No Easy Feat
By FeelsLikeForever
Summary: In an effort to cheer up their friends, Gabriella and Troy embark on a cookie-baking expedition, which proves to be more difficult than anticipated, involving awkwardness, dangerously slippery floors, and flour everywhere. oneshot penname changed
AN: Ahem. So I was bored with studying and such and decided to post this, figuring it would take five minutes; this actually—er, this :was: an accident—ended up taking me about a million years (:cough: Half an hour) to edit—again. I still don't know about some parts, though I do find it very cute. I do believe it's much better than my first story, Something's Not Right (from which I have taken a writing holiday, as its recent installment was—for lack of a better phrase—less than prosperous).
It's set in November, ten months after HSM, and that darn Troyella kiss has NOT happened yet. (Impossible, I know, but for story purposes . . . I'm changing things a little.)
The beginning may seem a little morbid, so watch out for the switch in mood. I tried to make the transition as seamlessly as possible—note my use of tried. The decision is really up to my readers.
I don't know if this story even fits under Humor; Romance sounds strange by itself, and Drama didn't fit the mood, so . . . don't really expect it to be that funny. Just really fluffy. ;-)
Also, my name has been changed, from bluetruffle (what possessed me?) to FeelsLikeForever, as enthused by Stone Sour's brilliant song Through Glass.
Disclaimer: This should be glaringly obvious.
------
It was the first time any of them had seen Sharpay cry.
Well, in actuality, it wasn't. It was just the first time in their presence that she wasn't acting.
Ryan didn't take it as hard as his sister did. He didn't shed a tear in public. He just drifted, his eyes wide and hollow, as if he was a shell instead of a whole person.
From the minute they entered the school and their group of newly found friends, Troy, Gabriella, Taylor, Chad, Kelsi and Jason, had clustered around them, it was obvious something was wrong. Ryan kept looking off into space, oblivious to the things that were going on around him.
"Hey," Troy said, speaking for the group. Sharpay glanced around for a while, as if she didn't know where she was.
"Shar? You okay?" Gabriella asked worriedly, placing a comforting arm on her friend's shoulder.
"I'm fine! Get away from me!" she snapped in response, wrenching out of Gabriella's grip, eyes filling with genuine tears. This took Gabriella by surprise, and Sharpay suppressed a sob with difficulty, glared at them in a watery sort of way, and stalked off. Ryan shrugged in a manner that was probably meant to be apologetic, and then followed his sister, who was cutting through the crowds and biting retorts at anyone who got in her way in a very good imitation of a piranha.
"What's up with them?" Taylor asked the group at large.
Nobody knew how to respond.
------
As things turned out, it was Chad who discovered the answer to Taylor's question. He was in Chemistry with Ryan as his only friend, and they were in the middle of working on a week-long project together. Normally Ryan was very good at chemistry, but today he didn't even seem . . . there, in a sense.
"Hey, dude." Chad, who had forgotten the morning's incident, clapped Ryan the back. Ryan nearly jumped through the roof.
"Oh . . . hello," he replied distantly.
"So what's going on with you and Sharpay?" Chad posed this question as casually as he could, recalling Ryan's strange behaviour.
"Oh . . ." Ryan said again. "Well, it's nothing really, just that—our parents are splitting up."
"WHAT?" Chad half-yelled, causing twenty-three heads to fixate on them.
"Mr. Danforth, focus on your work, please," Mrs. McCleethey, the vulture-like Chemistry teacher, said in a sour voice.
Chad nodded quickly, feeling the burn of forty-six eyes ebb a little. "Yes'm." When the class had returned to its work, Chad faced Ryan again; the latter had kept his head down.
"No way, dude. That's a bummer." The darker boy cast around for better words of comfort, but couldn't find any.
"Yeah, I know. It isn't going over well with Shar. The whole joint custody thing, too." Ryan spoke the words bitterly.
"Want me to tell the rest of the guys?" Chad's concern was genuine, a rare thing.
"O-Okay."
"Mr. Danforth! Mr. Evans! WORK!"
------
"Oh, my God." Taylor raised a hand to her mouth. "That's terrible."
Everyone looked forlorn. It was lunchtime, and Sharpay and Ryan hadn't showed up—they'd been avoiding everyone they knew all that day. Chad had just relayed the news to Jason, Troy, Gabriella, Taylor and Kelsi.
"We have to do something to make them feel better," Kelsi said at once.
"Yeah, too bad Zeke's on vacation," Troy added.
"He could bake something for them." This offer came from Gabriella, who seemed on the verge of crying herself.
"Hey—" Everyone looked around at Kelsi again. "—that's a great idea! We can do a cheering-up party!"
Chad pointed methodically at each individual, counting on his other hand (this elicited a hack-snort from Taylor which sounded suspiciously like a quickly smothered giggle). "There's six of us—we can team up."
"I'll make a card," Kelsi offered. "Who's up for it?"
Soon, it was decided: Kelsi and Taylor would create the card; Chad and Jason were to make a banner, which left—
"Troy, Gabriella, you guys can bake the cookies." Kelsi grinned furtively.
Troy was indignant. "What! Why do I have to bake?"
"Oh, come on, Troy," Gabriella pleaded, trying not to laugh. "It'll be fun!"
------
Thus, the next day—a Tuesday—found Troy and Gabriella congregating at Gabriella's house after dinner, at seven thirty. Actually, Troy arrived at seven forty-five, sprinting up the steps. He paused to catch his breath before ringing the doorbell.
"You're late," she teased upon opening the door.
"Sorry," Troy apologized. "Dad wanted to keep me for practice, I had to explain where I was going . . ."
"Let's get to work," Gabriella said cheerily, stepping aside to let him walk in and closing the door behind him. "Good thing we have two," she added when they entered the Montez kitchen.
"Two of what?" Troy asked warily.
"Aprons, of course!" And to his horror, she pulled out layers of frilly blue fabric from the pantry.
"Oh, no. No way am I gonna wear that." He recoiled.
"You have to, or else you'll get flour all over you."
"I'll take my chances, then," he responded. "I could never live it down if anyone saw me in that thing. And anyway, it probably wouldn't fit."
She smiled, looping her arms through the apron and fastening the ties at the back. Once Troy had dodged her attempt to force him into the other one, they were ready.
"All right, we need flour, eggs . . ." Troy rattled off the ingredients from a piece of paper that looked very old; it was written in ink and had gone yellow at the edges. As he did so, Gabriella dashed around, opening cupboards and setting boxes on the counter.
"Making cookies isn't too difficult," she said, as if she wasn't quite sure of this fact but was saying it for his benefit. "With the two of us here it should be done in no time."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Have you ever done it?"
"Well—not too often. I'm not big on baking, but this is important. What could be so bad about it?"
She nudged a measuring cup and the box of flour towards him. "Can you measure the flour first?"
Together, despite some near-catastrophes, they managed to dispel all necessary ingredient amounts in the bowl with minimal spilling.
"Do you want to mix it?" she asked. "I need to set the oven."
"But I don't know how—"
"It's really simple," Gabriella assured him, handing over a whisk. "But if you can't do it, I can . . ."
"No! No, I can do it," he replied quickly. "Watch, you'll see."
Gabriella crossed her arms playfully and pretended to monitor him as he looked at the bowl with some apprehension before holding it in one hand and starting to whisk the mixture with the other.
"Um, Troy, I—I don't think you should be holding it like—"
Gabriella's sentence was cut off as the bowl slipped and her face was suddenly spattered with flour, eggs, milk, sugar and chocolate chips. Troy swore and moved to try and help her.
"Oh, God, Gabriella, I'm sorry, I—"
"It's all right." She tried to smile as she wiped her face, but her hair was beyond saving, still decorated with bits of cookie mix. "I'll take care of it later." She slid a hair elastic off of her wrist and swept her hair back into a ponytail to prevent anything else happening to it.
She caught his eye. "Do I look really bad?"
"Of course you don't," Troy said automatically. "You look great."
She flushed, but laughed all the same. "I'm covered with half-made cookie dough, Troy!"
"Yeah, well. . . ." Their eyes met for a moment and she looked away.
"Er . . ." To cover her embarrassment, Gabriella moved to study the recipe once more. "This time I think I should whisk, since you obviously can't handle it."
"Ouch . . ."
They cleaned up the mess and started over with a new bowl. But the preparation was, again, a failure: Gabriella knocked the flour all over Troy and the floor by accident, and in grabbing Troy's arm to keep herself steady, the milk that had been in the measuring cup he was holding sloshed out and onto the floor, too.
"Oh, no—" was all she could say before losing her balance on the slippery ground and falling down hard, feeling all the breath leave her with a whoosh. Troy bent to help her up, but all that resulted in this was him toppling over too.
"What a mess," Gabriella moaned, looking over to Troy, but he did not look upset as she'd thought he would. Instead, he was grinning, and she couldn't help following suit.
"We are so bad at this," he said; they stared at each other for about two seconds before bursting out laughing. It felt good, to just sit there amongst sheer devastation (of the cookie-making level) and laugh in Disaster's face.
"I guess it wasn't meant to be." Gabriella felt the pain of falling coming back to her, and she winced. Troy stood up gingerly and offered her a hand. She took it, feeling the flour on it, and got unsteadily to her feet. "But we should try again, I suppose," she added in a soft voice.
"Yeah, we should," Troy responded, absentmindedly looking off out the window. Gabriella couldn't help but notice that he was still holding her hand, and heard herself saying his name, as if from a long distance.
"Troy?"
"Mhm?"
"Can I have my hand back?" The instant she said it she regretted it; he let go so quickly that she didn't know what had happened. She missed holding his hand, actually, when she thought about it . . .
"Sorry," he said throatily, and lapsed into a coughing fit triggered by the dust and flour. When he emerged, they got back to work.
The third try was more successful; they managed to avoid mistakes in measuring, whisking (which Gabriella did), and doling onto the cookie tin. Gabriella slid the cookies in for baking with a satisfied smile.
"Now what?" Troy asked, still slightly hoarse.
"Now we wait. Twelve to fifteen minutes." She set the microwave timer carefully.
"Oh."
"So have your parents made any plans for the holidays?" Gabriella inquired.
"I don't know. Actually, we liked that lodge last year, we might go back . . ."
She nodded, crossing her arms. "I can't believe we've known each other for nearly a year." Off in the distance, the phone rang, and Gabriella's mother called, "I'll get it!"
"I know. It feels like so much longer, I don't know why . . ."
"Are you saying it's been boring?"
Troy grinned. "About the opposite. It's been the most fun I've ever had."
"Well, you can't have had much fun in your life, then." She laughed self-deprecatingly.
"No, I'm serious. You completely changed the way I look at things. Same with a lot of other people." For some reason, Gabriella thought he added the last sentence with an edge of bitterness.
"Come on, lighten up." She gave him a little shove. "And thanks for the compliment."
Unnoticed by either of them, Ms. Montez bustled into the kitchen. "Gabi," she said absently.
They jumped, realized they were standing about an inch apart, and hastily shifted in opposite directions. "Yes, Mama?" Gabriella replied—strangely, the room seemed a lot warmer than she remembered, and she prayed she wasn't blushing.
Ms. Montez was holding a cordless telephone against her shoulder. "Are you two almost done? I'm on the phone with Troy's father, and he seems to be quite insistent that Troy is home soon."
Troy muttered mutinously under his breath. "We're just waiting for the cookies to finish."
Ms. Montez nodded and vacated the kitchen once more, saying into the phone, "Yes, they're almost done . . . well, I don't know how much longer exactly, but I'm sure . . ."
The timer dinged to tell them the time was up. Gabriella slipped on the oven mitts again, opened the oven and retrieved the tray.
"Well, they smell good, anyway," Troy commented.
"I think they're baked enough." She set the cookie tin down on the stove to cool.
Troy sneezed and Gabriella gave a half-smile, half-grimace. "The tissues are over there," she said, indicating a box of Kleenex next to the stove.
He reached across for one, and once more, Gabriella saw what was inevitable and didn't have time to stop it; he withdrew his hand sharply, giving a small cry of pain.
She gasped. Troy clutched at his hand; he had accidentally brushed it against the still-burning-hot tray.
"Troy! Oh, my gosh! Here, let me help . . ." She hurried him over to the kitchen sink, holding his hand cautiously in hers to see the damage. There was a thin line of red, burned skin across his wrist. Trying not to look at it, she ran the cold water under it.
"I am so sorry, I didn't see!" Gabriella knew she was rambling. She grabbed a cloth, stuck it under the running water, and pressed it to the burn. "It's not too bad . . . , wait here."
She dashed up the stairs and into her mother's bathroom, fumbled in one of the drawers and was back in the kitchen like a shot. "Here, it's Polysporin, it'll relieve pain and prevent infection." She peeled away the cloth (Troy winced) and rubbed some cream into the burn, which had already begun to swell.
"Thanks," Troy said finally, as she replaced the cloth. "I think it'll be okay."
"Wow," Gabriella remarked, looking around at the flour-blanketed floor, counter with a smorgasbord of ingredients, and Troy, who was now nursing his wrist and smiling again. "This is chaos."
"At least we got them done," he reasoned. "It'll cheer Sharpay and Ryan up."
"We have to make sure Sharpay doesn't get at the cookies right away. You and I both know she's a secret glutton." Gabriella giggled.
Ms. Montez returned to the kitchen. "Gabi, don't you think Troy should be—oh, my saints," she added, eyes traveling around the scene. "What happened here?"
"We aren't very skilled at baking," Gabriella said honestly. "And Troy burned himself a little, but it'll be okay."
"Troy, your father wants you home," Ms. Montez said apologetically.
"Oh, don't you want me to stay and help clean—?"
"No, it's all right, you can go home, dear."
Troy scowled suddenly. "All he wants me home for is to practice, and—hey! With this wrist, I can't play today!" He seemed to be struggling with whether to be happy or upset about this fact.
In the end, Troy called his father to inform him that he had to stay for a little while longer (which did not go over too well with Mr. Bolton; it took five minutes for Troy to calm him down), and he and Gabriella (having refused to let Ms. Montez help them) were soon down on hands and knees scrubbing the tile floor free of flour.
"You've got flour on your nose," Troy informed her easily. He was only really able to clean with his left hand, as his right was wrapped in a cloth and still throbbing slightly.
"What! Where?" She swiped at her nose, looking a bit like a kitten.
He stifled a laugh. "Kidding, kidding."
"Ha, ha. I love you too," Gabriella said sardonically.
Troy blinked at her, feeling strangely light-headed (an affliction perhaps brought on by the dust, he thought) before picking up on the note of sarcasm in her tone.
------
"Well, that was fun," Troy said—albeit a little grudgingly—at the door, ready to leave after having, with Gabriella, tidied the whole kitchen. "I mean, besides me getting burned and all."
"Congratulations. You've officially been denounced from the regular male status for engaging in girlish activities."
"Hey, it wasn't up to me!—"
"Yes, it was. You did have a choice, you know."
This, thought Troy, was not exactly true. She had given him her sad face: pouted lips, quivering chin, eyes huge and glossy. What was the choice, really?
He sighed dramatically. "It was a sacrifice. But I did hold my own; the apron was too much."
She gave a soft laugh. "You think they'll enjoy them?"
"They'd better," he responded darkly, "after all we went through for them."
"I'm proud of us. We're so loyal to the people we love."
"Yeah . . . well, see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, see you . . . hope your wrist gets better!"
"I hope so too."
------
"Ooh, those look really good!" Kelsi squealed, as Gabriella opened the container for inspection in homeroom. Chad and Jason were already slinging the banner; Taylor and Kelsi had placed their card on Sharpay's desk, ready for signing. Gabriella had just entered, fifteen minutes early as arranged.
"Where's Tr—" Chad started to say, just as Troy himself walked in.
"Speak of the devil. Here, you and Gabriella still need to sign the card, quickly!"
They obliged to Taylor's wishes; it was common knowledge that Sharpay and Ryan always arrived early for school on Wednesdays, luckily for them. Indeed, Gabriella had just finished sealing the envelope and writing the Evans' names on the front when the twins walked in.
"What the—" Sharpay said, cut off by her friends' cries of, "Good morning!" and "Hey!"
The banner slung across Sharpay and Ryan's separate desks read: WE'RE SORRY AND WE HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER SOON! REMEMBER YOUR FRIENDS ARE HERE FOR YOU! (The message had been of the girls' invention.)
"Here, we made a card!" It was thrust in Sharpay's direction, as Ryan looked too stunned to respond. Sharpay, too, was obviously astonished as she read through the card and scanned the six signatures. By the time she hurried over to her desk and looked inside the Tupperware container of chocolate-chip cookies, she still hadn't found her voice.
"Do you like it?" Gabriella asked worriedly, and for the first time the group began exchanging looks, all thinking the same thing: What if they don't appreciate it? What if they don't want sympathy?
But the expression on the twins' faces was enough to prove them wrong.
------
AN: Were you expecting a Troyella kiss? To be absolutely honest, I was. I just thought it might be better this way, as a change of pace. Since there are so many stories involving the aforementioned plot detail, you know? It was nice for me to only do a little bit of fluff, and I had loads of fun throwing in all those 'subtle hints', anyway.
I really didn't care for the ending either, but I thought it was sort of necessary and couldn't find a way to make my original ending work, which was to just have Troy leave and that's it. It felt rather abrupt, and since I worked to avoid that kiss (I wanted to write one at a couple of points, but resisted), there wasn't much else I could do.
I did enjoy writing the dialogue before the last bit, though. Gabriella and Troy's personalities tend to run away with me if I give them too much free rein, which is why I had to stop before it got too long. Maybe I'll write another oneshot soon, an all-dialogue one . . . hmmm. I'll have to think about it.
Anyway, thank you for reading this; I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, reviewing would be very nice and make me happy . . . :-D
- Gemma -