” Mercedes commented.
“And the choreography would be cool. ‘Empire’ we planned for the courtyard and ‘One of Us’ had no choreography,” Mike pointed out.
This couldn’t have gone better had Santana planned it.
“But Holly-I mean Ms. Holiday-and I took the leads on that part. Obviously, neither of us can perform…”
Santana’s eyes turned to Rachel. “If only we had a male and female lead to take over.”
“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me…” Rachel mumbled.
“Because your whining makes me want to stick a pencil in my ear.”
“I’m not stupid. Glee clubbers, it would be our honor to bring down the house in our closing number, therefore guaranteeing our win at Sectionals. Right, Finn?”
“Yeah,” her boyfriend agreed, perhaps not aware of what he was agreeing with or to.
Santana’s eyes fell on Brittany. It wasn’t like she’d forgotten the most important thing. “Speaking of choreography, we have more than talented singers in here. Kurt, tell me about the Warblers’ dance moves.”
“It really quite charming,” Kurt remarked, miming the moves in his seat, “it’s a lot of in-sync swaying, some snapping, snazzy arm movements…”
“And I’m sure it fits their style, but I for one have seen Brittany do more elaborate dance moves walking up the stairs.” Artie’s eye furrowed in confusion. Yeah, probably ‘cause you don’t use stairs, Santana thought impishly. “Tina, back me up about Mike.”
“He can’t close his locker anymore without doing a spin.”
“You know, ‘Time of My Life’ has a pretty iconic dance routine that goes with it,” Will added.
“It’s a good idea,” Santana admitted. “But it would also mean a lot to me if Brittany and Mike did a little something during my song.”
Brittany beamed at Santana. It was a like a drink of water in the desert.
“I think Britt and I can work something out,” Mike noted confidently. Brittany turned to him and nodded vigorously. Tina grabbed his hand with a congratulatory smile. Artie looked slightly miffed with this turn of events.
All this and I managed to not only not piss off Rachel and ruin her nauseatingly perfect relationship with Jumbo-Teen, but actually wiggled my way into her good graces. Not that I care about being on her good side except for the obvious fringe benefits I might reap later.
But, more importantly, I’ve gotten into Brittany’s good graces after the distance that’s grown between us since the wedding. For the first time in two weeks, Santana felt a flitter of hope, and it was enough to push her to start driving a wedge between Brittany and Artie.
* * *
Every day was a new opportunity for Santana to regain some of the progress she’d made with Brittany. Sectionals was less than a week away, and with the way things had been gravitating towards the previous states, Santana was set to do a little rewriting. Even if it meant plagiarizing her competition.
Santana remembered Brittany gushing about how Artie had supported her with her stage fright concerning Sectionals, and she wasn’t going to let Wheels worm his way into her heart that way again.
Even though she had plans to directly tackle the problem, she still spent every lucid moment she had with her eyes pointed downward for that stupid plastic comb. Truth be told, the only consistent time she jumped anymore was sleep. She hadn’t dreamed once and she knew she wasn’t falling asleep and waking up that fast.
Keeping her eyes turned down the right idea, because she finally found that plastic comb, not on the ground, but in the platinum blond hair of Genevieve McLaire, the Rachel Berry of the drama department. Like Berry, she was short, probably shorter given the platforms she was wearing. Santana should have felt bad messing up the blonde’s elaborate (and what the thesbian would probably label “spunky”) hairdo, but she was going to end up losing the pink comb anyway.
“Can I borrow this? Thanks.”
“Whatever,” Genevieve replied, either too afraid to confront the Cheerio or not being attached to the hunk of plastic in the first place.
Santana stopped dead. “You’re not pissed?”
“It was part of my costume. I forgot to take it out. Plus, Mr. Ryerson has like a hundred of them. And I’m not a fan of combs. Too many teeth and no mouth.” The girl strolled off to her next class, leaving Santana sniffing for marijuana fumes.
Moments later, the comb found its way into the nearest trash can. It was a small victory in Santana’s mind that she wasn’t using Brittany’s naiveté to further her goals. She enjoyed Brittany’s personality, and there were times she absolutely appreciated her being slow to question things, but using that to her advantage so blatantly, while rather effective, did feel a little cheap.
Trashing the comb would be her undoing. Those ten seconds Artie didn’t use to pick up the discarded item would be the ten seconds that he needed to reach Brittany before Santana could. She watched from outside the classroom as her plans unraveled. Artie was already speaking to the anxious-looking Brittany. That is, until her spotted the Latina spying on them from outside the doorway. When she turned tail and ran, Wheelchair pursued her.
She spun around, too quickly for him to stop in time, but she gracefully stepped out of the way, and then waited for him to reposition himself. It would have been much more convenient for her to move back into his eyeline, but she wasn’t in the business of making Artie’s life easier.
With her default lack of sincerity, she apologized. “Sorry about spying on your private little moment with your girlfriend.”
“It’s okay. She’s just a little nervous about her dance numbers at Sectionals. I think I’ve got her calmed down, but I think she would appreciate a second opinion backing up mine. She trusts you.”
Working together with Wheels wasn’t in the game plan, but she wasn’t content to turn down any opportunity she had.
“Of course.” She walked toward the classroom, leaving Artie behind and praying he’d stay there.
He did. “And make it quick. I think she’s about to wet herself.”
Five minutes later, Santana told Brittany, “You being afraid of dancing has got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and we’ve spent considerable time around both Puck and Finn. Everything you do is dance. When you walk down the hallways, your feet are practically gliding above the tiles. When you greet someone, you leap into their arms like a ballerina. You don’t turn; you pivot. You don’t breathe; you inhale joy and exhale grace. Even in bed, you’re a dancer.” She giggled. “Heck, when I walked into the classroom, you were doing a dance.”
There was a flush, and Brittany came out of the bathroom stall. “Joanna calls that the pee-pee dance.”
“Well, it was the fiercest pee-pee dance I’ve ever seen. Brittany, I love my voice; I am pure sex on stage. But this Saturday, you’re not going to be dancing for my song. I’m going to be singing for your dance.”
It would have been the perfect time for a hug, but Santana could smell Brittany’s shampoo from here. Her heart was already thumping hard enough that Brittany could probably hear it. So, instead, she locked eyes with her best friend, trying to show how proud of her she was without words or touches. When Brittany smiled, Santana hoped she’d done enough.
“What are you doing tonight?” Santana heard herself asking before she could stop herself.
“Artie wanted to take me to this new restaurant at the mall: Loma Del Arbol. It must be a Chinese restaurant.”
“Oh,” Santana remarked sadly.
“But I told him I couldn’t go since it was so important that Mike and I practice our dancing.”
“Oh,” Santana remarked happily.
“And then I have moto-cross practice.”
“Don’t break a leg.”
“I thought that meant ‘good luck’.”
“Not at moto-cross. At moto-cross, that means do not break your leg or you won’t be able to dance for your best friend’s song at your glee club’s sectional competition.”
“Oh, I’ll have to remember that. What are you doing tonight?”
“Well, for one, I’m going to go let Jacob Ben Israel out of the portapotty he’s been in for the last 24 hours.”
“Why? He told everyone you’re a lesbian.”
“I’m nice now, remember? That and I have to convince him not to press charges against Puck, so that he doesn’t get put back in juvie for reckless endangerment and we don’t have to replace him with Lauren Zizes.”
“Why would Lauren Zizes join glee club?”
Mostly to herself, she muttered, “Actually, come to think of it, if Puck’s in juvie, Zizes wouldn’t join glee, would she? Makes no sense, right?”
“Santana, sometimes you say weird things, but it’s okay, I think it’s cute.”
“I know the feeling.” After locking eyes with Brittany for several seconds, she offered, “You want to know what my secret is?”
Brittany just nodded.
“I’m psychic,” Santana finally stated.
“Oh, my mom took me to one of those once. I tried to bury my little sister in the backyard and pour water on her head. I had to sit in this big office and a lady wrote down everything I said. She asked me why I hated my sister and if I was a Satanist, which is silly because I didn’t even know you yet. Anyway, I told her I was just trying to make my sister grow taller and I didn’t have to go again but my family started going to church again.”
“Which is where we met. And the next year, we started sixth grade and learned in Biology that people and plants grow differently.”
“It was the best year ever because we had all the same classes.”
“It was the best year ever.”
But if I have anything to do with it, this year will the best one ever, because you’ll be mine.
Author's Note: Why is Brittany doing what she’s doing? I do have a reason; I promise. The entire series has been mapped out and even though there’s likely still plot holes I’ve missed, Bartie is not one of them. I dare say my excuse makes more sense than the show’s.
Wait, I just remembered “Never Been Kissed.” Of course it’s going to make more sense; any reason is better than no reason at all.
Chapter 10: Victories