Everybody's Fool
AN: I wanted to try and write a Sharpaycentric because after reading so much of somewhereonlyiknow's writing, I've come to gain a huge amount of respect for Sharpay. When she's not trying to steal Troy, of course. This is based off the song Everybody's Fool by Evanescence.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
EDITED ON 9TH APRIL, 2009! I removed the song lyrics!
Click, click. The hallway was empty, the sky was still dark as Albuquerque, New Mexico slumbered in the early morning. Only the sound of high heels on the newly polished floors could be heard. It seemed ridiculous for anyone to be at school at 5:30 in the morning, but then again, Sharpay Evans wasn't just anyone.
She felt like a queen surveying her kingdom. Why was the word 'kingdom', anyways? Sharpay Evans didn't have a king, and she never would. East High was her queendom.
She examined her perfectly manicured nails, lightly blowing on the glossy pink surface and watching it fog up as her warm breath met the cold nail. Albuquerque was in the grip of an abnormally long winter, and even in March, the air was still chilly with a hint of frost. She smoothened out her sparkling silver shirt that fell to mid-thigh, bound with a thick black belt and paired with white tights. Her big purse contained her ever-important cell phone, countless accessories like lip gloss and mascara, and the script of the latest school production.
Her walk was perfectly balanced between a strut and a stroll. Her striking blonde hair was tied back with a shimmering silver barrette. In everyone's eyes, Sharpay Evans was the epitome of perfection.
She opened the door to the drama room, her brown eyes critically assessing the situation. Ms. Darbus had given her the new script just yesterday, and it was clear that she hadn't started any sort of preparations for the auditions. What would the world do without her? The floor was littered with costumes that Ms. Darbus and Kelsi had obviously been trying to pick between for the different roles. Sharpay let a ladylike 'tsk' escape her. Sometimes, she wondered why she pretended to adore Ms. Darbus so much. The old lady had taught her so much, but she just deteriorated every year. Now she was choosing costumes before even preparing for the auditions!
She blinked a few times, shocked at her own thoughts. There wasn't anyone at school – there wasn't any need for her to pretend now. Or had she gotten so used to being queen that she was slowly assuming the role for real? She shook her head vehemently, her long, delicate fingers clutching the doorknob until her knuckles turned white. Never.
She entered the room hesitantly, her hands groping for the light switch she knew was located not too far from the door. Pale, pre-dawn light had begun to filter through the windows, and the dusty velvet curtains shrouding the room suddenly looked forlorn. Sharpay felt uneasy as her fingers located the switch and quickly flicked it upwards.
The lights flickered on, and for a moment bright fluorescent lighting illuminated the room. But then there came a dull 'pop' sound as all the bulbs switched off suddenly. Sharpay suppressed the urge to curse and reminded herself to tell Ms. Darbus to change the bulbs more often. She moved towards the back of the room, knowing that there was an emergency flashlight hidden somewhere.
She didn't find the flashlight, but as she walked towards the set of drawers nestled in one corner of the room, she caught sight of a flash of silver. Curious, she changed her course and found herself standing in front of a full-length mirror, the one she had posed before many times. But this time she looked harder, and was shocked by what she saw.
A deathly pale face rimmed with black eyeliner and carefully covered in a rosy-colored blush to give the appearance of health. Sharpay stretched out a finger and touched her reflection's cheek, her skin seeming ghostly in the predawn light. Had she really become… that?
The door creaked open, and Sharpay turned around quickly, one eyebrow already arching in a lazily scornful look. The small form of Kelsi Nielsen stood in the doorway, her glasses gleaming in the light.
"S-sharpay," she stuttered on seeing her. "I'm so, so, so sorry. Really. I'll just, um, go now." She closed the door hurriedly, and Sharpay could hear the sound of her footsteps retreating. She sighed softly, crossing the room and exiting, still haunted by the sight of her reflection. How had she let herself slip so far?
She had always been a good girl. Well, good by her own definition. But there was one flaw in Sharpay Evans' perfect life, and that was herself.
She had always had the potential to be great, and that was what had led to the expectations. From her youth, she had always known that one day, she would be famous. Her parents knew it as well, and they lavished attention on her – not that they didn't care about Ryan, too. Ryan was the older twin, so he had always had a special place in his parents' hearts. Just not quite as special as the place Sharpay held.
Then the insecurities started to build. Her parents were her parents, and after all, they were supposed to love and support her. She began to become obsessed with what others thought of her, because she believed that whatever her 'friends' said was the truth. Her friends were a few years older than her, and at the tender age of eleven they had known that she was fragile. She still didn't understand what power they had felt in dictating everything to her, but they had, and she had followed their instructions blindly.
Soon she had reached the point of no return – she had mutilated herself beyond recovery by the age of fifteen, and even worse, she had begun to enjoy the adoration of the 'lesser' fold.
"Power is so intoxicating," she murmured to herself as she walked down the hallway.
Something changed in the summer of her sophomore year – the year Troy Bolton rejected her for the first time. And then, the next year, Gabriella Montez had come along. Beautiful, kind, fairytale Gabriella – the one who was really perfect, with a true kind of perfection – one that made Sharpay want to vomit at times.
Troy's rejection had made her realize exactly what she had become and how she had lost herself. But although she knew what she was doing to herself was wrong, she couldn't stop. Every time she steeled herself to stop being mean and snappy, someone did something she just couldn't tolerate. Every time she vowed not to starve herself to fit into that new outfit of hers, a girl walked by with a thin little waist and the most becoming skirt. And so, Sharpay Evans couldn't shake off the addiction that was popularity.
Even during that summer at Lava Springs, she had known that stealing Troy from Gabriella was wrong. But Troy reminded her that she wasn't herself anymore, and she kept thinking that if she could just conquer him, the last hurdle between herself and true perfection would be cleared.
And now, this… somehow, the pale light outside had stripped away her carefully constructed mask and exposed her soul, screaming and pleading for help. She couldn't shake the look of desperation she had seen in her own eyes. How could she not hear herself anymore? Had she lost the art of listening to the little voice in her head? She shook her head slightly, trying to clear it of the thoughts that seemed to pervade her entire being – those involving fashion and popularity and her next starring role. What had happened to the Sharpay Evans who had performed in plays because she loved it? What had happened to the girl who had spent an entire day just lying in bed to watch the butterflies outside?
She was gone, because eventually she realized that acting wasn't about having fun; it was about hiding yourself, and being able to become a totally different person. Well, no one could say she didn't know that now.
Sharpay reached her locker, dimly hearing the sound of piano keys being pressed in harmony. She pressed her forehead against the cool pink metal door, closing her eyes and counting her breaths as they escaped her mouth erratically.
It had been three months ago that she had finally found the answer. She had finally found the real Sharpay Evans three months ago, because she had sat down and thought hard about what exactly drove her onwards. And to her utmost horror, she found that it wasn't the sight of butterflies in the late morning light, or declaiming in front of a crowd. It was what others thought of her.
And Sharpay realized just what she had given up when she had surrendered herself to the popular clique. She had given up her entire identity, the little quirks that made Sharpay Sharpay, like how she loved to eat cucumber with lemon when she was upset and hated it otherwise, and how she touched the index finger and thumb of her right hand together before every single performance. And for what?
So that she would care what others thought of her.
She opened her locker slowly, gazing at the haphazard state of its interior. Not many people would have guessed that Sharpay Evans was untidy, and the ones who might have, would have only to spite her. But she was horribly messy; Ryan had always been the neat one. They had always been polar opposites, like the twins people read about in books – he was neat, she was messy, he liked chocolate, she loved vanilla, he was a dog person, she preferred cats, he loved too much and she loved too little. She picked up her English literature book and slowly drew her finger across the glossy cover, loving the feeling. This was the Sharpay she remembered – a girl who would enjoy the simplest and often weirdest things without caring if others liked the same thing or not. She was slowing beginning to wake up to herself, and as she did, she increasingly felt betrayed by her clique. She knew that if she left, they would simply adopt another leader, because they were followers and they needed someone to guide them. They never cared about who was leading them, as long as someone was there.
She stared at the mirror set in the back of her locker, remembering the day she had put it up there. Principal Matsui had protested, as he had when she had painted her locker pink, but just like then she had won him over with a smile and a small speech about how 'theatre performers must be at their best at all times'. She wasn't quite sure how he had bought it, but she had been smug at the time – who could resist Sharpay Evans' charm?
The dark, haunted eyes looked back at her steadily, gazing at her from the thin face that looked like something out of a magazine. Her hair didn't look thick and lustrous anymore – it looked sad and thin, filled with chemicals that always promised to leave you with a 'clean, fresh after feel!'
Nothing about her face was real except those eyes.
She withdrew a notebook, suddenly feeling angry, angry at herself and at the world for lying to her. Flipping to the last page, she took out a pencil and wrote six words there, pressing the pencil down to make the words dark and legible as she scrawled in her loopy, expansive handwriting.
She let the notebook drop, tears pricking her closed eyelids. She felt one slide down her cheek, making a trail through the foundation she had so carefully applied a few hours ago. She always came to school at early hours because that was the only time she could be herself in school.
The book thudded on the smooth, tiled floor, opening up to the last page, where her words were visible to all.
And somehow now you're everybody's fool.
AN: What did you think? Meh, I'm not sure if it came out well enough. I wanted it to be more hopeful, but it didn't come out that way… it seemed pretty clichéd now that I'm looking over it. Give me your opinions, please?