This Kiss, Chapter Six
Title: This Kiss
Author: poetzproblem
Fandom Glee
Characters: Rachel Berry / Quinn Fabray
Word Count: ~2800
Rating: R
Summary: One pivotal moment can change everything.
Spoilers/Warnings: hrough A Very Glee Christmas. Then AU. Cursing, sexual references, Femslash.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or the characters, just like to play with them.
A/N: Written for a Faberry prompt, but can't remember where. 'Rachel and Quinn share a kiss during a game of spin the bottle. From that night forward both girls desperately try to deny what they felt; what they feel. The other Glee kids know what’s up and attempt to play matchmaker.'
(Chapter One) (Chapter Two) (Chapter Three) (Chapter Four) (Chapter Five)
Gay Cupid
Tuesday morning found the majority of the student body tripping over their own feet in their haste to avoid the head cheerio when she stormed through the main entrance and thundered through the hallways. There were, however, a few notable exceptions. Santana was leaning against her locker with arms crossed and glaring at Brittany and Wheels when Quinn went marching past her with a familiar, pissed-off scowl in place. She really needed a good distraction from all the sugary sweet lovey-dovey crap her supposed best friend was spewing all over her (misogynistic, condescending ass of a) boyfriend, so she pushed off the wall and followed in Blondie's wake.
Quinn sailed by Kurt and Mercedes, who were deep into some conversation by the water fountain, and Santana watched them both snap to attention and stare after Quinn. Santana managed a terse nod of greeting as she blew by them, but ignored Kurt when he called out her name so that she could continue her pursuit, and she grinned in victory the second Quinn turned the corner to the music annex. Tubbers was headed straight for the auditorium, and it was common knowledge at McKinley that only one person could be found there at this time of the morning before the first period bell. Santana picked up her pace when she saw Quinn slam through the theater doors, not wanting to miss any of the fun.
Maybe getting her jollies by watching Quinn go full speed ahead with her melt down could be considered a little cold-hearted -okay, a lot-but it's not like she didn't try to warn her yesterday. Okay, so there had been a little more provocation than concern in the exchange, but only because Quinn was being extra bitchy about it. They might have known each other since kindergarten, but they were never exactly the best of friends-hell, they couldn't even qualify as frienemies anymore. Years of trying to top one another had bred both familiarity and contempt, and as a result, Santana had learned almost all of Quinn's secrets and triggers. So of course she knew exactly how long of a fuse had been lit at Puck's party. It was just a matter of time until the whole thing exploded.
As expected, the midget diva was on stage singing her little heart out-nothing that Santana recognized, so it was probably some boring show tune or something. What was a little surprising was that Rachel was playing the piano as she sang. Huh? She had no idea that the dwarf could play, and she wasn't half bad. Quinn must have been just as surprised because she came to a momentary halt in the middle of the aisle and just stood there listening for a good thirty seconds or more. Santana couldn't see Quinn's face, but she was willing to bet that Quinn was wearing that totally obvious, awestruck look that she got every time she watched Berry perform. She quietly snickered and slid into one of the seats near the back of the auditorium, sinking down low and waiting for the show to begin. The acoustics in there were really awesome.
She was not disappointed. Quinn jerked back into motion and stomped up the stairs at the side of stage. Berry finally noticed Quinn coming at her and the music stopped abruptly. She jumped up off the piano bench, nearly tipping it over in her haste.
"Quinn," she squeaked out.
"Treasure Trail, we need to talk."
Rachel smoothed her hands over her (hideous) skirt-really, who the hell would put a bow right in the front like that?-squared her shoulders and raised her chin defiantly. Typical Berry. "You really need to work on more creative nicknames, Quinn. You're becoming redundant."
"Just shut up and listen, hook nose" Rachel let out an indignant little huff and touched her nose self-consciously, but Quinn didn't even pause. "I don't appreciate you running and crying to that little band of whiny losers you suddenly have at your beck and call. If you have something to say to me, then say it to my face."
"Excuse me?"
"There's no excuse for you," Quinn snarked back with a scowl.
Rachel rolled her eyes dramatically at that, crossing her arms over her argyle clad chest. "So original, Quinn. Again, you need better material," and Santana silently agreed. Fabray really needed to work on improving those lame-ass insults. "But I digress. I have no idea what you're talking about."
Quinn growled-actually, no shitting growled, like a little kitty cat or something, complete with balled-up fists, and-was that a foot stomp? Dios, Santana really should have been recording this shit-it was fucking hilarious.
"I'm talking about the little eye rolls and bitchy looks that Hummel keeps giving me, and Mercedes acting all disappointed by my behavior, and your big oaf of a boyfriend calling me a bitch."
Rachel's eyes widened comically, and her arms fell limply to her sides. "Finn said that?"
Now Quinn was crossing her arms, and-Santana squinted to get a better look-yep, totally pouting. "Like you didn't go all damsel in distress and beg your man-child to defend your honor." Wow, complete with whiny little voice and everything.
"Honestly, no. Not this time," Rachel admitted with a shrug. "It's never really worked in the past so I figured, why bother?"
Santana almost felt sorry for the girl. Almost. Maybe she didn't particularly like Berry much, but damn, Finnessa was a fucking moron. He sucked at defending his girlfriend, and honestly, nobody needed to be defended more than Berry. The girl had a real knack for pissing everyone off. Santana could almost respect her for that. Again, almost.
Quinn bit her lip and looked down at the floor. "Oh, well, he did kind of screw it up anyway," she quietly confessed, then her gaze lifted and the head bitch was back in force. "Just tell them all to stay out of my way. That goes for you too, Gizmo."
Quinn spun on her heel and started to walk away, but Rachel's voice stopped her. "You know Quinn, I find it interesting that you keep telling me to stay away, yet you're always the one to initiate these little confrontations. Just what are you trying to prove?"
Uh, oh. Bad move Berry.
Santana perked up in her seat as she watched Quinn swing back around and viciously stalk over to Rachel, backing her up against the piano and generally invading her personal space. "I don't need to prove anything. I'm just making sure you remember your place," she punctuated with a finger poke to Rachel's shoulder.
"Then you're wasting your time, Quinn," Rachel said with confidence, calmly pushing Quinn's hand away. "I know what everyone at this school thinks of me, but it doesn't matter. I know exactly who I am and what I want. And I'm not afraid to go after it." Rachel took a step forward, and Quinn failed to step back, bringing them literally nose-to-nose. Quinn seemed to sway forward just a breath and, for a few tension-filled seconds, Santana actually thought they were about to start making out again. Then Rachel twisted away, haughtily asking, "Can you say the same?" before picking up her bag and executing a perfect diva storm-out.
Quinn was left standing alone on the stage, still staring at the piano and looking a little flustered. Rachel was already gone when she finally reacted, swinging around toward the backstage exit and yelling, "I know who I am! I'm Quinn freaking Fabray, head bitch. And you're…" she trailed off, visibly struggling for a word. "Annoying," she finished lamely, this time with a legitimate foot stomp. "I hate her. I do," she muttered to herself, then slapped a hand down onto the lid of the piano. "Damn it!"
Quinn's attempt at a storm-out, once again completely sucked. Berry was dramatic at least, entertaining even. Quinn just stomped around like a spoiled two-year-old who didn't get her way. Santana relaxed back into her seat, laughing quietly until she heard Mercedes say, "Oh, no, she didn't."
"Oh, she so did," Kurt joined in, and Santana whipped around to see the duo sitting right behind her, along with Brittany. She hadn't even noticed any of them follow her inside.
"When did you bitches get here?"
"Pretty much right after you," Kurt answered. "It's clear those two have some serious issues."
Santana scoffed, "You think? Q's so fuckin' pressed it's pathetic," she muttered carelessly.
"Okay, that's the second time you've called her that, Santana," Kurt pointed out. "Care to enlighten the rest of the class?"
She rolled her eyes at the boy. "Not really, Queer Eye."
"San's talking about Quinn's lemonade," Brittany chimed in.
Mercedes and Kurt both looked at Brittany in utter bewilderment and echoed, "Huh?"
Brittany shot them both look that clearly said they were missing the obvious, and explained, "Her lemons are all pressed and Rachel needs to totally squeeze her so she'll get juicy and not be tight anymore."
"Uptight, B," Santana corrected hurriedly, cringing at just how gross Brittany managed to make that all sound. As much as she lov-liked the girl, sometimes she seriously wondered what went on in that pretty, blonde head of hers.
Mercedes frowned. "Lemons?"
"Juicy?" Kurt looked a little green.
"Ay Dios mio!" Santana threw her hands up in frustration. "It means she's a repressed lesbian, okay? And she's had the hots for Berry since freshman year," she snapped.
"Eighth grade," Brittany corrected sagely.
"Like you both didn't know that already," Santana finished, ignoring Brittany's comment.
"I didn't," Mercedes insisted, actually looking a little skeptical still, even though Santana was pretty sure Kurt had probably figured it out for himself a while ago and would have wasted no time sharing his theories with his fag-hag.
"Oh, please, you thought girlfriend here," Santana nodded in Kurt's direction, "was into you last year. Buy a freakin' clue!"
"You're gonna buy my fist in your face if you don't ease up off the insults, Satan."
Really, like she'd never been called that before. "Bring it on, Precious."
"Oh, it's on," Mercedes growled, jumping up, and Santana immediately bounced up too, ready to smack a bitch. Between Brittany's love-fest with her new rolling toy-boy and Puck's wandering eyes and lips, she was itching for a good fight. Mercedes may be on the extra-large side, but she was soft. Santana could totally take her down.
Kurt stood, putting a restraining hand on the girls' shoulders, "Easy ladies. Let's not fight amongst ourselves. We have more important battles to wage."
Santana glared at him, not liking the sound of that one little bit. "What battles?"
He smiled slyly, arching his eyebrow. "Quinn and Rachel in all their repressed glory, of course."
"Oh, hell no," she vowed. "Whatever you've got cooking in that rainbow-colored brain of yours, you can just leave me out of it."
Mercedes nodded in agreement. "Yeah Kurt, you know I love you, but I ain't about to be getting' all up in their business. I mean, it's Rachel. And Quinn. That's a level of crazy and scary I don't wanna be messin' with."
"Normally I would agree with you, Mercedes, but I fear this little drama has the unfortunate potential to tear apart glee club. It's our duty to ease those two into a mutual understanding," he rationalized.
Okay, it was official. The boy had lost his flaming mind. "You want drama? Try dragging Sister Christian out of her deep, dark closet and see what happens."
"I know it's a painful step to take, but lying to oneself is more damaging in the long run," Kurt said with a certain amount of self-superiority that never failed to piss Santana off. No wonder he and Berry had gone all bosom-buddy lately; they were both so fucking self-righteous and arrogant.
"I don't even think you really give a crap about Q or Berry-you just don't want to be the only gay kid out of the closet at McKinley," she accused him. He'd gotten spoiled at that pansy-ass private school with all the dapper Dans running around being all sensitive and girly.
"Hey, now," Mercedes started to defend, but Kurt placed a calming hand on her arm and met Santana's cold glare head on.
"You're wrong. I actually do care about both of them, which is more than I can say for you, Santana. You've been nothing but cruel to Rachel, and I'm sure you only followed Quinn in here hoping for fresh dirt to use against her."
Santana sneered at the boy, even though he was mostly right about everything. Didn't mean she had to admit to it. This whole conversation was so not worth her time. "Whatever. I'm out of here," she glanced down at Brittany. "Come on, B."
Brittany bit her lip and looked up at Santana sadly before shaking her head. "No, San. I want to help them. Quinn and Rachel are cute together. And really hot. I think they could make each other happy. They're both always so sad now."
Santana closed her eyes, took a deep breath and counted to ten slowly. Yeah, Quinn was delusional if she really believed she was straight. Hello, locker room subtlety fail. Blondie liked to check out the tits and ass. Santana had known that for years, but she was pretty damn sure Berry was driving stick.
"Brit, they're not sad, okay? Berry's all dopey in love with Frankenteen and Quinn's with the Bieber clone. You know, their boyfriends," she stressed bitterly, thinking about Artie as she said it.
Hurt flashed in Brittany's eyes, and Santana wanted to kick herself for putting that hang-dog look on her best friend's face. "Maybe they just have boyfriends because they're too scared to be with the person they really want."
Santana felt her face flame at the veiled accusation, and she glanced over at Kurt and Mercedes to see them both avoiding eye contact and trying to play nonchalant, which only pissed her off more. She did not need this. She frowned at Brittany, "Fine. Stay and play gay cupid for all I care, just don't come crying to me when it blows up in your face."
She left them with a swish of her cheerio skirt and headed for her first period class, not giving a damn that Brittany suddenly wanted to help start a lesbian matchmaking service or something. Jesus, first she'd wanted to sing that stupid song in glee, and now this! Like getting Juno and Man Hands together would be all romantic and shit. Please, it was high school in Lima fucking Ohio. They'd be crucified. Well, Berry was kind of used to it, but Quinn would never be able to deal. Even if she had bounced back from having a damn baby with no repercussions-seriously, had everyone in this fucking school just forgotten it ever happened? Hell, Saint Fabray could probably murder someone and still come out smelling like roses. She probably would be able to pull off being an out and proud lesbian and still keep her reputation intact.
Santana came to a grinding stop in the middle of the hallway at the realization. Quinn would either be a fucking hero or be crushed down to a zero once and for all. Which meant that Santana could be back on top of the pyramid, or…something far better. It was kind of a win-win for her. No matter what happened, the ensuing chaos was bound to be fucking epic. She grinned and strutted into class, a bounce back in her step. She'd track down Hummel at lunch and tell him she was in, then sit back and watch it all blow sky high.
Chapter Seven
Author: poetzproblem
Fandom Glee
Characters: Rachel Berry / Quinn Fabray
Word Count: ~2800
Rating: R
Summary: One pivotal moment can change everything.
Spoilers/Warnings: hrough A Very Glee Christmas. Then AU. Cursing, sexual references, Femslash.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or the characters, just like to play with them.
A/N: Written for a Faberry prompt, but can't remember where. 'Rachel and Quinn share a kiss during a game of spin the bottle. From that night forward both girls desperately try to deny what they felt; what they feel. The other Glee kids know what’s up and attempt to play matchmaker.'
(Chapter One) (Chapter Two) (Chapter Three) (Chapter Four) (Chapter Five)
Gay Cupid
Tuesday morning found the majority of the student body tripping over their own feet in their haste to avoid the head cheerio when she stormed through the main entrance and thundered through the hallways. There were, however, a few notable exceptions. Santana was leaning against her locker with arms crossed and glaring at Brittany and Wheels when Quinn went marching past her with a familiar, pissed-off scowl in place. She really needed a good distraction from all the sugary sweet lovey-dovey crap her supposed best friend was spewing all over her (misogynistic, condescending ass of a) boyfriend, so she pushed off the wall and followed in Blondie's wake.
Quinn sailed by Kurt and Mercedes, who were deep into some conversation by the water fountain, and Santana watched them both snap to attention and stare after Quinn. Santana managed a terse nod of greeting as she blew by them, but ignored Kurt when he called out her name so that she could continue her pursuit, and she grinned in victory the second Quinn turned the corner to the music annex. Tubbers was headed straight for the auditorium, and it was common knowledge at McKinley that only one person could be found there at this time of the morning before the first period bell. Santana picked up her pace when she saw Quinn slam through the theater doors, not wanting to miss any of the fun.
Maybe getting her jollies by watching Quinn go full speed ahead with her melt down could be considered a little cold-hearted -okay, a lot-but it's not like she didn't try to warn her yesterday. Okay, so there had been a little more provocation than concern in the exchange, but only because Quinn was being extra bitchy about it. They might have known each other since kindergarten, but they were never exactly the best of friends-hell, they couldn't even qualify as frienemies anymore. Years of trying to top one another had bred both familiarity and contempt, and as a result, Santana had learned almost all of Quinn's secrets and triggers. So of course she knew exactly how long of a fuse had been lit at Puck's party. It was just a matter of time until the whole thing exploded.
As expected, the midget diva was on stage singing her little heart out-nothing that Santana recognized, so it was probably some boring show tune or something. What was a little surprising was that Rachel was playing the piano as she sang. Huh? She had no idea that the dwarf could play, and she wasn't half bad. Quinn must have been just as surprised because she came to a momentary halt in the middle of the aisle and just stood there listening for a good thirty seconds or more. Santana couldn't see Quinn's face, but she was willing to bet that Quinn was wearing that totally obvious, awestruck look that she got every time she watched Berry perform. She quietly snickered and slid into one of the seats near the back of the auditorium, sinking down low and waiting for the show to begin. The acoustics in there were really awesome.
She was not disappointed. Quinn jerked back into motion and stomped up the stairs at the side of stage. Berry finally noticed Quinn coming at her and the music stopped abruptly. She jumped up off the piano bench, nearly tipping it over in her haste.
"Quinn," she squeaked out.
"Treasure Trail, we need to talk."
Rachel smoothed her hands over her (hideous) skirt-really, who the hell would put a bow right in the front like that?-squared her shoulders and raised her chin defiantly. Typical Berry. "You really need to work on more creative nicknames, Quinn. You're becoming redundant."
"Just shut up and listen, hook nose" Rachel let out an indignant little huff and touched her nose self-consciously, but Quinn didn't even pause. "I don't appreciate you running and crying to that little band of whiny losers you suddenly have at your beck and call. If you have something to say to me, then say it to my face."
"Excuse me?"
"There's no excuse for you," Quinn snarked back with a scowl.
Rachel rolled her eyes dramatically at that, crossing her arms over her argyle clad chest. "So original, Quinn. Again, you need better material," and Santana silently agreed. Fabray really needed to work on improving those lame-ass insults. "But I digress. I have no idea what you're talking about."
Quinn growled-actually, no shitting growled, like a little kitty cat or something, complete with balled-up fists, and-was that a foot stomp? Dios, Santana really should have been recording this shit-it was fucking hilarious.
"I'm talking about the little eye rolls and bitchy looks that Hummel keeps giving me, and Mercedes acting all disappointed by my behavior, and your big oaf of a boyfriend calling me a bitch."
Rachel's eyes widened comically, and her arms fell limply to her sides. "Finn said that?"
Now Quinn was crossing her arms, and-Santana squinted to get a better look-yep, totally pouting. "Like you didn't go all damsel in distress and beg your man-child to defend your honor." Wow, complete with whiny little voice and everything.
"Honestly, no. Not this time," Rachel admitted with a shrug. "It's never really worked in the past so I figured, why bother?"
Santana almost felt sorry for the girl. Almost. Maybe she didn't particularly like Berry much, but damn, Finnessa was a fucking moron. He sucked at defending his girlfriend, and honestly, nobody needed to be defended more than Berry. The girl had a real knack for pissing everyone off. Santana could almost respect her for that. Again, almost.
Quinn bit her lip and looked down at the floor. "Oh, well, he did kind of screw it up anyway," she quietly confessed, then her gaze lifted and the head bitch was back in force. "Just tell them all to stay out of my way. That goes for you too, Gizmo."
Quinn spun on her heel and started to walk away, but Rachel's voice stopped her. "You know Quinn, I find it interesting that you keep telling me to stay away, yet you're always the one to initiate these little confrontations. Just what are you trying to prove?"
Uh, oh. Bad move Berry.
Santana perked up in her seat as she watched Quinn swing back around and viciously stalk over to Rachel, backing her up against the piano and generally invading her personal space. "I don't need to prove anything. I'm just making sure you remember your place," she punctuated with a finger poke to Rachel's shoulder.
"Then you're wasting your time, Quinn," Rachel said with confidence, calmly pushing Quinn's hand away. "I know what everyone at this school thinks of me, but it doesn't matter. I know exactly who I am and what I want. And I'm not afraid to go after it." Rachel took a step forward, and Quinn failed to step back, bringing them literally nose-to-nose. Quinn seemed to sway forward just a breath and, for a few tension-filled seconds, Santana actually thought they were about to start making out again. Then Rachel twisted away, haughtily asking, "Can you say the same?" before picking up her bag and executing a perfect diva storm-out.
Quinn was left standing alone on the stage, still staring at the piano and looking a little flustered. Rachel was already gone when she finally reacted, swinging around toward the backstage exit and yelling, "I know who I am! I'm Quinn freaking Fabray, head bitch. And you're…" she trailed off, visibly struggling for a word. "Annoying," she finished lamely, this time with a legitimate foot stomp. "I hate her. I do," she muttered to herself, then slapped a hand down onto the lid of the piano. "Damn it!"
Quinn's attempt at a storm-out, once again completely sucked. Berry was dramatic at least, entertaining even. Quinn just stomped around like a spoiled two-year-old who didn't get her way. Santana relaxed back into her seat, laughing quietly until she heard Mercedes say, "Oh, no, she didn't."
"Oh, she so did," Kurt joined in, and Santana whipped around to see the duo sitting right behind her, along with Brittany. She hadn't even noticed any of them follow her inside.
"When did you bitches get here?"
"Pretty much right after you," Kurt answered. "It's clear those two have some serious issues."
Santana scoffed, "You think? Q's so fuckin' pressed it's pathetic," she muttered carelessly.
"Okay, that's the second time you've called her that, Santana," Kurt pointed out. "Care to enlighten the rest of the class?"
She rolled her eyes at the boy. "Not really, Queer Eye."
"San's talking about Quinn's lemonade," Brittany chimed in.
Mercedes and Kurt both looked at Brittany in utter bewilderment and echoed, "Huh?"
Brittany shot them both look that clearly said they were missing the obvious, and explained, "Her lemons are all pressed and Rachel needs to totally squeeze her so she'll get juicy and not be tight anymore."
"Uptight, B," Santana corrected hurriedly, cringing at just how gross Brittany managed to make that all sound. As much as she lov-liked the girl, sometimes she seriously wondered what went on in that pretty, blonde head of hers.
Mercedes frowned. "Lemons?"
"Juicy?" Kurt looked a little green.
"Ay Dios mio!" Santana threw her hands up in frustration. "It means she's a repressed lesbian, okay? And she's had the hots for Berry since freshman year," she snapped.
"Eighth grade," Brittany corrected sagely.
"Like you both didn't know that already," Santana finished, ignoring Brittany's comment.
"I didn't," Mercedes insisted, actually looking a little skeptical still, even though Santana was pretty sure Kurt had probably figured it out for himself a while ago and would have wasted no time sharing his theories with his fag-hag.
"Oh, please, you thought girlfriend here," Santana nodded in Kurt's direction, "was into you last year. Buy a freakin' clue!"
"You're gonna buy my fist in your face if you don't ease up off the insults, Satan."
Really, like she'd never been called that before. "Bring it on, Precious."
"Oh, it's on," Mercedes growled, jumping up, and Santana immediately bounced up too, ready to smack a bitch. Between Brittany's love-fest with her new rolling toy-boy and Puck's wandering eyes and lips, she was itching for a good fight. Mercedes may be on the extra-large side, but she was soft. Santana could totally take her down.
Kurt stood, putting a restraining hand on the girls' shoulders, "Easy ladies. Let's not fight amongst ourselves. We have more important battles to wage."
Santana glared at him, not liking the sound of that one little bit. "What battles?"
He smiled slyly, arching his eyebrow. "Quinn and Rachel in all their repressed glory, of course."
"Oh, hell no," she vowed. "Whatever you've got cooking in that rainbow-colored brain of yours, you can just leave me out of it."
Mercedes nodded in agreement. "Yeah Kurt, you know I love you, but I ain't about to be getting' all up in their business. I mean, it's Rachel. And Quinn. That's a level of crazy and scary I don't wanna be messin' with."
"Normally I would agree with you, Mercedes, but I fear this little drama has the unfortunate potential to tear apart glee club. It's our duty to ease those two into a mutual understanding," he rationalized.
Okay, it was official. The boy had lost his flaming mind. "You want drama? Try dragging Sister Christian out of her deep, dark closet and see what happens."
"I know it's a painful step to take, but lying to oneself is more damaging in the long run," Kurt said with a certain amount of self-superiority that never failed to piss Santana off. No wonder he and Berry had gone all bosom-buddy lately; they were both so fucking self-righteous and arrogant.
"I don't even think you really give a crap about Q or Berry-you just don't want to be the only gay kid out of the closet at McKinley," she accused him. He'd gotten spoiled at that pansy-ass private school with all the dapper Dans running around being all sensitive and girly.
"Hey, now," Mercedes started to defend, but Kurt placed a calming hand on her arm and met Santana's cold glare head on.
"You're wrong. I actually do care about both of them, which is more than I can say for you, Santana. You've been nothing but cruel to Rachel, and I'm sure you only followed Quinn in here hoping for fresh dirt to use against her."
Santana sneered at the boy, even though he was mostly right about everything. Didn't mean she had to admit to it. This whole conversation was so not worth her time. "Whatever. I'm out of here," she glanced down at Brittany. "Come on, B."
Brittany bit her lip and looked up at Santana sadly before shaking her head. "No, San. I want to help them. Quinn and Rachel are cute together. And really hot. I think they could make each other happy. They're both always so sad now."
Santana closed her eyes, took a deep breath and counted to ten slowly. Yeah, Quinn was delusional if she really believed she was straight. Hello, locker room subtlety fail. Blondie liked to check out the tits and ass. Santana had known that for years, but she was pretty damn sure Berry was driving stick.
"Brit, they're not sad, okay? Berry's all dopey in love with Frankenteen and Quinn's with the Bieber clone. You know, their boyfriends," she stressed bitterly, thinking about Artie as she said it.
Hurt flashed in Brittany's eyes, and Santana wanted to kick herself for putting that hang-dog look on her best friend's face. "Maybe they just have boyfriends because they're too scared to be with the person they really want."
Santana felt her face flame at the veiled accusation, and she glanced over at Kurt and Mercedes to see them both avoiding eye contact and trying to play nonchalant, which only pissed her off more. She did not need this. She frowned at Brittany, "Fine. Stay and play gay cupid for all I care, just don't come crying to me when it blows up in your face."
She left them with a swish of her cheerio skirt and headed for her first period class, not giving a damn that Brittany suddenly wanted to help start a lesbian matchmaking service or something. Jesus, first she'd wanted to sing that stupid song in glee, and now this! Like getting Juno and Man Hands together would be all romantic and shit. Please, it was high school in Lima fucking Ohio. They'd be crucified. Well, Berry was kind of used to it, but Quinn would never be able to deal. Even if she had bounced back from having a damn baby with no repercussions-seriously, had everyone in this fucking school just forgotten it ever happened? Hell, Saint Fabray could probably murder someone and still come out smelling like roses. She probably would be able to pull off being an out and proud lesbian and still keep her reputation intact.
Santana came to a grinding stop in the middle of the hallway at the realization. Quinn would either be a fucking hero or be crushed down to a zero once and for all. Which meant that Santana could be back on top of the pyramid, or…something far better. It was kind of a win-win for her. No matter what happened, the ensuing chaos was bound to be fucking epic. She grinned and strutted into class, a bounce back in her step. She'd track down Hummel at lunch and tell him she was in, then sit back and watch it all blow sky high.
Chapter Seven