Chapter 1

The car that the Richards' have is what Mrs Richards calls an economy car; small, gas effecient and in layman terms 'so darn cute'. Randal drove, his bulky hands dwarfed the steering wheel, his face covered in a mass of dark brown curly hair. His son, Vic, was in the front seat just watching the huge houses as they passed. Brown eyes wide and mouth agape.

"These are nicer than our place, Pops."

Randal chuckles, turning left.

"That's 'cause all them people got money."

Vic makes a face, twisting his lips to the bottom of his nose. "White people, you mean?"

"Now hang on a minute," Randal starts, twisting the steering wheel a soft right on to the drive way of a school parking lot. He goes through what must be the staff parking lot, one little lone car-faded and rusted green- sits by the football field. "Not all white people are rich folk."

Vic rolls his eyes, snorting as he disagrees, "I see a court," he turns to the back seat,"want to play, Chad?"

Sighing, Chad looks out to see the court that Vic is talking about. He allows a tiny smile to appear on his face as he high five's his friend; leaving the car as Randal laughs, undoing his seat belt and getting out to walk to the athletics office.

He knows this school is a long shot, a far cry from the ghetto of Divinity Village. But, and its a big but, maybe he can sway something with the coach.

...

Sneakers squeak, which means these people must polish the court a lot. The hoop is an actual hoop with a net instead of a bucket that someone had put up. Chad looks around, feeling awkward as he sees the cleanliness of not just the basketball court, but the cleanliness of the grounds.

Frowning, he keeps his eyes on his feet.

"Hey!" Vic shouts, running to a cart of balls. He lifts up a black and purple basketball, he looks around in confusion. "Huh, it's not even locked. Don't they worry 'bout sneaks and thieves coming round here?"

Chad shrugs, "must be crazy."

Vic looks at the cart again, rolling the ball between his palms before dribbling off to a hoop on the far end. Chad chases after him, guarding and stealing the ball, making a few baskets.

Chad isn't overly tall, but he is a head taller than most guys his age; also, his hair gives an extra half inch to his height. Vic laughs as he steals the ball from Chad's hands, but soon the victory gies away when he's tumbling to the ground for tripping over loose shoe laces.

Chad smirks, taking the ball and dribbling it to half court, lines it up to take the shot...and-

"You are insane," a voice says, "if you think you can make that shot."

Vic makes a loud guffaw, his upper front teeth larger than his other teeth, he claps Chad on the shoulder. "Yo, he can make any shot; my home boy is good."

The voice laughs, others join him and Chad grips the ball tightly, his eyes going to shoes again. He doesn't turn around, he doesn't need to see the looks on peoples faces reminding him he doesn't belong.

He should just leave.

He should...

"Troy, are you bothering them?" a very feminine, angelic voice asks, and since the woman is coming from the school, Chad got a good look at her. Blonde hair, green eyes. He doesn't let his eyes wander farther south, his mama was a lot of things, but she taught him well about how to look at a woman.

Her lips are full and covered in a gloss. She's wearing a pink turtleneck with faded blue skinny jeans, her shoes are simple white tennis shoes. Hair pulled up into a ponytail.

Chad hasn't seen anyone so pretty before.

"Shar, relax," the guy, must be Troy, says. "I saw them playing, thought I'd join in."

The girl, Shar, rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over chest. Chad makes a note that she is wearing neutral make up and there is a gold chain around her neck.

"Don't harass them okay?" did she just wink at me? Chad fights the urge to rub his eyes. He decides to let it roll off his shoulders, he can't emotionally afford to put any meaning to what could be an eye twitch.

Shar walks off, her bottom swinging softly. A hand claps Chad on the shoulder, forcing eye contact to be made. Vic is off talking to one of the guy's friends, Chad assumes that the one making contact with him is Troy.

"Seriously, how well do you play?"

He shrugs, playing with the ball in his hands.

"Well enough."

Troy raises a brow, "well enough to make it from half court?"

"I..."

"Show me."

"Huh?" Chad is confused.

Troy laughs, grabbing the ball and dribbling it twice before spinning it on his middle finger. "You don't talk much do you?"

Before Chad can speak, Vic jumps him and shakes him playfully. "My man here is the strong silent type."

"Vic! Chad! You boys get to the car!" Chad is too eager to comply; dropping the basketball and nearly running to Randal's old Ford. Vic sighs, apologizing for his friend's behavior and promises a game before sauntering off to the car. Him in the front seat, Chad in the back.

Randal shakes, Chad assumes he's the coach, a muscular (white) hand. Soon all three are off, driving back to the side of town that doesn't quite resemble a foreign country.

However, Chad is keeping the image 'Shar' in his mind. He doesn't get to see very much things that are pretty.

Dang, she is fine.

...

The admissions office at Trinity Christian Jr./Sr. High School is not too big; the walls are a royal blue with gold painted molding around the ceiling and floor. A large, oval table sits in the middle of the room, eight chairs surround the table and teachers sit with open folders, staring at papers upon papers. Some teachers smile at the papers, at the other papers, they frown.

"Well," the principal says on a sigh, "Victor Richards-"

"-Vic." Coach Alderman says, tapping his knees anxiously. The prinicipal goes on, ignoring him and discussing the boys.

"-has a GPA of 2.9, and I think his light will shine brightly here, but the other boy-"

"-Chad."

"...there's not enough on him to say he will even be successful here."

Coach Alderman sighs, chewing his cheek and bouncing his feet on the toes of his shoes. He saw the kids basketball skills; his athletic ability is amazing. Sure, he could do a little better on his technique, but the kid is a natural.

Lord knows, he can use a player like Chad on his team. It doesn't have to be just Troy Bolton making the shots and throwing the passes.

"Coach, I see why you are interested in his athleticism, but even if we did allow him to come here he wouldn't be able to play anyway."

"But-" a female teacher, red hair cut into a bob and thin eye brows with heavy black rimmed glasses, interrupts him.

"It looks like all the other schools he has been to just passed him along."

The English teacher with a brown beard down to his chest nods in agreement.

His chubby hands twisting his beard i to tiny knots.

"His GPA is 0.6."

"No one wanted to deal with him. They gave him D's."

"I saw one B, and it was in art, but still...why set him up to fail by letting him come here?"

"Do you hear yourselves?!" Coach Alderman yells, pounding his fists on the table as he stands up. His fury rolling off his shoulders in mounting waves. The other teachers shrink back and look down at their hands. Only the red headed bob makes direct eye contact.

"This boy came here! Why? Because he believes that we can give him a quality education! Because we should be different from the schools that have passed him along," he points to the school banner flag that hangs proudly on the wall, "what does that say? What does it say? Christian. Either we paint over it or take it seriously."

Silence. Everyone stares at him, watching his anger continue to roll off of his shoulders.

Suddenly, very slowly, the teacher with short red hair in a bob stands. Her hands pressed firmly against each other, her lips in a line. "I concur. Everybody deserves a chance in a good school."

The principal sighs, running his hands down his face. His eyes going to Coach Alderman, "you notify his guardians. Both boys start on Monday."