"Nevermind, I'll find someone like youuuuuuuu. I wish nothing but the best for you, tooo. Don't forget mee, I beg, I remember, you said..."

I sing along to Adele playing on the stereo, hoping that somehow, praying to God or Buddha or whatever cosmic force that would listen, that she would hear it. For the whole entire year, I've accumulated all my wishes, all the 11:11's, I just need this one to come true. God, her eyes, they break my heart every single time, it's like they stare into my soul. I reach out, but as per usual, she's not there. I'll never find someone like her. I love her. I'm in love with her. I have been ever since I was 15 years old. Every interview she's done, every photoshoot, magazine cover, every single she's released, every CD signing, every movie, every guest star appearance on TV shows. My walls are covered with posters, I have every album, I go to sleep dreaming about her every night and wake up every morning with her gorgeous smile on my mind. She's perfection.

"Hey come on Brit, dinner's ready." My girlfriend, Emily, calls out from the kitchen. I sigh, because she'll never be Santana Lopez, especially considering she's got an English accent, bright red hair and an odd obsession with jean shorts? Something about Deja Vu? Good thing I happen to have a black wig…

"Smells awesome," I tell her with a smile. Oh yeah, she's also a great cook, so that's totally an added bonus, "What you making?"

She grins back, "Your favorite, breakfast for dinner, without the eggs because I know how much the chickens inside them mean to you."

I slide into the chair as she begins to pile pancakes, waffles and bacon onto my plate. The toaster pings, and two slices of fresh toast pop up, which Em grabs and adds to the meal. It looks perfect, and I almost dig in straightaway before I notice she's not sitting down and eating with me. Considering it's the day before my birthday, I'd say that's rather odd behaviour.

"You going out?" I question, looking up. Em looks quite pleased with herself, so I don't think she's breaking up with me…Then again, she did put on the wig last time without much of the usual eyebrow raising.

"Yeah," she answers, grabbing her coat off the chair and putting it on, "I've got a surprise for you."

I hope it's not one of those weird surprises where a bunch of naked guys come bursting through your door, or from inside your birthday cake, because I hate finding hair in my food. Emily chuckles, as if reading my mind.

"Good surprise, don't worry. I'll be back before you know it." With a brief kiss on my cheek, she leaves the apartment and I'm left alone. I don't want to turn on the radio or the TV or go online, because I know what I'll see/hear/read. A live concert, tonight, Santana Lopez. A concert which I don't have tickets to. I could go and look up Youtube videos or watch the broadcast on TV, but what's the point. I won't be able to stand seeing thousands of the luckiest people alive, being in the vicinity of perfection, breathing the same air as her. I've never been able to go to any of her concerts, and at least for today, it'll stay that way. I mean, don't get me wrong, her music is awful. Beyond awful. Her music is as bad as she is hot. That about sums it up. She sings this bubble gum pop and R&B crap which, if sung by anyone else, I'd switch the channel so fast, it'd break the remote. But nobody's perfect. I don't know if I would be able to handle it if she sang great songs, too.

So instead of sitting around and moping about it, I drive to my dance studio. It's not huge or anything, and I co-own it with my pal Mike Chang (who is dating Tina-Cohen Chang, who is not his cousin), but it's somewhat of a sanctuary. It's so easy to just turn up one of Santana's songs and pretend as though she's right there, dancing with me. Then again, if I had her to myself, dancing would be the last thing on my mind. Yes, I went there.

Then, of course, just my luck, as soon as I finish warming up, my phone rings. Normally I'd let it go to voicemail, but it's Emily's ringtone, so I pick up.

"Hey, I'm at the studio, you back already?" I didn't think she meant 'I'll be back before you know it' literally.

"Yeah, come home quickly, or we'll be l- erm, just come home?"

"Sure," I tell her and flip my phone shut, packing up my things.

When I get home, Emily looks smug, which is a rarity. I hope she's made tiramisu…it's my absolute favorite. Creamy and delicious and-

NO. No way. No no no nonononononono way. I can't believe my eyes. I honestly cannot believe what my eyes are seeing right now. In front of me, on the table, are two tickets to Santana's concert in 2 hour's time. My God, they look real…upon closer inspection, I come to the conclusion that…these are legit. I pick one up carefully off the table. No ripping it, the material feels like it was made to be held in my hands. I open and close my mouth like some sort of non-animated goldfish, but no words come out. I'm left staring spechlessly from Emily and the ticket on the table to the ticket in my own hand.

I'm about to jump on top of her in joy, but then she whips out something even better. The golden tickets. Now I know how Charlie must've felt. Except Charlie didn't spend 4 years fantasizi- imagining this moment. Backstage passes. Actually, just one backstage pass.

"For you." She holds it out for me to take, as if she were an angel handing me a pass to heaven. "A friend of mine was involved in producing, and I knew how much you liked her, so…"

Like her? LIKE HER? As in how human beings liked breathing air? Rabbits like carrots? Fish like fish food? Then sure, I like her.

I must've either passed out or just stood there for the next hour and a half like a mute, because next thing I know, we're here. We are at the concert. Oh my God, let me die. I have to constantly repeat to myself, "She's only human, calm thyself Brittany S. Pierce. Calm, breathe."

Who am I kidding, maybe our eyes will meet when she sings, then she'll smile, and then we'll fall madly in love and live happily ever after. I'm so underdressed for this turning point, but it's too late to go back and change now, I might, God forbid, miss the opening song. The big entrance! Maybe we'll have a whirlwind romance and jet off to wherever and get eloped. Then we'll proceed to live in a big mansion, and have sex every night in every single room. I don't mind either scenarios.

As I take my seat (in the front row!) I can't help but turn around and look at all the jealous faces sitting behind me. I remember a concert she did a year ago in New York where she literally lead some girl onstage and sang to her. If I were that girl, I'd have had a heart attack.

I'm so giddy that soon enough, I start to hear the intro of a song. It's called "you, me, and Charlie" or something, and it's offensive to musicians everywhere. But Santana…Santana is just…I cannot even…no words. Words are just simply not worthy of this girl. There is nothing in the dictionary to describe Santana Lopez.

It's seriously the fastest, fastest 2 hours of my life. I think I've lost my voice. Everytime she speaks, I think I die a little.

"Alright guys, as we all know, Valentine's Day is coming up."

The shouts of 'Be my Valentineeeeeee' is deafening, and I almost laugh at these crazy fans, because she's my Valentine, she doesn't know it yet, but she's my Valentine. Yeah, i may have screamed a little as well, only to not seem out of place. Hey, I'm a dancer, not a singer, so no point in keeping my voice anyway.

Santana laughs into the mic, and it's seriously the most wonderful sound ever to grace my ears. "So this one goes out to all the lovers."

More screams and shouts, before the tune of 'Kiss Me' blasts out from the speakers. Santana's eyes sweeps the corwd as she sings, and I just know this is it. Yes, this is the start of the rest of our lives.

"Oh kiss me out of the bearded barley,
Nightly , beside the green, green grass
Swing, swing, swing the spinning step
You'll wear those shoes and I will wear that dress.."

Oh my GOD she's getting off the stage now, singing at some random people, smiling at them, too.

Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift you open hand
Strike up the band, and make the fireflies dance
Silvermoon's sparkling,
So kiss me

Kiss me down by the broken tree house
Swing me , upon its hanging tire
Bring, bring , bring your flowered hat
We'll take the trail marked on your father's map

People are yelling and screaming 'I love you' like crazy.

Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift you open hand
Strike up the band, and make the fireflies dance
Silvermoon's sparkling,
So kiss me

Her eyes find mine, finally, and she's coming over, her grin gets bigger now. It's a sight more beautiful than anything on this or any other planet.

Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift you open hand
Strike up the band, and make the fireflies dance
Silvermoon's sparkling,
So kiss me

She's singing right at me. I can't. I don't even. It's getting hard to even think in proper grammar at this point.

So kiss me
So kiss me

She lowers her mic, leans forward and touches her lips to mine quickly before retreating back on stage in one swift motion (might as well because what happens next probably isn't my most attractive moment)

And I die.