Title: Waiting On The World To Change [Part One]
Pairing, Characters: Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce, Quinn Fabray, Noah Puckerman, Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry, and mentions of other characters
Summary: She finds herself caring about what Brittany thinks. More than anyone else. She just doesn't know why. Warning: Girl!Peen
Disclaimer: I wish I owned something, but I don't.
Word Count: 5.9k
Author's Note: This is a re-upload! I'e taken away the G!P warning so hopefully it won't get deleted!
Santana owns McKinley High.
She's owned it since the day Coach Sue stripped her of street clothes, her normal sleep routine, her regular diet and replaced it with extreme, unpleasant versions. She's owned it since she walked down the corridors and the scowl etched across her face sent even the older years scurrying off. And she's sure as hell owned it since she kicked Rosie Malcom's ass – who was three years older – in a one-on-one game of dodge ball for the Head Cheerio spot.
Sure, it was kind of tough at the beginning to make sure she wasn't all talk, but it was a small price to pay for the reputation she's earned.
And even though she'd never verbally admit it, she totally loves coming to school because of it.
Sure, she loves being at home and actually have a social life too, but she likes how everyone knows her in school. How she's feared, loved, hated and leered at all at the same time. How when she walks down the corridors with one hand cocked on her hip, high pony swinging with her step, everyone just parts like Moses and the Red Sea.
Being Head Cheerio, there are certain advantages that other students don't have. For example, when she forgets to do her English homework and Mrs Walker starts yelling, she just puts up a hand and says "talk to Coach about it" with a knowing smirk. It'll take about five minutes before the teacher comes stomping back in, flushed red and annoyance etching across her features because Coach Sue just tore her a new one – and for the remains of the lesson, she'll kick back and relax because Mrs Walker won't dare to challenge her again.
Another advantage about being a Cheerio is that when she walks past those singing nerdlings in the Choir room, who kiss Greasy McDeepFry's ass after he picks another song from the long list of Journey albums, she can scoff, insult them with unprovoked curses and walk off with a few of her Cheerios flanking her with the knowledge that she's so much better than them.
All in all, high school is her bitch.
And she fucking loves it.
Waking up on the first day of Senior year, is probably one of the best feelings in the world. It's not like she wasn't already head of the school, but being a Junior and having the Seniors look down at her just because they have a year on her, used to really piss her off.
She can hear her mother downstairs talking animatedly with her father and her younger brother scampering across the upstairs corridor, whining when he can't slam the door because he hasn't yet got a grip on the soft close that her father had installed. She looks out the window and sees the sun shining down on Lima, and knows it's just going to be a good day.
"Mija," her mother calls knocks lightly on the door, "It's time to get up."
Santana groans, throwing the comforter off her legs and stands, rubbing away the ache in the back of her eyes with knuckles. "I'm up."
The door creaks open and her mom sticks her head in, "I'm off to work. Your father's already gone so you'll need to take Fernando to school this morning."
"Sure, mami." She smiles because despite being a complete bitch in school, at home she's actually kind of nice.
If her father heads to work early, which usually happens two or three times a week, she takes the responsibility to drop her little brother off at school and then heads off to McKinley – switching herself into bitch mode as soon as her BMW rolls into the parking lot. No-one ever comes to the Lopez household, not even Quinn, so it's not like she'll ever be found out to be nicer than she really is.
And despite what people might think, having an addition actually brought her and her family closer, because they've always loved and supported her despite being different. Something about uniting them together or some other philosophical shit, she doesn't really remember. It's been such a long time since her parents sat her down to talk about it that it's kind of slipped out her memory.
"There's twenty dollars by the front door for lunch. Have a nice day, mija." Her mother says before smiling and closing the door.
She hears her mother's shoes click across the floorboards as she moves down the hall and then begins her morning routine, heading for the bathroom.
Within half an hour, she's showered, dressed and smacking her lips together, staring at her reflection after pocketing her lip gloss. Fernando's sitting on the bottom step of the flight of stairs, tongue poking out to the side as he fiddles with the laces on his shoes and she smiles.
Walking over to him, she kneels and gently swats away his hands, "Honey, this is how you do it…" she demonstrates, pinching the two laces between her fingers and looking into his almost black eyes, "Build a tee pee, come inside, close it tight so we can hide," she tucks the laces together and loops around once, "Over the mountain and around we go," she loops it one final time and ties it until the knots come together, "Here's my arrow, and here's my bow!"
Fernando giggles and claps his hands together. Sure, he's seven, but he's always laughed when she recited that little rhyme her Abuela told her when she was her age.
She scrunches her nose up and ruffles his hair, pushing against her knees to stand.
"Come on, squirt. Let's get you to school."
"But I haven't had breakfast?" He cocks his head to the side, dark brows furrowing like she just took away one of his toys.
She chuckles, "Here," she takes out the granola bar she had stored for a lunchtime snack and hands it to him, "it may taste like cardboard to you, but it's actually pretty decent."
"I don't know what dee-snet means, Tana."
She just grins and shakes her head. Thankfully, he takes the bar anyway and then Santana grabs her bag before they head out the door, locking it behind them and out to her car. The garage door opens slowly, and she curses the day she thought it was a good idea to wash her BMW inside the garage – since rust effects the speed of the damn door and the hose totally has a mind of its own – but it's a lesson learnt.
Considering she's seventeen, it's kind of ridiculous that a brand new BMW is her first car, but who was she to refuse her father when he handed over the keys on her sixteenth birthday with a smile? Plus, she's pretty sure it was some weird type of compensation from him considering it's from his side of the family that her addition came from.
Fernando yanks open the door, clambering in on his knees and then onto the seat because the car's taller than him and she rounds the car to close the door because he can't. She slides in next, throwing her backpack into the back seat and reverses out the driveway slowly, before driving towards Fort Shawnee. It's the only private middle school in the area, and seeing as Santana went there, it only seemed fitting for Fernando too as well.
Another benefit of him going to a private school is that no other families in McKinley can afford it, so she doesn't have to worry about being seen - and revealing that she's actually nice - when dropping her little brother off.
They pull up outside Fernando's school around twenty minutes later, and Santana leans across the console, pressing a kiss to his forehead as she opens the door with her free hand. It's the first day of second grade for him too, and she can tell how nervous he is by his tiny legs dangling off the side, heels banging against the leather of the car seat. He glances out the open door, unbuckling his seatbelt but she puts a hand to his small shoulder and pushes back,
"Alright squirt, what's up?" She asks, retracting her hand and crossing both arms over her chest.
Fernando tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and gnaws. "What if the new kids don't like me?"
She shakes her head. "Fern, they're exactly the same kids from last year. It's not like you get a whole new batch. Plus, you're a Lopez," she shrugs and smiles, "You'll rule the school."
"Yeah?" Fernando asks with wide, excited eyes.
Santana nods, and turns back in her seat, facing out the front. "Yeah, Ferny. Now come on, scoot. I've gotta get to school."
"Tana? Can you walk me in?"
He looks so small and vulnerable that she can't refuse. Back in freshman year when she sat in her mother's car, looking up at the school with pigtails and no idea what was to come, she was terrified. She remembers how small she felt back then and only smiles at the mirror image of her brother. Who knows, maybe he'll be a Jock when he reaches High School and take over the Lopez title as head of the school?
"Sure," she unbuckles her belt, switches off the engine and climbs out.
Rounding the car, she spots an old school, baby blue Volkswagen Beetle bumbling up the driveway, with Beyoncé playing on the radio. The roof is down, and she narrows her eyes, grabbing her little brother's elbow as he slides down the chair with his butt hitting the frame on the way down.
"Careful," she says, eyes still trained on the car and turns back to him when he grabs her hand.
Fernando grins up at her, teetering nervously as he slams the door and then they start walking into the school, him bumbling into her legs as they approach the school steps. The principal is standing at the top of the stairs, a Cheshire grin pasted across his smirking, meerkat-like face as he rocks up onto the balls of his feet – welcoming in the students to a new year at Fort Shawnee Middle School.
She remembers the way he leered at her last year when she came to drop Fernando off with her mother, and how unsubtle he is, even now, when the young mothers drop off their children. The image of him crapping himself when their hotshot husbands turn up, one hand on their wives ass and the other holding the keys to a hundred grand car would be pretty amusing. Shame that the husband's probably off screwing one of their many mistresses though.
They pause at the bottom of the steps and she crouches in front of Fernando, enough to look up at him whilst taking both his hands. "You gonna be alright?"
Fernando's wide eyes beam as he nods, like he's just been injected with excitement. "Yes, I'm excited now."
"Good," she smiles and nods, "Go on then. Inside."
Fernando leans in and presses a sloppy kiss to her cheek before gripping his back tightly and bounding up the steps. She stands, smoothing out her Cheerio uniform as she watches him with a loving grin. God, if anyone from school saw her now she'd probably lose everything, and that's not even an exaggeration.
She waits until he's disappeared before turning around and heads back to her car. From the corner of her eye, she sees the blue VW Beetle from before, parked two spots behind her and narrows her eyes. Usually there's Ferrari's, Range Rover's and Mustang's here, never old school cars like this one. Another secret is that she loves cars, in all their glory. So immediately she can tell it's a 1978 Bug, rare one at that. It's in pretty good condition considering its age, and she fleetingly wonders who owns it considering quite a lot of work must have been done on it to restore it.
But all thoughts of the car are literally pushed out her mind when a body collides with her own, sending her stumbling back a few steps. Luckily she has reactions like a cat so she saves herself from falling and grazing her elbows. A scowl immediately etches across her face because yeah, outside of McKinley she's not supposed to be a bitch, but it's pretty hard to switch off bitch mode when someone barges into her like this.
"Watch it," she growls, backing up to look at the person as she dusts off her uniform. There's not going to be any dirt there, but Coach Sue willkill her if even a stupid crease lingers somewhere on the fabric.
"Sorry," the girl says, blue eyes wide and blonde hair dangling in front of her face. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
Santana narrows her eyes, trying to ignore the fact that this girl is stunningly attractive in a very obvious way, and that it's kind of breaking her will to stay pissed. But she pretends every day to be a bitch, so pretending for a minute or two more will be a walk in the park.
Except when she speaks it's not exactly what she had planned.
"It's fine," her voice is so soft she finds herself shocked, "My little brother does that it the time." She doesn't know why she says it, because Fernando isn't actually clumsy at all. He's more stable than most seven year old's should be.
The blonde girl grins anyway, revealing a perfect set of pearly whites. "My little sister does, too."
Suddenly it feels like she can't describe how she's feeling. Being in this close proximity to someone, and not having her bitch defences up is pretty fucking strange. Especially because the way the girl's looking at her with bright blue eyes and a wide smile makes her want to smile herself.
There's something missing from this girl's face. The normal parents or siblings of the students have growls or that 'I'm rich so I can do whatever I want' aura about them; but this girl, there's nothing vicious or pretentious about her. It's pure, and whole, and sends an uneasy feeling through her body because she finds herself wanting to know more.
She shakes her head, straightening up and backing away a step to put distance between them. What the hell is she doing?
"I've gotta go," she says, darting her eyes towards her car and back, just in time to notice how blue eyes linger over her uniform. "To school. Bye."
"Uh…" she hears as she turns on her heels and walks away, "Okay, nice meeting you."
She barely turns and smiles weakly in acknowledgement, "You too."
The car peels away from the curb and she stares in the mirror, watching the mysterious blonde stand with a cocked head and a quizzical expression.
Something's changing and she's pretty sure she doesn't like it.
Like she does every morning, as soon as the McKinley High parking lot comes into view she glances in the mirror and pulls on her HBIC smirk. When she stops she'll put on a layer of lip gloss, smack her lips together like she did earlier and slide out the car, holding her chin high and cocking an eyebrow. Quinn will jog on over to her, matching her position and then only seconds later Sugar will do the same before they walk into school and part the crowd.
She pulls up into her usual spot, just beside the school entrance and the field entrance and also happens to be the best one around, and switches off the engine. Coach Sylvester reserved an entire row of parking spots just for the Cheerios and the last time a non-Cheerio parked there; they had a four hundred dollar parking fine and had their car towed. Coach has a cousin down in Lima Parking or something like that.
Santana applies her lip gloss, pockets it and then glances in the mirror. She fluffs up her hair and smirks at herself, waiting until she hears Quinn's white Chrysler pull up to her right and reaches for the handle. Sugar pulls up to her left a second later in her silver Mercedes and they all climb out in sync, grabbing their bags and walking to the back of their cars. They all glance at each other, smiling in lieu of a greeting and begin the short walk towards the steps.
Except instead of continuing walking when she hears a car pull into the parking lot (because really? This is Santana. She doesn't care what anyone else does apart from the two girls beside her, and even then the give-a-shit box is lacking) she stops. Something creeps down her spine, kind of like a Slushy dribbling down her back and it makes her teeter uneasily.
It's an uncomfortable feeling and Quinn pauses beside her, cocking a perfectly shaped eyebrow whilst Sugar just grins away, not knowing what the hell is going on because she's not exactly with it.
"Santana?" Quinn questions, hooking her thumb underneath the strap of her backpack and shrugging it up. "What's wrong?"
Santana narrows her eyes, foot hovering in the air with the step below and brings it back to the floor. "Nothing," she shakes it off, wondering what the hell's going on and continues to walk, not bothering to look behind, "Let's go."
Quinn decides not to argue and shrugs before carrying on, tugging Sugar by the elbow as they proceed down the hallway, purposely looking for anyone who's brave enough to meet their evil smirks.
As per usual, no-one does, and she kind of wishes someone did because that uncomfortable feeling doesn't seem to be going away and God only knows scaring the shit out of a freshman would make her feel better. Or 'accidentally' shoving Berry into a locker.
Either one would be good; but the morning doesn't look promising.
She's been back at school for a week now and every morning she's insisted on dropping Fernando off at school because that friggin' blonde girl that ran into her has been playing on her mind a hell of a lot. But there's been no such luck and Fernando doesn't seem to know of a girl in his class with the 'clumsy blonde sister', not that Santana's bothered or anything.
She's only merely intrigued by this girl.
She's standing by her locker, piling books into it with Quinn leaning against the one next to it, eyeing up the fresh meat as they scamper down the hallways. Hazel eyes brighten when the mohawked douchebag Puckerman waltzes towards her with a wide grin and beaming eyes that just screams 'I had sex last night'.
Makes sense considering when Santana text Quinn, she received a blunt reply consisting of, "sorry, can't talk, with Puck."
That relationship isn't going to last long, anyway.
It has to have been at least the sixth time they've given the Quick relationship a try. Each one of them ending with Santana and Sugar cradling a crying Quinn and thinking of reasons not to yell at her best friend because she's being a stupid bitch. Puckerman's always been a player and will never not be one.
Rolling her eyes, she thinks about how much money she could make off Sam if she made a bet with him about the length of this relationship.
"Seriously?" she slams her locker shut. "Puckerman? Again? Really?"
Quinn shrugs. "He's nice."
"Because he wants to get into your pants…" Santana whispers as Puckerman gets closer.
"Guess it worked," Quinn says quickly before pushing off the locker she's leaning on and closing the gap to stick her tongue down Puckerman's throat for several uncomfortable minutes.
Santana shakes her head and mutters, "Meet you in class" to the blonde before walking past and heading for Spanish. Sugar hops up beside her a second later, and takes her place to Santana's left before holding her head high and matching the walking pace, both heading for class.
Everything about Spanish class has always been tedious for Santana.
Usually Mr Schuester taught it and she'd roll her eyes every time he referred to Taco Bell being a Spanish delicacy. He literally doesn't have a fucking clue what he's talking about, and if it wasn't for his terrible accent, the way he froze up whenever Santana raised her hand and asked him in something in Spanish would prove it.
But today's different.
Today, there's a hunky new teacher perched on the desk when she enters with bright eyes and a slight quiff. It's not a secret that she likes girls - but that doesn't mean she can't appreciate the male form when she sees a fine specimen, and damn, Mr Martinez (according to his scribbled writing on the white board behind him) is seriously hot.
"You must be Santana," he greets her, offering out his hand.
Perfectly shaped eyebrows scrunch together, as she looks at his hand with slight disgust. "Yes?"
"I've heard a lot about you," he pushes up from the desk and retracts his hands.
Glancing around, she notices the majority of the class is missing and frowns. "Where is everyone? And Where's Schuester?"
"Glee, club" he tells her, "It's Spanish week and I thought it'd be best for some of the members to go there considering Regionals is coming up next month."
Santana scoffs, "Right," she throws her books down on her desk and rolls her eyes, "Well I'm not going before you suggest it."
"Wasn't going too," he rounds his desk, "But it was nice to meet a fellow Latino in the school. Ethnic diversity isn't exactly a strong point here at McKinley is it?"
She narrows her eyes, not knowing where he's going with this, "Guess not," she takes a seat and looks around the class.
Apart from her, there's four other people in the class, all of which she's pretty sure have all moved back a seat due to her presence. Sugar was supposed to be in the lesson, but Coach Sue called her to her office so now Santana's just here alone.
"Seriously, where is everyone?" she turns back to him and cocks an eyebrow.
At that moment, Quinn twirls in, the flaps of her Cheerios skirt brushing against her thighs as she takes a seat beside Santana. In the same fashion as she did a second ago, the blonde's brows furrow and she scans the room, before turning to Santana and whispering, "Where the hell is everyone?"
"At Glee," Mr Martinez interrupts, "You must be Quinn Fabray."
Quinn narrows her eyes. Glad to know it's not just Santana who's finding this strange. "Yes, and you are?" Quinn asks in a very demeaning manner.
"Mr Martinez, but you can call me Sir."
Quinn leans forward on her forearms, "And why have the rest of the class been abducted by those choir singing freaks?"
"They're not choir singing freaks," Mr Martinez comes to stand in front of the desk, muscular arms crossed across his chest as he stares down at the two who just glance up with I don't give a fuck expressions. "And because they'll benefit from learning to sing in Spanish, as you two would if you weren't so stubborn," his eyes flicker between the two and Santana just snorts a laughter.
"We actually like having lives," Santana says, squaring her shoulders defensively, "Instead of spending our free time dedicating 'precious'," she emphasises by quoting the words with her fingers, "time towards singing lame ass show choir songs that aren't going to get us anywhere in life except the highway to Slushy Facial city; destination Loserville."
Mr Martinez lifts his head amusedly and smiles. Yes, smiles at Santana's attempt to offend Glee. "You have a lot to learn, Miss Lopez."
She lets out another scoff, "Okay, Sir," and sits back in her chair whilst he starts the lesson.
There's something uneasy about the way he studies her for the first half hour.
Unfortunately, she has double Spanish which means two hours of this. What makes it worse is that Quinn only has one, and then heads off to advanced Science with Puck. He may look as dumb as a bag of wet hair, but he's pretty intellectual when it comes down to it.
She thinks it can't get any worse, but then of course, it does.
The Glee kids return, clutching their books to their chests and discussing their sad little performance which probably consisted of another monotonous duet between Rachel fucking Berry and her stupid, ogre of a boyfriend, Hudson. Who actually used to be popular before he ruined his reputation and joined Glee.
"She was amazing!" An Asian chick says. The one with Gothic tendencies and ridiculous clip on hair extensions. "I can't believe someone can move like that."
"Hey!" Another Asian pipes up, but it's the dancing one. Another jock who thought joining Glee was a good idea. "I can move like that," he emphasises it by popping and locking his way to his desk.
Rachel pipes up next, "In my opinion she can move like a Goddess. Some of the Cheerios could learn a few moves from her." Santana's brow cocks and when Berry turns, her eyes widen and fear etches its way onto her face. It kind of makes her want to smirk.
"What was that dwarf?" Santana snipes through gritted teeth.
"Uh…" Rachel shuffles, eyes darting to the two Asians now paused at the back of the room, hovering and not knowing what to do, "Nothing, Santana. I apologise."
"Good," she cocks her head to the side, "Now hurry along. I'm sure you have something uninteresting to do."
Rachel shoots her a hurt expression but she just rolls her eyes and shuffles, crossing one leg over the other whilst staring at the whiteboard. The majority of the students have returned now but another hour of Spanish, especially with Mr Martinez who keep looking at her like he knows something, is just something she doesn't want to do at the moment.
She brushes a piece of hair out of her face and glances around one final time before sticking her hand in the air. "Mr Martinez, I'm not feeling well."
The teacher narrows his eyes, "You seemed fine a minute ago when you were trying to scare Rachel."
Santana scoffs, "Things change. And if you think that was me trying to scare her, you need to check again."
With reluctance, the teacher nods sternly and she grins, picking up her books and heading out the door. Once in the hallway, she almost leans back against a wall and sighs because she now has a free hour to do nothing.
She could go home, but that would be pretty pointless considering by the time she got there, she'd probably have about twenty minutes before having to come back. She exhales heavily and pushes herself off the floor, heading towards her locker because if she's going to do nothing for an hour, she doesn't want to lumber around her books.
She's one hallway away from her locker when she hears music. Her ears perk up and she stops breathing, trying to pin point where it's coming from because that strange feeling is back, clawing at her stomach and making her feel uneasy.
The janitor comes around the corner a second later, headphones in and head bobbing to every sweep of his mop and she rolls her eyes.Fucking janitor.
Her legs lead her forward anyway until she reaches her locker and she swings open the door after putting in her combo, eyes sliding to her left when she hears the same music. She's pretty sure Mr Kidney's music isn't that loud, so there's no way she can hear it from the next hallway and her eyes narrow.
Why the fuck is she getting suspicious over music?
Santana can't help but feel a pull towards whatever she's hearing and abandons her locker, not even bothering to shut the door as her brows furrow and legs move towards the source ever so slowly. She looks around expectantly, but there's nothing but empty corridors and that damn music that's echoing quietly around it.
Impeccable hearing and intense curiosity have always been benefits for her, but right now it's kind of pissing her off. Anyone else either wouldn't hear the stupid song, or just shrug and walk away, and usually, she'd probably do the same – but right now it feels like she's being drawn to the room by some invisible, magnetic force.
Weighing the chances of her being able to walk around aimlessly without wanting to find out where that damn music's coming from or or doing the same and failing horribly, she decides she might as well take a look. Perking up her ears, she narrows her eyes and heads down the corridor, pausing momentarily to whip her head from side to side and spot the door to the choir room open. However it's from the side so unless she walks up and takes a peek in, she won't see anything.
She knows she's going to do it at some point, so she gives in.
She walks up to the door, slowing when she gets only metres away and sucks in her top lip, gnawing on the flesh lightly. If anyone saw her right now, they'd totally think she's high or something. What Cheerio stands outside the fucking choir room, nervously teetering and obviously debating whether or not to actually look inside.
It's a known fact that if anyone wants to keep their reputation, no matter how awful it may be, they don't even look inside the choir room. The equivalent of it is like looking at Medusa.
Scanning the hallways one final time, she leans in, shoulder resting against the wall next to the door frame. About a millisecond before she can actually look into the room, the music ceases and she freezes.
"You can come in you know," she hears a soft voice and her eyes narrow for two reasons. One because fuck, she's been caught and two because, where the hell has she heard that voice before? "I'm not gonna bite."
That uncomfortable feeling is back. The slushy-down-the-back one where she feels uneasy and knows something's different. Like something's changing in the air and there's fuck all she can do about it.
She's pretty sure she's never moved as fast as she has when her legs speed her away from the scene, like she's just been caught with blood on her hands in front of a dead body. Judging by the volume of the voice, she'll have about four seconds to hide before that person, whoever the fuck it is, steps outside and watches her retreating form. Pretty hard to hide in this stupid Cheerio's uniform.
But luckily, she makes it anyway, back pressing against the wall around the corner to conceal her presence when soft footsteps echo down the hallway. Breathing hard, she squeezes her eyes shut because now if she's found, not only will she have looked weird because she was standing outside the choir room, but now she'll have run away too which makes her look double-y suspicious.
The footsteps pause and she sucks in a breath, holding it in. Her heart's pounding hard, pulse beating in her ears and veins throbbing with adrenaline. But then the unknown person sighs, and if she didn't know any better she'd say she could hear a head shake. Moments later, the footsteps start up again, slowly fading into the distance and she lets out a heavy exhale.
Eyes flickering from side to side, her brows furrow and lips purse. This isn't her. Seriously, she'd never do this. Usually if she heard music, she'd probably just walk away. But no. Not this time. Instead she's backed up against a wall in attempt to hide from that unknown person. And the worst part about it? She doesn't even know why or who was playing that music and it's tugging at the base of her skull, urging her to know.
Rolling her eyes and shoving her thoughts aside, she pushes off the wall, scanning the corridor's one last time before heading back to her locker.
Something's playing with her mind, and even though she doesn't smoke, she seriously needs a smoke right now. Even if it is under the bleachers with The Skanks, who don't actually mind her that much. Despite the usual losers hate Cheerios cliché that most people think exist in high school.
Apart from the Gleeks and Cheerios, that bit's true. That's something that'll never change.
Well, that's what Santana thinks anyway.