Author's Note: I know, I know. But please, just read it and review. Review. Review! If I get enough, I have another chapter that will balance this one out. Well, kind of.
Enjoy!
I punch Chad's kitchen wall with enough force to dent the drywall.
It feels good so I punch again. And again. And again.
The curly-haired teen curses and when I continue, runs around the island to stop me. "Troy! Stop!" He tries to pin my arms to my side, but I won't budge. "Man! Seriously! Stop!"
Taylor finally walks over to help. When my fist leaves a bloody print, all she does is lay that soft, so comforting hand on my shoulder and I collapse in upon myself.
I fall apart.
I shatter into a million pieces over and over again.
And then she utters a sentence that reduces me to tears.
"Troy…" Taylor's voice is so soft and caring when she wants it to be. "…Troy, she wouldn't have wanted this."
I slide down the wall, Chad's arms still wrapped tightly around me and I think he's afraid that if he lets go — if he ever lets go — that I will leave him too.
"She wouldn't have wanted this." Taylor shakes her head, tears falling to the hardwood and she bends forward onto her hands and knees, heaving sob after broken sob into the kitchen floor.
"…it's not fair…" I look up and see Sharpay resting against the opposite wall, knees pulled up to her chest. Her eyes, the eyes that always hold emotion, are dead. She shakes her head slowly, as if trying to deny a bad dream. "…it's not fair…"
But this isn't a dream. It's our reality.
"It's my fault," I mumble. "It's all my fault."
The kitchen is suddenly silent and I watch Sharpay stand from where she's been sitting, face still emotionless. Taylor straightens as well as the blond walks over and sits down right next to her.
The two of them slap me at the same time.
One on each side.
"Don't you dare think that," Sharpay growls softly, almost like she's alive again. She sits next to me, resting the back of her head against the wall. "Ever."
Taylor reaches forward and grabs my face. "Troy Bolton, you loved Gabriella Montez."
And for some reason, that makes me cry harder. Maybe it was the past tense on the end of love. Maybe because it's the truth. I had loved her, but I can't anymore. I shake my head and let it drop because I'm done fighting back the emotion. It's too tiring and I'm done.
Because there's nothing left to fight for.
East High has lost.
A student.
A senior.
A Valedictorian.
We have lost.
A rival.
A best friend.
A lover.
And Sharpay is right.
Because it's not fair.
But Taylor is wrong.
Because it's my fault.
It's all my fault.
----------
Two days ago
Beating West High and winning the conference trophy was amazing.
The emotions I got when I was finally able to say that I was the best. It can be pretty euphoric and scary at the same time. It can also make you do some stupid things. Feeling or doing one or the other isn't much by itself, but when you combine the two, now that's something special.
But for some reason I wasn't felling special.
I had a headache and I couldn't walk straight. The red cup in my hand was spilling beer everywhere. Now, don't judge me. It's the first time I've had anything more than a vodka shot or rum and coke. But it was a party and I was celebrating.
I wander down a hallway to get away from the mainstream noise. It's just murdering my head and I figure I should get out before the cops are called. There's nothing like getting caught drinking underage to slap on your permanent record. Hey college executives, my grades are awesome and I know how to party, what you say about letting me in?
I walk back into the main room, the floor shakes uneasy underneath me. Well, I stagger in, really. But with that I realize that I can't drive. I was somewhat trashed, but I'm smart. I wouldn't put others in danger at the cost of my stupid choices. I grab for the piano in the living room, sliding my hands down to the bench where I sit.
I want to leave. Really, I do. Gabriella isn't fond of drinking, not saying that she's never done it. But she's smart. A lot smarter than I'm being right now and I know she'd be a little disappointed. I couldn't stand the look on her face she'd give me.
Then a hand touches my shoulder, giving it a little, gentle squeeze.
It's Jessica Cox.
She asks if I need a ride home. I laugh at her. Was I really that transparent? Could people really see how miserable I was? How completely smashed I was?
She hooks her arm in mine and helps me up. We walk out through the front door, through the crowd of people passed out on the porch or the ones smoking in the yard. The grass is damp and my feet, which I can't feel, are numb and heavy, sliding and shuffling across the yard until we reach the sidewalk, which is just as, if not more, treacherous than the front lawn. It's raining, not heavy, but it's a steady mist. The stuff that's annoying. The type of rain that should either get harder or stop, the in between crap doesn't work for me.
I slip once, almost taking Jessica down with me, but she's a lot stronger than she looks. Cheerleaders always are.
Jessica doesn't say anything. She knows Gabriella — who doesn't?—knows Gabriella's views on drinking, and my behavior at the moment isn't explainable.
So, in silence, Jessica leads me to her car. My thoughts are all about Gabriella but I feel Jessica's touch. She holds my arm with such tenderness as she lowers me into the passenger seat. She buckles the seat belt, gets into her seat, and we leave. Just like that.
But what happens next, I remember all too well. I wasn't paying attention, anything moving outside the car was too fast and it made my head hurt. I focused on the windshield wipers, yes, they were outside of the car, but they were a part of the car. They moved with the car, not against it. They pulled across the windshield on slow speed; the drone was relaxing and made the pounding in my head lessen.
It wasn't raining heavily, but it was enough to blur the windshield.
And then — we hit.
The front wheel on my side jumps the curb. A wooden post crashes into the front bumper and snaps like a toothpick. A Stop sign falls backwards onto Jessica's hood and she screams and slams on the brakes. Through the side mirror, I see sparks fly as we screech to a stop. If it hadn't been raining, I think the car would have caught fire.
We sit in silence for a long moment, staring out the blurred windshield. She doesn't turn to me and I don't turn to her. No glances pass between us. My hands stay gripped to my seatbelt, thankful for a) Jessica putting it on and b) that we only hit a sign.
She opens her door finally and I watch as she walks to the front of the car. She crouches into the headlights and looks under for a closer look. She stands up and runs her hand along the dent, and then she pushes the Stop sign off of the hood, letting it crash to the sidewalk. Her head drops forward and I can't tell if she's pissed, laughing, or crying.
The dent wasn't that bad. Okay, it was but I wasn't going to tell her that. She had to feel thankful though. I mean, we could have hit someone.
She lifts her head up and I can't read her emotion. It's blank, which is weird because don't all cheerleaders show at least some kind of emotion all the time? Jessica looks at the damage the stop sigh has done to her hood and shakes her head. She finally catches my eyes, and emotion flashes for the briefest of seconds. She gives me the weirdest look, like 'what are you doing in my car?' and then she remembers, the frown on her face turning upside down.
She forces a shrug and gets back into the car. "My dad is going to kill me." She puts the keys into the ignition and turns on the car.
"Stop." My hands on her arm but I don't remember moving it.
"Troy, I'm fine. I haven't had anything to drink." She closes her eyes and sighs, like she's trying to explain the situation to a little kid.
"I didn't accuse you of drinking, Jessica." I retort.
"It was the rain." She explains.
"It's misting." I say. "Park it."
"Be realistic," she says, an edge hidden in her voice. But I hear it. "You live right around the corner, if worst comes to worst; I can sleep in your basement or something until the morning. Hell, I'll sleep in my car."
"Park the car." I repeat.
"Troy," she puts a hand on my arm, it's not comforting anymore. "Don't worry about it. Nobody pays attention to Stop signs around here anyway. No cop no stop, remember?"
"Park the car," I repeat. "I'll call Chad or Gabriella and get them to take us home. You can get your car in the morning."
Her eyes start to harden, but she tries one more time. "Listen Troy—."
"Park it."
She sighs frustratingly and clenches her jaw. "Get out."
"Seriously, Jessica?" I start. "You're lucky it was a Stop sign. I don't even know why you swerved. Am I really supposed to let you drive all the way home when—"
"Get out!"
I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.
"Troy. Get! Out!"
And I do. I open the door, the fuzziness in my head clearing a bit. I listen to the rain pounding down on the car hood and hitting the leaves on the tree branches. Looking down, I find Jessica's eyes, and then her phone.
"Can I use that?" I point to the small device and then search around in my back jeans pockets. "I don't know where mine is."
"Why?"
"We have to tell someone about the sign," I say, rather surprised.
"Get away from the car, Troy."
I look at her, astonished, and she revs the engine. I get the picture and back up. She slams her foot down on the gas and the car shoots forward, the door slamming shut in the process. I watch her peel away from me, getting farther and farther away until she finally vanishes.
I gaze down to the Stop sign on the sidewalk. I figure I should try to put in back on, however lame that sounds. Reaching down, I grab the metal sign and haul it up, or attempt to. I drop it and the circular edge almost cuts off my foot. I finally manage to get it propped up on what is left of the wooden post. I stand back, admiring my handiwork and then glance around.
I'm still a little tipsy so going home is out of the question.
I'm not explaining that to my father.
So I walk, turning corner after corner, having no idea where I'm going. A little while later I get the most disgusting taste in my mouth. I'm close to the Exxon. I can get a soda and there's probably a pay phone. I can call the cops and tell them about the wrecked Stop sign.
But as I hold the receiver in my hand, my coke bottle resting on the damp ground, I find my heartbeat getting faster and faster. Someone answers and I dive in headfirst.
"Hey, um, I just wanted to tell you that on the intersection between Lee Acres and Los—."
She cuts me off. "Calm down sir. Local ambulances have already been called and are on their way."
I think it was the word ambulances that did it because I drop the receiver and was already sprinting back. I'm no longer tipsy. I can remember every turn I made and the shortcuts in between that can get me to my destination faster. With adrenalin coursing through my veins I turn the last corner and am met with devastation.
Two cars are awkwardly positioned in the intersection. Glass was everywhere and a group of people have already gathered. Already? That was a stupid assumption. Just because I showed up doesn't mean the accident has just happened.
But then again, I can't understand it! I glance frantically to the Stop sign. It was resting on the ground, colorful red side down. It must have fallen over. My eyes flash back to the accident and that's when I catch it.
There are two cars, but only one matters.
If I thought it would've helped, I would have thrown up.
But it wouldn't have because the driver's side to Gabriella's black Honda Civic is bent inwards dangerously far.
Too far.
I sprint, pushing people out of my way until I get to the car. "Get out of my way!" I roared, pulling the last man away. I peer into the cracked glass. Her side airbags have gone off.
I tap the glass frantically. "Gabriella! Baby, can you hear me?"
Something moves and then the car door opens. I'm surprised that the metal joint even works considering the damage it took.
And then Gabriella slides into my arms.
I yell in surprise and sink down to the wet pavement, clutching her body close to me. It's now, when she's right here, right in my arms, that I realize how serious the situation is. Her hair is pulled up into a pony tail and she's wearing the same clothes she had on this morning.
Her left side is cut open and bleeding freely. Deep and painful. The impact must have caused it but I can't think straight. There's so much blood. Too much.
She's bleeding to death.
"Gabriella, please. Please." I stroke her cheek as she blinks rapidly. Finally, her eyes lock on mine. Confusion clouds her cut up face. I can almost read her mind. Troy? Why are you here? If only to secure my guess, her mouth moves to form words, but nothing comes out. She can't talk.
"Shh, shh, it's okay," I choke out, still stroking her cheek. I move one of my hands to her side, holding it over the wound. She closes her eyes and swallows painfully, but doesn't make a sound.
"Where's that damn ambulance!" I roar, tears in my voice.
No one answers me. They're all just staring. Not believing that something like this could happen in their perfect little world.
I turn back down to Gabriella when she grabs a hold of my shirt. I look into her eyes and see everything. Singing at New Year's for the first time. The winter musical. Summer before senior year. The thought that I might actually lose her because I was being a jerk. Then senior year. The musical that we were all supposed to do in the spring. Graduation. College.
The musical she'll never get to do.
The graduation she'll never get to speak at.
The college she'll never get to go to.
The world she'll never get to make an impact in.
She pulls on my shirt and I lean down, close to her mouth.
"…it..it's…oka…okay…" she whispers, and I can tell that she's done.
But I'm not made at her.
She says the words again, only this time, blood slips from her mouth. She swallows, sighs, almost an annoyed sigh. I laugh, a choked, sobbing laugh.
"…I…lov…love…you…Troy…Bolton." Her eyes lock on mine and I don't know what to say.
I lean down and kiss her. She kisses me back and I can taste tears, hers or mine I can't tell. Finally after what seems like forever, I pull back and touch my forehead to hers. "I love you too, Gabriella Montez. With all my heart. Now and for forever."
She smiles and blinks away the tears. I stay with her, holding her.
And she lies there and smiles at me the entire time.
And I smile back because I know it'll make her miserable if she doesn't see me smile at least one last time.
Her eyes close two minutes before the ambulances arrive.
And I pull her close to me, bury my face in her neck and cry.
----------
Five blocks from the party there is a Stop sign.
But on that night, for part of that night, the most important part, there wasn't.
And someone was trying to deliver his Chinese before the twenty minute guarantee ran out and the customer didn't have to pay.
And someone else, someone headed in the opposite direction, someone headed to a certain boyfriend's house, was turning.
But there was no Stop sign on that corner.
Not on that night.
At that time.
When it mattered most.