A/N: This should be the last update for a while, I guess until I get the story in order, plus I have finals at school right now. Wish me luck, lovelies!
I promised the old high school gang would be back in action, and I try to keep my promises as best as I can. Chad and Taylor appeared (and will turn up again later) so now you have… Dun dun dun. Read to find out. :) -love- Desireé
Chapter Eight, Journey
I took the Polaroid down in my room
I'm pretty sure you have a new girlfriend
It's not as if I don't like you
It just makes me sad whenever I see it
'Cause I like to be gone most of the time
And you like to be home most of the time
-'Tire Swing,' Kimya Dawson
An argument that had never been—and most likely never would be—resolved was whether or not everything happened for a reason. Arielle remembered the debate she had with her father last spring, when she came home with a broken arm and a dramatic bike accident under her belt. Troy insisted everything had a motive, an explanation, a pretext that would give it purpose in the world. She, on the contrary, said the pain shooting from her wrist to her shoulder was pointless and 'karma's way of making sure she stayed miserable.' When they got home, he smiled and heedfully set a pillow beneath her cast. "It's a blessing in disguise, Ari, I'm sure," he told her, ruffling her hair. "You'll think about this one day, all grown up, and be grateful it wasn't a serious injury. Baby steps."
Now, a year older, Arielle sat at the dinner table next to her brother, thinking about Gabriella. Did her leaving have an objective? Or was it, by stroke of fate, that she abandoned a life that didn't really seem half bad? Every few seconds she would direct her attention back to the conversation between her aunt and brother and listen to them talk about past Christmases and memories she for some reason didn't recall. Harris was nodding and smiling; once again, she felt detached from something that probably should have fascinated a girl her age.
"Arielle, are you all right? You look a little washed out," April remarked. The young girl pushed her tongue against her front teeth and tore a piece of chicken away from her plate; Baby steps, she reminded herself.
"Oh, yes, I'm fine," she said, forcing herself to smile. Suddenly her hands were sweating and her lips seemed listless and her entire mind had drawn a blank. What words, exactly, should you use when asking about a woman who, when you got down to the basics, may be fictitious? Arielle set her fork down and concentrated on the centerpiece of the table. "I know this might be a hopeless quest, but about our mother… Gabriella, I mean." She looked up finally and saw the somewhat shrewd expression in April's eyes. "I don't know what I want to find out," she continued, trying to suppress her apprehension, "but I feel like she's so close yet our dad is this… barrier between us. And I guess I want to know where you play into everything."
There was a long pause and April paced herself, knowing sooner or later Troy would find out what she will have told his children, and he wouldn't be happy. "Gabriella left when she was twenty-one, same age as your father," she said, her voice as even as she could manage, "and when she left, I was the only person who had known beforehand." The truth now out, she gasped slightly, just as stunned as Harris and Arielle. Across the table, they were still, faces sober. Their aunt continued, "I kept wanting to tell Troy, thinking maybe he could fix everything before it was too late. But at the same time, I also knew that I was a confidante and if I broke that trust at the last minute, I could never get it back, therefore I never said anything."
The teenagers were both rendered speechless. Arielle felt her world fall out from under her, like a trembling earth that would never stop shaking. Harris felt his mouth hang open, and his eyes were narrow, as if he couldn't imagine such a story. April compressed her lips, and smiled tautly. "I know it comes as surprise," she exhaled, wondering how to say the next few things, "For the months to follow, I was sick over the whole issue. And then the worst came. Gabriella called me." She bit down on her thumbnail, quivering. "She told me where she was and what the new town was like. We talked for hours about everything, except Troy. I thought about bringing him up, but that seemed to be impossible. She avoided the issue whenever I brought up family matters."
"You've known where she was all this time?" It was Arielle that had spoken, but she faced the floor and her hands were clenched in anger. She swallowed and gazed at her brother, before finally turning to April. "Thirteen years and not once did you even think to tell our dad?"
Incredulity replaced the worried sentimentality on April's face. "It's not that easy—" But suddenly, she stopped. The children looked confused, and she could only imagine Troy's fury when he found out about this little chitchat. "I know, I should have told him, but it isn't as simple as that. It wouldn't have fixed the problems they were having, it may have just complicated things even more."
An eerie silence splashed across the table, Arielle noiseless, Harris confounded, April guilty. The young girl finally stood up, the back of her legs pushing her chair. "I'm tired," she announced. "I'm going to bed. Good night."
TYWY
There was a buzz from the desk downstairs, and Troy glanced at the clock. It was the sixteenth, approximately seven o'clock at night. He didn't expect any deliveries, and the art friends who painted like he did must have been on vacation. "Mr. Bolton?" the lobby clerk rang him. "You have a visitor. She says she knows you, and she's here to pick up some work of Ms. Noel. Her name is… Sharpay Evans?" His stomach flipped.
"Should I send her up?" the clerk inquired after he didn't say anything. "She insists you went to school together… In fact, I think I recognize her face from—"
"Please, send her up," Troy interrupted. He rubbed his eyes and tried to imagine when Cassandra had mentioned Sharpay stopping by. "Thank you, Lynn."
After five painful minutes of wondering what conversation topics would possibly interest the drama queen from his high school days over sixteen years earlier, Troy finally heard the front door open. It was like Sharpay to let herself in somewhere. "Hello-o?" she said in a singsong voice. "I'm ba-ack!"
"Wow," Troy grumbled, coming into the front room and pulling his hood over his head. "Make yourself right at home, Shar."
She smirked at him. "That's no way to greet your good old friend from East High after a whole decade," she chided, smacking her lips together as she applied a coat of gloss via a compact mirror. Sharpay stared at him for a moment, and then observed the loft. "Where's the mini-Boltons?"
"My sister's," he said blandly, sticking his hands in his pockets. "The clerk said you needed something of Cassandra's up here?"
The hobo bag around her arm buzzed, and Sharpay reached for her phone. She frowned at a text message and then nodded, looking back to Troy. "Yes, she's got a portfolio for me. I have a new clothing line in progress, and she offered to model some pieces," she informed him. "Is she here?"
"No. She's on vacation with her parents at a spa resort." The artist busied himself with the dirty plates in the sink, rinsing them and then loading them into the dishwasher. "I guess her portfolio is somewhere around here. Go ahead and look, because I sure as hell don't feel like searching myself."
The bag buzzed again. Sharpay clicked her tongue. "Well, who rained on your parade?" she asked curiously, leaning with her back against the kitchen counter, watching him. "Come on, Troy, I've known you since we were four. You were never a cranky guy—and for the children's sake I hope you didn't turn into one—so obviously something big is bothering you. What is possibly getting your boxers in a twist?"
He turned around and glanced at her. "One, can we not talk about my underwear, please?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes in an if-you-say-so fashion. "Two, nothing if bothering me, and three, even if I told you what was wrong you would never be able to keep your mouth shut about it."
"Hah!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "You said 'even if I told you what was wrong,' which means something is wrong. Now, while I am stuck here looking for Cass' portfolio, I'd like to have at least an interesting gossip subject. So, what's plaguing your oh so perfect life?"
The fact that I am thirteen years late to begin to wonder about Gabriella, he said silently. Sharpay, being the smart and radical designer she was, heard him all the same.
TYWY
Boston was a quiet town compared to New York City. Arielle sat on one of the twin beds in the guest room, looking at the letters she had written, addressed to Gabriella, so many times. They all started with a civil tone that pretended the family would reunite one day. Then they launched into random facts about life, like tests at school and boys she liked and what movies were playing. Eventually, the emotion would run high and tears would blot the words, smudging the ink. An apology would ensue, and Arielle would end the letter fondly.
At that moment, she began to giggle, realizing what nonsense this was. Just like Troy that afternoon at the loft, she giggled until she laughed, and she laughed until she cried, and then she was quiet, feeling her lashes flicker as she blinked repeatedly. "Hey." Arielle looked up, seeing her aunt in the doorway.
The first thing out of her mouth was, "Where is Gabriella?"
Coming to sit on the bed, April smiled sadly. "I don't even know if she is still there," she said warningly, and her niece shrugged. "It was some small town in New Jersey. Sampson, I think. I wondered about it every day. I wanted to look it up, see where this girl that's practically my sister ended up. But I told myself not to get involved, because then I would be mending someone else's wounds." She hesitated. "Does that make any sense?"
The girl sitting next to her didn't respond. She hugged her knees self-consciously and finally mumbled, "All this time she's been so close. While I pretended I was sure she would return, a part of me was secretly wondering if she was on the other side of the world, with a new family and a new life, just like Harris said. He doesn't want to meet her, you know, because he's positive if we get our hopes up they'll just get pushed down again." Arielle rested her chin in her hand, looking blankly at her bags on the floor. "God, I can't believe she's been somewhere so simple as New Jersey."
"Hold on there," April quickly intervened, "it's been twelve years. She could have moved, Ari. I know you want to think she's still in Sampson, or wherever, but she may as well be in the Arctic Circle now."
"Twelve years?" Arielle raised her eyebrows.
"We talked a few times after that," the blue-haired woman confessed, her shoulders slouching as she leaned over her lap. "I know it's horrible of me to have kept this in, but what was I supposed to do after your father married Cassandra? That would be catastrophic. Troy had already been through so much, I decided to put the hope to rest."
The letters seemed brittle in Arielle's hands as she scooped them up. "I still want to find her," she said softly. At this, she looked up at her aunt, face relaxed and hopeful.
April's eyes widened as she realized what her niece was implying. "What? Do you expect us to take a three o'clock train down to Trenton?" she said, half-laughing and half-stammering.
"Well, we could drive if you wanted," the girl proposed, shrugging innocently. "Don't Priuses only have to get their gas tank filled, like, once every three weeks? But the train sounds more probable. I'm sure that's, like, ten times as fast."
The woman groaned, leaning against the pillows on the mattress. "Your father is going to kill me for following through with this," she said sharply, covering her face with her hands and peeking through her fingers.
"So you'll do it?" Arielle cried, throwing her arms around April. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She kissed her cheek and squealed happily.
"I guess we're not staying here for long then," came a voice, and Arielle smiled at her brother in the bedroom doorway. Harris nodded at his duffle bag, arms folded across his chest. "Good thing I didn't unpack."
TYWY
The Sharpay Evans in kindergarten thought Troy Bolton was cute. The Sharpay Evans in elementary thought he would make a suitable boyfriend. The Sharpay Evans in middle school thought he was a gorgeous basketball player. The Sharpay Evans in high school was in love with him, or actually, in love with the idea of him. The Sharpay Evans in college finally moved on from that world and launched into the land of clothing design.
The Sharpay Evans who was thirty-four years old, extremely famous and incredibly wealthy, wondered why the hell she was sitting in Troy Bolton's living room, listening to him like a damn psych patient moan about his life. She had fished around for the portfolio, however to no avail, and ended up munching on a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels while she absorbed his words. "It bewildered me to learn you were marrying Cassandra," she said after a while.
The words stinging, he glared at her. "You know why I did it," he hissed.
She rolled her eyes. "When you use that tone with me you get your boxers in a knot again," the designer said emphatically. He scowled and waited for other insight. She let out a puff of air and he wondered if the drama queen smoked. "Cassandra is the epitome of everything opposite to you. I was always jealous of your chemistry with Gabriella, so to hear about your marriage to… a supermodel is quite staggering." She watched him shift uncomfortably along the sofa cushions, and her mindset softened. "You really do miss her then."
Troy sat up, biting his lower lip anxiously. "I didn't miss her before," he sighed. "Or at least I think I didn't. She never crossed my mind once, until Arielle started asking about her. That's when things became awkward, and suddenly Harris looked a lot like Gabriella and Arielle looked a lot like me. I thought if I pretended Gabriella didn't exist, they wouldn't want to know about her. That seemed to be the opposite."
Sharpay clasped her hands, centralizing her gaze on the outer buttons of her handbag. "Of course it is," she chuckled. "I haven't seen them for a while, but I remember their intelligence perfectly. They're both smart, Troy. I think you underestimate their abilities. Have you told them… about everything?"
The clock announced eight-thirty. He shook his head. "I don't think they could handle it," he said, reminiscing what he told Chad and Taylor. "It's a huge complication in their lives; they don't deserve that heaviness."
"Do you?" counteracted the designer, glancing at him tentatively. "You know when Ari asks about it, she wants the facts. And you're her father. That gives you the choice to be brutal but truthful or gentle but dishonest. What would you want?"
TYWY
"He looks exactly like you," Gabriella said proudly when she picked up the infant in her arms. She still had the hospital wristband snapped around her arm, stating her name and age and room number. Behind her, Troy smiled maturely, his hands resting on her shoulders.
"Oh yes, the black hair and bronzed skin tone and dark eyes just scream Troy Bolton," he said with a laugh. Her back arched for a moment as she kissed the baby's head, glowing with pride over this little child that was theirs.
"Well, maybe he doesn't look very much like you," she decided, "but I know he'll be just as great an athlete and singer as you are."
Troy looked at her cautiously. "I thought we agreed to no more singing after the talent show at Lava Springs," he reminded her. "Remember? Sharpay coming between us, making you all dramatic and me act like a jerk? Singing was the center point to all that drama, you know."
Gabriella giggled. "Oh?" she asked, keeping Harris close to her as she settled on the couch of their apartment. "I don't think so. That was just human nature. Strive for success, fraternize with the enemy, and maybe even give your boyfriend back the necklace with his initial on it."
The hotshot grimaced. "Somehow you got it back in time for 'Everday,'" he reflected, glancing at the traffic outside on the avenue. "I never asked you how that happened, because when you left, I had the necklace, and then all of the sudden it was laying on your beautifully carved collar bone."
Another giggle slipped from her lips, causing Harris to stir. "Oh, right. I actually got Ryan to search your stuff, since he was the only one who had access to the 'special employee' lounge. You're quite predictable, you know. He found the necklace five minutes into snooping through your backpack the day of the show. I was quite relieved, it wouldn't have been as dramatic an entrance without that embellishment."
A smirk playing across his lips, Troy sat down next to her and flipped on the T.V. "Well, Ms. Montez, now that we're home with the baby after a really hellish nine months of morning sickness and bizarre cravings, what do you propose we do?"
"Sleep," she replied, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I'm tired. It's been a long day."
He kissed her softly. "We'll have more long days after this one, and we'll get tired again, but the destination is only as good as the journey, right?" She grinned against his lips and Harris yawned in her grasp with a sweet smile only a baby could retain.
TYWY
It was the seventeenth of December when Gabriella wondered if she should put up Christmas decorations. The Witching Hour was looking a little humbug-ish. When she called to consult Zora, the woman replied, "Do you celebrate it?"
"Christmas? Yes," came the hesitant answer. "But it's nothing special. I live alone, after all."
"Well, put them up anyway," Zora said. "It might just get you in the holiday spirit."
There were icicle lights to be hung up in the front, some reindeer with necks that moved for the sidewalk, a fake Christmas tree that looked a lot the Charlie Brown sapling in the cartoon, and lastly, stockings. Gabriella hesitated when she glanced at the fireplace. "They'll be for the four friends I have," she decided. But while she fastened them over the hearth, her mind involuntarily flashed back to a memory she so desperately wished to forget.
"Oh, baby's first Christmas!" Theresa Montez laughed and clapped as Jack Bolton snapped a photo of the new family, the second and third generation. "He's such a sweet little child, I can't believe it's already been so long since the birth."
"September twenty-second, two thirty-one in the morning," Gabriella said proudly, kissing the infant's forehead. "He's officially four months, three days, six hours, and eighteen minutes old." Troy leaned against her, whispering in her ear. She blushed and looked down at their son, who stared back at his parents with bright brown eyes.
The Montez family and the Boltons had merged for the holidays, Theresa flying in from Albuquerque alongside the in-laws, Jack and Lillian. They crowded in the two-bedroom apartment, cooing over their grandchild. Gabriella kept him with her at all times, feeling her maternal instincts steady. "Brie, you're arms must be tired, why don't you go put Harris down for a rest?" Troy suggested, holding her face in his hands.
She shook her head. "I'm fine, I like carrying him around," she told him. He sighed and nodded, just as the adults began to exchange presents. Gabriella smiled. "Come on, let's join them."
TYWY
"Your father is going to kill me when he finds out I'm taking a train with you guys down to New Jersey," April warned the teenagers when they arrived at the station the night after the confessional, their bags in hand. She had packed herself an overnighter, and quite nervously. "He's going to disown me as a sister. He's going to kill me, bury me, dig me back up so—"
"So that he can kill you again, I know," Arielle sighed as they waited in line at the ticket booth. Her aunt raised an eyebrow. The girl added, "You said that on the way over here."
Harris snickered and April elbowed him. "What?" he asked. "You did. Dad won't kill you; maybe he'll shout and rant for a couple hours, but murder is a really drastic term."
On the train, they played card games, like War and Go Fish, hoping for a distraction while the trio all secretly worried about whatever was waiting for them when the train came to a complete stop. The destination is only as good as the journey.
A/N: I rewrote this about four times and I still didn't like the outcome. Ugh, I'm trying really hard to limit the original character time. That's why Sharpay was introduced here. Hopefully those scenes didn't upset anyone. (I've attempted some Troypay friendship before and it didn't pan out so well.) I'm trying to get the whole gang back together (and make sure Harris and Arielle don't drive everyone crazy). What's that calling? The review button! Oh, goodness, let's not keep it waiting. :) -love- Desireé