Title: Giddy

Pairing: Rachel/Santana

Synopsis: (1 of 8) Rachel Berry is HBIC, Head Cheerio, and the absolute epitome of popularity at McKinley High School. Santana Lopez is head bitch in her own right and hangs out with the Untouchables, a group of kids who could give a shit – she's just kind of secretly crushing on the HBIC.

Author's Note: Okay, so I found a really cool song by Esperanza Spalding and the lyrics kind of inspired me for the story behind this fic. A while back I took an interest poll on doing a Cheerio!Rachel fic and quite a few seemed to be interested in it. So here's one of them at least. This will be an 8 chapter fic. Hope you love it!

###

ONE

Love me or leave me but please don't deceive me

And say you love me how I am

You love the way I fit some ideal

Not the real woman you've yet to understand

See love ain't all heaven, and I am no angel

But I do the best I can.

###

"Shut the fuck up, Squeak," Santana grumbled and waved the cigarette smoke from her face. "I don't know if you realized this but no one actually gives a shit about who you screwed under these bleachers."

"What's your problem, Boss?" Toad, one of the other Untouchables had just hopped over the fence back into the schoolyard.

"Sick of listening to you guys talk about the same shit every day," Santana rolled her eyes at Toad. "I mean you could try to be remotely fucking interesting."

Squeak frowned, "Harsh."

Their group consisted mainly of the three of them. Squeak was a girl far too skinny for the clothing she wore. Toad was a hopeless thriftier and kleptomaniac with green hair and a penchant for torn plaid shirts. Santana was the head bitch of this outfit, even if Rachel Berry ran the whole damn school. The Untouchables remained out of her reach. As long as Santana Lopez had gone to school here, Rachel Berry had everyone licking her Cheerio sneakers.

She wasn't one of those super-bitches you saw in movies, the cheerleader on a power trip. Granted, Rachel Berry was on a power trip but she was the "model" student. Super intelligent and better than anyone else at everything, she wasn't really that mean. She was nice to everyone – besides the delinquents like Santana. Sure, she was probably different behind closed doors but Santana hadn't gotten that chance. (Granted, usually when Santana got girls behind closed doors there wasn't a lot of time for psychoanalysis or … conversation.)

Arching an eyebrow at the promiscuity of her thoughts, Santana chuckled. "I'm just… look, I'm fucking bored. It's the same shit every day. I'm about ready to start doing homework, madre los dios. You know what I mean?"

Squeak and Toad nodded in general agreement.

"Eh, whatever man. I'm gonna clear out. And Squeak quit puffing that fucking smoke at me 'cause I'm tired of spraying fucking Febreze. You know how abuela is when she catches the smell on me."

"Oh, Santana, the great big badass is afraid of abuelaaaa."

Santana pointed a stern finger in Toad's direction, "Don't make me get Kindness out."

Squeak laughed, "I got you. Kill 'em with Kindness. No more smoke in your face, Boss."

"Plus I don't wanna get cancer, sicko," Santana murmured the last bit as she headed away from the bleachers, pulling her hood over her head; her black ponytail wrapped around to the front of her neck and hung down the middle.

McKinley blew. Ohio blew. It would be her luck that the largest Puerto Rican community her abuela could find was here. And yet … somehow, 95% of McKinley's population was white. Imagine that. No culture. Fucking wasteland.

As she entered through the back door, she waited for a crowd before she let herself in, figuring she could blend in enough to not be seen by a teacher. However, as she snuck in she felt a strong hand grip her by the arm.

"Well, if it isn't Most Likely to Be on America's Most Wanted," Sue Sylvester pulled Santana to her side, patted her back, "where's your little group of criminals? I hope you know this is the third time this week and we both know what that means. Time to visit the Principal's office. You should have his entire library memorized with how often that tan little face of yours has to stare at his bookshelf. Are you two on first name basis yet?"

Santana groaned and tried to pull out of Sue's grip but it was a futile effort as she was dragged down the hall, "Bruja, you could at least let me walk on my own."

"I'm not sure you know how since you can't walk to class most of the time. I think you might have a directional problem."

Santana was shoved into the office and nearly toppled Rachel Berry over. The Cheerio was just leaving Figgin's office when Santana was pushed through. Though the Cheerio was slightly shorter than Santana, she was certainly to be reckoned with.

"I never!" Rachel huffed. However, upon seeing Sue Sylvester behind Santana a moment later, she brightened up, "Coach! I see you're keeping our hallways clean of trash," she stated in a haughty was, stepping clearly aside from Santana and giving her a dismissive look.

"Ah, my little star Cheerio," Sue perked up, patted the girl gently on the arm. "I've got to go get some grants for class five explosives. I'll see you girls later."

Santana scowled from one of the chairs, having basically tripped into it when she'd panicked at running directly into Rachel Berry, HBIC and model citizen.

"Santana Lopez," Rachel cooed Santana's name as Sue closed the door, folding her arms over her petite torso and eyeing the Latina. "Why am I very not surprised to see you in here? What act of delinquency have you committed this time?"

"Leave me alone," Santana spat, although she was taking marked interest at the tanned thighs disappearing under that skirt. "Unless you really wanna see what it's like to be pinned to a wall," the double-entendre made Rachel's eyes widen comically. Santana swore she saw a blush crawl up the HBIC's neck. "I can make that happen, sweetie."

Bewildered, the diva stomped a foot and turned on her heel, leaving the office. When she glanced back however, Santana grinned and blew her a kiss through the glass.

"Santana," Figgins had this way of saying her name that made her cringe.

"Commandant," Lopez sighed, rising and following him in. "I don't know why I'm in here. I was just walking down the hall and Sylvester grabbed me."

"I'm certain we both have been in this situation far too often to take that to be the truth," his bushy eyebrows knotted together. "Detention."

"Que supriso," she mumbled and stood, "Is that all?"

Figgins waved a hand at her, as if he had better things to do, and the Latina took it as her chance to leave. She supposed she'd have to actually go to class this afternoon then. She hated that. That's probably why she was failing but really, she was better at fixing cars than graphing algebraic formulas.

When she made it to class, she didn't have any books but her attendance would count. She took the last seat, realizing she'd only been to this class four times this semester and it was nearly winter break. What she had failed to realize was that Rachel Berry was in this class, too. The Cheerio stood out – dark brown locks, headband, bleach-white sneakers and long tan legs. Santana smirked to herself and sunk down in her seat a little, letting her eyes linger on that impatient, bobbing leg. Those muscles, man.

Rachel must have noticed someone watching her, because she turned around and caught Santana staring at her. Despite her effort to make Santana feel guilty, the Latina only arched an eyebrow and winked at her, licking her bottom lip suggestively.

It was hard not to laugh at the HBIC; her blush matched the red of her Cheerio uniform by the time she realized Santana was obviously not intimidated and not in the least bit shy about sex. Rachel was her polar opposite: she was president of the Chastity club or whatever the fuck it was, involved in every single organization including Glee. She was Head Cheerio, part-time tutor, and front-runner for eventual valedictorian.

Santana could have cared less about any of that; while she had a fantastic and sultry singing voice (if she didn't say so herself), she wasn't one for the whole kumbayah scene she'd seen going on with those Gleeks.

Trash, Santana thought to herself. I'm far from trash. Sure, I don't give a shit about anything but that doesn't make me trash. Just makes me … open for different opportunities?

She didn't know anything that was going on this class, really. When she paid attention, she was more than a little confused.

Should've skipped. And after all these classes, she still had to go to detention tonight.

Santana sighed, shifted in her seat and stared out the window. The down side to the whole teenage rebellion scene was that you tended to disappoint family. The Latina only had one family member that mattered – her abuela was her whole world. The elderly woman had practically raised her granddaughter. Santana's parents ditched out when she was still in kindergarten.

###

Detention consisted of sitting in an empty classroom with William Schuester jamming out to Journey tracks. To be frank, it sucked. When Santana finally ducked out, she had never felt more grateful for silence in her life.

At least until she walked by Glee's practice room. She heard a voice, accompanied by piano, singing a song Santana couldn't name. The lilting tones and the perfect pitch of the voice were like a siren-song. Who the hell would voluntarily stay after school?

Out of curiosity, Santana poked her head in the slightly darkened room. Cheerio uniform and dark hair. Rachel. Rachel played piano perfectly and sang like an angel. Must be nice to be perfect.

Finally, she recognized the song. Ironically, it was actually "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan. Having a good ear for music, Santana could tell that there was immense talent in that voice. Why would Rachel waste all her time in things like Cheerio Squad and tutoring? She could have a career in singing alone.

Santana forgot she wasn't supposed to be standing there. She was just inside the doorway, listening, totally entranced. Something inside her stalled, stopped, maybe it was her heart. Sure, she'd heard glimpses of Rachel singing in a group but she'd never heard anything like this.

Christ, Santana nearly said this aloud. She reminded herself not to, not wanting anything to stop the beautiful voice from rising. She wanted to be a part of this person's life, this person that was singing. Not the model citizen, the perfect face shown to all of McKinley. She wanted to know the person that was singing right now, alone in front of a piano. This was a human being. This wasn't a mask. She suddenly felt she was viewing something starkly private.

As she went to back out of the room, she somehow managed to knock over a stand. It clattered to the marble floor about as loud as anything was able to, and Santana knew what it was to want to die. She had fallen on her ass and managed to reveal that she was eavesdropping on Rachel Berry's beautiful music session. "Shit," Santana groaned, dropping her head against the marble and closing her eyes, waiting to be scolded. She waited, and waited, only to open her eyes and find the short-statured Cheerio staring down at her. "Sorry?"

"Right," she rolled her eyes. Rachel reached down and offered her hand, much to Santana's surprise. The Latina hesitated before taking the warm offering, pulled herself up with Rachel's help and righted the stand.

"I didn't mean ... I mean obviously I meant to listen. I didn't mean to get caught. You can't blame me though 'cause that shit was fucking … amazing."

Rachel's eyes narrowed a little bit, "Thank you. I think." She straightened her Cheerio outfit. "You can go now."

Santana was surprised at the authority in Rachel's voice, although not really when she took time to think about it. "Yeah.. uh.. yep." She couldn't have left the room quicker if it was on fire.

###

Abuela was sorely disappointed in Santana and she made it known. Frequently. However something in Santana actually responded this evening, unlike usual. Seeing Abuela full of such obvious concern and guilt over Santana's delinquency made her feel like shit.

"I'll get a tutor. I'll try to be better, abuela, I just .. I have a hard time. I get bored really easy."

"Because you're smart," Abuela tapped Santana's head softly. "I've always told you that. You should've been in a higher grade but ah," the older woman sighed and hugged Santana to her. "Try. For me. I worry about you."

Santana went to bed that night feeling a mixture of awe (from one Rachel Berry) and guilt (from her dear grandmother). New days were hard to start, especially when it meant making a complete turnaround from old habits.

###

Figgins had practically laughed in her face when she asked for a tutor to help her catch up for classes. When he realized Santana was serious, he called in two of Santana's teachers and kicked her out of the room. They'd huddled together like they were trying to solve world hunger.

A half an hour later, after lunch was over and likely Toad and Squeak were wondering where the hell she'd been, she was still waiting in the office for the solution.

Santana watched Rachel as the door opened and she appeared, the Latina's eyes following with a cat-like subtlety, remembering the sound of her voice in that choir room last night, and a modern day siren. It was hard not to say something as she walked by. The shorter girl glanced back at Santana and caught her eye briefly; there was no acknowledgement in the negative or positive. The raven-haired Latina straightened her posture and tried to play it cool, watching from the corner of her eye.

Figgins opened the office door only a moment later, "Miss Lopez, join us please."

Santana stood, moved through the open door and felt Figgins close it behind her. Rachel was seated in one of the chairs opposite Figgins, her legs crossed and her quiet brown eyes glancing over at Santana. "Did I do something? Is this about me skipping out on the last five minutes of detention because Schue fell asleep – " she lied through her teeth, panicking that Rachel had ratted her out or something as revenge for the night prior.

"You need a tutor," Rachel cut Santana off, widening her eyes in a way that suggested Santana quickly shut the fuck up before she got herself in trouble. "I happen to be a good tutor."

Stalling, the Latina glanced between Figgins and Rachel, "Oh, right, like you wanna tutor somebody like me."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"You're like… Miss fucking Perfect –"

"Language," Figgins barked.

"Sorry. Rachel Berry is Miss Perfect and I'm about two violations from being expelled. Not to mention I'm not exactly the type of people you normally associate with."

"It's a job. And it's one I'm good at."

"I don't need someone tutoring me who doesn't want to do it," Santana didn't know why she was bucking against this so much. She would love to have Rachel tutor her, she admitted to herself secretly. The fact is, she was embarrassed Rachel knew she needed help or wanted help and she felt a little wounded pride.

Rachel simply stood. Despite standing a couple inches shorter than Santana, she stood toe to toe with the girl in terms of intimidation factor. She moved close enough to demand Santana's full attention, "You need help. Don't let your pride get in the way here. I wouldn't agree if I didn't think it was something worthwhile."

"Oh so now I'm charity?"

Figgins let them work out the issue, though he looked a little nervous like Santana might fly off the handle.

Rachel seemed to be losing her patience. She covered her eyes momentarily, her dark bangs falling over her fingers. "Santana," she stated the Latina's name almost softly, in a calmer tone. "Do you want a tutor?"

Feeling soothed and tamed at the sincerity in Rachel's voice, Santana nodded.

"I would like to help you, if you'll let me."

Respect. Rachel was giving her respect. "Yeah. Just… don't … go telling any of your Cheerio buddies. You and me … we don't know the same people. I keep to myself for a reason."

The brunette shrugged a shoulder, glanced at Figgins, "I appreciate you thinking of me, sir," Rachel stated kindly, "I'm glad you asked me first." A little bewildered at Rachel's words, the idea that she was grateful to be tutoring her, Santana merely stared. Apparently sensing Santana's inability to process, Rachel cupped Santana's elbow gently and guided her out of the office. Her hands were soft, warm, her fingertips gentle as they pressed. "Your phone?"

Santana raised an eyebrow then realized what Rachel was asking. She took her cell phone out of her pocket, and Rachel took the liberty of snatching it and entering her phone number.

"Text me this evening," Rachel requested softly. "If you're free I'd like to meet tonight since I don't have practice or voice lessons."

Santana shrugged, attempting to appear calm and collected when really she was feeling quite a multitude of reactions. As Rachel walked away, those long legs and lithe figure disappearing between bodies and down the hall, Santana could only watch with fascination at the turn of events.

The thing was, Santana considered herself pretty much a badass. She could beat the shit out of anyone. She didn't trust many people, and she cared about far fewer people than she trusted. Something about Rachel Berry stuck in the back of her head though. Maybe it was just hormones and the fact she had a bangin' body, but there was something else too.

Maybe Rachel wasn't all she pretended to be. It was possible they had more in common in that way; Santana had to put on a tough outer shell to keep people out. She didn't like people in her head, didn't like anyone figuring out why she did what she did or telling her what she did or didn't feel.

Maybe Rachel was similar. Maybe she pretended to be what everyone wanted because they asked her less questions that way. Rachel may have spotted Santana's mask the way Santana spotted hers.

Of course, Rachel had everything going for her. Santana didn't. There was a little envy in her fascination for Rachel Berry.

The rest of the day went by fairly quickly, and all the while she would tap her fingers on the outline of her cell phone through her jeans, thinking about the fact that she had the hottest girl in school in her phone. There was a smug satisfaction in it. Mixed in there was a little bit of anxiousness. What would Rachel be like outside of school?

Whatever. She'd deal with the situation alright. She always did. It's not like it was a big deal. Rachel was just tutoring her, there was no reason to expect there to be some change in their social interaction. That would make it easier for Santana to be the same person she'd always been to everyone else – totally detached and sometimes hostile.

###

Hey. It's Santana. – S.

I figured. Are you free this evening? – R*

Yeah. Just need to tell my abuela. Time and place? – S.

My fathers are happy to have you over. – R*

They don't know me very well then. – S.

Rachel seemed to disregard the text, because she merely texted her address and the time Santana should arrive. She didn't respond to the self-deprecation on Santana's part, and it made the Latina wonder what Rachel really thought of her, if she had even noticed her at all in their time attending the same school. Until the night prior, they had never really run into each other. Santana was usually skipping class or under the bleachers, and Rachel was HBIC and simultaneous super-genius.

Rachel wanted her to come over in the next 30 minutes. It was pretty early in the evening, so either Rachel wanted to get this over with as much as Santana did or she genuinely wanted to help Santana out. She certainly hadn't made any of this difficult so far or seemed hostile at all. She'd always just totally ignored Santana's existence other than to throw the occasional insult or reminder of her disapproval of Santana's choices.

"Stop fucking overthinking," Santana cursed aloud, unraveled her mp3 player, and started walking. Rachel lived in the suburban area of town, and Santana lived nearly 20 minutes away in the largely Puerto Rican neighborhood that consisted of about four blocks. She dialed the house phone; Abuela would be out playing dominoes with a few of the neighbors and having some beers.

"Hola, Abuela, I just wanted to let you know I'm starting with my tutor tonight. I might not be home til later this evening. I'll eat when I get home. Call me if you need anything," Santana left the message and hung up, slipping her phone into her pocket. She put both earbuds in and pressed play on the mp3 player, glad for the sound of violin that poured out.

So what. Santana Lopez liked violin. It's not like she was going to openly share that with anyone. The fact is, she'd learned how to play violin when she was little and had a beautiful one at home she hadn't touched in a couple years. She had been on her way to something impressive, already having been picked out by talent scouts and scouts for music schools.

Santana wasn't a school kind of person. She wasn't an anything kind of person, not for some time. A part of her had grown dispassionate and detached from most everything, all except for her abuela.

Music streamed and Santana followed it in her mind, swallowed up in the sound. Music was her piece. Violin concertos soothed her all the way down to her bones. Not even her "best friends" Toad and Squeak knew of her secret love. Maybe that's why she'd been so fascinated to hear Rachel singing; there was something magical about music.

The Latina checked her text, double-checked the house number, and took a deep breath as she took her headphones out and turned her mp3 player off. Staring up at the beautiful household, Santana hoped this would have as little awkwardness as possible. She didn't expect to have a suuuuper fun time studying, but she just didn't want it to be awkward or something shitty like that.

Her feet found their motion and she headed up the front steps, knocking on the door and slouching a shoulder back as she looked around the property. They had a modest house, a little better than the one she lived in, but part of her had just expected Rachel to be richer. Maybe because often power came from money, and money bought you popularity.

It could've been that Rachel was just popular because people liked her. At least, liked her for who they thought she was. The Latina still had a sneaking suspicion there was more to the school's sweetheart than she let anyone see.

"You're here," Rachel opened the door, her words startling Santana as well as the smile on Rachel's face. It looked genuine. "Good, good," the brunette bounced a little, then motioned for Santana to come in. "Now, Figgins disclosed nothing of the grades you're dealing with but he did give me an overview of where we needed to start."

"Alright," Santana gave a little nod as she was lead through the house. It was nice inside. There were pictures of the happy family everywhere, Rachel when she was little, Rachel with balloons and cakes, Rachel on stages, Rachel with awards. "Look I appreciate you doing this. I know it's probably weird 'cause – "

"Why would it be?" Rachel asked, genuinely perplexed. "I think you've watched too many teen movies."

"What?"

"Just because I'm head Cheerio and I've got people that like me, it doesn't mean I'm … superficial or a bitch or … I mean, I've said a few things that were unkind before."

"You called me trash," Santana grumbled and glanced around. This caused Rachel to stop in her tracks, as if recalling the moment.

The Cheerio's long dark hair was tucked behind an ear as she faced the Latina. "I'm sorry. I did, you're right. I've said unkind things and I'm sorry. I just … I've had bad days, and I suppose it's … no. Let's go upstairs."

Santana quirked an eyebrow, mildly surprised at the honesty and the apology. "I mean it's no big, it's whatever you know. I know how people see me."

Rachel didn't respond. Maybe she was upset. Santana felt suddenly insecure as she followed the shorter girl into what was apparently her bedroom. "I don't see you that way. Not the way you think people do. I mean sure," Rachel closed the door behind them and motioned to the bed, offering a seat to Santana and then sitting down at her desk, "you skip class. You do things that I could never do. You … don't seem to care about what other people are thinking."

The Latina watched Rachel with a guarded expression; she listened to the sound of sincerity in the Cheerio's voice, the sound of what seemed to be some kind of confession.

"I envy your freedom. I envy that you seem not to care, that you would rather live according to what you believe and what you want as opposed to the things people want you to be," Rachel glanced up, watched Santana. "You may have troubles in school but you know a kind of freedom that I might never know."

Santana stayed quiet, contemplating what Rachel was saying. The shorter brunette was fidgeting a little, staring at her small hands. Those soft hands.

"Well, anyway. My point is I don't see you in a bad light. I just want to help you get better in school. So, shall we?"

Santana nodded, still silent, as Rachel Berry sat beside her and began their first lesson together.

###

Rachel's laugh was the best sound Santana had heard. By the end of the evening they were discussing things completely off topic (although Santana had actually started to learn quite a bit), laughing once in a while, and Santana felt a kind of giddy joy welling up inside her.

More than once, the Latina found herself smirking at Rachel Berry and watching her as she wrote some note down or something for Santana to keep in mind while studying. She didn't think they would actually get along, but the thing is she was really enjoying herself. Rachel Berry wasn't all gumdrops and rainbows; she had some depth and a sense of humor. She was also some kind of super-genius, Santana was convinced.

At one point she even had Rachel laughing so hard the brunette had covered her mouth to hush her up. It felt good for some reason. They kind of … clicked. Surprisingly.

"So, you've been in trouble a lot growing up?"

Santana took the notebook offered to her, setting it aside since they'd reached a mutual and silent agreement that they were done with studying for now. "Kind of," she shrugged a shoulder, "I mean I used to get in fights a lot. Hurt some people pretty bad but it was mostly self-defense. Or defense against stupidity. Mostly dudes running their mouths, or putting their hands where they weren't welcome."

Rachel was watching her with marked interest, and Santana tried not to get pulled into the warm brown eyes. It was hard not to though, with Rachel chewing lightly on a pink bottom lip, seeming completely focused on Santana. Santana, with all her bravado and badass, had never been the center of attention. She made noise then got out of there as soon as possible, usually. So needless to say, it was weird sitting across from Rachel Berry and having the girl totally interested in what she was saying.

"Never any serious trouble. It's not like I feel like I gotta prove anything to anyone." That was kind of a lie, but she glanced away as she said this. "My abuela has raised me since I was little. That's why I'm doing this. I know it hurts her to see me slipping. My education is everything to her, and she's busted her ass to give me this chance. I guess I'm just realizing I don't wanna fuck this up, if only to make her proud." It was more than she'd explained to anyone. She was a little embarrassed at the admission. She shrugged and smirked, "I mean it's whatever, man." The statement was filler, trying to play off the depth she'd just shown.

When Santana looked up, Rachel was watching her with a contemplative and compassionate look. The brunette had a quiet and sweet smile hinting at her lips, and Santana narrowed her eyes. Rachel laughed sweetly, tucked hair behind her ear and looked down at her own fidgeting hands, "I think that's sweet," Rachel nodded, brown hair bobbing a little. "You're doing the right thing. And I'm glad I can help."

She was so sincere it was hard not to believe her. As the girls finished up their quiet conversation, Santana spotted the time and gathered her things. "I should get going," she murmured softly, feeling uncomfortable at such genuinely compassionate attention.

The Cheerio's face flickered with the play of disappointment, to Santana's surprise. However, she lead the Latina downstairs and to the front door.

"Would you… would you like to come over tomorrow night?"

Santana, caught off-guard, scoffed, "Man, you're going to get sick of me."

"Is that a yes?"

The Latina chuckled, hid her blush in the shadow of the porch as she stepped outside, "Yeah. I could use the help, after all. Test coming up and everything," she lifted her bag as if to remind herself and Rachel why they were in this situation in the first place. They weren't friends. They weren't friends at all. Rachel was just being nice.

When Rachel reached across the threshold of the door and touched Santana's arm, Santana's mind fell silent. "We can do this. I know we can. And your grandma will be proud of you by the time we're finished."

The Latina offered a smile in the dark, "Thanks."

As she was heading down the walk, she glanced back and saw Rachel standing with her arms folded in the dark, waiting on the porch as if to be sure Santana would get home safely.

It was that image of Rachel's silhouette that appeared in Santana's dreams that night, like a memory. It was hard not to be swayed by the Cheerio's charisma and seemingly genuine compassion. No matter how hard-shelled Santana tried to be, Rachel had cracked her open (just a little bit) in just one study session.