An: Guys I'm so sorry for this chapter taking so extremely long. I had a really bad case of writers block and I just couldn't get it to turn out right. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and alerted it. This chapter is really long to make up for the lack of updating. I'm going to try and get another chapter out in the next few days.

Chapter Five.

Troy's POV

Troy.

To know someone, you must look below the surface.

Okay, now what? Standing in the parking lot, arms folded across my chest, I simply didn't get it. It wasn't cool for Chad to steal the nerds homework, I had admitted it, so why was she being so attitudy to me? Do I want a medal?

Okay, I sort of got that I deserved her smart comment, maybe even the way she glared at me, but still . . .

What I didn't get, what I completely couldn't understand was why I had absolutely no effect on this girl. I glanced at my car. Getting in and driving off into the sunset was so totally appealing. Unfortunately my dad taught me that you never retreat.

So with a heavy sigh I trudged up the stairs into the animal shelter. The reception area was empty, not that there was anything here that anyone would want to steal. Pictures of dogs dotted the walls, and there were some wanted posters, rewards being offered for lost pets.

I could hear dogs barking down a corridor to my right, so I sauntered toward it. It let to the outside, where a bunch of cages lined up side by side. Not exactly cages. Very small fenced in areas. Inside several were dogs. Every kind of dog imaginable.

And the mutts were making such a ruckus that the din was almost unbearable. Dogs of all sizes were jumping on the metal fence, barking for attention as if their lives depended on it. A few whined. Some even just lay in the corners, curled up into a furry ball. They looked sad. I shook my head. I wasn't here to worry about some dog.

I spotted Gabriella at the far end of the kennel, talking with a tall man, probably the director of the place. I sauntered toward them, trying to remain cool. I shoved my hands in the pocket of my jeans to stop them from reaching out to touch a black nose that was poking through an opening in the wire fence. That would be really uncool-to be seen getting down and playing with a mangy mutt. Still, it was really hard to ignore them.

I watched Gabriella slip a leash onto a German shepherd's collar and lead him out of the pen. All right! My brain kicked into strategy mode. "Hey!" I called out ina companionable sort of way.

The guy turned, and Gabriella stepped back, her big eyes blinking behind those glasses of hers.

"I'm John Logon," the man said. "Director of the shelter. What can we do for you?"

You can help me figure out why Gabriella is not into me, I thought. "I'm, uh, considering adopting a dog or maybe just volunteering."

Mr. Logon's face lit up like the lights on a Christmas tree. Gabriella didn't look so pleased. As a matter of fact, she looked downright suspicious.

"Excellent idea," Mr. Logon enthused. "Gabriella is one of our most experienced volunteers. Gabriella, why don't you show him where we walk the dogs and explain a few of the rules?"

"Sure," she replied flatly. "Come on. I'll show you how to test them out."

I fell into step beside her as she went through a gate that put us on a path that led to the road. "Was test them out the wrong thing to say?" I asked.

"Makes them sound like cars. Objects. They're animals."

Well, duh, I knew they were animals. We came to a halt as the dog made a pit stop. Then it started up again at a pretty fast clip. Gabriella didn't seem to mind. As a matter of fact, she really seemed to be enjoying it.

Her lips were curving slightly as if she might be daydreaming. I could see where walking a dog would be good for that. Something about the activity was totally relaxing. Maybe because the dog didn't yammer away. But then, neither did Gabriella.k

She'd pulled her dark hair back into a ponytail that trailed between her shoulder blades. Usually she wore it loose, and I realized it kinda reminded me of the shiny coat on one of the black Labs I'd spotted back at the kennel. Her clothes today weren't as flashy or as loose. As a matter of fact, she almost looked downright . . . well, appealing as the mutt tugged her along.

I was hoping she'd talk, give me a hint as to the reason she didn't want to go to the dance with me. But obviously fixing a flat didn't erase a trip into the janitor's closet with her best friend.

I figured that I needed to ease my wya into talking about the dance since she still seemed more then perturbed at me. Besides, I wasn't exactly sure how to begin the conversation.

Girls had a tendency to talk to me nonstop, yammering away about anything and everything. As a matter of fact, I'd gotten pretty good at looking like I was paying a great deal of attention to everything they said when in fact it was all flying right over the top of my head.

The girls I had dated tended to talk about . . . well, things that I really couldn't have cared less about. Somebody else's breakup, a girl who had worn the same outfit to school on the same day as the girl I was with, what a hot guy Justin Timberlake was. Trust me, guys do not like to hear how hot another guys is even if he doesn't attend your high school and is paid to sing with 'NSYNC.

As callous as it might sound, sometimes I wanted to slip them some change and suggest they call someone who cared. I mean, I enjoyed having them around, but the nonstop patter could get to me.

I couldn't imagine Gabriella talking nonstop. I couldn't imagine her talking much at all. What I found strange was how much I wanted her to talk.

I was interested in what she did at the shelter. I'd always thought PAL was for the brainy kids who wanted to run for student-council president, but apparently alot of it was about helping others.

She didn't say anything, didn't look at me, even. Just kept staring at the dog, which was sniffing around every tree and bush we passed.

We arrived back at the shelter sooner then I'd expected us to. I was still no closer to discovering why she wouldn't go to the dance with me or figuring out how to entice her into going.

She put the dog into the cage he'd come out of, slipped off the leash, and closed the door. "That's how it's done," she said finally. She started to walk away.

"Wait!" The dogs were barking and whining, and I could hardly think. "Maybe I could walk one while you're walking one. Just to make sure I do it right." Man, if that didn't make me sound like a loser. I mean, how hard could it be to walk a dog, but I'd blown my chance to talk with her while we were surrounded by the quiet. A person absolutely couldn't talk in the environment, where dogs were throwing themselves against the fence.

"Okay. I'll get another leash and find a couple of dogs that still need to be walked," she offered.

All right! I had expected her to turn me down flat. Like she had every other time I'd asked her to do something with me. Maybe she would relax a little more with me walking a dog as well. That would make us more equal. Before, we were kind of in student-instructor mode.

I crouched in front of the German shepherd. "Hey, buddy," I whispered. "I'm gonna get to the root of the problem this go-around. Yes, sir" The shepherd actually looked like he knew what I was saying. "You ever have girl troubles?" He was bobbing his head. "Yeah, I can imagine. But this is a new experience for me, and I gotta be straight with you, bud, I don't much like it."

"Here you go," Gabriella said.

I shot up and immediately adopted my nonchalant stance. It was embarrassing to be caught actually talking to a dog. Gabriella was extending a leash toward me. I followed the line from her hand down to . . . a little white fur ball that was bouncing and yipping. A total geek of a dog. I couldn't believe it.

I just kinda looked at her like she'd lost her mind somewhere between the German shepherd and getting the leash. "Isn't there a bigger dog to walk?" I asked.

"Nope. These are the last two. Ryan and Taylor walked the other," she told me. The ball of fluff she intended to walk wasn't much of an improvement over the one she was offering me.

This dare was really losing its appeal as I took Yippy's leash and hoped no one I knew would spot me. Obviously Yippy didn't realize he was a runt because he tossed up his head and strutted outside.

I glanced over at Gabriella. She wasn't looking quite as relaxed as she had been before, so I figured that she probably wasn't totally comfortable around me yet. I needed to loosen her up a little bit if I wanted to figure out why she didn't want to go to the dance with me.

"Tell me this isn't the kind of dog you see me with," I prodded gently.

"What kind of dog do you see yourself with?" she asked as we headed farther away from the shelter.

"Uh, you know . . . just some big dumb, mutt," I answered vaguely. I mean, I really wasn't in the market for a dog. It was just a ploy to spend time with her and figure her out.

She furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes as if I'd insulted her. "Mutts aren't dumb."

I chuckled. She obviously thought I'd insulted dogs. "What? Did you give them an IQ test or something?"

"No, but researchers have. Not a standard IQ test of course, because dogs can't read or write, but studies indicate that dogs that aren't bred for looks or for show-which a mutt obviously isn't-tend to be smarter."

I was taken aback by her response. "No kidding?"

"No kidding."

"How come?" I asked, wondering why it had to be an either-or situation.

"Well, people who are obsessed with the way things look don't necessarily care about how smart the creatures are," she explained with a pointed glare at me as if I fit into that category.

Okay, I hated to admit that her explanation kinda applied to me. I mean, my initial attraction to a girl usually happened two seconds after I saw her, way before she ever spoke and long before I discovered what kind of grades she made. As a matter of fact, studious wasn't even on my list of things that I liked about girls. Hair, eyes, lips, the way she wore her clothes . . . man, I suddenly felt kind of shallow.

"So," she continued, "when they're matching genes to get a beautiful dog, they might have to a lot of inbreeding, and as a result they get some dumb dogs. But since a 'mutt' isn't a purebred, it hasn't lost its smart genes."

But I sure felt like I'd lost mine. "How do you know all this?"

She shrugged. "I read a lot."

"So Yippy here-"

"Yippy?" she interrupted, raising a brow in surprise. Her brown eyes sparkled, and her lips curled up in what could almost pass as a smile.

Still, I couldn't believe I'd revealed the temporary name I'd given this ball of fur. "A dog's gotta have a name," I informed her. "I can't just go around calling him 'dog'."

"Her," Gabriella corrected me.

"What?" I looked down at the fluff ball, trying to catch a glimpse beneath its tail.

"The dog you're walking is a girl."

A total geek of a dog. If I had a dog, I'd want a Bruiser or a Spike. A manly dog. "Whatever," I said trying not to let it show that I was bothered by this pip-squeak of an animal that had yet to shut its yap. "So the mutt here is smart?"

I could see Gabriella fighting not to smile fully, and I wondered why wouldn't release that grin. Then she zinged me with it.

"She's leading you around, isn't she?"

That evening at home I was dipping fried chicken strips into creamy gravy and fries into think ketchup. My dad sat across from me, doing pretty much the same thing.

Tuesday was chicken night, but every night was takeout. As my dad would say, that was the advantages to being a bachelor. You could eat whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. Which we pretty much did.

My dad and I were fairly tight, much tighter then Chad and his dad, but that was probably because Dad and I only had each other. I could tell him pretty much anything. He'd always been a great sounding board.

After all, he was a marine. And like all marines, he was really tough. He hadn't even seemed too upset when my mom ran off five years ago.

I mean, he got angry, no doubt about that. But he didn't, like, cry or anything. He was the coolest guy, definitely.

It was important to him that I was tough too. Which was the reason that I never passed on a dare or deserted my buds in their times of need. I mean, marines did not-ever, for any reason-leave their dead or wounded comrades behind. That was the main reason I was slumming in the cafeteria this month. Zeke was a bud in need.

Ironically, it was also the reason that I was in my current predicament. I mean, if we hadn't been in the cafeteria when the guys had issued their dare, they never would have spotted Gabriella. She was permanently cafeteria bound, and her shadow never would have crossed the door of Hamburger Haven at noon. But I'd been in the car and so had she, and the rest, as they say, was history.

I couldn't believe how she'd zinged me this afternoon. Or how I'd felt about it. Actually impressed. As a rule, girls never insulted me, not even subtly. All I ever heard were compliments, as if I could do no wrong. As if I was perfect. I had began to think I was. Gabriella obviously had no such delusions about me.

I lifted my fry out of the ketchup. It was looking pretty limp. I must have dunked it a hundred times while I pondered my current no-win situation. Convince a girl-who seemed not to realize that she was supposed to be grateful for my attention-to go the dance with me. Or concede the dare. Convincing the girl was the only honorable way to go here.

But I needed some serious advice. I shifted in my chair. "Dad, you know how the guys and I are always daring each other to do things?"

He arch a dark brow. "Or not to do things. Like last summer when you dared each other to not mow the yard."

I winced. I'd lost that dare hands down. My dad sorta had this thing about responsibility-which was inconsistent with the fact that he'd married a women who wasn't responsible enough to stand by her man, as the country-western song went. I tried not to resent the fact that my mom had decided to pursue her dreams away from us-I didn't even know what the dreams were-but sometimes it hurt if I thought about it too much.

And hurting was a definate sign that you weren't tough, which was the main reason that I had decided I would never let myself get into that position like my dad had. I was never going to "fall" for a babe. You know, head over heels, let her wrap me around her little finger kind of fall. Never. No way.

"Or last month when you dared each other not to fill up the gas tank until the last conceivable moment," he added.

My mouth twitched just a little at that one. We still couldn't decide if Chad running out of gas and having to walk six miles to a gas station meant that he'd won the dare or lost it.

I tossed the limp fry aside, picked up a crisp one, shoved it into my mouth, and talked around it. "Well this is a do-something dare. The guys dared me to take a geek to the dance this Saturday."

My dad did something totally unexpected. He grinned with understanding. "My friends and I issued a dare like that back in the service. The one who brought the ugliest girl to a dance won and got the next night's partying paid for."

"Who won?" I asked.

Dad shook his head. "We never could decide."

"Well, for this particular dare, Chad and Zeke selected the girl that I had to ask." I picked up another fry and studied its perfection.

"You're hesitant to ask her?" he prodded, trying to get the root of my dilemma.

I tossed the fry aside, my appetite suddenly lost. After shoving my plate forward, I planted my elbows on the table and leaned toward him. "Uh, I didn't have any problem asking." I shook my head, still unable to believe what happened. "She said no."

Dad smiled again.

"I can't figure Gabriella out," I confessed. "She's not dating anyone, has no date to the dance, but still won't go with me. Me. Makes no sense. Why would a nerdy, not-hot girl not want to go out with one of the coolest guys in school?"

"It took me years to figure out the answer to that question," he said in a fatherly tone that he seldom used. Usually we were just two buds carrying on a conversation. He patted my shoulder. "You're gonna have to figure it out on your own."

He picked up the cardboard box that contained his dinner and headed into the kitchen.

Huh? That was it? That was his advice? Figure it out?

I'd been trying to do that ever since she said no. And I wasn't any closer to an answer.

Leaning against my black Mustang the next morning, I waited outside Gabriella's house. If Mohammad wouldn't go the the mountain, I'd bring the mountain to Mohammad.

I kept thinking about Dad's uncharacteristic Buddha answer. I didn't have years to figure out why Gabriella wouldn't go to the dance with me. I was down to days, hours, minutes.

I could always hope my appendix would burst so I'd have a good excuse to get out of this dare. but failing that, I had to persevere.

I straightened as the door to the Montez's house opened. Gabriella rushed out like she still had that big German shepherd on a leash dragging her toward his favorite bush.

Halfway down the walk she staggered to a stop, her eyes doing that cute blink that I figured out meant she didn't believe what she was seeing.

"I'm giving you a ride to school," I announced.

She got that belligerent look on her face, the one she'd used when she asked if I thought I deserved a medal. My stomach tightened. Please don't give me a flat-out no.

"Don't you ever ask?" she questioned.

All of a sudden it was if a light bulb went off in my mind. I gave myself a mental slap on the side of my head. I hadn't asked her to the dance. I'd told her we were going. So maybe she had a thing about etiquette.

"Is that the reason you won't go the dance with me?" I inquired, trying not to sound like it was the lamest excuse I'd ever heard. Insulting a girl you were trying to impress was not cool. "Because I didn't ask? All right. I'm asking."

She pursed her lips together and glared at me so intently that I shifted my stance. Okay, so that wasn't the secret to getting her to go.

But there was a secret to getting her to go. It's just that it was locked deep inside her, and she didn't seem to be willing to give me the key. Any other babe would have not only slipped the key into the lock and turned it, but she would have swung the door wide open.

"Why do you want me to go to the dance with you?" she demanded.

She sounded seriously irritated. Didn't she realize an invitation from Troy Bolton was an honor any girl with a lick of sense would be thrilled to receive? And what was I supposed to say to her question? Admit that I wanted to take her because of the dare? Like that information was going to make the icy wall around her melt. So I did what any self-respecting dude under pressure to win a dare would do. I lied.

"I think it would be cool to go out with a smart girl for once." Funny how actually saying it didn't make it feel like so much like a lie. I didn't mention that I thought she was pretty, which was, um, kind of true. I mean, I never would have noticed before, but now that I'd been hanging around her, I had noticed. She was pretty. Especially when she had blushed the way she was blushing now.

Her cheeks turned a soft pink, and her dark eyes got all kind of . . . I don't know, warm looking. It reminded me of how I'd felt when Dad and I went skiing last winter and we'd sat in front of this big, roaring fire at the ski lodge. Cozy.

Finally her mouth blossomed into this smile that literally almost knocked me off my feet. Man, where had she been hiding that?

"Thanks," she said quietly.

I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. "So you want a ride to school?" I gave myself extra points for phrasing my request as a question. Before Gabriella, all I'd required were two words: hop in. And I'd have a babe sitting in the passenger seat of my car.

She kinda glanced around like maybe she was looking for the answer. Then she did this cute little shrug. "Okay."

Yes! Inwardly I gave myself a high five-something I didn't even do with my buds any-more because we'd decided it was totally uncool to exhibit any type of emotional outburst. Low-key, uncaring, that was epitome of cool, I reminded myself as I sauntered around to my side of the car while Gabriella slid into the passenger seat.

Once I was behind the wheel, I glanced over at her. She was concentrating on the windshield as if she was trying to figure out what creature had splattered there. "So will you go to the dance with me" I asked, carefully phrasing the question in a way that I figured she couldn't find fault with.

"I still can't go," she replied.

My mouth actually dropped open. What did she want me to do? Drop down on one knee?

Then she gave me this incredible endearing smile. "Sorry, but given the fact that there are hundreds of girls who'd say yes, I don't feel that bad about it."

She laughed then, a sound that could only be described as merriment. I must have gotten that word from The Canterbury Tales because it sounded too old-fashioned.

I smiled at her as I started the car. But I still didn't get it. Why wouldn't she go with me? Obviously she realized that girls did want to go with me. She seemed to be warming up to me, so what was the deal?

"Which dog did you decide on?" she asked suddenly.

The more time I spent with her, the more I realized that she wasn't really that geeky. I mean, yeah, she was smart. She didn't stand out in a crowd. But there was something special about her, something that made you want to know her a little better.

Her eyes sparkled. "Yippy seemed to like you."

Yippy? "Um . . . yeah, I think she might have taken an interest in me, but I decided long ago to never let a girl wrap me around her little finger. Or in this case, paw. And as you pointed out, she was definitely leading me around."

Her lips curled up in this quirky little smile that was shy while at the same time triumphant. "There's a site on the Internet where you can take a pet-compatibility test," she offered.

"A what?" Was she serious?

"Compatibility test. Adopting a pet is a big responsibility that a lot of people don't take seriously. That's the reason we have homeless animals. People get a pet, thinking that they're acquiring a best friend, only what they're getting is a child. Some people aren't meant to be parents."

Like my mom, I thought bitterly.

"So they get rid of the pets. But this site asks you questions and, based on your answers, it tells you what kind of pet is best suited to your expectations," she explained.

"No kidding. So what kind of pet do you have?" I asked, figuring she knew about the site because she'd taken the test-and probably aced it.

"We don't have any pets." I heard the disappointment in her voice.

"How come? You seemed to be a natural when it came to handling the dogs yesterday," I offered. She had been.

"My mom took the test," she said sullenly.

"And?" I prodded.

"Ants," she replied.

I laughed. "Ants?"

She nodded, that quirky smile of hers beginning again and growing. "The best pet for my mom is ants."

"Why would anyone wants ants as a pet?" I demanded to know.

"Because they're cheap."

Shaking my head, I continued to chuckle. "What about you? What kind of pet is best for you?

"Any kind." She turned her gaze toward the window as if she realized she'd actually been talking to me and was somehow embarrassed by the fact.

I just didn't get Gabriella. She was so totally not what I'd expected. We drove the rest of the way to school in silence that wasn't altogether umcomfortable.

But I was grateful for it because it gave me a chance to ponder what the secret was to getting her to go with me. I figured it was probably something as off the wall as she was.

I pulled into the school parking lot, turned off the car, and opened my door to get out. I didn't hear Gabriella open her door. I glanced over at her.

She just sat there, frozen in place, a dreamlike expression on her face. I followed her gaze to Jason Cross, struggling up the walk with two backpacks slung over his shoulders. I guess he took every book in his locker home at night. The guy was a major geek.

I darted my gaze between Jason and Gabriella. Geek and geekette.

So that was it! She liked someone else. Someone more her own type.

Why did I feel so terribly disappointed? It was weird. I felt like I wasn't good enough to be liked by her or something. Did that make sense?