A/N: Another HSM fic, the other one died. D:
Disclaimer: I don't own HSM, although I wished I did.
In every aspect, Sharpay Evans And Troy Bolton was the perfect match in all of East High's glamorous, star-studded history. They even beat the now-married Mr. and Mrs. Bolton, who won Prom King and Queen in their year – the Bolton's albums were filled with stunning pictures of Mr. Bolton, obviously the MVP for his team that year in a crisp black tuxedo and a charming grin, as well as the bejeweled Mrs. Bolton, in a glittery pale pink dress and silk flats.
Interestingly enough, Sharpay and Troy did not exactly fit the typical high-schooler's couple definition – yes, one was a blonde beauty queen and drama prima donna (and no brain to speak of); the other was a blue-eyed jock with half the school's female population at his feet (and the other too proud to admit that boys were not a species of disgusting smelly creatures). Most people overlooked one fact – Sharpay controlled every single aspect of Troy Bolton, working over him like a puppeteer, and he was given no freedom at all.
Everyone in East High admired the couple for their compatibility in terms of social status, looks and the number of parties they crashed without invitation each year (and ended up being the star of the show, too). What most of the couple's admirers did not know was the story that extended way back into the summer of two years ago, behind the closed double doors of Sharpay's country club…
--FLASHBACK--
The Boltons and the Evans were close friends; one usually invited the other to housewarming parties, masquerades etc. And when Ryan Evans suddenly fell sick while preparing for the annual concert at their country club, the Mrs. Bolton – a renowned doctor – and family were hurriedly called over and within the hour, preparations had been made for them to stay there. There was another reason, of course – Sharpay had insisted that Troy be brought along; even at the tender age of fifteen, she has had three relationships, broke up with the last one over the telephone just a week before Troy came, and was soon snuggling up to Troy.
Of course, Troy rejected her advances vehemently; he'd turn a corner whenever he saw the pigtailed blonde come charging his way, or – if he was cornered in the kitchen, a bowl of cereal sloshing in his hand – he would make excuses or barge his way out (at the expense of his cereal and Sharpay's branded dresses). It wasn't until Sharpay had managed to corner him with one hand still buttoning his jeans and the other on the doorknob of the toilet that he admitted to himself: This girl is definitely crazy.
"Troy," Sharpay said breathlessly, having just sprung from her ambush behind the door a few moments ago after a fifteen-minute long vigil. Her eyes swayed from Troy's sapphire-blue ones, then dropped to where his hand was fiddling with the button.
"Sharpay!" He almost shrieked, and barged forward in a vain attempt to escape the trap that Sharpay already held him in.
"Nuh-uh, Troy, you ain't going anywhere," she said, and giggled maniacally. She put a hand to his shoulder. "Darling," she murmured, stressing the "i", "Kiss me."
If that would get her away from me, thought Troy desperately, her and her lavender-scented perfume and her manicured hands digging into my skin –
He kissed her, softly, on the cheek and promptly rushed off before she could catch him again, flying straight into the arms of a certain silver-haired man who was a few inches taller than he was, and grinning from ear to ear.
"Oh, Shar, are you getting close to this handsome lad here?" Mr. Evans boomed cheerfully, as if it were news, tickling Troy under his armpits. Now I'll never see the end of this, he grimaced, and almost sunk to his knees.
"Yes Daddy," she said sweetly, casting a glinting eye towards the constipated-looking Troy and enunciating clearly, "Troy's my new boyfriend."
--END FLASHBACK--
So that was the sad story of the beginning of Troy's most miserable romance, and Sharpay's torturous ways. Within the hour Sharpay and her dad had informed everyone in the house, including the delighted Mrs. Bolton, who was more than happy to see her sullen, basketball-obsessed boy finally enjoying the company of the opposite sex. Mr. Bolton only muttered something along the lines of "as long as he doesn't skip practices" – he did not like Sharpay Evans much. Mr. Bolton's wishes, as it turned out, were granted to him gratefully; Troy used the excuse of basketball practices to escape Sharpay's vices.
Ryan Evans was bullied by Sharpay into feigning sick for another five day, during which Sharpay enjoyed – and Troy dreaded – long walks down the beach owned by the Evans, holding a one-sided conversation where Sharpay gabbled on about their future plans – a mansion on Beverly Hills, three kids and a poodle – and Troy simply grunted at the right places. When school resumed, Sharpay wasted no time and broke the news to all her cronies – and before long, Troy realized that he had to fake his way through high school, or face the icy wrath of Sharpay Evans.
Today was the first day of the senior year, and to Troy, it also marked the beginning of a well-planned scheme to break himself away from Sharpay. He had been working on it all summer with the help of his basketball team, who equally despised Sharpay – or "Sharpie", as they liked to call her. They decided it would start with Troy and gang sitting at the back of the class, instead of at the front with Sharpie smelling Mrs. Darbus's mothball-scented frocks, and Troy ignoring Sharpie for the rest of the day or responding with sarcastic remarks.
The plan hit off pretty well, too: Troy, who was picked up by the Evan's chauffeur every morning, got into the limousine with a smelly basketball in one hand – one of the things that Sharpie forbid him to do. The conversation, which finally ended after Sharpie's screaming crescendo – went something like this:
"Honey, why is there a smelly basketball sitting between us?" She pinched her nose, swatted the air around her and winded down the black-tinted windows.
"Chad told me to bring it to school, so I did." He said nonchalantly, propping his foot up on the leather backseat – another thing that Sharpie hated.
"Honey, didn't I tell you not to bring those vile things under my nose?" Her voice was quivering now, her eyes burning with a violent blaze. Troy smiled inwardly.
"Whatever, man, you can't keep telling me what to do. Besides, Chad's sick of bringing the ball every day; he says it's stinking up his car. I quote him: 'Troy, man, your girlfriend's got three minions just to wash that limousine; it won't hurt just to bring it for one day'." He flicked his eyes at her, daring Sharpie to start screaming.
She did.
"I don't BLOODY CARE what that guy-with-an-afro tells you to do, I want that thing out of MY car!" Her cheeks were a brilliant puce now. Troy thought detachedly: It's a pity she doesn't have red hair to go with that red face and fiery temper.
"Whatever," answered Troy, his voice level. He even thought he saw the chauffeur wink slightly at him. Sharpie fumed the rest of the way to East High, and then slammed the door behind her when she got out, her Prada heels clacking on the gravel.
Now, thought Troy, ambling behind her, this is gonna be a great senior year.
