10 Reasons Why I Hate Santana Lopez

Reason 3

In the second grade, she poured Elmer's Glue onto the head of a little girl in my class and then had the nerve to blame it on me. Can you believe it! Apparently, I used magic to transport myself to the other side of the classroom just to terrorize that girl before transporting back to where I was, all within ten seconds. I wasn't even near any glue! I had seen Santana grab a jar of it, so I decided to draw with markers so that I could avoid having to ask her for anything.

She had been oddly quiet since the school year started. Wishful thinking had me hoping that she forgot about me because we were in different classes this year and we only got to see each other during our two recess breaks. There were a few other girls in her class that had begun to play with her, limiting the time she spent with me, but it didn't bother me at all. In fact, once I had realized what was happening, I was so elated that I ran as fast as my seven-year-old sized legs allowed around the school yard. It didn't matter that I could see her out of the corner of my eye, scowling at me from within her group of girlfriends because she was there, and I wasn't! I wasn't tied to her! It also didn't matter that I tripped on a soccer ball and landed on my face, earning myself a beautiful bloody nose! I just kicked the ball away and continued running like the free bird that I was. And when I could run no more I just sat down and smiled, staring right at Santana Lopez, daring her to imprison me with friendship again.

Then one day our teachers decided to get our second-grade classes together for an arts and crafts activity time. We were allowed to paint or draw or create anything we wanted with whoever we wanted, but I had chosen to keep to myself. When we were in the same class, Santana would always sit next to me and make mean comments about what I was doing so I was excited to be able to draw without her badgering me over my shoulder. She was on the other side of the room, and although she would glance at me now and then, she stayed put, and my drawing remained without criticism.

So there I was, minding my own business, drawing a rainbow over a little stick-figure me, standing in a field of flowers when I heard the shrill scream of a person behind me. Along with everyone else in the classroom, I went to see what had happened but stopped before I could get too close. Standing above a crying little girl who had white glue dripping down her head was Santana Lopez, hands shaking angrily. She looked terrifying because although it was evident to me that she was upset, her face was straight and emotionless.

"Oops," came out of her mouth in the non-apologetic tone of voice she would grow into through our years together. That was the first time I had experienced her using it, and I found myself scared shitless because compared to all of the other girls our age, she seemed like an entirely different creature. She was the monster in the closet that I knew was there and hid from. I came face to face with that closet monster, and she was no longer an irrational fear, but a reality.

One teacher ran to the crying girl to soothe her while the other had grabbed Santana and taken her from the classroom. Through the window, I could see the teacher scolding her before she was brought back in to clean her things and grab her backpack. After that, the teacher sent her to the principal, and we didn't see her for three days.

When she came back to school the first person she went to was me. I was sitting alone in the grass and out of nowhere she had appeared in the grass at my side.

She glared at me briefly before saying "It's your fault that I was suspended, you know."

First I blinked in confusion, and then I shook with disbelief. Before I could stop myself, I yelled: "How is that my fault?"

Santana Lopez was not one to be swayed in the face of danger. Despite my anger, she merely shrugged her shoulders and said, "If you weren't so weird I wouldn't have had to put glue in her hair."

Still not understanding her but too upset to face her, I turned around, not willing to move or speak.

A soft sigh reached me from behind. "That girl said that because you're my friend you had to be a mean boy since I'm a mean girl. She said that when you were running around, you kicked a ball, and it hit her, but you didn't say sorry. She said you were the meanest person in the world. So I put glue in her hair."

Slowly, I turned back around to face her. She was looking down at her small hands clasped in her lap, and I swore it looked like she was about to cry. "I still don't know how it's my fault," I said, not knowing how to respond to her.

In a second her head shot up and her eyes were alight with fire. "Because if you weren't my friend then no one would think you're mean and I wouldn't have had to use the glue!" she yelled like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"B-but" I stuttered, "you made me be your friend."

She glared and stood up, "And you could have said no!"

Even as a kid I understood that girls were crazy, but I quickly discovered that Santana Lopez was the craziest of all the crazies. Not only did she blame me for her actions but apparently she also forgot that she threatened my life if I didn't become her friend. And then, after that day, she started to hang out with me again like nothing had happened, like we weren't in different classes, like she didn't make any new friends, and like she didn't go bat-shit crazy and ruin some little girl's hair.

It doesn't matter that it was kind of cute that she was defending my honor or that her sad face was adorable. No, none of that matters. I could no longer be by myself during recess because she forced me to play with her and I could no longer sit alone in the grass and watch all of the other kids play together because she would sit with me. Santana Lopez knows no compassion so I can't even imagine that she came back to me because she thought I was lonely. No, she just wanted to torment me.