Setting: A small town in upstate New York
Troy set his haunches and pressed his cheek against the steel as he stared down the barrel of the gun. Beyond the line of the rifle, a deer was tripping down a steep rise, shaking the green brush leaves.
He inhaled. His hair fell across his eyes. He pulled the trigger.
X
Chad and Zeke were eating in the dilapidated diner. In the booth by the window. Troy came in, like he was being chased, and slid in next to Chad. He began eating Chad's fries, one after the other. Chad smacked his hand.
"Get your own, Jesus," Chad whined.
"I think I killed a deer," Troy burst out. The two boys looked up.
"What happened to your face?" Zeke asked. There was a red mark across Troy's cheek.
"The rifle kicked it," Troy murmured.
"You loser; what'd you do?" Chad demanded furtively, looking around the deserted diner. Kelsi was reading a magazine behind the bar. The lights of the pin ball machine lit and went out in circles.
"I ran away; I didn't mean to kill it," Troy protested. "Do you think they'll be able to trace it to me?"
Zeke took a short breath. "Get rid of the gun-"
"And burn you shoes-" added Chad.
"And start praying."
Troy jumped as the door opened. A boy walked in with long, lithe legs and brown doe eyes. The boy walked toward the counter. His head turned and his eyes locked with Troy's. His face held no expression, but his eyes burned. He walked up to the counter and told Kelsi,
"I'm looking for Troy Bolton."
"Oh my God," Troy gasped, ducking down in his seat.
"What? Who is that?" Chad hissed.
"I have no idea," Troy hissed back.
"Then why are you hiding?" Chad pressed.
"It might be the police," Zeke answered.
"He's right over there," Kelsi sighed mechanically. And the stranger turned and walked toward them.
Troy looked out the window and reached for one of Chad's fries. Chad smacked his hand away. The boy stopped at the edge of the table.
"Which one of you is Troy Bolton?" he asked, smiling politely.
"Who?" Zeke replied.
"I am," Chad lied. The boy looked at Troy.
"He really is," Troy confirmed.
The boy looked at Chad. "I'm trying to find your mother's place."
"Why?" Troy demanded.
"I'm staying with her, for the summer," he told Chad.
"Oh. You must be Ryan," Troy said. "I'm Troy. I thought you were someone else."
"I'm not."
"Yeah. Got it. Thanks," Troy said. "I'll write down directions."
"Why are you staying with Troy's mom?" Chad asked as Troy scribbled directions on a napkin.
"She's teaching me piano," Ryan replied. "I'm studying at Juilliard, where she used to go."
Troy handed him the napkin.
"Thanks," he smiled and started toward the door.
"Wait. Who's taking you up there?" Troy asked.
Ryan shrugged. "Walking."
"It's, like, twenty miles. Up hill." Troy informed him.
Ryan paused.
Troy sighed. "I can take you."
X
"Nice Shoes," Ryan said.
"Thanks," Troy grumbled. They were driving up the wooded road in Troy's truck. Ryan's rucksack was shifting around in the back.
"So, do you live with your mom?" Ryan asked.
"No, I live with my dad. On the other side of town."
"Oh. What's she like?"
Troy snorted. "She's good at piano."
"Yeah."
Troy shifted the gear as the hill steepened.
"It's really pretty out here," Ryan commented.
"I guess."
"You're mom must find it really inspiring."
Troy didn't say anything.
"Do you go to college?" Ryan asked.
"No. I work for my dad."
"Oh. Doing what?"
"He owns a business."
"What kind of business?"
"A beauty parlor," Troy growled, narrowing his eyes at Ryan.
"Oh."
"He's gay."
"Oh." Ryan played his fingers along the dashboard.
"Could you not to do that?"
"Oh. Sorry," Ryan exclaimed, jumping and guiltily folding his arms. He gazed out the window. "I get, like, really weird about the piano. My mom says I feel through my ears. Is your mom like that?"
"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Troy demanded. "I don't like to talk about her."
"Oh. Sorry. I always say the wrong thing," he stammered. "You seem really jumpy. Oh. Sorry."
Troy slowed the car as they hit a sharp curve at the top of the hill. As they turned the corner, the hillside banked out below, revealing the mouth of the lush valley.
"Wow," Ryan murmured. "Did you grow up here?"
"Yeah."
"Wow."
Troy shifted the gear as they turned off the paved road and up a graveled drive. Branches scrapped the windows.
"Oh my God," Ryan exclaimed, gazing rapturously through the trees. "Are there wild animals out here?"
"Yes."
"Are they dangerous?"
"Some of them."
"Does your mom live alone?" Ryan asked.
"No. She has a live-in maid, and there are doctors coming in and out all the time."
"Is your mom sick?"
"She thinks she is."
The trees opened up as they passed by a lake. The figure of the wooden house was etched above, behind bars of trees. The drove past the lake and curved up to the paved driveway. Troy pulled up beside an old Toyota.
"Well," Troy prompted.
"You don't want to come in?" Ryan asked nervously.
Troy shook his head. "She doesn't want to see me," he assured Ryan.
"Okay. Thanks for the ride," Ryan said. Troy nodded. "Maybe I'll see you around?"
"Maybe."
Ryan exited the car. He pulled his rucksack from the bed. He approached the door as Troy backed his truck down the drive.
X
A warm-looking woman opened the front door. "You must be Ryan. I'm Tamicka, Mrs. Bolton's maid. Did you find your way alright?" she asked, peering out at the truck rumbling behind the trees.
"Yeah," Ryan replied. The front room was white. There was a picture of Troy on the mantelpiece. And an antique French piano in front of the window.
"Mrs. Bolton is with a Doctor right now. I'll show you where you'll be staying," she said, leading him up the rickety staircase.
"Does she play that piano?"
Tamicka turned and looked at him, with her hand squared against her hip. "I don't know why she agreed to have you come all the way out here."
X
Ryan's new bedroom was freshly cleaned. It has lace curtains and photos of Troy fishing and playing piano. The book case had a few random titles Amadeus Mozart, The Oxford Book of Opera, Music, the Brain and Ecstasy. Ryan flipped through them on the blue bedspread, trying to decipher the annotations in the margins.
X
They had dinner at five o'clock. Mrs. Bolton was thin and pale. Her eyes were like glass. She sat at the head of the table and ate silently.
"It was so nice of you to have me," Ryan said. "I can't wait to hear your recent compositions."
"That's nice, dear," she murmured softly.
"Um...do you mind if I try out the Grand in the living room. I've never seen such a beautiful piano."
"That piano is broken," she informed him.
"Oh. What's wrong with it?"
"It's broken," she repeated.
"Oh." He shifted the food on his plate with is fork. "Are there any other pianos?"
"In the shed, outside," she answered. "Play quietly."
X
"How did that kid end up staying with your mom?" Chad asked. He, Zeke and Troy were at the Bar drinking beers and throwing darts.
Troy took aimed, arched back, and nailed the bull's eye. "He started e-mailing her from Juilliard or something. Tamicka told my father about it." He sat down and took a deep drink from his glass mug. "I don't know what the heck he's going to do up there. He won't last a week."
"Come on," Zeke argued. "You're mom's not that crazy."
"She's pretty freaking crazy," Troy disagreed.
"Have you heard anything? About this morning?" Chad asked.
"No," Troy shivered. "Let's not talk about it. Ever again."
"Hey, Troy, isn't that him?" Zeke asked, pointing his bottle at the door.
"Who?" Troy jumped. Ryan was walking into the bar. He saw Troy and approached him.
"Hey," Ryan said. "Thanks for giving me a ride earlier." He looked nervous.
"Sure," Troy nodded. "How did you get back down here?"
"The motorbike in the shed. I guess it used to be yours?"
"Yeah. Be careful going back up the hill; it stalls."
"Okay," Ryan said timidly. "Troy? Can I ask you a question?"
"Depends what it is."
"Your mother, does she even play piano anymore?"
"Um...I don't really know, Ryan. I haven't seen her in a while." Troy tried to disentangle himself from the conversation by listening in on Chad and Zeke, but Ryan pressed on.
"I think I'm sleeping in your room."
"It's not my room anymore," Troy said.
"I mean your old room," Ryan amended. He looked spooked and disappointed. "I really wanted to work with your mother. Her old symphonies are...they're just amazing," he said, empathetically. "I mean, they changed my life-"
"I'm really not interested," Troy interrupted. Ryan looked downcast. Troy sighed. "Listen. Why don't you toss the scooter in my truck, we'll go pick up your stuff and I'll take you to the train station," he offered.
Ryan's eyes widened and he shook his head. "No. This is really important to me," he insisted.
"Then deal with it," Troy shrugged. Ryan nodded obediently. He remained standing quietly beside Troy. "Why don't you get a drink or something?"
"I'm underage," Ryan murmured. Troy smiled and shook his head.
"You really are hopeless."