A/N: Guess who's still alive? Me! I know I've been non existent these past months and I'm sorry. Uni is just too crazy! The good news is that I'm having another poem published. It's kind of insane, really. But, that's by the by. This is a oneshot I've written in three days (okay, so I should've spent the time writing about elegies...). I'm kind of proud of it, to be honest. Now, I have a bunch of unfinished oneshots. Would you like me to upload them as they are as extra chapters to this oneshot, or would you like me to finish them (even though that is highly unlikely). It's up to you people!

One of the Boys

Ever since I moved to Albuquerque and enrolled in East High in my freshman year, I've become different things to different people. To the majority of the cheerleader population and other popular girls, excluding one Sharpay Evans, I was instantly deemed the 'unworthy' friend of Troy Bolton, the most popular guy in school, destined to become basketball captain.

He hadn't disappointed anybody where hopes and expectations of his basketball career were concerned. In fact, he more often than not exceeded them. People expected him to make the varsity team, he became one of the first sophomore ever to make that team. People expected him to be voted captain, he won with 99% majority – the only person who hadn't voted for him was...him. People expected him to be MPV for a game; he was MPV for an entire season.

The fact is that without Troy and the impact I made on East High when I first enrolled, I would be deemed as a geek. And the fact that we are friends, in fact we're best friends, and that I'm friends with the entire basketball team has always been unacceptable for the likes of Shelby Commings, cheerleader captain. Of course, nobody ever voiced these opinions, knowing full well the damage that any of my friends, including Sharpay Evans, could inflict.

To other girls, I was deemed as a hero. I liked to believe that they viewed me in this light because of how East High changed with me being a student there. But, in reality, I was only a hero to them because I was the only member of the female population at East High who wasn't afraid of spiders and other bugs. No matter what the class was, no matter if the teacher was male, the girls called on me to catch the spider or other offending insect and release it humanely out of a window.

But, I've come to have a reputation. It's not a bad reputation by any means. But, people all over Albuquerque, and in other parts of New Mexico, know how I'd transformed East High.

On my first day of East High, I stood in front of the bulletin boards, taking in the array of signup sheets for clubs and societies: drama club, scholastic decathlon team...boys' basketball team. No girls' basketball team. Of course not. I'm not sure whether I'd expected there to be or not. But, no matter my expectations, I still couldn't help feeling disappointed and, even more, hurt at how East High didn't give the girls the same opportunities as boys.

I can't say I'm an explicit feminist activist. I mean, yeah, I want the same rights as men. But, I don't spend my free time fighting for them. I guess I just wanted to play ball. On a team. For my school. I felt the disappointment and hurt pass and be succeeded by anger. I'd learnt a few names from my homeroom, most prominently Jason Cross, the boy who kept Ms Darbus talking incessantly about her favourite summer, and Chad Danforth, the boy who seemed to always carry a basketball around. But I can't say I'd made any friends just yet.

But despite this, I pulled my Lakers basketball cap over my eyes, gripped my backpack strap and followed the signs to the gym. Upon entering the boys' locker room in search of the coach's office, I found it to be mostly deserted. The only occupant seemed to be a boy who was a freshman like me. He was in my homeroom and drama class with Ms Darbus, too. I recognised him as Troy Bolton, presumably Chad's best friend. He was lying on one of the benches which ran between the rows of lockers. I was almost reluctant to disturb him; he was obviously deep in thought.

I stepped forward, removing my cap from my head. "Hey," I began. When Troy sat up and turned to me, I offered a hesitant smile. "Do you know where Coach Bolton's office is?"

He nodded, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. "Sure. Just follow down there and turn left before you reach the showers."

I gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Troy. Do you know if he's in there?"

"I think he is. I don't suppose I can help with anything, can I?" he asked, getting to his feet.

I pushed some of my tangled black curls behind my ear. "Thanks but I really need to talk to your dad. Thanks, Troy. I'll see you in homeroom tomorrow." I gave him a final smile before I turned and followed his directions. I hesitated for a moment, watching Coach Bolton through the window. The likeness with Troy was uncanny. Perhaps a few grey hairs, a few wrinkles, a bit more muscle on his bones. But, there was no denying they were father and son.

I tapped my fingers against the glass, watching as he looked up from his newspaper. He beckoned me in, setting the paper aside. "May I help you?"

I stepped inside and nodded. "I hope you can. You see, I was just looking at the bulletin boards of all of the extracurricular activities and I couldn't help noticing that there isn't a girls' basketball team. I wondered why."

He shrugged. "We didn't have enough interest.

"But, I want to try out for a basketball team," I explained.

He sighed. "Well, I'm sorry. We only have a boys' team."

"Can't I play on that team?"

"No. I'm sorry, Miss... What's your name?" he asked.

"Gabriella Montez," I muttered.

"I'm sorry, Miss Montez. There's nothing I can do."

I pulled my cap on my head and nodded. "Okay. Thank you, Coach. Sorry for wasting your time."

ONCE the final bell had rung, I headed back to the gym. Peering through the window, I found it empty. Perfect. I stepped inside, being greeted by the overwhelming scents of disinfectant and sweat. Tossing my bag and cap aside, I scraped my hair into a ponytail as I headed towards a rack of basketballs. I picked one up, enjoying the feel of the rough orange leather against my fingertips. It was weird. It had always been weird. But it didn't matter because it has always been who I am. Sure, I loved school and academia. I always have, always will. It makes sense; it's logical. But there's something missing. I don't feel right just focussing on school and books all of the time. When I'm on a court, with a basketball in my hand, it's like the world stops spinning. I feel right and complete when I'm there. All of my life, I've moved from one school to another because of my parents' jobs. The only place I've ever felt at home is on a court.

And now that my parents' company has promised they're not being transferred until after graduation, I don't even have the luxury of my real home anymore.

Feeling the fire of anger pump through my veins and tears well in my eyes, I threw the ball towards the net. I watched as it arched through the air, bounced off the backboard and fall perfectly through the hoop. I ran to go and get it, dribbling it down the court towards the opposite hoop. I shot another basket, feeling the anger dissipate, being replaced by a reassuring sense of calmness. I was home. Temporarily. For the next four years, I'd sit in the bleachers, watching as boys my age, who were just as talented as me, play basketball, predictably bring East High to glory...and I wouldn't be a part of it just because I was a girl.

I let out a shriek of anger, launching the ball to the opposite net. I watched it effortlessly fall through, not even touching the backboard.

"You're on the team," a voice said behind me.

I turned around, finding Coach Bolton standing there, an unreadable expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Coach Bolton. I know I probably shouldn't be here, but my dad still hasn't put the hoop up at our house and-"

Coach Bolton laughed and held a hand out cutting me off. "It's okay, Gabriella. I said you're on the team."

"What? But, you said-"

"I did some research," he explained. "I called your previous school. Jacksonville Middle School. That's right?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I spoke to Coach Western. He said we'd lose out on a really talented player if I didn't put you on a team and after that performance, I can't disagree. So I called the High School Basketball Association, asking them for permission to put you on a boys' team. And when I told them who you were, they agreed. You're officially a Wildcat, Miss Montez. Congratulations," he said with a smile.

"You're serious?"

He nodded. "We had tryouts this morning but after seeing that, I know that you'll be a great member of this squad."

"Wow. Thanks Coach Bolton," I exclaimed.

The doors opened and we turned to find Troy approaching us. "Dad, we have to go. Mom said we're visiting Aunt Lisa and Uncle Bart." He frowned at me. "What are you doing here?"

"Troy, say hello to your new teammate," Coach Bolton said proudly.

I smiled at Troy. "Hey."

"You're good at hoops?"

I shrugged. "Basic geometry and physics." I noticed Troy and Coach Bolton's blank expressions. "4.0 GPA," I said by way of explanation.

Coach Bolton gestured with his head to Troy. "Could you tutor him?"

"Hey!" Troy protested. He paused, looking at me. "Could you? I only just had enough credits in science to come to high school. I could use the help."

"Well, of course I will. I mean, without your father, I would be playing basketball with my dad who doesn't know the difference between the Lakers and the Knicks."

As Coach dismissed the team to hit the showers, I loitered behind, heading over to my water bottle. I took a swig, feeling the chilled liquid rehydrate my throat. It was one of the last light hearted practices before school let out for summer. The season was over, with the Wildcats winning the championship, and we were merely bidding farewell and good luck to the Wildcats who were graduating.

I felt a hand slap my shoulder. I turned to see Chad grinning at me. "Those were some awesome moves you pulled today, Gabs. You've got to show me that one handed fake shoot. Where did you learn that?"

I turned to look at Troy who was messing around with some of the other guys. "Me and Troy were playing a one on one, figuring out some new moves for next year and we worked it out. You'll be at Troy's tomorrow night, right? Before you guys head off to California?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I wish you could come with us."

I smiled. "I'll teach it to you then. I wish I could, too, but my parents are working non-stop and I'll be working at Lava Springs, trying to scrape together some money for college. I'll see you when you get back, though." We bumped our fists together before Chad headed towards the boys' locker room.

I moved my neck from side to side, easing the aches there. As a girl, I wore a Lycra crop top beneath my number 26 jersey, with jogging leggings beneath my basketball shorts.

"Hey, Ella?" Troy asked from by the doors.

I looked to him, feeling a smile spread over my features at the sight of him. He was my best friend. The first permanent thing in my entire life. But, I knew enough about best friends to know that I shouldn't have butterflies when I saw him, or have dreams about him...or love him. But, I also knew who I was. And I knew that a boy like Troy would never go for a girl like me.

"Yeah?"

"Aren't you going to shower?"

I shook my head, wandering over to one of the discarded balls to pick it up. "No thanks. I think I'm just going to...work on my free throws."

He nodded before he disappeared through the doors. I turned the ball over in her hands before I shot it at the hoop.

Coach Bolton caught it before it could hit the ground. "Want to talk?"

I smiled, gesturing for him to pass the ball to me. Once he had, I dribbled it a few times, shooting at the hoop again. In the past three years, he'd come to be like a second dad to me. And when my dad was away on business, Coach Bolton became my only dad. Once he'd dismissed the team for the showers, he was no longer the Coach Bolton I had to respect and obey. He became my funny second dad, Jack.

"What's the point? You know what I'm going to say," I whispered.

He strolled over to me. "You've got to tell him."

"Why?" I snapped. I shook my head, looking down at my sneakers. "I mean," I countered, "I can't. Troy is the first thing in my life that has been constant, other than basketball. And I know that in a year..." I sighed. "I'm going to be at Stanford and Troy? I don't know where he's going to be but I know it's not there. I don't want to cut him out completely by telling him about these feelings I have for him and he doesn't feel the same."

Jack paused. "How do you know that Troy doesn't feel the same way?

"Because I know how he looks at me. It's different from how he looks at other girls." I shrugged. "I'm one of his basketball buddies. And that's all I'll ever be."

Before Jack could respond, I dropped the ball and headed out to have a shower.

"So are you saying goodbye to Troy tomorrow?" Taylor asked as she reached for a slice of pizza.

I shook my head. "No. They've got to make an early getaway," I muttered with my mouth full. What better way to start summer vacation than with a sleepover with my best girl friends?

Sharpay crinkled her nose. "Gabs, I love you but please eat with your mouth shut." A moment later, she forgot about my disgusting eating habits and turned back to Troy. "How are you going to cope with not seeing Troy for an entire summer?"

Many onlookers would interpret this question as a joke, as Sharpay teasing my friendship with Troy. But she wasn't. She was being serious because all of the girls knew how I felt about Troy. As did some of the guys; namely Zeke Baylor, Sharpay's boyfriend, and Ryan Evans, he twin brother.

I shrugged. "I'm thinking it's going to be practice. I mean, I've got to get used to being away from him at some point. And next year, I'm going to Stanford and Troy's going somewhere else. Besides, I'll be working at Lava Springs all summer so I'm hoping it won't seem as long." I sighed when no one said anything. "What about you guys? I mean, you're going all summer without your boyfriends. How are you going to do it?"

"Well, Jason said that he'll call me. I made Troy promise to remind him, though," Kelsi explained.

Taylor nodded in agreement. "And Chad knows better than to spend the entire summer thinking about basketball and not me."

"What about Zeke?" I asked Sharpay.

She shrugged. "He's promised to call me every day and to make me his Sharpay cookies when he comes back."

I sighed and reached for my soda.

"Hey," Martha exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head. "It sounds stupid and overly cliché, I know."

"But," Taylor prompted.

"But I'm tired of being a guy. I mean, as you've," I pointed at Sharpay, "reminded me every day since we met, I have a vagina and breasts. I don't want to just be Troy's teammate anymore. At least, I don't want him to see me as just his teammate. I'm not saying I want to change who I am, just how I look. And I'm not doing it just so that Troy and I can get together. I just want him to see me as a girl before we graduate." I looked down at my hands.

"Well, let's think," Sharpay exclaimed, getting to her feet and pacing in front of us. "Troy's not in Albuquerque all summer. We have enough time. And, no offence Gabs, it'll take a while."

"Offence taken," I protested jokingly.

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Gabs. We can do it before school starts. I mean, we can do stuff at Lava Springs on your lunch break."

"You know I'm supposed to eat my lunch on my lunch break," I said, furrowing my brow.

"Well, the guacamole facial is edible," Sharpay said, seriousness etched on her face.

"Shar," I warned.

"Don't worry, we'll work it out. Troy Bolton won't know what's hit him on the first day of school," she murmured.

"Wait. I can't see Troy before school?" I asked.

"It'll have the most effect." She knelt in front of me. "Think about it, Gabs. You walk into school as the beautiful young woman I know you can be, the entire male population will be drooling and Troy will realise that, if he wants you, he doesn't have forever."

"Well, I guess I could rattle off some excuses about how I'm tied up with my parents," I muttered.

"Great. We'll get to work tomorrow," she exclaimed.

Over the past six weeks, I'd been through a lot of pain. What with eyebrow plucking, breaking in heels and waxing my legs. I didn't realise how much pain it would take to make me into a beautiful girl. I wasn't sure which hurt more. I had honest-to-God cried whilst Sharpay had showed me how to wax my legs. But, my feet had become mostly numb after the hours of practicing the art of walking in heels. The good news was that walking in heels had not affected my jump shot in the slightest.

The first day of my senior year. The first day as the new, improved, beautiful Gabriella.

I was still on the basketball team, of course. Despite Sharpay's protests, I was not, under any circumstances, giving up basketball. I hadn't changed who I am. I just changed how I looked. I still shot baskets in my backyard every spare moment I had, I still watched ESPN, I still performed minor mechanical jobs on my beloved truck and I still forgot to eat with my mouth closed sometimes. But, I looked, and consequently felt, more beautiful.

As I pulled up in East High's student parking lot, the realisation dawned that I was no longer going to be the awkward girl who played basketball, didn't possess a skirt or dress, and who was rumoured to bat for the other team. I was going to start my senior year as someone different. As a girl.

I turned my ignition off and grabbed my bag, jumping down. I locked it as an afterthought. It was no secret at East High that my truck had a tendency to be a tad temperamental. I didn't think that anybody in their right mind would want to steal it.

So, with a confident walk Sharpay had forced me to practice every day at Lava Springs when I wasn't on duty, I headed towards the large glass doors of East High's entrance. I didn't slouch my shoulders, I didn't scuff my new strappy, high heeled white sandals. I walked with my chin held high, my shoulders relaxed, with a friendly smile on my face, like Sharpay taught me.

I felt the wind brush against my exposed, smooth, tanned legs and pull at my trimmed shoulder length curls. Sharpay had been in a constant dilemma from the first day we began my transformation: what I should wear on the first day of school. She had debated with skinny jeans, skirts and blouses, dresses, different shades of colours, except orange, and floral patterns. She eventually concluded that I should wear a mid thigh summer dress, decorated with small blue flowers, with a thin white short sleeved cardigan. Apparently it goes perfect with my skin tone, although I still have to learn what that means. I glanced around at the other students heading for the entrance, somewhat grateful that no one had noticed me yet.

Before I could step inside the doors, my cell phone started ringing. I paused momentarily, digging in my bag to find it. I flipped it open, holding it to my ear. "Hey, Wildcat! Happy first day of senior year!"

I almost melted at the sound of his laugh. "Another glorious year with Ms Darbus."

"Oh, come on, Troy, you know she's great. She has good intentions," I protested.

"I guess so. So, where are you? Why couldn't you see me yesterday?"

I sighed. I'd been dreading that question. I'd managed to avoid it somewhat yesterday upon Troy's return by asking to know everything about his trip with the guys. Now, I knew I couldn't avoid it. "It was my mom and dad. They had me doing chores all day. I'm just going towards my locker now. Where are you?"

"At my locker with the guys. I'll come and find you," he said before he hung up.

I dropped my phone into my bag and hung it up on the back hook. I brought out my drama and math books, ready for first and second period, before free period when it was basketball tryouts for the freshmen. I looked towards my locker door, seeing a flag of Wildcats, with a picture of the mascot. There were other pictures of all of my other friends. But right at the top were a picture of Troy, the day he was voted captain, and me co-captain. He seemed to be the only one who didn't see it coming. And despite the time that had passed, while he'd gained more muscle, was a little taller, less lanky, his eyes were the same. They say that the eyes are windows to the soul. It was true with Troy; they always betrayed how he really felt.

"Ella?" a voice asked.

I turned to find Troy standing there with Chad, Zeke and Jason. Chad, Zeke and Jason didn't seem that shocked. I figured the girls had kept them updated with my transformation. But, Troy? His eyes kept travelling up and down my body; he was either appreciating my body or unable to grasp what had happened. Or both.

"Hey, Troy," I greeted, giving him a smile. "Guys," I acknowledged my other friends. "Tryouts are free period, right?"

When Troy didn't answer right away, Chad gave his shoulder a nudge. "I mean ... How?"

I frowned. "Um, what?" Before he could respond, the bell rang. "Oh, we'd best get to homeroom. We don't want to start our senior year with detention, right?"

I shut my locker and headed down the hall towards Ms Darbus' classroom. I headed to the back where I sat between Sharpay and Taylor. "Hey, Shar, Tay," I said as I sat down.

"What did he think?" Sharpay asked immediately.

I shrugged. "I don't know. He didn't say anything."

Sharpay gasped. "He didn't say anything about my masterpiece?"

"No, Shar. He didn't say anything at all. He was trying but he couldn't get the words out," I explained.

Before Sharpay could protest, Taylor piped up, "Are you meeting us at free period for the scholastic decathlon meeting?"

I smiled apologetically, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Troy had entered. I waved to him as I spoke to Taylor. "I wish I could. It's basketball tryouts and as co-captain, my presence is kind of required. Besides, I was watching ESPN yesterday-"

"You watched what?" Sharpay gasped. "I told you: MTV."

"It wasn't me," I muttered. "It came on by itself. But, the point is that they showed this clip of a really old Michael Jordan game, way before he became a Chicago Bull, where he was guarded by an opponent, he faked to one of the more established players, and passed to one of the newer players. You see, that's a brilliant move because-" I cut off upon noticing Taylor's frown and Sharpay's interest in her nails. "Okay, when did you stop listening this time?"

"We started?" Sharpay muttered.

The final bell rang, cutting our conversation off. I turned to the front, ready to listen to Ms Darbus, only to see Troy still stood by his desk, staring at me.

Ms Darbus nudged his shoulder. "Mr Bolton," she warned, "as interesting as Miss Montez is, I must insist that you face the front."

I ran into the gym, pulling my jersey on over my crop top. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I exclaimed as I skidded to a halt between Troy and Chad. I smiled apologetically at Coach Bolton. "I'm sorry, Coach. It was Sharpay. She kept explaining to me that if I had to have my hair up, it should be curled more and I explained that I didn't bring a curling iron to school. I mean, who does that? Of course, Sharpay does and-" I stopped midsentence when I took in all of the men staring at me; some with amusement, some with confusion.

"Sorry Coach," I muttered.

He nodded, turning back to his clipboard. "No damage, Miss Montez." He turned to the freshmen who were stood in lines of six or so, spread out so that Coach Bolton could stride between each hopeful member.

Troy nudged me, whispering, "Are you okay?"

I smiled, nodding. "I'm fine. Are you?"

He frowned, turning his attention back to the freshmen, ignoring my question.

"Troy, would you like to say anything?" Coach Bolton asked.

Troy stepped forward, regarding the new students of East High. "Alright, guys, listen up. For those of you who think this is an easy ride to popularity, that it doesn't involve hard work, and is all about dating cheerleaders, I want you to leave this gym now. This team is not about popularity. This team is not about getting a college scholarship. This team isn't even about winning games. This team is about family and enjoying what we do. But, it's hard work. It's not just flinging balls at hoops, no matter what Ms Darbus tells you. It's about knowing what your teammate is going to do, it's about predicting what your opponent will do before they've thought of it themselves." He paused, running his gaze over the hopeful freshmen. "This team only works if you think of yourself as equals and show each other respect." He suddenly frowned, stepping between the rows of boys to a tall, lanky boy. "Oi. Eyes on me. Miss Montez is a girl, yes. She's changed her appearance, yes. But, on this court she is your captain and you respect her as such." Troy turned to go and stand by Coach Bolton. "Want to add anything, Gabriella?"

I stepped forward, surveying the boys in front of me. "This is sort of continuing from what Troy said but, you can't be selfish on the court. I saw this clip of Michael Jordan before he became a Chicago Bull. He was guarded by an opponent, and he shot the ball to the most unlikely player on the court." I turned to Troy and Coach Bolton. "Remind me to show that to you sometime." I focussed back on the freshmen. "My point is that this team isn't about how many points you score or who's MVP. It's about being a family. Win together, lose together, teammates."

"Thanks, Gabriella," Coach Bolton said gratefully before he began trying and testing the freshmen.

I sighed softly, biting into my BLT sandwich. I was sat on the bench of the rooftop garden, mine and Troy's secret hideaway. Well, secret from the rest of our team. We often came here just to escape the crowded cafeteria, to have some peace and quiet. It was for this exact reason that I had escaped the cafeteria, whether Troy was with me or not. In the morning alone, I'd had four invitations to the black and white ball on Friday. So, I found myself with my shoes long-since-discarded on the floor, my legs stretched out before me on the bench, with a book balanced in my lap.

I was beginning to regret ever thinking that me changing my appearance would ever be a good idea. Troy still hadn't spoken to me. Not really. Not like he used to. The most he'd spoken to me was during basketball tryouts. He'd tried to speak to me before I went for a shower but he was stuttering and stumbling over his words. It was weird and a little disconcerting on my part. Ever since I'd known him, he'd been confident, knowing just what to say and when to say it. Especially with girls. I'd seen him ask girls out. His words just flowed.

But not at the minute.

It unnerved me. Although I'd changed how I'd looked, I was still me. And I didn't want Troy to change. He was perfect just the way he was.

"Ella," a voice exclaimed.

I turned to the top of the stairs to see Troy loitering there, a brown paper bag in one hand, a carton of milk in the other. "Oh, hi Troy." I moved my feet to the floor, making room for him; a silent invitation.

I couldn't help noticing that he sat as far away from me as possible and avoided my eyes.

"Troy, are you okay?" I asked quietly, closing my book.

"No," he exploded. "How the hell can you even ask me that? Of course I'm not okay. I went away for six weeks, Ella. And it's like I don't even know you anymore. I mean, you were late to the tryouts, all because of some curling iron, whatever that is! And I mean, look at you. I don't know you anymore."

Out of all of the things I expected him to say, I didn't expect that. I expected him to ignore my looks, pretend I still looked the same. Because that's what Troy did. When he realised things changed, he pretended they didn't. Last year, when he realised that he only had one year left at East High, he spent two weeks acting like a freshman. I guess I'm the one change that he couldn't ignore.

I set my sandwich down on my brown paper bag and sighed. "Will you let me explain?"

He opened his mouth, obviously in protest, before he must have reconsidered. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Fine."

"I'm still me. I swear. I just dress differently," I said softly.

"But, my Ella doesn't even own a dress, and she can't walk in high heels," he protested.

"Trust me, it took a lot of practice. Listen, I just want this year to be more than just about me being your awkward co-captain. I want people to realise that I am a girl and, do you know what? I've never felt better about myself," I said, reaching for his hand. "When Shar wasn't turning me into this, I was working on some serious sick moves for this season. And Shar kept telling me off for watching ESPN instead of MTV." I cocked my head to the side. "I'm still your Ella."

His eyes flickered down to our hands. "I don't suppose Shar has any footage of you learning to walk in heels?"

I laughed. "It was like watching Bambi learn how to walk," I said. "And she had to number my make up because I kept putting foundation on before concealer. I still don't fully understand the difference."

Troy grinned. "That's my Ella."

"See? I'm still me, much to Shar's dismay. I just don't want to spend my senior year as the freaky girl who's co-captain of the boys' basketball team. I just want to be a girl. Like the way you make me feel," I admitted.

His eyes softened and nodded in understanding. "I get it. I love basketball but I just wish I could focus on enjoying this year, rather than worrying about whether we win or not."

"Of course we'll win," I exclaimed. "I mean, we haven't worked this hard for three years for nothing."

He smiled and nodded. "I've always loved and envied your optimism." He paused, clearly mulling something over in his head. "What are you doing for the black and white ball?"

I sighed. "Well, Shar has made it entirely her responsibility to make sure I attend every dance of our senior year. I'm dreading what she's planning for prom."

"I meant: do you have a date?" he asked quietly.

I shook my head. "No. I mean, four guys have asked me but I think I'll just ask the girls if we can all go as group, instead of individual dates."

"Why don't...Ella, why don't we go together? As friends," he mumbled.

I frowned. "You and me?"

He shrugged. "I don't want to go with a random girl and that way, everybody can go with their significant other. What do you say?"

I smiled and nodded. "I'd like that, Wildcat."

"That was really bad travelling," I protested, pointing an accusing finger at Troy.

"No way! I dribbled," he exclaimed.

"If that's dribbling, I think your dad should make you practice a little more," I teased, reaching forward to take the ball from him.

"I think that curling iron has knocked your captain skills out of you," he joked, reaching forward to hug me. We were both tired, covered in sweat, and yet, it was my favourite place in the world.

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled into his shoulder. I pulled back sending him a teasing smile. "I just hope you don't pull any stunts like that against the Knights."

He rolled his eyes. "Hey, while we're taking a break, I really need your help."

Before I could agree or decline, he'd disappeared inside of his house. Figuring he'd come back sooner or later, I sat down on the wooden bench and drank some water.

A moment later, he returned holding three different tux jackets. He shrugged. "Which do you think I should wear?"

"Why do I get to choose?" I whispered, getting to my feet.

He smiled. "Well, you're going to be in a pretty dress and I want to wear a nice tux. I thought you might like to pick."

I looked at him, really looked at him. Luckily for me, he seemed to have got over my change in appearance and was treating me just how he treated me before. And although he wasn't explicitly showing his appreciation of me being a girl, I knew it was there. The way he smiled at me and he had begun complimenting my hair and clothes as well. What I said to the girls was true: I hadn't done this with the hope that Troy would ask me out. I just wanted him to see me as more than his co-captain. And now he did. That meant more to me than winning the state championship.

I considered each of the tuxes: one was black, another white, another was white with black stripes. I pointed to the black one. "I like that one."

"Is it perfect for my skin tone?" he teased.

I swatted his arm. "I don't know! Shar keeps going on about it and how you and me are majorly skin tone compatible and I don't know what it means."

"Have you tried googling it?" he asked.

I nodded. "The results were less than inspiring."

Troy paused. "Well, thanks for this. I figured I should get a girl's opinion."

There it was. A girl's opinion. Not your or a friend's. A girl.

I smiled. "What time are we meeting at East High?"

He frowned. "What?"

I shrugged. "What time are we meeting?"

"We're not. I'm picking you up. I know we're only going as friends but I'm not letting you go alone. The girls are getting ready at Sharpay's, right?" he asked.

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. I still don't know what I'm wearing. Shar hasn't disclosed that information just yet."

"Well, I'll pick you up from her house at 8."

"Shar, I don't know about this. I think this is a really bad idea," I whispered, staring at the beautiful dress she was holding up for me.

"You're going to look amazing," she exclaimed.

"I don't doubt it. At least with your help. But, it's a black and white ball, Shar. You're supposed to wear black or white. I'll be the only person in the room wearing red. I'll stick out like a sore thumb!" I protested.

She smiled. "Exactly. You've made one hell of an impression on East High to start your senior year. You might as well continue it."

I reached forward, feeling the silken material run between my fingers. "I don't know."

"I say go for it," Kelsi offered from where she was sat, curling her hair. "I mean, this is your first dance, right? You should stand out."

"I agree," Taylor said as she painted her toenails.

"Martha?" I asked, turning to the girl applying her makeup.

She shrugged. "You know what I'm going to say."

I sighed, relenting. "Fine."

After Sharpay had curled my hair and applied my minimal makeup, I changed into my dress. The silk felt nice against my skin, hugging my curves. It was tight around my upper torso before it flared out down to just above my knees with several layers in a waterfall effect. I stared at myself in the mirror, unable to recognise the girl looking back at me. I knew it was me. I could see that the girl's fingers were calloused from a lifetime of playing basketball and guitar. Her fingernails were badly bitten as well. There was a scar on her left shoulder from when she fell over last year in basketball practice and had needed six stitches. Her hair had not cooperated with straighteners and had, instead, been curled and pinned in a side do with a few locks framing her face. But the dress...It was as if I'd lived my whole life in the shadows and Sharpay was giving me a light to shine with.

I turned to her. "Where did you get this?"

She shrugged. "I made it. It took a lot of time and a lot of experimentation but I finally got it to be perfect."

"It is," I whispered in amazement. "How can I thank you?"

"If Troy makes his move, don't cry and ruin your make up," she warned.

I rolled my eyes. "I'll try not to."

Before anybody else could make a comment, there was a knock at the door. When it opened, Sharpay's mother, Darby, smiled at us all. "Gabby, Troy's waiting downstairs."

I smiled in thanks. "Thanks, Mrs Evans. I'll only be a minute."

Once Darby had closed the door, Sharpay turned back to me. "Finishing touches." She went into her closet, returning with a silver wrap and a shoebox. She draped the wrap around my shoulders, smiling at her creation. "And now for the shoes." She opened the box, revealing a pair of silver high heeled, opened toe sandals.

"Shar," I whispered. "I can't walk in those."

"Sure you can," she dismissed and began helping my feet into them. I wobbled a little for a moment before I became accustomed with them, although I felt my freshly healed blisters burn with pain once again. "See?"

I sighed and reached out to hug her. "Thanks, Shar."

"You're welcome. Now go and get your man," she urged.

I picked up my silver clutch bag, which unknown to anybody held my well read copy of Tess of the d'Urbervilles, and hugged each of my friends. "Have a nice time tonight, guys."

I approached the top of the staircase and began my hesitant decent. This was probably the closest I was going to get to a date with Troy. And I was going to make the most of it. Although I hadn't pined over him, crying over Ben and Jerry's ice cream, this night was not going to be about my feelings for him. I had concluded that I wasn't going to spend the black and white ball, and my senior year, worrying about my feelings. I was going to enjoy them both with my best friend.

I saw Troy chatting with Vance, Sharpay's father. Vance was keenly interested in basketball and I assumed Troy was updating him on the new additions to the squad. Troy was attired in the tux I had chosen, with a white shirt and a black tie. The tie was a little loose and I couldn't help smiling when I noticed how he had chosen a pair of converse sneakers for his shoes. But, despite this, he looked incredibly handsome. It was hard to believe that under the tux, tie and neatly brushed hair, was a guy who had once, during the summer between our freshman and sophomore years, gone an entire week without a shower because of how much he was determined to practice basketball.

But, as he finally noticed me and looked into my eyes, I saw the same constant I'd had for the past three years: my best friend. Despite how well he cleaned up, he was still my Troy Bolton.

I got to the bottom step and smiled hesitantly. "Hi Troy."

"Wow," he murmured. "I mean...wow. You look amazing. But, I thought the whole point of this dance was that everyone wore either black or white."

I shrugged. "Sharpay."

He smiled, obviously understanding what I meant. He reached into his blazer jacket, bringing out a white corsage. "I got this for you. If I'd have known, I would've got red," he explained, slipping it on my wrist.

"It's perfect," I whispered.

Vance coughed. "Troy was just telling me about the new talent the team has."

I nodded in agreement. "It was tough deciding who would make the final cut but we somehow decided."

"Let's hope the Wildcats are heading for back to back championships," he said, grinning at us.

Momentarily forgetting our fancy attire and where we were heading, Troy and I shared a high-five. "That's what we're heading for," Troy said.

I nodded. "We've got a lot of new moves to pull on the court and hopefully that trophy will be ours again."

Vance smiled. "I'll be there, cheering the Wildcats on. But, enough of that. I'll let you both go now. Have a nice evening."

Troy turned to me, gesturing for me to go first. "Shall we?"

Upon arriving in East high's cafeteria, we found the dance was already in full swing. When people started noticing me and the colour of my dress, they stopped what they were doing until the entire room was still, except for the music blaring.

Troy placed a reassuring hand on the small of my back. "Ignore them," he whispered and led me over to one of the tables on the side of the room. "Would you like a drink?"

I sat down, somewhat grateful for the opportunity for my feet to rest. "Sure. Whatever you're having."

When Troy had disappeared to get us some drinks, I watched as people slowly began dancing and having fun again; the shock of me wearing a red dress having worn off. I reached for my purse, bringing my book out. Opening the dog-eared pages, I got lost in the world of Tess Durbeyfield.

"Hey," a voice murmured.

I looked up to see Troy approaching with two glasses of punch. "Hey," I said, a smile appearing on my face.

He sat down, nodding in the direction of my book. "I should've known that you'd be the first student in East High history to bring a book to a dance."

I felt the heat rise in my neck. "So sue me. Ten bucks says Chad turns up with Taylor on one arm and a basketball on his other."

He shook his head. "I'm not throwing ten bucks away. We both know it's true."

We were silent for a moment, sipping our punch whilst we watched the couples on the dance floor.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked softly.

I shook my head. "No thanks."

"Is it because it's me? Because I know we're just friends but we can still dance," he protested.

I laughed. "Troy, I'd love to dance with you. But, well...I can't," I whispered.

"What?"

I shrugged. "I can't dance. I guess I was so busy learning to play basketball and the guitar and to fix cars and such that I didn't have time to learn to dance."

Troy stood up, holding his hand out to me. "Come on. We're going to dance anyway. I don't know about you but I don't care what people think. I want to dance with my best friend."

I hesitantly put my hand in his, allowing him to lead me to the dance floor. We faced each other and began to dance to the mid tempo song playing. Of course, the impossibly big heels I was wearing made this an Olympic sport. "I'm sorry," I muttered, glancing down at my feet.

"Hey," he said softly, lifting my chin to look at him, "I'm enjoying myself. Don't worry."

I laughed softly and nodded. "Okay."

We continued dancing, despite the looks people were giving us. I was unsure if they were staring at me because of my dress or my lack of dancing skills. Despite Troy not being destined to compete on Dancing with the Stars, he was a lot more competent with dance than I was.

"Ow!" he yelped when my heel pressed into his toe.

I stumbled back as he hopped up and down on the spot, gripping the injured appendage. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay? Can you still play ball?"

"If I can't, it should be on your conscience," he said, quirking an eyebrow at me.

"Hey! That's not fair. I told you I can't dance," I protested.

A teasing smile graced his face as he put his foot back on the floor. "Ella, chill."

I smacked his arm. "That's not funny."

"You know what else isn't funny?" he asked, getting down on one knee. He proceeded to untie my shoes. "These murder weapons laughingly called shoes. Did Shar attach knives in the place of heels?"

I laughed. "Possibly." I slipped the shoes off, effectively losing two or three inches in height, but welcoming the relief the chilled cafeteria floor gave the soles of my feet.

Troy rose to his full height and brought me to his chest. "Much better. Now my future career is not in jeopardy."

I smiled. "I apologised. It was Shar's idea. Just don't step on my feet, okay?"

Troy sighed as he wrapped his arms around my waist to lift me up, eliciting a yelp from me, and placed my feet on top of his. "There. No fear now."

Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I sighed softly to myself. I pressed my cheek against his chest, feeling his rhythmic, hypnotising heartbeat. In that moment, he was mine. No one else existed. It was just us. It didn't matter that he was dancing with me like one would dance with child. It didn't matter that we were dancing to a much slower rhythm than the song gave us. All that mattered was me and Troy, Troy and me. Nothing else.

"Mind if I cut in?" a voice asked.

I stepped back, turning to find Shelby Commings stood there. She was smiling to Troy but when she turned to me, it transformed into a scowl. I couldn't help noting how tight and short her strapless black dress was. Suffice to say that there wasn't much left to the imagination. I glanced at Troy and nodded slowly. "Of course."

"No," Troy said, grabbing hold of my wrist.

"What?" I gasped the same time as Shelby.

"I said no," he said, his captain skills leaking out. "Ella is my date and I'm going to dance with her."

"But," she spluttered.

"I said no. Now, if you don't mind, we'd like some privacy," he replied. He turned to me and smiled softly. "Do you want to go up to the rooftop garden?"

"But the dance-" I began.

"I know as well as you do that neither of us really wants to be here. Come on," he said, offering me his hand.

This time without hesitation, I grasped his hand, letting him lead me to the rooftop garden, my shoes and bag long forgotten. When we emerged into the crisp Albuquerque air, I shivered. While I looked over at the Albuquerque landscape, draped in darkness, I felt something hang around my shoulders. I turned to Troy, realising he'd given me his jacket.

"You didn't-"

"I wanted to," he said simply, not even giving me time to protest. In the past, when I'd commented on how well he treated women, he often just claimed that Jack would kill him if he didn't show women respect. But, as I looked into his aquamarine eyes, I knew that it wasn't completely true. Sure, Jack probably taught him manners, but I knew that Troy had actually wanted to give me his jacket, not just out of politeness.

I gave a small smile, turning back to the view before me. "Thanks," I whispered, suddenly feeling rather vulnerable. It was kind of stupid, really. I mean, it wasn't like it was the first time we'd been alone. We'd been left alone hundreds of times. We even slept over at each other's houses a lot, with the door left open, of course.

Still, there was a subtle change with the way Troy was acting with me. It had started when he'd seen me come down the stairs. Through the high-five, the jokes, and the bad dancing, he was treating me as if he was afraid that I'd break or something. There it was again. The feeling of being a girl. I didn't care about the ball invitations, I didn't care that boys now stared at me, I didn't care if girls were now jealous of how I looked, not just of my friendship with Troy.

All I really cared about was how Troy saw me.

"Ella," he began, gaining my attention, "be honest with me: why did you change your appearance?"

I couldn't help noting how he now emphasised how the change was solely in my appearance and not in me. I looked down on my hands. "I just want to spend my senior year as a girl. A real girl. I told you that."

"And I told you to be honest with me," he said, sternly. There was that captain again.

I sighed, lifting my head to look at him. "You want the truth? I don't care how the school sees me. I don't care if Shelby Commings spreads a rumour that I'm a lesbian. I don't care how guys see me. I just care about how you see me. I want you to see me as a girl. Just a girl. And not a girl with a wicked jump shot and a 4.0 GPA. I mean a girl." I paused. "I don't want to be just your teammate or your co-captain anymore. Because no matter how many excuses I pile on top, no matter how much I deny it, the truth of the matter is that...I'm in love with you."

I lowered my eyes, not wanting to see or hear Troy's reaction. I felt sick to my stomach, just like I did before going on the court against the Knights. But this was worse. Much worse. I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd lost Troy for good which was, ultimately, my biggest fear. I wanted to take it all back. But I knew no matter how many excuses or lies I told, Troy would never believe that my confession wasn't true.

"Do you mean that?" he asked after a moment.

I sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I've known for a while, I guess. I just...It was hard enough being away from you just this summer. I can't stand the thought of not being around you for four years while I'm at Stanford. And, in the unlikely event that you feel the same way, I know it'll be a million times worse if we're together."

"You don't have to worry about that," he whispered.

Worrying was not on my list of priorities at that moment. My number one priority was trying not to throw up. My second priority was trying not to show Troy how much I was freaking out over how I'd just confessed my love for him and he hadn't even told me how he felt in return.

"I'm always going to worry about that, Troy," I murmured. "I just don't want to not be around you."

He suddenly grabbed my arms and turned my body towards him so I had no choice but to look at him. "You don't have to worry about that," he said slowly.

"But, I-"

"Listen," he whispered, "we're going to be just fine, I promise."

"How can you promise me that?"

"Because me and the guys took a trip while we were in California to see a university," he explained calmly. He reached into his back pants pocket and pulled out a creased university prospectus. He handed it to me.

I couldn't help the tears which formed in my eyes, despite Sharpay's warning about not smudging my makeup. I knew I should say something in response, show my appreciation, I guess. But, all I could do was stare at the cover, snivelling to myself.

"Which university is that, Ella?" he asked softly.

I shook my head. "I can't," I whispered.

"You can," he encouraged.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked up at him. "The University of California, Berkeley," I finally murmured.

"Do you know how far that is from Stanford University?" he asked, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

I shook my head.

"Thirty two point seven miles. That's all. Less than an hour away. I'm not going to be far away at all," he murmured reassuringly.

"But, I don't understand. I thought you were staying here at U of A," I mumbled. "When did you start showing interest in Berkeley?"

"Do you remember last year when I spent two weeks acting like a freshman? All because I freaked out about graduation?"

I smiled faintly. "Yeah, I recall." I bowed my hand, looking once again at the prospectus Troy had given me.

"That was all because I couldn't stand the thought of being away from my best friend, who is, coincidentally, the girl that I'm in love with, too," he whispered.

I lifted my head, finally tearing my eyes away from the prospectus. "What?"

He shrugged. "I've been in love with you pretty much since the moment we met. It's always been you, Ella. You make me a better person; my grades, on the court, and how I treat people. You're my playmaker. It's never been anybody else."

"But, what about your past girlfriends?" I asked quietly.

"My vain attempt at getting over you," he explained. "Do you remember I went out with Britney last year?"

"Vaguely," I mumbled.

"I took her to Breadsticks and the whole time I was there, all I could think about was how she wasn't you. I mean, she ordered a garden salad while I had a large burger and fries and she took some of my fries. It may not seem like a big deal but I knew that if it was you, you would've ordered what you wanted, not caring how much weight you gained." He smiled, brushing some hair behind my ear. "She wasn't you."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I whispered.

He shrugged. "I thought I knew what you would say. You'd have nudged my shoulder and said 'Good one, Troy. You'd make a great comedian.' Of course, now I wish I'd told you a hell of a lot sooner."

I giggled. "Me too. I can't believe you'd do this. What about your dad? He seems really excited for you to go to his alma mater."

"He knows. And he was happy, if only because I'm going to be with you," he murmured.

"What's it like? Berkeley, I mean," I whispered, flicking through the prospectus.

"Well, they have an amazing basketball programme. They said that they're going to send some scouts to some of our games this season," he explained.

I smiled in disbelief. "Troy," I breathed. "I mean, this...This is incredible. I can't thank you enough."

He shrugged, wrapping his arms around my waist. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is that we love each other and we're going to make it through the next four years, okay?"

All of the worry left me. I still felt a little sick, but it was for an entirely different, more pleasurable reason. "Okay," I whispered. As I reached up, wrapping my arms around his neck, we looked at each other.

A smile flickered upon Troy's face before he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. And there it was: calmness, a sense of home. I guess I'd always worried about leaving my parents. But, upon the realisation that my home was a person, not a place, I knew everything would be okay. Troy was my home.

I pulled back, knowing that tears were dripping down my cheeks. "Oh, look at this," I whispered as I wiped my eyes, seeing mascara on my fingers. "Shar's going to kill me."

Troy lifted my chin to force me to look at him. "And yet, you're still the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. You didn't have to change anything. I'm not saying you should change back. I mean, you said you've never felt better. I'm just saying that I've loved you all of this time. All I saw was my best friend who knows me better than anybody else."

I smiled, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. "Thanks."

Troy pulled back from our embrace and quirked an eyebrow. "So we're good?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Should we head back down?"

"Probably," he murmured. We headed back downstairs, with Troy's jacket still draped over my shoulders and his arm around my waist.

Whilst we walked, I flicked through the prospectus, reading all about what Troy would hopefully be studying. "Hey, Wildcat?" I asked.

"Hmmm?"

"When I'm at Stanford, will we still play? You and me?" I asked.

Troy stopped walking and took the prospectus from my hands. "Don't even joke about that. Of course we're going to play. Every time we're together. Of course we're going to play. In fact," he murmured, turning me to face him, "why don't we play now?"

"Now? In the middle of the black and white ball?" I exclaimed.

He shrugged. "Why not? I mean, we're not exactly having the time of our lives in that cafeteria and I'd much rather spend this time playing ball with you."

I felt a smile spread across my face. "You're on Bolton," I exclaimed as I set off running in my bare feet towards the gym.

"Hey," Troy protested. I heard the tell-tale footsteps of him catching up with me. "Montez," he called as I burst into the gym.

I turned around in time to see him run through the doors. "What's the matter, Bolton? Scared you'll lose to a girl?" I teased. I shrugged off his jacket and my wrap, setting them on one of the bleachers.

Troy laughed sarcastically as he loosened his tie and rolled his shirt sleeves up. "To a regular girl? No. To you? Hell yeah."

I reached for a basketball from a nearby rack and dribbled it to the centre of the court. I held it on my hip, waiting for Troy to join me. "Troy," I spoke quietly, needing to get everything out before this game.

He strolled over, his eyes suddenly dark and concerned, obviously sensing that I was being serious. "What?"

"Troy, all of my life, my only home was on a basketball court. I moved around so much, it was never a location. But, basketball can't even compare with how at home I feel when I'm with you. You don't care about my basketball skills or my grades. All you care about is me. And for someone who's never had a home before, it really means a lot that you're coming with me to California," I said quietly, looking into his eyes.

Troy leaned down and brushed his lips against mine. "I told you: I decided to go with you just because you're my best friend. To be honest, I didn't plan to get with you because I was afraid I would screw it up. But here? Now? Nothing has ever felt more right for me."

I leaned up, kissing him again. "Me neither. Now game on, Bolton!"

I dribbled around him, heading towards my basket. Predictably, Troy ran in front of me, guarding the basket and attempting to tackle me. Turning my back to him, I faked to go to my left and then turned to my right. Instead of fooling him, he stole the ball and dribbled it down the court. I ran after him, but even before I'd reached the centre line, the ball had already soared through the net.

"Do you know what's frustrating about playing against you?" I asked, watching him as he strolled towards me, ball in hand.

"Is this going to insult me?" he asked wearily.

I giggled and shook my head. "No. It's frustrating because you know all of my moves, you know?"

He smiled, throwing the ball into the air and catching it again."I do." He suddenly dropped the ball and reached for me, holding me in his arms. "You know, it kind of makes sense, doesn't it? Us getting together, I mean."

"I actually spent the last three years thinking it was overly cliché. You know, girl falls for best friend, he doesn't know et cetera," I muttered, frowning.

"I mean," he said pointedly, "in our first week of our freshman year, we both made the junior varsity team and became best friends. In our first week of our sophomore year, we both made the varsity team. In our first week of our junior year, we both became captains." He shrugged. "It just makes sense that we'd get together in our first week of our senior year. And I'm glad that we did."

I couldn't help the smile which spread over my face. "Me too."

Troy was about to lean down, to kiss me again, when a shrill ring pierced the air. He stepped back, fumbling in his pants pocket for his cell phone.

"It's Shar," I said instantly.

He frowned at the screen. "How could you possibly know that?"

I shrugged. "I know her. I left my bag and shoes. She'll want to yell at me."

Troy sighed as he flipped his phone open. "Hi Shar...Yes, she's right here..." He suddenly frowned and snapped his phone shut.

"Troy," I protested. "She'll kill you!"

He shrugged. "I couldn't understand her."

"Wait," I said, holding my hand up, "did she mention the words 'shoes', 'wrap' and 'skin tone'?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah."

I rolled my eyes. "That explains it."

Troy slowly wrapped me in his arms again. Warm. Safe. Home. "I don't want to go back in there. I don't want to share you."

"You don't have to," I murmured, resting my palm against his beating heart. With my other hand on the back of his head, I brought him down for a kiss. It was simple. It was sweet. Although it wasn't our first kiss, it was just as wonderful. I had brief images of the romantic comedies Sharpay had forced me to watch over the summer. Despite how bored I had been through all of them, I remember thinking how unrealistic it was to portray a first kiss as having sparks and fireworks. But, it wasn't unrealistic. It was completely, unmistakably, irrevocably true. And it wasn't just for our first kiss. It was every kiss. It was, in a word, magical.

I pulled back, beaming up at him. "You know, I will never get used to that."

He chuckled as we wandered over to pick up our discarded things; his jacket and prospectus, and my wrap. "Good. I'm glad. I don't want you to. I'm not stupid. I know that I'm your first everything. And I want every kiss and every milestone ahead of us to be special."

"Come on, Wildcat, before Shar sends out a search party," I joked.

Troy wrapped an arm around my shoulders, holding his jacket loosely in his spare hand.

Before either of us could say anything, a voice shattered the darkness. "Gabriella Maria Elizabeth Costa-Brava Montez!"

I cringed. I always cringed upon hearing my full name. I slowly turned around to find Sharpay marching towards us, the rest of the gang dawdling behind. "Yes, Sharpay Brianna Evans?"

She scowled. "Where have you been? And why did I find these just...left," she spluttered, waving my shoes and bag at me, "at a table."

I shrugged. "Well..." I paused, unsure of how much I wanted to tell them. True, I wanted them to know we were finally together; I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. But, I couldn't be certain that I wanted them to know how we got together.

"They hurt my feet," Troy explained calmly, obviously sensing my uncertainty.

"How can they hurt your feet?" Sharpay exclaimed.

He shrugged. "Ella had a few coordination problems."

"Dance," Sharpay finally breathed. "I was so focussed on teaching you everything else, dance didn't even occur to me."

"It's fine," I murmured. I looked up at Troy. "It worked out for the best."

"You guys got together," she suddenly squealed.

Chad shoved her shoulder. "Shut it, Evans."

She rolled her eyes. "How can you be so clueless? And how can you not see it? Do you have the emotional capacity of a teaspoon?"

Zeke smiled apologetically at us, as if we weren't accustomed to her already. He rested a hand on her shoulder. "How do you know, Pay?"

"Gabi's been crying, despite me asking her not to." She paused to send me a stern look. "The only time I've seen her cry is when we showed her how to wax her legs."

I blushed when all of the guys stared at me. "It hurts!"

Troy chuckled, pulling me closer to his body. "Yes, yes, we got together. But," he said, pointing a warning finger to Sharpay, "it's not a big deal."

"Are you kidding?" she squealed. "We should have a party. Kelsi can write you a song and I can perform it and Zeke can bake a cake-"

She was cut off because of how Zeke had placed his hand over her mouth. "Don't worry," he reassured. "So, what were you guys doing?"

I shrugged. "Just shooting hoops. We weren't really enjoying the dance."

Sharpay yanked Zeke's hand away. "You left the dance to play basketball?"

Troy quirked an eyebrow. "Not a big deal, remember?"

Before Sharpay could protest further, Jason had raised his hand, his other arm around Kelsi's waist. "Does this mean you're a girl? I mean, are you still our captain? Are you still one of the boys?"

I laughed and nodded. "Are you kidding? Of course I'm still your captain. I just look different. Don't worry. I'll always be one of the boys."

"Hey," Troy murmured. He waited until I looked at him. "You've never been one of the boys to me."