Title: Mixtape
Rating:K+ for minor cursing.
Summary:He opened the old dust covered shoebox to find childhood pictures of them, notes passed during class, and that mixtape she had given him.
Pairing:TroySharpay, with a bit of ChadSharpay for ya', Krista ;)
Length: Longest oneshot/songfic I have ever written.
Disclaimer: Don't own HSM, the characters, Butch Walker or his song 'Mixtape', Starbucks, and Barbie.
A.N. I didn't think this one was real good, but please review and tell me what I can do.
You say hello, and inside I'm screaming I love you
You say goodnight, in my mind
I'm sleeping next to you
You drive away from my car crash of a heart
And I don't know
Troy Bolton woke up and walked into his front yard to check his mail.
"Junk, junk, bills, bills, wedding invitation, bills, junk, junk, WEDDING INVITATION?!"
He quickly stepped inside his house and threw all the other stuff on the kitchen island, ripping open the seal of the letter. In fancy writing, the letter read:
You are cordially invited to the wedding of:
Sharpay Evans
and
Chad Danforth
on the day of the
Fifteenth
of the month of
August,
12:00 pm.
His breath caught up in his throat. The woman he loved was getting married to his high school best friend. How could this happen? And on the exact same day as... It was crystal clear now. It was what they had both wanted when they were in high school. His heartbroke into a million pieces.
Flashback
Sharpay and Troy snuggled under a tree in the park, and she smiled as he kissed her head softly. After a while of silence and nothing but the sweet sound of embraces and smooching noises, Sharpay asked him a question.
"If we get married, I want it to be on the fifteenth of August."
"Why?"
"You asked me out that exact day."
His hands ran through his silky hair while he sat on the bed, letting out a sigh.
"Shit!" he cried as his foot hit something hard, under the bed.
As he pulled it out, he realized it was an old shoebox. He opened the old dust covered shoebox to find childhood pictures of them, notes passed during class, and that mixtape she had given him.
It was covered in old pink Barbie stickers and on it in black magic marker in curly handwriting wrote: Sharpay's Mix for Troy
But you gave me the best mixtape I have
And even all the bad songs ain't so bad
I just wish there was so much more than that
About me and you
He remembered it all so clearly.
Flashback
Troy was just eleven years old and in fifth grade the day she had given it to him. He sat on one side of the titer totters, and up walked Sharpay, handing him the mixtape, smiling, and then she was gone.
Troy was at a local Starbucks, just chilling out after the morning's events. His eyes wandered the people filled caf'e, spotting a familiar brown afro and beautiful blonde hair.
She giggled as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. It was unbearable. Troy quickly gathered his belongings and walked out the god damned coffee shop.
He walked along the sidewalk, finding himself in the exact same park. He glanced over at the spot she once handed him the mixtape. That damned mixtape, it contained their song.
You talk to him, and it burns me like the sun
You talk to her, and you say that you feel like he's the one
I talk to me, but you can't hear the pain I feel
You don't know
Twenty-five year old Troy sat in the pews of the white church, watching the beautiful blonde bride stride down the aisle, to her awaiting husband-to-be. He couldn't help but look away quickly as she said 'I do.' And at that moment, all the memories flashed into his mind. The park, the middle school dance, prom, and graduation.
Cause you gave me the best mixtape I have
And even all the sad songs ain't so sad
I only wish that there was more than that
About me and you
Oh, don't turn around and say bye again
Yeah, it crushes my head when you call me
Your friend and I'm not the same person
From back in the day in the back of the class
That you thought was gay
No, I can't find the words cause I lost them
The minute they fell out of my mouth
And it's love and I'm in it, so give me your lips
And just let me kiss 'em
And let's get messed up probably...
The best mixtape I have
And even all the bad songs ain't so bad
I just wish there was so much more than that
About me and you
About me and you
About me and you
About me and you
About me and you
About me and you
And now Troy Bolton sat in his bedroom, staring at the pictures he had pinned on the wall, illustrating the past, that one mixtape playing.