"And then you said a little more about your dreams,
Like it was my call (my call)
If you would only listen
Bypassed everything and went straight for the neck
(I study)
We study
(up nightly)
Dragged you out into the streets
Before you buckled at your knees (buckled at your knees)" - Taking Back Sunday
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Black.
Black is the color of Gabe's tux. Her dress is contrast to black; white. Gabe smirks at her from the stage of the hotel ballroom where the medical convention is held, where he, Wes, Adam, and Joey were hired to play as a cover band. Go figure. Go figure that Carlos Montez would see the doctor… woman has had an affair with there, of all places. Gabe knows this. He knows that it's going to happen all over again. It's a family killer. It's going to kill the doctor woman's family just like it killed theirs.
Rip yourself open, sew yourself shut. A line from a Palahniuk novel, but a perfect metaphor for what happened.
She brought her son to the dinner. Apparently her husband had a meeting that night. Perfect. An Evening of extraordinary circumstance.
This is just like Gabe. To play that song while they dance. He knows how to dance. He knows the right moves. It's a simple gimmick of monkey-see-monkey-do. Except in this case its son-see-son-do.
It's the fact that Carlos Montez is Spanish. He can speak it. And guys who have accents or can whisper things in some romance language into your year can get to you. It's that whole romance novel… thing.
Not that cheating is the right way out.
She stares at Gabe, remembering the words he said to her earlier before he even walked into the dinner: "Gabriella, you just don't get it, do you? The goal isn't to get mad; the goal is to get even. An eye for an eye, just like Gandhi. Plus, the poor kid shouldn't be kept in the dark, should he?"
She scoffed at this and shook her head, unbelieving that her father would continue seeing the woman even though she was happily married with a husband and a son. Go figure. People are selfish creatures by nature, they only think of themselves. Her father is only thinking of himself. His needs. Not what he's doing to his own daughter.
Gabe smirks at her son, they know eachother. They were on the school's basketball team together. She just sighs and crosses her arms over her chest tightly. It's unfair for her to watch it.
Unfortunately, seeing these things is like watching a car crash. She feels for the poor kid, but he just should have declined tonight. Said he had a ton of homework. He should have known better. Gabe should know better. But just like a car crash, she can't look away.
Wes should know better than to go along with Gabe in his little heartbreaking plan. It's unfair, as stated before.
She sighs and pushes her arms against her ribs, eyes darting from the couple, to Gabe and Wes, and to the boy. She sighs and looks down at her dress. White. Designer. Around three-hundred dollars. Her flats are white, Steve Madden. Around sixty bucks.
Her half jacket is black, to contrast.
Black is the color of mourning. People wear black at funerals. This counts as an occasion of mourning. Not for her, per se, but for the boy.
His sport jacket and pants are black. His tie is red. Red is a dramatic color, it shows aggression. Cops look for people with red cars, because they're supposedly more likely to break traffic laws.
She sighs and stirs her diet soda with her straw, wanting, wishing to be anywhere else but where she is at the moment.
She feels for the boy, she really, really does. Because he doesn't deserve to have this on her shoulders, nobody does.
She watches in defeat as they face him, dancing close. She would figure it was a salsa dance, if only the woman doctor knew how to salsa. Of course, Carlos Montez does.
She sighs and shakes her head, eyes still on the dirty blonde haired boy. Then to Wes. And then to Gabe, who smirks at her.
And the dancing couple is obvious to the boy now. He watches with disinterest. He knows he has a thousand different places he could be in that moment. His interest is piqued when his mother leans in closer to her coworker. It's common. It's dancing.
It's not common when their lips meet in an extensive kiss. Not a quick peck on the lips, mind you, but one of those full-on, passionate things. One his mother shares with his father, and only his father.
He looks up at Gabriel Montez, who is now looking down at his guitar, and apparently didn't notice.
And he looks over at the girl, Gabriella Montez, Gabe's sister, Carlos' daughter, and she looks like she's almost in tears.
He sighs and looks at his shoes. And he really can't believe what he's seeing.
He's heard about the whole Doctor-Nurse-Doctor love affairs in the hospital, but he never believed that his mother, the Pediatrician, would be having an affair with an orthopedic surgeon by the name of Carlos Montez. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't dare.
She knows better. She knows they've got it good right now. His dad, his mom, and him. They have it good.
And the only thing that could possibly goes through his mind, does.
This can't be happening.
And she shakes her head, poor Troy Bolton.
Poor Troy Bolton never saw the signs, the calls, the 'I'll call you, don't call me,' the deleted e-mails, the secrets, the 'I'll be home late, don't wait up.'
And honestly, poor Troy Bolton never knew what hit him.