Chapter One
Five Years Later
"You'll never convince her to let you go." Miranda is back at her nagging again. "You're not quite ready to be on your own." Even her accent gets annoying when she's trying to mother me.
We'd been this way since the hospital. Miranda Funke has been with me every single day for the past five years. We suspected that she was the donor I'd received my heart from. The only way to be sure was to agree to meet the donor's family. I'd filled out the paperwork, but they didn't actually want to meet until about a year and a half later. Still, the internet helped shed some light on what actually happened to her.
Miranda had been in the passenger seat of a pickup truck that was plowed by an 18-wheeler running a red light. She'd made it to the hospital, but her condition was bad. I later found out that she was brain dead during surgery and with heavy hearts, her parents decided to let her go. Her mother told me Miranda's mind was far too beautiful to let rot and suffer. After spending all these years with her, I agree.
Miranda took the news surprisingly well. She wasn't concerned so much about how she died, it's more why is she still here. Back when I was 16, we researched stories to find something similar to our situation, but it's not the kind of thing you can confirm. She swore up and down that she didn't have any unfinished business, that she was happy she could save my life even if it meant losing hers. She was a med student, and saving lives was what she always wanted to do.
To this day, I still feel like something is bothering her. We read the papers together and watched the stories on the news, but she would still be confused. I wondered if it had something to do with the accident or if it was the fact that she really couldn't go more than a few feet away from me, no matter how bad she wanted to. She didn't like my rebellious streak one bit.
Now, I'm packing my bags. It's been five years with my new heart, I'm ready to actually start living. What I've done so far has been good. I finished high school, had a few part-time jobs, but I'm still living with mom and being babysat. Today is the day I head back to California with my best friend.
"I won't be on my own. Sharpay will be there." Miranda rolls her eyes at the mention of my best friend. They don't get along.
"That girl has no self control, you'll be homeless in a day."
"Randa, she's not that bad." And she actually isn't. Sharpay Evans has a tough exterior, but she's got a big heart and a good head on her shoulders to go with it. I'll never forget the day I met her.
It was six months after the transplant, mom had finally agreed to put me back in public school. I was feeling more confident about myself. I had all the color back in my face, and it was easy to just blend in with everyone else. I thought it'd be like being the new kid in school. I was wrong, it was so much worst.
Turns out, some of the students remembered me from middle school, before I left. They knew I'd been the sick freaky girl. I could handle the stares, the whispering, and I could even handle the class clowns that wore precaution surgical masks around me. What I couldn't handle, was them calling me Frankenstein. That stung. One of the girls saw the scar on my chest in the locker room while I was changing and reported back to the guys. I couldn't help that the scar was healing, and I hid it as much as I could. But the chanting happened in the lunch room as I was eating. I tried to block it out, but it was tough.
Then, I met Sharpay. Well, she met me. She came into the cafe like a firecracker, yelling at the guys about how they weren't even half as strong as I was. She gave them lip for twenty minutes, cursing and yelling, and no one said a word, not even a teacher. When she was done, she sat down right next to me and introduced herself. I was in awe, and so was Miranda. They may not like each other, but Miranda respects her for what she did that day.
The couple of months after the transplant were rough. We got along well most of the time, but we had to learn how to be around each other. There were times when I needed to be alone, and no matter what, it just wasn't possible. I tried thinking of new ways to test the limits between us every week. Foolishly, I thought that I could make Miranda want to leave, and discovered that she really didn't approve of the intimate moments I spent with a boy. It's kind of embarrassing now, having Miranda be a witness to that side of me. Though, if I'm being completely honest, I really just wanted to shut her up and piss her off back then. My immaturity showed, and Miranda took it as her responsibility to counsel me on my choice going forward.
"You mother is not going to let you move two states away. You can't in your condition."
"My condition?" My actions stop. "I'm perfectly fine. Besides, what better place to live than the city where I got the transplant in the first place. My original doctors are there." I zip up my bag and place it at the foot of my bed.
"But you're just going to leave? You won't even give her notice?"
"I'm 20 years old now, almost 21. I don't even have to tell her." My feet find my shoes and I tie up the laces. "But I will, because I know she'll call the cops."
"Knock, knock." Sharpay says, pushing in the door.
"Doesn't she know that saying knock, knock doesn't mean you were granted entrance?" Miranda stands and walks over to the window. I crack a smile.
"Let me guess, the Brit is talking trash again, right?" I swear she can read my face. Sharpay and I have no secrets. She caught me talking to Miranda one time, and I blurted it all out. I thought she'd run for the hills, but she simply said, "crazier shit has happened" and went on eating. She would always ask what Miranda was saying, and my refusal to answer only confirmed that Miranda wasn't a big fan. Shar runs her hands through her bright blonde hair and looks at me expectantly. Her brown eyes narrow at me.
"She thinks we should stay."
"Bullshit. We've been here our whole lives."
"But mom-"
"Listen to me Gabi. You've done so good. You came back here, went to school, and got well for your mom. Now, you've got to live for you." I smile at her. She always knows what to say to get me inspired. Shar pulls me to my feet and grips my hands tight. "I'm taking Gabi, back to California, and we're gonna see it all." Sharpay hasn't forgot all the things I told her that I wanted to see back when I'd first got there.
"And you'll be a big time actress, bringing home the bacon."
"One step at a time." She giggles. We both know it's true. Sharpay looks like a Barbie. She's perfect for the leading lady in raunchy comedies like That Awkward Moment and romance movies like the Notebook. "Now, what do you want to do?"
"Paint." Answering immediately makes me smile. I think of all the places I never got to visit and I just want to paint them to keep forever. "I just want to paint the world."
"And you will. You'll be like Petey Pablo!"
"I hope she means Pablo Picasso and not some washed out rap star." Miranda comes over and stands by the door. Deciding not to correct her, I laugh with my best friend. "Don't forget, you still haven't told your mum." My smile fades.
"God, is she at it again?" Sharpay turns to the window on the opposite side of the room. "Why are you such a killjoy?"
Miranda barks out a laugh. "Someone has to be practical! It's a wonder you both made it through high school!" I smile.
"What did she say now?" Sharpay raises an eyebrow.
"She's shocked we made it through high school."
"No thanks to you, super brain! Like anyone would know where we got the answers. The least you could've done is told Gabi."
Miranda flings her arms up in frustration and walks through the door. Her curls bouncing in every direction.
"She's gone. She was just saying that we still have to tell mom."
"Yeah, but it'll be fine. A small step to something great, right?" She wraps a tan arm around my shoulder and leads me out of the room. "It's like ripping off a Band-Aid."
It wasn't actually like that. Mom was upset, and pissed that I told her the day I was leaving. But after she was certain that I arranged for my California doctors to take over my care, she let up. Shar and I were out of our small town and landing in California before we knew it. It felt amazing, freeing. Everything was vibrant and alive. The colors, the people, hell even the weather was awesome.
Sharpay had taken the initiative to get an apartment before we come down here. While it was risky to rent the place without seeing it, we were just happy to be here. It turned out to be in a fairly good neighborhood, close to the bus stops and shopping centers. It took a few weeks, but we got ourselves settled in right away. Shar lined up audition after audition. I submitted applications everywhere. I felt hopeless at first, there's not many good jobs that pay well with just a diploma. Luckily, I landed a pretty nice spot at a craft shop. The hours are good, and the customers are the sweetest. Plus, I get all my art supplies half off.
Carter's Crafts and Art Supplies is a fairly large shop situated on the corner of the Main St. intersection. Carter was an older gentleman in his 50s. His shop has been around for years and has its faithful customers. The business was run by him and his daughter, but with her off to school, I found the ideal job.
While everything was going smooth for me, Miranda was erratic. She kept saying she felt like she was missing something. In the five years I'd spent with her, she'd never said that. She would be perfectly fine one minute, and on high alert the next. It didn't bother me, until she got angry that I couldn't feel it too. The connection between us isn't mental or physical, we don't share thoughts or feelings. We can communicate with one another, but that's all. It drives Miranda insane.
"Gabi, I feel it again."
"Come again?" I ask aloud. I direct it at Miranda, but my customer smiles and retrieves her purchases. Miranda comes to sit on the counter so I can see her.
"It's like this gaping hole, sometimes it feels like a wide open space in my chest, and sometimes it's just a little thump." I glance at her. Her face is scrunched in confusion, or pain, I'm not certain which. I want to ask her if she's hurt, but I can't with so many people around.
"How are you feeling today?" Asking this question to the customer prompts Miranda to answer.
"It's more prominent than it has been. I'm almost in pain." She mumbles, watching the door. My customer answers the question but I block them out. I watch the door too, hoping to see what she does. "I can't explain it, I just feel it." We watch the last customer leave.
"Maybe years of not eating is getting to you." I joke. Suddenly, Miranda stands. Walking halfway to the door, she starts fiddling with her fingers.
The door chimes, and in walks the most beautiful man I've ever seen. His brown hair is cut short to his head, the tips feathering a little at the front. His almond shaped eyes are a piercing, crystal blue, and his chin a sharp square, covered in stubble. His lips press against each other in a firm line. Miranda sees him too. Her mouth drops. "T..." She breaths.
"What?" I ask her.
"Excuse me?" The man says, quirking a brow.
"Sorry, how can I help you?"
"T..." Stepping forward, Miranda stretches her arm out.
"Do you guys still do the craft workshops on Saturdays?" He picks up a schedule.
"Um, yeah." Eying Miranda and trying to pay attention to him is a struggle.
"I was hoping to sign up for the Daddy-Daughter session this weekend." Miranda looks as though she's be slapped. She pulls her hand back immediately.
"Daughter?" She mumbles.
"Oh, sure. You just need to fill out this form." I hand him a paper and pen.
"Ask him about his daughter." Miranda says. I look to her. She can't be serious. "Please, I need to know." I shake my head at her, careful not to answer aloud. "Please Gabi, do this for me."
"So, uh...how old is your daughter?" My words sputter out of my mouth.
"Five." He answers without looking up.
"Five?" Miranda's eyes water. She walks over to the window and sits.
"Cool." Who was this guy? And why on earth would she start crying? "She'll definitely love the craft then. We're going combine a little woodworking and make cute bird houses."
He stops writing and looks up at me. "Have you ever built one?"
"Oh, tons. I'm really into this whole painting, and crafting thing." Gesturing with my hands turns out to be a terrible habit. I knock over the handcrafted mug of pens. Mystery man and I bump shoulders as I rush to pick everything up. He bends down to help. "Well, my boss won't be happy about that."
"The mug?"
"Yeah, his daughter made it when he first opened up, years ago. First of his Savvy Craft Saturdays." He looks down at the pieces in my hands. "She's a grown adult now, but to him this thing was like a Grammy, you know?" I laugh nervously. How in the hell was I going to explain this?
"Mr. Carter your boss?" I nod. "Tell him I did it. No sense in taking all the blame." He shrugs and finishes the paper. He seems so nice, why would she be crying? "Saturday at 5, right?"
"Yep! Right before closing." I follow him to the door. "See you then!" I call, and lock the door behind him. "Okay, spill."
Miranda didn't look away from the window. She follows him through the glass as he walks by the craft shop. "That's my T."
"Who?"
"T, he was in the car with me. We were going to eat when..." Her voice trails off.
"He was with you?" She nods.
"I've always wondered what happened to him. We left California so fast, and-" She stops, and wipes a tear from her face. "Apparently, he's been fine."
"What do you mean?" He did look perfectly fine, but if Miranda had been killed, there's no way he walked away without physical scarring, or at the very least emotional.
"He has a daughter. A five year old, Gabi. It's been five years since the accident." She whirls around and starts pacing. "He didn't wait long at all." Sheesh, what am I supposed to say? "What's her name?" Miranda and I both look to the sign in sheet. I rush and grab it before she can do her supernatural thing and pop up over there.
"Miranda, this isn't healthy."
"Ha!" She stares at me. "In case you haven't noticed Gabi, health isn't an issue for me anymore."
"You know what I mean! There's a reason you're still here. Don't let this be added to the list."
"Gabi, this is the reason! The weird feeling I was having, not knowing where I belonged...it's because of him. I felt complete when he walked in that door."
"Then why do this to yourself? You can see that he's alive and well. Don't put yourself through the pain."
"Don't you see? I'm in pain now!" That's when I look at her, really see her. Miranda had bags under her eyes, and tears brimming them. "It's not about being hurt that he didn't mourn me. I just want to make sure he's happy. Maybe then I can move on."
She may be on to something. Miranda never behaved this way, she never cried or raised her voice at me, even when I was doing something stupid. "I just don't want you to be hurt."
"I can take it. I'm older than you, you know?" She is, and she's also been living a half life for five years. "Please." Her pleading gets to me.
"Nikola Funke." I read off the paper, and my eyes connect with hers.
"My...my niece?" Sheesh, I sure hope this isn't that kind of situation.
"Troy Bolton and Nikola Funke are signed up for this Saturday." I pause and put the clipboard down. "I'm sorry Miranda."
"I'm not." She smiles. "Gabi, my sister was pregnant when the accident happened. She's not his." She closes her eyes. "She's not his!" She yells and leaps into the air, doing a happy dance.
"Well then why..."
"He still loves me. It has to be that."
"Miranda-"
"How could she not say anything to me?" Miranda pauses and puts her hands on her hip.
"Well actaully-"
"Don't answer that." She laughs. "Oh Gabi, he still cares."
"That's great?"
She sits. Her voice is all sweet, accent prominent. "Clearly, there's a problem. He should've moved on. I wonder what's keeping him."
I was suddenly thankful she couldn't hear my thoughts. It couldn't have been easy for him to walk away from the accident that killed his girlfriend, especially when he was driving.
"I must speak with him." Miranda decides.
"Pardon?" I walk out from behind the counter. "Just how do you plan on doing that?"
"Gabi, one conversation. I promise."
"I don't care how many you have, good luck trying to get him to hear you."
"Please, please, please, please!" She drops down to her knees and shuffles over to me, her floral dress flowing.
"Miranda, I can't. How do I explain knowing all of these things about him?"
"You won't have to. I'll come up with some general questions. It's kind of like what doctors would ask each patient. A script."
"Now you want to use some of your medical school knowledge? That would've help back in biology."
"You were fine! Don't think I didn't know you were only asking because of Sharpay."
"Not the point!" I roll my eyes and go back to the register. "I take no responsibility if this goes wrong. We all know that I'm not exactly the best conversationalist." Though I'm willingly giving in, I still grumble about it.
"Don't worry!" She laughs and hugs me, though I don't feel it. "What's the worst that could happen?"
In this situation? The possibilities are endless.
Author's Note: I love hearing your thoughts on the story! I'm in the process of writing and editing, so posts may be a little slow. This project means a lot to me, so I'm often hard at work on it, so please be patient! Also, please let me know if I miss any name changes or hsm character descriptions lol, I'm absolutely terrible with settings. Please leave all comments, questions, and suggestions in a review or PM!