Fic: Cheer
She decided it over summer. It had to be done. It was the logical thing to do, the only way to ensure things stay normal. ‘Normal.’ Something she’s not, but she’s good at appearances and it’s only a year. It’s not that she can’t get by without it because she proved last year she could, though she definitely would have been prom queen if she’d still been on the squad, that’s certain. It’s just the extra security, the undisputed power that comes with that red skirt and those white gyms shoes. If there’s one thing that stops rumours it’s a glare from a uniformed cheerleader, especially one with Santana’s reputation. No one suspects anything when she’s in the Cheerio’s uniform, or at least they didn’t used to, she was the sassy school whore, living up to the stereotype, and she was fine with that. She could get away with drunken flirtations with a certain blonde, or exhibit jealousies over her ‘best friend’, and it would be nothing suspicious or weird because the next morning she’d be in her little red uniform, and she’d walk down the corridor smirking, without a care in the world, as jocks would give her the approving once over.
Out of uniform things got difficult. Hierarchy changes, people start to wonder, walls start to crumble, people get proper boyfriends, best friend just means best friend and nothing more. Out of uniform she’s tuning into whispers where the words don’t glide off her quite so well and she doesn’t meet people’s eyes in a challenge. She was still Santana Lopez, still as scheming, still as underhand and malicious, she still hated the majority of the student body and they still hated her, only she was vulnerable out of uniform. No barriers. She was just Santana Lopez. And that’s not enough to survive on. Not in Lima.
She’s not even Santana Lopez, not completely anyway, she’s the image and projection of the typical high schooler, the hard girl with a taste for alcohol and boys, her parents don’t like hearing it but it’s surely better than the truth, she figures they’d much rather hear stories of promiscuity with any Tom, Dick and Harry than promises of forever with the girl who’s practically an honouree member of the family and has slept over more times than they’d approve of if they realised what went on under black sateen sheets.
She never really enjoyed the squad, she never really liked Coach, but she respects them both. You ask any American kid who has the running of the school and it’s the cheerleaders, you watch any corny high school film and it’s the same, being on the squad is a safety net, and it’s what she needs right now. The same can be said of Sylvester, she’s the biggest bully in that place and if Santana’s on her team she’s practically immune from everything, except from the woman herself, but she’ll gladly put up with digs about her humps over slurs on her sexuality. People can say what they want about her body, even her bitchy attitude, but anything else is unacceptable, irreversible. She can flaunt her chest, she can sneer and jibe, but she can’t display anything out of the ordinary, she can’t go leering at girls, she can’t wear the damn shirt and go dancing with Brittany.
She decides over summer that it’s the only way to go. After the debacle of Prom and the massive failure of New York, Cheerios is the saving grace. If they’d won Nationals it might have been different, people like winners, they’d have rocketed from under dogs to top dogs, but they didn’t, and so Glee Club is still bottom of the food chain, and what’s worse is that she’s sure that when word spreads she’ll be the lowest member, even lower than Berry which is saying something, but then she’s dating Finn who somehow manages to keep his head above water. She’d be lower than Wheezy because she’s got Trouty Mouth, lower than Asian fusion because they have each other, lower than Zizes because she’s still got some whacked thing with Puck, lower than Quinn because hello teen pregnancy earns some credit once all the scandal’s over and done with, and she shudders when she thinks she’d be lower than Artie because the guy dated the hottest girl in town, if the dude with no legs managed to date the girl for that long than he must be pretty cool, or at least that’s what people think. She’d be the bottom once it all gets out and she knows it will. Somehow she knows everything’s going to spill out, she’d rather it wouldn’t, but when the school paper runs a blind item on it, it’s surely only a matter of time. When she’s in the biggest sham of a relationship with the boy who screams struggling closet case, the charade of harmless heterosexuality can only last so long. And when Brittany continues to make puppy dog eyes at her and she’s gripping onto a pinky finger like her life depends on it, it’ll only take someone with half a brain cell (which granted is a little tricky at McKinley but someone like Jacob Ben Israel surely has a couple floating around in that ginger afro) to put two and two together and come out with lesbian. She’s sure she’d be lower than Kurt too, because she’d be the new homo on the scene, people aren’t over him as it is, but it was obvious from the start, it’s all he’s known, it’s all the school has known. With her it’d be massive, she’s one of the biggest cock suckers out there, no one would be expecting it, she’d be the freak show, she’d be slushied until her skin’s stained with the colour, a branding for the dyke.
She knows it’ll come out. Secrets have a habit of becoming public knowledge. She knows Quinn has doubts (well founded and substantiated), she knows Kurt’s interest piqued after Brittany’s conference call slip and that it redoubled when she started ‘dating’ Karofsky, and she knows that Brittany would never consciously out her but the girl sometimes has no filter. All in all she’s sure most of the school has suspicious, she’s sure they’re waiting at the sidelines until the whistle blows and they can tear her to pieces. Going back on the squad will buy her some time, as if there’d be lesbian cheerleader? And especially not the one who had a boob job, or the one who is dating the football meathead, or the one who walks the corridors like she owns them, if she was a lesbian she’d be on the soccer team, or play golf, she’d have a buzz cut and a billion piercings, and try and blend in with the walls, or skive off school, she wouldn’t show her face and smirk like the cat who got the cream when her boyfriend squeezes her ass.
She tries out for the squad and does some major grovelling and sucking up to Sylvester, who if anything is more than happy to have her back, Santana was a key member after all, the squad flunked competition after she’d pulled out with the two top blondes. It feels good to have the uniform back on, looking in the mirror, practising her hardened glare she feels almost invincible, there’s not a trace of irregularity on her, she looks almost the same as she did when she wore it as a freshman, gunning for head cheerleader and fooling herself that Noah Puckerman would fulfil her. She gives herself the nod, because she has to admit that paired with Karofsky’s red jacket she’s going to seem every part the typical cheerleader, she walks through the front door and can feel the reverence of deadbeats and nerds, it’s going to be a breeze. Heads turn in her direction, not one of them malicious, and she smirks at how easily people can be manipulated, it only takes a flutter of red skirt, smooth legs and swinging hips.
When she rounds the corner to her locker she falters momentarily at the sight because Brittany wasn’t in on this. She never told her, yet there she is, decked out in the same uniform, blonde hair tied back, toned legs exposed, leaning against her locker like it was two years ago.
‘Forgotten your combo?’
‘Nope. I like your outfit.’
‘I like yours too.’
‘You never told me.’
‘You never asked.’
Brittany plays with her bag straps and Santana thinks she was too harsh.
‘Why’d you rejoin?’
There’s a shrug and then a smile, ‘Coach told me you had.’
‘Oh.’
‘We’re going to kick ass.’
Santana can’t stop the low chuckle that comes out as she regards Brittany’s half serious face, blue eyes dancing in that testing way.
‘Sure we are.’
She outstretches her little finger and when Brittany places hers in it, Santana squeezes it a little before they make their way to biology, there’s a couple of looks at the entwined fingers and there’s an ominous hand with a purple shushy as they round a corner but eyes flick over the printed WMHS lettering before quickly connecting with stern dark eyes and it’s drifting out of sight. They’re going to kick ass this year.