Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical, although some days I wish I did.

Author's Note: I haven't seen High School Musical 3: Senior Year yet, and it might be a while before I do, but I think you can plunk this scene in somewhere in the early going. At least place it before Ryan and Kelsi start getting their groove on. Please enjoy, and please review.

I'd like to discuss the matter of the return of your sensitive...shit.

I'm sorry, I don't know what else to call it. I guess I could call it your stuff, but if I call it stuff then it really doesn't feel like it means anything, and it still kinda does.

I mean, I don't want to get back together. We weren't working - hell, even I knew that, dumb as I am. But it doesn't mean that I can't remember the times when it was working. I think those times were mostly when we were just talking.

So here's your hair brush back. I made sure to pick it clean of all of the hairs I could find, my black and your brown alike.

Here's your sweater. You were right; it was too small. But I used it as a pillow one night and I kinda liked that. It still smells like you: jasmine and daisies. Maybe a little ink and old books, too.

There are a couple of your hair ties in here that you left in some of the weirdest places. One was way underneath my bed and another was in the couch cushions. I know they're yours and not my mom's because yours were always bright pink and Mom hates pink.

Let's see, what else...your karaoke CDs that I tried to sing along to a few times but I still didn't sound right so I just gave up; a pair of your red ankle socks, which is funny because I never wore ankle socks before us and now I kind of like them, although I haven't gotten rid of all my black tube socks; a thing of your perfume and some of your deodorant, and although they smell nice I don't really want my locker smelling like flowers anymore although it probably always will; and your glasses case, which was weird to see that you'd forgotten in my car seeing as how you usually take such good care of your instruments.

Are you okay, Kelsi? I mean, really okay? I know we agreed to be friends and all and I really like that because we were best when we were just talking and not trying to kiss and date and all that; but I'm not sure you're okay. You said you were fine and you looked fine when you left but that was Saturday and now it's Monday and I don't think that smile of yours is on quite right.

I guess I don't really want to talk about giving this stuff back if I want to talk about how you feel but maybe if we talk about giving each other our stuff back it'll be easier for you to tell me what you're really thinking.

And maybe I'll confess that I'm holding on to the pictures of us on my phone and one of your cute pink hats and the song you wrote for me for my birthday. Maybe one day I'll be able to sing it for you.

But of course here I am now, next to you in front of your locker, trying hard not to look into your pretty eyes, holding this box of your stuff awkwardly and wanting to say all of this and instead all I say is:

"Here."

And I hold the box out, and you take it, and say:

"I'll get you yours tomorrow."

And that's the end of it. You even give the box back to me when you give me my stuff because you've put my stuff in it and it looks like none of it matters, not my stuff or my box or my feelings or anything.