Glee Oneshots

star of the show

I love to watch Brittany dance. It's the only time she seems to be truly happy. The look of pure joy on her face, and the way she moves her body. I fall for her more, with each turn and flourish.

I'm watching her right now. She's here at my sisters show, as a background dancer. My sister is the star, and everyone keeps telling me how proud I should be of her. And what a good voice she has.

I want to tell them that I can sing as well, but nobody would believe me. And I don't want to steal her spotlight, since it's her night. And I'm perfectly happy with sitting here, looking for Brittany.

With each scene, I look for her. When she doesn't appear on stage, my heart sinks a little. But when she struts on, her head held high, my heart flutters.

She makes eye contact with the girls beside her, while my sister is working her way through a monologue. Brittany whispers something, and the girls with her crack up. I wish I was up there with them, basking in the light of Brittany.

There's a pop song on, and the kiddies dance group is on. And Brittany is there as well, holding their hands and guiding them through the steps. They look up at her adoringly. I mean, so am I.

She arrives again, this time for a tap dance. Wearing a black leotard, and a pair of sliver sequinned shorts. And, wow. Her legs. I think my brain stops functioning for a second.

At one point my mom nudges me.
"Is that your friend Brittany?" She asks, pointing on stage. I nod, unable to stop myself from smiling.
"Yeah, that's her."

But it's the ballet that really sticks in my head. Brittany's solo. She hadn't told me about it. She's really modest about dancing, which doesn't make sense to me. If you're that good, you want people to know about it.

She's dressed in a white tutu, her long blonde hair tied into a ballerina bun. She looks like the dancer in my jewellery box. And when the music starts, it's like she's a doll. She doesn't make a single wrong move, as if she's a robot.

But a robot isn't the right way to explain it. Because, Brittany is pouring so much feeling into this dance, it's like she's telling me a story.

Yet, I know that it's all an act. Ballet is her least favourite type of dance. It's too structured, and there's too many rules. But here, it's like she was born to be a ballerina.

The music comes to an end. My Mami wipes tears from her eyes. I do the same, but much less obviously. The last thing I need is being interrogated about why I cried over my 'friends' dance.

Yeah. 'Friend'. I see her as much more. But to her, I'm just a friend.

We're not best friends. Our friend groups are totally different. She spends time with girls like her. They're all supermodels, really sweet, and some of the most popular girls in our year.

My friend group is a wide range of bitches and stoners, with around 3-5 couples at any time. Everyone seems to have dated or had sex with each other at some point, except from me.

Me and Brittany have a bunch of classes together, and we talk a lot. Not about anything special, but they mean a lot more than that to me.

She makes me laugh, and smile. I could listen to her dumb jokes and interests all day.

She's the only person who's heard me sing. In a music class, we were hiding out in one of the practice rooms, pretending to play the keyboard. Someone in another room started playing 'someone like you' by Adele. I hummed it under my breath, and Brittany nudged me.

"Go for it" she whispered. And for the first time in years, I did. There's no way I was perfect. But I tried. And maybe some of the words even described how I felt about Brittany, who had just broken up with her boyfriend of that time.

She applauded me, and I felt myself glow with her praise. But I refused to sing again. It's like a door opens, and all my emotions come flooding out. And Brittany doesn't need to see that.

My sister sings her solo. What am I thinking, even trying to compete with her. My voice is too strong, too low. Hers is much softer, much more feminine. There is a strength to it, but it's not too much.

There's another dance, but Brittany isn't in it. If I listen hard, I can just hear her laugh above the music. I watch the other girls dance. They're pretty, but they're not Brittany.

The big finale is introduced, as my sister takes centre stage again. She looks just how I did at that age, except her hair is a shade lighter than mine, and much sleeker. I've only just won the battle with frizz, and there's still some days that it won't cooperate with me.

All the dancers come on stage. Brittany is there, her blonde hair shining under the harsh stage lights. As my sister sings the last song, bringing the play to a close, the others smile and wave.

I stand up on my tiptoes, and smile and wave harder than ever. Brittany smiles wide, waving to the audience. Our eyes connect.

And maybe I'm just desperate, but I'm pretty sure she smiles a little more when she sees me.

Later, as I wait for my sister to finish removing her makeup so we can go home, the doors open. And Brittany walks out, her hair hanging loose around her face, and a bag swinging from her hand. She looks at me, smiling.

We both step forward at the same time, and wrap our arms around each other. She smells of hairspray and her strawberry body spray that she always keeps in her bag. My chin tucks perfectly into the little dip on top of her shoulder.

"Santana, hi" she whispers, her voice so low that only I can hear it.
"You were so good. Like, I didn't realise you were that good. Brittany, you were amazing" I reply.

She lets go, and steps back. I'm not sure how long we stand there, looking at each other. It can only be a few seconds, but I can't stop looking. I want to remember this version of Brittany- free from the pressures of school, wearing loose shorts and a hoodie, her face clear of makeup but still with glitter in her hair.

"I should probably go, my mom is in the car with my sister. I'll see you tomorrow for double music, right?" She says eventually, pulling her bag onto her shoulder.

I nod. "Yeah. See you then."

Then she's gone, walking past the theatre and to the car park behind. I hear a squeal and my mom shouting my sisters name, but I don't want to turn around just yet.

I want to savour this moment. And so I turn to look up at the stars. It's a clear night, and the moon is enough to light this courtyard with no streetlights. And I look at the stars, but in my head, I can see the biggest star of all.
Brittany S. Pierce.