All characters belong to Disney. I don't own them! I can only dream to :)

Ch. 1: Early Risers

Gabriella's POV:

"Hurry up, Gabby! You're gonna miss your flight! We leave in a half hour." Mom called from her room. Her voice boomed off every wall of our house in the process; my ears screamed in protest, tempting me to yell a sarcastic comment back.

"Well if I wasn't awake then, I am now," I murmured, forcing myself out of the comfort of the warm water spraying from my showerhead. I plugged in my hairdryer to allow for a quick and easy dry, even if I would only have time to partly dry my dark brown locks.

"Gabby, we've got to go! Now!" Mom's voice rose an octave in panic, urging me to finish as quickly as I could.

Partly dry is better than nothing, I thought as I pulled on the pair of skinny jeans and white blouse I had set out weeks in advance for this day. The outfit was always my first choice for long trips; not only did it make me feel pretty and bring out the color of my eyes, but it was also the most comfortable thing I owned...well, except for my pajamas, but mom had already vetoed the idea of me wearing my thin nightgown on the plane.

"Just because the United States may be safer than Mexico doesn't mean that there's no creeps over there." Mom had chastised when I asked her about staying in my pajamas.

After grabbing my suitcase, I shoved my iPod into my pocket and reluctantly followed mom out of the house and to our car; I never wanted to be in the Foreign Exchanged Program, but mom forced me to join it. She'd been talking about it since I'd hit sixth grade. With a little help, I heaved my luggage into the trunk and settled into the passenger's seat. Once there, I popped my earbuds into my ears and closed my eyes. As I searched for a song to listen to, mom poked me on the shoulder, I sighed and took out an earbud.

"You ready?" She asked.

"Whatever," I shrugged, "I still don't understand why I have to do this."

"Do what, mija?" Mom urged me to continue.

"Leave all my friends and be in this stupid program." I raised an eyebrow, expecting her to go on her usual rant about cultures—how I needed to learn about different cultures in case we needed to leave in our county's emergency someday. She wanted to make sure that I would know how to survive on my own in case she didn't make it across the border.

"I really don't want to have an argument at this hour. You know why. We've been over it several times." Mom huffed.

"I'll never leave Mexico! You're here and that's all I ever want: to spend the rest of my life with you. Anywhere you go I'll go!" I retorted, blinking back tears.

"I know, Gabby, but someday I won't be here anymore. Then what?" She questioned as she backed the car out of our driveway.

"I'm not really sure but it will involve staying here. I promise" I assured.

"You know, hon, sometimes we have to get out and see the world, explore it while we can. We need to take chances, otherwise we'll never make it out of the walls of our homes," mom replied, gentleness softening her tone until it almost seemed like she was speaking to a child, "we had to wake up early so why don't you get some rest. We still have a while until we reach the airport."

Troy's POV:

It had been my mom's idea to host a foreign exchange student. She had heard the idea from Marcy Danforth, who is not only my best friend's parents, but also hosted a foreign exchange student from France last year. She told my mom how much fun they had together, which ultimately made the decision for my mom about hosting one, too. She thought it sounded awesome, however, when she mentioned it with my dad he immediately disagreed.

"We already have Troy and Ashley to take care of, especially with Ash so little. We're not going to have enough time for another person in the house!" Dad exclaimed.

"But apparently we have time for you to spend three extra hours at the school each night! If that's what you're talking about then of course you don't have time to host an exchange student!" She argued, "But I'm never usually at the hospital long each day and am only there during long hours when I'm filling in for someone! I have plenty of time on my hands. If you just give me a chance, please, Jack, I really want this!"

"What's Ash going to think? She's going to get close to this person and then by the end of the school year she's going to be torn away when they go back home." He yelled.

A lot of times mom and dad would stay up most hours of the night arguing about it. I never got a whole lot of sleep because of that—I would show up to school the next day with messy hair and red eyes. I was relieved when they stopped talking about it; honestly, I'd thought dad had won but was wrong when the next victim of mom was me. I was outside practicing basketball one day when mom showed up next to me.

"Hey, Troy," mom gestured for me to pass my basketball to her. I raised an eyebrow but complied. She caught the ball and attempted to make a basket from the free throw line but failed miserably when the ball didn't even come close to the net.

When she asked me how I felt about being a host family for a foreign exchange student, I had to admit that I, too, was a little skeptical about it. I wasn't as if I didn't want to be a host family, but because I was kind of nervous about having a stranger live in my house for a school year. However, when I made my decision I didn't realize that I would have to wake up at 4 am to pick them up from the airport. That's where we were now. Dad was leaning up against the wall and staring up at the ceiling as if he'd rather be playing basketball while mom was pacing back and forth, eagerly anticipating for when the plane would land. I could see her mouth moving but there was no sound escaping her lips. It was if she was deciding how to introduce herself. Giving up on reading mom's lips, I curled up on the bench and closed my eyes to attempt to sleep, but mom's excitement must've rubbed off on me too; no matter how much I tried, my mind was whirling so quickly that I couldn't relax. I took a few deep breaths and opened one eye to watch mom march back and forth next to her husband.

"How much longer do we have to wait?" I groaned, speaking my first words since we arrived at the Albuquerque airport.

"They should've been here twenty minutes ago," mom exclaimed, beginning to nibble on her fingernails, "what if the plane crashed?"

I stood up and walked over to mom, who had already thrown herself into dad's arms. I gently added my arms around her thin frame. Her body shook as a sob contracted in her throat. Dad kissed her hair and rubbed her back while I put my mouth next to ear and whispered, "Shh, it's okay. The plane didn't crash." My eyes wandered to the board that portrayed the flights coming in and leaving. Right at the top read Flight 121 Mexico City to Albuquerque. Next to it the word 'deported' in red letters flashed to 'arrived' in green, "The flight's here."

Mom's head shot up so fast that she rammed her skull into dad's chin. He winced but broke into laughter when mom grabbed the top of her head and glared at him.

"Flight 121: Mexico City, Mexico to Albuquerque has now arrived." A mechanical voice echoed through the loudspeakers across the airport.

"That's them." I whispered, holding my breath as the door opened and nearly a hundred-people flooded from the plane into the building.

"Look for dark, wavy hair." Mom advised.

"Can't you describe anything else about them?" Dad raised an amused eyebrow only to receive another glare from mom. She scoffed and pushed her purse into my arms, narrowing her eyes at us as if to say move from this position and I'll murder you. Then without a second glance, she disappeared into the crowd.

Gabriella's POV:

I stepped out of the door and was met with a crowd of probably a good 150 people swirling around me. They occupied ever side of me; they laughed in joy as they were greeted by family and friends, children swamped around me like a hoard of mosquitoes. They rudely pushed past to catch up with their parents. My eyes searched the never-ending swarm of people in order to find the Bolton's—or at least I thought that was their last name.

There's so many people! How am I supposed to find anyone in this? I thought while desperately trying to squeeze around people.

"Gabriella Montez, are you there?" A feminine voice called above the boisterous people surrounding me.

"I'm here," I replied, turning in a circle to spot the woman calling me while raising a hand so she would have a higher chance of seeing me, "Where are you?"

A hand landed on my shoulder; my heart leaped into my throat, and in my fear, I almost choked on my tongue. I spun around to see a woman with long brown hair with blue eyes that always seemed to sparkle, which accentuated her high cheekbones.

"Oh, you're even more beautiful in person!" She observed before leading me out of the madhouse and toward two med isolated from the only growing crowd, "Come with me so I can introduce you to my husband and son."

A son? In the information I received there was nothing about any children. In fact, I didn't even remember him being in the picture that was sent, "How old is he?" I asked politely

"Eighteen—a senior at East High, which is the school you'll be attending this year. You're a senior, too, right?"

I smiled and nodded. As we got closer to the men I noticed other details; one of them was leaned up against the wall and the other wasn't far away holding some small object—a bag? "Is that them?" I mumbled, gesturing over to the men with my head. The woman hesitated before answering.

"Yup. Troy, Jack, get over here!" She called. Immediately, as if their lives depended on it, the men were beside us. The older one extended his hand in an American greeting.

"Jack Bolton," I shook his hand, remembering from my lessons to keep my hand firm. Jack beamed as if my handshake prided him, "That's my wife, Marlee."

"Gabriella Montez." I responded.

Next, I turned to the son, whom, by product of elimination, I guessed to be Troy. I slowly met his eyes—they were piercing blue, identical to Marlee's. They stared into my chocolatey brown eyes. At the contact, my cheeks warmed into a blush. Deciding not to let the moment become awkward, my eyes wandered to his brown hair, though it stuck up in every direction it still seemed perfect...just like his. I forced myself to not cringe at the thought.

"I'm Gabriella." I squeaked, immediately embarrassed when my voice rose an octave and made itself at home. I cleared my throat to reset my voice.

"Troy Bolton. It's nice to finally meet you. Mom's been raving about you ever since she found out who would be staying with us. She wouldn't stop talking about how beautiful you are, and I guess she isn't wrong about that." He smiled.

I nodded, fighting another blush, and began to sway on my feet, unable to contain my weariness any longer. Troy grabbed my arm to steady me and almost dropped his purse in the process. After holding my arm, he fumbled to catch the handles on its way to the ground. With a plop, it landed on the floor. Troy shot Marlee an apologetic look before picking it up.

"Nice purse. It matches your skin tone." I teased, fighting off a yawn. Troy's face instantaneously turned beet red. Faster than I could process, he shoved the purse in Marlee's arms.

"It's not mine: it's mom's." He mumbled.

"Why don't we get your luggage and go home. You look like you're about to fall asleep on your feet, Gabriella." Marlee suggested.

"Do you mind? In case you stumble again?" Troy asked, offering an arm to me.

He flashed in my vision: his pale skin accentuating his dark hair while his brown eyes sparkled in mystery—it was the mystery behind his eyes that attracted me to him. The bruises he'd left on my body stung as if the incident had just happened this morning. A lump formed in my throat and I choked out an involuntary sob, shaking my head and backing away from Troy.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Gabriella. I just want to make sure you don't fall." Troy assured.

He's not going to hurt you! I repeated in my head over and over, but I couldn't convince my battered body that this seemingly harmless boy would try the same stunt. To my relief, Jack stood up for me. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder while we walked to the baggage claim, "Troy, the girl just got here. Give her some time before you go all boyfriend on her."

Troy sighed, "Sure, dad. But when are we gonna pick up Ash? She knows something's going on."

I raised an eyebrow, Ash? A friend? A girlfriend? I thought.

As if she'd read my mind, Marlee whispered over, "Ashley is my three-year-old daughter. Since we had to wake up so early Jack and I took her to a friend's house to stay overnight. We'll probably pick her up today after lunch."

Once I had picked up my luggage from the baggage claim, Jack and Troy took my bags for me and I slowly followed my host family out to their car.

Troy's POV:

The Albuquerque airport was a half an hour out of town, making the trip about forty-five minutes from our house. Except the thing was that we had woken up so early that when we reached the city it was morning rush hour; mom and dad had been worried about that. Though that was the least of my problems—when dad pulled out of the parking lot and on to the road, Gabriella leaned over to mom.

"Mrs. Bolton, I hope this won't be too much of a problem, but I have horrible motion sickness." she stated, already sounding queasy.

"Oh, hon, it's alright. Have you tried staring into the horizon? I hear that works." Mom suggested.

"Yeah. It didn't work and neither did looking up and keeping my eyes closed. Nothing has worked so far." Gabriella answered.

I searched through my memories when Ash also had motion sickness. Though she was very young, I vaguely remembered mom laying Ash across her legs and rubbing the baby's back and stomach. As if knowing what I was going to say, dad shot me a warning glance through the rearview mirror. Choosing to ignore him, I tapped Gabriella on the shoulder. When she turned to me her face was pale and signs of her motion sickness already were shown through her eyes, which once were sparking were now glazed.

"When my little sister was young, she had motion sickness, too. Mom laid her on her lap and it seemed to help her. I mean, she was one-and-a-half at the time, but it could still work." I offered. Gabriella turned her head to the side very slightly: asking without words if it was okay if she tried it on my lap. I grinned, "As long as you don't throw up on my lap. These are new shorts."

Checking to make sure there wasn't a speed bump or a pothole ahead, Gabriella took off her seatbelt and lowered herself until her head was on my lap. I reached over and began to rub around in circles on her stomach and stroking her hair with my other hand. Mom turned around and smiled at my attempt to help the distressed girl. Gabriella let out a small moan; the sound of it tore my heart in two. When she spoke, her voice croaked pitifully, "Please not there, Troy. That's making it worse."

I shifted my hand from her stomach to her back, where I began tracing circles across her entire back. With a tiny shake of her body, Gabriella let out a miniature hiccup, which was quickly followed by several more.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Tell them to pull over." She whispered, her voice barely audible, as she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Oh, boy. I thought.

"Dad, pull over!" I yelled, "She's gonna puke!"

"I can't!" He scoffed.

Thinking quickly, I remembered that ever since we had gotten this car mom had kept a trach bag in it so there was never a reason for our new car to be dirty. I had always thought that it was a stupid idea that would just take up extra room, but now I was grateful, "Mom, hand me the trash bag!"

No second thought needed as mom immediately passed it to me. I helped Gabriella in a sitting position and handed her the bag. Without a second to spare, she hurled everything that was once in her stomach into the bag. I gently held her hair away from her face and rubbed her shoulders as her small frame shook violently as it emptied itself.

"You're going to be okay, Gabriella." I soothed. Tears streamed down her face, though I couldn't be sure if they were guilty tears or involuntary tears as the stomach acid burned her esophagus. Once she finished, I wiped off her mouth with the inside edge of the bag and allowed her to settle back in my lap. However, this time she faced me and buried her head in my shirt. She sobbed quietly—the only way I could tell was when she took in a harsh breath and when her shoulders trembled.

"Hey," I searched through a shortened version of her name to calm her down. In a few seconds I settled on one, "Brie, no one's mad at you. There's no reason to cry."

She shook her head and laughed without humor, "You don't understand. I'm not crying about throwing up or because of my motion sickness. Someday you'll understand, just not now."