“Nice? Nice?!” Santana repeated with a hint of bemused condescension that was so much a part of her as her skin and her hair. “Honey, we need to get you to be a little more…risqué,” Santana counseled her sidekick. “You need to hint that you are a boy-crazy slut without confirming it, you know?” she asked, impressed by her own teenage sage-ness.
She smirked as Brittney applauded for her. Moving to the bed, she flopped down on it. “We need popcorn,” she told Brittney, not feeling at all guilty about putting her mom out by having to make it. Not like old people actually did anything!
She reached over to take the bottle of Coke from Brittney to take a sip. “First, even before tryouts, we need boyfriends,” Santana announced. “You don’t have one already, do you?”