Chapter I: A Dance to Remember

This story takes place a long time ago. It takes place in the time before cars and television and airplanes. Back when people still got around with horse-drawn carriages and steam engine trains. Back when you could buy candy for a penny, and it was a lot sweeter than anything you'll eat today, and when art was actually expected to look good. In that time, high schools were usually boarding schools, and musicals were called operettas.

But nonetheless, this High School Musical fic takes place in that blessed time: the 1890s... also know as "the Gay Nineties."

Specifically, we'll start our tale in New York, at a party around the beginning of summer: there, most, if not all of the city's good society was invited; it was a "goodbye party" of sorts, signalling the end of the social season, after which everyone would go off to their summer houses to have a great time and, more importantly, to show off how much money they had.

And of course, if all of New York's good society was invited you could count that the Evans twins, heirs to the Evans family fortune and owners of the Evans and Evans Theatre Company were there; their parents would have been there, but they had been feeling a slight indisposition that night.

The dinner had been excellent: the glasses were full of expensive champagne, and now all o the party was off to the ball room. It was a very pretty ballroom, with lots of marble colonnades, and even a few nice winter paintings. In a corner, Ryan was standing alone but very observant. It wasn't that he was antisocial: he loved dances, and was a very good dancer himself; but right now, he had far more important things to do.

For any minute now, the music would start. And his sister, Sharpay, was going to dance with none other than the Earl of Mountararat, who had just asked her onto the dance floor. He was a very, very, very rich British nobleman that had come to visit New York that year, and obviously, if the Evans family managed to marry a daughter off to the Earl it would be in everyone's best interests.

Not to mention, he was an all around nice, if extremely snooty guy.

And, for the moment, Ryan saw everything was going very well: the pair was together, talking, with Sharpay looking here very best, and any moment now the music would start.

And sure enough, the music started, and they paired up.

Then, all the couples began to dance; and it was like one of those old paintings you see sometimes and think are too pretty to be realistic. The men, all in their gallant top hats and tailcoats, led the ¾ pace of the waltz, while the dames followed gracefully, their jewellery sparkling in the –then newfangled- electric light and their colourful gowns flowing gracefully over the black and white marble floor; and it was all perfectly magical.

Ryan was just about to pick out a girl from the crowd –really anyone, most of them liked him very much- when he saw someone in the room who immediately took his gaze off all of his very aristocratic entourage; and indeed, of all girls.

He didn't know the person; nor was he expected to, but at that point, he really wished he'd met him: it was one of the menservants: a youth about his age and height, with hair somewhere between blonde and brown, and a sweet tan. He seemed quite well built too, but it was very hard to his clothes –the standard shirt-and-waistcoat, black and white uniform-. And his face… oh, his face! It carried a charming boyish smile of manliness mingled with untainted innocent that was enough to make any heart throb.

Ryan couldn't take his eyes off of him; it was very distressing! If this were a cliché romance, and they hadn't both been male… he would've though he was in love.

Thankfully, someone interrupted his musings, and he lost the boy from sight.

"Mr. Evans," said a young lady in a pretty red dress "Aren't you going to dance?"

"Huh?" said Ryan, snapping out of his thoughts "Who? Me? Eh… I… well… that is to say… how about you?"

"Oh, I would be dancing," said the young lady "But you see, my fiancé is terribly late for some reason."

Here, Ryan snapped out of the little trance, and picked up his suave socialite demeanour again:

"Well then," he said pleasantly "I suppose it would be very rude of me to let you get bored while waiting for him, wouldn't it?"

"Oh my," said she.

And she blushed, and they went onto the ballroom and began to dance. But Ryan got tired very fast, and so as soon as the red dress girl's fiancé was there, he decided to discretely go out into the garden and get some air; remember, this is back when houses on Manhattan still had gardens, and the whole place wasn't covered in smog and concrete. Unfortunately, they didn't have air conditioners either, so it got quite hot.

As Ryan stepped out into the garden, he felt a cool breeze blow across his face, wiping away all the stuffy heat from the dance inside; it wasn't a bad dance, but holding any kind of event inside at this time of year, and with the clothes they wore back then, was really borderline.

But here it was different. Here, among the neatly planted rows of trees, everything was refreshing and calm, the air imbued with that sweet, calm, watery smell of a tamed nature: the only company was that of the plants; the only sound was that of the leaves rustling and one's own steps on the humid grass; and the only light was that of the stars and the silvery moon. It was the kind of night, the kind of dark that wasn't ominous and threatening, but rather a pleasant respite from the day and the light's toils.

"Huh," thought Ryan, breathing in the air around him "I should really do this more often…"

But suddenly, he saw that, despite the immediately preceding lyric description he was, in point of fact, not alone. Yet the person he saw there didn't annul but rather increased the beauty of the night.

Ryan's heart bounced a bit.

"By Jove!" he thought "It's that servant from inside!"

And just as he was noticing the servant, the servant noticed him; then, a lot of things were said very fast time:

"Oh my God, sir, I'm so sorry, it's not what it looks like…"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"I was just…"

"I only wanted to…"

"Please don't tell my bosses…"

"Please don't tell your masters…"

Then, there was a brief silence; you could here a cricket chirping, and the two young men looked each other in the eyes. Yes, Ryan thought, this was the youth he'd had his eyes pinned on during the dance; but now, in the dark, outside, loosened up and not standing attendance, he looked so much… so much… so much prettier.

But a smile of boyish cunning then began to paint itself on the servant boy's face;

"I won't tell anyone if you won't tell anyone…" he said.

And then he burst into laughter. Ryan was at first quite shocked that a servant boy would take such liberties in front of him; but the other's boy nonchalant attitude was just so overwhelming that, despite himself, he let out a small chuckle, while still trying to pretend he was not amused. The other boy didn't seem to care all that much.

Indeed, when he was finally done laughing, he extended a friendly hand for him to shake; and he spoke.

"Troy," he said charmingly "the name's Troy Bolton."

Ryan didn't know what to do; he really never had been addressed this way by someone who should clearly not have been addressing him this way; but he was just so darn cute; so hesitantly clasped his hand:

"Ryan Evans, pleased to make your acquaintance," said Ryan almost automatically.

But he was well nigh interrupted by the very, very hearty handshake of this Troy Bolton.

"So," said Troy, sympathetically "You couldn't stand the party either, could you Mr. Evans?"

At least he was still addressing him as mister…

"What?" Ryan started to answer "No, it's not that… I was just… uh… tired... and I came out here to get some air… "

Why was he justifying himself to a servant boy?

"Tired?" said Troy "Yeah, right… we're all tired. I mean, sure, I can be tired, this is actually my job… but when people like you who are supposed to be having fun are "tired", you know there's something wrong with the way people party."

"No!" said Ryan "No, really, it's a very entertaining party! I'm terribly sorry if I gave a wrong impression, but just really needed some air."

Why was he apologising to a servant boy?

"Whatever floats your boat," said Troy, "At least you're not risking getting fired over this. But seriously… what do you rich people do at these meetings? I mean I'm actually glad I'm a servant; if I didn't have to wait on you people, I'd stand around all night looking at my feet!"

"Well…" said Ryan, "You could dance…"

Why couldn't he stop talking to the servant boy?

"Dance!" exclaimed Troy, turning around in a most charming manner "Pff… yeah, right! I couldn't put one foot in front of another I my life depended on it."

"Oh, come now!" said Ryan, beginning to loosen up "The steps are quite simple!"

"Simple? Yeah, right!"

"No, seriously… I can prove it to you. I could teach you them right here!"

"What?"

"Look... This is a waltz: one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two three!"

And at this, Ryan in fact started dancing alone in the garden. Troy laughed a bit:

"That's a waltz?" he asked.

"Well," said Ryan "It's a lot more impressive with two people. Not to mention there's the Viennese Waltz, but that's another story…"

"No, no, we'll stick to the simple one!" said Troy, "But please: then teach me…"

"What?" Ryan exclaimed.

"Teach me!" said Troy, almost ordering, though without ever taking that boyish smile off his face "I'm sure I can do that, and you said you could teach me to waltz… so teach me."

"Oh my…" said Ryan hesitantly "Well… okay… Come closer."

In sum, why was he doing any of this?

And Troy walked towards him; "Oh my God," was Ryan's first thought "I'd never noticed he had such a pretty face…" And indeed, it was one thing to contemplate Troy from far away: but seeing those blue eyes up close, that cinnamon tan, that perpetual boyish grin almost made our little Mister Evans faint.

Ryan put his arms right over Troy's ribs without touching him, simulating the position they might start from if they were about to dance a waltz. Troy put his hands in the air:

"Do I have to do it too?"

"Yes," said Ryan, and Troy obeyed, though again without actually touching Ryan.

Ryan didn't know what was going on. He was getting more and more comfortable, but he was still far from loosening up; he was sympathetic, yes, and he agreed, and he made friends, but all automatically, as if he were a puppet and someone was pulling his "nice" string. He was sweet and outgoing, but at the same time tight as hell. It was very distressing; it felt something like the first time you go on a rendezvous with someone you're trying to start out a relationship with.

"Okay," said Troy "Now what?"

"Now," said Ryan, bringing his left hand up to about the level of his shoulder "Put your right hand up here."

"Like this?" said Troy, putting his right hand with his palm facing Ryan's.

"Y… yes," he said "Yes, just like that."

"And now what?"

"Now… wait a second," said Ryan "What was it… oh, right: one, two, three, one, two, three… Okay! So, you're the lead. This has three beats; don't listen to the music from inside, it'll only distract you. Now, on one, bring your left foot forward… one."

Ryan had ton concentrate a bit, so as to picture what the dame would do; obviously, he was used to dancing lead. After some consideration, he brought his right foot –which was on Troy's left- back; Troy looked at their feet, and clumsily followed Ryan's:

"Like that?"

"Precisely," said Ryan "Now, on beat two, you bring your right foot forward and to the right?"

"What?"

"Just follow where mine goes…"

"Okay…"

And Ryan brought his left foot –which was opposite of Troy's right foot- back and to his left –Troy's right-. Troy tried to calculate how exactly he was supposed to move without looking at his feet, but it didn't work, so he just followed Ryan again.

"Good," said Ryan "And now, just bring your left foot close up to your right foot. Like this."

And he slid his two feet close together, without moving one of them. Troy began to slide his right foot up to his left foot.

"No, not that to left foot… the other left foot."

"Oh… he, he… alright," said Troy, repeating the movement, this time effectively.

"Bravo!" said Ryan "Bravo, that's exactly it!"

"That's it?" said Troy "Okay, that was easy. I mean, I couldn't repeat it right now if you ordered me to, but that was pretty easy. What next?"

"Repeat it with the other foot."

"Aw, dang!"

And they went on. As you may suspect, Troy's waltzing lessons weren't immediately successful. Yet, slowly but surely, though without touching Ryan just yet, he began to learn. And, even if it was without ever taking his eyes off his own feet, Troy started to dance to the ¾ beat of the music from inside the room.

"That's good…" said Ryan, as they picked up the pace "That's really good, that's exactly how it's done."

"Really?" said Troy "Cool!"

"One, two, three, one, two, three… Perfect!"

"Hehe… this isn't so bad after all… Hey look… no eyes!"

And at this, Troy attempted to look up at Ryan and continue the dance; and after about two steps, he lost the beat and he had to look back downwards."

"Wow," said Troy "I really suck at this…"

"Well," said Ryan, "You're not exactly my best student."

"Gee, thanks a lot Mr. Evans," said Troy laughing "But I won't give up!"

"Of course, I have to tell you that the music playing inside is actually a Mazurka…"

"What's a Mazurka?"

"That's… uh… You'll learn that next class…"

"Fair enough to me!" said Troy "Hey, look… No eyes again! And this time I can really do it!"
And with a little grin, he looked Ryan in the eyes while he kept on dancing. Now the orchestra was back to the waltzes, though. And they danced; there, in the moonlight, under the trees, our two boys danced and danced and danced, one's shirt and waistcoat looking just as good as the other's full evening tailcoat. They danced like any of the couples in the room, save perhaps that they still kept the pretention of not touching each other, only alone, and for that more blissful, and, not even suspecting there was anything wrong with what they were doing save the fact that they were absent from the party.

Ryan snapped out of it a tad when he almost lost a beat, and he started realising just how hard it was to play the dame so quickly. And, as he was musing about this, completely unwittingly, he let his hand set itself on Troy's side, and he let his palm touch Troy's. For a moment, he didn't notice; but when he did, when he felt Troy's palm against his own and his other palm against Troy's side, when he felt the heat of the other boy's body sending sparks down his own spine, immediately Ryan pulled his hands away –though without ever stopping the dance, he was a professional- and started blurting out an apology:

"Oh my, Troy… Mr. Bolton, I'm so sorry, I didn't…"

But Troy interrupted him; and he spoke to Ryan in a voice still sympathetic and boyish, but with a taint strength and seriousness, which the blonde didn't recognise:

"Don't worry," he said imposingly "It's better that way."

And he grabbed Ryan's hand, and wrapped his other arm around Ryan's waist.

Now they were dancing like a real couple.

Yet all of a sudden, Troy and Ryan heard a door opening; and as they pulled apart hastily, breaking up their dream dance, artificial light from inside the house fell upon them, and a female voice exclaimed:

"Mr. Evans! There you are!"