Okay everyone! Here is the next update for Song For You. I'm not really sure how I feel about this chapter. A lot happened and I'm just not sure if I executed the plot points well. My mind is going in a million different directions about where this story is going. Where my original idea for this story started and where it is now are almost night and day. So... I guess what I'm trying to say is: Here is the next chapter. Please tell me what you think because I have no idea what to think about it. And enjoy it... that's kind of important.
* P.S. I don't own HSM, I simply play the what-if game with the characters. *
The students chatted and shouted across the room, carrying on conversations that had little substance. Smiles and bright eyes were plastered on the teenagers that sat in rows, facing the whiteboard that sat at the front of the room. A small podium and a guitar sat up on either side of the board, ready and waiting to be used. The guitar that sat on its stand was battered and worn, the pick guard weathered, the neck chipped and scratched. The podium was a dark wooden structure, big enough to place several papers on the top, yet small enough to move around easily.
The room began to quiet; several students noticing the teacher walk in, briefcase in hand. He made no noise; gently placing his belongings near the legs of the podium and grabbed a dry erase marker. The gentle squeak of the marker writing on the board silenced the students completely. They studied the words etched on the whiteboard, carefully dissecting the meanings and messages that could be found.
School had begun one week ago. Friendships resumed, sports started back up and classes had already given out homework. Many teachers taught their lessons, pausing every so often in class to converse with their pupils, trying desperately, but to no avail, to engage participation. Mr. Bolton, however, was different.
He didn't treat them as inferior. Each student mattered and had something to give, and each student was more than willing to give for Mr. Bolton. He was calm, relaxed, but so easy to approach and talk to about anything and everything. Music and theatre with Mr. Bolton was fun and cool. It was his passion and he wanted to give that passion to his students. So they studied the words etched on the whiteboard, carefully dissecting the meanings and messages that could be found.
WHAT IS MUSIC?
"What is music?" Mr. Bolton's smooth, relaxing voice echoed through the silent room as his students stared up at the front of the room in confusion.
A dark haired boy in the back slowly raised his hand, all eyes wandering to him, "Well, music is a lot of things."
The class laughed out loud quickly, believing the answer to be dumb and incorrect. Troy tilted his head at the young man. He couldn't have been more than sixteen, yet his eyes seemed to show a soul and a mind beyond the years of a teenager. They were familiar and forgettable, but Troy couldn't help but wonder where he had seen them before, "What do you mean Mr…"
"Nathan," the boy began quickly, his voice choking with emotion for some reason, "Nathan Hudson."
Troy stiffened for a moment. His mind wandered, for a split second, as a memory flashed across his mind. He quickly brushed it aside, "Mr. Hudson," Troy began again, nodding respectfully to Nathan, asking him to continue, "what exactly do you mean by that?"
Nathan looked around the room, taking in the questioning glances. He swallowed a couple of times, mustering up enough courage to continue.
"Well, it depends on how you look at it. Music can be the notes you play or the meter you play those notes. It can be the harmonies and dissonance and how they come together to create a melody."
Troy smiled slightly, knowing where Nathan was going with his answer, "Is that all music is?"
Nathan locked his gaze with Mr. Bolton for a second, grinning slightly at his teacher's question. There was a thoughtfulness and wisdom to Mr. Bolton that Nathan had never seen before. Mr. Bolton just seemed to know how to bring out the best in anyone around him, making them strive for more. He's exactly how Will described him, Nathan thought to himself.
"Well… music is those things, but it's more than that. Music… for me, it's how my thoughts… my feelings, it's how they sound. It's why we make music right? To express those emotions that we just can't quantify with words."
Mutterings from students all around Nathan and Troy began to erupt, agreeing with their peer's answer. Several students simply nodded their head in agreement as they looked to the front of the chorus room, others spoke their approval or disagreement. Troy however, simply gave a simple nod to Nathan, a look of pure satisfaction and pride on his face for his student.
"That, Nathan, is perfect," he turned to his students, arms crossed as he began to walk back and forth in front of them, "Music is how our emotions sound. You know," Troy, remarked, "my job requires that I teach you music theory. Notes, scales, time signature… all that. And that's part of music, that's how you make music… but that's not what music is. Music…" Troy stopped moving, glancing down at the ground as if he was searching for the right words on the floor, "music is why we write the notes, why we play them. The emotions and the need for those notes, those melodies and harmonies, that's what music is."
Each student in the classroom gazed at Mr. Bolton, soaking in every single word and gesture he gave. They were enraptured as he spoke, diving further and further into the beauty and complexity and mystery of something that seemed so ingrained and so essential to their daily lives. Music… what is it?
"Your assignment for today," Troy began again, "is to tell me why you love music? What is music to you? Cuz, guys. I can teach you music theory, I can introduce you to all different kinds of music, but what's the point? For me, music… music is magic. It can ease your burdens; make you happy or sad or angry or silly. Music guys… there is nothing else that mankind has ever created that is so amazingly simple and completely complex as music. It unites people who have nothing in common. It gives hope and understanding to those who have nothing. Music is magic."
"My brother used to say that," Nathan spoke wistfully, lost in a moment in time, it seemed, "He loved music."
Troy's heart sank suddenly. Nathan's last name kept ringing in Troy's ears, echoing in his mind. Noah, like Troy had been born and raised in Albuquerque. He had talked about his brother every now and again and Troy gathered that they were fairly close. Looking at the teenager in front of him now, Troy realized then and there, who Nathan Hudson was. He was Broadway's little brother. Nathan Hudson was Private Noah Hudson's younger brother. Nathan was the younger brother of a man that Troy had fought beside… that Troy had seen die a slow and painful death. Troy's heart sank suddenly, a pain ripping his chest as he locked eyes with his student….
Sixth period had come at last. Her students, while she loved them, had been particularly obnoxious and sarcastic today. She hadn't gotten through a full lesson in any of her classes and Gabriella decided that she was in serious need of a break. She had eaten a meager lunch in record time, leaving her with a good twenty minutes to herself. So she began to walk through the halls of East High, passing by the classrooms that she once sat in and learned in. Gabriella passed by the science labs and math rooms, a gentle smile gracing her lips. How many wonderful memories filled these halls? How many of those happy memories seemed to haunt her now?
A light flutter of piano keys caught her attention and stopped Gabriella in her track. The music floated through the hallway like a whisper, tickling her ears and caressing her soul. It was a beautiful melody, broken and saddened, yet full of a hope that left her breathless. The notes were smooth and soft, the composer playing them with a gentle, loving touch. Silently, Gabriella began the small trek to the music room, just three doors from where she currently stood. Her petite feet made small, yet purposeful steps to find the producer of such a wonderful song. The sight she found was breathtaking.
The lights were off and the only form of luminance in the room was the lovely ray of the sun shining through the large windows on the back wall. If you looked hard enough, the eye could spot out small specks of dust flying through the air ever so gently. There he was, sitting on the piano bench, the rays of light ghosting over his beautiful face and hands. His fingers, caressing the keys of the black baby grand with a lover's touch. His eyes were closed, his body swaying, moving with the music that his hands seemed to play so effortlessly.
A small tear glittered on his face as it fell, hitting the keys and it broke Gabriella's spirit. Her arms ached to hold him, her lips to kiss him and her heart to love him. The pain etched on Troy's face was evident, but the sounds that he made come out of the piano were easing that pain with each note.
They had talked here and there; in the break room as they ate lunch, in the music room in between classes. It seemed that Troy Bolton and Gabriella Montez always found a place to talk, if only for a moment. It was so reminiscent of their glory days; those stolen moments between classes, decathlon meets and basketball games and the late night picnics in his tree house or on her balcony. They had never been able to stay apart for very long and even now, with all that has happened, they still gravitate toward each other so seamlessly. The thought made Gabriella smile sweetly, still watching Troy play.
He never told her what happened that day she found him in front of her old house. He never told her why he had to run out of his house and into the stormy weather. He never told her why he couldn't go back. Troy told her that it was complicated and that he just couldn't stay in a place that wasn't really his anymore. Troy told her that he just needed to have space, which was why he now lived in a shoebox apartment just a few blocks from East High School. Troy told her that he was fine and everything was perfectly okay. Troy was lying and for the life of her, Gabriella couldn't figure out why.
And then it was over, the song finished, left on a note that seemed so incomplete and unfinished. No resolution was found.
His hands fell away from the keys and dropped slowly into his lap. Troy's beautiful gaze lowered as his head hung low. The only sounds now were his breathing and hers. The sun hit his back, creating an ethereal glow around him that left Gabriella breathless and wanting nothing more to run into his arms and declare her love for him. But she couldn't…not yet. There was a time for those kinds of things, and this wasn't it. Soon, she told herself. Soon.
"That was beautiful," Gabriella's loving voice cut through the silence that filled the room. Troy's face lit up at the sight of her and a sweet smile touched his lips and his handsome features swept up Gabriella in a passion filled gaze.
He had been sporting a few days old, well kempt scruff. Troy's hair was darker and shorter now, more of a sandy brown bed head than the dirty blonde mop he had in high school. It suited him more, Gabriella thought to herself. His brilliant blue eyes were as captivating as ever but for different reasons. A story was held in his gaze, one that desperately needed to be told but he wasn't willing to give. The light blue, rolled up, long sleeved button up hugged his arms and chest beautifully. The dark wash denim jeans and black belt the held them on his perfect hips, hugged Troy's powerful thighs and calves handsomely.
And that smile… "Thank you," was his only reply.
Gabriella walked into the room calmly, though her body was thrumming and her heart was racing, "I didn't know you could play the piano. Did you write that?" She finished her sentence as she took one of the many chairs in the room to sit next to him near the piano.
His smile faltered slightly at her words. It didn't go unnoticed by Gabriella, "Yeah I did. It's got lyrics too, they just aren't finished."
"Maybe you can play it again someday, for me? With the lyrics?" Her voice was soft and sweet, full of hope and promise.
Troy couldn't help but smile at her. Gabriella always made him smile. It couldn't be helped. She eased an ache in him that seemed to be growing stronger all the time. His nightmares were getting more real, more personal. What's worse, one night at Chad's, his friend had dropped a pot and Troy threw himself down low, fearing a bomb had gone off. It took a good five minutes for his body to relax, for his mind to ease and for the tension in his shoulders to cease.
"I'd like that," was all he said in response.
Gabriella gave a genuine smile that lit up the whole room, it seemed. His good mood was a good sign that this conversation might lead Gabriella a little closer to finding out what seemed to be haunting the man in front of her, the man she loved more than her own life, "So who taught you to play the piano?"
A flash of something, some unnamed emotion that Gabriella couldn't place, graced the contours of Troy's face. For a moment she didn't think he would answer, "A guy in my unit, Noah Hudson. He taught me to play the guitar, too."
"Troy," Gabriella began slowly, unsure of how to proceed. He hadn't talked to anyone, no Chad, not his Dad, not her, about the war or about Jason. Gabriella knew how Troy worked and she knew that he never let on when he was hurt. She knew that he always put himself last and everyone else first. She knew that he needed to talk to someone about what had happened to him over the past five years. And for the life of her, Gabriella didn't know how to get Troy Bolton to open up, "You can talk to me, you know. About what happened, if you wa-"
"I don't want to," Troy cut Gabriella off quickly, almost meanly. His voice was sharp and his words were harsh. Anger danced across his face, which immediately gave way to guilt and utter sorrow. His eyes gazed at her slightly bewildered face. Troy's face softened and his voice grew quiet, with a tone that was more deserved by his present company, "I don't want to. Thank you, but I'll be okay."
"Troy," Gabriella began only to be cut off by the shrill ring of the bell.
Commotion in the halls began almost instantly and students flooded into the music room, the lights turning on and encasing the room in an artificial light. The young men and women of East High began filling the seats that were scattered in rows. The chatter was deafening and the chaos was maddening. Yet there they sat, wishing to say something to make it all better, to fix the gap that threatened to tear them apart. Troy simply smiled and looked at her with those beautiful blue eyes, "Thank you, Gabriella."
Gabriella could do nothing but smile in return before rising out of her chair and return to her own classroom. She got to the doorway and turned to see him walking to the front of the classroom, a fake smile for the students plastered on his face. He joked with a student in the front of the class and the entire room erupted in laughter. Troy made his way to the large whiteboard, glancing over to steal one last look at her before beginning his lesson. Gabriella lowered her head quickly before leaving to find her own room….
The smell of cooking flesh and bloody sand flooded his nostrils as the dry winds gave off a tiny breeze through the alley. Faint remnants of terrified screams lingered in the air and danced in his sunburnt ears. The battle was raging on and it shook him to the core when he realized how used to the scene he had become.
It was an eerie calm that had settled within his soul as he sat along the dusty, dirty alley road. Sweat ran into Troy's sapphire eyes as the sun beat down onto his too tan face. His two-day scruff was extremely itchy, but there was nothing he could do about that at this particular moment in time. Jason and Troy sat across from one another in utter silence. Their shallow breaths made up the conversation, their horrified glances darting back and forth to each other filled the awkward silence.
Troy was waiting, and indirectly, so was Jason, Noah and eleven other men, on the little voice in Sergeant Bolton's headset for them to make their move. Three raids in two days. The unit was tired, hyped up on nothing more than adrenaline as they sat, predators ready to pounce on the prey. Three raids of Al Qaida headquarters in two days.
"Proceed to checkpoint, Wildcat," Lieutenant Hawke spoke calmly into the headset, "We will meet you at the rendezvous in ten minutes."
Troy gave a silent hand gesture, signaling for the unit to begin their approach into the building. An unsettling silence encased them as the small group of Marines began their descent into hell. They readied their guns, the safety off and fingers on the triggers, ready to squeeze and fire at a moment's notice.
The building was crumbling, and there were no lights save for the rays of sunlight that seemed to flood the building's hot and dusty rooms. If one looked hard enough, the eye could see the particles of dust and sand floating ever so gently through the air. It was beautiful in a broken way. In any other circumstance or situation, Troy would find it to be peaceful.
The sound of ricocheting bullets drew Sergeant Bolton from his reverie, forcing him to open fire on the two Afghan terrorists that had tried to shoot his unit down. The men around him dropped into a prone position, scattering about the room, ready for another attack. It was unnecessary though. They dropped down, yelling in pain as Troy's excellent aim landed two bullets in each their bodies.
The unit walked further into the building, another soldier finishing off the wounded men as the soldiers passed by their pain filled bodies. This happened two more times, someone would drop a couple of radicals and someone would finish them off. It had become so routine, so natural and it ate at Troy's soul. He didn't have time to think any more.
A group of ten men jumped out from behind a wall in the building and opened fire, forcing Troy's unit to duck and cover before they were able to return fire. Bullets bounced off the walls, nicks in the walls and doorway forced dust to fly up in their faces, leaving them blind in the attack for a moment. The constant barrage of bullets and grenades left Troy's ears ringing and his mind reeling. Suddenly, Troy was surrounded by the yells of his men, pain ripping through their bodies as bullets tore through their flesh and bone.
Troy, Noah and Jason ran out the side building, ducking into another house. Something exploded to the left of the three men. A sharp pain pricked the skin over Troy's left eye, blood dripping down quickly. Adrenaline began to seep into his bloodstream, giving Troy a high that readied him for the fight ahead. It came crashing down when he saw Jason lugging Noah into a corner to begin applying pressure to the gaping bullet wound in Noah's arm, blood gushing out of the appendage…
Troy shot up in his bed, his eyes adjusting to the unfamiliar apartment that he now called home. The silence that encased him was interrupted by the erratic breathing and racing heart of Troy's body. Sweat poured down his face, matted his hair and soaked his bare chest. He threw the covers off his body before walking to the bathroom.
Troy looked up into the mirror at his horror filled face. He turned the faucet on cold, cupping the cool, clear water in his scarred and calloused hands. Troy splashed the water on his face, rubbed it on his neck and let the droplets fall down his chest and back. He gazed up again at the mirror, his eyes bloodshot as tears began to roll down his face. Troy simply gripped the basin of the sink and cried out in pain and sorrow and guilt and shame. The emotions became too much and he threw himself onto the cold tile of the bathroom floor….
You know the drill guys! Hit the lovely review button and leave me your thoughts/criticism.
I have most of Chapter 13 written and I am just going to say... Troy and Gabriella fans... you're going to be happy.
-shaganlovessoccer