Disclaimer: I own nothing.
EIGHT YEARS LATER...
A soft breeze of New York City in October blew quietly across Seventh Avenue. The streets were busy as usual and most of the bakeries, coffee shoppes, and thrift stores were decorated for fall and Halloween. It was a beautiful sight for the residents and passerby in the Big Apple. Troy Bolton walked along with everyone else on the usually crowded sidewalks. But today was one of those "one in a million" exceptions, where there was barely anyone out. Troy checked his watch. 16:21. Or in normal time, 4:21 pm. He still had the old, dirty, nearly broken watch he received during those horrendous, torturous, nightmare inducing years. Eight. Eight years in the Middle East.
It was like a whole new world, somewhere centuries, light years away. It was extremely different from the old lifestyles he had been comfortable with his entire life. Northing compared to what he had witnessed, what he had heard. For eight years, Troy Bolton lived in fear, agony, and both physical and emotional pain. He constantly wondered who was thinking, listening, or praying for him.
The last letter he had wrote was to his sister saying "I'm off to the war." That was basically it. While on his tours of duty, he had heard from her a few times, mostly around the holidays. She was his support group, party of one; his rock. Nothing had changed with his family status. No contact from the divorced parents and many thoughts of Sharpay Evans racing through his cluttered mind. But those thoughts seemed to become fewer and fewer everyday. It had been more about staying alive than Sharpay, more about reading the horoscopes in the New York Times than the letters from his sister from long ago telling him that his parents were now divorcees and Sharpay Evans was making out better than okay. More about simple things like the cardboard "40 PERCENT OFF EVERYTHING!" and "Wake me up—September has ended; try our specialty coffee!" signs hanging in the windows of Tommy's Bakery and Coffee Shoppe. Less about the huge neon moving board on the side of a building which read:
"JAKE TYLERS..."
This ran across the billboard screen which turned into:
"GETTING MARRIED? WHO?"
Troy honestly didn't give a damn who this Jake Tylers was marrying as he continued his usual route to the, in reality, insignificant little corner shoppe owned by his friend. Tommy's Bakery and Coffee Shoppe wasn't well known like Starbucks, but it had its regular customers and was known for the freshly made doughnuts and mocha lattes. Today was a strange day however, to be going to the shoppe at 4:30. But what else did he have to do?
The little bell in the corner rang once Troy opened the door. Tommy wasn't there in the front at the time, seeing as there wasn't a single customer in the building. Tommy's Bakery and Coffee Shoppe was run by Thomas R. James III and only Thomas R. James III. Most of the times, however, his 16 year old nephew would come in and run the registers while he was away or just to pick up some extra cash. Sometimes, even Troy , would come in and run the register. God only knew he needed the money.
Thomas James, more commonly known as Tommy, was well into his 50's, hair starting to gray ever so slightly. He made every cake, bread, donut, cookie, brownie, you name it, by scratch. Everyday. He did something to his lattes, coffees, and cappuccinos to make them even better than Starbucks, at much more reasonable prices. It was a fairly large area, the busiest time being in the morning. Here, at the quaint little coffee shoppe, was where Troy Bolton felt most at home.
"Hey Troy."
"Oh hey Joe," Troy greeted the tall blond haired boy who took the title as Tommy's 16 year old nephew. Joseph Mercelli was a lean, well built teenager who was the biggest jock/nerd Troy had ever known. He was popular, played soccer, football, basketball, lacrosse, and ran track. That made him a jock. A major jock. So what made him the so called "nerd"? The excellent grades, the two hours of studying he managed to fit in between running from practices and games, the class president, the AP calc class as a junior? But what was so nerdy about that? It just made him more popular. And rich. His father was a booming stock broker who knew how, what, and when to sell. And just who to sell it to. He somewhat reminded Troy of himself when he was in high school. Maybe.
"What are you doing here this late?" Joe asked.
"I have no idea, probably because I have no life," he said glumly. Joe nodded.
"So can I get you anything Mr. Bolton?" he asked.
"No, I'm just going to contemplate my pathetic life," he replied, feeling sorry for himself.
"Well you have fun with that," he answered, disappearing into the back again. Troy sighed. He was right. His life was pathetic. Since that pathetic fight with her.
"I still don't believe it," Sharpay gushed over the phone with Taylor.
"Oh girl please, Jake proposed to you months ago."
"I know," she replied, staring at the rock on her left finger. Sharpay squealed again.
"Well, I'm happy for you now, just as I was months ago, but listen, I gotta jet, so I'll talk to you later, k hon?"
"Fine bye Tay." She hung up with a quick press on her Blackberry Storm. She was alone in the penthouse of the Tylers Hotel. Jake was gone for three weeks, basically until the wedding in November, with one week to spare. He was in California with his buddies from school, leaving Sharpay to continue with her job at the New York Times and to do whatever she wanted to do. Work consumed most of her life, but it didn't bother her at all. She loved what she did. Senior editor for the New York Times and soon to be author. The only problem with the author title, no story ideas, concept or message. It lacked it all. Plot, conflict, characters. Sharpay wanted something meaningful and heartfelt, but nothing came to mind. Someday she knew the perfect idea would suddenly strike her on the head.
Sharpay walked into her room and collapsed on the king size bed. She glanced at the bedside table to check the time, but her eye caught something else. A ring. A certain gold ring. A certain gold, not-her-engagement-ring. Sharpay sat up and reached for this certain gold not-her-engagement-ring. She turned it over in her hand so the light beautifully hit three golden engraved letters. Ily. Why in the hell was this out? Especially under the situation and the time. Sharpay didn't recall getting it out, but then again, a certain name had been coming up in her brain lately. A four letter, simple, yet complex name. Troy. Why? Now all of a sudden? But was it all of a sudden? Mostly everyday for the past eight years, Sharpay kept her ears open for anything happening in the Middle East. Without remembering it and much forced denial, she did keep Troy in her prayers.
But why? Because she would be devastated if he died? Because a little part of her wanted to see him again? Because that little part wanted to stare into his clear blue eyes, to spend time together, to be like it was nearly ten years ago. Or was it nine? Sharpay couldn't even remember.
She set the ring down again on the table, but this time started to search the drawer. A few minutes later, she found the neatly folded paper she was looking for. It was slightly torn in some places and wear lines were appearing where it had been folded all of those years.
"Dear Sharpay Evans" at the top was faded, but still readable.
Why do I have this out? She asked herself. But her conscience wouldn't reply, forcing her to read on.
I'm going to tell you this in the best way I can. If I tried to tell you face to face, I'm afraid I couldn't handle saying it. It would be too hard to look into your beautiful eyes and tell you just this, I'm leaving for the army.
Bombshell Number One. Sharpay clearly remembered she first read that statement, her heart had felt like it was made of stone. Her brain had stopped working and it was as though her entire body just shut down. How and why was this memory so significant? Didn't she have more important things to be thinking about? Sharpay tried to put the simple, worn down piece away, but something inside of her told her not to.
Chances are, I'll be called to the front. The most important thing is not that, though. The most important thing is to let you know how I feel. Even though I don't want to join the army, my dad feels I need to.
Of course. Sharpay clearly remembered and knew Jack Bolton. Although, forcing his son to join the army didn't come with the description. Since they had had the fight, Troy never got the chance to explain what his grandfather had demanded.
Okay, I'm stopping now, she told herself.
Ha, no you are NOT! Her conscience hissed.
But this is not merely a fight between my dad and I, it is for you, to you, and about you. Sharpay, I want to tell you how I've been feeling about you for what has seemed like too long. We were best friends, although I felt there was something more. More than just a first name basis, joke around relationship. Something more like love.
Bombshell Number Two. There it was. The four letter word. The first time Sharpay Evans found out Troy loved her, more than a sister. It was overwhelming, that moment She remembered wondering if she had loved him too. It was something she hadn't expected at all. The last thing. Love.
You are more than halfway done, you are going to finish this letter, her conscience said.
I didn't realize how much I was attached to you until you fell for Zeke. I found myself envious as ever, falling for you more than ever. Did you realize my lack of talk to you at lunch, or my wry smiles when you told a joke? Did you even notice my pathetic attempts to get you and him to hate each other? I wasn't every mad at you, I was nervous. And jealous, and disappointed.
Zeke Baylor. He was cute and funny and charming. Sharpay thought back and did remember the "pathetic attempts" and "lack of talk." It pained her deeply that she hadn't realized it before, maybe it would have been different. How different? This time Sharpay didn't need to aid of her conscience to continue reading.
I don't know if I will be able to see you again. If I do, I don't know when, or where, or how. Please don't put your life on hold, I would never ask that of you. Just remember this, remember every word. And remember the letters engraved in my ring. Ily. I love you.
Miss you Sharpay Evans~
Troy Bolton
And she had. Sharpay Evans had remembered it all. That was the sole reason for having the letter, the ring still. To remember. And for some reason, that she had no idea why and she couldn't figure out, she never wanted to forget it.
Troy slowly opened his eyes. The sun just peaked into his room. What was the time anyway? He yawned and sat up, glancing at the clock with stray eyes. Six o'clock in the morning? He didn't remember going to bed, let alone getting home. Everything seemed like such a blur lately.
Troy slowly rose from his sitting position on his creaky makeshift of a bed. He pulled a shirt on over his shaggy head of hair. The tiny mirror in his room was cracked down the middle, but still managed to stay in one piece. His clothes were stacked in cardboard boxes and his bed constantly creaked whenever he moved around in it. In fact, the entire one bedroom apartment was far, way far from nice, even semi nice. The tile in the shower of peeling and cracking, the stove burners were breaking, the TV only received seven channels, and the sofa had a number of wear spots and holes. In a nutshell, Troy Bolton wasn't living very high in society. Not high at all.
It was earlier than usual that Troy went to Tommy's for his morning drink. Knowing Troy's current state of poverty, Tommy gave Troy a free caramel latte every Tuesday's. And today happened to be a Tuesday.
The streets had surpassed crowded by a long shot. Troy had no idea the streets of New York were that busy that early in the morning. It wasn't even seven o'clock again. He couldn't walk his normal stroll, but was forced into a robotic, fast pace walk. It took him nearly ten times longer to get to Seventh Avenue and much, much longer to get to Tommy's.
The little bell in the corner rang, signaling Troy's entrance. Normally when he walked in, someone, usually Joe would notice him walk in, greet him with a friendly gesture and then give him his awaiting caramel latte. It did sound a little high maintenance, but Troy didn't view it as that kind of way. Troy had never in his life, or so many years of living in New York, Tommy's place so busy. He pushed his way through to get behind the counter, where Tommy and Joe were frantically taking people's orders.
"Troy!" Tommy called out to him. "Come over 'ere an' take some of these damn orders."
Troy, not wanting to put Tommy in a negative mood, swiftly went around to a cash register and started with the next customer. It took them nearly a half an hour to clear out the shoppe and dwindle it down to one last customer.
"Here's thirty for the trouble," Tommy said, handing Troy a twenty and a ten. "Joe, I'll pay you later."
"Alright see ya later, see ya Troy." Joe waved a farewell to the two men as the little bell rang again, signaling Joe's departure.
"Hey Troy, do you think you could run the register for another hour or so, our eight o'clocks will be here, there are only about four, five or six, depending on the day."
"Uh, sure that's no big deal," Troy agreed.
"Good, good. I have a few errands to run real quick. Shouldn't take me long at all."
Troy nodded as Tommy left the shoppe with the ring of the little bell. It was 7:30 and the store was deserted. Wiped out. Just enough time to go in the back until the so called eight o'clocks arrived. There was a small room with a black leather couch and a decent sized television calling his name in such a seducing matter, he couldn't bare to refuse it. Troy settled himself back there on the couch and flipped on the television.
"Jake Tylers, son of Andrew and Carolyn Tylers, the famous hotel owners, and right now slated as the next Brad Pitt is to be married, but who's his blushing bride?" Lara Spencer of The Insider asked. "That and much more up next." Commercial.
Troy rolled his eyes and flipped the channel to Cash Cab. So much lately about this Jake Tylers and his upcoming wedding. Who really cared? He knew he didn't. As long as it wasn't...no, not in a million years. She would never marry that shallow.
Just as he found himself quite comfortable in the comfy black couch, the tiny little bell was heard. That small bell could carry its sound far. A voice rang out after it. "Tommy? Joe? Anyone?"
Troy sighed and tilted his head back ever so slightly. Getting up and handling a customer was one of the last things he wanted to do. Besides, if this person was an eight o'clocker, why were they there so early? It was only 7:40.
But overall, he was getting paid, and not getting paid to just sit on an oh-so-comfy couch. He forced himself to lift his body up and walk. He casually, not in any sort of hurry, strolled to the front, slightly fixing his shirt, which seemed to have been slightly wrinkled. Not high maintenance at all.
"So, what can I get-" Troy Bolton would never be able to finish that sentence. He might have been able to spit out the last few words if he hadn't been staring into the eyes of the one person that had been haunting him for the past eight years.
A/N: Okay, so its technically THE chapter, I just left a little cliffhanger for y'all, just don't hate me. However, i didn't really feel the love with the reviews last chapter. I think there were only like...four or five. I don't know, but I wasn't too pleased. C'mon guys, (btw THANKS to those who did review, it is MUCH appreciated and I'm sorry I didn't do individual replies this time) I need reviews so I know people are still interested. I don't want to waste my time if they aren't. Anyway, they are great and I do love them. I'm going to be working on this and 10 Years, but NOT Starting Over. I'm putting it on hold, but I will be updating it again later (soon hopefully). Thanks for the great reviews (more would be awesome!) SO REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! (and this is bad advertising but, if you haven't read Starting Over or 10 Years, I suggest you do and leave a review for them too! Thanks time ten!)
