I was originally going to write this in Grey's Anatomy, but two lines into Izzie's words, I could just picture Sharpay saying them. So. This is a very short, rather unpolished HSM fic instead. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: If they were mine, then you know what would happen...Troyella would be the new Chadpay. And we can't be having with that, can we?

It's ninety degrees outside and a thirteen-year-old Sharpay Evans glares at her twin brother, Ryan, who is sportingly sporting a sporting I-am-so-about-to-die grin. (Because when you're 13, no one tells you that over-using a word is bad)

"Ryan."

"Good morning, Sharpay." He says quietly. "Pancakes? Mom just made them."

She ignores the proffered breakfast and continues glaring icily at him. "Ryan."

"We have whipped cream if you want any."

"Ryan."

"The syrup's right here I'll pour some on for you, do you want me to cut them up?" He manages to rush out before her chilling voice chants his name again.

"What – ah – color. Are your pants?"

He looks down guiltily. "Green."

"Good, you're not color-blind. Okay, now what color is your shirt?"

Ryan stares fixedly at the ground, his face still frozen in that half-grin. "Red."

"Aaaaaand what do we usually think of when we see red and green together?" His nose scrunches up, and she knows, she just knows that he's going to say "stoplights," just to annoy her.

"Stoplights?"

"Ryan."

"Christmas."

"Okay. What month is it?"

"August." She sighs and finally takes the plate of pancakes from him.

"Do I need to explain why this combination is a Bad Idea?"

"No, Sharpay." She gives him a cold smile before cutting into the stack.

"Okay," she says, attempting to speak around a mouthful. "It's the first day of eighth grade, and we are going to rock the middle school this year." Ryan sits down across the table from her and drenches his own stack in syrup. "Hey, twin brother. You want some pancakes with that sugar?"

"Naw. Anyway, rocking the middle school this year. How?" She eyes him critically.

"Well, first of all, by changing those clothes." She gestures to her own outfit, which, judging by its vast amount of whiteness, was also winter-y in a more subtle way than a Yuletide festival. "Something that matches this." He rolls his eyes and keeps on eating.

"I'll change later."

"Ryan!"

"Look, there's syrup all over my face, I can't get it on a white shirt." Sharpay considers this for a second.

"You're right. Eat first, change later." He nods in absent-minded agreement as she stands up to clear away her utensils.

"What else are we rocking?" He asks, making sure that she can hear the italicized emphasis.

"We're going to make everyone else see just what they're not." His hands fall open in a helpless gesticulation of "that helps." Which, of course, Sharpay does not see.

"Again. How?" She stops buffing up a newly washed fork to stare at him.

"Ryan, do you have to be so stupid? We're just going to be, and everyone will know what they're not."

"Okay." He opens his mouth to ask another question, but a sense of self-preservation keeps it inside his head. "I'm going to get changed now."

"Ryan!" she yells out one more time as he trudges upstairs. Without waiting for a reply, "Wear the silver hat! The silver one! It'll give our ensemble a nice sparkly finish!"

He inspects himself in the full-length mirror they share in their bathroom, artfully tilting the silver hat to the left a few inches. "Eighth grade," he says to himself, almost wistfully. "We're going to rock the middle school." His face starts its glacial movement into a wide smile.

But it's interrupted by a shrill voice screaming, "Ryan! We're going to be late! Come on, I don't want to walk all the way in these shoes!"

Yeah. Time to rock.

-end-

Mmhmm. All you literary folks who probably had to take AP English with a crazy english teacher: notice this, because I'm especially proud of it: the slight alliteration in many of the descriptions, and, of course, the continued use of words that are synonymous with cold.

I'm done plugging my own genius now.

Please review!