Sigh. Fine. Just this once.
There’s a pretty blonde girl that lives on her corner. At least, that’s the house she disappears into every night. Santana likes to sit in the picture window and watch the neighbors come home and this pretty blonde girl always comes home to the house across the street. She pulls up the driveway and always walks back down it to get her mail and at the curb, she stops and looks up and waves.
Santana waves back slowly and it always makes the pretty girl smile widely at her in return.
Santana knows there was a car accident. When she woke up, her mom was holding her hand so tightly and praying furiously in Spanish and she knew, it had to be bad. Her dad was pacing the room and when he saw she was awake, he started to cry. Santana knew it had to be worse than bad.
There was an accident. She was stuck in the car for so long, they say. She was lucky to get out, they say. Five people went in and only two came out alive, they say.
Her head feels like someone turned on a fog machine. There are too many lines on her mother’s face and too much gray in her father’s hair. They tell her she’s twenty-three, graduated from college with a degree in English/Communications, a homeowner, a pet owner, engaged to be married - she laughs. Didn’t she just get into 8th grade? She’s sure she has a date with Puckerman on Friday and the new kid Mrs. Duab has been talking about nonstop is supposed to finally start school next week. It’s supposed to be a girl and Santana wants to be her friend before Quinn snatches her up.
When she says this out loud, her mother starts to cry even louder than before so Santana just stops asking questions.
Santana likes to sit in the picture window while she studies for her math classes. She likes the constancy of the numbers, how they never change. And every day, she watches the neighbors come home from work and waits for the pretty girl across the street.
There’s a tug, barely one really, every time Santana sees that red car turn the corner. Santana can’t explain it but she likes to watch the girl get out of her car and get the mail. From the way the girl waves and the way her smile gets bigger when Santana waves back, Santana thinks that maybe their were friends. It might explain the tug.
She thinks it’s funny, too, that she likes the house so much.
She always told her parents, if she grew up and got her own house, she would want it to be right across the street from her parent’s house.