Wow. It's been nearly a year since I've written anything. I don't know how good or how bad this is, I think I just wanted to get something finished, published. Dedicated to anyone who is still around after my hiatus… Your support has always been a major help. xoxo Desireé
…
Like a wall of stars,
we are ripe to fall.
- M83
The carnival grounds look bruised in twilight, which is gray, if light can be a color. Fog drifts through the property; the swings sway back and forth, their chains creaking. Trash is peppered across the lawn next to the food court, and a little child has left its teddy bear prize in the weeds of the grass. Spring is like limbo: the awkward middle ground between sinister winter weather and carefree summertime. Someone has stretched clouds all across the sky and rain falls lightly every few minutes.
The carousel is spine-chilling when still and silent. The horses are all frozen in different places, some higher and some lower; they are pained different shades of the rainbow, but many of their coats are chipping. Bejeweled eyes are missing gemstones and the leather seatbelts are old, worn out. Twin No. One takes a look at them and laughs dismissively, her haughty town forced. Twin No. Two says he doesn't know, and that, maybe, the carousel isn't half bad. He says it could use some tender loving care, and she rolls her eyes and calls him a sap. This does not faze him and he leaves her in the colorfully mesmerizing traffic circle, the horses' eyes, big and wide, staring back at her.
She wants to give him a parting gift, in the form of a big, fat Fuck You, but she has lost her voice. Without the spotlight, she cannot fix her stage fright.
A voice reaches through the fairgrounds, ghostly and vapid. "Miss Evans! It's nearly midnight! Shouldn't you be on your way home by now?"
In her stilettos, which had been a birthday present to herself, she stumbles and nearly doubles over, grabbing the flimsy seatbelt of a turquoise-colored horse with kitschy buttons for eyes. "Jesus, don't do that," she pants, slowly turning around to expect her brother again or another drama pundit from school. Instead, her smoky eyes narrow at the sight of a high school nemesis who Sharpay does not actually recall hating. Chad Danforth has been rather attractive at times, but he is a nemesis, nonetheless.
"Oh." She deadpans this word, her lips pursing together, and he knows this is just a façade with which she is quite familiar. "It's you."
He bows dramatically, feet together and hair falling forward over his eyes momentarily. "Who else?"
"Why now?" She puts her hands on her hips. "Why me? I'm eighteen, celebrating a huge fucking landmark in my life with all my fucking friends, and you fucking choose now to come piss me off?" Her mother would blush at her language.
The merry-go-round is not an obstacle; she can't stand the way he can find her so easily in a crowd of inanimate carnival amusement. "Love, you haven't seen me for more than thirty seconds," he speaks in a filthy accent, and grins in her face. "I could not have, under any circumstances, pissed you off in such a short amount of time."
"Well, fuck you, because it's quite possible," she says brusquely, and turns away to begin walking in the other direction. He follows her, practically giggling at the fact that they are bound to end up in the same spot in a matter of time. Circles have always worked that way.
"Did you have a happy birthday?" he asked offhandedly, but he is squirming on the inside, begging her to open her gifts. His is somewhere in the mix, but because he never officially received an invitation to the soiree, the tag is anonymous. She would never open it otherwise.
"Oh, splendid." She clasps two hands together and smiles with her eyes closed, kicking off the painful shoes that she shouldn't have bought. Charging expensive commodities to her father's credit card is her everlasting remedy for depression. Sharpay doesn't bother looking at her watch. "You're really late, you know, for the birthday thing. It's half past eleven."
He shrugs and stares out toward the roller coaster, knowing it is as lame as it looks. "I live on rock star time."
"And yet you're not a rock star."
"By your principles, I guess I'm not," he says, leaning against the painted trunk of the carousel, which, he assumes, lights up when operated. He wants to try it. "Happy birthday, Sharpay."
"Go to hell, Chad."
He smiles and wonders if she knows he would do anything for her.
…
Funhouse mirrors are a blessing and a curse. They show every angle of you; they expose every flaw, blemish, and imperfection, no matter how hard you try to keep your eyes closed. They also show every perspective; your profile, your behind, each side of you. One's reflection has always been the hardest concept to face in life.
"Damn it," Troy Bolton growls, slamming into a mirror for the final time, until Ryan Evans comes to find him, laughing his ass off. "Shut up, it's not funny."
As a consolation prize, the drama king takes the basketball star by the waist and kisses him. "You're really late," Ryan murmurs when he briefly tilts his head back, "in case you weren't aware of it."
"Fuck you, I know how to tell time." Troy chuckles and finally pulls away. "I had to stop for gas, my truck is such a piece of…" He stops when he looks at Ryan, and wonders if it actually isn't him, but an illusion in one of the many mirrors. "You know this is just a birthday present. This doesn't mean anything. I have Gabriella."
"I know you do." Ryan's mouth moves to the words too knowingly. He blows a bubble with his gum and it snaps between his teeth.
"I'm just doing this because you want me to," Troy declares.
"Right."
The liaison is consumed by the shadows and the funhouse mirrors do not know of their infidelity; the bumper cars will not gossip about this adulterous birthday present, which is better described as a fling; the night won't stop just for this smuggled embrace. The world continues to operate, between the birthday boy and the unfaithful boyfriend, while their affair is revealed for only a moment, a dark, brief, scandalous moment.
…
The swings creak and groan, untouched for months and begging for some visitors. Gabriella Montez collapses in one and rolls her shoulders tiredly, taking in the drizzle that is normal springtime weather. Next to her, her boyfriend Troy Bolton snickers at her and she sits up, asking what is so funny.
"You're just cute," he tells her. This isn't a lie; he is very much in love with her. But she's always been more leisurely about their relationship; what Gabriella holds back, Ryan provides. You don't deserve her, you cheating bastard.
"Liar," she accuses before she stuffs her face in her hands. "Was the Evans' birthday party fun?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry you couldn't come… I had to go stag."
"Boohoo, I'm sure you were so heartbroken I had to baby-sit," she says, and peeks over at him through the cracks in her fingers. "Did you miss me?"
He turns his swing toward her and smiles, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees. "Why, yes, Ms. Montez, I missed you a whole hell of a lot. But I'm glad you're here now."
The carnival grounds are deserted; only in summertime are the rides running, when high school kids need a seasonal job and people are keen get out of a humid house. It seems in the damp weather, everyone keeps to themselves. "We'll be free in a few months," Gabriella whispers as she goes in to kiss Troy. "I vote we take a road trip up into California. We can rent a motel room, take a bath together, watch all the free cable we want…"
He mumbles, "I like the sound of that," and holds her face in his hands to kiss every part of her: her forehead, her, nose, her cheeks. She asks why the sudden affection and he shoots back the she doesn't need to question everything he does.
"Oh, God, if I knew you were going to be like this I wouldn't have come," she retaliates, and struggles with the chain that is a lame excuse for a seatbelt before standing up and marching away. Troy groans and slides down his swing, feeling the knots in his back. He licks his lips, tasting the spearmint gum against his teeth that Ryan so conspicuously gave him. He never chews gum, but Gabriella has not said anything about this. He hiccups and a tiny, little voice in his head screams, You are beyond redemption! You can't even two-time properly!
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he wants to shout, but he says nothing and the fairgrounds are quiet for one more minute.
…
Sharpay hooks her feet in the saddle stirrups of a turquoise-colored horse, while Chad makes a suggestive comment about this. She makes a face and wants to throttle him. "Honestly, Danforth, don't you have anything better to do than mind fuck me on my birthday?"
"Oh, seriously, get over yourself, darling," he says, fanning his face as he mimics her. Chad pretends to cock his head as if he is flipping his hair over his shoulder. "I am not 'mind fucking' you, Evans. I just happen to come here on any given night of the week when there is nothing good on TV. And you just happened to be here. What a coincidence."
She does not respond, and instead presses her forehead to the pole that hoists the horse up before letting it dip down again. "There must be a billion germs on that, Cupcake," he tells her.
"Oh, good, I'm planning on giving myself the Plague," she answers, making a mental note to exterminate that nickname before it gets out of hand.
Somewhere a clock is ticking and is about to strike midnight. The cold winds of Albuquerque do these East High seniors no favors, and the April rain continues to pour as if Mother Nature is crying at all these lost causes.
…
The carnival grounds are actually quite haunting if one walks alone. Gabriella is freezing by the time she reaches the spinning teacups, an inferior knockoff of the much cleaner Disneyland version. She is wearing Troy's flimsy hoodie that he has had since the eighth grade. It no longer fits him, but she likes the feel of its fabric against her skin. It was a stocking stuffer from him that past Christmas.
"Jesus, Taylor, pick up, I don't have a ride and I really want to get out of here," she says sharply into her cell phone. "God, where are you? Call me. I'm at the fairgrounds, near downtown."
"You lost?" someone asks and she turns to see Ryan Evans. "Hey, Gabriella."
"Oh. Hello, Ryan. Happy birthday."
"Thank you." He waits for a spell, smiling awkwardly as he looks past her, at the teacups. They are all doused with rain, some flooded. "Come on." Ryan scales the gate that usually stands as the exit, before climbing into a green and pink cup that had an obscene word scratched into the handle. Gabriella hesitates before following suit; her feet splash in the puddle below them and the water begins to soak through to her socks. She smiles at the heart carved into the plastic seat, with a pair of initials unified by a crooked plus sign.
"I wonder if they're still together," Ryan says as he follows her gaze, sounding sleepy. "To us they are eternal but… They could have broken things off a long time ago."
"Are you trying to tell me something?" she inquires, but it doesn't seem as though she wants a valid answer.
He genuinely has no idea what Troy can see in her, but that's really just the jealousy talking. "No, no, it's only a thought. Etching your pledge to love someone into a cheaply made carnival ride seems so trashy."
"I think it's sweet," she volunteers.
"Oh, honey, you have got to raise your standards," he says, folding his hands over the back of his head. Ryan leans back and looks up at the sky, while Gabriella finds she has nothing to say to him. They had been friends for a brief while, but that was just because there was no one else interesting enough in junior year chemistry. He used to be rather funny.
"What do you think…" She trails off, waiting for him to sit up. Ryan doesn't move, so she supposes he can hear her just fine. "What do you think hell would be like?"
This catches his attention. "Hell? Like the underworld, with Hades, the fire and brimstone, yadda, yadda, yadda?" She nods, and Ryan pauses, mulling over the more awful and lousy parts of his life. Nothing has been terrible, but nothing has been great, either. "Every day is Wednesday, no one says 'bless you' when you sneeze, and no outfits are coordinated."
She laughs, and the noise echoes around them in a somewhat shrieking manner, like a broken sound system. Ryan smiles and asks what her hell would be. Unlike the drama king, Gabriella needs no time to think.
"In my hell, everyone tells one truth and one lie, all the time, so you can never decide what's sincere and what isn't. Numbers don't add up, and the sun never sets. It's always daytime."
The teacups spin round and round in their heads, until they get dizzy from simply thinking about it. Eventually, both fall asleep in the oversized cup, slumped over to one side, exhausted from considering where they will all eventually end up: in perpetual Tuesdays with constant daylight and continual silence, mismatched apparel and disagreeable numbers. In these nightmares, a lie and a truth walk hand in hand, and no one can ever tell them apart.
…
"So, Miss Evans, tell the audience, how does it feel to be eighteen?" Chad has found a long stick to act as his skinny 1970s microphone and now he is a game show host. He extends the pretend microphone forward, the top of it stabbing her in the cheek, and Sharpay smacks it away.
"Unfortunately, it means if I were to kill you at this moment, I would be tried as an adult in court," she hisses. He decides it's time to quit and throws the stick down.
"Come on, now. You should be celebrating. You've grown up, you can take control of your life now, Evans. Why not be happy?"
The rain lets up and she sees the bottoms of her stockings are wet. She can't remember where exactly on the carousel she took off her shoes, either. "Because I can't be. Because this means I really have to go out there, and prove myself to society. Because East High doesn't come in a bigger size, which means I won't be able to face the world like, I face high school. High school is easy."
He jumps up, hangs onto a pole and spins around lightheartedly. "Oh, Debbie Downer, you really know how to throw a party."
"You're a terrible therapist," Sharpay replies, and she stands up to join him, twirling around the pole until she cannot see straight. She tries to imagine what Ryan is doing before she kisses Chad, the nemesis who is indefinitely her favorite type of enemy. She tastes exactly how he expected and he cannot be more pleased.
…
"Troy?" Taylor McKessie looks confusedly at the basketball star that has always bothered her. "What are you doing here?"
He is sitting on an entrance turnstile, which is locked in place and therefore weakly supporting his weight. He swings his legs back and forth, and he looks so little in this moment. "Hi, Taylor."
She repeats herself, somewhat impatiently. "What are you doing here?"
"Gabriella's mad at me. So I'm all by myself now." He looks and sounds so little in this moment.
"Do you need a lift home?" Taylor asks.
He smiles. "No, I'm fine, thanks. I think I'll stay here for a little while longer. Maybe I'll go ride the ferries wheel."
She hesitates. "Troy… The fairgrounds are closed. None of the rides are working right now."
"I know that."
Taylor looks at her watch, beginning to grow restless. She has driven out all this way for Gabriella, at nearly one o'clock in the fucking morning, and now she is stuck talking to the childish boyfriend who is no doubt sleeping with someone else. "Well, I have to get going. Are you sure you don't want a ride? It's getting really dark out here, and cold. The rain is so… fickle."
"Do you want to sit with me? These turnstiles are actually kinda comfortable."
She releases a breath, dropping her arms to her sides. Her keys jangle in her fingers and she chuckles. The world stretches in front of her for one moment, and she finally says, "Actually, yes. I think that would be nice."
And so Taylor McKessie parks herself in another turnstile, listening to Troy lament about his relationship issues, and she understands. He is completely in love with Gabriella but never in a million years wants to stay committed to one thing, one girl, one minute, one relationship. She dislikes the fact that she is playing therapist at such an ungodly hour for such a selfish boy, but she continues to listen anyway. The rain lets up and Mother Nature is slowly getting over her misery.
…
The carousel's operating keys are missing, and Chad has no idea how to rig it in order to allow Sharpay to take a ride. "I came here, all the time, when I was little," she says, leaning backward. Her spine aligns with the horse's tail. "God, it was fun."
"How long has it been since you've visited?"
She prolongs the pause between words, as if she needs a moment to remember, but Sharpay has possessed the answer to this question for too long to be healthy.
"I had just turned thirteen. Actually, it was the day after my party. Ryan and I had separate guest lists and, well, most of his friends showed up. Any of mine did left within the hour with their expensive party favors. That's why I'm so bitter now, I think. My brother knows how to make friends, how to be sociable. I'm afraid that I'll realize I can't do the same, so I just, you know, build a wall around myself to seem… I don't know, untouchable."
Chad smirks at this word and she swats at his arm defensively. "I came here the morning after I turned thirteen, with gifts from my parents. It was a Tiffany's bracelet and a DVD of Titanic. I loved that movie when I was ten! Ten! They reward me three years too late and expect me to just sit complacently with my impersonal presents, while Ryan gets an engraved gold frame of a picture of them with him after the seventh grade musical and my dad's old catcher's glove, signed by some big hotshot baseball player? Hell, no!"
A loud screech of tires resonates from faraway and then a crash. Later, an ambulance siren will follow. Sharpay stops and looks at Chad. "I am worth more than a stupid piece of jewelry and a movie, right? I thought so!" she finishes before he can endorse her value. "So, the day after my thirteenth birthday, I come here…"
The sirens flare up and her hands fly to her ears. She leans down, knees coming up to her chest, and she says over the noise, "I came here and I buried the bracelet, and the DVD. I dug this hole right next to that lane of jacaranda trees near the food court. And I remember kicking the dirt over both of them with the heel of my shoe, like I wanted to add some insult for them to my injury…"
He cannot hear her but he nods anyway, and walks over to her. He wants this damn carousel to work but the machinery is so outdated he doesn't think he can hotwire it. "They were only presents, Sharpay. Only gifts from your folks. And I'm sure they meant well."
"Screw that!" she squeals, and he bites the inside of his cheek. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that… Well, no, I did, but I don't mean to take it out on you. Thank you, Chad, for allowing me to just vent like this, with bare feet and shitty make-up."
The sirens begin again; Chad figures the ambulance is now on its way to the emergency room. People always drove recklessly on the boulevard at night. "Yeah," he says absentmindedly, finally hopping up onto the saddle of the horse next to Sharpay's, clutching the pole. "I remember coming here in the summers when we were in grade school. Troy and I rode the roller coaster ten times in a row every time we came, but then one summer, it seemed kind of… tedious. Like the ups and downs were no longer thrilling. I remember reeling after we decided we were too old to go on it anymore. To me, it meant childhood was leaving…"
Sharpay raises an eyebrow. "Chad Danforth, are you telling me something personal?"
This brings him out his reverie, and he glares at her. "Not anymore."
She laughs and leans across to hug him awkwardly, practically falling off her horse to wrap her arms around him. "I get it, you know," she tells him, sliding off the saddle gracefully. "It's hard to fathom that we'll be high school graduates in a couple months. A part of me misses kindergarten."
For a second, Chad watches her pick up her stilettos and slip them on again. "You were bossy in kindergarten," he responds thoughtfully.
"And that's why I loved it," she says calmly. "I ruled the crayon carton with an iron fist and always got the first box of animal crackers." He comes to stand in front of her and she runs her fingers along his jawbone. "I'm going home."
"Happy birthday, Sharpay," Chad says.
"I'll see you Monday, Chad," Sharpay replies, kissing his cheek. As she leaves the merry-go-round, she wonders if she should find Ryan or walk home. It is then that she sees her brother longingly look after Troy Bolton, whose arm is around the waist of Gabriella Montez as they get into Taylor McKessie's car in the parking lot.
"Nothing ever changes," she reminds him delicately, putting her hand on his shoulder. Ryan flinches and nods.
"Yeah, I know. It's just nice to pretend for a little while," he sighs, turning around to smile at her. "Ready to go?"
"Ready as I'll ever be." They walk quietly to Ryan's car, and Sharpay turns to see the merry-go-round, up and running, spinning by itself in the dark carnival grounds.
Ryan makes a face as he turns the keys in the ignition. "That's so eerie," he says, nodding at the carousel. "I wonder who's out there." Sharpay is silent when they pull onto the road, heading home.
…
In real life, people rarely get the happy endings they expect. If their ending happens to be joyful one, it is not without its bumps and scars, its intricacies and its complexity. When they arrive home, Sharpay says good night to her brother and retires to her bedroom. A few minutes later, Ryan appears in her doorway, carrying a cupcake with one lit candle. "Make a wish," he says, extending it toward her.
"It isn't even our birthday anymore," she points out.
Ryan smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, well, I know you didn't like our party much, so I just want to make up for it." Sharpay blows out the single candle, beaming at her twin. Chad Danforth would have hoped she wished for them to be together, but she has something entirely different in mind. This happy ending is exclusive to only the Evans.
When Taylor pulls up to the Montez house, Gabriella asks Troy if he wants to sleep over. The driver rolls her eyes when Troy nods, and the lovebirds scoot out the backseat, mumbling thanks for the ride. Taylor drives away, fatigued, as the lovers walk up the driveway, whispering and laughing to themselves. Inside, they sneak past Mr. and Mrs. Montez, both asleep on the couch.
In Gabriella's room, Troy kisses her and she kisses him back, and he forgets about his birthday present to Ryan Evans, and she overlooks the distinct smell of cologne lingering on her boyfriend's body, even though she knows he hates aftershave. Their happy ending is clichéd, but is a crowd pleaser, anyway.
Chad Danforth sits on the carousel as it spins, round and round. It is only reasonable that he finally figures out how to get it to work as Sharpay leaves. By himself, he is an atypical happy ending: alive, well, healthy, but alone. Nothing changes, even after you kiss and you converse and you know you'll run to the ends of the earth for this person if you have to. Mother Nature just doesn't work that way.
In June, they will graduate from a fractured class, and nothing will change. However lonely they will or won't become, the carousel keeps spinning, the roller coaster is still juvenile, the turnstiles are still locked in place. As they are released into the real world, diplomas in hand, the carnival begins, born again into summertime.
And if you are a ghost,
I'll call your name again
And if you are a ghost,
I'll call your name again
You, always.