Ooh, I feel like such a bad person. My updates have begun to be slightly erratic, haven't they? I could give you excuses, but what it comes down to is this: I wasn't managing my time well. I put off writing this chapter—not only because it was so hard to write, but also because I felt inadequate. This is partially because there are so, so many stories out there that, I know, are better all around than this one. It was started mostly on a whim and by the time I began losing interest, I was too far in to abandon everyone, so I'll do my best. I know the plotline is getting old and that it seems like I've run out of ideas. I really haven't—honestly—it's just that I'm finding it difficult to work with the characters and remain within the main idea, which is a sign that the story needs to begin drawing to its close.

I'm very, very, VERY sorry. . . .

Only a couple of chapters to go, amigos, and then my time is up. Heck, I could make this into a novel, but that would be no fun because the story has already reached its peak, and sometimes, I find, it's better to leave things off before they wind down too much.

------

Chapter Eleven

Go The Distance

As Gabriella and Troy finally made their way back home, the sky rumbled slightly and the clouds swelled, as if they were ready to burst. Thunderstorms were very, very rare in New Mexico, so the people walking down the streets kept glancing warily at the heavens like they were expecting them to tear apart at any second. Gabriella, Troy noticed, was striding so quickly that Troy had to jog to keep up with her.

It turned out that Jack had yet to arrive when they got there, so before either of them could move a muscle Taylor burst through Gabriella's apartment door, nearly tearing it off of its hinges.

"Hey-guys-how-are-you?" she said, stringing her words together so fast that her friends could barely make them out.

"Um." This was all Gabriella could think of to say. "What's wrong?"

Wordlessly Taylor held her right hand out at arm's length, dancing around as if she were standing on hot coals. It took both of them a minute to see it, but then Gabriella caught sight of a simple gold band around Taylor's ring finger.

"Ooh," she exclaimed, "congratulations!"

Troy took slightly longer to catch on, but when Taylor grinned feverishly everything made sense.

"You're engaged!" Gabriella cried, twirling Taylor around the room. "Mrs. Taylor Danforth!"

And so Taylor ended up staying and jabbering to Gabriella non-stop until thunder rumbled the sky and Taylor jumped.

"I forgot, I was supposed to be at a meeting ten minutes ago!" Taylor wrung her hands and dashed out the door again.

"Well," Troy said after a brief silence. "This is sudden."

Gabriella nodded absently. Troy cleared his throat, trying to look anywhere but at her.

"I wonder where your father is," she said finally. When he gave no response, she tried again.

"He's a very devoted father, you know."

Troy, thrown off guard, stared at her. "What?"

"He's very dedicated to helping you." She sighed wearily. "Helping you win."

"Sometimes . . . sometimes I wonder whether he even cares about me being happy. . . ."

Gabriella blinked. "Oh, of course he cares, he just shows it in ways you might not recognize."

"He never listens to my problems, he only focuses on—basketball." Gabriella sat down on the couch, leaning forward and taking in what Troy was saying with a troubled expression. "I wish I knew what it was like to have a father who cares about more than that . . . who's always there for me, supporting me—"

She looked down and Troy felt a horrifying truth sweep over him—Gabriella had never known what it was like to have a father at all. "Oh, Gabriella, I'm so sorry, I forgot . . ."

Gabriella glanced back up at him and he was surprised to see that she was not even close to tears. "It's okay," she said softly. "Everyone else I know has fathers, but I never miss him. I don't remember him at all, and my mom was all I needed for a while." But then you happened.

Troy seated himself next to her. "Was—did you have a hard time . . . with Evie and all?" he asked carefully, desperately wanting to know the answer.

She faced him and smiled gently. "It was hard sometimes. I worried a lot about you and what you would think . . . it was weird. I needed you more than ever."

Her blatant truthfulness was somewhat overwhelming and he felt a strange prickling in his throat and his eyes well up; he turned away, looked thoughtfully out the window and remembered where he was.

"What was her first word?"

Gabriella opened her mouth to speak, but only managed a tiny stutter before closing it again. "On her first birthday. . . . I showed her your picture every day, and once, she just looked at it and said, 'Da-da'. It was her first time talking, even before 'Ma-ma'."

"Really?" Troy asked.

She looked right into his eyes and replied, "Really."

He grinned at her and she returned it, then gazed down in a demure manner. Troy, having known Gabriella for seven years, knew she wasn't going to say anything else.

There were footsteps directly outside and both of them jumped as the buzzer sounded. Since it was the buzzer for sending messages up to apartments rather than the doorbell, Troy moved to answer it as Gabriella hurried to make Evangeline's bottle, because she would be hungry.

"Who is it?" Troy asked into the speaker, though he already had an idea.

"It's—your father, Troy, what are you doing in Miss Montez's apartment?"

"Waiting for you," Troy snapped back, releasing the button. Just as Gabriella emerged from the kitchen with the bottle a minute later, the bell sounded and she answered it.

Jack stood uncomfortably in the hall outside, accompanied by the stroller, which had a worn-out but happy-looking Evangeline in it. Gabriella had the little girl and her stroller inside very quickly and returned with the infant cradled in her arms.

"Thank you so much for taking her," Gabriella said earnestly. "Did you have fun?"

"Kid's got reflexes like a cat," Jack commented in response. "Just like Troy."

Troy was surprised at this compliment, and Gabriella beamed. Jack seemed to realize what he was saying and added, "Well, I should be going . . . take care, Troy, Miss Montez. . . ."

"Bye-bye-bye, Grampa!" Evie trilled. Jack couldn't help but smile only a little.

"Keep it up, kid. You're a sport."

And he was gone. Gabriella closed the door slowly behind him.

She settled herself down to feed Evangeline, and Troy had barely started reading the sports section of the paper when he realized where he was. "Hey," he said suddenly, getting a brainwave, "I'll make dinner for you!"

Gabriella looked startled. "Oh, um—no, it's fine, really, I usually just—"

"No, it's okay, I'll make something nice for you and Evie!"

"But you can't cook . . ."

Troy pretended to be insulted. "I can! What do you feel like having?"

Shifting, Gabriella considered. Troy immediately pulled a desperate, pleading face. "Oh, stop," she said, giggling. "All right. But you have to promise you'll stay for dinner, as a compromise."

He grinned at her and hurried into the kitchen. After a few minutes of searching, Troy emerged again.

"I think I can make linguine," he informed her. "Is that okay?"

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you," Gabriella replied cheerfully. As Evangeline finished her feeding and Gabriella (after snatching the empty bottle away before the baby could toss it) held her for the customary post-meal burping, she heard the stove sizzle and suddenly caught the smell of cooking food. Since she lived on quickly prepared salads or minute rice, having a home-cooked, proper meal was an excellent prospect.

It occurred to her that she had never tasted Troy's cooking, so she wasn't sure what to expect. She decided to put a brave face on it, no matter how bad the food tasted.

Troy left the meal on the stove and dashed around, setting up the table. Gabriella distracted herself by playing with Evangeline, until he announced that the meal was ready.

The table had been draped in a tablecloth and was set neatly, and though Gabriella didn't have any fine cutlery or silverware, it still looked nice. Evangeline's high chair was set up next to the table. There was a bowl at each place, filled with linguine and what looked like tomato sauce. She sat down opposite Troy.

"It's basil sauce with Italian sausages," he explained, gesturing towards his bowl. "Mom taught me how to make it."

"Apparently she also taught you how to set a table," she said as she lowered Evangeline into the high chair. "Very manly."

"Ha, ha, ha," he retorted. "Dig in."

She was surprised by how good it was (perhaps it was partially because she was starving). She finished everything before Troy was halfway done, and he commented, "Whoa, how hungry were you?"

"Well, I never really have time to cook anything that takes more than ten minutes," she reasoned, "and the restaurants are nice, but not the same, you know? Besides, it was delicious." She smiled again. "Thank you for making it."

"No problem." Troy said this casually, but Gabriella could tell that it was not something of little importance. They talked easily while Troy finished eating, occasionally smiling in a shy sort of way. Gabriella realized that, in spite of the two-year gap and all that had changed between them, they were still as much of a couple as they had always been, in a sense.

------

Troy had to leave after Evangeline had been put to bed, in order to rest up for the practice tomorrow, and Gabriella found it difficult to say goodbye.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he told her.

"Okay. B-Bye. Thank you again."

"You're welcome." They looked at each other for a minute, and in that minute Troy saw a glimpse of her seven years ago, shy and unsure.

"Um . . . shouldn't you . . . I mean . . ."

"Oh, right." He coughed surreptitiously. "I need to say something first, though . . ."

Gabriella watched him in that silent, thoughtful way of hers, that indicated she was listening, really listening, to what he had to say.

"I . . . I'm still . . . well, I mean . . ." Why was this so hard to say now, of all times? "I still love you." There, it had come out right.

A smile crept across her face and her eyes . "Me, too," she said joyfully. "I was waiting for you to say that."

He felt an inexplicable urge to laugh then, but repressed it. "Seriously?"

She just nodded. Troy made up his mind not to waste any more time, and he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her. She leaned into him and, inexplicably, both of them cried softly for a while. It was at once strangely surreal and so painfully real, a point of their relationship that couldn't be explained but, fortunately, needed no explaining.

A little while later Gabriella pulled away slightly, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't know what—"

"Me neither. It's okay." They held each other for a little while longer, and then he decided it was time to go. He told her this, and she nodded again. Then, they kissed gently for the first real time since Troy's return, and all too soon she was left standing alone.

------

Troy woke up the next morning feeling more than ready to run a hundred miles, if need be. He had a fast breakfast, changed and was subsequently forced to wait for forty minutes for the next bus. He kept his head down there, hoping he wouldn't be recognized, and escaped seemingly unscathed.

To say that the practice was successful would be a vast understatement. The coach was nearly in tears of joy by the end of it, saying he'd never seen anyone work as hard as Troy had. Troy was reminded irresistibly of his father.

He met Chad for one-on-one basketball at the rec center's gymnasium afterwards, and Troy went on to win 40-27. They went to grab lunch following quick showers, during which they discussed Chad and Taylor's engagement.

"How did you . . . you know . . . ask?" Troy posed this question after ordering drinks.

"Well, I actually asked in the research library . . . she needed some information, and I can't remember, I just got down, got out the ring and said it." He grinned. "Why? Trying to get some tips?"

"I-I was just curious," Troy said uncomfortably. "I can't believe you didn't tell me, though . . . best friend, yeah, right . . ."

"Dude, I'm really sorry, it was just sort of sudden. It was something I felt like I needed to do, you know?" Chad looked apologetic and Troy bobbed his head, understanding.

"So when's the wedding?"

"I think it'll be next December. And you—" he jabbed a finger in the air in Troy's direction "—are going to be my best man."

"Cool," Troy said happily. "Who's—uh—Taylor's maid of honor?" he added nonchalantly.

"Probably Gabriella, and—whoa, hang on. You haven't told me anything about you and her yet," he said seriously.

Troy looked down. "It's weird . . . she hasn't changed at all, has she?"

"Not a bit," Chad agreed. "Kind of like you, actually. And, I mean, dude, don't get me wrong—I love Evie—but you guys are still perfect for each other."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on. You even look happier just when you're talking about her." Chad pulled a face. "It got frightening after a while, actually."

Their drinks arrived, but apart from hasty thank-yous, the action went unnoticed. "I guess so . . . but it's the same with you and Taylor, isn't it?"

"Well, I suppose, but I've known you since kindergarten and I have never seen you as happy as you do when she's around. It's even more that way than b-ball." He sighed. "That's why I was worried at first. It was like she was taking you away. But now, I guess, she's the best thing in your life. She makes you more . . . you, if that makes sense. And, my friend, if I were you I would get on with it, because I happen to know that she's the best opportunity you've ever had."

"What . . . what do you mean?" Troy repeated, half-knowing the answer.

"I mean, a ring, announcements . . . the works. No sense in wasting time, is there?"

Troy nodded slowly, knowing Chad was exactly right.

------

Gabriella's day had gone downhill after waking up from a wonderful dream in which she and Troy married in the church by the park, with all their loved ones' faces beaming at them. Evangeline was fussy because the rain had made the air sticky and humid, and Gabriella had to walk through the grocery store, picking out food and trying to calm down the child at the same time. Evangeline finally fell asleep when Gabriella fed her after getting home, and she was in the middle of putting away her groceries when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Oh, my God. Did you HEAR the news?"

It was Sharpay, who apparently felt no introduction was needed. "What news?"

"Chad proposed to Taylor! Oh, my GOD! Can you BELIEVE it?"

"I know, she told me yesterday. I'm sorry, Shar, but I'm really stressed right now."

"Ooh, sorry . . . did I wake up Evangeline?"

"No, it's just . . . I've had a hard day."

"I know what'll cheer you up. I've got two tickets for that new movie, The Lullaby, do you want to go?"

"Um—" Sharpay was trying so hard, and Gabriella knew it would be good to relax for a little while. "Sure. What time?"

"There's a showing at seven-thirty. I'll treat you to dinner before, at Vermicelli's, it'll be fun! We have sooo much to catch up on!"

Gabriella couldn't hold back a smile. "All right. That sounds nice."

"Yay! I'll pick you up at six, okay?"

"Okay. Bye, see you then."

"Bye!"

Gabriella hung up the phone, feeling the familiar exhaustion she usually experienced after a conversation with Sharpay, who never seemed to care how much or how little the other person spoke. Gabriella thought her friend had changed a great deal since high school; Sharpay used to only be concerned with herself.

By the time she'd finished unloading groceries, called her mother to ensure a place for Evangeline to go, phoned Vermicelli's to make reservations (Sharpay was notoriously forgetful in that category), and had a quick salad, Evangeline had awoken from her nap and was restless, squirming as Gabriella picked her up. She checked the clock—three-thirty—and decided she had enough time to spend some much-needed time with Evangeline. She got out the baby's favorite toys and sat watching her play with Taylor's baby-shower gift, which was a pop-up system. A different animal—four in total—popped up when its corresponding button was pressed, each making an appropriate sound. The child liked pushing all four in quick succession, which caused the toy to play a fifteen-second snippet of Vivaldi's Four Seasons.

It had played for the fourth time when the doorbell rang. Gabriella sighed, gently picked up Evangeline—who had abandoned her plaything and looked up curiously—and went to open the door, thinking, Interruptions . . . interruptions . . .

She was surprised to see Troy there, since she had forgotten all about his promise to visit the next day. "Hey," she said happily, and Evie squealed. "I was just playing with her, come in . . ."

She carried Evangeline back over to her play area and set her down. Before she could indicate for Troy to sit, he joined the two girls on the carpet, grinning.

"What's all this?" he asked, motioning towards the toys.

"Her favorites," Gabriella explained sheepishly. "Sometimes I worry I'm spoiling her, but they come with the package, apparently. Baby shower."

"Oh." He watched as Evie pressed the buttons and Four Seasons played again. "Wow."

"Evie," Gabriella said, "go see Daddy, okay? See him, he's right over there."

"Wait, I—"

Evangeline didn't have far to go. She clung to Troy's arm, and he gathered her up and stroked her hair. You would think he'd done this a million times, Gabriella thought, observing the pair intently. She scooted closer and tickled Evangeline's chin, as she was now bouncing merrily on Troy's knee.

And it was like they were a family for the very first time.

------

Troy stayed until five, when Gabriella remembered the arrangement with Sharpay and was forced to bid him goodbye once more. This time their kiss was less tentative, and Troy also pecked Evangeline on the top of her head, said, "Bye, sweetie," and left. Evangeline sniffled dangerously and Gabriella propped his picture up next to her as she resumed her playing, feeling guilty about it all the same. She got ready and zoomed off to the bus stop with Evangeline in her arms; her mother luckily didn't live far away, and she got back in time to have Sharpay pick her up in the shockingly pink convertible which Sharpay had received last Christmas from her parents.

Over dinner, they discussed everything they could think of, though it was mostly Sharpay talking and Gabriella listening. But when the topic turned to Evangeline, and Troy, Sharpay grew uncomfortable, which did not go unnoticed.

". . . he's such a natural with Evie, and it's so sweet . . . you can really tell he loves her—what's wrong?" Gabriella asked, for Sharpay had been clearing her throat and fidgeting.

"Oh . . . it's just . . ." She sighed. "I'm jealous of you."

"What?" Gabriella blinked. "But—I'm stressed, and I live in an apartment complex, and—"

"I know, I know, it's only that . . . you've got Evie, and . . . and Troy . . ."

"What do you mean?" She her head at Sharpay.

"Well, you and Troy are so—I don't know—compatible, I guess. And I've never really had the kind of love you guys have . . . I just wish I could find somebody like him, settle down . . . have kids . . ."

Sharpay looked at her friend, and was startled to see Gabriella's eyes were glistening with tears. "Oh, Shar, I never knew . . ."

"Yeah, well," she said, subdued, "I guess this is one of those things where I'll just have to wait."

Gabriella felt a rush of sadness; Sharpay, above everything else, hated waiting for anything.

------

Sharpay was more or less back to her normal self by the time they'd arrived. Gabriella ordered a small ice cream; Sharpay, a bag of sour Nibs, which were her weakness. The two were heading off to the theater after getting their tickets checked when Sharpay ran headlong into someone.

She shrieked and fell down the thinly carpeted floor. The stranger said, "Are you okay?" and helped her to her feet before Gabriella could.

"You—" Sharpay began, ready to unleash a barrage of insults, but stopped. The person into whom she'd crashed looked to be around twenty-five, tall and exceedingly good-looking. Sharpay changed tack.

"I am so sorry," he stuttered in a smooth accent. "I was not watching where I was going."

"Oh, that's all right," she replied girlishly. Gabriella bit back a laugh and settled for briefly raising her eyes skyward.

"I am Christopher. Christopher Lowell," he said, holding out his hand, and she shook it.

"Sharpay Evans." She laughed lightly, even though Gabriella could find nothing amusing about Sharpay's name.

"Sharpay, may I say that I come to America fifteen years ago and it is rare I see one so stunning," Christopher said, bowing, and Gabriella had to stuff a fist in her mouth to keep from exploding into peals of laughter.

Sharpay, however, blushed prettily and said, "Why, thank you."

Gabriella checked her watch. "Shar, the movie's going to start without us!"

"Oh . . ."

"Which of the movies are you going to see?" Christopher asked eagerly.

"The Lullaby," Sharpay informed him.

"What a coincidence, I am going to see that movie also!" he cried. "Perhaps I might accompany you?" Gabriella noticed he spoke to Sharpay only.

"Sure." Sharpay giggled again, and the two of them walked together to the theater, leaving Gabriella to trail along, thoroughly upset. They took seats in the very back row just as the opening titles began running.

The movie was about a twenty-year-old convicted murderess, who had been wrongly charged with killing her friend's boyfriend, on Death Row; she ended up falling for the young night watchman. Gabriella might have enjoyed it had it not been for Sharpay and Christopher ("Oh, but please, you will call me Chris") holding a whispered conversation throughout. When the film ended, Chris and Sharpay exchanged numbers, and Gabriella was so tired by the time she had picked up a sleeping Evangeline, been driven back to her apartment and put the baby to bed, she collapsed into sleep herself the minute her head hit the pillow.

This time she dreamt the same dream she had the previous night, only that as she and Troy proceeded down the aisle together, Jack Bolton stood up and shouted, "You ruined my son's life!" And suddenly everyone in the church was gone except for her, Troy and Jack, and suddenly the latter turned into a bat with Jack's head on it, which flapped around and around Gabriella screeching, "Ruined! Ruinnnnned!" Troy yelled and tried to beat it away, but it bit him on the hand and he collapsed . . .

Gabriella woke up and found that she couldn't breathe. She took several shaky breaths and looked at the luminous bedside clock. It was five o'clock in the morning. The dim light from said clock and the glows of Evangeline's nightlight and glow-in-the-dark crib stickers gave her a very faint image of the cluster of Troy's pictures on the table nearby. She calmed herself and, realizing she wouldn't get back to sleep, got out of bed. She shivered and slipped on her threadbare robe, then padded over to where Evangeline slept, curled up and peaceful.

When Gabriella was very small, she was terrified of thunderstorms. She would quiver underneath her fluffy duvet in bed, listening stock-still as the skies waged a war against each other. Every time a thunderclap shook the floorboards, she would squeak and shudder, and every time lightning sliced the dark clouds apart, she would burrow herself deeper into the pillow.

The real fear was that she was alone, all alone in a big world, and that Something was waiting for her in the shadows, a Something that greedily consumed all life and was ready to snatch her. This Something was merciless and cruel, and it had pointed teeth like knives and leering, blood-red eyes. Often, Something would give the house a little shake, or moan through the windowpanes for effect. It would take her some time to get up the nerve to turn on her light, so that Something couldn't get her, and lie there until she finally fell asleep.

But this time she was most definitely not alone. And that, she knew in the back of her mind, was as important as anything.

------

Nearly every day from then on, Troy and Gabriella spent even a little time together. Mostly it was with Evie, too, but sometimes they would go out for a walk in the abandoned park or coffee in the Café Soleil (Troy had arranged for no pictures to be taken there, and as the café was small and not very well-known, they were often not recognized except by the regulars), leaving her with Mrs. Montez, a friend, or sometimes even the Boltons.

It was on one of these walks, one Friday in October, when Gabriella talked about Jack again. She'd been thinking about it for a while, worrying about how touchy of a subject it was with Troy, but she felt he needed to hear it.

"Troy," she said uncertainly, stopping so that his arm, which was looped with hers, was yanked back and he was forced to halt too, "I need to say something."

He looked at her enquiringly. She took a deep breath, faced him, and said, "I think you need to talk with your father."

His eyes grew cold. How could she think I'll ever—? "No," he said bluntly. "I'll never—not after what he said."

"I know that he said some things that might have been wrong," she pleaded, "but I really feel like you two need to make it up with one another."

"Why? What makes you think he deserves that?"

"You both do. Troy, I never knew my father, and I can't stand to see someone I love so much doing the same thing, when his father is twenty minutes away and never did anything like that."

Troy blinked tears away. "But—he said some things I could never forget . . . all he's ever done is try to control everything I do . . ."

"I know that, too. But this isn't only a question of past mistakes; it's also the future. One day, the bridge connecting you and him might just fall apart, and it'll be too late . . .

"You need to keep that bridge sustained. You have to forgive your father."

------

Which is how it came about that Troy found himself outside the old Bolton residence as eight the next day. Jack answered the door right away, dressed in a sweatshirt and pants.

"Hi, Dad," Troy said quietly. Jack didn't say anything, but stood aside so Troy could come in.

"What do you want, son?" he asked once Troy had been seated in the living room.

"I need to talk to you," Troy replied bluntly, noticing that the picture of him clutching the championship trophy for 2006 was still in the center of the mantelpiece. "Will you sit down?"

Jack did as he was asked, sitting across from his son and looking confused.

"Dad, Gabriella told me yesterday that I should come and talk."

"Really?"

Troy nodded, paused, and added shakily, "She never knew her father, did you know that?"

Jack stared at him, surprised.

"He—left her and her mom when she was one." Troy looked away.

"No," Jack said slowly, "I did not know that."

"Dad . . . you know, back in high school . . . we planned that 'technical difficulty' to get to the callbacks. Taylor and Gabriella got the codes."

"I thought so. I was there."

Troy gaped; this was something completely new to him. "But you didn't say anything!"

"You have a good voice," he said, slowly, as if it was physically difficult for him to string the words together as a sentence. "Miss Montez does, too."

But Troy was too stunned to answer. His mother had dragged his father to the school's productions since Troy and Gabriella made the cut during the winter "musicale", but Jack had never said anything positive about them; in fact, Troy had had the distinct impression that his father hadn't even been listening.

"I thought you hated me singing," he stuttered finally.

"I did," Jack replied shortly. "Miss Montez—"

"Dad, will you stop calling her that!" Troy burst out. "I've told you a million times to call her Gabriella. That's her name."

"I can call her what I want to," Jack said, and that was the end of that.

Troy knew his father wasn't the sentimental kind, and wouldn't respond deeper than a sentence or two. The trick was to ask lots of questions and do most of the talking to find out what you could. That was what he did; he talked about Evangeline, and Gabriella, and everything from Evie's injury to their walks in the park to Taylor and Chad's engagement. Troy watched Jack carefully, and though Jack never made eye contact, it was obvious that now, at least, he was listening.

When he finished telling Jack all that he could think of, they sat for a while as Jack absorbed the information. Troy couldn't think of a way to say what Gabriella had told him to do, so he just sent his father looks that seemed to say, I forgive you.

"Is the old court still up and running?" Troy asked finally, and for the first time during the visit, Jack smiled.

"Yeah. I kept it for you." He waited, obviously for Troy to say something, but silence still reigned.

You taught me how to shut myself away, Dad, but I managed to learn differently. I'm not going to let you do it again.

"What are we waiting for?" Jack said after a lengthy pause. "Let's play."

------

Well, that didn't work out quite the way I planned. :dramatic sigh: Life is not fair. But still, yay, I got something finished, and I am very proud of myself! Before my midterms start tomorrow, too. Wish me luck, everybody. . . . :crosses fingers:

Anyway. I hope everyone is having a great 2007 year so far, and that you are not already doing what I am doing, which is biting my nails down to the cuticles waiting for HSM 2. I just really hope they don't screw around with poor G&T too much, though, because that would make me very sad and possibly maniacal. One never knows, right? I guess I'll just have to accept it, like the :gasp: horrible things that were done to mutilate the Will/Elizabeth relationship in Pirates of the Caribbean 2. :sniffle:

I realized as I re-read this one last time before putting it up and caught a few glitches, so it should be okay. And I did go over the ten (already?) chapters I've got posted already to make sure everything made sense.

I need help! I am planning a new story, possibly a very long one-shot, about Gabriella's POV before and throughout the movie (and maybe followed up by Troy's too); has this been done before? And would it look really bad if I use some quotations from the movie? Feedback, please!

And yes, in case you were wondering, I already hate Chris as much as you do. But I kept him anyway. Tee hee.

bluetruffle