PART I
Tick, tock, tick... tock...
Troy lay motionless in bed, his breathing down from ragged to barely alive. The clock above him sounded like a cardiac monitor. All he needed to complete the picture was the smell of formaldehyde and a doctor floating around with a clipboard, muttering incantations of doom.
Instead, he was ensconced in bedsheets smelling of Tide and staring at the ceiling. A bee had flown in through the open French windows and hummed in his ears every so often. Somehow, it never flew close enough for him to squash it against the headboard. His phone hadn't fared so well, probably dented from him vengefully tossing it across the room- as though it had conspired to keep Gabriella away.
Gabriella...
His throat constricted. In two days, he would pull into East High's parking lot wearing a tux and watching the other Senior Years clamber out of other cars, giggling. Whilst he stood planted in concrete, they would tiptoe into a Gym Hall-turned-ballroom, bedecked in light bulbs from Walmart. The violinists would saw their instruments in half as they played everything from Schubert to Aerosmith.
But he would still stand alone, planted in concrete.
The bee zipped past his ear again.
He had no partner, now. Imagine that: Troy Bolton, King of East High, Primo Boy, Playmaker, You Name It- without a partner for prom. Chad said it was lousy. How sensitive. Chad ought to be a therapist.
Not only that, but he had no one with whom to share precious memories during graduation. Others would cheer, dance, hug, throw their hats in the air, maybe shed a tear or two. Not him.
He had no one.
Sure, Gabriella had given her reasons. Distance. It must make sense, really- even though she had said she missed him. Stanford was her future; she ought to pour her energy into academics rather than clinging to high school memories. Rather than clinging to a high school boyfriend.
His stomach twisted. No- what they had defied such cheap description. She said she loved him! Yes, she must love him... even after saying goodbye again.
Again.
No, she definitely loved him.
"Troy?"
His mother's voice sounded distant. Damn it. If only this conversation had happened in the garden, on the road- anywhere away from her intuitive gaze.
Footsteps grew louder.
"Honey, what did Gabriella say? Chad just left, wouldn't tell me a thing. Unlike him, I'd say."
The smell of lavender and jasmine filled his nose, taking him back to childhood when he would stumble indoors after the day's adventure, only to be scooped into his mother's arms and scolded for getting so dirty.
"Nothing."
She sighed. "Right. In other news, I am the new Queen of China."
"Look, Mom, I..." The words stuck in his throat. What could he say further that wouldn't make him sound pathetic and lost?
He sat up, swung his legs off the bed, and left via the French windows. Time to bounce a ball and toss this horrible day down a basket.
A goddam pair of bees danced over his stash of basketballs as though guarding sacred property. Swatting didn't help. He picked a ball and chucked it high above, expecting a clean catch, but it narrowly missed his nose on the way down. Well, half an hour's practice would clean up his technique.
Cursing under his breath, he threw the ball again in no particular direction.
His mother caught it.
"You think I'm going to let you off easy? One minute you jump on my countertops, the next, you're lifeless." She tucked her hair behind her ear, the precious ball wedged under her arm.
Here came the lecture.
"Can I have-?"
"-Now, look: I've never interfered with you and Gabriella-"
A bee- the same one?- landed on his shoulder, then zipped away again. It enjoyed the heat more than he did.
"Mom, I don't-"
She waved her hand. "But this- this regular occurrence of her disappearing for a while, and you moping..." Her eyes were wide as she struggled for words. "It's-"
"Attending Stanford hardly counts as a disappearance."
"Don't take that tone with me. I assume... she isn't coming?"
He didn't answer.
"Why ever not?"
"It's between me and her."
"You agreed for her to miss Prom?"
"No, I-"
"What about graduation? Not even graduation?"
Good grief, would this interrogation never end? For the first time in a long while, he wondered where his Dad was. Their conversations followed simpler lines. Basketball, occasional forays into his progress onstage, and then basketball again. More recently, college had driven a wedge between them... He chewed his lip. Yes, college. They couldn't agree on that issue, but as for everything else- that is to say, basketball- they were solid. Dad would look at the Prom issue the same way he looked at a game. Top player misses the finals? Well, that's goddam bad luck, but you rally the team and push them to their limit. Under no circumstances do you show weakness.
"She says she is struggling to fit into Stanford after leaving, and it will be too difficult to come here and return. Twice."
There. Explained like an adult. No one could argue against that.
So why was she shaking her head?
"What?"
She dropped the ball. "If you think you're going to lounge in bed on Prom night, think again. You're going to wear that tuxedo, and you're going to attend."
"No, I-"
"I'm sorry? Did I give you an option? At six, I want you out, rain or shine. The doors will be locked. You're not spending another minute moping in bed."
"Mom, I've just explained to you why-"
"-If you want me to iron your shirts for the day, though God knows you ought to do it yourself, then I will be in the living-room. The corsage arrives tomorrow midday, so it might as well go to use. It was custom-made, after all."
His heart sank. The corsage. Of course. He had put his mother to all this expense, pestering her to find the best of everything for a night that would only exist in his head. A night he was being forced to attend.
"I can't be there without Gabriella."
He expected sympathy. Instead, his mother took a deep breath, tucked another strand of hair behind her ear, and folded her arms.
A door slammed somewhere.
"Oh look: your father's home."
Before Troy had time to curse, the man himself appeared, carrying a copy Sports Illustrated and a toolbox.
"Well, well! Got some new spanners for the truck," he said, slapping his son on the back. "Turned the screws on old Steve, sold them to me half price. Hi honey..."
He kissed his wife.
"Gabriella cancelled on Prom and graduation," she said, by way of greeting.
The smile disappeared. "Huh?"
"Look, it's not a big deal-"
"You told me she was coming down!"
"That was two weeks ago, Dad!"
"So you admit she isn't?"
"Why are you pointing fingers at me?"
His father thought better of it; dropping his arm, he chose to pace around the courtyard instead.
"How the hell is that lady not coming?"
"That lady is called Gabriella!"
A pair of bees flew over the wire fence in alarm. Why had he thought discussing this with his father would be a better idea?
"And I just said that this is none of your-"
"- I don't understand this. First she springs off to California without telling anyone-"
"She had to-"
"Don't interrupt your father."
"-Then you tell me it's alright, because she's still coming down later. Now she isn't? What's going on? She can't make it for just for two events? What is it, flights delayed? Airport shut down? Sky full of volcanic ash?"
Troy was silent.
"This isn't good enough, son. You got a girl. Great. Never bothered you about that."
This was flagrantly untrue, but Troy did not argue.
"But a relationship is a commitment, right?"
His mother nodded.
"You can't just bail on someone like this. Not without good reason. Last summer, she did the same thing. And the semester before that. How many more excuses can you have? I don't like it. Ever since she came into your life, you've changed."
The heat rising to his face, Troy had to interrupt now. "Right, I get it. I've failed you, I've wasted my future as a basketball hero, I'm not following your footsteps into college."
"Our chat about U of A has nothing to do-"
"Of course it does: I can't even breathe without you disapproving!"
"Honey, calm down."
But he ignored her. "Everything I do is wrong- wrong for you, wrong for Chad, wrong for my whole team! Gabriella is the only person who has ever understood me, and you can't even let me have that-"
It was his father's turn for silence. He recovered quickly, however, and not with the penitence that Troy expected.
"Look son: you know I came to Twinkle Towne, the Talent Show. I'm coming to your Musical. Why? Because you have skill, passion, drive. That energy you have on the Court- you can use it elsewhere. You win. You make people come together. That's why I support you, whatever you do. So tell me this: why can't Gabriella do the same?"
Caught off guard, Troy had no immediate answer.
His parents shared a glance.
"She- She does support me! Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it never happens."
They both looked another way. His father paced around again, his toolbox swinging.
"Son, I... I think it's time you two called it a day."
A cloud passed over the sun, leaving chilly shadows everywhere.
He blinked. "What?"
"Honey, we aren't criticising you. There are plenty of girls out there. It's... it's Gabriella that concerns us."
The flames of rage returned. "Since when do you get to choose? It's my relationship, my life, my choice! Is that so difficult to understand?"
Shaking, he strode back towards his bedroom.
"Don't forget what I said about Prom Night." His mother's voice was completely calm.
"Yeah," his father said, as though he had heard the entire conversation. "- No way my son mopes around in bed whilst his actual friends have a blast! You better throw on a goddam tux and practice your dance moves. If I have to give you a fireman's lift there, I will, so help me God!"
Troy slammed the French windows shut.
His breath coming in gasps, he staggered to the bed and fell flat on his face. After a while, he turned, still unable to think or speak.
How- how dare they suggest- No, he could not even voice that thought. Who did they think they were, judging his relationship, judging the only girl he had ever loved...! Why did they always pry into his business, lecture him, pile on the guilt, disapprove when he failed...! Gabriella understood... God, he needed to see her, take her in his arms, stroke her hair, let her protect him from everyone else who couldn't tell true love from a plank of wood. Not even his happily-married parents.
He clambered off the bed, retrieved his phone (still working, thank God) and punched in her number.
"Please pick up..."
After two minutes of beeping, the phone shut off.
No!
He tried again.
And again.
With some more curses, he dropped the phone again and slumped back into bed.
His room was supposed to be a sanctuary, so how could it feel so foreign now? Basketball posters, pictures of Gabriella, and jerseys strewn across the floor greeted him coldly. Pictures of Gabriella. She watched him when he rose, whilst he slept, acted, sang... Pictures of Gabriella everywhere.
He could not miss Prom.
He could not miss Gabriella.
He needed Prom... and Gabriella.
The idea, when it came, was so brilliant and so simple that he marvelled at not having considered it before. When Gabriella had stopped speaking to him in Junior Year and quit the Musical, he had climbed up onto her balcony, bringing the Musical to her.
And now that she had left again, he would bring Prom to her.
In California.
Thank God for Walmart: it opened at 06:00 and sold absolutely everything. He plucked an A-Z map of California off the shelves, a road map of the entire Mid-West with toll roads clearly marked... even sticks to ward off rattlesnakes! No, he would leave that.
At 06:32, he stood at the check-out, watching a yawning Hispanic youth shove his purchases along the conveyor belt. Poor chap had probably woken at around 04:00- too early for smiles and politeness. So had he, to use Steve's new spanners on his truck. They worked well; his father ought to have paid the extra $40.
There was hardly anyone else here, except an old lady in a bottle green overcoat examining a packet of straws.
"We have an exciting half price deal on chewing gum," said the cashier, gesturing at a precarious stack next to him. "Strawberry, spearmint, lime, and cola. Not all at the same time, though."
"No, thanks."
The old lady sidled up to the conveyor belt and grabbed a handful of Cola chewing gum. She smelled like talcum powder.
"Your loss. That'll be $67.98. Cash or card? Card? Over there."
Troy jammed his card into the machine and punched in his PIN.
"So, where you off to?"
"Oh, Stanford," he said, stuffing everything into a brown paper bag, whilst his receipt rolled out of the card machine. He stuffed that inside, too.
"No kidding! You must be chuffed."
"No, I mean- I'm going to Stanford to see my girlfriend... Who got into Stanford."
"No kidding! Why do you want to drive, though? Quicker to take a plane."
"More expensive."
"You ever been to California?"
"No, but I can follow a map."
The kid smiled. "That's what they all say. Next minute you hear they've gone missing, then a week later the cops say they got strangled to death by a Racer Coluber constrictor just off the interstate. The map is still in their hands."
Troy, about to stuff some nutrient bars into his bulging paper bag, stopped.
"Ha," he said, after a minute. "Very funny."
"Ain't that right, Marge?"
The old lady, poking a stack of canned beans next to Aisle 26, turned round with a scowl. "Damn right. You're a damn fool, kid. Pretty face can't hide that. Damn."
Chad wouldn't have taken an insult like that, but Troy only flushed and pretended he hadn't heard.
"Seriously, dude," the cashier said, his smile even wider. "Don't go driving off places you've never been without someone who knows the roads. You want a half price deal on our rattlesnake beaters? No? Alright, have a good day, Sir."
Troy returned to his truck. The dumb kid was just making stuff up for fun because he hated waking up early.
He never messed with snakes, and he could read a map for the love of God. Other cars would be there, anyway, giving him plenty of cover just in case a Racer Coluber constrictor did want him for breakfast. He shuddered, and then got inside.
Soon, he would see Gabriella again and everything would right itself.
When he returned home, his mother was pacing the garden path, clutching her hair.
"Where on earth have you been!"
"I was just- I just went for a drive."
The purchases would have to wait in the truck, otherwise she would ask more questions.
"A drive? Where, at this time?"
"I needed some fresh air."
"Why didn't you go for a walk?"
"I..."
"What happened to telling people where you're going? Oh, never mind. Just get inside, get dressed for school. Honestly," she said, closing the door behind him. "Please don't do that again- I almost had a heart attack. Didn't want to wake your father, or he would have gone up the wall."
He rushed towards his room, but she caught his arm.
"Honey, I know he seemed tough on you yesterday, but... Honest to God, when I saw your empty bed and the truck gone... I thought you were so angry you had driven off to Stanford!"
A lump stuck in Troy's throat.
"Ob-obviously, that would be... drastic."
She kissed his forehead. "Right. We love you, and want you to have fun. Okay? But good Lord, don't just disappear like that again. And don't take your father's words personally. He always has your back, you know that. So should... any girlfriend you choose."
On the verge of arguing, he chewed his lip.
"Get dressed, and I'll make you an omelette."
When Music Room Co-ordinator, Miss Stiles, ran off to the vending machine for a triple espresso like she always did at 09:37, Troy took his chance.
He didn't have a time slot for rehearsal, and she would have lectured him until next year about it. The walls, decorated with treble clefs, bass clefs, staves, jumping quavers, and pictures of prize winners flew past him in a blur. Music Room 7. Where was it again? Ah- there. And thank God the door was open, because you needed a key from Miss Stiles... and for that, you needed a time slot.
More importantly, he had the time right. Usually Yu Kim Lee reserved this slot, trundling through a Beethoven Piano Sonata and glaring at anyone who dared pass by. The problem was, Yu Kim's playing sounded like a sewing machine, so people only passed by when they had no choice. But Troy, ever curious and too polite for honesty, had borne the brunt of Yu Kim's foul moods one time too many.
If not for Albuquerque's Junior Music Competition Winner being stuck in Double Math today, which he only knew because Chad sat next to him, they would have locked horns again. Already, he had annoyed Ms Darbus by showing up late for homeroom, annoyed Chad by not showing sufficient interest in the Danforth Raiders Fantasy Football Team, and annoyed Sharpay by barely listening to her performing instructions.
Nobody else knew Gabriella had cancelled on prom and graduation. And, as he warned Chad earlier by text, it had better stay that way.
Being caught earlier was but a small setback. He had time. If he left for California this evening, he would be far away by the time his parents found out, then he could phone them from a safe spot.
Yes, that sounded like a decent plan.
The occupant of Music Room 7 seemed to fill the entire space. That wasn't an understatement. An entire wall was crammed with cello's, and tubas jostled for space in the far corner. Books sat in haphazard piles on chairs, window-sills, and top of violin cases.
A girl lay sprawled on the floor, surrounded on all sides by manuscripts. She had a pencil wedged in her mouth and her hair was loose, curls falling over her glasses. No wide-brimmed hat today. Every so often, she grabbed the pencil, scribbled something at lightning speed, then took a swig of tea from a tiny cup standing close by. Sometimes she crossed things out, other times, she played an imaginary piano with her left hand...
No one was quite like Kelsi Nielsen.
He ought not disturb her this close to the Musical. Just a fortnight ago, he had told her for a third time that Gabriella would no longer take part in the show. Never had he felt so small. Kelsi's exclamations of sympathy, her assurances that everything would continue, that she could rearrange hours of painstaking work quicker than a poker dealer, only worsened the matter.
And what of the rehearsals? Good grief... His brain was a sieve. The lyrics, once so clear, now came jumbled from his lips; the dance moves that once felt natural now made him stumble. Time after time, Ms Darbus yelled, "Cut!", and time after time everyone sighed, knowing Troy Bolton had screwed up yet again. Having to perform with Sharpay was no excuse; everyone knew success onstage depended on versatility, not personal preferences. Just because Kelsi reassured him in public didn't mean she wasn't exasperated in private.
Still, a tiny part of him clung to the high regard she often saved just for him. Maybe now, when he suffered beyond his wildest expectations, she could help in that sweet, silent manner that had guided him through Junior Year and a turbulent summer.
"Hey." His voice sounded distant.
"Troy!" Her eyes were bright. "How are you? Great, I suppose? Yes? Great! You want tea?"
"Er yeah, sure."
He stepped inside, hands in pockets. Too close and he might disturb the manuscripts floating about. They had different names, highlighted sections- some, in fact, were organisational charts, filled with instructions that only their Maker could understand. The Steinway grand behind her was also covered in sheets, glittery pink pencils, and a tea set.
"I wish they'd let us bring drinks in here: it's so tiresome having to hide the tea tray under my music books!"
The rehearsal room smelt like raspberry and echinacea, one of the reasons that Yu Kim Lee insisted on practicing before Kelsi Nielsen. Troy himself had drunk the concoction too many times to count, and adding honey only made it taste worse. Once, he had suggested drinking Diet Coke instead, but she just raised her eyebrows.
"So," she said, after handing him a steaming cup. "How can I help? Scales? Arpeggio's? You want a different key? Another song?"
What, after he had messed up all the others?
"You find me in No Man's land today," she said, without waiting for an answer. "Got so much to do: orchestrations, fixing charts- I still have to write lyrics! Can you believe that?"
She was pacing around a legion of clarinets that stood on the floor. "I swear Darbus thinks I'm a word pump. Oh, by the way, I made some adjustments to your solo part. Nothing major- pun not intended."
He smiled.
"I think you could reach a D5..." She cocked her head to one side, her eyes wide and penetrating.
"I guess."
"Or we could go back to the original, if that's easier for you..."
"You mean if I'm less likely to blow it."
She frowned. "No, that is not what I meant."
An embarrassed silence followed.
"Sorry."
"You really miss her, don't you?" Her voice was soft, non-judgemental. "We all do. I mean, she pretty much caused this Musical to happen. But don't worry."
She walked forward and took his hand. "Prom's tomorrow, I bet you can't wait. Anyway, are you sure about the- What?"
"Er, nothing." Damn it, he was a coward.
"Sure? Yes? Okay. I was just going to ask whether you wanted to change your vocals a little. I know I should have asked beforehand, but your roles are always so interesting, I do like giving you more to work with."
"It's fine. I trust you."
She looked another way. Almost two years of friendship and the girl still turned tomato red at the slightest compliment.
Still, she deserved encouragement, given the gruelling challenge of managing one Sharpay Evans on a daily basis. Her efforts would pay off.
"Well, now that you're here," Kelsi said, recovering her wits, "we might as well try things out. Don't want disaster on show night."
She rushed to the piano before he could agree- just as she had done the first time they met. Was it that long ago, now? He liked that quality in her: excitement. No low mood could conquer her infectious smile.
"I hope you get a break sometime," he said, as he joined her. "Playmakers need plenty of rest."
About to play a chord, she turned to him with a radiant smile.
Distracted by this, he missed the chord altogether when it came.
"You start bar 2."
"Sorry."
"Don't worry," she said, and began again. "I know it's short notice."
God, she put up with all his pathetic lapses like a Saint! He did not deserve her.
His opening notes wavered, but Kelsi guided him through with expressive gestures and reassuring nods throughout. By the end of the fifth run-through, his shattered confidence revived somewhat. The adjustments added resonance and depth, and as he watched her reshuffle her manuscripts, he didn't realise that he was smiling.
Funny, that; he was actually smiling.
"And you see here," Kelsi said, gesturing with her pencil. "I need accelerando, because the violins play thirty-second notes. See? Katherine isn't happy about it, but God knows she keeps boasting about her intonation, so she can prove it."
He chuckled.
True, he might never understand how she gained her ideas, nor what poetic words and music must fly about her head all day, but the results never failed to astonish and delight. What she did, without complexity, or boasting, drew him instantly. When she played, her talent shone through effortlessly, and despite her shyness, she knew this. He could tell just from her smile, her posture... The time she met his eyes for the first time without trepidation. She knew she was good.
And he would always smile back to let her know.
"Are you looking forward to Prom?"
Why did he ask? Yet the word didn't seem so painful in front of Kelsi.
"Prom? Oh, I'm too busy." She gestured behind her. "You must be bouncing off the walls, though. When does Gabriella get in?"
His heart skipped a beat.
"She... Hold on- you're not going to Prom?"
She smiled without conviction. "As I said, very busy."
As he struggled for a response, she scribbled notes down everywhere she could find. On one sheet, she wrote the exact same thing as before.
"But, Kelsi... it's Prom."
"Dancing for two hours, then food. Will be the same as graduation, except no one makes a big deal over that."
Again, he could not reply- but this time, he knew why. Nothing major, as she might say, except this time he didn't smile. Just little hints that he should have seen right from last August, but chose to pass off as tiredness or stress.
Kelsi walking into class late months ago, mumbling an apology and then staring at her copy of Hamlet all morning instead of listening to Darbus. Unheard of. The times when he suspected her smiles were fake, but said nothing. The fact that she spent less time with Martha Cox than beforehand. The fact that she flinched every time Jason walked near her and struggled to compose herself whenever they spoke- in fact, it seemed she barely had a lid on some powerful emotion...
Anger?
Nobody else questioned why Kelsi and Jason no longer sat together in the cafeteria. He barely even gave it a second thought.
Until now.
"I'm sure someone out there wants very much to take you," he said, a hand on her arm.
She had been about to scribble something else. Instead, she stiffened.
Why? Didn't she trust him?
"It doesn't matter." Her voice was very low. "I'm not interested."
He let go, and she relaxed. It was hard to imagine that she had taken his hand, as she often did, just half an hour ago. They were friends- who met accidentally, knew very little about each other, spent no quality time together, only spoke during rehearsals and in home-room. Even then, only the seating plan had brought that about.
Yet, in the midst of his own silent flailing and despair, she was the only person who could lift his spirits. She could chat for hours without raising her voice, could make fun of people with a charming smile. She seemed to accept everything around her without complaint, but could persuade him to change his mind within minutes. She held his hand one minute, retreated into herself the next.
"Gabriella isn't coming to prom. Or graduation." The words flowed off his tongue. "She says she needs to stay right where she is."
Kelsi's stared, her mouth hanging open. News of an impending hurricane would have been irrelevant.
"But..."
He shrugged, though he felt like lead.
"How...?"
"I know what I'm going to do, though."
"What- What could you possibly do? Oh, Troy, I am so sorry, I thought-"
"No, look: if I just drive to Stanford, we can have Prom together. I've already brought a map and everything."
Why did this plan sound less exciting than it had yesterday? But Kelsi would support him, just as she supported everything he did.
"What do you think?"
She blinked. "Drive... all the way to Stanford?"
"Yeah. Should have done it beforehand, could afford to miss the last couple of days anyway. I mean, even Yu Kim isn't here."
"Troy, I..." She held his hand. "Please think about what you're saying."
"I have."
Why was she speechless, rather than excited? Him reuniting with Gabriella always made her happy, didn't it?
"It's a... bold decision."
"What's the matter with it?"
She gazed up at him with a helpless expression. "It'll take you at least a day."
"Got plenty of fuel."
Her hand tightened around his. "You'll be driving through the desert."
"Afraid I'll get suffocated by a Racer Coluber constrictor?"
She didn't laugh.
"Look, I know why you're worried."
She nodded slowly. "You see?"
"Of course. And it's unnecessary, because I'll be back in time for the Musical. You can count on it."
Silence.
Kelsi detached her hand from his and rearranged her manuscripts again. "Do you want to run through it again?"
"Sure, yeah... I guess? But you get what I said, right?"
"Or we could do another song, switch things up?"
He stared at her for a moment. "Alright... How about Leaving My Home?"
She riffled through her sheets until she found it. On the verge of playing, she turned to him again.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yeah, sure. C Major is easy."
He didn't see Kelsi shake her head, nor did he hear her sigh.