A/N: Thanks so much for the great reviews so far everyone! I'm glad you liked it so far :). NOW FOR THE NEW!

Disclaimer: La la la la la... not mine. :( Except for Miss. Bryant-- and Larry, unfortunately.

Chapter Two: Sneakers of Black

Well, this was pretty much ridiculous. Here she was, staring down at her feet-- one blue sock, one purple sock, and she knew full well that they didn't match. The laundry hadn't been done, in other words. She also knew that she had about five seconds to get downstairs before her parents started yelling at her. It didn't matter about the socks though, she supposed, as her jeans fell over her shoes, and her shoes-- if anything-- were the main attraction anyways. You see, for as long as she could remember she'd always had a pair of Converse shoes. They were a specific color too, black ones. It was a fact that black ones were much easier to decorate if the time called for it. Now that her feet had stopped growing (at least she thought they had) she'd had the same pair of black converse sneakers for about a year now.

She could honestly say that they were now entangled in a sort of love affair, her sneakers and her. The black Converse, in its many versions, had been with her from the time she played hide and seek with the neighbors she no longer fit in with-- to the time where she found ones she did. They had been with her the first time she had fallen out of a tree, as well as through most of puberty. And more importantly, she had donned him when she had first walked the halls of high school.

And now they'd be there with her as she'd enter her last year at the place-- of course, now the only difference was that she was new. Completely and utterly new. She didn't know whether she hated her parents more for making her move during her last year of high school, or for making her leave all her friends behind, or... for ruining her life. It was probably all three, now that she considered all the facts.

Her sneakers were the only thing that remained solid in her life. They were the foundation of who she was. She didn't care for the makeup and jewelry and pretty skirts of her peers, she cared about her sneakers. She cared about her grades, and friends, and the rest of her life. Yet, somehow her parents failed to notice this. Not that they were pushing her to do better but her report card and other awards had merely been celebrated with a "Good job Clara, keep up the good work!"-- and it usually ended there. Not that she could blame them either, her mother was a very busy doctor and her father was an even busier lawyer. With a couple of those parents you'd think she had the perfect life... but she didn't, not really. Her parents didn't approve of her shoes, you see. The few times she saw them they complained once and again about why she hadn't gotten new sneakers. Her mother was especially adamant about it.

"CLARA BRYANT IF YOU DON'T GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW--" Her mother's voice bellowed from below, and immediately she broke out of her reverie. Senior year was going to happen whether she liked it or not.

After brushing her teeth and mussing her hair, she grabbed a pair of jeans, one of her favorite black t-shirts, and of course-- her black sneakers. Throwing her long hair behind her shoulder, she grabbed her old red corduroy book bag and headed down the stairs where she met her parents, who were in the process of eating breakfast.

Her mother was reading the paper, munching on some toast-- and looking as though she was about to burst a vein. She was the quintessential career mom. Her light brown hair was tied up into a tight bun and she wore small pearl earrings (although why she would need them at a hospital is beyond her)-- she was already checking her watch, watching that she wouldn't be late. Her father, who was reading some document or other, already had his dark suit on and black hair perfectly primmed. She sighed, just another normal morning in the Bryant household. Her parents had yet to notice her arrival so she coughed loudly as she sat down with some orange juice and a piece of toast. They looked up to her startled.

"Clara!" her mother exclaimed and Clara bit her tongue. "Are you ready? We're going to be late! I don't know what takes you so long in the morning--"

"WELL, then we should get going," she interrupted, to stop another one of her mother's tirades. "I don't want to miss the first day of a miserable year, after all." The sarcasm was biting. It was also her specialty.

So she was still bitter. You would be too if you had to move away from everything you'd ever known. Her mother and father exchanged a meaningful glance that didn't go unnoticed by her. Luckily, they chose to keep their mouths shut on the subject for now.

Her mother stood up and grabbed her purse among a couple of her other things-- pausing only to give her daughter a once over. "Clara, why must you insist on dressing as though you don't own anything other than jeans and t-shirts." Right, she didn't just own jeans and t-shirts-- the trouble was, everything her mom had ever given her was safely stashed away in the back of her closet. Along with every other article of clothing her family had given her.

Her father nodded in agreement. "And that you don't own a brush."

She frowned, fingering her hair. She didn't know what the trouble was-- she had long hair, it was wavy, it was black, and she liked having long bangs to cover her eyes with. The need for a brush seemed irrelevant.

"They cover your eyes," he continued to mutter, and she couldn't help but grin. In a strange way, this was his way of complimenting her. She didn't mind her eyes, they were a nice shade of light blue and all-- but they weren't anything special. Her mom was already out the door, and she immediately chugged down the rest of her juice before rushing out after her. Way to start the morning off with a bang.

Well, East High School-- here I come.

So the myth was solved-- the Z section did, in fact, exist. Miserably, he ran back as fast as he could to make at least the last five minutes of homeroom-- he was going to get killed, he just knew it. When he opened the door, his heart sank somewhere to the region of his stomach. Darbis.

Why did it have to be Darbis?

How was it Darbis?

Was fate hell bent on making sure he was miserable?

He stood awkwardly in the doorway, thinking that perhaps if he was quiet enough he could slide into his seat as Darbis milled around her shelves looking for something. All eyes were on him as he entered-- tip-toeing, if you will, closer to his seat. Yes... yes! She hadn't noticed anything yet, he was almost in the clear... he was going to make it! He had one hand on the desk when quite suddenly one Larry Knight (who found himself sitting in the front row as usual) let out what had to be the most enormous, most loud, most obnoxious sneeze Troy had ever heard.

It almost sounded on purpose-- but he wasn't going to go there. Cringing, he froze in place, closing both eyes tightly together. If Darbis hadn't turned around for that one, then maybe fate really did like him.

"Mr. Bolton?"

Not a chance then, he supposed.

Her shrill voice came from behind him, and opening one eye first and then the other he turned around-- shrugging apologetically as he slid into his seat. From the corner of his eye he could see Chad giving Larry a hard smack on the head (as well as hastily wiping his hand afterwards).

"Ms. Darbis! Er-- so, homeroom together, again..." he stuttered out. Ever since he'd been in the musical she'd always been, a little bit nicer. Maybe this nicer would somehow take effect... now?

"Yes, it would seem so," she continued, lofty as usual. "I trust your summer went well?"

He shifted uneasily in his seat, wondering if she was preparing to laser him into the next century. "Yes... very well."

Clasping her hands together she approached the board. "Wonderful! You can tell me all about it in detention. Today, after school."

He groaned. He was sure he heard Chad groan. The day was really getting off on the wrong foot. With that, the bell signaled their release. The day, in essence, followed in much of the same manner. Gabriella was only in a couple of his classes, Chad seemed to disappear after homeroom, and although him and Sharpay got along better since the musical-- she was still a bit irritating to spend two periods in a row with. Ryan's presence helped, although it too came with its own ups and downs. (Some being having to explain himself twice for any sentence that came out too complicated.)

When lunch arrived, he had never been more thankful. Lunch was going to be his favorite period. He sat down, accompanied by Gabriella (who still couldn't kick the silly little grin that had settled on her face upon hearing of his detention) and Taylor (the girl who'd become her best friend). Chad was off with the rest of the team, as things had gotten a little awkward ever since Taylor and Chad broke it off. The split hadn't exactly been... clean, and with emotional baggage like that you couldn't just start talking during lunch again. Now Troy and Gabriella split the time between the two of them, both secretly wishing that they'd just talk it out once and for all. Enough to be civil at least.

The usual lunch chit-chat was quickly interrupted by the arrival of Sharpay, donning an entirely pink outfit to celebrate the first day of the year. So they weren't exactly enemies, they weren't exactly best friends, but settled somewhere between civil and friendly-- which was more than could be said when Gabriella first arrived at East High.

Without so much as a 'How was your summer?' she slid onto the bench, hunched over in a conspiratorial fashion. "Have you heard?"

You could tell Taylor was having a hard time containing an eye-roll, Gabriella merely giggled and answered for him. "Heard what Sharpay?"

A look of horror spread onto her features immediately. "HEARD WHAT? I can't believe you haven't! The drama department is putting together another musical! Now, I should probably keep this to myself-- but you know me, I like to level out the playing field... make sure I win fairly and all. Just letting you know auditions are in three weeks, you two should definitely be there."

Gabriella and Troy exchanged a look, the wheels already turning in their minds though he could distinctly sense hesitation. Once mastered, Gabriella's various expressions were easy to read. This one had hesitation written all over it.

"Well!" Sharpay continued, apparently content with having a one way conversation. "I've got to be off!" her eyes slid to their left, where Ryan was currently throwing up his hands as though in search of aid. "I think Ryan accidentally ate apple sauce again-- he's allergic." Grumbling, she walked off in his direction, leaving the three of them to their own devices.

"So, are we going to see the comeback of Troy and Gabriella-- on stage, in lights, that sort of thing?" Taylor asked them, smirking as she took a bite out of her sandwich. With a sideways glance at Gabriella, and he could tell she was already getting nervous just thinking about it.

"Well-- what do you say Gabs?" he asked.

She looked at him, gulped down whatever she was chewing and shrugged. "I don't know... it's been such a long time. What if I end up freezing up?"

He gave a short laugh and put an arm around her shoulders. "You're fantastic-- you won't freeze up. I'll be there with you! And in any case, it's just an audition."

She seemed to consent, opened her mouth to answer, and instead gave an odd little expression he couldn't place. Following her eyes, they fell on a girl that looked about their age-- dark hair, about Gabriella's height, with a red bag at her side. "What is it? Who's she?"

Gabriella frowned, as though remembering something particularly icky. "New girl. She's in my homeroom... I offered to show her around but she didn't seem to want it."

"Didn't seem to want it?" Taylor echoed, incredulously. "Gabriella, she might as well have suggested you eat glass." She paused, turning towards Troy. "Not very friendly, that one."

Dismissing the subject, they turned back to their meals. With a musical in the works, there was no telling what might happen next.