TROY
I've never been a judgmental person. I've never thought it was fair to denounce a person just because of their image or because of their reputation. Everybody is their own individual. Why would you want to critique someone's character when you know nothing about them? I mean, you look at some heroes from history, or just heroes of today, and some of them, well, they're unusual. That's what makes a person - their aberration.
To be honest, I thought Ryan Evans was an okay guy. I didn't understand why my friends didn't like him. No, he didn't have an aggressive, fearless attitude towards things. He was definitely better off in the musicals and yoga. But the guy was fast on his feet. He seemed a bit cautious of me, like I was bound to turn on him like the rest of my friends had. But no, I didn't have a problem with Ryan. I thought he was an overall all right guy. And his girlfriend, Kelsi, she was cool too. She seemed timid at first, perhaps cautious like Ryan, but she seemed to break in easily. She was cute in a mysterious way. She reminded me of someone who'd rather sit and read a book all day then go outside. She seemed to be in her own world. Neither seemed extremely eager to play basketball, but they did strive to be taught by me. And I knew then that I liked them enough to teach them again.
Gabriella Montez was someone I couldn't help but be fascinated by. She seemed relentless in every way, her willpower was insane. The girl didn't give up. When she concentrated, she really concentrated. I actually liked the way her face would scrunch up into a frown. I thought it was really cute. Plus, she seemed completely affected by the close contact between us. I used this to my advantage. Most girls were straightforward and came onto me instantly. But she just seemed nervous by our hands touching. It was interesting. I've never really been into a shy girl before. There was a part of me that most definitely wanted to get to know her better.
I mentally kicked myself for leaving the school. I didn't wanna go home, definitely not right now. I was trying to avoid my dad at all costs. He seemed to be bent on the idea of Sara and I getting along. He was desperate. And I wouldn't have it. No, I wouldn't deal with her. I couldn't stand her - that wretched, self-centered, erratic bitch would never be a part of my family.
The sun was just about setting when I pulled into the driveway. I dreaded this moment more than anything. I hoped to stretch towards my room, avoiding all obstacles on the way.
As I walked in, I could tell there was nothing out of the ordinary happening.
My dad was watching television, probably the Lakers. Sara was nowhere to be found. I hoped that she left for the day. I didn't wanna see her face.
I knew that the hourglass was about filled. It would soon be time for me to take another adventure with her down to the plantation. I didn't want to face that. I didn't want to face death at its worst. I didn't want to hear the cries of children, or receive more emotional scars. I had been resurfacing. I didn't wanna plunge back into the water and almost drown all over again.
I realized how wore out I truly was when I hit my bed's pillow. I sighed heavily. My legs felt like they were about to fall off.
It felt good to talk and hang out with different people today. I actually had a good time. It had been awhile since I've had my fair share of fun. Lately, my friends had been extremely annoying. I figured they'd be ignoring me in school on Monday. I didn't care though. I didn't need them. I was perfectly all right without them.
I checked my phone line to see how many people called me while I was gone.
Mercedes left a long message about how I'd be best to "call her back". Of course, I wouldn't call her. She was becoming crazy and obsessive. I couldn't stand that. A few other girls called, anxious to talk to me. I wouldn't call them either. I deleted all the messages. I felt like a jackass leading them on just to break them in the end. But it was obvious to any intelligent person that I didn't want something serious, that I couldn't manage something serious. It required time, and commitment, and a lot of venting. Those were three things I just couldn't spare.
I wouldn't even be in this painful situation if my mom would have just stayed. I didn't understand it, even to this day, why she had to leave. The least she could have done was warn us, but she didn't even do that much. She just got up and left. Didn't she realize that my dad couldn't be without her? To this day, I could still see the sadness in his eyes sometimes. It was like he still wasn't fully put back together, the pieces hadn't yet been mended. She literally broke him. She broke him so much that he settled with a crazy, psychopathic bitch. I wondered, if she knew what was happening to me, if she knew the strength I had to muster up just to wake up in the morning, to go on with my life, to not give up on it, to not become suicidal . . . would she come back?
God, that's all I ever needed. I needed my mom. I didn't need someone to talk to, or someone to vent on, I realized. Maybe I did to some extent, but the real remedy would be just to have my mother back in my life. Then again, that seemed nearly impossible. She went, and she hadn't showed back up. It has been two years. You'd think I'd be over it. I searched for her address and when I got it, I sent her millions of letters, all of which she never responded to. I waited, and waited.
I had some sort of hope that my dad didn't even have. He was too busy moping around and crying to himself when I wasn't in the room. I knew my dad loved her. With my parents, it wasn't like the usual married pair. It was as if they were still teenagers, still holding hands and complimenting each other, it's as if their feelings hadn't changed at all, as if they weren't bored with each other. They were always excited to do something, always satisfied with being together. I loved them, together. My dad still looked incomplete without her, even while standing next to Sara, there was just no one that could fit better with him than my mom. And he and I both knew that he'd never love someone the way he loved her.
"Troy."
My eyes opened to a surreal darkness. I couldn't see anything. I felt like I was dreaming. My head was spinning erratically and I couldn't move passed the giant eclipse in front of me. Where was I?
"Troy, honey."
A voice. A compassionate, otherworldly voice stirred either inside or outside of my head. I couldn't seem to figure that one out. But I recognized the voice. The voice could only belong to one person.
". . . Mom?" Yeah, I was definitely dreaming.
Why couldn't I see anything? If my mom was in my dream, I at least wanted to see her again. The obscurity didn't fade though. I couldn't make out a thing or where I was at. What the hell? It wasn't fair.
"Troy, listen to me," Her tone was soothing to me, almost.
I missed her so much that it nearly tore out pieces of my heart just listening to her, as if there was anything left to tear out.
"I'm right here, baby."
The darkness seemed to perish almost instantly. And there she was, standing in front of me, in full detail: from the dimple on her chin to the part in her hair. She was standing there looking exactly how I remembered her, dark brown hair, bluish gray eyes. It wasn't hard to figure out that we were related, I guess.
"Mom. . ."
I couldn't even think of something to say, which was moronic, considering the fact I hadn't seen or spoken to her in years. You'd think I'd have a lot to say. It may have been a dream, but it seemed so real.
"You've really grown," She seemed to chuckle, almost in satisfaction as she scrutinized me from head to toe, "I figured you'd get bigger over time. We were so worried you'd never grow out of your awkwardness," She smiled, thoughtfully, "you look a lot like your father."
I couldn't find a response in my head, everything seemed to be blank. It all seemed bizarre, the dream, in general, her standing here. And the fact that she was talking like nothing had ever happened, like she never walked out of my life, like she never left.
"I can't come back, Troy," She suddenly said, a stringent frown on her face, "Not now, not ever."
I finally forced myself to talk, "What? Why not? Mom, I miss you!"
"Of course, I miss you and Jack sometimes too," She looked almost sad, "but I need you to be strong - I've seen what's been happening lately and its all too overwhelming, that woman Jack's with. . . she's not good news."
My illusions made no sense to me. My mom wouldn't even know about Sara. She was somewhere across the universe, somewhere far away from here, she would have no idea. Only my dreams would make her aware of all this.
"Troy, you need to talk to your dad about this . . . you can't let him . . . stay with her. She's hurting you."
"He won't listen," I argued, "what am I supposed to say? Why don't you just come back, come back and make everything better? The only reason he's with her is because you're not around."
"Stop that," She demanded, suddenly angry, "I can't come back, you'll understand someday, but just know I can't," She inhaled sharply, "you are a Bolton, you need to show her that she can't mess with you like that. I can't be there for you Troy, but someone can help you."
"If I tell anyone, they'll think I'm crazy, Mom." I grimaced.
I didn't want to have these pointless arguments with my own illusions.
"No, someone will listen, you just need to find that someone. You will. There is someone out there that will listen, Troy, and once you learn how to tell them, everything will be okay again."
"No, I can't, Mom, I'm not gonna turn into the freak who lets little kids die without doing something," I yelled at her, "I just can't!"
The imaginative figure in front of me moved closer to me, and it seemed irrational how real she looked as she put her hands on my shoulders, "You will - and you will make it through this, because you're Troy Bolton, and you're not a freak."
She embraced me.
I jumped up, cold sweat pouring down from my forehead, and a mixture of unexplainable tears underneath my eyes. What just happened? I couldn't decipher it, that dream. The room suddenly seemed to be scorching as I got out of my bed and took a glance at the time.
It was Sunday already, about noon. I slept for a long time, I realized. Shirtless with nothing but my boxers on, I checked my phone messages again. One was from Chad.
I nearly groaned.
"Hey man, it's me, Chad," He said, casually, "look; I wanted to talk to you about what happened on Friday . . . everyone kind of overreacted, and I wanted to let you know that it's cool with me, I mean, we're cool." He sighed, heavily.
"I mean, dude, if you wanna go to college, that's cool, I mean, I do too. Zeke and Jason are just . . . shocked, I guess. I am too, sort of, you're the guy in Darbus' class that always gets in trouble, I mean, you've always acted like school wasn't a big deal. So, we were surprised. I'm your best friend though, you could have told me. We've been tight since like, what, kindergarten? You can tell me things, bro. I'm here, man. You listen to me go on about Taylor, whether it's how you don't wanna hook up with Mercedes or how you wanna go to college, man, I don't care, you can talk to me. But . . . yeah, I guess I'll see you Monday? Just letting you know that I'm here for you man. Alright, later bro."
For a second, I just stood there, thinking. It made me realize that Chad really was a good friend of mine. I wouldn't ever tell him anything, but it was good to know that he wasn't joking when he said we were best friends. It's stupid that I was pondering over Chad's and my friendship. I really must have been losing my mind. I needed to talk to some girl, or something.
I threw on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and looked through my phone, searching for a name of a girl I could give a call. I didn't really care at the moment. I just needed someone to talk to, I guess. Not about personal shit, but about normal shit. I was getting all appreciative of Chad and that was too weird.
I looked through names. The majority of them were sluts that I could barely have a conversation with because they were too obsessed with talking dirty. Was it hard enough to find a girl just to talk to without dealing with hormones? I mean, their hormones, that is. Girls in my school wanted to have sex more than I did, and that was wrong in so many ways.
My thumb slid across a name suddenly and everything inside of me seemed to stop, including my heart. Maybe. . .
Gabriella Montez.
Wow, dumb-ass. She was so naturally beautiful though, it was hard not to get stimulated by her. The idea of calling her almost made me nervous. Wait, what? Nervous? Yeah, right. I did ask for her number though. Why else would she give it to me? If she didn't want me to have it, she wouldn't have given me it. . .
But why would she like a guy like me anyways? She probably thought I was a jerk like Zeke and Jason. Plus, with the way my life was at the moment, it seemed like I didn't deserve anyone. I mean, I watched kids die, and I did nothing about it. It's not like I could if I wanted to, either. That's what sucks the most.
I was just looking at her picture for about five minutes, dwelling on whether I should call or not. I finally hit the talk button and waited for the dial tone to pick up. The anticipation nearly killed me. I almost hung up after waiting for five seconds. I have no idea why I was so over the edge over it. She was just a girl.
But to my surprise, Gabriella wasn't the one that answered.
"Hello, Gabriella isn't here right now, so give me a message and I'll tell her, ASAP," It was a guy's voice. He sounded like he was just kidding around, but I couldn't help but frown.
From the background, I could hear laughing, and it sounded similar to Gabriella's.
"Um . . ."
I didn't really know what to say. I almost felt jealous of the guy that was with her. Was he her boyfriend?
"TJ, give me my phone!" I heard her exclaim and I heard a lot of commotion, like this TJ guy must have been running away from her.
I shuffled my feet and bit my bottom lip, impatiently.
After a few minutes of hysterical laughing and static, a sweet, melodic voice came onto the phone, "Hello?"
She was holding back her laughter.
"Uh, hey. . ." I began, awkwardly, "it's me. . . Troy,"
"Troy?" She seemed surprised, maybe even delighted, "Troy Bolton?"
"Yeah, that's me, unless you know some other guy named Troy Bolton, well, that'd be a bit confusing." I joked, chuckling.
"Oh, well . . . um, sorry about TJ, he likes to take my phone. . ."
"That's alright, is he . . . well, your boyfriend, or something?" I tried to act modest about it, but I already sounded nosy enough.
"No," She snorted, "he's a really good friend, and a douche bag."
I laughed lightly, "Oh, alright, I was just wondering."
"Yeah . . . so, um, your call is . . . well, unexpected."
"It's not too much, is it? I mean, I don't want you to get the whole stalker-obsessive-creep vibe from me, I'm totally not like that," I told her.
"Oh, no! Most guys take months to call after we exchange numbers; I just figure you have thousands of girls on your phone that you could call." The sourness in her voice was notable.
"Well, hey, I had a good time Friday, so I decided to call you," I found myself smiling, "without a stalker-obsessive-creep vibe."
She began to laugh, her singsong laugh, "No, it's okay, I wasn't doing anything productive anyways, just sitting on the couch watching TV. TJ just came over to annoy me."
"Really? Well I just had an extensive nap, so Monday, I should be super energized."
"So you can piss off Ms. Darbus some more?"
I chuckled, "I love pissing off Ms. Darbus."
"I sometimes think she just ignores you guys now," I could see her smile in my head; "she used to have more witty comments for you, but now she just says your name and kind of frowns."
"I think she's learning to love me, actually."
She laughed, "You're a funny guy, Troy."
"I'm glad I amuse someone." I grinned. "So, Gabriella."
"So, Troy. . ." She seemed to giggle when she said my name.
I always felt so outlandish when I spoke to Gabriella. I felt like I was a kid again, like I was having my first crush on a girl. When I used to get butterflies and get excited, before I had sex for the first time. When kissing was a big deal and going to second base was the ultimate. It was cool feeling, but it kind of scared me. I couldn't like her... a lot. If I liked her a lot, things would get complicated. Especially now.
"Oh, I wanted to apologize about that whole, weird, cell phone incident. I don't usually fumble like that; I mean I'm pretty coordinated, actually . . . like that right there, something happened there, I mean, I guess it was because I get nervous around pretty girls or something. . ."
I smiled as I waited for her response to that. For some reason, it was always easy for me to hit on girls. And Gabriella, well, I could imagine her just blushing over it. She seemed like that type of girl. She was shyer than most.
". . . Wait, are you calling me pretty?" She asked, startled.
"Well . . . that was the point; it doesn't sound so smooth now that you're asking me, but yeah."
She giggled, "Well . . . thanks, really. . ."
"Anytime," I responded coolly, "but hey, if you guys need any more help, I'm down."
I imagined her rolling her eyes, "We need all the help we can get . . . and I can tell that Ryan and Kelsi aren't really that into it. I did drag them into this. But still, they shouldn't be so . . . pessimistic."
"I like how you're so motivated." I told her, honestly.
"I don't think I've known anyone whose so relentless, I mean even when she shoots hoops like a girl she doesn't give up."
"Hey, you said yourself that I've improved!" She pouted.
She actually sounded offended. I found humor from it.
"Yeah, but you still shoot like a girl," I heard her cackle and I chuckled, "Why so serious, Gabriella?"
"I don't know, I just, I wanna be good! I like basketball." She answered, sighing. "I mean, I never realized it before, but I really like it."
"That's good. That means you're officially cool in my book."
"Because that's what I've been really striving for," She teased. "I actually saw in my head, a basketball hoop with fireworks."
"Ah, haven't we all?" I couldn't help but mock her a little.
"Seriously! Am I weird?"
"No, sometimes I sleep with a basketball." I told her.
She went silent for a second. ". . . Well."
"Hey, Chad brings his to dinner." I defended myself. "And I think to the bathroom."
She began to laugh, "Wow that's . . . love."
"Yeah, I think you should meet Chad, he's really not like Zeke or Jason either," I told her enthusiastically, "you'd probably like him."
She didn't say anything in response; I could hear her breathing into the phone though.
"I hope I'm not holding you from hanging out with your friend."
"No, he's entertaining himself with my fridge, actually," Gabriella answered, good-humored, "but he comes in and makes faces at me sometimes."
"Interesting . . . so, I'll probably say hi to you on Monday, and if you like that, I might wink."
"You might wink?" She giggled. "What's up with you and winking?"
"My mom taught me it. She said, 'Troy, just smile and wink, they'll love you.' So, I did. . ."
I felt an aching at my chest at the mention of my mom, especially after that crazy dream.
Gabriella seemed impressed by this, "Really? Aw. She must be pretty cool then, right?"
I bit down on my bottom lip, my throat drying, "Yeah . . . she was. . ."
The gaping hold in my chest was back again, larger than ever. I needed to get out of this conversation as soon as possible. I was going to break otherwise. I didn't like to talk about my mom. I never did with anyone else. Why was I opening up to Gabriella?
"Hey, Gabriella? I gotta go; I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"
I felt moronic, not giving her room to object or say anything else. I was being selfish. But I didn't want her to see the guy behind the facade. No, I was Troy Bolton to her, almighty Troy Bolton, the star basketball player, the guy the girls liked. I wasn't the guy who let little kids die. I didn't want that to change.
She seemed shocked by my change of attitude, "Um, okay? See you. . ." Disappointment.
"Bye." I wanted to say more but I couldn't.
END OF CHAPTER
