A/N: Happy New Year's Eve Eve! This is the last update for a while, until the seventh at least, when I return to school. I'm curious to know how people are feeling about this story, it's a little slow, I understand, but these chapters are really here to establish personalities and circumstances. Let's get to that review button. :) -love- Desireé

Chapter Six, Road Trip

My fingertips are holding onto the cracks in our foundations,

and I know that I should let go but I can't.

And every time we fight I know it's not right, every time that you're upset and I smile,

I know I should forget, but I can't.

-'Foundations,' Kate Nash

The next day, Arielle and Harris were stirring their runny scrambled eggs mindlessly while Troy tried to salvage some black hash browns. "Well, there's a week until Christmas," he mumbled, turning off the stove fire for a moment, "and Cassandra won't be back until the twenty-second. We didn't plan a trip this year—where do you guys want to go?" He looked up at the two of them.

Arielle learned forward, tapping her wrist anxiously as she smiled at her father. "Actually," she told him, her hair falling in front of her face as she swung her head side to side. "I talked to Aunt April last night, she agreed we—meaning Harris and I—could come up for a while, maybe a couple days or something. She and Peter just redid the guest room, so we're all set."

"Um, when we you going to tell me this?" Harris asked acerbically, bumping her thigh with his knee. She shot him a look before clearing her throat.

"Well, I thought I would talk to Dad about it before I got your hopes up and all," she explained, eyeing her father, "although I don't see why there would be any problem for him if we went to April's."

Troy blinked. "Huh. You know, guys, I know it's difficult to grasp the fact that adults actually have emotion, but you do realize that your dear old dad will be all by himself if you two go to April's for the week?" he asked, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly.

The girl sighed. "Dad, you're always painting. And besides, there's plenty you can do without us around to bug you," she told him. Her eyes lit up suddenly and she continued, "Why don't you get back in touch with your high school self? You know who we haven't seen in forever? Chad and Taylor! Remember? Your, like, best friend and his wife? They were so nice when we were little! Don't you miss them terribly?"

The pan griddle shrieked; Troy shifted uncomfortably, gripping its handle. He wondered about the faithful companion and the intelligent mathlete. It had been years since they had spoken. "Uh," he began, changing the subject, "I like this idea better: what if I go with you to April's?"

"No!" Arielle cried, biting the inside of her cheek when she saw the looks of surprise on her father's and brother's faces. "I mean, come on, Dad, that defeats the purpose of us going there. April might as well just come over here then, but she probably doesn't want to drive…" Her voice faded as Harris glanced at her. "What?"

"Look, I get it," Troy said dejectedly, although he was attempting to hide his disappointment with a yawn, "You don't want me to come, and that's fine. Cassandra keeps telling me this is the age where you guys begin to branch out, so I can accept that, despite the fact that six days will be a long time without my two favorite people around." They each secretly rolled their eyes, and even if he couldn't see this, Troy was smart enough to sense their attitude.

"Daddy, it's not that we don't want you to come," Arielle persuaded, "it's just that we'd like some alone time with April. And we'll be back on Christmas Eve, simple as that. I'm telling you, it'll be a great time for you to still hang out with Chad and Taylor." He glanced at her again and she shrugged with a Shirley Temple smile on her face.

TYWY

After breakfast, Arielle didn't take the time to slack off, but instead launched right into packing clothes for the train ride to Boston. She was sifting through her desk, while the Dropkick Murphys song 'I'm Shipping Up to Boston' played an appropriate jingle. She rummaged through the closet, clutching papers to her chest when Harris walked in, calling her name, and she shrieked, jumping up and dropping everything to the floor. "Crap, you scared me," she said nervously, sweeping up the papers briskly. He bent down to pick one up that had landed near his feet.

"What's this?" he asked, staring at the words written in Arielle's print. He read aloud, "'Dear Gabriella.'" Harris paused. "Is this a letter?"

She snatched the paper from out of his hands and glared at him sharply. "Not that it's any of your business," she snipped, "but yes, it is." Arielle looked at the date. "I wrote this one last year, on my birthday. I asked her what she felt like after I was born, and if she remembered my birthday even all this time later. I asked her what she wanted to get me, and then I wrote that she didn't have to get me anything, so long as she came back, I would be happy."

He looked saddened. "Arielle, you know she probably has a new family of her own, maybe a big business or a thriving career," he let on tenderly. "It's a harsh thought, but it might be true."

"I know," she said softly, "but it's nice to dream, I guess." Kneeling over the suitcase, Arielle gently tucked the letters into a pocket and then reached for the Polaroid, kissing it gently before putting it with the papers.

"Why are you taking those?" he inquired, leaning against the wall.

She stood up and her face darkened. "This is for your ears and your ears only," the girl declared firmly, and he flashed his palms in a sign of surrender. "I swear, if Dad or Cassandra finds out what I'm going to do, they'll skin me alive and hang my hide on the wall." She shivered. "Cassandra is just like that. Anyway, Harris, you must promise—"

"I promise," he said solemnly.

"Oh," Arielle said, surprised there was no more convincing to be done. "Well then, listen good and listen well because I do not intend on repeating myself." She braced herself before saying, "I'm going to get April to help us find Gabriella."

His eyes widened. "Um, what?"

"No snitching," she said sharply, "but I think she has an idea of where she is, or at least where she went. And then she can take her to us, so we'll have the family again before Christmas! It'll be like an early present, a—"

"Arielle," Harris interrupted. "What on earth do you think you can do to bring this memory back to life? Gabriella could be dead for all we know, and—"

"Don't say that!" she squealed, horrified.

"—you seem to be determined she's, like, just around the corner." He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "Ari, can't we please just enjoy our time with April? I mean, we rarely see her, and if you even attempt this plan, our one enjoyable vacation will be ruined. Not to mention I doubt she has any idea where Gabriella is. I'm sure Dad would know if April did."

The girl made a face at her brother. "Oh, come on, Harris. You think I haven't carefully planned this out?" she asked. "April must know something, and even if she doesn't, she has to have more of a will to find Gabriella than Dad does. Ever since that day with Taylor and Chad, I can't stop thinking about her. She's around here, Harris, she has to be. She couldn't have gone far—"

He swallowed painfully. "In the last thirteen years? I think she could have, A, I really do, and she probably did."

At Grand Central Station, Troy notices the indifference between his two children.

This was the first goodbye Troy had said to Arielle and Harris in a very long time without knowing they would be back the next day. "Call me as soon as you get off the train, okay?" he told them as they slowly departed. "April will be there to greet you, look for her, she's still got blue hair, I think, so there shouldn't be a problem finding her."

"Okay, Dad," said Arielle after every sentence, nodding promptly and a little hurriedly. "We're two teenagers, smart and well-equipped with cell phones and I can always scream like a banshee if some jackass tries to attack me. Can we go now?"

"Cut back on the language, can we?" Troy tried, coming to hug her. He would miss them, even if something told him they wouldn't really miss him.

"There's much worse than 'jackass' in the English language, Dad," she said, wrapping her arms around him with a smile. "Like shit, or bitch, or f—"

"Got it," Troy cut in, and he brushed her bangs aside, grinning. Arielle smiled cheekily and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as Harris elbowed her before hugging his father. The man stood back a moment to examine them, and he nodded. "Call me in an hour, so I know you made it on the train safe and sound. Okay?"

They each agreed and patted their bags at separate times, Arielle waving and Harris half-smiling. As the children made their way toward the farther end of the station, Troy added hesitantly, "I love you both!"

"We love you, too!" Arielle shouted over her shoulder, seeing her brother's hangdog face. "Harris does love you, he just thinks that you can't say that to your dad at fifteen years old." People around them smirked and the boy shoved his sister slightly, while their father laughed.

"You're so embarrassing," Harris sneered weakly when they disappeared from the artist's sight. She grinned and slung her arm around him drunkenly. "But I put up with you, for some reason."

"We're okay then?" she inquired uneasily.

"About what?"

"You weren't exactly pleased to hear about my plan to get April to help us," she clarified coldly. "Even though you yourself have made no contribution to finding Gabriella."

He shrugged and she let her arm down from his shoulders. "I know," sighed Harris, "but I know finding out about Gabriella is important to you so I won't interfere this time. Just don't make me get into it, all right?"

Arielle took a seat on a comfy brown chair and fingered a split end in her hair. "Yeah," she murmured. "I just hope this is a good vacation, regardless of what happens with Gabriella. We haven't gotten a break in a long time."

"I know," he replied. "I hope so, too."

TYWY

Reality could give you pretty rude awakenings, so rude that you feel a sting on your cheek and a nail beneath your foot and a rock in your shoe—all at once. Discomfort smothers you and for too long a time you feel like you're about to die, taking your last little breath. Gabriella was half-dead on the floor as she clutched the local paper in her hands. There, on the cover of The Sampson Chronicles, was a picture of a much older-looking, still good-looking Troy Bolton, smiling at whoever was to the left of the camera. 'Bound for Praise' read the title. "Praise of what, exactly?" she jeered at no one.

The story was not more than four paragraphs, a simple recognition to the gallery exhibit opening in the Upper East Side. It spoke of his inspiration, his ideas, and his… family. She swallowed a large pill at the sight of the name 'Cassandra' and suddenly hated herself for being jealous. "You left," she reminded herself, "You left him. He moved on. Get over it."

"Get over what?" inquired Adeline as she came into the shop, smiling cheerfully. "Oh, did you see that story about the new Apple store in the paper today? I've wanted an iPod for so long, and now I finally can get one without having to drive out to Jersey City. I dropped my shuffle in the bathtub last month, so…" She paused and stared at Gabriella, as if it was only then that she realized she was on the floor. "You okay, Gabi? You look, um, disturbed."

"I am such an old hag!" sobbed the shop owner, crushing the paper into a ball the size of a loaf of bread and throwing it across the room. "I am thirty-four freaking years old and I am alone, and half-way dead, and this little town that literally has, like, twenty people in population calls me the Black Sheep." She sat up and pouted, "I might as well be out there feeding pigeons!"

For a moment, Adeline balanced on her feet awkwardly, not sure what to do. Gabriella continued in a blustery voice, "I had it all at one point. A good job, a good boyfriend, a good family, a good home. And now I have this—this—this dump." Her sentence ended in a screechy halt, as she realized Adeline was sitting beside her, posture terrible just like Gabriella's.

"It's not a dump, per say," Adeline said gently, "I think it just needs some tender loving care. And maybe a new name. I liked it at one point, but now 'The Witching Hour' just sounds like some late-late special on QVC." This forced a bitter giggle out of the shop owner. Her friend hesitated, before asking, "Why did you come to Sampson, though? What was your life before this?"

Gabriella rotated her shoulders slightly, trying to work out the many knots that had collected over the years. She paced herself for a moment, her hands steepled and her lips softened, concealing blank sentences. "I had everything. And now I have nothing."

Not for long, Ms. Montez.

And every time we fight I know it's not right, every time that you're upset and I smile,

I know I should forget, but I can't.