Disclaimer: I am not in any way affiliated with the Disney Channel, High School Musical, or any of their affiliates. I am not in any way profiting off of this material. I do not own any of the characters or places mentioned in this story. It is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real persons is coincidental and was not intended.
Authors Note: Hi! I'm Molly and I'm a new writer at fanfiction! I've been writing for longer than I can remember, but I haven't shared any of my work since the third grade when I had to write a story about a flying hamburger. I've been reading HSM stories on here for a few years and even though I swore I would never post my own, I cracked. When I was working on a new story I had in my last week I just figured I had nothing to lose by sharing with HSM fanfiction community. I hope everyone enjoys reading this chapter half as much as I enjoyed writing it. This chapter is mostly Troy-centric, but they will not always be this way. I actually had two opening chapters written, one from Gabriella's point of view and one from Troy's and I decided that Troy's was the strongest opener. Okay, I'm finished rambling and am going to let all of you who didn't skip this annoying note start the story. Thanks for reading!
Golden.
If there was one word in the English language that the young man standing in front of the mirror would rip out of every dictionary he came across, it was golden. He had heard the word so many times in his seventeen years that it had lost all meaning to him. The golden boy, is what everyone called him. He was golden in academia, maintaining a 3.87 GPA, not perfect, but damn close. He had a golden family, a mother, a father, and a younger brother, they lived in a large house in suburban Albuquerque and the three licensed members of the family drove overpriced imports. He was golden socially, funny, popular, and genuinely nice. His features were golden. The way his brilliant blue eyes always sparkled against his golden skin were enough to make every girl lose her breath. He was easily the most attractive boy in the school, his physical perfection rivaling that of the ancient Greek gods. Last year in his AP Art History class they had learned about the proportions of the ideal male form according to the ancient Greeks. His teacher, Ms. Gibbons, had measured all of the boys in class to see if any of them fit the cannon of Polykleitos' Doryphoros and sure enough the beautiful boy's measurements were the only ones to fit the ideal proportions exactly. Most importantly though, the reason why everyone loved him so much, he was golden athletically. He was a prized athlete, his basketball skills coveted by the entire East High population. Colleges had been scouting him since sophomore year and this summer, the summer before his senior year, his mailbox had been overflowing with scholarship information and offers from the tops schools in the country.
What no one knew was that the boy really wasn't golden. He wasn't perfect or ideal, he wasn't beautiful or flawless. He was really just a mess. Sure on the surface everything in his life appeared golden, anyone would envy him. A person would be have to be certifiably insane not to envy the young man's public life. But over the years he had learned that he wasn't golden, he was just the dust on top of the gold trophy that hadn't been touched in a while. He may have appeared to shine, but really it was all just an act, an act he had perfected over the years.
Each tendon in the young man's strong arms were flexed tightly as he gripped the vanity in front of him, forcing the cyan circles on his face to scan his reflection. He took in every detail on his bronze skin, his eyes lingering on the minor imperfections other people just brushed over. No one else ever noticed the scars that graces his otherwise smooth skin, but they were all he saw. When his eyes stopped on them he could feel himself reliving the moments they were each burned into his innocent skin forever. He had the story of every blemish marking his used to be flawless skin memorized. He could still feel the burning, the stinging, the sharpness of each infliction as if it was happening all over again. There are some things in a person's life that they can never forget, no matter how hard they try, and for the supposed golden boy, the intricate details of every deep scar was one of those things. If he was perfect than why was there a deep, jagged scar running across his bottom lip? If he was perfect why was there a long, thick mark permanently under his right eye? Were the small imperfections there to serve as reminders of his previous life? Were they there to serve as constant mementos of his life of hell, his life before he was the golden boy? If that was why the ugly scars marred his beautiful skin, than they were doing a damn good job.
"Troy!" A light, feminine voice rang through the intercom in his bedroom. "Come downstairs, I made you a special breakfast for your first day back," the voice sang out.
The cobalt spheres peeled themselves away from the reflection in the mirror, thankful for a reason to stop staring. If he was supposedly so beautiful, than why did it make him sick to his stomach when he looked in the mirror? Beautiful people weren't supposed to cringe every time they stared at themselves, they were supposed to look in the mirror to boost their already full egos, not to punish themselves. If he told someone that he hated his face, that he couldn't stand when he caught a glimpse of himself in a car window or a TV screen, they would have called him crazy. They would have had him committed faster than he could even laugh and pretend he was joking. Which is why he didn't tell anyone. He was good at playing the cocky basketball player. Sometimes, when he was out with his friends, he almost fooled himself his acting was so good. But, then he came home, kissed his parents good-night, and stood in front of the mirror for hours, running his calloused hands over every faded scar on his body and wondering how no one saw the truth. How was it that no one saw what a hideous mess Troy Bolton really was?
He clamored down the spiral staircase outside of his bedroom door, his self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face. He had the act down pat. Even in his home, the place that most people could take solace in the fact that they didn't have to hide who they were, Troy tried as hard could to pull off the golden boy routine. "Hey little bro," he said ruffling a spiked blond head waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
The boy smiled up at his older brother, his emerald eyes shining as he looked at the young man he idolized. "Your helping me with my free throws tonight, right?" The younger boy pleaded. "Sixth graders never make the team, but you did and now everyone expects me to make it too. And if I don't, no girls are going to like me and I'll have no friends and middle school will suck," he said, his bright smile fading just slightly at his middle school woes
The older boy flashed his brother a smile, "Dad and I promised you we would weeks ago, Parker. Starting tonight my whole life is dedicated to getting you on the East Middle School basketball team, okay?"
The younger boy beamed up at his older brother and nodded. "Thanks Troy," he said sincerely.
The older boy nodded his head, his shaggy brunette hair flopping into his sapphire eyes, "Anytime, bro," he said, heading towards the back of the house. Troy and Parker Bolton were closer than close despite their six year age gap. Troy would give an arm for the eleven year old and even though he was young Parker would do the same for his role model in a heartbeat. Troy's nostrils flared and a small smile danced on his lips as he approached his destination, the overwhelming scent of maple syrup and waffles flooding his senses. "My favorite, mom," he said, stepping into the expensively outfitted kitchen.
A petite fair-haired woman stood over a waffle iron, pouring the batter from a measuring cup into the machine. She spun around when she heard the teenager's smooth voice and laid her bright green eyes, the same color as the younger boy's, on the taller figure. "Troy!" she exclaimed, setting the measuring cup on the granite countertop and darting towards the tall teenager. She wrapped the boy in her arms and even though he towered over the small woman, he felt himself folding into her tight grasp. No matter how tall and old you grew, there was always something so comforting, so reassuring about a mother's embrace. When Troy let his muscular body relax in his mother's arms it was almost enough to make him believe he really was golden. Almost.
"I can't believe this is your last first day of school," she choked out, stepping away from her son. Kathleen Bolton had always been the overly sentimental and maternal type, the first parent to whip out her camera at any school function and the parent Troy and any of his friends could count on to whip out a fresh batch of brownies when they were having a rough day.
Troy laughed, "Calm down, calm down. You still have an entire year to make me waffles, mom." He pulled out a chair at the table with a plate of waffles already sitting out, drowned in maple syrup, still steaming, just the way he liked them. He could always count on his mom to make his favorite meals at the drop of a hat, especially when she was feeling nostalgic, like today, her oldest child's last first day of school.
Kathleen returned to her waffle iron, making a plate for her younger son, and wiped a lose tear from her cheek. "I still remember the first time I made you waffles," she said, chuckling through a small sob.
The golden boy-or not so golden boy-was silent as he chewed the carbohydrate slowly. He remembered it too, like it was yesterday. His face was solemn as the memory consumed him. He had flashes of the old kitchen, before their remodel, it was slightly dated, but virtually the same. His parents were younger, the laugh lines beginning to form on their faces today weren't present yet and Parker was only one, sitting in a high chair, fisting Cheerios into his tiny mouth. Kathleen and his dad, Jacob Bolton, watched with sharp eyes as their son cut into his first waffle, his hard, young face softening at the first bite of the magic circle. The parents exchanged a slight smile with each other when they saw their stunning seven year old son finally relax, even if it was just for a moment that day.
Kathleen turned around at her son's silence and sighed when she saw the small frown laying upon his jaw-dropping features. Quickly, she filled the plate beside the waffle iron with the last waffle and poured syrup over it, setting the slightly less drenched plate in front of her younger son. The younger boy accepted them and smiled at his mother in appreciation. Then the eleven year old jerked his head towards his older brother, indicating to his mom that he wouldn't be hurt if she focused on him for a moment. The four Bolton's in the kitchen and Troy's best friend Chad Danforth were the only people who realized that Troy was anything less than the golden boy the world saw. Well, technically there was a sixth person who was well aware of this fact, but the four Bolton's and Chad preferred not to think about them. "Troy," the blond woman began, pulling her shoulder length hair into a tight ponytail, "we love you so much, sweetheart. All of us do, your dad, Parker, me, all of your aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. You know that, right?" She asked, smoothing the young man's dark hair gently with her delicate fingers.
Troy looked silently down at his waffles, drawing designs in the syrup pooled on the plate with his fork. He knew that they did, but like always he wasn't sure why or how. If he was in their shoes would he be able to love the boy who was him? He would never admit it out loud, but he wasn't sure. He looked up at the woman staring nervously down at him, "Yeah, I know," he said. "And I love you guys too."
"You better love me the most though, I'm the only one that makes these killer waffles," Kathleen joked, trying to lighten the mood.
Her oldest child laughed and nodded, "Your right," he said, stuffing another bite into his exquisitely shaped mouth. "Hey maybe next year you can bring the waffle iron to my dorm on the first day of classes, that way we can keep the tradition going," he suggested.
His mother smiled down at him and bobbed her head, "That sounds perfect, kiddo," she said. "Speaking of classes, are you to cool to go school supplies shopping with your mom after school?"
The boy narrowed his vibrant blue spheres and gnawed on his scarred bottom lip, pretending to be deep in thought. "Nah, I think I can manage one more trip to Staples with my mom," he joked, smirking at the woman.
The younger boy had been silent while his mom and his brother worked through whatever had caused the small issue that morning. He was used of watching while his parents tried to make sure his older brother didn't crack in half, but at his Troy's last words he slammed his silver fork down on the tabled and let out a large sigh. The conflict of the morning was clearly resolved and in his young mind he was allowed to start a new one. His jade eyes narrowed on his family, "You promised you would help me with my free throws," he whined. "I'm not going to make the team and I'm going to stuck being Troy Bolton's younger, suckier brother forever."
"En I will ma," his older brother said through a mouth full of waffles.
"Troy don't talk with your mouth full and Parker don't say sucks it's not a nice word," Kathleen scolded, clucking her tongue. Aside from being overly emotional, sweet, and the most genuine mother on the PTA, Mrs. Bolton was famously polite and she expected nothing less from the boys she had raised.
The brothers rolled their opposite eyes and exchanged a secret grin. "I said, and I will man," Troy slowly enunciated. "Staples will take like half an hour and after I am all yours for the night. By the time we're ready to practice Dad will be home too."
Parker nodded, satisfied with the response. "Where is dad anyway?" he asked, his sharp green eyes darted around the room looking for the third blond haired member of their family. The open room was covered in pictures of the family from over years, allowing Kathleen to go back in time whenever she pleased. Pictures were in frames around the counter space, they covered the chrome Subzero, and they adorned the bulletin board on the door to the garage. The pictures allowed the viewer to see a progression of time throughout the families evolving facial features. There were some ages of a certain blue eyed boy that were noticeably missing from the carefully documented series, but they pretended that they didn't notice this. It always seemed easier to do that than to talk about where they really were.
"Work," Mrs. Bolton answered Parker, "he has a heavy case load so he went early so he could home to practice with you boys."
Jacob Bolton was one of the best defense attorney's in Albuquerque, New Mexico. His face was plastered in advertisements on bus benches and billboards around the city, each sign carefully citing is ninety-two percent success rate. Despite his constantly full schedule he was a family man, through and through. He was never too busy for his beautiful wife or his two sons, even making the time to coach his eldest son's basketball team. Basketball was a love the three Bolton men shared, their passion for the game had been their great bonding factor when Troy was much younger. Although no one ever said it out loud, they all knew that at many points in time basketball had saved their family.
"Shit," Troy mutter suddenly, glancing down at the heavy, silver Nixon watch secured tightly around his muscular wrist. Swiftly shoving the last bite of waffle into his wounded lips, he shot up from the rectangular table. "Bye guys," he said kissing his mom on the cheek. As he strode past the smallest Bolton they exchanged a quick high five before the brunette darted out the garage door and into his black 2009 M5, a top of the line BMW.
The car glided easily down the stone driveway as Troy back the vehicle up. Switching gears, he glanced back at his large white home and then took off, flying through his neighborhood: Manor Ridge Estates.
Everything about his neighborhood seemed to perfect to be true. Every home was oversized and well maintained and the cars everyone drove constantly seemed to shine just a tad too brightly. Everyone in Manor Ridge always had smiles glued to their unnaturally beautiful faces, a small wave was ready for every neighbor. It struck Troy as slightly Stepford-esque, nothing that perpetually perfect could be real or right. What got him the most though wasn't the people or the homes, it was the grass. The lawn in every stretch of Manor Ridge was far too bright, far to green to be natural. It was a more vibrant green than Astroturf, not a single blade was ever brown or even a dulled out green. Even in the worst of Albuquerque summer droughts, when all of the foliage in the city had rotted, the grass of this neighborhood was as green and pure as ever.
When he had first moved to Manor Ridge Estates he had felt awkward, uncomfortable, out of place. Someone as fucked up as he was had no place in a neighborhood as perfect as this one. He felt like he marked the neighborhood the same way his ugly scars cut into his otherwise perfect face. For the first half of his time spent in Manor Ridge he wanted nothing more than to get out. He despised the robotically perfect setting that he seemed so unbred for. He wanted to go someplace where people would get him, someplace where people had ugly secrets and dark pasts that branded every move they made.
Sometime around his thirteenth birthday, he realized that everything about the eerie perfection of the neighborhood was fake. Every family had a secret that they kept in their home, behind locked doors, each one praying that the guy next door didn't figure them out. On the outside Manor Ridge Estates was elegant, graceful, unrivaled in its beauty. But, on the inner walls of each individual house a struggle to keep secrets buried in the dark lingered. That was when Troy realized that he was a perfect fit for the neighborhood. The world saw him with a superhuman perfection, but in reality he wanted nothing more than to suppress everything that ever haunted him so deep that it would never see the light of day. The Bolton's kept their family secrets so tightly locked that even they weren't sure where the key to let them out was anymore.
Troy was comforted by this fact, the fact that nothing was ever what it appeared. The knowledge had gotten him through countless crappy moments in life. As he glided into a narrow parking space in front of a large white building with cherry red accents he tried to remember it when he noticed a slick silver Mercedes-Benz CLK two spaces down from him. He contemplated moving his own vehicle for a moment, but then he noticed that the motor wasn't running and he figured that the raven haired owner wasn't sitting behind the tinted windows. In the late summer New Mexico heat there was no way anyone would be able to sit in an off car for longer than twenty seconds.
"Yo Hoops!" a deep male voice said, banging on the trunk of the black BMW. Troy turned cut the engine and quickly glided out, his cocky grin positioned on his face.
"Hey guys," he said to the ringlet haired boy and fair-skinned boy approaching him. They exchanged a quick man hugs and stood quietly for a few seconds, staring up at the large educational institution.
"Fuck this," the curly haired boy said, running his dark fingers through his tight brown twists. "Can't we just blow it off?"
The senior shook his perfectly sculpted head and shoved his friend lightly towards the building. "Coach will have our asses if we skip the first day, Chad," Troy said as the three walked slowly towards the building.
"The coach is your dad, Troy," the fair skinned boy said, scrunching his jet black eyebrows in confusion.
Troy let out a low chuckle, "And he'll kill me if I skip school. Plus, I always miss all of the female attention over summer break," he said lowly as a blond cheerleader bounced by, flashing a coy smile at the school's superstar.
The dark skinned boy, Chad, snorted and shook his head, "That's my man," he laughed. Chad Danforth had been Troy Bolton's best friend since Troy started at East Elementary in the second grade. Chad had been there for Troy through all of his meltdowns and the days where he just felt like giving up on everything. He knew everything there was to know about his friend, he knew more than even the gorgeous figure's parents and brother did. Even though Troy loved his younger brother, Chad was still more of a brother to him than Parker ever would be. Chad knew that the attention from the entire double x population at East High, really just made his insecure best friend uncomfortable, but he never called him out on it. Chad played along with Troy's cool exterior as the faithful sidekick to the golden boy, as the boy that would never quite measure up. Part of the reason Troy knew his friend was okay with the going along with Troy's act was because Chad knew every heart wrenching tale Troy had to tell and had told Troy time and time again that he would be doing the exact same thing.
"Jason," a waif-like girl, with wire rim glasses called from across the courtyard they were quickly coming to.
The pale boy smiled brightly at the girl and raised an arm, waving to her. "I'm gonna go talk to Kelsi," he said, darting across the courtyard before his friends could get another word out.
Jason Cross and Kelsi Neilsen made up one of the couples in Troy's core group of friends. There was only one other person in the group not in a relationship, but out of everyone in his group the single girl was the one person he wasn't friends with. He didn't even really consider the girl part of his group of friends, she was just sort of there because of everyone else.
"I promised Tay I would try and find her before school," Chad said, mentioning his own girlfriend, Taylor McKessie. "Want to come?" He asked, glancing nervously up at his best friend.
The young man rolled his cobalt spheres and let out an annoyed sigh. He liked Taylor, he really did, he just didn't feel like dealing with Taylor's best friend at eight o'clock in the morning. "Is the bitch going to be with her?"
"Dude, don't call her that," Chad snapped. The curly haired boy was the only person in school besides the 'bitch' they were discussing to ever call Troy out when he crossed a line. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Their overly dramatic friend Sharpay Evans would call Troy out for looking at someone the wrong way. But she called everyone out on everything they did wrong so she hardly counted. The rest of the school just let his jabs slide off their backs, he was their superstar, their golden boy. As much as he hated the word, he had to admit that sometimes being golden had its perks. Troy Bolton got away with everything.
"Whatever man," Troy shrugged. "Is Gabriella Montez going to be with her?" He asked his friend, rephrasing the question in a more polite way, his tone still filled with venom when he spit out her name.
Chad nodded, "Isn't she always?" The question was a rhetoric one, the answer obvious. The girls had barely left each other's sides since they met in kindergarten. They had taken the same classes, all AP and honors level, excelling at everything they did while still maintaining their social lives.
"Unfortunately," Troy mumbled, frowning in annoyance. Deep down he really didn't have a problem with the girl attached to Taylor's hip, it was more that she had a problem with him. He wasn't exactly sure what he had ever done to her, but Gabriella Montez had hated him at least since middle school. He didn't remember much interaction with her before that, but if he cared to think hard enough he knew he would probably be able to remember a few ugly words slipping from her beautiful mouth. "Just go ahead man, I've got some girls of my own to find," the god like figure said, striding away from Chad.
Troy linked his arms around two cheerleaders who had been walking a little bit ahead of the basketball stars, each muscle under his blue t-shirt well defined as his slung them loosely around their shoulders. They smiled up at the perfect figure and started to drone on about some party that he just had to go to this upcoming weekend. Troy nodded along with their words, 'uh-huhing' at the appropriate times. As they paced through the courtyard and into the building he kept his arrogant smirk oh his face the whole time, never forgetting the public mask he wore and always pretending that the scars tarnishing his bronze face were non-existent.