Autumn

Chapter 1

In which there is something rotten in the undergrowth.

"Something's rotten with this world," she says, looking over her balcony like she'd never done before. It is high, higher than she has ever thought, and she wonders how Troy could have clambered his way up every time; without thought, without hesitation, so utterly sure that despite breaking branches or snapping bones that it was the right thing to do. It chills her to think how that's gone from him now. There's no more Romeo left inside Troy Bolton.

Taylor throws her tabloid away (not hers nor Gabriella's, but something Chad bought her with the vague idea that girls read them) and sits up to attention immediately. "You mean like the way Troy treated you?" There is a hopeful tone in her voice – she's been waiting for the post-relationship-friend-comfort cue for a week now, and has a speech prepared (and revised) on all the things wrong with ex-Saint Troy. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Gabby-"

"I'm okay. Really."

And so, with an exasperated sigh, Taylor returns to her magazine with her usual efficiency and a mutter of "Why do these people even get married?" Gabriella, mind drifting, thinks of a different and long gone conversation.

"Are you breaking up with me, Troy Bolton?"

"I am," Troy had said to her, "but I don't know who that is."

His best friend has died, and Chad (with a sick twist of guilt) is only realising now. True, he has never been one for the 'touchy feely' stuff, but in hindsight he knows he really should have noticed earlier that something was up.

They were temporarily without a coach for now, so one of the Maths teachers or whoever the guy was looked after them instead. Thirty minutes of practice was enough for the coach-but-not-coach to swap the team's captaincy around – Chad, now, was the captain of the Wildcats. He'd protested, like any good friend would.

"No," Troy had said, grabbing his shoulder, "he's right, man. You're the best one for the job." And then he calmly handed the ball over. "It's better for the team. Congrats." There was no awkward silence, no shifting from foot to foot, not even the laughing-it-off jokes – Troy didn't need to pretend he didn't care.

He just really didn't.

Troy Bolton, as they knew him, is dead. It must be all that drama stuff rubbing off on him; anything anybody does in musicals seems to be singing and dancing and smiling to the audience when there isn't any reason to. And underneath, Troy had a quiet death.

So unlike his old man.

Ryan wakes from a long jetlag-induced sleep to find rain. This doesn't please him, because it feels like he's already had a whole year full of winter and written on the sky was the message here's some more. He yawns his way through the usual routine and downs his waffles listening to Sharpay; her breakfast gossip isn't directed at him, which is a pleasant change, but at some girl on the phone. Probably new, because he would remember a girl with a name like Tiara.

It wasn't until halfway to school when he really pays attention to something, a break in the monotony. He presses his nose against the window, craning his head back to try peering through the thick rain. Sharpay does a little jump in her seat. "Did I-"

"No, not that." Even without mystical twin telepathy he can tell she was worried about running something over. Again. "It's like, I thought I saw somebody walking back there."

"In this rain? Doubt it. They'd have to swim."

"Not everybody is the Wicked Witch of the West. But I could have sworn."

"Whatever." She stops the car, and when she opens the door there was a neatly dressed blond girl there with an umbrella and extras hooked to her arm – there is a bag that smells suspiciously like soy milk latte. "Oh, Tiara, that is so sweet. Look, Ry, she even brought one for you!"

Ryan thanks her a little reluctantly. One of the Evans mottos (out of many, since they keep adding to the list) is to believe that nice people are one of two things – stupid, or dangerous. He'll have to watch her.

They were three steps into the building when they were mobbed. Ryan, busy spying the efficiency with which Tiara put away the wet umbrellas in an empty locker, didn't see them coming.

The wild assortment of basketballers and scientists marches them to the classroom, sits them down, and then congregates in an intimidating sort of circle around them. Ryan is surprised to find the power couple right now is Taylor and Big Hair (also known to him as what's-his-name), who looks at each other and starts to talk in that annoying couple way where they co-ordinate their speeches.

Big Hair starts first. "Okay, so we know that you've been off to Austria-"

"-Australia," Tiara chirps in, like she was there.

Taylor frowns at them. "Isn't it cold there right now?"

"Our parents like skiing."

"But Australia's beaches-"

"Our parents love skiing."

"Anyway," Big Hair goes on, obviously without a clue as to where Australia might be, "since you've been gone, I thought I'd fill you in on what's been going on." At this point Sharpay's foot nudge his, which is the signal for them to dramatically exchange a look, and when they do he can see everybody is impressed about the twin thing.

"It's about Coach Bolton."

"He's had an accident."

Sharpay pinches his knee, but he is too distracted digesting the information so her exaggerated gasp goes off solo. "You don't mean – is he really – oh my God-"

A printed sheet is slapped onto the table. Big Hair leans back, and Ryan can guess this particular idea wasn't one of his, proven by the way Taylor steps forward with her hands on her hips. "Here is a list of words, phrases and events that you must never mention in Troy's earshot under any circumstances. We'll update this fortnightly as necessary, but for now you should focus on memorising the ones in the top risk category, here…"

The English accent cuts in again. "Now really, if you're saying that Sharpay-" she gives a small can-I-call-you-that look and is returned with a small nod, "-can't act accordingly sympathetic without your manual, then I'm afraid you're seriously mistaken."

He doesn't agree in those exact words, but the list seems rather extreme.

"Dude," Tiara shudders when Big Hair calls her that, "two days ago, Geography class. Somebody mentions Lincoln National Forest, bam."

Ryan has to ask. "What?"

"He drops everything and leaves. Nobody sees him again for the rest of the day and Gabby had to go find him."

For the first time, Ryan is aware of Gabriella as part of the circle, hovering near the edge. He wants to know how she feels about all of this supposed Troy-madness, but the sullen silence she broods in is enough of an indication.

"I don't get it," says Sharpay.

Big Hair shakes his head (and hair with it, Ryan notices). "Coach took him camping there a few times when he was young. Just learn the list, yeah?"

"I'll do it. For Troy," she says in a tone of great sacrifice, and Tiara takes the page for her.

Ryan rises to leave, but Taylor tugs him back. "We'll get a page for you too, just wait a moment."

"Nah," He shakes his head, "if I do talk to Troy – and we all know how often that happens – I'll just blab on about the weather or something. I don't need it, really."

Taylor scans the list. "As long as it's not hailing or flooding."

"Right." Beginning to find this whole thing overblown – and trust Troy Bolton to be the person to make a storm – Ryan moves for the exit but is forced to stop. And stare. And blink. "Troy."

"Hey, buddy," Big Hair calls out from the other side of the room.

Troy's face breaks into a grin and gives a thumbs up. "Hey, man. And hey, Ryan. Haven't seen you for a while. Where've you been?" He raises one hand to scratch at his hair and a small pool forms from what drips off of those few strands alone.

"You…walked here? In the rain?" Ryan remembers the first interesting thing of the day (is somewhat disappointed it has to be megastar Bolton), the figure in the mist.

"Yeah, my Mum had to go to work early."

"But what happened to your-" he has to pause before truck because Big Hair is making furious STOP motions with his arms behind Troy "-clothes? Is that colour running? It might stain your shorts!"

"Looks fine to me." There is a silence. Ryan can feel Sharpay tensing up across the room at the same time – Bolton's little clique had felt it subconsciously, but the Evans are actors. They're fluent in the unspoken language, and every muscle on Troy Bolton's body right now is telling them he's on stage and performing. Acting out the part, playing himself.

"So," Ryan says after a while, trying to ignore the way Troy's puddle is coming dangerously close to his shoes, "you noticed it's raining?"