Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.

AN: This story started out as a novel that I began on a whim but I don't like the direction I was going with it. Instead, I have chosen to make it into a fanfic. Enjoy!

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I know that we are all told that all girls are flowers but Santana Lopez is more of a thorn than she is a rose. More importantly, she is a thorn that has been stuck in my side for the last twenty-one years and I'm tired of having her there. So I'm writing this list of reasons why I hate her so this friendship, if it can even be called that, between us can finally end once I give it to her. I'm going to start from the very beginning, with the very first reason for hating Santana Lopez, and move on from there.

Reason 1

In kindergarten she threw a crayon at my head. On the first day of kindergarten, the first time we were to meet each other, she throws a crayon at my freaking head! I even remember the color of the crayon because the experience was that traumatizing. It was a white crayon. She threw it so it was flipping towards my head and did a double hit when it actually got to me. First the tip of the unused crayon dug into my skull before momentum brought up the back end like an aftershock.

We were standing in line outside of classroom k-3, kindergarten class three, and waiting for the teacher to open the door. I remember twiddling with my fingers, wishing that my mommy was still with me, as I'm sure most of the other kids were wishing. My clothes were tight and confining, sticking to my skin in the late summer air and I really missed my jumper and Smurfs t-shirt. From what I could see that I wasn't the only one that was forced to wear new clothes, but the girls were ecstatic about their dresses while the boys looked to be in the same boat that I was in.

Then all of the sudden, it hit me. Like, it literally hit me. The white crayon that belonged to a set of eight brand new Crayola crayons shot out of Santana Lopez's hands straight for my head.

"Ow!" I yelled as my hands went up to clutch the back of my throbbing skull. I turned to see what had hit me and spotted the coloring utensil on the floor. Also behind me, standing at the end of the line of children was Santana Lopez. I will never forget that moment or how terrified I was. She stood there with her hands on her hips, her new purple dress already muddy, her rich black hair falling out of what I assumed used to be a bun, and her brown eyes glued on me.

I quickly turned around, afraid that if I looked at her too long something bad would happen. Luckily for me the teacher opened the door and ushered us in, saving me from that girl, temporarily.

We were assigned seats, four children to a table, and fortunately the girl that had thrown the crayon at me was not one of the other three at mine. We were told to introduce ourselves to each other and for the next three weeks we would be sitting with each other. It's funny, I don't remember any of the other children from my kindergarten class, but I remembered something that was randomly said during our first introductions, but even that might have been because Santana Lopez had later repeated that same phrase.

"Hey," one of the girls tapped my shoulder, a light blush on her cheeks, "you're really pretty."

I think I said something along the lines of only girls are pretty, boys are handsome. I don't remember exactly what I said because that girl wasn't Santana.

My first recess as an elementary school student was spent hiding from her. I stood underneath of the jungle gym and I clearly remember thinking that if all of the kids were playing on top of the it, no one would bother to look on the bottom. But I was proven wrong when a white crayon was once again flung at my head.

Turning around slowly, like you did when you knew you were about to face the object of your fears and it felt like your blood was frozen although your heart was speeding up, I came face to face with Santana Lopez.

"Why do you keep doing that?" I asked in a shaky voice when it was obvious that she wasn't going to be the first to break the silence.

"I did it because you're pretty" she stated in a clear, high pitched voice that didn't match the evil on her face.

I cocked my head to the side, confused by what she said. "I'm handsome" I said quietly as I backed away, trying to figure my way out of the mess I was in.

"No! You're pretty and my abuela says that pretty boys will break my heart. So I'm going to break your head before you do that" and with that she turned around and left me.

Every day for the rest of my kindergarten career she threw that damn white crayon at my head. She probably threw that one because we never used it, but it made me feel like I wasn't good enough for a colored crayon, one kids actually used. So that's the first reason why I hate Santana Lopez. Of course, if she hadn't thrown that crayon we probably would have never met and my life would have been significantly more boring, but still. Throwing a crayon at my head was extremely immature, although she was five so being immature was a given. And what she said about pretty boys breaking her heart was incredibly adorable, especially when she tried to stand like a little lady with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face now that I think back on it. But beside all of that, I still hate that she threw a crayon at me that first day.