A/N: Okay guys, this is the last chapter, and next is the epilogue. Wow, this story has taken me much longer than anything else, but you guys have been incredible patient. :) So thank you. The lyrics in this chapter are Coldplay's 'Yellow' but they come a little while later. -love- Desireé

Lizzie- Ah, we were at the Hollywood Christmas, er, Santa Parade—I know, lame name. :P Anyway, nah, it was just Kaycee there, she was representing High School Musical 2, but last year I met Corbin Bleu and Ashley Tisdale and Monique Coleman since my sister wanted pictures, so it's like I'm working my way through the cast. :D Maybe one day I'll meet Zac… Oh, and my hair is short and choppy and blonde-borderline brown. That sounds a little funky but yeah, it's like a shaggy pixie cut.

Lucy- May I call you Lucy? I looked on your profile for a name, so I assume this is what you wish to be called? Ah, anyway, wow reading your review nearly knocked me off my chair. I am grateful those words had such a great impact on you. :)

Chapter Twenty-One, Like a Star

"Nah, I'm just a basketball player. But you, Brie, you're a star."

The radio seemed to be playing tricks as Gabriella's fingers flew across the buttons, constantly changing stations as an incongruous row of songs played consecutively on every wavelength. Liz Phair's oldie 'Why Can't I?' blared into the Escape's speakers with the singer's whiny but smooth voice, "Why I can't I breathe whenever I think about whenever I think about you? Why can't I speak whenever I talk about you?" The driver shivered and tuned the knob. Now Taylor Swift's 'Our Song,' singing the inevitable, "Our song is the slammin' screen doors, sneakin' out late tappin' on your window." Corinne Bailey Rae topped the list, "Just like a star across my sky, just like an angel off the page, you have appeared to my life, feel like I'll never be the same."

"Great," Gabriella mumbled, turning the sound system off completely. Maybe silence was what she needed. Take one breath, in and out, and repeat. She was only having a tiny confidence error, which could be easily fixed. Yes, that was all.

She barely made it another few miles, before her body nearly shut down and she was forced to again pull to the shoulder of the highway. "What do you do now, Brie?" she asked herself. "When you choose to leave, you gain so much responsibility. And that means you can't go running to Mommy this time."

But you can call Dad, an eerie voice rang in her head. She picked up her cell phone and swallowed. She was hardly out of Albuquerque, it was a silly notion for him to come get her. He picked up on the second ring, and she cleared her throat promptly. "Daddy, it's me, Gabriella."

"Honey!" he exclaimed. "You on the road? Oh, I'm so glad you're coming out here. What's up? Out of gas or something? Chevron's your best bet, it's got the best service out there, if I remember correctly." Christian was a good man with good intentions and even better ideas, but there was always a point in time where your family's flaws could be so barefaced and flagrant.

"Daddy, I'm just only out of Albuquerque." Gabriella voice reduced to a quiver as she whimpered, "I don't know who I was kidding when I suggested I drive out there. Can you fly out here, maybe? And we'll drive together, or something?" She could hear the silent hesitation of the other line, but this was desperate times, which called for desperate measures. "Not right away, I don't want to launch some big responsibility on you, but um… I can't do this by myself."

A sigh blasted her ear, and she pursed her lips in frustration. This was just like her father. "Okay," Christian agreed after a while. Gabriella felt the weights on her shoulders lift. "I'll come out," he said, "Next week. How does that sound?"

Next week? When she said 'not right away,' she was thinking maybe tomorrow or the day after. But a whole seven days was a very, very long period of time. Especially when Troy had left her with those very haunting words. Seven days gave her too much leeway, too much time to reconsider this brash action. The convenience of leaving town and living with her father for a while was that Gabriella didn't have to think about it. She would just do it. Now that plan was slipping from her grasp like sand in the wind. "Yes, Daddy," she said. "That sounds fine. Thanks."

He smiled, she knew, despite the fact she could not see his face. "I'll call you tomorrow, all right? It's not too dark, I hope—call your mother to tell her you're coming home."

Damn. She was hoping he wouldn't mention anything like going home. "S-sure," Gabriella replied, "I'll call her now."

"Bye, Ella. Love you, hope to see you soon, okay?"

"Okay, Dad. Bye."

Click. Dead air.

…

Theresa had seemed none too surprised when Gabriella appeared around dinnertime, half-flushed and nearly in tears. "It gets so dark so soon!" she cried as she rushed into her mother's arms. The woman cooed in a besotted tone, her lips tugging at her to smile.

"Oh, Gabriella," she said in a motherly tone for which Gabriella had longed during the short time on the road, "You're home for now." Theresa had the feeling the girl wouldn't stick around for long, and she grimly found herself to be correct when Gabriella explained Christian would come get her soon. "Oh. Your father's coming out. Well, I'll have to clean up the house then, won't I?"

At this, Gabriella shrunk back against the couch, holding her hot chocolate protectively. She wondered what it was like to be divorced, to wake up to an empty side of the bed every day. Maybe the pain subsided after a while, and bitterness replaced it. That's how she was with Troy, she realized. But something screamed at her, declaring there was still time left. "There's always time," she whispered, and Theresa glanced at her.

"Something on your mind, Gabriella?" she asked with an interested smirk.

Shaking her head, Gabriella suddenly felt angry. Not at Theresa, not at herself, but at Troy. Déjà vu, because she had been so furious with him many times in recent months, but now she incandescently irate. This was his fault. Every time he popped into her thoughts, his blame became more and more credible. If he hadn't been so horribly Casanova on her with those stupid last words about being a star and everything, she wouldn't have broken down on the highway and she wouldn't be back in this stuffy little town with clenched fists and an irregular breathing pattern. "Whoa, calm down, child. You're going to hyperventilate," Theresa warned, reaching across the couch to rest her hand on Gabriella's knee. "What on earth is wrong?"

"Troy!" Gabriella retaliated apoplectically. "He's always what's wrong. God, where is he, anyway? Where is that stupid… Ugh!"

Glancing at an imaginary watch on her wrist, Theresa closed one eye for a minute, as if to get a clearer image of her daughter. "Well, I would imagine he would be home by now. It's nearly seven o'clock, people are usually sitting down to dinner around this time," she said, her voice flat like the robotic time lady's. "You have something you need get off your chest?"

"He's so…" Gabriella found herself at a loss for words, until, "freaking cute!" exploded from her mouth. Theresa burst out laughing and her daughter glared at her trenchantly.

"What? Oh, you cannot blame me for thinking this young romantic turmoil is just adorable," the woman defended herself with a sly smile. "And it's obvious you two are the Golden Couple—I mean, pretending you were actually together—so this little turbulence just makes me smile. Reminds me of younger days, when I was chasing guys and running from them and everything in between."

This was no help whatsoever. Gabriella was wheezing now, her head dry and her mouth numb—wait, that wasn't it. Mouth dry and head numb? Yes, that was how it went. Still there was no difference in how she felt, it was all the same result: she wanted to see Troy. "I have… Been up and down… This stupid poignant roller… Coaster… With him…" She could barely breathe, and her mother cautioned her to calm down.

"You look ready to faint," Theresa said worriedly. "Why don't you go rest up? I'll come check out you later with a sandwich, and some iced tea, your favorite kind. But you need sleep, I think."

No other available logic to aid her, Gabriella nodded and stood up slowly, trying to steady herself as she made her way to her bedroom. The bed soaked her with a demonstrative touch that she couldn't believe she was ready to forgo. She let her mind dull down to a fluttery slumber, rocking back and forth as she fell into Dreamland.

Whoever invented the idea of 'sleep' deserved a hug.

Six days pass successfully, but there is a tugging feeling inside Gabriella by the seventh day.

The first six days were much like the biblical myth of how God created the world. Gabriella found herself working steadily, cleaning up the house and cleaning out the old junk she no longer needed, nor did Theresa. But the seventh day, also known as Sabbath, was the climax to her long-spent term of thinking about Troy.

It was late, another Wednesday night, when she was going through her things again, the stuff she had deemed inappropriate to take with her to California. So many pictures and notes scribbled in class and memoirs and posters that had beautiful meaning somewhere across their marks and swirls and glittery spots. She carefully maneuvered herself around things that would be reminiscent of Troy, although Theresa 'accidentally' brought up the Boltons that evening when they were enjoying TV dinners in front of what else? The television.

"You talked to Taylor at all this past week?" the woman asked, stabbing her microwaved macaroni with her fork.

Gabriella stared at the TV screen. Another sitcom, hoping to be accepted into the competitive world of champions like Friends and Everybody Loves Raymond. Life was a sitcom, she decided then. "No," she responded quietly. "I decided not to attract any more attention to myself than I already have. They all think I'm in L.A. by now."

There was a pause, and Theresa laid her fork down across the plastic tray, inattentively regarding the mashed potatoes in the corner of the platter. "Oops," she murmured.

"What?" Gabriella didn't love the tone of Theresa's voice.

"Well… I mentioned your, um, temporary return, here. To Lillian. Bolton," she added, as if there were so many Lillians in Gabriella's life. "And, um, Jack, too. I'm sure April and Troy know."

So much for staying discreet. "Thanks, Mom," Gabriella mumbled. "Now I…" She felt tears crowd in her eyes, like there was a sudden incentive to be sad, and there was, now that she thought about it. Tomorrow she would be leaving, and the words of But you, Brie, you're a star still swam through her veins like the required blood her body demanded.

"Child, it's late. Tomorrow, I think your father is planning to come early and hopefully you'll leave quickly," Theresa snuck the bitter comment in and Gabriella closed her eyes, "without dragging on the courtesy words and all that jazz. So why don't you take a shower and just get ready for tomorrow? I'm sure if you can't sleep we can find a movie to watch, but I think you'll be better off with a good night's rest for the road back to California."

More déjà vu. Theresa was so insistent on sleep; it was like Gabriella was a walking ad for Lunesta. "Okay," she said, deciding not to argue, "Night, Mom."

But even after the shower, even after washing her face and brushing her teeth and combing her hair and listening to some old mixed tracks from her middle school years, nothing felt better. If possible, the ache in Gabriella was just worse. And however painful it was to admit it, Troy looked like the only cure.

It was eleven-thirty by the time she finally agreed with herself on going over to the Bolton house. Your father is planning to come early. This was now or never. "Always with the drama," Gabriella mumbled, slinging on her jacket and picking up her cell phone. Theresa was asleep in her room across the hall, and Gabriella taped a message to the bedside lamp in case the sometimes paranoid mother woke up to her child's lack of existence.

The dark had a bad effect on Gabriella as she gripped the steering wheel and coughed a few times in the cold Escape, waiting for it to warm up as she drove toward Troy's place. Every stretch of pavement, every stop sign to which she obeyed even with the deserted streets, every inch of earth she drove across seemed to keep slipping her back toward the Montez residence. It was late, and anything could have happened in a week. Maybe he got a girlfriend. No, he couldn't have, answered the voice inside her. "Well, he probably doesn't want to see me," she suggested.

He does, you know that as well as anyone does.

"He's probably asleep," Gabriella ascertained.

Boys in love don't sleep, ever. Some call it a disorder, but Troy calls it a privilege.

"He doesn't love me." Even Gabriella could hear the dishonesty in her words.

Yes, he does. There's a reason he called you a star.

"Oh," was all she could manage.

Yes, oh.

Now that she was actually in front of the Bolton house, her eyes staring at the lit window in the top left hand corner, her hands loosening their grasp on the car's wheel, Gabriella wondered why she had been so detestable toward Troy this year. Everything he did was for her. Natasha and Rory and Sam. The dates. The kisses. The truths she hadn't realized existed. But he had also left her with an agonizing choice, a guilt. "Stupid idiot," she said bleakly.

She sat in the car for maybe half an hour, before it began to rain, and the car was foggy to the point where she could barely see past the few feet of brightness the headlights gave. The door opened to the house, and she felt her heart stop.

Troy stood, and waited. He knew. She swallowed and got out of the car, her head knowing exactly what to say, when her heart begged to differ. "You bastard," she spat, and her heart wrenched in half at these words. Mind over matter, she pleaded herself.

"What now?" he asked through the rain, coming down to meet her. He looked cold, in a matter of emotions, not physical warmth. In fact, even in a simple t-shirt and boxers, Troy looked better than ever. Gabriella weakened at this. He was better off without her.

Look at the stars, look how they shine for you.

"Do you know how much… How much… Hurt I have suffered for the last week?" she said crossly, trying to leak as much venom from her mouth as possible. "You couldn't bear to leave me at peace, could you? You had to tell me I was a star, and how I should remember you one day when I was famous."

He stared past her, although she knew very well that the nightly overcast weather would make it difficult to see anything. "Troy," Gabriella hissed, and he blinked, meeting her glacial stare. "I want to know why you couldn't just leave it at the stupid sex we had the night before. Why you couldn't—"

"Stupid?" he inquired impassively, crossing his arms over his chest. By now, they were both soaked, though a little moisture wasn't enough to break their brazen fronts. "Well, sorry, Gabriella, I wouldn't have wasted my time if that's all you thought it was."

And everything you do, yeah they were all yellow

She swallowed, unprepared for this remark. "That's not what I meant," she replied, her cheeks going scarlet despite the morbid nature condition. "I just want to know why you had to…" She searched for the right term. "Psych me out. Didn't you think maybe we could just be at a peaceful close? Nothing too sappy or 1950s-romantic movie ending?"

He smiled, and she squirmed. Why was Troy smiling? "I didn't know you'd get so freaked by it," he said, rocking on his bare feet. "I just said what I felt. Isn't that what Dr. Seuss said?"

A puddle in the lawn had distracted her, and Gabriella's neck snapped as she looked up. "What?"

"You know, 'Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those you matter don't mind.'" Troy smoothed one side of her hair and she shivered at the trace of that soul she loved. "I was who I was and I said what I felt. Do you mind?"

I came along, I wrote a song for you

"No," she whispered. "I don't." He waited, knowing there was more to come. "But I hate that you said it anyway. For the last seven days, I have been shredding myself to pieces because I kept thinking about what you said."

For a moment, Troy looked up at the sky, and suddenly, the rain cleared. No more clouds, no more drops, nothing but the moon beating down upon their shoulders. "Well, I didn't mean for it to be so… Annoying," he replied.

"But that's not how it works, Troy!" she pointed out. Gabriella took a breath and tugged on her jacket, which was of little use because she was soaked to the bone anyway. "You're not supposed to leave me with the feeling of poison, like I wasn't doing the right thing. I'm supposed to feel confident about where I'm going, and what that destination has for me. But, because of you, I wasn't."

And all the things you do, and it was called yellow

Exasperation was spreading across Troy's face. "You don't get it, Gabriella," he said quietly. She looked at him with a vexed curiosity. "You don't get that I don't mean to psych you out, or mess with your head, or make you feel unconfident. If anything, I meant the very opposite. I meant to give you the lasting impression of a flame that burns forever in my heart, one that flickers and lights up my mind for you despite the fact that you may and probably will move on."

"But, Troy," she began, and he cut her off once more.

"No, don't interrupt." She quieted down. Troy relaxed his shoulders as he looked up again. "You can't accept the fact that I will always love you, and I'll tell you that whenever I get the chance, because truth is a very rare thing in this world. That's partly my fault, but one can't dwell on the past." Gabriella found herself smiling at this quote.

So then I took my turn, oh what a thing to have done, and it was all yellow

"But I'm leaving Troy. You just had to make it so freaking painful."

"Like it wasn't for me?" He forced a smile, and she asked herself if coming here was the right thing to do.

"I'm not saying it wasn't painful—"

"But you're implying that you had to go through more discomfort than me."

Gabriella suddenly felt the heaviness of her saturated clothing, the heaviness of Troy's gaze, the heaviness of the world. Something was slowing pushing her down, and she was trying to fight back up.

Your skin, oh your skin and bones, turn into something beautiful

"Maybe you'll never get it," Troy said gently, "And I guess that's okay, because you're going to L.A. and I'm waiting around here for something to begin, or end, maybe. But look up for me."

Gabriella raised an eyebrow, and he took her chin in the tips of his fingers, tilting her head back so her eyes met the blackboard above them. "See all those stars?" he asked.

She knew where this was going. "Yes."

"Those are your stars, Gabriella," he said solemnly. "Don't you get that?"

You know, you know I love you so. You know I love you so.

The heaviness was beginning to exhaust her, and she felt her body yearn for a bed. "Troy, I don't know why I came," she confessed, looking back at him. He was patient, his face absolutely rid of emotion. "I don't even know if there's a point in this argument."

"I do." His hand in hers, they walked around the side of the house, and she abruptly wondered if he would go to school tomorrow after being up so relatively late.

"Troy—"

"Gabriella." Scolded like a child, she slumped and followed him acquiescently.

"Lie down," he said, falling back against the ground until his head lay to the cold basketball court and he stared up at the sky again. She took a spot next to him, trying to keep her arm from pressing against his. "Now, what do you see?"

"Stars," she answered.

Your skin, oh your skin and bones, turn into something beautiful. You know for you I'd bleed myself dry—for you I'd bleed myself dry.

"Okay, what else?" he asked.

"The Big Dipper?"

"Do you know where it is or do are you just saying that because you know it's there?" Troy sounded like she knew what she was going to say.

"I know it's there," Gabriella said.

He smiled and turned so his arm crossed her stomach and his lips were close to her cheek. "Maybe we can't always see the flame I mentioned earlier," he whispered, "but I know it's there, so I told you about it anyway."

And as she turned to kiss him, giving up on all resistances she had bared for so long, Gabriella knew Christian would be very mad tomorrow when he learned she wouldn't be converting to the Californian way.

Look at the stars, look how they shine for you and all the things that you do