Disclaimer, I don't own High School Musical or any of the characters associated with it.
Author Note 1. I suffer from dyslexia and lack a beta reader. So if my spelling/ grammar really offend anyone would they like to volunteer?
Virtual Cookies to angelbecca913 and bj lucas for their wonderful reviews. They really do make me write faster.
Chapter 3
Deanna POV
Love is weird.
I figured that out when I was 5, after witnessing another of my parent's fights. The next five years until Dad cleared out merely confirmed my opinions. No matter how many times mum hit him, he never responded, either physically or verbally. I can only presume it was love.
The four years after that, I had no time for love. You try raising 4 boys, dodging blows and maintaining a passing grade. It takes up most of your time.
Then Dave came into my life. Well, that's inaccurate. I've known Dave since we were both in diapers, but it was the first time I saw him as anything other than a friend. The situation only confirmed my opinions. I found myself behaving like an idiot around him. I got lucky. We both knew the situation and accepted it.
I used to tell the boys stories of knights rescuing people, the legends of King Arthur, the Lady of Shallot, Viking sagas, anything really to distract them from the reality. Most people when they look at Jake's painting see that. I however also see my knight. It was never my dad who I thought would rescue us, it was Dave.
So why is it so hard to call him?
I get my cell from my bag and beginning dialling his number again. And again I hang up before I've finished. Just like the last times.
And It's now three twenty five, and my head is pounding, but I promised Sam I'd pick him, so I'm to the car.
Then I see someone leaning on the car's bonnet.
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"Do you know what's wrong with Troy?" Gabriella asked Taylor. "He's been avoiding me all day."
"Probably just nerves about the game." Taylor replied, not turning her attention from the blackboard on which a complicated equation glared at the two girls.
"Chad's the same."Gabriella nodded, but she couldn't shake the feeling it was something more.
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Deanna POV.
"You should have called," Dave says, attempting unsuccessfully to keep the accusation out of his voice.
"I..." I trail off. There's no excuse. "I'm sorry."His face is a mask of guilt.
"No. I am." He says. "You've been coping with all this on your own and then I come here and act like a jerk."
"You didn't." I reply, before adding. "Anyway I've had dad and Lucille to help."
Dave can't catch himself before he snorts, but he says nothing else, well aware that if he does it'll lead to a row.
"How's everyone holding up?" he asks.
I can't stop myself. It all comes pouring out. I don't know if what I say makes any sense, all I know is that Dave pulls me against him in a hug.
"it's O.k." he whispers softly as I breath in his scent, a mixture of cologne, sweat from the drive, sunshine and OJ and something else, something indefinable that always makes me feel safe. It is with reluctance that I pull away from him.
"I have to go. I promised Sammy I'd pick him up."
"Let me drive," he protests, taking my keys.
"You've driven what 12 hours?-"
"So another couple of hours won't make a great deal of difference. Anyway" he says leaning in to sniff my hair. "You've got a splitting headache."
"How did you...?"
"I smelt the lavender on your temples." He steps back and regards me with concern. "Have you eaten today?"I suddenly lack the energy for a lie.
"So we go pick Sammy up, get something to eat. Then you can drive us home. Deal?" he holds out his hand and I take it.
"Deal."
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"Alright team. Let's get it together! Run shuffle drill!" Troy's voice echoed across the gym as the team hurried to obey. Chad joined them, bouncing and weaving the ball around, but his mind was only half on his actions. He was watching Troy.
Troy was a great captain and could motivate like no one else. However today it was obvious, as it had been all day that his mind wasn't there. Having being there, Chad was worried.
At the break he could stand it no longer. Under the cover of fetching his water bottle, he dug his cell phone out of his bag and dialled.
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Deanna POV
My cell rings, as I'm getting back in the car, clutching a Happy Meal for Sam and 2 Mcnugget meals for Dave and me. I hand the happy meal to Sam, enjoying his expression of surprise at this act of rebellion before I answer.
"Hello?... Yes...what?...no. it's O.K. I'll be right there." Dave glances at me, as he opens the ketchup for Sam. It is one of the great mysteries of the world why Sam can pour himself a glass of juice with no problems, but if he tries pouring sauce of any description over food...well let's just say that last time we let him put syrup on his own pancakes, he used half the bottle.
"What's up?" he said, as I listen to a voice mail message from Chad.
"Jake." I reply, "He has apparently in a fit of artist temperament destroyed the art room!" Dave grimaces as I slide out in first, but he knows better than to argue.
"And according to Chad something's up with Troy." This brings a more concerned expression.
Since he was a baby Jake, like mum, has been an extrovert. If there's a problem, the world knows about it. Troy on the other hand, whether by choice or requirement, is excellent at controlling himself. If Chad felt there was something wrong, then there probably was.
Which is why, as soon as I arrive at school I head for the locker rooms. The guys have already departed, only Chad and Troy remain. They're sitting on the benches in there, Troy still in his sweaty uniform. Chad's trying to talk to him, but his relief when I show up is palatable.
"Come on. Kiddo." I say gently kneeling beside him. "Let's go." Troy obeys and we move off. Chad pauses by the door, evidently seeing his ride, but unsure whether he should stay. Then he looks at Troy and at me, and decides to go.
The art room is next and it's a mess, even by its standards. Paint, inks and paper are strewn everywhere and brushes, pen and pencils littered like leaves. Amidst this chaos, covered in art materials sits my brother. He's crying. My anger evaporates and I run to him, kneeling beside him, while I look at the canvas behind him. Like everything else in the room it's covered with art supplies and slashed, but its subject is still clear and it makes the breath catch in my throat.
"I can't remember." Jake sobs in to my top. "I can't remember what she looked like! She's our mum! And I can't remember!"
"You can!" I say, forcing him to look at me. "You're just not sure who to remember." In the painting I can see all the faces of our mother that I remember. The young girl from the photo's aunty Lorraine's photo album. The chorus girl, who she could transform into when she was teaching us to sing. The loving mum baking and laughing with us... and the darker side. The drunk and the monster who hit us.
"It'll be O.K." I say, getting to my feet and helping Jake to his, unable to look at the picture. Dave slips his arm around my waist and for the first time since this whole mess started I believe it.
