Troy Bolton snorted a bump of cocaine with an almost derisive look in his eye. He still fumed about the shoddy arrangement he had made with his dealer, Zeke, who apparently baked more than a sumptuous tart. However, whatever price it cost, he still needed it. Only with the white powder coating his brain, could he find Gabriella the least bit attractive. She was admittedly pretty; some would even say beautiful but she was not his type. It was not her fault; she could not help it if she lacked a Y chromosome. Still, that did not help him deal with her more salacious actions. Only his beloved hits could make him willingly fondle her.

His body tingled, absorbing the euphoria. The desk in front of him, hardly ever used for anything besides lines of coke, bubbled as stars blossomed in his eyes. He sighed, waiting for the overwhelming part to pass. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, it did. He still tingled, though, just enough for him to allow Gabriella to have her way with him.

Troy swept away the coke residue numbly. Mrs. Bolton most likely would come in later to clean his room, and put away his clothes; She might notice the extra dust in the air and leave feeling a little strange but she'd never connect the dots. Because how could her precious perfect baby boy, ever do such a naughty thing?

As long as his grades remained average and his sports skills stayed extraordinary, his parents would never know. Besides, he had no intention of using on a regular basis. Normally, he could put up with the everyday kiss, hug, and endless self-obsessed ramble from Gabriella. It was only the sticky sex part of the relationship, he wanted that little extra help for. Tonight, especially, an awkward coupling was a given. Earlier that day, Gabriella, had coquettishly sauntered over, requesting for company while her parents left town for the night. Troy accepted, temporarily blinded by Ryan walking by in particularly tight pants, and therefore unable to compose a believable excuse.

He was cursing himself for that weakness now. If any one had seen him checking Ryan out … He couldn't fathom the consequences. If his addiction was discovered, he would be lovingly sent to rehab and told it wasn't his fault; ("They put to much pressure on kids these days," his father would say.) If they found out he was queer, he'd be lovingly kicked out. Besides, if he had focused on the conversation, not the drama boy's ass, he wouldn't have to pleasure his unsuspecting beard. He slammed a splayed hand against his forehead. He was just so stupid. If only he were straight …

That thought ringing agonizingly in his head, he strolled downstairs and faced his doting parents.

"Hey, can I have a ride to Gabriella's? We're having an all-nighter before the Chemistry quiz tomorrow," He lied using a funky voice that was not his own. His father gave him a 'knowing' smile. Maybe he knew that the night's activities would be less than chaste. Maybe he had just decided to let "Boys be boys." Troy could never see too far into the soul behind his father's fake tan.

"Sure, sport," he acquiesced but then continued, slightly worriedly because his mother had entered the room, "Her parent's will be there, right?" Troy nodded, finishing the lies he had started. "Well then, I don't see why not. Let's take the Jag." Mr. Bolton was in the throes of his mid-life crisis. His phallic car was just one of the symptoms. His clandestine affair with one of Troy's classmates was another. None of his family had any clue though. Secrets in the Bolton family were easy to keep. Their superficial simplistic relations had drawbacks. "I'll drop you off on the way to my business meeting."

Troy gave an enthusiastic, almost falsetto, "Thanks Dad!" Mr. Bolton beamed at his perfect boy, swallowing guilt. He kissed his adoring oblivious wife could buy and drove Troy to his destination. He noticed the empty drive way but made no mention of it, nor did he bring up the almost fearful look on Troy's face as he plopped out of the car.

"Bye!" Troy practically whimpered. Like a prisoner to the gallows, Troy stepped through the manicured lawn to the front door. Before he even knocked, he was welcomed in. Mr. Bolton watched this all uncomprehendingly. Troy threw one more look over his shoulder, as Gabriella led him in. Their eyes met, father and son trapped in a moment of comprehension. As Gabriella began kissing him, as the Jag revved, they both knew that the other was not all they appeared. Still, who is?

Sharpay tapped her manicured fingers against her bare leg. Anxiously, her teeth ground over her heavily glossed bottom lip. In her right hand, she clutched a thick white stick. On one end of it, a tiny gray screen displayed an ominous plus sign. Sharpay let out a whimper. She was seventeen and pregnant.

A rapid succession of blinks kept a new wave tears back but she couldn't stop herself from rocking like she had done when she was a child. The hotel bed squeaked with each movement. He'd be with her soon and then she'd have to tell him … Her mind couldn't even fathom the consequences. He might leave her. He might make her abort it. He might do the honorable thing and tell his wife, then they'd divorce or they'd stay together but no matter what it would spread. Everyone would know. A keening sigh escaped her lips. What was she supposed to do?

The door opened, awakening her from her thoughts. He entered in, a fading basketball star just beyond his prime. It made him look rugged yet slightly unhinged, adding a whole new layer to his golden boy handsomeness.

"Bart," She sighed, seeing him, the father of her child, filled her to the brim with things she couldn't describe. That single name contained so much meaning. It overwhelmed the owner for a moment.

"Sharpay," Troy Bolton's father leans in to plant a kiss on her damaged slippery lips. Instinctually her eyelids fall over her pupils, blocking the world out. However, her inside world wasn't much better. It screamed the same words over and over again. "You're pregnant." In a moment's stupidity, she thought if she voiced the mantra, if she got it out of her head, the chaos would end.

"I'm pregnant." The words came out stronger than she had predicted. Bart stumbled backwards as if he had been struck. Soundlessly, his lips moved, forming the word, "no" as if he had any control. His eyes widened. Viewing his reaction, Sharpay felt the anguish churning in her stomach curdle.

"Are you sure?" He said, his voice quivering. Out of nowhere, a mixture of rage and indigence burst inside of her.

"Of course I'm sure. Do you think I'd tell you if I wasn't sure? Do you think I'd ruin everything if I wasn't sure? You're such an idiot." Sharpay yelled, sounding like a child in the middle of a tantrum. Instead of showing the supposed maturity that comes with age, Bart's face blossomed into a shade of pink.

"I'm an idiot? I thought you were on birth control," He bellowed. She let out a nonverbal protest. Her hands clenched around the pregnancy test in her hand. The letters printed on the side engrained into her flesh, "True Pregnancy Indicator."

"I took them everyday. I took the pills you gave me everyday." He slammed a hand to his forehead, not the reaction she expected.

"Those were aspirin for your headaches." He explained, a whining, "how could you be so stupid" note in his voice like she her idiocy had impregnated her. In her mind, she could hear a large ripping noise.

"Ergg" It was all she could say. No words could fully express her, "What are we going to do?"

The question hung in the air, in the dark, in the cold. Outside, the hotel vacancy sign switched off.

"I'm not gay," Chad explained as Jason slicked lube unto his fingers. Jason peered at him quizzically through the corner of his eye.

"Of course you're not," He replied indulgently. Chad exhaled a sigh of relief. An insidious smile crept unto Jason's lips. It was always easier just to let them keep their delusions, just as long as they fucked you senseless.

"It's just Taylor won't take it up the ass." Chad explained, looking earnest. Jason's grin widened. Like a prowling cat, he crawled up to Chad. He placed as slippery hand across Chad's cock, enjoying the moan he received in response. Running a finger along his shaft, he looked up into Chad's pleasure dazed eyes.

"I totally understand." Jason muttered again, amused. Chad, deep in the throes of ecstasy, no longer listened. Jason pushed him far but not far enough to give him release. That was no fun. Grabbing Chad's shoulders, he leaned in close enough for a kiss he knew Chad would never let him take ("We're not gay dude. No kissing," that's what he had said the first time.)

"Fuck me, dude." He rumbled. The last shreds of control Chad had flew away. He pounced on Jason, simultaneously throwing the boy on his back and plunging into his heat.

At the summit of rapture, one word escaped his lips.

"Troy."

Gabriella chuckled girlishly, sparkles dancing in her brown eyes. Next to her, under the covers, Troy stared at the ceiling, rather shell-shocked.

"I think I'm going to go wash up. Want to join me?" She teased, probably getting the line from a late night Sex and the City rerun. She was trying to be sexy, confident and cool, everything the magazines said she needed to be to get Troy to want her but her attempts weren't working. She saw the dullness in his eyes marred by a slightly whacked out edge.

"Nah …" he answered, "I'm just going to sleep." He yawned for good measure. Her lips formed a disappointed pout.

"Are you sure? I'll make it worth your while," She smiled. The corners of his lips turned up, trying to return warmth but failing.

"Nope, you wore me out." She turned away quickly, her smile collapsing on itself. Taking slow steps, she tried her best to saunter confidently to the bathroom. When she reached it however, she scampered inside. Shutting the door behind her, she couldn't resist. She turned on all the faucets, including the shower, creating a mask of sound. Almost on it's on accord, a finger plunged down her throat and she vomited all her pain out

Disclaimer: I am not Satan, therefore, I do not own High School Music. This is just mu way of making this interesting.

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