A/N: Thank you very much for all the reviews on the first chapter! I hope you all enjoy this one, too.

Confessions and Consequences

Chapter 2. "A New Me"

"Repeat after me. I will not chase a man. Go on, say it."

While Sharpay tried to coach me with her mantras, I was far more preoccupied with matching the right blazer to my pencil skirt for a job interview in thirty minutes. "Sharpay, please. Not right now." I briskly tossed my blankets onto my bed and dropped down onto my hands and knees to check underneath my bed for a pair of missing shoes. "Have you seen my flats?"

"You can borrow a pair of mine."

"Thanks," I went into her room and checked the back of the door for her shoe rack, sifting through the red bottoms, furry flip flops, and hot pink stilettos for a sensible pair.

Sharpay slowly cracked the door open and said, "I want you to say it before you leave."

"What?"

"I want you to say that you will not chase a man."

While rolling my eyes, I said, "I will not chase a man."

"Good! Now don't forget to say that every morning after you wake up and every night before you go to sleep, then maybe you'll start to live it!" She murmured to herself but still loud enough for me to hear, "Miracles can happen after all."

I spotted a folded up pair of black flats with little black bows over the toes. Good enough, I thought. I tore them from the rack and quickly slid them on. Running out past Sharpay, I yelled over my shoulder, "Wish me luck!"

"You're not going to need it, babe!"

After a delayed train ride, I hustled up the stairs from the underground and checked the time. "Shit!" I weaved through crowds of tourists gawking at the buildings I've grown accustomed to and ducked through the farmer's market. After I narrowly avoided colliding with a cyclist, I crossed forty-second street and ran inside the company's building. I hurried through the security check and ran up the stairs to the forth level. After I breathlessly introduced myself to the receptionist, she led me inside the office to a small conference room where my potential future boss waited.

I felt the sweat glazed above my brow gradually thicken as she questioned me about my slightly exaggerated credentials. Where it said I had volunteered at a soup kitchen for the last two years, I had actually been feeding myself cheap Ramen. My listed references were fictitious former professors and their contact information was for Sharpay and Troy. The semester abroad with a foreign exchange program in Mexico was really just the month I spent down there with family after dad died. (It's not my fault all entry positions want to see two years of experience and proficiency in five languages on top of a four-year degree.)

I stuttered through every curt answer I could muster up and wrung my hands together underneath the table the whole time. After less than fifteen minutes in the room, my interviewer led me to the door. We exchanged a quick handshake and she said that she'd call me with a decision by the end of the week, but I knew I had bombed it.

What was I going to do? Stocking shelves and checking out customers at Falstaff Bookstore wasn't going to keep a roof over my head for much longer. The money I saved from my old waitress gig before the restaurant closed was running out. I desperately needed that corporate secretary position to save me from going broke. With all these concerns in my head, I silently made my way back to the subway station when my phone rang. I looked down at the screen and felt my heart jump up into my throat.

It was Troy.

"Hello?" I answered, my voice shaking.

"Hey Brie, are you busy? I was hoping we could meet up and talk about things."

My mouth went dry. "I'm free right now."

"Okay, come over." He disconnected the call.

…

Troy rented the top level of a duplex house in a freshly redeveloped, gentrified neighborhood in Brooklyn called Bushwick. Directly across from Irving Square Park and less than a mile away from Knickerbocker Avenue, Troy's home on Weirfield Street was a seriously lucky grab. He had cut a deal with the landlord, agreeing to be the handy man in the house in exchange for reduced rent. So for power-washing the cream colored bricks in the summer and shoveling snow off the steps in the winter (and occasionally checking the pipes) he could live in one of the coolest neighborhoods in this city.

I passed by a few houses in the line of connected buildings before approaching his, the only one with a pot of flowers in every window sill (that was my touch). I trotted up the steps and buzzed his doorbell, trying to regulate my breathing against my pounding heart. I heard his loud steps thumping down the staircase until the door swung open. "Hey," he said.

Overcome with shyness, I lowered my gaze to the floorboards and silently entered the house. We walked up the staircase on the left side of the foyer, neither of us saying a word. I reached his door and let myself in; savoring its appearance since I knew it was probably my last time in here. I allowed my eyes to trace the frames along the doors and walls, noticing the dry blotches of paint dribbling over their wood from our terrible attempt at painting. I looked at the busted corner of the television from the time I fell off the ladder when trying to hang Christmas lights around his ceiling and took his flat screen down with me. Then there was the corkboard on the wall dividing the living and dining rooms covered in the speeding tickets Troy considered achievements, photos of his family, and some of us. The door slammed shut and I was forced to say goodbye to those memories and confront my new reality. I spun around as Troy stepped forward into the sunlight. He motioned towards the couch and said, "Should we sit?"

I quietly cleared my throat and said, "Sure."

I prayed that this would be quick, that he would agree to forget this like it never happened, but that wasn't what he wanted.

He took his seat in the armchair next to the charcoal black couch I was on and said, "I want to understand what you said. I just," he subtly shakes his head in the middle of his thought, "I can't wrap my head around it."

I shifted uncomfortably into the stiff leather, weary about opening up to him. In the early days when I was still revising and working out the kinks for my confession, I considered quite a few renditions where I would shower him with compliments and explain how deep my love for him ran. It took a while for me to realize that a longer confession would only confuse and complicate things (and make it more awkward when he inevitably couldn't reciprocate my feelings). I eventually realized that a simple 'I love you' said it all without saying too much.

I said, "You heard what I said. I don't know what's confusing about it."

"How long have you felt that way for me?"

I couldn't decide how to answer. I didn't know which lie would be the best. Would six months be too long, too recent? What about a year? What about the truth?

"Brie?"

"It's been some time."

"A long time?"

I sighed, "Troy, I don't think I can give you that answer."

"What made you decide to tell me now?"

I rephrased his question in my head to, Yeah Gabriella, why now did you decide to be such an idiot? I sighed, guiltily averting my eyes from Troy as I sunk deep until regret swallowed me whole. All of this was my fault. I was acting so selfishly. I risked our entire friendship over the miniscule possibility that he would say that he loved me, too. I couldn't let go of my self-centered fantasy, and now I had changed everything without any way to undo it. I felt a tear splatter onto my forearm and said, "I think I should get going."

"Brie, hang on."

"I need to go," I decided, standing from the couch and leaving while he remained in his armchair.

…

This time when I came home, Sharpay wasn't anticipating my arrival since I hadn't told her about my meeting with Troy. It wouldn't have made a difference. It took her one quick glance at my face to read everything.

"Gabriella," she groaned in disappointment. "You saw him, didn't you?"

I nodded.

She face-palmed before asking, "Was it your idea or his?"

"His," I said as I dug through the freezer for our carton of chocolate ice cream.

"I'm sorry."

I scoffed and shook off her pity. I angrily stabbed my spoon into the ice cream and curled up a scoop. I let it melt in my mouth as I seethed at the situation I was in. "Forget this!" I yelled, spitting out the melted chocolaty ice cream into the sink.

"What's your problem?" Sharpay asked, cautiously entering the kitchenette like she was afraid to really see what was going on.

"Look at me, Shar." I pointed at the chocolate ice cream on the counter. "I'm acting like such a cliché. I don't want to do this. I don't want to play the part of the poor girl who got rejected and eats her feelings for months afterwards." I shook my head. "I refuse to become that. I absolutely refuse!"

Sharpay approvingly cheered, "Go Gabby! Girl power!"

I picked up the container from the counter and flipped it face down into the trashcan.

"No!" Sharpay dove for the trashcan, looking at the overturned container in dismay. "Why the hell did you do that?"

I opened the freezer and grabbed a cookies n' cream carton.

"Stop it!" Sharpay quickly dove for the carton and ripped it from my grasp. "Just because you want to become a sad gluten-free vegan doesn't mean the rest of us have to!"

I jerked the container away from her and forcefully chucked it into the garbage can so hard that it toppled over.

Sharpay stared at the trash scattered across the tile floor with her mouth dropped open. "Why did you just do that?"

I wiped my hands together before placing them on my hips decisively and said, "I'm going to make a lifestyle change."

She busted out in laughter. "Yeah, we'll see how long that lasts."

"I mean it Sharpay. I'm going to get fit."

"Oh! I see what you're doing! You're going to get hot while Troy's still a pudgy mess. Hello revenge body!"

I put my hand up to silence her, cringing at the thought. "I'm not getting fit because of Troy. You're missing the point entirely. This is not for Troy. This diet, or rather – lifestyle change – is all for me!"

"A broken heart doesn't need calories; it needs cardio." She winked. "You owe me for that ice cream though."

"I'll replace it with Halo Top." I smiled to myself; proud for not letting these Troy problems ruin me. Even better, I was going to use the explosion from the destruction of our friendship to propel me forward into the best me I could be. It was entirely possible that this devastation would bring about a rebirth of a version of myself so incredible that I would have to thank Troy for not loving me, for giving me the push I needed to take the first step.

As alluring as that all sounded in my head, there was still a part of me that yearned for Troy's attention, for his smile and his eyes. There would always be part of me that belonged to Troy, I feared. A part so ingrained by him that I would never feel whole again. Although I was still skeptical, I could believe that happiness without Troy was attainable. At least I chose to believe it for now.

A/N: Thank you very much for reading! Do you believe Gabriella when she says that she'll undergo a total lifestyle change for herself, or do you think she's just avoiding confronting the issues she has with Troy? Perhaps more importantly, do you think it'll work? I love hearing what you guys think so please don't be shy. Guest reviews are allowed for those who would like to remain anonymous.