Ryan comes out... but not about what you think! Pre-HSM oneshot, Ryan-centric.

Coming Out

Ryan stared at the page, biting his lip. The words seemed to swim before his eyes as they always did, but today, it was worse. He had a horrible headache and an essay due next period, and there was only half an hour left in lunch. He pressed the pencil so hard to the paper that it broke the lead and he quickly replaced it with another. A glance at the clock told him he had twenty-seven minutes left to finish. He had barely even started.

"What are you doing, Ryan? We were supposed to be practicing our..." Sharpay trailed off, looking over his shoulder at the mess of pencil scribbles in front of him. "Why didn't you get the butler to do that for you? You know you can't do it on your own." Her voice usually held an air of disapproval, but today it sounded more condescending than ever.

"I can to," Ryan argued, looking up at her furiously. "It just takes me a while. I can do it."

"Then why is your handwriting worse than our doctor's?" she replied, sitting down next to him at the cafeteria table. "Honestly, Ryan, if you're going to try to hand in your own work, at least explain to Mrs. Darbus—"

"No!"

The shout attracted many odd looks from their peers, but Ryan gave a small smile to the distracted lunch-eaters and waved them off. He lowered his voice.

"No," he said most discreetly, looking his sister in the eye, "I can't tell her. And you can't either." She gave him a look that told him that she could, and probably would.

"Please, Sharpay," he begged, "For once, let me do this one thing on my own. Please."

She sighed, rolled her eyes and got up from the table. "Fine, have it your way," she said snidely, using one hand to puff up her hair as she did so, "But don't come crawling back to me when you need help explaining— well, that." She motioned to his work, which was really just a mess of scribbled pencil lines on paper. No one in their right mind would hand that in to a teacher; it was completely illegible.

"I know what I want to write, I'm just having trouble putting it down on paper," Ryan explained, crumpling up what he had gotten finished into a ball and pushing it aside. "I'll do it, you'll see." He took a clean sheet of paper and started the gruelling task again.

When lunch ended and Ryan shuffled with the rest of his peers into Mrs. Darbus's classroom, he felt completely and utterly deflated. He stared numbly at the work in his hands; it was a mess, and he knew it. Mrs. Darbus automatically called for everyone to take out their essays for collection, and Ryan had a sinking feeling in his chest.

Sharpay removed a pink-papered essay, complete with her neat cursive with the i's dotted with hearts from her pink binder. Everyone else followed suit, taking out their essays and placing them at the edge of their desks, within easy reach of their teacher. Ryan held his crumpled work close to his chest, his breathing suddenly wheezy with fear. Why hadn't he gotten their butler to do it for him? Why had he thought he could handle this on his own? He obviously couldn't. Sharpay was right, again.

Mrs. Darbus walked along the rows of students, taking the papers off of their desks and holding them in a pile. As she neared his desk, Ryan shut his eyes tightly, hoping to hell she'd just pass by him when he didn't have a paper on his desk. She didn't.

"Ryan Evans," his teacher said sharply, and everyone turned to face them. He had always liked being in the spotlight, until now. He opened his eyes and looked at Mrs. Darbus, his eyes pleading for her to just pass him by. She didn't.

"Where is your essay, Mr. Evans?" He felt as though he wanted to shrink down to nothing; he wanted to disappear. He bit his lip and held out the wrinkled paper he had been holding to his chest. Mrs. Darbus took it and gave it a once-over, her eyebrows pushing together in the middle.

"What is this... this... mess?" The dropped the paper onto his desk. "See me after class, Mr. Evans."

His bottom lip trembled. Sharpay shot him a sympathetic look, but he just hung his head in shame and pulled his hat down to hide his face from the startled-looking classmates that were now staring at him. He could feel their gazes linger on him for longer than was necessary, and his heart didn't stop pounding until the bell rang an hour later.

"Mr. Evans," Mrs. Darbus reminded as he tried to sneak out the door with his fellow ninth-graders. "Come here for a moment, would you?"

Ryan meekly approached her desk, his eyes threatening to fill his tears again. He was so embarrassed. He stared at his shoes rather than look at his teacher, hoping that she would just yell at him and get it over with. Yelling he could deal with. What she did was much harder to.

"Ryan, are you having trouble in school?" Her voice was kind, and she sounded sincerely sympathetic. His head snapped up and he met her eye; she didn't seem to want to yell at him.

"No, Mrs. Darbus," he said quietly. "I'm not... I'm not stupid." He cheeks burned and he looked away again.

"I didn't say that. I just noticed that you have been... struggling... with class work. Do you want me to look into find you a tutor—?"

"No!" He looked at her again, his eyes showing how hurt he was by this proposal. "I don't need help. I can do it on my own." He paused. "I just need more time to finish my essay, is all. I'll type it out on the computer, if you want, so you don't have to read my handwriting..."

"Ryan, look at me." He did. "You don't have to be afraid of what I think. If you need me to sit down with you after class and go over things with you—"

"No," he said again, balling his fists up at his sides. "I understand perfectly fine! It's just the... writing things down that's hard." She looked confused, and he sighed.

"You see, Mrs. Darbus, it's like this. I'm sort of, well—" He paused again to take a deep breath. "Dyslexic." He said the word softly as if it were a curse, tears springing to his eyes before he could stop them. "I'm not stupid, though, and I don't need any help from anyone—"

Mrs. Darbus surprised him again by putting her hand on his shoulder. "You should have just told me, Ryan. It's nothing to be ashamed of! If you need a little more time to hand in your essay, I'll give it to you. And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask for help." She stood up and patted him on the back. "You're not stupid, Ryan— I don't doubt that. You have promise. I could see you being a star some day, the way you can sing..." She sighed wistfully, happily savouring the fact that she had two talented young performers to work with this year. "Don't ever forget that."

Ryan was about to thank her when the bell rang. "Here, I'll right you a note so you won't get in trouble for being late for your next class..." She quickly did so, scrawling out a messy explanation and handing it to him. She ushered him out the door to the empty hallway, and he swiftly went to his locker to retrieve the books he needed for his next class.

On his way to Spanish, he made a decision: he, Ryan Evans, was not going to let his little problem stop him from being the best he could be. He, Ryan Evans, was going to be a star. And that was the end of that.