A/N: Sorry this is later than I said it would be. I've been sick for the last few days with the stomach flu and I didn't manage to update at all. :(

Okay, originally this part, to some degree, was rushed through with Arielle and Harris getting to Sampson, but after AmericanDesi asked for some of the adults' insight (thank you, by the way!), I decided to redo the seventh chapter and make its predecessor push to the eighth chapter. That's a little confusing, but it's just a mere report for now. Thanks guys! -love- Desireé

Chapter Seven, Thinking

So give me something to believe

'Cause I am living just to breathe

And I need something more

To keep on breathing for

So give me something to believe

-'Believe,' The Bravery

Gabriella was in the kitchen, stirring a bowl full of muffin batter, ignoring the cramp in her hand as she dragged the whisk through the mix. Adeline stood next to her, occasionally dipping her finger into the bowl and taking a helping of—in Gabriella's words—salmonella. "Lighten up," her friend insisted. She paused for a second. "You look so tired, G. Why don't you just take a break maybe? I'll book you a weekend at a spa or something. You definitely need it."

"Wow, thanks," Gabriella replied, making a face. Adeline shook her head.

"You can mock me all you want, but regardless, you are only thirty-four and you look so, so exhausted." She sighed and glanced at the clock, as if conscious of the time because people in Sampson always had full agendas. "Gabi, it seems like you've been through so much. Why don't you find yourself a man that will take care of you? Someone good and sweet and, hopefully, attractive. Find happiness in a guy who finds it in you."

"Okay, rewind," Gabriella retaliated, her eyes closed and her mouth straight. "This conversation cannot have any real point." She was quiet for a moment before saying, "I have good friends in this little sanctuary of a town. My time to find happiness in a guy has long expired." She returned to her muffin batter and Adeline dipped two fingers in this time.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the whir of the old gas oven, slowly preheating to four-fifty. Finally, the redhead teacher said softly, "You know, your boyfriend all those years ago, whoever he was, I bet he really misses you, Gabriella. I bet he really hates the day that you left because that's the day his life ended."

As did mine, Gabriella thought. Maybe she looked tired, maybe she was tired, but not one person came to mind when she reflected on who could possibly tender some slumbering salvation. The woman offered a smile to Adeline, appreciative that she had found this friend in a person not much unlike herself. Still, she wondered to herself what Troy was doing at that very moment, and if he was thinking about her just like she was of him.

TYWY

April Bolton was thirty-five years young, although the only hint to this was her wedding ring that had been on her finger for several anniversaries. She was tall, curvy, and inexplicably charming; more so, she was the somewhat older, only slightly taller, female version of her brother Troy. That and her hair was still blue much to the dismay of her parents who had assumed it was just a phase the day she arrived back from boarding school with sapphire tresses. She stood out among the rest of the crowd at the station, waiting pleasantly for her niece and nephew. "Oh my gosh," she cried when they reached her, luggage waiting at the No. 4 carousel nearby. "You're both so big! When did you get so grown up? Arielle, you look exactly like your father. And Harris, you—" What? Look exactly like the woman who left you for a lesser life two hundred miles away? Oh, yeah. Her.

"It's okay," he mumbled sheepishly, his feet shuffling slightly. April smiled sadly and gave him a hug, before jangling her keys in her hand and nodding outside.

"You guys hungry? There's a McDonald's around the corner," she said, clicking the unlock button directed toward a silver Prius.

"You have a hybrid?" Arielle asked incredulously, forgetting about the marvel that was fast food (Cassandra always had them get a personal chef if they weren't eating at a five-star place). "A fuel-efficient car? Oh my God, that's so cool!"

Their aunt raised her eyebrows and laughed. "Yeah, it was a birthday present from your dad. You guys were little when he got it for me. It's been good, though. By some way of luck it's lasted all these years," she said fondly. Their stares amused her. "What, have you guys never seen one? This is the mother of all hybrids, the first of all of them. Does Troy still have the Range Rover?"

Climbing carefully into the backseat, Arielle nodded moodily. "Yes," she answered, "He got a new one last year around Thanksgiving. I keep begging him to get a friendlier car, but he keeps saying he likes the Rover for some reason." April pursed her lips as she slid her seat belt over her torso. He used to drive her around, she thought. Probably got it with her in mind.

The golden arch caught her eye and she smiled lightly. "You guys up for some good old artery clogging?" she asked, turning into the drive-thru. "I don't really feel like cooking and their apple pies are good."

Harris glanced nervously at the menu. "We won't die of…" He trailed off. "We won't die?"

"By eating at McDonald's?" April laughed and shook her head. "Hey, it's not the Ritz or anything but once in a while is okay." She turned to the voice box and yelled out a couple of numbers and details including sauces et cetera. The cashier recited a price and the blue-haired woman grinned at the two muted teenagers. "When's the last time you've eaten fast food?"

"Uh, try never," Arielle snorted. "Cassandra insists we remain completely natural and organic." She rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. "Aunt April?" She caught the woman's eye in the rear view mirror. The girl shifted awkwardly for a moment. "Did you and Cassandra ever… get along?" she finally asked.

As if. "Oh," April replied, clearing her throat conventionally. "Well, she and I never really saw eye to eye, but that doesn't mean we didn't get along. It's just—she's got a different idea about life than I do, which is perfectly fine, everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion, however a long time ago we both agreed that it wasn't as simple as that—" here she snapped her fingers "—to become friends, and it would be better if we steered clear of one another."

"Is that why we always visit you?" Harris asked curiously. "And not the other way around? Because of Cassandra?"

Handing the cashier a twenty, April took one breath and turned back to them, not sure what to say that wouldn't undoubtedly upset Troy. "Well, there's something about New York that just unnerves me," she said lamely, "So I always like it better when you guys come up to Boston. Besides, I'm a Red Sox fan. I can't be walking around Yankee town." She patted her nephew's arm with a weak smile, wondering if they were thinking about Gabriella just as often as she knew her brother did.

TYWY

There were three people in Troy's life that he hadn't expected to call at all the moment he got home from the train station. The phone's tone (something fruity-sounding with a name like 'Fiesta' or 'Conga Line') filled the loft and he rummaged around the living room for the mobile. "Damn it," he cursed as he tripped over an old pair of Arielle's sneakers just in time to grab the cordless. "Hello?" He sounded winded.

"Honey!" Cassandra's voice shattered the peace that had drifted through the loft. "I'm so glad you picked up. How is everything?"

He glanced around the empty apartment. Lonely inched through his mind. "Great. I just dropped Arielle and Harris off at Grand Central; they're staying with April for a little while. Until you get back," he added quickly when he remembered the indifference between his wife and sister.

"Oh." Her voice went grim and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine what her face looked like at the moment. "Well, I miss you a lot. Mommy and Daddy are pleasant company, but they seem rather above the entire modeling business." She scoffed wholeheartedly. "I just miss your support."

Troy's weight shifted from one foot to the other as he leaned against the kitchen countertop. "Yeah," was all he could manage for a moment. Finally he cleared her throat and asked, "How's the… resort? Good service?"

She twittered and he held the phone away from his ear for a moment. "Oh, it's a lovely spa center, Troy," Cassandra gushed. "I just got a facial this morning, my skin feels like porcelain!" She droned in a low, sultry voice, "Perfect for when I return."

Maybe ten, fifteen, even twenty years ago, Troy would have liked the hear this. His boyish, goofy self would have been completely turned on by this subtle promise from a world famous supermodel, but now, he didn't really care. "Oh, God," he mumbled. "I'm old."

On the other end of the line, Cassandra asked with a concerned voice, "What was that?"

"Nothing," Troy said quickly. He rubbed his face and hummed a pointless tune for a moment. "Listen, uh, can I call you back later? I think I—I think I have to call Greta about the New Year's showing." One tiny little fib couldn't hurt anyone, right?

"Sure, honey bear!" she giggled. He felt himself cringe. "Go do your thing, keep bringing home the bacon, just be happy!" A burst of laughter erupted around her and she said, "Oh! I should go, too! I love you! Call me, okay? I'll be back before you know it, but don't be a stranger all this time."

Relieved the conversation had ended, Troy put the phone down back on the kitchen's island just as it rang again. It was an Albuquerque area code. For some reason, he desperately wanted it to be Gabriella. He wanted her to be calling, crying and begging for him to come get her. But it wasn't her, of course it wasn't. Jack Bolton was on the phone, confused as to why his only son didn't recognize the number. "Troy?" he said, voice deep.

"Oh, hey, Dad," the younger Bolton said. "How's it going?"

"Oh, fine. Actually, I just wanted to know if you and Cass and the kids were coming down here for Christmas," Jack explained. "Your mother's planning on making turkey."

Troy stared for a moment. He stared, essentially, at nothing, yet somehow he lost his train of thought and his father had to repeat himself. "What? Oh, right. Listen, about that. Um, Cassandra wanted to have Christmas here since we already flew down there for Thanksgiving. How about we come for… Martin Luther King Jr. Day? Or better yet, we'll fly you out here. Yeah, and that way April can be with us, too."

"I thought she and Cass hated each other," a voice piped up from the background. It was Lillian Bolton. Troy realized he was on speakerphone.

"They don't hate each other, Mom," he said shortly. "They just—Arielle and Harris and I make separate visits to April's house just for the sake of stability within the family." For some reason, the memory of Gabriella leaving and the turmoil afterward made Troy laugh at his own statement.

Both slightly startled, Jack and Lillian exchanged glances, each wondering about their son's peculiar behavior. "Well, why don't you come out for New Year's? Celebrate 2025 in your hometown."

"Yeah, I don't know, I'll call you guys later," Troy said, still chuckling. Why was he doing this? Why the hell did he find his ex girlfriend's official departure thirteen years prior funny? "Cassandra and I will talk. Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad." And with that, he hung up, cackling as if the world itself was the most hysterical thing he'd ever seen.

And then the laughter died, as easily as it had come. He waited, maybe for more hilarity to ensue, when the phone rang again. Straight-faced, he furrowed an eyebrow at the Caller ID. "Hello?" he answered.

There were familiar whispers for a moment. "It's him!" "You talk to him!" "Why not you?" "You're his best friend, idiot." "Well, shit, a long time ago, yeah." "What's so different now?" "Well—"

"Um, hello?" he said again, reflecting on who could possibly be calling. Best friend… Best friend… Who was his best friend?

"Troy!" the caller finally said, giving off a nervous laugh. "It's Chad… Danforth. Up in Westchester. And Taylor, too, she's here. Um, hi there." The line slowly faded and Troy cleared his throat. How could he have forgotten about Chad?

"You there, man?" he asked, running a hand through his hair. Homesickness was seeping through him all of the sudden, painful and slow.

"Yes!" Taylor squeaked. She hemmed timidly and mumbled something to Chad. "How is New York?" she inquired genuinely, turning her attention back to Troy.

"Uh, it's good. Cold right now, but I'm sure Westchester is, too," he replied, drumming his fingers against his stomach. "So… What's new with you guys?" He silently hoped their chat wouldn't be limited to small talk. A steady fourteen years of school together couldn't go to waste.

There was a silence. "I have to go," Taylor said suddenly. She cleared her throat and added, "Keep talking, it's been nearly five years and you guys have a lot to catch up." There was a moment where the phone clicked before Chad coughed.

"Hey," he muttered, his voice low.

Troy squinted at the cupboards across from him and smiled. "Hey. Everything okay? I got your… Thanksgiving card. Last month. It's the only turkey card on the entire mantle. You guys are special."

Chad laughed. "Oh, yeah. Taylor got one of those deluxe every-holiday-you-could-think-of Hallmark card boxes and now she's been writing greeting cards left and right. My parents got a Thanksgiving one, too, and so did Jason and Kelsi. They live in D.C. now. You catch up with any of the other East High people much?" He was thinking of Gabriella in particular, even if he knew very well Troy had no desire to think of his first—and perhaps only—love.

"Oh, actually, not really. I think Cassandra talks to Sharpay a lot, you know, with her being a designer and everything," the father responded, opening and closing the fridge door, hearing the faint chunk every time he pulled or pushed the handle. "But, uh, other than that, I don't. I should though. I should call everyone up just to see how things are going. Keep in touch, you know."

Yeah, we all know, thought Chad. "How are things w-with you?" he asked, stammering. "I mean, it's been a while since we've seen the kids, because, you know… We live out far, far, f-far away in Westchester. So we couldn't visit or anything. Unexpectedly, I mean. If you invited us, that would be fine, but, um, no we couldn't, like just randomly pop in and just… come back into your life."

"Jesus, Chad, you ramble like the world's ending." Evidently, Taylor Danforth didn't really have to go, but then again, who did?

Her laugh was to his ears like was chocolate was to the tongue, what lotion was to the skin. Purely magic. "You are ridiculous!" she trilled, collapsing into his arms with careful minding of the baby. He kissed her neck and she squirmed pleasantly, tapping his cheek. "Stop it, I hate being tickled!"

"Oh, but that means you love it," he countered, laying his lips on hers. She moaned against his mouth before finally pulling away, her hands pressed to his shoulders for leverage.

"You promised," she pouted. He sighed, knowing the guilt look she had lately used whenever she pleased would come next. "You said we'd get home and pick a name once and for all before I drove myself crazy interrogating random tagged employees at Vons about the origins of their names." She stuck out her lower lip and he rolled his eyes playfully. Bingo.

"Fine, fine. But let's just hurry up, okay? It's not fair to have this incredibly hot girlfriend with me all day long and not be able to kiss her," he said indignantly as she reached for the newly purchased baby book.

"Funny how you say that because you're the biggest kiss-ass I've met in a while," she teased and he grimaced. Combing his hair with her fingers, she smiled. "But still, it's nice to be called 'hot' when you feel like a balloon."

His arms slid around her as she opened to the first page, which began with A names. "Ashton," she read aloud, choosing ones she at least didn't mind. "Austin, Aaron, Adam." Suddenly, she froze as he grinned. "What?"

"You're reading boy names," he pointed out. "You said you wanted to be surprised."

Flags of color rose across her face and she turned away. "Well, I was just starting with boy names," she said, "and then I'll get to girls. See? Arielle, Anna, Alicia, Allison, Amy. Oh, look, April, like your… sister. Why are you looking at me like that?"

He smirked. "You know it's a boy, don't you?"

She blushed again. "No, I don't—"

"You called the doctor's office, didn't you?" When she didn't reply, he grinned triumphantly. "You did! Oh, Brie, that's actually awesome. I kind of was hoping for a boy. If we're gonna have a girl, I wanted one later… So she could be the baby of the family and I could spoil her rotten."

This made the girl beam. She finally gave in and smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. "We'll have another boy after this, then," she resolved, "and then a girl. You can pamper her all you like, but for right now we have to think about our first child. We can't leave him Untitled."

His face brightened. "That would be kind of cool—"

"No, absolutely not," she interrupted. He laughed.

"I was kidding, Brie. Cool it, will you? I don't think frown lines are good for the baby." The girl pushed his chest feebly and he kissed her again. "Now, let's get down to business."

Not until seven fifty-six that evening, which meant the young couple had spent a good four and a half hours deciding what to name their unborn child, had they come up with anything. He lay on the floor, facing the ceiling with a restless expression. "I spent ten dollars on that stupid book, which got us absolutely nowhere. Let's just name him Buckwheat," he said decrepitly, "or Hal or Gus. Something simple and interesting."

"Um, I'm sorry, Buckwheat?" She shot him a look and he flashed her a smile. Her heart melted. "Our child will be tossed into dumpsters and shoved headfirst into toilets and hung up on coat racks by his underwear if we name him that. We are not naming him Buckwheat."

He shrugged innocently. "Fine then. But we are definitely not naming him something boring like Michael or Eric or Will." The nineteen-year-old sat up. "I mean, there's got to be a thousand of those just within a ten block radius. We have to get the kid to stand out, since—" Off in the bedroom, his phone rang, playing a Beatles tune he had recorded from their iTunes. A groan slipped from his lips. "It better not be my parents."

"It will be," she replied dotingly, flipping through the book for what seemed like the billionth time, even when he insisted it wouldn't help. The boy rose and carried into the other room; the ringing stopped when he answered. The girl counted down from twenty as he spoke in short, hasty words before he finally trudged back to the couch. She smiled like the Cheshire cat. "I was right."

"Of course you were," he sighed, holding his hand up to observe his mobile. Suddenly he gasped and looked up at his girlfriend. "Let's name him after one of the Beatles!"

She glanced up at him, closing the book over her expanding stomach. "Paul, John, and George are all very average names, Troy. And we're not naming him Ringo."

He looked disheartened for a moment before his eyes brightened again and he said, "Well, what about the last names? Starr's cool, and so is Lennon. We could name him McCartney! How many guys do we know named McCartney?"

The girl stood up, pressing a hand to her back softly before standing in front of him. She took a breath, preparing for a long spiel of words. "Starr Bolton? That sounds like a female stripper. Lennon Bolton? Dear Lord, that sounds like a drink my mother would order. And holy crap, honey, McCartney Bolton? He'll be getting wedgies like some kids get growing pains."

Every dream shot down in ten seconds flat, the boy nearly gave up, before he leaned toward her, forehead against forehead, and grinned. "Harrison. What about Harrison?" he asked. "Harris for short."

She paused reflectively, her nose bumping his as she rocked back and forth on her feet. "Harris," she mused. "I like it. Harris Bolton. Not exactly Brad Pitt or Matt Damon, but I like it."

It hadn't occurred to Troy that he had been crying until Chad spoke. "Um, you all right, dude? Look, we've been meaning to call for a while now; Taylor keeps insisting we get together, but time just keeps running out. Have you, uh, gone Christmas shopping or anything?"

"No," the former hotshot replied, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He hadn't thought about Gabriella for the longest time, at least not like that. And now his face was wet, streaked with tears he hadn't known existed, proving that the strangest things could work out as easily as anything. You've seen a movie a million times, you know exactly when the character's death will happen or some news will spill, and even if you prepare yourself, you still sob so hard you can't breathe.

Funny how life caught up with you when you least expected it.

"I haven't," Troy continued, shuddering slightly at the chill that shocked him for a moment. "But, uh, the kids are with April right now and Cassandra's in like St. Bart's or something with her parents. I'm on my own for the next few days."

"Do you miss her?" Taylor suddenly blurted out. She paused and cleared her throat. "Uh, what I'm asking is does Gabriella ever—ever come up between you and Arielle and Harris?"

It hurt to hear her name. Troy flinched and slid down the wall, easing himself onto the cool tile floor. He hesitated, wondering if this question had a follow-up. "No," the man finally said, leaning on his elbow. "I mean the topic has come up before. But not recently—" He stopped. The few weeks back, when Arielle had called them on their trip in Vermont. She wanted to know about her. He decided to let this piece of information slide.

"Do you miss her?" The question came up again, but this time from Chad. He sighed when Taylor let out a whisper of dry air. "It's not like you haven't been wanting to ask him forever, Tay. I just stepped up to the plate first."

The former Golden Boy, who had unknowingly become a single father before his very eyes within the span of twenty-one years, felt tears burn his eyes again. He inhaled sharply before groaning. "I haven't talked about her," he said quietly, "in almost ten years."

The Danforths were good people and Chad had insisted he and Taylor drive out to meet Troy after Gabriella left. "He needs something to lean on," the curly-haired young man said to his girlfriend at the time, "since now he's got a shitload of responsibility for a whole lot of nothing coming from her." His eyes darkened and Taylor pressed her palm to his cheek.

"You know she probably couldn't stick around much longer, anyway," she said sensitively, "And you can be a loyal best friend all you want but it won't make her any less gone. Now, let's get going. He probably has limited time since… you know."

Central Park was beautiful in the winter, snowy and white like a true wonderland. In contrast, Troy Bolton was awful looking in this particular season, with five o'clock shadow and a shoulder slump he had seemed to only recently develop. "Man, I'm sorry," Chad mumbled when he reached the bench upon which they sat. They stood up and half-hugged, before Taylor kissed the hotshot's cheek and looked at him sadly.

"We're both sorry," she said. He nodded and took a seat on the other side of his best friend.

"Where's—" Chad motioned to Troy's empty hands. He felt no need to speak any more words than he already had.

"Baby-sitter," Troy provided, rubbing her eyes. "Some kid down the hall. It's actually the first time we've ever used one—before, Gabriella always was there to be the mother. But that was before."

There seemed to be shock in the phone lines, because Troy could practically hear the surprise oozing through the receiver. "Yeah, I know," he grimaced as he spoke, "I haven't even mentioned her name, except for when Harris first asked about her. He was only six, which put Ari at four. I kept wondering what does a twenty-something man tell his children when they ask about this woman that they think should be a part of their lives. The truth? The truth that always makes a lump form in my throat and my head ache? They couldn't handle it." He swallowed. "And they still can't."

Taylor sighed inaudibly. "What do they think really happened?"

There wasn't much of an answer. Troy only hiccupped and pushed the heel of his sneaker against the leg of the kitchen table. "I just told them what they wanted to hear, because at such young ages that's all they could ask for. I told them she loved them, and that was that. They just needed something to grasp, something to believe. I don't even know if they remember me telling them that so many years later. But I know they couldn't comprehend what really happened. They're not that strong, I mean—they just couldn't."

Whether or not he liked to admit it, they were smart children. They could have dealt with The News. The problem was that in all actuality their father couldn't, even given the many years since It happened.