6th Avenue
I walk down 6th Avenue of Manhattan, New York City or the capital of the world as they call it. I glance in both directions before I cross the street and then begin my straw down the rough pavement and through those endless crowds of people. Some are going home from a long and full of frustration day of work to their wife and kids at their beautiful small houses with a fire place in the center and the huge couch where they rest in the evening. Others are just starting their work day which begins in only minutes may be. So many pedestrians go in or out of the subway and taxis. Most of them are with those white and shinny ear plugs, stuck into their ears, so they wouldn't enjoy the sound of the street but one of those melodies they know every beat and lyric of. Others are looking from side to side, getting somehow to "know" all the people around them by just taking a glance like they don't have a life of their own. They seem so distant and absent-minded. It's like they are just forming their opinion for this guy or that woman without even knowing their names or even personality even though it's far too personal. It's kind of funny. Of course I can see moms with their children in both hands, rambling and shouting at them for something they have done wrong while the kids themselves are crying or whining about that toy they just didn't get or that game they wanted so badly to play. Also, there are the women, all dressed in designer clothes with a "Prada" handbag on one arm and another shopping bag, full of the latest collections rested on the other skinny and somehow lifeless arm. I am not saying I don't have a style or I don't care about how I look. Of course I do. It's just that I am not like them. That's all.
It really is a busy city, isn't it? I guess I can't debate with that fact. However, I can't complain about it either. When I arrived here five years ago, hoping to get my dream job I have wanted since high school and finally am just centimeters from touching and, of course, a nice apartment for going through the night and small parts of the day, I still doubted that one day I would get along and even used to the atmosphere of the Big Apple- noisy, crowded and somehow messy or disordered. But I guess things change. I changed. Right now the most may be dreadful things for newcomers in New York, for me are the best parts of my day. They are simple. For example, when the sun comes up every single morning I can just see its reflection in the glass skyscrapers and even some bigger shops- so beautiful and somehow peaceful. At that particular moment everything is somewhere far away and it's like I am all alone- empty streets, cars stopped and parked and everything is so quiet and even hidden. Everyone is asleep except those five or six people who have gone out for a morning jog. I've always wanted to go to the park and make it the first thing I've done for the day but I seem to get myself stuck right there and in that particular position- next to the window, just because of that spectacular picture, bright in front of me. Also, sometimes while I'm walking through the streets I sort of get a very strange feeling and I imagine myself in this romantic movie. I am walking and everything is quiet around me and the only thing that gives away some light are a few street lamps. Suddenly I "bump" with this total stranger who happens to be Tr- the most handsome guy in the whole wide world. I am kind of shocked at first but then our eyes connect and with just one glance we both know we have found our soul mates. Crazy, huh? Well, I guess I can still always dream after all. Another thing which comes to my mind is one of the most beautiful sights my eyes have ever met. It happened one night when I was at this work gathering and we were at a beautiful restaurant which was situated at the top floor of a tall building near the one I work in. Well, I got kind of bored after two hours of talking with the people I see every single day of my life on topics which are somehow casual but then again nothing interesting. So, I wanted to get some fresh air and got on top of the roof. When I saw the view, my mouth didn't move and just stayed wide open- New York city in twinkling lights was such a beautiful and amazing thing which I think you can see once in your lifetime. Every building had its own "brand" of lights- ones were little but very many and put very closely to one another while others were kind of big and you could see different amount of space between each and every one of them. Some were colorful-blue, silver, red and some were grey or white. But the thing is that somehow I could see so much in those lights. For me, it was like they were parts of this whole picture, a whole life. The colorful ones were the most exciting, full of joy and delight moments which will aways have a special place in your heart. On the other hand, those grey and white ones were all those everyday things you do, your life as a simple theory- getting up in the morning, going to work, coming back home, watching TV and then crawling in your bed- a boring yet simple routine. It's not like you didn't feel anything during those days. It's just that they passed you by and didn't leave a mark, a print, a scar. You knew the end of each one but you couldn't actually point out the beginning because you don't remember something so big and fabulous which happened right then and there.
So, yeah, there are just these moments during my life in New York which I don't imagine myself existing without. Then I look at the enormous buildings around me. It may sound silly but even though I've been here for this period of time, I still haven't actually gotten to know the whole city and its attractions, skyscrapers…everything. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a workaholic or a crazy lady who sits at home all day long and is scared that homeless cats will attack her outside or she will die because of the sunlight. I guess I just didn't pay so much attention and was focused only on my life and main goal. I still am of course. The thing is that I was so full of energy and focused at the beginning, so I can have a fantastic start but eventually when you find your place, you start thinking of things in a bigger way and rationalizing on the whole picture itself and not just a part of it. So, may be that's what happened to me. I remember I spent my second week after I furnished my whole apartment, wondering through the streets and acting like those stupid tourists with hats and cameras or little children who make weird sounds when they see something big, strange or new. Sometimes even the tourists make that noises which is kind of scary. Anyway, I spent seven whole days on "getting to know New York" and still didn't see everything there is to see. I don't how that turned out but I guess the thing is that I spent about one or two days on attractions and famous history places and the other time I got to know all the neighborhoods and shops. Shopping is a big part of my weekend (when I'm not working which is rare these days) and wanted to know all the places I could go to. Of course, I kept my eyes open for near by supermarkets and stuff like that. However, the thing I remember the most from those two weeks was the fact that in the end I couldn't have wanted my first day at work to come more.
Today was a normal day. The casual kind of day when you know you can tick out all the things on your to-do list and sleep peacefully at night. I finished work about two hours ago. Now it's around seven p.m. Since I was five or six years I would chase my mom and dad on Christmas or other holidays when they would be home all day long and I would interview them on different topics. The answers they gave me always ended up written in this little pink notebook of mine which I used to keep under my pillow or on the blue bedside table. For me it was such a blast and I guess now it is as well even though I don't interview my parents. Right now I have my dream job, the one thing I have worked twenty-two years for. I, Gabriella Montez, am proud to call myself a journalist in The New York Daily Newspaper. I started off by printing things for my boss or getting the coffee in the morning but right now I actually have my own section in the paper which is just indescribable. I have always wanted that and even though I remember I was actually thinking of quitting the first month because I wasn't writing at all, now I cannot be more thankful to the newspaper and all the people I work with and am surrounded by each and every day. Everything is pretty amazing and I am having a lot of fun when I'm working which I think is not so common these days.
Anyway, when I finished my story and gave it for edit today, I went to get some coffee from the nearest Starbucks and then began my walk even though I could have caught the subway like I always do. I don't know why but today I just decided it was a walk day. I have always loved taking long straws and even though I would usually love it if there was a beach or some mountain air around me, I am still glad to have so many streets and places I have the chance to explore on daily basis. Today I am not wearing something special because there really isn't a specific occasion- white shirt with buttons, most of which I keep unbuttoned at all times, a knee-length black straight skirt, a blue scarf, which matches my high heels and a black handbag. Even though I am a big jeans fan, I don't quite see them as my work wardrobe. When I go back to my high school years, I remember mostly wearing jeans and sneakers even though I wore skirts occasionally as well. I loved summer dresses because I felt kind of free in them. I'm not sure why but may be it was because the material they were made of was like really light and they wouldn't stick tightly to your body. You could breath in them and they were the perfect choice for the beach. And I was and still am a very, very big beach fan. I love water and I always have. The sea has always been a great scene for me to watch and relax because of the atmosphere around me. Also, blue is one of my favorite colors of all time - light, dark and in between. Of course I have a "history" with the color as well but it's not such a great topic for discussion.
I look at my black leather wrist watch. It's a little after seven. I think of what I have in the fridge and remember there is still something left from the Chinese I had ordered yesterday. So, I just change my direction a little and start heading home. I live in this little apartment which is situated right beyond a beautiful florist shop. Maria, the owner, has become one of my closest people since I moved in New York. I had been looking for an apartment at least for a month and when I saw it, I just couldn't wait to have the contract signed and call everything a done deal. Th place is perfect because it is nor so far from my job and it's not in those really noisy areas of the city with cars and buses and everything flying around and making disturbing noises. Th florist's is the place where I can go whenever I want to-after work, before work, weekends. The place is, of course, full of flowers but the thing is that the way they are put in every possible way and the colors which are used of the walls are absolutely breath-taking. One wall is this great nuance of orange, while the on next to it is suddenly a very warm green. The other two are blue and yellow. The flowers are always in order of their occasion or the color the paper they are wrapped around is. One section is red and the other one is white or grey. Maria changes the order every single day and I have never seen a certain bouquet stay at the shop for more than one day. Each flower is fresh and somehow full of energy. When you just walk in that place, I think everybody can connect to the atmosphere because it's catchy. Maria is the sweetest lady you will ever meet. She is living with her husband, Billy, a couple of blocks away from the shop and when we first met the first thing she told me was that she loved flowers and has been dealing with them all her life. From that moment on I knew I had found a true friend. I have lots of friends my age but I guess it's not quite the same when the other person is older than you. They just have more experience, more different things and situations they have gone through and most importantly more knowledge which they have gained from making mistakes to share. Every time when I see Maria,I look at her eyes and I try to show my gratitude to her because she has given me a lot of advice through these five years and I will always keep that in mind no matter what.
I can almost see the end of the last street I need to pass before I enter my neighborhood when suddenly something red from my right side catches my attention initiatively. I slow my walking pace and turn to the direction with curiosity which I can feel running through every single muscle of my body. I read the big sign- "High School Bookstore". The first question which appears in my mind is why the hell can a bookstore be called like that. However, in just a few seconds my question is more than just answered. I go a little closer and through the freshly cleaned and wiped vast glass windows, I see the cosy atmosphere of the strange place inside. It certainly looked like a high school library- long brown wooden tables, situated in most of the room for reading; those long rows which seem like they will never end with dusty books neatly put by alphabetical order and posters of famous writers can be seen all over each and every single wall. The colors are kind of high school-like as well: yellow, light and creamy brown, blue and pale red. The most interesting conclusion enters my mind and I feel my heart skips a beat. This new bookstore doesn't look like a normal high school library. It looks like the famous one and only library of East High School, Albuquerque or the place I will aways keep in my heart and smile in the memory of.
When I was a teenager my mom had this really stressful job which would transfer her from town to town. In the beginning I was kind of irritated but then I started to rationalize more and saw that my mom was more than dedicated to her job and she just loved doing what she did. So, I didn't say anything as we moved. And even in the end I sort of got used to the change. The worst thing was that I had to switch schools every year and sometimes even in the middle of a term. It made things harder because new school means new friends, new teachers and new status. I have always been keen on reading and history and I have never hidden my passion. I had good grades through all of my school years and intended to do so because of college, which came afterwards. However, when you are in high school if you like reading and history, you are not ambitious or smart or anything. You are just a simple nerd. An outsider, an outcast, a nothing. I always had been called a nerd but I guess in the end, I came to the point where I didn't actually care what everyone said because I just knew what my main goal was and I knew it was the only way to getting to it. However, I got lucky. I got more than lucky. I last moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico to have my senior and last year of high school there. I was transferred to East High. My whole life changed. I changed. Everything in and between changed.
It was my first day. Everything was going all over again. Gosh, I was so nervous and I didn't even know why. This was it. It was my last year, my senior year, my goodbye to high school. And it had to be perfect, right? I was standing in front of the big doors of East High. My hands were shaking and I think I was going to vomit but… everything was kind of fine, after all. I looked down and straightened my blouse for the two hundred and fifth time that morning. Then I fixed my hair a little more and began my new journey by walking inside the school.
I started looking around and exploring the place with my eyes. The walls, corridors, everything was painted in red and white and there was the sign "Wildcats" written everywhere. I guessed that was the name of a basketball or football team everyone worshiped and relied on. But that was just a wild guess. I looked down at my sheet of paper and scanned to make myself sure. There was a map drawn to guide me through the building and my locker number was written- 14. It was at the very beginning and I found it quite fast. The next thing I heard was the sound of the warning bell, so I ran down the hallways to get to my first class- Theatre with this lady called which I thought was most ridiculous name I had ever heard my entire life.
The rest of the day went fine. Th teachers were all very welcoming and friendly. I could see the sparkle in their eyes. They were all very welcoming and I could see they were dedicate to what they were doing which is quite rare for teachers these days. The others were also great. I met a lot of girls which I got along pretty well with. There was this brainiac called Taylor Mckessie and this blonde called Sharpay Evans. Taylor was dark skinned and beautiful. She had simple style and liked more "serious" clothes which screamed "I am smart and ambitious girl who wants to become the President one day!". Sharpay, on the other hand, was a totally different picture. She had long blonde locks of hair and sparkly blue eyes. She was a gorgeous girl and anyone with eyes could see that. She dressed in much more colorful clothes. Even though she didn't mention it, I had already discovered her favorite color was pink, pink and pink. She acted with a lot of confidence and had told me something about her future acting and singing career which I got bored with in the middle.
After all the classes had ended, I looked at my black wrist watch and saw there was still some time before I had to be home and help my mother with the unpacking of all the boxes and actually begin with my bedroom. The whole school seemed lifeless and empty but I didn't mind because that way I could actually see the place myself without all the people shouting and kind of ruining the whole atmosphere. After I explored all the floors and took a quick peek in almost every classroom, I decided to get to know the other part of East High and not just the "studying one".
I went to see the gym because I didn't get the chance that day. It was very big and smelled kind of strange but I guess every gym does for that matter. The floor was yellow with hints of light brown in a few places. In the center there was the letter "E" written with red, white and black color used. There was the word "Wildcats" spelled all over the place in every kind of way and there were also lots of different posters with friendly words from everyone like "Go Wildcats!" or "Wildcats rule!". I couldn't say I didn't like it because I did. I loved the whole team spirit thing. I could see everyone at this school was one and that really was something rare and special which I hoped I would eventually become a part of.
After the gym I started walking randomly because I was lost. However, I did indeed take myself to the right place- the school library. I've always loved libraries because when I'm there I can just concentrate on one thing only without any interruptions or those things which cannot wait. The place was big-spacious tables and lots of rows with books to be read. I entered it and started searching for something interesting even though I didn't know exactly what.
After some minutes passed, I stopped and grabbed a book. It was called 'Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Truman Capote. I had watched the movie a few months before and from that very moment I had been wanting to read the actual story. It was the perfect choice and I really needed something to distract me from the whole "new everything" situation. I sat on one of the empty tables and opened the first page and began to read:
I am always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods. For instance, there is a brownstone in the East Seventies where, during the early years of the war, I had my first New York apartment. It was one room crowded with attic furniture, a sofa and fat chairs upholstered in that itchy, particular red velvet that one associates with hot days on a tram. The walls were stucco, and a color rather like tobacco-spit. Everywhere, in the bathroom too, there were prints of Roman ruins freckled brown with age. The single window looked out on a fire escape. Even so, my spirits heightened whenever I felt in my pocket the key to this apartment; with all its gloom, it still was a place of my own, the first, and my books were there, and jars of pencils to sharpen, everything I needed, so I felt, to become the writer I wanted to be. It never occurred to me in those days to write about Holly Golightly, and probably it would not now except for a conversation I had with Joe Bell that set the whole memory of her in motion again. Holly Golightly had been a tenant in the old brownstone; she'd occupied the apartment below mine. As for Joe Bell, he ran a bar around the corner on Lexington Avenue; he still does. Both Holly and I used to go there six, seven times a day, not for a drink, not always, but to make telephone calls: during the war a private telephone was hard to come by. Moreover, Joe Bell was good about taking messages, which in Holly's case was no small favor, for she had a tremendous many. Of course this was a long time ago, and until last week I hadn't seen Joe Bell in several years. Off and on we'd kept in touch, and occasionally I'd stopped by his bar when passing through the neighborhood; but actually we'd never been strong friends except -
-"Breakfast at Tiffany's", huh? Good choice.
It was a male voice, I was sure of that. It was whispered quietly into my ear. I didn't move, I froze and observed the voice. I hadn't heard it that day. It sounded husky and kind of sexy. However, I kept myself at the exact same position until I saw a male, muscular body walk near my table and then sit opposite of me.
Minutes must have passed but for me they felt more like seconds-quick, quiet and unforgettable. We both looked at each other and it took me a millisecond or even less to recognize the guy sitting across of me. Troy Bolton. Taylor mentioned him at lunch. Sharpay did as well. They said he was the most popular guy in the whole school-basketball captain and best player, hottest, all the girls positioned in his feet and all the boys worship him. With two words Troy Bolton can be described like "East High's God"- nothing more and nothing less.
Now as I was looking and observing every part of him, I had to say I absolutely understood what they meant. He was nothing but perfect. Troy Bolton had blue eyes which was the first thing that caught my boring brown ones. They were ocean-like and I had never seen something so deep, beautiful and passionate at the same time my whole life. They were captivating and even more. When he first looked at me, I couldn't just turn away because he had already caged me. Troy Bolton also had the perfect body- athletic but not too much, strong but not too much and tempting but this time very much indeed. His chest was just screaming of protection and safety. His arms could be seen through his black flat T-shirt he was wearing. I had never even dreamed of seeing this guy outside of my Teen magazines.
After minutes had passed, I made an attempt to talk but nothing came out immediately, so I had to clear my throat and then respond to the God in front of me with the smartest and yet sexiest way I could think of possible.
-Thank you. Have you read it?
I wanted to slap myself, kill myself, destroy myself. How could have I answered him like that? Gosh, I was so stupid. I was sure he thought I was the nerdiest and stupidest and most annoying brat he had ever met in his life. Instead of going all sexy, mysterious and flirty as a respond like "You want to make it an even greater choice by putting yourself in the price?" or "Would you like to help me enjoy this book more than it is actually possible?'' or may be even "I am nor sure if I can actually read such a great piece. Will you please help me, hotshot?". However, I was immediately taken away from my crazy imagination and back to Earth by his now louder voice, responding to me:
-No, I actually haven't but one of my friends has. She says it was beyond great. Absolutely fantastic.
She? Who the hell was she for crying out loud? A girlfriend? A friend with benefits? A sister? Couldn't he be at least a little more specific, please?
-Then I guess I just made up my mind.
I smiled the biggest grin I thought was possible and closed the book when I heard him continue the conversation with a more casual and relaxed tone now.
-So, you're new here? I haven't seen you around before.
-Yes, I just transferred and today is my first day.
-It must be kind of tough. I bet you were shaking and super nervous in the morning.
I laughed. He was so right.
-Well, I guess you could say that. But the thing is that I have far too much experience, so I am kind of used to the whole situation.
-Experienced how?
He furrowed his brows in confusion and that's when I saw the freckles on his nose which for me (and probably every other girl at East High) were the cutest thing ever created in all mankind.
-My mom has this job which tranferrs her all the time- from city to city, from state to state. For me that means new school, new friends, new everything.
-Isn't it kind of annoying?
-It really was at the beginning and I was actually thinking of telling her to make it stop and find something else to do. But I can see it in her eyes- she loves her job and I can't just take it away from here even though I want to more than anything.
-That sounds very mature. May be even too mature to be honest.
He beamed at me and let out a quiet laugh while I could feel my cheeks burning and becoming redder with every second ticking away.
-Did you make any friends today?
-Yes, actually. I met two great girls at lunch- Taylor Mckessie and Sharpay Evans. Do you know them?
-Yep but we are not so close. I have talked to them once or twice but just because they are going out with two of my basketball mates, that's all.
Well, that was big news for me. From the things I got to know today about Taylor and Sharpay, I couldn't actually picture them with a hunky basketball boy boyfriend, standing in the picture. May be Sharpay wasn't that big of a shock. I guess everything was really possible after all.
-Oh. Well, they were very welcoming.
-I am glad. But have you seen East High in all its glory yet?
-Not exactly. There are some places I haven't seen.
-Need a tour? I am the best tour guide you will find in Albuquerque.
I laughed out loud and so did he. God, great looks, personality and now sense of humour. Was this a dream?
-I would love you to be my tour guide.
-Then let's get the book and show you what you've been missing.
Just as I had stood up and almost began to walk to the library register, I felt him spin me around with a gentle touch on my hand. I turned back and could see Troy Bolton in all his glory, standing tall in front of me-best view ever.
-By the way, I am Troy Bolton.
-Gabriella Montez.
I grinned and shook his hand.
That is how it all started- with a simple conversation which, however, grew into a beautiful friendship and then a strong relationship with East High's hunk, Troy Bolton. He was everything to me at that time and still actually is a part of me. Throughout my whole senior year everything I grew to having was somehow connected with him. He was my best friend, my lover, my soulmate, the guy who was always there no matter what.
So, now as I am still standing in front of the bookstore, I remember that my copy of Breakfast at Tiffany's is actually lost. After I read it for the first time, I did give it back to East High's library but then after some time, I bought one copy for myself, so I could have it for myself. I don't know why but I never got tired and probably never will of the story, the words, the everything of that book. I gave it to my mum before going to college because I didn't want to lose it. However, one time when I went to visit her, it wasn't there. She said she didn't know how it had happened but then mentioned something about cleaning the attic, so I guessed that was the "mysterious" reason behind the case of losing it.
I enter the New York bookstore and slowly make my way to the rows of books. I reach sector "B" and then start searching for my favorite book. I smile when I lay my eyes and read the beautiful words- "Breakfast in Tiffany's" by Truman Capote. I take the object in my bare and trembling hands. God, I haven't thought about that book and its history for such a long, long time. It just took one new bookstore in the big city and bam- I got the flashback, memories, everything rushing down through my mind and blood like it was there all along but needed a key to actually wake up and take control.
I cannot help myself, so before I buy the book I go and sit on one of those long, brown tables. I put my handbag on the chair beside me. I open the first page and begin to read the lovely and "oh-so-familiar" and most favorite words:
I am always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods. For instance, there is a brownstone in the East Seventies where, during the early years of the war, I had my first New York apartment. It was one room crowded with attic furniture, a sofa and fat chairs upholstered in that itchy, particular red velvet that one associates with hot days on a tram. The walls were stucco, and a color rather like tobacco-spit. Everywhere, in the bathroom -
-"Breakfast at Tiffany's", huh? Good choice.
I freeze. I stop breathing. I stop living for a second. No, no,no. No, this cannot actually be happening. Wow, Gabriella this time you really should be given a medal for the best imagination and fantasizing ever. It is a dream and that's all. Just a dream. Nothing more and nothing less. I pinch myself quietly and close my eyes for a brief moment, so that I can be one-hundred percent sure. When I open them, I look at the same book, same atmosphere, same table, same walls and place. It isn't a dream. It's reality. It's not my imagination or fantasies. It's reality. But fucking how can this be reality?
I freeze and stop breathing for the second time as the owner of the husky voice, which was just whispered into my ear, goes around the table and sits right opposite of me.
Oh…My…God…Troy Bolton. Troy Alexander Bolton in all his glory. Wildcat? Best friend? Soulmate? Everything? It is all right here, in front of my eyes and staring back at me. How? When? Where? Why? So many questions enter my mind and everything is a blur. I don't know how but I manage to quietly whisper his name but make it sound more like a question.
-Yes, Brie.
It was him. No one has ever called me Brie in my whole living experience after high school. It was his nickname for me from day one. I adored it.
-I don't know what to say.
-Then I will start. Hi, Brie. How are you?
He smirks and shows off his perfect white teeth and then I really start to study his features and actually look at him as a whole for the first time in six whole years. His haircut is still the same-brown with hints of blond highlights and lovely bangs which go across his left eye. His eyes are still very blue as I will always remember them to be- captivating, hypnotizing, sensitive and yet sexy and inviting somehow. Everything could be seen through those two windows- his happiness or his sadness, his hopes for the future, his worries, his life-long dreams. If I really look at Troy's orbs, I know I will get lost even though I have studied them for quite some time. His lips are the second best feature of his face-small but not too small, pinkish, soft like baby's skin and always taste like Heaven. Gosh, I have tasted them so,so many times that cannot be count right.
I have a long history with Troy Bolton. I loved him, adored him, lived and breathed about him every single day of my life for so much time which, as crazy as it may sound, passed me by like one day.
At first, we really became the best of friends. I sort of "grew up" with him for the second time in my life. Eventually after the normal things at first-name, address, family, main interests, favorite things, singers, actors, songs and blah-blah, we started sharing everything. And there was a point in my life when I didn't have one single thing which was unknown to Troy. Of course everything between us was mutual-I told him everything and vice versa. The next step was the start of flirting. We began doing it because even though we really were like a brother and sister, from the very beginning me and Troy knew the direction where everything was going and will end up eventually. I was crazy about him since the very first day and eventually he told me he was nothing different. When the seductive chit-chats and those "friendly and natural" kisses on the cheek for goodbye began, our friends started surprisingly acting really annoyed. I guess it was because they saw what we were doing and wanted us to become a couple already but it was mine and Troy's business only, right? Anyway, he eventually asked me out randomly while we were having lunch break on 27th November at the cafeteria of East High (I just remember it because it is a very simple number, that's all). I couldn't have said "Yes" better because I practically screamed it and couldn't take that gigantic smile off of my face for the rest of the day. We shared our first kiss on my porch, outside of my house after watching a movie at the local mall on the evening of 29th November (again just an easy number to remember). I probably will never forget that feeling and sensation until I die. Everything they say in the movies is absolutely right-butterflies in the stomach, ringing bells in the ears and the feeling of your leg slowly making its way up in the air. When I kissed Troy for the first time, I just felt that we were going to have a future together-it was secure, protective, calm and longing. Everything I had always wanted to feel and dreamed of sharing with just one person. After that I cannot say much except that I fell uncontrollably and unconditionally in love with him- a simple fact which is true to this very day. We dated throughout that whole senior year and then had the "long-distance" relationship type of thing because of college. I went to Brown and Troy went to Berkeley. He would come to see me and I would do the same. I cannot say it was easy because it wasn't even close to that but we got through it. No, actually. We almost got through it. During my third year of college, I was offered a job as a journalist but even though it took me some time to think it through, I knew my decision from the very start-it was my dream and nothing could stop me. Except for Troy. The thing was that he didn't stop me. He said I should go and that was enough for me to start packing. We had to break-up. There wasn't another option. We both agreed and didn't say goodbye with yelling and drama. We spent the last day doing everything we both loved to do and then I got on the plane. However, I didn't let him come to the airport. If I had, I wasn't going to leave for sure.
Then our lives went in different directions. We kept in touch during the first year by e-mails and phone calls but we slowly drifted apart. I got too busy and he began looking of a decent job and apartment. I haven't had one single relationship since the one with Troy but that wasn't unexpected for me. He will always be my guy.
Now whenever I call or see Sharpay and Taylor, they tell me how he is doing and what he is actually doing. I just smile and nod. However, when I look at Troy Bolton't face now he seems different. More mature may be or just grown up. He is my age and he looks as if he is even younger because of his soft and shiny skin. All I know is that even though he is different, I would still love to-
-Brie, are you okay?
I look at the table and blush a bit. I haven't realized that while rationalizing on Troy's facial features, I have forgotten to speak and move. I had zoned out which wasn't something I did rarely.
-Yeah, I'm totally fine. Sorry.
-It's okay. I guess it's kind of a surprise and all.
-More than a surprise actually. I am in shock.
-Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you or anything.
-Troy, I am not scared. It's just…Tell me what's going on. I haven't seen you in what? Six years or something?
-Exactly six years and a few months.
He smiled widely but then came a sad expression.
-What's the matter, Troy?
-Aren't you at least a little bit happy to see me?
I can't believe it. How can he even dare think that? Doesn't he know how much he means to me? But after all if it takes me too much to time to answer, he may even think I don't remember we dated in high school, right?
-I am much, much more than happy to see you. I have missed you so much. How can you even think I am not happy? I thought you knew me a lot better.
-I know. You're right.
-Tell me what's going on. What are you doing in New York? Last time I talked with Taylor, she told me you got a job as a basketball coach in Boston.
-That's true but I decided to come to New York and do something else.
-Why?
-I don't know. I guess it's because it's just the big city and all. Anyone can have a chance here, right?
-Right. But what about basketball?
-I teach basketball in a local high school, near my apartment and I used all my savings to built this place.
Say what? This bookstore is Troy's bookstore. What? But how? He never liked to read or do anything, connected with studying, paper and letters. Why? Oh, wait. That's the reason it looks like East High. Oh My Gosh.
-What? You, Troy Bolton, own this bookstore?
-Yes. We opened a week ago.
I stare at him , trying to grasp the reason of all of this. However, I can't see it. It just isn't 's like he has put a shield because he doesn't want me to know.
-Look, Brie. I just got a little bit fed up with everything and decided I want to do something different. The idea of building this bookstore just entered my mind one day and I decided to give it a try. I had saved so much money. They had to be used for something, so…
-I can't believe you're saying you got fed up with basketball. You of all people?
-I didn't say that. I just needed something different. I've played basketball my entire life. I am not giving up on it or something. I am just teaching now. If the bookstore doesn't go well, I will just go back to Boston and take the other offer.
He smiles. Now I see it. He has it all planed. Everything is in its right place at the moment.
-I am happy for you, Troy. I really am.
-Thank you. I appreciate it.
Then he grabs my hand, which is still loosely hanging over the book's cover. He squeezes it tight and I feel my heart skip a beat.
-Come on. Let's get you the book and then we can grab something to eat.
-Yeah, I'd love to.