Lost Memories

Author's Note: This is my first story on this site, so please just bear with me here. I haven't been here long, so if anybody else has done this plot before, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to take this idea.

Disclaimer: Um, I don't own High School Musical. I don't own the cast, either. I wish I were that brilliant. Do you know how much money I would be swimming in, right now? I wouldn't mind owning Zac Efron, either. -wink wink-

Hmm, can you call this a prologue? Sorry, I'm barely in the seventh grade and if we ever went through this in English or Reading, I must have been asleep. :) Oh, before I forget, this "prologue" will be from Gabriella's POV. Hope you like!

I lyed on my back motionless as the flames quickly rised over my head. I kept my eyes closed to protect them from the ashes raining down on me. I felt woozy from the burning smell as I tried to sit up. As soon as I did, the pain from the headache brought me back down. The exhaustion I felt caused my groan sound more like a soft sigh.

What happened? Why wasn't anyone coming to help me? Why didn't I just stay home like my mother told me?

A ton of questions ran through my mind as I tried not to lose consciousness. But it was tempting. As I was about to give up, I heard a man's voice.

"Miss, can you hear me? Are you conscious? Please, answer me if you are!" he exclaimed.

I opened my eyes and saw the face of an elderly man. He was down on his knees as he looked down on me. His eyes held worriness and concern as he tried to sit me up slowly. Another flash of pain went through my head.

"Are you okay, miss? Can you speak?" the man asked me.

I nodded slowly. "Y-yes," I studdered. I cleared my throat, trying to regain full control of my voice. I looked around and saw nothing but flames and the remains of what used to be my mother's car.

"What's your name?"

As I opened my mouth to respond, I realized I did not know. I didn't know my own name. How was that possible? I looked back at the man and moved my shoulders up and down slowly, hoping it was a clear enough shrug.

"You don't know your name?" he asked incredulously. He stared at me for a few moments before speaking again. "Do you not remember? Nothing at all? You have to remember something. Do you know where you live? Your address?"

I searched my mind, trying to remember something, anything, that could help me. Nothing. Nothing at all. No address. No name. My mind was nothing but a blank. I looked down shamefully. My cheeks burned and I didn't know if it was because of the fire or if I blushing.

"Do you think you can stand up?" the man asked.

I slowly pushed myself up, trying ignoring the pain shooting through my legs. I kept my head down as I felt a tear run down my left cheek. I sighed softly as I wiped it away.

Who am I?

"C'mon, miss," the man said. "The fire department is on their way. In the mean time, we've gotta get away from this spot before we burn to ashes." He smiled at me, but I didn't notice.

What happened to me earlier? How did I wind up on the ground while my mother's car burst into flames? Did I crash? Why couldn't I remember anything?

"Where am I?" I asked.

The man furrowed his eyebrow at me. He inhaled slowly and opened his mouth to speak. "You're in Tucson, Arizona," he told me. "Does that ring any bells?"

I shrugged and shook my head. "Do you live around here?" I asked.

The man shook his head. "Nope," he answered. "I'm Los Angeles. I'm actually on my way back there. I noticed the fire from my car. I'm parked nearby." He took a look around and then looked back at me. "Are you sure you don't remember anything? 'Cause I don't think anyone can help you if you don't even remember your name. Where will you stay?"

"I really wish could remember," I said, "but I can't. I don't even remember what I was doing out here. I really don't think I'm from Tucson."

The man huffed. "For all we know," he said, "you could be from Albuquerque, New Mexico. Does that jog anything up there?" he asked, gesturing at my head.

"Albuquerque," I repeated. It sounded kind of familiar. "I'm not sure. Maybe I passed through that city."

"Maybe," the man said. "But we still don't know where you're gonna stay. And if you were goin' somewhere, there's no way to get there, now." He started to think. "I know I'm just a stranger, but if you want, you could come to L.A. with me. Stay there for a while. I have grandchildren who could show you around. They love meeting people."

"That'd be nice," I said. "And I guess I have no choice. But how am I gonna get around without a name?"

"Well," the man said, "we'll give you name. Just until you remember. Won't that be nice? Getting the chance to name yourself? We're not all that lucky." He chuckled.

"Well," I said, "what's your name, sir? I would like to thank you properly."

"James," he replied. "James Hudgens."

"Well thank you for saving my life, Mr. Hudgens," I said sincerely.

"Not a problem. And what would you like to me called, miss?" he asked.

I took a moment to think. "Well," I started, "I've really like the name Vanessa. And for all I know, that could be my name." I grinned.

"Well miss Vanessa," James said, "I think that's a wonderful name."

--

"Margaret!" James said, walking into his L.A. home. "Everyone, I've got someone I'm sure you'd love to meet!" He politely welcomed me inside.

"What's up, Dad?" A man in about his early thirties appeared on the staircase. "How was your trip?" He looked at me and smiled politely. "Hello," he greeted.

"Hi," greeted back, returning his smile.

"Greg," James said, "This is Vanessa. Or at least that's the name she goes by, now. She got in an accident and I offered to let her stay with us."

The man walked down the staircase and up to me. He stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you," he said.

I shook his hand. "Thank you. Nice to meet you," I said.

"James?" A woman walked out of what I guessed was the kitchen and looked at me. "Oh, and who is this?" she asked cheerfully.

"This is Vanessa. She got in an accident and Dad helped her. Then he offered her to stay with us, Mom," Greg told the woman.

"Oh, well nice to meet you, Vanessa," the woman said, shaking my hand. "I'm Margaret Hudgens, James' wife. And this is our son, Gregory." She grinned at me.

"Mom," Greg said, "Are you sure you're going to have enough room for Vanessa? I mean, since you're having Aunt Becca visiting next week--"

"Oh my," Margaret cut him off. "I completely forgot about Becca. James, we have no other guest rooms! And I really don't think having visitors sleep on the couch is a good idea. It seems really rude, in my opinion."

"She can stay at my place, if she wants," Greg suggested. "I mean, it's only me, Gina, and Stella. I'm sure we can make some room for her." He smiled at me.

"That would be great," I said. "Thank you."

"Well," James said, "It looks like you're gonna be a Hudgens for now, Vanessa."

I smiled. "It would be an honor," I said.

That was two years ago.

--

Yeah, sucky ending, if not the whole thing. Should I continue? Please review and let me know!

xo Lucy