Gabriella Kae Montez: Part one of my so-called-life
There they are again, those icy blue eyes that always seem to be staring me down these days. I threw the familiar shaggy-haired boy a half-hearted wave. He said nothing, he did nothing, and as a matter of fact it appeared as if he was looking right through me, like I was just some apparition hovering in front of him. This was ridiculous, that's the only word I could use to describe it. Oh wait, I could also say; disastrous, horrible, heart-wrenching, disgusting torture…the list goes on and on and on, really. Troy Bolton turned his back to me, as if I was never there to begin with. I could have screamed, or called him an ass-hole, or flipped him off, or any other form of insult, but I couldn't bring myself to hate him. Really, it was no fault but mine, so everyone was right to blame me. You're probably very confused right now. I'm sorry, let's start from the beginning…
East High in Albuquerque, New Mexico was just another random school in just another random town for me. I don't mean to over-exaggerate, I'm not exactly an army brat or anything, but I've definitely had my share of awkward moves. I had learned how to play my strengths and my weaknesses by now. I knew who exactly to look for, what clubs to join, who to avoid eye-contact with, what teachers needed a good wooing…I had it all packed tightly into the fibers of my experienced brain. I squared my dainty shoulders, and brushed the tiny pieces of invisible lint from my teal blue Stella McCartney dress, the sleeves of my black over-coat pulling up slightly. I looked exactly like I imagined I should. My black flats accented the dress in just the right fashion, so I didn't look too…suggestive, or over-dressed. Swinging my book bag to my right shoulder, I exited the office from which I'd came, schedule in hand. Glancing at the piece of paper, I read 'school guide: Troy Bolton' aloud.
"That would be me," a boy stated behind me, so abruptly that I actually, physically jumped. Flushing ever-so-slightly, I turned to face the boy, preparing to extend my hand. But I couldn't shake his hand, hell, I could hardly breathe. He had these eyes…these blue eyes that, I swear to god, could have cured cancer or something. Finally, my lungs were screaming for air, and I heaved in, my throat closing up, so it was a rather loud, chunky breath. Thousands of eyes stared at me, pausing their conversations or current actions just to shoot me a shifty look. I must have turned positively crimson, but instead of scared, Troy seemed perplexed, entertained, and almost the slightest bit…interested.
"Um…I…err…" I muttered, trying to form a coherent sentence.
He smirked, apparently this type of bafflement wasn't new to him, but how could it be? He was beautiful!
"Troy Bolton at your service, madam." He said, bowing for affect. Troy seemed calm and unsurprised by all the eyes still watching our small screen play.
I swallowed with a little too much effort and muttered, "Montez, Gabriella."
"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Montez." He said, standing to his full height. He must have been six freaking feet tall! I stood at a proud five feet and four inches. Good first impression, Montez! Now the whole school is going to think you're a complete freak.
He began to stride, too elegantly, too inhumanly forward. I followed at his heels as he pointed out each classroom, each teacher, each student, each club, and each poster. It was insanity! He seemed to know everything that anyone would ever need to know about East High. If you're ever solving an East High-related mystery, hit up Troy Bolton. I noticed on one of the rounds that there were several posters of Troy in a basketball jersey, surrounded by other attractive boys, in matching jerseys. He stood at the center, the largest, and the most prominent. It was interesting because he seemed younger than all of the boys in the background, and yet he also seemed to have the most responsibility, he held the highest rank.
After circling the school two or three times, we stopped at exactly the spot where we had started our tour. I was more myself, less nervous without all of the staring eyes. I was about to thank him when a pretty blonde girl with striking features, wearing the shortest of all miniskirts, pink cowboy boots, a matching pink tank top which was the exact shade of the boots, not to mention the finishing touch of a silver shrug which hung loosely to her picturesque body, danced by. It seemed a little more than cliché to me, but Troy seemed to like it. He stared past me watching her as she walked by with careful concentration. The girl smiled at me warmly, and twinkled a delicate 'Hey, Troy' to my guide, while texting furiously on a crystallized sidekick III.
"Hi Sharpay," He said, grinning foolishly.
And then I knew. He liked her. Of course he liked her! And it's not like I should have expected him to like me. I'd just met him for Christ's sake! Besides, I was no tall blonde, and I certainly didn't have her type of cash. I was just Gabriella Montez, and that's all I would ever be.
Troy Anthony Bolton: Part two of my so-called-life
I can't stand this. Why does she have to sit there in her stupid tanned perfection? She's taunting me, I'm sure of it. It's like a constant chore, trying to stay mad at her. She's wearing a very, very familiar pair of boxers that I only know as my own. I had come out to get the paper, and I ended up staring at was once my everything. She looked so hurt, so sad, I wanted to run to her, to hold her, but I resisted. Instead I picked up the wet news paper, and turned my back to her, back into the house. How long could I keep this up? From the minute I met Gabriella Montez, I knew she was irregular and every shade of fantastic. I remember that day very, very well. It went like this;
Just another school day at East High, just another basketball practice, just another load of pressure heaped onto my shoulders. I was team captain of East High's infamous basketball team, and probably the most legendary junior at the school. I had been called into the office, half expecting it to be my father (the coach of that infamous team I mentioned before) complaining about someone else's actions. Like I said; pressure. But instead they told me that I was to show around a 'Gabriella Montez'. New student, junior just like myself. I thought I'd show the girl the main points and then dash to math class before I got any worse at the subject. Then I saw her. She looked dazed and confused, but prepared all the same, like she'd be over this one hundred and one times. Her beauty was astounding. She was tan, most likely Asian, and she had raven-black hair which was cascading down her back in careful curls.
"Troy Bolton," she'd said, glancing to her left and right as if I would have appeared out of no where.
"That would be me," I said. She jumped. I laughed quietly to myself as we exchanged names and casualties. Simply showing her around the old building gave me too much pleasure; I was enjoying this far too much. I was Troy Bolton, I didn't associate with froshies…I guess this was the start of something great.