Cheerio

“Decide who you want to invite to the banquet this weekend yet?” Quinn asked conversationally as we were getting changed after Cheerio practice. Well, I was still getting changed. Quinn looked absolutely perfect, not a hair out of place.

“I have a couple of prospects,” I lied, pulling a v-neck t-shirt over my head. “I just haven’t decided on which one is lucky enough to go with me yet.”

“Well, you know, Perry Mitchell is still looking for a date. You could always go with him.”

It took me a second to remember just who the hell Perry Mitchell was. Pretty good-looking with his jet-black locks and deep brown eyes. He was half-Korean on his mother’s side, which was pretty rare for Ohio. But then I remembered that he played second string defense, which meant that if I went with him, my status was going to drop just like that.

“We’ll see,” I responded, instead of shooting down Quinn’s plan completely. The thing with Quinn was that I never knew whether she was genuinely being nice or if she was just trying to get me to do something that would lead to my demise. It was probably her sweet, innocent voice, along with her perfect, all-American looks.

“Just remember that it’s Thursday,” she smiled. “That means the banquet's tomorrow.”

There was a buzzing sound. I started looking around for a fly, ready to swat it out of the air, but Quinn reached into her bag. “Oh, my mom just texted me. She’s here. I’ll see you tomorrow in English, okay?”

“Right,” I replied.

Quinn left, and I turned back to my locker, shutting the door loudly before draping my uniform over my arm. And after re-doing my ponytail for the third time since practice ended, I finally walked outside to meet Garrett outside the school.

“Hey,” he greeted, smiling. “Who was that blonde girl who left, like, five minutes before you?” He was bobbing and weaving, as if he was still trying to find her, even though she was probably long gone.

“Quinn Fabray. But don’t get your hopes up; she’s totally taken by Finn Hudson.”

“That tall, awkward kid?” Garrett looked at me with disgust. “There’s no way he scored her.”

“Well, he kind of grew into his own. He’s still awkward and tall, but he’s not awkward because he’s tall.” If that even made any sense.

Garrett nodded, as if he understood, before starting the car. “Too bad. She looked like she’d be pretty good.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, did I mention that she’s super Christian? Although she did get pregnant sophomore year…”

“By who?” He looked both ways before skidding onto the main road, cutting off some old guy, who flipped us off while he beeped.

“Noah Puckerman,” I responded. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it. It was a pretty hot topic.”

“Like I paid attention to any high school drama my first year of college,” he scoffed. As if he was going to school states away when he was, in fact, going to school a mere seven minutes from our house.

“Yeah, you’re just way too mature for that,” I teased.

We got home, and Garrett’s stomach growled loudly, as if it had a sensor that food was close. “Me wants some food.”

“Then go get some.” I suppressed the smile that was threatening to take over my face.

“Want anything? You’ve got to be starving after Cheerios practice, right?”

“No, I’m not. I just have to go do more Spanish work. Thanks, though.”

“Suit yourself,” Garrett shrugged.

We went off in our separate directions, him toward the kitchen, me toward my room. Right when I flopped down on my couch, I ripped the folder out of my bag and sighed, ready to get back to work.

* * *

I was at my locker, dead tired from not getting much sleep last night after finishing all the Spanish worksheets ever created, when Santana came over to me.

When Santana talks to me, it’s usually not a good thing. It’s usually to insult me, or to say something that’s disguised as something helpful or nice…but it’s really an insult.

“So, I hear from Quinn that you don’t have a date for the banquet yet. That true?” Santana’s arms were crossed over her chest, and I was very aware of the fact that she was an inch and a half taller than me when she was standing normally, never mind the super-straight stance that she was taking to seem intimidating.

“Yeah. But I’m going to tell Perry Mitchell that he can take me later.” I turned to make eye-contact with her, knowing that was one of the things she hated most: feeling like someone wasn’t afraid of her.

“Smart idea. I really don’t want you messing up the Cheerios good name by looking like a single loser.” Then, she let out a shrill laugh. “Oh, wait…you are, aren’t you?”

“Don’t start with me, Santana.” I slammed my locker door shut. “No matter how great you think you are, you’re not. I can’t wait for the day when someone kicks you off your second row of the pyramid.”

“Funny. Too bad you’re too naïve to know that Coach Sylvester loves me. That means if I’m moving anywhere on the pyramid, it’s up to the top.” Santana looked me over quickly. “By the way, those socks are fit for Berry.”

I took a sharp intake of breath, looking down at my feet. If there was one way to get under a Cheerio’s skin, it was to compare her fashion sense to that of Rachel Berry.

But I was just wearing white ankle socks, the same as every other girl on the team. There was no way that, as a junior, I would flub in the fashion department. I had once, freshman year, but that was long behind me.

Narrowing my eyes and ready to strike, I looked up again to cuss Santana out, but she was gone. I could almost see her smug grin as she replayed scaring the shit out of me in her mind.

What a bitch.