Separate Worlds

Chapter Eight

Hanging out at The Bean with Santana became a regular thing. Every Thursday one of us would call the other and shyly suggest that we hang out there.

Soon it got to be the norm.

It was the Thursday before the benefit and I walked into The Bean to meet Santana.

She was sitting at our usual table, this time reading a book called "Thirteen Reasons Why" by Jay Asher.

I didn't want to interrupt her, so I sat across from her as quietly as possible.

But she looked up anyway, sticking a bookmark in the book and setting it down on the table.

"I'm sorry. I hate interrupting your reading." I apologized.

She chuckled. "It's fine. I called you to hang out, didn't I?"

I looked behind her suddenly and saw someone I did not want to see walk in. Cara.

I ducked down, hoping very hard that I wouldn't be seen. I think Santana was saying something, but I didn't register it. I was too busy hiding.

"B?" Santana swooped her head down to look me in the eye. "What just happened? You went blank on me there."

"Uhm... I..." I was still staring at Cara.

Santana turned looking back and spotting Cara.

I didn't want her to see Cara.

"Who's that?" Was that disappointment I heard in her voice? No it couldn't be. I was imagining things.

"That's just my, uh, ex."

"Oh."

"I kinda don't wanna see her..." I said. "She's-"

"Britt!"

Shit. I was seen.

Cara walked over, a venomous smile on her face. "Why'd you ditch me at the club, Britt?"

"I didn't! I just... I was with Quinn. It was- just..."

Cara shook her head. Her eyes cold. "Ugh. Britt, look at you. You're nothing without me."

"Now wait just a fucking minute."

We both whipped around. It was Santana.

"What makes you think you can talk to her like that? Like you own her? You don't fucking own her carrot top!"

Cara stared at her. "Look. I know you. You're Santana Lopez. Campus celeb. You think you're the shit and so does everyone else. But I see right through you bean head."

I had never seen Cara be racist before!

Santana pushed her chair back, standing up fast. "Oh so you think you can out bitch me with petty fucking racist crap? Well guess what carrot top? I'm from Lima heights adjacent and I was raised on insults. Mí abuela used to tuck me in at night and she is not a nice lady. And It wasn't till I got to kindergarten that I learned my name wasn't garbage face. Oh and also, I'm not Mexican. I'm Puerto Rican." She pulled me up. "Come on Britt."

And we left Cara standing there with her mouth hanging open.

Go Santana!