I think I am in a dream.

The pictures playing before me seem real though. I can almost perceive every detail with my senses.

I am running. My heart rate seems irregular and my breathing becomes uncontrolled. I can barely make out where I am running to, or the environment around me, I can only hear myself breathing and see the giant eclipse ahead of me.

I begin to scream while I'm running. I'm screaming out Troy's name. I don't understand why. Everything seems blurry.

I cry out his name again. This time, tears form in my eyes, and an emotion of fear takes me over. I tremble as small sobs escape from my lips and I can not understand what is going on. I feel as if he has left me, as if has abandoned me. For some odd reason, I am in complete distress. I'm in complete hysteria and I feel as if I'm losing my mind. I'm lost - empty - hollow. And I will not be satisfied until I find him.

I turn and greet a dark corner, still unsure of my location. My white tank is deluged in sweat and my eyes are heavy. My heart is still racing as I meet them. They are together. I'm more panicked as I meet eyes with Troy. I can see the weakness in his eyes, the loss of control he hates that he's feeling. His lips depart as he looks to me, his body stilling as we lock eyes.

He looks beautiful, even in such a vulnerable state.

He's tied to a chair that seems more uncomfortable than it looks.

Earl is standing in front of me, his back to Troy, who is just watching me, as if worried about what Earl may do to me. I realize I must have known that Troy was in danger, that's why I was racing here.

I feel drastic amounts of hatred as I look into Earl's two morbid brown eyes. His lips break into a mocking smirk as he licks his upper lip then he reveals his disgusting pair of teeth. He begins to laugh. His laugh echoes off of the fleshless walls around us. Its one of those laughs you would hear on a scary movie - it's nasty, cruel, could surely be anyone's nightmare.

He doesn't say a thing. He just moves backwards, now standing right next to Troy, who keeps his eyes on me. He looks stiff, his chin a bit up in the air. He seems to know what Earl's intentions are. I want to help him. But I know I'm not strong enough to face up against Earl.

"Gabriella," He says my name and I feel all my muscles settle as he swallows thickly, "Get out."

The softness in his voice seems to disappear as his eyes suddenly turn serious - dead serious.

His eyebrows crease together, "Now." His tone is hard, like a father giving an order to a daughter.

"No!" I scream, more to Earl than to him.

"You can't take Troy. You can't. Take me, don't take him. I'm the one you want. He's innocent. You can't do this again."

The hostility inside of me seems so large; it seems it could move mountains. I glare at Earl, relentless to give up someone who is so harmless and wonderful. He does not deserve this.

"But you're so sexy when you're angry, Gabriella." The snake snickers, taking another step back, becoming closer and closer to Troy.

"Gabriella," Troy's teeth are gritted together, "Go, please. . . I love you. You're gonna make it, you're gonna be alright. You're a strong woman."

And then it happens. The most simple, yet meaningful phrase rolls off of his tongue. And my heart's strings seem to turn inside out. I feel so much anger and passion I cannot even begin to explain it. This will not be the end. I will not let it.

My mind stops. My heart is now taking control of everything else.

Nothing is important right now. Not the past, my life, my future, Eric . . . what matters is Troy Bolton - the faultless young man who has done nothing but help me. This isn't his fate. This isn't his time. He's willing to give up for my safety, for my security. No, never. I am only running into a ring of fire - gliding across lighted matches, endlessly waiting for my death sentence. If he dies, Earl wins. I am not going to let go of the jewel of my life - not Troy, never Troy.

And my insides spring with emotion. Wild fire is burning me up. It's so strong; I'm refusing to let the flames die. I can't. Not now. Not after everything. For I cannot live a life knowing he is not there with me. He's my powerhouse, my electricity; he's the only thing I have that can keep me going. Without him, I am soulless. My heart is bitter and empty. Troy Bolton is my life, he's my whole heart, and he's my soul. And in this moment, inside a dream or in reality, I realize. . . I did not fully live until I met him. I did not fully breathe. I never smiled until he showed me happiness. I never cried until he listened to me. I never even listened until he spoke. There is something so life-changing about him. There is something so captivating. It's in the way he talks to me, the way words move off of his tongue like a dream of some sort. He talks in a way that affects everyone, not just me. It's in the way he shoves his hands in his straight-legged jean pockets, the way he winks so naturally. He has nervous habits, like gliding his hands through his hair or moving it out of his face. He smiles and I stop breathing. His voice is a song.

I'm running towards him - not towards Earl, or towards anything else. Just Troy, nothing else matters.

"I love you too."

The words slip out of my mouth like a whisper. The images are fading and a sudden bright light is attacking my eyes.

My eyes blink open and I find myself lying in a bed. It was a dream.

My heart is still beating fast as I head towards the nearest bathroom. I glance into the mirror, meeting the same brown eyes I met the day before. I wash my face with cold water, hoping to remove the beads of sweat that formed during the night. I still feel a tug of concern from the dream. I want to believe it meant nothing - just a nervous, tossup of my imagination.

Am I falling too hard? I wonder, looking at my reflection.

I shake away unwanted thoughts as I head downstairs.

Eggs and bacon are being cooked in the kitchen. The smell nearly takes a hold of me as I stumble into the kitchen. The kitchen has a more country-like feel though the counters and cabinets are all wooden. There is a small table in the center of the room.

I notice Brooklyn by a pan of frying eggs, a cooking mitten placed on one of her hands. She looks flawless as she did the night before - her clothing looking expensive and chic. She wore a tank that seemed to flow to the beginning of her thighs - the tank dashed in flowers but without a conservative look. Her pants are black. Her hair is casted in dark curls that ride to her lower back. Again, I'm shocked my father can maintain such a lovely, fashion-obsessed woman.

She smiles at me as I walk into the kitchen - a more 'polite' smile than genuine. She lacks age lines and consistently reminds me of an eighteen year old.

"Morning, Gabriella," She says, chipper and chummy, "Sleep well?" Her eyes shift back to the eggs in the frying pan.

"Yeah . . . of course." I respond, trying to forget about the nightmare I had.

"Oh, that's good. I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything, you know? Just make yourself at home." She turns around and winks at me before continuing with breakfast.

Maybe she and Troy should meet after all. . .

"I hope you like eggs and bacon. I've always heard I'm a pretty good cook. My papa was a chef, after all." She chuckles, and when she says 'papa', I realize she may have some southern heritage to her.

She flips the eggs onto the plate and heads over towards the table, putting down a plate of what looks like delicious eggs and bacon strips.

"Thank you. . . I do like them." I respond, timidly, as I accept the plate.

She goes to grab her own and then takes a seat across from me.

"That's good. Your father just loves them - can't get enough of them." She grins about this, skittishly.

She seems to fade out with this statement, as if going into a daydream-like mode. I realize the realism of her feelings for my father.

The eggs and bacon are both extraordinary.

"They're very good." I try to maintain a civil and open-minded attitude towards her.

She seems to be afraid of the silence.

"Well, little darling, I'm glad you like them." She seems sincere about this and cracks her smile - her eyes representing the color of dark chestnut.

She's gorgeous - her face texture, perfect, her chin, perfect. I'm again, curious to whether she's a model or not. I personally am a bit jealous of her features, and the way she can say 'little darling' and get away with it.

"Is that my little girl in there?" A deep, masculine voice interrupts our conversation.

My eyes lift up to face my father - his chin jagged in a dark beard, his hair looking a bit out of date. It's as if he has aged more than the last time I seen him. I missed him though.

I smile at the sight of him, ignoring the hurt I feel inside about him and my mother.

"Papa. . ."

It's a mixture of excitement and rage that gets me up off of my feet and over towards him. He wraps his large arms around me and I cuddle my nose into the nook of his neck. I want so badly just to yell at him for the pain he has inflicted on Mama. I realize what is done is done though, time cannot be altered. I must abide with these changes, though I am stubborn.

He smells like licorice, something I always remember. Though he is always warm and I always feel secure in his grasp. Besides Troy, he is the only person I can sincerely hug and feel comfort through it.

"I'm so sorry about everything, pumpkin." He says to me, one of his hands resting at the tip of my hair.

He says it so lowly that Brooklyn does not hear.

"I didn't know how to feel - we kept on fightin', things got rough. I loved your mother, but sometimes, you just gotta let go. It's not fair, and what I did definitely wasn't . . . but I'm sorry, Gabriella." He whispers into my ear.

I want to ignore his apology and yell at him, but I don't. My mother is not happy. I know this. That's what hurts. But at the same time, when my father was with her, he wasn't happy. He thinks Brooklyn is good for him. She seems good for him. No one is better for him than my mother though, right? I feel torn between my mother's pain and my father's happiness. I want to face this with little difficulty. I already have enough to deal with.

"Its okay, Papa. I understand . . . she's really pretty." I tell him, forcing the words out of my mouth.

He seems confused by my response, "Really? Gabriella, do you like her? I think you'll love her once you get to know her."

"Of course." We break out of the embrace and I give him a weak, contrived smile.

"Greg? Babe, is that you?" The term 'babe' coming from Brooklyn sounds innocent as a rose, but at the same time, makes me slightly nauseous.

Awkwardly, I follow behind my father as he walks over to his new girlfriend and gives her a peck on the cheek. She smiles in response. I watch him as he heads to get some bacon and eggs, a look of satisfaction prominent on his face.

"Mm smells delicious." He compliments, putting the eggs and bacon onto a plate and heading towards the table.

The two seem obviously infatuated with each other as they begin to eat breakfast together.

"Gabriella, you can have some more if you like." Brooklyn adds to me, a sweet smile on her face.

I freeze as my father shifts his eyes over to me. They both look to me, suggestively.

"Actually. . . I um, was going to ask you, Papa," I look to my father, skeptically. "I . . . was hoping I could go to a party tonight."

I look to the ground, unsure of how he will respond.

He glances up, his mouth full with breakfast. He looks a bit surprised at first, and I can understand why. I am not usually invited to parties - I am not usually involved in any social activity, at all.

"Who's?" He asks his eyes still on me.

"Um . . . her name is Taylor McKessie. She's a very nice person, Papa. My friend, Troy, he would be picking me up-"

"Troy?" My father raises an eyebrow. "A boy?"

"Yes," I suck in breath, nervously, "he's not like most, Papa, even Mama knows. . ." I realize the awkwardness that appears from this comment.

"You would like him."

"Gabriella . . . if he's anything like that Eric boy-"

"No, not at all, I promise." I cut him off, desperate for my father's approval.

"He's amazing, Dad." The words come out without force at all - they're just there, soft and genuine.

My father's eyes become unreadable.

"Well . . . he has a really nice ride, Greg, I mean . . . he has one of those Audi R8's, I mean my God," Brooklyn looks to me with an understanding smile, "Those things are expensive."

I'm surprised that it's almost as if she's trying to help me out.

"I seen him park on the side of the road, dropping Gabriella off. I thought some celebrity was coming over." She chuckles.

"Well . . . as long as he's trustworthy. If he lets anything happen to you. . ." My father gives me threatening eyes. "I would like to meet him though, and look at that car." He chuckles, nodding to his girlfriend who just gives him a wink.

Yeah, they definitely need to meet Troy.

"You should have just yelled really loud into the phone - I would've woken up." Troy's lighthearted laugh eases my mind from the other end of the phone.

"With all that snoring, I'm positive you wouldn't have heard me." I joke, smiling.

"Snoring? Aw, man." He sucks in his breath, and then breathes it out, jestingly, "Do I actually?"

"Horribly, it was like, an old man." I can't help but laugh as I tease him.

"Hey, seriously, do I? Because that's kind of embarrassing. . ."

"That's so embarrassing - more embarrassing than getting new shoes and bragging about them." I chuckle at the memory and can't help but giggle as I imagine him making a face of annoyance at the comment.

"Ha, ha, ha. So, am I going to have to drive over there and kidnap you tonight or can I actually come up to the door and not act like I'm in the CIA?" He asks, chuckling.

"You can come to the door. I talked to my dad, he wants to meet you, I guess. Brooklyn thinks you have a cool car. I think you're going to have to come in. She has a wink, it's kind of weird."

"Are you serious? You know what, forget everything I said, your dad's new girlfriend seems cool. Seriously, El, you're gonna have to like her." He sounds like he's joking. "And are you implying that people who wink are weird?"

I giggle, "No, I think you two would be perfect for each other. Well, except for the fact that she's like forty yet looks like she's twenty."

"She must be hot then. Give her a chance." Troy persists, sounding a bit amused.

I roll my eyes, "You and my father are one in the same - pigs."

"Aw, El, you know I'm just messing around. I think you're really hot too." I can envision him smiling.

My eyes drift to the ground as my face grows hot, "So . . . um, what time are you coming over?"

"Uh . . . probably around six, six thirty. Is that alright with you?"

"Yeah, that sounds fine." I reply, biting my bottom lip. "So um. . . I'll talk to you later then?"

"Alright, sounds good. . ." He drifts off, as if he wants to say something else.

"Bye?" I'm not sure how to end this.

"Later, El. . ." That alone puts a smile on my face as I click 'END' on the cell phone.

I think I was in the bathroom about all day getting ready.

I straighten my hair for the first time in the longest time. It seems to go to my shoulders practically. I feel this is almost a success for me. With my eyes, I darken them with eye shadow and eyeliner. I feel a bit more confidence from this. When it comes to clothes, I have absolutely nothing. I rummage through my suitcase; desperate for something I can wear to impress Troy. My constant obsession with his hungry eyes, it's ridiculous.

My hands fall to a dress I have not worn since my younger sister's funeral. It seems to remind me of that dark, empty, sorrowful day. I almost cry just feeling the texture of it. I remember the tears that were shed, the words that were spoken. They never even found her body, yet they confirmed she was dead. It seems so ignorant how they just gave up on her. If she is alive though, she's probably with Earl somewhere, him torturing her like he tortures me, like he haunts my dreams, how he ruins my life in every possible way.

I find no other dress that seems formal, so I take this strapless plaid, blue and black dress that rides up to the top of my thighs, exposing more leg than usual, and I put it on. I stare at myself in the mirror for what seems like hours, straightening the dress, finalizing my makeup. I just want to look beautiful - just for him.

By six o'clock, I am downstairs, my legs shaking, my heart jumping out of my chest, my hands sweating. I'm not even sure why I'm so jittery - I know him so well. This isn't the first time we've done something together. I feel like a child again for getting excited all over about being with him.

"Well, isn't someone all dressed up for the evening? You look gorgeous, Gabriella." My father says, as he notices me before heading into the den. (Yes, Brooklyn has a den . . . can things get much better?).

"Thanks, Papa." I try to give him a more composed smile - it just falls and I become edgy again.

What will he think of me? Do I look okay? I hope this dress isn't too tight on me, or something. I hope my hair doesn't look stupid when it's straight. I hope Brooklyn and Papa like him. I hope he likes them. I hope everything goes well at the party.

My jumbled, neurotic thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. I feel butterflies in my stomach as I try to push away the pessimistic thoughts and hope for the better.

My legs are still shaking as I walk up to the door. My hands tremble as I twist the doorknob, revealing Troy Bolton.

I feel dumb immediately. He looks so laidback. He's wearing a plaid long-sleeved shirt that is rolled up to the end of his elbows. It's blue, red, and white, and I assume it's Hollister since there's a tiny bird on the pocket. His pants are dark, not-so-straight-legged. He wears a white belt, and I notice he abandoned his vans for the night. (Sad story, yes I know.) His hair is out of his face for once - his bangs tossed up, revealing his light blue eyes. He looks great, but that is never a surprise. He stands with his hands placed in his jean pockets, his eyes looking up to me in awe - the look I wanted so desperately.

"Wow, you look . . . wow, Gabriella." He looks me up and down.

His eyes stop at my eyes and I feel a lump form inside my stomach as that dazzling smile appears along with his white set of teeth.

"You look . . . great." His voice softens at the end of the statement and I can see the sincerity in his eyes.

"This must be Troy Bolton." My dad's turbulent voice interrupts our eye contact and I turn a little to notice him and Brooklyn standing behind us.

He looks at Troy unsurely, as if he doesn't know how to take him in yet. Brooklyn has her arms folded and she is also taking in Troy's appearance.

Troy advances towards my dad, cautiously, but a smile on his face, "It's great to finally meet you, Mr. Montez." The confidence that extrudes from him . . . it's unlike anything I have ever witnessed.

He doesn't seem nervous at all when he shakes my father's hand. His smile never fades.

"Brooklyn, that's a rather high-priced car you've got there," Brooklyn whips out her hand after Troy finishes shaking my father's hand.

She gives him a peculiar smirk as he shakes her hand, "I'm hoping your daddy's the one who fixed you up with such a treasure - wouldn't want a kid like you walking around with a bunch of cash. That's just dangerous."

She sounds almost serious and I feel a strange, awkward vibe enter the room.

I watch Troy with curiosity, worried of his reaction. However, he only sees passed this and chuckles, "Thanks, yeah, it was my dad's, trust me. It's nice to meet you." He's still polite and pleasant, even after pulling out of the hand contact.

He stands by me; I can feel a sense of uneasiness coming from him now. I notice he's rubbing at his arms and shifting his eyes around the room.

"So, you'll be in charge of my daughter for the night, eh?" My father gives Troy a look that can send any man's pride down within a second.

I'm shocked Troy does not run for the door.

"Uh, yes sir," Troy eyes pivot over towards me, "I can assure you that nothing will happen to Gabriella, nothing at all. I'll make sure of it, one hundred percent, Sir."

"It takes one second," My father mumbles, frowning at Troy, "you seem like an alright kid though. I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable if I have, I just care a lot for my daughter and I know there's a lot of things out to get her in the world."

The thought of Earl simply gives me a vile feeling.

"I understand, completely. I know exactly what you're talking about, and I won't let anything or anyone touch her. She'll be back before ten, if you want, I can make it earlier." Troy's persistency towards my father's approval is somewhat cute.

"And you're driving her in that car? Does it . . . run, all the time?" My father's unconvinced eyes move towards the window, glancing at the sensational Audi R8 that is placed on the side of the road.

"Greg, that car is worth more than my house, I'm sure it'll run. You remember this part, right? How'd you feel when you got surveyed by the father? Let them go, babe. You're making them feel awkward." Brooklyn chips in, elbowing my father, who looks stiff and dead-set on giving Troy a hard time.

My father sighs heavily, "Yeah, I do remember. . . I hated the overprotective, obnoxiously concerned father. And yet, here I am, becoming him. Well, I must ask one thing before I let you take my daughter out, Troy. Do you do sports?"

The heated room suddenly becomes more breathable. I notice Troy practically exhaling a breath in relief. I cannot help but giggle lightly as I look down to my hideous flats that I must have gotten at a garage sale. I can't remember.

"Yeah, I love sports." Troy looks more comfortable at this topic, even his voice seems louder. "I play basketball at East High, actually."

"Oh, really? So you're a basketball person, eh?" My father seems to have loosened up a bit. "How good?"

"Team captain, sir. . . I'm pretty good, I think." He's so cute when he shyly says this, his face turning a bit red.

I have never seen him so timid.

"Team captain, huh? That is pretty good, the best, right? You like any teams?" My father asks and I notice Brooklyn and I both roll our eyes in unison.

Troy's eyes seem to light up at the thought of basketball teams, "Actually, I only have one team really, and that's most-definitely the Lakers." He's grinning like a child now - as if he has just made some sort of accomplishment.

He's proud.

And when my father breaks out into a huge, approbating smile, I know nothing is standing in the way of me going out with Troy tonight.

"Lakers . . . the best, just the best. Did you see the game against Memphis?" My father asks, looking as enthralled as Troy.

"Aw, yeah, that was sick, Bynum was awesome." Troy's tone completely changes and it seems he's in complete 'guy-mode', if you understand what I am talking about.

He bites hit bottom lip excitedly and the nervousness he may have felt has vanished within seconds.

"You think they're gonna beat Utah?" My dad, he's in the same mode as Troy is in.

They are conversing more like children, like little boys. I glance over to Brooklyn who seems to be chuckling and shaking her head. Boys.

I've never heard Troy say the word 'sick' before.

"I dunno . . . it's always crazy, Utah's pretty good. I'm LA all the way though."

"Of course, the Lakers are quite possibly one of the greatest teams in basketball," My dad drags on, "you ever go to a game?"

"Yeah, I used to live in Santa Barbara; we'd head down to LA sometimes. My dad's a huge Lakers fan." Troy responds, charismatic as ever.

"Well then . . . you're definitely alright in my book then, kid." My father seems to like Troy immensely now, as he playfully slaps Troy's shoulder while walking passed.

Troy seems surprised but pleased as a smile appears across his lips.

"You stay around long enough; we could go to a game or something."

Troy blinks, looking even more exhilarated by the idea. "Yeah, that sounds great, really great, actually."

"Well, it was nice meeting you Troy. You two look cute together, by the way." Brooklyn adds, as my father disappears back into the house.

My eyes drift up to Troy who seems to blush a bit, "Aw, well, uh . . . we try. . ." He scratches the back of his head gawkily as she chuckles and heads into the house also.

Troy opens the front door for me, exposing the darkness of the night. I shiver as I walk out the door, realizing I didn't think about bringing a coat. At night, Albuquerque can have rather mild temperatures.

I head towards Troy's fantastic car. It's so wonderful. The moonlight seems to inspirit its silver color.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" Troy's voice plays across my ears from a small distance away.

"I'm getting into your car, what do you think, you goober?" I chuckle, opening the car door, ignoring his overdramatic gasp, as if I am doing something horribly wrong.

Within seconds, he is in the driver's seat, his eyes not facing me, the moon's milky color gliding across the ridges of his face, making him look even more extraordinary than he already is. For a second, everything is still and quiet and neither of us say a word. I can see the faint trace of a smile on his lips.

"I was gonna open the door for you." His eyes meet mine finally, breaking the quietude between us.

"You and my dad got along way too well back there." I chuckle, now smiling.

"I think your dad is pretty cool, actually. At first I was petrified to be honest; I mean . . . he was totally glaring at me, El. I thought he was gonna like, grab a shotgun and shoot me with it."

I giggle at his insane assumption, "You're officially cool with him. You mentioned the Lakers. I completely forgot how big of a fan he is." I roll my eyes. "But. . . I don't know how you do it."

He chuckles and leans closer towards me, his light blue eyes becoming the only thing I can look into, "You really look great, Gabriella. I mean . . . you look beautiful." He whispers, the words repeating in my head over and over.

He moves in even closer so our lips can touch - he's so gentle and heartfelt. Our kiss only lasts a few seconds.

He starts up the car and puts it into drive. He then gingerly rests his hand upon my thigh and I feel a comfort from that alone.

"I feel pretty cool right now. I might not have my new shoes on, but I'm sitting next to the most beautiful girl in the world. Everything will be perfect tonight, El, I promise."

And maybe I'm the only one who believes tonight may be too good to be true.