1

This was it. Opening night and she'd never felt more nervous. Her palms were sweaty and she couldn't stop looking at her watch, willing it to move faster. Her heart was racing as she tried to remember everything she had practiced since she found out about this show. "I can't do it", said the all too familiar voice in her head. "Of course you can! You HAVE to!", said the newest voice. Just as she had made up her mind to leave, the lights in the theater blinked twice and then started to grow dimmer. "Too late now!" she took a deep breath and forced herself to stay calm. And it worked. At least until the curtain opened, the music started to swell and a spotlight appeared center stage. She had to stifle a gasp as she saw the cause of her nervousness walk poised and decided until she was bathed in that spotlight. "She looks as beautiful as ever!" That was the last coherent thought that ran through her mind that night. And then the figure began to sing and sent Santana's head spinning in a thousand different directions.

After the show, her heart racing again and her hands sore from clapping so much, she wanted to run onstage and hug this figure, but she knew that wasn't possible. So she left the theater, lit up a cigarette and waited outside the stage door "Like a dumbstruck fan", just like she'd seen in countless movies. She knew there was a slim chance she'd see her, and an even slimmer chance that she'd build up the courage to talk to her. It infuriated Santana to feel shy and insecure after all this time. A few fans had gathered by the door with pictures and posters of the show, aching for an autograph of their favorite star. Each time the doors opened, they would scream and Santana's heart skipped a beat and then dropped when she saw it wasn't who she was waiting for. One hour and countless cigarettes later, she started to feel defeated. "This is ridiculous!" she sighed, stubbed her last cigarette and started to look for a cab outside the main theater doors. Just as she was getting into the cab, a small voice spoke behind her: "Santana?" She froze with one hand on the taxi's door. She heard footsteps getting closer and she willed her hand to let go and turn around. And there she was: fresh faced and in a plain black overcoat. Rachel Berry. Looking every bit the Broadway star she was.