ET Chapter 5, a high school musical fanfic

ET Chapter 5: The Dancer and the Photographer

Gabriella has three passions in her life.

It's not predictable like cheer-leading, shopping, fashion, and all that. Cheer-leading to her was way overrated. She noticed some few cheerleaders really had good moves, but could tell for most it was all about being noticed and popular, something she wasn't into. She was into shopping as much as any girl, but unlike most didn't see the need to buy ripped jeans at a store that cost more than 600 hundred bucks when she can get the same pair for twenty bucks at a secondhand store. As for fashion, well, one look at her someone could immediately tell she wasn't a dolled-up, sparkly Barbie.

Instead hers were more simple and yet something more…at least to her, because they were what made her Gabriella.

The first one would be reading. Funny thing was before she hated reading as much as anyone else because it was such waste of time to her. The fact it was a huge majority of school, which she hated, had something to do with that hatred. Then one day, on a rainy afternoon when she was in fourth grade, she found herself stuck in at the library. Homework done and complete, no ride available to her, she was bored out of her mind with nothing to do. To humor herself, she browsed through the shelves, picked up a copy of A Little Princess, and sat down on a comfy beanbag chair in the children's section while she read.

By the time she lifted her head up from the book, the library was close to closing, and people were packing up their things and leaving.

The weird thing: she barely noticed at all. She was so caught up in the book, time seemed to fly by. Instead of just seeing the words, it was like she was seeing a movie or TV show being played in her head. She also felt like she was a character in the story. She had no idea how a book, especially one that's really good, can just take you away. Since that afternoon, her view of reading completely changed. Soon she began reading more frequently, reading more books in a week than she did before in a month, borrowing more than dozens of books from time to time and using her own money to buy copies she really wanted to own, becoming a regular at the school library as well as the public one that had much better stock, going from book-hater to book worm.

Her love for reading was what inspired her love for writing, her second passion. Constantly she was surrounded with story ideas, inspired from the books she read, the movies and TV shows she seen, and the action going on in the city. One day she decided to write those ideas down. Soon she became a writer, written more than hundreds of different stories, and had countless notebooks and notepads filled with stories.

For her third passion, it occurred when she least expected it, almost like it did with reading. It happened when she was seven years old. Things were not going well at home and she needed an escape, so she walked. Nearly all around New York on her own, letting her feet take her wherever they wanted, not a bit afraid because she knew how to handle herself and knew there was much worse things.

Then she came across a small building all the way in the Upper East Side, where she usually stayed away from. It was the dance studio she knew most of her classmates went to after school, and since there was nothing better for her to do, she decided to go inside. It was the sweet, soft music playing that led her all the way to the top floor, where inside magic happened.

Or at least that how it felt like to her. No, there were no fairies flying around, no cute little unicorns cuddling against her, no princesses and princes. It was honestly an ordinary room, nothing special: the walls painted pink and purple, two known girlish colors she usually didn't associate herself with, full-length mirrors taking up the walls on her left and her right, a water cooler in the far corner, and the wooden floors. But there was something very different. The floors gleamed and glistened with sweat that dripped dreams, seeming to be as endless as the sea, and the music, the soft music coming somewhere she couldn't see.

The music did something to her. She heard music plenty of times before, of course, but that day it was different. So soft, so beautiful, it was like a siren calling her, willing her to follow it.

The music made something happen to her. Something came alive, connecting her to the soft music and pulling her towards it. So, she closed her eyes and let the music take her away.

It was a sensation she never experienced before. Like with her reading, it was almost like slipping away to a new world, a better world where nothing else existed but the music and the music alone. The music had some kind of control over her, making her move around, twirling and leaping, bending and stretching, trying to her intercept the sound through her body.

Then it was over. The music stopped and she stilled. The music, the dancing, the sensation both brought her was almost too much to handle. She finally drew a breath, letting it out, and looked over her shoulder when she heard footsteps coming behind her.

A tall woman with dark yet bright red hair tied into a tight bun, pale skin the color of milk, and dressed in a skintight, black leotard emerged from the shadows, applauding her.

She had a dark mole under her mouth; bright red lips almost the same color as her hair, a face so ageless it was hard to guess how old she was. She wasn't classically pretty, but there was something in her that drew people in.

"Usually, I don't tolerate outsiders and have the police deal with them," the woman's accent was Polish, thick and firm. Stern, even.

Gabriella gulped, nervous. The woman then surprised her by placing a gentle hand on her shoulder while squatting down before her.

"Tell me, child, have you taken lessons before?" she asked, her dark violet eyes staring at her intently.

"No."

Then the woman did the strangest thing: she smiled at her. So kindly and warmly, which made her look more striking, it was unlike anything Gabriella ever seen a grownup give to her. "Well, now you are. Welcome to Madame Gorksi's dance Academy."

Soon she was taken into ballet, catching up with the more advance students quickly than anticipated and learning complex moves and routines to dances that took years to know, becoming one of the best and top students. While taking (and mastering) ballet, she also went into jazz, modern dance, hip-hop and step, which she loved, and, of course, Latino dances.

Since that day, she always has been a dancer. She found her calling.

Funny.

It was actually the brightness of the sun that came through the window that woke her up before the thundering, sleep-killing sound of construction working happening a block away did.

Gabriella swore under her breath, at the noise and at the brightness, squirming around in her bed and shifting her body onto her back, trying to block out the sun's bright rays. Then, quickly, she remembered the chore she had to take care of this morning and found some energy to crawl out of bed.

She made her way to the small bedroom, where she spent fifteen minutes in the shower after she brushed her teeth. The water came down hard, hot and refreshing. She wished she could stay in there longer, but knew Javier would shit a brick if the water bill went up. When she came back to her room, hair wet and body wrapped in a white towel, she trade in the white wife-beater and striped boy-shorts she wore to bed last night for her favorite workout clothes: a cool, soft lavender cut-off tee with a black radio stereo blasting music notes and her favorite pair of black sweats. Tying her black Nike sneakers and her hair into a loose, messy bun, she packed her black tote bag with a towel, her water bottle, cell phone, wallet, and a copy of This Lullaby, her eighth favorite book.

Before she left, she decided to check in with her brother. Inside his room, which was bigger compared to hers, he and Anita held tightly onto each other as they slept peacefully in their warm bed and nestled blankets. Javier even had a small smile on his face, wiping away all the stress lines from his still young face, looking so peaceful and happy.

"Aww," Gabriella couldn't resist. She wasn't a mushy, feely type of girl, but it was nice seeing this moment. Then, her eyes glanced down at the floor, where their discarded clothes laid scattered around. Anita's lacey red bra and thong panties were hanging on the doorknob.

And now not sweet, she grimaced. Disturbing was more like it. Disgusting, cringe-worthy images of them doing disgusting, cringe-worthy things scarred her mind, moving her body shudder and her stomach churn.

Her brother rolled onto his stomach, to the left side, taking Anita with her and pulling her on top of him. He opened his mouth and released such a loud, sleep-crusher snore it'd wake up half of New Mexico. Maybe even the whole one.

And now the sweetness has left the building, she rolled her eyes and left the two lovebirds alone. How Anita can live with that every day, so close by, was something she couldn't and didn't want to understand.

When she entered Paco's room, the smallest room of the three that was almost more like a closet than a room, she smiled while being greeted by a bright smile and eager hands reaching out to her.

"Hi Paco."

His reply was more reaching and a wider smile, laughing while jumping around in his bed.

Gabriella seen plenty of cute babies, but in her opinion, her nephew was the cutest. Small and quite handsome, he was adorable with smooth, olive skin, big brown eyes that had the signature Montez heart-melting affect and often gleamed with a smile, tousles of dark brown hair the shade of rich dark chocolate, and a face so precious it put puppies and other tots to shame.

"Gabi! Gabi! Gabi!" At thirteen months, he was quite the Einstein. He had crawling down, was getting better at walking even though he stumbled a few times, and was beginning to talk. Through his excitement, you could pick the up the slight Spanish accent. Even though he was old enough to start nursery school, Anita full-out refused.

"Why should I let some floozy bimbo watch over my son if she doesn't have the brains to do it? When I can do it during the day, when I'm at home? It's a waste of time and money," was her response to the opinion.

Thinking about, Gabriella could see she could a point. Even if she couldn't see it, there was no point mentioning. Hardly anyone argues against Anita and makes it out alive.

Greeting the eager baby with a warm smile, she lifted him up from the crib and held him in her arms. Paco smile up, his hands touching anywhere and everywhere they can. Playing with her face, brushing her hair with his fingers, all while chuckling and smiling.

"Eres muy valioso, no es cierto?" she murmured in Spanish, tickling his soft tummy and making him laugh more.

A fact about her known by slight few and she'd never tell almost anyone else: she actually likes little kids. Despite her carefree, tough front, which in all truth she's dedicated to and lives as her motto, she had a warm, sweet spot for the little suckers. Always had. Paco was no expectation, but rather the reason why. Holding him in her arms, feeling his warmth and soft skin perfumed with sweet-smelling Baby Johnson and honey and milk, she never felt so peaceful. Peaceful, happy, even a sense of love from the affection in Paco's warm eyes.

Did she even feel this way when she held us? She had to wonder, and then forced herself the thought away, kicking herself for crossing forbidden, unneeded territory.

Paco stopped his laughing and looked up at her, an unhappy expression wiping away all the brightness from his face. He always seemed to know when something was bothering her.

Definitely much quicker and easier than most people.

"I'll be okay, kid," Thirteen months old, he already mastered an expression that was close to disbelief, something she knew no other kid at his age could do. Smiling at him again, she settled him back into his crib, kissed him on the forehead, and as soon the keys to her bike were in her hand she was out of the door.

First things first: she needed food and now. Her stomach was growling. On the way, she stopped at a convenient store, where they sell the best the egg and ham and bacon breakfast sandwiches. She had two of those with a large cup of black coffee to wash it down, the caffeine giving her enough energy to start the morning.

It was until she drove near the outskirts of town, she finally reached the building in Huntington Street. Vicznor's dance studio was the tallest building in the whole block, also noticeable, too, with a huge gaping hole in the ceiling, the entire building painted in dark green and lighter shades of blue. The place used to be pretty busy, until some rich dude decided to build a new, huge mall in the area, but as soon as the place was cleared out, he changed his mind. But by then no else wanted it, so the entire street was pretty much forgotten and deserted.

She discovered it a few weeks ago after she was dragged to Albuquerque. She rode her bike nearly everywhere, ended up here, and it was curiosity that led her inside the building, all the way to the top floor. Just like it did with Madame Gorksi's dance academy almost eleven years ago. It was secluded, quiet, and she loved it almost instantly.

At the top floor, it was pretty much like any other dance room. Good space, wall-length mirrors, a water fountain with two jogs she regularly refilled whenever she came here, the smooth wooden floors that gleamed and made its' own music with every step she took. There was also an old gray couch that was pretty comfortable by the far right side, near the water fountain, along with a gray table and chair, where she laid her bag.

The gaping hole was right in the middle of the room, allowing sunshine in and the cool air kissing against her, whistling through her hair. She breathed it all in for a moment, the feeling of being in a dance room with such light and cool air, before she let it out slowly.

She started out doing warm-ups, a must every dance needs to do if she wishes to avoid cramps. She did complex and basic yoga poses that set off the familiar burn in her body, shot her leg up each time she twirled as she spin some spins, and finished off with back flips to really get her body going.

Grabbing her iPod and speakers out, she flipped through it till she found the one she wanted, set it up, and let the music start.

Like a gift from the heavens, it was easy to tell,
It was love from above, that could save me from hell,
She had fire in her soul it was easy to see,
how the devil himself could be pulled out of me,
There were drums in the air as she started to dance,
Every soul in the room keeping time with there hands,
And we sang...

Gabriella closed her eyes and titled her head back slightly, listening.

It was three easy gestures that made everything slip away as the dancer inside came to life, taking control and her rightful stage once more.

Here's a secret about Troy very few, with the expectation of his closest friends, knew about him.

He loved photography.

He loved pictures.

But not the digital ones you can get with a digital camera or a phone. Those were flat, empty almost to him. The ones he really loved was the ones you used with real camera that had film, spent hours in a dark room developing, and seeing your work come to life when it was done.

That was the kind of pictures he loved.

He's been into photography since he was five, when he was given his first camera as a birthday present from Mike, who inspired him to get into the hobby since he seemed to be taken in by pictures.

Not only pictures, but moments. Moments that was extraordinary hidden behind the ordinary. Moments unnoticeable but also unforgettable. Moments that was simply captivating

He taken more than hundred, close to maybe a thousand, pictures, but very few, the ones that were really good and he was proud of, ever make it to be framed on his shelves while most went into the albums. .He had his own darkroom next door to his room, where he usually spent most of his time there when he wasn't doing homework or studying, practice, being with his dad and avoiding him.

People, namely his dad, believe because he was played and was amazing at basketball and was a great captain basketball was both a calming drug as well as a passion. They had no idea how wrong as a passion. They had no idea how wrong they were. Basketball wasn't a passion; it was a life-sucker. It wasn't something that calmed him; it gave him dangerous adrenaline that was anything but good. It wasn't fun and a load-off; it was a pain in the ass that served as a cruel punishment as well as a dark reminder.

Photography was the only thing that calmed him down. Holding the camera in his hands gave him such peace, filling him with a feeling he never felt before in a long time. Spending time in the dark room, getting away from it all, and watching his pictures developed and come to life was the best accomplishment he ever succeeded in.

His mom thought it was a cute hobby. That was only because she was fond of photographers who featured ads of her makeup line in the magazines. His dad thought (and also prayed) it was a simple phase he was going through.

"Troy!" Speak of the devil. No knock, no asking. His dad just barged into his dark room like it was nothing. Despite a hundred times his son told him sudden brightness could ruin his pictures.

"Dad, can you please close the door?" Troy said, thinking, For God's sake. Make that one hundred and one. As he was multitasking with the stop bath and hanging up new photos, he could feel his dad's dark, cold eyes burning holes into the back of his head.

"It's almost six-thirty. You're two hours late," he announced. Troy turned back to him, confused, and at the look the frown lines in his dad's face deepened. "Your training."

Oh shit! Troy nearly dropped his developer jar.

He forgotten his training was now a six-day routine, thanks to his slippery tongue. He came to his darkroom around two in the morning when he couldn't sleep and time flew by. He had to meet Gabriella in half an hour.

Only problem was he hasn't exactly mentiioned it to his dad.

The simplest thing to do would be to tell his dad he had to meet his partner for a project. It was the school after all, so he, being one to worry so much about college and the expanses, would understand. Except, of course, for two problems: 1). Missing training would like spitting in his dad's face and 2). If he mentioned who his partner was, he was screwed.

I could always lie, he thought. That was another simple solution, one far less painful than the first opinion. You were human if you had to lie from time to time. Except lying has never been his best virtue.

Dear God help me. Judging by frostbite irritation in his dad's eyes, he had five seconds to say something fast or get smacked. "I can't, Dad. At least not today."

His dad stared at him, dumbstruck. Like Troy spoke a language he couldn't understand or sprouted another head on his shoulder. Then, quickly, confusion slipped away as anger came in, dark and dangerous. That alone foreshadowed a very bad sign. "What do you mean you can't?"

"I…" For God's sake, Bolton, his annoying conscious yelled out as he began cowering away from his dad. Man up! Sighing, he took in a deep breath and prepared himself for the worst, praying God will be at his side. "I have to meet my partner for a project in Mr. Cummings class."

That cooled off his dad's anger for a moment, so he was almost safe. Till his dad raised his left brow, suspicion in his eyes, and moved closer to him. "Who is it?"

Fate hates me, the nervous Bolton declared. Out of all questions to ask, his dad had to ask the one he dreaded to answer. "Um…you wouldn't know her," Suddenly the temperature in the room was growing. Troy could feel sweat dripping on his forehead. He fought the urge to cool himself down, knowing it'd only make him look more suspicious, which was something he didn't need. "She's kind of new."

"Try me." His dad smiled, eyeing his son's discomfort with satisfaction like there was nothing that made his day any sweeter.

There was no way getting out of this, so the only thing to do was the come out with it. "Gabriella Montez."

For a moment his dad stared at him in silence. Silence that was starting to scare Troy the longer it went on. There were no smirks, no cold eyes, just standing there looking at him.

It was that moment Troy hoped (and also prayed) maybe, just maybe his dad hadn't heard of the infamous Gabriella Montez. East High was a big school with too many students and so many teachers; it was hard for them to track on everyone. There could be a possibly, a small one but one Troy hoped for, Jack didn't hear about the bold stunt she pulled on Darbus in Homeroom. Maybe he didn't hear the countless rumors swirling about her.

The next moment, though, that hope died so young at the sight of the dark, monstrous fury in his dad's eyes, which were more enraged than Troy's ever seen them, and the darkest, most disguised.

"Gabriella Montez." he said the name with such coldness laced with venom in his calm voice, which only made Troy tenser.

Well some much for hope, Troy thought.

"You're telling me you allowed yourself to be paired with that girl?" Jack sneered, hissing like a snake.

"Well not actually," Troy tried laughing nervously, but quickly stopped as he noticed the tension thickening in the room. "It's actually a funny story. Hilarious-"

His dad silenced him by grabbing a handful of his hair, tugging at it hard, nearly ripping it from his skull. Ignoring Troy's pained pleas, Jack pulled Troy close to him and growled "Then why the fuck aren't I laughing?"

With that said, Jack thrown him against the wall. Troy's head smacked against the edge of the cabinet, erupting explosions of pain. His elbow hit the developer jar, knocking it into the tray, causing it to overflow and ruining his pictures.

Before Troy could think or even breathe, a hard fist slammed against jaw, knocking him down to the ground. As he struggled to get back up, his dad got to him first, hitting him again in the head before dragging him by his hair out of the room and tossing him onto the floor in his room. Through the blackness, he heard his dad's sneer of disgust and a key set into the lock behind him. Troy wasn't sure how long he laid sprawl on the ground, his head throbbing excruciatingly, but did know it'd take nearly forever for the pain to lessen from excruciatingly to unbearable.

He finally lifted himself up, doing so slowly and carefully, and went over to the door. It was locked. He tried over and over, but the damn door wouldn't budge. He was trapped inside like some kind of Disney princess.

"I can't believe this!" he shouted. A part of him hoped his dad could hear it while the other feared of being a dead man. He realized all too soon his dad was gone, probably his office drinking himself to a coma as usual.

Troy couldn't believe this. He could not fucking believe this! He knew his dad would react, but not this way. Despite Gabriella's reputation, there was no reason for his dad to flip out like that. The girl couldn't be that bad.

Troy looked up at the clock. According to time, he had less than an hour to get to Huntington Street, which was a forty-five minute drive from here. But with the door locked, he had no way of getting there.

Unless…

Troy walked over to the window, where he eyed the tall, sturdy oak tree that's been right across his window for years. At the bottom of the tree was his 2010 Audi A5 Coupe, a seventeenth birthday present from dear Mom.

It was bold, completely bold, and unlike him, but so tempting. So easy.

No, no, no, no, no! I put a strong, strong emphasize on the no, screamed his obedience side. Again, I put a VERY strong emphasize on the no. If Dad finds out you snuck out, this morning greeting is going to look like a trip to the circus. You will be a dead man, Bolton. A DEAD MAN.

His obedient side had a really strong point. A point too hard to argue against and ignore.

And what about the project, reminded his other side. It was the same other half that him stay and talk to Gabriella in the first place. The project count as a huge for not only this semester's grade, but also as the year's final. Your chances of getting into U of A depend on it.

Dear God. That one had a good point, too.

Troy looked back at the locked behind him and the tree, where his car was parked right near it, deciding.

What's it gonna be Bolton?

During the ride, Troy's nerves were overdrive.

It's no big deal. It shouldn't be a big deal. It wasn't like he was the first teenager to sneak out the house. God knows how many times Chad snuck out of his for partying and meeting Taylor for a midnight hookup. And it was for a good cause. It was for school. His grade depended on it.

His nerves were on triple overdrive, making him jumpy and anxious, as if he drank more than five cups of strong espresso coffee from Starbucks. He could feel sweat dampening his shirt while his heart was pounding loudly as well as racing.

What's the big deal? Troy shouldn't be acting not feeling this way. He was only meeting his partner to work on a project, that and nothing more.

So why the hell was sweat dripping on his forehead?

Nerves, he decided. Just nerves. That and the fact he was escaping from his house like some kind of convicted criminal.

Not to mention meeting with the hottest girl to ever hit East High, piqued (unhelpfully) his strange half that was beginning to sound more and more like an evil side.

"Shut up!" he said, frustrated.

Parking his car in front of the building, where he saw the familiar motorcycle parked by the side, he got the car and headed inside, following the loud music thumping through the walls to the very of the building.

Troy wasn't sure what to expect when he went inside. Maybe to find Gabriella smoking a joint, doing crack, or having an earlier beer.

Coming inside, he noticed two things.

First was the music. Given Gabriella's personality, he expected maybe thrashing, head-pounding rock. Maybe some Lady Gaga. Instead, from the sound of the song, she was playing one by the lead singer of Nickelback.

Ay oh ay oh ay oh ay,
And the voices bang like the angels sing,
We're singing...
Ay oh ay oh ay oh ay,
And we danced on into the night,
Ay oh ay oh,
Ay oh ay oh,
And we danced on into the night,
Ay oh ay oh,
Ay oh ay oh,
And we danced on into the night,

Second was the way she was dancing.

Not grinding or shaking her body senselessly, but actually dancing. He was no expert, but the way she was doing he could tell she was good.

Really good, he thought, watching her from the doorway.

Every move looked impossible for one to do, yet she made it look completely easy. She was fluid and graceful, each move and step precise, moving as if she were alive.

Ay oh ay oh ay oh ay,
And the voices bang like the angels sing,
We're singing...
Ay oh ay oh ay oh ay,
And we danced on into the night,
Ay oh ay oh,
Ay oh ay oh,
And we danced on into the night,
(And the voices bang like the angels sing),
Ay oh ay oh,
Ay oh ay oh,
And we danced on into the night,
Ay oh ay oh ay oh ay,
(Ay oh ay oh),
Ay oh ay oh ay oh ay,
(Ay oh ay oh),
Singing ay oh ay oh ay oh ay,
(Ay oh ay oh),
And we danced on into the night...

With a sweep of her left leg, she spun around and around, her leg never touching the ground and looking like she was gliding, before she was down on her knees, head titled and eyes closed.

"Wow." He breathed. It was the only word he could use to describe what he seen.

Looking over her shoulder, she eyed him. A light blue sleeveless shirt, darker blue shaggier basketball shorts, and expensive Jordans. Her eyes skimmed over his face, where he knew on his right temple was a swollen bruise.

It was strange to Troy how she eyed for a moment, then completely skimmed over and made no comment. Either she was concerning his feelings and keeping quiet or she honestly couldn't care either way.

Gabriella titled her upper body back until her legs were slowly up while she stood on her hands. Then, with a deep breath, she did a back flip flawlessly and was back on her feet.

"Didn't think you'd show up, pup?" she commented.

"Why do you call me that?"

"Because I can." She missed the irritated glare he shot her as she walked over to her iPod, stopping the music before it replayed again, switching it to a much softer, instrumental one.

"Fine then. You want to call me a name, then I'll call you one back," Turning around, she stared at him, challenging him. Bitch was out, because almost every girl in school calls her that. Slut was a bit too harsh; because there was no proof she was that easy. He went with the first one that came to his head, one he regretted saying as soon as he said it. "Montez."

"Wow." She nodded her head, widening her eyes a bit for a better effect. "Original."

Troy turned his head away, so she wouldn't see him blushing. He turned back, sure when the blush was gone, to see her standing in the middle of the dance floor, snapping her fingers and gesturing him to come.

"Okay," she said as he obliged. "Tango, salsa, and the pasadoble are all types of Latino dances used in Carmen. We'll be doing a mix of all forms for Latino dances."

"Why are we dancing?" Troy asked.

Gabriella sighed heavily, as if this was common knowledge he was suppose to know. Rolling her eyes, she placed her hands on her hips and explained "Cummings said we have to be original. Doing a PowerPoint or so poster will get us a solid C. C+, if the man is feeling generous. Dancing, like I said, before is a huge element in Carmen. Portraying the final dance scene between Carmen and Don Jose before he kills her will blow them away."

Troy stared at her, dumbstruck. It was original, original and brilliant. The exact thing Cummings was looking for. Maybe the rumors about her being smart weren't too far-fetched after all.

"We'll be starting with the tango. It can be both easy and difficult to learn, all depending on the teacher and student."

"Alright. Let's dance." Troy tried fixing his body into a pose he seen tons of dancers on TV. Standing on tips of his toes, back arched slightly, and arms over his head.

Only problem was he looked completely stiff.

One look at his off-balance, stiff form made Gabriella say this "First off, we're doing dancing, not figure-skating. Second, I'm going to spare what I'm thinking right now at the moment."

Sighing, he relaxed himself.

"Like I said, Bolton, tango can be both easy and difficult. All depending on the teacher and the student. Before we do tango, we need to start with the basics. That would be the waltz."

"The waltz?" Troy repeated.

Gabriella waved away his confusion. "It's a piece of cake."

To start them off, Troy needed to take her hand. He was hesitant, but compelled. At the first touch between them, her small hand held in his larger one, a spark went off almost immediately. It was like a prick of electricity, but strong like lightening almost.

Troy was baffled. He almost jumped at the spark and for the longest time couldn't speak. The feel, the touch, it was all too…wow. He didn't realize he was staring at the ground, at his feet, until he heard Gabriella calling his name, bringing his attention back to her.

While he was freaking out about what was happening, she was the way she's always been: calm. Calm, cool, unmoved at all as if nothing really did happen. Looking at her and feeling silly for worrying so much, he almost believe that, but then he saw her eyes said something different.

They were darker but at the same time light as a gleam sparked through them. They were unreadable yet hypnotizing and intense, pulling him in while making him unable to remember his own name.

"Now put your arm around my waist." Her voice was calm.

His arm was already moving before he had any say, wrapping itself around her slim wait, feeling her skin that was so soft and warm. The shock he felt before when they were touching came back again, in the firm of stronger tingles shaking inside him as something was going off between them.

Behind them, the music started. A soft, calming flute played a tune almost similar to birds' singing, followed by a string of violins.

"Do you hear that?" Gabriella murmured. The calming tone was still there in her voice and made him even more tense and nervous.

He nodded slowly, his heart beating faster and faster each second. She continued, saying "The music. Listen to it. To the sound, the beat, the melody. Listen to it with your instinct instead of with your head."

Troy nodded and closed his eyes. He felt silly doing this, even though he felt like it would be better, but soon enough something appeared. He wasn't sure if it was the music or something else, but did felt-felt instead of known-something was there.

With his eyes closed, he wasn't sure, but it seemed like Gabriella nodded her head and sounded almost pleased. "Now open your eyes, pup."

Again, he obliged to her request, but did so slowly. Not that it made any difference. Seeing them intense and radiant, something inside him tightened while something else triggered inside, sending chills and tingles up and down his spine.

"Keep them on me."

Remember to breath, remember to breath, remember to breath, he chanted to himself.

She slipped her arm around his neck, causing red to color his cheeks and making him forget his inner chant by her touch. She moved their bodies closer together, with only little space separating them, all while keeping her eyes on him.

With her hair gleaming in the sunlight, bits of dark chocolate brown appearing in the raven mane, mocha eyes smoldering almost like a dark fire, beauty all natural without a hint of makeup yet absolutely unbelievable, she didn't resemble any ordinary girl.

Instead she was something else.

Something different.

Something cosmic.

Something not from this ordinary, simple, everyday life and world he was used to being in.

She was…ET.

"And now let go." She said.

Then they started to dance.