A/N: I was going to update quite a while ago, Sunday, I believe. But then I got busy, and then I realized I should rewrite the chapter because I really think the last chapter was boring, too, so this one is now jam-packed with major soap opera-ness. Or something like it, maybe. Not exactly. I think the next chapter is more like that, and that's already written so, yes. :) -love- Desireé

Chapter Fourteen, Sorry

I'd take another chance, take a fall

Take a shot for you

And I need you like a heart needs a beat

But it's nothing new

I loved you with a fire red—

Now it's turning blue, and you say...

"Sorry" like the angel heaven let me think was you

-'Apologize', OneRepublic

Central Park looked much like a Winter Wonderland, prospering with snow and tourists and big business like street vendors and bicycle taxis. "Let's take a ride on the horse carriage!" Sharpay squealed, linking one arm with Milan and her other with Troy. The third party struggled to keep up; he seemed distracted and a little less than enthusiastic about the premeditated man bonding. She turned to him while her fiancé spoke to the carriage owner about ticket prices and said, "Are you trying to dampen our moods? Come on, you're supposed to be all cheered up now because you're with me."

He didn't smile, which she took as a bad sign. In fact, he looked relatively dismal, his eyes half-mast and his mouth turned down. She pressed her fingers to the corners of his lips and received no counteraction. "Honey, what's wrong?" she finally asked, hesitant. Advice was not her thing, but this wasn't the Troy Bolton she knew and—in a completely friendly, not-trying-to-steal-your-boyfriend way (as Ryan so frankly put it)—loved.

"It's not fair," he said after a while, voice searing with anger; he glared at the carriage wheel as if willing it to break in terror of his hard gaze. She waited patiently for some addition to his words, her hands clasped and feet flat on the ground. Troy continued, "It's not fucking fair that they got to fucking see her before I do. Harris doesn't even care about her and Arielle thinks she can make things happen when really they're absolutely impossible to do and I'm the only one who knows the real Gabriella and for them to get to see her first—" he clenched his fists, "—isn't fair."

For a few seconds, Sharpay was quiet with the exception of her bracelets clanging against one another when she moved her arms. She was picturing Cassandra, who was not only a colleague but also a friend; and as opposite as she was from any other girl Troy had dated, Sharpay knew the model would be heartbroken to hear her husband now. After a moment she hugged him, in that abrupt throw-yourself-around-him-and-don't-let-go type of way, but just as friends (as Ryan's aura haunted her for the second time). "I'm really, really sorry, Troy," she whispered into his ear, resting her chin on the crook between his shoulder and neck. He didn't do anything at first, before she felt the hug being returned. "I know it's not fair, and it sucks, and sometimes life sucks, especially when you're down and someone's still kicking. But you've still got friends, you know?"

Sometimes a reminder that you are loved is all that is needed to mend some fresh wounds.

TYWY

At the shop, Arielle took a minute to catch her breath before grabbing her cell phone and speed-dialing her dad. He picked up on the second ring, growling, "Where. The. Fuck. Are. You." It wasn't even a question anymore, and she couldn't really condemn him for it. Since he swore, she decided to choose he words carefully.

"Daddy, I'm with Gabriella," she began slowly, hearing him suck in his breath, "but don't worry, I'm fine and so is Harris. She's really nice, and we just went to the park and this morning she thought you hung up on her and I think that's terrible of you to do because you haven't spoken to her in years and to not even say goodbye is awful and—"

"Arielle," he interrupted her. Milan beckoned for them to board the carriage, and Troy realized this wasn't a conversation to be having when man bonding—or with anyone else at all, for that matter. "Look, I have to go. But I'm going to call you back in an hour so pick up your phone. Don't screen my calls, because I know you have been lately, and this is not a happy-go-lucky situation." He paused. "Are you sure you're fine?"

She exhaled, gripping her cell phone. "Dad, I'm sure."

The carriage driver flicked the reins and the horses began trotting. Sharpay sat next to Milan, leaning into him and giggling; across from them was Troy, and he was trying not to intervene on their affectionate moments. "Okay," he mumbled, trying to imagine Arielle at the moment. Where were they? And how the hell did they find Gabriella? Was she married like he was? Was she as unhappy as he was? "I love you, but don't forget I'm kind of pissed off right now."

"I won't," she said softly. "I love you, too. Bye Dad." She sighed and hung up, cradling the mobile in her hand for a moment. Suddenly she wasn't so little, so young; she was older, stronger, now in a place she had once thought to be fictional. A second home, she said silently. It would kill Troy to hear that, but she bashfully smiled in spite of it.

The front door opened and Gabriella and Harris walked through, both dusted with snow. "It's freezing," her brother declared, teeth chattering and arms wrapped around his upper torso in an effort to stay warm. "I'm going to take a shower." And then the girls were alone.

"I called my dad," Arielle said, staring at the woman. "He was busy though, so he's going to call me back later. I figure he'll lecture me for a while, until maybe…" She swallowed. "Until maybe he asks about you."

Gabriella titled her head to one side, long black hair spilling down her shoulder like a waterfall, dirtied with pollution (or, technically, emotional turmoil). "He's married, you know. He's got another girl in his life, Arielle," she let on gently, trying to word this very tricky situation heedfully. "Well, you're his number one girl, I know that much. But Cassandra is his wife; it doesn't matter how much you wish it wasn't true, but that's one thing she has over me. Troy and I never got married."

The question "Why not?" obviously itched to pour from Arielle's mouth, but the girl pursed her lips. She waited for a moment, before saying, "But he's unhappy. Cassandra is just so, well, blech. And he insists he loves her, yadda yadda yadda, but I know he doesn't really mean it and he's thinking about you of course because I'm always talking about you and—"

"Wait," Gabriella interjected. She sighed slightly and said with a firm tone, "Let's just go upstairs and I'll fix us something to eat, okay? No more talk about Cassandra, or your father. Not until we have to."

This rule, although silly and unreasonable in the eyes of a thirteen-year-old, was accepted and both of them trudged upstairs, weighed down by the thought of What-If. When they reached the second landing, Arielle turned suddenly and flung her arms around Gabriella's middle, quivering against her stomach and silently begging for some shelter in this big, cold world that didn't care whether or not you were ready to grow up. "I just want to have a mom, someone who loves me and wants to be there for me whenever she can and who thinks I'm beautiful," the girl said shakily, her voice stifled as she pressed her mouth against Gabriella's jacket. The woman who embraced her thought with a sad sigh, You do.

…

By the end of the night, Troy had not taken more than one sip from his drink and had very little to eat in spite of the mountain of tortellini Lisa the Waiter had presented him upon their mealtime. Milan had been busied with three or four phone calls, dragging him away from the table and giving Sharpay enough time to attempt to raise her friend's spirits. By the fifth time her fiancé patiently excused himself to the men's lounge of the restaurant, she threw up her hands in defeat and said, "You want to go home, don't you?"

Troy didn't try to hide his eagerness. "That would be nice," he said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck tiredly.

"So did you have any fun tonight?" she asked, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

"The wine," he decided after a moment, "was good enough."

She shrugged with a small smile. "Beggars can't be choosers." Lisa the Waiter stopped by to see if they needed anything, and Sharpay shook her head dismissively. She brightened a moment and then giggled, "Do you remember when we drank beer in high school? Budweiser and Heineken?"

He looked up at the ceiling lamp above them, studied the stain glass panels before nodding with a smile. "Yeah, Chad's parents always had the most alcohol so we always went to the Danforths."

"And now we're drinking Chardonnay and Pinot Blanc!" she exclaimed, lifting her glass to clink his. He rolled his eyes, still smiling, and Sharpay scoffed, "Well, I would think someone would be happy to hear they've stepped up from beer to wine."

"Well, thank you, I'm flattered you care so much about me," he said, holding his hand to his heart. Sharpay reached across the table and swatted his arm. Troy winked, and they were teenagers again, except the difference was she had black hair, dark eyes, and a smile that made any stain glass ceiling lamp jealous.

TYWY

Regina Spektor's voice awakened Arielle from her daydream some time around seven o'clock, and she saw her father's name on the cell phone screen. "Hello?" she answered hesitantly.

"Ari," he breathed, sounding relieved to hear her voice for the second time. "It's me. Dad. H-how are you?"

"I'm good," she whispered. For a moment, there was silence, before: "Listen, Dad, I really am sorry we went behind your back to come down here. But I know you would have said no in the first place, and April was really a big help, I was pressing my luck asking her but she came down here with us and it turns out Gabriella is still here—"

He exhaled, like he was overly fascinated with oxygen's wonders. "Where?" The question was abrupt, almost imagined, until he asked it again. "Where are you, Ari?"

"Daddy." He closed his eyes to hear that term of endearment, something she used either when trying to get out of trouble or in order to get something she wanted. But this time, he heard sincerity, genuine tenderness that he was learning (the hard way) faded over time. Arielle could return to her childhood self once in a while. "Daddy, I like it here. And if I tell you, I know you'll want to come down, but just to bring us back. And I don't want to do that yet."

Patience. He cleared his throat and took one patient gulp of air. "Well, fine. I can understand that, I guess," he said through clenched teeth, trying to conceal his discontent. "But, can you just—can you put Gabriella on the phone? Please?"

She blinked, staring at the wall across from her. Dad wanted to talk with Gabriella. He wanted to talk to the woman that was supposed to be her mother. "Really? Well, yeah, sure. I'll go get her. Just, just wait a second, okay?" she agreed, leaping off her bed and running out into the living room. She saw her brother sitting on the couch, reading a political magazine while the older woman next to him was writing something meticulously on a pad of paper. "Dad!" They both looked up in alarm to see her. "Our dad! He's on the phone—and he w-wants to talk to you!"

When you spend endless days imagining what you would say to a celebrity upon the chance of your meeting, eventually you decide you're ready for anything when that coincidental day comes where they stand in front of you at the market, or they happen to pick up the last copy of a book you had been eyeing at Borders. Most of the time, though, you're too star-struck to speak properly and everything you've planned to say gets erased from your mind. Similarly, Gabriella had spent thirteen years deciding what to say to Troy if—or when—they met again in that awkward, you'd-rather-be-somewhere-else way. And now, as Arielle extended her arm anxiously to hand her the phone, she couldn't think of one thing. Only I'm Sorry, I'm Sorry, I'm Sorry.

"Hi," he spoke first, apprehensive.

"Hello," she spoke second, equally afraid of what they—what else? —didn't know already.

"I need to come get them," he began, "don't I?"

Did he? Gabriella couldn't tell. She liked them; they had only been here for twenty-four hours, but somehow they seemed to make her happier, lighter. She didn't want them to leave. And she especially didn't want her first real conversation in thirteen years to be over this subject. "Oh, well, I think they're having fun here, it hasn't been very long since…" They reminded me of my faults, she finished in her head.

"Where are you?" he inquired finally, sounding restless.

"New Jersey," she said, almost automatically. Arielle, next to her, looked simultaneously distressed and defeated. Gabriella pursed her lips. "Sampson. It's a small town."

"Will it come up on MapQuest?" He forced a laugh and she doubled the manner.

"Um, I don't know. But we're here. And I think you'd want your kids for Christmas," she replied.

He felt his heart twinge as she said 'your' and not 'our'. "Cassandra comes home tomorrow," he said vaguely, "so I'll drive down tomorrow afternoon. For the best, I don't want Ari and Harris to be any trouble just barging into your life."

I don't have one, she wanted to scream. I don't have a life! I don't have anything left! I've ruined everything! "They're not trouble," she whispered, trying to remember the rules Sharpay had taught her in senior year on how to act around guys. Be cool, be calm. Don't cry, don't even whimper. But still, she felt her eyes sting as she said a little louder, "They're not trouble at all. But I think they miss you." Meaning: I miss you.