Chapter 4: The Ice Is Getting Thinner

The halls were quiet. There was the distance squeak of shoes against polished floors and the faint sound of a whistle from the fields, but most students had gone home for the day. Only a few had stayed behind, attending rehearsals and practice and afterhours detention.

Rachel was in her classroom, her fingers laced together and her eyes on the girl in the seat next to her. She'd already gone over a passage of writing with Santana, having her check grammar and sentence structure, gauging her writing level. It was passable. But not at the level Rachel knew her mother required.

"First, you'll need a point of view."

"Like this book is boring?" Santana jested, her fingers flipping through the novel in her hands. "I personally think I could present a very convincing argument."

Rachel looked sideways at the girl, and at her tone. It was teasing. "Don't pretend you haven't already finished it, Santana. I mark your pop quizzes," Rachel remarked. Santana smirked, not arguing further. "You're problem isn't with the reading, it's the writing. It's conveying your thoughts effectively on paper."

"And here I thought I was doing a pretty good job at conveying my thoughts." Santana looked at her, those eyes full of suggestion. Rachel's heart spiked. She caught her breath, getting up from her chair.

She paced to her desk, feeling Santana's eyes burning her skin. Rachel turned and leant against it. When Rachel said yes to tutoring Santana, she knew there'd be flirting, and suggestion, and those dark eyes. But that voice and those words still felt ghostly over her skin, and sent her pulse racing.

Rachel composed herself. "Try again. This is a persuasive essay, not argumentative. You need to persuade your audience, not prove your opinion is true," she instructed. "Because most fiction is just interpretation, much of which the author never intended. But that doesn't make it any less valid. You need to choose a point of view. And then persuade your audience."

Santana paused a moment, her eyes softening, though that glint still stayed at the edges as she spoke. "How about Montag loved Clarisse? More than he loved Mildred."

Santana crossed her legs under the table, Rachel gripping the edge of her desk. The girl was wearing her cheerleading uniform, Rachel finding her eyes straying to bare skin. She scolded herself for it. She was her student. She had to remember that, even if her words and her tone and those eyes and her everything made it hard at times.

She's your student.

She's 17.

"Better." Rachel cleared her throat, her mouth suddenly dry. She turned, penning it on the whiteboard. "So what is your evidence?"

"Evidence, Miss?" Santana teased. "You mean the entire book?"

Rachel merely kept her gaze, Santana laughing softly. "For starters, he missed her when she was gone. He spoke of not even crying at the death of his wife. But this 17 year old stranger, at the thought of not seeing her again he feels sadness. Loss."

Rachel's throat felt tight, "Anything else?"

"When she's no longer there the world feels empty to him, like something's missing, like his life has lost a small part its purpose. This mundane world starts to feel pointless to him and he begins to question his life."

"Good," Rachel muttered, turning to write the points on the board. When she looked back Santana was staring at her, her pen caught between her lips. Rachel raised her eyebrows, keeping her features neutral. Santana suppressed a smile and started to take down the notes.

Rachel knew Santana wasn't speaking about Montag, at least not entirely. She wasn't numb to it anymore. It was always that way with Santana. She always meant something different. Meant her words for more than what was on the surface.

She had a way with them.

"So now that you have your point of view and your evidence, you must present your case to your reader."

"To you."

"Yes, I will be the one marking it," Rachel stated simply. She took a breath, her stomach flooding with heat at the infliction Santana had placed on those two simple words. Rachel turned to the whiteboard, "You must captivate your audience, keep their attention with your writing. You should be using topic sentences, followed by your evidence that flows into your next paragraph. Avoid repeating yourself. And you'll need to finish with a strong closing statement."

Santana finished taking down the rest of the dot points by the time the 4pm bell sounded in the halls, the girl closing her notebook and standing up. "Bring a draft to our next session on Wednesday afternoon, or whatever you have done by then and we can go over it. I can show you the areas you should be focusing on or putting more detail into, but I won't be able to give you more than pointers, I'm afraid."

"Of course not," Santana replied coolly. "That would just be unethical." Those dark eyes held her for a moment. Rachel gripped the lip of her desk with both hands, watching the girl pack up. "Thanks, Miss Berry."

"You're welcome," Rachel breathed. "Bring a book that you've already read to our next session, we can use it for a mock essay."

She nodded, smiling as she neared the door. But the girl paused, her hand on the doorframe. "And Miss." Rachel looked up. Her eyes had hit the floor, trying her best not to watch her leave. "I think you'll find I can be very persuasive."

Rachel's mouth went dry, her breath leaving her.

"Goodnight, Miss."

Rachel crossed the parking lot an hour later. It was starting to get warmer, Rachel untangling her scarf from her neck as she unlocked her car door. There were only a few cars still left, her mother's Volkswagen among them.

She placed her handbag on the passenger seat, and moved for the driver's side door. She did so almost robotically. Her mind was lost on Santana. She couldn't lie to herself. She was attracted. It was hard not to be, the girl was beautiful. But every time her thoughts went to full lips or that perfect skin, another more solid thought would remind her of the very real fact that she was her student; her underage student.

"Hey, Rach."

Rachel looked up, startled by the familiar voice. Jesse was wandering over to her, his leather bag slung gently over his shoulder. "Hi, how were rehearsals?"

"Getting there," he nodded, gripping the strap of his satchel. There must have been something in Rachel's eyes, his face falling to one of concern. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, of course," she dismissed. She closed the driver's side door she'd just opened, toying with her car keys. "Just a long day."

She tried to mask her thoughts, and keep them from showing so blatantly on her features. But a rough sigh slipped past his lips, Jesse grabbing her hand. "Come on."

He started to lead her out of the parking lot, Rachel protesting against his grip. "Jesse, I need to get home."

"Fluff ball can wait 10 minutes."

Rachel laughed despite herself, and let Jesse lead her to the park across the street. They reached the set of swings, Jesse sitting down first, waiting for Rachel to follow. She sat down with a sigh, swinging lightly; preparing herself for whatever pep talk she was about to receive from her best friend, the one she knew had been boiling for the past three weeks.

"So what's up?" he asked, his tone gentle. "You haven't been yourself since rehearsals the other week when Isabelle was fitting you for Santana's dress."

Rachel stiffened at the name, her hands gripping the chains tighter. She kept her gaze away from Jesse, her eyes on the sand beneath them.

"It's Santana, isn't it?" he edged, a sad smile on his lips. "She's the student you were talking about that day."

"Jesse."

"I was there in the tunnel after the halftime show, Rach. I have eyes."

Rachel's stomach sunk at his words, dropping her head again. This was exactly what she didn't want. "What do I do, Jesse? She's…persistent."

The toes of her heels brushed the sand, the afternoon sun beginning to set. Rachel swallowed back all her other words. The ones that would have her digging herself deeper into the situation she'd found herself in. And the ones that told him that a part of her didn't want Santana to stop.

She's 17.

"Has she tried anything?"

Rachel hesitated a moment. "No."

"Then there's nothing you can do," he digressed. Rachel rolled her eyes. "They're kids, they have crushes. We both know this from experience."

"Modest as always."

"You know what I mean, Rach. Just don't let her be in control. You're the teacher, remember."

"So?" Rachel shrugged.

"Soo, be in control," Jesse stated flatly. "She's not gonna bite if you don't."

Rachel let his words sink in, pushing gently on her swing. "Do you think anyone else knows?"

"Not a chance." Rachel could see the grin pulling at the corner of the man's mouth. "I'm nothing if not perceptive."

"And modest," she jested again.

He smiled at her, placing his hand gently on her knee, "It'll blow over. Knowing Santana she'll find a new thing to play with in a few weeks. Give it time."

Jesse's words were meant to be comforting, offering solace or some kind of relief. But as the man stood from the swing and offered Rachel his hand, all it did was send a pang to her stomach that felt a lot like jealousy.

Rachel weaved through the sea of students, the teacher on her way to her sophomore English class the next day. She'd left the lunchroom a few minutes late, staying behind to talk with Mrs Taylor about no longer needing her to take over tutoring. And by the time she'd reached the hallways they were swarming with students.

She walked briskly, passing the gym and the locker rooms, and turning down the hall toward the Language Wing. She'd had Senior English I for fifth and sixth period, a class she would usually dread. But now she found herself arriving early, craving that feeling of Santana's eyes and the subtle meaning behind her words.

The girl had toned down during class, Rachel guessing because she already had her teacher's attention. She didn't need to flirt when there were ears around to hear; Santana knew she didn't need to use words anymore. She'd mostly sit with Blaine and Dani in the third row, staying quiet.

But those eyes.

Every time Rachel looked her way they would be on her, no longer intrigued; they knew what they were looking at. It made Jesse's words seem like a distant memory. Those eyes were certain, and it sent a chill down her back every time she caught her staring.

"Rachel."

She was pulled out of her thoughts by the raised voice. Rachel turned, seeing that mess of blonde hair and those kind eyes. "Sam."

Rachel paused in the flow of students, the man jogging the last few steps. "How are you?" he asked, tentative, coming to a stop a few feet from her. "We haven't really talked since the game. You left pretty quickly."

"I'm good," Rachel nodded. "I've just been busy."

She moved her handbag higher on her shoulder, watching as Sam chewed the corner of his lip. She hadn't intentionally been avoiding him. It just kind of happened. Ever since she'd left him on the bleachers at the game, she hadn't had a chance to say more than a passing greeting to him.

She glanced at her watch, already running late. "I'm sorry, Sam. But I should really," Rachel edged, pointing over her shoulder in the direction of her classroom.

"No, sure." Sam nodded, pursing his lips. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he seemed to hold his tongue.

"I'll see you later." Rachel smiled genuinely at him, before turning to keep walking up the hall.

"Do you wanna see a movie or something?"

Rachel stopped, not getting more than a few steps. "Like a date?"

"Not like a date date," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing a deep red. "Just you know, two friends hanging out."

Rachel hesitated, her eyes meeting soft green. His were searching her face, before dropping to his trainers. With everything that had happened over the past month, Rachel hadn't had a chance to just relax and do something for herself. She felt so tightly wound that the idea of a movie was more than a little inviting. "Why not?"

Relief seemed to flood Sam's features, the man releasing a breath. "Cool, this Friday?"

Rachel shrugged, smiling now. "Sure."

"Cool," he repeated, a smile stretching his lips. "Just no chick flicks."

"I think we can manage that."

"What about that the firemen were right?"

Rachel's eyes went wide, folding her arms across her chest. She was leaning against the edge of her desk, Sebastian looking at her with a grin from the front row.

"You're going to try and persuade me, an English teacher, that the government burning books was a good thing?" The rest of her class chuckled, Sebastian smirking. "Good luck. It would have to be brilliant."

"Oh, it will be."

"Anyone else?" Rachel asked her class. It was Friday afternoon, Rachel in her seventh period Senior English II class, her last class for the week. They were having a group discussion about their persuasive essays and their possible topics.

"How about Clarisse is still alive?" Noah Puckerman called from the back row. "And that she's just kicking it with the homeless people by the train tracks."

"Yes and no," Rachel digressed. "You might find that you'd get stuck with adopting more of an analytical or argumentative writing style with that. So be careful. But it's a good start. You can rework the wording a little bit to suit a persuasive essay."

Rachel turned to the whiteboard, writing suggestions in dot points down the board. Her students began to speak quietly between them, not reaching more than a hum before she turned back, clipping the lid on her marker.

Her eyes strayed to the third row. She knew those eyes wouldn't be looking back at her, but it had become a habit. A reflex. Classes now seemed to be separated by those with Santana and those without. And the separation was becoming clearer with each passing class. Rachel didn't know how or when, only that it did.

Her tutoring session with Santana on Wednesday afternoon was an improvement from the last, the girl even showing up with a detailed outline of her essay. But the staring and the flirting continued. Not that Rachel expected it to stop, nor did she want it to, but she tried her best not to react or show how affected those words and those eyes made her feel.

The novel Santana had brought with her was larger than what Rachel had expected, The Daughter Of Smoke And Bone written in block letters on the worn cover. "You read it?" she'd asked, the pair in Rachel's classroom after school.

"No, never." Rachel had shaken her head, flipping over the book and reading the back. "Is it good?"

Santana had shrugged, indicating toward the book. Rachel had been confused at the gesture, waiting for the girl to explain further.

"If you want me to do it for a mock essay, you have to read it."

"Excuse me?"

"Call it me educating you this time. I think you'll enjoy it. It's about a girl discovering that her world isn't what it once appeared. And once she realises that, she can't go back."

Rachel had smiled at that. "Vague. Do you have a point of view?"

Santana had her chin resting on the palm of her hand, her elbow propped up on the desk. "Not yet."

"Next session then."

Santana had merely nodded, her hand still holding her chin, and those eyes straying. Rachel never thought she could get used to those eyes or the feeling they sent over her skin. It was addictive, a feeling she now found herself missing as her second group of seniors continued to discuss their essay topics.

"Okay, guys," Rachel called. "You can pack up. I want you to be working on you're essay's over the weekend. We'll be watching the movie adaption in class next week." The class all cheered in unison, Rachel calling for quiet. "It's not an excuse to slack off, I still want to see extensive drafts. We'll be using the film version as a comparison on how the screenwriter interpreted Bradbury's work. It may help those still stuck for inspiration."

The bell rang moments later, her class forwarding out the door, leaving Rachel at her desk. She'd agreed to meet Sam at the cinema at 8pm that night. His choice didn't look too bad, an action movie with a hint of witty comedy. She found during the week that she was actually looking forward to it. It had been months since she had gone out with anyone outside of work. Holly and Isabelle were always coaxing her out for after work drinks, but she hadn't taken them up on the offer since before the Christmas break.

There was a light knock at the door, Rachel looking up to see that boyish smile. Jesse was leaning against the doorframe, his car keys in hand. "Come on, Miss Berry. Your chariot awaits."

"I'll just be a sec." Rachel finished tidying her desk, before slipping her handbag over her shoulder and following Jesse out the door. She linked her arm through his as they walked down the crowded hall.

Ever since they were both student teachers, the man had driven her to and from work every Friday. It was a silly tradition. But one they kept when they became permanent. And one Rachel hoped would never stop. It reminded her of when they were both in high school, Jesse getting his license well before Rachel and chauffeuring her around Lima every weekend.

"So why the rush?" she asked as they neared the doors leading out into the parking lot. "Hot date tonight?"

"Always."

"You really have to work on that modesty."

Rachel sat back in the darkened theatre, taking a sip of her soda. It had been thirty minutes since the lights had gone down, the seats only half full with couples and families and groups friends.

There were whispered conversations spotted around them, only interrupted by tiers of laughter at the antics onscreen. Sam was to her left, his eyes on the movie and his hand in his popcorn. He'd been the perfect gentleman, even offering to pay for the night. But Rachel declined.

He'd looked disappointed at her rejection, but it soon faded once they'd taken their seats, his expression softening. Rachel was comfortable around him. He never felt the need to fill the silence with empty conversation, and he never pushed or forced things.

He was…comfortable.

Sam's eyes stayed on the movie, laughing every now and again, only straying for a moment to Rachel. He turned his head to catch her eye, the man offering her some of his popcorn. Rachel smiled at him, their eyes meeting in the dim light as she took a handful.

She whispered her thanks as he went back to the movie. But Rachel looked further over his shoulder and into the back row of seats where three girls were sitting, their feet kicked up on the row in front of them.

Rachel's skin prickled when her eyes were met with brown skin and that smile that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about for the past few weeks. Santana was sitting with Dani and Mack from her Senior English I class, her eyes on the movie.

Rachel's heart hammered wildly beneath her top, screaming at herself to look away. But her eyes stayed a fraction too long, before she tore them away and back to the movie. Rachel bit her bottom lip. She refused to view this as anything other than a complete coincidence.

And no matter how many minutes or scenes or car chases passed she found herself looking back over Sam's shoulder.

The girl hadn't noticed her yet, letting Rachel see the side of her she'd only seen a handful of times before. When she was cheerleading, or singing with the Glee Club, that smile colouring her slight features.

It wasn't until Rachel looked a third time that Santana noticed. Those eyes widened a fraction, those lips pulling into a small smile that quirked the corners of her full mouth. She raised her eyebrows for a brief moment, before she waved. It was small, only a subtle movement of her fingers. But it sent Rachel's heart racing. She swallowed hard, looking back at the movie, forcing her eyes forward.

The fourth time Santana was already looking at her; just looking, unwavering and sure.

Noticing, Sam turned to look at Rachel. She caught herself. But the man just smiled and went back to the screen.

Taking a much need breath, she pulled close, whispering in his ear, "I need to use the bathroom."

"Are you sure?" His voice was hushed, "You might miss something."

"That's what you're here for," she grinned. "To catch me up if I do." Sam smiled at that, nodding as his eyes went back to the screen.

"I'll be right back." Rachel stood in her seat, shuffling past Sam and up the aisle.

Rachel tried to keep her eyes from straying, but Santana caught her gaze, that feeling brushing her skin. It was like gravity, and Rachel had to catch herself again, pushing through the double doors and into the empty hallway of the theatre.

She didn't need the bathroom. She just needed to breathe, something she couldn't do when those eyes were on her. And she didn't allow herself a breath until she was safely behind the stall door, locking it and sitting down on the toilet seat.

"Oh my god," she muttered to herself, her words hissing past her teeth. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

Rachel was thankful she was the only one in the bathroom. Her face was flushed, feeling the heat of her skin with the palm of her hand.

"This is not happening. This cannot happen…it can't."

After a few minutes and more than a few deep breaths, she flushed the toilet for effect and wandered to the line of sinks. And maybe a part of her was waiting for it, staying in the stall for just long enough for the girl to follow, because those eyes and that smirk stood near the full length mirror, her hip resting against the row of basins.

"Miss," Santana smiled.

"Hi, Santana." Rachel glanced at her in the mirror as she washed her hands, taking more controlled breaths.

"Enjoying the book?"

Rachel only looked at her reflection as she replied, "I am. It was a good choice."

Rachel didn't feel it necessary to add that she could barely put it down. The book was amazing, truly.

Santana took a step closer, those eyes roaming over the bare skin at her neck, unashamed. "And Coach Evans," she edged. "You two on a date?"

Rachel's jaw dropped at her boldness. "Um, I'm not sure that's entirely appropriate for you to ask me, Santana."

"Why not?" Santana shrugged.

Rachel grabbed a paper towel from behind her back, drying her hands. "Because I'm your teacher, no matter how hard you try to negate that fact. And there are boundaries."

"But you're not my teacher right now." Santana turned to face the sinks, running her hands under the cool water. "I don't see a whiteboard, or a classroom." She turned the tap, ringing her hands. "I just see two girls in a cinema bathroom." Santana bit her bottom lip, turning those dark eyes on Rachel. "…Miss."

Rachel tried to remember what Jesse had said earlier in the week now that she found herself under that intense gaze. But it all went out the window when Santana took another step and leant in, her arm brushing Rachel's shoulder. She was so close, Rachel smelling the scent of her perfume, sending her mind reeling.

She could barely breath at their proximity, only inches separating them. It wasn't until her she heard the tear of paper that she realised what the girl was doing, Santana pulling back with the hint of a smirk on her full lips.

Lips that Rachel couldn't take her eyes off.

Santana dried her hands absently, before moving toward the door. "I'm 18, by the way." Her back hit the door, pushing it open a little. "In case you were wondering."

Santana slipped out the door without another word, leaving Rachel staring after her.

I'm in so much trouble.