Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical, any of the characters, or any of their songs. I'm not even entirely certain about this storyline... especially as this is my own version of the HSM Cinderella story. Hopefully a couple of bits are original.
The words at the beginning are from 'You are the Music in Me', HSM2. As stated above, I don't own it.
Twisted Cinders
Chapter One: Rags and Riches
"You know the words 'Once Upon a Time'
Make you listen?
There's a reason."
Footsteps. Footsteps, echoing along the hard, unforgiving surfaces outside the barred steel door. He rolled over, his hands clutched to his screaming head in an effort to keep the echoing, 'click-clack' of those shoes from his mind, but on they came, relentless, as steady as a pendulum, as inexorable as fate and as penetrating as a pneumatic drill. High heels didn't begin to describe it…
The noise was approaching his cell, but whoever it was wouldn't stop. He didn't see anyone, never would, there was just him, only him, and this hard little room with bars in the door and the click and the clack and the click-clack-
"Troy!"
Troy jumped awake so fast he smacked his head on the low beam above his pillow. The impact startled him so much that his legs jerked, stubbing his toes on the wall at the end of the bed, as both the wall and the bed were shorter than he was. He groaned quietly, massaging both injured areas gently. He would have been grateful to be woken from such a hideous dream, if it wasn't for the identity of the person waking him.
"Troy Bolton, get your sorry ass down here now!"
Troy cringed, his head still thumping, before getting out of the tiny, ratty bed, throwing on some worn but surprisingly well-maintained clothes and trudging over to the trapdoor. He released the door, and the ladder down from the attic slid out, as always getting stuck about three quarters of the way through the mechanism. He jostled it down, before descending to the upper landing and continuing on downstairs to the kitchen, cursing himself all the while for oversleeping. He guessed it was the dream that had done it. He had been having dreams like it for a long time now, but this was the first time one had caused him to sleep through his alarm.
Yes, the dreams were never identical, but they were always along the same lines. Whether he was trapped at the bottom of a well, in a prison cell, an animal cage, marooned on an island, whatever, one thing was certain: he was always alone. He had never done psychology, but didn't feel that he needed to in order to deduce that he felt somewhat isolated. It really wasn't all that surprising.
In the kitchen he filled the coffee machine and got it going and put two fresh croissants in the oven on a low heat to warm, all without really opening his eyes. He was brought back to the present uncomfortably when a hand struck the side of his head. It had a lot of momentum behind it, so that even though the person it belonged to was much smaller than him, it still sent him reeling since he wasn't prepared for it. His head hit the corner of a cupboard hard, and he tried to steady himself since he was mildly dazed, noting as he did so that the heavy ring that adorned the slapping-hand had actually cut his cheek. It figured: he was going to look like a battleground corpse by the time he got to school.
"What time do you call this?"
Troy looked blearily at his step-mother, Porsche Gold. She was a small, delicate woman with wispy, white blonde hair and an air of very deliberate fragility. And Troy hated her. Hated her from the carefully made up eyelashes to the ultra-fashionable shoes on her pampered feet.
"I call it a reasonable time to get up," he mumbled, knowing he'd regret it. He glanced at the digital clock on the microwave: it was 7 a.m. As he had said, a reasonable time to get up on a school day. Just not if you were expected to make and serve breakfast to your family and finish the homework you just couldn't do the night before.
She stormed over to him and grabbed his chin, her needle-thin fingers digging into his face. "Don't give me that. You're supposed to be up at 5.30 to get your chores done before school. Now you'll have to do them afterwards." She jerked her hand away, cruelly twisting his neck as she moved past him.
Troy felt despair grab hold of him. "I'll have homework later," he attempted half-heartedly, before she span on him, her pale blue eyes burning with fury.
"You should have thought of that before you decided that perfect little Troy needs his beauty sleep," she hissed, jabbing him in the chest. "Now, get out of here. And try and learn something today, you stupid little freak."
Troy grabbed his bag and was out of the door within a minute, trudging down the road, his face stinging and his head throbbing. It was absurdly early, but then, he had to walk to school and it was a good hour away. And to think, this was only Tuesday. Unbidden, a projection of the rest of the week flashed into his mind: after school he would walk home, have just about enough time to do his chores before crawling into bed. His homework would remain unfinished, and that was after he was punished for not having it for today. He would be behind on everything all week, just because of a stupid dream that he didn't even want to have.
His stomach gave a very audible growl; he wished he had had time to grab something before leaving the house, especially since he had no money for lunch today. He might have asked someone for a little of their lunch to tide him over, but he was running out of goodwill. He knew his friends were tired of him being the lazy, sponging git everyone knew him to be, and he really couldn't afford to lose any friends.
He trudged onwards, hands in pockets and face pointed directly at the pavement. He hated his life.
A car approached from behind him: an all too familiar, large black coupé. It screeched past him, showering him with dust and dirt, making him choke. Looking up, he just saw the face of his step-sister Tiara, another reason why he hated his life, laughing as she drove away. He coughed a bit more, and continued on his way, appearing like a man walking to the gallows.
***
Gabriella looked around the room, as yet unnoticed by the current occupants. It was a classroom. That was about all she could say about it. She had seen a lot, more than most, and was unhappily resigned to the fact that she'd probably see a lot more before graduation. This one didn't seem too bad: there were no actual arguments going on, let alone fist-fights, so that was already an improvement on some she had experienced. In fact, it was reassuring. The students were sitting in their seats, but most were turned to face others, talking and laughing, sharing the events of the after-school hours with their friends. She had been to a couple of schools where everyone had sat straight and silent at their desks, eyes facing resolutely forward, even before the teacher was in the room. That had been creepy. This, though, was more like a real high school.
She surveyed the students more closely from her vantage point by the door. A few stood out: a black girl in a sharp suit was smiling encouragingly at her. A blonde girl wearing entirely too much pink and enough sequins to sink the Lusitania was whispering with an equally blonde young man next to her, whose clothes were more restrained but still very stylish. She noticed that the way the two acted together was completely platonic, leading her to believe that they were either just good friends, or else brother and sister.
A tall, cheerful-looking guy with hair that could only be described as big sat on the front row, his hand resting on a basketball while his attention was focused elsewhere. He was laughing with a small, bespectacled girl sitting just behind him, who was smiling and shaking her head at his antics. Everything seemed entirely normal.
She felt a waft of air buffet her gently as someone walked past her briskly and without looking. The disturbed air brought with it a trace of unusual and not entirely pleasant perfume, causing Gabriella's face to twitch. She turned to see a woman who was obviously the homeroom teacher now sitting on a throne-like chair at the front of the class, raised on a small dais. In fact, Gabriella realised she must be the drama teacher, judging from the artfully arranged old theatrical props that surrounded the chair, and the manner of the woman herself, when she spoke.
"Good morning, everyone, I trust you all had a good weekend, and are now ready to continue with expanding your minds, experiences and horizons." Gabriella nearly laughed out loud when she noticed a couple of students actually mouthing the words along with the overly-dramatic tones; clearly Ms Darbus used the same speech every Monday morning. Finally the teacher noticed one student not in a seat. "And you are?"
Gabriella fixed her 'ingratiating self with new and unknown teacher' smile on her face and walked over, the documents principle Matsui had given her outstretched. "My name's Gabriella Montez, Ms Darbus. I'm new."
Ms Darbus' expressive eyebrows rose over the frames of her horn-rimmed glasses. "Well, welcome to East High, Miss Montez. There's a seat over at the back."
Gabriella made her way over to the indicated spot and settled herself while Ms Darbus began telling the class about the upcoming school events. She looked around. On her left was a fairly non-descript guy she labelled mentally as the friendly sub-jock: on a sports team, which probably meant basketball at this school, but not as stuck up as some, and his open, cheerful face bespoke a friendly and non-prejudiced demeanour: this guy was everyone's friend, and she would probably enjoy getting to know him. She looked over to the other side.
She blinked, because for the first time her internal programming was drawing a blank. Too many conflicting messages. Normally she could look at someone, maybe hear them speak a bit, and be able to assess them pretty accurately. This guy, though...
He was handsome, she had to admit. Despite being her age, so probably in his junior year, there was a boyish, innocent quality about him, with his completely smooth face and, when he turned his face away from the window for a moment, his dazzlingly blue eyes. His hair was fair, a sandy brown, and fell over his ears and eyes in a somewhat appealing fashion. On the other hand, he dressed like a bum. His jeans were old, faded and torn, his t-shirt rumpled and the colour washed out like a really old photograph. His sneakers were falling apart, apparently purely from hard use. And, when she looked closely, she could see deep, dark bags under his eyes and what looked like blood drying in his hair. The overall impression she got was one of defeat. He was going through stuff, and had pretty much given up on everything. She quickly looked away, aware that she probably ought to at least pretend to pay attention, but found her eyes kept slipping back to him. He was an enigma, and she had never been able to resist a puzzle.
Before she could think further, the bell had gone, signalling the end of homeroom. Gabriella hastily returned to her unusually pristine notebook to her bag, and on looking up found the Afro-Caribbean girl from earlier smiling down at her. "Hi, my name's Taylor McKessie."
"Gabriella, Gabriella Montez. Nice to meet you, Taylor." She attempted to shake Taylor's hand, but was getting tied up in her bag, which wasn't completely closed and was over-full. Taylor laughed, steadying the bag with one hand and shaking the proffered hand with the other.
"Nice to meet you too. I was wondering if you wanted any help finding your next class."
"Sure, thanks! My schedule's here somewhere…" she eventually located the relevant sheet of paper and handed it to her. While Taylor examined it, Gabriella's eyes flicked towards where the boy had been, but he had gone, obviously leaving quietly and without her noticing. She wondered what class he had now.
"Well, your next class is… AP Maths? Cool, I'm in that with you! Let's get going. You must be really bright, huh?
Gabriella blushed, following Taylor out of the classroom and sticking close to her in the crowded hallway. "I guess…"
Taylor smiled at her. "Don't worry, this is a great school. No one gets on our backs for being clever. We don't really have a bullying problem, at least as far as I know. I mean, look at me: I'm president of the Chemistry Club. At any other school I'd be a complete outcast. Here, I'm dating the captain of the basketball team."
Gabriella's eyes went wide with surprise. This she hadn't come across before. "Really? That's unexpected, but good for you. Is he nice?"
Taylor's flashy smile got a little softer, and her eyes acquired a soft focus that Gabriella was all too familiar with. She didn't need to hear the other girl say it, she guessed before hand.
"He's great. I mean, sure, he has his faults. He's impulsive, and a little obsessive when it comes to sports, and doesn't care as much about school as I might like, but he's a good guy. He cares so much about me. He could be-"
"The one," Gabriella finished for her, a melancholy sigh escaping. Taylor looked at her oddly. It wasn't that Gabriella was resentful of her relationship. It was more like she was… wistful? There was obviously more to this girl than met the eye.
