I know it's been more than a year since I wrote for HSM, and I still have another incomplete story on the go, but for anyone who's interested, here's Part 1 of 3 of a new story...

The Weekend

Saturday

With his overnight bag hanging over his shoulder, Troy Bolton pushed his fringe away from his face, his sunglasses sitting on top of his head as he locked his car door. In his business suit and tie, he knew he wasn't dressed suitably for spending the weekend with his family, but then chances were his father would greet him in an expensive suit of his own.

They were just that kind of family.

Troy remembered once promising himself that he wouldn't become a snob in a suit. Somewhere along the line the dress-code became compulsory when he launched his own company, but he refused to let himself turn into his father.

When he got to the front door of his parents' house, he took a moment to psyche himself up before ringing the doorbell. Would it be the butler, or their new maid who answered the door? Pigs would sooner fly before a member of the family actually answered it themselves. Predictably this was also the case for the phone, cooking dinner and even making a drink.

As the door opened, Troy's practised smile grew more genuine at the sight before him. There had been countless maids working at the Bolton residence for as long as he could remember, and they had all been about the age of his grandmother. In fact, when he was small these women had often been in charge of looking after him as well as doing all the household chores.

The young woman who stepped aside to let him in now wasn't at all what he was expecting. She had long dark hair which was tied up into a high ponytail, beautiful olive-coloured skin, and big brown eyes that made him forget for a moment what it was he was doing here.

Her polite but questioning gaze soon snapped him out of it.

"I'm Troy," he smiled, dropping his bag at his feet and looking towards the sitting room behind her, where he found that no one else was around to greet him. And they had all known he was coming for weeks. "Troy Bolton. It's nice to meet you." He held out a hand, intending for a handshake, but her eyes had widened at his announcement.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't know! Can I get you any-"

"Nothing to be sorry for," he cut in kindly, gesturing around the room. "It's not as though my parents have lovingly decorated the place with pictures of me. How could you ever have known who I was?"

His tone had an undercurrent of bitterness in it, and he shook himself out of the familiar resentment to smile again at the poor girl who had the misfortune of listening to him. "Sorry, don't mind me."

"You must think me very rude, sir."

"Not at all. My mum and dad haven't even bothered to appear yet, and I called yesterday to tell them what time I'd be here. They are the definition of rude. So please don't worry. What's your name, by the way?"

She looked away suddenly. "I'm new...I'm just the maid."

Troy held out his hand again. "I know you work here," he said softly. "I still want to know your name, if that's okay?"

The woman looked at his face, then down at his outstretched hand and back again. It was another full minute before she offered out her own hand. "It's Gabriella."

"Gabriella," he repeated. "That's a beautiful name."

The dark-haired beauty stood transfixed, looking as though no one had been as kind to her in a long time.

"Troy!"

Their brief connection was broken at the sound of his mother's voice as she floated down the stairs, dressed in an outfit that gave the impression she was on her way out. But Troy considered that she probably wasn't.

"Hi, Mum. Where's Dad?"

"Oh, he's had to pop out for a meeting."

Of course he has, thought Troy. "What about Lisa?" he asked of his sister.

"Still away with Nicholas until the morning."

"Nicholas?"

Lucille Bolton sighed impatiently. "Her fiancé."

"I thought she was seeing Mike?" he replied, beyond confused despite having had several similar conversations over the years.

"Michael turned out to be less than suitable."

Troy glanced at Gabriella who was, apparently, waiting for further instructions from his mother. The young woman's mouth twitched the smallest amount, as if suppressing an urge to laugh. After encountering a lifetime of straight-faced and unaffected staff members, this newbie was like a breath of fresh air to him.

In fact he had to look away from her before he laughed out loud at his own mum's snobbery.

"Right," he managed with a smile. "Well anyway, I'll just take my bag upstairs, shall I?"

"Don't be silly, Troy," Lucille stopped him. "Isabella will do that."

Even though he knew full well who she was referring to, Troy made a point of looking around, as if looking for someone else who actually held that name. "Who's Isabella?"

"The new maid, of course." Somewhat rudely, his mother pointed directly at Gabriella, who stood obediently to attention. But he could see the humiliation in her eyes.

"Mum, her name is Gabriella."

Lucille gave him an odd look. "How do you know that? You've only just got here."

"Well, I did something a little bit 'out there'," Troy answered, patiently but with an edge of sarcasm. "I asked her what her name is."

"For goodness sake, Troy, just give your bag to the maid and let her get on with her job."

Troy bent down to reclaim his weekend luggage, shaking his head. "I can do it myself," he argued. Then he offered Gabriella a kind smile. "Really, it's fine."

And before his mother could insist, he walked the two flights of stairs up to his old, teenage bedroom. As expected, the room was yet again newly decorated. It looked like any other guest bedroom, because his parents weren't the type of people to keep all of their son's childhood posters and mementos in there. It wasn't this that bothered him; it was more the fact that the room didn't look homely or welcoming.

He may as well have checked into a hotel room.

Troy put his bag on the bed and unpacked some clothes. His father hadn't bothered to be here for his arrival, so he decided to change out of the suit after all. A casual t-shirt and jeans would do for the day.

Taking a deep breath, he ditched the sunglasses and wandered back downstairs to the lounge, sitting on the sofa. His mum seemed to have disappeared again, but the kitchen wasn't far away and he felt like a cup of coffee while he waited for someone to turn up.

Just as he was filling the kettle, Gabriella walked in, wearing an apron. She stood rooted to the spot when she realised he was there. Troy grinned. "Needed my caffeine fix," he said by way of an explanation.

She looked a little less anxious than before, but still offered to make the drink for him.

"Thank you, but there's really no need. Kettle's nearly boiled now." He turned away to look for the jar of instant coffee. "I'll just pour my coffee and then I'll get out of your way." As he spoke and rooted through the cupboards, it dawned on him that there was no sign of instant coffee. How had he never noticed this before?

"No one in this house drinks instant, do they?" he asked in a tone that told Gabriella he already knew the answer.

She shook her head, laughing now. He could see why. Of course they didn't drink instant coffee. It suddenly occurred to Troy that until now, all of the Boltons' previous maids had been making his coffee for him every time he visited. In fact they had practically waited on him in the same way that they had done with the rest of the family. And he had let them. Probably because they had all been motherly-type figures; women who had generally spent much of their lives looking after people.

And yet today, because he had seen something in this young woman, something beyond what her job was, he couldn't bring himself to treat her as a maid.

Did that mean that until he had walked through that door, he had been just as stuck-up as his parents? He had a PA back in London; a lady who did his coffee-runs and the like, and until now Troy had never thought that the everyday tasks he gave her made him lazy and snobby. But maybe they did.

It wasn't as though he employed a maid or housekeeper in his own house, but then again he tended to live off takeaways and café-bought coffees.

Gabriella's voice broke through his thoughts. "The cafetiere," she offered, picking up some kind of contraption that had been next to the kettle.

"Café tee what?" he asked, baffled.

He watched as she found a pack of ground coffee beans and spooned some of it into the...well, whatever it was. She then poured the hot water from the kettle into it and slowly pushed down on the pump attached to the lid. Seamlessly, Gabriella poured the liquid into a china cup. Before she could ask, he took a pot of cream from the fridge and added just the right amount before taking a sip.

"I may have to ask you to train me on that thing before I go tomorrow," Troy announced, only half-joking. "Thank you for that. Are you not having one yourself?"

She gave him an odd look.

"Please tell me my parents don't stop you from taking breaks?" he said, concerned by her expression.

"Of course not!" she replied. "It's just that I'm supposed to start cooking for lunch now."

"Ah. Well, if you need any help..." he teased, mocking his complete lack of culinary skills. Gabriella looked at the floor somewhat shyly, but he could see her grinning.

Backing out of the kitchen, Troy turned around just as his mum reappeared. "Troy, what are you doing?"

He held up his freshly brewed cup. "Gabriella just made me a coffee."

"So then why were you in the kitchen?"

"Am I not supposed to go in there?" he asked flippantly.

Lucille sighed. "You're distracting the girl from her job."

Walking away, Troy muttered under his breath, "she has a name, Mum." Her behaviour was really starting to bother him. He distinctly remembered her referring to their last maid by her name. There had been Mrs Jones; and Mrs Hughes before that. Were those women more respected because they were older and married?

He reached the stairs just as the front door opened, and Jack Bolton appeared.

"Troy," the older man acknowledged. At this point Troy just nodded, he gave up attempting any more small talk after the last half an hour.

"Lunch will be in an hour, Jack," his mother informed her husband.

How do you know? thought Troy. You're not the one cooking it...

The next hour was going to be a long one.

"So," Troy said, clearing his throat after a fairly quiet so-called family meal. "Happy birthday to me..."

His parents seemed to sit up a little straighter in their seats. He couldn't help but notice the stunned expression on Gabriella's face as she came through from the kitchen.

"Well," his father replied. "Quite." Apparently this was his way of acknowledging the occasion. "I've already transferred sufficient funds into your account. Call it an investment for the business if you like."

"Or I could just spend it all on beer," Troy said casually. Gabriella, who was now clearing away their plates, attempted to hide an amused smile.

Lucille didn't see the funny side. "I beg your pardon?"

"I was joking, Mum. Would you like some help with all that, Gabriella?" Standing up and taking his own empty plate from the table, he followed her back into the kitchen. Jack and Lucille Bolton were gaping at their son as though he had just sprouted a second head.

"I really don't need any help, thank you sir," the young woman replied quietly just as they reached the door.

"Please just rescue me," he pleaded in a whisper as he closed the door behind them. "And don't feel you have to call me sir. I get enough of that at the office. It's Troy, please."

She hesitated, two of the plates still balanced in her left hand. Then, finally, she nodded in agreement. He watched as she placed the crockery next to the sink, following her lead. When she had filled the sink up with hot water, he began a quick search for a tea-towel.

Holding it triumphantly while she washed the first plate, Troy chuckled when Gabriella turned to observe him.

"There's no polite way to put you off helping here, is there?" she asked pointedly.

"Not really," he twinkled.

"One of your parents is bound to come in and ask you what on earth you're doing."

"I know."

"Is it really your birthday today?"

Troy nodded. "Wouldn't know it, would you?"

They stood side by side quite companionably for several minutes, her washing, and him drying. Neither his mother or father entered the room, and he was glad for it.

When all was cleared away and tidy, Gabriella ran a hand through her ponytail, unable to look at him. "Thank you, Troy. And happy birthday."

Then she left the kitchen, leaving him to his thoughts. And to be honest, most of them were on the beautiful woman who had the incredibly bad fortune to be working for his parents.