So far, the only thing in the entire state of Kentucky that Santana likes is her dorm room. There's air conditioning, a bed, music that's not that fucking country-bumpkin crap everyone seems to listen to and, when she shuts the door, people leave her the fuck alone.
Everyone keeps telling her that college is about new experiences and new faces. She likes the old faces she knows just fine, thank you very much and how about you go spread your cheer in someone else's personal space?
She's not anti-social or anything like that. She talks to people. So what if the only conversations that last more than three and a half minutes are with people whose voices don't twang when they talk?
Santana's got friends. She doesn't need new ones.
And anyway, she really does hate the way people talk here like they all fell off some turnip truck on the way to a hoe-down and are just aching for some moonshine. Or, like, a banjo duel.
Santana can't help that she comes across as judgmental. Truth is, she wouldn't come across as judgmental if other people didn't suck at first impressions and come across as backwoods yokels who are betrothed to their first cousins (hypothetically).
Her computer makes a familiar sound and she's sitting at her desk in an instant.
"God, Britts. I finally figured out why I got all that financial aid." She doesn't even let her best friend get a word out before she launches in. Brittany just smiles at her through the Skype screen. "This place is so lame that they have to pay people to come here. For real."
Brittany's smile drops into a little pout and she sighs. "I'm sorry you hate it."
It takes Santana a minute to realize that she kind of just crapped on the one good idea Brittany thought she'd had. Like, ever. "It's not that I hate it. It's just, you know, the people and … hey, did I tell you what my R.A. said?"
The blonde nods and recites: "You're allowed to have overnight guests in your room but not for a period of more than three days. And then you said that no one would be interested in visiting because the entire town smells like cooked pig."
"That's not what I said." Santana shakes her head as she holds up a hand and corrects her friend. "I said no one but Quinn … "
Brittany smiles widely and interrupts her friend. "Oh! I talked to Quinn and her English teacher … professor … is actually from England! He speaks English fluently and everything. I'm supposed to Skype with her in ten minutes, and Mike after that and then, after that, I promised Tina I'd tell her everything Mike said."
Santana tries not let her disappointment show. "Ten whole minutes, huh? Alright, well, tell me how your day was, then. Start with how much you've missed me."
The call ends eight minutes later because Brittany needs to get ready for her call with Quinn. How someone gets ready for a Skype call is beyond Santana, but she got her few minutes of time with someone who, unlike her current peers, not only looks good in cut-off shorts, but also doesn't seem to want to get her on a fake bull at a bar that lets in college freshman but doesn't serve them booze. How is that even okay?
A ding echoes in the quiet of Santana's room.
She fights the smile that somehow spreads across her face as she reads the name and hits the "accept video call" button.
"Good evening, Santana! I have wonderful news to share!" The little brunette is grinning so widely that Santana is sure she's about to split apart from the mouth out.
"I'm doing alright. Thanks for asking, gelfling." She rolls her eyes and gives Rachel a look of boredom that she's proud to have perfected over the years.
Rachel's smile drops and her eyes widen. "Oh, you're right. That was terribly rude of me." She takes a deep breath and then nods at Santana, as though the other girl might understand her non-verbal cues.
Oddly, though, she does. Santana gets that the other girl's actions signify that Rachel is waiting for her to re-start the conversation and she sighs. "It's fine. It's not possible for me to have news because nothing happens here."
"What about the party you went to?"
Santana just shrugs. "Boys, beer bongs and country music." She grimaces. "You know how I feel about all of those things. If I ever tell you that I've had beer out of a hat with straws or had someone pour beer down my throat, send help. Actually, no. If I've reached that point, you have my permission to take a hit out on me. Just end it."
Rachel gives her that cute giggle that Santana is sure means "Oh, Santana, you're so funny." And Santana is reminded that they are still kind of new friends and aren't really perfectly in sync yet. Because, seriously, Santana doesn't joke about drinking. Either you drink the hard stuff or you stick with water.
And you don't put fuckin' umbrellas in it, either.
"So, what's your big news, little person?"
The other girl just smiles and shakes her head. "We're going to talk about you first."
"What, don't want to be the opening act after all?" Santana smirks, rests her head on her hand and looks fondly at her friend.
"Funny. Ha and ha." Rachel rolls her eyes and flips her hair over her shoulder. "But no, I'm a headliner."
Santana laughs at that because, not only was she expecting it, but because she knows (as does Rachel) that it's true. "Right, so hey, wanna hear what my R.A. said?"
"About having someone stay over for more than three days?"
"Jesus." Santana rolls her eyes. "Do you listen to everything I say?"
Rachel just stares at her and then very honestly says, "Yes."
She doesn't know what to say to that because, shit, she didn't see that coming. "Oh."
Rachel's smile doesn't falter. "So, what did she say?"
"Huh?" Santana's brain hasn't quite come back online yet.
There's that giggle again and then the smaller brunette speaks slowly and clearly, "Your R.A. …"
"Oh!" Santana's eyes light up as she remembers what she was going to say. "Listen to this, you better be sitting down for this - are you? I can't tell because you're like two feet tall standing and sitting - anyway, this is the kind of crap I deal with on a daily basis …" and she starts telling Rachel about the invitation (command) to attend some mixer for all of the new residents in her building. "… and then she says, are you ready for this shit? She actually says," Santana's voice goes nasally and she affects a Southern drawl, "I think someone forgot that she lives in CAN-tucky and not CAN'T-tucky."
Santana chuckles when she hears Rachel's muffled giggle. "Oh, no, that's … that's bad."
"Rachel," the other girl says soberly, "I think you're finally starting to understand the level of lameness that I constantly have to put up with."
Santana watches Rachel laugh before becoming serious, tilting her head and squinting at what she assumes is her image on the other girl's computer. "So, why didn't you want to go? Real answer, not the crude, Santana Lopez prepared answer."
Rachel gets a dirty look for that one. They haven't been friends long enough for her to assume she knows Santana that well. What, a few Skype sessions, some late night instant messaging on Facebook, a handful (if a few hundred constitutes a handful - maybe a large handful) of texts and she's an open book? Please.
"Fuck you, Berry." Santana doesn't say anything else. She just pouts at Rachel.
Rachel's chair squeaks as she leans back and crosses her arms in front of her. "That was uncalled for. I'm just trying to be your friend and help you. You aren't even trying to be happy there."
"Well not everyone gets everything they wanted, like some people. It's easy to be happy when you don't have to wait to get what you want."
The smaller girl clenches her jaw and looks directly into the camera. "Nothing was handed to me, Santana. I worked very hard and made sacrifices to be where I am. I can't help it that you didn't plan as well as I did and I think it's very unfair of you to take it out on me when all I'm trying to do is to help you make lemonade."
Santana frowns. "I don't need any fucking lemonade, Gizmo. I need to be somewhere that isn't reminiscent of the Clampets pre-move to Beverly Hills." She shakes her head and looks away from the screen. "You wouldn't get it because you're where you're supposed to be. I'm just biding my time down here and cringing every time I see a cowboy hat coming my way. That's a shitload of cringing by the way."
That call only lasts a few more minutes. Santana doesn't end up hearing Rachel's big news.