A/N: Sorry this took so long! I've been busy with summer AP homework. Seriously, NOT looking forward to the new school year. I hope there's no mistakes, because I didn't get a chance to read through it. I'm leaving to go somewhere right now, but I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer! Okay, and thanks SOOOOOO much for all the reviews. You guys are amazing. Seriously. 108 reviews for one chapter? AHHHHH! I love you!
Friday, October 9, 2007. My bedroom, 7:26 AM.
Elle-- Pick you up at 7:40. Troy
What a wake up call, huh? I guess I won't have to walk to school today after all. Not that I ever really did, anyway. I didn't go to school yesterday, and the day before, Mr. Bolton picked me up. It's strange how that all works out.
But I'm a little nervous for school today. It's my first time with everyone thinking that I've slept with someone, you see. I don't even know why people would believe such a thing. I mean, I'm Gabriella Montez. School nerd. Girl who's never had a boyfriend. And then I'm suddenly the girl who's had sex with Troy Bolton, East High's superstar basketball player? Do you get how illogical that sounds? Although, I guess Shannon did have some 'proof'. Even if nothing happened.
Oh, speaking of proof. I'd better finally take the package of condoms out of my backpack. Seriously, it's been in there for days. I feel like a guy. Except, guys put condoms in their wallets, right? I hope they know that by doing that, they can never be able to use the condom. My health teacher from ninth grade says small tears form in the latex. I wonder how many teenagers now have a baby because they used a condom that's been in a wallet for an extended period of time . . .
Okay, so where am I supposed to put them? The condoms, I mean. I can't just place them oh-so-casually in my bathroom cabinet. That'd be like asking my mom to join East High in thinking that I'm sexually active. But I can't put them in a drawer, either. What if my mom comes in here to put clothes away or something?
Someone just knocked on my door. Great, it's probably my mom. What do I do?!
AHH!!
Friday, October 9, 2007. Troy's car, 7:51 AM.
It wasn't my mom. But that still doesn't justify the fact that Troy randomly opened my door-- having been knocking for three minutes -- to see me standing in the middle of my room, holding a package of condoms. He burst out laughing while I quickly threw them behind my back, blushing profusely.
"Um, Elle?" he asked, striding into my room.
He stood in front of me, looking down at my head, for I was staring at my feet. Troy reached an arm behind my back, but I shifted my body weight, keeping the condoms out of his reach. He made another wild snatch with his other arm, but I still managed to keep the package away. Somehow, he ended up practically hugging me, he was so close, and with his head tucked over my shoulder, we were wrestling while we stood, he for the condoms and me for keeping them away from him.
And I really, really have to say that Troy smells amazing. Seriously, I thought his jacket and sweatshirt smelt good. The real thing is SO much better. I really think that was the closest Troy and I have ever been to each other. It wasn't even awkward, like you would think it would have been. It almost seemed . . . Natural.
"Troy, stop," I laughed, taking a step backward from him. It was no use, for he matched my step in unison, wrapping his arms around my sides as he finally pressed his hands over the box.
Troy moved his head back, looking me in the eye. He had a satisfied grin on his face and a playful glint in his impossibly blue eyes. "I can't believe it," he said.
"What?" I asked distantly. Because, c'mon. Troy Bolton's face was mere inches from my own. Troy Bolton was practically pressed up against me completely. Troy Bolton had his arms wrapped tightly around my waist. And Troy Bolton's hands were grazing my own, which were still clutching the condoms behind my back. I'm lucky I hadn't passed out yet.
"That innocent Gabriella Montez is holding a box of condoms," he clarified.
I closed my eyes as his hand moved purposefully until it was on top of my hand. "Are you forgetting who made me buy them in the first place?"
I opened my eyes to see Troy staring down at me. He had an odd expression on his face, one I've never seen before. I felt his slightly callused fingers brushing over the top of my hand. Our breathing had quickened without either of us noticing. And then . . . Well, this is the part that sucks. My phone rang, signaling that I had received a text message. Troy released me, somehow getting a hold of the package of condoms as I turned to check my phone.
It was a message that Troy had sent six minutes before, one that I should have gotten six minutes before if it wasn't for my bad service connection. But I guess I'm sort of glad Troy and I were interrupted. He sort of . . . Intimidates me at times. I mean, he's so experienced with girls and I'm . . . Well, me.
Oh, we're here. At school, I mean. Great. Now I can begin my day of being called a slut. Sounds like so much fun! Ahem.
"Elle," Troy just said to me. "If anyone does anything to you . . . Would you just come and tell me?
I didn't know Troy had a protective side. This is awfully new. Maybe because I gave him a hint that I kind of like him in that way?"
"Um, sure," I said quietly. "But you know I probably won't."
Troy grinned, played absently with his keys. "I know, you're just stubborn that way. But, seriously. Just remember that you can tell me. If you need to."
I smiled slightly, then turned to let myself out of his car.
Friday, October 9, 2007. Homeroom, 8:20 AM.
Sorry I was cut off at that moment. It would have been nice if I could mange to walk away from that conversation all confident and pretty, like people in the movies do. But I guess I can't even manage to do the walking part, let alone the looking pretty part.
That's right, a few steps from Troy's car and I had somehow managed to trip, dropping all my books to the ground. Troy was behind me within seconds, laughing in that way where it wasn't necessarily a teasing laugh, just laughing at how clumsy I am.
"Are you okay?" he asked between chuckles. He bent down to scoop up my books while I brushed dirt off of my jeans.
"Fine," I replied stiffly. "I do this practically every day, anyway, so . . ."
He started laughing again. Not knowing what else to do, I swerved and made a grab for my books. This time, it was Troy who was keeping something out of my reach.
"Nuh uh, I don't want you tripping again," Troy informed me. He tucked my books safely under his arm and started walking toward the school entrance. "I don't know if the next time you trip in the parking lot, a car will come zooming along."
I hadn't thought about that. A parking lot filled with student drivers really isn't the best place to lose your footing, is it? What a horrible way to die . . .
Here Lies Gabriella Anne Montez. 1990-2007 May the rock that tripped her and the car that smashed into her always rest in hell.
Are people even allowed to have the word hell on their tombstones? Would that just curse the person to live in hell for all eternity? Like, oh, look, it's the entrance to heaven! Then an angel tells you your stupid 'loved ones' carved the word hell on your tombstone, so you aren't permitted to be in heaven anymore. Talk about having bad luck. Which I have, so this would probably happen to me.
Anyway, I don't know why, but for some reason people seemed to notice the fact that Troy was carrying my books for me. You'd think they would taunt me about being a slut or whatever, but as soon as they saw my textbooks and a smaller book, otherwise known as this diary, with the words Gabriella Anne Montez scrawled across the cover, all thoughts about me sleeping with Troy were pushed from their minds.
At least, at the time, anyway. It may have bought me the courtesy of not being called names in the hallway, but people got their brains back around the time that I was taking my seat in homeroom. Just after Troy dumped my books onto my desk and said rather cheekily, "Don't let them fall off, now!"
As soon as Troy had taken his seat in front of me, a wadded up piece of paper hit me square in the back of my head.
What, sleeping with Troy isn't enough for you, Montez? You had to go and make him your slave ?
Obviously it was from Shannon. Sure, Lindsay could have written it, but I don't think she's exactly that literate. That and the fact that when I turned around in my seat, Shannon was glaring at me viciously. She couldn't have been more obvious if she were holding a blinking, pink neon colored sign over her head that read I WROTE THE NOTE!
I ripped the note to shreds just as Troy turned around in his seat. Apparently he had finished getting situated with his books and such. He placed an elbow on my desk, leaning his chin onto his hand lazily.
"What's that?" he asked, nodding his head toward the pile of demolished paper that was formally Shannon's hate note.
"I was just . . . Doodling on a piece of paper," I said slowly, coming up with my response as I said it.
Troy shrugged, lifting his head off his hand to run a hand through his shaggy hair. "So, I was thinking yesterday about what I want us to do tonight," he said casually.
I'm not going to lie. You know how in those romance books where the guy says something and the girl's heart like, jumps? I used to think that was just cheesy, fluffy writing. Until I felt my heart burst from my ribcage and fall to the floor. Okay, so it didn't leave my body. But it sure felt like it did.
"What did you decide?" I asked, hoping he couldn't hear my heart pounding a million times a second.
"Well, first I thought we could go bowling, but then I remembered how clumsy you are," he said with a playful grin. "I think taking you bowling would be adding insult to injury."
"Literally." I could already imagine myself slipping mid-throw and following my ball down the lane, crashing into the pins. Hey, at least I would get a strike, right?
"So I thought of something else we could do that wouldn't be challenging your ability to stand on two feet," he teased. "But I'm not going to tell you what it is."
"Why?" I whined. "You can't do that, what if I was going to wear my dress for the dance and you took me to a McDonalds?"
"First of all, I would never take a girl to McDonalds unless we were both hungry and there was no In'N'Out in sight," Troy said lightly. "Second of all, you said you never bought a dress, remember?"
Well, I did tell him that yesterday. But, still, how was I going to know what to wear? Luckily Troy said he had that situation 'covered'. Whatever that means . . . I didn't get a chance to question him further, because Ms. Brown walked into the classroom to ramble on about the announcements. You know, the usual, "Throwing food in the cafeteria is not allowed, although some of you seem to think it is. The Back To School Dance is tonight, but remember that drinking is not permitted."
Blah, Blah, Blah . . .
She's still rambling on and on. I don't know why there's so much for her to say today. I would be perfectly happy with, "So, today is Friday! Yay!"
But, no. We have to listen to her talk about how someone made a freshman burst into random classes yesterday, wearing an afro and singing Baby Got Back. How I wasn't informed of this sooner, I don't know. Although I do have an inkling on who made the freshman do that.
Ahem, Chad, ahem.
Finally. I can't believe how long that took. Now we only have like, fifteen minutes of Homeroom left. Only fifteen minutes to study with Troy.
Friday, October 9, 2007. Chemistry, 10:12 AM.
Taylor will not stop hyperventilating over the fact that Troy's taking me somewhere tonight. When I told her the date wasn't even official, she started informing me of her older sister's 'dating rules'. Apparently rule number four is that, "All dates are official, whether the guy knows it or not."
And then I guess Terry overheard our conversation. We're supposed to be doing a lab right now, but Terry is kind of sitting in the corner, shooting me death glares. I swear, I would be dead at least one thousand times if looks could kill. Girls I don't even know have been glaring at me. It just goes to show how popular Troy Bolton is. Every girl has wanted him at one time or another. It's probably in the East High Code Book. A girl has to be in love with Troy Alexander Bolton.
Then there's the looks I've been getting from guys. Looks that scare me because you can literally see the lust burning when they look at me. I guess because I've 'slept' with the school's main man, other guys see me as a girl who will put out. Seniors have been looking at me all weirdly too. It's all just very emotional.
"Need some help?"
Devin's just come over from his and Taylor's lab table. Apparently she wants to do this particular lab herself, so Devin has nothing to do.
"I have a perfectly good partner," I said sarcastically.
We both turned to look at Terry who, scarily enough, was fingering a rather sharp math compass.
"That is, until he stabs you with that thing," Devin said, pulling up a stool next to mine. "So I hear you're officially on the list, now."
"What list?" I asked, measuring some copper wire for the lab.
Devin handed me a pair of scissors so I could cut the wire, then said, "The list of girls that allow guys to sleep with them."
I pointed the scissors menacingly at him. "You know that's not true."
Devin grinned, placing his fingers on the blade of the scissors to turn them away from his chest. "I know, but it's hilarious watching Bolton's reaction to the guys who don't know it's a false accusation."
I retracted the scissors from Devin to snip the wire. "What do you mean?"
"Bolton and I have second period together," he clarified. "And this dude was talking to another guy about how you were, you know, on the list."
"What does that have to do with Troy?"
"The fact that he looked like he wanted to rip both of the guys' heads off."
What is up with Troy today? He's being all overprotective and . . . And jealous, even. Is this a sign that one of my plans is actually working? Because it's obvious that my How To Get Over Troy Bolton In Four Days plan never worked out.
"So you and Bolton," Devin mentioned playfully. "Tonight, eh?"
"We're just going somewhere as friends," I argued.
"Gabs, friends don't take friends out on surprise dates," Devin said, like I was supposed to be experienced with this sort of thing.
"How'd you know it was a surprise?" We both looked over at Taylor who as scribbling furiously on her lab worksheet. "Never mind," I added knowingly.
"Just make sure you don't mess this one up, okay?" Devin said, crossing his arms. "I don't know how much damage control I can take care of."
"What would I mess up?" I asked, measuring out some water in a test-tube.
Devin took the water form me and poured into the graduated cylinder where a chemical reaction caused the contents to fizz. "Important . . . Actions."
What is it with all the guys in my life being so skeptical? And guys think girls are hard to read? Psh, yeah right.
Friday, October 9, 2007. Lunch, 12:17 PM.
History today with Lindsay was interesting. But only because she didn't do anything. Like, she didn't even glare at me like the rest of the girl population. It was almost as if she were a normal person. And then when I asked the teacher if I could use the restroom, when I came out of the stall, Lindsay was leaning against the sinks. Waiting for me.
And here's the weird part: she wasn't there to yell at me like she has done in the past. No, she was there to congratulate me.
She was like, "Hello, Isabella."
She still doesn't know my name. but then again, I'm not even sure if Chad does, so . . .
"Um, hi, Lindsay," I muttered politely, moving to the sinks to wash my hands.
"I just wanted to tell you that I'm erm, glad Troy isn't with Shannon anymore," she said awkwardly, fluffing her blonde hair.
"Troy broke up with her all on his own," I told her.
"You don't think you had some sort of influence?" she asked me.
I know. I was shocked too. Lindsay using the word influence? What is happening in this world?
"We were in a fight, Lindsay," I said, drying my hands with a paper towel. "We weren't even talking."
"Look, I may not be good at like, English and Math," Lindsay began .
That's the understatement of the century.
"But I'm good at the important things, like hair and nails and knowing when a guy likes a girl."
Hair and nails? Important things?
"And Troy has always liked you, Isabella," Lindsay finished. "Even when he probably didn't know he did."
"And you're okay with that?" I asked cautiously. I mean, come on. This is the girl that made a fake website saying that I was Troy's stalker.
"I think you're better than Shannon," Lindsay clarified. "And I think we both know Troy will never take me back, so I just have to move on."
"That's . . . Really mature of you," I said, shocked.
Lindsay pulled out a lipstick from her purse and turned to the mirror. "Yeah, well, this senior on the soccer team asked me out yesterday, so I may as well go along with it."
I stood there, watching her re-apply her pink lipstick. She was actually being reasonable for once.
"But I'd watch out for Shannon," Lindsay advised. "She's really out to get you."
No kidding. A couple minutes ago, when I was walking to the cafeteria, Shannon practically barreled into me. Luckily I didn't fall to the floor, but I stumbled into a group of freshman. I think I scared them. Oh, well.
So now I'm sitting at a table with Taylor, Chad, Sharpay, Zeke, Kelsi, Jason, Martha, and even Ryan. He just got back from his audition thing and is excitedly discussing it with Martha. I think they may be going to the dance tonight.
Oh, Troy's back from the cafeteria line. I don't know how he stays so thin with all the stuff he eats. He's holding a tray that's loaded with two cheeseburgers, chili fries, a package of Lays, four chocolate-chip cookies, a pudding cup, an orange Gatorade, an apple juice, and a diet coke. But, then again, all the guys at this table have trays similar to Troy's. Must be the basketball player metabolism.
And now he's sitting next to me and my usual bagged lunch, tossing one of the cookies to Sharpay. "Here," he said, ripping open the bag of Lays.
"Thanks!" Sharpay exclaimed, sitting back into her seat with the treat. She sent Zeke a fake glare. "I wouldn't have to be eating a school cookie if someone brought me his homemade cookies."
Zeke smiled apologetically at his girlfriend. "Sorry, Shar, I left them on the table this morning."
What the? Oh. Troy just placed the diet coke on top of this diary. I looked over at him, but he was acting as if it were no big deal. Like he did it every day or something. And, okay. It left a large, wet ring on the next page of this diary, but the action was rather . . . Sweet. Troy Bolton is being sweet. To ME!
I have to go, now. Besides the fact that I can't write on the next page while it's wet, I have a feeling another food fight will break out. I don't think this diary can handle much more.
Friday, October 9, 2007. My Bedroom, 4:37 PM.
Today wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. On the contrary, today was a really, really nice day. Troy is acting different, but a good different for once. Devin has no hard feelings about me ditching him for Troy. Lindsay actually acted normal. And I sat at a lunch table with some really great friends. Some of them even guys. It may not seem like much, but a couple weeks ago, I was a nerd sitting at a table with the Scholastic Decathlon team.
The only thing that dampened my day were the angry, glaring people, but I can handle it. So far Shannon hasn't done anything stupid, either. I just have to be on the lookout.
Wait. Actually, the glaring people aren't the only thing that's bothering me right now. What the heck am I supposed to do about my . . . Date. With Troy. Tonight. Sure, he drove me home after his basketball practice, but we just talked about how I saw Ms. Darbus at the restaurant yesterday. We both agreed to try to find out who the guy she was with is. It's our project.
He did say he was picking me up at seven tonight, but he mentioned nothing along the lines of what we are to be doing. What if I wear jeans and a T-shirt and he takes me to the beach? I have no idea what to do . . .
Friday, October 9, 2007. My Bedroom, 4:42 PM.
Do you think just a simple pair of shorts and a dressy shirt will suffice? It's got both casual and fancy-ness in there.
RIGHT?!
Friday, October 9, 2007. My Bedroom, 4:47 PM.
I am so beyond bad at this.
Friday, October 9, 2007. My Bedroom, 6:58 PM.
You know you have good friends when they come over to your house, completely disregarding the fact that the dance is tonight. And I have Sharpay and Taylor. I didn't even expect them to come, they just showed up -- already in their dresses -- and pushed me into my bathroom.
"Sharpay," I gasped as she tugged at my tangled hair. "It's not even an official date."
Taylor shushed me by rubbing some substance onto my cheeks. "Gabs, any time you're alone with Troy Bolton it's a date. Especially since this time you can't just say you're tutoring him."
She had a point.
But seriously, I think I understand what Troy meant when he said he had everything 'under control'. He probably told Sharpay and Taylor what he was planning and made them dress me and slather makeup on me.
Seriously. I have never looked more like a girl than I do now. But I still look like myself, I guess. In a way. I mean, the last time they 'made me over', it was over the top. This time I feel comfortable.
I'm wearing a pair of jeans that are tighter than how I usually wear them. They're called skinny jeans or something. And Sharpay made me put on this tight, white lacy shirt that ends just past the button of my jeans. Over that, I have this blue plaid vest-thing that has a bow that ties at the bottom in the back. For shoes, I'm wearing a pair of black ballet flats that are surprisingly very comfortable.
My hair . . . Well, my hair took a LONG time. First they straightened it, which hurt. But then they curled the ends, making my hair look shinny and slightly wavy. I actually like it. Sure, I could have done without them poking me in the eye with the mascara. I think the makeup is the only thing I'm not exactly comfortable with. It's quite dark, with black eyeliner and gold eye shadow. But as Sharpay and Taylor said, it really makes my eyes 'pop'.
All in all, I actually look . . . Good. I look like someone Troy Bolton would date. I look pretty. Well, Sharpay and Taylor used the word hot, but I wouldn't exactly go that far.
So now I'm waiting for Troy to get here. It's almost seven o'clock, so it should only be a few more minutes.
Oh, my gosh. I'm nervous.
A/N: So what'd you think? Sorry that the 'date' wasn't in this chapter. The entire next one is about the date, so look forward to it! And if you review, you get a preview of it! Cheers!
--crystalbluu