Heyy it's Jenna again! Here's another little oneshot of mine. Again, this is in Sharpay's POV. But (another) again, I'm not telling ya who her guy is. But it's a little sad. Review!! Love Jenna
I didn't. I never did. I never did anything that would make my life happier. When I actually had the choice, I didn't know how much I would want it. But now that I've lost it, and all chances of having it, I wish I had just paid attention.
I had this best friend. We were best friends from when we were seven til forever. We were always in the same class, out moms were best friends, we loved the same things, and to top it off, we were neighbors.
One sunny but cool summer day, we were just laying on the grass, looking up at the sky, watching it turn from a clear blue to a dark blackish-purple over time.
"It's beautiful," I said, resting my arms on my sundress. For a 12 year old, I have to say I did look pretty hot in that dress.
"Yeah, it is," he said next to me. I turned my head and just looked at him. He eventually felt my gaze and looked at me. I smiled. So did he.
"Are you happy summer's just beginning?" he asked me.
"A little." I said, looking at the green grass to avoid his gaze.
"Shar, you love summer. Why would you only be a little bit happy?" he asked me.
"It's just, in July next month, you'll be 13. And then in August, I'll be 13." I said, still not looking him in the eye.
"So? We'll finally be teenagers. We'll be in eighth grade. What's so wrong?" he asked, and I could hear how concerned he was. I loved when he was concerned for me.
"It's just . . ." I trailed off. I felt his finger under my chin, moving up head up on the grass more, so I was looking him in the eye once again.
"Just what?" he asked quietly, not taking his finger away.
"Well, we'll be getting older. And, we might . . . become distant. And then before either of us knows it, we won't be together anymore. We won't be best friends." I could feel tears filling my eyes.
He took his finger away from me. I was shocked to see him leaning forward, and then felt his lips on my forehead.
"Sharpay, you don't have to be scared. I'm never gonna stop being your best friend. Ever. I promise." He said. I smiled. He did too. Little did I know, that promise wouldn't be kept.
It was a few years later. We were 14, and still best friends. Extremely close best friends. It was the last day of out freshman year at East High. I was at my locker, taking all the pictures of him and me out and in my backpack when some girls in my class who I didn't know came up to me.
"Are you Sharpay Evans?" a redhead asked me.
"Yes," I said, slowly nodding, confusion written all over my face.
"Well, your best friend likes you. The one who made the basketball team? Yeah, he is like totally in love with you!" the redhead said, her three friends nodding and giggling.
"W-what?" I asked. "No he doesn't."
"Yeah he does. He was at my cousin's party last week, and we played truth or dare, and he admitted that he has always been madly in love with you!" the redhead said. And just like that, she and her friends walked away.
What on earth was that? My best friend, who I loved like a brother, liking me?! It just couldn't be; impossible. Those girls were probably just joking with me.
And at that moment, there he was, standing by my locker.
"Hey Shar," he said. "You ready to go home, and start our first summer out of East High?" I laughed.
"Absolutely!" I closed my locker and we started walking down the hall. As we were, I felt something slip into my hand: his own hand. Nervous and not understanding what was happening, I pulled my hand away. Whoa, what was that? I had no idea, but I just decided to let it slide. I also had no idea that I shouldn't have pulled away.
A while went by again. We were 16 now. I had never let what those girls say back in freshman year get to me. Right now, he and I were swinging on his old swing set in his backyard at like, 4 in the morning.
"Hey, Shar, you wanna know a secret?" he asked me.
"Sure," I smiled, looking at my bare feet fiddling with the wet grass below.
"You're the best friend I've ever had. I really love you." he said. I giggled.
"I love you too, brother," I smiled. This had been a thing of ours for a year now; he said he loves me like a sister, and I say I love him like a brother.
"No," he said, his voice serious. I looked him in the eye. "Not just like a sister. I . . . love you."
My eyes widened. No, this couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real. I didn't realize I was shaking my head slightly.
"No," I mumbled.
"Huh?" he asked.
"No," I just mumbled again. "They can't be right; they aren't right,"
"Shar, what are you saying?"
"No!" I yelled, jumping off of my swing. "You can't love me! Only like a sister! You can't love me as something more! We're best friends! We promised! You don't love me!"
"I didn't try to fall in love with you, Shar!" he protested, still on his swing. "But I did! And I'm not sorry that I did! I love you!"
"NO!" I yelled again. "You don't love me! You can't love me! We're best friends! Best friends don't love each other!" I started running out from his backyard and to my house.
"Sharpay!" he called after me.
"No!" I just yelled.
"Shar! I love you!!" he called back. By then, tears were rolling down my cheeks.
"I HATE YOU!" I screamed to him before I reached my house. And then, I didn't hear his feet on the wet grass anymore; he stopped running. I slammed my front door closed, crying from anger. I was angry at him, but mostly at myself.
It was a few years later now. I was 24. His birthday had just passed, so he was now 25. He and I never spoke since I said that awful thing to him. Right now, I was bored on this sunny July day, so I drove over to my parents' house. Right before I knocked on the door, it opened. My dad was walking out dressed in a tux, my mom right behind in a pale blue dressed. They were surprised to see me.
"Sharpay?" my mom asked, confused apparently.
"Mom, Dad, where are you going?" I asked.
"Should you already be there?" my dad asked.
"Be where?"
"Their wedding. Remember? You were going to meet us at his new house, where the wedding's going to be held?" my mom said. At that, I ran back to my car, ignoring my parents calling me back over, and drove off.
He was getting married? How? To who? How was he getting married without telling me? Why didn't he tell me? All these questions raced through my head, until the most important one came to mind when I parked my car in front of where he was apparently getting married: why wasn't he marrying me?
I ran out of my car, into the house, and up the stairs. I opened one random door, and he was standing there: dressed in his tux, looking out the window. He turned around and saw me, all surprised.
"Sharpay?"
"You're getting married?" I asked, cutting to the chase.
"Sharpay, why are you here?" he asked.
"Who are you marrying?" I asked, tears now filling my eyes. He didn't answer. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He sighed. "Why would you care? I thought you hated me."
"You know I didn't mean that." I said.
"Did I? You never talked to me the fight. We haven't talked in almost ten years, Sharpay! Why would I tell you I'm getting married?!"
I was silent for a bit. I looked down at my shoes, and let a tear fall from my eye. "I wanted . . ." I trailed off.
I felt a familiar finger touch my chin, sending chills up my spin, as it lifted my head up, so I was looking him the eye once again.
"You wanted what?" he whispered.
"I wanted it to be me."
He pulled his finger away, but my head didn't fall.
"Why would you ever want to marry me?" he asked.
"I love you. I have since we met, even if I never admitted it. I'm sorry I never told you back when we were 16. I was just . . . scared. But I don't want to go through life away from you, you not knowing how I really felt."
He was now the one with a droopy head. "Sharpay I had always loved you. I chose you all those years ago. But you just . . . didn't choose me back. And now, I chose someone else. I'll admit, when I think of you, I can feel my old feelings start up again. But, I have to ignore them. Because, they can't exist anymore. I wanna be happy with someone who wants me. If I could love you and be with you, I would. But I can't. You didn't choose me." and then, he walked right pass me, and out the door.
A few moments after he left, when I was sure he was downstairs, I left the room too. I walked through his empty house and outside, sitting in his front door.
I silently cried as I heard "Here comes the bride" start to play.
I continued crying as the ceremony went on.
"Does anyone here have a reason these two should not be wed?" I heard the priest ask.
I knew he wanted to object. I knew he still wanted to be with me. I could feel in my gut. But he said nothing. And neither did I. I stayed where I was, no longer crying, but tears were falling from my eyes.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife." The priest said. I could feel my heart being ripped out as I hiccupped. It wasn't fair. It didn't have to be this way. And yet, it still did. I could have run. I could have run right into that wedding, objecting their marriage, and started a bunch of commotion. I could have done all that, trying my absolute hardest to get him for myself. But I didn't.
I wanted him to be happy. He deserves it after I've treated him. I just wish I was still that girl that could make him happy. Because I knew in my heart of hearts, that I loved him. I really loved him. I'm sure he'd say in his heart he loved his bride. But in his heart of hearts, I knew he still loved me. And I could have picked him. But I . . . didn't.
I heard the priest say one last thing.
"I am please to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Gabriella and Troy Bolton."