Well, I did say I wouldn't get it done before 3.08. (But I was pretty close-this is the last part.) Ironically, I haven't seen the episode yet (Glee airs at the same time as my puppy's obedience class).

Another of my issues with the episode: it's called "I Kissed a Girl" and the A story is about Santana's outing, but there's no really Santana/Brittany interaction, and no kiss. I mean really, what the hell writers?

Also: Sit. Stay. Good readers. :)

Even though Coach Sylvester was busy with her election, there was still Cheerios practice after school. Santana and Becky each had a number of exercises they were responsible for, and worked the squad hard, but it was practically a vacation for the girls to not have Coach yelling at them.

After practice, Santana went with Brittany to her house. Luckily, Irish wasn't around. They went up to Brit's room and started kissing without preamble, nimble fingers working off each other's clothes.

Brittany nipped at Santana's ear and sang into it, her fingers somewhere below seeking and finding. "This would be the kiss that counted, the one that mattered."

Her voice wavered without any instruments behind it and she slid from key to key, but it didn't matter. Her voice was husky and sounded like sex and summer. "You say it must be 4am," she sang roughly, "and I say, if I don't kiss you now, I will never sleep again." Santana arched into her words and her kisses.

Later, she asked about the song, running her fingers along the smooth curve of Brittany's hip, and Brit smiled at her. "I looked up the greatest lesbian love songs. It was Lord Tubbington's idea."

Santana wrapped Brittany in an embrace. "I love you," she breathed against Brit's cornsilk hair.

"Mm, love you too," Brittany said into her collarbone. "My beautiful girl."

Before she left to go home, Santana asked, "Do your parents know about us?"

Brit blinked. "Of course they do. I live here, and you're over all the time." Santana couldn't bring herself to clarify her question, and held Brit's declaration of love in her heart the whole way home.

"I can't believe the results won't be in until tomorrow," Kurt said in exasperation, turning off the TV and tossing the remote aside.

Blaine lifted his head off his boyfriend's lap and squirmed into a seated position. "Well, it's a special election, with several write-in candidates, and this is Lima. It's probably going to be a close race. Isn't it just as well they take the time to verify the results before announcing them?"

Kurt sighed. "I guess."

"Besides, this way your dad's race and your race will be announced the same day. That's exciting."

"Ugh, don't remind me. There's no way I'm going to beat Brittany. I should have just dropped out as soon as she entered the race."

"Why are you so worked up about this? Or is it just this you're upset about?"

"I really am upset about it. This is probably it for my NYADA application."

"But?"

"But I just don't know, this Finn and Santana thing. I feel like as a gay man, who gets how a big a deal coming out is, that I should be on Santana's side. But Finn's my brother."

Blaine snagged Kurt's hand and raised it to his lips, kissing each knuckle. "You don't have to choose a side. It's not your job to fix things between them. And I don't think you should give up on NYADA yet."

The school day got off to a lousy start when some asshole underclassman accosted Santana in the hallway and told her she needed a real man, that she was just a challenge. She could have handled him, even with how fragile the last few days had left her (two ways to know McKinley's rugby team was a joke: their captain was a sophomore, and Santana hadn't already been there, done that). But she didn't have to; Mercedes appeared out of nowhere telling the creeper off. All the other Glee girls were with her, Brittany and Tina, Sugar and Rachel Berry, even her old rival Quinn.

Quinn said, "It's not a choice, idiot, but even if it were, you'd be our last choice."

It didn't deter her friends a bit when he tried calling them all lesbians. Berry finished the telling off, and Santana hummed a few lines of "I Kissed a Girl" in the loser's face, smirking when his eyes went wide in recognition. She was flying so high, she even had the girls join her in the choir room to sing the whole song. It was the first time she'd sung since pouring her rage and despair into the Adele mashup; now she felt triumphant and even more powerful.

Afterwards, as Puck was introducing his song (Melissa Etheridge, how typical) Tina sidled up to her with a smile. "I sang that to audition for Glee. I thought I was so edgy." She handed Santana an envelope, which she slipped into her backpack.

Puck's song was OK. He seemed to mean well, but clearly something was going on with Quinn, because his gaze kept drifting to her. The lyrics were odd too: "I'm the only one/who'll walk across the fire for you"? They hadn't hooked up since he caught feelings from Zizes last year. But that was fine. Lately his Mohawk was looking less badass and more like a mink had draped itself over his skull and fallen asleep there. When he finished the song, he said, "I know I was just part of a phase, but happy to oblige. Always."

Santana was completely nonplussed, but it didn't seem to matter. He wasn't looking at her anyway.

There'd been a strange up-and-down quality to the morning; the homophobe in the hall followed by the support of her friends and the fun song. When Finn approached her as practice was ending she had a sinking feeling things were about to get worse again.

Of course, she was right. Finn seemed to think they had some oh-so-special connection just because she'd taken his virginity, and that despite outing her and then blackmailing her two days in a row they had some eternal bond between them. "Give it up, Cro-Magnon. We're not friends. We're not even teammates anymore." He looked all butt-hurt over that. Spotting Kurt, Santana called, "You wanted to support me? Make Thing One back off."

When Kurt looked hesitantly between them and muttered, "Oh no, I'm not getting into the middle of this,"

Santana hissed, "What, do you still jerk off thinking about him or something?" and he visibly flinched, face flushing. Finn babbled something about lashing out but she ignored him.

She went to the bathroom to touch up her makeup and that bitch Theresa who was still bitter about being cut from the Cheerios said, "So have you run through all the guys in the school or what, Mantana?" and her airhead buddy Santana had never bothered to learn the name of said,

"You better not be checking us out."

"Please," Santana sneered. "I'm only attracted to hot girls." That shut them up, but when Santana went in the stall and saw Puck's number under the "For a good time, call" graffiti crossed out, and hers in its place, she decided to just skip history. She pulled out Tina's letter. Her hands shook as she unfolded the lined paper.

Dear Santana,

I'm sorry people are so stupid and mean. I'm sorry I'm not brave enough to just walk up to you and give you a hug. I'm sorry you hurt.

I know we're not the best of friends, but I'll be there for you in any way I can. I'll help you wash slushies out of your hair and lend you spare clothes. I'll help you paint over graffiti and find your things if someone hides them. I'll try to insult the people who are mean to you, but I won't be as good at it as you. I'll feed you ice cream and popcorn and watch bad movies with you. Or good movies. Whatever makes you feel better.

You're the same person you were before and if people can't handle that, it's their problem, not yours.

Tina

Below her name Mike had scrawled his name, with "I agree!" and a sloppy arrow pointed up towards his girlfriend's words.

They thought he'd cheated. And OK, he'd given it a passing thought, but he'd never seriously considered it! And yes, fine, that was partly because his plans had a tendency to horrifically backfire, but the point was, he hadn't cheated!

Not that Principal Figgins believed him, but he'd run a clean campaign, and it had come to mean more than just a line on his resume. But it still would have been that too, of course. And now it wouldn't be. He'd lost.

"Kurt? Could I talk to you for a minute?"

Kurt sighed as he turned to face Ms. Pillsbury. "Look, I don't know what you heard, but I didn't cheat, I swear."

"That's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Please, come in."

Reluctantly, Kurt entered her office and sank into a chair.

Lacing her fingers, Ms. Pillsbury began, "I was talking to Mr. Anderson, and he said you'd expressed some concerns about The New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts."

Honestly, this was the last thing Kurt wanted to talk about with her. He'd told his dad he just had to run to the bathroom and compose himself. The congressional election results were due out by noon, and the whole family had decided Burt should be at McKinley for the announcement. He was quite possibly going to be suspended. And apparently he was going to have to have another talk with Blaine about rushing to adults with things Kurt told him in confidence….

He belatedly realized Ms. Pillsbury was waiting for him to speak. "Sorry. It's just… it's everything I want, and I just don't have the resume that other people do. That Rachel has, even. I really needed this election, and—"

"I'm going to stop you right there," said Ms. Pillsbury, and Kurt stared at her in shock. She'd never interrupted someone before. She raised her index finger. "First, you didn't need this election. Admissions counselors can spot resume padding from a mile away, and an elite school like NYADA will have dozens of class presidents applying. It wouldn't have made you stand out from the crowd. Your talent will do that."

"But—"

She raised a second finger. "Second, you have plenty of extracurricular activities; Glee club, football, Cheerios, and the school play, to name a few. The Glee Club went to Nationals in its second year existing! That's very impressive, Kurt."

Kurt thought of the performance he and Rachel and seen at the NYADA mixer, and opened his mouth to protest, only to slowly shut it as Ms. Pillsbury continued, "The most important part of your application will be your audition and your admissions essays. I know you can put together a strong audition, and you have a lot of material for your essays. Did you know one of Harvard's essays asks specifically about what adversity the applicant has overcome?"

Her hands dropped to the desk and she leaned forward earnestly. "Kurt, you've overcome so much. Your biggest concern will be choosing which of your triumphs to highlight." Her voice was getting almost loud—she seemed to notice his shell-shocked expression and paused before looking at him warmly and speaking in her normal tone. "You have a great resume Kurt. Still, many people will. It may not be enough."

Kurt's phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn't dare move.

"That's why you should certainly apply to some other schools too. Julliard may not have a musical theater program, but NYADA is not the only one that does. Oberlin is a liberal campus with a great conservatory, and it's in Ohio, less than three hours away. In Chicago you have Northwestern, DePaul University and the Chicago College of Performing Arts.

"But maybe your heart is set on New York. I don't think it needs to be—I can picture you at a university in London, or Paris, or a conservatory like Carnegie Mellon in Pittsburg. But if it must be New York, there are over a hundred universities there. You shouldn't apply to NYADA and ignore Tisch or AMDA, or any number of others."

Kurt's phone buzzed again, and this time he pulled it out. His dad was wondering where he was. "I… thanks. I have to go," he said, and made his escape.

He must have lost his mind, because there was no way prim Ms. Pillsbury (who hadn't even mentioned the allegations that he'd cheated) would be shouting after him, "And that's just BFAs in musical theater! You could major in acting! In voice! Don't you play piano?"

His father kept shooting him concerned looks during their impromptu celebration in Mr. Schue's office. Kurt was half-convinced he'd be suspended by the end of the day, and he was still unhappy with the state of his NYADA application. His mind buzzed with Ms. Pillsbury's words, too—he didn't know what to do with any of it.

"So, did you win your election?" asked a local reporter. They'd made a bit of a production out of it the previous day, hadn't they?

Something cold uncurled in Kurt's stomach, and he had to carefully put his sparkling cider down, but his answering "no" sounded casual enough.

"A pity," said the reporter. "That would have been a great human interest story."

"A pity," Kurt agreed, giving her his best smile. He was an actor. He could do this.

The glee practice after school passed in a blur. Rachel was suspended until after sectionals for trying to rig the school elections, an excellent omen for the Troubletones. Kurt conceded the election to Brittany, and just like that, her girlfriend was class president. Now she'd have almost a week to convince Brittany that actually going topless on Tuesdays would be a bad idea, and that her parents probably wouldn't agree to buying hundreds of Pixy Stix every day.

The coaches tried to get them singing, but Rachel had to leave immediately and Kurt was pale and quiet. Finn looked like he wanted to make another speech, and Puck and Quinn were in the middle of some kind of staring contest.

It wasn't the best atmosphere in which to start her song, but that just made "Constant Craving" more perfect. Because for Santana it spoke to strength, to and getting through difficult times. It was a subdued number for the two clubs, but still a heartfelt one. Santana knew these people like her own family, and she made eye contact with each of them (except for Finn and the still-quiet Kurt), hoping she conveyed her appreciation. Even as she sang, Santana was thinking ahead to how she'd tell her abuela—she was heading there after school—and was distracted enough to forget her scarf.

When she went back to the choir room to get it, she saw Artie in the otherwise emptied room, cradling an acoustic guitar. He hugged it against his body and sang softly, "It won't be the first… heart that you break, won't be the last… beautiful girl." He didn't really seem sad, just thoughtful, but Santana backed away without the scarf, walking on the balls of her feet so he wouldn't hear the clicking of her heels.

Santana thought she was ready to tell her grandmother. Her abuela didn't watch television and hadn't followed the election. If Santana didn't tell her, she'd hear from someone eventually, but this was a real coming out, a time and place of Santana's choosing, born of a desire to tell rather than panic at being told on.

Her other grandmother had cruel, biting humor that Santana's child-self had always dreaded, at least until she could keep up with her own targeted insults, but Abuela's house had always been a place of warmth, laughter and well-cooked food. True to form, Abuela filled an enormous platter for Santana and chided her about being skin and bones.

Santana found her courage, and spoke. She spoke about her love for her abuelita, the pride and respect in which Santana held her. And she spoke about her love for Brittany, how with Brittany she understood love and courage and honesty in the context of her own life.

Her abuela didn't leap to her feet, shrieking and making the sign of the cross. She leaned back in her chair slightly, as though Santana's words were literally hitting her in the chest. Nervous, Santana pressed on, even when Abuelita dropped her gaze. Santana talked about walking around every day mad at the world, fighting with herself, and throwing that anger onto her friends. About being tired of fighting.

And then her grandmama, who held her as a child and braided ribbons in her hair, who insisted on a fiesta de quinceañera for her even as her parents questioned its necessity—her abuelita told her she should not have shared such a secret and to leave. She said, "I don't ever want to see you again."

Santana felt a step removed from reality. If she pinched herself, surely her grandma would make sense again. She fleetingly remembered Tina's note and protested, "I'm the same person I was a minute ago!"

"You have made your choice," said this stranger with a familiar face. "Now I have made mine." She kept talking, about the scandal when people found out, that Santana was selfish to lay this burden at her door, to make her uncomfortable. Santana started crying somewhere during that, and her abuela got up and left her there alone in the kitchen, surrounded by pictures of family and memories, a heap of cooling food before her.

She waited for her grandmother to return. She wondered if she would ever run out of tears. After half an hour, she scraped the food into the garbage disposal, washed the dishes. She hovered at the foot of the stairs, wondering whether to knock on the closed bedroom door. Instead, she fled.

Both of her parents were waiting when she finally got home; she didn't know how long she'd wandered. She only managed to say, "abuelita" before the waterworks started again. Her parents embraced her, said they would talk to Abuela. Her mom said she would explain about the election, how a político de mala calidad forced the issue. Her daddy just said that he would "fix it."

Santana wasn't sure there was anything to be fixed. A hundred apologies couldn't erase what had been said. She wrenched herself from her parents' arms and locked herself in her room. She'd meant what she'd told… the older woman. She was tired of being angry all the time. She was tired, period.

She flipped her phone open and scrolled through her contacts, pausing at one number and wincing at the name she'd assigned it. She jabbed at the buttons, and a moment later the number was no longer for "Homo Hummel" but for just "Kurt." She stared at it for a while, pressing an arrow key when the background light timed off.

She swiped at her eyes, pressed call with her thumb, raised the phone to her ear.

(and that should set up about where we are at the start of 3.08, so: The End!)

(and eventually Santana and Finn will be OK again, but it will take time)

(and I apparently really want Santana and Kurt to bond and become friends). (They can mock plebian lesser beings together, and Kurt can call her on it when she's being too cruel, and she can call him on the endless self-pitying).

Other notes:

-I know a little Chinese, but no Spanish; Google translate says "político de mala calidad" means "sleazy politician."

-Much like Glee's actual writers, I put my own opinions into the mouths of the characters. [Sorry about that. But at least I know there's more than one school out there for musical theater.]

-Brittany sang Santana "Kiss That Counted," by Catie Curtis.

-Artie sang "The Last Beautiful Girl" by Matchbox 20, [and look, since I titled the story it's been stuck in my head.][I did include that odd little Artie moment for a reason though.]

-Sorry for the long notes. Thanks again for reading! I really appreciate it, and your reviews.