A/N: Thank you all for the reviews I recieved for the last chapter! You guys are amazing. Enjoy the chapter!

October 2, 2007. Troy's Bedroom, 10:39 PM.

There are a few questions going through my mind as I sit here, watching Troy fooling around with his Facebook account. It has only been an hour or so since my last entry, and the only new addition to my looooooong day is that my mom called saying she would be home around five tomorrow morning. So with that, here are the top five questions that are causing my head to throb.

1. What the heck am I supposed to do with the box of condoms that is now sitting inside my backpack?

2. Was Troy jealous when Leroy was 'flirting' with me at Rite Aide?

3. What am I to do about the whole website thing?

4. Should I tell Troy who the real culprit was, or should I leave the situation as it is?

5. Where on earth is my bra? I mean, seriously. It has gone into a third dimension, or something.

I think the most important question is the latter. How could I rest knowing that my bra could possibly be anywhere in Troy's house? What if a maid thought it was Troy's mom's bra? That would SUCK.

Troy just asked me if I have a Facebook account. As if. That sort of thing is for the popular crowd at East High. I would probably only have three or four friends, anyway. What's the point of having a Facebook if I could just instant message my four friends? Wow. That sounded bad . . . I mean, I don't only have four friends. There's Taylor and Kelsi. And now I'm friends with Sharpay and Ryan Evans . . . And sometimes I talk to Martha Cox. So that's five! FIVE friends . . . Oh, and I also have Troy. I mean, I don't have him have him, he's my friend.

Troy's cell phone is ringing. Surprisingly his ringer is Hey there, Delilah by the Plain White T's. Hey there, Delilah, what's it like in New York City. You're 1000 miles away, but, girl, tonight you look so pretty, yes you do . . . Wait. Troy just gave me his cell phone with a weird look on his face. I wonder who it is.

" . . . I don't know what to do, Man! It was the fucking, stupidest fight ever! I don't know what happened, it was like I wasn't thinking! What am I supposed to do? Shit, what if she won't talk to me anymore? How am I supposed to apologize if she won't talk to me? Fuck, I screwed this up. I screwed up, I screwed up, I screwed up . . ."

. . . Uuuuuum. I set the phone on Troy's bed where it hummed slightly as Chad's voice vibrated from it's speaker.

"He's been rambling like that for the last few minutes while you hummed my ring tone," Troy clarified, an amused expression on his face.

Okay, note to self: Never hum.

"You have a nice voice, you know," Troy continued. "Ever sing?"

Not even in the shower. I have this weird neighbor who's window is right next to our bathroom window. I always refrain from singing because I feel like he'd be listening, or something. Not to mention I looked up the whole 'how many sexual predators live in your neighborhood'. I'm almost positive he's on the list. If only I knew his name . . .

"Uh, Troy?" I asked, ignoring his question. "What is Chad talking about?"

Troy glanced over at his cell phone, shrugging. "I dunno. I think he and Taylor got into a fight."

I had gathered that much, but hearing it from someone else's mouth made it feel more real. Taylor and Chad fighting? I know they used to fight all the time before they got together, but now they're like the gross, mushy couple who stare moon-eyed at each other.

"Really?" I asked, frowning slightly. "Do you know what it was about?"

Troy opened his mouth as if to say something, but soon closed it. Instead, he picked his cell phone and pressed the speaker button.

" . . . What do I do? I don't know what to do! I'm so stupid, Captain! Ugh, she won't talk to me anymore. What am I supposed to say when she does start talking? Stupid, fucking stupid . . ."

"It is hard to say," Troy replied to me, frowning at the cell phone in his hand.

" . . . It IS hard to say!"

I looked at Troy, trying my hardest not to laugh in such a serious situation. "Um, Chad? What exactly did you and Taylor fight about?"

Chad didn't even seem to notice that it wasn't Troy's voice talking to him. He just went on to say, "What was the fight about? What was it ABOUT? It was about . . . About . . . Shit, I don't even remember anymore!"

Trust Chad and Taylor to have a fight and then get so mad at each other that they forget what they were fighting about in the first place. Wait. Taylor! I have to call Taylor!

"Um, Troy?" I asked. "I'm going to go call Taylor, so . . ."

"Taylor? Oh, why Taylor! WHY?!"

Troy lunged for my arm, nearly knocking me off my feet. Then, in a rushed whisper, he said, "Don't leave me here alone with Miss Drama Queen!"

"My life is over. OVER!"

"I'll leave you to it, Oprah," I replied, snatching my arm away from Troy and closing the door in his face.

I had no idea that boys can be such babies. I mean, really! And they make fun of us for shoving ice-cream into our faces when they break up with us. Whatever. I'm going to call Taylor and get a girl's point of view. I'm positive it's going to be FAR more informative than Chad's.

M: me

T: Taylor

T: (sobbing so hard I can barely hear her) H-h-h-hello?

M: Taylor?

T: O-oh, my g-gosh, G-gabi!

M: I heard about your fight with Chad . . . But you need to calm down, okay? Everything's going to be fine.

T: T-that's not why I'm c-crying!

M: (confused as ever) Wait, what?

T: I w-was so mad a-at him at f-first that I s-sent him this h-horrible email!

And I thought Taylor was smart. But wait, it just keeps getting better and better! Taylor wouldn't calm down until I had promised her that I would somehow get the email deleted. I know, right? I'm such an idiot! But she was sobbing into my ear, and I thought, I don't know, that maybe it wouldn't be too hard. That was, of course, before I remembered that the email was in CHAD'S computer, and to delete it I would have to sneak into CHAD'S room.

So know I'm sitting in the hallway outside of Troy's bedroom door, staring at my crappy cell phone. I know I'm going to need Troy's help with this one. He and Chad have been best friends for as long as I can remember. He knows Chad the best and will want to help him with his relationship with Taylor.

October 2, 2007. 11:23 PM, My Bedroom.

When I wrote before that Troy wanted to help his best friend, I had no idea that guy on guy advice was so unbelievably terrible. Seriously, you'd think that the most popular guy in East High would know how to give good advice! Well, actually . . . I guess because Troy is the most popular, his advice isn't exactly shocking.

A party. He advised Chad to throw a party to get his mind off the fight. A party. As if that's going to do anything. All that is going to happen is a bunch of East High students getting drunk, grinding on each other while they 'dance', and Chad's house will become a trashed house of sex. Great idea, Troy. PERFECT.

And I let him know what I thought of his 'ingenious' plan.

"Troy? What were you thinking? Now Chad's probably going to go off and-and . . ."

"He's not going to screw some random girl, Elle," Troy said, trying to reassure me.

"Formal, sophomore year," I replied, crossing my arms defiantly. "He had just quarreled with Tiffany Sanders and an hour later he had apparently hooked up with Katherine Gere."

Troy shrugged, looking away from me. "You don't have to believe rumors, they're never true. You should know that after today."

I raised an eyebrow. His excuse was not flying. "So you're saying it was a rumor?"

"It wasn't Katherine, it was Lara Yaven," Troy mumbled. "But, still. Taylor is going to be there."

"Yeah," I said, sitting dejectedly on Troy's bed. "Along with half East High's slut population."

"Oh, come on," Troy said. "If he really loves Taylor, things will work out okay."

I bit my lip and looked up at him, swallowing. "She sent Chad a hate email after they fought and wants us to delete it."

Troy nodded slightly and slid to sit on the floor, leaning against his wall. "So this is what true love is like."

In the real world, anyway. There's no ponies or mutant animals that talk or fairy godmothers. You don't marry a person an hour after meeting them. Instead people share unrequited feelings, cheat on one another, and sent hate mail. Jeeze, the real world is awesome. NOT.

October 3, 2007. 6:12 AM, My Bedroom.

Well, my mom is home again. It felt good to just sit down and have a conversation that didn't revolve around high school drama. She actually said she had something to tell me, but then the phone rang and she never got around to saying it. Whatever. It's probably just that she'll have to leave again on Wednesday.

I told her about the party tonight and she said I could invite some friends over if we wanted to get ready. I'm not really one to do that sort of thing, but when Taylor called me saying she needed my help, I couldn't just say, "Um, I hate parties. I won't help you look fantastic so Chad will want to make up and/or make-out."

So now she and Sharpay are coming over around four o'clock so we can 'prepare' for Chad's bacchanal. I don't even understand why they're coming so early. The party doesn't even start until, like, eight. But apparently choosing which outfit you want to later drunkenly throw up on, is the most important thing in the world. To Sharpay, anyway. Oh, hang on. My cell phone is ringing.

Speak of the devil. It's Sharpay. What the heck is she screeching about? Okay, something about her dog, Boi . . . And Ryan's moisturizer? Um . . . Okay, definitely something to do with her stilettos. Oh, no way. She wants to go shopping. Boi had an 'accident' all over Sharpay's new shoes.

Ha! She was all, "I'll pick you up at ten, Gabriella!" Then she hung up. I think the only thing I did was greet her. For the most part, Sharpay did all the talking. So I guess I'm stuck shopping. I need to become more assertive because right now I seem to be doing a lot of favors for people. Namely sneaking into Chad's room and hacking into his computer.

October 3, 2007. The Millionth Store at Albuquerque Mall, 2:39 PM.

There is a reason I despise shopping. For one, I don't exactly have the most money, so it's not like I can buy many things. Secondly, I just don't care what people think. So what if that color brings out my eyes? I don't care if the V-neck makes me look for curvy. So when Sharpay showed up at my house clad with a bright pink convertible and a distressed Taylor in the backseat, I knew I was in for a rough day.

Luckily I haven't really had to do anything. Sharpay and Taylor have been running through every freaking store in the mall while I sit with the overly happy ladies who say, "Can I help you, Miss?" in annoyingly polite voices. Sharpay has already picked out a nice outfit for herself. It's a pink mini-dress with matching shoes and a funky beaded necklace. She is currently working on Taylor who right now is trying on some yellow baby-doll shirt.

Apparently Taylor is now in the mindset that she has to look amazing for Chad to take her back. That way, if Troy and I don't delete the email on time, she still has a chance with him. Whatever. I've seen the way Chad looks at Taylor. He's practically head over heels in love with her and would take her back if he had to crawl through a room of Ms. Darbuses. Not to mention Troy is keeping Chad away from his computer by practicing basketball at the park. So I think the situation is pretty much under control right now.

Uh oh. Sharpay is looking at me weirdly. This cannot be good . . .

October 3, 2007. Sharpay's Convertible, 8:12 PM.

I wouldn't let Sharpay buy me any new clothes. I've been down that road once before and I already know that's not what I want to do to myself. Still, Sharpay and Taylor talked me into letting them straighten my hair.

"Gabriella," Sharpay had said as she dragged me into my desk chair. We had just returned from our shopping trip. Or rather, their shopping trip. "You wouldn't try on any of the outfits Taylor and I picked out for you. This is a party. You're supposed to dress up a little."

"Well," I started, knowing they'd eventually drag me down. "I guess it's oka--"

And then Taylor had practically strapped me into my chair, pulled out Sharpay's flat iron, and began working my curly mass of hair. It took them like, an hour to straighten half of my hair and it hurt! I probably yelped every five seconds, but I must admit that it actually kind of looks nice now that its finally finished . . . But that's all I'm going to let them do to me! I'm still not going to wear any make-up or new clothes. It's only a party, not a freaking ball.

However, the way Taylor and Sharpay look you'd think their lives depended on how good they dress for this party. We're on our way right now, arriving 'fashionably' late. In other words everyone will be completely wasted by the time we get there. This is why I don't like going to popular jock parties. People just drink and make-out, two things I have never done before. So why would I go somewhere where all I'd be able to do is be the geek eating all the chips? Taylor used to be the same way, but then she started dating Chad. She hasn't changed drastically, but as of right now she would rival Sharpay in the way she's dressed . . . Oh, god. We're here.

Holey . . . The outside of his house is pretty much trashed. There's toilet paper hanging in his trees and empty beer bottles are littering the grass. Lovely. Where on earth are Chad's parents?

"Gabi, I'm going to go find Zeke, okay?"

Sharpay just left. We're parked behind a bunch of cars in front of the house and pretty much every car contains a couple doing unmentionable actions.

"Are you going to be okay, Taylor?" I asked. She looks like she's going to rip apart her purse, she's clutching it so tightly.

"Um," Taylor started. "I guess so . . . And you're going to delete the email?"

Darn. I had forgotten all about that . . .

"I'm going to delete the email," I replied reassuringly, even though part of me wanted to add 'if he hasn't read it yet'.

Taylor nodded, taking a deep breath. "Okay. I think I'm going to find Chad, then." She stepped out of the car and was just closing the door when she looked up at me. "Are you coming in?"

"Not just yet," I said, still perturbed by the destruction that lay all around me. "I'll be in a little while."

And now I'm alone. This is great. I wish I never promised Taylor I'd delete the email and I could just climb over the seat, start the car, and drive myself home to eat a pint of ice-cream. To bad I don't have my license yet. Darn, I really need to find the time to stop studying and just go down and get it . . . I mean, I'm already sixteen. I should be driving by now.

Ugh, this is stupid. I need to think of a game plan.

Plan Of Action

1. Find way inside Chad's house without seeing more of someone than I would want to through a car window.

2. Avoid drunk partiers and dodge sexually active couples

3. Locate Troy. I can't navigate Chad's house without his help.

4. Sneak into Chad's bedroom and hack into his computer

5. Delete Taylor's email.

6. Leave swiftly and repeat step two until I am able to leave.

Okay, this sounds like a nice, organized, perfected plan. I'm good to go . . . I think.

October 3, 2007. Chad's Bedroom?????????

If I had known what would happened to me when I went into that party, I would have chosen forgiving Lindsay over entering Chad's house. I was successfully able to get inside, but as soon as I opened the door my ears were killed with a surge of music and my nose fell off because of the putrid smell of alcohol. The house was dimly lit, and every square foot held teenagers drinking, dancing, or making out. It was horrible, and I immediately had to fight the urge to turn around and run straight out the door. I would have, too, had Sharpay not chosen the moment to saunter over and grab my arm roughly.

"Gabriellaaaaaaaa," she giggled, nearly tripping when she released my arm. Beer from the red cup she was holding sloshed onto the floor, but she didn't seem to notice. "You're here!"

And she was already drunk. I didn't know how long I had sat in her car, but it was obviously enough time for Sharpay to become completely wasted. "Erm, yeah," I replied uneasily.

"Zeke! ZEKIE," she shouted suddenly, swaying on her feet until Zeke Baylor appeared at her side, also totally smashed. "Look, Gabi's here!"

Zeke paused, focusing his eyes on me. "I don't see her," he laughed, drinking deeply from his own plastic cup.

Sharpay giggled loudly, slapping Zeke on the shoulder and causing him to drop his beer. "That's because weee straightened her haaaair," she screeched.

"Zeke," I said, ignoring Sharpay's behavior. "Do you know where Troy is?"

"Troooy? Nope, I haven't seeen him since he wennt outside." He grabbed Sharpay and laughed, "C'mon, Shar. I needa' nother beer."

I sighed heavily and started to make my way through the crowd, narrowly avoiding being doused in peoples' beer. I thought I saw Taylor and Chad disappearing behind a door, but then I noticed the girl was wearing a different outfit. I finally reached the sliding door that led to Chad's backyard, but I was halted when a couple crashed against the glass, deeply absorbed in each other.

"Um, excuse me!" I yelled over the music, firmly trying to pry the door open.

The couple didn't budge, but I was able to slide the door wide enough so I could squeeze through. Chad's backyard wasn't much better than inside. If anything, it was darker and there were people kissing and such in his pool. The worst part is that I had barely taken three steps when a rowdy group of jocks carrying a keg of beer knocked me off my feet and straight into a couple that making out. Luckily I didn't know the two people that I had rudely broken apart, but I did know the person who had accidentally pushed me.

"Shit, I'm sorry about tha-- Elle?"

Of course, right? Troy gave me a hand up and dragged me away from the glaring couple before they pushed me into Chad's pool. We stopped in an area with a few lounge chairs and a heating lamp that allowed me to see him. Troy was wearing dress jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt. I couldn't help but notice the smell of alcohol mixed in with his cologne.

"Are you okay?" he asked loudly, and I was glad he at least wasn't slurring like Zeke and Sharpay were.

"I'm fine," I shouted. "We have to delete the email."

"What?" Troy asked, bending down so he could hear me better. "I can't hear you over the music!"

"We have to delete the email!" I screamed, barely able to hear my own words over the blasting music.

Troy continued to frown at me blankly before grabbing my hand and saying, "Fuck this."

I would have enjoyed the fact that we were holding hands had it not been for the yanking and twisting of Troy's route around the maniacal teenagers. Troy is a good few inches taller than I am, so for every stride he took, I took three. We dodged the partiers all the way up a flight of steps and into a closet. My ears were ringing, but the music was not nearly as loud as it was downstairs.

"Okay, now that my ear drums aren't exploding," Troy said, flipping on the light. "What were you saying?"

"Has Chad been on his computer today?" I asked finally. "Because we really need to delete Taylor's email."

"No, I was able to keep him from checking his email practically the entire day," Troy replied, leaning against the shelf of towels behind us. "I think he and Taylor have pretty much made up now, too."

"Really?" I asked. "Good, because Taylor was really annoying me. She made me go shopping with her and Sharpay to pick out the perfect outfit."

Troy sniggered, but paused, eyeing me slightly. "Did you pick out the perfect outfit?"

"No, I had to dodge her and hide in the food court," I said, smiling at the memory. "Why?"

Troy swallowed, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know, it's just," he paused, clearing his throat. "You look nice tonight."

I know, right? Troy Bolton complimented me. ME! Gabriella Anne Montez! But before I could say anything, someone had opened the closet door. Troy and I looked up to see a random couple kissing and making their was into the closet without noticing us. We both edged around the engrossed couple and, trying not to laugh, escaped out of the closet just as the door closed behind us.

"This is why I don't like parties," I said, smiling slightly. "Probably eighty percent of all teenaged mothers get pregnant at parties like this one."

"Oh, come on, Elle," Troy said. "Not all teenagers are irresponsible. You yourself have a perfectly good package of condoms."

I hit him on the shoulder, and then he led me down the hall to where Chad's room was. It, like Troy's room, was a pigsty, only Chad's was ten times worse. I quickly jumped over a pile of dirty clothes and sat in the desk chair only to jump up in shock. There was a half-eaten sandwich beneath me, and I pushed it to the floor, disgusted.

"Okay," I muttered, moving the mouse around on the mouse-pad. "Lets find that email."

Troy stood behind me, looking over my shoulder as we waited for Chad's computer to boot up. Maybe it was the fact we were both staring at the screen, but for whatever reason he suddenly said, "You know, I never really apologized to you for yesterday."

"Forget it, Troy. Lindsay wanted to make it seem like it was my fault," I blurted out without thinking.

Troy blanched and nearly shouted, "What?!"

Oops. Ah, well. I probably would have told him at some point who made the website. He has a right to know . . .

"Lindsay made that piece of crap? That bitch!" he exclaimed, gripping the desk chair tightly. "I never would have thought . . ."

I turned around, sighing. "Troy, seriously. Forget about it. This is what she wanted: to gain your attention," I stated. "You have to pretend you never saw the website and that it never affected you."

Troy appeared uncertain, but finally his face relaxed. "Damn," he muttered. "I had no idea how obsessed she was with me."

"Troy, I hate to tell you this, but the entire school is obsessed with you," I replied. "I mean, there's this stall in the girl's bathroom that's practically a shrine to your existence."

"You're fucking serious?" Troy asked, clearly shocked. "I mean, I know there's plenty of girls out there that would . . . But . . . A shrine?"

"Calm yourself, Troy," I said, turning back to the computer that was now at Chad's home screen. "Okay, so do you know what his email is?"

Troy frowned, trying to remember. I think it's not even going to say anything about Chad's email address. I am left completely and utterly speechless.

I typed in the email address and than hovered the mouse over the password box. I knew Troy and I were thinking the exact same thing: what would Chad Danforth use for his account password?

"Uh," I muttered, trying to think. "Want to try 'Taylor', or something?"

Troy shrugged, so I wordlessly typed in my best friend's name only to have it be rejected. "Darn, it could be anything. Knowing Chad it's probably 'sandwhich', or another random word."

I think Troy and I took turns typing in various words for the next fifteen to twenty minutes. We were both becoming very frustrated, and at one point Troy mentioned just throwing the computer out the window. Finally, Troy typed in 'basketball' as a joke and it was accepted.

"Shit, I was only joking," Troy laughed. "Why didn't we think of putting that earlier?"

"I don't know," I said, annoyed. "Lets just delete the stupid email and get out of here."

I clicked inbox, and there it was, shinning bright blue and unopened from Taylor McKessie.

"You know," I started. "I never even stopped to wonder what exactly Taylor said that was so bad in this email. Do you think it would betray her privacy if we just . . ."

"Hell, no."

Troy reached over my shoulder and clicked the email, and we both read:

My Dearest Chad,

Fuck you.

Love, Taylor.

"That's it?" Troy asked, astounded. "That's the terrible email that we just had to delete?"

I myself was surprised at the stupidness of Taylor's line-long email, but I deleted it before saying, "I could write better hate letters with my eyes closed. Sure, it would be illegible and gibberish, but it would be far more menacing."

Troy shook his head, probably not knowing whether to laugh or curse at the fact we had spent half an hour trying to hack into Chad's account to delete the stupid email. "Let's just go back downstairs."

I was standing up from the desk chair when the sounds of feet stumbling down the hall echoed in my ears. A second later and the footsteps were just outside Chad's door. Troy and I looked at each other frantically, and looked around the room quickly for a legitimate hiding space.

I must admit Troy's idea of climbing out of Chad's bedroom window was a good one, even a great one. It would have worked, too, had the window not been jammed with some unidentifiable substance. So we did the only thing we could do: Roll into the hell under Chad's bed.

"Okay," I breathed, listening to the doorknob being turned and wishing I could see the door from under Chad's bed. "It could just be his mom coming in to clean . . ."

The door burst open, and the sounds that came in would have been enough to understand what was happening. The bra that landed right by Troy's face only made things more obvious.

Troy gave a curt nod, and as the bedsprings above us creaked, he whispered, "Or not."

I was too horrified to speak, so instead I ripped a page out of this diary and wrote, Where are Chad's parent's when stuff like this is happening?

Troy wrote back, They're on a business trip.

We had no idea what to do as we both lay under Chad's bed with the old, rotting food and dirty socks. Luckily the people above us only seemed to be doing some heavy kissing, but they didn't seem like they were going to stop any time soon either.

Troy and I somehow got into a silent agreement of not speaking, so here I am now, writing in this diary as Troy lies on his stomach folding the piece of paper we wrote on into a fortune teller. Every now and then the bed springs squeak, but we've been under here for about twenty minutes and are quite used to it. Wait, Troy passed me the now unfolded piece of paper.

I found a pack of cards. Wanna play Go Fish?

He wants to play Go Fish while we are stuck under an unknown making out couple. And only Chad would have a pack of cards under his bed. Whatever, it's not like there's anything better to do under here.

Huh, I have three eights. Sweet.

You beat me at Go Fish four times in a row. How is that humanely possible? Is there some sort of connection between basketball and Go Fish?

Yes, we basketball players all have a connection with lame card games. It's an art.

Shut up! Gosh, how long are we going to be stuck under here?

Dunno. Kissing can last all night, and that's not saying they move on to other activities.

WHAT? I'd kill myself if they started having sex.

I know, now every time I screw someone I'm going to look under the bed and make sure no one's there first.

The girl you're with would think you're crazy.

Sure, but in ten minutes or so she'd think I was amazingly sexy.

You're such an arrogant person.

Aw, shit. They moved to right above my head. Move over, they're like, moaning and crap.

No! Stay on your side . . . Stop kicking me!

Actually, that moan sounds kind of familiar.

You don't think it's Taylor and Chad, do you?

No. Wouldn't it be weird if it were Ms. Darbus?

EW!

Hahahah, now you have a bad image in your head.

I've had bad images in my head ever since you mentioned having sex with a girl.

Which girl?

Ugh, forget it.

You know, that means you technically pictured me naked.

What? Where does that logic come from?

Well, Elle. When a guy and a girl have sex they have to take their clothes off. I'd say that would count as being naked.

But I didn't picture you naked.

You just said you had a bad image of me screwing a girl.

You had a blanket covering you.

I never cover myself with a blanket when I have sex. It gets too hot.

Where in what I wrote did you get that I wanted to know what you do when you have sex?

You had the wrong image. I was correcting it for you.

I don't have any image! I wouldn't because its impossible for me to have that kind of erotic image in my mind.

Anything is possible.

Not if you've never done anything before.

Wait, never done anything? You've never even, like, kissed someone before?

Sure, I've kissed someone before.

Besides your dad.

I can't believe you've never been kissed before.

Well you don't have to go reminding me about it. It's not like there's something I can do.

Hell yes, there is. Just kiss someone!

No one would want to kiss me!

I just looked up from my and Troy's notes. He's looking at me weirdly. And until now, I never realized how close we are to each other. His eyes are really blue . . .

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I made it extra long to make up for it. I now you're all going to hate me because of the cliffhanger, but it really was getting extremely long, lol. Hope you all had an excellent Valentine's Day! Rememer, review and I'll PM you the preview for the next chapter! Cheers!

Crystalbluu