A/N: I'm gonna explain what Chad and Gabby's relationship is soon, so stay on and read – and of course, review!
The West Park wasn't really Sharpay's ideal kind of beach – it was too crowded to share a romantic picnic – and she'd rather go to a private island resort somewhere off the coasts of Hawaii, but it was Troy's choice and she didn't want to spoil it by whining.
"Beautiful weather, hm, Troy?" Sharpay asked sweetly, leaning against him. Beside her, Troy was staring off into the distance, obviously oblivious to her. Sharpay snapped her fingers in front of him. "Beautiful weather, hm, Troy?" she repeated.
"Wha…? Oh, yeah. Absolutely smashing," Troy responded with a non-committal air.
Sharpay rolled her eyes and started unpacking the food. Silence built up between the two of them.
"Troy. Troy." Sharpay said to him again, trying to get his attention. "TROY."
"What?"
"You weren't telling me the whole truth, were you? About Gabriella." Sharpay asked.
"No, I wasn't. But we really did meet at a New Year's Party."
"Hmmph."
"And yeah, we did exchange a few messages after that."
"Hmmph."
"Don't look at me like that. Okay, we did exchange more than a few messages, but I didn't really think that I would see her again. She mentioned that she had a boyfriend already, so I kinda accepted that, you know? We're just really good friends."
Sharpay frowned, unappeased by this answer. "Look into my eyes, Troy."
"What?"
"Look into my eyes, Troy," the blond-haired girl repeated.
Troy obliged and Sharpay searched their clear blue depths for a long half minute. Finally she smiled, and Troy let out an inward sigh of relief. "Troy, if I ever see another person in your eyes other than me… I don't know what I'll do," Sharpay said, her own eyes fixed steadily on Troy's. "But I'll make sure you'll come back to me, I promise."
Troy cast his eyes down uneasily. It wasn't very easy hiding from someone like Sharpay who could practically read your mind, but Troy has experience.
The awkward moment passed, and Sharpay leaned back into Troy's arms, sinking into his familiar embrace. Sharpay Evans wasn't blind, not was she stupid. She knew love when she saw it, and she could also tell lies easily from the truth. The weight of the knowledge of Troy and Gabriella's close (but one-sided, apparently) relationship was almost suffocating her, and she needed a plan – fast.
Thinking quickly, she decided, Ryan would know what to do.
---
Chad Danforth had so much on his mind, and a zillion emotions were pressing onto his aching heart.
Disbelief. He couldn't – not yet – digest the fact that Gabriella – Gabriella – was at East High.
Sorrow. This pounded strongly in his heart, as it did when she walked away last summer.
Hope. Perhaps she could give him a second chance.
Fear. If the team found out, he'd be dead…
Shock. She knew Troy – quite well, apparently.
Confusion. What was he going to do…
Love. Love, always the same killer emotion, always the same painful love. Renewed love, a candle lit again, another flower blooming – but that candle was about to be blown out, the flower about to wilt.
This love was too much for him to bear…
That summer he had wanted to try out that shot-fake (a basketball technique that Jack Bolton was then crazy about) – just him, the Wildcats and Mr. Bolton, and of course, his lucky basketball, sweating it out on the court.
And his mother dropped the bomb just a week before holidays started officially, that he was going to spend the best and most part of summer at a camp.
She announced it that day just as Chad burst through the door after basketball practice. She was baking cookies in the kitchen, with his father sitting nonchalantly at the table, reading his newspapers with unusually avidity, obviously not wanting to involve himself in the quarrel that was sure to brew soon enough.
Mrs. Danforth wiped her dough-crusted hands on her apron. "Chad, put that ball down. I want to speak to you. Now, - put it down! – you'll be starting college soon, It'll be good if you have some… training before you go out to the real world."
"What?" Chad said, busy with his cookie. He peered at his mom suspiciously. "Summer camp? Dude, I have basketball practice everyday. We're going to the finals, man! I can't just miss it for some camp."
"Oh yes you can," his mom said firmly, snatching the ball from him and shooting a clear shot into the wastepaper bin. Behind his newspaper Mr. Danforth applauded, then stopped and smiled guiltily when he felt Chad's glare on him.
"Dude, are you serious? Its gonna be a waste of a summer!"
"It is not a waste, Chad," his mom replied patiently, "Its called training. Believe me, when I was your age, I would have jumped at this sort of opportunity. I didn't have such priveleges. All we did was stick around our backyards and fly paper planes. Take this chance to make some new friends, find an interest, and not stick around with a dirty ball all day. You are not allowed to bring your basketball to camp."
Chad, who had virtually fallen asleep from the first mention of "when I was young", jerked awake again. "No ball?" he echoed emptily. It was a restriction that threatened to upset his whole summer – at the moment it was just hanging by a thread.
"No ball."
"But – but –" he spluttered, wide-eyed.
"No buts, young man. Now get that stink off your skin before I ground you."
Chad looked pleadingly at the newspaper (his dad knew" No Eye Contact With Trouble), then trudged wordlessly off to the bathroom. When Chad's mom was adamant about something, she would not settle for anything else; neither whining ways nor half-hearted promises could shake her mountain of stubbornness. That much he'd learnt during his unfortunate course of existence as Mrs. Danforth's son.
When he emerged from the shower, tussling his chocolate-brown afro vigorously and shaking like a wet dog, he found a small stack of papers on his table, with the heading: "Golden Ocean – The Fun-Filled Kids Summer Camp!"
There were welcome letters, packing lists, forms, timetables and his group: Saffron Squid… it all sounded very childish.
Chad groaned and buried his face in his hands.
---
Sharpay clicked her tongue impatiently at her brother.
"Ryan."
No answer. The younger Evans twin continued snoring.
"RYAN."
Blank. Nada. Zilch. Sharpay started beating her fists against the unmoving form on the bed.
"RYAN!!!"
With feigned alarm, Ryan sprang upright. He blinked sleepily at Sharpay, and tried wearily to knead the exhaustion from his eyes.
"Wha-?"
"Drop the act, Ryan," the older Evans twin commanded, dragging Ryan by the hand out of his king-sized bed (he needed the space, he said, for his teddy bears to sleep in). "It's a class-A emergency, code red."
The tiredness immediately fell from Ryan and he straightened up, obliging to slip his feet into his blue fluffy slippers. "Emergency, hm? The last time you bothered to consult me regarding an emergency was when you lost your Little Women outfit – you know, the Victorian one with the lacy corset and puffy skirts. And that was not even code green."
"It was code green! That outfit determined whether I won the Best Drama Mama award," Sharpay insisted.
"Whatever."
They both wheeled into the den – Sharpay and Ryan's own personal space, complete with a stage with mannequins, props and technicolor lights – not to mention the pyrotechnics and all the boom mikes set up all around, and the spot lights if they needed it. There were bean bags which littered the cold marble floor; two changing rooms near a long and varied rack of sparkly costumes; autographed photos, paintings and certificates tacked to the wall; a tall glass shelf of trophies against one wall; a mini fridge near it; a stack of books; a disco ball hanging from the ceiling; a gigantic sound system wired to a cinema-sized television screen; a full-length mirror bordered with rhinestones; a vanity with the best make-up piled on top of it, most of it not even in stores yet; three laptops whirring in the corner; a grand piano; a full drum set AND a lot of gym mats plus a punching bag – yes, the Evans twins were artists in a world of showbiz, meaning that they were temperamental and prone to feel the urgent need to pummel something once in a while. Usually it was Sharpay who was too overwhelmed by the stupidity of everyone else (or maybe feeling jealousy at the other competitors for the Star Dazzle Award) and she often needed to punch something.
"Go," said Ryan shortly, once they were comfortably seated on the beanbags.
Sharpay reclined on her chair, obviously enjoying the attention. She didn't need much prompting.
"Troy is going to ditch me for that Gabriella-nerd person." Sharpay brushed a lock of blond hair away from her mascara.
Ryan considered her words for a second. "Well," he shrugged, "East High's been having severe gossip famine anyway. This would give them something new to buzz about. Granted, the Gabriella-person is a tad cute, but Troy isn't the nerd-person kinda type."
"Its not like just another affair," Sharpay told him sharply."This is real. I can feel it. His eyes… they burn with the passion of love… his hands… it tingles with the spirit of love…" Sharpay paused dramatically, and Ryan took the opportunity to jump in.
"Cut the dramatics, sister. Sure, maybe he feels real love for her. So what? We can still do something about it. All that about love being unstoppable? In reality, love is fragile."
"So what d'you plan on doing?"
"…" Ryan pondered the question, then a smile suddenly creeped onto his face – the slow, sly smile which is oft seen in cartoons, when the villain has a particularly delicious and nasty idea.
"Well, I guess we'll just have to think of something, won't we?"