My Favorite Lesson

Chapter Eleven

Miss. Lopez's classes were basically torture for Brittany. She knew she was falling hard and she was pretty sure that Miss. Lopez knew it too.

This was dangerous territory.

"Britt what're you thinking about?" Quinn asked as she walked up to the taller blonde at her locker.

"Miss. Lopez." Brittany sighed and deflated a little more.

"Still?"

"Still."

Quinn sighed. "Britt, I'm worried. She's your teacher and I can see that this is gonna be dangerous."

"I know, Q! But I can't help it!"

Her friend smiled. "Come on, Britt. Let's go to cheer practice."

They walked onto the field and began to stretch with the other cheerleaders.

Sue came out and screamed "Alright fatties five laps around the track and if I see anyone falling behind they'll get an extra five!"

Brittany wasn't worried, she loved to run and could do it forever. Five laps was nothing and she was always at the front of the pack. Quinn was the same way which was one of the things they bonded over when they met in third grade gymnastics.

They began to run and kept up a steady pace, watching as one by one girls fell behind them. Despite Brittany's much longer legs, Quinn was just as quick.

Soon they were done with five laps and walked over to get water.

"Brittany back on the track for another five!" Came Sue's harsh voice.

"But I didn't fall behind?" Brittany said confused.

"I don't care! Move it!"

Quinn started to walk back with her but sue cut in. "No! Q you're done you already did your five!"

Now Quinn was confused too. "But, coach-"

"No buts! Do as I say!"

Once Brittany finally finished they started a pyramid which coach made her be the bottom of even though she was second in command agreed Quinn.

It was becoming painstakingly obvious that Sue was picking on Brittany. And Brittany knew it was because of how Santana got her out practice before.

She had thought she was off the hook but no, Sue was just waiting for the right time to pounce.

Once practice was over coach called her over. "You're not done, Pierce! Five more laps!"

Brittany was so tired and she couldn't bear anymore. "But coach-!"

"I already told you no buts! Now go!"

"Why are you picking on me?" Brittany felt like she might cry. "Why aren't you being this hard on the other girls!? I did everything right today!"

Sue narrowed her eyes. "Are you back talking me, Pierce?"

"No. I-I- I just-"

"I don't wanna hear it! Five more laps or you're off the team!"

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

Both blondes whipped around to see a pissed-off Miss. Lopez.

"Go back to Mexico, Lopez. This is my turf."

The Latina rolled her eyes. "First of all, I'm Puerto Rican. And second, this could be classified as favoritism and child abuse. We all know this is about you getting back at me so stop taking it out on Brittany or I'll report your ass.

The coach's eyes hardened. "Watch your step little missy. I'm head bitch around here."

"Oh please," the younger teacher said with an eye roll. "I'm not scared of you Sue."

"Well you should be bean head."

"Oh you really think you can out insult me? I'm from Lima heights adjacent and I was raised on insults. It's how mí abuela put me to sleep at night, and she is not a nice lady. It wasn't until kindergarten that I learned my name wasn't garbage face."

Sue huffed then turned and barked out "Go shower Pierce!"

Santana smirked in victory and followed Brittany to talk to her.

The young blonde was smiling widely. "Thanks for defending me."

"No problem. It's my job."

They stopped by the bleachers on the way.

"I know it's your job, but I have a feeling you wouldn't have done it quite like that with any other student."

Miss. Lopez gave a small smile. "Probably not. But it's different with you." She flushed a bit. "I mean because of the tutoring and stuff, y'know."

Brittany nodded and then suddenly she just got the strangest urge. It felt like someone was pushing her forward and her lips were on Santana's.

AN: MARRIAGE EQUALITY! WOOT WOOT! So to celebrate here is a kiss!!!! Love you all and remember, #LOVEWON

- G. Schreiber

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