AN: Okay. You can throw tomatoes at me because it has been such a long time since I have updated. (About 6 months! Yikes!) I've had this chapter half written for about 4 months but just haven't been inspired lately. But that all changed today when I read this heartbreakingly beautiful book called 'Perks Of Being A Wallflower.'

So I finished this chapter! Yay! And hopefully, the next chapter will be up sooner!

Oh, yes, I've changed my penname from Cupcakes.xx to Serenity.xx

It's still me!

You might want to reread the first part of chapter 4 and then continue with this chapter.

But enough of my ramblings and onwards you go!

The day of the much anticipated Gala had arrived! I reluctantly woke up, grumbled about the amount of sunshine the closed curtains had let in and shuffled downstairs, wearing slippers and sweats. Chad was at our usual table but hidden behind the local newspaper. "There are no articles about you in there today."

I breathed a sigh of relief. On Monday -two days after the ice cream escapade - a mysterious 'source' spilled everything about me to the newspaper, "Mystery Montez Solved!" was the alliterate headline. Then as I was jogging around the oval, I could spot figures lurking around the fence.

Feeling confused, as it was about 7 in the morning and the sun was just rising over the hill. I ran over to tell them it was private property. Big mistake! I was blinded by the flashes and sprinted back inside, alerting Principal Matsui of the reporters.

Finishing breakfast in record time, I bade Chad a goodbye and walk to my room, determined to catch up on school work that I haven't had time to do as many late night rehearsals have been called to polish the entire gala up.

Just thinking about the gala was making me feel queasy and my muscles turning to jelly.

"Chad. Are you in there?" I knock on the door. A hastily reply comes from inside, "Hang on a sec, I'm changing."

I note the worry in his voice and hear the bathroom door shut before the front door swings open with an extra smiley Chad standing in the doorway. "What's up Gabs?" He inquires casually but I know him too well, his façade will quickly slip off.

I decide to go along with it, putting on a 'I-don't-know-you-are-hiding-something-face' and replying with a casual "Oh, nothing much... Just nervous about the Gala tonight. What about you?"

He ignores my question and pats on his made bed, he then sits on the floor stretching but occasionally glances at the bathroom door, thinking I don't notice the deep brown eyes straying to the bathroom door.

"I wouldn't worry about the Gala Gabs, you and Troy have been working hard, I've hardly seen you this week. Just as long as you have polished it and try your best tonight, everything will be fine. It will all go according to plan."

Although, Chad was occupied by whatever the bathroom door was hiding and wasn't as thorough as he usually was with easing my worries, the concerns were gradually disappearing.

"Is that it Gabs? I just really need to do some homework and you know I can only work in peace and quiet."

Trying to get rid of me. Definitely something fishy was on. My curiosity got the better of me and I needed to get into that bathroom!

"Oh, before I go. I really need to go to the toilet. I'm busting. Can I use yours?" His chocolate eyes went wide and I could imagine him racking his brain for an excuse.

"God Gabs, I'm sorry but the lock is stuffed. I can't get in so I've told maintenance and they are coming in after lunch. Can you go to yours?" He covered quickly but the way his cheeks became flushed gave everything away.

Sharpay was definitely in the bathroom. And now I know, even through Chad won't admit it to me, they are 'together' in some way.

I nodded quickly, "Sure. That's fine. Bye Chad." I started to close the door behind me and as an afterthought, added, "Oh Chad?"

"Yeah?" He answered with a cold glare and an even colder tone of voice.

"There aren't locks on the bathroom doors."

I think I heard Sharpay smother a giggle as Chad slammed the door. Oh well, he won't be annoyed for long. Everything will be forgotten at the cast party tonight!


A last minute run-through of the main dances in the gala was being held straight after lunch in the theatre. Most of the seniors were stuck in the stuffy theatre and the juniors were dancing in various studios, getting last minute practices for their 'less important' dances.

"Nice Miss Montez, just make sure that toe is stretched to the limit. Mr Bolton, show that more emotion by pining for Miss Montez's character. Mr Baylor! What did we go over last rehearsal? And just for you too!" Madam was starting to get very stressed. Heck, everyone was stressed.

The music ended softly, until Madam interrupted with "And HOLD!" Bolton kept a hold of my waist tightly, not wanting to be next on Madam's hit list if he dropped me. "And release. Gradually lower... Yes, that's it. Now, please go immediately to your rooms, get some rest, light dinner and then make your way to backstage. Take note of light dinner, lead dancers. Thank you. You all may go now."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when we were dismissed, bags were spread around the walls of the room and many didn't dare to talk in case Madam picked them out to improve on something they may have missed in the rehearsal.

I grabbed my duffel bag and hurried out of the theatre, not stopping until I was in an empty corridor. Sinking to the floor I rummaged through the side pocket for my phone, flipping it open I realised there was only a few hours until the Gala. It started at 7:30 and right now it was 3:47.

3 hours and 43 minutes to the Gala. Oh my god. How the hell am I going to survive this Gala?

All the people will be watching.

The people will be watching me.

Me!

ME!

Gabriella Montez!

The wallflower that hates doors open, is paranoid at times, likes chocolate anywhere, anytime and is currently having a panic attack.

But wait.

Maybe if I'm so bad at playing Minnie, the audience will all walk out much to my mother's desperate protests.

Hang on...

Minnie.

I'm being Minnie.

Not Gabriella Montez.

I'm being Minnie.

I'm playing Minnie.

I am Minnie.

I am not Gabriella Montez.

Minnie is a confident, flawless, person.

Well, character.

That's right. I'm playing a character. A character. A character.

Minnie. Minnie. Minnie.

You are Minnie!

Phew.

Honestly, I don't know why I get so stressed over these minuscule problems.

I have a bigger problem that I need to solve.

Relationships. It's quite a funny thing. And often sadly ironic.

The word 'ironic' applies to my case. He was just... wonderful. Maybe I'm being bias and dare I say it, ditzy!

He often a bit cold and arrogant but that was what made him; him.

He showed his nicer side at times but only to certain people.

Nicer includes:

-Pretending to be one's boyfriends just to get an unwanted guy off her back.

-Even though one was grumpy and angry, he was still polite and took everything one threw at him in his stride.

-He takes time to put effort into his dancing, even though if he didn't try it would most likely be better than one's dancing at it's best.

-He takes time to help improve other dancers technique.

-And many more things

And I felt privileged to be one of those people that he showed his nice side to. And he makes me feel different... A good kind of different

In Disney films everything works out in the end.

The guy gets the girl after a series of complicated problems that leads to a spine tingling climax but have no fear! There is a resolution that solves all the complicated problems and the Disney perfect world adds another ecstatic couple happily ever after to their world of flawless, predictable characters.

However, as much as I criticise Disney films...

Doesn't everyone want a happily ever after with their 'true love'?

And doesn't everyone include me?

But the thing that is so ironic, is that when he likes me I don't like him, and unfortunately, and it comes at the worst timing, I like him.

But as you can probably guess, he doesn't like me. Because of my many rejections, he moved on. Just as I wanted him to.

I hate ironicness.

And yes, I do know I made ironicness up.


I had a light dinner of spaghetti and meatballs with salad on the side, just as Madam advised. I rested in my room, songs from the musical 'Wicked' filling my ears for the next 45 minutes. Then Chad knocked on my door and accompanied me to my own, personal dressing room.

All my costumes were lined up in order, and a few seniors would help me with the fast changes. The make up artist had his chair waiting and all his products laid out in front of him. Eye shadows of every colour and every shade were spilling out of a bucket, make brushes were attached to his apron.

And I sat in that chair patiently for the next 20 minutes, getting glamorized. Bouquets of flowers, all shapes and complementary colours, were coming in every 5 minutes or so. Then the hair dresser came in, whizzed out in ten minutes and I was left to change by myself.

I was in the most beautiful tutu, wearing so much make up I could hardly recognize myself and had many bouquets of flowers wishing me good luck infront of me, yet I felt so... undeserving.

The once beautiful blood red tutu was now itching at my skin, the vibrant, matching red ballet shoes and their ribbons were suffocating my legs, and my hair had so much gel and hairspray in it, my hair felt like a cheap $5 wig.

And the worst part of all, tears just kept falling down my cheeks. They wouldn't stop, not for anything in the world. I blocked them with my hands, but they slid over my hands like a waterfall to a rock.

No, wait, that wasn't the worst part of all, the worst part of all was that there was exactly 1 minute to when the burgundy curtains would open, the audience would clap politely waiting, and expecting to be wowed.

And I knew, I just knew, I couldn't wow them. I couldn't live up to the expectations. A few jealous girls would point, laugh and smirk as I walked past. I ignored them, chanting in my head that they were just jealous. But what if they were right?

I think that was the main reason I was crying. Or it could have been the nerves. I knew I had only eaten salad, some strands of spaghetti and the odd meatball but it felt like I had eaten 100 or more butterflies. They were all colliding into one another and making me feel dizzy.

I collapsed on the provided couch, tear stained, and crinkling my tutu. And then Madam waltzed in, with a few flowers in hand. She took one look at me, sighed dramatically and shut the door.

She sat on the chair that I had my make up done and placed the flowers on the table, they mixed in with the bottles of hairspray and jars of gel. Placing her hands in her lap, she started the lecture, "We have less than a minute Gabriella. So let me make this quick. You have all the qualities of a great dancer, if dancing is what you want to do, you can do it. You have grace, presence and technique. But most importantly," She leaned forward and grabbed tissues out of the pockets in her flowing dress. She handed them to me silently, checking her watch as I dabbed at my eyes. She continued, making sure I maintained eye contact, "You have passion Gabriella. You dance for the good of dancing. Not for the fame but for the adrenaline rush you feel afterwards. You dance because it is sometimes the only thing that makes sense. So instead of being scared tonight, instead of being the underdog, you show everyone that this part was made for you. Not only that, but you show them that you don't dance to please the, but to please you."

And with that she swept her gold scarf over her neck and waltzed back out into the hallway calling "Leads. You have less than 10 seconds to be in the wings"

Inspired, I leapt off the couch and checked my make up hadn't turned disastrous. Thankfully the make up artist had used water proof mascara, and then straightening out my tutu. Softly, I padded out into the hallway and shut my dressing room door.


"Bolton." I kept a hold of his hand and I looked out onto the stage. I was pretending to watch the dance, but I was actually studying Troy's body language. He was leaning against the table that held a run-through of what was happening and when of tonight's Gala.

He emitted a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes, "Yes Montez?"

Tell him. Just say it. SAY IT! My mind screamed. My stomach clenched and my legs felt a bit wobbly, maybe I should sit down…

"Montez?" He repeated with a cocked eyebrow and a questioning look on his face. He squeezed my hand trying to get a response. The applause started up as the dancers stood still, frozen in their ending positions. They then scuttled past us towards the door that opened out into the dressing room. Some dancers were whispering about how they mucked up on one particular part, others giggling, some relived that their dance was over and a minority offered good luck to Troy and I.

The familiar tune that had been stuck in my head all week started up, and I could feel the audience's anticipation. I felt the adrenaline kick in or something kick in because I leaned up and kissed Troy's cheek. "I like you. A lot." I added this as an afterthought, "Break a leg."

I felt the music giving me my cue and I walked gracefully on stage, not waiting for his reply or even glancing back for a glimpse of his profile.


As always, Constuctive Critism (CC) is appreciated. And hopefully, my writing has changed since September last year!

Serenity.xx