Slip Up

                                    

                                          
When I wake up, she is gone. 
                          
There is a note on her bedside table. 
                          
It says: Had to go in to school early. Help yourself to anything in the fridge.
                          
I sigh and crumple up the piece of paper. I know it's a lie. She didn't have to get to work early, she just didn't want to have to deal with me waking up and being in her apartment. She didn't want it to be awkward. And in some ways I understand. How does a teacher deal with her student sleeping in her bed, even if it was in a totally friendly way? But it also hurts. It makes me think that she doesn't want me, and not just because I'm her student. Because she actually doesn't like me. 
                          
My head is pounding. I remember all of last night clearly, which is strange considering how drunk I was. I bet I looked like an idiot. I bet Brittany thought I was acting like a child. 
                          
I remember her kissing me on the cheek. 
                          
I remember the way her soft lips felt against my face. 
                          
And I remember falling asleep, hearing her steady breathing beside me. 
                          
And I wish I could go to bed to that every night. I wish I could come home after a long, tiring day and see her there, waiting for me. She would hug me and tell me to screw all the people that pissed me off. She would give me a soft kiss and tell me we could get take out for dinner if that's what I felt like. She would cuddle with me on the couch while we ate and watched trashy reality TV. She would lead me to bed after binge watching the Kardashians and hold me while we slept. She would just be there. 
                          
But that will never happen. 
                          
She's my teacher. 
                          
And she told me she couldn't be with me. 
                          
My clothes are wrinkled from sleeping in them, and I really don't want to go to school like this. People will look at me weird for wearing the same clothes as yesterday. 
                          
I open Brittany's closet and look around. Most of her clothes are professional teacher attire, but I find a few shirts that look casual enough for a student to wear. I pick out her Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt, the same one she was wearing when she tutored me that snowy day. It smells like her and I change into it. It makes me happy. It's like what a real couple would do; wear each other's clothes. 
                          
I'm not hungry so I decide not to rummage through her food and instead just head out. The morning is cool and I smile as I start walking towards school. 
                          
Last night made me happy, even if I was slammed and acting like a fool. 
                          
Last night made me happy, just because I know that she'll be there for me when I need her. 
                          
Even if she doesn't want to date me, she'll still be there for me. 
                          
And that warms me. 
                          
**********
                          
I already regret showing up at school.
                          
My headache is growing worse by the minute, and Brittany hasn't said anything to me all day. 
                          
"Ah, Santana, you look awful. Are you sick?" Quinn asks as I'm walking to Biology. Her presence startles me, and I know she didn't really come up to me to ask if I was sick. 
                          
"I have a headache," I say, trying to speed up to get away from her. She keeps up with my pace. 
                          
"Hm, interesting. Rough night?" she asks, making a motion to where it looks like she's taking a shot. 
                          
"Just because I have a headache you're going to assume I was drunk?" I ask, getting defensive. Quinn's definitely choosing the right career path. She would be a great lawyer. 
                          
"Well, you're showing all the symptoms of a grade A hangover. Headache, messy hair, tired appearance, pissed off attitude. It's ok if you were. I wouldn't tell on you, I'm not five," she says with one her classic fake smiles she uses to try to fool people that she's being nice to them. 
                          
"I had a couple beers, ok? I was stressed, it happens. I've seen you drunk more than a few times," I say, turning the corner. 
                          
"Like I said, I'm not going to rat you out. That's not even what I came to talk to you about."
                          
"Alright, so what was it you wanted?' 
                          
"I just had a question." 
                          
"Yeah?" 
                          
"Isn't that Ms. Pierce's shirt?"
                          
I stop dead in my tracks. 
                          
Shit.
                          
I totally forgot Quinn had been there that day. 
                          
It never even occured to me that she would remember. 
                          
The late bell rings and I see Quinn smile. 
                          
"I better go. Don't want a tardy on my transcript," she says, turning and walking off. 
                          
I just stand there, still in shock.
                          
**********
                          
I slowly walk into English, not wanting to face anyone. 
                          
Brittany looks up as I walk in. 
                          
"Did you sleep ok?" she whispers. No one else is in the classroom yet. 
                          
"Yeah, I hope it's ok I borrowed your shirt," I say. 
                          
"Oh, no big deal. You look good in it," she says with a teasing grin, biting her bottom lip. I feel my heart beating against my chest. 
                          
"Whatcha talking about?" I hear as Quinn breezes into the classroom. I want to turn around and smack her so bad. 
                          
"Just grade stuff," I say, glaring at her. She smiles. 
                          
"Oh, I bet you have an A, don't you? I've heard you do a lot of extra credit," she says, adding emphasis on the last two words. The few other kids that have strolled in are staring at us with confused faces. 
                          
"Alright, everyone sit down!" Brittany says, standing up. We all sit. 
                          
"Nice shirt Santana," Quinn says. 
                          
My stomach knots. She better keep her mouth shut. 
                          
"Yeah, I didn't know you were into 90s rock," Rachel says, still confused as to what's going on. 
                          
"Ooh, I know Ms. Pierce loves 90s rock. Did you know that Santana?" Quinn asks. I make eye contact with Brittany. She's as white as a sheet and looks speechless. 
                          
"No, I had no idea. Good to know," I say. 
                          
"I bet you really did know that. I bet you know a lot of things about-"
                          
"Quinn, that is quite enough!" Brittany shouts. Her face is red. Quinn immediately shuts her mouth, shocked at Brittany's sudden outburst. 
                          
The whole class is silent. 
                          
"Now, we've been discussing Romeo and Juliet this past week. Does anyone want to share their opinions about the play?" Brittany asks. 
                          
Of course Quinn is the first person to speak. 
                          
"I think the whole play is stupid, honestly. It's a forbidden love. They should've never even thought about starting the whole affair. It's wrong," she says. I know for a fact that she isn't talking about Romeo and Juliet. 
                          
"But what if they really care for each other? It's hard to just break off a relationship if feelings are involved," Brittany says. She's not talking about Shakespeare either. 
                          
"They just met. And they knew it would never be able to work. They're crazy to think it would!" Quinn argues. The rest of the class just watches the argument. 
                          
"Sometimes a forbidden romance is the best kind," Brittany says. 
                          
All heads turn to look at her. Quinn is grinning from ear to ear. 
                          
"Care to elaborate?" Quinn asks. 
                          
"I think what Brittany is trying to say is-" I stop myself, aware of my mistake. 
                          
I feel sick. Quinn is still smiling. 
                          
"I gotta go," I say, getting up and walking out of the classroom. 
                          
I really hope no one caught on to my slip up.