A/N: And the saga continues. If you didn't catch it already, I made the tenth chapter a bonus flashback, so take a look if you want. Thanks again! I apologize this is quite late, I know I want to fix my updating habit. -love- Desireé
Chapter Eleven, Happy Ending
I'm the voice inside your head
You refuse to hear
I'm the face that you have to face
Mirrored in your stare
I'm what's left, I'm what's right
I'm the enemy
I'm the hand that will take you down
Bring you to your knees
-'The Pretender', Foo Fighters
Real. (adjective) 1. Actually existing as a thing or occurring in fact; not imagined or supposed. 2. Used to emphasize the significance or seriousness of a situation or circumstance.
Arielle liked definitions. They helped the world become a clearer place, even on the days where she didn't think she could figure out left from right. And now that she sat up, hearing the staircase creak and her brother clear his throat, she could add a new definition to the word 'real': 3. Gabriella Montez.
The literal definition of the word mother was 'a woman in relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth'. Arielle remembered her father told her, when she was little, it was 'a female parental figure made of sugar and spice and everything nice'. That interpretation, she thought, was better than the first. Gabriella finally appeared in the doorway, her hands clasped and eyes on both children tentatively. She waited a moment before parting her lips and uttering in the sweetest voice ever known to man, "Hello."
It was one word Arielle thought was magical. She smiled excitedly and Harris subtly nudged her foot with his: a warning to calm down. "Hi," she replied, nonetheless happy. In spite of the good feelings, her stomach bubbled with premonitions that were mostly relying on the past for reason; the woman that stood before them could be gone again within the week. It didn't give her much credit, but it was possible. The girl opened her mouth to speak again, but nothing seemed appropriate for conversation. "Um, hi."
Gabriella laughed, and her realism sparked like the pop rocks Troy used to give the kids around Fourth of July to throw against the asphalt. "Well, I guess we can start with the basics," she said, folding her arms over her chest and crossing one foot in front of other. "How did you guys get here?"
"April," Harris said automatically. He closed his eyes shortly and opened them again to apologize under his breath. Arielle sighed and nodded. Her brother finished a little more clearly, "Aunt April took the train with us from Boston."
"How is she?" Gabriella asked, looking down at the ground as she spoke. Her hair fell, gravity pulling on the neglected split ends. Her face was flaming with embarrassment; this was the deserter. She had left, and they obviously knew it. If only they knew why, but it wasn't her place to say, just like it wasn't April's nor Taylor's or Chad's; only Troy's.
The wind outside died down for a moment, bringing the house to complete quiet. Harris hemmed and said, "She's good. She wanted to see you, but you know, she said another time."
Gabriella nodded. "Well, you guys want something to eat? I hear this one place makes killer grilled cheese sandwiches," she said with a grin.
"Where?" asked both children simultaneously.
"Here," she answered, face shining. This was what she wanted to feel: like she had a job, like she was wanted. Like a mother.
Troy dials his children's cell phone numbers, to no avail.
The reunion, for being last minute and costly, was a hit. At least, this was true for most people. Baylee, one of the old cheerleaders, hooked up with one of the skater dudes by the third hour; the old gang was slowly making their way around full circle with conversation; and, of course, Ryan was hitting it off with the bartender. "My gay brother," Sharpay huffed, sitting down at the empty table where Troy was scrolling through his contact list, "gets laid more often than I do."
"I thought you were engaged," Troy replied, not looking up from his cell phone. "Goddamn it, why aren't they picking up?"
"I am," she informed him, ignoring the last sentence with her chin in her palm and elbow on the table. "But Milan is never home free for very long, and I am not someone to give or get a quickie."
He snorted and finally glanced at her, eyes sparkling. "Milan? Your fiancé's name is Milan?"
"Yes, he's a very sexy designer-turned-model, I'll have you know and he's named after a city in Italy. You, Bolton, are named after a Greek city that was the location of complete havoc over one not-that-gorgeous blond girl and was later forgotten and discontinued on the map," Sharpay replied indignantly. She paused. "You haven't met him?"
"I haven't seen you in over a year. Why would I have met Milan?" He emphasized the name and made a face.
She smiled and sipped her glass of champagne—bottomless, as it should be. "You know, you're a photographer, and I'm a fashion designer, and I've seen your work," she said grandly, continuing, "Why don't we get together and create a label? We could be called, 'Bevans'. I like that. Or Evoltons—ooh! That's even better! It sounds like evolutions! We'll be groundbreaking."
There was a loud crash across the room as Martha, somehow drunk by the only thing being served, Dom Perignon, accidentally dropped her flute and giggled loudly at the sound. The same candle waiter from earlier appeared tiredly and bent down to pick up the mess. Troy looked back at Sharpay and repeated, "Evoltons? I'm sorry, when did you start coming up with this idea? And you know I don't take photos professionally anymore. I stick with art."
"And let me be the first to break it to you that you suck with a pencil, and you're better with the camera," the drama queen told him, leaning forward in her chair. Troy rolled his eyes and Sharpay simpered. "I say you quit the gallery thing and come work for me. Plus, you'll get to see your honey bunny all the time. She's my top model; the interns just adore her and they'd like you, too." She sighed and plucked his cell phone out of his hands. "Who are you trying to call exactly?"
"Arielle or Harris, but neither or them are answering texts or picking up my calls," he grunted. "I don't appreciate their neglect right now."
"You sound like Coach Bolton," Chad said, manifesting at the table slapping down in a chair on the other side of Sharpay, "when Jason, Zeke, and I all graffitied the wall in the gym that showed the Wildcat mascot slow-roasting a Knight that had the word 'pansy' sprayed across his stomach." He grinned at the memory as Taylor joined them. "Like father, like son, eh Troy?"
The man shook his head. "No, I'm not like my father, I just wish they would pick up their fuc—" He stopped, face red. "I mean, I just wish they would pick up their phone."
"You were going to swear!" Taylor accused, pointing a finger. "You were going to say 'fuck'! Wow, Troy, you never swear. What's wrong?"
He grimaced. "Nothing is wrong. I just want Ari, or Harris, to answer my flipping calls!" he replied hotly.
"That's more like it," Chad grumbled, and caught the glare from his best friend.
"I love champagne," Sharpay said to no one in particular, staring into her glass. The Danforths mumbled their reply of agreement and across the room, Martha giggled again. Reunions.
TYWY
Harris had gone to unpack their bags when it was agreed (over killer grilled cheeses) they could stay for the time being, at least until Troy began to wonder why his kids were never available to talk when April picked up her home phone. Now Arielle sat with Gabriella in the living room of the apartment,
"This is awkward," Arielle declared, staring at her lap when the fourth minute of silence began. She had been trying to make conversation for the past half hour, and now it was like she had been sitting for an entire day, in silence. Talk, talk, talk. About what? Truth, truth, truth. Gabriella smiled, and the girl relaxed. "I guess when I imagined meeting you, I thought everything would just fall into place. But now it's like we're at a road block."
"So, Cassandra isn't really like a mother to you," the woman reflected, taking in every feature and blemish on the other. "Even if she's been married to Tro—your father—for six years."
When hearing her feelings put into words, Arielle shrugged. "She's not exactly a motherly type, and never was. Harris and I are pretty self-sufficient anyway. The girl's thirty for crying out loud, anyway! Young enough to be our sister." Gabriella cringed and looked away.
"Have you had a good experience with your father, though?" she asked, sincerely curious. An experience you should have with two parents.
"Yeah, I mean, it's okay. It's not like we bond or anything, but he's a good dad," Arielle said softly. She blinked and looked up, realizing something. "I think he gets embarrassed sometimes, like when I was eleven, and we were visiting Grandma Lillian and Grandpa Jack in Albuquerque, and I got my period for the first time. I told Grandma—Cassandra wasn't even there anyway—but she ended up blabbing it to Grandpa and my dad even though I didn't want her to. While Dad practically passed out on the couch, Grandpa told me it was okay that bodies go through changes, and then explained to me what a colonoscopy was." She closed her eyes.
A laugh escaped Gabriella's lips; chuckling was all she could do. "That sounds like Jack," she said with a grin. "But T-Troy?" Her voice shook with his name. "He's okay, right?"
Heart beating, Arielle nodded slowly. She wondered if the shakiness was a good thing. "He's all right. I think he misses basketball. Art's kind of weird for him. He likes it, but he's not… Loving it. I think he wishes he was in the NBA."
Hah, so did I, Gabriella thought flatly. She clasped her hands and shut one eye, then the other. "What are you doing?" Arielle asked.
"Reminiscing," was the reply.
It would be later that a silent agreement would state no questions about the past, no references to a reunion including the two exes, and no unnecessary revelations. And it would be later that Gabriella would almost regret this silent agreement, because she was itching to scream truth, truth, truth, and it would be later that Arielle would almost regret not standing up to this silent agreement, because she was itching to scream her thoughts, thoughts, thoughts.
And it would be simply eventually when Troy Bolton would tie into the crazy mix of it all, breaking the wrongful hush of no words.
TYWY
"So, how much money have you spent on this one event?" Ryan asked his sister when the reunion was finally over. Everyone except Troy had left, and now he was in the hallway, calling the children again on the rare chance they would pick up.
Sharpay looked thoughtful. "About as much as someone's down payment on the Empire State Building would be," she replied, and burst out laughing at the incredulity on her brother's face. "Oh, like it matters. I would have spent it on Milan's whiny-ass little niece and nephew anyway, and they sure as hell don't deserve anything else."
The doubt wasn't washed from Ryan's blessed features. "I am still in shock over your care for this," he said, concerned. "I mean you never spend so much money on other people, only yourself. And to go all out for Troy Bolton has me worried—"
"Do I have to shove my engagement ring down your throat?" Sharpay said brusquely, crossing her arms over her chest. "I am not into him like that anymore, so let it go. And the money issue so isn't an issue, it's not like I offered to pay for their ticket back home. That's where they get stuck in NY and I laugh at their misfortune." She grinned devilishly and Ryan tilted his head back with a groan. "Why are you complaining? You scored a de rigueur hottie."
"Not so much. He was interested but his hands were calloused and a very important requirement I have in a guy is that he owns some Lubriderm," he said firmly, shrugging slightly before getting his own wicked grin. "And not just for his hands."
The champagne she had been drinking dribbled down her chin as she choked and gasped for a moment. "Ew, Ryan, if there's ever been a TMI moment between us it was just now," Sharpay squeaked, face gray despite her Bare Minerals foundation. "Please excuse me while I go throw up all over that waiter we've been bugging all day, I think he is entitled to a good puking."
"I wonder if you could puke on the bartender, too, maybe the vomit would soften—"
"You're disgusting, Ryan."
"You're old, Sharpay."
She paused. "Fine, truce."
He smiled victoriously and nodded. "Now go, puke. Preferably somewhere where I can't see you. You're not a very attractive hurler."
"WE CALLED TRUCE."
TYWY
Harris hated his sister as he unpacked their clothes from their duffle bags and stuffed them in their respective drawers of the bedroom he had located. He hated her with a passion, but he wasn't exactly sure why. He just knew he loathed her.
Honestly, he knew why. She had led them to Gabriella, and he knew they wouldn't be together forever. The story would be too good to be true, or there would be a change or heart, or something else bad—God only knew—would happen. Their luck didn't stay for that long, and the fact that April had known where to go from Boston was a rare stroke of good fortune by itself. A happy ending would cost too much their asking price, and he knew this. He knew Arielle knew it. And Harris knew, amongst everything, that while they were aware of it, they wouldn't do anything about it. Just for the hope that maybe some other happy ending would come along.