She was the one who contacted you. She was the one who texted you, about a week after school was out, asking if you wanted to hang out. Of course, you were sure it was a joke. You were sure you would show up and it would be a prank, her or Santana would be there to humiliate you in some way. But who are you to turn down friendship, the opportunity to spend time with someone. So you went over to her house. And the next day, too. And the next. And soon every day you’re spending time with her, watching movies or maybe walking or going to the library because she likes to read and always has to return books.
You could tell she was lonely. Something inside of her was empty in a way that it hadn’t been before. And one day she says it. Beth. It’s in the middle of the night and you’re watching her in the dark and suddenly she’s crying and you’re holding her. Beth.
Then the summer ends. She wants to be a Cheerio again. She doesn’t talk to you at school. It stings at first but then it glazes over and you’re numb again, just like you were last year. You tell yourself you were stupid for ever thinking that things would be different this year, that she would actually want to be friends now that you were back and surrounded by all the familiar barriers.
She wants to write a song with you. She says it, out loud, in front of the entire club. She even compliments you. For a moment you think that everything will be how it was supposed to, how the summer indicated it would be. But when you meet her, she’s cold. She’s not the girl you watched walking through the library stacks for hours just waiting for the perfect book to present itself. The tone in her voice pricks at you and you start to cry like a child. For a moment, it reminds you of the way she made you feel before Beth, so small and insignificant. So you say it and almost recoil at how you sound. Like a kindergartener who got pushed in the sand.