A/N: Hope everyone had a nice holiday, whatever it is you celebrate. Here is the fifth chapter, which I actually enjoyed writing. Enjoy reading it! -love- Desireé
Chapter Five, Fortune
Sometimes that mountain you've been climbing
Is just a grain of sand
What you've been out there searchin' for forever
Is in your hands
Oh, When you figure out love is all that matters after all
It sure makes everything else seem so small
-'So Small,' Carrie Underwood
It was December the thirteenth when Troy heard a rather obscene yet familiar tune blasting from Arielle's bedroom, the frames on the walls shaking uncontrollably as the music rocked the loft. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, standing up and setting the Entertainment Weekly down on the coffee table. "Why do I recognize that?" He pounded his fist on the door and waited for an answer, which didn't come. "Arielle!" he yelled over the music. "Turn that down!"
The slider door was pushed to his left, and there appeared Arielle, giving him an empty grin that made him cringe. "What are you playing?" he asked, half-impatient and half-interested in hearing what it was that made him look back fifteen or so years. She pressed the 'pause' button on the remote to the iPod speakers, clearing her throat conventionally.
"It's called 'Music Is My Hot, Hot, Sex' by CSS," she informed him, finger combing a shock of daffodil-colored hair out of her eyes. She looked at him innocently, and he wondered if this had been what Gabriella had thought of him all those years ago, a living, breathing marvel with big innocent baby blues. "Today, there is exactly twelve days of Christmas left, so I'm having a loud and rowdy kickoff. Or a music fiesta, if you'd like more polite terms."
"'Music Is My Hot, Hot Sex,'" he repeated, and she nodded. Troy leaned toward her, his hand up in the doorway for a crutch. "Arielle Delaney, that is going off your iTunes now."
She pressed play and turned the volume up a little more, cracking the world in half, figuratively speaking. The girl cupped a hand around her ear and raised her brows. "What?" she yelled. He opened his mouth to speak and she interrupted, "I can't hear you!" The singer taunted, "Music is my boyfriend, music is my girlfriend, music is my dead end."
He glared and took the remote from her hands. The music stopped. "Arielle, why are you listening to music that I listened to when I was a teenager?" he inquired, making a mental note to sweep through her playlists the next day.
"Because," she said matter-of-factly with a poker face plastered on her Shirley Temple cheeks, "maybe then I can at least get an idea of what it would be like around Gabriella."
The music played in their imaginations, "Music is my hot, hot sex."
TYWY
It was December the fourteenth when Troy heard what he remembered as the punky, eye-liner loving girl singing, "Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your girlfriend, no way, no way, I think you need a new one." Now Arielle was simply tormenting him.
He pounded on her door again, and this time Harris opened, looking like he had been socked in the stomach once or twice. "Please," he begged, "make it stop, Dad."
"Arielle!" he called over the son's head, eyeing the blonde who was jumping on her bed, wearing red and green stockings and a black mini dress. All grown up, Troy thought sadly. "Arielle!"
She stopped and rolled her eyes. The music stopped. "Yeah, yeah, I know, turn it off. And no songs with swear words," she added when Avril Lavigne sang, "And hell yeah, I'm the motherfuckin' princess."
TYWY
It was December the fifteenth when Arielle arrived home from school with Harris, announcing her happiness that school was out for winter vacation. "I'll celebrate with some alternative," she said softly and sauntered toward her room. Troy tossed his keys onto the counter and counted down from ten. Nine, eight, seven…
"Medically speaking you're adorable, and from what I hear you're quite affordable," crooned the room's speakers. "But I like them pricey. So exaggerate and tri-tri-tri-tri-tri-trick me."
Harris fingered a scuffed baseball in his hand. "I'm going to send this through that wall," he muttered, "and hope it smacks her right on the head." Luckily for him, Troy used the sound as an excuse so not hear the comment.
"Arielle," he said firmly through the closed door, "I know you want to celebrate and everything, but please turn it down. Other people live here."
"So then kick me out!" she retaliated. "Not like you'd miss me much!"
He turned the knob and looked inside. She was sitting on the floor, playing what looked like a chess game with one of the many teddy bears she had collected a child. Really, though, she was just moving pawns back and forth. "Hey," Troy said, crouching down and brushing her hair out of her face. To his relief, her cheeks were dry. "Let's go out to eat. That way we can all make merry, okay?"
"Fine," Arielle grumbled. "But I don't want to go somewhere fancy."
As she shrugged on a jacket, Troy swallowed her in a hug. She pressed her forehead against his chest and he felt her grimace. "Agreed," he replied with a halfhearted smile.
Home Shopping Network was a last resort, and only that.
Gabriella did not enjoy watching it.
However, it was often the only thing on that was worth her attention and the TiVo alert.
Home Shopping Network was a last resort. She thought it should be only that, yet somehow it turned out to be more during this we're-too-old-but-screw-the-age-normalcy sleepover.
"And here we have this lovely 14-karat…" began the stout woman on the screen, wearing a Christmas sweater vest and constantly stretching out her mouth with a yawn.
"How unprofessional," Adeline said with a laugh. She sat next to Gabriella on the sofa upstairs, sharing a popcorn bowl with the owner and giggling about the gaudy things offered. "She looks exactly like this mom from school. Same height, same hair, same damn Mrs. Claus squinty smile."
At this, Gabriella chuckled. She popped a kernel into her mouth and thought about the woman who had stopped by the other day, with her two boys. Adeline stared at her for a moment and then nudged her side. "Something on your mind?" she asked. A much taller, bonier lady with round red cheeks and beady eyes, holding a black velvet box, joined the woman on the screen. "Something—romance-related?"
Ever since Gabriella had distributed her tragic story into the universe for the woman with the sons, it seemed the rest of society decided they wanted in, too. "What?" she said, sitting up slightly and blinking. "No, why do you ask?"
Adeline smirked. "You look… evocative," she chose the word carefully. "Almost dreamy. Did you meet someone?" She smacked Gabriella's arm. "Ooh, who is it? Come on, Sampson is about ten square feet, I must know him."
"You don't know him," the shop owner responded tightly.
Adeline shifted; the popcorn bowl wobbled before she steadied it. "Oh, is he an out-of-towner?" Clearly, she wasn't catching on. "That sucks, G. They blow in here like tumbleweeds, and then they're out again before you know it. You guys didn't do anything, did you? I mean, maybe a kiss or two but nothing like sex, right?"
"Oh, come on Sherlock, you honestly think I'd have met someone and then not tell you?" Gabriella said sourly. "I didn't meet anyone, I was just thinking about someone. It's an old someone, but I can remember almost everything about him, from his smile to his scent to his touch. Like it was yesterday." She snuggled beneath her baggy sweatshirt and grunted. "I hate being single."
This made Adeline smile slightly, although it didn't take brain science to sense Gabriella's bitterly wistful mood. "Tell me about it," she responded, offering up the popcorn again. "It's a pain in the ass but that's where friends come in."
TYWY
"I love this place," Arielle gasped as soon as the three Boltons walked into the Hop Kee Restaurant in Chinatown. Troy had been driving around aimlessly for a running sixty minutes, trying to come up with a non-fancy yet still sanitary dining establishment. He finally called Greta, his gallery agent, and asked where she liked to go. "Hop Kee," she had said simply. Troy thanked her and drove in that direction.
Now, they were seated in the almost empty eatery, and the father hesitantly asked the waiter where everyone was. The employee shrugged as he put their menus down. "Ah, holiday season. Lots of people on vacation, very little business, you know? You folks want some dumplings?"
"Yes, please!" Arielle said earnestly. The waiter smiled and she turned to her father, beaming. "Oh, Daddy, this place is wonderful! Let's go here again, I'm already loving the atmosphere!" A busboy waded near their table, scrubbing another; the hostess was making a phone call, confirming a party of eleven people; their waiter, who seemed to be the only server at the time, was picking at a stain on his shirt. Troy squirmed.
There was a long, awkward pause before Arielle said she needed to use the rest room. "I'll find it," she reassured her brother and father, the former faking interest. "No need to be snarky." He waved.
As soon as she left, Harris turned to Troy. "Boy, do you look uncomfortable," the black-haired teen said with a leer. The man narrowed his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, well, to start the list, Dad, you're used to Cassandra deciding where to eat all the time. So that's why you called Greta to get a second opinion," Harris said, counting on his fingers, "And whenever you're eating with Cassandra, you guys are somewhere expensive and rich and well-lit and with food that you've never even heard of. Thirdly, you're sitting up straight and your elbows aren't on the table. You're completely uncomfortable."
Troy would have protested had Arielle not returned from the bathroom. However, it wasn't like he had much of an argument anyway. Harris did have a point. Hop Kee, although laidback and not at all unfriendly like many places he'd been, wasn't what he was adjusted to. "The bathroom doesn't have soap bars!" Arielle exclaimed. "Just a dispenser with pink goo! That's so cool!"
TYWY
There was a little jingle from downstairs, and Gabriella knew there was a customer. "Damn," she mumbled, "I was so looking forward to seeing what the caller wanted to know about the jeweled headbands." Adeline snickered and set the popcorn bowl on the coffee table, waiting for her telebuddy to return after helping the shopper.
"Good evening," Gabriella said gently as she came down the stairs. A man stood, and she realized it was Jude. "Oh, hi there." She felt her face flush. She had forgotten he had wanted to stop by in search of a Christmas present for his niece. Now, though, Adeline was still over.
"You feel all right?" he asked with a smile. "You look like you've just seen a ghost." Or fallen off a cliff, she thought sickly.
"I'm fine," Gabriella replied, running a hand through her hair. "I just—I actually have company over."
He raised an eyebrow. "Male company?"
"Why does everyone assume I suddenly have a boyfriend?" She folded her arms over her chest in a subconscious way.
Jude flashed a grin. "It's hard to believe you're single, Gabriella," he said in the blandest tone he could muster, "with all that pizzazz and charm of yours."
She came up to him to flick his shoulder, and he faked pain. "It's just a friend," she corrected him, before a light bulb brightened above her head. "In fact, you should meet her. Her name is Adeline, she's a teacher, long red hair and freckles and—"
"Gabriella Montez, are you trying to set me up on a blind date?" Adeline appeared behind her, arms crossed and a smirk conquering her lips. Extending a hand, she nodded at Jude. "Call me Addie."
"Nice to meet you," he said, his eyes bright. Gabriella stepped out from between them and closed her eyes. Now if only someone would do this for her.
TYWY
"Fortune cookie?" the hostess suggested, presenting a tray with three chocolate-covered fortune cookies on their individual saucers.
"Thanks," Harris said appreciatively, reaching across his sister to take a dessert. Arielle followed suit, and the hostess turned finally to Troy. She held the tray forward and he raised his hand gingerly, wondering what it was that made him so hesitant about reading a fortune that probably wouldn't even come true. Finally, he took one of the treats and rubbed his thumb along the sweet, smoothed chocolate, wondering what message lay inside.
The three cracked open their pastries simultaneously, and Arielle read her fortune aloud first. "A fascinating project is in your future," she announced, and folded the message before pocketing it simply.
Harris went next. He scanned it first, and then groaned. "Ugh, it's one of those that's just a saying, not a fortune." Arielle elbowed him and he continued, "'Chocolate is a tangible expression of friendship.'" He frowned. "I didn't pay for an expensive noodle-and-pork dinner for that."
Glancing down at his own fate, Troy sighed nonchalantly, "That's right, I did." He felt his eyebrows knit together as he read the crimson/ print, and then the numbers beneath. 14 among them. Fourteen, he thought. My number
"Daddy, what is your fortune?" Arielle asked with a curiosity he loathed. Harris leaned forward slightly over the placemats on the table which had the twelve Chinese horoscopes. He looked to Arielle; she was Year of the Rabbit. Articulate, talented, and ambitious. Virtuous, reserved, excellent taste. He smiled slightly, and then looked at Year of the Horse: her father. Popular. Cheerful, perceptive, sometimes talk too much. Wise, talented, impatient, hot-blooded. Rarely listens to advice given. Weakness for the opposite sex.. The boy snorted. Yep, that was Troy. "Daddy?" Arielle repeated, looking from her brother to her father and back again. "What does your fortune say?"
'A mysterious person will soon enter your life. 02 06 11 14 29 31.' He crumpled the paper, suddenly feeling his fingertips singe with fear. "Nothing important," he said dismissively. Arielle shrank back against her chair and waited for the waiter to give them the check.
TYWY
So it wasn't a fortune cookie, but Gabriella was also finding out about her predetermined future via Yahoo! after Adeline and Jude, engrossed with one another, left the shop together later that night. "'More than almost anyone else, you know that things change. Sometimes they change back to what they used to be, but nothing stays the same forever—and some part of your life is moving on today,'" she mused, caressing the computer mouse subconsciously with her thumb. "Maybe."
TYWY
"You're popular, and you talk too much, and you have a weakness for the opposite sex," Arielle announced when they reached the apartment building, the warm air inside heating their frozen bodies when they got to their particular dorm. Harris moved onto the living room immediately, quiet and uninterested, while the father paused and blinked, turning to his daughter.
"Excuse me?" he asked sternly, giving her a rephrase-now expression.
"No, no, no," she corrected him, "that's what the Chinese New Year calendar says about you. You're Year of the Horse, which is popular and cheerful but also talkative and I guess you get weak-kneed around girls." Folding her arms, she grinned and nodded. "I looked at the placemat. It says so."
"Oh, really?" he said, ruffling her hair slightly to give her that childish feeling once more. "Well, you, Arielle Delaney, are Year of the Rabbit. What does it say about you?"
She smiled a lofty smile. "That I'm articulate, talented, and have good taste," she said airily. "I don't blame them, it's the truth."
Troy leaned down to kiss her head and half-hug her. "Yes," he murmured tenderly, "It is." Then he remembered Gabriella, also Year of the Horse. Had Mrs. Bolton given birth just a month earlier, even two weeks, he would have been a Snake. Says very little, possess great wisdom, tremendous sympathy for others. But no, he was talkative and impatient and hot-blooded. Gabriella was just as loquacious if not a great deal more; she wanted many things to be done all at once; she had a temper. So while Troy could opt for being a December baby, instead of a January, he still felt a slightly special connection to the girl he once loved, who too was chatty and restless and fervent. It made him feel a little less sick about the gaping void that was the thirteen years she had spent MIA.
Missing in all this action.