Author's Note: sorry for the lack of updates. i've been busy the past week.
and now to answer the reviews i got:

Ambiguous Disposition – thank you! That was one of the nicest, most encouraging review I ever got.

ChaylorLover4Ever – thanks for the review! Definitely more Chaylor coming soon.

JesseMcCartneysFutureWife – thanks for reviewing! yes, troy does belong with his dear Gabriella. But we'll see! Keep reading!

Mylifeismine- thanks for the review! Yes, it is sad, but I guess that just adds to the whole drama. Keep reading!

you guys give great reviews. i'd like to see more, thank you very much. well here is the next chapter! enjoy!
warning: rated for minor cussing.

Chapter Eleven – Finally

Troy could not believe this. The police were here. At his house.

He just stood staring at the window, his jaw dropped as two patrol cars pulled up to the driveway and three men in bright blue uniforms came marching up the door. Why are they here? he wondered, slightly panicking.

Mrs. Bolton, in a bright red t-shirt and long jean skirt, raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "Troy…" she warned.

But her son hissed, "Mom! I swear—I didn't do anything! I don't know why they're here!"

It had been a normal Sunday afternoon for the Bolton's. The past week had been pretty basic as well. Troy, when he wasn't shooting hoops in the backyard, spent his time in St. Joseph's Hospital visiting the love of his life. Or he was being tutored chemistry on weeknights by Anna Cole, the world's most interesting, mysterious girl he'd ever met.

He and Anna had become good friends through tutoring, and Troy wondered vaguely why he hadn't met this girl before. She was so…wacky, intelligent, and mystifying. You wouldn't have been able to tell she was a whiz at chemistry. This girl, who wore dark clothing and had eyes that sparkled like the ocean, was as interesting as far as girls like Anna went. So maybe she wasn't a "freaky math type," like Gabriella, but she somehow reminded Troy so much of Gabriella, the love of his life—and that was all he needed.

Now, staring out the window at the police with slight fear in his heart, Troy felt like he needed Anna right now, at this moment. She would probably find a good reason to make him laugh, as she always did.

The doorbell rang. "I'll get it," said Troy's mom suddenly, brushing a strand of hair from her face and walking briskly toward the door. Troy hid behind a curtain, watching.

"Hello Officer," said Mrs. Bolton calmly, though Troy could detect the fear in her voice, "what can I do for you?"

One of the police, a tall guy wearing a hat and sunglasses, stepped forward and announced, "Ma'm, we need to talk to your son."

Troy's mother acted innocent. She placed a hand over her heart and said meekly, "Troy? What about? Has he been doing anything bad?" She glared at Troy from behind the curtain.

Another officer, who was short and looked like he needed a shave, nodded quickly. He looked sort of flustered at the sight of Mrs. Bolton. "Uh, yes ma'm—well no, we assume he didn't. Your son's a good boy." He coughed nervously. "I read about him in the local newspaper."

"Look, ma'm, can we just have a word with your son?" said the tall officer.

Troy's mom looked confused. "Why, yes, of course—TROY! Get over here!" she suddenly yelled. Troy meekly stepped out of his hiding place as his mom ushered the police inside. "Would you like some tea? Coffee, perhaps?" she asked them as they cautiously sat down on one of the couches in the living room.

The tall officer spoke again. "No thank you, ma'm," he said politely. Then, turning to Troy, he said, "Ah. Jack Bolton's son. You know, your dad and I were pals back in the day. He was the Wildcats basketball star. He got in a lot of trouble too. Well. Like father, like son." He smiled secretively. "Have a seat then, Troy."

Feeling nervous, Troy nodded and squatted down on the leather armchair, his knees shaking. The tall officer stuck out his hand. "I'm Officer Delano," he said formally, "and this is Officer Jenkins"—he motioned to the short, blushing one—"and Officer Stanley." He pointed at the shy, non-talking one sitting quietly next to Jenkins.

"Hi," said Troy shortly.

Jenkins immediately took out a pad of paper and pen and began to scribble something down, his face turning redder than ever. Officer Delano scratched his chin and said in a serious tone, "So Troy. We understand that you were at the residence of George and Emily Evans's on the night of September the sixteenth?"

Troy merely scratched his head. "Uh…"

"Ryan and Sharpay Evans. Do you know them?" inquired Officer Delano. "They are George and Emily's children."

"Yes," said Troy, a little too quickly.

Officer Delano smiled. "No need to be nervous, Troy. We're not going to put you in handcuffs. Now, according to my records, there was a party at the Evans's on that evening?"

Why are they asking me about this? Troy wondered in his head. "Um. Yes," he replied.

"Were you there?"

"Yeah. For a little while."

There was a momentary pause; Officer Delano looked up at him with graying eyes. Jenkins was scribbling all over his pad now with speed, making Troy feel more nervous. He just wished it were all over, that they would just leave. He hadn't even done anything wrong.

Finally Delano asked, "What do you mean 'for a little while,' Troy?"

There was no other choice but to tell. So Troy opened his mouth and explained the story quickly while Delano listened, Jenkins scribbled, and Stanley sat there, also listening but not talking. He told them about Julianne Crew going up to him and dancing all seductively while her boyfriend was away. He told them about getting the phone call from St. Joseph's, telling him the awful news of Gabriella. He explained that he had to leave the party without goodbye because he wanted to see her.

After telling the story, Troy realized why they were here. My letter jacket. He'd left it on the couch when he was leaving, and the police probably found it and suspected that he was the one responsible for setting fire to Sharpay and Ryan's house. Yes, he had heard news of the terrible fire accident—it was all over the school by now, and Troy couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit sorry for poor Sharpay and Ryan.

But still. They believed it was him who started the fire?

"So you left it there on accident, right?" asked Officer Delano after hearing the story.

"Yes, Officer," Troy said.

Suddenly Officer Stanley spoke, and surprisingly his voice was low and deep, not how Troy had expected. "Can you explain the lighter?" he asked.

Troy just stared at him. "What light—"

"This," said Stanley in a cold voice, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a bright red lighter, one side completely burned. Troy stared at it for a moment, wondering where it was from.

Delano and Jenkins were raising their eyebrows at him, and he knew he had to answer. But that's not mine, a voice screamed inside his head. I don't smoke! Why would I keep a lighter in my pocket if I don't smoke?

"Officer," Troy said firmly, "that's not my lighter. I don't own one."

"Then why was it in your pocket?" sneered Officer Stanley.

Okay, now Troy was confused. He strictly did not remember a lighter being in his jacket pocket. He didn't even remember owning one. But still, it somehow had gotten there, and Troy knew he couldn't back out of this one.

Finally he muttered, "I don't know, maybe someone slipped it in there…"

Stanley smiled, showing his ugly yellow teeth Troy hadn't noticed before. "Psht. A likely story, Bolton," he scoffed. Jenkins started to scribble down on his pad again while Officer Delano was shaking his head sadly.

"Well." He sighed apologetically. "I didn't think you'd actually be responsible for this, Troy. I was hoping it wouldn't be you."

This made Troy furious. "But Officer, it wasn't me!" he cried in astonishment.

But Officer Delano just shook his head again and rubbed the back of his neck. "Troy. We found the lighter in the jacket, you probably left it on and burned the house down. It's okay. We know." His voice was oddly dull.

"Well, maybe," argued Troy, his voice level rising, "but I swear that I didn't put that lighter in my pocket! Someone else did!"

Stanley laughed coldly. "Oh yeah, Bolton? Who, then?" he mocked.

Unable to answer that question, Troy just glared at him, wanting to hurt him, to sock his in the face. He was certain now that it wasn't his lighter. In fact, he hadn't seen that lighter in his whole life until now. But there was no one to accuse! Where did that godforsaken lighter come from!

He was about to open his mouth in protest when there was a bang from behind him, and Jack Bolton appeared in the doorway, his face sweaty-looking—probably from basketball—and red. He was in running shoes and shorts.

"Dave Stanley," he whispered viciously, his eyes narrowing.

Officer Stanley stood up suddenly, the grin on his face growing wider. "Ah, the famous Jack Bolton. Long time no see, eh?" He smiled.

Wait a minute, thought Troy, beginning to see the picture. They know each other?

Officer Delano also stood up, his hands on his gun pocket. "Stanley—what's going on here?" he asked.

But Stanley ignored him as he turned to face Mr. Bolton, sneering. "How have you been doing, Jack?" he asked with a malevolent grin. "Hope you haven't been getting in too much trouble, like your poor son here."

Jack Bolton growled, "What are you doing here, Stanley."

Officer Delano started to explain the situation when Troy wondered aloud, "If you don't mind my asking, Dad, how do you two like know each other?"

His dad turned and looked at him with wide eyes. "Never mind," he muttered roughly, wiping the sweat from his face. "I'll explain it to you later. I just want him out of here." He pointed at Officer Stanley with shaking hands, and for once, Troy felt scared of his father, like there was this whole new side to him.

"Now Jack, is that any way to speak to your commanding officer?" snickered Stanley in a high-pitched voice, making Troy hate him even more.

Jack turned and whispered, his voice quavering, "You are not my commanding—"

"Bolton, really, that is no way to treat someone of higher rank than your…well, rather low position," taunted Stanley. "I mean, a basketball coach? I thought you could do better than that, Bolton. What ever happened to your scholarship dreams—?"

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, STANLEY!" roared Mr. Bolton, making Troy jump. He had never seen his father like this before, ever.

Instead, Officer Stanley just sneered again before making his dramatic exit out the door, probably to go file his nails or something. Jenkins and Delano just stood there, wondering what had just happened. Troy's dad was shaking furiously, his face going red. And Troy's mom, who had seen everything, watched him with wide, fearful eyes.

Finally she put a hand gently on his arm. "Jack," she said, in a tone Troy could not understand. "We should um, we should go."

Her husband nodded and left the room, taking big strides, not even looking once at his son. Mrs. Bolton shortly followed afterward, her face pale and unusual. Troy wondered what was going on here.

Officer Delano wiped some dust from his jeans and coughed. "Um, Troy. We will be explaining the situation with your parents, about the lighter and everything. I just want you to know that. And if you are true to your word, we'll let you off with a warning. I believe you, Troy," he said all seriously.

Troy raised an eyebrow, amazed. "You…you do?"

"Yeah." The policeman shrugged, his face now relaxing. "I've always believed you were a good kid. You're pretty great at basketball too." He smiled, and Troy returned the favor.

After the officers left, Troy's mom came in and had a serious talk with him. She asked what had happened and why they were here, and Troy calmly explained everything to her, and how he knew for certain that the lighter wasn't his. She seemed nervous about it, but thankfully she didn't ground him or put him in any other punishment. She, like Officer Delano, believed him.

"I just wish I knew where the lighter came from," Troy sighed. He really did.

Mrs. Bolton put a gentle hand on her son's shoulder and replied, "They'll get to the bottom of this, Troy. They always have."

Troy hoped she was right.

---

Ryan was furious. He tugged at the bottom of his shirt angrily. He kicked at the ground heatedly. He could not believe this was actually happening. Life, as he and his sister knew it, would never be the same. It was all falling apart.

He swore out loud, turning to face the wall. His sister Sharpay cast a sideways glance at him, worried. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off.

Why is this happening to us? he thought bitterly, trying to hold back the tears that were collecting in his eyes. What did we do to deserve this? He didn't want to know the answer, if there was one. He just wanted it to end, everything that was happening. What happened to the easy life? What happened to carefree, happy years where everything had been taken care of for him?

The man from the government agency coughed quietly and said those words Ryan had been dreading: "The money in both your life savings accounts went to the fire accident. At the time we did not know that your house could not be restored. Everything was burned to the ground, destroyed. There is no—no way we could rebuild. It was an unfortunate waste of thousands of dollars that we cannot bring back." He coughed again, pausing for effect. "We um, contacted your parents and told them of your living arrangements, that you have been staying with your generous friend, Zeke Jones. They are traveling by jet plane from France as we speak, and will be arriving here in a few hours' time. In the meantime, we ask that you collect what things you have from Zeke's house, and we will be locating you to a new temporary home until your parents arrive." He looked solemnly at Ryan and Sharpay.

Sharpay nodded and went to collect her brother, who was staring stonily at the hardwood floor. They went to Zeke's house in silence.

"Hey guys," said a sleepy Zeke, rubbing his eyes and answering the door. He blushed at the sight of Sharpay. "Um, I didn't see you guys here last night. Did you go to a party, or something…?"

"We were um, located by some government agency and slept in a hotel last night, Zeke." Sharpay's voice, Zeke noticed, was oddly low. "I'm sorry we didn't call to tell you; they restricted the phones in our room and…" She trailed off before shutting her mouth completely, her face bright red.

Finally Ryan spoke, his face grave. "They want us to leave," he said.

Zeke's jaw dropped in horror. "You're—you're leaving?" he gawked.

"We…have no other choice," admitted Sharpay, trying so hard not to look in Zeke's big brown eyes.

"Where are you going?"

"We'll still be in the area," replied Ryan, still looking bitter, "but we have to go with our parents, I guess. And I don't know where we're going to live. Not in Albuquerque, that's for sure." He ran fingers through his dirty blonde hair and Sharpay looked down, biting her lip. This was the last thing either of them wanted to do. Ryan knew about the feelings his sister had for Zeke, and how Zeke had the same, and he felt bad about breaking them apart when they were finally getting to know each other. It wasn't right.

As for Zeke, this was especially hard. He did not want to see either of them go. They were his friends. Especially Sharpay, he didn't want her to leave. They might have ended up together and lived happy lives if this stupid fire accident hadn't happened.

But then again, if the accident never happened, Sharpay would have never stayed at Zeke's house and develop slow-but-sure feelings for him.

God, Zeke immediately thought as he realized this, how stupid and selfish I am. It doesn't matter if Sharpay has feelings for me or not, as long as she's alive and okay, and happy. That's all that matters…her happiness. He looked down at his feet, feeling a rush of shame and fear swelling up in his gut. Even if it's not with me.

He finally looked up before saying, "So…you need to get your things."

"Um, yeah," said Ryan. Sharpay still wasn't looking at Zeke.

He stepped through to let them inside and get whatever "things" they had—which wasn't much, except for the clothes Zeke had lent them—and then they all stood outside in the driveway, waiting for the government agency to pick them up. Sharpay was dreading this moment, leaving Zeke. She bit her lip so hard that it almost bled and kept staring worriedly at the stone driveway.

Ryan's dog Pepsi was off in the grass chasing some birds, and if any car passed by the scene, they wouldn't be able to tell that it was not a happy one. It looked pretty normal from another person's point of view. Like everything was just fine, and that it was just another perfectly wonderful Sunday morning in New Mexico.

Finally the big black car pulled into the driveway, and out came two tall muscular guys wearing glasses and tuxedos, the usual attire. Sharpay fought her tears. This was it. This was goodbye.

She and Ryan turned to face Zeke. Ryan patted him on the back and said roughly, "Thanks, man." And then he carefully stepped inside the big black stretch car, leaving his sister and Zeke alone.

Sharpay bit her lip, wondering how in the world was she going to do this. Zeke just stood there, shuffling his feet nervously and staring at the ground. He didn't want to say goodbye…not without telling her, at least. This was the moment of truth.

He glanced up just as Sharpay did and they almost clunked heads. And then he whispered, "Well, I guess this is…you're leaving."

"Yes," Sharpay whispered back, just as one of the men in tuxedos coughed, reminding her that they were in a hurry and had to leave as quickly as possible.

"Um." They were now both aware how close their faces were, so that there was only a tiny little one-inch gap between them. Sharpay felt the rest of the world around her stop, like a big freeze frame. She knew that this was it.

And so she leaned in and kissed him first, right there on the driveway, her face blushing crimson.

The kiss lasted only about ten, fifteen seconds before they finally pulled apart. Zeke's face was smiling, a mixture of relief and happiness. Sharpay was amazed, not believing she'd just done that. It was her first kiss, and she'd made the first move.

And then Zeke was leaning in, whispering softly in her ear, "Sharpay, I love you." And then he kissed her long enough before she managed to gasp, "I love you too, Zeke. I've always loved you."

Inside the car, Ryan was watching them and grinning.

Finally Sharpay went slowly to the car, her face glowing. She waved one last goodbye to Zeke as the car started to pull away before switching gears, setting off down the street. And Zeke watched, amazed, as it disappeared down the road and out of sight, of reach, forever.

It took three hours to get to the place where they were going. Where that was exactly, Ryan and Sharpay didn't know. They didn't really care either. Sharpay was quiet the whole ride, too thrilled of her actions with Zeke to even speak. Ryan was pretty happy for her, but he was also sad knowing that they might not ever see each other again.

Finally they reached their destination—a small, dry town called Desert Valley that lay in the middle of the humid desert wasteland. You wouldn't even be able to tell it was a town; it was so tiny.

"This is where you'll be residing," said the man from the government agency in a rough voice, "until your parents come. They will be arriving in a few hours time but they will have to stay overnight until we can come pick you up."

Ryan asked, "And when will that be?"

The man put up two fingers, as if they couldn't count. "Two days, at the least," he mumbled.

"Wait, you mean we'll be here alone for two days!" Sharpay yelped, finally able to speak.

"Why here?" asked her brother in a pleading voice.

"Because it's the only place that's got someone willing to take you in their home for free," replied the government man. "It's only two days, maybe a week, depending on how long it takes for your parents to arrive and how many days it takes for us to settle things on the…er, contract. In the meantime, you are not allowed to leave Desert Valley, understood?"

Ryan and Sharpay nodded.

"Okay. You will be living with a woman named Lynda; she's a very nice lady. She'll be here to pick you up in two minutes. All right, you two will be okay? We have to go. If you need us for anything, call this number." The man from the government handed Ryan a card with his name and number on it. "But only for emergencies. We can't have you two calling us every second. Lynda will take care of you. We'll see you in a week, Miss Evans, Mister Evans." He gave them a tiny nod before disappearing into the car and driving off, leaving the two alone in the middle of…well, nowhere.

For a moment they just stood there in disbelief. Sharpay couldn't believe they'd just been dropped off in this foreign, desert wasteland. And man, it was hot. She could already feel herself melting.

She looked at Ryan and whispered, "What are we going to do, Ry?"

"We wait." He sat down on a nearby bench, adjusting his orange cap.

"For who? That Lynda woman?" Sharpay hissed.

There was a pause before Ryan finally looked back at her. "Well. Yes. What other choice do we have, Sharpay? We can't just run away from here."

His sister sniffed and sat down on the hot wooden bench beside him. "This place sucks," she muttered under her breath.

"Tell me about it."

"You know, when I get my hands on that stupid bitch that burned our house down and ruined our lives—" Sharpay began heatedly, but Ryan put up a hand and told her to be quiet. They waited in the humid heat for what seemed like hours until finally an old Volkswagen beetle that was falling apart came by and stopped in front of them. A woman in sunglasses and a long breezy skirt hopped outside, smiling.

She peered at them through the dust and heat. "You two are Ryan and Sharpie Evans?" she called.

"Sharpay," corrected Sharpay in a bitter tone, already starting to not like this woman.

"Whoops, my bad." The lady smiled. "Welcome to Desert Valley. I'm Lynda."

Ryan smiled politely and then when Lynda's back was turned, he stuck out his tongue and made a face. His sister laughed appreciatively. They went into Lynda's Volkswagen—which smelled strongly of paint and something horrible, like rubber—and drove in silence while Lynda sang some old Beatles songs on the radio. Her voice, Ryan noted, wasn't half bad.

They pulled into a small dusty road, Lynda still singing at the top of her lungs. At the end of the road was a small wooden house that looked more like a shack, and next to it was an even older-looking barn. There were no animals inside, just piles and piles of hay and other things Ryan couldn't see.

Lynda, having stopped her singing, hopped out of the car, opened the trunk and pulled out Ryan and Sharpay's luggage. She dragged them along the path until she stopped in front of the old barn. "Okay this," she said proudly to her guests—who were huffing and panting behind her—"is my secret laboratory. It holds all my greatest masterpieces and treasures." She yanked open the door, leaving the luggage, and stepped inside. Cautious, Ryan and Sharpay followed.

It was dark and cool inside the barn, and little specks of sunlight were peeking out through the holes in the barn's walls. Lynda just stood there beaming while Ryan and Sharpay looked on. They were amazed. They had never seen this much stuff. There were piles of old tires, car parts, and rusty pots and pans. Pieces of fabric and glass were assorted in boxes along the sides of the barn. But it was everything in the middle—sheltered under the coolness of the barn and showered by small specks of light—that made this place amazing.

They were statues. Statues of people, animals, figures, and other various things. But what made them unique was that they were made of, well, trash. Scrap metal. Plastic. You could see it in their texture, the way the soda cans and bottle caps were meshed together to form the figure. It was incredible.

Sharpay touched the hand of a small sculpture of a little boy and his dog. The dog's eyes were made of what looked like parts from spoons. "This is so awesome," she whispered, gazing in amazement.

Lynda smiled. "It is, isn't it? Most people would say this is just junk. But with all this so-called 'junk,' you can make a lifetime of masterpieces, rather than just throw it all away."

"I go around the neighborhood collecting people's trash if they're willing to give it to me," she continued, a pompous smile on her face. "I visit junkyards, old auto shops. And I put all this stuff together with my imagination to form…this." She gestured around the barn at all the scrap metal statues.

Ryan, who was examining a piece of an old piano, said out loud, "It's really cool how you make all this stuff with things people normally throw away."

"Well why throw it away, when you can use it for art?" Lynda laughed. "It's like throwing away something that you really need, something you want and have worked hard for. You just don't do it. You don't throw away dreams."

Ryan glanced over uneasily at Sharpay, remembering this moment. You don't throw away dreams, Lynda had said. But in his heart he knew it was too late—they already had.

Author's Note: alrighty! i hoped you liked that one .. well please review guys! it keeps me updating!