Sally felt herself leaning into his touch, against her better judgment, her eyes drifting shut as the space between them grew thinner, almost nonexistent. She knew she should pull back, should keep the walls up that she'd always so carefully maintai...
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"Johnny's right. Whatever you're dealing with, don't take it out on Sally."
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"There's not even a prize!" Santana's voice rose, dripping with contempt. "If you think I'm going to perform out there with her after what happened last night, es loca!"
Sally's cheeks burned, though not from the tight leather outfit she was wearing. She felt every girl's gaze shift to her, a dozen silent questions hanging in the air, their expressions a mix of curiosity and accusation.
Rachel, ever the mediator, tried to divert the tension. "Santana, what are you even talking about?"
But Santana's glare didn't waver, her eyes locked on Sally with a cutting intensity. "She knows!" Santana practically spat, the venom clear in her tone. "Go ahead, Sally. Tell everyone what you did."
Sally rolled her eyes, doing her best to keep her voice calm. "Oh, you mean how you got ditched at Breadstix?" she replied, keeping her tone icy. She refused to let Santana see how rattled she felt. "Hate to break it to you, Santana, but not everything's about you."
The room buzzed with unease as the girls looked from Sally to Santana, sensing the brewing storm between them. The timing was disastrous—minutes before they were supposed to perform a mash-up, and here they were, on the verge of a full-blown fight. Sally tried to keep her cool, but her mind was still reeling from last night's mess and Puck's out-of-nowhere stunt.
"Enough!" Mercedes's voice cut through the tension. She stepped in between them, her hands raised like a referee trying to stop a brawl. "We've got a performance to worry about. Are we seriously doing this right now?"
"No, Mercedes. Let her talk." Sally put a hand on Mercedes's arm, her gaze hardening as she turned back to Santana. "Santana, I'm sorry if you're just now figuring out that Puck can be a jerk, but don't act like I asked him to cause a scene."
Santana's jaw tightened, her face a mixture of fury and disbelief. She opened her mouth to retort, but Quinn, who'd been silently watching, spoke up.
"Wait. Puck did what?" Quinn's voice was barely above a whisper, her usually composed expression replaced by genuine surprise.
