Disclaimer: It's probably obvious, but I don't own any of the HSM characters or their related elements.

Written July 5, 2006

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Chapter 12 – The Right to Remain Silent

Zeke sighed. "Look," he said. "I'm sorry for dropping the New York thing like that earlier. I shouldn't be judging, I know."

I nodded dumbly. I was desperate to know where Troy was… but I didn't want to say anything for fear Zeke might not tell me.

"I just got a little defensive because of Troy." He let out a breath. "He's really been there during this whole Sharpay thing. And I know… he's really broken up over you leaving."

Oh, God.My stomach dropped. "When did he find out?" I blurted out.

"Last night," said Zeke simply. "He went back to see you again… but you were gone. He called me this morning and he was in pretty rough shape. We had breakfast, and he kept saying he didn't want to see you, ever again."

He trailed off softly at the end. "So I guess I just felt like I was on his side," he said quietly. "I wasn't going to tell you anything. But when you ran out like that…" He sighed heavily and put his hand over his eyes. "I don't know. You just looked as hurt as he did."

I put my hands up to my face as my eyes started to brim over again, shaking with silent sobs. He shook his head and put his arm around me, rubbing my upper arm warmly.

"I don't know if I'm just a sucker," he said. "But if you'll pardon me for saying so… I just don't feel like you're as bad as Troy would have me believe." He let out another breath. "And no matter what happened between you… all I know is that you both seem completely miserable without each other. And… I don't know if I'd be doing the right thing if I just let that slide."

And pulling his arm away from me, he took his wallet out of his back pocket and extracted two tickets, handing them to me.

"What—"

But looking down, I realized what they were. Emblazoned across the top of each one was the title San Francisco Business Leadership Awards. Troy had told me about it weeks ago, but I'd forgotten.

I looked up at Zeke and opened my mouth. "He's…"

He nodded, shrugging. "He's there for his work tonight. I'm going because of the bakery. Sharpay was supposed to come, but…"

"But she's in Albuquerque," I breathed, staring at the tickets, shaking.

"So… I've got an extra," he said. "And if you've got a dress… you're welcome to come along."

And he laughed as I threw my arms around him, hugging him tight. "Oh my God, Zeke," I said, feeling like I would suddenly burst from hope. "Of course, of course, of course."

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And then suddenly, Zeke was holding my hand, guiding me gently toward the banquet. The awards were being held in the Asian Art Museum of San Francisco, an enormous stone building in the city's downtown. He led me up the stone steps to enter the huge doors, crossing the marble floors to the tables set up in the softly lit main floor gallery space. And I shivered in the beautiful dress I had bought in New York, cold from the night air… and the anxiety of seeing Troy again.

I looked around the room discreetly as Zeke gave our tickets to a woman at a desk. I wanted to see him before he saw me… but I couldn't find him anywhere. Then we were moving forward again, following the woman to a half-filled table in the middle. A few of the people stood up as we approached, and as I went to shake hands with the person across from me, I connected with a pair of unmistakable blue eyes.

My hand dropped and I lost my breath. Across from me, I saw Troy flinch visibly, staring at me in confusion, and then in anger. His eyes flicked to Zeke, and I saw his face start to grow red. Then he seemed to stumble backward into his chair, pushing it aside roughly and walking toward the exit.

Zeke shot me a look, then chased after Troy, grabbing his arm and trying to talk to him. Mechanically, I pretended like nothing had happened and shook hands with the rest of the guests at the table. I sat down and out of the corner of my eye, I watched Zeke and Troy talk heatedly near the entrance, unable to hear what they were saying. The woman who had taken our tickets ventured near, and I saw them both laugh nervously as she spoke to them.

Then someone at the table asked about my job, and I started to answer, losing my focus on Troy. But when I looked up next, he was suddenly sitting back down on the other side of the table, Zeke coming to sit on my right. Troy's eyes still seemed to burn, and I could tell he was making a conscious effort not to pay attention to me. But discreetly, I saw his eyes flick over to my left hand. And I could swear I saw his eyes soften as he glimpsed the ring, before turning his head away.

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But I found that though I was across the table from him, I may as well have been in New York still. He kept his head down and tried not to acknowledge me, silent and sullen. It was as though we had a sulking black hole at the table that no one could talk to but no one could avoid. And beside him, one seat remained pregnantly empty. I frowned at it for a few seconds before I realized that it was where I would have been sitting, had I come with him.

But instead of playing the game, I just kept talking, hoping that Troy would somehow be intrigued and forced to contribute. I talked to Zeke and the rest of the guests as cheerfully as I could, telling stories about New York, and chatting lightly about the other guests' businesses in the city. I kept my eye on Troy, trying to create openings for him to say hello and start a conversation again. But though he started to glance over more and more, he wasn't saying anything.

The man sitting on my left suddenly leaned over to me. "He's rather stiff, don't you think?" he whispered, nodding his head toward Troy.

I laughed quietly. "Maybe he's just shy," I whispered back. "Some people don't like talking to strangers."

The man grinned. I'd forgotten his name, but the man owned a furniture and appliance store on the edge of downtown. He was chubby and jovial and slightly oblivious, like a well-meaning uncle who you didn't like spending long periods of time with. I saw Troy's eyes lift to watch us talk, and pretended not to notice.

The man went on cheerfully. "So you're a journalist, are you?"

"Sort of," I said. "I'm just on temporary contract at a magazine right now. It'll be up in a few months, and I don't know what'll be coming next."

But he didn't seem to be listening. "Did you know," he said, "that journalists are the least trusted occupation in America, even before lawyers?"

Great. "Really?" I asked politely.

He guffawed. "It was a poll, you see. People called the journalists 'lying rats,' never to be talked to or listened to. Amazing stuff."

I gave him an innocent look. "That's pretty interesting. Where did you hear about that poll?"

"Oh…" His voice became uncomfortable. "I suppose… the newspaper."

Suddenly I heard a snicker come from the other side of the table. Glancing carefully over, I saw Troy rub his neck and look away, smiling. And as I kept talking to the man beside me, I instantly realized that the right opening for Troy was here. But… it wasn't Troy who needed to speak.

I got up quickly. "Excuse me," I said, and the man I was talking to watched in puzzlement as I went around to sit beside Troy. I could hear Troy breathe in sharply as I sat down, and he put his elbows on the table, looking anywhere but at me.

"Hi," I said softly, but he wouldn't answer back. Then gently, I reached out, about to touch his shoulder… when a microphone boomed from the end of the gallery hall.

My head turned. The woman who had taken our tickets was getting up to a podium to speak. "Hi everyone," she said, smiling widely. "Thank you so much for coming. It's such a pleasure for the San Francisco Chamber of Commerce and the mayor's office to host this event."

A round of applause burst out from the crowd. I could hear her laugh into the microphone as it intensified. "You are all wonderful examples of leadership in the community and the business world," she said. "And I'll make sure to keep this short, because there's some awards to hand out."

And as she kept speaking, I turned back to Troy, to ask him about the awards, anything. But all I saw was a crumpled napkin on his chair. And looking up, I saw him walking between the tables, winding his way back toward the exit.

In shock, I looked over at Zeke, and he started to get up, shooting me a look that said I have no idea what he's doing. But I suddenly shot him a stern look, and motioned for him to sit down. This thing with Troy… it was my battle to fight. And quickly, I got to my feet and hurried after him.

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Author's Note: Okay, okay, I'm fixing things! Sorry about all the cliffhangers. It's just that the chapters get so long that I have to break them up somewhere natural. But thanks again to all you reviewers who have come through with 18 comments for the last chapter! A new record, and you wouldn't believe how happy that makes me. And I promise you, we are getting to the happy part soon. So just hold on while I make it happen…