A/N: I know, I know, I totally didn't keep my update promise. But, if it's a valid excuse, I was busy writing a superiorly lengthy oneshot for Chloe (chloeroo) that I had been meaning to write for a very long time. So, with that said, hopefully people have stuck around since the eleventh chapter. :) -love- Desireé

Chapter Twelve, Unfamiliarity

I'm quiet, you know

You make a first impression

But I've found I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind

Even the best fall down sometime

Even the stars refuse to shine

Out of the back you fall in time

I somehow find, you and I—collide

-'Collide', Howie Day

Most marriages are due to something other than a rare component of life that the human race has come to deem as 'love'. They are usually because of the desire for security, the woes of finances, the notion of glamour, or the curt revelation of a baby. The last option was the case between Christian Montez and Theresa Rule, when they found themselves preparing to become the hardest jobs in the world—father and mother. The swell upon Theresa's stomach, the flaming red in Christian's face, the anger coming both families were all proof of their immaturity, their ill-judgment on the usefulness of birth control when really, what were the chances? It was March when she gave birth to a girl, Gabriella Anna, at the age of twenty-three, not much older than the only child when she would later have Harris.

Like mother, like daughter. No matter how softly or how proudly someone said the phrase, it was the sound of a connection between Theresa and herself that Gabriella cringe every time she heard it. And because of the way her father walked out abruptly when she was only two years old, because of the way he randomly dropped in on her ninth birthday party eager for custody rights when his ex-wife deserved every bit of the daughter, because of the way he, upon her high school graduation, sent a 'Sorry I missed you' card that really meant 'Sorry I missed you but I don't really give a crap about your valedictorian speech', Gabriella also had very little faith in the system of marriage.

Not to say she didn't want her relationship with Troy Bolton to work. No, no, no, that wasn't it at all. In fact, if anything, she wanted it to trounce any ideas her parents had of holy matrimony. She wanted so badly to tie the knot with Troy, have a bundle of kids, buy a white-picket-fence house with blue shutter windows, and write forever, to prove to her parents—wherever they were—that people have happy endings. But that word 'want' seemed to keep getting in the way, especially when she thought about the 'need'. I want to be loved. I need to be loved. Really, though, there isn't much of a difference.

TYWY

Jack and Lillian Bolton got married on Valentine's Day. It was a cliché although sweet ceremony, with red rose petals and pink carnations and little decorations of the Sweethearts that had messages written on them, customized with 'J and L Forever' printed on the little pastel candies. Their wedding song was a Barry White hit, respective members of the wedding party exquisitely presented their speeches and toasts, and the limo that drove them to their hotel room was stocked with alcohol and a divine-smeller air freshener. The wedding was perfect.

Their daughter, April, was a little less moral-oriented and more have-fun-and-don't-regret-anything, but it was their son Troy that believed when you found the one you wanted to be with forever, everything else would fall into place. Of course, this wasn't true, but he had nothing else to back him up when trying to convince the love of his life that they weren't wasting their time and that any mistakes could be fixed easily.

At one point, Troy thought the world consisted of two types of people: those who had a significant other, and those who did not. At the next point, he found himself sliding between categories, not sure where he wanted to be and if he should be trying to figure it out in the first place. Then it was finally that he realized the world had all sorts of people, and his type just wasn't readily compatible with Gabriella's. In spite of nature's plan, he still found his heart breaking when her absence ultimately set in those many years ago.

The truth unfolds viscously, trying everyone's patience.

It was December the twenty-first when Gabriella abruptly realized she was housing two children without their father's knowledge, and that Christmas was approximately four days away. "Have you or Arielle talked to your dad?" she asked Harris when he woke up, sluggishly coming into the kitchen area of the apartment above the store. His bed head haircut, in spite of the black color and those Bolton blue eyes with a gaze similar to hers flickering beneath his bangs, reminded her a lot of Troy. "Since you've gotten here, I mean."

He poured some Honey Nut Cheerios and shrugged. "We've been doing phone tag, leaving messages and stuff, and I think Ari talked to Aunt April for a little while yesterday; she's playing along, too, every time he calls I don't know when the plan says to actually tell Dad we're here, though. I bet he wants to 'meet us in Boston', so to speak—in order to make sure we haven't forgotten about him. It's like he's got this phobia of growing out of touch with us. Parents never get it when the teenagers don't talk to them; it's not like we hate them, we just don't have anything to say." He glanced sideways at his mother, before staring back at the milk carton in his hand. The time he and his sister had spent in Sampson was mostly quiet; anyone who spoke was usually Arielle with more questions.

Ginny the cat purred as she hopped on the counter and batted her tail against Harris' arm. Gabriella cleared her throat and tried not to pay any attention to his last comment. "Well, what do we do when Christmas Eve comes?" she asked hesitantly, drumming her fingers on her knee. "I think he'd want to be around here for that."

A shameful smile crept onto Harris' face, showing he was clearly amused by a statement she assumed was fairly reasonable. "Dad's kind of distracted," he said, turning so he leaned against the cupboard and nursed his cereal bowl. "Not even kind of—he's really distracted. So I'm sure it won't be until a little sidewalk Santa asked him for some spare change that he'll realize his kids aren't around for the holidays. I think, according to April, we're supposed to be back on the twenty-third."

The telephone sat in front of Gabriella, tempting her. Dial his number. "Well," she said softly, "I think you should call him." She picked up the cordless and held her arm forward.

Harris laughed, before seeing her serious expression. His eyes widened and he set his cereal down, even though the Cheerios would very well get soggy and he—like his father—hated mushy foods. "No, no, I can't call him," he protested, "I'll ruin it. I'll suddenly blurt out where we are and then Arielle will kill me because she keeps letting on to the fact that she's got some 'plan' to tell Dad we're actually in… Sampson. And not Boston."

Silence filled the space where Gabriella's motherly response should have been: I'm the mom, and I am telling you to call your father. She stared at the table, and Harris ran his fingers along Ginny's spine while she lapped up milk from his bowl happily. Another minute passed before Arielle appeared, sleepy and verbose as always. "Good morning," she said in a singsong voice. "I can't believe only ten more days until the new year. These last few months have gone by so fast, and—and—and now we're here." She smiled at her brother, who grimaced. "What?"

"I think you should call your father, Arielle," Gabriella told her, voice quiet as she pushed the phone in the girl's direction. "Harris told you haven't spoken to him at all, and April is covering for you guys when she doesn't even know what is going on down here."

The same initial reaction came from Arielle. "Call our dad?" she repeated incredulously, looking from her brother to Gabriella and back again. "That will be terrible! He's going to ask us a thousand questions, and I won't be able to answer all of them because well half of them will be about April and Boston and everything and all I'll be thinking about is Sampson!" She was breathing quickly, her chest rising and falling before Harris gripped her arm to calm her down.

"Well, maybe it'll be better that he finds out," the dark-haired woman suggested, curling her finger around the phone's antennae. "I mean, you'll have to tell him eventually and maybe just telling the truth will be the best option."

There was a long pause where both teenagers were gazing at the third party with such a solid stare that she writhed beneath the spotlight before Arielle eventually said, "Fine. I'll call him. I'll call the apartment phone. He can't be outside right now, he's much too introverted to be out this early on a random Tuesday morning in the middle of winter." Her fingers moved across the buttons, pressing in sync with the 'beeps'. She waited, two rings, three rings, four rings. Maybe he won't answer. Oh, damn it. He did. "Hi, Dad."

"Arielle!" He sounded so relieved, so happy to hear her voice, that she took back the tiniest part of her regret. Troy meant well as far as fathers went. "God, I feel like I haven't talked to you in a month! Where's Harris? What's up? Having fun with April? Are you guys ready to come back to New York?" The questions were boundless, much like her own for "Troyella's" past. Like father, like daughter.

She took another slow breath, before an odious grin dashed across her mouth and she answered her father brightly, "Well, actually, we're not in Boston anymore. No, no, Harris and I are fine. But we're visiting an old friend who I think you know. She's right here, yes, in this room, Daddy." Gabriella looked pale from her seat, although slightly impressed at the strange revenge this girl was exacting. "She wants to talk to you. Here."

Before she could say no, Gabriella found the phone practically glued to her cheek, and Arielle took a step back, smirking. Harris waited to see what would happen, trying to conceal his interest, or more lack thereof. Inside, he knew nothing could happen. His father was married; Gabriella had left him. And no matter how many fairy tale endings happened in the movies, their life wasn't one of them. Reality sucked most of the time.

"Hello?" the woman said softly, ready to faint on the spot. Her stomach was twisting into several knots, her heart was beating faster than she thought was normal for a healthy person of her age, and her palms grew sweaty. Just like when she first saw him at the snow lodge on New Year's Eve.

For a moment, it sounded as if he had hung up. Gabriella couldn't blame him. But finally he spoke, the quietest voice she had ever heard: "Who is this?" And he knew the answer. Of course he did. He just wanted to make sure.

"It's me." She cleared her throat and felt foolish all of the sudden. "It's Gabriella." Click. Yes, now he had hung up.

TYWY

Troy hadn't meant to end the call; actually, he had just dropped the phone and the battery had fallen out from the back. But as he relocated it in its rightful spot, as he pressed to cover back into place, his entire world was shaking like an earthquake was happening. Gabriella. It had been too long for her to call now, that's what he first thought. But she sounded just the same, just as beautiful, just as smart and endearing and lovely. That's what he really thought.

He couldn't call back; the number had come up as restricted. Well, obviously. Nothing ever happened perfectly in real life. So instead, he called his parents. "Honey?" Lillian Bolton answered. Then he realized it would be only five in the morning back in Albuquerque. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Mom," he said faintly. "Sorry I woke you up. Tell Dad hi. I'll call you guys later. Bye." Maybe Chad and Taylor.

But no, he got the voicemail that mentioned their chinchilla, Skittles. So next was Sharpay's penthouse. But the maid said she was out for the day. Troy didn't know Ryan's number, and quite frankly, he didn't like very many of his other friends. High school seemed to catch up with you even years after you graduate; senior year, even if everyone else was busy, Gabriella was there for him. And technically, she was now.

Something inside him, around where he imagined his heart would be, began to come back to life and it wasn't for the first time in his life that Troy Bolton was scared of what he didn't know already.