TROY
Senior year, day 1.
"Troy, sweetie, wake up, it's almost 7."
Almost 7? Fuck. I thought it must have been about 7:30 or something if she's waking me up.
This blows.
"I'm up," I yell to her.
"I'm making pancakes," she tells me through the door, "please be down in 20 minutes. You don't want to be late for your first day."
I do.
Well, not really, not necessarily, but fuck, school blows.
I should have probably programmed myself the last few weeks of summer to go to bed at a decent hour and wake up around 8 or before 8 to make this transition easier, but I forgot. I was too busy enjoying my last few weeks of freedom before senior year came around.
No doubt my mom will come back up here if I'm not down in 20 minutes, so I spring out of bed and go take care of my business in the bathroom.
It's senior year.
I should be stoked about being at the top, the head of campus.
But it doesn't really excited me.
What does excite me is that in hopefully a year from now, I'll be in California attending Berkeley and getting the hell out of Colorado.
When I get downstairs, my sister's already digging into her pancakes and downing some milk.
"You excited for your last year at middle school?"
"Eh, sure."
I laugh. Olivia has this carefree attitude and a go with the flow personality that mostly everything is whatever to her. Kind of refreshing for a young teenager.
My mom stacks three pancakes on a plate for me and opts to give me orange juice instead of milk. I hate milk. She places them in front of me at the table and then kisses the top of my head. "I cannot believe my baby is a senior. It feels like just yesterday I was there in the..."
"Okay, mom, I get it."
"I'm sorry I'm emotional," she says, "my littlest is in her last year of middle school and my oldest of high school. Where did the time go?"
I shrug, biting into her delicious pancakes.
Olivia finishes off her plate and goes to the sink to wash it.
"Elaine, we're going to be late," my dad comes walking into the kitchen, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt, "well, well, well, would you look here. Is that a senior eating his pancakes? And is that a big bad 8th grader washing her dish? I mean, my God."
"Dad, gross," I tell him.
My mom laughs as she starts putting everything away, "I was just telling them, I don't know where the time has gone."
My dad nods, "seriously, you guys, it's wild."
Sure.
Whatever that means. It happens to everyone. They're acting like they're the first people to have kids advance a grade and are almost graduating.
"Liv, go grab your backpack," my dad tells her, "Troy, buy us some tickets for Friday's game."
"Sure thing."
He drops 20 dollars on the table and then gives me a kiss on my head.
My mom follows suit and kisses my cheek.
And then they walk out of the kitchen hand in hand like every other morning around here and as much as it should make me sick, it doesn't.
I love how in love they are.
As I'm winding down on my last pancake, my cell phone buzzes on the table. I pick it up in one ring, putting it on speaker as soon as I answer. "What's up? Nothing, just finishing breakfast. Sure man, I'll swing by in about ten minutes. Nah. Okay, see ya soon."
Well, fuck, now I can't relax for ten minutes before school.
I quickly finish my last bite, down my orange juice and go over to the sink to wash my plate. I put it off to the side so it can dry and then grab my things.
Exactly ten minutes later, I'm honking at my idiotic best friend to come out.
"Dude, thanks."
"Why wouldn't you fill up your tank if you know we have school today?" I lecture him like his dad or something.
"I forgot," he shrugs, plugging his phone to charge.
Whatever. I pull out of his driveway and head to school. Sure, it's on the way, but it just made me leave earlier. I was planning on catching the morning news for a bit. That stuff fascinates me. I love knowing what's going on around the world. But I guess now I have to rely on my apps if I want the news.
Chris motions for me to pull into the AM PM a block away from school.
I oblige.
I tell him to grab me a gatorade.
As he's in there, a text on his phone pops up and I don't mean to be nosy, but it was a string of texts and curiosity got the better of me in that moment.
Are you free after school? Please tell me yes.
Thank you again for last night by the way. I really needed it. You're the sweetest.
And a heart.
A heart emoji or whatever.
I have no idea who this Cara girl is or why he has his messages to where you can read them on the screen.
But he's my best friend. I don't want to jump to any conclusions right now.
He has a girlfriend. A girlfriend of a little over a year. A girlfriend who he loves. One that loves him. Yet, here is this girl Cara sending him a heart and telling him he's the sweetest for whatever he did for her last night. I mean, what am I supposed to do?
Sit back and pretend I didn't read it? I can't.
So, when he jumps in the car and hands me the gatorade, I tell him he got a text.
"What?"
"You got a text."
"Shit," he grabs his phone, clearly forgetting about leaving it in here.
I pull out of the parking lot and head over to school and once we park, I find myself asking him who Cara is and why she's texting him.
He laughs, "seriously, dude?"
"What?" I'm a little caught off guard by his laughter, "dude, those texts she sent you... what the fuck?"
"She's a friend," he says, "who's going through a bit of a hard time. I'm just being there for her. Don't read so much into it."
"Oh, that's great. Does your girlfriend know?"
Chris shuts his door that he had opened the second we pulled in. Apparently, he doesn't want anyone else to hear this conversation. I wouldn't either if I were him, to be honest. "What the fuck are you accusing of me? You think I'm cheating on her?"
Yes.
But I don't come right out and say that. "You have a girlfriend. Why are you texting other girls?"
"You don't know the first thing about having one," he scoffs.
"You're right."
I don't. I've never have a girlfriend.
Chris opens his door up again, "I'm not having this conversation with you anymore. Talk to me when you get a girlfriend and you see how hard it is."
He grabs his backpack, his phone and walks off.
I take my keys out of the ignition, grab my backpack from the back and walk in as well.
I'm being greeted left and right, asking how my summer was, blah blah blah. But all I can think about is the conversation I just had with Chris in the car and what those text messages actually meant. I hate this. I hate how I'm privy to this. I wish he would have taken his phone. I wish I wouldn't have brought it up because it's all I can think about now and it shouldn't even be my problem.
And I hate even more that his girlfriend just walked through the door of my first period of the day looking as beautiful as ever.
She smiled at me.
And then came and took a seat by me.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Troy Bolton taking AP Calculus," she says in her sweet voice, followed by a laugh, "what will the others think about this?"
"They'll be jealous," I shrug, "but you know it's no secret I'm smart?"
"True."
Smart and popular, I am.
It's weird admitting to that because I don't want to sound like a dick, but I have a 4.0 and I'm a jock. Go figure.
"I'm not sure why I even said that," she tells me.
"Maybe you're trying to get in my head and make me think that being smart isn't cool so you can beat me for valedictorian," I offer, opening up a clean notebook, "I know your game plan. And let me tell you, it aint gonna work. You have some competition."
"You're so right," she smiles at me, "shame you're not just another dumb jock. Hot, smart and a guy? You'll definitely beat me."
"Nah," I tell her.
I couldn't really say much else.
Because she just called me hot and it was all I was thinking about.
As annoying as it sounds, I mean, I'm used to being called that. Girls let me know. Whatever. But hearing it from her is just different. It made me feel weird.
In this moment, I think about what Chris said to me.
He's right.
I don't know what it's like to have a girlfriend or how hard it can all be.
But what I do know is this... if I had Gabriella Montez as a girlfriend like he does, I wouldn't ever cheat on her.
Because she's perfect.
Of course I couldn't tell him that, though.
