Ah...my influences...here, um...actually, very little. I came up with all of these long winded sentences and speeches. Wow. Oh, but there's touch of Sin City, but only if you really look for it. And, of course, Devil Wears Prada gets a nice mention.

Oh, right. Sehila, sorry about the speech tags. I edited the long paragraphs before I posted, and forgot about them. They are back in this one, though!

This was actually the first chapter I wrote. It was delicious.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Sharpay Evans was a manipulative genius. Sharpay Evans was infamous for her vitriolic remarks. Sharpay Evans had an entourage that, of course, included the heavily muscled 'friends' who were stationed there for the sole purpose of scaring underlings. Sharpay Evans was a force to be reckoned with, even if reckoning was rare these days. The last time someone pissed off Sharpay Evans, his head was shoved into the toilet. Before he flushed.

All these things ran through Gabriella's head, but didn't seem to register before her mouth opened, and she heard, to her horror, her own voice asking the everlastingly stupid juvenile question: "Why are you so mean?"

Sharpay Evans blinked, once. It was not a "What the Hell?" blink disguised as "Oh dear, there seems to be a little something digging holes in my eyeball." It was a "You did hear those words that came out of your mouth, didn't you," sort of blink. And Gabriella, for an instant, was scared.

"Gabriella," she said in a terrifyingly calm voice, "I have been part of the show business since I was five. You dabbled, once, in high school, stole my lead, and then dumped chili fries on me. I do this for a living. Your friends thought it would be a great! idea for you to at least sign up.

"The question you should have asked, Gabriella, is not 'Why are you so mean?' but 'Why do I insist on ruining people's lives on a daily basis?' To which I would have answered, 'Aw, it's okay. You can't help the fact that the only reason you're alive is to annoy the hell out of everyone.' And then I would have given you an almost-friendly pat on the cheek and sent you off to a nice therapist."

Despite the fact that almost none of Sharpay's speech made sense, Gabriella could physically feel her ego being ground up like pepper and sprinkled over Caesar salad.

A terrible compulsion seized her tongue, and she found herself retorting, "That's not nice! You're just mad because I got your lead again, and I've only done this once!" Oh god, she did say that. She almost screamed at Sharpay's singular blink.

She just committed suicide. If she were to compare herself to an animal right now, she would be very much like a lemming. Well, actually, lemmings did not commit suicide, it was just a misconception hammered home by a Disney—WHY was she thinking about that and not how to run away while retaining most of her limbs?

"I'm going to say this, and I'm only going to say this once, Gabriella. The next time you want to say that you're better than me...at least at this, remember: I am a diva. I am the best Broadway actress out there right now. You are a freelance writer. You sit alone in your sad little apartment, dressed in...a ratty sweatshirt and Paul Frank pajama pants, drinking weak coffee and eating Ramen. You have not gotten my lead. You will never get my lead." The very, very sad part was that Sharpay was dead-on in her estimation of Gabriella's life.

"You're just jealous!" How? How did her foot get so far down her throat she was choking on her kneecap?

"If I was jealous," Sharpay said perkily, "You would be hopping away with your left leg in your hands. You're a smart girl. You can figure out how that would come about." She snapped, and the rest of her posse turned with her as she walked away from Gabriella Montez and out the door.

"Oh cheer up," a voice said at her ear. She turned quickly and almost ran into Amanda. "Be glad she only threatened. Sharpay Evans may just look like a tough talker, but underneath those pretty nails is a fist waiting to dish out black eyes."

"I know. I took her role in high school," she replied, as though it carried some weight with someone who had worked with Sharpay for the last five years.

"You lemming."

"No, actually, lemmings—"

"I know, I know. You think you're the only one with brains around here?" Amanda's gaze extended past the doors until she suddenly realized that no, Gabriella had not left. "Look. Evans is a pain in the ass, but she is the best Broadway actress around, and she has the diva...air. There's nothing more we'd like to see than her falling. But at the same time, we need someone like her around. Keeps the whole thing...operatic. She was made for Miranda Priestly. When we're not busy hating her, we admire her. You were made for Andy Sachs."

At Gabriella's puzzled face, Amanda sighed. "The Devil Wears Prada. For a freelancer, you don't read much. Anyway, Andy gets a job that she's never been interested in to begin with. She leaves. Miranda's the boss who might get toppled off her perch at any point. She wins and keeps her job. That's the difference between the two of you."

"What?" Gabriella was mesmerized by Amanda, who, like Sharpay, was able to say a lot of words and not mean anything at all.

"That you don't belong here, and you don't really want to. Sharpay was born here, and she'd die without it. The sooner you learn how to live with that kind of dependency from her, the better." Gabriella narrowed her eyes, and said, in another display of verbal stupidity, "I'm gonna teach her a lesson." Amanda snorted.

"You do that, kid. But you know what will really bring her down? You working your ass off and bringing the house down opening night. That's what'll get her." The redhead raised an eyebrow. "You think you're up for it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am," Gabriella said defiantly.

"No, you're not." She blinked, in a serious "whatdaya mean I'm not?" kind of way.

Amanda grinned, and if she had more height and the right teeth, it would be a shark-like grin. "But you will be. You have to be."

Ah, the blinks. That's actually a thing of mine. I convey my subtle vitriolic remarks in my blinks. I've made people cry when I have stuff in my eye and they think I'm tearing them to shreds and I'm actually trying to dislodge a flying piece of razor blade.

Actually, that last sentence hasn't happened yet. But the bit about the lemmings in here is true. They really aren't suicidal. Which is kinda disappointing, in a morbid way.

Anyway. Troy's in the next two. Tell all your friends.

But not before you review.