- Chapter 1 -
The elderly woman frantically wrings her hands as she stands in her garden. When she notices the brunette boy approaching her, accompanied by a fair-haired teenage girl and a tiny mass of white fluff curled up in the girl's arms, relief passes over her face. "Thank you!" She breathes, her eyes moist and her voice trembling with joy.
"Don't mention it, Mrs. Olson," the boy, Troy Bolton, assures her with a smile. He gestures toward the girl at his side. "Samantha promises to take good care of Ellie and your flowers." It wasn't quite that easy. Samantha's mother, Mrs. Sommers, hadn't exactly been eager to let her daughter leave the house with the town "nut", even if said "nut" had brought them their grandmother's dear pet.
"Grandma?" Samantha ventures softly. Her brown eyes are wide with incredulity. There's a tremor to her voice, as well, and Troy's heart twists with sympathy. She's distracted, however, as Ellie, a small maltese, begins letting out high-pitched yips and wagging her tail. "What's wrong?" Samantha asks the dog. "What is it?"
"Please." Mrs. Olson looks to Troy. "Tell my granddaughter that I knew that I could count on her."
"I will," Troy promises. He feels that small pang deep within his chest and knows that it's time.
Mrs. Olson reaches out and ruffles the fur on Ellie's head, instantly quieting the dog.
"Oh my god!" Samantha whispers, a shocked note to her voice.
Troy gives her a tight smile. She has to know, now, that her grandmother is there.
"You be a good girl," Mrs. Olson tearfully instructs her pet. "Alright?" Stepping back from the dog, and from Samantha, who shivers, she takes hold of Troy's hand. "Thank you," she tells him.
"It's no problem at all." Troy dips his head and gently squeezes her hand. "Really. Take care of yourself, okay?"
Mrs. Olson smiles at him, her blue eyes brimming with gratitude. Troy can feel Mrs. Olson's muscles relaxing as a feeling of tranquility steals over her. Then, she begins to fade; limbs, torso, and finally, her head, her calm, kind aura disappearing with her.
Troy unleashes a sigh of relief. He's done it. She's done it. With a last look at Samantha Sommers and Ellie the dog, he looks into the girl's eyes and informs her, hoping that it will give her some semblance of peace of mind, "Your grandma said she knew she could count on you." He then lightly strokes the maltese's head, slips his hands into his pockets, and begins the trek home.
"You weren't shitting us, were you?" Samantha asks, causing Troy to turn back and find her tentatively scratching behind a now distressed once again Ellie's ears.
He's heard variations of this question before. And, every time, Troy has replied exactly the same way. "No. I wasn't."
x-x-x
Troy walks up the front porch steps of the Bolton home, checking the mailbox on his way into the house. He retrieves the mail and places the essentials, such as bills, coupons, credit card offers, and the newspaper, on the kitchen counter in plain sight of his parents. Something else, however, catches his eye, and he keeps hold of it as he moves to his bedroom adjacent to the kitchen.
"Where have you been all day?" Chad Danforth asks.
"Out," Troy replies, beginning to thumb through the issue of Rolling Stone Magazine. "What about you?"
"Shooting hoops in the gym at East High." Chad smiles and there's a laugh in his voice as he adds, "I think I scared a few freshman."
Troy looks up from the magazine and smiles despite knowing that he shouldn't. He chides his friend lightheartedly, "Man, you know you're not supposed to be doing that."
"Relax. It's not like anyone saw me." Chad leans against the wall, looking self-assured as usual.
"You can't be too sure of that." Troy's search through the magazine is fruitless, and he moves into the den to use the family computer. "Some people are more sensitive to that kind of energy. Especially teenagers," he continues as he goes.
Chad lets out a noise somewhere between a snort and a scoff as he follows Troy. "And, here I thought it was only you that was crazy enough to see ghosts."
His heart wrenching, Troy chooses not to reply to that. He takes a seat at the computer desk, turns the computer on, and immediately goes to check his email. As he types in his username and password information on Yahoo, he can see Chad playing catch with his signature basketball out of the corner of his eye.
"You owe me a game, later," Chad says.
"You got it," Troy answers him without taking his eyes off of the screen. He emailed me! He realizes with astonishment. A message from his former schoolmate and now Broadway star, Ryan Evans, sits in Troy's inbox. Ryan had relocated to New York, last year, to attend the University of Juilliard in the hopes of furthering his career as a performer. Yet, even with a full and demanding schedule, he made time to continue correspondence with Troy via emails sent at least twice a week. These emails contained MP3s of songs, gently encouraging messages written in that unique Ryan Evans prose that Troy had grown accustomed to during their days as partners in AP English, and, occasionally, inspirational quotes.
Reading those emails and looking forward to them, was one of the few things that kept Troy going after the accident.
As Troy eagerly pours over the contents of the message, he can't help but break into a grin. He's coming home! "Ryan's coming back!"
Troy's exclamation causes Chad to pause and tuck the ball under his arm. "Evans?" He inquires.
"Yes, of course! Who else?" Troy hops out of the chair and turns to Chad, hoping to see even a portion of his excitement reflected on his bushy-haired best friend's face.
Instead, Chad says, "You know, he's been prancing around on Broadway. He probably let fame go to his head, and thinks he's too good to hang out with small town guys like you, like his sister does, now."
Troy shakes his head. He has an entire inbox of messages from over the last year that prove Chad wrong. "Chad, it's Ryan," he clarifies, giving his friend a light punch on the biceps. "We both know that he and his sister aren't the same person. Look, he's coming back to Albuquerque, today. And," he vows, mostly to himself, "I'm gonna be there to meet him."
Chad searches Troy's eyes, then seems to realize that nothing that he says will deter the brunette. "Fine, whatever," he resigns. "But, let's just hope for your sake that he doesn't mind fooling around with the town crazy."
Something inside Troy flinches at the reminder that he isn't the East High Golden Boy, anymore. Jimmie Zara, a scrawny sophomore who idolized Troy during their senior year of high school, seems to be well on his way to claiming that title. Troy is legitimately happy for the kid, but facing the hollow disappointment in his father's eyes isn't necessarily something that he looks forward to on a daily basis.
However, a decent-sized part of him is certain that his fall from grace won't put Ryan off. And, even if it would, he still wants to see the petite, fair-skinned blond boy, again.
"Just one thing, though," Chad says as Troy grabs a sweater to put on over his plaid shirt.
"Yeah?"
"How are you going to get to the airport?"
Troy halts, his eyes widening with discernment. His pickup was totaled in the crash. The crash that… Pain seizes his chest, and Troy finds himself gasping for air. Images flash through his mind. Broken glass in curly hair. Blood. So much blood. Deep gashes all over Chad's face… "Y-You're right," he stammers, pulling himself back into the present. He struggles to get his breathing back under control. "How am I supposed to get there when I don't have a…?"
"Troy, honey," Lucille Bolton calls. She peers around the bend, her brows knitted and her gray eyes filled with concern. "Who are you talking to?"
Looking around the room, Troy discovers that, aside from him and his mother, it's empty. Which means that Chad has made himself invisible. Troy isn't sure whether to be relieved or upset at this. Swallowing, he makes sure that his voice is steady before meeting Lucille's eyes and answering, "No one, mom."
Lucille nods dubiously. "Alright." The concern doesn't quite leave her eyes, and Troy feels a rush of guilt for making her worry. He should know by now to make sure that no one else is in earshot before talking to Chad. A few seconds later, the Bolton matriarch says, "I have some groceries out in the car. Feel like lending me a hand with them?"
Troy nods, grateful for the change of subject.
"And," his mom adds, "after we put them away, I'll see about taking you wherever it is you want to go."
A weight lifts off of Troy's chest, and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks, mom," he says happily, then rushes past her and toward the back door with a single-minded determination. Ryan. He's going to see Ryan!
x-x-x
Troy waits patiently beside his mom in the Albuquerque International Sunport terminal, as he watches Ryan reunite with his own family; his mother, his father, and his fraternal twin sister, Sharpay. The sunlight streaming in through the windows strikes Ryan's golden blond hair at just the right angle, giving it a luminous appearance. His brilliant Ryan smile is on his face, and Troy feels his pulse pick up slightly at the mere sight of him.
Sharpay emits one of her signature high-pitched squeals and a giggle as she and Ryan jump and down while embracing each other. The two of them comfortably exchange words, their hands linked, and then they part.
Ryan makes his way over to Troy. Those sky colored eyes are shining as they take in the brunette former athlete, exactly like Troy remembers them. Halfway there, a sound like a squeal escapes Ryan, and he rushes forward into Troy's open arms.
An electric sort of energy dances its way up Troy's fingers and arms as he comes into contact with the petite boy. Even through his vest and dress shirt, Ryan feels skinny in a way that's mildly alarming. But, that's okay. Troy can figure out how to fix that, because Ryan is here. His sweet scent surrounds Troy, his soft cheek is pressed against the crook of Troy's neck, and Troy can't stop smiling, even if he wanted to.
"I missed you," Ryan whispers.
"I missed you, too." Troy tightens the embrace.
Ryan squeezes Troy's shoulder blades, then moves back just far enough to give him a thorough inspection, his eyes carefully passing over Troy's face and his hair, which is longer than it was when they last saw each other. They then trail down Troy's torso to his lower body… "You look so good, Troy", he says softly, his eyes glowing and his voice brimming with delight.
Delight, and something else.
Warmth fills Troy's cheeks. He's worked hard to stay in shape after the accident, even if running proves challenging for him, at times, and appreciates hearing that his efforts have paid off. "So do you," he returns.
Ryan blushes and ducks his head shyly, biting down on his lower lip. "Um, how is everything?" He asks.
Troy clears his throat. The smile on his face fades slightly. "Same old, same old," he replies, slipping his hands into his pockets.
"Your dad is still…?" Ryan treads cautiously.
"Yeah." Troy's eyes fall to the tiled flooring. Aside from one-on-one games with Chad in the wee hours of the morning, he hasn't picked up a basketball since a practice gone awry with his father shortly before the accident. And, he knows that Jack Bolton isn't taking that fact well.
A frown tugs the edges of Ryan's pretty, pink-lipped mouth downward. He moves back in and stares intently into Troy's eyes. "Hey. Forget about him. I want to see you happy, okay?" He reaches out and squeezes Troy's shoulder, a kind of reassuring touch that Troy hasn't experienced since the night of Chad's funeral.
"Okay." Troy nods, his insides beginning to fizz with something in the vein of happiness. In that instant, he and Ryan simultaneously become aware that their families and several other people occupying the terminal are staring. Trading bashful smiles, they step away from each other.
"… Hey, why don't we hang out tomorrow?" Ryan proposes, shuffling his feet.
Troy, not quite ready to bid Ryan farewell for the day, feels his heart give a tiny leap of joy. "Yeah." He nods, a smile pulling at his lips. "Alright."
"Great." Ryan gives Troy a last sweet smile. His eyes sparkle at the prospect of what tomorrow holds as he turns to rejoin his family.
Troy watches him all the way there. When Ryan is more than halfway to the other Evanses, Troy throws his arm up in a wave that the blond boy gladly reciprocates. Lucille greets her son with a knowing look when he turns back to face her. Troy can only blush, hoping that mother's intuition is at work, and that he isn't being painfully obvious.
x-x-x
"So, how did it go down with Evans?" Chad rematerializes in front of the foot of Troy's bed.
"Great," Troy answers him as he unbuttons his plaid shirt, tosses it into the hamper near his bedroom door, and tugs a tank top on over his head. "Great", is bit of an understatement. Something about Ryan, be it his liveliness, his amiable nature, his light, lenient voice, or the way that he's always happy to see Troy, regardless of what happened the night of the graduation party… never fails to lift Troy's spirits. With Ryan back in town, it's almost as though something is on the verge of falling into place. He just has to spend some time with the blond actor, reconnecting with him, and maybe they can…!
"That's fantastic." Troy hears a major shift in Chad's inflection and instantly refocuses his attention. Before he can figure out how to inquire about the cause of this shift, though, the bushy-haired boy asks him in a low murmur, "You didn't happen to see Taylor around town while you were out, earlier, did you?"
Troy's throat constricts. As he takes a pair of pajama pants out of his dresser, he says softly, "No, I didn't, man. I'm sorry."
After the funeral, Chad's girlfriend, Taylor McKessie, took off to Connecticut, to attend Yale University. Troy sent her several rather awkward emails on Chad's behalf, but she never replied.
The negative response affects Chad exactly like Troy imagined it would. Without looking, Troy can tell that his friend is tempted to fling his basketball at the wall with all of his strength. Instead, Chad settles for clenching the orange and black-striped rubber sphere with enough force to pop it. "It's cool. Whatever," he says tightly.
"Do you want me to email her again?" Troy inquires.
"No, man. It's…" Chad lets out an exasperated sigh. He's quiet for several moments.
Troy steps out of his jeans and into the pajama pants, slipping them up his waist. He waits for Chad to finish, his stomach flipping anxiously. The idea that Taylor could be Chad's "unfinished business", has lingered in the back of Troy's mind for a while, now. He wants more than anything for his friend to attain serenity and happiness. Of course he does.
But, at the same time, there are memories of all of the times that Chad made him laugh when he was having a bad day, that Chad silently followed Troy's every command during basketball games in high school and they were an unbeatable force, that they got into trouble together when they were children, grinning mischievously all the way.
And, the disturbingly visceral image of seventeen year-old high school graduate and former star athlete, Chad Danforth, lying in a coffin… the color absent from him, his lips tinged blue with death, the fatal lacerations on his face and throat poorly concealed, persists. Chad's parents and younger siblings were nearly inconsolable. Troy's father had looked as if he'd lost one of his kids, as well.
The knowledge that Troy is single-handedly responsible for all of this is always at the forefront of the eighteen year-old's conscience. He has frequently theorized that if he were to die and become a ghost in the world of Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol, the chains encasing his immortal soul would be enormous and weigh over three hundred pounds.
Chad flops down onto Troy's bed. His basketball rests on his chest. "I miss being able to raid your fridge," he expresses mournfully.
Troy can only give him a half-hearted laugh and a sad smile.
x-x-x
"Troy! You have a visitor!"
Troy jolts awake, bleary-eyed, to find his mother standing in the doorway of his bedroom. "Who-who is it?" He manages as he hauls himself upright and rubs the sleep from his eyes.
"A very handsome and polite young man with a strong fashion sense and a fondness for hats," Lucille replies coyly.
"Shi-!" Troy stumbles to his feet, nearly tripping over his quilt, which has wrapped itself around his legs. "Tell him I'll be out in a minute, okay?" Shaking his feet free, he dashes toward his dresser and delves into the drawers, pulling out a clean pair of boxers, a t-shirt, and a pair of jeans.
His mother gives him another knowing look, but she does as she's asked.
Roughly five minutes and thirty seconds later, a freshly showered Troy emerges, fully clothed. His hair is still slightly damp, but thankfully isn't a haphazard mess.
Ryan, who is dressed in a periwinkle sweater, a white dress shirt, form-fitting black skinny jeans, and a matching fedora, smiles warmly upon sighting him. "Hey!" He greets Troy cheerily. "I figured I'd pick you up, if that's alright?"
"Of course," Troy affirms. "Let me just…" He retrieves a slice of bread from the bag, places it into the toaster, and fetches the jar of strawberry jelly out of the refrigerator. "Do you want some?" He asks before pushing down the lever to make his toast.
"No, thank you. I'm good."
"You sure?" Troy's brows knit with concern as he recalls how skinny Ryan felt yesterday.
"Positive. You go ahead." Ryan gives him an encouraging smile and gestures for him to proceed.
Momentarily pushing his worries about Ryan aside, Troy pushes the lever down and watches the bread slide into the vent of the toaster.
x-x-x
"Are you okay back there?" Ryan calls over the wind rushing by Troy's ears.
"Fine!" Troy calls back. His arms are wound tightly around Ryan's waist, and his chest is pressed against the blond's backside as they zip down the road on Ryan's electric blue Vespa. Ryan steers the motorized scooter with a finesse that makes Troy feel assured that this ride won't end in disaster, and the vehicle itself drives smoothly. "This is a really sweet ride."
"Thank you!" Ryan sounds reasonably flattered by the assessment. "Just," he advises, "let me know if I'm going too fast, okay?"
"You're good," Troy assures him. He's not sure if he's imagining it, but it feels like Ryan is pressing in just a little bit closer.
They decide to stop briefly at the town park prior to heading up to the Evans mansion. They're strolling along one of the paths toward the playground when Troy begins overhearing it, and comes to an abrupt stop.
"Isn't that the Bolton kid?"
"Yeah, it is."
"Didn't he kill that Danforth boy in a car crash a year ago?"
Troy swallows uncomfortably and lowers his eyes to the ground. A part of him wants to take Ryan's hand and run the other way as fast as they can. Another part of him reminds him that he deserves to have to deal with all of the gossip, all of the rumors, all of the name calling. After all, he survived and Chad didn't. He feels Ryan stiffen beside him, and looks up to see the blond's jaw clenched and his soft features darkening with concern.
"I saw that Bolton boy hangin' out by the freeway, the other day, talkin' to himself."
"That boy ain't right in the head."
"You don't have to listen to this," Ryan leans in to murmur to Troy. He touches Troy's shoulder softly. His voice is strong, but his expression betrays what they both know; that he's been the subject of hearsay far too often, himself.
His heart missing a beat, Troy looks at the smaller boy with surprise. I don't have to...?
"Do you want to leave?" Ryan's light voice is gentle, as always. He doesn't hint at having an obvious preference either way. He isn't applying pressure to influence the verdict. For once, someone is honestly leaving the final decision entirely up to Troy.
Heart beating faster and stomach filled with a sensation like butterflies flitting around the inside of it, Troy considers his options.
As he does so, a curious child ambles up. With wide eyes, she innocuously asks, "Can you really talk to ghosts? My big sister heard from her friend that you can."
"Well…" Gobsmacked, Troy looks to an equally nonplussed Ryan and tries to string together a decent response.
What Troy can only assume to be the little girl's mother arrives on the scene, however, saving him the trouble. She drags her kid away, all while glowering at the former athlete as if he had smacked the girl, or flashed her.
It's enough to influence Troy's decision.
The corner of Ryan's mouth twitches with obvious dismay. "I guess I forgot how narrow-minded some people can be when they're in confined spaces," he says quietly. He motions to the area where he parked the Vespa, and comfortingly places his hand on the small of a downtrodden Troy's back as he steers him toward it.
x-x-x
A butler answers the door. "Mr. Evans, your parents and sister are out for the day," he informs Ryan.
"Thank you, Douglas," Ryan dips his head to the older man. "What would you like to do?" He prompts as he leads his guest past the foyer and into the expansive living room.
"Um, I guess watching a movie sounds good," Troy replies. He can feel his muscles beginning to relax in the safety of the Evans manor.
"I think so, too." Ryan beams at him. "So, why don't you have a seat, and I'll browse through our selection to see what we have."
"Alright." Troy smiles slightly and sinks down onto the love seat. He winds up pulling a face, his brows furrowing, and fidgets as his backside encounters a rather stiff throw pillow.
"Oh, uh, feel free to toss the pillows onto the chairs, if you need to," Ryan reassures him. "No one really finds them comfortable. They're just there for decoration."
"Ah." Troy collects the rock hard decorative pillows and piles them neatly onto the surrounding arm chairs. He returns to his seat to watch as Ryan scans the shelves of a fairly vast entertainment center.
"We have… Casablanca, Gone With The Wind, Citizen Kane, The Wizard Of Oz, Mary Poppins, The Sound Of Music, My Fair Lady, West Side Story, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory, Grease, Hairspray- the musical version from 2007-"
"I'd like to watch Mary Poppins." Some heartwarming, child-friendly fare about innocence and eccentricity. Troy thinks that's precisely what he needs right now.
"Okay." With a smile, Ryan places the DVD onto the player's disc tray. He brings up the menu and plays the movie via the scene selection, then, he settles in beside Troy. At first, their shoulders touch, and a pleasant tingling sensation shoots through Troy's chest. With a glance at Troy, as if attempting to ascertain whether or not the close proximity is bothersome for the brunette, Ryan ultimately inches over, leaving a respectable distance between their bodies. Once on his side of the couch, however, he noticeably curls into himself in a diffident manner.
Downcast, Troy ponders how to resolve this predicament. He didn't mind their shoulders touching at all. I want Ryan close to me. He catches Ryan's eye, intending to let him know this.
A form of tension sparks the air around them, and their eyes fall to each other's lips, but neither of them make a move.
Troy's fingers twitch with his indecision.
About a half hour into the movie, it occurs to Troy that perhaps, he needs something other than a form of escape from the real world. And, maybe that something is beside him, earnestly singing along to the songs in the film in a hushed, sweetly lilting voice. Maybe, that someone is shyly, awkwardly, offering him popcorn and other refreshments, probably convincing himself that he's weirding his guest out, and taking small handfuls of the buttery popped corn for himself at Troy's coaxing.
Pushing aside his trepidation, his fear of being rejected because the real him might not be as appealing as his former golden boy veneer, Troy takes a deep breath to slow his racing heart. It's not fair to expect Ryan to do all of the work, anyway. Ryan's words echo throughout his mind, encouraging him. "I want to see you happy." So, he wraps an arm around the petite blond's shoulders and leans in.
His blood pulses in his temples as he waits for the performer to react.
It takes a second, but Ryan melts into Troy's touch. He cuddles against the virile boy's chest and shoulder, as if, all along, he had been waiting for Troy to simply reach out to him.
x-x-x
Lucille Bolton needed to run some errands on her Saturday off, and she elected to bring her son along with her. She silenced Troy's objection and excuses with, "You've spent the last several months cooped up inside, hardly leaving the house. Some fresh air will do you some good."
Reluctantly, Troy acquiesced and headed out to the car. As they pass by familiar landmarks and road signs, it occurs to him that they're heading into town, and his stomach knots with apprehension. He doesn't believe that anyone will recognize him, but the last thing that he wants is for his mother to overhear people calling her son a "psycho", and a "freak". He fishes his phone out of his pocket and quickly taps out a text message that he sends to Ryan: My mom and i are going in 2 town. I need HELP!
Ryan replies almost automatically. Do you need me to come there?
No, Troy texts back, feeling bad for getting the blond involved. Thats ok. I just… after the other day…
Those words are enough for Ryan. After a moment, he responds, Just keep your head down, do what you have to do, and don't take what they say to heart. You'll be fine, Troy. You're stronger than a few hurtful words.
Ryan's advice brings a smile back to Troy's face. Thank you, Ry, he texts him, and then slips his phone back into his pocket. His misgivings have died down by the time they arrive at their destination, a fairly large local bookstore, and Lucille parks the car.
While his mother is in one section of the store, searching for some reading material, Troy eyes the shelves in the Young Adult Literature section. Row after row of "Paranormal Romance" stretches on before him.A few of the covers capture his interest, but the summaries prove them all to be Twilight clones. Somehow, I don't think Ryan and I fit in among all of the Edwards and Bellas in these books, he thinks to himself. He begins advancing toward the classical literature, hoping to find something interesting, when a disgruntled male voice reaches his ears.
"Hey. Could you hurry it up? I don't have all day to stand here."
"I'm sorry, sir. I-I'm trying to…!" A petite girl with short, curly light brown hair stammers. She drags the same book over the scanner a few times, but the machine refuses to read the barcode.
"Really? It doesn't look like you're trying hard enough," her customer, a man who looks to be in his late twenties, cuts her off snidely. Heaving a sigh, he taps his foot, his posture rigid with impatience.
The girl begins to manually input the book's information. She pauses for a second to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose, only to recoil with fright as the man looms over her.
Troy quickly glances around the store. No one else in the general vicinity seems to have taken notice of the agitated customer. It looks like he's going to have to disregard the first part of Ryan's survival tips. Calmly, Troy approaches them and says, "Take it easy, man. She's going as fast as she can."
His face red with anger, the man isn't quick to comply. He turns sharply to face the brunette boy. The corners of his mouth twitch with fury, and he raises a clenched fist.
He's on the verge of lashing out at Troy when another cashier, an older girl with ombre hair, slips in behind the register and comes to her coworker's aid. "Sir," she addresses the aggrieved customer in an authoritative tone, "you need to calm down, or I'll have to ask you to leave."
At last, the man listens. He rakes in a breath and slowly exhales, his muscles going slack again. "Sorry," he mutters to the tiny brunette clerk.
She nods faintly. Together, the two girls swiftly ring up the man's purchases, and send him on his way.
Troy expels a relieved sigh. Everything seems to be okay, here. He can… The brunette clerk murmurs a "Thank you" to her coworker, and Troy decides to take the opportunity to ask her, "Are you okay?"
She nods slowly. "I'm all right."
Troy makes out letters that spell Kelsi on the girl's name tag, which is pinned to her striped blouse. "Do you always have to deal with assholes like that?" He half-jokes, offering her a friendly smile.
Kelsi shakes her head. Pink colors her cheeks. "Not usually."
"Well, that's good." Troy rubs at the back of his neck. He's uncertain if he should look for his mom, wait by the registers, or continue perusing the store for something to read.
Before he can choose, Kelsi breaks the silence that sets in. "Are… Are you Troy Bolton?"
Troy's heart leaps into his throat. He should have kept his head down. He should have just minded his own business. "Um…" He hesitates, laughing uneasily.
"My friend told me about you," Kelsi goes on, her hushed voice and blue-green eyes brimming with excitement. "How you helped her grandmother…!" Out of what appears to be embarrassment, she stops herself from elaborating. Alternatively, she studies Troy's face and marvels softly, "I-I can't believe it…!"
"Yeah." Troy smiles hesitantly. Me, either, he adds to himself.
"It's really wonderful that you're using your gift like that."
"Sorry?" Troy blinks, his brows furrowing. "Gift"? Well, that's one way of putting it.
"To help people, I mean," Kelsi clarifies. Bashfully, she ducks her head, and the pink flush on her cheeks darkens. "It's just a really cool thing that you're doing."
Cool. Not "scary", or "insane". Just… "cool". His worries significantly downsized, Troy shrugs and offers Kelsi a half-smile. "Yeah… I guess it is."
x-x-x
The stillness of an afternoon spent in an empty house is broken by the arrival of a blond boy wearing a white dress shirt, pink tie, and gray vest with a black sweater over top of them, and a pair of tight black jeans that emphasize his curves, with a silver chain hanging from its belt loops.
Quickly, Troy jumps out of the armchair he was seated in and rushes over to open the front door to none other than Ryan Evans. "Can't get enough of me, huh?" He teases the smaller boy gently.
"You? Never," Ryan replies, his eyes glowing. He nudges Troy lightly, and that pleasant tingling shoots through Troy's chest again.
Stepping aside, Troy pulls the door open wider and extends his arm in greeting, inviting Ryan to enter the home. As he follows the blond boy, he notices a poorly concealed gift bag in Ryan's grasp.
And, Ryan is aware that Troy has noticed his accompanying parcel. "I know that you didn't manage to find any worthwhile reading material at the book store, the other day," he says, "so, I brought a few books with me for you to check out."
"Okay." Troy nods, his curiosity piqued, as Ryan pulls three books out of his bag.
"I've got… a collection of Robert Frost's poetry, an anthology of poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay, aaand… The Realm Of Possibility by David Levithan," Ryan hands the books over in that respective order.
Troy looks them over, taking a moment to flick interestedly through the pages. "Thank you," he murmurs with a grateful smile. Hopefully, he'll have time to read several of the poems, or The Realm Of Possibility, the thinnest of the three, before he falls asleep, tonight.
"No problem." Ryan smiles back at him. He takes another step into the living room and peers around. "It has to get lonely, huh? Hanging out here all day?"
"Sometimes." Troy licks at his upper lip. He hesitates to mention his persisting house guest.
Ryan glances at his feet, then raises his eyes to meet Troy's. He searches the former basketball player's face intently. "Your mom hasn't treated you any differently since the accident, has she?"
"No," Troy assures him. "She's still my mom. Things've been a bit harder on her, though, you know? Since my dad and I don't really talk, anymore. And, I…" He trails off, swallowing. "When my truck smashed into the utility pole, the airbags decompressed so fast… they- they caused my lungs to collapse." Inside of his body, he can feel the heavy reminder of his impairment.
The physical burden to accompany the emotional taxing on his family.
Ryan's eyes cloud and he gives Troy a look filled with that intense longing that makes Troy's heart ache. "Yeah. I heard," he murmurs shakily, speaking partially to Troy and partially to himself. Then, carefully, he moves in and timidly extends his arm, reaching out toward Troy.
Troy leans into Ryan's touch. He sucks in a breath to stabilize himself as Ryan places his hand on his chest, his slender fingers splayed out over the brunette's breast bone. Ryan breathes gently, as if encouraging Troy to keep breathing, too. And, as Troy's chest rises and falls in time with the legato rhythm of Ryan's natural, easy inhaling and exhaling, he can feel his pulse against the performer's hand.
"Does it hurt?" The words are spoken in just above a whisper. Ryan peers into Troy's eyes questioningly.
"No." Troy slowly takes in a deep breath and places his hand over top of Ryan's. "Not right now."
"Good. I'm glad to hear it." With a small smile, Ryan ever-so-lightly strokes Troy's chest with the pad of his thumb.
The sensation of his soft cotton t-shirt caressing his skin prompts Troy's eyes to fall closed very briefly, and electric pleasure to traverse his bodily circuitry. His breath rate is becoming uneven. If he were to give into the impulse attempting to dominate his brain, he and Ryan would end up in the chair, or on the floor, or against the wall, their bodies crushed desperately, passionately together, limbs entangled. Because his parents aren't home, and his need to touch Ryan, to feel him, to kiss him, is insatiable.
But, he doesn't deserve that.
So, instead, Troy forces himself to stay focused on the here and now. On the fact that Ryan is right in front of him. Ryan, who has owned the stage for as long as Troy has known him. "D-Dancing isn't so bad," he gets out, running his thumb over the back of Ryan's hand.
"Yeah?" A spark of interest ignites in Ryan's sky-colored eyes.
"Yeah. As long as I pace myself." Troy's chest tightens with hope that Ryan will catch on.
"Well…" Ryan reaches down and takes hold of Troy's free hand. "In that case, I'll be sure to take it easy on you."
Troy grins. "I can always count on you, Ry." Interlacing his fingers with Ryan's, and allowing Ryan to affix his other hand on the outer curve of the blond's hip, the two step into each other, and with a sway of Ryan's hips, they move together.
Ryan lets Troy lead him around the room, his steps light as air as Troy twirls him out and brings him back in. "You're really good at this," he says sweetly.
"Thanks," Troy replies softly, blushing. He and Ryan move in a fairly large circle, their palms pressed together. "I figured I could stand to brush up on my moves, with you being so amazing at dancing."
It's Ryan's turn to blush. "Me?" A shy smile curls up the ends of his lips. "Come on, now." He leans back, his and Troy's arms stretching to accommodate the distance, then arcs a swift twirl on his tiptoes and winds up in Troy's arms, his back against Troy's chest. "I've just had a lot of practice."
"Practice makes perfect," Troy reminds him with a smile. The closeness of their bodies sets in. "You really deserve to be a star, Ryan," he murmurs. He brushes his lips against the back of Ryan's neck, that tingling feeling breaking out all over his nerve-endings.
Ryan shivers like his nerves are tingling, too. Very slightly, he arches into the taller boy. "Thank you, Troy."
"I hope Sharpay isn't mad at you for getting there first."
"No," Ryan says with a calm certainty. "She is the older twin, but she's actually proud of her "little brother", for achieving his dream first."
"That's really awesome of her." Troy pushes the thoughts of all of the times that Sharpay ignored any sense of personal boundaries to make passes at him, or touch him flirtatiously, despite him making his disinterest very clear, out of his mind. If the former "Ice Queen", of East High, as Chad once dubbed Sharpay, can be happy for her brother getting something that she has always wanted for herself, then she isn't so bad.
And, maybe, Sharpay is just one more thing that Chad was wrong about.
x-x-x
"So, Ry. Have you seen the crap they're pulling on Glee, these days?" Troy asks, his eyebrows elevated and his mouth quirking with amusement.
"Oh, you poor thing!" Ryan exclaims, his tone somewhere between playful and genuinely sympathetic. "You actually watch that catastrophic disregard for continuity and misuse of talent?"
"My mom watches it," Troy offers lamely, shrugging with embarrassment. "I just overhear it, occasionally."
"You have my condolences." Ryan leans into him, their shoulders touching.
Troy leans into Ryan, as well, bringing their arms from the elbow up together. "They're much appreciated," he says with a faint smile.
Ryan amply returns the smile as he bashfully places his arms behind his back and rocks back on his heels. Composing himself, he asks, "What, um, what would you like to do, Troy?"
Troy can't help but smile. One, because Ryan is adorable. And, two… there's yet another decision left entirely up to him. "Hmm…" He draws out as he scans the length of the backyard. The same backyard that he's seen every day for the last eighteen years. "We could…" He begins, hoping for a spark of inspiration. He doesn't want to bore Ryan to tears, after all.
Thankfully, inspiration does strike. Something seems to illuminate a previously darkened and dimmed part of his brain, and idea after idea comes pouring out. "Go out for ice cream, cuddle up and take a nice, long nap together, go mountain-climbing, travel the world, pet a whole bunch of animals, learn a foreign language, practice tying cherry stems with our tongues, bake some brownies, write a song, make out with each other…!" Realizing what the last five words that have left his mouth are, Troy clams up, his cheeks burning.
Ryan laughs quietly. "Would you prefer to do those one at a time, or all at once?" He grins and nudges Troy affectionately.
"Ha, um…" At a loss for words, Troy clears his throat and rubs embarrassedly at the back of his neck. "What-Whatever works for you," he murmurs.
"In that case, I'm onboard for all of them." Shifting his weight, Ryan begins moving in closer. His eyelashes veil his sky-colored eyes, casting a grayish light over the blue of his irises.
"Y-Yeah?" Troy's eyes fall to Ryan's pink lips. The lips that so often distracted and tantalized him in high school.
"Mm-hm," Ryan replies. He pauses to bite absent-mindedly at his lower lip, then draws in again, his mouth opening slightly.
Troy leans in, as well, preparing to meet him halfway. His tongue flicks self-consciously at his upper lip. Ryan's sweet scent fills his nose, and it's just about intoxicating. The outside world fades away, the sound of skittering squirrels and crunching leaves replaced by Troy's own heartbeat pounding in his chest. His eyes begin to close, and he anticipates the sensation of soft lips pressing against his.
"What's he doing here?" A voice demands sharply.
Troy's heart is catapulted up into his throat. Simultaneously, he and Ryan both jump back.
"Ch-Ch-Chad?!" Ryan exclaims, his face ashen.
"You can hear him?" Troy asks incredulously.
His gaze flicking back to Troy, Ryan swallows and manages a very faint nod. "Yes, but-"
"Oh, well isn't that great." Chad leans against the trunk of a sprawling oak tree. He rolls his eyes exasperatedly. "The prancing and preening overgrown show dog can hear me."
Posture rigid, Ryan lowers his eyes to the ground.
"That's exactly what I needed; An Evans, of all people, being able to communicate with me." Making a noise of disgust, Chad turns to Troy with a wry smirk. "Are you sure I didn't go to Hell when I died?"
Troy doesn't laugh at the comment. He looks back and forth between his dear friend, whose knees are shaking, and his best friend, who is casually offering up snarky quips as though he hasn't just scared the shit out of someone. Shoving his own bewilderment at the situation off to the side to be dealt with later, he recovers his tongue. "Hey, man. Could you lay off a little bit?" He requests, meeting Chad's eyes firmly. "You really freaked him out."
"Oh, come on." Chad brushes Troy off. Again. "I'm sure that Evans has learned how to take a joke by now."
The corner of Ryan's mouth twitches. He raises his head bravely, but his face is still deathly white, and his knees are still quivering.
If this is a "joke", Troy thinks, it's not funny. Immediately, he acts. He moves in and drapes a comforting arm across Ryan's backside. "Are you all right, Ry?"
"Yeah," Ryan says, his voice stronger than Troy expected it would be, given the circumstances. He draws in what appears to be a soothing breath, and makes an attempt at a smile as his eyes meet Troy's. "I'm okay."
"Most people run screaming when they encounter a ghost like this," Troy says, hoping to lighten the mood even a little.
It works. Just enough. Ryan's attempt at a smile is much more sincere, this time. "Yeah," he replies quietly, punctuating his response with a half-hearted breathless laugh. "And, they say that the people that stick around are either admirably brave, like you. Or, remarkably stupid."
"Brave"? Me? Troy can't fathom associating himself with such a characteristic. "I'm sure Chad didn't mean to scare you. He's just… Chad."
Ryan bites his lip. His gaze pans apprehensively around the Boltons' backyard, and Troy discerns two things; Ryan can't see Chad, and the fear hasn't completely left his eyes. "Maybe we should do something else. I don't want him to get angry at you."
"Alright," Troy agrees.
"We'll take a walk around the block, listen to music together on my Ipod, or whatever you want," Ryan suggests, a hint of the color returning to his face.
Troy nods. "Sounds good." With a last disbelieving and semi-apologetic glance at Chad- who mutters a disgruntled, "Whatever"- he guides Ryan back toward the house. Inside Troy's mind, the cogs are turning. He has every intention of further investigating Chad's irritation at Ryan's presence, and Ryan's terror that seemed to be more deep-seated than the natural human fear of the supernatural. It feels like something happened between them. But, what?
A chill creeps down Troy's spine, and he recalls Ryan's earlier sentiment, "I don't want him to get angry at you".
Too late for that, Troy muses. He bites down on the interior of his mouth, and his stomach drops.
x-x-x
Jack Bolton doesn't make eye contact with his son as he takes a seat at the dinner table.
Troy feels his stomach churning, but remains seated. He doesn't want to spoil the nice meal that his mother worked so hard to make. Even if the atmosphere surrounding him and his dad crackles with potent tension that creates a compacting sensation in his chest.
Lucille Bolton hands both of the Bolton men a plate of beef pot roast, which they, in turn, murmur a quiet, "Thanks", to her for. Then, she calmly sits down to join them. "How was your day, honey?" she asks her husband.
"Fine," Jack replies, picking up a piece of beef with his fork. The light returns to his eyes as he elaborates, "The guys on the team are really working hard for the upcoming game."
"Try not to be too stern with them," Lucille advises him while she neatly slices a chunk of potato. "They are just boys, after all."
"They'll be men, soon, Lucille. Gotta get them ready to face the real world."
Troy painfully chokes down a carrot that felt like it was lodged in his throat.
"Troy," his mother prompts him, "do you know what show Ryan was starring in on Broadway?"
"'Ryan'?" Troy's dad echoes. "You mean the Evans boy?"
"Yeah. Ryan Evans," Troy responds quietly so he won't further aggravate the itching in the back of his throat. At his father's questionable look, he shifts his weight uneasily and looks to his mother, "It's called The Letter That Never Came, mom." His throat still incredibly dry and irritated, he takes a few sips from his glass of ice water.
An interested, "Hm," is Lucille's only reply as she directs a mindful stare at Troy and scoops a forkful of beef and potatoes into her mouth.
"What's the "hm" about?" Troy inquires lightheartedly. While he waits for his mom to finish chewing so she can provide him with an answer, he can feel his chest aching with the creeping suspicion that something is off.
"Well…" Lucille finally embellishes, seeming to measure her words carefully. "Joanne, an older nurse at the hospital, is a big Broadway buff. She mentioned a show with a name very similar to that having to replace their lead at the last minute, just a week or so, ago. She said this decision was made as a result of the rather young star's deteriorating health."
A shock reverberates throughout Troy's body. It's powerful enough to launch him into another coughing fit.
"Troy?" Jack queries.
"Troy, honey!" Lucille exclaims, rising out of her seat.
"I'm fine. I… 'm fine," Troy gets out between coughs and labored breaths. The final cough dies down. Within his chest cavity, his lungs shudder, but they're thankfully still functioning.
Reclaiming control over the situation, as always, Lucille offers, "Why don't I save this for later, and make you some soup, instead?"
Too unsettled to manage a stalwart protest- he doesn't want to waste a perfectly good plate of pot roast- Troy merely nods and gives her a weak, "Okay."
As Lucille collects Troy's plate, Jack lowers himself back into his chair. His gray eyes are wide with alarm and he grabs for his fork with unsteady hands.
Troy catches a glimpse of Chad hovering by the table. The bushy-haired boy shakes his head in disapproval at the scene he just paid witness to.
His stomach thoroughly agitated, Troy silently exits the dining room. I'm nothing but a burden to all of them, he tells himself. Mom, dad, Chad… even Ryan. En route to his bedroom, he sees a picture of himself from his junior year of high school, framed and sitting proudly on display in a shelf. He reaches out for the picture and takes in his own carefree smiling face.
To think that the pressures of high school popularity were all that he had to deal with, back then.
Yet, the Troy Bolton in that picture made his parents proud. That Troy Bolton was a champion, a winner who everyone in town adored.
This Troy Bolton? The current Troy Bolton?
Well, he's closer to being a normal boy. That is, he's no longer the object of mindless adulation, just because he's "attractive", and can dribble and dunk a ball with some degree of accuracy. People are judging him for the quality of his character.
And, that's what he wanted… right?
Feeling tears prick his eyes, Troy lays the picture face down on the shelf.
x-x-x
"What was it like, being on Broadway?" Troy asks as he and Ryan stroll casually around the Evans's courtyard. He can sense that they're walking on the fine line between friendship and something more, and he wonders if Ryan is aware of this, as well.
"It was better than I ever could have imagined, Troy," Ryan says with a fond sparkle in his sky-colored eyes. "Standing on that stage, performing for hundreds of people; more people than I ever thought possible! Hearing that huge room erupt in applause at the end of every show…"
"It sounds unreal." Troy smiles as he imagines the beautiful blond basking in the warm glow of a spotlight, singing his heart out to an immense crowd of adoring fans.
"It was. Very unreal," Ryan agrees, lightly swinging his arms.
Troy allows the fantasy to fade and brings his focus back to reality. The reality that Ryan is standing beside him in Albuquerque, New Mexico, instead of on a stage across the country. "Hopefully," he says carefully, "I'll get to come see you when you return to New York."
Ryan's reaction falls right in line with what Troy expected. The color drains from his fair face, and his eyes cloud. "Yeah… Hopefully." He offers his companion a strained smile.
"What is it?" Troy prompts gently. If he's upset Ryan, he'll take his words back immediately and apologize profusely for overstepping his boundaries. He takes hold of Ryan's cool, slender hand, squeezing it reassuringly, and stares intently into his blue eyes. "You can tell me, Ry."
And, Ryan appears to know that. "I… I had an emotional collapse before the end of the show's run." He admits, his voice heavy with regret. "Being out there in the Big Apple; it was like a dream come true. But, it was so lonely, Troy. Without you or my sister, I-I had no one to talk to. I didn't know how to talk to people. And, I couldn't stop thinking about you. What you were going through, whether or not you had anyone to talk to, to comfort you, to be there for you." He swallows as a quaver steals into his inflection and a sheen of tears mists his eyes.
A lump rises in Troy's throat, tightening it.
"Then, I noticed that everyone around me, at Juilliard, onstage, the celebrities in the magazines, they were all fit and thin. So, I decided to go on a diet," Ryan continues. He squeezes Troy's hand tightly, and his palm feels cold and clammy in Troy's grasp.
"Ry, you've always looked amazing," Troy assures him. His heart aches terribly with the desire to erase every self-deprecating thought that has ever crossed Ryan's mind. Every thought that lead him to this.
Ryan gives Troy a doleful smile and a stare teeming with desire so intense that it feels like the brunette's heart is being ripped right out of his chest. "At first, I skipped out on a few meals here and there. But, eventually, it got to a point where I just- I wasn't really eating anything at all. I hated how my body looked. I couldn't stand the thought of anyone seeing me in the dressing room, and things just-! Th-They escalated until I couldn't perform, anymore… So they had to replace me." Ryan's voice breaks. He chews the inside of his mouth, his eyes shining with incoming tears, and lowers his head shamefully.
"Come here," Troy says softly. He opens his arms, and Ryan falls right into them, burying his face in the crook of Troy's neck. His breathing is uneven, his chest and shoulders shake with barely withheld sobs, and Troy wraps his arms around him, rubbing his hands down Ryan's backside soothingly. "We'll figure this out, okay?" Troy promises, his own voice shaky after learning the truth behind Ryan's return to their hometown. "We're gonna fix this, Ry."
"'We'?" The hope in Ryan's voice makes Troy's heart skip a beat.
"Yeah, 'we'." Troy affirms. Resting his chin on Ryan's shoulder, he adds in a low voice, "Provided that you could be okay with dating a murderer."
Ryan pulls back and locks eyes with Troy. "I could never be okay with dating someone who's killed someone else, but that doesn't matter. Troy, you are not a murderer."
A wave of emotion washes over Troy and closes over his head. He tries to keep the tears that suddenly prick at his eyes from spilling over.
Soft, cool hands touch both sides of his face. They caress his cheeks. "That car crash; it was an accident," Ryan presses gently but firmly. "I still have the newspaper clipping about it, and even that refers to the SUV crashing into your truck that night as an accident."
"But…" Troy starts. The devastated looks on the faces of Chad's family, every wet eye at the funeral, Jack Bolton acting like he had lost his son, that night… That was all my fault. Chad is dead because of me. The tears streak down his face, and sobs wrack his body. "But, I could have…! I was-!" Troy's lower lip trembles, and something within him crumbles. He steps out of Ryan's comforting embrace. He doesn't deserve it. "My best friend is a ghost, now, Ryan. We can see and hear him, but to the rest of the world- his family, his friends, his girlfriend- he's dead. And… I'm still here."
A stricken expression overtakes Ryan's soft features. His blue eyes stretch wide with concern, fear, and sorrow.
But, all that Troy can hear is a chorus of Murderer! Freak! Killer! All that he can see are the looks of horror, contempt, and disappointment. "Why am I still here?" He chokes out miserably. His hands ball into tight fists. It's as though he's thrashing helplessly about in dark water. The light breaking through to show him the way to the surface is nowhere in sight, and he's frantic. "Why me, and not him?!"
"Don't you ever say that again!" Ryan snaps with a ferocity that rips through Troy, and causes him and all of his racing thoughts to freeze. He moves in and takes Troy's hands into his. "Things happen for a reason, Troy," he goes on, his voice losing its fierceness, but not its intensity. "You're sweet, thoughtful, funny, smart, charming, talented, and so brave. You have a good heart, and you deserve to be here, damn it!" Ryan's voice breaks, again. He's shaking and tears are streaming down his face, too.
His beautiful face.
A sliver of light becomes visible, and Troy begins moving toward it. He holds onto Ryan's hands.
"You've seen Sweeney Todd, right?" Ryan asks, his grip on Troy's hands tightening as he moves in closer and stares into the brunette's blue eyes. He's bringing Troy closer to that light. "'Life is for the alive, my dear'," he recites gently.
"But, he is alive, Ry," Troy insists. "As long as I don't forget about him." Darkness, again. It's growing closer, closing in around him, trying to envelope him.
Sadness and sympathy darken Ryan's sky-colored irises. "You shouldn't forget about yourself, either."
The light is back.
Troy just has to move toward it. Tentatively, he takes a deep, calming breath, and he does. "I know," he says quietly. His voice is unsteady, but the motivation fueling those two words is unshakeable. He isn't thrashing wildly, anymore. No, he thinks back to the end of his senior year, to his certainty that he would get to travel, to escape, one day. And, the one thing that he didn't want to leave behind is right in front of him, offering him that guiding light. Offering him a way out. "I need you, Ryan," he whispers.
"I'm right here," Ryan promises, his voice scarcely more than a whisper, too, but still so strong, resolute, and unwavering. "And, I need you, too, Troy. I'd really like you to come see my next show. If I ever get back on Broadway."
Troy licks briefly at his upper lip. "You will. I know you will," he insists. He manages a smile. "And, when you do, I'll be right there in the front row, cheering you on."
Ryan returns the smile wholeheartedly, his eyes glowing with love. Love enough to counter every cruel, nasty, degrading look that Troy has ever been on the receiving end of.
Knees weak with joy, Troy's eyelashes veil his eyes, and he leans in. Ryan earnestly meets him halfway, which engenders a warm feeling spreading all over Troy's body. That warm feeling displaces the guilt, the terror, the desolation. Their mouths meet. Ryan's pink lips are every bit as soft as Troy imagined. His arms wrap around Troy's neck snugly, securely, and, his eyes closing contentedly, Troy clings to Ryan's sides. A low, needy moan escapes Troy as he parts his lips, craving more, yearning for a deeper connection. Ryan gives him that deeper connection without hesitation. His tongue slips softly into Troy's mouth, sending pure pleasure fizzing in the former athlete's veins.
Just like that, they've surfaced.
A/N: My sincerest apologies for leaving all of you hanging for so long. I've had a lot going on, recently, and issues with my internet connection have been quite challenging for me, as of late.
Hopefully, this installment more than made up for the long wait.
Disclaimer: I have absolutely no ownership claims to any recognizable properties or characters.